Have you ever totally embarrassed yourself? Here's the question: What if one of the greatest enlightened masters walked up to me and posed a question - would I be too busy to answer? Would I think they are crazy? I am going to digress before going into details. Certain personality traits can either be viewed as flawed or favorable - depending. I am a woman of extremes - my astrological chart displays many opposing elements and my simian line is an indication of my conflicted nature. I have been this way forever - I'm either completely immersed in my emotions or I am clinical, rational and detached, but even while hovering in extremes, I observe - well aware of what is going on. Not able to change it, but present in the experience. In other words, even while I can be passionately in love, I wouldn't do something crazy like lie naked across someone's porch. I mean poetic things have been done in the name of love, but I keep mine restricted to my stories. And even when I am detached and living in my mind, I check in with my heart and feelings. I channel the HUGE emotions into my writing and draw the jewels from the fodder (if there are any).

Now, as my friends know, I was living in unrequited love for a while... I was either in "oh woe" that he will never love me, or enjoying the friendship and channeling the feelings into poetry and my other work. Recently, however, I realized that I could not do the gray area dance and I would need to take a break from the friendship I had with - we'll call him Frank But, I thought he would appreciate the few poems and a story I had written. In the story, I attempted to capture an essence of his vulnerability. A week later (yesterday) I attended an event and while Frank was civil - even friendly - to me if I approached him, essentially he tried to hide and I even think I heard him ask someone for refuge which about horrified me.

I realized that based on his past history with crazy, compulsive women, I had been tossed from being a close friend into that category of scary. And it caused me to wonder. I have known unconditional love for my children and parents and closest friends, but from Frank I learned so much about loving without expecting anything other than friendship in return. Loving him because of his beautiful soul and ignoring the behavior stuff. Listening without judging. I was grateful to Frank for the inspiration and occasional coffee companionship. We never slept together so it was simple and lovely and suddenly what was simple and lovely in my mind to him appeared creepy and out of control. Other than sending him a few effusive emails I had never done anything inappropriate. Anyway, I am no enlightened master, but it made me realize that we perceive our lives based on our reference or past history and if something beautiful and miraculous comes along, we may not see it or understand it at all because we can't recognize it. It doesn't fit anywhere so we don't know how to hold it. It only inspires me to continue on my spiritual path so that when one of truth and love's many sisters walks in my door - disguised or not - I will still recognize it, or at least be open to learning a new language to begin a communication with it.

After reading the Sunday NYTimes today - a day late - I realized what an insular life I lead as a writer - insular as in "characteristic of isolated people" as opposed to "narrow and provincial." (At least I hope.) That's why I have friends - to give me perspective, challenge my beliefs, deepen my understanding, and broaden my horizon. I suppose we all lead lives with more restricted interests based on what we are required to do most of the day. Maybe writers have more responsibility to keep a finger on the pulse, to explore territory they might not otherwise broach, to question and ponder, turn over rocks and prod a little.

Speaking of insular, I can't believe we are one of only three nations who elect our judges. "In the rest of the world, the usual selection methods emphasize technical skill and insulate judges from the popular will, tilting in the direction of independence." (page 13 NYT) The French model seems admirable and less prone to cronyism - their judges take a battery of tests and study years at a special school. Echoing the political scientists quoted in the article, I wonder how we have enough information to elect qualified and trustworthy judges. Of course, we wouldn't want our judges managed by Congress or the President either, so how do we maintain the separation of power? If not friends, it's good to have the newspaper pull me from my limited perspective... and anyway then my drama feels insignificant compared to earthquakes and typhoons!

When I was a little kid, I wished for two things: to fly and for magic. Lately I've been having the best flying dreams ever, so I think that might qualify, and synchronicity brings magic into my life big time. The most obvious example occurred about 3 years ago. I was cleaning out the garage and came across my high school yearbooks. Some cards fell out of the yearbooks and I read them. One was from an acquaintance - one of my boyfriend's friends. He wrote the loveliest things about my positive attributes, and I was touched years later by this boy I might otherwise never have remembered. THE NEXT DAY this boy, now man, emailed me: "Hi... I don't know if you'll remember me but...." He was married and had kids and was "just saying hi." What the? I wrote back and told him my story and never heard from him again. It must have seemed too weird. And it was. I hadn't talked to him let alone thought about him in 27 years. We are all so interconnected in ways unseen.

Synchronicity seems to occur in waves. There are periods where life is "as usual," and then phases where it all seems like a dream - the coincidences are so strange. Lately I've been going through one of those worm holes. I work on a chapter that includes a group of white American pelican and a red hot air balloon, and the next morning when I step out onto my deck - not so far in the distance is a red hot air balloon with the design: 3 white birds that could be seagulls - or perhaps - American white pelican. I am out feeding the goats in the morning when the balloons rise, so I have a good idea of their pattern. In the summer, they fly every weekend and occasionally on weekdays, but I have never seen only one balloon mid-week and there wasn't another balloon in the sky days before or days after that sighting. But this isn't so amazing in itself. It's always the string of events that seems to create the feeling that I am dreaming.

This week I decided to pull back from a male friend - we'll call him Frank. I realized that while I cherish our friendship I have fallen too far into love. I will continue to appreciate that lovin' feeling, but I need a bit of separation from him in case he ever announced he was serious about some woman. I think I would go into shock - as though someone had died. I thought I could maneuver the gray area, but unfortunately hearts are like little unruly beasts that have a mind of their own. And my heart has galloped away with me clinging to its neck. You know it's bad when I even think the man's bruised and bloodied big toe is endearing. But I drew the line when he did not introduce me to a close male friend who happened to come up and talk to him. It was like a slap that woke me up.

Ok Ok I have digressed. So, I step back, and the next day (yesterday) I attend a Rockies/Mets game with my daughters and three rows ahead of me sits Frank's identical twin - or it could have been. He was a younger version of Frank (still within my dating range) (And I'm no cougar ) and he has a Kurt Vonnegut novel tucked under his arm as though he might read during the 7th inning stretch. I am completely taken by the dude, studying him when his best friend looks back at me and starts flirting (thinking of course I am looking at him and not Frank's double). This happens to me about once every two years so I flirted back, but when they realized I was associated to the two teenagers next to me - either the prospect of teen girls terrified them or the idea that I had a 17 year old gave away my age - but at any rate the flirting stopped there. But what are the odds I manifest some twin?

The other coincidences are even more incredible, but too convoluted to write about - i.e. it would take too much time to write the back story, but suffice it to say, if enough of these things happen in a short amount of time I begin to wonder if the fairies aren't playing with my head... the universe has a major sense of humor and life is magical!

And, by the way, it is my beautiful and powerful mother's 70th birthday today. She is the one who taught me how to be aware of synchronistic events and to believe in a universe that supports us. Her name, ALMA, means "soul" in Spanish and she is soulful and big hearted - an angel for us all.

I’ve always believed that suppressed feelings can get me into a lot of trouble – or rather, if I stuff them deep enough then I will develop a physical ailment, but every time my back hurts or my digestive system acts up, I forget the connection and resort first to meds. To give you an idea of how deeply I am entrenched in denial - the other night it was the fourth time in a row that I woke at 3 a.m. cursing at my kids for turning up the thermostat on the heater, and I finally realized I was having hot flashes. Duh. Okay, this has nothing to do with feelings, but it does demonstrate my serious DENIAL. (Isn’t 47 way too young for hot flashes?)(j/k)

At any rate, as Christmas approached and my ex-husband was happily celebrating the holidays with 14 relatives and his new girlfriend, I knew in my mind that I should be feeling something, but when I checked in with myself – there was nada, zip, nothing. Even an echo. I felt absolutely fine! I mean, not that I have regrets. After all, I did initiate the divorce, but everyone knows that it is still painful no matter who initiates, and a new girlfriend (no matter when she comes along) indicates a certain finality, a loss of a best friend and dreams – the dream of having a united family. I should have been feeling like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, but instead, nope. I was fine! Really I was.

Ha! Christmas morning I head out to feed the goats and pony and I decide to move one of the 350 lb trash cans full of poop closer to the end of the driveway. I tip the can and lug it 15 or so feet when my feet flip out from under me and everything goes into slow motion. I crash down on my tailbone and the can careens down on top of me. “Oh no!” I say as it is falling, more worried than angry. It lands across my knees and thighs. The lid opens on my face and a huge bag of horse dung bounces out and smooshes the lid against my nose and lips. I am pinned. The light, early morning dusting of snow evidently hid about four inches of ice on the driveway. If I called for help, no one would hear. The girls are at Brian's until later in the day. I eventually wriggle out and stand gingerly, grateful that nothing is broken, although I will be walking slowly for days and my knees blow up to look like those strange bubbly kids' toys that light up when you slap them against a hard surface.

It looked like an accident, but my Karate Kid childhood mentor taught me that there are no accidents. There is always a reason. I thought about it as I dragged 50 lb bags of poop out of the can so I could stand it up again. I needed a reason to cry and it was so much easier to cry about the poop on top of me than it was to cry about the shit going on inside. Although you would think I would learn my lesson, I did not. I sniffle a little, but the feelings remain safely locked inside my head.

Two days later, I develop severe digestive issues any time I put even a bite of food into my mouth – everything from gas to diarrhea. By the evening I was tired of fasting. I was driving home from some event and when I pulled into my garage, I asked myself: “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Obviously there’s a pouty two-year-old living inside my limbic system.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I sit in silence a while until the kid relents. I start balling. "Waaaaaaa." At long last, the information in my head had seeped down to my heart. Pain sucks – it really does. It’s sort of like running. I never look forward to it but after I do it, I feel so good. The last thing on earth I want to do - ever - is cry so hard that I drool onto my shirt, but the pay off is that within minutes my digestive system cleared up and I was able to eat a hearty dinner.

I’m on a roll. ‘tis the season. Hohoho. The body likes to trick me into denying that physical pain has ANYTHING to do with feelings, so it changes tacks regularly. Yesterday, I woke up with back spasms, but that’s a whole other long story I won't get into. Usually my feelings give me a couple weeks between being stirred up, but maybe we’re getting a lot over with all at once. I figured out why I was getting the back spasms and they went away, but this crying and drooling - while healthy - is really an annoying way to begin the New Year. Happy New Year!

(By the way, if your interested in this feelings/physical pain theory – it’s medically supported by Dr. John Sarno, and explained in The Mindbody Prescription or Healing Back Pain. It effects not only the back, but includes many conditions that cause chronic pain - from Bells Palsy to migraines and carpal tunnel to sciatica. He is a hero!

Yesterday, I heard the most amazing reading on NPR by story teller Kevin Kling. His style was satisfying and his story telling riveting as he digressed and rambled about ghosts living amongst us, pondering many things, including that perhaps this life prepares us for our dream life. I have often considered this, waking from dreams that felt more complicated and fulfilling than this strange human life. But, occasionally, as they say, life is stranger than fiction (or dream).

For instance, last night my 12 year old daughter ran into the kitchen breathless and distraught (and topless). She said a man had been staring at her from outside the bathroom window. Our very own Peeping-Tom, a voyeur, a sicko shattering our illusion of safety and seclusion. My mother was so angered by the news that she used the word “pervert” three times in one short email paragraph. My Dad said he’s happy that he’s coming into town next week because if the guy gets a look at him he’ll run the other way for good.

After we made sure the doors were locked, we called 911. The cops showed up in less than 3 minutes which reminds me this is not L.A.! They caught a man wandering the streets and we learned about "drive bys." My daughter and I were required to view the suspect; he was being held under spotlight at a distance from the police car we traveled in. She could not positively identify the man, because all she saw were his eyes and the tops of his ears and some of his hair; therefore, likely the voyeur will remain free.

I am finding that a story like this brings out other people’s weird tales – like the woman who was driving next to a man who held up a picture of him in the nude. My eyes are getting so bad that I wondered how she was able to see what he was showing her – and, driving, no less. But, she was able to copy his license plate number and have him convicted for the crime! Tonight, I went over to my next door neighbor's house. They moved in two weeks ago and I wanted to tell them about the incident. They invited me in for a glass of wine and I took a seat with family members whom they were hosting from out of town. The grandpa said that we wouldn’t need to worry anymore, because he was headed back home in a few days (implying that he was the culprit)! After we all had a good laugh, he went on to suggest that a. we dig a 3 foot camouflaged pit near the window or b. we provide a distraction by playing porno flicks in the nearby bushes. Disconcerted by his father’s sense of humor, my neighbor asked the elderly man if this would be distraction or incentive and the elderly fellow couldn’t be sure. I told them that the best way to minimize fear was to maintain a sense of humor. (I had told my daughter that she was so cute she had her very own peeping tom! But, she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.)

I thought our property was impervious to loiterers. I was accustomed to calling the secluded bundle of overgrown trees around my front yard (where I liked to sun tan half naked) my “secret garden,” but now, evidently someone has discovered our “secret garden” which is no longer so secret! Talk about a loss of innocence – for my 12 year old, yes, but even for me. I grew up in big cities where this kind of aberrant behavior was a given, but here in the country I have let my guard down.

Perhaps I will buy a bull horn to deter future peepings. My oldest daughter thinks we should line the ledge where the peeper has obviously stood many a time (based on the obvious toe markings against the wall of the ledge) with mouse traps, but I think a good automatic light and additional curtains should do the trick. After all, voyeurs are not robbers – their neurosis is based in the thrill of the forbidden as well as visual stimulation. Now that he can’t see much, I don’t see what his motivation would be to return. All I can say now is: if and when I can find sleep comfortably again in my own home, I hope I will be sufficiently prepared for the haven that awaits me in my dream life.