My ex-husband, Brian, and I embarked on many a road trip to explore America. I don’t take nearly as many now that I am divorced, but I love road trips and I miss them. Nothing pleased me more than reading a map and navigating, directing Brian way off the main path to explore a side route that looked interesting. Given time and a spirit of adventure, getting lost because the map wasn’t always updated or accurate was fun and finding our way back to the main road was a relief. (As society becomes more reliant on GPS this small pleasure will be eliminated. One might choose to ignore it, but where is the adventure in knowing you can turn on a device and find out where you really are?)

Only in retrospect do some things become clear. I think in my marriage I was often the control freak who liked to tell the driver what to do. Now I am learning to drive – to trust my partner or children are not leading me down a path of no return.

But I did not start this piece as the beginning of another Travels with Charlie or to indicate the few downsides of GPS. I was thinking about roads less traveled as a metaphor for being called on a mission. What drives a scientist to perform experiments hundreds and thousands of times until they see a small change that inspires them to the next step? A mission. The idea that her small contribution will combine with other discoveries to eradicate disease or heal the world in some other manner. But what calls them to pursue a line of thought that no one else has considered, or even that others have shunned? The gut. Mystery. It is a call that cannot be refuted.

I am often not always sure why I’m compelled to travel down a road (with a lover or an idea) until I get to the end, but it is clear in my heart while I am on the road that I am traveling the right direction. One of my current explorations (an idea and not a lover) is inspired not only by personal healing and resulting discovery of an infinite wellspring of joy and inner peace, but also by the subsequent desire to help others to heal.

Recently, I noticed a theme in not only what I was choosing to read for nonfiction, but also in the books that profoundly impacted my mental and physical health. They are all related in some manner to feelings. Dr. John Sarno claims that acknowledging feelings prevents physical ailments and pain. His methods work, and he backs them up with years of medical experience and studies. Similarly, James W. Pennebaker, PhD. proves that the expression of feeling heals; Neurobiologist Antonio Damasio asserts that emotions are key to the biology of consciousness; Gregg Braden’s study of ancient religions supports the idea that prayer is more effective if it is accompanied by feeling; Louise DeSalvo encourages writing to bring subconscious feelings to the surface, and Laurel Mellin books teach how to access feelings and then bring them into balance, especially to overcome addiction (to TV, over thinking over working or any of myriad ways humans become addicted). Some say there are “good” vs. “bad” addictions, but if the Muse becomes a Siren, it’s time to look at it. If it is creating anxiety and not joy, it’s probably an addiction.

Medical professionals differentiate between depression and anger or sadness. Depression means being void of all feeling, or numb, and contributes to physical ailments, while anger and sadness are as natural as happiness and, if addressed appropriately and processed, facilitate healing.

In the book, Writing as a Way of Healing, Louise DeSalvo PhD says “to significantly improve your spirits long-term, you must endure difficult feelings initially. In controlled clinical experiments where people wrote in a journal only four times a week for 15 minutes (an hour total), describing traumatic event... and the deepest thoughts and feelings about them…[it was] linked with improved immune function, improved emotional and physical health, and behavioral changes.” It’s one thing to acknowledge or sustain feeling, but the next step is processing and that’s where Mellin is so brilliant. She acknowledges: “If any intervention, no matter how well intentioned, does not affect the feeling brain, then lasting, broad-spectrum change is unlikely to occur. Transformation appears to be predicated on reaching into and revising the feeling brain, something that is not easy to do after the early years of life.”

These books are a small selection of many cooking in my soup pot so that I might create a fusion of flavors – a recipe to heal (a dissertation?), or perhaps ideas for my next novel. My most recent novel that I hope is published this year: The Permanence of Stone and The Fragility of Glass, explores scientific concepts related to memory and meaning as well as ontology and reality. Maybe these markers along the road related to “feeling” are calling me towards my next fictional tale. Truth is stranger than fiction and I like my fiction to keep up!

You know, I can dish it out, but when it comes down to it I HATE TO FEEL. It hurts like HELL. I watch myself dance around it (lalalalalalala), and, eventually, I remind myself how good I will feel later. WAAAAAAH. I cry, I feel, I observe it, I blubber to myself, I laugh, I cry some more. And magically, I start to feel better. As it subsides, I am more able to differentiate what is ego voice and what is truth. Often, even if my mind knows the difference already, my heart has to catch up and the only way to integrate the two is via feelings. And I know that if I don’t do this – check in with myself and feel - it will instead turn into physical imbalance like a cold, back spasms, arm pain, or some other ailment. I enjoy health too much to avoid feeling, even if sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it – to walk the walk. But too, I’m finding that feeling bridges my intellect and heart. I might understand a spiritual or psychological concept logically, but that doesn’t mean my heart has caught up. It may still be in pain. Feeling heals the heart so that it can integrate knew knowledge.

Occasionally I consider getting a degree in counseling because I tend to get an intuitive read on people and know what to recommend to them to read or with whom to consult or what modality might offer the breakthrough, but I’ve decided for the moment to stick to fiction, where characters can be more easily sent into “time out” until their behavior improves; characters can be as messy as they want to be because so far they have never left the confines of my computer or head. (At least I don’t think so.) Still, I hope that my writings inspire people to seek healing, to do whatever it takes to conquer addiction and rediscover bliss. I want to be the nudge or the match that lights the flame to the discovery of passion. I want people to know that if they eradicate apathy and the source of their oppressive voices that say: “can’t” “shouldn’t” “won’t” “not enough,” what will replace those phrases is creativity, joi de vivre, adventure, hope and love. And then, when our hearts heal and our eyes are opened to possibility, collectively we will heal the Earth and peace will reign. It starts in our home, in our families, in our car, in our decision to do it now – before it is too late.

Proponents of openheartedness seem like bunch of masochists. That is, at first. I mean, we are told to keep an open heart, but then, based on our twisted psychology (unless of course you were born to actual enlightened masters and spent the last 3 lifetimes as a master), we attract experiences and relationships that are painful to the heart.

What I have learned of late comes in two steps. Easy peezie… ha! (You might as well just go roll around on a cactus and forget reading this.)

Instead of looking at how we are a co-creator in the dance, most people choose to shut down their hearts, but I didn’t want to be numb or careful, because I like the highs of life too much, and so I chose to walk into my lows with the faith that I would eventually find peace. Wow. Loews… if only I could just do a remodel – but even that kind of job is messy. Where is Jeanie when you need her most?

Unfortunately, when we get messy, to everyone else we just look like a mess. Even the images are messy: peeling off the layers of an onion, storms before sun, walking the fire, or giving birth. I chose to be a writer – words look black and white, but think about how much trouble they get us into, so actually I’m treading gray area. How did I get myself into this mess? Oh, I forgot. I chose it.

Okay, two steps (I teach what I need to learn): First, don’t be afraid of emotional pain. It is uncomfortable but that is not always bad. And if you avoid it, inevitably you will be forced to feel a lot of physical pain. I read in this month's Utne magazine that a decent percentage of women actually experience a feeling comparable to orgasm when they give birth to a baby. So far I have not met one woman who has related anything like that to me, but maybe they are holding out on me. Orgasm? Wow. At any rate, when I gave birth it felt like being stuffed into a trash compactor with spikes on the wall – stuff release stuff release. There I go being metaphorical again. Anyway, life hurts like a brother cactus. Observe the pain – feel it but don’t give into it and create drama and negativity by trying to pull everyone you know inside of it. They can’t go there and they don’t want to. It’s a solitary walk. Stay with it – pure pain, because on the other side is deeper understanding. Often Grace - I love Grace, man - clips the threads and another veil falls away (or for some of us armor) and we see even more clearly, which creates more joy. That’s the baby. Love the baby. Occasionally, because old patterns are hard to break, the clarity is only temporary, but sometimes the understanding is radical enough to stick.

The second step is to acknowledge that life is a projection and that we are co-creators in what is occurring to us. All the masters tell us we are ONE. (Yes even with our in-laws and co-workers and ex-husbands and wives.) Our bodies make it look like we are separate, but the darkness outside is some reflection of a piece of us that is longing to be healed. (This is why we have friends who compensate and reflect our best to us, otherwise the suicide rate would be higher.) It becomes evident when the understanding sticks, because we become new people down to a cellular level and antagonists change in response or fall away. We are all in this game to heal each other and help each other step up to the plate.

I think about how in the college dorm my second year I set two alarms because I was such a deep sleeper, and even then I didn’t wake up, and the guy next door would be awakened by hearing the buzzing and ringing through the wall. Inevitably, he would bang on the wall (probably after trying to put a pillow over his head and go back to sleep). He was my friend, but based on the obscenities he was shouting, I don’t think he liked me much in the morning. Likely after this happened several times mortification was incentive enough to wake up when I heard the first or second alarm. I think, though, a few of my life lessons have been like this and my hope is that I am getting more balanced and attuned so that the next time an alarm goes off I can wake up immediately and avoid all the drama and expletives.

Dear Friends,

I am writing to wish you first and foremost HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I wanted to share this essay that is, by and large, stream of conscious writing, and probably too long winded, requiring more anecdotes and fleshing out, but here it is anyway. These are important times of transition for the country and for the world. Human evolution – mind/body/soul is inevitable – and I notice that these are, if not financially stable, THINKING and FEELING times. All generations seem to be self-evaluating and contemplating how they can make the most impact or what gifts would best serve the world. (Or maybe it’s just living near Boulder, deemed 5 square miles of unreality!) So, do you want the blue pill or red pill?

I have heard it said that whatever you do New Year’s Day sets the tone for the rest of the year. Some years I heeded this superstition and did all of the following: went on a run and practiced yoga, read a good book, rewrote a short story, meditated, prayed and cooked a beautiful meal for my kids (made them clean up) and then played a game with them. But, other years, I chucked the idea and spent the whole day in my pajamas doing whatever the heck I pleased. The choice was only in part based upon how late I stayed up the night before, but I can say that I don’t think it makes an iota of difference one way or the other what you decide to do on New Year’s Day.

Isn’t it so like our Western minds to seek to create a linear story line? If we do A and B, odds are C will follow. Stories bring us peace, as does the illusion of time: morning, noon and night; beginning, middle, and end. Before my grandmother, Nonnie, died she said, “I want to stick around just to see how the stories end.” More than anything she wanted to know that her children and grandchildren would be safe and happy when she was gone. But, life is messy and chaotic and painful, and she finally was forced to let go without a guarantee. Many of us cling to the idea that if we do A and B, C will follow, but it just isn’t so. Half the time Z comes along and jumps between A and B, and we didn’t even know there was such a thing.

So, as I enter my New Year I wonder: what is happiness? Everyone’s idea of it is different, just as is the method of achieving it, but two universal components of happiness are 1. that what happens outside of us does not effect what is going on inside, and, secondly, the ability to draw a boundary with our time and energy so that we don’t get sick. Happiness fosters health and vice versa. (And sick can be anything from pneumonia to mental illness and addiction.)

The other day, I saw a plaque that said: “We don’t find ourselves, we create ourselves.” Is happiness found or is it created? Some of the best realizations are found. Let’s say our understanding of nature deepens because we happen upon a tree trunk covered in thousands of hibernating ladybugs, so that from a distance the trunk is red. Could that have been planned? We encounter strangers who change our lives, and those meetings are not scheduled. Along the lines of "creating ourselves," many people believe it is important to state and create goals in order to achieve an end – especially here in the Western world, although spiritual teachers will say that while we can hold an idea of what we intend to achieve or create, we are incapable of imagining our full potential. They suggest that we turn over our goals to a higher power so that we are led to them, but, too, they warn it will likely not be in alignment with our exact blueprint or timing. So, with the plaque in mind, we find ourselves reflected in our world, but, also, we hold creative intention for what we desire, hopefully with a willingness to prepare for the unexpected.

Maybe happiness has nothing to do with being found or created. Perhaps it is all in the way we perceive anything that happens to us. I have not studied one particular form of Eastern thought deeply, although I have meditated since age 12 and practiced yoga and A Course in Miracles for years. (People who know me well might call me a Zen Drama Queen!) Nonnie renounced Catholicism for Buddhism before I was born. I was a small child when I remember waking at five in the morning to go pee and finding her standing on her head in the bathroom, or sitting in lotus with her eyes closed and a net over the curlers on her head. I don't think anyone could have prepared her for the day her daughter, my father's sister and aunt, committed suicide at the age of 34, making an indelible print on all of us; causing us all to question the meaning of life. I can't imagine surviving something like that; she was so strong. Buddhists say we are bound to suffer, so we might as well spend our time learning how to perceive what happens to us. That is not to say Christianity has nothing to offer, although I think most institutionalized religions have lost sight of their leaders’ true intent.

I remember giving a great professor of mine a ride in my car. At the time a small crystal cross dangled from the rear view mirror. He tapped it and it swung. “I thought you were more of an Eastern thinker,” he remarked. “More Buddhist.”

“I’m also Christian,” I replied. After all, they are not mutually exclusive.

“Well,” he sighed. “At least you’ve covered all the bases.”

I imagined myself running to every denomination on New Year’s Day just to cover all the bases, but the source of my actions and beliefs is not fear. My intention has been to form my own ideas about religion based on studies and take the best from all of them. (I was shocked to discover that Buddhists can be as attached to law and mercy prayers as Evangelicals - that reaching "Heaven" is no different than reaching "Enlightenment" to these folk.) I decided to remove the cross from my car not because I feel any less in awe of Christ's love and teachings, but because symbols and attachments to symbols get us into trouble, even while offering us peace. Religions and their associated symbols, as well as flags divide us, and distinction is wonderful at its best, but divisive at its worst. The very nature of both are to offer black and white rules to live by and visual cues to remind us of the rules, and it’s back to A plus B equal C. People at their worst require rules to govern behavior – at their best, they can be trusted to make enlightened decisions. It’s the same with my teenagers.

So what prevents the latter? What prevents us from being happy and making enlightened choices on a day-to-day basis? Our deepest subconscious fears manifest as depression and mental illness, and they cancel or sabotage our greatest intentions. Great thoughts are only as enlightened as the thinker. If the thinker has no reference based in health, how can his or her decisions rooted in religious law be healthy? How can a person who hardly loves herself truly love her family and then her neighbor? Life is lived from the way she appears and not from the way she feels in her heart. Psychology (not necessarily psychiatry, which relies heavily on medication - but that depends on the practitioner) goes hand-in-hand with spirituality. The healthier we become mentally opens our hearts, which helps us to forgive, and then, it follows that the more we have the capacity to understand love and compassion. The more nonjudgmental and compassionate we are, the more we are able to be an example of Christ or the Buddha or the Dali Lama.

Some say: “fake it until you make it,” and there have been times I gained confidence by applying this concept. Beginning something new is good for us, yet we resist because we aren’t good at it when we begin. If we are brave and try it, eventually we get good at it. Still, if there are voices sabotaging us, we can fake it all we like and we aren’t going to let ourselves make it. The voices win. The places we don’t “make it," or our failed attempts, are our gifts and teachers. What stirs us up and makes us angry and uncomfortable are the best opportunities for growth. In his book The Mastery of Love, Don Miguel Ruiz calls the ego voice the "Predator," and I call my personal voice: "Nasty." Nasty and Predator are wonderful at disguising themselves as the all-knowing authority who recommends: “the honorable thing to do” at the expense of freedom, authenticity, truth, and happiness (FATH). Sometimes honor and integrity are overrated (otherwise I’d have my “i” for FAITH).

Why was I reading the Mastery of Love? Well, in part because I loved his book The Four Agreements so much. But, too, what ruffles my feathers most, what shakes me up and causes me to curse my tools and have dramatic tantrums, are love relationships, i.e. MEN. Just when I think I understand because A plus B equals C, a man will toss T at me, or R, and I’m not ready for it. I make assumptions and I practically have to tie myself to my altar to stay quiet long enough to let some insight seep into my thick brain. My sister once asked me (and may angels bless her for the amount of times I have called her in tears): “Are you going to go into the story or into the silence?” She knows that in the silence I will discover peace and truth (which leads to happiness). Staying in the story only leads to more story and poor poor me, and, occasionally, I need to squirm and wallow a while just to gather material for poems and short stories, but eventually, with the coaching of my sister, the support of my incredible brothers, the kindness of my parents, and the wisdom of a beautiful mentor, Helen, I rise above it. I become the author and not the character.

What is the point of self help books, counseling, religious studies, body work, energy healing, birth trauma clearing and past life regression (to name a few)? My mom framed it as an opportunity to open to awakening, which ultimately leads to happiness and an ability to leave this planet in peace. Eventually, you won't be drawn to any of it because your own source of sustenance is flowing - you get "unstuck." Children know this flow and adults pollute it. We spend a life time relearning to tap what we already know.

But, I think back and realize that I could not control the pace of my climb from mental illness (or I would have stepped on the accelerator!). I believe it occurred (and this is what reflects my Christian roots) because of Grace. One day I woke up and I was free of addiction and eating disorders. Grace! Another time I woke up and knew that I needed to ask for a divorce. That was not Grace as I see it, but it eventually led to it. Divorce was the last thing I wanted in my life. Who was I kidding? I wanted: peace, safety, stability, commitment, and loyalty. What was this cruel imperative rising inside of me? I knew that the only way I would achieve freedom, authenticity, truth and happiness was by being alone – a lot. Nasty was merciless to the degree that I developed pneumonia and lost 30 pounds without trying as self-punishment. Grace did not come until much later – in a sort of out of body dream the night of March 26, 2006 – and, indeed, all the pain and suffering has added up to – you guessed it: freedom, authenticity, truth and happiness.

Grace surprises and it only comes after a lot of boiling and burning and struggling and striving, but it looks more like this: butt heads, boil, cry, sleep, wake up, joy, fight, burn, meditate, struggle, call a friend or mentor and laugh, strive, reach out to someone, laugh, crumble, wail, pray, sleep: GRACE! Hope and faith carry us through – the encouragement of wise teachers give us faith and a new foundation, and our friends who make us feel less alone offer us hope. If we shut off the process, we get depressed. There is nothing wrong with drugs – they just aren’t necessary if you are willing to walk the fire, and at the end of that fire walk the reward is better than you could ever imagine.

Someone recently said to me: “darkness isn’t all about sun-dappled light and space,” as though I have never known the bowels of Hell and being on my knees, passing out from a sugar overdose, crying so hard after a failed relationship that I had no foundation to stand on, the brutal agony of divorce, when alone feels like lonely, the seemingly endless oppression of addiction, or lying on the bathroom floor crying so hard and long that it felt like there was no floor beneath me. I have been willing to go there – to find out that Hell is not as scary as we think it is, and it won’t suck us inside of it if we keep one hand stretched out to friends, to hope, and to life.

Most of us are programmed to survive, but occasionally, sadly, like my gorgeous, intelligent and tormented aunt – who looked like Snow White in her casket – some choose death. I cannot imagine the kind of pain she was experiencing to choose to step off this planet. It is so sad to think no one could reach her, and that she lost her will to live or to believe in Love. Suicide, supposedly, has huge karmic and spiritual implications across the board, whether you ask the Dali Lama or the Pope, but maybe this is all we get. If this is all we get, it is so sad to throw it away early. And, the thought of karmic implications can be good incentive. Hell, to me, seems like a sort of scary place outside of this realm, but thinking I might have to come back to Earth and endure a Hell greater than I have known already scares the lights out of me! I know many relatives and friends enduring that kind of Hell already and I consider myself blessed. There but for the grace of God go I!

If we choose to walk the fire – to move into the most difficult feelings of all, there is a door on the other side of Hell on Earth, and, eventually, we find it and when we come out we are closer to Heaven – softer, more compassionate, more grateful people. But there is nothing wrong with lingering in the limbo at the edge of the fire; it’s just not as fulfilling in my book.

A great teacher of mine told me an old aphorism, but I was in high school, so it was the first time I had heard it: “You will be wise when you finally know that you know nothing.” He was a brilliant Harvard dude, but that line made me think he was definitely there at Samohi "teaching what he needed to learn." But, I trusted him and now I understand. Every time we are willing to feel, we move more deeply into the heart’s territory, and the more we feel, the more we know we know nothing. The mind is a great tool and should be pushed to capacity, but if it becomes our exclusive driving force (manifest as the need to control, or fleeing into victim mode) then the limitations are obvious, especially in terms of my four essential FATH qualities. (Why does FATH make me think of Daffy Duck? I could never work in marketing.)

Ultimately, great spiritual insight lies outside words. All my words, for what it's worth, are an attempt to give a picture to my soul, but that too is impossible. My words are an attempt to connect to others in the deepest way possible - to make LOVE, so to speak, but life is a dream and tangibility is an illusion. We are no more separate from each other than droplets of water (an overused example). Words are fickle, but truth is not, and I hope there might be some reflection of truth in my words, and mostly an offering of hope and love.

Many people think my favorite four qualities are unattainable. Someone asked the other day: “What is your measure of success?” and this was a good question in terms of the time of year – how will I define success in the New Year? The favorite four are, indeed, how I measure success both in my career and in relationships. Do I feel free to be myself? Am I being authentic instead of Scheiss Freundlich (a German term: shit friendly)? Was I truthful or did I learn a truth that resonates with my soul? Do I feel grounded in happiness? If not, it is worth the time and money to get there, because it’s not just spiritual – it’s practical! Joy will enable us to be more effective and abundant. If nothing else we are required to model these traits for our children. My children have inspired me to be a better human being. I do it for myself, but, too, I do it for them. If I didn’t have my children, I’m not sure I would have quit smoking or dealt with my anger issues – but I hope so – and believe me, they’ve witnessed my journey. I remember when I was happy that I had quit throwing glass around the kitchen and had switched to Tupperware. Ommmmmmmmmm.

Many people think that to be happy means you are never sad or angry, which is, of course, pretense. Happiness is a low note – a beautiful melody even while anger or sorrow may be playing simultaneously as a dissonant counterpoint to the main melody. Happiness is a root that travels deep into the ground and steadies when the high winds blow. (As life would have it, raging 80 mph wind is causing the trees outside to clamor at the windows tonight.) It is the observer self that watches as other emotions pass through and the observer (addressed extensively in The Sacred Self by Wayne Dyer) helps us to act anger and sadness out appropriately and healthfully so that they don’t reappear playing the same theme in the next movement of the symphony. Happiness is the sun; the other emotions are clouds that eventually break up and totally dissipate if emotions are a process and not an addiction. Learning to feel healthfully, to process and clear emotions, is a worthwhile journey.

I have studied this subject my whole life, although I do not have a degree in religious studies or psychology to prove that I actually know something (and of course I would learn that what I know is that I don’t know and can only surmise), but yet another great mentor told me to never count myself as a statistic. She gave me the early foundation of mental health and taught me never to lose my childlike joy and feisty spirit; that I don’t need a degree to be wise.

Recently, it dawned on me to commit to my greatest gift – to write. This essay began in my mind on a jog as I contemplated what the transition to a new year means to me, and I realized that in all aspects of my life I want to find intimacy – I don’t want to be afraid of the mess. So, I am going to commit more deeply three aspects I hold most dear: to write, to heal (Jin Shin Tara Approach), and to dance dance dance. I want to keep a sense of humor through it all and the rest will follow, whether I decide to put pen to paper all New Year’s Day or I decide to sit nude in a Jacuzzi and eating ice cream bonbons. Now there’s a brilliant idea! (If only I had a hot tub.)

May you find and create freedom, authenticity, truth and happiness in 2009, or whatever else your big and beautiful hearts desire.

Love,
Jennifer

In the last eight years: a close friend moved across the country and I lost an 18 year marriage, a meaningful love relationship, a grandmother and grandfather, my stepfather, a horse, a cat and on a number of occasions my sanity. It’s all a bitch. There have been times I was sure the pain would crush me – like the floor might fall out from underneath me. When it did, I was lucky enough to have friends who offered to share their foundation. Both the agony and their acts of love helped me to build who I am today – a stronger, happier, more compassionate woman.

Yesterday, I asked a friend what yanked her out her victim thinking and she said “death.” The loss of a close family member helped her to step up to the plate – to see outside her own world. We both agreed that good friends who don’t let us get away with being stupid are also helpful when learning to perceive the world through new eyes. For me, it was an honest therapist in 1986. She helped me to see how sorry I felt for myself. I was, of course, initially incensed by her observations (wasn’t she supposed to let me cry all over myself if I wanted to?), but with some time I realized she was absolutely right. It was time to “change my mind.” Death – in all its forms - has caused me to run to my meditation (as opposed to medication!) corner. Time and again I have been given the choice between a cigarette or a drink or going to that place inside myself that centers me and now, more often than not, I am choosing life over death. Nothing is wrong with an occasional glass of wine to quell Weldschmertz, but when it becomes an addiction, it’s a good idea to face it. I am choosing to stay out of the drama and move into the light. There are many tools to achieve this and I am making the most of mine (Luckily I have a big garage to fit all my tools). As a result, I am able more quickly to recover from a challenging encounter or incident. I do not move into fear, but stay centered and able to make good choices, which means I am more creative. Oh heck, and every now and then something is just too damn big and comes at me like flying monkeys and a cackling witch and I smoke the fucking cigarette, but, generally, I face the monsters the next day, because, of course, these things don’t go away by stuffing them down.

Most importantly, what I am realizing is that if my source – or what drives me - is not based in neurosis and victim thinking (which are static and dull) then I am more creative as a person and an artist. I feel more present and vital, and that shows. New people are stepping into my life who invite me to stay in this exciting and healthy consciousness by reflecting it back to me. New territory is generally disorienting, but what an adventure!

Can’t get comfortable

Death is a storm
whether a flash flood
that catches by surprise
or a long time coming,
and stays for days;
gray as far as I can see.

Mourning comes
and I can't get comfortable
between the bouts of tears,
like sitting on the river bank
in unexpected rain
in clammy, cold clothes,
or itchy and fitful
on the edge of sleep
that never comes
sheep or not
twist and turn
to find the position
that will help me forget
his absence.
My legs tangle in the sheets.
and again I weep.

We attempt to prepare
for the unknown
(ready set go)
but death surprises
like a Trojan horse
and tramples like a whole herd;
a hoof beat to the heart,
and it’s tough to catch a breath.

As a kid I body surfed - like he did -
and occasionally misjudged the size
of the wave that rolled me
and smeared sand in my eyes,
no idea which way is up,
made of salt!
Lungs gripped a final hold
just before finding the surface.
Bruised but chastened,
I was gifted with
a healthy respect for the sea;
for the present that exists for one
but is stolen from another.