Stark Raving Zen

New Beginnings!!

2010-07-24T21:31:00.006-05:00

Please, please join me at my new blog- Koda's Totems.

http://kodastotems.blogspot.com/

There is much more to come, but I would so love your presence there. It has been an incredibly busy few weeks with travel, new work endeavors, volunteering, the activities surrounding a dear friend's recent death, and Koda's hip surgery performed one week ago! But I am up and running again and anxious to get back into reading all of my favorite blogs once more and joining the blogosphere once again.

Yay! New beginnings are so LOVELY aren't they?

(Hey! For those of you on Facebook, please friend me! Kristy Sweetland... Thank you!)

The Beautiful End.

2010-07-05T20:04:00.021-05:00

I drove to Minnesota from my home in New Mexico a couple of weeks ago. Just me, the enchanted Escort, and the open road for nearly 40 hours was the perfect equation for deep introspection- something I enjoy all too much. As I rattled down the highway my mind swirled around the near constant tide of intuitive happenings I have been enjoying over the past couple of months. Spring and Summer never fail to plug me in to the undercurrent of energies and this year seems exponentially more powerful than any other I can remember. For that, I give credit to New Mexico. I contemplated the difference between this year and any other in that it wasn't so much a matter of active intuition that was surging, and more just a constant influx of gifts. Wishing for things and being handed them, as if some invisible Genie were there to indulge my every simple wish. As I drove, I spent no time trying to analyze this phenomenon- a HUGE difference between the Me of today and the Me of yesteryear when I started this blog.

But there was one detail which was still dominating hours of my thought, and that was the moth I blogged about a few weeks ago. I asked to see her and she showed up on my doorstep the following morning. Then, as I sat on my knees and prayed for her to stop suffering- she was beaten up badly- she disappeared. Just... disappeared. Of all the fantastical things I've experienced over the past two years, this one just kept nagging me. The message she was bringing was too big for me to discern on my own. I could feel that she was trying to communicate something, but its reach seemed just beyond my grasp. It was as if I wasn't good enough, or advanced enough to read her. Then three people- highly connected people- sent me private messages regarding the connection between this moth and the moth in the book by Carlos Castaneda, Tales of Power. Although I had been drawn to Carlos Castaneda in the past, I've never read much by him because, frankly, he scared me. But now, after a friend sent me the cover of the book- with the same moth on the front- I knew whatever it was that I needed to understand would lie within its pages. I committed to visiting the Half-Priced Bookstore in Minneapolis while I was there and buying up all the Castaneda books they had. I promised myself I'd let it rest for now, lest I drive myself mad with wonder.

So then I arrive in Minnesota, pull into my sister's driveway and jump out of my car to a welcoming committee of family hugs and screams of joy. The smallest one, Ava, thrusts something up at me, jumping up and down, waving it wildly as if my entire existence depended on this transfer of art. I took the picture, and my sister, knowing my intense study of all things dealing with Shamanism, mumbles to me, "Gave me the chills when I saw it. Doesn't it look awfully Shamanic to you...?" I asked her if she'd ever talked to Ava about Shamanism and her reply was, of course not. She's four years old, after all. Later, we asked Ava about the fact that there are separate faces hovering next to us in her drawing (that big blue dude in the picture is my husband, Aaron). Very matter of fact, she points to my illustration and says, "That's Kristy," and then points to the hovering face next to it and says, "and that's the other Kristy. The second self." Jill asked, kind of incredulous, "The second self...?" To which Ava replies, "Everyone has a second self, Mommy. You can just see Kristy's more." Jill then asks, "Can you talk to the other Kristy?" Ava then taps her little head and says, "In my mind." Let's just say the entire kitchen was goosebumps galore. Days later, I get the book with the moth on the cover, I return home and immediately start reading it. I'm just going to say the goosebumps just keep coming. Guess what Carlos Castaneda's Tales of Power is all about. Guess what the Moth of Wisdom represents. The second self. The books says everybody has one. Shamans have the ability to control theirs, that's the only difference. It is clear to me that Ava is a tiny, undeveloped Shaman with telepathic gifts beyond anything I've seen before. She illustrated this book and then attempted to explain it. I believe she picked up what had been flooding through my mind for weeks- tapped into my second self- and in her beautiful way, tried to heal me. She tried to explain that which I could not, using not intellect or knowledge, but intuition, markers and scratch paper.

This entry is the perfect ending to Stark Raving Zen. If I had to give a concise explanation for what this blog represents, it is perfectly documented within this story and photograph of Ava. According to Carlos Castaneda, there are two selves. The Tonal- which is everything explainable, even contemplable, including abstract concepts such as God and Spirit and Divine Energy; and the Nagual- which is undefinable, unnameable, inconceivable mystery. That part of life which science will never access or explain. It's that part of everything and nothing which gives us our glow, our magic, our power. Someday, Ava will wonder why she feels different. She'll question the definition of normal. She'll struggle when society attempts to place her in that cookie-cutter mold, and fight to escape the restrictive box. She'll recognize that she doesn't fit in, but will never wish for another's identity even if life seems a little easier for others, because at four years of age Ava is already aware that there's more to life than what meets the tactile senses. Sharing the magic of Life- the Nagual- was the entire purpose of Stark Raving Zen. And now, helping people like Ava- adults and children alike- celebrate their unique gifts, their unique mysteries, is the entire purpose of my life. Thanks for reading along. Time for me to step aside for the other me. Here's to new beginnings, new blogs, new directions... and, oh yes, I love you all.

Much Ado About Bears...

2010-07-01T19:21:00.022-05:00

According to the belief system of many American Indian cultures, everyone has a grand total of nine totem animals. These animals for us are unchanging; constant. They assist us throughout the span of our lives. The energy of each of our totem animals represents that medicine which we most strongly possess and occasionally or frequently need to call on in order to guide us along the Good Red Road, or our time here on the physical plane. The bear is one of my nine totem guides, and one of my husband's as well.

Last night we were thrilled by a personal visit- in no way a rare occurrence here in the mountains of New Mexico- and watched like enthusiastic children as he explored a num-licious dumpster within a stone's throw of our front yard. Ratonians here love their bears and the street was soon lined with neighbors grinning at the sight of this little guy's evening snack hunt. My husband loves this shot because it shows Little Mr. Bear's leathery paws.

He made a mess, but nobody seemed to mind. Once he sauntered off to greener dumpsters, everyone just kind of ambled over and returned his messy garbage back to the metal tank where it belonged. Cleaning up after the ursine residents is an everyday event here.

The medicine, or power, of the bear represents introspection. If Bear visits you, it's your call to enter the silence where your inner knowing resides. Like a bear's tendency to hibernate, it asks that we step away from the chaos and stimulation of everyday life- just for a time- until the answers to our questions are received in the silence. It's an invitation to meditate. To stop trying so hard.

It's amazing- all of the answers inside of us- when we just shut up and listen for once; something I've never been particularly good at. As I watched him last night, naturally quiet over his sweet magnificence, I thought of this very aspect and how much I needed his guidance right now.

The truth is, it was last winter when the Bear totem last visited me. Retreating to the silence and going within, I was told that my life was going to be changing. The next day, I adopted a tiny puppy, left to starve in a Raton alleyway. I named him Miakoda, which means the power of the moon, but call him Koda for short, which means spirit ally. Koda turned out to be much more than an ordinary dog to us, which is a simple qualifier neither good nor bad. My husband and I, with all of our hearts, love ordinary dogs. But from the moment he entered our lives we felt there was something odd about him, something ancient, still, and wise. He came here to teach us something.

In addition to all of that, we also discovered that Koda has the most severe case of juvenile onset Canine Hip Dysplasia we've ever seen, which is no small detail being that my husband and I met in a surgical veterinary hospital where we both worked in orthopedics. For seven years I did nothing but look at the xrays of dysplastic dogs. Now I was faced with a huge financial responsibility, or the only alternative was to put this puppy- this spirit messenger- to sleep. Koda taught me to believe in myself. Koda taught me that it was time to come out of my own personal hibernation. Koda taught me that it was time to share my gifts and go back to work. Koda taught me to trust in the Good Red Road.

And the bear last night- finally and completely- taught me that this is the end of the line for Stark Raving Zen, which I love dearly. But it's time. I'm going to leave it accessible, rather than delete the entire thing, for reasons I will explain in a final entry. But for me it's time to grow. To evolve. To follow my heart. That means a new blog. The name: Koda's Totems. It will be a celebration of nature, animal totems, American Indian wisdom, Koda's medical progress (he's having his surgery soon), and I'll also be offering some card reading services through my new blog. It will be my photography without the past SRZ energy of politics or anger or anti-anything. It will be a way to honor everything in the natural world. No more Stark Raving... I hope you won't mind.

Learning to Trust on Bertrande's Mesa.

2010-06-18T11:02:00.009-05:00

My husband took this shot of me last week on a hike to the top of Little Horse Mesa in Sugarite Canyon State Park here in Raton. It was sort a grueling scramble up there for a girl in less than her best shape, and it was an empowering experience gazing over this vista grande. I recently posted the pic on my Facebook page, which prompted Bertrande, a friend of mine and one tremendously cool person, to email me her life-forming mesa story. I asked her if I could share it here because I loved reading it. It reveals the power behind everyday transformational processes and allows for an understanding that transcendence takes many forms. Anyways. I loved it. And I hope you like it too.

Dan & I met in Dec.'82 at a Health Care conference in San Francisco. (Dan was speaker-I was faculty liaison). He was living in Detroit, working with United Auto Workers as Health & Safety Specialist. Both in our 30's. I went to Detroit for Christmas - our first "date". We were both rather amazed at how much we connected but didn't want to rush things.

Date #2: In February '83 we arranged to meet up in Albuerqurque where he was again speaking, and travel to Santa Fe & Taos, then over to Sedona, AZ. We did some small hikes around Taos, then travelled over to Frijoles Canyon, Bandelier National Monument. Got there about 1pm.

Weather was gorgeous, warm, but there was still snow on higher elevations. We took a "short" walk down to the Rio Grande and found ourselves mired in mud. Rather than retrace our route, we headed out and up onto the mesa. From the [misleading Park Service tourist handout] map it looked like a 20 minute walk back.

However, we kept climbing, left the mud behind only to discover ankle deep snow. Since it was only going to be a short walk, we were TOTALLY unprepared. Cami & chinos & Nikes for me, Dan did have a jeans jacket, but otherwise just tee shirt & levis. No food or water. We hadn't even bothered to sign the Park's hikers' log. Stoopid stoopid stoopid.

By this time, we had been walking over 3 hours. We were on top of the Mesa, the snow was getting deeper, the 'trail' was almost non-existent, and the sun was starting to set. I have always had major trust issues, and tried to micro-manage situations for my safety. All I could do was keep following this man who was calm & steady and persistent in his efforts to get us where we needed to go.

I was a city-girl, born & raised in San Francisco. Dan was raised in Brainard, MN and was pretty comfortable 'in nature'. He got us off that Mesa, cutting across the table top diagonally and somehow finding the edge. We could now see the parking lot & our car far below, but snow was above our knees. He thought he could discern a switch-back pattern, and taking me by the hand, led me down the mountain, sometimes with snow up to our waists. (I'm 5'10" BTW, Dan 6'3").

When we got to the bottom (the sun had now set) we just hugged and laughed and hugged again. 2 days later, we were in Sedona and we admitted we loved each other, and wanted to spend our lives together.

Dan went back to Detroit, put his house on the market, applied to U of Minn for his PhD, and gave notice to UAW. I returned to SF, in a holding pattern, but for once not anxious for the future.

He came out to SF March 30, '83 for a brief vacation, and I left with him April 15th (Date #3!). Married in Malmo, MN on Mille Lacs lake July 3. Will celebrate 27 years next month.

Walking The Mesa has always been a metaphor for us to just keep on keeping on, with mutual trust & respect. Not that we haven't wanted to kill each other at times... But something happened up there for both of us.

(A big Thank You to Bertrande for allowing me to share this story. I'd like to take this time to say that I always welcome stories of transcendence, no matter how big or small. If you have one to share, feel free to send me a Facebook message or email me at kristy.sweetland@gmail.com. I think these stories are inspiring and I believe they empower others to successfully navigate their own life "mesas".)

Moths, Butterflies, and Angels

2010-06-15T22:51:00.025-05:00

I've always had a great affinity for moths. The other night as I cupped a little one in my hands and carried him from the kitchen to the great outdoors, I paused on the back porch as I watched him flutter away and suddenly recalled the giant moths from my childhood in Colorado. I'd never seen one anywhere else, those with a wingspan of 6 or 7 inches, and wished I could again. In practicing my new found technique of expressing gratitude in advance for something I'd love to experience, I thanked the Universe for sending me a giant moth. I didn't care the species. Just make it a big one. I smiled as I gazed at the stars and went back inside. The next morning as I stepped out onto the front porch to water my flowers, I froze. My moth was there, clinging to the brick wall, with wings so tattered it was like she flew here all night from the outer regions of the world. She was gigantic. Wingspan 6 inches at least. Legs like a tarantula, and these otherworldly antennae which looked more like fern fronds. Open your hand and spread all your fingers as wide as they'll expand, and you'll feel her size. She was magnificent. But she was dying. Many adult moths live no longer than one week and I felt like she chose to exit this world on my porch because she knew she'd be surrounded by love here. She heard my Universal invitation. As I stared at her beauty, she fluttered down to the porch floor and leaned her head against the boards. I put a jar lid full of water and some baby greens down by her. Maybe foolish, but damned if I can ever get my Martha Stewart hosting switch to turn off. She was in a corner, protected by my Buddha dog statue and the brick wall. It would be a perfect place for her to fade away. I closed my eyes and surrounded her with the energy of love and prayed that she'd be okay, no matter her cycle of life. When I opened my eyes, she was gone. Poof. I searched all the perimeter and couldn't find her. Where could she have gone, so quickly, with those torn up wings. There was no wind to speak of. I had no answers, but I felt good for her. And I felt good for having experienced her.

So the next day my husband and I went for one of our normal hikes and I dedicated it to my moth. I vowed to take as many images of butterflies and moths as I could throughout our hike. Not an easy task for me. I don't have a macro lens, nor the technical skill to get the really little ones. And let's not even talk about the patience required to shoot a bunch of flickering butterflies. Let's just say the woodland innocents heard a lifetime of swearing that day... I did the best I could. This, I believe, is a Gulf Fritillary butterfly.

And this, of course, is the regal Two-tailed Swallowtail with a 5 inch wingspan.

I believe this little guy is a Red Admiral, but I'm not sure.

This is a tiny moth. No clue which species. But this image, with him gently resting on the edge of a leaf, is one of my favorites. Right now, with so many millions of wild flowers blooming, the butterflies and moths are as thick as Minnesota Mosquitoes.

I have no clue what this one is. Have you ever tried to identify butterflies through an internet reference site? You have to be an entomologist to even know where to begin. It's impossible.

Beautiful.

This is a Checkered White which is one of my favorites, but the most difficult to photograph. They just never sit still for even a moment and their wingspan is only up to 1.75 inches. Small and fast. Not my photography forte.

These ones are also beautiful with an indigo body. Again, the white ones weren't loving me that day.

The magical part of this project was just sitting silently still and looking around to see where one might be resting. You just never know what's there until you really take the time to feel your surroundings.

This guy had a greenish hue in the sunlight. One of my favorites.

Excellent resting place. You can hardly see him. I only found him because I decided to rest here myself, lizard-like, absorbing the New Mexico sun.

These are amazingly cool because their markings look like a cat face to me. Can you see it?

The tiny, Spring Azure with a wingspan of up to 1.25 inches. Iridescent blue.

Some little moth guy. Also one of my favorite pics.

And this is a kingly Black Swallowtail. I was waiting for him to land and he touched down right in front of my face and just stared at me, like, "Take the picture because I'm clearly magnificent." I love this shot of his little face!

I loved these ones too. Green and orange. But teeny tiny, so difficult to shoot.

As we reached the top of the mesa, an arduous hike to say the least, this form in the break in the clouds met us there. I stared at it in reverence, thinking at first it was a butterfly. Then getting a clear image of my gigantic fading moth, I felt assuredly it was an angel and from it, I felt a smile and a Universal thank you. I had to sit down for a moment and take the time to thank it back.

Serious Flower Power.

2010-06-12T18:09:00.013-05:00

The nature theme of the moment here in the high desert of Northeastern New Mexico is flowers! You can't go anywhere without seeing vibrant colors to the horizon and beyond. Its beauty is all encompassing, and the smell.... Divine.

The air is filled with the combo scent of pine and whichever flower you happen to be standing near. The warmer the day, the better, with the sun providing for them the confidence they need to stand tall and broadcast their olfactory magic.

I generally have a blog rule whereby I refuse to post more than ten images per post. Otherwise, in all of my enthusiasm, I may find myself asking others to endure image after image, captive, like a Griswold Family Hike slide show.

But how could I not allow each little flower ambassador to Represent?

I mean, who'd get cut?

Rules are meant to be broken.

This guy looks like he has fuzzy yellow caterpillars all over him...

I wish I knew the names of some of these.

Besides this guy who I know to be a wild iris.

This one hasn't bloomed yet- perhaps she'll have no flowers at all- but the intricate whirls and ridges associated with this plant completely beguiled me.

Hiking in flower paradise...

Hardy little guy...

I'm going to say that this is, officially, crack cocaine to the butterfly population. They cannot get enough of this little beauty. They swarm the stuff. (Stay tuned for a butterfly collection.)

And this is so lovely, with such a delicate scent, definitely one of my favorites. Anyone know what this is?

Showy...

...and whimsical.

Which one's your favorite? And if anyone can identify any of these, please do. I'd like to be polite, and address them by name the next time I see them. :)

Enter the Hummingbirds!

2010-06-09T21:29:00.009-05:00

My dear friend Lisa visited me from Nebraska last week. So I whisked her around NorthEastern New Mexico in a whirlwind tour of my favorite places. In Red River, (magical place, Red River) I took a bazillion shots of Rufous and Broad Tailed Hummingbirds.

They exemplify my new-found commitment to staying positive and choosing to focus on only those aspects of Life which fill me with hope and beauty. Hummingbirds are good for that.

I don't believe that focusing on the good in life means I am choosing to be ignorant or blind to the hardships of reality.

Because, the truth is, I don't believe in a fixed concept of reality. What is my reality may not be yours which may not be that woman you work with who clearly doesn't get you. Get me?

There has never been, nor will there ever be, one universal reality due to a little thing called perception, which depending on the person doing the perceiving, cannot be predicted or controlled.

(Tiny foot shot! Check out his tiny feet! Beyond adorable...) So, according to a really excellent book I'm reading right now called Illumination by Alberto Villoldo human beings must start celebrating the world they value, rather than focusing on the world they fear.

In so doing, we hold the power to change the world. Transform it to a thing of beauty.

So instead of holding my head in my hands and crying tears of frustration every time I see a media image of an oil laden dolphin or pelican in the Gulf, I take a moment to meditate on how much I love those animals and do what I can in my little sphere of influence to help them. It's choosing to broadcast Love to the world rather than despair.

Mahatma Gandhi said, "Don't ask me to attend an anti-war rally. But invite me to a pro-peace rally, and I'll be there". I'm there too, from here on out, gaining energy and filling up with the fuel of unconquerable joy. Here, in the form of hummingbirds- the Shaman's totem animal. Powerful little guys... aren't they?

Trying to be good.

2010-05-25T20:37:00.001-05:00

Contemplating..., originally uploaded by Hummingbirds and Killer Whales!.

The BP Gulf oil spill has had me perpetually cranky for over a month. Today a friend helped me see that my attitude isn't helping anything. In fact, being cranky about it, while spewing my own toxic sarcasm into the Universe is little better than the oil itself. So I'm trying to turn this ship around and find my way back to a loving center. It's hard sometimes. So hard. But I defy anyone to look at this photograph of the tiny baby Kildeer and his mommy and not nearly burst with the energy of the adorable. This little guy is sublimely sweet. I took this, and many many more, a year ago when this Kildeer family nested and hatched their four tiny babies in my yard. This one's my favorite. Right now I'm calling on this image to fill me up with love again, rather than anger, frustration, and sadness. So far, it's working. I hope you like it too.

Stormy Skies and New Growth

2010-05-24T12:11:00.004-05:00

I am always drawn toward stormy skies, unsettling but beautiful.

These shots I took last week call to mind a book I'm reading called, The Stormy Search For The Self by Christina and Stanislav Grof, transpersonal psychologists. It's about the painful difficulties of personal transformation. Terrible, yet lovely, like the stormy New Mexico sky.

Like D.H. Lawrence says in Phoenix, "Are you willing to be sponged out, erased, cancelled, made nothing? Are you willing to be made nothing? dipped into oblivion? If not, you will never really change." But oh how painful that process can be, to be made nothing.

Though, rising from the ashes, one can be energized by the knowing of limitless possibilities. To be made nothing means the ability to create a new existence, perfectly tailored to the soul essence. It hurts for awhile. Yes. But the new growth ameliorates the pain and the promise of placid skies lies waiting.

What Brings Me Peace...

2010-05-21T10:43:00.006-05:00

Springtime, and all her glorious details, brings me peace. This is my first New Mexico Spring and the migrating birds returning home to summer in the mountains are just blowing my mind. The feeders are an explosion of color around the clock. As a peace offering to you, a nice little weekend boost, I'll share with you some of my favorite backyard birdies.

This guy has perfected the art of "tuning out" the loud-mouth in the family. He's meditating right now.

Always a favorite.

Okay, so she's not a birdie, but isn't this the most luxurious squirrel you've ever seen? Look at her coat! I think her name must be Zsa Zsa...

I chose a somewhat abstract representation of the Oriole, because I like how his orange looks like roiling waves of flame.

And these guys must be seen to believe. Their colors are just other-wordly beautiful.

This little guy is so colorful in the sun, he's practically neon-looking. And this photograph is the only one of the bunch not taken by me. They are too shy and too quick for my skill-level. A hummingbird collection coming soon... Happy Weekend everybody!

Dismantling the Barricades.

2010-05-20T09:11:00.009-05:00

When Aaron and I first moved to New Mexico from Minnesota, we pulled up to our new home having no idea what to expect of the interior. I rented it from intuition alone, not able to see the inside due to massive renovations taking place, but trusting completely the woman who owned the home and knowing it was the right choice for us. When we finally crossed the threshold I knew it was perfect, with high ceilings, charming architectural details, sunlight-flooded rooms, and even a well-behaved ghost. There was, however, one factor that gave me horrible pause, which I found hanging in the window pictured above. It was on the outside of the house, so my hysteria never boiled, but still, gazing upon the most enormous spider I have ever seen, perfectly centered within an elaborate web spanning the entire frame, I nearly dispatched my own personal assassin (my husband) to rid my eyesight of her presence. Nearly. But then her message to me came loud and clear. This is the energy of New Mexico. Live with it comfortably- accept it- or perish. So, not liking the perish part, I let her be. She remained there in that window for two weeks before a storm came through and sent her packing. Until she was gone, I couldn’t go into that bathroom. Too horrifying. My landlady, Susan, (probably the kindest woman on the planet) knew about her web and hoped I would leave her in peace. She told me when she saw that we done just that, she knew “The Universe had sent her the perfect people to rent this home”. It’s become an enduring memory for both of us. A tiny test, of sorts. We’re great friends now, as I knew we would be.

A few weeks ago, Susan sent me an email talking about a book she had recently read on Native American mythology. One story involved the spider and how it came to be the symbolic protector of the creative energies. Spider keeps creativity thriving and those who work with the creative arts safe and inspired. Susan told me she believes the spider was there in that window to protect me, marking me as one of her own, announcing her intent to guide me creatively. She said she was there to assure me that I was on the right path, offering Divine validity for my creative gifts.

And to think I almost swept her off the house and sent her crawling.

I was struck by the symbolism of this. We so often allow our fears to keep us from the very things in life which empower us, not understanding that they're a source of tremendous life-giving energy. Imagine if we allowed them to move us, enrich us, and fortify us without chasing them away through our own insecurities, doubts and misconceptions. We have no limits and yet we create these self-imposed, invisible barricades which starve us of our own dreams and desires.

We focus on the spiders, instead of the eternal expanse beyond. Such a shame, yet we alone have the power to remove the barricades which block our way, simply by believing in our own success, our own capability, our own chance at happiness. “Limitations” is just a word, not something to believe in. And sometimes something as small as a spider can mean so much more.

Koda's gonna make it.

2010-05-19T10:03:00.005-05:00

For my blog friends not on Facebook, I wanted to give a quick update on our little guy, Koda. Seems he's going to be okay. I'm still a little giddy with the news.

A week from yesterday, I drove him three hours to Colorado Springs where we spoke with a veterinary orthopedic surgeon, board certified for ten years. We took some more x-rays and Koda received a thorough skeletal exam.

I was feeling horribly low before the appointment because Koda's doing so poorly. If you were to see him walk, you'd cringe for sure. He's in so much pain after a day of puppy cavorting that when 5:00 rolls around he can barely get around. It nearly brings me to tears.

So the appointment was our last chance at salvation. My regular vet thought for sure that the most humane option for Koda would be euthanasia. That's if the orthopedic vet confirmed his fears over his knees. At a friend's suggestion, I even enquired about the possibility of a doggy wheel-chair for Koda if his knees and hips were both irreparably diseased. I was told that would be cruel because Koda feels pain in his joints regardless of use. To lock him into a wheel-chair in that painful condition (he's not paralyzed after all) would be a punishing fate. So, needless to say, we were sad. All of us.

Arya says, "Why'd you come here little boy, if only to make us all so sad?" Koda replies, "Didn't mean to have such bad bones, but I knew you'd take care of me...."

So, in Colorado Springs, after much evaluation and honest dialogue and even a finger wagging at me for becoming too involved with New Mexico's dogs in need (it's a never ending tragic tide, according to this surgeon who's lived here himself), the doctor told me that Koda's knees are absolutely normal for a growing puppy.

He told me Koda's hips are his only concern and he's too small for the Total Hip Replacement surgery, the Cadillac of hip repairs (and comparable in price to a luxury car). He'd be glad to refer me to Texas where they're perfecting the "micro THR" for smaller animals, but honestly, he told me Koda would do beautifully with another procedure called the FHO. That brings the cost down from around $15,000 for the micro THR, to about $3000 for the FHO.

Do-able. We can do that for him. It may mean eating beans and rice for awhile, and no deck furniture for us this year, and no eating out for a good long while, etc, etc. But Koda's going to get another chance. And we're all on Cloud 9 since hearing the news.

Cavernous Beauty

2010-05-17T14:18:00.007-05:00

The Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, just outside Taos, New Mexico stands 650 feet above the placid river. It's stunning to gaze down into the massive canyon, feeling so small, like a lady bug or a gnat. Such strength and grace here.

The natural beauty hits the heart point blank, like a fist to the chest. It takes your breath away, leaving you mute with wonder. The sky, the water, the canyon walls, the clouds, the shadows... A powerful combination to fortify the soul.

Like gazing down from the clouds themselves, I snapped this shot of a grazing Bighorn. Oblivious to my presence, a few hundred feet below me, he snacked on some greens while I adjusted my telephoto and dreamed of taking my doggy's undercoat rake to his tattered winter rags. Sweet boy...

Thanks to a debilitating stomach virus, this was the only day I was able to get out and have fun with my husband and my father in law while he visited from Tennessee last week. But it was one of those full-to-the-brim days of joy courtesy of some of the most magnificent landscapes in the world and the easy company of a cherished family member.

Orange Books and Elephant Gods.

2010-05-08T09:56:00.009-05:00

I know very little about Hinduism although this is something I've wanted to rectify for a long time. It seems so massive to me I just never know where to start my edification. I bought a copy of the Bhagavad Gita in a used book store a year ago but for some reason haven't been able to open it. There's something about it which seems so intimidating to me. Kind of like yoga. I want to do that too but just seem to never get started. All those Hindu deities... It's hard to keep them straight.

Anyways, one of my best friends and I are doing this thing online through the Elephant Journal- http://www.elephantjournal.com/author/bob-weisenberg/ . It's a blog discussion on Stephen Mitchell's particular translation of the Bhagavad Gita. It just started if anyone's interested. We're just now discussing the introduction to the book. So far, there's something about it which causes a sensation within me that I can't explain. I don't think there's an English term for what I'm feeling. Can't wait to delve deeper into its beauty and see where it takes me.

Chain Saw Masacre.

2010-05-03T19:20:00.014-05:00

Last night, to my horror, I noticed these bright orange 'cut here' stripes on this huge, healthy tree in front of my house.

And this morning, after two guys and a chainsaw had at her, this is what remains. I've been trying to contain my emotions since the devastation of the recent BP / Deepwater Horizon oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, but this somehow just scratched off the carefully constructed scab I was pretending to have. Suddenly I had to throw my hands in the air and admit to anyone listening that I was officially in a pissy, no-turning-back, seriously horrific mood at the apparent unstoppable tide of dip-shittery committed against Nature at the hands of the imbecilic human. At times, there seems to be no stopping it. Even when filled to the brim with optimism after hiking through millions of acres of pristine wilderness, there's always some idiot with a chainsaw reminding you that man will always find a way to deface this planet. And for some reason today, it just got the best of me. I crumbled like a burning oil rig. Because I have the best husband on this big blue orb, he actually came home from work this morning when they were cutting the tree down. I called him. I felt like I was going crazy listening to the chainsaw's teeth tearing through each monstrous branch, tree parts cracking like shattered bones falling to the earth while birds and squirrels looked on with horror. And I am not being dramatic. They watched the entire thing. Aaron stood on the curb and asked a simple question- "Diseased?" The logging men said no. The homeowner wanted the trees to be more "bushy".... In fact, I hadn't realized that two much larger trees in the backyard were also slated for mutilation. They're gone now. By then I was far too depressed to take pictures. This was no tree trimming. This was Jack the Ripper, arbor-version.

I literally felt like I wanted to kill someone, and as I seethed I became more and more despondent. So I realized I had a choice. I could either go mad with fury at a situation over which I had absolutely no control.

Or I could try to get it together and focus on some things entirely within my control. Things in harmony with Nature. Like, for instance, this flock of Evening Grossbeaks who have so beautifully graced my yard for the past week.

Their presence is breath-taking. Here's a female sharing the feeder with some tiny Pine Siskins.

And some Goldfinches who are in all their fancy glory this time of year, with neon yellow plumage to impress the ladies.

I contemplated the fact that I will never, on my own little property, hack down trees for no reason. This is a fact that will never change. These trees will always be here for these animals. I can control that. I can rely on that.

There will always be aspects of this world, things which make us want to tear our hair out, which will be beyond our reach, our sphere of influence.

But the healing balm will forever be what we can do. How we can make a difference. Where we can help.

After hours of feeling wracked with sadness today, I chose to focus on my own personal love of and commitment to Mother Nature throughout my life. Past, present, and future. I have always devoted my life to her.

And limping though she may be, she chose to fortify me today when I needed her most. Two forces, working together. I lift you up. You lift me up. Like any other cherished relationship.

That's just how Nature works. That's just how important Gaia is. Without her... we're empty.

Springtime in the Rockies

2010-05-02T21:34:00.014-05:00

Spring is always my favorite time of year. Everything awakening makes me feel brand new inside. Springtime in the Rocky Mountains is magnificent.

It can be cold at 8000-ish feet. Today in Raton we had snow flurries. The hummingbirds looked more than a little cantankerous as they crouched at their sugar feeders with their feathers all puffed up like little purple and green downy golf balls. Too cold to battle, they sat at their stations allowing each other into their extensive personal space armed with nothing but the occasional sideways dirty look. Two hummers drinking side by side, muttering obscenities. Sharing is not their forte'.

But the weather is fickle in the high desert of New Mexico, with fragments of snowfall soon giving way to the wide expanse of brilliant blue sky where the exuberant sun laughs away the chill. The Southwestern sunshine makes your whole body happy, inside and out.

Aaron and I have been hiking like mad things over the past few weeks. These shots were taken a couple of weeks ago, a few miles from our home, on the Colorado side of the border. Everything's greener now, marching ever closer to the Summer months. Just more and more beauty with each passing hour. Soon the cold will leave us for a good many months, and we'll have nothing but the gregarious sun for company.

But right now the water's cold and Arya argues against poking her toes under the shallow stream bed. "The bridge has run out. We've no choice but to turn around, Daddy..." she pontificates, as only a Saluki can do. With some gentle nudging, she crosses the raging 1/4" deep, 1 & 1/2 foot expanse of mountain stream, and actually survives it.

But not without an earnest pout...

Ponderosa Pines. Divine majesty. In the blazing sun they smell sweet. Like vanilla. I swear to god when you stand at their feet they notice you.

The May issue of New Mexico Magazine just placed Raton in the state's top 5 weekend getaways. Only they called a foray to Raton a "Mancation". "Bring cigars, single-malt scotch, and bear spray" they said. But don't bring "the gentler sex" 'cause she'll hate it, or something along those lines. I have to disagree.

Testosterone can sometimes get in the way of noticing the small things, like silky soft, tangerine layers of pine bark. And I bet not too many men would notice it smells of vanilla in the afternoon sun. Especially if one happens to be smoking cigars and drinking scotch... ;)

The rugged beauty of the wilderness, its powerful and delicate natures both, are for anyone who happens to be alive inside. This girly loves the woods...

I am easily amused...

2010-04-30T14:54:00.005-05:00

Taking a hike in the mountains yesterday I saw my first lizard of the season. Then I waxed poetic over my love of reptiles- all reptiles- for about ten minutes down the trail. My husband is a patient man.

But seriously- how can you not love this guy...?! :)

Koda from the Inside...

2010-04-29T09:48:00.003-05:00

For those of you following my puppy's story, here's a quick image of Koda's xray taken this week. As you can see, his right hip socket is in a permanent state of luxation, which means the hip won't stay in the socket. The left is easily luxated with minor palpation. Still, the wild card is the knees. We have an appointment with the orthopedic specialty practice in Colorado Springs in May. Until then, he's doing well. Dogs are amazing...

When the Rockies Speak.

2010-04-28T11:28:00.004-05:00

I live in the low foothills of the Rocky Mountains. They surround my yard like strong, protective arms. Sitting on the back porch last night, with my dog curled up next to me, watching for hummingbirds, the sun began to set. It was so still.

Then with the rays, the clouds, the sepia tones... They all settled over me, murmuring their conversation, rendering me absolutely and totally quiet. When the Rockies speak, you've no choice but to listen.

The Hidden Room.

2010-04-27T12:52:00.009-05:00

Lately, I've been having my absolute favorite kind of dream. Every night, for the past three nights, it's been the same theme. I've had these since I was very small. Perhaps they're familiar to you too. The premise is, after living in the same house forever and ever, you suddenly find a secret room. Maybe hidden behind the piano. Or the bookshelf you've inexplicably chosen to dust behind in this particular dream. You find a door. Or a dark hallway. Or just a gaping hole leading straight into the secret soul of the house. Stepping inside, trepidatious, heart pounding, you find a room the size of a football field or much bigger, with an oriental carpet adorning the endless floor. Or maybe you find rock formations with an underground spring, trickling and dancing down the walls, with grass under your feet and animals you've never seen before. In one of my hidden room dreams this week I found a canvas my mother had painted. I'd never seen it before. As best I could tell, it was of a New Mexico adobe home, with Mayan peoples kneeling in front of it, sun rays cascading down upon them from above and behind the house. The painting itself was so bright, I could not- even within the dream- look upon it fully. Like gazing at the sun itself, the rays burst forth from the colors, blinding me. But like a person dying of thirst, I drank them up, my spirit overflowing. I put the painting to my chest, protecting my eyes from the strain, and said, "Thank you."

These dreams are such gifts.

I've never known their meaning; never worked to find out. I just accepted them with gratitude, waking up feeling full and alive and purely grateful for life itself. But this morning, as is usually the case with gifts like these, their meaning found me.

Ordering a book online, The Bhagavad Gita: A New Translation by Stephen Mitchell, Amazon suggested I buy another "similar" book called The Red Book by Carl Jung. Carl Jung being one of my ten most intriguing people in history, I of course read the description of the book. Within it, I found this:

"A not uncommon dream is of stumbling upon a previously unknown addition or wing of one's dwelling, which is found to be many, many times the size of the existing structure, and to contain objects and treasures of previously unimaginable value, interest and numinousity. One is filled with awe and wonder at the new found wealth and possibilities. The response is that God is neither dead nor to be found in outer religious, national or political containers, but is to be discovered and struggled with in the living of each individual life."

God is right there inside of us.

Pretty beautiful...

Miakoda Struggles

2010-04-22T09:57:00.017-05:00

Yesterday I grabbed a book, a lawn chair, and my camera and sat outside in the blazing New Mexico sun for a couple of hours. Arya says hi...

If there's any better entertainment for me than what my three dogs can spontaneously provide, I'm not sure what it would be. I could sit with them for hours, just laughing and watching. Outside, within the confines of their tiny Shangri La, they are perfectly at peace. I love feeling that, courtesy of them. Combine that with the bone-soothing Southwestern sunshine and you have the makings of a perfect afternoon.

At first glance it may appear as though Finlay is wearing a stylish tennis ball hat in this shot, but -alas- it's just Koda trying to play catch. It would be easier to catch the ball if he'd stand up in a ready position, but oftentimes it feels better for him to sit. We found out this week that Koda has some severe genetic bone disorders in his knees and hips. A revelation which floored us for a few days. We've passed from devastated to resolute. We'll do what we have to do to make him happy.

Here they are in part of their craggy, rocky, New Mexico yard. In this portion of the property there's one patch of shade under the Pinon tree. Elsewhere the ground is too inhospitable for grass. They love their tiny oasis.

From the moment I picked Koda out of that dusty alley, left to fend for himself, limping, thirsty, and a belly full of worms, I knew he'd have orthopedic problems as an adult. After twenty years in veterinary medicine, seven of those spent in a specialty surgery hospital, I have become acutely aware of even the slightest gait abnormalities and can't help assessing and diagnosing bone disorders with only my eyes for x-rays. With him, I knew he had some oddities with his back end. It took only six months for the oddities to reveal themselves as hip dysplasia.

Hip dysplasia is a genetic disease whereby the sockets of the hip are too shallow to properly seat the head of the femur. What you get then, is a laxity in the hip which results in severe debilitating arthritis over time. Without surgical intervention, you get a crippled dog generally around the age of 5, maybe 6 years old. With a dog already symptomatically painful at a mere six months, you know the disease is progressing at a cruel and degeneratively severe rate. Because of this, he won't be eligible for the most sought after surgical option. By the time he's old enough to have the surgery (one year), his hips will be too destroyed to work with for that particular procedure.

There are a couple of other options for the hips: total hip replacements which are ideal but excruciatingly expensive, or a salvage procedure called an FHO (femoral head and neck ostectomy) which may also work for a dog his size. The FHO is called a salvage procedure because it is not ideal. It's meant to be a last ditch resort only when no other option is available. We'll leave that recommendation for the surgeon we'll be seeing in Colorado Springs.

However, what we didn't count on with the hip dysplasia was the fact that the progression of the disease was so severe that his joints pop in and out (luxate) simply by action of walking. In order to keep them in their socket, he's developed what's referred to as a valgus deformity, which means he turns his back feet outward, which naturally helps align the hip. While he's had to do this as a small pup throughout his growth, what's resulted is a permanent dislocation of his knee caps. So now, where your knee is generally supposed to align directly above your shin (the tibial crest), his is now fixed about an inch and 1/2 off, which has also resulted in lateral instability of the knees.

I know... it makes your head spin.

What all of this means, is that in order to repair Koda to a functional, pain-free existence, he would have to have six major orthopedic surgeries. Hip surgery, patella surgery, and cruciate ligament surgery, on both back legs. As far as the expense goes, we're talking well over ten thousand dollars, not to mention the potential for complications, etc. I remember cases like Koda's when I worked in orthopedics. These were the ones which made the board-certified orthopedic surgeons shake their heads. These were the ones which made the techs mutter, "Tragic...".

Sigh... Maybe I'll ask Finlay if I can take a ride on his magic carpet with him... He seems to be enjoying himself. ;)

Here's Koda with his pride and joy- a fine hole he's dug... Actually, the truth is, the money surrounding Koda's condition is not our first concern. Somehow, and we're not sure why because we're not rich by any standards, we have very little concern over the money. What obviously destabilizes us is Koda, and what a rotten hand the Big Card Dealer in the sky has dealt him. But thank God he's with us. And he's loved. And we'll do whatever we can to help him. That's all we can focus on right now.

Until we get more answers next week when he's scheduled for full x-rays under anesthesia, we'll just take it moment by moment. Watching Arya prune the Pinon tree.

Oh yes. This is a much better angle...

100 Lifetimes of Starting Over

2010-04-21T11:04:00.004-05:00

Allow me one final entry regarding the four-part experience recently blogged about. This is my conclusion to the story...

In the days following my return home from my Shamanic Initiation (that’s what I’ll refer to it from now on), to say that I struggled is a gross understatement. First of all, I was deathly, physically ill. While I struggled for what seemed to be my life, I suffered through a complete fragmentation of my previous reality, not having any idea what “real” even meant any longer. It was like I blasted my way into some other world, and kept walking back and forth between the two. To completely immerse myself into the world of Shamanism, or to have denied it all and gone back to the Western definition of “reality” would have meant a total fragmentation of self. My new existence meant delicately straddling the two worlds equally, or splitting in two.

Every now and then my perfect balance of the two worlds would become completely distorted and I’d see a clarified version of my life in either world, without the grounding benefit of the other. This would send me into a complete panic, especially when the world vision belonged to my old Western understanding. I’d be sitting in a movie theatre, for example, and suddenly “wake up” to a version of who I used to be. Looking around I’d wonder, “Who am I? Where am I? And what the hell happened to my paycheck?” Those moments would result in quiet, internalized fits of anxiety, lasting only seconds long, until the other half of me returned apologizing for the momentary lapse in presence, reminding me of my newfound identity. I’d quickly find my equilibrium again and settle into the Now, breathing away the discomfort and utilizing Zen principles for grounding. In those days I could do nothing but concentrate on one moment at a time, or feel completely overwhelmed and unstable. I read constantly. Titles like, Buddha Is As Buddha Does by Lama Surya Das, The Places That Scare You by Pema Chodron, No Death No Fear by Thich Nhat Hanh, The Zen Commandments by Dean Sluyter, Buddhism Plain & Simple by Steve Hagen, If the Buddha Got Stuck by Charlotte Kasl… I could go on. Although I desperately sought answers, I knew at the time I wasn’t ready to receive them so I continued with my Zen readings which always, always brought me peace. At one point, I was lying in bed with my husband. We were both reading. I opened up a book I’d had on my bookshelf for years but never read called The Way of the Shaman, by Michael Harner. After one chapter, I leaned the book against my chest, stared at the ceiling, and said to my husband, “My God. This book is my life.” And then, I closed it and never returned to it. I just couldn’t. Too much, too soon.

I had found a wonderful psycho-spiritual mentor at the time and had a few counseling sessions with her. She helped me immensely, though I frustrated her with my tendency to seek concrete, ego explanations for all that I’d experienced. My mind would just not quit. During one of our sessions I revealed to her my fear of this man who kept appearing in mirrored reflections, astral travel experiences, dreams… It was always the same experience, my face would morph into his and suddenly I’d be staring at my reflection which wasn’t my reflection at all, but that of a very old, very brown man with deep lines and wrinkles. He had no hair- like a Gandhi type image. I told my counselor that I was terrified of these experiences and desperately wanted to understand them. She sighed a little and asked a simple question.

“Kristy, what’s a Shaman?”

“A shape shifter.” I replied, not even knowing if that was accurate, or where the answer had come from. I had no idea what a Shaman was.

“That’s right. So, who’s that man in the mirror?”

“It’s me.” I understood. Poof. No more fear. Just soul-memory of a past life. Nothing to be afraid of.

“Tell me. You’ve been a Shaman in how many life-times. Just tell me immediately.”

“100.” I didn’t hesitate.

“100. You’ve got the Shamanistic soul- memory of 100 lifetimes behind you. You are not a Shaman in this lifetime. Yet. But the memory of your knowledge lies just under the surface, waiting to re-emerge for you in this lifetime.”

It was like learning how to live again.

Saying Goodbye to Why, When, & How.

2010-04-17T14:05:00.016-05:00

Six months ago, right before I moved down to New Mexico, I told my sister it felt like I was packing up and moving off to school- which turned out to be an accurate metaphor. I've gained a lot of insight since living here. I don't know why. The energy of New Mexico perhaps, or maybe it was just my time. I've spent no hours analyzing the hows and whys and have instead just allowed the torrent of answers to peacefully wash over me.

Recently, I blogged a four part series on the life-changing experience I haplessly wandered into just over one year ago. I say haplessly because I in no way worked to actively trigger this event. I wasn't undergoing any spiritual training, or reading a lot of Carlos Castaneda, or changing my diet, or even practicing yoga. I just quit my job. That's it. And then I went for a drive across country. I had no idea I was driving out of my current reality on a tour of the living, the dead, the Divine, the supranormal, the past, the future, and the numinous. At the time I was simply an impeccably dressed, sarcastic, slightly ambitious, politically passionate firecracker with a life-long secret. I was incredibly telepathic and could communicate with spirits; something I hid from nearly everybody my entire lifetime. There was a huge amount of pressure associated with masking a monumental aspect of self for forty years, so when I finally quit my professional track and gleaned a vision of freedom, the lid popped off and an entire lifetime of psychic suppression came flooding to the surface.

This marked the onset of what I recently described here in my blog, the definition of which has been termed the Visionary Spiritual Experience, the Spiritual Emergency, the Shamanic Initiation, Kundalini Awakening... among a few other terms, depending upon which culture is describing them. In the Western culture we tend to simplify things, and label whatever doesn't fit in our tiny, tidy box as Crazy. For this reason, having lived an exclusively Western experience, I desperately searched for explanations, answers, justifications, validations, and assurances that I hadn't undergone a complete psychotic split resulting in all of these fantastical events which lasted for several weeks.

I know now that what I experienced was the acute onset of a spiritual emergence, an awakening of sorts which brought me sudden Universal clarity, knowledge, insight, and understanding. But generally a spiritual emergence happens gradually over months or years time, through rigorous study or practice. With me- and with thousands of others throughout history- for whatever reason that part of me was blasted open instantaneously. This rapidly transforms the spiritual emergence, rendering it a spiritual emergency. The truth is, some people who find themselves in such a state, die. This explained my own feelings of impending death at the time, as well as the fact that a few psychics have immediately identified me as having had a near-death experience in the past. (On a lighter note, a playful spirit who temporarily visited me back then, joked that my theme song for this lifetime was Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie. He used to punch me in the shoulder just to be silly. I will forever love that song, and him, as a result.)

So, you may be asking, where am I going with this...

Where I'm going with this is my entire purpose in life. The truth is, when I returned home from that experience recently written about, I stayed in bed for two days. It was 3:00 in the afternoon and I lay in my quiet, dark bedroom, having just opened my eyes from a near 24 hour sleep. I rested there in the blackness and stared at the outline of my hand as though it was some foreign object I had never before seen. At that moment I understood that I had a choice. I could live. Or I could escape the pain and just... die. Had I chosen death, it would have been as easy as a flick of a switch. I could have just turned off my light, and faded away peacefully. And believe me, after experiencing the terrors of the underworld, I contemplated it. As it turns out, I chose life. Thanks to a handful of special people in my life at the time, who gave me validation for living by believing in me and giving me the strength I needed to overcome what I had experienced. I made it through, with no psychological intervention. In the United States cognitive-behavioral psychology rules, although its dominating grasp is loosening. There is nothing within the confines of cognitive-behavioral psychology which could have rationally explained my experience. They would have simply medicated me into oblivion and labeled me insane.

But episodes of insanity don't generally result in increased functioning, increased awareness, and resolution from life-long patterns of neurosis like anxiety and OCD (brought about by having suppressed who I really was for so many years). Full blown psychotic episodes don't generally take the place of eight or nine prescription drugs you'd been on for years, due to so many anxiety related health problems. Psychosis is no cure. Yet this experience for me, seemed to be just that.

In contrast to cognitive-behavioral psychology, all of this within the borders of transpersonal psychology is definable, explainable, and (gasp) normal. I am now seeking my graduate degree in the field so that I can arm myself with as many tools as it takes to help others through transformational experiences, like mine.

Over the past couple of weeks I have strongly considered bringing StarkRavingZen to a peaceful close. It was a tool to help me make sense of a non-ego-sensical experience, and it did that. It accomplished its purpose. Along the journey, I maintain hope that my past experiences have helped others also undergoing similar traumatic events. This blog is an evolution. If you read it from the beginning, you will very likely experience entries seemingly written by different people on different days. That's the human experience. That's called growth. Growth requires looking at all aspects of self. Not just the pretty ones.

So I'm going to continue on.

I know there are those out there still struggling. Still desperately trying to understand events which have no definable explanation within our stilted Western frame of mind. I can't stop reaching out to those who need a hand. I feel that right now, it's my purpose.

New Growth, New... Teeth?

2010-04-07T10:13:00.010-05:00

I wonder how many of you, like me, have been swept away by your own uncertainty since the advent of the Spring Equinox.

Wow.

The past couple of weeks have been a wild ride for me, precipitated by a dream which served to warn me of my impending existential turbulence. Let me explain the dream...

I was feeling panicked because I was in the office of an oral surgeon and I couldn't find my insurance card. Digging deeper, I realized I was also missing my driver's license, my social security card, my passport, and my birth certificate. The receptionist behind the desk stared at me blankly and said, "As far as I'm concerned, you don't exist. We can't see you today." I fought back tears of frustration and ambled outside, not knowing where to turn. I leaned against a wooden railing and cried. I pulled out another tooth, tossing it away, having already lost half of them. My mother then gloriously appeared, instantaneously washing away all of my frustration and pain and fear.

She asked me why I was crying. I told her that I was losing all of my teeth. She asked me how that made me feel. I paused and answered her honestly. "Strangely enough," I pondered, "not too bad. In fact, it feels like kind of a relief." I pulled out another one and threw it to the ground after showing it to her.

She asked me, "If you're feeling okay about losing these teeth, why are you here at the oral surgeon's office, and why are you crying?"

I then replied, "Because it's weird! I kind of like the feeling of losing my teeth, but I shouldn't, should I? I mean, I should probably get this guy's opinion, shouldn't I? But I can't, because I have lost all of my identity, and they say I don't exist."

My mother then gently held my face, smiling sweetly, and said, "Let me see, Kristy."

I opened my mouth wide, revealing a lot of empty spaces where I once had teeth. She laughed a little, patted my cheek softly, and took a few steps back. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, to help you through this, sweetheart. But my advice to you is to go back home and rest. You don't need an oral surgeon."

"But, what do I do about all of these teeth?" I wiggled a big one, ready to let loose. "I can't just let them all go, can I?"

She then said, "You're not losing your teeth, Kristy. You're growing new ones." She pulled out a mirror from her flowing white robe, and held it in front of my face. "Open up wide," she said, "and take a good look."

Staring into my own mouth, I saw the bright white beginnings of beautiful new teeth where I assumed had been empty sockets. I was filled with joy.

"You never liked your teeth anyways," she joked. "Why not just sit back for awhile, and accept this change. You're going to be so much happier with the new ones..."

I feel changed. I feel good. I feel exhausted, and quiet. I have understanding, without answers. And I'm okay with that.

The Shadow

2010-03-28T22:03:00.009-05:00

Carl Jung refers to our darker selves- that destructive entity of our personality which hides out within our subconscious- as the shadow or the shadow aspect. Certain American Indian medicine addresses this through the shadow totem, symbolized by a particular animal which instills terror in you, bordering on the irrational. This animal is a direct representation of the Jungian shadow aspect. Mine is the spider, or anything which even vaguely resembles a spider. I think I have about ten blog entries on my irrational fear of spiders.

And oh how their frightful webs span miles of distance for me, so far beyond a simple dislike of arachnids, into worlds that I am not yet strong enough to travel peacefully within. I try.

But it is so hard.

The spider represents my shadow aspect, my tendency to carry my mantle with the fervor of the Catholic crusades. The memory of which I hate, by the way… But mimic them anyways, because my own causes are righteous and good. This has given me the right to strike down any who oppose me, with the modern weapons of sarcasm, wit, insult, and hate.

When I see a spider I kill it. No thought process involved. My mind just short-circuits. I fill with hate. There’s no rational explanation. I just hate the spider. To me, it does not deserve to live. I feel a little sorry for it after it’s dead. Convenient.

If I attempt to link the hatred I feel for spiders to a similar connection in the physical world, shining a light on my own dark shadow, I find there lurking in the cobwebbed cellars of my own psyche conservative politicians and Christian fundamentalists.

This makes me no better than those I despise for their tendency for judgment and hate. In fact, it makes me exactly like them.

I don’t have to agree with them. I can feel with every moral fiber of my being that what they stand for is destructive. But I have no right to hate them. In fact, my own hatred follows me, hounds me, in the simple form of tiny spiders, a constant reminder of the web I weave. We all weave our own destructive webs while telling ourselves we’re good people. Every one of us.

What lurks in your shadows?

Over the past week I’ve been forcing myself to read conservative journal articles as well as the readers’ comments which follow. This is immensely difficult for me. It makes me physically, emotionally, and spiritually ill. But I’ve been trying to absorb them, detached from my egoic self, hovering safely above, as an observer studying an extinct culture- because that’s where we’re headed if we can’t learn to respect another’s viewpoint. I’m not drowning myself in them or anything that severe. I’m taking small steps; just a few here and there. After building up my defenses for a couple of days, I took it one step further. I began commenting. Anonymously critiquing the most scathing, hateful comments from a neutral point of view. Interjecting no politics of my own, but approaching it as a teacher in a beginning communications class. I left one or two sentences along the lines of, “Your arguments would be more powerful if given with less emotion. A more objective point of view reaches a wider audience.” You know, something directly out of the Fun with Debate 101 book, for which I fully expected to be eaten alive. In fact, at first I didn’t intend to even go back and check for responses. I figured it was a respectable effort to be there objectively, without the scathing vicious retorts of my past.

But something made me want to go back. After several deep breaths and a string of self pep talks, I did. I went back. And I was blown away by the reactions. It turns out I wasn’t pepper sprayed with insults, or decimated by hate bombs. One guy simply said, “Touché.” And another guy said, “You know… you’re right. I can do better than this.”

Talk about a wave of insight. Suddenly, these people were… people. I felt a connection to them, though just a flash, a flicker. One small moment of clarity, of actual communication can do that.

So much more powerful than running in with a flame thrower and lighting up the place. I always went up in flames with the rest of them. Really got burned.

You know what I mean?

Coulters, and Limbaughs, and Becks... Oh My!

2010-03-24T13:56:00.010-05:00

American politics has me losing my mind. All of this frenzied talk of socialism (gasp!) and the destruction of democracy over the health care agenda in this country. Good Lord! Have we all gone mad?!

Most of you will probably say yes- a long time ago, in fact.

The truth is, you cannot discuss politics in America without invoking the hateful comments of dissenting opinions and thinly masked fury over another's viewpoint. Take something which happened on my Facebook page today. I posted a simple link to an interview with James Cameron (the director of Avatar) regarding his contentious relationship with Glen Beck. It seems Cameron took offense at being called the anti-Christ by Beck after his 2007 documentary The Lost Tomb of Jesus in which Cameron questioned the literal reincarnation of Jesus Christ. Such an assertion got those Religious Righters jumpin' and their stooge Beck came out swingin'. In the article, Cameron had some good points on name-calling vs. healthy debate in our country. I thought it was interesting, so I linked it to my wall.

This was the first response to the article:

"Yet another crazy socialist in our country they make me sick or progressive a hole (sic)"

I cut and copied it exactly. This was this particular illiterate person's hateful response to an article in which James Cameron highlighted the American person's tendency for hateful illiterate responses to debate. So I guess she made his point exactly. I wonder if she even read the article...

I tried to be civil, but this wasn't the first hateful political remark from this person who also touts herself as being highly spiritual, so I de-friended her and blocked her. Probably not the most evolved thing to do. Or was it...?

What's a person to do? I have friends who just today advised me to look away from the political arena lest it drag me into the darkened abyss. I agree with that advice to a point. I just have no ability to deal with this collective insanity and maintain my own mental health. But somewhere inside me a voice says, what would Gandhi have done? Mother Teresa?

Would they just pull away and let religious fervor and greed, hypocrisy and hate take center stage? Is it too late? Is there hope for humanity? If you were to judge us only by our politics across the globe, one would have to wonder... I know that's not the case, but what are all the good people doing?

I understand the need for Love and Light and infusing the Universe with higher consciousness. But does that mean we stand idly by loving, while the Ann Coulters and the Rush Limbaughs and the Glen Becks unleash their hate on the world?

I really want to know.

Perhaps I'm not giving the energy of Love enough credit. But I see the ascended masters of our world's history and I know they took action. Peaceful action. But action none-the-less. They died for their causes. I'm just not sure I want to turn my back on politics while the hatemongers get more and more fervent.

But I also don't want to become one of the hatemongers... So, this balance is what I seek. Benevolent action. Peaceful debate. But today, inaction to me feels like paralysis.

Gandi, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama, Martin Luther King, Jr... they never rested. But they didn't give themselves to the dark side either.

I end this today with one of my favorite stories of the Dalai Lama, who was recently interviewed by a reporter. He was asked after all he had endured at the hands of China if he hated them... you know... just a teensy bit? The Dalai Lama said no, of course not, and the reporter kept on, hoping to break him. How could he not hate China? After the deaths and the rage and the theft and the exile? The Dalai Lama replied, "They've taken everything from us. Do you think I should give them my mind too?"

I draw strength from this. Because the Dalai Lama is unrelenting in his work to free Tibet. Yet, he has no hate.

My own spirit guide has explained it to me this way: See it for what it is. Recognize it. Don't look away. But do not align with it. Do not fear it.

Easier said than done. But I'll keep trying. I'll keep feeding the Love and starving the Hate. But I'll keep walking forward.

"I cannot teach you violence, as I do not myself believe in it. I can only teach you not to bow your heads before any one even at the cost of your life."- Mahatma Gandhi

Fundamental Bull

2010-03-22T13:15:00.012-05:00

The transpersonal journey about which I have recently blogged had nothing to do with me as an individual. I didn't ask for it. I didn't make any specific preparations to engage it. Not on a conscious level anyways. I was open to it. That carries a lot of power with it, on a spiritual and cellular level. Belief is a powerful thing. But I don't want to imply that because there is something unique or special about me, this experience took place. These experiences take place all over the world, with all tenets of belief. These experiences don't belong exclusively to Christians, or Muslims, or Buddhists, or even atheists. The transpersonal vision quest means coming face to face with that which powers you. Mine, personally, involved gods of several religions and cultures, though I do not find myself aligning with any of the world religions in entirety. I enjoy bits of all of them and find at the most basic level, they all have the same messages. The rest is tradition and ritual, neither one of which I've ever been very good at.

I certainly don't find myself aligning with Christianity, though the most potent messages of my experience were delivered with Christian archetypes. I was raised Catholic, after all. I still call on the archangels- Michael, Gabriel, Raguel, Uriel, Raphael, and Ariel- during periods of profound fear (like when spirits wake me up in the middle of the night with loud, insistent voices right outside my bedroom door), though my fear seems to be dissipating in general. I love the archangels with all my being. That they belong to Christian tradition doesn't suppress or dilute that love in any way.

There is no right or wrong way to your own spirituality. Unless of course you're harming yourself or others, but unless you're specifically trying to align with dark forces any behavior which causes harm to others can't be defined as spiritual in my opinion. This includes fundamentalism, which seems to care more about the hypocrisy of false prophets and the worship of the Almighty dollar than anything on a Universal level.

I saw a road sign on the back country roads of New Mexico yesterday. My husband and I were in the Taos/Angel Fire region and there it was, weathered and beaten, you could barely read the words. It said, "Jesus is the only way to Heaven. New Agers- You're going to Hell." It looked like it was about 50 years old, but there it stood. Nobody had taken it down, so I can only imagine it resonated some kind of truth with the locals. It filled me with dread. Especially in a sacred land where, for the sake of Christianity, Native people were killed, tortured, and enslaved because they were the "wrong" kind of spiritual. I don't study theology and I don't even know what the definition of New Age religion is. But had that sign said anything alternative to Christianity, my reaction would have been the same. No matter the context, to say, "I'm right and you're wrong, and because of that you're going to die" is demonic, not spiritual.

I just finished a book called God Is Red, by Vine Deloria. He has this to say about Christian Fundamentalists in the United States:

"When the fundamentalists seized on abortion as an issue, they found the key to political power. Thus was created the irony of modern American life. The fundamentalists could care less about human life after birth. They unquestionably accept American military ventures around the world and cry for more blood with each invasion or carpet-bombing of small countries. They steadfastly support the death penalty and see nothing wrong with its one-sided application to racial minorities. They close their eyes to blatant theft of American assets by government officials, savings and loan executives, and bankers, and oppose every social program that is proposed. Yet on the abortion issue they wax eloquent about the sanctity of human life as if their very salvation depended upon it."

Apropos, with the Tea Party protests outside of congress yesterday, horrible human beings screaming 'baby killers' to the democrats, along with their hate-filled homophobic and racial slurs.

My only response to them is, who are you trying to fool? God won't save you, and karma never rests.

Transpersonal doesn't mean Crazy.

2010-03-20T09:55:00.014-05:00

The birth of these past four posts came about for a couple of reasons. One- I was preparing for a stressful interview with the head of admissions into my number one choice of graduate schools, scheduled for Wednesday. Through my preparation the memories of this event just naturally started to swirl. And Two- I was supposed to be writing my novel, which was supposed to be loosely based on this experience. Through that process, however, I found that I wasn't changing any part of the story, because -let's face it- it's stranger than any fiction I could creatively dream up. I was also frustrated because my story, fictionally, was not flowing. I was allowing the energy to come through, but it did so in fits and spurts which was about as satisfying as drinking drops of water through an eye dropper when you're dying of thirst. So finally, the dam just burst, and I purged what I could on my blog. Now the waters flow.

All along I've understood that my guides want me to write about this experience, as well as a few others in my lifetime previous to this one. But I never know how they want me to write about it. I'm great at following orders. I suck at interpreting orders. Do I write it as fiction? Non-fiction? How about I just blog about it all, with a grand total of about 80 readers a day. Not exactly wide-circulation. I'm sure these questions will be answered in due time. One thing I have learned- if I stomp my feet and throw a classic hissy fit, demanding spirit guidance be crystal clear and spoon fed to me like a baby eating oatmeal, it's a sure bet my guides will flit off to greener heavens until I can take some personal responsibility for my life's direction. So I've learned to just be quiet and wait for the answers to come.

Somebody asked me this week if these experiences just stopped once I got home. The answer to that question was yes and no. The visions returned to their life-long docking place within my dreams, no longer crashing their way through my awakened consciousness. Communication returned to telepathy, rather than the crystal-clear, talking-in-my-ear experience of clairaudence. Although now I have a voice to apply to the communication- the deep strong baritone of my spirit guide. The psychic experiences, stronger than ever. The channeling, more frequent than ever. Those changes just get stronger.

So, now, to address the crazy part. What of a person's sanity who experiences something like this? I spent a year madly searching for answers. I found two things which explained perfectly what I had been through- Shamanism and Transpersonal Psychology. What happened to me was not an episode of insanity. It was, according to one, a vision quest. It was, according to another, a visionary spiritual experience, revered in nearly every culture but the one I supposedly belong to.

This week, I had my fiction writing workshop and read the first chapter of my fictional account of this story aloud to my fellow writers. The way the class works is that after the chapter is read, the group critiques it. One person said, "Well, there seems to be a discordance here as the character seems perfectly lucid yet is obviously schizophrenic."

Sigh...

I was also accepted into my top choice in graduate programs this week by the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, the first place to which I have felt I truly belonged. The director of the program, Dr. Henry Poon, accepted me on the spot despite the most horrendous interview I have ever had. He saw through my dismal performance and accepted me immediately, against proceedure which is to wait for an acceptance or denial letter in the mail, within two weeks of the interview. I think he probably knew I'd just die if I had to wait that long, after such a horrendous job on the phone. Regardless, I feel like my life is truly ready to begin.

Dr. Poon said to me, "I'm going to open this door for you. I want you to walk confidently through, and start this new phase of your life fully aware that you can accomplish anything you put your mind to. Can you do that?" I somehow squeaked back that I could. I was so exstatic I could hardly think. He then told me the journey of the Transpersonal Psychologist was not an easy one. In fact it was tremendously difficult. There'd be forces working against me, trying to discourage me along the way. He told me I'd have to find a way to dig deep and overcome these forces. He said these words slowly, and deliberately, as if their comprehension was critical to my survival.

I wonder if he knew just how much I understood this...?

I have so much more to say about this, which will definitely become the primary focus of my blog from here on. The cultural interpretations of experiences like this, the struggle to fit in, the benefits and the disadvantages, where Native America fits into all of this, where religion fits into all of this, where sanity fits into all of this, and so many more fantastical experiences... The stuff of mysticism and magic, the death of the banal and the ordinary. The stuff of the Spirit.

Part IV- The End. The Beginning.

2010-03-19T12:33:00.004-05:00

I was so tense, and shaking so hard, I thought my spine would break as I hurtled down the highway away from the demonic rest stop. With every passing mile I put more and more distance between us, but felt no freedom from my own fear which gave the darkness a solid place to perch. It was coming with me. I was mad with fear, aligning with its energy, exactly as the Bobcat warned me not to. Filled with rage, I sped down the highway at 80 mph, never gaining ground, never out-running it. My phone rang.

My sister was calling. Her son, my teenage nephew, had been severely struggling since my departure ten days ago. When I left, I had planned on being gone a month or so. I’m very close to my nephew, so the night before I left we had dinner out. We joked and laughed while eating Chinese food. After awhile we hugged goodbye, I told him I loved him and kissed him on top the head. Standard stuff. Until he got home and later that night started channeling the voice of an ancient being at the kitchen table. His mother was horrified. Zach knew nothing of my channeling at the time. I had barely even spoken of it to my sister. It was still a taboo subject from which I’d run my entire lifetime. But somehow, despite my conscious attempt to hide it from him, I pulled out his own ability, though much too early. He became an entirely different person; began rambling about being stuck in a human’s body, unable to spread his wings and fly. Then he snapped out of it and fell into the deepest, darkest, most oppressive depression he’s ever felt. He missed school for an entire week and became physically ill with a severe chest cold. He told his mother he was dying. Now, on the phone, my sister was frantic. He’d been to the doctor, they gave him some antibiotics and sent him out the door, but there was something my sister just couldn’t put her finger on. This talk of him dying… she was beginning to believe it. Not only that, but the entire household was filled with a dark energy. Everybody was sick. Nobody was talking. Just quiet and empty. She felt like she was going mad, that the entire household was dying. She was crying. I told her to put my nephew on the phone, while I drove through my own personal dark night of the soul.

When he took the phone he told me something was there with him. Something was telling him to let go. To slip away. It was futile to resist. There was no hope in the world, no hope for him at all, and then it covered him with a thickening sense of doom from which there seemed no escape. He was so tired. Too tired to keep going. I screamed at him to snap out of it. I told him to get angry. My rage poured through the phone directly into him. I told the demon, if it was so powerful, to come for me, you stinking piece of shit. He screamed, “Get away from me you fucking son of a bitch!”and sobbed into the darkness. Within moments, it released him. He handed the phone back to his mom, numb and in trance, but light and alive again. She felt an immediate change not only in him but the entire atmosphere. He smiled for the first time in ten days. He was protected. I was coming home, and nothing could touch him. Miraculously and instantaneously, his chest cold was gone. Poof. Just gone.

Off the phone and alone again, I felt the crushing weight of my nephew’s darkness, and I suddenly felt feverish and physically ill as well. Somehow, not only had I pulled the demons off of him, but also took his chest cold. 500 miles away… through the phone.

I was now four hours from my friends’ home, and another eight hours beyond that to the safety of my own bedroom. I had a severe cough all of a sudden, and felt like I was dying, or at the very least going mad. Everything seemed alive. The trees, the highway, some working with me, some working against me, even factory smoke stacks seemed to send their polluted air directly to my lungs, my car lost to the toxic fumes. I couldn’t breathe, I was coughing so hard. The wind raged its fury to clear the air. I had entered a portal to a full-blown war, and I was the spoils. There were those battling for me, there were those battling against me, Light vs. Dark, and all I could do was drive through the wreckage and hope to live. Somehow the entire fate of humanity seemed contingent upon my survival. There was no way I was going to pull this metaphysical battle to my friends’ front door, so I decided to push through, though I had no idea how I’d survive another twelve hours on the road. (Months later, my friends admitted to me that the night this took place, one of them waited up for me late into the night in case I had decided to change my mind at the last moment. While he waited, he was filled with a sense of unease. He said he couldn’t explain it, but he felt something standing outside his backdoor; something which filled him with dread. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was waiting for me. I hadn’t shared any of these details with them prior to this revelation.)

I was sobbing now. And suddenly the face of the bobcat appeared in my head with the words, “Call on me.” And the mandala window with the outstretched arms of Jesus. So I called on them. All of them. Every God, every deity, every mythological archetype which symbolized strength and goodness, every spirit guide, every ascended master, every benevolent being who had introduced themselves to me over the past ten days. I didn’t care if I was crazy, I shouted to Jesus that I needed him, that I was sorry that I had pushed him away through the years, and to please release me from this fear and darkness, to please allow me to live and I swore with all my being that I’d devote my life to helping others find their way to spiritual freedom, love, and benevolence. I was but one very small person, but I’d do whatever I could, at whatever cost, to give my life to Love.

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning and I had been on the road since seven a.m. My eyes were wide with adrenaline, but still so physically tired I could barely function. I looked down at Arya curled up in a tiny warm ball in my passenger seat, perched upon her feather pillow with a stuffed teletubbie for a pillow. I loved her and envied her so much, totally Light, not inhibited or tormented or pushed to the brink of insanity with fear. I crossed the border of Minnesota and found myself veering off the snow blown road, my eyes nearly impossible to function. I stopped the car, nobody else on the road, but couldn’t stay here. There was no shoulder due to sheets and sheets of snow, and no place to pull off safely without fear of getting pulled into a drift. It was far below zero degrees. I thought, I’ll just stop here for a moment, and slapped my face to try to keep going.

Without warning, the bright lights returned, flashing, this time in the form of blinding sunlight. Time stopped again and I flowed peacefully to vision. No fear, no exhaustion, no darkness would touch me here. It was broad daylight and I found myself flying far above, looking down upon my miniscule car driving through orange canyon walls a hundred feet high. I watched myself travel, a tiny speck on the face of humanity, but my car radiated safety and I felt myself inside, warm, safe, and filled with peace. I started dropping now, and as I returned closer to my car I saw something perched on top. I kept falling and falling, until I was now hovering right above my own windshield, looking in to find myself chatting with Arya, munching Pringles, not a care in the world. My gaze turned upward to meet the eyes of the Being perched on top my car as it drove down the canyon road. I locked eyes with him, paralyzed by the sheer beauty of the thing, his wings extending far beyond the car’s length, crouched and muscled, calm and steady, nearly too bright to visualize comfortably, undefeatable, unflinching, unintimidated, and unmatched in all the Universe. I couldn’t speak. The tears flowed freely, as they do right now as I write this. He smiled, leaving me with one simple statement, “all you had to do was ask.” Archangel Michael. He escorted me home safely, and free of fear. Now, whenever it is that my own demons and the demons of humanity become too much to endure, I remember his words, and I understand that to get through this life, this constant enduring battle, there are those so much greater than humankind, always at the ready to carry us through.

All we have to do is ask.

The End… no wait… The Beginning.

Part III

2010-03-17T14:37:00.005-05:00

The next morning I packed up the car and began the journey home. I vowed to take a leisurely approach, taking two or maybe even three days to travel the 1000 miles. I took a blissful little detour around Colorado Springs so Arya and I could walk through the Garden of the Gods, one of my favorite destinations as a child. It was a gorgeous day, nearly 80 degrees at the park, and Arya and I basked in the glorious sunshine made all the more potent by the canyon walls and orange rock. I felt good, but physically spent. My mind was naturally quiet from total exhaustion and I received a nice little soliloquy on forgiveness while I strolled down the path. The voice talked about how unusual it is that human beings have such difficulty with forgiveness, especially as it pertains to forgiving ourselves. Mother Nature doesn’t apologize for earthquakes or tornadoes and doesn’t think poorly of herself when the day is done. The cycles of nature can’t be stifled or suppressed much like our emotions. Innocent mistakes will happen. It’s foolish to hate ourselves because of them. We must always focus on the moment and not live in the past or worry about the future. I enjoyed the message. It felt light and comforting, kind of like walking in a park hand in hand with a grandpa musing.

Arya and I got back on the road, driving peacefully across Colorado to the Nebraska border. I had spent more time at the Garden of the Gods than I had intended and when I crossed the state line it was already 5:00. I had another four hours to the destination of my friend’s home with whom I was scheduled to stay, and determined that I probably wouldn’t make it tonight. It was getting dark out and I was too exhausted to drive much longer. I started looking for a hotel.

The darkness settled more and more heavily, blanketing the setting sun, and in my left ear I heard my spirit guide say, “It’s dead here, child”. I thought, what? Nebraska? It’s winter-time, what do you expect. I had a feeling he meant more than the dormant vegetation, but I was so tired. I ignored him and took the exit anyway, rejecting the warning for the sake of a place to rest and some food in my stomach. I got my key from the front desk and thought nothing of the older couple working there. They were sad. I understood that. But it wasn’t enough to discourage me from tucking myself into bed early. Checking into my room I had a nauseating sense of being watched. I looked around outside. The air was thick and still, there was no traffic on the highway, it was dead quiet. No wind. No birds. The hotel was free-standing, in the middle of nowhere. Totally isolated. I saw nobody and shrugged it off as being overly sensitive after all I’d experienced over the past ten days. Inside my room, three angry flies buzzed madly at the window, hurling themselves against the glass. Flies? I thought. Way too cliché. They’re just flies. I sat down on the bed and turned on the television. I was hungry, but I couldn’t get an appetite-killing vision out of my head, tormented by a vision of eating spider sandwiches. Yes, you heard me correctly. I shook my head and yelled enough! I put Arya on her leash and thought I’d go outside to walk it off. I ambled over to the dog potty area and was disgusted to find a sea of old dog poop, as if the management of the hotel hadn’t cleaned up in years. I wasn’t about to go anywhere near there, so I found an old dirt road behind the hotel and walked down it instead. There was still a sliver of sunlight on the horizon and I heard geese loudly traveling above me. The voice came again, this time more insistent, “It’s dead here, child”. So tired, I held both hands to my head and said to the geese above me, tell me what to do, as if I hadn’t already received enough warnings. I slowly looked up to the sky and there they were, not in V formation, but instead a perfect arrow, pointing the way home. An arrow, as if someone had drawn it in pencil across the sky. I got it then. Crystal clear. I needed to exit this place immediately.

I ran back to the hotel room. I hadn’t even unpacked so it was easy enough to get the hell out of there. I popped Arya back in the car and returned to the hotel lobby. This time there was someone new at the front desk. To say he filled me with dread wouldn’t begin to explain it. This man was the cause of the older couples’ aura of sadness and I saw them as prisoners to his energy. He made my hair stand on end and my electrical impulses went haywire in his presence. I could barely speak. I lied to him, telling him I’d received an emergency phone call and had to leave despite the fact that I had just checked in. I told him if he needed to charge me for the room, that was okay, I understood. I set the room key on the counter and slid it his way, a cheerful smile on my face masking the horror. He held my eye contact with a hard invasive stare as if trying to extract the real reason for my departure. Without breaking his gaze he reached down for the key and touched my fingers. At that moment time stood still. I saw flashes of vivid color, and then I saw grotesquely detailed visions of things I can’t speak about. Even if I could, I would never burden another by passing them on. Death. Horrific, heart-breaking death, at the hands of this man. I backed up and he held my gaze without saying a word. I somehow squeaked out a thank you and ran so hard back to my car. I threw it in drive and wheeled out the driveway. It was just about dark now and I realized that in my frenzy I hadn’t turned on the headlights. I reached down for the switch and out of the corner of my eye saw something slumping along the dirt driveway in front of me. Small. Black. Like a cat, only it had enormously long front legs with rear legs only half as long. This incongruence made for a grotesque hunched ambulation which seemed stilted and broken, like watching a bat crawl. The thing turned to look at my car and despite the fact that I had no headlights from which to reflect, its eyes glowed bright white. It turned its head back around and slumped into the brush. I’ve never driven so fast in my entire lifetime.

(Conclusion to follow)

A Quest, A Birth, A Lifetime (Part 2)

2010-03-16T14:04:00.007-05:00

When I passed Raton and crossed the northeastern border into Colorado I felt a palpable release, kind of like a reverse sensation of getting the wind knocked out of you. I still had more than a lifetime of processing to do and felt like a limp spaghetti noodle, but the tempestuous atmosphere stopped swirling and for the first time in eight or nine days I felt like I had total control of my thoughts and presence. I checked into a really nice place in Trinidad, atypical of my usual pattern of sticking with Super 8’s. A voice told me not to worry about the money, that I had some recovering to do and after all I’d been through, I had earned a couple of nights of pampering. Arya too was exhausted and let me walk down the hall to enjoy a nice dinner in the hotel restaurant without making too much of a fuss. I couldn’t possibly eat meat throughout this entire ordeal- was way too empathic to what I was eating- and ordered a Reuben sandwich without the corned beef. I’ll never forget the Colorado waiter who just couldn’t understand the request.

“So… you don’t want meat on the Reuben?”

“Correct”, I replied.

“But… what do you want on it instead?”

“Nothing. Just a Reuben sandwich with no meat.”

“Well, that’s just a grilled cheese sandwich (long pause) … with sauerkraut?” He looked pretty horrified.

“Not exactly, because it’s got thousand island dressing, and pumpernickel bread.” I couldn’t believe I was actually debating the validity of my food choice, but remained polite. He still looked confused. I kept on, “Okay, just make a Reuben like you normally would, but omit the corned beef.” I hoped it took this time.

He nodded his head, turned around slowly, ambled into the kitchen and as soon as the swinging doors were kicked into motion he yelled to the cook, “I’m sure this’ll be a first for you Bob…” Never had there been so much excitement in Trinidad, Colorado.

After dinner I returned to my room and just before the darkness overtook the daylight, I found Arya intently staring out the window. I saw nothing, but her gaze was unbreakable. There was something of primary interest just outside. I tried to focus on what she was seeing and finally found it. The feline face of a bobcat. Staring directly into my hotel window. I left the room and went outside to the back property where she crouched. It wasn’t a dangerous thing to do, she was forty feet away from me and I felt irrepressibly compelled to be closer. When I got outside she was still there, compactly crouched, and now staring me directly in the eye.

The feline species, typically in the form of the housecat, is long believed to be the guardian of the spirit realm. The bobcat was telling me that I needed her, in the form of all cats. She let me understand I’d be calling on her protection sooner than I knew. She asked that I be strong and to not discount the dark energy, which was not to be fought or destroyed or battled because to have such strategy meant aligning with it as partners. The dark energy wants only to be recognized. Honored. And left alone. The cat reminded me that no dark energy can touch us if we don’t directly invite it in. Once we open that door it is extremely difficult to ask it to leave, and it will eventually destroy us. Right now there is so much light opening up in the world that the darkness needs to fortify itself, insidiously asking to be let in to anyone who will allow it, actively seeking to challenge those who would work to dilute it. Those like me. Most importantly, we are not to judge the dark energy, because judgement is the universal key which darkness uses to open any fortified door. We are far too small to judge.

Our gaze finally broke and the cat retreated back into the hills. My trance lessoned and I walked back into my hotel room, tired of the Universal guidance. Exhausted. I just wanted to sleep.

That night I was rewarded with the most vivid and inspiring divine dream vision which I will carry with me for all time.

I was in a small country church. People were dressed in rigid attire, sitting there without smiles, in an austere environment. There was no joy in this church. I knew this because I hovered over them as I had done in thousands of other visions throughout my lifetime. Look at them, I said to myself. They have no idea what the energy of God is. They have no idea its beauty or its joy. Slowly, all heads turned up to see me floating above. They can see me! I thought, unafraid, but bewildered. I generally traveled in visions invisible to the dream inhabitants. This time, they were acutely aware of my presence. And they were horrified. They immediately pointed to me, peacefully floating twenty feet above their heads, and shouted, “Evil thing!” “Demon!”, etc, etc… I was amused, but still not afraid. I smiled curiously and hovered higher, safely out of their reach. “Be gone!” they screamed and still I rose higher, pitying them for being so filled with fear and wondering why it was that in a house of God, they so easily processed a divine experience as the work of the Devil, rather than their God. I shrugged it off, while still rising higher, their forms becoming smaller and smaller, their horror becoming more and more demonstrative, like a colony of angry ants. I realized then that I was no longer controlling my hovering. I was in the tractor beam of something much greater. I was filled with an ecstasy so bold it made me gasp. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with such beauty, and began turning around to face a new direction. The voices of the empty churchgoers were muted now and my ears were filled with the loud buzzing all too familiar to astral travelers. As I slowly rotated, I looked straight into the church’s massive stained glass mandala window with a center image of Jesus and his outstretched arms. I began moving toward the window. My sarcasm travels with me wherever I go so naturally the first thought in my head was, “Oh man. This is gonna hurt,” but I knew this moment was an initiation of some kind and I didn’t take it lightly. I understood that this was my reward for having teetered on the precipice of life and death for the past week, my head nearly exploding with all of the Universal lessons I was being filled with. I had been immersed in the world of the Divine, and this very moment was the Universe’s direct message, “The big guy will see you now.” I thought, moments before I crashed through the million colors of the stained glass window, “How strange that when I meet the big guy he comes to me in the image of Jesus. I was kind of hoping for the Buddha…” Then came the blinding crash which I was certain reverberated throughout the Universe. With every shard of broken glass it was as if one of my nerve endings responded in ecstasy. I can only describe it as purely orgasmic and eternal. It was a constant torrent of pleasure, nearly too much for me to endure, and the colors… Colors that I had no way of even processing with my human eyes before now. Millions of vivid colors and shapes and sounds and still the floating and the divine sensations throughout my body, and now I was screaming and crying, because there was so much beauty in the world I felt like I would explode. In my ecstasy I screamed, “Who are You? Are you Jesus? Are you Buddha?” Everything came to a standstill then, while I floated in the immortal enormity of the moment, and a voice so filled with power that I can’t possibly recall it without tears streaming down my face, said, “Everything. And All.”

I understood then that every story, every prophet, every ascended master, every version of every religious tome, was simply variations of the same energy source. Different cultures = different interpretations. And I wept. One God, Forever and Ever... Amen.

For thousands of years people have killed each other because their version was better.

I awoke to my face saturated with tears, and my back hurt from arching in pleasure. I wiped my face, sat up in the darkness, hugged my dog who was sleeping by my side, and though the room was otherwise empty, I have never felt such company. I have never felt so safe.

And I had no idea how much I'd need that sensation to get me through the next 24 hours... It seemed the bobcat's warning was following me home.

(To be continued…)

A Quest, A Birth, A Lifetime

2010-03-15T11:55:00.008-05:00

In January of 2009 I quit my job knowing that if I didn’t, if I continued to spin that hamster wheel, I’d die. It was a terrifying decision, one fueled by my husband’s life-altering words, “I don’t care if we lose everything. I want you to be happy.” After resigning my position to the shock of my bosses, I felt a rush of adrenaline and freedom so intense it left me wondering if I had ever really learned how to live in this world. The job- my career in veterinary medicine- had been my entire life, my entire identity, and when I left, I felt like I was burying one part of myself and meeting another for the first time. The real me of whom previously I had seen only glimpses. When the initial shock wore off I settled into my newfound freedom, packed a bag, took my dog, and with my husband’s blessing set off cross country to visit a friend in California. I never made it. When I crossed the threshold of New Mexico I was pulled into an experience so fantastical I’m still afraid to write about it without calling it fiction. From January 26, 2009- February 4th, 2009 I unknowingly entered a vision quest. The photograph today is from a blog entry from those ten days of clarity and madness which forever changed my life. I have difficulty re-reading the blog entries from those days. They thoroughly exhaust me. And I’d be lying if I said they didn’t embarrass me a little too. The ego is a powerful protective device.

Through my entire life I’d had slivers of profound channeling, clairvoyance and psychic experiences, but suddenly I found all of my intuitive valves forced wide open, thrusting me deep into the vast eternal. In the past I had safely tip-toed around the perimeter. I understand now that had I not been prepped for this exact moment in time, for my entire lifetime, I would have surely checked myself into the nearest psychiatric ward long before ever reaching New Mexico. In a Nebraska gas station, I inadvertently communicated telepathically with a person I didn’t know, leaving her holding her hand over her gaping mouth in half wonder, half horror. She responded to a question I had asked, in my head. I hadn’t verbalized a word to her. She asked me, “Am I crazy?” I replied, “No. You’re psychic,” and walked out the door, leaving her confused and mystified.

Once I got to New Mexico, it was a whole new world for me. I saw the frozen figures of people long dead, petrified in time like grotesque wax statues, invisible to the living masses ambulating right through their seemingly solid bodies. I spoke to spirits. And they spoke back, using terminology I’d have to look up in the dictionary only to find the words were archaic and haven’t been used in the English language for hundreds of years. I wrote with the foreign handwriting of a stranger, given clues, like breadcrumbs, to travel here or there, always finding the answer to some lifelong question upon arrival. My dog furiously barked at my reflection in every surface. After glancing in my rear view mirror to find a ninety year old Sanskrit man gazing back at me one day, I finally understood why. I nearly crashed the car.

I was taken on a history lesson regarding the beginning of the mass destruction of Nature, and the dawn of the nuclear age. I found out that the first nuclear bomb was detonated on July 16th, my birthday, though many years before my arrival in ‘69. Apropos, since during my last incarnation I was liquefied by the atomic bomb in WWII Nagasaki . I learned that too. A brain damaged woman was drawn to me like a moth to a light and began speaking to me through the voice of my spirit guide. She crossed a crowded room and told me, a stranger, “What you are experiencing is real. It’s happening. Everything else is a mirage, an illusion. Everything else is fiction.” Then she started to cry and asked me what was happening. I told her she was a beautiful person and a powerful soul and just helped me more than she could ever know. Seconds later she was showing me an obscure pamphlet with the enthusiasm of a child, seemingly oblivious to what had just taken place. I underwent challenges which took me to the edge of my reality- the edge of my sanity- revealing a new world so foreign and strange to me, with visions of the falseness of our society and how it was propelled by lies and robotic movements and zombified blindness driven by net worth and monetary gain. I had conversations with apparitions, I channeled the words of Mother Nature and spirit guides, and had entire phone conversations that I don’t remember. My husband, one moment talking to me, would suddenly find himself speaking to a man who had died in the 1860s. I experienced mythical Cadejos which bestowed upon my dog a priceless gift and I experienced full blown hallucinatory visions which propelled me backwards and forward in time. I learned Universal truths and learned how to stretch, but not surpass, my limits. I learned that the spirit world is to be respected at the risk of horrifying consequences and the ego is not welcome there in any form.

I was told to fast one morning. I argued. What harm could an organic bagel with lingonberry jam be? Don't do it, I heard. Just one bagel!, I replied. Within moments of taking my last bite, with absolutely no warning, I threw the bagel up. I learned that spirit guides are playful, they're not above gloating and "I told you so" is part of their vernacular. Spirit guides have one purpose, and that's to teach. They never stop teaching. Never stop instructing.

Electronic hotel keys fizzled at my touch, clocks stopped working, I broke phones wherever I went, and my cell phone had a life of its own- calling my friends when I needed them, even though I had the Blackberry’s keypad locked. My hands tingled with an electricity that I can’t explain, and my neurologic function is fine. I learned that if I didn’t trust my instincts I may not leave New Mexico alive, or at the very least, sane. I spoke to my dead mother and my dead father. I was introduced to two of my past life identities and informed that I’d had hundreds more. I was taught that by showing kindness to a homeless person, I had actually set free a discarnate spirit who thought himself unworthy of love, and thus unworthy of progression. After handing him twenty dollars, he disappeared in front of my eyes. Poof. A toothless smile, and he was gone. I was filled with awe, dread, terror, beauty, glory, resplendence, and full blown ecstasy. Most importantly, I fully understood that my previous distrust of all things associated with Christianity was unfair. Those who have done horrible things in the name of Jesus Christ were to blame, not the man himself, whose name and message has been unforgivably hijacked through the ages. I spoke with the archangels and they spoke through me. I learned that ultimately, we will learn to power machinery with our minds. No unrenewable resources needed. I could go on…

I’ve never cried so much in my lifetime. Land of Enchantment. Indeed.

After ten days of this modern day fantasia, I made it home alive, though looking back, I think just barely. It took me a few days before I could talk. Before I could see anybody. And then I was left to ponder the meaning of everything.

Through my contemplation I found one significant, recurrent problem. I didn’t know if I believed in the archangels, or any of this for that matter. So why was it happening to me? Was I certifiably insane? Had I quit my job too late? Had the years of stress already destroyed my mind? What the hell was happening? And why was everyone around me opening up to a new world too, right by my side? Why didn’t my family and closest friends think I was crazy? (A couple did, actually.) I mean, you have to admit, it sounds pretty crazy. I had transformed from business suits and stiletto heels to spiritual mystic seemingly overnight. Why did most of those in my life so easily understand that this was something far greater than me? Why were they overjoyed? And why did it have to be so terrifying and overwhelmingly painful, while at the same time reducing me to my knees with unstoppable tears of joy?

(to be continued…)

Shadow States and Oklahoma

2010-03-12T12:50:00.009-06:00

When we were through with Clayton Lake State Park, we realized we were only 9 miles from the Texas border and only 12 miles from Oklahoma. Our day wouldn't have been complete without the bragging rights to visiting three states, so we headed for the borders. Here's Texas. There's something about the energy of Texas which melds so disharmoniously with my own. That's a polite way of saying I just don't like it there. Bad memories perhaps. I spent 9 or 11 months in Dallas, can't exactly remember how long I was there, only that I wanted so badly to leave the very moment I stepped in. It's funny how a certain period of time can have such lasting effects on a person. When I think of Dallas I think of a dirty, littered, obnoxious, rude, fake atmosphere and my lip automatically curls up in utter disgust. I need to get over this mindset, because it does me no good. What I'm really remembering is a bad relationship, and a few very obnoxious Native Sons, and blaming it all on Texas. I love Austin, after all. Anyways, in a classic display of the human / animal bond, my puppy ferociously barked all the way across the state line. For no reason. Just lifted up his head and started screaming at Texas until we turned the car around and bolted back into New Mexico. I still laugh at the thought of my husband exclaiming, "Koda hates Texas!" I guess if a person could have a shadow state, Texas would be mine. Something to work on perhaps?

But then look at this. This makes me say ahhh. Oh my God, the Oklahoma border was just beautiful. I'm talking about the energy mostly, because we didn't have time to immerse ourselves in the real geographic beauty of the state. There's something so pure and clean and crisp and energizing about Oklahoma. Aaron and I stopped the car here, not another human being in sight. We stepped out, leaned against its sun kissed exterior, and absorbed the extravagant song of the meadow lark. It was like we stumbled upon the exact origin of spring, as she burst to life after her long sleep.

Oklahoma. Can you feel it?

A Day at the Dinosaur Beach.

2010-03-11T11:31:00.009-06:00

On Tuesday we took a little road trip to Clayton Lake State Park in the far northeastern corner of New Mexico, bordering Texas and Oklahoma.

It's about 90 miles from our home in Raton, but it was definitely worth the drive. We had an excellent time there and the scenery was beautiful.

If you ever find yourself on this off-the-beaten-path, I suggest you pass quickly through the town of Clayton and head right to the park. I found Clayton to be awful. There was one very cool old saloon building from 1901, but I didn't stop to take a picture. Just wanted out of there. Once you get out of the village limits it's okay. The scenery wipes clean the slate, heals your mind, and lets you forget you just saw a big brush pile waiting to be burned, complete with dead bloated horses on top, right inside the city limits. Good lord. There are cattle feed lots there too. Something you don't see very often in New Mexico.

Anyways, what's so marvelous about Clayton Lake State Park is that it's considered to be one of the world's top five archaeological gems for dinosaur artifacts. There are over 500 dinosaur tracks plainly visible here, encompassing nine species of plant eating and carnivorous dinosaurs, not to mention ancient crocodiles.

The tracks here are considered to be around 100 million years old, from the Mesozoic era, spanning from the Jurassic to the Cretaceous period when the dinosaurs seemed to die out overnight. This three toed track is from an 80 foot long carnivore. There are also pterodactyl tracks here, the flying bird-like carnivores, my absolute favorite dinosaur. Very cool.

On a few of the informational signs here, someone has scratched out "100 million years old" and replaced it with "10,000 years old"... Wacky creationists perhaps? I'm sure the archaeologists really appreciate the history lesson from these vandalising nim-rods.

This entire area is a dried up sea bed which once spanned from the Gulf of Mexico all the way up to the border of Canada. These tracks were made from dinosaurs frolicking on the beach. :)

There are tiny baby tracks peppered about, along with these gigantore beasts. That's my size 8 tenny next to the track. The three toed ones are from the carnivores. I would not want to come across this puppy out in the wilderness, that's for certain.

Just thought this beauty deserved another look, sans my shoe.

Ancient patterns in the bedrock caused by wind patterns millions of years ago.

Taking a step backwards in time is a lovely way to spend an afternoon. The preservation here is just magnificent. I highly recommend a stop through if you're ever in the area.

The Art of Savoring

2010-03-10T09:08:00.006-06:00

I absolutely love the field of Positive Psychology because they’re always throwing themselves into awesome research along the lines of “what’s more powerful, Hope or Gratitude?” I mean, these people really know how to dig in to the enjoyment of life. I just read an article on the art of savoring, which I feel compelled to share. The authors contend that it’s not good enough to stop and smell the roses. One must learn to stop and “really savor the experience of the roses.” How can you not love these guys?!

Allow me to share their findings with you. I’m asking that you implement this practice frequently, and I intend to do the same.

First of all, they define savoring as, “The experience of trying to extract every nuance and association that is contained in the complexity of a pleasurable experience”. Got it. I can do that. Then we have to understand that there are four distinct types of savoring. (Can’t you see hashing out the details of this study over a nice glass of red wine? Sitting sea-side, during a sunset? Positive Psychologists really know how to live, but I digress…)

So anyways, the first type of savoring is basking, which is the act of graciously receiving praise or accolades. This truly is a talent. Notice how many people deflect compliments with the skilled backhand of a tennis pro… I’m one of those people, though I’m working on just learning to shut up and say “thank you”.

The second type of savoring is marveling, or losing oneself in the power of the moment. This one I have no difficulty with. In fact, I have marveling down to a science. I marvel all over the place. I marvel in the grocery store, for god’s sake. Walking through a Trader Joe’s takes me hours. And one of these days I’ll likely marvel my way right off the highway into a dusty arroyo if I can’t start paying more attention to the road and less to my marveling.

The third would be luxuriating, or immersing ourselves in a sensation. Oh ya. I can do that. I can luxuriate with the best of ‘em.

And the fourth type of savoring is thanksgiving, or knowing how to express gratitude. I think I do this well. I get off on thanking people. But this is one of those things which takes serious self-evaluation, because we’re never as good at it as we think we are. And there can never be too much gratitude in life. It powers us, most definitely.

So now that we understand the four types of savoring, we can concentrate on the five ways to strengthen or enhance our ability to savor, which are...

1.) Absorption: or allowing oneself to be immersed in the experience.
2.) Sharpening the senses: or focusing only on one sensation while blocking out any others.
3.) Memory building: such as meditating on the memory of a pleasurable experience.
4.) Sharing with others: this, of course, always heightens the experience.
5.) Self-congratulation: this is, according to the authors, “To allow oneself to feel good about having had an experience of savoring, to relish in the experience and even allow oneself a bit of healthy pride.”

So what they're saying is that not only is it imperative to savor, but you must recognize how awesome you are for having done it, and give yourself a hearty pat on the back. I myself just savored a good five minutes of downy woodpecker watching, and have to say it made my whole morning. What have you savored lately? Do share!

(Thank you to researchers Fred Bryant and Joseph Veroff for their 2004 study on savoring.)

The Sweet, yet Powerful Punch

2010-03-08T09:40:00.013-06:00

I just finished reading a book called Zero Limits by Dr. Joe Vitale and Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len, proponents of Dr. Hew Len's slightly modified variation on the Hawaiian teachings of Ho'oponopono. (pron: Ho-oh-pono-pono). I wouldn't necessarily recommend running out and reading the book. Joe Vitale is a "guru spiritual internet marketer" and those words strung together make me all bunchy inside. The salesman in him comes through in the reading and you kind of feel like you're being taken on less a spiritual ride and more a sales pitch, but the crystal clear beauty of Ho'oponopono seeps through nonetheless. There's one chapter in particular which I really enjoyed. It starts with a quote by Dr. Hew Len:

"You cannot be denied anything that is perfect, whole, complete, and right for you when you are your Self first. Being your Self first you automatically experience perfection in the way of the Divine Thoughts, Words, Deeds, and Actions. Allowing your toxic thoughts to be first, you automatically experience imperfection in the way of disease, confusion, resentment, depression, and judgment."

This really struck me as a powerful statement because I've known people who put their toxic thoughts first and carry them around as a nauseating, repellent aura. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about because everyone knows someone like this. The first words out of their mouths when you meet them are a cacophony of complaints, insults, and judgments. A slew of negativity follows them wherever they go. It's exhausting. The principles of Ho'oponopono disarm the tendency to blame others for our frustrations by taking on full responsibility for any discord, and killing it with kindness. It's done by reciting a simple mantra, over and over again, throughout the day, whenever anything is found to be irritating. The mantra is:

I love you.

I'm sorry.

Please forgive me.

Thank you.

The idea is that no matter what we're experiencing- an erratic driver who just cut us off, a person who slams a grocery cart into our brand new car door, a man rude to us at the drug store, or even a painfully stubbed toe- we've somehow attracted this energy to us. To throw out a Universal mantra of love, apology, and gratitude, we've served to clear our energy patterns of this frustrating interuption.

Ho'oponopono believes that everything has energy and everything is alive. Cars, rooms, toys, clothes, everything needs love and needs clearing of past wrongs and past injuries. In the book, Dr. Hew Len goes as far as to say that every room has a name. I was in my bedroom reading the book yesterday and when I came to that statement, I closed my eyes and meditated on my room's name and I heard "Victoria!" Naming the room made it feel warmer, more elegant, and made me smile, so who cares about its validity or whether or not it sounds crazy. And that's the whole purpose behind it. If you believe it, it's true, and the world needs more love, gratitude, and forgiveness, and far less judgment, blame, and anger.

The book says this mantra is also a powerful tool to be used with harmful life patterns like suffering from anxiety, over-eating, chronic dishonesty, substance abuse, or self-loathing. The belief is, if there's a recurrent pattern in your life which causes you pain, you're the one pulling the Universal strings, so it's up to you to own it, apologize for it, love it, and put it to rest.

I received a random bill from my college on Saturday for $3000 or so dollars. It makes no sense, and I can't understand how I could possibly owe them money, but until I could straighten it out, it was eating me up inside. So after reading this book I meditated on that issue, with the Ho'oponopono mantra. I have to say it worked. In fact, my anxiety over the issue just kind of dissolved. If I owe the money, I'll pay it. If not, I won't. It's not any more life-altering than that, though our minds are so good at building monumental perceived obstacles which block the way to our true Selves. This little mantra knocks them down. Then tells them I love you, I'm sorry, Please forgive me, Thank you.

How sweet is that?

Puppy Update!!

2010-03-06T12:26:00.004-06:00

Zroom zroom! Miakoda is somewhere in the vicinity of 14-16 weeks now. These shots were taken last week. He love him some snow!

Rowr rowr, daddy!

Gimmegimmegimmegimme...

Snarf...

Rowwwr (roughly translates to More! Now!).

Mommy! Where'd you go? Too far away! Better come check on you!

It's a bird. It's a plane. It's soooper puppy!

Here's some size perspective. Working on the 'come' command. I prefer the term, come request. I'm not really a command kind of person.

This was taken yesterday. It was a self-timed shot, which means I had ten seconds to set the camera, run after a puppy who was a bit freaked out by my weird pursuit, separate him from Arya, scoop him up, suck in the gut, and smile before the flash. I nearly made it. The smile's a bit sketchy, but I wasn't about to try it again... Thanks for letting me share. ;)

Dreams, Big or Small

2010-03-05T10:53:00.001-06:00

Madrid, NM , originally uploaded by Hummingbirds and Killer Whales!.

I have this blessing in my life, which at times has felt more like a curse. I have, since the age of about ten, felt as though my "purpose" in life is to write a book. I've been given some fantastical dream experiences so vivid, with such profound messages for humanity, they scream to be reproduced on the printed page. They're beautiful. They're terrifying. They're funny. I cherish every one of these dreams, and to be honest with you I've promised whomever or whatever sent them to me that I'd do my best to share them. Therein lies the curse. These are complex, intricate stories and my fiction writing stinks. So what do I do? If I were to throw my hands in the air and offer the Universe my letter of resignation, I'd very likely implode, because the promise of these stories has fueled and driven my entire life. So I plink away at the keyboard, cringing at my perceived lack of talent, and muttering to the Gods that they gave me the wrong job. One day, in all earnestness, I threw this question out to the Universe. I asked, "So... what would happen if I never completed this mission? I mean, maybe you just picked the wrong person." Immediately, my thoughts traveled to my death bed, and I had this nauseating sensation of profound loss. And then, as a buffer for my sadness, I suddenly burst into laughter, but felt as though the laughter was not my own. It's as if something was laughing at me...but not in a callous way. Then I felt nothing, like my little slate was erased, and I received a message which said, "Whether or not you write your stories is your choice. You've seen how you'll feel if you choose not to. Writing your stories is writing your heart. To refuse your stories is to refuse your heart. You have been asked to do nothing but write your heart." And then I understood that the only thing standing between me and my love of life (my writing) is my ego. My ego stands tall, wagging a finger at me, telling me I'll never be the next literary genius, I'll never write well enough to publish, I'll never make a dollar off my writing, I'm not good enough to... blah blah blah. But, to that I can seriously say, who gives a damn. I wasn't told I had to be famous, or legendary, or rich, or the next big thing. I was simply told to follow my heart. Dreams power us, no matter how small. I've learned to tell my ego to shut up. And I've learned to find humor in the particularly bad writing. But most of all, I've learned that when I love doing something so much that I lose all track of time doing it, then nothing my ego tells me can possibly stand in my way. Nobody's given a purpose which can't be accomplished. The map is written right there in our hearts. All we’re asked to do is follow it.

Killer Tragedy...

2010-02-26T11:13:00.015-06:00

I used to have to travel to Orlando frequently for work conferences. I never went to Disney World while I was there- absolutely no desire... But once when another co-worker wanted to visit Sea World, I went with her. These pictures are a couple of years old. It's tragic what happened there this week. It's tragic for the trainer who was killed. It's tragic for her family. Horrible.

But I can't help but be saddened more for the whale than anyone else... When you sit in the audience of a Cirque du Soleil performance at Sea World, there's so much visual and auditory stimuli in which to slowly sink, you tend to forget where you are. You forget that you're being entertained by animals some scientists postulate to be more intelligent than humans. I could cite about a million examples, but I'd end up writing a 1000 page tome. The American Cetacean Society has a nice website, if you're interested: http://www.whaleinfo.info/issues/index.html

This is a pilot whale, an Odontocete, or toothed-whale, like the Orcas. Killer Whales in the wild never leave their mothers. They live in pods consisting of family members spanning 4-5 generations. Unless of course, they're ripped from the sea, taken from their loved ones to be sold into a life at Sea World. To say that Orcas are capable of "love" is not anthropomorphizing. Marine Biologists identify the social structures of Killer and Pilot Whales, like the one above, to be the most complex of all the animal kingdom, comparable to our very own. Some of the only documented cases involving Orcas killing humans in the wild surround the attempted theft of their pod members.

I don't know what the solution is. There are some zoos in the country which do really good things in the name of conservation and education. They get people out there, thinking of habitats beyond their day-to-day. I imagine Sea World gives oodles of money to ocean conservation, if for no other reason, to wave it in the face of protesters. I'm speaking outside my realm of knowledge here. I have no idea what Sea World does or doesn't do for the preservation of Killer Whales in the wild. All I know is I cannot stand what's happened to this whale. This one whale who's been left to a life of total isolation, killing because he's crazy, or bored, or instinctive, or hormonal, or just for kicks... He's a Killer Whale. And he doesn't belong in a swimming pool.

I watched a really fascinating DVD on Quantum Physics a while back called The Elegant Universe. Brian Greene, a professor at Columbia University, said something that really affected me. He said that many physicists believe that Quantum Physics is beyond the understanding of the human mind... In other words, there are some concepts that we are simply not capable of grasping. The cetacean mind, I believe, is one of them. Please visit an incredible blog that I was introduced to today. He has much more eloquent things to say about Killer Whales. http://muradsayensblog.blogspot.com/

The Spirit of Sadness

2010-02-25T10:31:00.006-06:00

I’m nearly finished with my degree in psychology, waiting to hear from the graduate programs to which I’ve applied in the area of Transpersonal Psychology, a field which has captured my heart and soul. Transpersonal psychology validated my existence whereas the more typical forms of Western psychology defined me as broken at best and a lunatic at worst (had I been honest with them about my channeling). The focus of my academic study is, in fact, how Western psychology tends to leave thousands upon thousands of individuals behind, depending upon their cultural background. Let’s face it- if you’re not firmly rooted in Eurocentric ideology, you’re very likely crazy or dysfunctional, according to the American Psychological Association. If you’re Native American, hearing the voices of ancestors long dead isn’t necessarily crazy. Dream travel into spiritual dimensions is a common occurrence. According to the diagnostic standard issued by the APA, however, admitting either could earn you a direct route to the loony bin. They don’t take into consideration generations upon generations of an alternative worldview. They simply point at others and label them “sick” or “wrong” if they’re not exactly like them. A very small percentage of the entire planet believes as the Western Eurocentric governing body of the APA believes, but somehow we, as Americans, are right and everyone else is wrong because, why...? Because we said so, and we carried a bigger stick, that's why. Nothing more valid than that. This practice, when dealing with the mentally ill, has done nothing but cause decades of crippling shame to countless patients. There’s a reason that Native Americans in this country enjoy depression, suicide, and chemical dependency rates three times higher than any other culture, and it ain’t genetic inferiority. It’s the Western Eurocentric narrow-minded dualistic Cartesian system that’s flawed. But good Lord, don’t get me on that soap-box.

This time of year is a breeding ground for chronic depression. When SAD sets in, millions of dollars are stuffed into the pockets of Big Pharma as a result. Medicating people who occasionally shed a tear is all the rage in our country’s medical community. I empathize with people who struggle with depression because I’ve been there myself. A few years back when the roundness of my Being was forcibly stuffed into the square hole of my unsuited life, I declined to the point of near permanent bed inhabitance. I simply couldn’t face the day. I took the meds at that time, and no doubt they helped me. But psychological meds for severe depression I believe should be a bridge to get you from point A (my life sucks) to point B (I’ve made changes and my life makes sense to me now). I had several psychologists and psychiatrists tell me that because there was something wrong with my brain, I’d have to be on psychiatric meds for the rest of my life. And after months and months of popping those pills, guess what, my problems were still there. There was nothing wrong with my brain that making some monumental life changes couldn’t rectify. I hated what I was doing for work. It was killing me. I finally found the courage to stop doing it. Problem solved. Because I was a successful, functional member of society who came to her appointments wearing expensive clothes, not one of my mental health workers asked me to re-evaluate my life choices. They simply kept filling those prescriptions with a pat on the back, a fist pump, and a “Go get ‘em Tiger! Get back into that system and be productive!" (Based on their definition of productive, of course.) Western psychology didn’t work for me. Not at all. I’m not saying it doesn’t work for everybody. But I’m important. As is the entire Native American culture, for example. A system so abysmally broken for so many people deserves scrutiny. It deserves to be challenged. The emergence of some new forms of psychology I believe adequately scratches that surface. Integrative psychology. Positive psychology. Transpersonal psychology. Holistic Psychology. There are so many holistic approaches out there, ready to be explored. Unfortunately, the APA doesn't recognize or validate half of them...

The reason I feel this is so important today is that if you are one of the people struggling with crippling depression that will not release, no matter how many pills you take or doctors you see, please understand that it’s not you that’s broken. It’s your form of therapy. Try something new. Follow your instincts. If you’re making a ton of money, but how you’re earning it is literally killing you, then nothing else matters but re-focusing. The cars, the house, the fancy clothes… None of it matters but your happiness, your health, your ability to live freely- societal expectations be damned. Major Depressive Disorder (aka Depression) is diagnosed so frequently in this country that it's been labeled the common cold of psychopathology. Why is everyone so damn sad? Have you ever asked yourself that question?

There is a Native American belief that when a person is inflicted with severe depression, it means the Spirit of Sadness has descended upon them. No longer able to walk on its own, it alights on us for support. The more that person fights the Spirit- the more they battle themselves and hate the Sadness- the sadder the Spirit becomes and settles more heavily on their shoulders. What is needed is not to battle it, but to show it compassion. Focus on the Spirit- within yourself- and love it with all of your heart. Tell it you’re sorry it’s so sad. Embrace it. Tell it there’s no reason for it to be sad, because you know that it’s a beautiful entity deserving of universal love. Compassion toward the Spirit takes us from the role of victim (poor me, there’s something wrong with me, I’m broken, etc) to role of caregiver (I love you, I can carry you for awhile…). Be a caregiver to yourself.

Therapy should result in progress. If you’re not progressing, it’s not your fault. You’re not broken. Try again. Try again, with something or someone new. You were not born with a faulty brain and you can transcend any trauma. I'm not saying it will be easy, but there's a map out there to show you the way. You just have to find it.

Devouring or Propelling, but always marching on...

2010-02-24T12:07:00.006-06:00

I had this dream a few nights ago, and I think it was meant to be shared...

In a woodland clearing was an expansive arena, round, concrete, and sterile looking. Within the structure was an immense creature which looked like an alabaster curl bug with long tentacles and short millipede-type appendages. She rested there, quietly sleeping. It was my job to care for her while she slept, which required an exact and regimented routine. Every day, I'd visit her. I’d circle her pool while twirling and skipping, jumping over her tentacles which were much too large to be contained within her resting place. I’d feed her and scrub her armored back, every single action done with purpose and love, exactly as she liked it, exactly as she demanded it. If I followed this pattern, she remained peaceful. She remained quiet. My love and care for her was all she asked and I did love her with all my heart. This love fueled the entire planet. I understood that staying true to her, maintaining her tranquility, meant stability for the entire world, but after time I came to resent the daily routine which took a full twenty minutes. I got lazy. I started spending less time with her. I stopped skipping. I started tossing her food without rubbing her back. And who had time for twirling… I started taking her for granted, getting in and getting out. I’d think, “I’ll spend more time with her tomorrow. I’ll rub her back next time. I have stuff to do today, after all. Important stuff.”

The following morning I arrived to her hangar to find her restless. Her tentacles were moving, angry, slowly slapping at the concrete around her. Each tentacle had a thousand barbs attached to it, meant to grab and devour. I recognized her anger, and understood that only a few more minutes spent with her today would return her to a state of tranquil peace. But I had things to do which trumped the time it took to care for her, to provide for her the love she needed, and besides, I reasoned, I’ll get back to caring for her in the way she loved tomorrow. Leaping over her grasping tentacles, knowing that each and every day I chose to further ignore her, she’d become more angry, more forceful, stronger, faster, inescapable. I thought, “tomorrow… tomorrow” and once again left the building too soon.

When I woke up I felt completely drained. And then after lying there, contemplating its meaning for awhile, I felt completely energized. This dream was a message about self-actualization. My own life-dreams. Was I feeding them? Loving them? Loving myself? Or was I encroaching on a dangerous cycle of ignoring my inner desires. Burying them. Gambling with never-ending thoughts of “I’ll meditate tomorrow,” or “I’ll take time for myself next week when all of my responsibilities are taken care of”, knowing full well that all of our responsibilities are never taken care of. Keeping the peace means loving ourselves, pampering ourselves, and taking those steps- no matter how tiny- toward the manifestation of our greatest desires. The fuel that drives us is drawn from the simple acts of twirling, skipping, loving, and feeling joy. Without those things, Life has a tendency to devour rather than propel.

The Little Book of Letting Go

2010-02-22T11:07:00.010-06:00

The other day I threw my hands in the air and succumbed to a mini melt-down, certain that I’d never make it through the next two weeks with my sanity intact. Right then the title of a book ran through my head, one that I’d had on my bookshelf for ten years but never read. It’s called The Little Book of Letting Go by Hugh Prather. I can take a hint, especially one so overt, so I put down the three other books I’m reading at the moment and dug into this one. I’m glad I did, because after one chapter my mood immediately improved. I felt more together, less unglued.

According to Mr. Prather, there are three easy steps to letting go of our crippling mental hang ups. The first one being:

To remove what obstructs your experience of wholeness and peace, you must first look at the obstruction.

So that’s what I did. I put the book down, went to my to-do board, and began purging all of those "stressors" presently competing for my attention. I omitted everything without a deadline, because sometimes you just have to ignore the dust on the furniture and the dog hair along the floor boards and the accumulating laundry. After including everything I could think of, I found that the simple act of visualizing the entire blockage in writing helped release some of the frazzle. Suddenly I found myself morphing from the role of victim (I have all of this stuff I have to accomplish in so little time) to one of organized control. (I can do this…)

This brought me to the second step, which was:

To go beyond the obstruction, you must be certain that you want to.

In other words, do I truly want peace? Or do I thrive on uncomfortable chaos? That question isn’t as silly as it sounds. Not only are millions of people stuck in a pattern of chaos, they come to actually crave it. Not me. The answer to this question came easy. Yes, I truly wanted peace.

Final step:

To experience your wholeness, you must respond from your whole mind and not from your conflicted mind.

This means responding from that place where we feel a quiet and loving connection to all people and all things. A place free of the tumultuous waters of emotion, egoic storms, and unsure footing based on fictional worries and the desire to control unseen forces.

Easier said than done, right? (That’s what the rest of the book helps you with.)

After feeling so much better with only a few short hours invested in this book, I am reminded of a very important fact. Spiritual comfort and psychological ease is never free. It’s not bestowed upon us with no effort invested. Every time I start to settle into a place of distracted apathy, where tranquility is taken for granted, I suffer for it. It takes a little work, a little (gasp) structure, to get back on track. I think this is so very important for all of us, and I felt compelled to share...

Ten Things- neither good nor bad...

2010-02-20T16:37:00.010-06:00

The act of writing my blog entries gives me energy. Yet, when I find I have no time to successfully do all the things I love during periods of busyness, my blog is generally the first to be ignored. Where is the disconnect there...? During periods of insane busyness, isn't that when we need the most energy?

My problem is, as with everything, I feel I have to go all out or not at all. Today, I'm going to try something new. I'm going to simply share with you ten things that are on my mind, without labeling them as good or bad. This is a refreshing little activity when you aren't using labels such as "Ten Things - which are stressing me out right now" or "Ten Things - which make me feel like I'm going to explode". Nope. None of that. Just Ten Things - neither good nor bad. I encourage you to try it, and welcome you to do so in my comments section, because I'm very interested in the details of your life.

Here I go... Ten Things...

1.) I just spent two hours writing my sister an email. Yes, one email.

2.) I have the Olympics on constantly, even if I'm not watching them. They remind me of my mom who died twenty years ago. She never missed a minute of coverage.

3.) I owe my nephew a phone call... He's left me two messages in the past 24 hours.

4.) My first serious boyfriend friended me through Facebook yesterday. I apologized for being a sh*t when I was 16. After 22 years, it felt good to say I was sorry.

5.) I'm really bad at math, and a worse liar. I was actually 16, 24 years ago.

6.) I have a second interview scheduled for next week at a very cool spiritual retreat complex called The Mandala Center. Since it represents everything I want to do with my life, the anticipation is making me a little edgy. Check it out: http://mandalacenter.org/

7.) I submitted two applications for graduate school this week, but can't decide if I want to pursue a Master's degree to start with, or go all out for the PhD in Transpersonal Psychology. I want so badly to be accepted into one school in particular. The possibility of rejection is making me a little crazy right now.

8.) I have a Saluki who constantly licks me. My arms. My legs. My feet. According to Cesar Milan, she licks me because she feels she "owns" me and that is her God-given right. I say, ridiculo, and tell her to stop.

9.) I am involved in a Writer's Workshop led by a published author, Steven F. Havill. I bought two of his books this week even though they aren't my genre of choice. (How else will I know if I can trust his edits?) So far, he says I'm a good writer, but over-write my fiction. Moi? Over-write?

10.) Twice now, a friend of mine had the exact dream I had on the very same night. The first time this happened, my nephew (the subject of the #3 Thing) also had the same dream... The second dream happened two nights ago. I wonder if that's what he's calling about...

Sunshine Puppies

2010-02-18T10:15:00.006-06:00

My post from yesterday seems a little whiny, so I'm painting over it with visions of puppies awash in afternoon sunshine. What ails you that sunshine puppies couldn't remedy? Here's Arya and Miakoda last week, doing a little cuddlin'.

And here they are yesterday, curiously watching me melt-down, while sharing a block of the warm stuff.

And here's Finlay asking me to put down Fozzy Bear so he can drag him around the living room by his windpipe... I graciously declined his offer. I prefer Fozzy Bear with his neck functional, thankyouverymuch. Miakoda had his puppy check up this week and I was shocked to learn that based on the fact that he's only lost two tiny front puppy teeth, the vet considers him to be only ten-twelve weeks old. WHA....?! I thought he was twelve weeks old when I adopted him four weeks ago, though I've never been able to confirm his age with the people I adopted him from. This picture shows me holding him last night. This behemoth had better not be only ten-twelve weeks old! He's gained twelve pounds in one month, though. Good Lord. Finlay better watch out, because something tells me when 'Koda grows up, he might finally be on the receiving end of the let-me-drag-you-around-the-house-by-your-neck game.

Limits. I've reached mine.

2010-02-17T09:59:00.007-06:00

I feel like I'm being buried alive in Life right now. I should be returning calls and responding to emails and engaging more on Facebook and writing more blog entries as well as visiting the blogs I love and and and... I just have to put this disclaimer out today or I'll explode. I don't have time to do any of this right now. I am so mired in academic responsibilities I feel like I'm being slowly crushed. I'm in the middle of the application process for graduate schools (which may as well be a full time job in and of itself) and finishing my final semester of the B.A. (I have to teach myself PowerPoint today for an assignment due this week) and having to keep up with my writing assignments for my Creative Fiction workshop (which I'm finding is sort of a drag when I'm being told what to write, but I still love it). Add to that the day to day tasks like cleaning and cooking and laundry and caring for a herd of cats and dogs and you have nothing left over. Nothing. So, the bad news is I'm on a serious whining bender right now. The good news is it's over. I'll shut up. I just want to say that things will loosen up for me in two weeks. Until then, If you feel I'm being reclusive I am, I'm afraid. Bear with me please. I haven't forgotten about any of the dear people in my life.

Cerillos, Black and White

2010-02-15T17:34:00.024-06:00

There's something about this town which demands black and white photography, despite the screaming azure sky and tangerine adobe brick.

The next stop on the Turquoise Trail- Cerillos, New Mexico, a ghost town with dusty dirt roads and empty stillness. There are some working businesses, like this Turquoise Trail Mining Museum / Trading Post and Petting Zoo.

Here's a sweet llama taking a moment to chew on a wooden beam...

...and his goat friend who seemed a little disinterested.

The interior of the trading post was jam packed with all sorts of treasures from the region. Crystals, turquoise, gems and Native American crafts...

Cerillos is the Yin to Madrid's Yang, the definite shadow city on this trail of powerful contrasts. There's a heaviness here. A quiet darkness. The Devil's Throne is nearby, a geologic formation which makes for the state's steepest driving road.

I think Cerillos exemplifies the energy of New Mexico which invokes feelings of dread or doom in certain sensitive people, one of the reasons why I love this state so much.

There is a near perfect equality of both light and dark energies here, not to be mistaken for good and evil, a common Western connotation of the definition of Yin Yang... That supreme balance of light and dark I believe is the origin of its power.

New Mexico for me is the perfect storm of unseen Spiritual forces. I love this ancient tree, gnarled and clawed, like a skeletal hand reaching across time. Imagine the things it's seen here, spanning back to the 1800's when this town supported 31 brothels and saloons.

And the clouds in this sky, like viewing waves from the ocean's floor.

Darkness, yes, yet beautiful- though my brief stay was long enough. I think I prefer a bit more Yang with my travels...

Spirit & Warmth- Madrid, New Mexico

2010-02-07T20:20:00.026-06:00

The Turquoise Trail National Scenic Byway winds through the heart of central New Mexico, linking Albuquerque to Santa Fe. There are three tiny towns along this picturesque route- Golden (pretty much a ghost town), Madrid (pronounced Mah-drid), and Cerillos.

Today, I'll speak only of Madrid, my absolute favorite stop along this colorful explosion of a highway.

Madrid was a bustling mining community from the mid-1800's to the mid 1900's when suddenly the wells went dry. Turquoise, gold, silver, and coal were taken from this area's underground for over a hundred years. Today, it's an artist's haven, a beatnik beauty of 300 or so residents, many of them some of the country's most talented craftspeople.

And the energy here.... I'm not sure my verbal description could do it justice. As the photographs depict, it's warm. It's haunting. It's surreal; a volcanic eruption of color and unconventional atmosphere. It screams uncompromising and artistic freedom. Such power here.

Frommer's New Mexico travel guide describes it as a "village of artists seemingly stuck in the 1960's: Its funky, ramshackle houses have many counterculture residents who operate several crafts stores and import shops." An apt description.

And the friendly meter is off the charts here. There's something about Madrid that makes walking down the tiny winding roads without an exaggerated smile a virtual impossibility. I'm really hoping some of this sunshine rubs off on you, the reader. I think it's impossible to look at these images without feeling a little less of that winter chill, if that's what you're feeling right now. Don't you agree?

"Pretentious as it sounds, and tough as it is to prove, there does seem to be something about New Mexico which not only attracts creative people but stimulates their creativity. Our state's status as a haven for visual artists is long and widely accepted." - Tony Hillerman

And that is precisely why I love New Mexico so much. Because everywhere you turn you're faced with the artistic manifestation of somebody's intense passion, inspired by the enchantment of this magnificent place.

It's impossible for that passion to stay within a fixed boundary. It reaches into you, igniting the collective fire within, connecting. Then you find yourself creating your own personal manifestation, be it some of your best writing, some of your most inspired photography, or perhaps just a smile that extends deep to your soul.

I can't wait to visit this place in the summertime. Next entry- Cerillos. A very different kind of powerful... (For those of you wanting to see more shots of Madrid, see my Flickr photostream. You can click on it in the upper left corner of my blog.)

A Very Large Array

2010-02-02T10:02:00.022-06:00

As you know, I recently drove to the National Radio Astronomy Observatory's Very Large Array located an hour and a half southwest of Albuquerque on the Plains of San Agustin. Out in the middle of nowhere, I found it to be both beautiful and eerie. I came here primarily because I knew it was a rare opportunity for some excellent black and white photography, but I never could have prepared for the sheer scope of this place.

Dead quiet, but for the low resonance of the gigantic radio towers, they hummed a vibration more easily felt than heard. Like a rhythmic pounding on your chest, barely recognizable. I have no idea the science behind this, but my instinct told me that if I had something inside, like a pace-maker engineering my heart, I'd be finding another place to spend my afternoon for certain.

Each antenna is over 80 feet in diameter, and weighs 230 tons. The full array spans 22 miles. In a true sense of the word, the place is awesome. The entire world uses this facility. What they do with it is the kind of science that I can't wrap my head around, even if I'm spoken to like a child. They study atmospheres billions of light years from earth. They see things. They hear things. They know things.

All 27 of these behemoths are positioned to work together, so their power functions like one enormous entity. You can walk only in very specific areas, delineated by a board walk. There are men in orange suits, and neon signs warning "Stay Away!" or "Keep Out!" all over the place. But still, there is no sound. Just the wind quietly whistling, and that low vibrational drum beat of science.

By 2012 this place will be expanded. It will then be capable of so much more, also sporting a new name: Expanded Very Large Array! (Give them a break. They're scientists. They can't be bothered by creativity.) This goes along with it's sister entity, the Very Large Baseline Array, which is a series of single antennae positioned laterally across the United States.

Many movies have been filmed here, most notably Contact, with Jodi Foster several years back. Independence Day, also. Pretty much every movie with a dramatic scene of the massive radio antennae moving, is shot here.

This is a gigantic hanger where they build new beasts, as well as repair the old. Very Area 51-ish...

And they have these gigantic orange truck like things which can maneuver them around. I'm afraid photographs just can't properly depict the grand scale of everything. And then there's a science center with a hands on learning facility, and a gift shop, office buildings and a campus where I suppose interns stay and such.

On the campus was this sculpture donated to them by somebody or another... I honestly can't say. This was the end of the tour and I was sort of getting tired of the vibrational effleurage by then. I studied the beautiful etchings in the thing, and then out of nowhere, I felt seriously ill. And afraid. Nauseous, and terrified. I wanted to run and hide. For no reason. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. So that's exactly what I did.

As I drove down the road, I had to stop and park the car because the sensation wouldn't leave. I just sat there, and as a Zen meditation tool has taught me, tried to immerse myself in the fear, because only then can you truly understand it. With understanding, comes release. So that's what I did. And I suddenly felt so small. The entire earth upon which I rested seemed so small. The petty fears. The petty differences. So extinguishable, really.

The Glory... Pelican and Flamingoes

2010-02-01T12:10:00.006-06:00

These two images were taken with my first digital camera about seven years ago, in Key West, Florida. I added them to my Flickr photostream yesterday and feel compelled to post them here, for no other reason than a simple show and tell. They're two of my favorite shots, ever. The textures and the gem-like colors... These images are spiritually attached to my love of photography, beckoning me to dive further into the mechanics of my camera. I want all of my shots to have such clarity. Such detail.

I believe my photography has soul. I like my photography's depth, and spirit. But there's nothing wrong with wanting to understand my camera a little more intimately. Like the difference between doing all the talking, and stopping to listen every now and then. My camera has a few things to say for herself. One day my photography will entail more conversation, and less narrative. For now, it is what it is. And that's okay too.

A Colorful Conversation

2010-01-31T11:29:00.024-06:00

As I mentioned yesterday, on Thursday morning I had a consult with a telepathic animal communicator, by the name of Gayle Nastasi. http://www.gazehound.com/ The following conversation has been formulated for your reading pleasure. Because this is my blog, which is meant to entertain, I admit to taking artistic licence with a few anthropomorphic embellishments, but I have altered nothing of importance. Let's see... How did it begin...

Gayle: "Arya, honey, why will you not let your mommy leave the house without pottying on the floor?"

Arya: "Because when mommy leaves, she never comes back. With a mommy such as this, I have no choice but to potty on the floor when she abandons me."

Gayle: "But, sweety. She's here with you right now, is she not?"

Arya: "What's your point?"

Gayle: "My point is, she obviously came back, right?"

Arya: "What are you talking about? She hasn't left! (duh...!)"

Gayle: "Well, Arya, she's left before, right?"

Arya: "Yes. And she never came back."

Gayle: (stifling a laugh) "You'll see how I doubt that, when she's sitting with you right now... I can't believe she never comes back."

Arya: "Well believe it. It was awful. She left me alone with daddy for weeks and weeks."

(author's note: Whereas there was exactly one time in my life where I did leave Arya home alone with daddy overnight, it was in actuality four days. I came down to New Mexico last summer to find us a place to live, sans Arya.)

Gayle: "But, she goes to the store and things. She leaves the house for short periods of time. And she comes back."

Arya: "Look. Mommy's always here. And when she's gone, she's always gone. She's just that kind of a mommy. It's very difficult. When she abandons me, it nearly kills me with grief."

Gayle: (taking a moment of sad silence) "What can you do to make yourself feel better when she's gone? Don't you have other family members who remain in the house with you?"

Arya: "You mean Finlay?"

Gayle: "Finlay, yes. And Miakoda."

Arya: "While we're on the subject... what in the hell is Miakoda?"

Gayle: (laughing out loud now) "What do you mean what is Miakoda? He's a dog!"

Arya: "I highly doubt that. He makes me go, eek. Eek. That's what I often say when he scurries about. And I don't even know what eek means. He makes me feel so odd. But I like him."

Gayle: (still laughing) "Okay, so back to Finlay. Do you find comfort from Finlay's company?"

Arya: "I try. I try to lay by him when mommy has abandoned me. But he quickly rejects me. And then I feel worse. Because not only have I been recently abandoned by my mommy, but add to that the most horrific rejection. I ask you, what's a girl to do but then poo on the floor? And Miakoda hasn't been here long enough to be of any comfort to me. I'm still trying to figure out what the beast is..."

Finlay: "If I may interject here... She's making me sound like an absolute cad. The truth is, she asks too much of me. I try to help, but she's a world class clinger! I can't stand it! I can't compete with her sick bond with Mommy, nor would I want to. It's just not me. I need my space. She needs more than I can give her. I do what I can, but I am not Mommy."

Gayle: "Okay, so what about Daddy? Does Daddy not offer you comfort when Mommy's away, Arya?"

Arya: "Mommy's my mommy. Daddy's a toy."

Gayle: "A toy?"

Arya: "My toy."

Cleo: (one of my cats, who shares a most dysfunctional relationship with Arya, interjects-) "Why are you indulging this beast? Ignore her. All the troubles of the household are the fault of Arya. Dare I say, all of the troubles of the entire world are the fault of Arya. She's a horrific anomaly of nature. She should never have been born. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that she should die. I hate Arya. I hate her very much."

Arya: "Shut your putrid sardine hole, you vile serpent demon! Go back to the dungeons of Hell whence you came! You know not the definition of anomaly! If you did, you'd surely recognize yourself as one! And hate? You could never compete with the intensity of hatred I feel for you! I hate you so bad I-" (Gayle cuts her off)

Gayle: "Relax you two! Unbelievable...!"

Arya: "She punched me in the face as a tiny puppy! She punched me hard! What demon punches a tiny puppy?!"

Cleo: "I had to punch her! Just like I have to continue to punch, scratch and curse every living thing in this household, as well as every living visitor to this household! If I don't, they could hurt me! Am I supposed to just sit back and allow that? I don't give a shit about puppies. If it has a heartbeat, it needs to be beaten! Slay or be slayed! That's my motto... "

Gayle then went on to teach Cleo some coping mechanisms when dealing with a sight hound. They must be ignored in order to be dealt with. She explained to her that she could not continue to blast into a room claws swingin', and not be tormented in return. (A good lesson for all of humankind.) At this point, Gayle found Cleo tuning her out, so she changed her angle. "In order to have the upper paw", she clarified, "you must be smarter than Arya. You must show her that she is not worth your anger". This seemed to work. Cleo listened. It is clear that I have much work to do in my household in order to help Arya reach a more peaceful state of confidence. I have to teach her that when Mommy's gone, she's not gone forever. And without lifting a finger, I can see a complete difference in Cleo already. She curls up on the armchair and seems to hum with silent meditation. "I will not react, I will not react, I will not react. I am superior, I am superior, I am superior..." her new effective mantra.

Love, Telepathy Style

2010-01-30T09:00:00.007-06:00

Animals communicate telepathically. Their conversations with us generally manifest as pictures or symbols, which translate back to us as words. They’re incredibly telepathic as evidenced in so many scientifically repeatable ways, such as their ability to sense our imminent arrival, the ability to sense forthcoming medical events in their humans, and the ability to predict natural phenomena far before the abilities of our million-dollar laboratory equipment. If a person has well-developed telepathic tendencies they can have entire conversations with animals which can prove incredibly insightful to people/animal relationships. Sometimes this communication can take place without the person’s intention. For instance, you think about trimming the cat’s toenails, and every time, the cat goes missing, hiding out from that awful vision he just stole from your thoughts without your knowledge or consent. It can, however, also work in your favor. For example, a few weeks ago I was sitting in my living room drinking my morning coffee, all wrapped up in a blanket, my legs extended to the ottoman. On my lap was my computer, on my extended legs lay one of my kitties. Co-zy. All except for the fact that my feet were sticking out of the blanket, icy cold. I lamented the fact that the space heater, standing 3 feet from my feet, was inconveniently turned off and thought about getting up to turn it on. Seeing the image in my mind, I thought “ahhh” as the warm air blasted my chilly tootsies. But alas, I was far too comfortable and didn’t want to disturb my snoozing kitty. The thought was aborted with a lazy shrug. But then, not five seconds later, and to my complete astonishment, my perky little Saluki, Arya, jumped off the couch, high-stepped her way over to the space heater and with nary a contemplation, poked the “on” button with her nose. It whirred to life with blasts of warmth and I nearly dropped my coffee. She stared directly at the rotating heat box as if to say, “Voila!”, then pranced back to her place next to me, curled up and went back to sleep. My mouth gaped open and I stared down at her, already back to her peaceful slumber. Had I been able to speak, I would have thanked her profusely. As it stood I just sputtered and laughed hysterically, thoroughly appreciating the warm feet. Another event occurred more recently, with my Staghound Finlay. I was taking a nap with Arya curled up next to me and Finlay on his bed beside me. Arya woke up and thinking I was asleep, took the opportunity to steal my hair clip deposited on the side table; an impish game she likes to play with me. I jumped up to grab it from her, yelling at her to drop it, which she did while running out of the room full speed, leaving it lay on the bedroom floor. Thoroughly aggravated, I knew I had only seconds before she snuck back into the room to steal back her prize. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I grasped the blankets to throw them off of me, when Finlay got up from his bed, ambled over to the clip, nonchalantly grabbed it with his teeth, jumped on the bed, spit it out on my chest while simultaneously giving me a look which seemed to imply- “Keep it out of her reach next time, bonehead!” He jumped back off my bed, returned to his, curled back up and returned to sleep. Oh yes. A finely tuned animal-person relationship is indeed a thing of collaborative beauty, and telepathy is my most cherished gift.

For the past few months, however, I’ve been having a serious issue with my beloved Saluki, which has been made all the more apparent by the introduction of our new puppy. She loves the puppy. Her behavior hasn’t changed since his arrival. It’s just that he is so well-adjusted and good, that all of her anxious behaviors are suddenly broadcasting like a blinking neon billboard by comparison. I’ve tried hard to work with her, but we are so intertwined emotionally and telepathically that it has become nearly impossible to separate my anxieties from hers and vice versa. So I asked around and was advised to contact one of the best animal communicators in the Saluki world, Gayle Nastasi. I did. And it was a delightful experience the details of which I’ll share with you tomorrow. In short, Arya is brilliant. Yet totally and completely irrational. More later.

Off Road.

2010-01-29T11:41:00.016-06:00

I took this series of images on January 17th, south of Albuquerque. While Aaron battled the sleepies, forced to sit through a national union meeting, I took the dogs exploring. My destination was A Very Large Array, which I'll say nothing about here, the subject of its own forthcoming blog entry. Anyways, on this day as I traveled down the highway, as is often the case, I found this tiny road which I felt so compelled to explore. Resistance was futile. I parked to walk the dogs, then we returned to the car and drove further in.

Over a small hill, the full scope of the landscape revealed itself to me. I had to just stop the car and remind myself to take a breath.

There was an elaborate shrine to the side of the road, dedicated to a much loved family matriarch, long passed. She seemed to watch over the place. I wondered if she was the one who so strongly beckoned me to her hauntingly beautiful location.

As I stood, the clouds battled to suppress the sun and the entire sky seemed to roil with conflict. I felt as though I was witnessing a Divine spat, the sun rays piercing through in attempt to find a stronger foothold to victory.

I wondered how many of those cars whirring along down the highway were witnessing this grandeur? I wondered how many of them cared.

But mostly, I just thanked the Divine forces for pulling me here to witness it so intimately. Finlay and Arya also seemed to enjoy the place, becoming still and contemplative, as if they held their breath for the entire duration.

It took fifteen minutes for the sun to prevail. The clouds scattered, tired of straining to hold back the rays.

The passionate sun burst forth brighter and brighter, until I could feel each ray connect with my skin. I closed my eyes, lifting my face to the sky, and thanked Everything for allowing me this beautiful moment. The greatest power seems never to follow the heaviest traffic.

Totally Random. Totally Different.

2010-01-26T21:50:00.025-06:00

I'm not sure why I'm posting these, other than the fact that they're fun and take me waaay back. Somehow, and I really don't know how, because I've never had one iota's interest in vintage motel signs, I came across a Flickr group called Vintage Motel Signs Only! I pondered, "only?" I mean, what else is there? And why are these people so bossy? So of course I clicked on it and was surprised to find such delight there! Who'd have known motel signs could be so fun?

The group is an homage to the Mom & Pop Route 66-type small operations of the 70's. The road trip kinds of places. According to their inspiration, a coffee table type book by the name of The American Motel in America- and I'm sure there's a perfectly literate reason for the redundancy (?)- there once were over 41,000 of these fine establishments peppered across the country.

And the Flickr group was adamant- there'd be NO hotel signs or (gasp) chain anything allowed! No-sir-ee. And I can guarantee by the number of "NO!'s" & "Don't!'s" published in the group description that this administrator is on top of things! So when I got through scanning the roughly 19,000 entries into this group, I thought- "I can add to this! I can be a part of this group!"

And that's because Raton is full of vintage motel signs! (I just love this one which says, "Color Tv by RCA!") Tell me these don't take you back to the drivin'-cross-country-in-the-smoke-filled-station-wagon days! Oh wait... that was my nightmare... But just the smoke-filled part. And the part where my mom yelled to the way back occupant to "pass me a diet Pepsi, and your dad a beer!" Because every respectable 40 foot long, wood paneled station wagon of the 70's had three rows of seats, and a dad who drank beer while hurtling down the highway doing 80 with a car full of luggage and kids.

Oh, the adventure! I still remember the red flashing lights zooming up behind us, drawing out an elongated "well, God dammit" from dad (yes, he also cursed like a sailor), who then artfully placed his open beer can between my tiny feet. I sat between my parents in the front seat with no safety belt. "Tuck your feet in, Krissy, way back, and keep them very still." Back then, I would have gladly leaped off the rim of the Grand Canyon had he asked me. So this request I proudly obeyed, having no idea the meaning of the game, but not about to lose it.

Even if he got a ticket, which his charisma generally prevented, his mood wouldn't darken. Because Dad came alive on the open road, no matter the obstacles. Chain smokin', beer guzzling, speeding like a western bullet, he came alive. And except for the part where I don't smoke, and God knows don't drink and drive, I got the open-road fever from my dear old daddy. Sometimes I can feel him sitting next to me when I'm hurtling down the highway. And oh how these shots of the vintage 70's signs bring him back... Let's just say, I can still smell the smoke. And I'm still riding on the energy of his unbridled joy.

Saying Yes.

2010-01-25T22:46:00.033-06:00

It's not the kind of movie I generally gravitate toward, but I recently watched Yes Man with Jim Carey. I probably spent the entire two hours snarking about its predictability or its cheap attempts at humor, but the truth is I came away from that movie a little bit changed. The premise of the film is that a man who tends to isolate, habitually saying no to life rather than engaging, accepts a challenge to say yes to any request for an entire year. There's a lot more to it than that but I won't be accused of letting slip a spoiler. The truncated version is, he starts saying yes. He meets people. He experiences things. He blooms. Roll the credits. The Coen Brothers it ain't. But still... on more than one occasion, I have felt the insidious grip of that movie's aftereffects on my every day decision making. I have even heard my own voice inside my head murmur, "What would Yes Man do...?" (Good Lord! I'm embarrassed to admit it, but it's true!) And since I watched the movie, lucky for me, I know what Yes Man would do. He'd say yes! Last Thursday, the date of my previous blog entry, I hearkened on the energy of Yes Man once again. I had just returned home from a six and a half hour round trip to deliver an injured bird into the hands of the surgical Almighties. I dropped my purse and coat on the kitchen table when I happened to notice some blazing red writing on my calendar. Having caught my attention, I moved in to take a closer look. The red writing appeared to be adorning the present date. "Tonight?!" I shrieked outloud, already hearing the little gears inside my head click and rotate, dreaming up excuses to bail on my scheduled plans. But I'm tired! I haven't stopped running for 48 hours! I just drove all day! It's probably going to be stupid anyways! The usual drill. The obligation was a writing workshop, which I was spirit guided to stumble upon. A month prior, I went to the public library with the absolute knowledge that there was something there for me to find. Something important. I had never been to the library before that day. I walked in, pausing to admire the mahogany beauty of the place, and immediately to my right, there it was tacked to the wall. A neon sign which read, Beginners Fiction Writing Workshop by Raton author Steven Havill. I signed up immediately. Mr. Havill's had over a dozen books published & I'd been looking forward to this workshop for weeks. But flash forward and here I was in the middle of a chaotic week. It had completely skipped my mind. I tried to talk myself into not going. I mean, I didn't know who Steven Havill was anyways. My true desire for that moment was trading the appointment in for one which involved my couch, my t.v., and my husband. But when I considered blowing it off, I got all bunched up inside. Not this time... I heard myself say. And then, What would Yes Man do? I smacked myself in the head and told myself I didn't want to hear about Yes Man anymore! But ultimately, that's all it took. I went. And I'm so glad I did. Although the sign advertising the workshop didn't include any details, it turns out it's an eight week intensive workshop. Each class is three hours long. And it's free. After that, there's an Advanced Writing Workshop. Also eight weeks, also free. And after that, there's an eight week workshop on getting published. All of this Mr. Havill does in his spare time for no other reason than to gather with fellow writers and to share the love of his craft. Not only did I get excellent direction for our first class, but I also got to meet some cool fellow writers and hear about a colorful local party which involved Wilford Brimley and Charlie Daniels, both of whom lived in Raton. Very cool. (Even though I'm not a big fan of Mr. Brimley's politics. I mean, who wants to legalize cock fighting for God's sake?) Unfortunately, I haven't read any of Mr. Havill's stuff and if our first exercise in class is any indication, I think I'm going to make a horrible fiction writer. But I truly don't care. Because if Yes Man taught me anything, it's that it's all about the experience. Anything less is cheating myself.

She truly IS magical! Hawk Update!

2010-01-21T16:49:00.009-06:00

Magic indeed! Because she's not a hawk at all. She's a Merlin! A teeny falcon which is a rare find for rehab purposes. They spend only a limited portion of the winters in New Mexico and are known for being small but mighty. They can be a challenge to rehabilitate for this very reason, but some seem to appreciate the assistance more than others. When Aaron and I awoke this morning, we went downstairs to peek into her kennel to find her right at the front of the cage, standing upright and alert. If she had tiny hands, she'd have been rattling the wire door, demanding Songbird Benedict with a side of field mouse, extra crispy. I gently placed her in the car, shotgun to me, and started the engine. I peeked underneath the towel draped over her kennel to be sure the engine hadn't startled her. She had this incredibly peevish look on her face, as if to say, "Oh great. Don't tell me we're driving...? How absolutely bourgeoisie." At any rate, she is in excellent hands now. I just returned from a six hour round trip to Espanola, New Mexico- home of a fabulous wildlife rehab hospital called The Wildlife Center. http://thewildlifecenter.org/index.html I spoke to the director there, who told me that because these birds are typically so full of battle, that she allowed us to handle her yesterday is a near guarantee she was in shock. So that means we truly did save her life. This feels so good to hear. And whereas we had identified her incorrectly, our effort was better than most. The director told me they generally hear, "I've got a baby eagle here!", no matter what type of raptor it is. Honest errors from good-hearted people, no doubt. Anyways, she informed me that they'd do everything possible to rehabilitate her, but she had to be honest with me. It's a severe break and falcons are explosive, powerful fliers which require perfect engineering for optimum functionality. Fixing her up may be akin to putting training wheels on a Lamborghini. But if she can't be surgically repaired to the perfection necessary for release, because she is so rare she will likey find a home in a natural-habitat educational facility. Of course Arya, my Saluki who made the trip with us, upon hearing she was a falcon, suggested we keep her ourselves. Salukis and falcons share a thousand year old history of collaborative relationship, after all. They've been Middle Eastern hunting partners for centuries. Arya thought perhaps we could train the bird to do her bidding. Deliver baby birds to her for snacking purposes, that sort of thing. When I said absolutely not, she pooed in the car. No lie.

Still magical, even with the broken wing.

2010-01-20T22:13:00.006-06:00

I took my walk this morning with Arya and Fin, (the puppy's too small to walk three miles) and inside a neighbor's chain link fence, I spotted this injured hawk. Broke my heart. And I didn't know what to do. His left wing obviously shattered, he hopped around aggitated, while a feral cat crouched not 20 feet away, waiting for him to become near death.

No cat's stupid enough to take on a raptor with some fight left in him, no matter how small. I shoo'ed the cat away and jogged down the road to see if my friend Ruth was out in her yard. Somehow I knew she'd know what to do.

Sure enough, she was out watering her garden. I told her what I had found and we quickly returned to the scene. By then Aaron had come home for lunch, so the three of us grabbed a towel and some leather work gloves and walked over to the neighbor's yard. My friend didn't disappoint me. She worked gently yet skillfully, quickly scooping up the hawk without harming him or getting herself killed in the process. I told her she was brilliant. She said, "Not brilliant. Just crazy."

Ruth is a local artist and master gardener. In fact, she used to garden for the rich and famous, down in Santa Fe. James Taylor's was just one of the properties she cared for. She exudes love and confidence and wacky uniqueness. I met her on a walk with my dogs when I first moved here. We read all the same books, have the same world-view, and she even knew what a Saluki was without having to be told. She's also the "concerned citizen" I recently told you about who took the neglected, wandering puppies to the local shelter to be cared for.

We came back to my house, once he was all wrapped up and safe from the feral neighborhood cats, and Ruth gently evaluated him, placing his wing back into a near-normal position. She felt his little breast bone finding a nice meaty covering, explaining to me that this means he's not dehydrated or starving. The injury very likely recently occurred, though he seemed in shock, allowing her to lightly handle him without fighting or putting up a fuss. We placed him in my spare bathroom- a dark, quiet, warm place to be alone, free of cats or dogs or human traffic.

I called around and found that the closest professional wildlife rehabilitation center is in Espanola, near Santa Fe- 3 hours away (drats). I called them to tell them I'd be down tomorrow with a Sharp-Shinned Hawk with a broken left wing. The woman I spoke to was wonderful, telling me to remove the food and water we had placed in the kennel and asked that I attempt to put a soft towel underneath him if at all possible. She said hawks have an amazing spirit and that if he was strong tonight he'd likely make it through to tomorrow. So Aaron and I donned our gloves, opened his cage door and attempted to do the work the rehab center suggested. When I tried to handle him, he freaked out, hurling himself on his back, talons waving in the air, ready to do me some serious damage if given half the chance. When Aaron put his hands in, the hawk became completely quiet, resting in his open glove and hopping onto the towel we placed inside like a good little boy. Of course, the hawk has always been Aaron's totem... Figures. Anyways, I pray pray pray that he's okay when I lift that towel covering his kennel door in the morning. If he is, I'm driving to Espanola to bring him to the raptor hospital. Stay tuned.

The Power of the Moon.

2010-01-19T22:32:00.031-06:00

So, my niece took it upon herself to research names for our new pup and we feel she found a perfect fit. She said the original photos I posted made her feel this strange combination of light and dark. Like the pup was living in such darkness, yet had these ice-blue eyes which shone right through, guiding him to safety. Kind of like, the moon. The moon, she said, permeates any darkness. She tinkered around on Google a little and found the Native American name, Miakoda (Mee-KO-dah), which means "the power of the moon". Oh ya. Anyways, we brought him home yesterday.

Meghan said the dog picked his own name. That she was just the messenger. I believe her.

So here's Miakoda in his new home. Arya and Fin are thrilled. Arya more so than Fin, 'cause Fin's kind of creeped out by those puppy needle teeth. So he likes a limited amount of time with the pup. But Arya is in absolute heaven with her new little friend.

Here she says, "Let me look in those eyes, Baby. I'm still not convinced..." He accommodates her wish to scrutinize, and does so with gracious vim.

I woke up yesterday with absolute knowledge that the day would be challenging. There would be frustrations and obstacles aplenty. I could either navigate my way through those with grace and dignity, or I could allow my impatience to sully a joyous occasion. I got out of bed, took a deep breath, and resolved to just roll with whatever came my way. I threw my robe on, walked down the stairs, and stepped in a dried pile of Finlay vomit, deposited conveniently on the stair landing. I froze, fists formed and teeth clenched, but then inhaled and quietly dealt with it, no further histrionics necessary. Wasn't the end of the world, after all.

At 8am I called the vet in town to schedule a new puppy exam, then at 9am I put Arya in the car and drove off to find the baby. As I pulled up and turned off my car, I searched around the alleyway. I feared that something horrible had happened to him while we were away in Albuquerque, but quickly spotted him bouncing across the yard with a huge puppy smile on his face. I scooped him up and gave him a squeeze, then I popped him in the car with Arya. I got in and turned the ignition. Absolutely no result. The thing was completely dead, despite a brand new alternator and battery. WTH?! Tried it again. Nothing.

So I shrugged and took some deep breaths. I put Arya's leash on her, but had nothing for the puppy. Walking Arya and carrying Miakoda, I strolled home, three short blocks away, leaving the dead car in the alleyway. I couldn't help but think of it as a Universal trade off. Like something was asking me, are you worthy? Was I going to be able to experience this day as the gift it was? Or was I going to allow minor frustrations to erode it? I resolved to keep a peaceful demeanor. Anything else would be unfair to the puppy.

As I walked home, I called my husband on my cell telling him I had just pulled up to get the puppy and now my car was dead in the road. But thanks to some sub-par cellular service, I temporarily cut out. What he heard was that I had just pulled up to get the puppy, to find him dead in the road... Good Lord. He was momentarily horrified, until he realized what I had actually said. Then he was only moderately horrified, as there was no logical reason for a dead battery. What a pain.

I arrived home, arms numb from lugging a 16 pound puppy three blocks and called the vet hospital to tell them I had no wheels. Had to cancel my appointment, which bummed me out thoroughly because this puppy has a belly full of worms and I wanted them dead now. I put the puppy in the bathtub and gave him his first bath. He was a perfect angel. Just sat there, enjoying the sudsy massage. I dried him off, hearing a knock on my door. It was my friend, here to give me 18 eggs from a small local organic farm. Turns out her husband just brought home another dog, a Maltese, who had obviously been dumped on the Colorado roadway. This is number five for them. But what can you do? There is such need here.

Meanwhile, Aaron had driven his mail truck over to our dead car and jumped the battery. He drove the car back home, leaving his truck there. So I called the vet telling them I now had wheels. They said come on over, and after I returned Aaron to his own vehicle, I brought the pup and Arya to the vet. After being fed the nectar of the gods (aka wormy poison elixir) and receiving his vaccinations, I bought a bunch of puppy supplies, leaving Miakoda at the front desk while I put Arya and the food in the car - which was still running because I was afraid it wouldn't start otherwise. As I unlocked the car door, two resident cattle dogs snuck up on us and attacked Arya who was cowering behind me on her leash. Aray was not hurt, but both of us were sufficiently shaken. As it was happening a technician had come out to bring me the puppy and screamed to stop it. Shaking her head, she told me "They stalk other dogs, so you never know they're back there until it's too late". My instinct screamed, "So, WTF are they doing here then?!" but I didn't verbalize it. I simply said, "That really scared me." She profusely apologized, and we were on our way. The incident didn't stay with me for long, likely because I didn't pour gasoline on it, in the form of rage or anger. Next time, I'll just know better... The world isn't a perfect place, after all.

After bringing the dogs home, I went back to K-Mart to get some baby gates for training purposes- again leaving the car running- then finally drove back home to breath a little. As I sat down to eat the veggie burrito I grabbed on the way home from the store, I thought, this really hasn't been all that bad. Rather than convincing myself to have a nervous breakdown over every little thing, I simply dealt with the smallish bumps in the road as I approached them. And I did recognize them as smallish bumps, rather than transform them into some Himalayan snowy peak with the help of drama and stress. As a result, I truly enjoyed the day showing our latest little family member his new routine, and watching him appreciate every tiny detail.

He'd look at a doggy bed, then look at me, as if to say, "I get to rest here?!" He'd look at food and say, "I get to eat this?!" We should all look at life with such gratitude and wonder. This pup went four hours without pottying or pooping after I had picked him up from his dirty alley. Four hours. For a 12 week old pup, this means he wasn't eating or drinking.

And he is the world's most perfect puppy so far. He's never been in a crate kennel before, but when put inside when I can't watch him, he doesn't say a peep. Just curls up and goes to sleep. He hasn't had one potty accident in the house. He comes when called... His accommodating nature makes me nearly weep with appreciation after spending twenty years with sight hounds, which tend not to make anything easy, bless their high-maintenance little hearts.

So that was a day in the very good life... I'll keep you posted. :)

Now I've gone and done it...

2010-01-16T22:36:00.026-06:00

I went and fell in love again.

A little man with eyes so blue.

And does a mean impression of Cujo too... Not really. He's actually the sweetest puppy on the planet. Or surely, at least, Raton.

Let me tell you about this angel, with eyes the color of New Mexico's sky. He's had one set of vaccines (should have had two by now), which is only because a concerned citizen found him and his pack of three siblings wandering alone down a dirt alley at the ripe old age of around eight weeks. She thought they were in danger, so she scooped them up and took them to the local shelter. They gave them their shots, but then the owners found them. They soon returned to their life of neglect. His three siblings have found homes, one of which is excellent. I know this, because I met the guy who adopted her. The other two...I don't know. I can only pray.

I have been experiencing these puppies waddle, stumble, careen, and tumble across their yard and surrounding neighborhood since they were old enough to ambulate. Arya, Fin, and I have walked past them daily for the past ten weeks, wading ankle-deep through the squeaking, rolly-polly, puff-balls as they lose their tiny wits over our thrilling presence. Over the past month I watched four, drop to three, minus one, and then one day this little guy was left to wander the alley solo. Arya loves him, likely due to the fact that they were born with matching orange freckles.

This is his tragically neglected mom, who remains chained in the open yard day after day. Intact, and unsupervised, litters for her must come regularly.

The neighbor guy who took his sister (named her Bella) informed me that this pup is in desperate need of a good home, whereas I was assuming these neglectful people had decided to keep this one. The neighbor is sick with worry and would take him himself, but has no fence and a very small residence. Taking on another dog for him is not possible.

He informed me that the pup is rarely fed. Perhaps then he'll wander away, and be less of a nuisance...? His belly is bloated and round, likely filled with worms.

He walks with a limp, bearing little weight on his front paw. But always, like all puppies, exudes love and gratitude for life, no matter what a shitty hand he's been dealt.

Aaron and I have decided to assume responsibility for him. If that means we'll keep him ourselves, or find a perfect home for him, I don't know. What I do know, is that I can no longer stand to witness his decline on a daily basis without intervening. Here, Arya attempts to show him the ropes. One orange freckled pup to another... But mostly, she covets those baby blues. She says here, "Are you kidding me? Those aren't contacts? Dude, are you lying to me? Seriously. Tell me the truth. I won't tell Finlay. Your secret is safe with me. If we're going to be spending time together, you gotta learn to be honest, baby. No dog has eyes that blue..."

Bears, Quiet, and Tornadoes.

2010-01-16T10:42:00.013-06:00

Bears. We've got lots of them here, although I have yet to spot one in the flesh and fur. There's plenty of evidence that they're here among us, in the form of tracks down the muddy alleyway, their cute little (well, actually ginormous) paw prints on the trash dumpsters, and their scat in our yard (where do they find all those berries this time of year...?). And everyone has a story. One person told me that last summer a bear dug a deli bucket of broiled chicken bones out of a dumpster, climbed a tree, then proceeded to enjoy his treasure- bucket under one arm, legs dangling while he rested his ass on a sturdy branch. Broad daylight, he sat there gently swinging his feet, looking down at his human admirers while he nonchalantly enjoyed his chicken, and people-watched. Another person says her husband watched a bear open one flap of a dumpster top, diligently digging around with his other hand, like a person fishing around in a cooler for that one Diet Pepsi in a sea of Coke. When he noticed that a group of three people were standing across the street watching him, he raised his chin, nodding acknowledgement, sort of a "oh hey! how ya doin'?" then went back to his task at hand. I can't wait for my own bear stories. For now, I'll have to be content with their personal signatures painted all over the place.

The bear carries powerful medicine and is an important ally for the people of its totem (my husband, Tom W, others here?). Though he's not one of my primary animal guides, I still feel a strong affinity for him, as I do with all mammals. Among a myriad of other profound lessons, the bear teaches us about strength, introspection, and knowledge. He is walking along side of me currently, as evidenced by the fact that it's been 8 days since my last post. Eight days! That's a record for me, I think. The truth is, I've been incredibly introspective since the first of the year. A normal cycle, and one which needs to be respected. I've been wondering if I should revamp my blog, make it showier, different, become more spiritually focused, become less spiritually focused, give it entirely over to my photography, write more, write less, work to increase my readership- I mean does anyone really read this anyways...? I could go on and on. For me, when the subject of my frenzied energy starts resembling a psychic tornado, there's only one thing to do. Step back, away from the whirlwind, and see if I can find a new perspective when the turbulence stills. I also started my last semester of my B.A. in psychology a week ago and am beginning the application process for graduate schools; PhD programs in transpersonal psychology, which I am unfathomably excited about. Helping people step out of their own personal darkness is my one single desire for this lifetime. So that's been my past week. I haven't come to any solid conclusions regarding the revamping of my blog. For now, intuition dictates that I follow my heart, which happens to be exploring (which for me, could mean as little as taking a drive around Raton) and sharing those explorations with whomever cares to stop by. This afternoon Aaron and I drive to Albuquerque where he'll be at a seminar and I'll be snapping pics of A Very Large Array, and the Turquoise Trail (per your request, Turquoise Moon!). To be continued...

Cartwheel Cooking, 101.

2010-01-07T11:32:00.032-06:00

On December 11th I wrote a blog entry entitled, "We Are What We Eat". This, after watching the documentary, "Food, Inc." which a friend of mine coerced me into. At first, I had strongly resisted the suggestion. She said, "I know you're sensitive and all. I mean, I remember being eight years old with you, fighting off the gang of thugs to protect the baby birds in the nest, but I feel it's your duty to watch this movie. Your duty as a human being". All I can say is, Thanks Cassie, because the movie truly did change my habits. It changed my life. It's been three weeks since my husband and I have eaten meat. First of all, I never expected the movie to have such an effect on my husband. That ended up being an added bonus for me. And I understand that three weeks is not exactly an impressive span of time. But the miraculous thing about the movie's effect on our lives is that it completely powered down any inclination within us to even care about eating meat again. After struggling with this for years, it's just a done deal now. Fini. The end.

There quickly arose a challenge, however. Feeling so pleased with myself led to celebrating with cheese enchiladas five times a week, effectively fiesta-ing my way to a size larger jeans, and undergoing a colossal acne break-out from attempting to drown myself in organic dairy. So I realized I had to modify this new diet tout suite, did some research, and ordered one of the top rated Vegan cookbooks in the country, Veganomicon. I have found this to be an absolute holy book, filled with culinary perfection, explanations for everything, written with a hilarious dry humor which makes me laugh out loud. In fact, I sat down and read this book from cover to cover, like a cheep beach novel. I will never give up cheese. Worship the stuff. But I'm cutting way back on it, with the help of this book.

In fact, becoming a talented vegan cook has become a mini self-challenge for me. A hobby, which I am finding to be so energizing! Yesterday my friend and I took an errand drive to Pueblo, which included a little shopping at Natural Grocers Vitamin Cottage. We braved a southern Colorado blizzard, traveling nearly two hours to do so. I picked up some common ingredients and can't believe how this store made me feel! Some say (me included) that energy resonates strongly within food products. For example, when you're in a warehouse grocery store with spray painted wax vegetables and chemically ripened pale orange tomatoes, your life force drains by simply holding the offending thing in your hand. (Yuck. I can feel my life force draining simply by writing about it.) Shopping at a place filled with organic, fresh foods does the opposite. It fills you with the energy of life.

I was used to Whole Foods in Minneapolis (coined Whole Paycheck by some), which also has a pretty good selection, but unless you have $800 a week to spend on groceries there's no point in showing up. Trader Joe's also came into town just as we were leaving, so I didn't have the time to properly fall in love with that store. But Vitamin Cottage here in Colorado... Well I was absolutely giddy inside the store! I mean, just look at all of these varieties of Tinkyada brown rice pasta! (Forgive me, but I have to take this moment to plug Tinkyada brown rice pasta. It tastes nothing like dry twigs -which, in my opinion whole wheat pasta tends toward- and has no gluten like white flour pasta does. Gluten bloats me up like the Hindenburg. TMI? I'm just so excited!)

And all of these organic grains- millet, polenta, textured vegetable protein, tiny green mung beans, quinoa (which I now know is pronounced keen-wah, thanks to my new book Veganomicon), and winter wheat berries- enough for a HUGE number of meals, cost less than twelve dollars. So, no more saying you can't afford to eat healthy! Put those processed foods back on the shelf, because they're killing you. Time? Not a factor either. Some of these grains take less than five minutes to cook. I'm just saying you deserve to feel healthy. And it is so easy, if you only know where to look. All of this stuff is available on-line too. I left this store feeling like I wanted to do cartwheels all over the parking lot. Seriously.

Another great buy at the store, the bestseller Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, one of my favorite fiction writers. It's her story of committing to feed her family only locally produced foods. No more noshing on fruits grown four months ago and shipped here across the country or continents, energy shortage be damned. Eating locally is also a real gift to yourself and your family. I intend to dig into this book like a good cheese enchilada, only I expect to feel much less bloaty after having done so. ;)

Buddhism Gnat Clause...? Anybody?

2010-01-05T17:24:00.005-06:00

Buddhism, which holds a starring role in the quieting of my once tempestuous mind, is founded on the absolute tenet that all beings be happy. That’s right. Just, be happy. Peaceful. And make sure you approach everything and everyone with loving kindness, so they too can be happy, which is the God-given right of all living things. In fact, one of the Buddhist precepts is:

“I undertake to observe the precept to abstain from destroying the life of living beings.”

Easy enough. I mean, I don’t make a habit of going around and destroying stuff. It’s just that, well… I’m wondering if there are exceptions? Perhaps grey areas, within which to stumble around, karmically free to swat the occasional bug?

I ask because for the past two months my house has been overtaken by a marauding band of oppressive rogue gnats. And I have recently, quite by accident, discovered their headquarters. I could take out the entire battalion with one puff of the Hell that Roach Motels are made of. But I find myself waffling. Pretending I don’t know they’re there, while I decide what to do. Even (gasp) delaying, when I know this particular headquarter plant needs watering, for fear I’ll drown some poor dim-witted schmuck.

What’s happening to me?

They fly around us constantly, enough to challenge the most evolved of minds. There’s always that one miniscule guy, checking out what we’re typing, trying to get a taste of our lemonade, flouting boundaries by practicing maneuvers inside our nostrils. Milling about smartly, invoking anger. You know the type. But last night as I readied the dishwasher for its cycle, I noticed a gnat zip in right before I sealed up the door. I froze, my finger on the “run full kill ahead” button, allowing my conscious to battle it out with my intellect.

“It’s just a gnat.”

“You can’t run that, man! You’ll kill it!”

“But… It’s just a gnat.”

“My God! The horror! It’ll DIE in there! What are you doing?!”

“But…”

Take a wild guess who won.

I opened up the door and the gnat came whizzing out, hailing the victory cry, cutting his evening ops short so he could whirl back to the headquarters sick bay where there’ll be stress-leave paper work to file, and nurse-gnats to impress with his “they almost got me” dishwasher story…

If these were spiders, man, I’d be releasing the nukes. Unleashing the dogs of war. Buddhism be damned. But they’re not. They’re tiny gnats, barely visible to the naked eye.

What does that say about me? And what would you do…?

Maxwell National Wildlife Preserve

2010-01-04T09:40:00.018-06:00

On New Year's Day, Aaron and I popped the dogs in the car and headed out for Maxwell National Wildlife Preserve, not 30 miles from Raton. It was a gorgeous day. Topped 55 degrees. Perfection.

Maxwell National Wildlife Preserve, in the high central plains of New Mexico, is out in the middle of nowhere. Around 4000 acres, it was established in the early 60's as protective cover and feeding grounds for thousands of migrating birds. In fact, over 270 species of birds have been spotted here, 70 of which stick around to nest and raise their young.

Sandhill cranes, snow geese, bald & golden eagles, burrowing owls, sandpipers... you name it, they stop by. There's also plenty of mammal residents. While we were here we saw mule deer, white-tailed deer, coyote, prairie dogs, jack rabbits, and my favorite of the day- three big fat waddling raccoons, so puffy and round at first I thought they were little black bears. Masked weebles wobbling and weaving through the prairie grass. Adorable. Regulars to the area not seen today were bears, elk, or mountain lion (thankyouverymuch).

I love the contrast of bright and dark on this fallow grass. The light dances over it, like waves of turbulent sea water. It makes me smile, understanding its vital role in the protection of so many creatures- furred, feathered, scaled. A big soft comforter, blanketing them through the harsh winter. I can't even fathom all who rest underneath.

The preserve's near perfect combination of short-grass prairie, wetlands, playa lakes, and woodlands offers the lodging, with 400 acres of planted food as their snack bar. Wheat, corn, barley, clover, oats and alfalfa are farmed here exclusively for their eating pleasure. Doesn't it warm your heart? Crops in this semi-arid environment are not easy to grow, either. The growing season is short and seasonal drought is common. Rainfall generally consists of short bursts of violent thunder storms. Not exactly a farmer's dream.

The history here is endemic with Native Americans. Apache, Kiowa, Ute, and Comanche nations once lived, hunted, and traded across these plains.

Arya is so filled with joie de vivre that she forgets that Finlay has boundaries, which she has clearly violated in this shot. She apologizes a little and continues to prance along the path, high-stepping her way across the prairie.

Clouds. My favorite. This one's an inverted hawk, diving after her prey.

So anyway, I hope your New Year's Day was as special to you as ours was to us. I hope it filled you with the energizing knowledge that in 2010 there's nothing you can't do. I hope you can see what you want, because if you haven't got that vision, there's no way to get there.

Near the end of our walk, we came across a coyote den on a lake shore. Three adults came barreling out in succession.

Maybe 2010 will bring me a powerful telephoto lens so I can take some decent wildlife shots. It's on the list. It's on the list... ;)

Ringing in the New Year. Happy 2010!

2010-01-02T10:35:00.008-06:00

On New Years Day, Aaron and I came across these gorgeous babies, Clydesdale horses, near Maxwell, New Mexico. It was a beautiful day, 50 degrees, with brilliant sun and azure blue skies.

I made Aaron stop the car. Got out. And started shooting.

Within moments, their curiosity getting the best of them, they stopped what they were doing and ambled over to give me a closer look. Aaron joined us then. Who could resist a little small talk with giant horses?

If you ask me, there's nothing better than afternoon social hour with a few equines. Nothing. If you have any stress at all, they'll suck it right out of you without even trying.

One of my myriad dreams is to have a hobby farm with draft horses. And goats. Chickens- the ones with puffy feet. And maybe a donkey or two. And... and... and.

This guy kept trying to nibble on Aaron's hand. Unfortunately, we packed no carrots or apples today, and Aaron wasn't willing to offer up the fingers.

Cutest. Thing. On. The. Planet. I wanted SO badly to just grab his whole face and give him a big New Year's smooch!

I mean, doncha just...?!

Nothing like a nice buttscratchin' tree. This guy had bum scratching down to an art form.

Here, Aaron and horsey converse quietly, exchanging New Year's vows and bonds of friendship.

Their eyes.

Their velvety lips.

And let's not even talk about their little round nostrils!

As we drove away, Aaron said, "Well that just made my whole day." Couldn't have said it better myself. Happy New Year.

Stand back. It's a rampage.

2009-12-29T10:24:00.015-06:00

Shit. Excuse my language but I find myself a little (okay, a lotta) agitated this morning. I am continually bombarded with people in my life choosing their path based on the discerning disapproving brows of others. And I will not rest (believe me I've tried) unless I put this message to keyboard. People! Do not let others tell you what's wrong with you, or what's right for you, or what to do, or what not to say, or where to go, or when to stay, etc etc etc. Please understand that we are inherently perfect. We are, as adults, capable of making our own life decisions, integrally able to find solutions for every one of our own personal challenges in life. We don't need authority figures (in the form of parents or spouses or children or friends or co-workers or that bossy lady who works at the hardware store, etc etc) to order us in any one direction. What we need out of our personal relationships is acceptance that our decisions are our own, even if they seem really really bad to an external observer. To lose ourselves to the decision making of others is as equivalently wise as the attempt to drive a nail into a brick wall with our own forehead! What we need to give and receive is love and support, even when it seems as though our entire world is turning upside down with inevitable change. What we need is to understand that we - and we alone - know what's best for us. Stop looking externally for validation or approval or that proverbial green light from others. Your path in life is between you and your higher consciousness. Period. If you invoke the advice of others, or sincerely feel you benefit from the wise counsel of another, then by all means seek it! But learn to deflect it when it's not invited. Those filled with the energy of constant criticism are generally those who have the most need for internal reflection, after all. Imagine how nice it would be if everybody spent as much energy on "fixing" themselves, as they did others. (disclaimer: This mini-rampage was precipitated by a minimum of twenty examples of unfair treatment afforded to people I know, over the course of the past month. I have not personally been the recipient of any unfair treatment. Right now, some of you are scratching your heads wondering if this is all about you. I can assure you it's not about any one person. It's about human nature in general. And knowing when to say "enough!".)