BY Anna merkaba







This is the last entry for Ascension Field Notes. I will be starting a new project entitled, Deeply Awake: Entangled.

Deeply Awake is a living journal of my life and adventures in consciousness as I awakened. My first official entry was March of 2012, and I ended on Halloween, 2013.

I used November of 2013 to write a novel, Patrick Hears Voices. It is a shitty first draft, but a grand idea which will morph as time passes.

Since December, I have been writing Ascension Field Notes. Although perhaps shorter, it is more dense. I guess you could say AFN has more girth.

But things have yet again shifted. I need to branch out. I need to learn more. There is much to discuss that is without the realm of the personal. Of course, as within, so without, but as my window has cleared, I see now that there are other things to explore. I will be channeling more, in Deeply Awake: Entangled. I am especially looking forward to this. I am told it will be a one for one sort of thing. I hope I can keep up the pace.

I have earned a sense of certainty. I am always learning, but I no longer hold doubt, as I now have the evidence I needed, the healing I required,and the hope I was looking for.

Please continue to follow me at,, and my new site,


namaste and enjoy





There has been, for me, and I know I am not alone, a tremendous clarification, a clearing, which has occurred lately. I want to tell you how I got here, because that’s what I do, but first I want to talk about what I think is happening.


Could it be that the energetic, magnetic, plasmic bath we sit in is more permeable to Source now? That this bath is the biochemical, magnetic, organic vehicle which is created by our life force, by means of our DNA? And could this bath be like a “real” bath, something one can ignore, or enjoy, add bubbles or scent to, or make clear, but that this bath is a fact of life, though we can change its attributes?


Kryon gave a marvelous analogy one time. He asked the awakening ones to consider their function to be similar to a highly concentrated flavoring or coloring. He said, there do not have to be many of you in any one place, because your signature is like that one drop that is added to a gallon of water. It changes the water. Each molecule is changed as a result of the addition, the attributes of the liquid in the pitcher change, and yet, not a whole lot was done, and the drop remains itself, individual but dispersed. Just a drop. Just a drop.


I have crested things. Last night, around four, I awakened to celebration. My arms were outstretched, I was on my back, and I understood that I had completed the two lessons I’d seen were outstanding. It’s over. I understood. The hardest part is over.


I’d drilled down, two years ago, first waking up, that my biggest lessons, my unfinished business, was that of my relationship with money, and my relationship with my family. I diligently applied myself to all the ancillaries and corollaries, but these spun off the hub of matters: survival/worth/faith and dissonance/mismatches in interpersonal energetics. Do I belong here, and can I have a different reality than the others and survive?


My sister Mary watched on as I spun on my bed of nails. She has been my rod and my staff, in many ways, and the pebble in my shoe sometimes, without even knowing it. She fulfilled her role beyond all hopes.


What I have discovered lies beyond, or ties together, these themes, of survival, in an often quite hostile interpersonal world. I have come to understand that the adjective is the crux of the thing. It is not a hostile world. Not anymore.


I was shown in living technicolor that I had had a hand in every form of interpersonal dissonance I have been party to. I realized all at once, by the end of the week, how I had contributed to the dissonance everyone was feeling. I was tired of feeling the building so wobbly, and saw how I’d been feeding it, how I’d protected and coddled it, sometimes, and how I had created my own, and other people’s, problems. It was a moment of brilliance I had while waling down the nursing home hallway. I got it. I’d created any problems I was having, and they were just each of them opportunities to come together, to be humble and kind, to ask forgiveness, show courage and goodwill, to demonstrate how someone changes their countenance and builds. I perhaps even made these messes so that I could clean them up. Who knows? But things shifted after that. I have been sleeping better.


Lying on my bed, spreadeagled and transfixed in the predawn hours this morning, I felt like the condensed version of what I experienced in the parking lot of Trader Joe’s yesterday, so that’s where we go next.


I’d just seen my sister. My son commented off-handedely recently that he is glad we are getting along again. I agree. We have always loved and recognized each other, but as I was going through this final stage of reflection and growth, she became, in some ways, a symbol for all I had experienced in our odd little family. Mom is gone, Dad is unable to do this work, so Mary stepped up and allowed me to project and push against and learn from, in this special time. I am ever grateful.


As an emotional and soulic stand-in for all my old mommy issues, Mary stood, just as solidly as she always does, steady and beautiful as the trees I am in love with. Understanding we are growing even now, and what we have thought and done has fashioned our bark, made our habitus, Mary has always seemed to gain strength from the truth of it, that we are far more than the bark others judge us as being. It took me, in many ways, a long time to catch up to her.


This change between us has come about slowly, but has solidified and can now be taken as more than a flook, for the last several months. We have, I think, changed each other. She has walked through this awakening process with me, sometimes rather reluctantly, but she did come along for the ride. She did incredible work on her own issues, and has lived a full and meaningful life. She forgave my emotional incontinence, my odd statements and more spaced-out, channelly moments. And now, here, at the end of it, yesterday, me feeling peace and completion, dropping by to give her her birthday gift, she hands me a gift.


A yellow magnet, with the words, “You’re a good sister. That’s all.”


I have craved this, and she didn’t even now it. It moved me so.


You know that really good feeling you get when you’re playing a mind-blowing game of pinball, and you and the ball have merged, and you can feel all the movement and fluidity and geometry, and then, unh, the ball hits a hole just perfectly , just right, and there’s that moment, just a moment, really, of perfection, when everything has stopped, yet you know the game is still going, and you can feel the stillness and the motion, just because the ball sunk so satisfyingly in that hole. And have you ever just sort of sat and expanded the moment, and enjoyed its awesome beauty?


Have you ever done that?


Well, I have. A a lot. And reading that magnet felt just like that pinball sensation. Just that UNH feeling, when you know there’s more, but, holy shit, you just won. It’s all just easy street now. And you’re in the zone, so you know easy street is going to be fun. That is how I felt, her handing me that.


This came off the heels of a miracle at work. I am talking full on miracles here, guys. I’d just come from a meeting where I presented radical new ideas, and was told I was valued and supported. They will, soon enough, actually prove their words, or I’ll float away, but for this moment in time, I felt a satisfaction, a surprising settled feeling. Pride and assurance and faith and reward. This was my countenance walking into Mary’s house.


Now I need to tell you what I learned in the parking lot. I drove from Mary’s to Trader Joe’s. Driving the eighth of of a block there, I reflected on the conversation we’d just had. It was about watching our kids become themselves, make their choices in who they are going to fashion themselves into. As I parked the car, I could feel it coming on. I understood things I must convey now.


I think that in the past, when either of us saw our kids, or anyone, going down a path that appeared to be counter-productive or not in their best interest, it was easy to judge. It was easy to worry and to fear and to judge. We were taught by someone who could afford to judge. Cloistered but aware, and without sin.


I come to from a group of very clear thinkers, able to discern things. That we were each hobbled with emotional and behavioral oddities was just part of the package. Let me explain.


Mary and I are highly intelligent, verbal, we are both writers, unconventional, creative, anti-establishment (or at least thoroughly weary of authority), but we are vastly different in temperament and approach. I think she does linearity much better than I, and because it is a value to her to do it well, she has not been too thrilled with my not being able to get a grip on things very well, at times. She’s been patient as I have done the weird things I have done, and has never fully abandoned me, but she and I had decades of not being emotionally close. A sense of competition always seemed to invade, and sometimes just a world weariness. It was not easy, what we were a party to, and we are just average Americans, you see. The majority of us came from the archetypal, dysfunctional homes. With folks doing just the best they could. And this is how we proceed.


In the parking lot, I saw that in our family, each of us had chosen behaviors, lessons, wounds, and these seemed to shape things for us. Odd misunderstandings, they appear to me now, but at the time, each of us came in bent and twisted a bit, unable to do or think or say certain things, with allowances as large as the sky in other realms. Each of us allowed our weirdness. That was rule number one, always.


I thought about my sister, and how she has shown nothing but support and kindness and encouragement and courage and strength to her children. How she has done, with her own turbulence, what our mom had done for us. It was so beautiful to witness and feel and honor. I felt reverence and awe and gratitude and pride.


It would be dishonoring to disbelieve these assessments, I think, especially of my mom. Read on. In the 39 years she was with me, I never saw her do anything unkind to anyone, even when they really really deserved it. She never “got back” at people. She had opinions, but they were based in fact, sound, deep logic, and empathic. She had amazing discernment.


In our tiny family, often,she was discounted, seen as nothing, she was devalued and made fun of, and she never fought back. I was mad at her for ages over that. She never defended herself. Ever. Who lives like that? Who do you know like that, I ask you.


Crying now, transfixed now, understanding now that hers was a placeholder function, I turned off the engine and began to cry. That she was distant and did not feed me emotionally I always resented her for, but can see now, had she not, oh had she not, I wouldn’t have this compulsion to connect. Can you see the beauty of this? Can you. I so hope you can. She was not able to have intimacy like I could, or at least she did not show it to me, except a couple of times near the end of her life. And it made me into what I needed to be. It was a beautiful sacrifice and agreement. It’s ok now.


I could feel Grandpa on the Farm then. Mary and I had different relationships with key players, and did not feel, perhaps, what I did with my Grandpa.


I have never loved anyone like I love him, and it matters not to me if I ever meet anyone who has within them this love, it just doesn’t matter, because I have had it. I know what it feels like, and there is no need to re-live or re-create or replicate it. It rides with me, always, now, and always has, really. I know what it is to be seen and to see another and to be seen and known as perfect and ancient and by being seen by this one, and seen as such, you now you are looking into the eyes of God. And you know the other as self.


He is my placceholder, he has the energy of a whale, ancient, beautiful, simple, love itself Love itself. That’s my Grandpa on the farm.


I thought then on my mentor Marge, who schooled me, with The Teacher’s help, in the ways of interacting with humans, engaging fairly and purely in business. Being clear, holding integrity, being wise. She is my template for a functional human being at work. She showed me how to toughen up. How to say no, when and why, and that it is not only justified at times, but necessary.


She showed me how to defend myself cleverly and at no cost to anyone, how to practice with skill and honesty and a sense of humor. She’s a yogi, a guru, a saint. I knew it the first time I shook her hand, and she never, not once, let me down. Not once. Who can you say that about in your life?


And so I see, sitting in my car, crying, how it is that I might also serve this function for others, and then more and more, my awareness populated with people I struggle with or adore. I see the lessons, the dances we are doing and see, they are just that. Just lessons.


I understood that it might be time to stop screaming. Let me explain.


When I tell you of Grandpa on the Farm, I am giving you a wee child’s memories. Those brief slices of heaven that pulled me through dark times, they were not taking into account what he had to function with. He lived with a full on crazy person, twisted, dark, mean as a snake, irrational, hilariously nuts, but just so mean. Grandma of the Farm’s whole clan was sideways, with every darkness and self inflicted crazy known to man. It was desperate and dark and scary. And he stayed. Like mom, who had to deal with her own brand of crazy with my dad, Grandpa stayed. But my dad says he used to scream a lot. As a young man, this perpetual screaming and strife and soul suffering drove my dad to my mom, to silence. To silence.


I never saw Grandpa scream. And I know, in his old age, he stopped screaming. He stopped. And how does that happen? The crazy didn’t stop. The crazy only got worse, more depraved, more compulsive and sad. But he stopped screaming.


And I realized, blowing my nose, that I think I have finally stopped screaming.


I realized with the help of the loved ones I work with, that people need to do as they see fit. My conversation with Mary about our kids brought this concept home. The best I can do is express my opinion without any attachment to the outcome. There are things I will and will not do, to be in alignment with my standards, and I am very clear about what my boundaries are, but I know a different tone now, a coupling with acceptance, rather than forgiveness, of tolerance and allowance and permission. It is grand.


This comes from a time when I realized, through a series of harrowing experiences over the last several weeks, that I have a form of social retardation that I need to be aware of. I stumbled onto a website called Workplace Bullying. On it is a page, which I will cut and paste, which describes a “Target.” My guess is that most of you will identify with this. I felt the last fifteen years worth of frustration and self doubt wash from me as I read this article. (You can find this article and more at




Who Gets Targeted

Why Me?

Unlike schoolyard bullying, you were not targeted because you were a “loner” without friends to stand up to the bullying gang. Nor are you a weakling. Most likely, you were targeted (for reasons the instigator may or may not have known) because you posed a “threat” to him or her. The perception of threat is entirely in his/her mind, but it is what he/she feels and believes.


WBI research findings from our year 2000 study and conversations with thousands of targets have confirmed that targets appear to be the veteran and most skilled person in the work group.


Targets are independent. They refuse to be subservient. Bullies seek to enslave targets. When targets take steps to preserve their dignity, their right to be treated with respect, bullies escalate their campaigns of hatred and intimidation to wrest control of the target’s work from the target.


Targets are more technically skilled than their bullies. They are the “go-to” veteran workers to whom new employees turn for guidance. Insecure bosses and co-workers can’t stand to share credit for the recognition of talent. Bully bosses steal credit from skilled targets.


Targets are better liked, they have more social skills, and quite likely possess greater emotional intelligence. They have empathy (even for their bullies). Colleagues, customers, and management (with exception to the bullies and their sponsors) appreciate the warmth that the targets bring to the workplace.


Targets are ethical and honest. Some targets are whistle blowers who expose fraudulent practices. Every whistle blower is bullied. Targets are not schemers or slimy con artists. They tend to be guileless. The most easily exploited targets are people with personalities founded on a pro social orientation — a desire to help, heal, teach, develop, nurture others.


Targets are non-confrontive. They do not respond to aggression with aggression. (They are thus morally superior.) But the price paid for apparent submissiveness is that the bully can act with impunity (as long as the employer also does nothing).


According to the 2007 WBI-Zogby Survey, 45% of targeted individuals suffer stress-related health problems. Additional findings regarding targets’ health can be found in WBI research and the PTSD-related research by others posted at this site.


Read our checklist of common signs of bullying.



Kinda breathtaking, right?


So, I began to realize that I had been quite pushy, and at time very judgmental, with my colleagues. I had held pockets of fear that their perceived lack of dedication or knowledge was some sort of moral failing. I held that, and it got more and more and more uncomfortable. It brought up past lives/collective energy to be transmuted, felt and known and released.


And then I saw it all double back on me, in a very benign, actually benevolent way. I was given an opportunity to just set a tone. They sort of invited it, and I did my best, and they like what I’ve done. That feels good. But the folks running the show don’t do things as I would like, and though they are kind enough to allow me to tell them so, off they go, doing as they see fit. This has been very hard for me. It brought up much other stuff to heal, and I’ve done that. Now I see, maybe for the first time, that it really is ok if folks don’t do things that make good sense to me.


This throne of judgment Mary and Mom and I used to occupy has dissolved somehow, and I am coming to see that every decision is a blessed one, even those that appear to me to be misguided or non-sensical. There is no arguing with some people, and I see now that there shouldn’t be. There should be instruction, or an allowance to share viewpoints, and in a perfect world, the best idea would win out, but people are still territorial and fear based and status driven. So let bosses to as they see fit. Let sons do as they see fit. Let me do as I see fit. Such relief.


Is this what my mom, and my grandpa, came to know? It’s what Marge drummed into me at every opportunity. That people will do what people will do. I think my pain comes from feeling I have no power in a situation when most of the people around me do stuff I don’t really get. And that’s most of the time, because my frame of reference is different. Not better or worse, but different. Bigger, maybe.


I want to wind down by talking about something which has been a big question in my life.


I would go through a recalibration, basically, in my life, having used a life lesson to gain insight into a problem, and then, I wanted to act differently, better. But what I found is often, doing things differently from the day before, better, but different, well, this was often not only resisted in the workplace, but sort of shamed, sometimes. There is resistance to being honest and doing things that makes sense, sometimes. This is not an uncommon situation anymore. They want us numb and dumb, degraded, looking down, always looking down, you see. It’s the setup.


But remember what Kryon said about that one concentrated drop of flavor or color added to a pitcher of pristine, beautiful water. What happens? Everything changes. Everything.


I have just come into the habit of not riding these problems quite so hard. I have had a cresting of energy. I feel on a plateau, overlooking yet another, new, better than anything I have seen yet, view from this mountain I climb without end.


I have looked back and feel how the tones of life have changed again. I had a shift after my dad’s heart surgery, and have spent this year finishing this interpersonal stuff. I had to get free of the personal, had to finally see and then come to love my near-Asperger’s approach to life and people, and to finally find a place to fit, and seen as something beyond this weird, sort of socially awkward geek I project at work. I have found a place who’ll have me, for as long or as short as the bigger story calls for. And that’s pretty awesome.


I understood from the beginning that they were my teachers, and that I would be giving them gifts. I understand this is the transition job I requested, something to ease me from where I was into something else. And they are obliging, just as all the other masters in my life have.


So, I tell you, getting out of that car, welcomed by this nice, sweet vibe in the store, I understood that it is ok now for me to take my place. To stop making apologies for what I have always been, what I have been shown is possible, what I have received instruction on this sentient lifetime, to be, what I now I am. I am love itself.


And the others?


I know now, in my cells I now, they are love itself, just like me. Regardless of lesson plan, regardless of the karma I assist them in, and the dharma they assist me in, they are me, and I am them, and we are god itself.


I walked into that store knowing that I have changed my past, my future and my present because I do not see any of it as I once did. Somehow I can see things even more benevolently now. And everything softens once again. Everything starts feeling better again.


The misunderstandings, based in confusion and fear and limited knowledge have been transmuted, brought into the light, seen for what they always were, reminders of the importance of grace, mercy, patience, tolerance. The absence of those attributes hurts, wounds, diminishes. But it only has ever taken one, in my life. One at a time. Just one.


I know this was and is an assignment, this job of mine, within this nutty family of mine. I laughed as I thought about my own weirdness, and how obliging they have always been. How, when in my murder book phase, my sister gave me The Encyclopedia of Serial Murderers . I smiled thinking about how each of us had, and still have, odd bents, and how we always gave each other a wide, respectful bow toward our individual interests, as odd as they got.


I got amazing goodies at the store, and as I am struggling with whether I should feel guilty about my purchases, as I am watching the goatee’d dude load my awesome new Trader Joe’s tote, I understood, I heard that my income is assured. I am safe. I am finally safe.


This is the safety I have long craved, the tone I was able to strike a year ago, it has returned. I wanted to be able to feel that safe each and every day. And now I do. And now I do.


So, I guess, before us looms two eclipses and a Cardinal Grand Supreme Super Duper Cross. I hear, actually, this cross is one of such precision to be breathtaking. I like such times. I look back now, and forward, teetering, balancing in this one pristine moment, my pinball game to resume shortly, with a quiet click and a flutter of a flick, it’ll be back to batting things around and motion, always motion, but for now, in this moment of peace and expansion, I wanted to tell you that I am a little itchy about this celestial stuff, because I am feeling so super fine and super high but physically sober nearly all the time now, I’m wondering just what the heck might happen to my physical vehicle.


My intake is changing again, my appetite, and I have grown intolerant of caffeine again. I’m barfing a lot again, physically aware and ultra sensitive to stuff. I have gone through this part before. It’s fun. My body is getting ready for something, I feel.


I sense this trinity of upcoming celestial energies is going to be a time of holiness, of donning the mantle. At least for me.


So this is how I close, always the malingerer at the water cooler, I want to say that this is the image I got repeatedly upon awakening last night. I saw, as I used to , when I first worked with Marge, and when I first started channeling Margartha for my own personal career help in ’88, I saw me in white flowing robes, that turban on my head. Man sometimes, woman sometimes, but most comfortable as an old, tiny, brown yogi, wrinkled, neither handsome nor disfigured, tiny but strong, muscular, a hidden, hits-you-in-the-face love, love, acceptance, love, fun, laughing, play, love, acceptance, just this constant little lover. Too expanded to be focused unless called to do so,and then eyes of a haw, seeing everything whole, moving form blessing ground to blessing ground, doing work. Like the nuns who ran things in the old days, the yogis who roam, the ones who’ve given up fighting it and are dedication itself. I see me in the dining room, even now, in my mind’s eye, little and brown and simple, unassuming, simple dress, feeding others, smiling, quiet, radiating. That is what I want to do now. That is all I want to do.


My lesson had been, you see, that I could easily be this yogi among patients. It was when I could do it freely, usually. It drew me to nursing like a magnet. I could be this among the suffering. The sicker, the better. The more extreme, the better. That is my way, anyone can tell you that, who has worked with me. But, how do I do that with the resistant? With the haters? With those uninitiated to suffering, who have not softened, and who are mean? How do I survive in a world where what I am is seen by others as a weakness, a liability? That’s how I sometimes felt. That’s why I isolated. It was not yet time to shine, is all.


And I have solved this.


I will use these celestial events to contemplate unity, and strength, the strength borne of acceptance, tolerance, recognition. The resistant fall silent in front of it, you now. Water on stone, but this is how it is done.


Bring it on.









A grand integration has been underway for me this last week, and although there have been times when it would have been perfect for me to speak, I knew to hold my tongue. This, I think, comes from becoming more familiar with riding these waves, these waves of re-introduction, of remembering,of coming together.


Last night, I watched an Ancient Aliens which discussed shamans. Just writing that word seems to transport me to a room with many doors, behind which there are complete and beautiful libraries of information. So many ways to take this.


It started last week,this most recent oddity of “time.” Not being too tied to time anymore, I see it not as a week, week and a half, but in packets of understandings, chapters of summaries, outlining the integration, any word read touching off a landslide of emotion, of memories, of resolution.


This week started with a change in the patterning, the configuration, at work. An event had taken place,and I could feel everyone moving to new positions after this event. I like it when the feel of a place is moving. It feels like tectonic plates slowly shifting, and this movement colors what is said, done, thought, in the work group.


With these shifts came understandings.


My latest problem has been with just one individual, although there are three who are reacting poorly to me, at work. The one who I’ve recently done battle with and who has given me great gifts, well, this interpersonal issue has been central, key, to how I have conducted everything. And this is precisely why I do not enjoy working in groups. I don’t like to do so much work.


This conundrum had to do with, what else? Not being liked, being rejected, being found to be without worth, or worse, a detriment, to the group.


The thing is, I have had an unusual vantage point for this last, great battle. I have taken to a hill, and I have been observing it, rather than engaging in it. I feel what I feel, and release what needs to be released, without saying a word. This person has been in my consciousness, but not in my daily life. Odd. But certainly not unusual for me.


From her I have come to understand many things. First, I have gained the gift of perspective.


I woke up yesterday with the solution, actually, after days of the old self negation I feel when I am being rejected, made small, seen as nothing, or a threat. I tried and tried to justify myself to myself, trying to justify my existence if someone else hates me or opposes me.


I heard, so loud, and felt it in me like a drum being banged in time, these words, this essential message: It is ok to stick out. It is ok to not fit in. It is ok to go unseen by some. Know them by this,love them and forgive them, and treat them only with generosity, but you are fine, you have a place, you are welcomed, you are valuable.


All these thoughts, which had been tiny, many, but tiny, too tiny to overcome my doubt, came flooding to me as I raised my body from sleep. You are fine, you are fine, it’s ok to be exactly who you are.


Now, I understand that this sentiment is on many, if not most, of the facebook posts I see, so I know that the words themselves are helpful and appropriate,but I did not see how these words applied to me when in conflict.


I puzzled on this, why a catty little fight could blacken my worldview, why panic and darkness seem to overwhelm me sometimes when I feel rejected. And then, it all came together for me.


This is the same koan, the same old conundrum. How can I still be working on THIS?! I wondered, over and over, as the pressure got turned up at work, the interactions becoming more frequent,and more adversarial, each day, last week.


And then I decided it would be wise to watch Band of Brothers.


I will tell you, this time, this time I was ready to heal it.


I have been watching long, painful documentaries about the camps since I was a young woman. I couldn’t not watch, that is how I felt. I needed to learn about the camps.


And with Band of Brothers, came my epiphany. I’d seen the series once before, but this time, when I got to the episode called “Why We Fight,” everything came together for me.


Understand, it was in the same time frame that I discovered a key, a true key to me. I discovered a website called Foundation for the Law Of Time.


There have been many such moments for me, on this walk of enlightenment, but none quite as profound as what I learned the day I stumbled upon this site. I instantly understood all the numerology, understood the complexity of what they were explaining, and suddenly, everything came into view for me.


I saw that it takes 52 years to go through a life cycle. I had been told, in my head, in December or January to just hold on, that everything changes on my birthday. I knew it to be true, but why? And there, on that website was my answer. I felt, for those two days, as I learned and learned, as I remembered more and more fully all that had once been my understanding, that this was a special time, and that the timing of my life had been impeccable, I had laid everything out very well, and I was well satisfied.


I felt such completion, and that sensation you get when the earth beneath you suddenly, surprisingly, gives way.


And then comes Band of Brothers. I walked into it with this burgeoning sense of completion, and then, I see the liberation of the camps, on the small screen, done well, and lost was I, not in film critique or thinking the screenplay through. No, I was seeing the camps for the first time. I was remembering. I was reliving it.


This residue stayed with me for a day. I wept, I felt that old heaviness, and I finally understood why I have been so hard to get along with sometimes, at work.


I understand how it is that small, bad decisions are just a window to what else a person might feel is ok. There were always plenty of guards in the camps, you know. Always plenty of people willing to be the enforcers, the ones who carry out the nonsense, hiding under the puerile excuse of not being allowed to think things through.


This sort of lock-step thinking infuriates me, and, I can see now, it used to panic me, when in the context of giving care to the vulnerable. With a great sense of moral rectitude, of integrity, honesty, humor, light, clarity, I have seen care given, and I know what is possible. And when I see it being done by those who devalue those they serve, when I see no understanding of the great sacredness of what we choose to undertake when we clock in for work, this makes, or made me, very very scared. Panicked, and angry. Very angry. And sometimes even morally indignant.


Now, it’s not bad to have a strong super-ego when doing what I do for a living, but I have always had an overactive one, always. Even as a candy striper, as a volunteer, that urgent need to practice with integrity, honesty, humor, balance, presence, that never has diminished, has always burned bright. But it led to mental health problems, and made fitting in hard.


I put all of this together last week, and in the height of it, as disbelieving and as discounting as I got, I have to tell you, getting body chills and nausea every single time I said, “Birkenau” out loud,well, there are some things it is hard to dispute.


I crested the madness, though, and I want you to know if it. That is the point of this, of course.


I came to see, as I traveled to the camps, as I felt and smelled and witnessed and relived, I came to see that this was an exercise in consciousness. It was a scar, a dip,the last time we would fall so low. Now,thinking on the horror of this time, all over the globe, the darkness was pervasive, and yet now,thinking on the time, the darkness doesn’t strum me like it did last week. My body is not singing the songs of that time, like it was, even last week.


This had to do, in large part, with what was written on that website, and I am going to cut and paste so that you too can gain resolve and recognition from those words. It brought the experience into my heart, into my DNA, into my field, and helped me to remember the context of all of this.


And this is what my consciousness has been revolving around, this last week, I guess. Context.


The World War II healing continued, but first, that article on the shifting of our consciousness from


2013 – New Aeon of Consciousness

We are the Elders of the Supreme Star Council of the Federation of Galactic Federations. We speak as a unified voice of matters that concern all of you. As a unified voice we can only be understood by a unified consciousness.


A unified consciousness is not just the consciousness of a single being unified in itself, but that of a brother/sisterhood of beings unified as a single organism.


Many of you are feeling the accelerated changes taking place within your organism and on your planet. These shifts are coming because your collective inner dream is beginning to assert itself in the third dimension.


Everything that is occurring in your world is a symptom of rapidly approaching the major event point of the changing aeon of consciousness. The earth is shifting frequency from 12:60 machine “time is money” domination to 13:20 spiritual/mental “time is art” evolution.


Many who are talking or writing about 2012 are passing their intuitive perceptions about the event through a 12:60 filter, and presume, through their work, to be the spokesperson for a particular point of view which they invariably think is the correct one. They are not to blame.


The mass mind has not yet fully realized their consciousness is still immersed in the aeon of consciousness that is soon to be terminated (12:60). They are not communicating yet from the perspective of the new aeon of consciousness (13:20).


The new aeon of consciousness is the aeon of universal unified consciousness. The old aeon is the aeon of the evolution of the egoic individualized consciousness.


During this cycle consciousness has emerged from a tribal unconscious of spiritual equality into a dialectical struggle between those who dominate through the reinvention of reality and those who uphold the sufficiency of spiritual Reality. The upholders of the reinvention of reality have incarnated to play roles such as politicians, bankers, CEO’s of pharmaceutical companies, etc.


This dialectical struggle has created the tension in consciousness that has dominated your line of force for the last six thousand years. This is the climax of the struggle between spirit and matter. 


All the sacred books and teachers of holy truth have arisen solely for the purpose of upholding the remembrance of spiritual reality against the rising tide of materialism.


Even so, the followers of these sacred books and holy teachers themselves always end up reinventing reality and calling it by the name of yet another religion. In this way the progressive force of the upholders of the reinvention of reality have come to prevail. In this patriarchal script, the weight of matter always proves superior to the etheric mantle of spirit, which it easily tears to shreds. But this is soon to change.


The dialectic between spirit and matter is known as history, the progress of the reinventers of reality in time – the dominating patriarch – and their unceasing pursuit of power and total world conquest.


Finally, about 500 years ago, the objective of conquering the entire line of force for the benefit of those upholding the reinvention of reality as the principle purpose of human existence had been attained. The last remnants of tribal consciousness could then be squeezed into this artificial matrix fueled by greed where money reigns as the supreme arbiter.

Now also the final stage of the present aeon of consciousness was able to flower. This was the age of the flowering of ego, male dominance and the triumph of the individualization of consciousness. In the New Aeon comes the emergence and balance of the earth-centered feminine energy that does not fit into existing frameworks. 


In this final age all vestiges of the tribal unconscious and the older hierarchies of spiritual reality were pushed aside in favor of the complete reinvention of Reality, the new world order. Consciousness was now privatized through media of mass communication. Anyone could think and do what they wanted – within the limits set by the protectors of the social order. What you call nature was devalued to the condition of a raw commodity resource bank where Earth’s precious resources were unfeelingly stripped and sold to the highest bidder.


We are the Elders of the Supreme Star Council of the Federation of Galactic Federations. We have studied your line of force through different aeons of consciousness.


The aeon now ending is the Aeon of the Testing of Consciousness. It is the testing of the individual soul. Who you think you are and who you actually are, are two entirely different things.


You have theories about how you came to be which make no sense. You are closer to the truth when you place GOD (Galactic Ordering Dynamic) in the position of having created you. 


As the emanation of the Higher Reality, the template of your being was “fashioned” by divinely directed “biological engineers” in another line of force of reality. Your galaxy was selected as a test zone. The test zone was designed by cosmic engineers to accommodate sequences of aeons of consciousness in which your species was the test case for the emergence of “spiritual consciousness.”


Following the final testing of the present aeon of consciousness, the new aeon will dawn, the aeon of the flowering of spiritual consciousness. For this we are being prepared as a new cosmic species.


I began to understand, as the week progressed, as I applied it to my work situation, my family stuff, all of it, that the panic I used to feel came from anticipating more horror, always knowing more was around the next curve.


And that is how it used to be for a lot of us, and I think it intensified for many of us during the last couple of years, when we sort of came out of our caves and began to stretch our legs. We’d had to shelter, and had to seek refuge, often and much, because it was brutal out there.


Now, I really do not expect everyone to be able to understand this experience of mine, or any of them, frankly, but I do know there are others out there who see that their lives are more metaphoric, and works of living, biochemical high art than the grind most have concluded life is. We are here. We are awake, and we are using our experiences to transmute for the group, if you don’t mind me putting too fine a point on it.


I realized that I had to discard the futility, the resignation that I had come to know so well. I think the panic had to do with the futility I felt, that really, I can shine just as bright as I wish, but I will get ejected from the group for it, at the least, and possibly some other form of struggle, to pay for the stretching I’d done.


And now, this is different. Is it because I feel I transmuted some of the energy I was aware of around the camps, is it the whispers of sanity Jose is offering me on that web site, or is it simply time for me to outgrow the koan of my first 52 years?


I don’t know the answer to that question. It’s too big. I only know that I feel a soul relief now that I was not aware was possible last Sunday.


I finished up my WWII spree by watching a documentary called Heir To An Execution, and it featured the oldest son of the Rosenbergs, murdered nearly 60 years ago by our government. I watched the old energy once again morph into a murderous mob, hateful commentators, misguided protesters. I saw the darkness, the primordial fear we stewed in for so long dance these people like puppets, and saw, two generations later, that there were finally two family members, second generation, who chose to come together,one offering the other, the one who had suffered from the isolation and fear based behavior a tearful apology.


I watched the son of these complicated human beings. I heard in every silence, in every utterance, balance, strength, self knowledge, peace. He had suffered as few have, and he conducted himself with gentleness of spirit, intelligence,passion, but through all the fire of mind was a wise, and old, a calm spirit.


I thought then of my current job, my current group. I am told, always, to look at this as a lark, as fun, fined joy every day, teach, laugh,love, but take none of it too seriously. I have it shouted and whispered, all day long. And still, sometimes, the sensations I get from the others is overwhelmingly dark, just dumb, fear based, shame based, ineffective,blaming and dumb. And I get tired.


So, while feeling a little lost, a couple days ago,having had a clearing, and having felt some healing, I was driving and listening to the radio,when an ad came on for massage therapy school.


I listened. I let it sinkin. Hmm. Having clients who understand they are quite possibly spiritual beings? People who are motivated to exploring being an active partner in their health? Hmm… Hmm… And then, a big smile rolled over my face, and, very loudly, waiting at a light, laughing by the third repetition, I said, “I wanna do THAT!”


Since then, I have spoken to my sister who reminded me of a healer she knows whose work is in alignment with how I do my work, with energy, with self. So, I am going to be calling him, go in a get my hip tweaked,and perhaps take up with him.


All of this is happening while I am witnessing many timelines closing, of their own accord. Superimposed on this is my knowledge of my own life path, my 52 years of progression as a soul, wrapped in this odd personality, has come to an end, is morphing, is looking for another, maybe even lighter, brighter, expression.


I want to end this by telling you of an experience which occurred for me two days ago. I was at work, reluctantly attending a celebration for the crew. Not being comfortable in social situations at work, I’d taken to the back,taken to silence.


I patient came to me in a lull in the festivities. He was allowed entrance because it is known that he likes to give me gifts. He goes around and gathers magazines, then seeks me out and gives me stacks and stacks of these things.


As he handed me a stack of Guns & Ammo and Elle magazines, I was overcome, just overcome suddenly with the truth of it. Here was a yogi, a sage, someone who owns nothing, whose greatest defining characteristic is his generosity. Sure, some make fun of him, and few understand him, bu there he was, yet again, looking me in the eye, handing me a gift, smiling, wanting to make me happy.


I teared up and told him he was the most generous person I had ever met. We hugged, and off he waddled, off to his bedroom on a locked ward, which he shares with a floridly psychotic elderly gentleman.


And so, the dictation came, and I let it, and it is this dictation I close with. It explains why I have done as I have done these last forty years, and it further explains why this leg of the journey may very well be complete.


As part of All That Is, in this Divine Mind, in accordance with the dance of the universe, I will say now how I wish for my lifetime to go. Let me speak to you now as a mother, one who knows me best, and wishes no harm to me.


Please make me slow of wit, quick of temper, unsteady of gait, and make me deaf. Give me weak eyes, and difficulty understanding others. Let me have a wild and reckless youth. Let me break everything I touch. Let me have had the sort of life which makes for legend as I finish my days with my companions, my fellow teachers.


Let me finish my lifetime behind a locked door those with sharp tongues and intellects guard. Let me be poor, let me be found begging for trinkets, reduced to asking permission to take a shower.


Let me have odd habits, and let me, in the end, become a bit of a caricature, a character.


I give permission to be a fool.


I understand that as such, I am a teacher, and I will hold an energy few will recognize, and most will discount. Let me then, have my friends, and let them be among my table mates, and those who tend to my self inflicted wounds. Once in a while, send me someone who understands my role, who, perhaps, might be able to gain access to this conversation.


I choose this life so that, at the end of it, I will have embodied gratitude. Let me know this vibration as I never have. This is what will burn in my heart, and it will be my true north. Let me know gratitude. My service will teach others, and I will come to embody that which will give me the strength to pull this off. It is a graduate life. It is a saint’s life. Let me do it well.”


As my coworkers swirled into their ever changing groups, as their air buzzed and crackled with rumors and all the other nonsense which drives so much human behavior, I heard this, I knew this, and I understood some fundamental things. Primary among them was that not everyone in this big dining hall sees this man as I do. I am so grateful for this knowledge, I thought, and then, all the bad feelings I’d had about not fitting in well in my work group just sort of melted away. What mattered was me and this man, having seen and loved each other so well. It’s the only thing that matters.


I have been among the suffering for many years. Nursing called me, I did not want the role. I have done it gladly, because through the years I have met these yogis of love, these saints, dressed in rags, burned or broken or disfigured as they might have been, each of them a teacher, each of them an elder.


I understand the suffering, and wish to alleviate it. Sometimes I misread the suffering though, and the panic sets in.


These WWII experiences helped to bring it to a head, and helped to me apply that which I know to be true, but could not integrate until now.


Each one who tortured others in those camps, and each of the tortured, they played their roles. Of course, it was all voluntary, and it is just so sad our consciousness got so low, but what is done is done, and each who suffered and died in those camps added fuel to a fire that is now out of control, that fire which makes cruelty unthinkable, abuse unspeakable, punishment unintelligible. Each atrocity added to our later resolve, to our shame, to the moment when we decide, as a group, to forsake such behavior.


Each time anyone slights another, this is just us bumping into each other, negotiating agreement fields.


I see that I am in an agreement field that is rather low level, from the top down, not too enlightened, often fighting itself and ignoring its mission. And I observe it now, I see it, and I understand that this is a new age.


It took some convincing, you know, to get to the place of hope, true, organic,take-it-to-the-bank hope.


When I was knee deep in trying to sort out how to handle the petty issues in my workplace, they’d taken on such significance, it felt like I was solving a soul puzzle. Now, a week later, I know I have.


The time lines are closing, and to what new treble of existence I know not, but I trust it will be good, it will be instructive, and I am beginning to admit that joy and acceptance, laughter and ease might also be part of the bargain. Along with the same old characters, resistant and suspicious, are the new characters, whoa re inviting, raucous, good hearted and kind. The darkness used to be the focal point. After this week, this has shifted.


I feel some of the bounce in my step I used to, while I was waking up, right at first. The same lump-in-my-throat excitement. It feels good.


So, this idea of context. I see now that a lifetime is just a spiral, and the themes we choose to take on are achieved, and things we could not have accessed before become visible. Perhaps some themes never dissolve, but I think the significance of the themes, the driving factors, morph as we do.


To end, I tell you of how Kryon has explained things. He says there are Akashic Drivers, those things which compel us to certain actions, due to our world-view, our proclivities and our interests. The drivers, in the old energy, were fear, drama, and unfinished business.


I am seeing that as my business gets finished, as I acknowledge what I have done consciously and in a greater sense,I see that my drivers are changing. To finished business. To peace. To connection.


Context. Frame of reference. Natural bent. These things matter. They drive the discussions of our souls. I am glad that things are quiet now. That was a long, lovely, cathartic discussion I just come from. I rest, I smile, I breathe. My context, more and more, is soulic, multiple, big. From here, all good things come. This is a good context for me.








I have a full blown love affair with language, because it set off distant bells in me, and much of the old stuff is just so familiar, and I am so comfortable around it. That year in Latin, my freshman year of college, oh my, did I feel like a dork, but I was so blissfully happy in my dorkdom, I couldn’t care less. I think that’s what a life in academia would be, for me, just sheer indulgence, and a lifetime looking back. I think,in retrospect, that’s why I had to turn from that path, a very very juicy one. It was not my vacation lifetime, not yet.


Anyhow, while out and about yesterday, my sister and I both commented, in many different ways, how mush we both feel in some sort of weird suspension. Both of us can see it as reasonable and necessary, and both of us understand that, at its core, it is temporary.


Feeling brightened again this morning, not feeling the weight last week pressed on me, thankfully, I began to scroll the internet, and went onto, and read their blogs. And this word popped up. Interregnum. Big, deep gongs, monks hoods, incense, flood of such hushed, comfortable serenity. Such happiness, being a monk, such bliss. And this word, interregnum.


So, here it is, for those who are also language nerds, from the internet, to you: Interregnum.



 noun \ˌin-tə-ˈreg-nəm\

plural in·ter·reg·nums or in·ter·reg·na


Definition of INTERREGNUM


:  the time during which a throne is vacant between two successive reigns or regimes


:  a period during which the normal functions of government or control are suspended


:  a lapse or pause in a continuous series

 See interregnum defined for kids »


  1. <the democratic regime proved to be a short-livedinterregnum between dictatorships>


Latin, from inter- + regnum reign — more at reign

First Known Use: 1590


discontinuityhiatushiccup (also hiccough), interim,interludeintermissiongapinterruptioninterstice,intervalparenthesis



I don’t know where the monk stuff came from, but this was a flash of a good life, long ago, and this word meant something big, maybe just to me, the role I was playing, who nows. But this idea, the idea of a waiting period, between reigns, this was so apropos, so perfect, that I felt hugged. “They” do this to me with words, quite a lot. The word gets inserted, somehow, sometimes just in my head, I’ll get a word. One time, while gambling, so loud it felt like a shout,I heard “Ashkanzi” over and over and over again. I felt feelings, though couldn’t see anything, but usually when this happens, it’s so insistent that it just doesn’t stop until I look it up. The faster I look stuff up when I get it, the more frequently I get it. So, back then, it was a couple flashes, some feelings and that word Askanazi, and at many, many other times, it’s been some other way, like this, a simple word, setting off gongs, over morning coffee and facebooking.




We can parse too close and debate the merits of aristocracy, and any number of enjoyable conspiracy theories about it too, instead, it’s nice to consider the bigger metaphor. A change in monarchs, and change in ruler, a change in regimes.


There is an implied lawlessness, an implied self-governance, in the time of interregnum, and maybe that is its most valuable lesson to an awakening humanity. Self governance reminds us what government should be, that it should be service oriented, benevolent, helpful, in a land where the laws are benevolent and balanced, and where profit and greed have been abolished as deciding factors in policy making for the greater good, a place where those who do not have are taken care of amply, and we decide as a culture that this better-than-less-than stuff has got to stop, all of this seems more than possible during an interregnum. Resetting everything. Just saying”no,” to certain things, just switching off and not participating in the hate machine passing for modern politics.


And maybe that’s why this word interregnum means something to me here, in this lifetime. It feels, to me, and to my sister, and, from what I can gather, many other people, we have come to a little lull. I do think we are doing this as a group, and it really is so nice to be linked with you in this way. It’s just nice to have company.


Anyhow, I think this word is meaningful at this time, because I think in addition to the lawlessness this word implies, it also does imply a shift in power. And this is the crux of it, for me. The power is, bit by bit, inevitably, shifting from this unbending, unyielding, darker thinking, and some of it just comes naturally, through natural attrition, so to speak. It brings up the final point I want to make today. I’m sort of rushed for time today.


As I was writing this, I was thinking about we first wavers, if you want to call it that. I like the term, and it feels comfortable to me, but I just mean those who can tune into this frequency, who feel as I do, and know what I know. I have met you. I know you’re out there. Many are reading. It’s so nice to be together.


I think that I want to end comparing we in the first wave, the brave ones who, at one time, used to want to go on and on about all manner of weird things, like crystals and astrology and tarot and stuff like that, we odd balls who have been going to psychics since we were kids, but no,there are also those who speak this language who are younger, you see, in their twenties and thirties. And then the tykes, some of the young ones offering it up without prompt, who they used to be and what their purpose is, and how they foresee their deaths, we oddballs are part of the first wave. The open ones, the ready ones, the sensitive ones.


We used to have a hard time fitting in, but, have you noticed, is this also changing for you? Is your sense of just overall security higher? I have noticed a clearing of thinking, a contentment, waves of well being, with occasional overpowering heat flashes, and bouts of nausea. It’s upgrade time. That big squeeze was worth it, after all.


Many of us in the first wave, and those who love us, are in our fifties. And that sort of was the point. We have already, or will soon, lose our parents, and many of them have struggled with chronic disease, at this point. Most of my contemporaries had young parents, like mine. My mom was only 21 or 22 when she had me. Ridiculous. My dad wasn’t much older. There are a few of we stragglers, so, by now, most of us have known loss, and we have probably seen our fortunes turn a time or two. And now, comes an energy that we recognize.


Kryon just put out four new podcasts, and I had all of them listened to before I got home from work that day. Oh, what joy! What rapture! To hear his thoughts on what is happening, it helped so tremendously. Sometimes he confirms. Sometimes he straight up schools me. It was a mixture with these last transmissions,beautiful, inspired, complete.


He referred to some of the difficulties we, in this group, have, at work, at home, and it helps so very much to just hear good advice, advice from home, which allows me to do the things that feel good, feel balanced. I guess Bashar would call Kryon one of my permission slips. And he wouldn’t be wrong. But I know it’s correct and true for me, because so much of it is already lived out, or being contemplated,when he finally comes on the scene with new information. And that’s what happened this time.


What got me most was the story he told about the tree in the forest. At the risk of impinging on a law I’m currently unaware of, I want to paraphrase what was taught. He said there once was a tree whose name I have forgotten, so I’ll call her Eleanor. Eleanor knew she was a tree, and knew her purpose. After a time,a ways off, a shoot came out of the earth,and in time, it became a tree, a self possessed, self aware tree, named Diane. And then, over time, Eleanor saw a multitude of trees form around her, and she stood with them, part of them, entangled with their root system. The question is, who is Diane? Who are the other trees? Are they not experiencing themselves in their complete, self-fashioned body? Are they not doing their purpose?


And so, the truth is, we are all expressions of the same essence, the same awareness, to whatever degree we believe we are, basically. Maybe this stuff comes to some people spontaneously, while living ski bunny existences. I once was lamenting my life to my shrink, and he told me to stop bellyaching, basically. So what? So you picked a hard life this time. Deal with it, and don’t make it worse for yourself by thinking you deserved it because you’re somehow deficient, which was, basically, my problem. He nailed it, and that helped. To me, a ski bunny existence would be having this sense of security at age seven or eight. I could do anything in a lifetime with this sort of clarity in childhood.


And I guess that is sort of the point. What Kryon teaches, and, you now, we’ll see, but it makes sense from where I’m standing, Next lifetime, we come in ready to awaken sooner. We switch onto whatever level we left, memory more of less intact, not as fuzzy, and, can you imagine, can you just imagine? I’d sign up for that. I have, actually.


And so,to me, this lifetime is all about becoming sovereign, claiming ownership of my emotions, my thoughts, and loving it all into myself, accepting it all, and then, by extension, wouldn’t you now it, it becomes second nature to do to others. And it spreads.


But it did not get here, this go around, the easy way. But it was a hell of a ride. I’m glad things are stabilizing, but still, that sense of suspension clings to things, haunts me, just a little.


I like the void. I enjoy free falling. I like not knowing, and I like things big, so I am comfortable, more comfortable than usual. The energy sort of calls for it. I have my stilts on. Things are changing. I can feel it.







This was a tough week. I was unhappy for much of it, and I felt oddly buffeted and blown. I got good news, I got sad news. And the hardest part of it all is that right now, I want to talk to you about it all, but it’s been so long, I feel like I am stammering and unable to get lift off. I feel like bagging it and walking away.


And yet, I have been looking forward to writing all week. I think it is a n odd thing with us, that we believe, or feel it is true, that what we are doing emotionally and spiritually, actually effects the Earth positively. Our work, and connecting over our work, it matters, not just to us individually, but to humanity collectively. And the average joe would get one hit of that and call it narcissism.


I have gotten to see so much this week. The contrasts have been astounding, dizzying, even. Pillar to post, I have been. And now, I have just this tiny bit of time to wrap it all up and make sense of it for myself, and by extension, you too.


But I do not believe that this big week was just a time my energetic chickens came home to roost. I know too much about this to negate that if I am feeling it, others are feeling it, and it is valid.


I guess what I am having to adjust to is pace. I was formerly able to parse out one thought, or one concept, for days, weeks, months. I don’t doubt I am still doing it, it’s just that the texture of it all has changed. Anyhow, before, I had lots and lots of down time, lots of contemplative time, and I kept busy and moving, but I just did not have a lot of interference around me, so I thought very clearly. Getting to the place where I understood fear is not the opposite of love, but an expression of it, just part of a complete emotional experience, a device, not real, not real like love… getting there took effort, and quiet, and contemplation.


And now, my consciousness has been flooded by others.


This last week, we had an outside agency come in and judge us. It’s a custom, a week long inspection, and during that time, everyone walks around feeling alternately terrorized and defensive. It was a real hoot, I can tell you.


I was told throughout the week that I just need to get through it. That I was feeling so much that was not mine, and to just hang tight, find joy in simple things, find peace in nature. Still, it was hard.


This was coupled with what I am sure was an extra-big jolt of cosmos-juice. Monday I felt just as weak and physically ill from it as I did back in the day. I’d forgotten how awful a hit can make me feel. Body chills, cotton-packed skull, barfing, lethargy, just being so very distant. I’d forgotten.


That was Monday. It was better on Tuesday, but being in that soup was tricky, and tiring.


I found, last week, that I was angry most of the time. I surprised myself with pettiness, and my impatience was white hot, most of the time. Emotionally, I was healing something up that I had not fully appreciated needed healing. I could have written on Wednesday. I had that day off. But I took it off, completely. Off the grid. Gone. I don’t remember what I did, but I think it was mainly just being at home, quiet, waiting for the storm to pass.


Things did not really come together for me until Friday. By then, the inspectors had left, and on parting they’d given great news. It was a belly flop of sorts. I did not expect the news to be so good. It changes everything. Everything.


Friday was also the day I learned that my aunt died. The only sister to my mother, the only aunt I’d known. She’d shown me kindness. She’d tolerated me. I worked a twelve hour day shift that day, and all day long, I’d felt things beginning to loosen. I drove to the hospice and sat with Vel, and tried to think things through.


Vel helped me more than anyone that day. Lying in her bed, slowly shedding the skin she’s called home for 76 years, breathing deeply and rhythmically, I let her truth steady me. Her truth. I sat with her for a long time, never saying a word, both here and far away, gathering everything I’d been feeling and fearing and wasting time thinking over the last week.


I remembered what Seth had told me on my facebook feed two days ago, something which made the clouds finally start to part. He’d said, holding misgivings for your reality is uncomfortable and untenable. It’s dishonest, basically. I listened to Vel breathe, and I thought on it again. Holding misgivings.


You see, over this week, something really ugly happened. It’s too complicated to go into, and I am sworn to confidentiality agreements. So let me say that it was basically a clash of realities. Two seemingly mutually exclusive realities collided, and the one which I find morally repugnant and unthinkable won out. This was days before the news we got a great survey. So here I am, in a weakened position, for having stated my piece, knowing the consequences would be dire, and finding that no, in fact, there will be no consequences for it this time.


I was stunned, seeing management make a decision I would never make.


And this was a source of great pain, mid-week. I told you it was not fun.


And now, another work week looms.


And here I am, once again, feeling like the odd man out, seeing things so clearly and having no one else even know what I am talking about.


See, this always happens to me, and I am not the only one. Are you one, too, who can see things whole, can see many things at once, and who just can sort of read things? And you just instinctively know what could be done to make things easier, less chaotic, maybe, more enjoyable, and No One Wants To Listen To You???


I think that’s my journey this week.


I think, by week’s end, in a darkened hospice room, listening to a member of my family quietly breathing, I understood that this whole thing has been about just getting comfortable with this being a place of free will. I had had a week of feeling so controlling, so angry, so fearful, and I realized what I’d done is try to take over.


And maybe this is what I have been doing for a while. The anger I felt so often, late in my career, came from just not being able to tolerate other people’s foibles, their blocks, their stupidity. I felt it again this week. I didn’t like it. I don;t want to be that way anymore.


I am not alone in being able to intuit as I do. I now this is true because there are always people who can see as I do, who have the same odd humor, who feel the peculiar lift I feel when in the presence of this work. I have people who see me, and who value me.


And the funny thing is, thinking now on this new work tableau, it feels less constricted, more open, with the same stupid problems, generated, basically, by an unwillingness to see and understand the obvious. The big themes. The clear and present patterns of behavior I see from those I work with and for. But here’s the thing, here is what I learned this week:


It’s not for me to share what I know unless I am asked. This is a place of free will, and I cannot, I will not project onto another how they should do their life. Sure, when it comes to technique, I can teach, but when it comes to the big questions, of how to handle a dysfunctional system that I did not create but have to function within, this is where the rubber meets the road.


It’s my responsibility to decide the level of dysfunction with which I can effectively create a work product. And because I have a job as a care take, this is where things get tricky. This is where the green, slobbery demon of moral indignation comes up. If I think a system is harmful to someone who cannot defend themselves, and I am part of that system, then what?


As moral people, are we not supposed to ask such questions?


But I remember when my hen circle asked me why I did not call the authorities to get “help” for Vel, I calmly said, “It’s their dance, not mine. I am not going to engage in their karma. It’s not for me to do.” It felt odd and weirdly cold to say that, but I knew it was true. I knew I wanted it out of my hands.


I found it harder for me to feel that way about the people in the old folk’s home. I had to decide a few things this week, but at its root was, do I respect these people enough to work for them?


And now, after the tumble and spin and rinse cycles have all been gone through, now, here, sitting in my granny chair the day before needing to go back into this thing I have created, I am trying to decide how best to approach it all, knowing what I know now, and feeling as I do.


The change has been a gentle one this time. It was a difficult week, many ups and downs, and many, many misgivings.


Vel and I sat, as I contemplated being in the truth of it, in this moment, so close to death, so close to life.


I will speak honestly and compassionately, for myself. Again and again I have been told, like a broken record, walking through the halls of this facility, this is not your creation, this is not your drama, you are here to hold light. Again and again, told to relax, to let go, to stop feeling so responsible for others’ blind spots.


So, I have people higher on the food chain who know less than me, and who are ambivalent about my wisdom. What else is new. So what. The danger is in wanting to take over, and often there is someone up above more than willing to have the smart girl do the term papers, so, finding a balance, that’s wise. Keeping my counsel, that’s always wise.


And I remembered Vel, all her silence, her great, happy silences. The silences were more frequent and pronounced as things progressed, but sometimes, a whole meal would go by and she would say nothing, happy, though, you could just feel it coming off of her. And then, she’d look up, smile, and say, “You know, love is all there is.” And then she’d go back to picking at her food.


She said little. She offered little, conversationally. And she rang clear. Sometimes, often times, the quiet one is the loudest one in the room, and often the most profoundly injured. I don’t like quiet ones, that much. But Vel, Vel was clean. She was pure. She was a pillar of light, of love, of acceptance. She accepted so much. That was her stance in life. Accepting.


I really stayed with it, sitting with her that night. To be that quiet, and that accepting. The thing is, I am verbal, and sometimes verbally incontinent, but, I think it is one of my finest qualities, inconveniences aside. So, I cannot hope to embody Vel’s quiet, but her acceptance, this I can emulate.


I thought then of the others in my life who bring to me a sense of feeling whole. I thought of Grandpa On the Farm, his love for me. I felt it so well. I remembered then all the ones who have loved me, and I realized, this capacity to love, to be able to be the one to hold another in my heart so completely that they can do no wrong, this, this is the essence of love, of unconditional love. Vel knew it. I want that. I can do it yakking or still, doesn’t matter, really. That’s just style. The heart of it is this love.


If this is the sort of love that floats my boat, and it is, it’s the kind that makes everything good, everything right, everything possible, and no one has to embarrass themselves or get undressed, then, maybe it’s my job to be that. How do I do that when people are behaving badly?


And this is the depth of it. Holding misgivings means I’m buying into whatever little play is afoot. It’s guaranteed people are living out their mommy and daddy crap, and their deep=dark-issues crap at work. The average joe does not prepare and purify consciously before barreling into work and clocking in. So let them.


Let them.


Let them.


My anger comes from everyone not getting it, and I know that is really presumptuous, because for years and years and years I didn’t get it, and still I have off-days.


And maybe that was the point of my week of bad behavior, cattiness, snide comments and negativity. To remind myself that I am not guiltless, that everyone goofs up from time to time, that better behavior is easier when you can breathe and aren’t being choked with fear.


That has come through a lot recently too. I forget, I think, that not everyone thinks as I do, and not everyone is paying attention. That was brought into crystal focus mid week. But pointing out to someone what should be obvious creates shame, and that shame can make a person do wacky things. Some people can’t be wrong. They are often in management positions. Such is life.


But, I’m not alone, and that’s nice. And it’s nice to be here chillin’ on a Sunday morning, thinking of the week ahead, with the truth of things becoming clearer. I think about the sort of love that sustained me when I was a girl, and it was just a flicker, but it was there, and Grandpa held it brightest, but my aunt held it up from time to time too,and she is gone now.


I’ll end with telling you the happiness I feel when I think about my mom and her sister finally being together again. My mom finally not seen so hatefully and condescendingly, her sister able to see more clearly the impact she had on all of us. I could feel them dancing together, in the high ceilinged hospice room, that night with Vel. I’d gotten the news in the afternoon, and had so little time to process it. It felt good thinking of them together again in love, roles discarded, flesh masks dropped, love ablaze.


I went into this work thinking that everyone I was meeting was a friend, someone I have an agreement with. And then, this last week, I felt, in so many ways, pulled through the eye of a needle. I felt such misgivings for the work, the people, the systems, and the willingness to improve.


On Thursday, I had an odd feeling, when I woke up, like I was a cork, bobbing on water. I could feel the lift, the buoyancy. I realized that eye-on-the-needle stuff was from the day before. It felt good to be buoyant. There was more to go though, but it was nice to get a reprieve.


I’d felt guilty for not writing mid-week, and felt more and more removed from this endeavor as the days flew by. It feels good to sit, think it out, and then make sense of it in this fashion. I know there was a full moon, and the Equinox occurred. A year ago I would have been grateful for the one shift a week and all the mandatory napping. It’s easier to anchor this stuff without this interference.


So, the us and them stuff goes on, as it probably always will, but it is easier now, because I have Vel to think about, and Grandpa on the Farm, and others whose love for me was pure and kind. Imagine. The power of this love. That I can call on it and it makes me feel whole even now.


To end, really this time, I will tell you about what I saw while listening to Kryon on a lunch break. Oh, I didn’t mention it, but, of course, along with all the other stuff this week, I cried a lot. And barfed a lot. I was real hoot. Anyway, he was talking about how ascension is intergenerational, and the seeds we are planting now will blossom when we come back, as the children.


It dawned on me that the acts of kindness and mercy I do to others and to myself, it sort of is like a down payment on an awesome reality. I mean, not every sour puss changes his ways when treated well, but this sort of behavior then becomes more of a norm. These are the seeds we are planting. The longer we stick around, glowing and loving and giving each other slack, and love, the more cushioned our next arrival will be. I saw hoe I had handled a potentially dicey situation an hour back, and it had turned out so sweet, so sweet, and I saw how this spreads, all of it. So holding this sort of love, even for those who insist on marching themselves and their group into trouble, regardless of counsel offered, well, then, so be it. For now. I’ll say my piece, always keeping in mind how much nonsense I’ll put up with, and have not one shadow of a misgiving over any of it. This is something I have created, the voices tell me again and again. This is what I called to me. By agreement. Right on time. Figure it out, they’ve advised.


I’m in Vel’s debt for her help in figuring out that the wise one allows others their choices. Even advising is best done by invitation. Allow others their experience, stop trying to control everything, because that’s just misplacing your power, and ends in frustration. People will do what people will do. Love them anyway. Love them without misgivings.






The last time we spoke, I was feeling blank, oddly but unmovingly blank. That went on til nighttime, when I had a good cry, asking for help. Two relatively sleepless nights, same ole-same ole. I knew by nightfall that I was going through another change. I donned my armor, my shield, my sword. I concentrated on love, even though everything was on mute. I tried to elevate my thoughts to love. Went to sleep murmuring, “It’s time for gifts, now. It’s time for gifts. Make it wonderful and sparkly, and have people offering me gifts, and let me know it’s you. It’s time for gifts now.”


I felt better the next morning. I am neutral toward this process now, which is a gift in itself, actually. It was very weird and scary the first few times, and the time spent was elongated. I thin as things progress the time it takes to come into a new vibratory state, after an expansion (often felt innately, not consciously), then the contraction, revisiting the old vibration, and then resonating with the new pitch, well, I think it happens faster now. It has been a while since I have had such a night, but it fits a pattern. Sometimes my bootless cries are made while driving, while on the can, while at a movie. It’s always safe, when I reach that place, but it is a peculiar and, by now, familiar place. I was glad I had not gone through the extremes I once did, and then I had my night of crying and praying.


On the way to work the next day, I remembered the prayer I’d made, the command, the invitation to play, and I affirmed it, with excitement.


I realized, the last couple of days, as the lights have gotten brighter than ever, once again, that when I am in emotional distress of any ind, really, it is mostly due to projecting my consciousness into a future or a potential that I really do not want, and may dread, or fear, or wish I could avoid.


If I stay there, then my distress grows. I have become aware of the feeling states these thoughts produce, just very vividly, the last couple of days. It is clear to me that this is sort of like an amnesiac regaining a memory. It feels organic, what I understand now, and I feel like what I understand I can and do demonstrate, actively but gently, all day long, with everybody, including myself.


I was given a glimpse into what my cat Minky might be experiencing in her consciousness. I thought about how it might be possible to talk with my cats in a new way. Rosie is a teacher of mine. She’s laid down some heavy things, with a simple gesture, with a nod. Each of them have blown me away with information, with knowledge, that it is hard to translate, but this last thing, I think it bears discussion, however brief. It’s all tied together, I promise.


As I was petting Minky I sort of asked her if it was ok, to just be with her and feel what she does. Relatively quickly, I sensed a rushing sort of feeling, into her, and become acutely aware of this moment. It was just this moment, for all time, indefinitely, and in this state, none of the future stuff makes a dent. It’s not applicable. I felt more and more overwhelmed with this pure joy, this pure love, this absolute abandon, in this very moment, in this act of licking, of being petted, of being here. No overlay of thought, just pure celebration. That was the word that lingered. Celebration.


I have been trying to recapture the essence of me, during the depths of my changes, spring and summer, 2012. I went through massive physical and mental and attitudinal changes in just a few months, lost allergies, changed my diet, on and on it goes. A potent time. Joyful, everything, joyful, and yet, there was worry, doubt, and many, many things I did not understand.


But recapturing the essence of it is getting to where Minky led, to this moment, to the absolute, truthful, beautiful realization that that’s all there is.


This idea of being in the moment, this one, now, and dismissing the distress as a symptom, possibly, of projecting my consciousness irresponsibly, I gave it a whirl today. That’s the innate thing, it’s just sort of kicking in, all on its own. I felt all these projections, in all directions, come back into me, as I was waiting for the light to change, on the way to work today. I felt it all come back to me, every goal and hope and aspiration, every object I have craved, every high, every novel experience, I brought it all in, and said out loud, “I am here, now. I am here, now. I am here, now.” I felt good, complete, somehow, as I turned left onto Colfax. On my way to work, to my gifts, my miracles.


It has been my saving grace. It has deepened me as no other profession could have. I am blessed to have been a part of this profession. It’s an archaic system, inadequate and not as good as it could be, but still, I am proud of what I do for a living.


The thing is, I didn’t always think that way. I considered it my burden, by sacrifice, my second choice. I felt cheated out of a literary life, and my writer’s ego was continually bruised when people didn’t recognize the very weirdness I used to feel ashamed of.


I had lamented not having been surrounded by literary people, well read, well rounded. I am not. Not at all. Never have been. And yet, here I am, thirty years later, and, although grateful that I kept my love of the arts alive all this time, I no longer resent those who are not sensitive, or who have interests other than mine. It’s more than that. It’s so much more than that, though.


I had been reticent to talk about work because it’s not appropriate to speak of specific situations, or people, I work with. And for the first month or more, I was obsessed, so very obsessed, with the issues at work. I was puzzling over all them incessantly, talking out loud, making speeches, organizing, expressing.


Then I had that experience, as described previously, about blankness, and obsessing, and all sorts of other things, of course. Since that night of having tears for things, things have come into focus. I understand my distress comes from hopelessness, or fatigue, or this bad feeling I get when I see no relief in sight, just obligations. I sort of hit a wall. I don’t lie living that way. I prefer free-form.


The last week or so, I have been considering being exceedingly well-off, while getting dressed, or driving, or while on a coffee break. It feels really good. Just to feel safe, secure, no financial obligations, everything in order. I like how it feels. Tinkering with it, and this burgeoning sense of confidence I have.


I feel sheepish talking about it, but I feel groundedly, foundedly confident. There is nothing that turns me off more, frankly, than ungrounded, unbalanced confident people. I’ve witnessed it at its extreme, and find it ugly in all its flavors. There is a very fine line between confidence and arrogance, and too few understand this line is a chasm into which those who do not seek, do not discover it, to walk around it instead.


Work, for me, has always been a salvation. I seemed to know instinctively, no matter how odd and crazy my insides got, if I could keep the outsides functioning, even nominally, if necessary, then I was ok. And so, for the two years I too off, and for the eight years preceding that, things got progressively ready for shift, let’s say. But still, I showed up for work. All these years, and struggles, and changes, but I always showed up for work.


Work is where I have met such a multitude of people, and so many good souls, so many masters. Work is where I went to feel competent.


I began to question my competence, and anyone who has seen me practicing at my peak knows this is bizarre, but there I was. It was just one more thing I was attached to, one more definition that was untrue. I am competent at work. Hmm. This is an attachment. And I broke it. Not so much by what I did, but I moved under a dark cloud, worked with suspicious, sometimes corrupt, and often unkind people, just a string of places that kicked my ass. I’d had it with work groups, unplugging as I did in 2012. I was gun shy, but would make calls, during that time, trying to land a permanent gig, but, no play. No juice at all. No return phone calls!


We hung with it, and Sam got used to hearing “later,” and “on pay day,” at the store a lot, but we got through it.


I felt like an incompetent outcast at work, a lot of the time. Just, probably, a treble of the same blah blah I’ve been telling myself forever, that I am an outcast, a foreigner, an alien.


So, I have come through all of this freaking psychodrama realizing a thing or two. First, given to me this morning pulling into work, is the notion that these guys, for all the frustration and all the shifting sand, these people are doing me such a solid. Each and every one of them are special, and they are helping me during this time of integration. They’ve stepped up to help me, as I have stepped up to help them. It is a truly beautiful thing.


That made the nonsense I see playing out around me tolerable.


I am shining, as I have have never shone, at this new job. I am sought out, and I am kind to those who seek me out, helpful and kind. People like me. I hold myself differently than those around me, and it’s as obvious as my chipped tooth. Just as Marge did for me, and Carolyn, I’m raising people’s game. I new that going in. And so, the details obsessed me, for a few weeks, framing and reframing, puzzling, always puzzling.


Things are quieter now. I notice I am not as reactive, more instructive, but still goofy and laughing a lot. I’ve finally given myself permission to be competent, to admit I am balanced and confident in my balance, never arrogant, always thoughtful.


Yes, I have my moments, and I have my coping strategies. There are a couple at work who are occasionally successful at pushing a button or two, but it is rare, and it is always followed by an explanation and an apology. Always.


And so, I see all of this playing out, and I am struck with the beauty, the impermanence, and yet the solidity, the sturdiness, of this chapter of my life. Who knows if this is a short story or a super-long novel? Who knows? But I can be here now. I can find joy in this moment, and I can take remarkable care of myself.


The last bit that has been playing in my head, and out, too, is the idea that having what I said I wanted is not as important anymore. I was cooking one night when it dawned on me there are things I have always wanted to do this lifetime, and some of it, I’m just not going to be able to work in. I thought, while looking at the cover of Sunset Magazine, on top of the microwave, that maybe, for now, I can drop this determination to live in Leadville. Maybe that’s a past life calling to me. Maybe it’s an echo. I could let it go.


With that, I had a great sense of relief. I could feel things I’d promised myself I’d do, or stuff that I have always felt a little inadequate because I hadn’t achieved it, it sort of melted off of me. It felt good.


Maybe it’s another echo of this theme, of being here now.


It has taken this work experience for me to experience myself like this, and I am grateful for the gander. I would not have known, not really, the changes that have become a new normal for me, changes I am proud of, and now come from effort, training, intent, depth. I don’t, can’t resent those who don’t want to go further. I don’t think less of the person who’s finding, as I often feared I would, their reserves completely exhausted, things going unwell, being in a bad situation. There’s a lot of that going on for others. It’s not all peachy for everyone. And here I come, in the thick of it, and they are letting me shine! That’s the part I am really overjoyed and incredulous with. They are encouraging me to be myself! Never have I encountered such a thing, to this degree.


I want to end on that, because it is such a miracle. It is hard to believe oneself competent when one is surrounded by critical, mean, petty people. Did the world turn nice, or did I change? Our subculture tells us it is a mixture, that everyone’s vibration is increasing. We are all seeing more clearly.


And really, I think that’s the truth. I have felt like the world has been sleeping, preparing, and now things are moving. Maybe it’s just my crying jag, and I am being a douche for globalizing an emotional episode. But I thin it is bigger than that, much bigger. I see what I have become, thanks to this new work. I see the changes. Others see it, and have no history, so there is no dissonance, just invitation. And it is wonderful. To see smiles, to have people ask how I am and care what I answer. Lord God Almighty, it’s been a long time coming.


And now I have the truth to it. It’s not this set of people, this job, that is the miracle. They are wonderful, and good and dear friends, but the manifestation came from the inner work. The preparation was a lifetime, and yet, this can be said for any moment in one’s. That thought has been frequent too, to end. The idea that everything I have been or will be, it is in this moment, this is my portal to it all, this moment. How precious this life! This heart! These eyes! And the words I speak, the actions I take, the reactions I choose to act out, oh, this is where the work is done. Moment to moment, one moment after another. Miraculous to find this at work, through work. The problems, every single one of them, they are solvable. We are on a grand adventure.


It’s not lost on me how many loved ones prayed for me and showed me support during the lean times. I was so well loved through this. Thank you.


That’s my beautiful manifestation. There is a bit more, but I want to wait a little before telling you more. But, I tell you, things are looking up. And now, the next thought is not about how it will slip through my fingers or be taken from me. Those projections, I am on top of it now.








I’ve missed you. Driving home from work today, I realized that I miss you enough to do something about it today.


Prior to the end of January, I had an abundance, an over-abundance, of free time, great, unwieldy blocks of it. I had two years of waking up at 6am and having no plans, and no money with which to pursue interests requiring cash. I wrote a lot.


Now, I have small chunks of free time, and although less maniacally territorial about my time off, I sense a generalized rushing, a generalized push, that I did not before. I think it has to do with being tied back into a clock. Weeks went by when I did not know or care what day of the week it was. And then, prayers were answered, blocks removed, and I came into a good job. I am adjusting.


But the adjustment is not because of work. This is of central importance. I had always seen work itself as a font of relief, the nexus from which everything else flows. I have had to rethink this stance.


What I am beginning to realise is that what I am experiencing internally has so very little to do with where I find myself, what I find myself doing. How I feel, what I am thinking, what I am focusing on, this drives the experience, any experience, and calls to me all experience. I know that now.


It’s hard to believe it has been nearly two months since starting this new position. I have found I am a highly immersive problem solver, and this is what I wish to spend a couple minutes on, but just a couple.


I have recently realized just how obsessive I am, when faced with what appears to be unsolvable problems. It has been a revelation to become immersed in a system, learning from its participants just what is seen as impossible and what is not. Learning everyone’s capacities, their willingnesses, their blind spots. I have become acutely aware of my sensitivity, and have found, the last two months, that I can take what I I


intuit to the bank. I can feel into problems, and into people, and seem to be a balm to most people I encounter. There are a few who are resistive, but they do not consume me as before.


The obsessiveness was brought to my attention Saturday morning, when I awoke in inner silence. The stillness was in stark contrast to what had been in my head, and with the absence of all that thinking, I began to realize some fundamental things.


I realized, in my stillness, that obsessing, immersing oneself, this is a style, and it can therefore be altered. After a disconcertingly still and peaceful day at work today, on the way home, it dawned on me that what I had done today was to live out the “What If,” that had been visiting me Saturday morning. What if I could work without guilt nagging me? Without problems getting turned up to Volume 11? What if I could solve issues as they come up and remain internally untroubled? Because, today, all those things happened.


But it goes deeper than that. A few months ago, I woke up from a night of sleep, a witness to the strangest re-populating of a reality I’d never expressly asked for. I woke up, to my shock and amazement, completely blank. And maybe it was only for a split second, but in those brief moments, I had NO preconceptions, and seemingly, no memory. Then one by one the situations came to me. Laid down on me, in my fields. Then the people. And then the feelings. Oh, it was then, when the feelings came rushing in, that I realised that how I feel has more to do with what I think about something than anything else.


So, this blankness. I felt it more acutely than I expected today.


I felt absent, emotionally, from work today. I felt a cushion of sorts. This morning, all the way to work and in the car, readying to walk into my day, I felt, again and again, such comfort. I felt like I was leaning back into a loved one’s arms. I felt so completely loved, comforted, stilled. I leaned back in my car, one leg in, one leg out, leaning into this feeling. Warm, loving, encompassing, palpable. I felt like I was leaning back into the arms of love.


I chalked some of the blankness up to feeling pulled, energetically, to other situations which are not work related. No one at work needs to hear about my bizarre family situation, my dad’s dying girlfriend and his concomitant troubles. No one needs to hear about how my son wept last night, confessing to me the presence of personal demons which paralyze him with fear and dread. No one needs to know how I am stalled with my writing, feeling weird about not wanting to do it, feeling nervous about what could happen to my psyche if I don’t No one needs to know it.


And having a day like this, it just softens my heart to others, those I work with, those I meet at the store, that others may have even more complicated problems than mine. And they may not even have some of the skills I do. A day like today reminds me of the importance, the mandatory-ness of being kind, of not being needy, of being clear.


I knew, somehow, that even though I felt more and more blank as the hours progressed today, I could feel as if the biggest part of me was not absent, but occupied. I felt I had just enough focus to do my job well, and not enough to obsess. Was it because others in my life are having problems? Or is it just the way of it today?


I realized a while back, when my son was asserting a new truth, that all I really can do for the people I love is to love them. I do not know what lessons, what realities, my son has lined up to experience while here. I do not know what ancient wounds are being opened, or healed, by my dad’s girlfriend’s death. It’s not my walk, they are not my burdens, and I am only peripherally responsible. What Sam has set out to know and do this lifetime is between him and his god. All I can do is love him unconditionally.


I realized, while having this thought, that so very much maternal guilt could just slide off of me. Certainly, the old adage of apples and trees applies, and it is easy to imagine that one’s child’s issues are caused by the parents’ lack of knowledge or compassion or sense, but really, I had things I had to know, do, be this lifetime. No one was going to talk me out of these directives. No one can, to this day. To give this sort of freedom to another is, I think, part of the exercise.


So, I was going to say, a few paragraphs back, that I had felt blank today because I was worried about my loved ones, but that is a false statement. I don’t worry about my loved ones. I don’t fear for them. Not one bit. I know they have each called to them the experiences they are grappling with now. They need what all struggling human beings need. They need love. If I can assist in lightening the burdens they carry, I feel joy. If I can’t assist, I feel love.


The sense of completion I have felt lately has been good to experience. Feeling old, old story lines come together and being overjoyed that even the oldest tale is being told so much more happily, this has been a huge discovery, a great source of joy, and power, and peace.


I have learned to give folks lots of room. To be messy, to be scared, to be ineffective, to be miserable. Loving, this is the way of it now, just loving it all.


I understand now that the stories, they will keep on getting told. Events will continue to occur. Unthinkable things may occur. Moments of great love, great compassion, they will keep coming. Situations will arise.


I guess I am beginning to see that a lot of it has nothing to do with me, intimately. So much of what I witness now, I can see as opportunities to cut someone slack, show them a way out, get them to smile. Life has become simpler, but that doesn’t mean that hard things are not going to darken my doorstep. If I were in this alone, maybe those events, feelings and thoughts would not visit me. But I am in community, and I realize now that what one person is dealing with affects all, and that we are at the mercy of one another. How we play out the situations which confront us, or the ones we love, this is where the test is performed.


So, now, I have written, but I still feel blank. I feel good, just unperturbed, maybe just a little sad, sort of tired. It is a good evening to eat, watch some TV and go to bed early.


I will be swept by this current without fear, and maybe, in the end, that’s what this blankness is. No fear. Leaning back into the Ancients’ arms, knowing I have a place here, even when I feel I don’t, this is what the blankness might be hinting at.


That this has been a monumental time of change is an understatement. It’s just that, until I wrote this, I didn’t really get how big all of the changes have been.


I have missed you, and I am glad we had a few minutes together today. I feel scattered, though, just not all here, so I will end this now, stay in meditation, as I do now always, and ride this chunk of energy out. I love my life, I love my god, I love that I have fewer questions than answers about life and god, and I love your willingness to let me tell you about it. I am wishing you every happiness from my granny chair in Denver, Colorado.


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