Free You To Be You

When my husband and I were in the tiny town of Ubud, Bali in Indonesia I was invited to join a Nada Yoga class, in which I had one of the most powerful self visualizations. Nada in Sanskrit means “sound” and the practice of Nada yoga is the exploration of consciousness through the vehicle of sound. Our class was co-ed and consisted of twenty people. We closed the session by sitting knee to knee, in a large circle, with our instructions to bellow into the center of our ring. We could sound out what ever we wanted: a song, mantra, word or even just a plain sound like ahhh. There were only two rules: you had to commit to your choice for the full ten minutes and let it be audible.

I consciously chose “ahhhh” because it is considered to be the sacred sound of creation. At first, I wondered if I could sustain my outcry, but as the minutes wore on and I howled “ahh!” beside my new kindred spirits, my volume intensified. I found the power, the fuel, deep within my gut. An energy was unharnessed and it flared right up and out of my mouth. My inner being had been awoken. While the sound of my voice boomed in my years and added to the cacophony, I had a vision. I saw myself standing before a large fire, naked. I unzipped my skin, carefully pulled it off limb by limb and uncased my inner being. Mindfully, I folded the skin suit into a neat pile, carried it over to the fire and tossed it in and surrendered years of identities.  

When the sound circle closed, I felt raw, not just in my throat, but emotionally. I felt powerfully freed. When I opened my eyes and looked about the room, it felt and looked like we all had just arrived back from some far off place.

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The skin suit cremated within my vision represented many roles I had worn. The choir singer, the dancer, the actress, the event coordinator - it all went into the fire. We adopt roles in order to adapt in life, ultimately with the hope of being accepted by our peers. Whether it be a job, relationship, hobby or even the way one socializes, we assort ourself into a role and create an “external wardrobe” in which we become identified by our cohorts. Sometimes, we try on roles like suits to see what fits us and if they are genuine expressions of ourselves. The ones that are sensible and safe, or highly rewarded, will likely be worn for a long time. 

Roles give us a sense of purpose. Due to their sentimental value, we tend to be store them like old suits tucked in the back of a closet. Like old clothes, they need to be removed - released - from time to time because we evolve. When we consciously recognize and release outdated identities of ourself, we free ourself to steep deeper into our current form of expression.

Identifying our archetypes, both past and present, can provide deeper insight into who we fully are. Most roles that we embody are an archetype. A monk, mother and model are all forms of archetypes, just as Disney or Marvel characters are. An archetype can be a statement, pattern of behavior, prototype, or a main model that other statements, patterns of behavior, and objects copy, emulate, or "merge" into. Just as helpful as it is to pull out that dusty jacket you no longer wear, it is invaluable to seek out archetypes you no longer are. And, let them go. 

When I identify an archetype that no longer servers me, I offer up gratitude for the “super suit” provided me along my journey, through the lesson(s) and ultimately the self-realization gifted to me and then let it go. This process is not done in haste, but with honor. In reflection, I found my archetypes shared a common thread: the value of connection and community. It affirmed that I thrive on connection and community and innately, cultivate them. 

Clinging to a past role/identity is usually out of fear. Fear, that if we let go, we will loose the power associated with that archetype. One of my recently released identities was that of The Runner. It held a sense of youth, companionship and connection to the outdoors. Once I realized it and understood the visceral layer it held for me, I let it go and I felt freer to embrace The Walker. When we identify the emotional value in the archetype, we can then see our personal power and how, through the identity, it was actually externalized; the belief the ability was outside of yourself. In truth, all those qualities were and are innate to You.

It is essential for everyone to recognize the death of an archetype and to release it as need be, as you move from one stage to another in your journey of life. As we move into a new calendar year, I encourage you to take stock of the various archetypes you have held onto; the ones that no longer serve you. Take time to recognize what each role says about you; no doubt there is a commonality among them that will highlight your innate abilities and qualities. Then, in your way, recognize and release the ones that no longer serve you. For the new year, release and surrender your outdated archetypes and unneeded layers to free You to Be You. Shed old skin so the “new you” can feel the sunlight and be free to live a new chapter.

“Identity cannot be found or fabricated

but emerges from within when

one has the courage to let go.

”

— Doug Cooper

Beautiful Scars

Our skin bares the truth of time. What ever comes to be on our skin can become symbolic, a moment or period of time in our life forever captured. I view my blemishes like bookmarks of when, where and why. I can take you on a tour of my imperfections and walk you through various chapters of my life. 

I have not always had this sense of appreciation for my “flaws.” As a child, I remember scouring my chicken pox scars and felt distain for their permanent defections. I do not know when or how my belief system came to be wherein I perceived scars as ugly, but it was imbedded early on. That sense of shame was carried for many years to come. When I was nine years old, I cut my shin on the corner of a rusted bumper while playing a game of tag on roller-skates. The laceration was deep and left a distinct, dark, jagged scar shaped like a dagger. The tip aimed down my shin. For years after, I was self conscious about it.

Fast forward to my late teens when body piercing and tattooing became more main stream. Body piercing is a form of modification by puncturing or cutting a part of the body, to create an opening in which jewelry can be worn or an implant inserted. The process of tattooing deposits ink into the skin with a tattoo needle. The needle punctures the skin - both the epidermis and dermis so the color application is permanent. The end result of the etching can be a remarkable and unique image. I viewed both (body piercing and tattoos) as tributes to one’s ancestral, primal self. The process(es) were rites of passage, that held honor and reverence. As soon as I turned eighteen, I got my belly button pierced. It was an act of defiance and rebellion: I declared this was body, my life and I will brandish it as I want to. I felt liberated and empowered; so I gave myself a second set of ear piercings. At nineteen, I got my first tattoo and my second at twenty one. 

One might venture to say that it was my teen spirit. Perhaps. Though, I did get my nose pierced five years ago on the day I auditioned to teach yoga at my first studio and “got the job.” Afterwards, I went directly to a professional piercing studio in town and got my right nostril adorned. It was a token of celebration. I was forty years old. 

Five years later, I now have a horizontal incision on my lower abdomen due to my recent hysterectomy. The left “end of the line” butts right into my first tattoo. (My doctor was so sweet and considerate: she really tried not to cut into my artwork.) My c-section scar is fresh, dark and incredibly tender to the touch. I already love it because it represents so much. Daily, I apply a shea butter balm infused with lavender and feel it sing with relief. I suppose over time, the color will lighten but I appreciate the scar, now as it is.

I have chosen to have my body “in-perfected” and as a result am better able to appreciate my physical self. To this day, I look upon my tattoos and piercing(s) with a sense of appreciation and love. Twenty seven years later, my belly button remains pierced. It’s been a part of me for so long that I feel bare with out it. All my piercings had to be removed prior to my surgery and every time I looked at my navel I felt so… naked. My tattoos have faded a bit, which is to be expected and though I could opt to have them recolored, I am perfectly ok with them as they are. 

This walk of life and how I view it is a learned perspective. My mother was enraged when I got my belly button pierced and tried to pre-shame me on tattoos by stating how slutty they were. Now looking back, I remember how my mother truly tried to erase her imperfections and prevent her body from changing. She seemed to hold her body in contempt. I understand how hard it would have been for my mother to challenge her shadow beliefs and turn the tide into practices of self love and appreciation. I made a conscious choice to find ways to love my body. Yoga has certainly helped. Perhaps the process of permanently scaring and puncturing my skin did too or….perhaps it was the process of the aftercare? To properly heal a body modification, one must be patient and nurturing. Maybe it was an homage to self love that I felt called to feel, to experience, to Be with. I cannot speak for others but I invite this; the next time you see someone with a piercing and or tattoo, whether it be one or many, try to see the expressions of their life journey. We all have a story to tell and whether by injury or intention, a scar can become a beautiful reminder. 

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The belly balm was gifted to me by a thoughtful friend. Lavender essential oil has antibiotic, antioxidant, and antiseptic properties that can help promote cell and tissue growth. Studies have shown it promotes wound-healing. The balm was created by a local company in Santa Barbara: The Grapeseed Company.

A Daughter's Past Life Healing

Wrapped in the darkness of night, heavy droplets of rain showered the landscape. As I raised my arms overhead, I sensed the weight of my strong male form sink with every step into the muddy ground. Within each hand was a small sword and together they formed a cross to block the incoming weapon that was directed at my head. I could feel my body counter, as I pushed forward with all my strength. 

Suddenly, like a surround 3D animation moment, everything froze. I was able see everything about myself.  My build, height complexion, even the look of sheer determination upon my face, conviction in my eyes.

I was a male Asian warrior. My skin was olive with fine, shoulder length, black hair and dark eyes. Dressed in black, I could see that my hair was coming loose from its low-set ponytail. 

Then, all at the once, the movement quickly resumed. I could feel and see how I was able to swiftly maneuver with such dexterity and grace. I fought hard in that battle. My entire life had been in preparation for it. I know I died and with me a great generation of soldiers did too. It was considered a great honor to fight for our kingdom.

As though a movie projector turned off, I was instantly back in my yoga class still holding my asana, stunned and in tears.

WHAT IS A PAST LIFE?

A past life can be defined as a previously lived life in a different body according to theories of reincarnation. Reincarnation is the belief that a soul can be reborn into a new body. The major religions that hold a belief in reincarnation are Asian religions, especially Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, and Sikhism, all of which arose in India.

WHY DO WE REINCARNATE?

I believe we reincarnate to learn so we can grow and evolve our higher consciousness. We are spiritual beings first who become human in order to experience life. We choose to experience and explore the complexity of joy and sorry, love and anger, pleasure and pain. We return again and again to continue learning and evolving.

I believe we carry over a lesson and or intention into our following lives until a completion is reached. From what I have witness of my past lives and that of other people’s is that we endure so we expand; our sense of compassion, understanding and forgiveness. Forgiveness for the self and others runs deep.

A PAST LIFE HEALING

A Past Life Reading can provide a larger perspective to one's life. No matter the depth of hurt, we can gain an understanding as to why it happened, why things exist now as they do and even how it is all for us rather than to or against us.

This is one of my recent healings from a past life reading regarding my father. 

The context of my hurt feelings - or so I thought - was due to a disagreement between my husband and I. When tears began to brew, I retreated to my healing space, went to my mat, and laid down. The sense of the floor can be reassuring and ground one’s sense of being. I let go. Breath by breath, I invited my awareness deeper inward to reflect, listen, to feel - to witness. I allowed the trembling to come forth and the tears to flow. As I cried, I heard Spirit say, “You think this is about Dan, but it doesn’t. This has everything to do with your dad.”

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I had recently spoken to my father over the phone and it had felt like such a lonely conversation. I could hear my dad’s voice, but the person on the other end was not him. Ever since my dad got sick several years ago, he has not been the same guy. Due to an irregular heartbeat, he had a series of Transient ischemic attacks (TIA). TIA’s are mini-strokes that happen undetected and though they usually do not cause permanent brain damage, my dad had so many that the results of his MRI showed lots of little “dots” on his brain; specs of brain damage. I believe this compromised his cognition and caused my father’s personality to alter.

Now, my father tends to be hyper focused on what is happening in his world. If the current conversation is not of interest to him, he simply will not contribute or partake in it all. If you want to talk with him, you have to wade through topics until you reach one that he connects with. It’s a slow and steady process, like gently tapping a tennis ball over the net to see if it will return to you. If not, you serve another and wait and see. As most conversations revolve around my dad’s interests, there is little room for me to share what is going on in my life. Regardless, I do my best to be present, to have him feel heard, but it is energetically draining. It is a challenge to not take his lack of interest personally. One year he forgot my birthday all together and boy that stung.

When my parents separated, it was my dad who moved out. Even though he made a consistent effort to be a part of my life, I missed him. As I got older, he became more distant so I found ways to spend time with him. I joined the tennis team my freshman year in high school and asked my dad to coach me on the weekends. After I was in collage, the sense of separation happened again so I consciously cultivated a relationship by having dad-daughter dates once a month. It would vary from lunch or dinner, walks or watching his tennis matches, or joining him for salsa dancing. We even sang karaoke together. People always got a kick out of us. 

I am so grateful he was present, in mind and body the day he walked me down the aisle. There was something so significant in being able to place my arm through his and feel supported. Moments before the ceremony began, he gently tapped my hand and asked, “Are you ok, hija, you ready?” I nodded and said, “Yup, ready!” We both nodded to one another and waited for our musical cue.

For the reception, I had let him chose the song for our father-daughter dance. He picked “Isn’t She Lovely” by Stevie Wonder and then he had me chose between either the fox trot or Paso Doble’, a Spanish dance. I knew neither so I opted for the one with the simplest count; the fox trot. I trusted my dad’s ability to lead me, so when the time came I smiled, held my frame sturdy and followed his lead. I must have tripped over my own feet a dozen times, but I keep my eyes locked with my dad’s eyes and just kept going.

Dan and I were married in June 2013 and it was that August, when my dad got sick and things between us changed forever, though it took time for me to see and understand it. The guy who taught me how to play tennis and salsa dance, who encouraged me to listen more and lessen my quick-snap comments, who whisked me around during our father-daughter dance — was gone. 

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As I laid upon the ground, crying, Spirit began to show me all the past life times my dad and I - our spirits - had shared. There were several where we were comrades and had wreaked a lot of destruction and devastation upon other people. We had been savages, bandits, warriors - many life times where all we knew was war, battle, killing, defending and taking. I did not see much happiness in those life times or many of the ones that followed. 

Spirit then showed me when my father and I convened to connect in this life time. I was shown the moment when I asked my dad’s spirit to be my father. He hesitated, reluctant because he did not know if he could be a good father. Looking at all the constellation points of my life plan, he could see and knew that he was going hurt me emotionally. During this spiritual meeting, I showed him why it was of value that he accept this role; that I was essentially agreeing to the hurt he would cause me because of what I wanted to learn.

He eventually accepted. 

Then, Spirit showed me all the various ways my dad had been present as my father. I cried intensely because of the love I witnessed - at how my father truly did the best he could with what he knew how to do. I was so grateful to revisit those memories. I then was taken through the entire span of our time together in this life and Spirit said, “So you see, he agreed to be your father and he did indeed show up. He has been present. He has fulfilled his part of the agreement. Can it be enough that he showed up and was your father?”

I suddenly understood. It was enough.

Spirit then showed me my collection of expectations I carried for my dad. It was as though each time I interacted with my dad, I piled one suitcase upon another at his feet, each a need to be met, each with its own weight of entitlement. My dad had no knowledge of those needs. I then understood how I had cast this baggage of expectations - which contained much of my sense of self worth - upon my father. My father’s actions, or lack of, resulted in me feeling unloved, because I had chosen to place such a high value on him.

I had been striving for my father’s affection and approval for so long that I had forgotten there could be space or possibility for anything else. I was stuck in a hamster wheel, wondering why things were not different, or better, or more. Spirit invited me to forgive myself for wanting what I thought I needed. So, I did and began to see and understand how I had been appealing to an old system of thoughts. Those residuals programs no longer served me or the existing relationship with my father. As the guilt and shame washed away I felt a great sense of love, compassion and peace. Not just for myself, but also for my father. I understood that his path of life lessons was very different from mine and that it was enough he showed up in this life time, as I had asked, to be my dad. My sense of self worth was not my father’s responsibility; it was mine. 

It had all been enough. 

I was enough.

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When we feel something it is important to look at what is surfacing. This is a time to tend to ourselves, to reflect, to understand - to own our experience. It is essential to feel what we do so as to understand. This is how we grow, evolve and learn to Love. There is always something to learn. Spirit speaks a lot to forgiveness for thyself first and foremost. Then, forgiveness can extend to the person who hurt you. This year my dad remembered my birthday two days later and that was ok. After all, he did remember. He is enough, just as he is, and so am I.

I truly don’t know if I would have been able to see and understand the purpose of the connection between my father and I, without the Past Life Reading. It is possible I would have gotten there eventually with a mindful, self healing practice, but it would have been very gradual. That’s what makes a past life reading so precious; it offers an overview of what is and why. Spirit is never critical or condescending; always compassionate, loving and insightful. 

Spirit is always calling for us to love and free ourselves so as to bestow more love and compassion to others. In order to help heal the world, it is essential to heal ourselves first. If that journey feels damn near impossible, know that you do not have to go it alone. There are people, like me, who are ready to meet you where are on your path. Know your path may be super unconventional. I always say, “If it seems nonsensical but feels the best to you, then it’s your path.” Healing does not have to look or be one way: it is as unique as you are in the world.

Saying Goodbye

ONCE UPON A TIME….

Decades ago, I was trapped in the web of a dysfunctional relationship with my ex-partner. I was ensconced in the cacophony of winning people’s approval so I fed the appearance of “all was well.” Staying in that relationship was my secret shame. I stayed because of self doubt and fear. I thought I was incapable of leaving and was scared of what people would think. There was shaming upon shaming: no one will understand, others have it worse than I do, I should have known better, I should do better…The daily narrative created a sense of feeling alone and isolated. 

After seven years, I finally did leave him. I had to. I had minimized myself to such a degree, there was nothing left to compress. I had get out or I would extinguish the last light left in me. Even today looking back at this chapter of my life, I feel a sense of shame. Brene’ Brown calls it meta-shame: shame upon shame, shame for feeling ashamed. It’s a tightly woven web that can strangle one’s mind and soul.

Soon after that chapter did close, began the story of my uterine fibroids. Parasitic in nature, the tale of my fibroids would become larger in size and significance. I’ve shared about this in previous blogs “Ohhh U-terus!” And “Fred, Ethel & My Womb.”

Fast forward to February 2021: In meditation, during yet another heavy moon cycle, I took an honest look at the dark undercurrent of all my efforts to heal myself from my fibroids: the fear of surgery. Despite the deep spiritual, mental and emotional healing I had experienced, the fibroids still proliferated. In that moment, connected with my body, I saw surgery as a bridge to freedom. 

Freedom from intense, heavy periods that had become long in duration. On average, I would bleed between eight to ten days. That is roughly a third of the year. I would seclude myself during heavy-flow days, with a towel between me and my seat at all times, in case I had a bleed-through. Like a little kid shuffling about the house, with her security blanket, I had to have a buffer with me at all times. A break through could happen in an instant. The increase of intensity and duration of my periods was so gradual, that my adaptations seemed minor, but as time went on everything took its toll. My stamina and strength had to be resurrected after each cycle. 

I’D LIKE A HYSTERECTOMY, PLEASE

I announced my decision to my doctor during my annual wellness exam in May 2021. She agreed it was a great decision. That exam and pelvic ultra sound confirmed my uterus was so enlarged, due to the fibroid clusters, it was equivalent of being five months pregnant. She asked me how soon I wanted to schedule the surgery.

I scheduled it for June 22, 2021. I had what is called a hysterectomy with bilateral salpingectomy: removal of the uterus, fallopian tubes and cervix and retained both my ovaries. Sort of sounds like something from a Dr. Seuss book.

MY BODY’S WISDOM

When I told my body about the upcoming surgery, it said, “Thank goodness! We’ve tried to be hospitable to the fibroids, but we are so tired of these motherfu*kers! It’s time for them to go.” My body then showed me all the ways it had been affected by the fibroids. My digestive, endocrine and immune systems had all been strained. The fibroids received their own blood supply and the sheer size of them pushed my intestines out of the way. If I did not have the surgery, the fibroids would eventually tax my kidneys.

My body then showed me how, over time, the further I deepened my healing, the more enriching the environment of my body became. I was not doing anything wrong, I was in fact doing everything right. The fibroids just happened to benefit.

In every communication I have had with my body, there has been a deep sense of love and appreciation exchanged. Never has my body scorned me or scream out in rage. The body is such a loyal companion. It will do everything it can to support us until it can’t fight the fight any longer. Symptoms are signals, just like our emotions are our signposts. 

GETTING TO THE ROOT CAUSE

All along, I had wondered “What had I done wrong to cause the fibroids?”

The answer: I tried to survive.

My body said the secretion of stress hormones began during the past relationship. Eventually, it created a microscopic mass that adhered to the posterior wall of my womb. The uterus, in its monthly swell of reproductive fluids and nutrients, provided the perfect space and sustenance. How smart was that initial cluster of fibroids that it used my uterus to sustain itself and hide behind? Truly parasitic. After the past relationship dissolved, there were continual upheavals in life to navigate: the continuing contentious relationship with my mother, my mother’s depression, my own depression, financial struggles, my mother’s lung cancer and her quickened death, my father falling ill….a lot happened. When I look back, I realize I had been in a state of survival for nearly a dozen years. 

Many professionals consider feeling alone and isolated to be a major trauma in itself. Feeling alone is up there with being threatened by death and feeling helpless. When a person experiences trauma - no matter what type - the body responds by secreting stress hormones. These are often blamed for subsequent illness and disease. Feeling alone and feeling like life threw my snow globe upside down…created dis-ease. And shame was the glue that held it all together.

CREATING HEALING SPACE

In the weeks leading up to the surgery, I approached life as though I was entering a healing retreat. It was essential to create a sense of space and time to rest and restore. It was more than a physical healing, it was also spiritual and emotional. So, I dove in and deepened my meditations and personal healing sessions, which manifested divine and destined experiences. The emotional depth of healing has been powerful. Some days I felt raw and tender, others lighter and liberated, and some days balanced and…ready.

I made sure my offerings were tended to so the only responsibility I would have as I recovered was Me. I let close friends and family know about the upcoming procedure and set clear boundaries on what I needed and did not need. I made a conscious effort to let my incredibly supportive husband know what I would need. Otherwise, that would have been unkind to him and of disservice to myself; no guessing games or riddles to figure out.

As an energy healer, I strongly believe in the power of receiving healing energy before any medical procedure. It prepares the various layers (physical, emotional, mental, energetic and spiritual) and enables the body to heal quicker. So, I scheduled and received three reiki sessions before the surgery. Those experiences in themselves were beautiful and profound.

A key element was a guided meditation provided by one of my mentors. I was able to envision everything on the day of surgery, from the moment I entered the hospital, to when I got to my hospital room, and every person that tended to me. I saw a golden light surround me and the mastery and wisdom of my doctor and medical staff. This vision created a great sense of peace that I carried with me throughout the entire experience.

SPIRITUAL SURPRISES

SO much about this experience has been magical. From the reiki sessions, meditations, to the medical masters, to an amazing piece of art my dear friend made me - SO much was serendipitous. I may write a memoire about it because there is so much to share!

I will share one surprising element that has helped me heal. My sister sent me a pink, stuffed, fuzzy - get ready - uterus, complete with fallopian tubes and ovaries. The manufacture calls it Ivy. The body (the womb) of Ivy is almost shaped like a heart and has a cute face. When I first pulled Ivy out of the box I couldn’t decide if she was horrific or terrific. I laughed and cried. Then, laughed and cried some more. (Which was tricky because my abdomen was so tender.)

Our dog Oreo helped me decided Ivy was terrific. Perhaps because it was a “new toy” or maybe, just maybe, she sensed its significance, Oreo would use Ivy as a small pillow to rest her large head. One day, Oreo nestled in for her afternoon nap, picked up Ivy, and put it between her head and inside of my knee. Her movement was so kind and gentle and the action so surprising and adorable, I cried. 

ALLOWING THE GRIEF TO FLOW

Grief is an important, essential human emotion and process. Grieving enables us to have reverence, compassion and honor. In reverence we can reflect, learn, evolve. Humans are fundamentally emotional beings. This is why ancient practices of Eastern medicine diagnosed through emotions. We need to feel in order to fully Be. While modern medicine’s procedures and surgeries are marvelous, they cannot miraculously heal one’s feelings. We, the individual, have to mindfully curate that process for ourself, otherwise society can easily sweep one’s emotions under the rug. Procedure complete, stitches out, you’re done. Not so. The emotional healing will still need to take place.

Years before, my therapist said, “My dear, not being able to bare a baby is indeed something you deserve to mourn. For you, it is a loss and the loss is just as severe as your mother dying. You need to grieve this part of and for yourself.” I remember that moment so clearly because as she said it, time stopped. As I looked into her eyes, heard her words, I began to understand the importance of grief and how essential it was to grieve in order to heal.

Grief is cyclical and can come up in all sorts of ways. Oreo’s using Ivy as a pillow surfaced my grief. Me watching a movie where a toddler called her adoptive mother “Mama” brought up grief. After I finished watching that movie, I went for a walk and was the crazy crying lady and I was ok with that because I was allowing myself to process my grief.

We need to be open to receiving and experiencing it. Otherwise, it’s like denying an inherent part of yourself comfort and compassion. Would you turn away a small child who is seeking to be held? Why do that to yourself as an adult? Be kind, be patient, be present.

MY DESTINED PATH

I really understand how imperative it is for grief to have its space. Whether one has undergone a full or partial hysterectomy, a miscarriage, a mastectomy, there is a sense of loss…a deep and genuine reason to mourn, to grieve. Sometimes, the very thing that could be healing is having the time and space to acknowledge and be with it.

As I write this, I celebrate the two month anniversary of my surgery - to the date. While I am physically healing beautifully, I am aware that the emotional healing will always need its space and time. I know I need to be and stay mindful of when that is. 

Despite each bout of grief, I know this experience has not happened to me - it has happened for me. I know what it is like to give up a physical part of yourself. I know how much of a loss that can feel like. But, I am still whole and feel more so now than ever before because I have been present with my grief. There is nothing to be fixed, because I am not broken or flawed. Grief is not weakness or failure, it is instead grandeur; an opportunity to be exalted in some way if you allow yourself to pass through it, to the other side, into the light.

Because I know, because I understand how important is to honor the space and time needed to process our emotions, I will hold that space for you if you need it, with every part of my heart.

TALK THE WALK

One of the ways women heal is through words: written or spoken. It is so important for any one who has experienced a sense of loss to connect with people who will understand. Talk about it. I was very fortunate to connect to two women, who happened to be my age and both had a hysterectomy because of uterine fibroids. There was something so reassuring about hearing and knowing I wasn’t alone, something so beautiful and profound in hearing about their healing journey. We even were able to laugh about “the damn towel.” The “Me too” that can be shared, no matter what the story is, is invaluable. In particular, women need to gather together, because together we are stronger and unstoppable. 

KNOW THIS

No matter what your story is, know you are not alone. Do not let shame be a shield. Be kind to yourself and reach out for support. Know that you are not broken nor are you flawed, even if you feel like it. You deserve the space to be and breathe as your heart and soul needs you to. Know that even if you cannot heal the issue - you can heal through it.

Can We Stay?

I closed my eyes to Sedona’s red landscape and allowed myself to be still and quiet. It was then I heard, “You cannot live here, but you are welcome to visit.” I opened my eyes and looked around. I was alone. Spirit had spoken.

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When Dan and I were traveling around the United States, there were several cities we heavily pondered if they were move-to-worthy. “Is this where we call home?” We knew Los Angeles was no longer for us, but we didn’t yet know where our new home town was.

When we traveled to Sedona we had the pleasure of having lunch with a lovely new friend. With Sedona’s majestic beauty as our canvas we exchanged our stories and adventures. Originally from upper state New York, our friend had felt called to move to Sedona. Upon her arrival, she said Sedona challenged her with various uncanny incidences - as though it was assessing her and in turn, making sure she did indeed want call Sedona home.

She said Sedona had a way of letting people know if they were meant to stay -

if they were allowed - to live there.

She went on to share the story of when her mother came to visit. The mother had declared that “She too would move to Sedona!” Our friend grew concerned. A friend of Native American ancestry said that Sedona would decide if the mother could stay and it would be very clear. After an afternoon of shopping, each hand filled with various bags of treasures and souvenirs, the mother tripped and fell in to a fountain. The poor woman received a bruised knee and a small gash on her forehead. Soon after, the mother said Sedona was not for her after all.

Sedona’s signature is its majestic red-rock formations, framed with evergreen pine forests. Internationally known for having various energy vortexes, Sedona is a special place revered by artists, mystics and many seeking healing. According to our friend, every landmark had a distinct energy -  either masculine or feminine. The ones that felt easy to ascend were masculine and the ones that felt easy to descend were feminine. One would assume moving downward to be automatically easier because of the law of gravity, but I can assure you that is not always the case in Sedona. I have experienced both energies. In Sedona, you have to dismiss science for sentience. 

SEDONA’S SPIRIT SPOKE

One afternoon, as we climbed a formation, I felt like I was walking backwards. The more determined I was to move upward, the harder it became. I grew agitated because the path looked easy - it was smooth with a gradual rise, but it felt like I was moving through quicksand. “Ahhh”, I realized, “This is feminine energy.” I surrendered once I recognized the power I was resisting and found a place to sit, closed my eyes and listened. Settled in a cradle of warm red rock, I heard people drift away. Voices and movement were replaced with a soft breeze that swept my cheeks and ears. It cooled the warmth of the sun on my skin, though its heat permeated the ground. Everything became soft and melodic. Then I heard it. “You cannot live here, but you are welcome to visit.” I opened my eyes and looked about. There was no one else there. In that moment, it was just me, the sky and earth. I closed my eyes and listened once again. “You are not meant to live here, but you can visit when needed.” 

I understood. This was a direct answer from Spirit to my question: Could we call Sedona home?  I eventually got up and made my way back down and reconnected with Dan. The descent was very easy; it took mere minutes. I shared my experience with Dan, “We can check Sedona off the list because Spirit said this is not meant to be our home.”

AUSTIN SAID WE WERE NOT ALLOWED

When we got to Austin, Texas we really thought it could be the town for us. Austin had so many things on our check list, even built-in friends; Dan had been able to reconnect with Esther and Perry and their adorable son Diego. They were so incredibly welcoming and sweet that we instantly felt our hearts get cozy in Austin. One afternoon, Dan and I had an in-depth chat on moving to Austin, while walking through Zilker Park, home of the Austin City Limits Music Festival.

As we were walking and talking, I stepped on a small twig in such a way that when it broke, it snapped up and cut my the top of my left big toe. Ouch, but no biggie. The next afternoon we went kayaking on the Colorado River and “oohed” and “awed” at Austin’s atmosphere. We really liked it! That same evening, after returning from dinner with our friends, I discovered my back had broken out in a horrible rash. It was nothing I had ever seen or experienced before. It was fire to the touch. Luckily our hosts were able to provide me with an antihistamine that cleared it up in a few days. 

I believe that because I didn’t comprehend the first message - my toe being cut by the seemly random twig - that Spirit sent me a bigger and clearer message with the rash: we were not meant to live in Austin. The messages had come through in a physical way because I had not paused to ask and listen. In my excitement, my mind had rushed forward with all the reasons why Austin could be it - and had forgotten to check in with my heart and Spirit.

You’d think after Austin we would have stopped analyzing every town we went to “Is THIS the one?” But, we did not. Richmond, VA? Fort Collins, CO? Boise, ID? Kirkland, WA? Portland, OR? We mentally exhausted ourselves.

THE SPIRIT OF SANTA BARBARA

Santa Barbara is considered a paradise, a tourist’s gem of must-sees on the central coast of California. Some people appreciate its eclectic architecture, history, eco-friendly philanthropy, eateries, wineries and beauty. Underneath it all, there is a special energy inherent to the terrain that Santa Barbara rests on. The town has its own vortex and healing and spiritual communities. I believe it is a sister city to Sedona. All the while during our travels, Santa Barbara had never once occurred to us as a possibility of being our new home. Go figure.

After we drove around the United States we paused in Santa Barbara for a few months before venturing overseas to South East Asia. Dan’s parents, Bonnie and Bill, had lived in SB for over twenty years, so it naturally became a home-base for us. It was the perfect retreat in between our adventures. When we returned stateside we went back to Santa Barbara.

We are deeply grateful to Dan’s parents for opening their home to us each and every time. Santa Barbara was the perfect town for us to readjust back into American culture as it took us a few months to get back into the swing of things. Santa Barbara was just the right size (small), with just the right pace and eclectic enough for us to recalibrate. 

Dan’s parents’ community of friends and coworkers warmly embraced us. Dan ended up going to grad school at Santa Barbara University and I got my yoga instructor certification at a local yoga studio; The Santa Barbara Yoga Center. I soon cultivated new friendships through my yoga and volunteer communities and was able to begin teaching yoga as soon as I was certified. Dan was offered a teaching position at a middle school in a neighboring district. Between our educations, professions and community - it all seemed to align so divinely. In many ways, it felt like Santa Barbara rolled out a red carpet for us and said, “Welcome! Why don’t you stay awhile?” SO many elements of our life seemed to fall right into place.

It is no secret the cost of living in SB is high. It is considered a transient town because many folks move here and within a few years learn they cannot afford to stay. The cost of living has certainly made us feel uncertain of how long we could/can live in Santa Barbara. One can get priced out quickly and quite easily. “We can stay for now, but for how long?” is a legitimate concern that always bubbles in the background. That said, we have been very fortunate to connect with amazing opportunities through wonderful people. 

In 2019, the fall before Covid, we spent a weekend in Paso Robles, CA, a favorite wine region of ours. On our last afternoon there, we decided it would make sense to move to Paso Robles the next year. The timing would allow Dan to finish out his school year and look for a teaching position in PR. I was ready to dive deeper into channeling and could hold sessions by phone or online. When needed, I could easily drive into Santa Barbara to hold my healing workshops every few months. It all made logical sense and we felt excited about it (sort of). We toasted to our plan. Clink! Clink!

That very week a few days later, we received an email from our friends whom asked if we were interested in renting their home. We didn’t even ponder it; it was an immediate yes. We breathed a sigh of relief and were grateful to call Santa Barbara home for another few years.

INVITED TO STAY

As a mystic, I have a depth of respect for the Spirit of Santa Barbara. I trust we will live here as long as we are meant to. When that time comes to end, we’ll know. It will simply mean a new chapter is to begin. I never really asked Spirit if SB was meant to be our home, I have simply trusted in the allowance of us to stay. 

On January 9th, 2021 I received the following message: You have been invited to root into Santa Barbara, to call this your home. To truly ground in and allow yourself to thrive spiritually and prosperously. You are allowed to “dig in” and call Santa Barbara your home. You were initially born into this Earth, here. This is where you first came through the portal with The Ancient Ones. It was from that initial birthing that your other lifetimes on this plant proliferated and grew from…You are meant to be here, to dwell here, to call Santa Barbara your home and to thrive and prosper.

Wha???!!!

I was blown away by this beautiful message and every chance I got, I practiced gratitude to Spirit. A gentle breeze, the sight of the ocean, a colorful array of leaves cascading to the ground, mindful steps on a walk - each moment were gifts and practices of gratitude.

I had been living with a “temporary mindset.” The amazing experience of being nomads for a better part of a year had conditioned me to be comfortable with this. I could hunker down, get organized, but lived as though it was all temporary; like a film set. The message from Spirit made me aware of how I had not been allowing myself to get truly comfortable and call Santa Barbara home. I was essentially waiting for the other shoe to drop and when it did, I assumed, it would boot us out of town.

After all that searching, the one place we had never considered calling home was Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara was patient, kind and generous with us and let us know when we needed to know. Everyone that helped us along our paths is really a gift. It really has felt as though everything and everything came together to make sure we could stay. Amazing. 

Trust. It really is part of the magic.

Vacci-cation

I received my second vaccine a month ago and boy was it a doozy! I didn’t experience the same roller coaster side effects as I did with the first dose, but I did have a low grade fever and fatigue for an entire week. It felt so…foreign. 

I had not experienced that kind of exhaustion before. I was well aware there was a lot going on: an online yoga teacher training, the vaccine running its course through my body and immune system, and my moon cycle. My body was undergoing and processing quite a lot. That I knew and understood, but the feeling of….feeling so down was alarming.

I observed myself on the precipice of suffering, but was wise enough to not jump off that ledge. The potential to suffer was in the ability to give power to my Ego. To my Ego, the various symptoms of fatigue were setting off alarm bells. “Uh oh! Something is wrong! Alert! Alert! Am I in a depression? Are my hormones rocky? What is wrong with me?!”

But, there wasn’t. In fact, everything about me and the way my body responded was absolutely perfect. My body simply needed rest. Once I realized what was happening and why and once I accepted it, I was able to relax into lounging. The experience took on a nurturing sense. I adopted Couch-Asana with grandeur and absorbed Netflix with grace and ease.

There were a few times my Ego flared up after the acceptance. I could see resentment rearing its head because I was forced to rest. I felt as though time had been taken away from me; in being able to do all I need to do. This was not planned retreat, followed by a yummy massage and pedicure (sigh)….the down time was out of my control and my Ego did not approve. I took my Ego by the hand and mindfully walked it through all that was going on, all my body was processing and how this time of rest was essential. Eventually, my Ego understood that I was given time and even enjoyed a movie or two

I realized that a part of what made the fatigue so foreign was also in the idea of allowing myself to rest without worrying about anything. A false belief loomed from long ago, that said enjoying this down time meant I was selfish and lazy. I never understood the connection, but my mother was certain that’s what it meant. While I have done a lot of emotional healing around my mother, my loving, loyal body still had the belief stored. The “forced” rest became an opportunity to grant my body release of the shadow belief.

My mother was a product of our society. We are conditioned to believe that we need to earn our time of leisure. Many of us feel propelled to put off “down time” until that special occasion or we can take that dream vacation. We work hard and we work many hours so that we can afford those times of enjoyment. But sadly, we forfeit our essential time of rest because it is seen as unproductive, lazy, even weak.

Our culture is geared to “do and do more.” Today’s technology reinforces the efficiency in all that we do, which in turns helps keep our economy thriving. Corporations have spent a lot of money engraining this idea into our society to ensure our economy’s growth and continual success. The manufactured mantra seems to be, “Do more, work more, so you can earn more, so you can buy more and buying more means you’re able to buy more happiness.” It’s a carrot at the end of a fishing line and who doesn’t enjoy a freshly plucked carrot? Technology and the belief of “doing more” go hand in hand like best friends walking down a candy lane into the eternal sunshine.

Our bodies are continually telling us and showing us that we really do need to rest, and rest comes in the time afforded to ourselves when we S.T.O.P.  Rather than waiting for all systems to crash or be forced to brake, we need take it upon ourselves to carve out sacred time for a siesta. And, not just every now and then; consistently. Monthly, weekly, daily, even hourly. Whether it is a nature stroll, a nap, a glass of wine, an overdue conversation with a close friend, a minute to recite an affirmation….or simply nothing at all, time afforded for thyself to relax and renew is invaluable. You are invaluable, a precious gift to many, and you can’t be a radiant gift without needed renewal. 

“Because we do not rest, we lose our way. We miss the compass points that would show us where to go, we bypass the nourishment that would give us succor. We miss the quiet that would give us wisdom. We miss the joy and love of effortless delight.”

— Wayne Muller, "Sabbath: Finding Rest and Delight in Our Busy Lives"

Self nourishing simply needs to feel effortless. It is a chance to reconnect to your inherent wisdom, to hear the gentle whispers of your intuition. It can be a practice of honoring yourself, your life and loved ones; all that you cherish. May you give yourself this time. My wish is that we all grant ourselves this time of grace. Imagine, how different our world could be if we did.

We Can All Rise

In a podcast, Brene Brown mentioned that while many people share when they broke and how the rose back up, they rarely talk about the uncomfortable part in between - when they were down and out. I’m guilty of that too. There is a part of my story I refrained from sharing because I hold shame about it. Will I come across as weak or whiny? As a failure? Immature? Spoiled? Ignorant?

Sharing with full honesty requires vulnerability.

I am going to be vulnerable.

(I know you can’t see it, but trust me, I am trying not regurgitate what I just ingested.)

This is the in-between part of my story.

My emotional capsize happened after a duration of tragedy in the form of three deaths. Yes, three deaths in a row, in a span of only several months, of being that were close to my heart. It was a heap load in a short amount of time. Rather than tend to thyself, I stockpiled every bit of grief and kept marching on. Like when you pack as many clothes as you can into a plastic bag and suck all the air out. Efficient yes, but effective, no. 

Here is the timeline that lead to my break-through:

March 2012, Easter Sunday - my mother announced she had terminal lung cancer.

April 2012 - one of my dearest friends died in her sleep from an aura seizure.

June 2012, Father’s Day - my mother died.

September 2012 - we put Dan’s dog Rocky to sleep. Rocky had been a champion of strength.

June 2013, the following year, Dan and I got married. Because of this beautiful, full light at the end of the tunnel, I tucked my grief in like a running back and charged forward. I told myself, “I got this! I can take care of everything and totally do everything and blah blah - I. Am. Ok.”

But, I wasn’t.

The following year, January 2014, I had my first ever anxiety attack.

I had done such a good job of shoving my grief down that eventually it hurled itself back up in the form of an anxiety attack. The trigger was pretty harmless; my husband asked me which terra cotta pot I wanted and I lost it. I wanted to tremble, throw up, cry, fall to my knees and run out of the store all at the same time. Fight, flight or freeze. My nervous system was so compacted my body wanted to do all three things, all at once. That’s the break.

In my recent blog “Leap of Faith”, I shared about the revelation of knowing I had to take a leap of faith and quit my job. This decision inspired my husband to join me. We both quit our jobs, left our lives in Los Angeles and traveled for over a year. That’s the rise.

Here’s what I haven’t shared: the time in between the break and rise.

After the anxiety attack, the reality of just how unhappy I was career wise got deeper and darker. I would wake up in the middle night from a dream about work. Not my mother dying, not family conflicts as result of my mom’s death - but work. I would dream about typing in information into the digital filing system I had created. It was robotic; required no heart. I did it every day, over and over again. I had the same dream over and over. It felt like a nightmare because every day was the same and now my dreams were a repeat of my every work-day. 

I would awake in the middle of the night exhausted and then struggle to go back to sleep. This went on for months. Then, it became that I would wake up from that dream and immediately start to cry. I would slide out of bed and go to our second bathroom, where I knew I Dan could not hear me, and collapse on the floor in tears. We had cushy dark brown bathroom mats and that’s where I’d lay. When I was cried out, I’d go back to bed. This went on for some time. I hid my sadness from Dan for as long as I could because I was afraid for him to see how I was hurting - to see me sad, broken and afraid. I was afraid to be seen as weak and as a failure. I was afraid I was not enough.

Eventually, enough was enough and I had to face what was happening; what I was feeling and what was really going on deep down. I acknowledged it and accepted it for what it was: misery. I gave in and stopped fighting myself and the perception of me I had once thought so important to uphold. I surrendered, I let go. The acceptance certainly didn’t feel graceful - it felt coarse, harsh and hard. Looking at yourself when you feel like you’re covered in muck and grime - to see yourself as you truly are - can be one of the hardest things someone has to do.

The only place I could have gone otherwise was further down, deeper, into the well of a severe depression. I know that place, so I know what the door to despair looks like and feels like for myself. Without much grace, but with conviction, I said, “Fuck this, I’m done.” One evening, I finally told Dan everything. I allowed myself to fully be seen and heard; for him to see and hear my pain. 

From that conversation on, is when things begin to change. I decided I would leave my job at the end of the year and take a few months to decompress and figure things out. Once I let my boss know, I began to feel as though I could finally breathe. 

The recovery took time. Things happened in stages. Nothing happened overnight. 

That’s what I want you to know. 

We will all fall. But, we can all rise.

It takes time. Time is what you owe yourself. In that time, consistent self awareness and self care is what you need to give yourself. 

Patience. Everything you experience - especially if well compressed - will take time to decompress, process and understand. From understanding can come compassion. From self-compassion comes the ability to genuinely love and live from that love.

Honesty was and is so greatly required. In my case, both with myself and my husband. The more you lie to yourself, the greater a lie you live and the deeper you sink into the muck. That is such a hard, dark place to be and exist from.

I am grateful for that anxiety attack at Home Depot. It was the beginning of the avalanche that needed to happen. It was the first tipping point of turning my snow globe over. To look at the landscape of the life you have painted and admit that it is not an honest depiction of how you feel or how you want to be living is big, deep and profound. Once you acknowledge the truth you have to own it and move forward; you can’t go back to the way things were or who you were. 

“We can rise up from our failures, screwups, and falls, but we can never go back to where we stood before we were brave or before we fell. Courage transforms the emotional structure of our being. 

Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it’s having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s our greatest measure of courage.”

— Brene' Brown

After the anxiety attack and months of nightmares and telling the Dan my truth, I picked up a copy of “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert while strolling through Target. I knew the book was popular but wanted to know if was for me. To asses if it was, I randomly flipped it open and read the first paragraph my eyes landed on. Turns out Elizabeth Gilbert and I had something in common; we both knew bathroom floors really well. I thought, “Someone out there gets me.” and put the book in the cart.

Someone, somewhere does get you too.

I hope you choose your Truth and Trust that where ever it takes you is where you are meant to be. Be courageous, be vulnerable and live the way your heart wants you to, not the way you think you have to. Changing the course of your life can be scary because we don’t know what is down the road, but I can tell you from personal experience, that road is a heck of a lot better than staying in the muck.

Leap of Faith

“When you are in difficult situations, there is no room for pretense. In adversity or tragedy, you must confront reality as it is.”

— Dalai Lama, "The Book of Joy"

It took the hardship of my mother’s transition to reawaken my passion to live a life filled with joy. Her transition, powerful and profound, was one of the hardest experiences in my life, but it was filled with many moments of deep love in between all the hard ones. From that experience, I knew there was something deeper in life to connect into. After my mom died, I was forced to look at how unhappy I was work-wise. I knew if I left my profession as status quo, I would continue to contribute to my sense of discontent. I wanted to feel fulfilled. So, I made changes. Big ones.

Dan and I quit our jobs, let go of our adorable condo in Pasadena, sold lots of our belongings, stored some and then drove around the United States. Thereafter, we were able to travel through South East Asia for three months. The immersion into the two very different cultures gave us an opportunity to really look deep within. We were able to identify what our personal values were apart from society’s priorities.

Our life changing decision to stop the hamster wheel was huge for us and for those around us. We took the snow globe, turned it upside down and shook the sh*t out of it. Some phrased it as a “leap of faith,” other’s one of insanity and irresponsibility. 

We come from a culture that conditions people to fear failure; mistakes should be avoided at all costs. With that mindset, people believe they are limited - they dream less, hope less and settle more. Risk is taking a chance on the adventure that is your life. Sure it was a little scary for us because of the uncertainty, but there was a sense of ease in knowing this is what we needed for our heart and soul. We left behind comfortable and familiar to embark upon a journey of the unknown. There was simply more to know and we wanted to consciously cultivate a life of fulfillment, not one of idle-ment from a source of self love and knowledge rather than a mindset.

There were individuals whom could not comprehend our choices and said unkind things due to their own limiting fear. I was harshly asked by one person, “What do you plan to do when you return to reality?” My honest reply has been in the way I’ve lived my life since then; Our reality was and is to be as we cultivate it.

Those that disagreed with us were not reflections of all that was possible or not possible for us. Their perspective - perhaps their entire belief system - simply differed from ours. It didn’t make them bad people, but it did clarify who was going to grow with us. 

Our Western culture fear of failure is perpetuated by our brain’s default mode to find flaw and fault as a way to keep us safe. This puts us in a continual state of fight, flight or freeze that will affirm the mind’s logic of looking at what is wrong and in turn will reinforce our physical state of being in, and staying in, survival mode. The longevity of this intensity in and upon our bodies can be devastating to our physical and mental health. Living in fear can cause apathy and render your outlook as impossible.

Comprehend the cultural fear of failure and you

cultivate the courage to make necessary changes

needed for your heart and soul.

The only thing constant in life is change, so why not have life be that of your conscious choices? Intention by intention. Nothing is done by leaps and bounds, it’s all moment by moment, breath by breath, one step at a time. Living moment my moment, rather than expectation by expectation, can release us from striving and into a space where we can thrive mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Being open to change means allowing room for errors and mistakes. No one and nothing is “perfect.”

Mistakes are not failures, they are merely valuable life lessons.

What you learn will increase your inherent knowledge and that is something

no one can ever take away from you.

It becomes a part of your individual wisdom and personal empowerment.

Perhaps the conviction to live our truth gave us the courage to take a new path. Maybe it was like diving off the edge of reason, but no matter how anyone else saw it - it didn’t matter, because we’re happy and fulfilled. That said we did feel universally supported and loved by many throughout our life changing adventure. Part of change is trusting you have an invisible net of support awaiting you. When we made our choice to change our paths, so many wonderful aspects came into alignment. It was as though the Universe said, “We’ve been waiting for you to do this and we’re so happy you have. “

Everyone deserves to live and enjoy a full life but it is up to the individual to create that life. I’m not talking about the “American Dream” - I’m talking about your personal dream. What is that for you? My dream doesn’t look like anyone else’, nor will yours. And that is precisely why you need to honor it; no one else is here to do what you are meant to do. Trust your heart and what it needs. Trust your dream and what it needs too. Trust there is support ready to walk with you. Be open to change and letting go of attachments to things and people you know do not serve you. Be open to co-collaboration and errors because all of life is a tapestry woven together; your individual thread adds every bit of color and essence needed. Lastly, take the pressure off of yourself by realizing you don’t need all the answers all at once - just be open to receiving, discovering and experiencing them. Life your life; the unknown is simply a journey awaiting you.

“You must never be fearful about what you are doing when it is right.

I have learned over the years that when one’s mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear.”

— Rosa Parks

Holy Dirt!

Once a year my grandmother Carmen (my mom’s mother) would make a pilgrimage to a tiny church in New Mexico to gather up…dirt.

Yup, dirt.

The church is called El Santuario de Chimayo. El Santuario means The Sanctuary and is tucked away off a main road outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. It was built in 1813 on a site where a crucifix was found three times in the early 1800s. Those of faith come to this shrine to collect dirt that seems to be infinite in supply. People either eat or mix the dirt with water or rub it on their bodies to cure various maladies. Many, like my grandmother, take a portion home with them.

My mother would offer portions of her supply to whom ever would ask, to those that believed. When I would overhear those conversations as a child I would silently scoff, “Ha, dirt!”

I was reminded of El Sanctuario in my mid thirties when I came upon in a book titled “The Power to Heal: Ancient Arts & Modern Medicine” (Smolan Moffitt Naythons) that had been gifted to my dad after his heart attack. I felt called to visit the church in honor of my grandmother, so my husband and I made a point to visit the shrine during our travels around the United States.

I didn’t know what to expect. Would this church be grand and elaborate? Would it have an air of importance? Fancy dressed people? Nope, it’s a small, rather cozy church. The only air of ambience inside is that the place is old; in a profound, energetically powerful way.

Prior to entering the small room where one gathers the dirt, I decided to sit in the pews and meditate. I could feel the layers of energy from all the people who had visited - their prayers, intentions and hopes for well being. There was a sense of a warm golden light that created an almost detectable filter to the human eye. As I sat, I connected to the spirit of my grandmother. I thanked her for her faith in prayer, for believing in the element of this dirt and how in her own way she has guided me all along on my path of healing. Then, I felt her. A warm, soft hand rested on my back, at my waist. I felt a deep, connective love. Almost as though she was saying, “I see you, I hear you and I am here with you, now and always.”

When I knelt down to gather the dirt, I felt the ritual of that motion; releasing the ego of the mind and surrendering to the heart of infinite hope and faith. I gently scooped and gathered a small amount of dirt into a plastic bag. The dirt is not like a dirt I have ever seen, even to this day.

The color is almost sand-like; a soft gray, speckled with tones of black and brown. The texture is refined - smooth - almost like flour. It feels like it is meant to shift in the shape of your hand but doesn’t easily fall away. It’s…special.

I tendered that small bag of dirt as carefully as I could during our travels and still have it. It rests in my healings space. It holds a particular energy of its own and, for me, is also infused with my grandmother’s faith and love.

After our return, I shared some dirt with my father who applied to his knee. He said the pain and swelling went away. I have applied it to my abdomen a few times in regards to my uterine fibroids and, I swear, while they didn’t disappear, the one on my lower right side did get smaller.

I have not readily offered the dirt because I believe those in need will come to me and ask, when ever that time is meant to be. In all honesty, I have also not openly said, “Hey, I have blessed dirt that can help you feel better!” - not because I am afraid of people thinking I am crazy, but more out of the fear of “what if I run out? When would I return to the shrine?” And that is all non-sense my ego is proliferating because the real fear is that letting go of all the dirt would separate me from my grandmother.

Silly, I know, but I am human.

In writing this, I know it’s time to share the dirt to whom feel called to it, to those who believe.

The way the dirt can help heal cannot be proven. People come from all over the world to El Santuario; that is a faith far traveled. The fact that the dirt still appears and never runs out is a miracle in itself. I believe is the power of one’s faith. That which is spirt or other-worldly does not need to make sense in order for it to be true.

Yes And....

When I was a kid, I loved playing superheroes with my friend Steve. We would battle one another with our imaginative super powers, trying to out smart each other with our creative strategies.

It would go something like this.

Steve: “I’m going to blast you with my invisible beam of lasers!” Then he’d enact it by taking a warrior stance, extend his arms, palms faced to me and send his laser blasters my way.

Me: I would physically act as though I was about to receive the blast and then exclaim, “Oh yeah? I’m holding up my bulletproof shield that’s going to reflect the lasers back to you! Ha!”

Steve: “I’m going to develop rubber like strength so the lasers just bounce off me and turn into a tornado that whips everything back at you!”

And so on it would go….sometimes for hours.

Somewhere along the way in life I forgot about my ability to play and use my imagination.

In my mid-twenties, while exploring my path as an actress, I was introduced to improvisation. My talent manager had seen me in a Star Trek-like play, where I was really just a back ground cast member. All I had to do in each scene was act as though the gadget in my hand was taking readings of the location. Could and should have been right up my alley. My manager said I looked bored. 

With much of my stage back ground in musicals, I had learned to stick to the script. I had to listen for my stage cues, which involved precise timing and knowing when and what was next. I had forgotten about the imaginary world I could help create. So, at the advise of my talent manager, I enrolled myself in ACME Comedy Theater in Los Angeles. During the course I realized - “Oh. My. God. I have forgotten how to be a kid, how to have fun!” I fell head over heals in love with improv and joined an improv troupe as soon as I could. I even held an improv show as a fundraiser for the Rock n Roll marathon I participated in on behalf of The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I called it “Tossed Cookies” wherein we literally tossed cookies out to the audience in between skits.

Through the eyes of improvisation I began to see the world as colorful again and sprinkled with unlimited possibilities. 

WHAT IS IMPROV?

Improv, often called improvisation, is the form of theatre, often comedy, in which most or all of what is performed is unplanned or unscripted: created spontaneously by the performers.

There are basic rules to improv in order to create a safe and creative space for you,  your team mates and the audience. Here are the first 10 rules:

The first ten improv rules are:

1) Say “Yes, and!”

2) Add new information.

3) Don’t block.

4) Avoid asking questions- unless you’re also adding information.

5) Play in the present and use the moment.

6) Establish the location.

7) Be specific and provide colorful details.

8) Change, Change, Change!

9) For serious and emotional scenes, focus on characters and relationships.

10) For humorous scenes, take choices to the nth degree or focus on actions/objects.

In improv, you leap first and figure out the rest along the way. Half the fun is to see how you’ll land. Scary? Perhaps to some. To me; absolutely thrilling!

The thing about improv is; you are not alone. You have a partner(s) you play along with. Each of you support the scene that unfolds one moment at at time. Everything offered by you or your scene partner(s) are gifts. (In other words, what ever you blurt out of your mouth becomes part of the reality you co-create). It’s a beautiful balance of trust and mentally free-falling.

Here’s an example of how a scene might unfold using the above rules.

A: I’m so glad you died your hair green today, honey.

B: Me too. I felt called to honor St. Patrick’s Day.

A: It’s my favorite holiday. It reminds me of the first day we met on the space ship.

B: (Sigh)…I know. That beautiful emerald green interior and lab space was excellent for dissecting humans.

A: I know! Truly brilliant. If it wasn’t for that job, that ship and meeting you, I would have never opted to adopt a human body and come here.

B: You inspired me too, my love. Too bad these bodies age though. We’re going to have to figure how to body snatch another couple.

A: True true, in due time. The public seems to love a couple named Bonnie and Clyde. Sounds like they have excellent skills!

End Scene

It’s zany and that’s why I love it!

Improvisation later resurfaced in my life during my yoga teacher training. Our instructor Kat Connors-Longo (now a dear mentor and friend) integrated various improvisation techniques into her Practicum 1 course. 

Here is an example. During an exercise, Kat directed us to teach our prepared practice without speaking. We could make gestures, sounds, facial expressions - just not speak. The purpose of the lesson was to understand the value of not locking ourselves into our prepared lesson and how we taught it. I was SO excited. I loved the challenge. Some of my peers did not.

All yoga instructors need to remember they are a human guiding other humans - not teaching or talking AT them. The process of instructing is a shared experience. I believe it is important to be open to how a group of students may feel energetically or if someone has an injury because we need to be able to adapt. Being able to adapt is key and not just in a studio, but in life overall. It requires having an open mind and an open heart. 

I learned early on to let go of prepared sequences in order to honor the collective energy of the class. When I allow my intuition to guide me, beautiful practices emerge that were wholly inspired by the participants. Some call that channeling and others call it improvisation. To me, they are the same.

More often than not, a class becomes a collective consciousness. Whether they know it or not, their individual energies become familiar with one another and when you take the time to get to know your students, you can read that collective consciousness. You can feel it. Similar to improv, the insights your students offer can be gifts that lend to the way you guide the class. One of the many truths in teaching yoga is that your students can become your teachers. 

In my experience, improvisation and meditation are similar because with both, you need to be absolutely open and present to what is. In meditation the focus may be on observing your thoughts or feelings; truly allowing yourself to be as you are in the now. This means not thinking about yesterday’s dinner or what’s on your grocery list. Just stay in the present. With improvisation, in order to support your partner(s) and the scene, you have to stay present in the moment and open to what comes next - whether it be from your team mate or your own intuition. The less you are in your head, the more unlimited you are and the more fun you can have!

As my dear and wise friend said, “The only thing we have is the now. Otherwise, you end up living in Never-Never land”.

Both improv and meditation enable me to be here in the now. Whether it is being be playful or focused within, staying attuned to the gifts of the present are precious. We never really know what gifts await us, whether it be from another person or mother nature. Life is a journey that is meant to unfold as we evolve.

When was the last time you played? And I do mean, like a kid! Would you allow yourself to skip around the neighborhood today? Jump the waves in the ocean? Look for four leaf clovers? I highly suggest taking off your adult-hat and let the child within your head loose, even for just a few minutes. The joy of liberating yourself will do wonders for your heart and soul. Trust me.