The Blue Room

Almost impossible to put down the magic of this weekend in words. It's like trying to swallow a sound or speak a dance. The conscious wise women I met are each a miracle in herself. And...put them together........................KABOOM! Explosions of light energy for each other, the land, the horses.


Centuries of shamanic ancestors ('anSisters') came together to initiate the Aquarian dream of Therese. The drumming journey, native flute concerts, horse dancing, grief ceremony, blessing of the land in the four directions were the events. Then there was gut-wrenching sorrow and ecstatic hilarious laughter.

The Colorado sun shone her light on us and the mountains surrounded us with protection. The sky marked us and blessed us, confirming our mission.

I dreamt of a blue room in my house that I discovered anew. When I asked the horse cards in the morning, 'What is the blue room?' I chose the last card in the deck. The message was to share my wisdom. It was only this morning, a day later, that I realized why it was blue. Blue for communication, for the throat chakra, for the songs that came from me when I stood with the rescue horses. Emily's song was mournful and profoundly sad, a keening, wailing lament. Geronimo's was deep and powerful. They all took their turn, we were together in the healing land where all is possible, zenlike trance, each molecule huge and transforming.

I yearn already for my sisters, yet I am filled up and restored and ready to step back on my path, always knowing where my sustenance can be found.

The Empty Beauty of September

The hollowness and dread, the poignant bittersweet slant of the sun's rays, the occasional blast of the coming cold winds. All this is why I did not choose to write during September, the month that has always been the start of my undoing. I have always been able to sense the future, if not the events, then certainly the emotions that are coming my way. And as soon as the Fall Equinox arrives, I begin to glimpse the dark tunnel of winter, and I slowly turn around into myself, to sift through the year's offerings and replenish what has been lost as I wait silently for the sun to lure me back out into the world for the Rebirth that is Spring.

The Sound of Healing

I enter the stall slowly and approach the foal. She is already lying down, weary from her day's struggle. I have watched her walk, and with each step, she involuntarily flinches. I cringe inside whenever I see it. As I put my hands near her, I feel her jagged energy field and the effects of the trauma on her nervous system. I cannot touch her, for she is too sensitive. So I let my hands hover near her pain, feeling the blockages. I capture the edges of the pain and draw it down from its start near her shoulders to her deformed knees, and eventually down to her hoofs. The energetic leg is straight, I can see it. The perfect leg of the Spirit Horse is straight. But the legs in this earth plane are bent and wounded. Her eyes close and her head nods hypnotically. She recognizes this aura around her as good and she submits. I sing some notes that come from me without warning. They are deep and haunting. My husband, who is a musician, tells me later that they are the notes of a 'minor third,' and that all mothers the world over sing these same notes to soothe their babies.

During the healing, I am in a sacred zone outside of myself, utterly present and totally awake to the voice that guides me. I am amazed, not at myself, but at the sublime sweetness of the gift I am receiving, which is twofold - the trust of this foal, and the flowing through me of the energy of the Great Healer.

My Version of Summer in the Hamptons

My version of summer in the Hamptons ... dragonflies flitting in the sunshine, bats swooping at dusk, turtle visitors in the moss garden, screech owls calling for mates at night, yellow jackets in the compost heap, pond lilies that know to close their petals when the sun goes down and reopen them again at dawn, and a precious month old filly with braces on her legs accepting healing, biting and sucking at any part of me within reach, her head in my lap, as I crouch in her stall, covered with hay and flies, my hands listening to her body's needs, praying for her recovery and knowing I have to let go. But I still wish, really really hard, that I will see her grow up and run free.

No More Safe Haven

With these summer hours, usually come inward journeys for me. More meditation, more creation in the areas of weaving/knitting, writing, painting/sketching. But not this summer. I am being called to get out there, in more of an active role.

There are reasons to leave my safe haven, good ones, and I can bring my safety and comfort to others. I have a lot to spare. The 11 day old foal with a joint deformity has taken residence in my heart. I massage her tight shoulders (are they withers?) and her low back and her bad knee (I'm sure they're not knees). She responds, and her Mama approves.

My friend Carlie, so compassionate, so grounding, so wise, helps me find loving detachment when I go into desperate saving mode. And Holly reminds me that animals don't count the days they are here, they enjoy all the good moments without the human fear that their time isn't long enough.

These are some hard lessons that I can no longer hide from. The heartache I feel on my way to the barn is nothing compared with the heartache I feel when I don't go. So I go....Now, in fact, I am going there, away from my safe haven, to be a part of the active world.

Lexey's Ranch

....And the skies are not cloudy all day....Rocky Mountain high....thank God I'm a country boy....Mama don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys....What is the lure? It is the mythic quality of the range, the grandeur of the purple mountains' majesty, the freedom to roam the canyons and high desert without seeing a soul, the raw power of a waterfall, the gangly legs of a newborn foal, the natural openness of the people.

My friend left New York two years ago, and has made her home in a new state. A state of constant work and continual change, rescued horses and adopted dogs, new friends who passed on too soon, old friends who come to be transformed, ATV's and tractors, Spring mud and Winter sun, and views that can't possibly be captured in photographs, and twilight rides on Lexey that bring tears of bliss to her eyes as she surveys her dream ranch, now a reality.

It was hard to leave. Transitions are always hard for me. I take in new experiences so completely that I get a little ungrounded by them, then settle down and sort out the changes I will keep and the changes I can leave behind.

How full my heart feels. Lexeys Ranch is a magical place, an unforgettable powerful landscape that cleansed my soul and reoriented me in ways that aren't even clear yet, but that feel so right.

Spinning Silk

Here is the lovely silk roving I am spinning. I don't know what I'm going to knit or weave with it yet, but it sure is lovely. My friend Judi showed me something I was doing wrong as I spin, and now the resulting yarn is more beautiful. I also have developed this technique for creating fluffy squiggly slubs every so often to create a little texture. Such fun!