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!

Mon Reve

I've always loved the French language. Ever since I was 16 in Mrs. Catsouphes' class, it spoke to me. It brought me home to a different aspect of myself. On and off over the years, I've studied French - privately, in literature classes, on vacation.

But last week, my studies reached a new level of intensity. I took a 5-day Berlitz course, which forced me to speak French 7 hours a day with two delightful and patient French women. When I returned home each day, my brain was totally fried. But by the third day I began speaking in French to my dog, without even realizing it. By the fourth day I was on line in Starbucks trying to remember how to order something 'to go' in French, and by the fifth day I was dreaming in French. Which isn't to stay that I'm not still making many 'fautes' par jour, or not stumbling and wrapping my words around my tongue quite often.

But this experience was so good for me. It focused on performance, on learning by doing, on taking the risk of being foolish, coming out from behind the book learning. Also, when you're 58, the saying 'If not now, when' begins to have more meaning than it did earlier in your life! I'm so proud of myself, I really am, and I feel more doors will open for me in this area now that I have made a commitment to my dream.

And what is the dream? Just to master this exquisite language. To let it flow from me with ease and beauty. Pourquoi pas?

Mindful Eating

When I returned home after 3 days of work, I felt toxic from stuffing my face with chocolate and coffee to keep my energy from flagging. It reminded me of when I quit smoking years ago. It happened when I awoke one morning after a particularly crazy night of wine and cigarettes and a Central Park lawn party, and when I reached for my first cigarette of the day, I felt disgusted. It took so long for me to want my first cigarette that I had gone longer than ever before without smoking. I thought, OK This is my first day of not smoking. And it was.

So, to return to feeling toxic. Also bloated, tired, achy and irritable. Since that day last week, I haven't had chocolate, although coffee is still an important part of my wakeup routine. I started using agave syrup instead of sugar in the coffee, though. And I made some fresh veggie juices, cooked up some arame seaweed with carrots and garlic, made a potato leek fish soup.

All this is quite unusual for me. I'm the kind of person who would just as soon take a pill as sit down to a lunch in the middle of the day. It's just not interesting to me. Most people don't have a lot of sympathy for people like me with no appetite. But it's so wierd to have such a lack of interest in food. So I had to force myself to begin each meal preparation, and, staying in the moment without resisting this change of routine, I began to enjoy cooking. I remembered how it felt to put a pinch of something here and a bunch of chopped things there, to smell the food becoming a meal, to stir and gauge the doneness. It was actually pleasant.

The slower, more thoughtful preparations over the past week brought some other changes as well. I was eating smaller portions, because I was eating slower. I didn't wait until I was dizzy or starving to eat (usually I just grab 10 cashews, a chocolate bar and hope I don't get too lightheaded). I listened to what my body wanted before I chose what to make.

I feel so much calmer and clearer, less involved in other peoples' dramas. For me, food is so crucial to my state of mind. I've also lost a few pounds, I believe, but I haven't weighed myself. Anyhow, this is a good thing, a very good thing.

Claiming Authority

Claiming Authority 6/5/08

I'll begin just to begin. It seems like the first post has to be special, because it is different from all the others. It sets the tone, starts the engine.
To be an author, do you have to be your own authority, be the author of your own life first? I believe it is true for me.
I claim my life as what I deserve and I accept myself as I am. A good start.
I am going grey and cleaning up my diet.
My dreams have been so very strange that I know I need purification. One day of it confirms my intuition.
OK I have begun. The next post will be easier and more interesting.