Sometimes A Story Is Just That.

Sometimes a story is just that.

Sometimes a story becomes like a vine, choking the very life out of you until you have to make a choice.  The vine or your actual life.

Sometimes, actual life is really hard to look at.  And adding a little sugar definitely makes the medicine go down.  But too much sugar and your sweet little song and dance becomes the cage that restricts all movement.

And then sometimes, growth peeks it’s little silvery head out of nowhere and gently nudges (read forces) you to step in a different direction.  And not just a little to the left.  It suggests you pick a different galaxy to hang out in.

Sometimes, we need to remember where our stories end.  And our life begins.

Sometime people use story to keep themselves in check.  They align themselves with a certain way of being, and dedicate themselves to the pursuit of that path. And if that makes them happy and allows them a creative spirit…then that vine seems to have learned a co-creative pattern of existence. It must be one of those advanced beings.

But recently, I woke up from a story I put in place probably close to 40 years ago.  Or maybe it was one of those other lives I’ve lived that tangled inter-dimensionally with this life and left some baggage on my doorstep I had been tripping over for years.

How ever I got it…I woke up as if from a dream to see a story.  And then my life.  And then the story.  And then my life.  And i had this one opportunity to step out from behind the castle and see I was standing in the sun.  A pasture actually.  No house around.  No one around.  Just me and the connection with the Earth.  Just me and my breath.  Just me.  Wide open.

If I changed my gaze I could see the story I just stepped out of  in all it’s fine details.  Mapped and plotted and twisted and turned like that vine that chokes the life out of whatever it’s wrapped around.

But I blinked and saw this space outside of the story.  Free of clutter.  Free of expectation.  Free of judgement.  And I did something crazy.

I took a step.

From where I was standing in this new reality, it seemed so easy.  It was if I could reach out and be connected with everything around me.

But when I changed my gaze to the story I left, I saw such chaos.  Destruction.  Hurt.  Sadness.  Loneliness.  And I felt it too.  Tugging at the very core of me.

I had to struggle to turn my gaze back to my new space of openness.  Feeling the connection with everything new there.

Forcing myself to let go of what I know in my bones no longer serves me.  And I took another step.

The other story was calling me, trying to usher me back into the castle. To close the doors and pretend someone else’s song was mine.  It felt me leaving, un-twine-ing.

The other story started cleaning and clearing, trying to make itself more like the dream I had been craving…but I knew it was as subtle as smoke.  I knew it was illusory.  I knew if I came back it would  drain me.

Every morning I wake up and breathe.  I ask myself if all parts of me are present and accounted for.  I search my mind for defectors.  There have been some.  I sit them down and remind them of that feeling of connection.  That feeling of possibility that arises from reality.  I wrap my arms around them and let them know that I am here.  That I’m not leaving again.  That I will watch with constant vigilance to make sure that breath is easy.  That laughter fills our soul.  That song plays in our ears.  That sunshine penetrates with a healing vibration.  That connection is honest.  That the future is unknowable.

She cries when I remind her that.

The fear almost has an odor to it.

She digs into the memory of the vine and pulls out images of thoughts and feelings and I hold her closer.

I let it pass in the most organic way.

Teaching her with patience how community becomes a blanket for the soul.

A warm home.

A safe haven.

I can’t say all the defectors are fully on board with this new plan.  But I am willing to hold space for the full union of my thoughts.  I am willing to believe that I can be unburdened from the past.  That I can be made whole in myself.  That I explode in fullness in the present.  And I most of all believe that it’s going to be ok.

It’s hard work exploring all these rooms in my castle.  It’s hard work when I have spent a life time making plans and dreams.  It’s hard work when I see those same plans and dreams were built over corrosion to mask the truth. That I wasn’t ready to deal with that brokenness…but I’m finding out that now I am.  I’m discovering I’m worth it.  And that may be the best gift I’ve ever received.

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Imposters Among Us

I have spent my life feeling different.  And not just a little different, but WAY OUT there different.

My recent catch phrase is “I see dead people, really.  But it’s no biggee.”


When someone wants to slap me high five I feel my arm stuck to the side of my body.  When everyone stands up for ovations at the end of a show I feel silly joining in unless I totally LOVED what I saw.  When watching a sporting event it would never occur to me to cheer or take a side, it seems ridiculous…and to wear a Jersey of a team?  I just really don’t understand that businesses?  What are you trying to say?


Alien (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I used to think I was an alien, not the non-American in America kind, but from some other way better planet, and I’m just here as an experiment…but they forgot to let me know what I was supposed to be looking for, or doing, or becoming. They forgot to tell me how to get home. I also thought I was stupid…since everyone else was getting this “fit in” experience, and my total inclination has always been to go the other way.

Then I tried to blame it being Aquarian mixed with Jewish (read:  Dawn of the new age mixed with Chosen People).  But that was a lot of expectation and responsibility, and while I like both, that was overkill.

But I also believe in luck and right timing, and I just met a man who is teaching me about his experience with dyslexia.  And in speaking with him he told me that he always feels like an imposter.  And I leaned into that.  I had never heard those words out of another person’s mouth before.

And I felt hope dawn.

Could it really be as easy as that I have a different learning style?  That I’m not from a magical planet where everyone loves everyone, and there is no senseless violence or war and everything you need for your beautiful existence is available at all times?  (Yes, I’m talking about doughnuts that don’t make you fat!)

I questioned him…a lot…and I got to trace this belief pattern in myself all the way back to  the beginnings of my learning experience.

You know that game for young kids where you put the wooden square shape block into the square cut-out on on a wooden board?  I could never do it.  I never understood why the square went into that shape, because it didn’t look like that to me.  And then when my mom showed me the “right way” I could see it…and repeat it.  But I could never figure it out on my own.

And I have always been a strange but voracious reader.  When I read, I see the book in my head like a full-on over produced movie…But the parts of the book-movie I pay attention to were never what the teachers thought were the most important parts to pull out.

For instance, the way the light highlights someone or something is far more interesting to me than plot.  Or the way that someone was thinking or feeling is way more engrossing than anything else, frankly.

They sent me to a special after school reading class when I was a kid because it seemed that I didn’t get comprehension.  They taught me to pick out the parts that were “important”, and reading stopped being fun, but my test scores improved.

In Math class I looked at jumbled messes of numbers and constantly raised my hand wanting more explanation, but the class size was too large and everyone else was fine…so my teacher patted me on the head and told me I was so good at reading that I should just focus on that.


math! (Photo credit: MStewartPhotography)

And I bought that.  I stopped trying because the message was I could just move towards what was easy for me…but what I remember is wanting to understand.  I remember loving the numbers, they just confused me. But I put that away and moved towards what I knew, because that’s where I got the most validation…and I think I’m still living my life that way…in many respects.

So back to real time, speaking with this man who has spent his whole life finding a learning style that works for him…and then he mentions that intuition is something many dyslexic’s are great at because they usually see things happening far faster than the average person.

And I said, “I’m really great with intuition.  In fact, it’s kinda the only way I can tolerate getting information any more because my brain is lazy.”

And I heard myself say that out loud.  And I felt shame.  I didn’t immediately understand why…but I definitely felt shame.

And I thought about that.  My whole life I have assumed I was less than, that I was stupid, that I was a poor learner.  That I was lazy in the brain cell work out department.

But perhaps there is another explanation.

When I think about how hard I had to work to tap into my intuition, to be an open vessel, to learn to trust the images and messages…it is anything but lazy.

There was a time in my life while I was growing this skill when I had a constant Migraine for over a year.  It was described to me later that I was opening my third eye…all I know is, it was unpleasant.

But there are fun parts too.  My partner is a wine distributor.  That’s not the fun part…well, that’s kinda fun.  But the point is, he will have me taste a wine, and within a few moments I can tell you the price the wine should be, and more importantly I can tell you the intentions of the wine maker.

This image shows a red wine glass.

This image shows a red wine glass. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I know, rad huh?  I’m his party trick pony.

You wouldn’t believe how unpleasant some of the intentions are though.  I just spit that wine out.

But more than wine, my learning style is about understanding people.  About seeing where they are in life and where they want to go, and what’s in the way of that happening.  Sometimes the truth is hard to say because there is no tactful way…but I try the best I can.

Sometimes it’s unwanted…like strangers on a bus…or even patients that just want their back pain to go away, but there is a message in there that wants to be heard…weather they are ready for it or not.

And sometimes it’s hard on relationships when one person just wants to sit in what they are going through and pretend it’s not there, and I can see it…and I want to talk it out…but they don’t want a therapist…they just want to try to have a good time.

It didn’t come with an instruction manual.  Being human or an intuitive.

And then I trace this back to the fitting in part.  More then reading, how I learn is hearing something and seeing if it’s a truth in my gut.  If I’m certain this is true.  Then I learn it.  So the more opinions I hear, the clearer I can get to a truth.  And it’s always shifting, never stable, which is totally irritating to some people.

It’s why I never fit in with the popular kids…being fake or doing things just because others are doing them didn’t and doesn’t feel good in my body.  It’s a perfectly tuned sensor to balance.  And for some reason that balance has always been in my body.

But I will tell you, I have really been giving some thought to the idea that I’m not smart enough.  Who gets to really decide how someone learns anyhow?  I don’t remember anyone trying to figure out with me another way to do Math.  It was this way, or just go read.

I know that history was taught awfully in school. I’m sure those teachers always drew the short stick. But I could never keep the dates or timing right because I have a hard time remembering numbers. It was always my worst subject, even worse than math.  But in college, I took a history class that was taught entirely in story.  The professor stood at the front and told about the time through the eyes of a family.  And I remembered EVERYTHING.

How many kids are falling through the cracks?  How many are forced to feel like imposters?  How many are having their true talents wasted while a failing system throws them into a box and says, “Conform.”

How many people are 40 years old before they get their first glimmer of realization of their worth, their place?

If I hadn’t been talking with this man I still wouldn’t be able to go back in my memory banks and soothe all the memories to have a different outcome.  I still would be under the impression that I’m not smart enough.  That I don’t understand things like others…instead of thinking this emerging thought that others don’t see things like me!

This man said to me…”there is no Learning Disability– it’s that they haven’t found their learning style.”  And I feel deeply saddened for all those out there still searching.  Might you know anyone who fits this bill?  Might you be their champion…to help them discover the way their beautiful mind works?

There is even more diversity of thought out there than Democrat, Republican, Stupid Conservative Republican (sorry…that can’t be erased) White, Black, Red, Brown, Yellow, Gray, Old, Young, Vegetable, Animal, Rich, Poor, Middle Class….

There is another dimension…a rich dimension where we may just find this world’s true super heroes.  Where we may just un-tap potential we couldn’t even dream up!

So, who is really the imposter?

Super Hero 3

Super Hero 3 (Photo credit: Alice Bartlett)


Please note…If there is an AD below this…it’s not from me or my choice….I recommend ignoring it….Again, my post stops here!  Thank you so much for reading….

Stuff. Relationship Stuff.

Do arranged marriages work in India?  I mean do they work from my White Privilege New Age way of thinking?

Let me back up…

At what point did we decide we a need a mate that matches every breath with our breath.  That has every hobby the same.  That has to be able to read our thoughts and not just have  great sex, but give us mind-blowing out of body experiences every single time?

I look at the divorce rate in this country, hell, I look at how fast I have gone through partners and wonder why?

I swear the first answer that comes to me is, “I didn’t feel seen.”

Followed closely by, “I was bored.”

Then “we didn’t have anything to talk about” wants to slide right in there and be heard.

Hold the phones people.  I really have used these excuses more times than I am comfortable admitting.

Do you think that if I didn’t have so much time on my hands I could get rid of most of those conundrums?  It’s more than that of course.  I didn’t mean to trivialize and minimize my feelings.  I’m sorry self.   I am the product of divorce, and though both of my parents got it right the second time…all  3 of my siblings are on their second marriage…and though I’m not remarried, I have been divorced as well.

When did your first marriage become the practice run?

Let’s look at this step by step, shall we?

I didn’t feel seen.  Invisibility is a real issue in many couples.  What I notice is that I when I’m feeling un-seen what I need to do is look inside and find that part of me that thinks I’m not good enough, and give her a big hug and then go do something fun.  (There are a few steps missing here, like throwing myself a pity party, and crying my eyes out, and of course blaming everyone but myself until I get it…but for simplicity sake, let’s just stick with Big self hug and something fun to do!)

Once I start thinking that I’m worth being in the relationship, I can ask for things like love and hugs and attention from my partner..I can RECEIVE.

If we shut down the RECEIVING pathway…it’s like not watering a plant.  It dies.  That’s actually a great analogy. How many dead plants are in your house?

invisible cat #2 - splitcam

invisible cat #2 – splitcam (Photo credit: rachelcreative)

Moving on. Next, I was bored.

Someone far wiser than me once said, over and over….”Only boring people are bored.”

I do believe I cursed under my breath every time my mom said that to me, but sitting here with my tea and puppy I must agree.

How come when we are single we are always finding things to do?  I know I used to have craft night when a girlfriend would come over and we would listen to my favorite radio show and just draw shit.  Drink Tea. Play with puddy.  Not be bored.  I would clean the house while listening to This American Life.  I would scour the local pap)er for authors doing book readings, for shows around town, for interesting Town Hall events.  I would invite friends or go alone.  I had dinner parties with themes.

English: Hand I'm bored Español: Mano I'm bored

English: Hand I’m bored Español: Mano I’m bored (Photo credit: Wikipedia

And then, in relationship….I kinda sit there and stare at a wall and he says, “What do you wanna do?” And I exhale and drop my shoulders and say, “I don’t care.”

Yeah…that’s me being FUCKING BORING.

Nobody did that to me.  I clearly did that to myself.  Relationship didn’t bring out the boring in me…I got Lazy.  That is clearly also not relationships fault.

It’s time to start looking at the local paper and finding things to do with and without my partner if that happens…right?

And lastly, we didn’t have anything to talk about.  As soon as you decide there is nothing to talk about, all you start talking about is how there is nothing to talk about.  You feel me right?  And then it gets decided in your mind that your partner who you used to talk on the phone with for hours every night at the beginning of your shindig… who you used to close down restaurants with because you were so engrossed in your conversation.  Who at one point was the most fascinating person you have ever met…has nothing to say?

Ahem.  (Sorry, I had to clear my throat so I can talk some science into me here.)

That is sheer crazy talk.

GREAT!  You are done rehashing your entire life to your partner.  And now we are here in the present.  Right where we should be.  And this takes us back to the Number 2 complaint.  Are you bored?  Have you stopped being fun?  Or back to number one?  Have you stopped sharing with your partner because you think you have nothing valuable to say and you are just a little invisible speck hanging out the house?

There is ALWAYS something to talk about.  Putting feelings aside, because my guy hates talking about those…there are dreams, passions, music, food, your day, the weather, politics (i don’t go there, but you may), your animals, your kids, the world, landscaping ideas, local shows, movies, books, the newest viral twerking video on facebook, space exploration, Neil Degrasse Tyson, Cooking, The theories behind any number of things, Gluten, raw, veganism, the world according to Garp…it goes on and on.

Dr. at the November 29, 2005 meeting of the NA...

Dr. at the November 29, 2005 meeting of the NASA Advisory Council, in Washington, D.C. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Christ, grab a local paper and read an article and discuss it if you are totally at a road block. Each take a side, then switch…make it a mock debate…it’s actually fun!

And remember most of all….

Silence is golden.

There is nothing wrong with being comfortable sharing space with someone in peace.  In fact, it’s a blessing!

It seems in my grandparents time the only similarities in the relationship were matching track suits…they yelled at each other like it was their Oxygen…and I thought they hated each other…but let me tell you, when my grandfather laid in his hospital bed after his last stroke…the bed he would die in, every day though mostly unconscious, he would find my grandmothers hand on the bed and twirl her wedding ring around her finger.  A habit he did their entire life together.

And those people who I thought hated each other sat in silence for hours on end, a dimension of their 60+year relationship I had never witnessed, just being and loving and supporting and breathing.

And I’ll be damned if I let my new age thinking that tells me that I have to mind link with another person, that he has to do yoga and meditate with me, and eat gluten free and drink Kombucha when he wants to get high, and can give me fifteen mind blowing orgasms each time we have sex which obviously is every day no matter what is going on in our lives.

I’m going to see if we can be happy in stillness.  If we can be comfortable in silence.  If when it really matters he listens, and is there for me.

If when the going gets tough, he sticks around.

And when the going gets tough, will I learn to?

Invisibility Cloak

I want one.

Then I will know why I feel that even though I’m nearly 6′ tall with outlandishly loud glasses, and have no fear of expressing my opinions publicly, even though they change with the wind and I argue my next feeling with the same commitment to feeling the truth, my feet firmly planted…even though I am here…I feel see through.

I want one also because it was so helpful to Harry Potter.

English: Cloak of Conscience from the front

English: Cloak of Conscience from the front (Photo credit: Wikipedia)ry Potter.

I want one because in my home that always has music playing, and a dog generally barking, and a cat usually sleeping, eating, or hissing at the dog that’s always barking, and a man whose moods change with the movement of the second hand clock…I feel like I don’t exist.  Like I have nothing interesting to offer.  Like my words melt like ice as they leave my mouth, leaving only the impression there was something there, but, wait…no…nothing.

If I had one I could hide behind it…I would know that I wasn’t there, though I was.  I would know that I wasn’t taking up space, although I was.  I would know that I was being ignored because I didn’t exist, though I am here.

I feel like I keep climbing a beautiful tree that grows virtually under my feet and with each step upward my cells are infused with joy and clarity.  With peace and grace.  And every time I look up I’m rewarded with this sense of expansion, of creativity, of motion within stillness.

But my neck hurts from looking up so long.

I mean.  Even though no one can see me, I feel ridiculous walking around bumping into things, always looking up and never straight ahead.

If I had on my invisibility cloak….I wouldn’t feel so silly.  Maybe I wouldn’t even be able to see myself.

Troubles like a Life Raft

Troubles like a life raft

Thank god for Tribe Called Quest Radio on Pandora.

I tried to drink a ton of gin and tonics to get out of my head.

No, actually first I tried to sit in meditation.  Doing my mantra to Ganesh to remove the ties that bind, the thoughts that distract, the actions that I wish I could erase, but would settle for moving past.

Then, I went into the woods…smelled the scents it offered, walked amongst it’s fallen leaves and prayed to have the weight, so heavy upon me, lifted even for a moment.

In fact, I stood in the brilliant sunshine, the leaves a canopy over me, it’s light filtering through and warming my forehead as I prayed to be forgiven, to forgive myself.

And then I drove, driving always seems to help.  With Dog as co-pilot I drove into the summer afternoon.  Feeling the wind whip around me, and the strong bass from the radio shaking my soul.

But when all that failed, the only escape on this summers day seemed to be a stiff gin and tonic.  Make that 4.  And while my vision becomes encumbered.  True.  And my gait not so straight…and my reflexes less than adequate…the thoughts stay as focused as an on target arrow.


And so I’m left with the only remedy untouched, to tell the truth in my heart.

First to myself.  Which is no easy task.

And then to him.

And what do I say.

I hate you.

But that’s not true, not even partially true.  That’s just to cover up the pain that I’m feeling inside about how inadequate I feel in this time and space.  It’s just the frustration of not knowing what to do, of where to go.  It’s that space between knowing what’s next and having no freaking clue…and it’s …scary.

And so, with the gin and the tribe somehow I can forget.  Can breathe for just a moment between songs.  Chest heavy with exertion from the dancing.  Each song a reminder of times long forgotten.  And trade a little sweat for a little sobriety.

But I’m no closer than when I started this mess.

No closer at all.

But I’m 4 G-n-T’s down, I’m walking sloppy, and still holding on to the troubles as if they are my life raft.

My safety net.

My bible.

And I’m sure this will turn out fine, like it always does.  And I’m sure at some point I will learn to breathe through this, like I breathe through other shit…

But life is a bitch sometimes…and you just have to have the strength to keep moving forward.  Even if it’s one tiny little step.  Even if.

English: Gin and tonic with lime in a highball...

English: Gin and tonic with lime in a highball glass, with the ingredients behind (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Cracked Open

I am cracked open.

Maybe it’s the supermoon in whatever sign it happens to be in.

Maybe it’s moving into harvest and I’m breaking open like the earth to reveal all it’s mysteries inside.

Maybe it’s just time to let go of shit I’ve been holding onto my whole life.  Stories that no longer serve me.  That simply weigh down the light that wants to shine from within.

And I know I’m not alone.

I know there are thousands if not hundreds of thousands of us out there in the same boat.  Tears flowing, wondering how to let go of this burden and find the freedom that surrounds us.

And then I, quite acciedently, read two of my friends new books at the same time.

To be fair…one is sort of a workbook…so I’m using that everyday and just finished reading the other friends book.  (Which is her incredible journey of deepening her shamanic practice through journeying with sacred mushroom medicine…and it’s a hell of a ride…I highly recommend it as an intense and incredible read.)

But this amazing synchronicity happened that I wanted to share…in case there are those out there having a bit of an emotional roller coaster and doing that Cracked Open thing I was talking about.

I was reading my friend Shonagh Home’s Book called Love and Spirit Medicine,

loveandspiritAnd I get to this section and it reads,

“We can’t solve our problems with the same mindset that created them.” –Shonagh Home

I immediately stop reading and go to my office and pick up Sadee Whip’s book called Radical Habits. The beginning of the book is amazing and I was struck when reading it of this idea she presents as looking at our thoughts and beliefs as a scale.  And the scale is tilted in the direction of your life’s experiences.  And if you just try to think differently it won’t really stick because in your soul contents…in your energy field you are FEELING this other thought.  And the way to shift that is to fill your life experiences with a different kind of thought.

“…as we begin to seek consciousness, as we actively set out on a path of greater awareness, it is absolutely crucial that we don’t just practice thinking better thoughts.  We must begin to collect new…experiences.” — Sadee Whip

For instance, most people on the planet just want to be loved.  And for a lot of the time, we go around feeling unlovable for one reason or another.  It’s weird.  I do it and I’m totally conscious of doing it.  And yet, I can’t seem to stop doing it.

So…the third piece of this little synchronicity thingy I was having is this…I was talking with a friend of mine who is a coach…her name is Ariella Shuster and she’s quite amazing…and she told me of a practice she was doing and suggested it would help with some of my core issues around being unable to receive.

Here is the exercise she shared with me:

You email some of your close friends…I chose 5.  And in this email you tell them something like this…

“I’m working on a core issue around receiving and it would mean a lot to me if you could email or text me for the next 3 days and tell me something special about myself, or simply that you love me.  My job is to receive it and not offer anything in return, including an email thank you.  Thank you for being in my inner love bomb circle and I love you very much.”

Now let me put it all together for you…

Oh, Here is what Sadee’s book looks like…it’s fantastic…she gives you the meaning of life and then gives you  a years worth of exercises to step into your brilliance.  Buy it.


Deep Breath…

All three of these amazing women are spot on.  And the message is so clear I can’t ignore it.  And not that I’m telling you what to do or anything, but you shouldn’t either.

Now is the time to look at all that stuff in our closets…to literally Crack it open…and get to that bottom old core shit and look at it.  Don’t judge it…don’t blame it…just be with it.  And in that space, breathe.

Then figure out how to create situations in your life that are opposite of that, that support you and empower you instead of tearing you down and demoralizing you.

If you are feeling unlovable….find out how to get into situations where you feel loved.  I can tell you, receiving the love from my inner circle of friends feels absolutely amazing.  If you are feeling unworthy…find ways that you are and start really locking into the knowingness of that.

But that’s the piece…the piece that can’t be forgotten…you have to make sure you are logging these emotions, these love bombs as what they are.

When my friends email me, as I’m reading it…I’m saying to myself that I can receive this.  That it feels good.  That I am a great receiver…

And it feels…good.

Love ? I love love love you.

Love ? I love love love you. (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

So, I am changing my mindset…I am a great receiver…and I’m getting to weigh that scale with actual memories and feelings in real time of that being true…and I can honestly say, I can feel a shift.

I am cracked open.  And that openness is allowing floods of love to come streaming into me.  And by George, I’m really receiving it!

Now you try.

Emotional Climate Zones

I was just talking with someone about what it was like to grow up with Angry male role models.

For an empath like me, it was very difficult.

This probably has a lot to do with me falling for my ex-husband.  He was the first man to show me that Father’s could be kind.  Not just sometimes, but KIND…all the time.  I literally had no idea.  My favorite example is this one particular day, it was an important learning day for me near the beginning of our relationship.

On this day we were in the garage at this house with a new car.  It was the first time pulling in and it was a tight fit because it was a small garage. It was my ex’s first new car in 15 years.  His old car was a BMW that basically wheezed every time you turned it on and wished it could just die already.

So we unloading from some serious grocery shopping, and were standing at the back of the  car at the open trunk while unloading said groceries  and his daughter, like always, did her job and pressed the button at the other end of the garage to lower the garage door.

My ex leans over and yells “press it again press it again….” but it was too late, the garage door came down right on the trunk and gashed his brand new purchase.  I made it to the button and pressed it again to raise the heavy door–but the damage was done.

We immediately noticed that his daughter was crying and he dropped the groceries and ran over to her and started examining her and asking, “What’s wrong?  Where are you hurt?”  And she said, through tears and sobs, “I hurt the car.”

He sat back on his haunches and hugged her and pulled her away, and said, “It’s just a car.  Please don’t scare me like that.  It’s just a car.”

It was then I realized I was holding my breath, and that every muscle in my body was ready to get yelled at and perhaps hit.  He patted her on the but and said, “Get upstairs silly, the car will be fine.”

I could have passed out.

I knew right then I would marry him.

He walked back to the trunk, ran his finger across the gash in his no-longer-store-bought new baby, and shrugged his shoulders.  He didn’t notice I was white as a sheet.  And I never mentioned it.  It took me a few hours to process that a father could just see a mistake as a mistake and not blame anyone.  And over the years, as our relationship dwindled down to a friendship…I never ever forgot that gift.

Because my fathers were two different types of storms while I was growing up.  (I’m happy to report they are both very different men now.)

Satellite view of cyclone.

Satellite view of cyclone. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My biological father was like a bad storm in Colorado.  It was deep, and mean, and cold…but you knew it was coming and the sun was still out.  The weather would drop and the forecast was clear, you knew it was coming. But it didn’t invade your soul, it just stung your cheeks, and your bum when you landed in it while skiing.

Now my step-father was more like a particularly bad winter on an Island in the Pacific North West. It was wet, and cold, and windy and it got into your pores and your skin and you couldn’t warm up from it without significant effort…and just when you thought you were warm, you would get smacked with the system all over again.  It was like walking on a tight-rope with no net, in high winds.

I bring this up, because I have other people in my life that feel like being on a tropical island.  And folks that feel like a perfect fall day in Vermont.  And I notice, as I sit here with my Jasmine tea this morning that I can quite easily put everyone I know into some  type of weather pattern…and that I actually have a very beautiful little diagram happening.

Have you ever thought about emotions that way?

I know, for instance, when I get low…I’m exactly like a gray rainy day.  Maybe for some parts of the experience it gets windy, maybe a little hail….and then back to more rain.   On the other hand, when I’m having a good day, it’s like the perfect 75 degrees and sunny with a light breeze and no clouds.

And then I wonder if it isn’t our emotionality that’s affecting weather patterns?  And not the other way around… (Yes, I think I’m a wizard, what of it?)

The High Priestess

The High Priestess (Photo credit: dayglotter_ivy)

So my next leap is…It’s important to have those rainy days every now and again, because it’s good for the earth.  And it’s good to have those windy days because it blows away the dust and pollen.  And it’s great to have those sunny days because we freaking love the giddy happiness of summer, obviously.

What are your emotional climate zones? And how can you ensure yours are feeding the planet…and by extension, yourself?  And, when we recognize our weather patterns, if we don’t like them…can we just pick up and move to some zone we like better?  I realize this would take an immense amount of visualization…but…isn’t the Earth worth it?

Just some sunny 72 degree thoughts for you this absolutely beautiful day.