New Butterfly Adventures

When is the last time you can remember having that butterflies dancing in your belly feel? You know, first kiss status? Or right before you’re about to jump out of a plane for the first time?  Or just about anything where you can’t distinguish the intersection of  jitters and pure bliss…

Mine is now, in this moment as I’m typing this. In just an hour, I will do two things. First, I will print out boarding passes to take my youngest child on a mom/son senior trip to Canada tomorrow, an adventure to celebrate his high school graduation and launch out of the nest to University life. Just after, I will drive to my local Center for Spiritual Living and take my professional practitioner licensing exam which will launch me on a new journey out of the familiar into foreign territory as well.

Getting to this point for me, to this moment when I take this exam, has been a four year journey and one I’ve done on the down low. It started with an intuitive hit when I was driving down Hartnell Avenue in Redding, California and had a wheel take-over turn me into a parking lot with a clear message attached: You will teach here. I walked around the property trying to process that message, but was turned off when I started speaking with the person who was in charge at that time. I had a stern talking with my intuition, got in my car, and hightailed it out of there.

A year later my husband and I were at the Cascade Theater, a lovely historically preserved remodel of what had been a questionable discount movie theater in the once red-light district of Redding. We had just watched TedX and were discussing the final talk as we worked our way out to the street with the crowd. I spotted my friend Katie and she said, “I’m teaching a class tomorrow. You’d love it. You should come.”

“Sure. Where?”

“The Center for Spiritual Living on Hartnell.”

Well, of course it is. The next day I headed to the Center to take Katie’s class. I took one after another, for weeks, for months, for years. Today I sit here four years later. The Center has many classes, but I was drawn to the certified ones without ever understanding why exactly. At some level, I understood I was to reach where I stand now. It was a step by step thing where I asked, I listened, I caved early when I heard the answer. Two years ago, when I taught a film class (which came as another clear intuitive hit during meditation),  I could almost hear my intuition saying, “See. I told you so.”

But it was so much more than just a scolding from my intuition. As I sit here today, I understand that this journey into foreign lands is one I was born to take. It took me less time to get two degrees from UCLA than to finish my practitioner training. And God knows, it was emotionally easier. I’ve quietly chipped away at this at a slow pace forced by the program and counterintuitive to my Mach 1 behavior. I’ve been forced to go slow and deep, processing all sorts of threads through my life.  I’ve had to look at my own shit with binoculars—which is about as nasty as that sounds at times. I’ve learned the crucial step of daily spiritual practices and how those flavor the entire scope of time and space. I spend a lot of time reading, listening, soaking up consciousness in all its forms. I’ve come to know that relationships (both enjoyable ones and unenjoyable ones) are my best spiritual teachers. I’ve learned not to have parking lot debates with my intuition, but rather to trust it implicitly as it’s ALWAYS correct. I’ve developed a fascination, and love for, all paths to God…and truly embrace the beauties in each.

Mostly, though, I’ve become more clear that my reason for being on this planet is service to my global family. One of the ways I feel like I do that best is one on one. It’s always been my preference.  It turns out—and I was not clear on this when I started, but my intuition certainly was—that one key function of a licensed practitioner is to sit with another being with the goal of partnering and assisting that being in opening up to their own glorious perfection. I’ve fallen in love with humanity. To see that part of a person that is the truth and not the misunderstanding manifesting because of formed beliefs that suggest otherwise. When I explained this to my son (the one who I’m taking to Canada), he said, “Sounds complicated.”

Here’s a great description that makes it not complicated from the Center of Spiritual Living in Seattle, Washington:

A Prayer Practitioner is a trained and licensed spiritual support person, trained to apply affirmative prayer to life’s challenges.

Through the use of compassionate inquiry and affirmative prayer, Practitioners support you when you go through difficult times, or when you want sustained support for your spiritual growth. They facilitate mental and spiritual healing, knowing all healing is done in consciousness and is reflected in the physical body and the body of one’s affairs.

Prayer Practitioners can help you to uncover unconscious limiting beliefs and clarify your heart’s desire. Practitioners begin with the idea that you are already perfect, and then assist you to reveal that perfection! Prayer support can be provided in the moment, or through longer, private, individual sessions.

Affirmative Prayer brings our thinking and feeling into alignment with the truth that infinite Good surrounds us always in the form of love, harmony, peace, wellness, abundance, prosperity, and any Good we can imagine.

In one way, it’s not much different than what I do now. I try to leave each person I interact with in a higher energy than when I met them. I try to listen to what they say, what they don’t say, and how they say it. I remember to forgive myself when I miss the mark. But in another way, it’s very different. It’s listening to the subtext. It’s intuiting the whole scene. And it’s holding space and faith for a person who is struggling to do that for herself.

Through all this, the butterflies dance, those beautiful metaphors of life change and transformation. All a flutter, I head to my exam for a chance to share what I’ve learned and celebrate with a bonus date night with my husband: Mary’s Pizza Shack and Guardians of the Galaxy if you want to know. To romp into a new era of the unknown like a child in a field of daffodils. Or a raccoon named Rocket flying through space. To jet off to a country unknown, with different money and different measurements, and soak it all up with joy, so deeply grateful for this playground.

Posted in awakening, belief systems, conscious living, education, facing your fears, hope, Inspiration, intuition | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

Know the Flow

flood8Last year about this time, my fellow Californians couldn’t even water their yards due to chronic drought conditions. More than one friend in various parts of the state adopted a no-flushing policy: if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down. I didn’t make that up.


Today, I sit here latimeswatching sheets of rain blow across the gray sky. The Sacramento River is licking across the North State. The lakes are brimming over. The dams are getting a true test and some are having major issues. (Eh hem, Oroville, you may be the tallest, but…)

Oroville in general, about an hour south from where I live, is a mess. Evacuations have been going on for over a week.  In the neighborhood of  180,000 people have been evacuated. I didn’t even know Oroville had that many people. The article, “Faith and Stoicism” in Sunday’s LA Times (front page!)–adds a whole new meaning to holy. Stay strong, Orovillians! Before you know it, 115 degree days and a very full lake will be yours for the taking.

I know about the front page of The Times not because I so nostalgically read it from Nor Cal, but because my husband is in Los Angeles, having driven down the day before I5 went under water near Williams causing a 5 hour traffic delay. Lucky him. His trip back will be delayed due to more expected flooding. Not so lucky.flood10
Closer to home, our seasonal Weil Creek has white caps and looks more like a Weil River. It’s broken off into tributaries not before forged. There are new ponds in our neighborhood, overflowing with crickets that form a full orchestra at first sign of a blue sky or starry night. Those respites have been few over this rainiest ever Nor Cal season.

This water-logged February parallels a move into Pisces on the astrological side. Pisces, a water sign, seems like the perfect actor to enter center stage. Water equals emotions and we are drowning in emotion collectively. Expect more of that. Here’s hoping we can hole up the dam before all hell breaks loose.

I think we can. We just need to learn how to ride the currents. Feast or famine. When it rains, it pours. These cliches are born from observing patterns. The trick is to learn how to be your own regulator in these times. Listen to your inner voice and trust it. Know how to adjust your faucet. Know when to dive in, swim to the side, or finish the race.

Timing. Listening. Knowing the flow…embrace these.

And remember, reach for the blue sky. It always follows.


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This is Me

surfThis is me.

This is me coming out of the Cave of Confusion where I’ve been seeking words.

This is me feeling this from you, too.

This is me feeling the three cycles colliding as never before: the Cycle of Human Conflict, the Cycle of Climate Change, the Cycle of the Economy. (Thank you, Greg Braden and your Missing Pieces wisdom)

This is me, my heart broken wide open on Inauguration Day when the LGBTQ and Climate change pages were removed from the White House website even as the event was taking place.

This is me thinking this t-shirt is HILARIOUS: This pussy grabs back. Or this one: Is my ass too big for my country?

This is me loving this Facebook post: Why do I still have to protest this shit?! (Thanks, Meredith, for the two-steps back insight.)

This is me feeling like belting I AM WOMAN at the top of my fucking lungs. (Thanks, Helen Reddy.)

This is me saying fucking because it’s warranted here.

This is me wanting to boot stomp someone. (Thanks, Lois, for taking your family to the DC March. Thanks, Yols, for marching in LA and for running for Congress).

This is me sitting on my meditation pillow, shining love and light all over this world, and knowing you are out there doing that in your way as well. I feel you.

This is me watching marchers march all over and loving the involvement of my global family as they stand up for human rights.

This is me sitting on the shore of change and taking comfort in the ever-consistent rhythms of the waves.

This is me knowing that the Creator is in all things and that there is always good to be found. Always.

This is me wanting to be a mermaid now and jump way down under the sea to a land of peace, and love, and harmony.

This is me ready to use my gifts to serve this planet and create a world that works for everybody until I die.

This is me surfing the wave.

This is me in love with my global family–even the difficult relatives.

This is me remembering that Harry Potter is only a boring school boy without a Voldemort. (Thanks, Liz Gilbert, for reminding me. Thanks, Pammo, for gently slipping that into my messenger, my graceful friend.)

This is me knowing that I am looking through a peephole at such a small perspective of a larger plan.

This is me knowing that the diamond has to endure harsh conditions before it can shine.

This is me knowing I live in the Diamond.

This is me holding deep gratitude that my God is big enough to hold all this.

This is me eagerly awaiting (praying!) to be pleasantly surprised. I love surprises!

This is me so ready to collaborate and get it done for the sake of ALL.

This is me loving you in your diversity, whatever that looks like, for it’s what makes the world beautiful and interesting.

This is me knowing some people are too afraid to believe that.

This is me grateful to be here on this earth right now, feet in the sand, no matter what.

This is me.



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The Best Present Not Under the Tree

treeWith my oldest son getting married at the end of the year we announced that gifts would come in the form of cash to be spent on that trip surrounding the marriage and not in pretty, wrapped presents under the tree. I’m not sure who that is harder for–me or them. I’m a gift giver from way back.

My youngest son (18) at first claimed this was a cruel entry into adulthood. Depressing, was the word choice. But that conversation has evolved throughout the month. He’s become very aware of the commercialism of Christmas/Hanukkah and has evolved his consciousness. He has become aware of the stress surrounding the holidays. It’s been amazing to watch his awareness expand.

What I’ve noticed is he’s right–about the stressful part. Since I started working at 15 (when I had 3 jobs), I’ve bought what I’ve learned is an abnormal amount of gifts every Christmas. I’m an over-giver from way back. In my teens, I always put WAY more thought into giving gifts than my peers did. I didn’t realize it until the moment of exchange and then had this feeling like, “Ok. I may have overdone it–again.”

It’s hard in your teens to find the balance between giving and receiving equally well. Hell, many adults don’t ever get that down. I watch my son’s teen friends struggle with wanting to get gifts for people they love and not having the money to do it. This expectation weighs heavy on them as they watch all the motions around them painting the picture of what giving looks like. You know. The Jared Jeweler guy who has a happy family because he gives good gifts that makes his wife love him. It puts so much pressure on them to get it exactly right whatever “it” is. The focus becomes this “it” and the accumulation of more stuff and the whole Truth and Love get placed on the back burner due to the hustle it takes to attempt (and never really reach) that mirage of perfection.

In adulthood, the same issue lingers. On average, I purchase around 100 gifts, wrap them, and either put them under the tree or deliver them. I love doing it, as gifts are my love language. I love getting them. I love giving them. My favorite thing is finding the exact perfect gift for someone that they didn’t even think of themself. I love to watch the excitement on their face. Equally, I love getting those types of gifts that shows the person giving it knows me an inch more than I know myself. I still live in the shadow of gift giving perfectionism.

So not giving gifts with bows does not come easy for me even now. I think about it every day. But here’s the thing I’ve noticed. I have been freed up in time for other forms of giving. For example, I’m not a huge cooking enthusiast, but I’m keenly aware others enjoy it when I do it. One of those fans is my youngest son. He’s been wanting a turkey. Last Sunday, I started with a fresh turkey from the local butcher, my husband’s mom’s homemade applesauce, peanut butter and chocolate chip homemade cookies, baked beets, marinated mushrooms, scalloped potatoes, stuffing, fresh green beans, and homemade gravy. Did I mention I overdo? This meal, one that wasn’t full of expectation or ritual but rather just me playing in the kitchen and pouring love into my family’s favorite dishes, nourished me far more than when it’s expected in Hallmark holiday form.


I find myself less tolerant of these illusions each year. As we were driving home from dinner last night, we had a great conversation about the commercialization of Christmas. We talked about the Truth behind the holidays. A friend was dropping a gift off for my son and we talked about being able to receive without having to feel a giving obligation in return. He said it was really hard for him and I knew immediately what he meant. During the month I had people give me gifts and, practicing my “other types of gifts” Christmas, I didn’t have a bag to hand back. We talked about the receiving part and how that is equally important to learn.

In the end, this Christmas for us has been about focusing on what’s important, paying attention to relaxing and side-stepping holiday stress, learning the balance between giving and receiving and how both are equally important to master.

This has been the best present not under the tree.


Posted in belief systems, conscious living, holidays, Inspiration, parenting, pets, positive attitude, relationships, relaxation | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Life, Learning, and Critical Thinking

thinkingJordan and I are both in finals this week, I as an adult student and he as a high school senior. My oldest son and his fiance, both university professors, are also in finals week, but on the giving end of the stick. They both assign papers rather than give exams because “everyone gives the students tests. They need to learn how to write critically…think rather than memorize.”

Dropped smack in the learning lab this week, and seeing learning and assessment of learning from these different perspectives, makes me think about learning in general. For me, it’s why we’re here on the planet–to be lifelong learners.  My goal as a parent is to create lifelong learners of my children. I want them to keep being curious about the world they came to explore, to learn new things, and to follow their bliss in a way that makes the world a better place. In a way that brings them joy. If they are generated by learning, I feel confident they will follow this path.

I love each step of the learning process, including the evaluation at the end to integrate what’s been learned. For my youngest son, he’s just pretty “done” at this point of the term and eager to move into a two week break. I get that because the assignments he is often given are not higher thinking assignments. They’re busy work products to justify process.

For my oldest son at this stage in his life, I imagine reading through those papers teaches him as much as it does his students.  As a freshman English TA during my Master’s work at Occidental, I can tell you this happened for me, especially when it came to learning the reality of how ill-prepared many incoming freshman were in the writing realm. That’s education at its best…when both the teacher and the learner are learning, both about each other and about the bigger dynamics at play.

And yet, anxiety is so often wrapped up in these stages. Why? Is it due to procrastination? To overwhelm? To not understanding? To not trying? Is it perfection issues that spur on shame-based thinking? Being critiqued? Evaluated? Not being good enough? Not measuring up?

I blame the Bell Curve.

To me, it’s an issue with our larger education system. We assess our kids in weird ways from the time their young. I remember so many parents coming to parent/teacher conference meetings most concerned about their 7 and 8 year olds spelling test grades on a weekly basis. This was how they measured their child’s intelligence. (Side note: DON’T DO THAT.) Try as I might to re-educate my helicopter fams, they were working off a system that had been ingrained into them a generation before, where desks were in rows and there was no talking.

Alas, we are moving into a new era of transformation in all systems. As with any birth, it’s messy, but what comes out in the end is pure magic. As I study for my final, I soak up the enjoyment of the process of remembering what I know and how to apply it to life. That’s really the point in the end, isn’t it?

My oldest son asked his students at their last class this term what they learned. They said, “Question everything.”

I’m so proud.


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When Things Get Tough

river3-2A student asked, “When times of great difficulty visit us, how should we meet them?

The teacher said, “Welcome.”

An essay by John Tarrant, Roshi, director of the Pacific Zen Institute, calls this an ancient koan suitable for our time. He says In hard times, we long to touch and feel the vastness and blessing of life. Welcome might open some blue sky in the heart.

This past month has left me welcoming…alas, cracking open. It started with my sister dieing at a young 66. Though I have no full siblings, this step sibling was the closest one I had. The last time I saw her she touched her forehead to mine. While we both cried, she told me she had loved me from the moment she saw me. 

I remember the moment. I was in the driveway of my childhood home walking out to her car. I was six years old and fragile, not just because of age, but because my mom and dad had recently divorced. An extremely sensitive child, I was devastated. What seemed like overnight, I had two brand new families, neither of which  I felt I fit into well. There was nobody to talk to about it, and even to this day, I don’t feel people truly understand that devastation. It’s such a feeling of loneliness. I wanted my old family back and there was nothing I could do about it. It wasn’t an option.iphone-pictures-117

When Sherry came to pick me up, she had a big smile and gave me a warm hug. “Welcome, baby sister.”

As an only child, I felt a tie I had not felt up until that time. A sibling tie. With that love, she immediately staged herself as ally in my Dad’s family. She remained protective of me until her recent death. Through her multiple marriages, regions she lived, and years that passed, we remained close. We had a psychic connection. I always felt loved when she was near, either physically or mentally. She was the one who ALWAYS remembered my (and later my kids’) birthdays even when everyone else forgot.

dscn4431Sherry was extremely creative and her creativity flowed any and everywhere she poured her energy. When I was young, I often spent the night at her house staying up until 5:00 a.m. having dance parties. She carried a charisma and sense of fun that nobody I knew had. Only later, in my adult years, did I recognize that as unmedicated (and self-medicated) bipolar disorder. Even to the end, that brain illness was never treated properly or talked about. In my twenties, she once told me that during a hospitalization, her then husband leaned over, looked into her eyes and said, “Why are you doing this to me?” That reaction was so hurtful to her, I think it prevented her from really getting the help she needed to shine her full authentic self.

amadorI still feel her with me as much as ever, nudging me to learn palmistry or design a cookie platter. Createlittle sister. I loved you from the moment I saw you.

Next, maybe a week and a half later, while Mike and I were hooting it up in Gold Country at a Redneck Barbecue, his mom, Janice, went to the emergency room by ambulance with stomach pains. He went down to LA the day we got back and spent a gut-wrenching next few weeks not knowing which way the road would turn.

She was 88. Infinity infinity. It was to be a minor surgery, as minor as one could have at that age. But finally, that surgery ended up in a funeral last week. As we stood at Hillside Memorial Park in Culver City, a beautiful Jewish cemetery we’ve visited many times before, the rain poured down over us. The water flowed down the steps of the main waterfall. Just after spooning dirt on the casket, and putting the casket next to her husband of 60 some years, the Rabbi said, “We now will know Janice in a different way than in her physical form. We will now know her through stories.”janice

I didn’t feel I was given the voice to tell the best story about Janice in the last few weeks so I will tell it to you.

Each time Janice first saw me, her true nature emerged. She was the BEST hugger I have ever met. Her hugs were a unique combination: warm like a fluffy blanket, but firm like you knew she meant it from the bottom of her heart. They were usually accompanied by a kiss to the side of the head and a noise which meant, I loved you from the moment I saw you. I looked forward to those hugs and every time they came, all these feelings about them came rushing back. I know she knew I felt this way. She came to me after she’d passed, rousing me from a sound sleep at 11:40 p.m., with one last hug. It was a doozy–a gift–and I will always treasure it as I had all the other unique ways Spirit showed Itself through her.

The Rabbi also talked about those ways–her creativity– and how it emanated in so many forms: hand crafts, painting, gardening, cooking, and in her later years, computer graphics. Every birthday she spent time making customized cards for each of us, children and grandchildren, with generous checks included. Each design and rhyme was tailored to the recipient’s year, past and upcoming. We will all miss that thoughtfulness, generosity and creativity when our birthdays roll around. This was my husband’s card waiting on her computer for his birthday, which fell two days after hers. She was buried on her birthday. She’d already been working away on his. The message, prophetic.mikebdaycard

Create, little sister. I loved you from the moment I saw you. 

And only now do I feel like I can find the words. When things get tough, I pull inside. To meditation. To Spirit Itself. To my husband and my kids. To my best friend. To the tight circle I’ve built around myself to insulate myself in Love. To my dreams. To my journal. To my prayer partner. To that space where I completely trust I will be held and not let down.

And, yet, the koan sounds in my ear: Welcome might open some blue sky in the heart. 

Indeed. Without the divorce that hurt so much at 6, I never would have found my Sherry. Without the years we had together, I would have never experienced that sibling feel. Without Janice, I never would have known such a Hug. All these gifts, all these gifts. I would not trade them for the moon…certainly, not to prevent the pain of tougher times. Instead, I welcome them. I welcome them, recognizing that without the one, the tough times of loss, there isn’t the vastness and blessings of life.

And in the end, my heart is filled with blue sky.



Posted in conscious living, creativity, death, friends, healthy living, Inspiration, mental health, metaphysical, relationships, resilience | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Revisiting Amador-able

suttercreekLast year around this time, Mike and I grabbed a handful of friends and hit up the California wine region of Amador County, a little pocket of gold country east of Sacramento.grapes






This year, we weren’t planning another trip, but ’bout a week ago we asked ourselves, “How can we possibly miss Andis Wine’s Redneck Barbecue?” We decided we couldn’t. With an invitation like this, how can you resist?banner


We fumbled around for last minute places and decided to stay where we went last year. The Sutter Creek Inn ended up being the perfect place.

suttersign This historical Inn had ghost hunters scouting about last year. Nobody wants to talk about ghosts around the Inn, but somehow we heard that word at least once each time we were there. The Inn is old and quaint, each room different from the next. I let the owner choose our room. My only caveat was I wanted a “hanging bed.” In some rooms, beds hang from the ceiling. These swinging beds are amazingly soothing, surprisingly even after a few glasses of wine.

The room was beautiful, with a woodburning fireplace and lots of wood. The bathroom was almost as roomy as the room itself! There was a huge painting hanging over the sunken two-person tub giving it a modern flare, along with a plant that reminded me of Seymour. And, of course, the hanging

Best of all, along the walls hung rows of books spanning time. My favorite thumb-through was a first edition from 1949 on Transcendentalism. It was signed by Jane Way, the woman who bought the Inn originally back when women didn’t do such things. (Confession: I really wanted to keep that book, but I didn’t.) Last year, I took a picture in Jane’s parlor and I swear you can see her playing the piano in the mirror reflection. In case you missed it last year, here it is again. Decide for yourself.

ghost And speaking of ghosts…

Check out this portal-looking view on Main Street right out front. Even if you’re not buying the whole supernatural bend, the nostalgia of the town can’t be denied. Antique shops line Main and some of our breakfast friends (non wine drinkers) came just for the antiquing.

street2The other shops on Main range from boutiques with local art products to our favorite amazing cheese shops with cheeses from all over the world. You can do a wine/cheese tasting here if you like. They even loaned us a knife for the night and refrigerated our cheese while we went to the barbecue. (We took one to share with our redneck friends. Turns out we found some appreciative millennial cheese lovers so it worked out!) Here’s the storefront so you don’t miss it.


The buildings in Sutter Creek can be described as Gold Rush Chic. Well, sort of. Like Gold Rush Redone…Chic. I’m pretty sure that’s an architectural style from my days in Urban Architecture class at UCLA. sutter  Whatever you call it, it’s a few steps back in time and gorgeous in Autumn. Check out these leaves at Deaver Winery. Like a painting. That times infinity.


At the barbecue, we ran into Lorenzo, the sales/marketing guy for Andis. Last year when we met Lorenzo, he had not been in the US long. He hails from Italy and comes from a 4 generation winemaking family. He always knows where the best wines are hiding in the Andis barrels and how to blend them together for us. Wait until you see what’s coming in 2020!lorenzo


At the barbecue, we made some new millennial friends. Remember? The ones who loved the cheese? They were really insistent on us dancing to the Knuckleheads. They took about 100 pictures, but you can get the vibe with one. We had fun eating ribs with those two, and dancing in between wet wipes.



The next morning, breakfast proved a feast of information. We discovered a new California wine region not yet explored–Lodi–and now know the guy who owns the kayak shop.

We also met a couple who told us we must go visit the “ghost town” of Volcano.  breakfastZucchini walnut pancakes topped with fresh peach syrup and an itinerary of activity. Off to Volcano we go.

The drive was gorgeous, but steep and curvy. Signs indicated the road narrowed. We both laughed because there wasn’t much narrowing option. Lucky for us, no cars passed us coming down and we were able to navigate ourselves up through the autumn forest.

When we rolled into “town,” first we saw a motorcycle gang (I mean, club) that took over the Whiskey Flat Saloon. See that guy hightailing it out to make room?bar

The second thing we saw were ghost hunters in ghost hunter cars in front of an old hotel. And then we saw this sign. pop103Can you see how someone changed the 0 in 100 to 103?

The must-see place everybody raves about is The Kneading Dough Bakery. Remember how we just had breakfast? It really didn’t keep us from diving into the offerings. We took our Sutter Mills coffee (no lattes in these parts) and baked goods to the secret garden doused in color. fall5From under the canopy in every direction lies fall and nostalgia.

bakeryWe took a walk around the town which doesn’t take long. That is, unless you take the time to read all the signs on the artifacts. Volcano has Union roots from the Civil War. The town bell is a gift from a Unitarian Preacher who appreciated town support for Lincoln during the war. (Come to think of it, there’s another town called Lincoln and one called Plymouth…oh, and Jackson. A theme?)

Check out Old Abe.  And his plaque.

The rock around Volcano looks like volcanic rock from Hawaii. In the creek, tumbling stones turn to volcanic slate as you drive into the town. We couldn’t find evidence of a volcano, and I haven’t Googled it, but the story we made up was that a volcano imploded on itself and spewed out the rock. You can adopt that one or make up your own…or go really boring and Wikipedia it.

tree We’re sticking with the imploding Volcano theory.

All in all, each time we explore Amador County, we find another nugget. The wine (especially the Barberas) is phenomenal, the history is retained and appreciated by the locals, the drives are gorgeous, and, well, it’s just plain Amador-able.leaves

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Hope For Our Babies: #LetsDoThis


Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.                              Margaret Meade

I can’t remember when it started. I just always had a baby I was carrying around. As a child I had a severe doll obsession. I was never without one. As soon as I could hold live babies, I would seek out family friends that had them with a hidden agenda to “babysit.”

In my early 20s, I had one of my own. In my mid 30s, another. These moments were hands down the most powerful breaths in my life. These children brought hundreds of more children into my life, children that called me Mom, Momma, Momma Weil. I love them all. I hug them when they come and when they leave to make sure they know it.

I taught elementary school, and the numbers exponentially grew. The Babies, all of them, are a constant thread that runs through my day, 24/7, and have been in my heart since I arrived on this planet.

I think that’s why this Calling has poured into my heart the way it has. My vision started as a dream to see each child going through a mental health rough patch get back on track as soon as possible–and for them to believe that can happen. To give them hope–a strength to believe in the essence of who they are beneath the layer of the illness. Perhaps that’s because I bargained with God that if my first child could be relieved of the pain he felt through his teens, and his constant desire to leave this earth because of it, I would dedicate this lifetime to helping all the babies I could.

There’s a thing that happens when symptoms flare up in a child. It’s steeped in fear of being different and “crazy.” It’s wrapped in pain and secrecy grown out of confusion about what’s happening. It’s a knife in the self-esteem heart as the child often feels screwed by being handed such a fate. It’s a gateway into street drugs to “normalize” and find relief from the chaotic swirl. It’s a thing that’s hard to know unless you’ve taken up residence with it in the same home, waking with it and laying with it while it shakes in the dark, afraid of the night terrors that live at the edge of sleep…but knowing not sleeping brings with it dire consequences.

To watch a child go through this pain breaks my heart into a million pieces. Knowing that so many “professionals” don’t even really get it, activates my anger and frustration. In certain places, the knowledge exists, but it’s like somebody tore that information up in a million fucking pieces and threw it into the air laughing, “You figure out how to help your child. Good luck.” Gluing those pieces back together and sharing that cohesive picture is my mission. Getting this message directly to the parents and allies who need it is my vision.

Here’s what I know. By taking optimal steps to recovery, and recovery IS a thing, time can speed by and get the child living out his unique blueprint. This inspires me to no end. This can only happen, by the way, if the child is allowed out of the mental health closet by well-meaning parents often worried about “what people will think.” By hiding the child, the child gets the message that “something is wrong with me and this is my fault” when the opposite is true. The child’s internship with mental health symptoms can make that child stronger, more empathetic, more resilient, and more understanding of this beautifully diverse world we live in. Where we fall down now is in the secrecy step which prolongs the period of time before people can look to others for support, education, and advocacy for their child.

Imagine if all those babies came forward how those 1 in 4 stats would change. Children’s mental health issues are without a doubt the current elephant in the room. When my family was going through our first dark night crisis, my oldest child was 12. People turned their backs on us right and left. We felt so isolated and afraid for our child. I was desperate to help my baby who was in so much pain. The place I turned was a confidential list serve where there were hundreds of moms like me in the same boat. Just knowing I was not alone calmed my heart. I knew that through Group Wisdom, as embodied in this place, I would find the support and education I needed to help my child. I vowed never to stop helping others with the knowledge that I gained on the journey to helping my own baby.

Enter Hope for Our Babies. This is the start of an outreach to gather a tribe of parents and their allies (this should include all of us, folks) committed to a vision that together we can help all kids through the mental health tunnel and to the light on the other side. The quicker, the better. By calling on each other for support and education, this grassroots effort is meant to roll out a group of voices for change. We’re starting with California (because it’s in 48th place in the US, which is pathetic, and I like a challenge), but the reach will extend far beyond the Sunshine State.

How can you help? First, click on this link and then click like:

Second, copy and paste on your social media to share. If you are a parent or ally, and want to share in a closed group, click on “Contact Us” and you will be taken to the group page where you may find guidance that can help you on your journey.

By liking and sharing, we can extend our reach to parents and allies who have babies of all ages they are supporting on a regular basis. By pulling the pieces together, in a solution oriented format, we will gather resources and filter it through Group Wisdom. I am a firm believer that we are put here to serve others by sharing the nuggets we’ve gathered on our journey. That’s where joy lives. I’m also a firm believer that we are all connected, and by helping our babies on their journeys (ALL THE BABIES of all ages) we have the best shot at creating a world that works for everybody.


Posted in anxiety, belief systems, beliefs, bipolar disorder, conscious living, early onset bipolar disorder, education, facing your fears, hope, Inspiration, mental health, mental health and children, NAMI, NAMI Basics, parenting, Parents and Teachers as Allies, positive attitude, psychiatric, recovery, resilience, United Advocates for Children & Families | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Choice Points and Esalen: I Choose B-Infinity


Each time a cycle comes to an end, it opens an opportunity called a choice point…                  

Greg Braden

We have a choice between the power of love and the love of power… 

From the documentary, Choice Point: Align Your Purpose

Last week, I went on a journey. This journey happened on so many levels, I can barely find the words to encompass it. It wasn’t all butterflies and unicorns (though many Monarchs appeared in the story. Literally hundreds.) The shadow was certainly present and I felt deep pain at points on this trek. Trying to tell the story in its authenticity is like trying to paint a picture and not capturing the scene…like when the colors you choose, or the scope on the canvas, does not allow for the image you are taking into your heart. Or when you shoot a camera lens at a breathtaking scene and the camera only picks up a titch of the beauty. There’s a disconnect between what lies in the present moment and what is being saved to pass on.

To this end, I actually wrote another blog entirely on this Esalen experience. But it was lacking because I was trying to mentally process it instead of letting it flow from my heart space. I’m going to try it again. Here. Now.

The journey began physically in my car as I took in a three hour board meeting conference call for the United Advocates for Children and Families, a California non-profit advocacy group whose goal is to empower families in California with children facing mental health challenges. California falls down hard in the area of children’s mental health, especially in the rural part of the state where I grew up and currently live again. My current calling is to shift that. Through writing. Through film. Through conversation. These conference calls give me a vision of what we’re dealing with and often leave me overwhelmed at the scope of the problem. Choice Point 1: (a) sink into the overwhelm or (b) follow the intuitive lead to reinvent the landscape even when it’s difficult. I choose b.

As often it seems to fall, I spent a transition day between that state of mind and the next with my friend Katherine. Katherine and I met 18 years ago in Manhattan Beach Mommy and Me and have remained friends ever since. Katherine’s thoughtfulness and playful spirit always promise such a great time. Not only did we sing 80s tunes–Carpenters!–at the top of our lungs on the way to The Refuge in Carmel Valley (she always saves passes cause she’s awesome like that), but we hit up the Monterey Jazz Festival (more passes), a perfect way to enjoy moments. (Thanks, Kath, for not making me go 0 to 60 in the Tesla even though I know you love it. And, thanks, for always being such a thoughtful friend.) Here she is taking a Sunday break in what my husband calls the Snuggie of 2016, the Wind Pouch, which a vendor tried to trick us into buying for way too much money. mont12


The colors, the smells, our Carribean/Indian combo lunch shared over brainstorming documentary ideas, listening to people and their stories, playing in the sunglass booth, listening to sounds of jazz while people watching…and let us not forget about the miles and miles of shore we walked down Seaside (pre-jazz prep), smelling the ocean, feeling the sand in our toes, and catching up on the past 4 months since my last Carmel drive-by.


Choice Point 2: a) distract yourself with the next/previous/next thing; b) be in these real moments with friends and appreciate them with deep gratitude. I choose b.

As Simone Weil said,  Attention is the purest form of generosity. I am so fortunate to have a close, inner circle that understands that from both a giving and receiving position.

SIDENOTE: Before we leave Carmel, I must tell you about Poke Lab! This is the best poke place outside of Foodland on the Big Island (or that other place in Kona) that I have seen. It’s AWESOME and if you love poke, you must seek it out. Only open for 6 months, but it will definitely be a chain. (I’m really feeling I should have Google Ads right about now.)

As the journey continues Sunday afternoon, I weave my way into the smoke surrounding Big Sur. The drive is always gorgeous, but the hills were burning and the smoke was thick this particular Sunday. This was a metaphor as it often is where nature meets truth. I was excited to come together with my five friends. One from high school. Two from college days. My best friend since my mid-20s. And a new friend from Tenerife I hadn’t ever met in person, but had heard about over the years.new1

As I drove down Highway 1, I had a feeling Lissa Rankin’s “Anatomy of a Calling” workshop was only the excuse needed to land on the laboratory called Esalen, the precipice of the human growth potential movement, with these 5 strong women and the other players in the play. While I enjoyed the workshop and its community very much, I soon realized my true calling this time reached beyond more schedule following.reservation

e32What is Esalen beyond a gorgeous retreat center in the middle of the Big Sur Coastline? Esalen is known historically for its ability to be a canvas for human potential in the world. If you want to see your junk close up (and I’m not talking about the view at the clothing optional baths), this is the perfect place to do it. If you want to see what’s possible in the world, and be willing to face the naked truth about yourself and your global community, this is the place to do it. If you want to understand your connection to nature via your spirit and your heart–not just your mind–this is the place to do it. The more you can do that, the more you grow.

Named after the Esselen people of the Monterey Peninsula, this nonprofit touts itself a Pagan Monastery. Having stayed in several monasteries before, I definitely feel that vibe when I’m there, though monasteries don’t come with bars and mineral baths. I guess that’s where Pagan joins in. There is the routine of a monastery, with three meals a day from the garden, and the proper busing of items in their receptacles. There is community eating, and ritual in workshops, rustic lodging, and amazing gardens that supply food for meals. Here’s my best friend, Netters, making friends with the gifter of our morning eggs.e30

There are altars set up around the sacred land, and morning yoga to get your down dog on while looking out over the vast Pacific. Sweet peas hang on a large fence with scissors nearby so visitors can cut flowers for their rooms.  Monarch butterflies dance in the sky and flit from flower to flower, happy and carefree.e25like

A meditation hut looks out over the Pacific. It’s hard not to be transported. This is the view from the window. meditation

The land here feels sacred. From the collective energy of the Esselen people and all those that came after to soak up the healing mineral waters, an energy resides that’s hard to miss. But this group of peoples was decimated by settlers, and that energy is tangible, too. The feeling of cycles is in the air here. People at crossroads, in huge life shifts. One man we talked to in the baths had been living on the property for 9 months (which he’d done before for 2 years some five years earlier), working in maintenance and taking classes in consciousness the rest of the time. There is a feeling of sacred transition, personal retreat, and evolution afloat. It feels like Esalen Island, physically and metaphorically.

new2Yet, everybody moves through this space differently. One thing Esalen teaches you so clearly is that each person carries with them a lens filter through which all reality is viewed. Each being’s interpretation is purely subjective, as they hold up the mirror to themselves through their reactions to others. Paying attention to what’s in the mirror is not always comfortable, sometimes even painful, but it’s the key to evolution. Not everyone is ready to do it, yet to ignore it is to stagnate. Choice Point 3: a) give up growth for the sake of what is familiar, even if that familiarity causes suffering, pain, or dysfunction, or b) drive into the fire even if it feels like you will get burned and it will be hard to breathe…emerge on the other side, stronger. Much stronger. I choose b.


For me, the whole adventure was planned intuitively for lessons I needed to learn. To listen intuitively while there, I maintained a meditation practice daily despite the distractions of regulated workshop hours, meals, and social times. That was important to me so I could clearly hear my intuition and not everyone else’s stuff. We did yoga and chakra meditations. I journaled and drew in the forest, my feet plunged into the ice cold stream. We sat in the baths under an unbelievably extensive cover of stars listening to the waves crash against the cliffs.

e11When I returned home three spiritual allies, for whom I am so grateful, helped me see through the smoky emotions I had learned on this journey–and how I had set the whole thing up to learn them without even being conscious of it. (My Intuition is a master planner.) Choice Point 4: a) We can live on the surface of De Nile, or b) We can listen to spiritual teachers we trust to help us grow and evolve. I choose b.e2

One of the key lessons from this visit to Esalen: Trust the Universe. It’s got your back–always! On the third day, I felt my intuition strongly say, Go into the forest. Walk the paths to the baths. Experience the land. e17e20like

When we woke up, and we laid giggling in our cabin, I told Netters I knew clearly I was to trade the structure of the workshop day for the non-structure awaiting definition. She thought that sounded like a good idea, too. Having been on Tech-Disconnect (on my own intuition and to respect the limited bandwidth resource of Esalen Island), I whipped out my cell and took pictures. We found beautiful coves to sit in and just be, a luxury we don’t have often since my husband and I moved from LA where Netters still lives. We took selfies. We sat in the stream. I did readings for her in the forest near our Day 1 Despacho Ceremony. We sat in the hot springs for three hours watching the otters play in the surf (or was it seaweed? We’re still not sure.)  We meditated together in the Meditation Hut. We ate without having to navigate the crowds and rush off to the next thing. It was perfect. Choice Point 5: a) stick with the original mental plan at all costs, because it’s familiar and predictable or, b) listen to your heart intuition and follow it 100% of the time. So grateful to choose b!like3

Midway through the week, I started having withdrawals from contact with my husband, my children, and my mom. My husband and I both work at home and spend tons of time together, so no contact for 7 days was A LOT. Same with my youngest son. My mom and I talk daily, too, and not talking just feels weird. I was missing my peeps!

However, my intuition had called out the Tech-Disconnect and I wanted to honor it. So on Wednesday, in the middle of a withdrawal period, I was prompted to pen my husband a love letter. When was the last time I even thought about doing that? I couldn’t remember. Choice Point 6: a) second guess an intuitive prompt, b) follow your gut to PachaMama’s Magic Camp. I choose b. When my husband read the letter out of my journal, a gem fell out, and that will be a magic story for a future blog.e29

As I drove away from Esalen, the smoke had cleared from the fires. Emotionally, not so much. However, as I returned to the world I had held on sacred pause for the previous 7 days, I felt so happy to reconnect with my family and spiritual allies. My cell became active as I used it to pay for coffee in Carmel. Ahhh, the tasks technology allows us to do. Up popped 40 texts, 2,000 emails, 4 calls, 90 Facebook notifications (not to mention Twitter, Linked In, and all my friends on Word Streak thinking I’d driven off a cliff)…and a ringing phone as my husband saw the Starbucks app prompt up a tip and knew I was back on the grid. I was so excited to talk to him! I caught up with my peeps on my cell all the way from Carmel Valley Starbucks home. That’s seven hours of catch up.

I understood why my intuition put me through that period where I was meant to focus on that which was in front of me: friends from all different stages of my life, all in their own different different parts of the journey. Had I questioned it and not followed it I would have missed this valuable lesson: I appreciated so much how much each member of this close intimate team–as well as the “strangers” I talked to throughout the week– taught me about life.  Choice Point 7: a) status quo,  or b) Status Quo Buster! I choose b.

And so the elixir. Realizing love does not mean holding on to something simply for the sake of holding on just because you have been in that holding pattern. Love means honoring the frequency at which you vibrate and not making yourself small because someone else needs you to be small so they can be big. Love means standing in your power, but not being egotistically consumed by what the world sees as powerful, for the true Power is not about you at all. It never was. Instead, it is only found in your ability to get out of your own way…to open to the greater Universe that wants to express itself through you as you. It’s about Flow.

Choice Point 8: a) the love of power, b) the power of Love. Which do you choose? I choose b. Infinity.e14







Posted in awakening, bathing ritual, belief systems, connection, conscious living, friends, Inspiration, intuition, metaphysical, relationships, self-care, SoulTransformation, spiritual, subconscious, Synchronicity, United Advocates for Children & Families, yoga | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Gaining Perspective: A Slow Moving Train

trainWhen I was at Occidental College doing my Masters’ work for my CLAD (Cross-Cultural Language and Academic) Teaching Credential, I took a race and ethnicity class. Oxy was an extremely progressive institution unlike any I had experienced in my prior education. The R&E class was that times 100.

I was the only white student. That disturbed me. Why weren’t more white people interested in learning about different cultures and races? I soon discovered why. There were many difficult conversations in that class that always came back to white right and the suppression of other cultures throughout time by white people.

But not me. That’s not how I thought. I didn’t want to be the poster child for that. I understood the perspectives shared in the class. I wondered if they could see past the hurt and pain to understand mine. This was especially true of the professor who just seemed angry I was in her class. I tried to work out the unnamed issue in her office hours. I tried to participate in class. She just didn’t like me. Was it because I was white?

I still don’t know the answer to that question to this day, but I decided that the class was a great opportunity for me to understand new perspectives. From the teacher. From the students. From the raw, honest feedback. My goal was not to be liked or even understood. It was to understand where others were coming from. Their experiences, both good and bad.

We studied history like I hadn’t studied it before. We looked at the native perspective instead of the pilgrim perspective. We studied matriarchal cultures instead of the traditional patriarchal one I found myself living in each day. We pulled out the pain that people feel because of the race/ethnicity/gender they were born into and took a good look at what it all meant. Emotion soup.nativeplay

Tonight, that all came flashing back. At my son’s rehearsal for a play which retells history in Shasta County (and many places, really) from an indigenous viewpoint, those feelings filled the room with the first run through on the script.  The play tells the story we didn’t hear in grammar school. It tells the story from the perspective of the native. The play is called “Undamming History” and will play at the historical Cascade Theater on Saturday, October 22. It is a project put together by the Shasta Historical Society and includes indigenous tribal leaders from the area.

During one scene, it all came rushing back. The heated talks in R&E at Oxy. The crap way I felt after each class, not only because of my own white guilt, but because of the hurt and pain of so many others who had been treated a particular way because of the way they look. In this scene, a woman had to read lines about how the explorers cut the natives’ hair and force them to assimilate. Explorers said the long hair went against the their religion, their perspective of what was good and right. As she read the lines, her voice cracked…her pain tangible and audible. Just reading the lines brought up so many feelings. Though this is not a new idea, and one I have seen before, watching the emotion of someone who experienced such treatment hurt my heart.

I felt the pain bubble to the surface. The long hair symbolized spirituality the natives felt. They were told it was wrong. How confusing for the children in school, the children who were teased. My son plays a bully in this play. In real life, he is the child who defends anybody who is underrepresented. It was hard for me to watch those words come out. I know it’s acting, but it was still hard watching how kids treat other kids. When I was teaching, I started developing communication skills in my students on Day 1 so they wouldn’t interact like this. Still, they do. To see the truth of how people treat those who are different than them, and to realize this is still so true today, puzzles me.

Why is it so threatening to be around people who are different than we are? Why do we feel the need to convert them to our viewpoints, be they religious, political, or other? Why can’t we celebrate the beautiful aspects of varying cultures and ways of being in the world without feeling we need to make them line up with our own?

I think we can. It’s plays like this one in a conservative town that give me hope. It’s themes like “Women in Filmmaking” that ran through the local Fire Reel Film Festival last weekend I find progressive and promising. Sometimes it might feel like it’s a slow moving train, but I do fancy it’s moving.

Posted in belief systems, beliefs, creativity, Inspiration | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments