Why are your sessions three hours long?

I’m not quite sure when the idea that healing should occur in an hour came from.  But, to quote someone I really don’t like, “How’s that workin’ for ya?”

Healing takes more time than popping a pill.  It doesn’t happen when it’s shoved in between soccer games, the nail salon, and mowing the grass.  Sometimes it actually takes time.  When someone can actively say “I don’t have time for that” then I’m not the right fit.  And they’re not really ready to be healed.  It doesn’t matter if they don’t believe, if they’re afraid to feel healthy and whole (or wholly different) or aren’t desperate enough.  They’re just not ready.

Me sending someone back out into the world after merely an hour is like handing someone a birthday cake that hadn’t even gone into the oven.  In fact, in one session (mostly), we’ve only just begun creating the mix.

So, please, clobber the clock.  The universe doesn’t work from an insurance office, therapist’s calendar, or bankers hours.

Are you ready?

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Is remote energetic work effective?

A few days ago, I received an email related to the upcoming Empowered Empath class.  Tanya asked, “I guess the only question I have is- whether the energy work is as effective over Skype as it is in person? Do you feel that it is?”

My response was this:  “Remote work is just as effective (if not more so in some cases) as in-person work.”  That said, when we do remote ‘energetic’ work, there is no technology involved.  I find the use of it when doing energetic work like a leash.  So we connect etherically and no one is tethered to phone, speakers, video, etc.”

When I do remote work, it’s just like being with someone physically and often they can feel me physically–hands on head or heart, rubbing their back, patting their head.  I use the same intensity of focus (often more because I, too, can get distracted when the client isn’t with me.   And I move.  A lot.  I often dance around in the same manner I do when bringing Love on Fire to folks.  It often resembles something akin to a head-bobbing, dervish-twirling, energy-conducting voodoo priestess.  So being tethered to a camera or computer really confines me.

Sometimes remote work really is more effective than in-person work.  Those that are afraid to be truly open–open-hearted, open-minded, open emotionally, wide-freaking-open when around people often can do so in the comfort of their own home and pajamas surrounded by their cats.

That said, I actually prefer hands-on work.  Because, for me, this work is about about relationship.  It may be only three hours at a shot but, for many, it’s the most intimate they’ve ever had.  For me, the magic that happens, the ‘real’ opening that occurs when my physical hand touches someone’s heart (or hips or knees or belly or feet or ears or head or back or…) cannot be duplicated remotely.

And, although people have tangible, worldview-shifting experiences remotely, in my opinion (based solely on what I’m told) they aren’t necessarily implemented in the same fashion (if at all) as if they are coached through interpretations, guided through their own messages and mental/bodily responses as can happen when we are face to face.

As far as I know people I’ve worked with remotely have had visitations of yours truly but haven’t had the transformative (if folks choose to transform with it, btw) physical & visual interactions with Jesus or Manasa or Running Rabbit or folks from their lineages.  I know they’ve (okay, only one person) experienced a string of multiple orgasms as a form of released sexual trauma for themselves and a string of matrilineal women.  But, since I’m not with them, I’m not sure if it’s a full-on-let’s-get-pentacostal-up-in-here bodily release of trauma or just a ‘regular ol” popping off of something specific.  I do know that knees & hips have no longer needed surgery, suicidality has vanished, shoulders can be used again, eyesight (and foresight) have improved, ulcers have healed, urinary tract infections disappeared, kidney stones & breast lumps have dissolved.

And, usually, when I work with people remotely, it’s easier for them to ditch their own responsibility, disengage from the work, and otherwise not follow through–particularly if the work is given for free.   When that happens I just wait for them to return.

Either way, remotely or within physical proximity here’s what this sometimes feels like.  Please give me and yourself the courtesy of closing other open tabs & windows, then connect to your breath and click play.

 

Fear and Stepping Up

I make a point of putting myself out there in a number of ways.  I want to demystify this ‘healing thing’; create a relationship that hopefully allows others to connect to me or folks like me with trust; provide my own catharsis, and help myself keep it real…nothing like knowing there are a potential few million people who might read what you write and call you on your shit to keep you honest, no?

I hold back on things, though.  The first is how I’ve come to know myself.  In part, I hold back because I can’t quite articulate what I know.  I know (I think, anyway) the meaning behind & within it but I can’t wrap my head around it in a way that makes even sense to me.  If I can’t explain it to myself, I can’t explain it to anyone else.  No need to add to the confusion or otherwise muck it up more, I’ve said to myself & no one else (cue the Neil Diamond, yes?).  I thought I could wait until something (I dunno what) coalesces and later attempt to explain but that misses the whole point of me Stepping Up.

So, I’ve been a chicken.  Big fat lying chicken.  Not an overtly lying chicken but the holding-back, Imawussy type of chicken.  I fully admit that I’ve been afraid.  I’m afraid now.  I’m actually writing this and am going to hit ‘publish’ when I’m finished. ‘Publish’ means I can’t take it back. I can’t go back.  There’s no need to attempt kidding myself or anyone else.  In An UnCommon Experience, I shared an experience that pushed me where I didn’t think I was ready to go.  What I didn’t do was describe the subsequent experience of a week later like I said I was (yep, a wuss there, too). There’s been a progression of things since then culminating in another, more recent, powerful experience.

Two Sundays ago, when in a session with another amazing woman, I got soundly chastised by that voice that’s not a voice, the thought that’s not a thought.  I was clearly told that what I’ve been couching in terms of humility (I’m not special, we’re all just little ordinary people, blah-blah) & awe was not that at all.

I was reminded that it was fear. My fear. No doubt about it.  Good old-fashioned fear.  Fear of what other people will think of me.  Fear of what this means for my life.  Fear of moving into ‘not knowing’ as much as ‘knowing’.  Fear that I’m not cut out for this. Fear that I don’t know what the heck ‘this’ is. Fear that I’ll end up feeling more isolated from most other people than I do already.

Heck, I’m so afraid that I keep getting up and walking away from the computer after I type a sentence or phrase.  It’s taken me weeks of trying to figure it out, being slapped upside the head with a bazillion things that are nothing more than distractions, confronted by my own choices that I allow to hold me back. In fact, two weeks to work up the nerve to write and three days to actually do this.

The truth of the matter is that I’ve been called, pushed and pulled (dragged?) into stepping into me, into who I am, my true power.  I’ve been called to name it, own it, move with it and in it.  And I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.

I know the presences that merged with me two Sundays ago made it clear that I’m no longer able to duck & dodge who I am. “Did you think we’d let you forget?”  I have no connection to the three presences that were identified by the client (who gamely shared this experience with me step-by-step) with one exception. I happen to know of Paramahansa Yogananda because Autobiography of a Yogi is one of the books I bought to try to figure out what’s been going on with me  (I never did finish reading it.).   I’ve heard of Sai Baba somewhere but never of the third that she identified as one of the others’ teachers.  As an aside, I feel presences around me w/ some frequency and I occasionally I assign a personality to them—sometimes I call one Christ b/c it just feels what I think Christ-like is to me in the moment.  However, I don’t generally know a bunch of dead dudes like my friend, Simon.

I really have been afraid.  Without exception, I’ve been afraid to say out loud to another or even to myself that the presence I feel so profoundly—most profoundly during sessions—really is me.  Nothing from outside of me.  All of me.  My within put with-out to be shared.

You know, it has come naturally to me to speak of seeing you and me as the Divine.  To feel that, to know that at this level requires me to relinquish a few things I’ve held onto and admit a few others that I may not have wanted to.   It requires to me stand up and accept that I am special.  That I am extra-ordinary.  The thing is, you wouldn’t think that’s such a hard thing to do but for me it is.

For decades I’ve wanted to feel special. I wanted to hear it from parents, friends, lovers, and with very rare exceptions haven’t.  I’ve certainly known I was different.  That bit couldn’t be missed.  Despite that I still felt invisible.  Still do.  Hell, I feel like screaming “SOMEBODY SEE ME!  FEEL ME!! HELP ME!!!” as much now as I did when I was 2, 10, 12, 20 years old.   (And, when you don’t see me, I’m actually doing that! I mean, not all the time but when the goin’ is rough, oh yes!)

This new reckoning actually really does require me to not give a good shit what others think & put myself out there whether or not anyone will ever see me or, well, give a good shit about me.

The thing is, I really don’t know what this is.  I really don’t know how to articulate it. It’s an experience and a way of being that I never knew about, planned for, sought or imagined.  I don’t know me now.  I don’t know what to do with it.  I don’t know what to do with me.  It’s cool to hear from other’s that they feel God’s presence when in my presence.  A pretty nifty thing. Talk about some validation.  However, to intentionally move to the understanding that what they are feeling isn’t from some idea of God coming to visit while I work, that it is the whole of me–little ol’ Ingrid me—is another thing altogether.  To come right out and say that floors me. I don’t have the presence, it’s not a visitation.  I am it.  I am all of that it.  All of those things that string together these things between us and that are us. And all things. This is who I am.

I’m not a person of faith. I don’t ‘have faith in’ anything.  Never have. I don’t get that concept. I don’t ‘believe in’ anything. I ‘just know’ a lot of stuff but that’s not been much help lately.  I don’t know how else to be.  I do know that how I’ve been ‘be-ing’ me ain’t working so well.  I give in the way I feel I’m supposed to.  I ask questions, I ask guidance and get bupkus.  There’s no ‘fluff-n-stuff’ in how I’m me.  I was actually stunned when a person at my last group session said in response to my question of why they came,  “Well, I looked at your site and it just seemed like it came from the heart. Like it was all you. Not a packaged thing.” I think I looked at him like he had three heads before I replied, “Why would it or I be any other way?”

Why would it be any other way? It’s now time for me to own all of it.  I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know what that means for the rest of my life. I feel afraid. I feel alone. I feel frustrated and am tired of being hungry.   And, there’s so much more I don’t know.

I do know, though, that I’m getting ready to hit “publish”.  Here goes sumpin’.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.”

Marianne Williamson got that right.

I Don’t Know Jack

I really don’t know jack about some shit.  What follows, naturally, is I don’t know Jack Shit. In particular, I don’t know Jack about a good bit of this otherwise-called “spiritual” stuff.  Some folks expect me to because I’ve chosen to add  the label of “healer” & “teacher” to the alphabet string after my last name (B.A. in Liberal Arts & Sciences & M.A in Criminal Justice for those who really wanna know!).

Here’s a string o’ stuff that I neither know jack about nor have any interest in others’ stories about:

  • photon belts or Peleaidians
  • crystals or consciousness
  • intergalactic and/or crystallline stellar grids
  • 5th or 12th dimensions and 9th waves of consciousness
  • akashic records, Atlanteans, Actuarians, Ascension
  • holograms, hologames, Hathors
  • super-special frequencies & first wave stargaters
  • Elenin or elementals
  • and other bupkus, bullshit or belief systems (otherwise known as BS) that I should subscribe to and then prescribe to others because I’m, well, not something others think I am or should be
I don’t believe Lemurian crystals are waiting for a super-special race of I AM peoples to arise (anyone else note how some of this ‘Oneness’ language is not about one?) and recharge them.  I don’t believe we need special permission from aliens (or a/any God/s) to tell us we’re, well, notsospecial but they (another ubiquitous they) are.  I don’t believe one needs to pray in a particular pattern of gold to orange (or vice versa), in a particular direction (I mean, really?  You’re gonna be dissed because you look to the NorthWest rather than South and don’t speak Lakota?) or kneel/rise patterns to know love. I don’t associate dates and times with any ‘special-ness’ in the same way I don’t separate out my desk or a lovely stone as having any more meaning to me.
Here is what I do know:
I know that humans create stories.  A lot of them.  Some good reading, some not.  I also know that humans don’t like it when others of same throw a kink in the works of their creation.  Particularly  kinks that may require reconsideration of what they think they know–especially about this “stuff” folks call speerachul.  Because they knooooow, dammit!  To suggest that we-the-human-race-we decided to give a personality to the earth & sky and all the bits of those things connected to both, to a *thing* outside of us…is, well, not very well accepted.
“Well, Ingrid, it seems you’re just ignorant about _________________.”  You can fill in the blank with “the Ascension process” (12th floor, please), “Vortex Energy”, “gland activation”, consciousness, meditation, 2012, “Source Field”, Revelations, God, reincarnation, you-name-it-cabal-of-the-day, Tarot, “being ‘spiritual’ “, yadda yadda yadda…  Getting my drift?  Yep. I am ignorant and am glad to be.  Someone else (a multitude of someones, in fact) over the course of time (a very, very long time) made up some shit to help make their experiences more explainable.  For them. Period.
I get extremely frustrated when people who try to wrap their mind around me and what I can do say things like, “Oh. So, you must do X?”  No.  I don’t.  “Well, you should take person X’s words to tell people what you do.”  No. I shouldn’t.  What I do, who I am, and the power within me has no resemblance to anyone else’s truth (although there is some undeniable repetition throughout history of all things freakily me, and, oddly enough, there are a lot of us out there who kinda do what I do). Here’s the real truth: No.One.Knows.  We don’t know what “this” is, how it works, why it works sometimes and then other times doesn’t, why people (and critters) experience it differently each time, why we do, how it came to being, etc.
There are those who offer their ‘expert’ opinions on things that can’t really be explained, create pretty pictures to go with their discussions of matrices & other mumbo-jumbo so as to add validity, profess their own gospels of whatevertheheck.  No one knows.
However, here is more of what I know:
  • What others see as mystery isn’t to me.  It just is me. It’s my being, my purpose for being.
  • I’m not accessing anything outside of myself.  It is in me, of me, through me.
  • I am one.  And, as an aside, t doesn’t need a capital letter.
  • Things change for others when I turn up the volume. Awakening, cures, blah, blah.  For me, it’s all a “Well, duh…”
  • I vibrate. Really. No battery needed. When I vibrate, others do, too.
  • I don’t ‘get’ it & I’m really comfortable with that. I’m not very comfortable trying to make others comfortable with it.
  • Others don’t ‘get’ it and aren’t very comfortable with that.
  • I don’t care about the other stuff.  Really.  I just do my ‘thing’.  It’s nifty. It helps others. A lot.  It’ll be even niftier when it helps me as much as it helps them (don’t even get me started on that topic-the one repeating the notion that I should suffer to serve others?).
I experience the world in a very unique way.  I see it, taste it, touch it, feel it, breathe into and through it, hear it like no other.  When I can actually articulate in words other things I know that are me and within me, I’ll be glad to. Okay, maybe glad is the wrong word because, admittedly, I’m afraid of it my-own-damn-self!  Yup.  Afraid.  There:  I said it.  I’m afraid of the power within me.  And, fuck all, that’s gonna be another entry that would, in fact, be a follow-up to  already-posted An UnCommon Experience.  Because I had another one that I’ve not shared yet.
FB note just posted as I typed the last three sentences:
Well, well, well. You know that awkward feeling when not paying attention to something you have that “AHA” moment that, in turn, is a “D’OH!” moment about the thing you weren’t paying attention to? Yep. Just had one. I’m an idiot. A dolt, even. And, now that I’ve established that factoid, I’ve not a damn thing to do about it. Fuck all. Deets to appear later as I flesh this out. In fact, it could educational and, indeed, entertaining for all those around me!!
Well, well, well. Indeed.

Becoming Horse

I don’t share with many folk the experiences I have with some frequency; almost daily.  I’m not quite sure why I tend to keep them to myself.  I think there are a combination of factors.  They are at once deeply moving, awe-inspiring, sometimes physically taxing, some more ‘ecstatic’ than others, and seem just for me.  I don’t often try to understand, figure ’em out or connect the dots.  I also don’t connect them to life-stuff, psychic-stuff, spiritual-stuff and other whatnot in the way I think many other people do. And, lately, folks appear to be looking to me for answers and aren’t comfortable in accepting, “I don’t know.”  I find myself using that phrase a lot when it comes to the ‘work’ that I and quite a few others do.  I don’t know what ‘ascension’ is (twelfth floor, please?).  I don’t know your past lives; don’t have any interest in my own.  I don’t know why folks are so interested in understanding a 5th dimension (or if there is one) when we are right here, right now, in this one.  I don’t know why a dog that couldn’t walk now can after I had a mere thought and why a cancerous tumor wouldn’t go away after the same process.  I don’t know a whole heck of a lot and, frankly, don’t care to.  So, I keep a lot to myself.

I’m drawn to share last Wednesday’s experience, though, for some reason.  It’s not the first of its kind but the intensity of it, the expression of it, and the equine company in which it occurred were a first. And, I think, that by sharing my experiences others will find some comfort in knowing they are not alone & they may come to understand, through continued glimpses into my world, how I come to experience the world in my unique way and how I ‘just’ know and trust.

Some may know that I do work with horses working on both the physical and energetic levels; transforming bodies, demeanor, and communion with their humans.  This week I was asked to begin working with a mare named Marge (I know, right?  Who names a champion mare Marge?) She in no way resembles the blue bouffant of the same-named Simpson character.  However, her frenetic behavior might look a little like Homer’s!

There was another person, a trainer named Michelle, with me to hold her still because Marge is a little off the hook—frenetic only half-describes it.  I got started in my normal way and just felt and watched energy move through, in and around.  I talked to her a little, watched her fight & respond, feeling it in her own unique way.

After several minutes, I felt something strange within me—as if it had moved into me–looked to Michelle and said, “Something just moved into me”.  We both noted that was odd because that doesn’t happen when I work.  Things don’t attach themselves to me.  Introduce themselves, yes.  Attach, move into, errrr, nope.  I kept on keeping on and a few minutes later, energy heightened in intensity, and apparently I looked at Michelle and said, “This isn’t me.”   Although I was aware that I was breathing ‘normally’, I was quite certain I would pass out because I wasn’t breathing ‘right’.  I surrendered and began crying—not of sadness, not in connection with the animal’s emotions (that happens with some frequency, especially with those who have been traumatized physically and emotionally—similar to my engagement with humas), but in communion with something entirely different.  I kept working with the heightened energy, the horse relaxed and shifted in her own way to something resembling calm.  The string of moments (I’ve no idea how long the experience continued) was broken only when a truck pulled into the drive.   I brought my bits back together, brought the horse’s bits back together, wiped snot and tears, and tried to gather my conscious thoughts.  The only thing that really gelled was, “HOLY CRAP! What the hell was that about!?”

As Michelle was helping me re-ground with some tea, I told her again that that wasn’t me. That it couldn’t have been. That it felt like Christ himself or the power behind the horse herself stepped into me and that I could no more explain that or what it meant than I could anything else of this strange experience of the world I live in.

When I asked what she felt, Michelle said, “A swirling, powerful peace.”  Again, I thought, “Holy crap” and couldn’t do much more than shake my head and say thank you.

I left shortly after, still trying to mull over in my head the turn of events.  I know better than to try to ‘figure it out’ and I deal with similar experiences daily.  Not this intense, but enough to know to just ‘roll with it’.   However, that was enough to make me sit up and take notice in a slightly different way than ‘usual’.

As I turned onto Atoka Road heading home, though, the voice that’s not a voice, the thought that’s not a thought said, “That IS you.  That is the whole purpose of your being! That IS your being. Know this.”  If it could be given a face, voice, and tone, it would resemble a ‘tut-tutt’-ing, head shaking in exasperation, universal grandmother/father voice.

Oh.

The next thought—one I have with some frequency—was, “Okay, then.  Now what do I do with that.”

A week later, there have been string of other moments and events that have been built upon this one that I’ll share later.

 

What if it really is “In Between the Stories”?

Inspired by Rumi, blog posts about hate, love and god; and 24 hours steeped in connection with all that is.

In Between Stories ~ Rumi 

Did you hear that?

It’s the man who was looking for treasure.

He wants me to finish his story.

You didn’t hear him?

Then, he must be inside me yelling, “Over Here! Come over here!”

Don’t think of him as a seeker, though.

Whatever he’s looking for, he is that himself.

How can a lover be anything other than the beloved?

Every second he’s bowing to the mirror.

If he could see for just a second one molecule

of what’s there without fantasizing about it,

he’d explode.

His imagination, and he himself,

Would vanish, with all his knowledge, obliterated

into a new birth, a perfectly clear view,

A voice that says, “I am God.”

That same voice that told angels to bow to Adam,

because they were identical to him.

It’s the voice that first said,

There is no reality but God.

There is only God. 

We humans have all sorts of habits.  Some we change.  We quit smoking.  Eat healthier, walk a little more, buy orange Christmas lights rather than white.  Our taste in music changes, our groups of friends wax and wane.  There are some things, though, we tend to hold on to for dear life.  As if they are our life.  Think about the current state of religious & political affairs to catch my drift.

There is another idea, a habit that many cling to that I want to ask about here.  Similar habits framed in a slightly different fashion, methinks. We seem to cling to the notion that there is something outside us that guides, chides, tests, taunts, aids, destroys, makes and takes.  We seem comfortable at some level, too, with using words like co-creator; phrases like Divinely-inspired. We’ll accept messages from aliens, atlanteans, metatron and michael but seem hard-pressed to consider that we are creator, we are inspired, we are our own messengers.

And, so I ask the following:

What if there is no other great orchestrator or observer?  What if there is no oversoul, higher guardian, a higher level of Godliness, an ascension to something, somewhere else? No intergalactic collective of whatever that we need to ask permission of?  Nothing or no one outside of us?

What if there is no one thing greater than each individual one of us?

What if we really hold onto the ideas and likenesses Christ, Mohammed, Abraham,  and other prophets because they chose to act as if they were God and we think we can’t or shouldn’t?

What if we really have all that power and grace?  What if we are that power and grace?

What if

We.  Are. God. ?

What if you are not an embodiment of something outside yourself?  What if you are not made in the image of something greater than you?

What if you knew you needn’t be saved or rescued?  What if you are that greatness you’ve imagined outside yourself?

What if, to know yourself & see yourself as god only took one breath? One thought? One experience?  Would you breathe and see?

Would you be able to look in the mirror and know? Would you be willing to know?

You. Are. God?

What if you saw in the mirror not just your face but all the grace, glory, peace, kindness, mercy, ferocity, love, compassion, strength, courage, and wisdom within you and all those you touch? And, those you will never know?

What if that one small thought led you to know every. single. living. thing as god as well?  Same as you but different?

Would you see your neighbor, lover, child;  prisoner, pensioner, plumber, trash collector, welfare recipient, jihadi, dog catcher and fighter as god?  Could you do that?  Could you hold them in the same regard as you do your heroes and other holy ones?  Excited for their life’s opportunities—the same as your own?

Would you do that?  Would you be willing to take that great leap in your own life to know yourself?

As. God.

Are you afraid of the greatness?  Of the responsibility for yourself? Others?  Are we afraid of that?  Are we afraid that it’s really not unknown to us?  That there is no real mystery or magic to it? That it’s really that simple?

What if we didn’t have to wait for anything?  What if each of us were already worthy and ready? Just as we are…

God.

What if it took nothing else but to just Know?

What if we really are the bees knees, all that and a bag of chips?  What if we are just singularly pretty freakin’ awesome human beings?  What if we all knew that and lived as such, recognizing that divinity in each other and every single thing?

Inspired by Fucking-Sharing a Twitter experience of Being Ing (Get it? Be-Ing?)

Unknot the knickers, unpinch the panties; it’s not in the nikked sense of the word, it’s in the George Carlin sense. Not exactly rated-G but not porn.

So, I had an inspirational experience this morning on Twitter.  Because it’s one way I communicate w/ the world and because I believe in putting all of me out there in every way, I posted, “I’m fucking frustrated!”.  Oh. My. Yup, I said it. Folks seemed a little taken aback that a “spiritual” (whatever that really means) someone , one who posts about love, light, tranquility, peace, God, being God, knowing all things Godly dropped an F-bomb.  Oh. My.

One of the things I continue to find so amazing about this mysterious life that is Me is people’s response to all things Me.  I make an effort to explain that I’m not going to fit into any box that you’ve created as a way to make me ‘fit’ into the world-order as you see it.  Combine that with what seems to be an entirely different standard of living related to ‘being spiritual’–makes me wanna pull a Bill-the-cat and  ACK! As if, because we’re different, special, on a higher level/plane/playing field, we don’t do things like live ‘normally’.

Here’s the deal: I am freakin’ special and, get this, absolutely, brilliantly, fuckedupedly, fandamtabulously, ordinary.  I put on my pants and drop them the same way you do, my shit stinks, I curse, love, like brilliant sex, burn toast, shrink laundry, change the world, curse, shoot guns (Oh, for Pete’s Sake–really?! Again, unknot & unpinch), don’t like some people; drink red wine, beer, bourbon; overeat, under-sleep, befriend, unfriend, enjoy cigars, wash dishes, smoosh stinkbugs, rescue bees & turtles; all the while bringing the light of God, the Love of the Universe to every, single being I can connect with.

I may move through, see, and experience the world in a very unique way but I am a human being (Really. Not a ‘spiritual’ being having a human experience. I’m human!) and I live fully.  I am complex, beautiful, annoying, course & crass, unafraid, hungry for more than I need, more than I ever could want, more than I could ever imagine so that I can do the Work I’m brought here to do without limitation (back to why I’m frustrated!).

I love my Ruger (P95 for those that want to know),the smell of the gun range & cow manure, Neil Diamond, & strong coffee. I miss my dog, hate panty hose & shaving my legs, know that I am loved and Blessed by the seen and unseen, and breathe for all that live.    I am grateful beyond words that I  allowed to live the way I do because there are a few amazing people in my life who love me for being me, truly do believe I have a special Gift and need to share it with the world.  And, again, I am no more extra-ordinary than you, the grass, Christ hisself, the people that I don’t like, the Chopras and Oprah’s of the world (and, oddly, enough, despite the power they’re given, they ain’t all that extra-anything either!).  That’s the whole point, really, people.  To recognize that we are all unique and of the same.

I express my passions, emotions and connection to all that exists by moving energy in a way that is tangible & palpable. Sometimes that includes saying: Fuuuuuuck, Holy Shit, Hot Damn & Hallelujah, HolyMaryMotherofGod, Shitfire, Batman in Hotpants (really, I don’t know how or why I conjured that one!), Holy Christ, Great Day, crappity crap, OOhhhhhh Hell, WOOOOHOOOOOO, Quitcherbellyachin’, SHUT it, and a variety of other words that act as exclamation points better than anything on a keyboard.  My use of & the meaning behind the it is defined solely by ME.  I don’t apologize for it.

Especially when I say: “I love you.” Without condition, without expectation, in its purest, simplest form.  I love you.

I love George Carlin, too!