Excerpt from “My Lovedance”

Driving back home on Southern California freeways crowded with tourists taking advantage of the last glorious summer weekend…an ache in my breast, a dark shadow where the sun once shone, an eclipse in my existence…I left my daughter, my sunshine, at the university in San Diego.

How long I’ve prepared for this transition, how many soulful meditations, how many intimate conversations with so many other mothers who have gone through this phase of life. Yet in spite of all my work, during that last kiss goodbye, the cords that bound our hearts pulled so tight to nearly snap.

I released my firstborn into the world four years before, but my daughter filled up the space that he left behind, so much so that now there is a void in my heart, in my home, in my life.

Having counseled my patients, hundreds of them, through life’s transitions, I should know better, I should take my own advice. Haven’t I told them how within the web of life, we float upon the river of consciousness, connected by invisible threads from heart chakra to heart chakra? Attached to everyone, and entangled with all we love, all we hate, all with whom we struggle.

So as a mother of an empty nest, some would advise that I cut the cord for her wellbeing and mine. But that is an old paradigm teaching and an illusion for we can never cut ourselves off from creation. We are all on the web, connected together. There is only one of us here. We are all part of the One Consciousness, all cells of the One Being. Every cell in my body knows it is a part of me just like I am a part of the earth and the sun, the plants and the creatures. Research by neuro-biologist, Candace Pert PhD, has shown that even when cells, tissues, or whole organs are removed, that the cells “remember” where they came from responding more like the donor than the transplant recipient. And I am connected to my daughter, imprinted since her birth, no matter how distant she is from me.

I know this to be true, because I can feel her emotion, especially her fear…it has wakened me up in the middle of the night when she has most needed me. I trust this connection even more so than my vision. It has served me as a mother and especially as a healer. I feel my patients’ dis-ease in the mirror of my being, but I have learned over the years not to embody their imbalances. Although connected to each and every one, I have learned to disentangle from the drama of being a healer and this is what I teach to my patients.

Imagine your life color as an infinitely strong gossamer thread emerging from your heart chakra to the heart of every other living thing. Each aspect of creation has its own color, born on the rainbow of light; its own vibration, its own sound. Imagine someone you are struggling with—your spouse, your child, your parent, your boss, whoever. What is their color? Imagine their cord and your cord braided together with knots scattered here and there. These knots represent your struggles, your difficulties in the relationship, your entanglements with each other.

Most of the people I counsel—my patients, my family, my friends—complain about the dramatic struggle within their relationships, know that they must make a change, come to me for help…and I tell them to disentangle from that being they are struggling with. We do the visualization together. They see their color, they see the color of the other person, they see themselves tied up in knots, they feel this entanglement literally as an ache in their breast, but when I begin to have them identify the knots in their cords of attachment, while they can name the problems that the knots represent, they have no idea how to untangle themselves. In fact, most are afraid, most claim they cannot let go.

Upon the river of consciousness, we all float, but entangled with others we struggle for breath, trussed together heart to heart, only one can breathe at a time, while the other holds her breath and prays. Everyone in our lives is a mirror to our souls, each reflecting back what we most need to learn, the judgments we hold of our humanity. What we like in another is what we appreciate in ourselves, what we dislike is what we need to change or accept in us.

How can you see in the mirror if your nose is pressed to the glass? That is why my patients struggle with disentanglement because they cannot see clearly what the lesson is in the struggle with another.

So I help them identify the most recent knot and going back in time a few more knots. Oh, they can name the knots, but not the gifts. What gifts? What could possibly be good about these struggles? Why, I tell them, every struggle is a gift that must be unwrapped. To receive the gift, first you must recognize it as a gift. Not all gifts have lovely exteriors in fact the most precious may be very ugly.

My Nana used to wrap up her garbage. Living in the city, the more compact the trash, the more likely the trash man would take it away, except Nana used to wrap it so nicely that Poppop would find it left on the step. The trash man thought it was a gift, so lovely was the wrapping. You see, you can’t always tell by the wrapping; life’s gifts are rarely wrapped so nicely.

My husband struggled with letting our daughter grow up. Once when he overstepped his parental boundaries, she told him after raising him for eighteen years she was done! He cried, “but I don’t know how to let you go.” She turned him over to me, “Mom, remember those cords of attachment? Dad needs your help.”

So I explained the concept and he amazed me by visualizing their life colors just as I do. He is forest-green, she—golden as sunshine. He could see how they were tied together in a lovely fishtail braid, and he could see the knots, especially how they struggled with her growing independence, but he couldn’t see the gift in lifting her curfew and allowing her some freedom before she took off to college. He could only see the sleeplessness until she arrived home at night, the worry about her making safe decisions. I pointed out that unlike his good friend who had not loosened the reins on his daughter, my husband after weeks of suffering adapted slowly albeit surely, finally falling asleep well before she arrived home. When she is away at college, he will rest, but his poor friend will not.

My husband agreed, but still struggled with receiving the gift of the knot, claimed, “I don’t want to let her go.” Heartbreakingly honest. Fearing to let go, fearing that we may not be able to float on our own in the river of consciousness, not trusting that we are still connected, we struggle and tighten the knots.

To Be Continued on Friday.

Judgment Day or a Shift in Consciousness?

So judgment day came and went. Or did it? 

The fundamentalists are right. Great change is occurring on the earth. Apocalyptic. Yes. Greater transformation than any before. It shall be the end of the earth…As we know it. 

Honestly, I wasn’t even aware that judgment day was upon us until Friday afternoon. I suddenly had a strange sense that something of upmost importance would occur on Sunday. So I googled it. And all I got was what was supposed to happen the day before—May 21st at 6pm. I asked my husband about it. My husband thinks it’s hilarious that I do not know what’s going on in the world. True, I don’t keep up with the news. I find the media to be fear based in its perception of the happenings on earth. I choose love instead. 

Saturday at 6pm, well, not much happened here for me. I’d finished all my chores—washed my horse, my dog and myself after a three hour trail ride—and was getting ready to meet my husband for a picnic dinner at the beach. And the sunset was lovely, no different from the day before. 

On Sunday morning, my menses started. Was my premonition hormonal? It was a gray overcast morning. Perfect for spring cleaning. A Sunday morning all to myself. My husband just started day shift. After five months of graveyard shift, I could finally make the bed. I’ve come to cherish my time alone. Although I usually spend the first day of my cycle resting and taking care of myself (my personal red tent time), I felt compelled to do some spring cleaning. My home is my temple and I love to keep my temple clean. And I finished just in time to talk to my daughter.  

My daughter goes to nursing school at a very conservative college. When asked to bring into her psych-nursing class something that represented their culture, nearly every other student brought a bible. So Sunday she wondered what Christians believed was supposed to happen on the day before. She wanted to ask her fundamentalist friends, wondered what their ministers said in church that morning. I wondered if all were accounted for. She laughed, then got serious. “They must feel sad that they were left behind.” 

I explained that no one was left behind. That everyone here is needed to help the earth shift. 

We had just finished a profound conversation about relationships between men and women. How blessed I am that my 23 year old daughter comes to me for advice. So much so to bring a girlfriend in on the call, “Because, Momma, she really respects your wisdom.” And as I offered counsel to her friend, my daughter heard her piece. Afterwards calling me back to confirm what she might do as her own soul work to shift her perspective and better her relationship. These are two spiritually mature young women, realizing that change begins with them. 

That’s when the discussion drifted to what was supposed to happen on May 21st at 6pm. My daughter said, perhaps the fundamentalists are right. This felt like a judgment day to her, in which we judged ourselves and chose to grow, to move forward on our soul path, not expecting others to follow, but to just do our own soul work, to just be our truth. 

I believe my daughter is right. Perhaps the rapture is this great shift in our collective consciousness. And our consciousness shifted once more this past weekend.

21 Remembering Mary Magdalen: Separation

The conceptus floats in a rented womb

Attempting to individuate Self

Separate from the Mother 

Two weeks before I dreamt I was Mary, I had set my intentions to have my own connection. Receiving Mary’s story in such an amazing fashion seemed an answer to my prayers. I sought validation for my interdimensional experiences by confiding in women old enough to be my mother. Women who had claimed their sixth sense, some even making a living by working with the energies. While they supported my creative process, I could not see that I was searching for the Divine Mother through them rather than find the connection in my own heart. With my horas nature, I bared my soul and shared everything with them.


For eight moon cycles I recorded Mary’s life—in the first person, present tense—as if I had lived it. All the while, reading each precious piece to the mothers in my life. Of course they loved it; their “daughter” was creating something wonderful. Some were fearful for me as they peered into the future expecting this controversial book to upend my existence. Others lived vicariously through Mary, amazed as I wrote dramatic experiences of womanhood, some of which I have not lived, yet they confirmed the truth of the telling. Many of my presale readers ask if this story reflects my life and are surprised when I deny specific events for it seems so real. Perhaps I tapped into a vein of consciousness that allowed me to flow into another’s life, experience her very breath, and return to this reality to record every sensation.