Value LIFE

"Value LIFE above profit." That's what I came to after watching the movie Food, Inc. I've hesitated to see it, fearing that it would leave me feeling uncomfortable in my skin... which it did. I cried during most of it. I later realized that the tears came because I personalize the content; I do not feel any separation between me and any of the animals, people, land, etc. in the film: what is done to them is done to me... And it is painful to endure.

Yet, what the movie exposes feels so important for every single one of us to integrate - really integrate - into our Beings. If we don't and we continue to rest into a state of complacent denial, we're allowing a complete compromise of integrity to overtake this nation and beyond - a compromise that comes down to utter disrespect, irresponsibility and what can be considered criminal activity by those in power.

Their power is supported primarily by money: they hold the coffers for the rest of us, controlling how much to keep or share, dictating what behavior is allowed (to get your share), and not only withholding from but blatantly policing and punishing those who might disagree with the system they've so slyly yet mightily set into place. Where is the justice in that? Where is the democracy, the freedom that this nation is supposed to uphold?

I simply don't see any. We live beneath a smokescreen so thick that we can't see the truth, and that's just the way those in power like it to be. It's a complete hijacking of our personal freedom in my view - undeniable, reprehensible and the epitome of criminal.

Seeing this in a movie is one thing; taking personal action is another. There are many places in my life where I take personal action in support of what I believe in. The food I buy is one of those places. But even that only goes so far when those controlling the system have the power to create whatever they want without our agreement or knowledge.

If we all stopped long enough to take an intimate look at the truth of what's being created here, we might shudder in disgust, but we might also be moved by inspiration to make changes. It's time, folks. It's time for all of us to take a radically honest look at ourselves, our behavior and our creations so that we can bring some integrity -  by the dictionary's definition, "moral uprightness, honesty, wholeness, soundness" - back into LIFE as we experience it here on this Planet. Right now, we are not doing so; we are not there...not even close.

A Year To Love?? My heart opens in deep gratitude to all those standing in integrity, and opens in invitation to all those who don't. 

There's Gum Under My Shoe!

The nice thing about sticky obstacles is that once you discover them, they become your ally. I've spent the past week with strong intent and actions to get clear around what these "new" obstacles are so I can clear them. I can't clear what I can't see!

My experience is that when I get right down to it, I cannot see them because they are hidden by one thing: my fear. My fear might be wrapped in all kinds of different-looking packages, but when I get right down to it, it's still fear. Fear leads to things like bolstering, comparing, judging, doubting, hiding, blaming, and sabotaging of myself and others. Yet, it's all really just about me.

Fortunately, I have a fabulous group of friends who - like me - all travel along their journeys with strong intent for freedom from such obstacles. So I figured I'd ask them what they see. I'm aware that I (we all) have shadow parts of myself that I simply cannot see - sticky obstacles - the gum under my shoes. I've learned now how useful it is to call in extra eyes when I'm feeling something that I cannot see or clear on my own.

For me to ask my friends, though, I had to first open my heart to what might come back to me, to hold their reflections as information rather than fuel for what the Toltecs call my Parasite. The Toltecs say we all have one - that voice in our heads that feeds us lies about ourselves; that awakens either the Judge or the Victim part of ourselves and stirs them up; that takes us away from the truth of who we really are - expressions of the Divine - and puts us into a place of fear.

What I want, what my intent is for this Adventures Of A Year To Love, is to move more closely toward living a life of joyful, open and loving presence - like little children. The Toltecs say that state is our true nature once we get past our Parasite... and that's the state I'm going for: a return to presence, innocence, openness, freedom, joy and love.

Coming face-to-face with all the gum under my shoes is just the first sticky step!

"Uh-Oh..."

There's a well-known spiritual teaching that basically says "When you set an intent, every obstacle that might keep you from reaching it shows up to be cleared..." Although I'm very aware of this teaching within the context of my spiritual journey, I admit that I didn't consider it when I stepped onto this year-long commitment to walk through A Year To Love. Somehow I was holding this piece of my journey as separate from the rest.

It took less than a week for the obstacles to begin showing up here, and now I'm waiting for the other half of this teaching to appear as well, which says "...and so do all the supports you need to move past them."

It is December 3rd and I am a month into this journey. I have spent this first month acutely aware of coming face to face with some unpleasant obstacles that I thought were long gone from my being. Yet here they are, poking their little heads about to see what's going on and apparently, making a ruckus so I'll be sure to notice them... as if the discomfort I feel in their wake is not obvious enough...

"Do you REALLY want to live from a place of unconditional love? Well, then clean this little icky obstacle up, Honey." 

EVERYTHING that will keep me from truly living A Year To Love is presenting itself for healing and clearing. Suddenly this adventure feels really, really BIG!

Honoring a Promise

 Many of you read about Priscilla, the beautiful Garden Spider that set up her home outside my office window late last summer. She created two egg sacs that hung beneath the soffit just above her web  a few months before she died. Priscilla and I formed a sweet relationship during the months she hung out there watching over her babies. Her vibrancy, stamina, determination and especially the love she clearly showed for her babies touched my heart deeply.

When she died, I promised her I would make sure that her babies stayed safe until they emerged from their protective sacs. Just one problem: late Summer rains created flooding in our yard with a gully-washer that swept around the base of the same wall Priscilla had made her home. Deterioration of the bottom of the wall means that we must replace it and deal with drainage issues in the yard around it. Otherwise, we'll get water in the house each time we have a hard rain.

I panicked when I heard this because of Priscilla's babies. I knew they would either be knocked down to their deaths or have to be moved. I searched online for a way to move them but found nothing....So, my own brain began to work it out. I had to find a way to move them to a secure location before the wall was scheduled to be repaired.

I decided that I would use a thin piece of cardboard (of which I have many stashed in my "art supply center") with a piece of fabric glued to it, hoping the webbing would adhere to the fabric. I would (easily) slide the fabric-covered cardboard along the top of the webbing to "grab" the egg sacs (which of course would be dangling freely and happily beneath it), carefully transport them to their new location, and attach the cardboard to the soffit with nails, where the sacs would safely hang until the babies emerged.

Sounds great in theory, but I had no idea if it would work. There was only one way to find out...

 The egg sacs in their original location

On Sunday, I got my sweetie (whom I'd already convinced of the importance of this) to help me with the "egg sac relocation." Step by step I proceeded with my plan: cardboard (Check!), fabric (Check!), fabric glued to cardboard (Check!), folded duck tape on back of cardboard to stick it up and hold it in place at the new location while tacking it (my smart sweetie's idea - Check!), hammer and nails (Check!)... Now all we need are the egg sacs...

...cardboard slipped above webbing under soffit to easily grab the egg sacs (with my sweeties hands underneath to catch them, just in case)...(Check??) "Wow, it's really sticky and dense. It's not really moving; it won't let go on it's own. I'll have to pull it down. It's YELLOW! It's so beautiful. It feels weird. OK, here I go....!"

So, I manually detached the webbing from the soffit, doing my best not to disturb the egg sacs as I dismantled their support system: "It's not sticking to the fabric. I'll have to wrap it around somehow so it will stay and they will keep hanging...Whoops! Sorry little babies! They just went sideways for a second; hang on! Oh, it's OK little babies; you're moving to a new home. Just hang in there!"

That's pretty much how it went for the 5 or so minutes it took to detach them while keeping them hanging freely in the beautiful and protective golden webbing Momma Priscilla had created for them. Oh, how I hated to pull that down! "I'm sorry little ones! Bear with me; this will just take a second! Almost there.... GOT IT!"

I was so happy to have them freely hanging below the fabric-cardboard bus of theirs, completely intact although a bit jumbled within the now-defunct golden webbing around them. My sweetie and I carefully carried them to their new location around the corner, set the cardboard in place and tacked it up. Then I worked to carefully rearrange their golden webbing so that it looked more as it did before I moved them, and so they were hanging down rather than sideways...

 The egg sacs in their new location

Then, we took a bit of man-made webbing from Halloween and I did my best to recreate the kind of protective "shield" Momma Priscilla had set over them from the soffit above to the wall below. I stretched it as thinly as I could to imitate her skillfully laid shielding. Hers was far more artistic and graceful than mine. I have a new-found respect for these amazing creatures and the webs they weave.

 Notice how visible my "webbing" is compared to Momma Priscilla's original webbing. I stretched it quite a bit to get it thin, although you can't really tell that in the picture. I may remove it once they are born. Somehow, these little egg sacs look much more vulnerable hanging here than they did where Momma Priscilla had set up house. Maybe that was part of why she put them where she did? Next time (if there is a next time), I'll pick a more camouflaged bus!

DONE! The beautiful egg sacs are now hanging just outside our back door where we can monitor them closely and send them lots of love until their birthdays... Looking at pictures of the babies online, I suspect we might regret this decision later...but hey, it works for now! (Shhhh! Don't tell my sweetie.)

 Baby Garden Spiders

At the end of it all, we felt rather pleased and proud of what we'd managed to do. We have no idea if it worked or not; we won't know until the Spring when it will be time for these tiny creatures to emerge from their egg sacs. What we can say is that we did our best and that we wait with excitement and anticipation for the big Springtime "due date" (whenever that is).

I'd say that was a pretty good adventure on this A Year To Love journey...

"Que Sera Sera" (What will be will be.)

Damn. What part of me thinks that it knows better than someone else
what's best for them? It's their life and it's their journey. I used to have a mantra that I would say to myself when I first started working to break this habit. It was: "It's perfect for them." I used this mantra as a reminder to myself that whatever was happening and however it felt to me, I could trust that it was perfect for whoever it was about.

Just because someone doesn't do what I believe would support their forward movement the most, doesn't mean that I am right! What looks like "stuckness" to me might be just what the person needs to heal something inside of themselves. How do I know that it's not perfectly aligned for them? Who am I to question their journey or their choices?

 

 Who am I to question what is? 

One of my spiritual teachers at the Toltec Center was inspired to write a beautiful song while on retreat recently. The chorus line to the song is: 

"Choose as love what is." (Raven Smith)

I think this is my new mantra for Adventures Of A Year To Love...

You Don't Need A Shirt To Have A Button

 You know, I'm not perfect; no one is. As I like to say, "We are all perfectly imperfect!" But I do my best to put the highest vibration I can into the world. So I have a bit of heaviness in my heart today as I reflect on places during the past few days where I didn't meet up to my own expectation.

There were a couple of places where I took someone's reactions personally. The old button of "No matter what I do or how hard I try, it's not good enough..." got pushed and I went into my own reactions of feeling frustrated or even angry, small and unworthy. Right beneath that button is "... and something bad is going to happen." Then I feel hopeless and victimized. This is a very old emotional "knot" for me and I've worked hard to unweave the threads that keep it in place. Yet if there's one thing that can knock me off balance, that's the one. When this button gets pushed, I might as well be about 5 years old - a small, vulnerable child.

I "watched" myself slip into this pattern yet could not stop the emotions that arose, so I went fully into them. This is a trick I learned through my spiritual studies with the Austin Toltec Center. There's an emotional healing practice of going fully into the experience of emotions that arise rather then pushing against them or pushing them away. This allows the energy behind them to move through the body rather than being stored or getting stuck in the body.

This doesn't mean "go emote all over someone!" It means find some private space to release the emotional energy that arose in me. My emotions arise, exist and dissolve away again within me, not outside of me. They don't belong to anyone else; they belong to me. I am having the reaction; it's happening inside of me and has nothing to do with anyone else really, but that's an entirely different blog... It does have to do with my emotional wounding: my reactions show me where I still have healing and clean up to do within my own being.

When I stepped fully into my reaction, I found myself wanting to isolate myself. That's what I used to do as a child when I felt threatened; I'd go hide in a closet or up in a tree, away from everyone. Now, rather than hiding, I "take space" to feel into what's going on inside of me and figure out what's mine and what's the other person's responsibility. This time, once I connected with the button that got pushed, I was able to do something specific to release the emotional energy from my body (another trick from the Austin Toltec Center), shift out of the reaction and gently get on with my life.

Sometimes that process takes me a few minutes; sometimes several hours. This one, because it's such a deep-seated button for me, took several hours but by the next day, I was feeling more like myself again. The gift is that each time it happens I unweave a bit more of the knot that keeps this button in place, and each time the reaction gets smaller and the shifting gets easier. And now, sometimes I have no reaction at all.

I'm realizing on a much deeper level that walking through this A Year To Love means that I am learning to love myself more fully; then, I can truly love everyone else more fully too...

Love and Ego

So, this is my year to really, really pull love into my being as the foundation of my interactions with the world around me. I'm keeping a close eye on it, as they say. I'm opening my awareness to all the places in my life where my heart closes and I separate myself from love.

In her book A Return To Love, Marianne Williamson says "Any situation that pushes our buttons is a situation where we don't yet have the capacity to be unconditionally loving." Hmmmm - that's powerful food for thought! In the past week, I found two places where I shut myself down to love:

The first was around a phone call I received from an ex of mine. Having no active relationship with this person today, I had a reaction to the call that was inviting me to an art opening in which they had four new pieces. My ego got angry and said "What - I don't hear from you EVER and now you just call to invite me to see your new art? No 'Hey, how are you? What'cha been up to? etc...' Just 'Come see my new art!'" 

 Oh boy, did my ego want to run away with that one! I heard a resounding "F--- you!" in my head, and it surprised me. How strange it felt to hear my mind scream this out about someone that I love, because the truth is that I do love this person, despite years of separation and limited communication. When I explored what was beneath the "F--- you!" I found that the truth is I miss this person; I miss sharing life with them, connecting about what's going on in our lives, and there's a part of me that still grieves the loss of that closeness and my "importance" in their life. This is not about anger or hatred; it's love... It may not look like love on the surface expression of it, but it is love.

So my question became: "What keeps me from responding from my deeper truth of love rather than the surface reactions of anger, blame, resentment or whatever else?" The truth is, it's only my ego and my ego's attachment to things other than love that keep me from being able to open to love in all of its expressions. And the reality is that this ex who called to invite me to the art opening was inspired by love - love of the art pieces, of the inspiration to create them, of the show itself, and of me. It wasn't their closure, but mine that kept me from responding from a place of love in that situation.

The second place I shut myself down to love was with my partner during an interaction we had this weekend. When I was called on to listen, I jumped in and took the first opportunity to "speak my mind" instead. I didn't allow the space they needed to feel complete before I launched into my own perspective... which, when I'm radically honest with myself, was about some unconscious part of me that felt right and wanted to make my point so that my partner "would understand; would get it; would agree with me; blah blah blah...."

 Whew - that was hard to admit to myself and even harder to admit to my partner! But I did: I told myself first and then told them that it was not my intent to shut them down, that I would explore this more deeply within myself, work to be more aware of it, and that I loved them. In essence, I opened to love and was able to reconnect to myself from a place of self-love and acceptance, and then express myself from that place of honesty, which allowed me to reconnect to them. My closure was actually to myself because I felt guilty and ashamed for shutting them down (however unintentionally it was done...). It was only after shutting down to myself that I shut down to them. What a beautiful mirror for me to learn and grow from! 

 Today I sit on the other side of these discoveries, determined to shift the dynamics that led to them. And that is the beauty of this journey: endless opportunities to open my heart to love even more!

The Opening

 Ever have one of those days where everything just goes your way? The traffic lights turn green as you approach them; you see someone you've been meaning to call; you find the perfect parking spot; someone gifts you with something you've been wanting...? It's easy to hold love in my heart on those days.

But what about those other days when nothing seems to go your way? You're running late; the traffic lights go red as you approach; people are driving slow all around you; you miss important phone calls; you can't find a parking spot; you want something you can't afford...? What about on those days?

 Can I still hold love in my heart?

I'm finding myself practicing opening to everything around me - especially to the things that feel uncomfortable. I've done this type of practice before, but this time it feels different, deeper, more real.

To have a life here is a gift. To feel the things I can sense here is a gift: the warmth of the sun on my skin; the cool breeze; the beautiful sound of wind chimes; the touch of a friend; the wetness of a sip of water; the tickle of blowing hair; the gentle crunch of the grass beneath my feet; the weight of a blanket in bed...

These are all things I get to experience here, just because I am here. They are just a part of being here. Opening to these sensations is a joy; it brings tears to my eyes...

In balance with that are things like accidentally bending a fingernail back; stepping barefoot on a sharp sticker bur; the death of someone or something I love; burning my wrist on the oven; stubbing my toe; a distressing phone call; having a migraine; getting a paper cut... These are also incredible sensations, just not what the mind would label as pleasant ones. They can also bring tears to my eyes...

 Can I open to them too?

This is what I'm playing with more deeply: opening to all experiences and sensations... with love in my heart. Is it possible? Is it worth it? I believe that it is. It reminds me that everything is just a form of energy moving, some gently and some intensely... yet it is all just energy moving and expressing itself. I don't have to control or define any of it; I simply have to carry myself through it. I can do that in an open way or a closed way; I am choosing open this year.

This adventure is about deepening into the experience of carrying myself through life with an open heart to every bit of it...not only opening to what is, but loving what is. I don't know if I can, but this is the year to try!

This Side of Life

It's funny: On Monday, I was dead; and today - just two days later - I am fully alive...

This side of life feels good; in fact, it feels better than ever! I got some valuable information in my 24-hour death that I will revisit later. For now, I'm enjoying the experience of being alive... again, and still.

The only life that I allowed into my day of death was the act of creating our Dia de los Muertos altar in another room of the house. This is something I've done for years and look forward to each year. I debated putting my own picture on it this year, but in the end decided not to. What a powerful experience it was to be walking in shadow and creating an altar to honor those who have crossed before me... It was as though just for that day, the veil had lifted and the light and the shadow had somehow reversed themselves, leaving me in the shadows and all of our beloved dead in the light...

 

I've learned through this and previous death experiences that every moment in life counts. It doesn't matter what's happening in that moment; it only matters that it is a moment... a moment of life, of living, and of loving. The other thing I've learned is that it really is up to me how each moment feels. Into each moment, I can offer a vibration that opens and lightens or I can offer a vibration that closes and darkens... Hell, I figure if I have a choice, I'll go for the open, light vibe whenever possible!

This year promises to be an interesting one, as every time I tell people what I've been doing that led to my death, I hear myself say "For the last year - since November of 2009 - I've been a part of A Year To Love group..." instead of "a year to live" group. Yet, isn't that what it's all about in the end: not just living, but loving...? And so my Adventures Of A Year To Live have come to an end and died right along with me. Yet just as all death is a transformation and I have been reborn, this adventure too, has transformed and is reborn. Welcome to: Adventures Of A Year To Love...

Birth Knocks

 I am reborn!

I am shaking off the heaviness of 24 hours of death as I step back into the fullness of life...

My breath deepens. My body moves. My mind stirs...

Slowly, I'm off for a cleansing shower and some food...

The rest of the story will come later.

Death Knocks

And now I am dead...

Final Hours: Part 2

 2 HOURS: Just finished snacking on some of my favorite foods in the world: soft brie cheese and water crackers with more red wine... After all, I'm dying tomorrow!! My sweetie had them all beautifully plated for me when I got out of the tub...

Two hours left to live... What to do?? My sweetie has gone to sleep so that eyelids can stay open at work tomorrow. My own eyelids are getting quite heavy now too. I find myself contemplating how to spend these final hours again: Ceremony? Writing letters? Making video messages? Blogging? Meditating?

We saw the movie Hereafter. It wasn't quite what I thought it might be, but it was interesting nonetheless. Much of what they peeked into around the whole death thing was aligned with my personal experience. And oh yeah, I almost forgot I was going to share that story about my last dance with death...the head-on collision.

One drizzly, overcast afternoon nearly 12 years ago (in fact, almost to the day: November 6, 1998) while driving on a two-way road from an elementary campus back to the central office of the school district I was working for at the time, I was involved in a high-speed, high-impact head-on collision. Turns out that a high school up the road had just let out after having a big football pep rally. The 16-year-old kid who hit me was driving home with his girlfriend next to him in the front seat and his little sister in the back seat of his pick up truck - an F150. He came up over a big hill going about 70 miles an hour, all jazzed up and having no way to see until it was too late that traffic was backed up to the top of that hill from a light at the bottom.

 Between his young experience, the slick wet road, the line of cars and his speed, he couldn't stop. In that split-second moment of choice, he felt he had nowhere to go but into my oncoming lane...so he did. Yours truly was first in line and WHAM! I looked him straight in the eyes as our vehicles collided, nose to nose. My little Toyota Corolla was no match for his pickup; it was an older model with no air bags (they weren't required in its day). I was only traveling at about 35 or 40 mph yet I learned later that the "speed of impact" is determined by adding our two speeds together, which was at least 105 mph...

It took several seconds (I guess) for my car to stop spinning. When it did, I heard a voice in my head as clear as anyone's say "Get out of the car. Get out of the car. Get out of the car..." over and over and over again. I listened to that guidance, peeled my face off the steering wheel, unbuckled my seat belt (which saved my life, by the way) and tried to open my door. It wouldn't open. "Get out of the car. Get out of the car. Get out of the car..." it kept saying. So I started to bump my left shoulder against the car door as hard as I could muster, holding my right hand on my nose to stop the bleeding.

Finally - and I have no idea how long it took - I got the door to open and slowly shimmied myself between my seat and the car metal at my chest. I stepped out of the car, looking around on the ground for some grass to go stand in because I wanted to get off the road. I figured if I was in grass, I would be off the road. I found some grass so I stood in it, cradling my hands under my nose as it bled.

 At some point, a bunch of folks came running over to me in a panic and made me lay down, putting something soft under my head and covering my body with a jacket of some sort because it was damp and cold outside. I remember someone asking me if there was anyone else in the car with me, and when I said "No" they seemed hugely relieved. I noticed that someone was holding an umbrella over my head to keep the rain off because I could see it hovering over me just before my eyes closed.

I never saw the faces of these people; I could only hear and feel them. There was lots of voices and yelling and crashing and panic but I had no idea what was happening. It felt like chaos and I was nervous about being so close to the road with the cars crashing nearby around us. I do remember hearing someone yell "Someone stop those cars from coming over that hill!" And I thought to myself "Yes; good idea. Please do..."

Some lady standing near me asked if there was someone she could call for me. So I told her my purse and wallet were in my car with contact information, and I managed to give her my partner's name and cell phone number, but struggled to give her my parent's phone number before losing the inner connection between my brain and my mouth that allowed me to do so. I fought to stay conscious and form my mouth into each number I was thinking in my brain, loudly enough for this woman to hear me. But my mouth and my vocal chords were no longer in sync with my brain, and it took several tries for me to manage to whisper the final few numbers of my parent's phone number to her before losing the link completely...

I remember having great difficulty breathing because my chest hurt so bad every time I tried to inhale. I breathed quickly and shallowly to keep the air moving into my body but I felt like I was going to suffocate to death. As I laid there struggling to breathe, I thought to myself "This could be it. I could be dying. Huh - so this is what it feels like. My sweetie and Mom are going to be so sad." And I felt totally calm and at peace with the idea...

 And here's where things got interesting. For what felt like a very long time, I was present in two places at one time: part of me was lying on the ground beneath that umbrella in the rain with people encircling me, and another part of me was hovering above that scene, looking down on myself and the crowd. I felt a strange and wonderful urge to go towards something that I could see and feel before me - a sort of energetic portal, I could say. The feeling from that place was overwhelmingly beautiful and all I knew was that I wanted to go there. It looked clear and white and bright with light. I kept trying to go there and thinking that I wanted to go there, but every time I tried, I heard a gentle, loving voice in my head say "It's not time. Go back. It's not your time. You must go back. No. It's not time. You must go back. Go back. No. It's not time..."

I don't know how long that went on. But what I do know is that I felt no fear or pain in that space in between; just pure love and bliss. The only time I felt any discomfort, pain or even fear was when someone would rouse me and I would blip back fully into my physical body for a moment. I remember wanting them to stop doing that but I was unable to tell them that; I remember wanting them to leave me alone so I could die, so I could go there, wherever there was.

 Next thing I know, I'm being roused by some guy who's telling me to open my eyes. He's talking loudly to me and telling me I'm going to be OK in between sentence-by-sentence relays about my condition into what I imagine is a hand-held radio link to the hospital. He tells me I'm being loaded onto an ambulance and taken to a hospital in San Antonio. I can feel my body being loaded onto a gurney and lifted up into the ambulance. I hear a young man's voice say "What's her name?... Good luck Cecilia" as I'm being taken away. Later I realized that was the boy who hit me...

I was very lucky. I escaped with fractures, a broken nose and lots of cuts, scratches, bruises and swelling, but by the grace of the Divine, alive. I had lots of deep tissue damage and would deal with neck, spine and knee issues for years after that but I was alive; I was breathing. I heard later that I had been 2 inches away from being decapitated, the metal on my hood had been so far pushed up into the car from the impact. The first thing the cop said to me when he called at the hospital a few days later was "Little lady, it sure is good to hear your voice after seeing your car" to which I replied "It's good to be talking to you, Sir..."

I'd danced with death one more time and survived it. This time, I'd gotten some juicy information about "the other side." It was a long time before I really sat with all that happened that day, and it was years before I shared my experience of "dying" with anyone.

And now it's time for me to dance with death again, this time, by choice! So off I go...

Final Hours: Part 1

3 HOURS: I just got out of a lovely hot bath that my sweetie set up for me complete with candles, a glass of my favorite red wine (Menage a Trois), some yummy body scrub, bubbles and the book I'm currently reading (The Dancing Wu Li Masters). Mmmmmmm, what a treat! I used to read in the tub all the time but haven't done so in a very, very long time. And actually, I only read a page or so from the book just before I got out...

I was so enticed by the hot water and the bubbles when I got into the tub that I forgot all about the book. Instead, I enjoyed rolling the water and bubbles over my body with my hands and splashing around on my back, watching the way the candle light danced on it all. Then I rolled over onto my belly and something unexpected happened: I began to weep. I wept from somewhere deep down in my belly for several minutes. I don't know why and it wasn't important at the time; I just wept.

[NOTE: How appropriate: I'm hearing spurts of group-blood-curdling screams in the air as I type this... having to do with a nearby Halloween "haunted house" I suspect.]

As I reflect on it now, I felt full of love in that moment as I wept. I felt full of all the love that went into creating that bath for me; I felt full of all the love that has been a part of my life these 46 years; I felt full of all the love I'm leaving behind in the world...

As I glanced around our tiny bathroom, I saw signs of my life everywhere: the shower curtain I painted; a piece of art I painted and one that I bought; my robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door; my towel; the red toilet seat cover and rug I bought.... signs of my life; signs that I was (am) here. "How long will it take for all those little signs to disappear?"

Zero Days and Counting...

 OK - so this is my last official day of life as I know it... My count of "Days Ahead" has dropped from 365 to 0 and tomorrow I die... Wow.

Tomorrow I die. Yesterday I lived; today I live; and tomorrow I die... just like that. It can happen any time but it's happening for me tomorrow.

So many questions cycling in my mind about what I want to do today: Nothing? Sit outside? Take a walk? Nap? Celebrate? Do ceremony? Video messages? Write letters? See a movie?" I realized that even on the edge of death, there's a part of me that still wants to do it or get it right. I don't know; can you die wrong?

My good girl says: "Well, of course you should write letters or make video messages to loved ones! Of course you should meditate and do ceremony! Of course you should be sad and grieving the end of your life, saying good bye to everything you love! Of course you should make this an extra special experience! After all, you're dying tomorrow..."

And my adventurous self says: "Just go out and have the best and most fun day ever!! After all, you're dying tomorrow..."

And my tired rational self says: "Well, you had a full and busy week last week and a big party last night. You only got 5 hours of sleep. Stay home and rest today. After all, you're dying tomorrow..."

And my pleaser says: "Spend time with your sweetie. She said she wanted time with you today. After all, you're dying tomorrow..."

And my spiritual self says: "Feel into what you really want to do and just do it! After all, you're dying tomorrow..." 

 And my human self says: "You're hungry. Eat! After all, you're dying tomorrow..."

So, I'm eating. My friend Arielle brought over a delicious macaroni and cheese dish to the Halloween costume party last night, so I'm eating some... yum!! And then, my sweetie and I are going to see the movie "Hereafter."

And after that? Hmmm.... I'll know when I get there I guess.

Death-Defying Part 3

Seems like things were quiet in my life for a while from elementary school until I was much older in graduate school. One summer while riding my bike to campus to study for preliminary exams, I was hit broad-side by a pick-up truck. I remember watching it happen as if watching a movie in slow motion: "There's a truck; he's turning. Does he see me? He doesn't see me! I can't go anywhere and I can't stop because there are cars behind me and next to me. Whistle; yell; do something to get his attention: HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY!!!! Where's he looking? He's not looking! He's going to hit me. HE'S GOING TO HIT ME! Get ready!"

I literally pushed myself away from the truck bumper with my hand as it hit me, launching me several feet into the air. I panicked because I wasn't wearing a helmet: "Keep your head up; keep your head up; keep your head up!" raced through my mind as I floated through the air. I knew what happened to brain injured folks; I worked with them as part of my training. I hit the pavement hard and rolled a few feet more.

When I came to stillness and regained some awareness, I heard a hissing sound and wondered what it was. I opened my eyes to see my bottle of sparkling water standing straight up in the middle of the street spewing water into the sunlight and air like a beautiful fountain. All the snacks from my basket were scattered about the road along with my books and papers, and people were rushing around here and there collecting things. A few of them came to see if I was OK - other students on their way to campus. One was yelling at the truck driver angrily. There wasn't much I could do but lay there for a minute.

A cop showed up and took charge, getting all the details from the bystanders about what happened. All I could do for a while was sit there and smile, filled with gratitude that my head was intact! It took me a bit of time to speak; nothing else mattered to me in that moment...

 When the data was gathered and the street had cleared, the cop said I could go home. There was just one problem: I couldn't walk. My ankle was so banged up that I couldn't stand on it. Just like in the movie "An Officer and A Gentleman," the cop took it upon himself not only to pick me up, put me in his cop car and drive me to the campus health clinic, but then he picked me up again and carried me into the clinic in his arms like a gentleman, saying that it just wasn't right for me to have to hop my way inside. He sat me in a waiting room chair and told the woman at the counter what had happened and to get me some help. Then he smiled at me, wished me well and left... my hero.

I escaped that time with a badly sprained ankle (yay - crutches for weeks), sore wrist, lots of scrapes, scratches, cuts and big huge colorful bruises all over my body, and most importantly - my head intact. Boy was I happy!

Several years after that, I was involved in a head-on collision that I was lucky to survive... but I'll save that one for another blog. What's important to me right now is noticing that I've already defied death at least five times in my life. I wonder how many more chances I get??

Death-Defying: Part 2

The Angel of Death has been gracious with me. Before I even finished elementary school, I had several brushes with death. You read about the first two in the last blog, both about choking. This time, it has to do with drowning.

Once during elementary school, I nearly drowned at the Texas coast while playing out in the deep water with my sisters and some cousins. We were all floating around out there clinging onto two big inner tubes when suddenly a huge - and I mean huge - wave arose in the distance. My oldest sister who was "in charge" because she was the oldest in our group, started to panic and screamed to all of us "Hold on tight! Just hold on to the tube; don't let it go! Hold on as tight as you can!" I nervously glanced over at my other sisters and cousins nearby on their tube and I wondered if it would be the last time any of us were alive.

Watching that wave grow as it moved over the water toward us, I wrapped my arms as far around that tube as I could get them and clung to it for my life, praying for all of us. I watched the wave get bigger and bigger like a brick wall rising out of the ocean as it approached. I was amazed with awe at its size. It was the biggest wave I'd ever seen and certainly bigger than any I'd imagined, and I was scared.

I could hear the fear in my sister's voice as well, which made me even more afraid. She was the bravest person I knew. She was the one of us who walked outside in the worst of rain, thunder and lightening storms, loving every minute of it and totally unafraid. She told us all to take a big breath of air and hold it just before the wave hit us. I wasn't sure why, but I did as she said. I have no idea how many times she screamed "Hold on tight! Don't let go!" to us all before the wave crashed down on us, but it crashed so hard that it flung us all over the place.

The next thing I knew, I was rolling around in the water, totally lost as to what direction was up and what direction was down, but happy to be alive... at least for that moment. I remember realizing that I was going to need more air soon, but didn't know which way to go to get it. Even with my eyes open, all I could see was stirred up sand. It occurred to me that I might drown right there and then, and that I was not safe yet. I wondered why we'd done such a stupid thing as that - going out way beyond where any of us could reach for safety. And then I thought of my sisters and cousins, wondering if they'd survived the wave too or if I was just the lucky one.

Suddenly I felt my foot hit the bottom of the ocean and I launched myself up like a rocket towards the surface of the water. Oh boy, was I happy to get my head up out of that water! I made my way back to the shore, coughing and spewing, swimming until I could feel my feet on the sand. I decided in that moment that I was done with the ocean for the day. It felt too big and strong for me, and I had a new respect for it's power.

When I looked around as I walked ashore, I could see my sisters and cousins all strewn about along the beach like shipwreck victims, trying to get their bearings as to where the heck they were. I was happy to spot my anxious mother on the shore near our umbrella - my anchor to life. She'd nervously watched the whole thing and was counting us kids like a wild wolf counting her pups as we surfaced. Ultimately, we all made it back to "base camp" in one soggy piece. She wrapped each of us in a warm, dry towel and fed us tuna sandwiches. After that, we all called it a day.

Also in elementary school, I failed to shut the car door properly when my mom picked us up from school one afternoon, and it flew open down the road nearly flinging me to the pavement. My only saving grace that time was my sister who sat next to me in the back seat; she grabbed my clothing and kept me from falling out of the car until my mom could pull over.

 Funny thing was that as I hung out of the car suspended over the pavement as it went by, dangling between my sister's grip and my own hand pressed against the open door,  I clutched onto my school books with my free hand, worried that they would fall to the pavement below me and get ruined. I don't know how long I hung there before the car stopped so I could shut the door, but it felt like a mighty long time.

So you see, by the time I was in the 5th grade, I had already danced with death at least 4 times. It's a miracle that I made it to high school and through college, which turned out to be relatively quiet phases for me. Now graduate school and beyond was a different story. Read the next blog to find out why...

Death-Defying Part 1

Today I find myself with one day left to live. Tomorrow, I'll have 0 days left to live, and on Monday, I will die. It's a strange thing to know you are dying. It seems there are still so many things that I want to experience. Yet, when you're dying, there's nothing to really do except surrender to what is.

I contemplate what I will say to those I know and love on my final day tomorrow before I die. My plan is to make a video message to them tomorrow, and to simply allow whatever arises to be expressed. Even thinking about it brings up emotion in my being.

  It's not like this is the first time I've "nearly died." I've had many brushes with death in this lifetime, starting when I was just an infant. My mother shares the story of me choking on a small piece of meat she'd chewed up a bit and given to me when I was around a year or two old... like a mama bird feeding her young. My eyes rolled back in my head and I turned blue. Somehow she managed to get that piece of meat out of my throat before it totally took me out. That was my first dance with death.

My second dance happened when I was around six to eight years old. One afternoon I asked my mom if I could have some sugar cubes from the jar she stored in our kitchen pantry. I wanted them for a snack; she kept them for guests who wanted sugar with their coffee or tea. She said no (as any responsible parent would). But I was stubborn and intent, and I LOVED sugar cubes; I thought they were the smartest invention ever!

So I sneakily and quietly opened that jar in the pantry for a small handful of the treats. I hid five of them in my palm as I walked back to my room, closed the door behind me and then sat in front of the big picture window by my bed and ate them... which would have been fine except that I didn't just eat them. I tossed them up into the air like I'd seen my older sister do with popcorn and caught them in my mouth one by one. This was a fun game! The first four went right into my mouth and landed on my tongue where I let them slowly dissolve... yum! The fifth one rolled right down my throat and got lodged there... Yep, choking again!

It didn't take me long to figure out that that sugar cube was not going anywhere without some help. Once I realized that I couldn't breath, I ran out of my room clutching my throat and making a very interesting sound as I tried to express to my mom and one of my older sisters what was happening. My mother stood up in a panic, not understanding; it was my sister who figured out that I was choking on something. They flipped me over and hung me upside down, one of them holding my ankles shaking me up and down while the other one beat on my back; I'm not sure who did what.

Eventually (and I have no idea how long it took) that silly little sugar cube came rolling out of my throat and onto the carpet below me, covered with blood. Well, that's all it took for me to snatch up that sugar cube and "tuck tail and run" in complete and utter shame about what I'd done. I don't recall my sister or mother saying a word; they just let me go hide in my closet, which was my way of coping when I felt uncomfortable.

I don't know how long I stayed in that closet but it felt like a very long time because I missed supper and it was dark outside before I finally eased my way out as quietly as I could and slinked into my bed for the night. I guess they figured the shame I felt for so actively disobeying my mother was enough of a punishment, so they let me be.

From my Spanish Catholic-raised young mind, I thought that God had punished me for sneakily going against my mother by making me choke, and I wondered why he waited until the last of my five sugar cubes to do so. It certainly made for a more dramatic experience. I must admit that I felt somewhat lucky and extremely grateful for it because there wasn't any evidence of the other four that I'd already eaten. "Maybe they'll just believe that I'm not that bad of a kid since they only saw one..."

I had a couple more brushes with death before I escaped elementary school. You can read about them in Part 2...

FIVE...!!

Five days left before my death... Oh boy, is my mind racing. Part of me wants to panic, feeling rushed to complete lots of projects and ideas ("Have I forgotten anything??"). Part of me wants to rest, feeling peaceful and full from all the things I've experienced here ("Wow. What a ride!"). And part of me wants to have a huge party with all the people who have been a part of it in celebration of a life begun in innocence, lived to my best ability, and now surrendered...for better or worse ("Thank you all. I love you all. Celebrate my transformation!").

I remember participating in a specific death ceremony not too many years ago at a sacred site down in Mexico with a couple of my spiritual teachers. Part of the ceremony meant gathering up a "double" of all parts of your self and your life, and offering it to The Angel of Death in gratitude. I remember being hesitant to do so, thinking to myself "I wouldn't wish this mess on anyone! I have nothing positive to offer. Do I really want to give this to the Angel of Death? It doesn't feel like an offering; it feels like a burden..."

Recalling that now makes me chuckle. My life today feels so different; I've come to appreciate every stinking bit of it...the good, the bad and the ugly, as I like to say. I've achieved many of the things I hoped to: survived high school, went to college, got my Ph.D., had a career, published a book, created an intimate circle of friends and seekers, and felt a full spectrum of things along the way.

Now I can say I'm living my dream - doing things that I love in service to the Divine - teaching Kundalini Yoga, counseling and spiritual life coaching, writing, and offering workshops to heal, open and inspire the heart. I am blessed to share a sacred partnership with a beautiful human being that supports, loves, accepts and expands me. I live in authenticity and feel good about who I am, continually seeking opportunities to get bigger in service. I love where I live and I love my pets. In fact, there is nothing about my life today that I am unhappy with; it is all potential to expand. Today, I happily offer the fullness of my life up to the Angel of Death with tremendous gratitude. I believe I've found heaven in my heart.

And I have aspirations and visions for more in my being - something even bigger than what I've already created. I feel it around the corner yet I don't quite know what's there yet... Oh Angel of Death, be merciful. May the transition be filled with light and grace, opening gateways to the vast and infinite beyond; and may I simply step up...