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...

Countdown

There are so many thoughts and sensations moving through my body these days as I approach the end of my "A Year To Live" adventure. Changing the death countdown from 10 to 9 today felt a bit like hitting the big red button for a shuttle lift-off. I could hear my own voice in my head saying with passion and maybe even excitement and a bit of anxiety: "Ten! Nine!..."

Last night I returned to my favorite labyrinth to walk it beneath the big bright moon. The sky was virtually clear all day and night until about 5 minutes before I walked when a thin cloud bank moved over it. It was interesting to see and feel the difference in the energy of this walk compared to the last. The last moon was bright and vibrant with energy and the contrast between the light and shadows was stark. This time, the moon was veiled and the light-shadow contrast was barely noticeable. The energy and the light was gentle and soft.

I felt my body relating to that shift. As I approach the end of this year, my own energy feels more gentle and soft. There is an urge to slow down, rest into what's here, and stop all the business so I can drop more deeply into connection with it all. It's an interesting contrast between the ending and a beginning. I feel the ending of this year approaching; I also feel the possibility of birth, newness and freshness on the other side of it. There's a sense of spaciousness hovering just beyond the surrender...

Yesterday a client struggled with whether or not her presence in life was helping or hurting the world; she questioned her own purpose for being here. I heard myself say: "There's no greater purpose or service to the Divine than raising our own vibration." This is a truth that I have come to hold. We spend so much time in our lives questioning our choices, our reasons for being here, our purpose. The answer is in the process of questioning...

What I believe is that we don't have to do anything special to make our journey here meaningful or purposeful; all we have to do is question. The questioning guides us to raise our own vibration. That is living a purposeful life.

Every day my question is: "How I can be of service today?" The rest of my day is spent paying attention to that - to what arises within that frame. It's a very simple question with no specific answer. And it unfolds in powerful and mysterious ways.

As I approach this death, I'm still asking that question every day: "How can I be of service today?" Maybe I already have...just by the asking.

Priscilla & The Way

Meet "Priscilla." Priscilla is a beautiful garden spider that set up house on the back  of my office wall outside. She has been there (to my noticing) for about a month. When I first saw her, she was big and vibrant, sitting in the center of a large, intricate web design. When I introduced myself to her, she shared that her name was "Priscilla," adding quite clearly that she was in no way prissy.

Beneath the roof above her was a large round egg sack. A few days later, a second egg sack appeared. I figure she must be pretty stout to create not one but two egg sacks... Priscilla stayed just below the sacks for weeks, diligently rebuilding her web whenever it got damaged. Then about a week ago she relocated herself around the corner of the building, leaving her egg sacks well sheltered and protected.

This week, I watched her slowly fade. Her body went from full and vibrant to shriveled, dull, and dark. Knowing that she was dying, I spoke to her daily, reassuring her that her egg sacks were healthy and safe, and that I would make sure they survived until birth.

Yesterday when I visited Priscilla, she looked and felt very weak in her web. An hour later, she abandoned her web for a single thread which she hoisted herself up onto. She clung there, weakly, for maybe half an hour until she dropped to the ground, nearly lifeless. I took the liberty of picking her up, showing her the safe, healthy egg sacks one last time, and placing her among flowers and greenery in my garden beneath my office window for her final rest.

Priscilla reminded me of the beauty and power of The Way. All things arise from the infinite field of energy, exist for a period of time, and then dissolve away again, having left something behind for those remaining. Although we grieve the surrendering, it is a gift and an integral part of the cycle of all things. Without the shedding of what's served it's purpose and expired, there would be no space or nourishment for the new to arise.

I am reminded of my own tiny deaths each day - the parts of me that I surrender for new parts to be born. From Priscilla's death will come hundreds of baby spiders! I am watching anxiously and excitedly for them to appear from their healthy egg sacks, and am wondering with as much excitement about what will arise in my own life from my upcoming death.

For in just 11 days, another cycle of my life will unfold: I will die and be reborn, free of what no longer serves my highest good and my ability to be of service to the Divine. This is the end of a conscious year of living and life - the end of my A Year To Live adventure. What is beyond it, I don't  know. That's the mystery of the other side: we don't know until we're there.

If you want to take a peek to the other side, consider joining me for a fun and full Dia de los Muertos workshop (http://www.myinnerscapes.com/workshops/) on November 29th, perfectly timed when the veils are thinnest. Learn about the special energy of Day of the Dead, glimpse into the other realm through a psychic medium, make objects for your own altar, and leave with a fun goodies bag to get you in the spirit.

Death is not our enemy but our ally. Celebrate The Way!

Dragons and Faeries and Wizards, oh my!

Well, I was mistaken: I only thought last weekend was my final trip to the Texas Renaissance Festival (fondly known as "TRF") in this year to live, when in fact, I went again this past Sunday... and yes, had an absolute ball being a faery in what can best be described as the land of magical fantasy.

You see, each weekend has a theme: last weekend (opening weekend) was Octoberfest so I dressed up like a gypsy; and this weekend was "1001 Dreams" so I dressed up like an Earth Faery and walked among the Wizards, elves, dragons, and Ents (check your Lord of the Rings history if you don't know what an Ent is...).

I even got to throw an axe at a target which I hit but not the bullseye. For some reason, this particular game inspires me more than any of the others... except that I had to take off my wings so as not to chop them up with the axe! I felt good for having stuck most of my axes firmly in the wooden wall while the big muscular dudes around me were only bouncing them off to the ground in dismay...

The Renaissance Festival gives everyone the chance to play like a kid on Halloween and be whoever you choose for a day. It's kinda like the whole Las Vegas thing: "What happens at TRF stays at TRF." For me, it's a chance to wear a fantasy skin and be among hundreds of other folks wearing different skins too - taking on a "new" persona from head to toe - and loving every minute of it.

At TRF, you get a taste of magical life at its best and most fun. But it's not all about the magic. You also get to see what it is that keeps you from opening up fully to life itself. If you can't open up in fantasy land then chances are good that you can't open up in life either. It's a great place to see what the internal obstacles are that keep you closed up to living life to the fullest and most vibrant degree. And why not? We're only here once in this particular human form.

Hey - time's a ticking. The TRF goes on every weekend through November 28th out near Plantersville, TX. What are you waiting for? Go have some fun!

This is my life... for 20 more days

Wow - just 20 days left! Suddenly a part of me panics at the thought..."OK. You have 20 days left. What are you going to do with them? 20 days isn't very long..."

Of course the truth is that although I have 20 days left to live in this A Year To Live experiment, I may really only have a few minutes or hours.... The Angel of Death can tap on our shoulder at any moment of any day. That is the truth. So why am I worrying about 20 days?

There's a part of me that would have loved to go to Italy, France, Holland, Spain and all those other places before I died. And there's the part of me that has been completely full and happy just being right here, living my life and loving the people and things that are a part of it.

This weekend I went to the Texas Renaissance Fest with my sweetie and a couple of friends. I walked into the fest dressed in jeans and a t-shirt but walked out dressed in a gypsy outfit complete with a jingle-jangly belt around my waist. Oh boy, did we have a blast! We danced and laughed and flirted and ate strange food and got henna tattoos and saw all kinds of great things happening around us. It occurred to me while we were there that it would be my last fest in this year to live, and who knows... maybe ever. So I played hard and felt free.

This is my life: filled with service work that I love; a sacred partnership that fills me with such sweetness; friendships that are true, intimate and playful; and a heart filled with joy at all of it. I look at my life and it makes me happy to see what I've created. It didn't always feel this great, but it does now...

If the Angel of Death tapped on my shoulder right now, I would leave this life feeling full and happy in my heart. So don't be too sad to see me go; celebrate the gifts that life offers in every moment and claim them in their fullest expression for yourself.

26 Days and Counting

 Wow - not much time left. I contemplate how to spend it during these fabulously beautiful fall days beneath clear, sunny, cool, breezy skies and crisp, clear, breezy nights. I realize that I am happy with my life these days. It is so full of goodness and love. I love my partner; I love my teaching; I love my writing; I love my counseling and coaching; I love my home and my pets; I love my friends and colleagues; I love my family...and most of all, I love myself; I love who I've become. Yes, my life is full and rich with goodness and love.

How does one prepare to say "Good bye" to all of this goodness? Should I write a letter? Make a video? Or spend my time connecting with people directly instead? Do I tell people? Will they understand? What do I say as I look at them with overwhelm at their beauty and the beauty of everything around me - so filled with appreciation, gratitude and joy for it all?

Life is such a gift. We don't give it nearly the amount of acknowledgment it deserves. And this Earth! We have no idea how fortunate we are to have such a magnificent place to live and grow and experience here.

What keeps us from truly being here? Why do any of us spend our lives beneath a thick fog of anything other than sheer joy, freedom, love and intimacy? Why are we so scared? What are we so scared of?

Why do we separate ourselves from all the rest when we are born of the same Source, when we are all family in the end? What makes us so closed that we can't bring ourselves to simply love? Is it really as simple as loving ourselves? Of recognizing our own divinity? Of releasing all the fears and trappings of our error thinking?

To think of ourselves as anything less than divine, and anything less than whole, and anything less than connected to all other things is to deny our origins in the Highest Power (God, Allah, Creator, Great Spirit, Buddha, etc...) from which we have all emerged. Quantum Mechanics is proving this today; we can no longer deny that we are all born of the same Source, however we view it, define it or describe it. There is only one Source of life in the end.

 So why do any of us - why do I - spend any time at all feeling somehow less than something when all that I am is a unique expression of that Life Source?