Animal Speak

It's a Saturday morning in May and when I went to bed last night, very late, I told myself I would sleep in a bit. This past week, I have been going to bed much too late as just about every evening I've been binging on astrology charts and reminding myself of all the glyphs involved. When a Sagittarius dives into the next topic of interest, it is all consuming.

As it goes in life with animals, your plans are mere pipe dreams.

So it was at some time shortly before 7:00 a.m. that something woke me up and got me out of bed to look out my window. And there he was, Alibi, standing still but whipping and winding his neck around the way he does when he's got something to say.

A couple of weeks ago, just as I was heading to bed a little earlier than usual and feeling proud of that, I feel him trotting back and forth across the paddock. Then I hear his high pitched and forceful nostril snort. Something is not right out there and Alibi wants everyone to know.

I went out onto the deck, the goodles were standing back and watching Alibi for any signal telling them what to do next. I turned on all the outside lights while I hurried back in to put on jeans, grab my mag light, headlamp, gloves because you never know, sturdy shoes ready for whatever. Out with me go the dogs. In the event it's a cougar or coyote, or wandering human, I hope their barking will disrupt the intruder's thinking.

Alibi comes up to me but not taking his eyes off behind him. He's making sure I'm fully aware that he is not comfortable. With his energetic tether, he leads me to the corner of the paddock and directs me to look across the road to the treed landscape. Like any momma protecting her herd, I put a gentle hand on him recognizing his skin is tense and twitching, but just enough so he can feel that I have things under control now and he can let down a bit. He knows this.

With fresh batteries in my headlamp, I head out through the gate onto the road shining my mag light through the bushes and up into the trees, back and forth, looking for any reflective eyes looking back at me. I check back with Alibi to see where his gaze is focused and explore further.

In the end, I find nothing and I head back through the gate not knowing what caused his alarm. He came back over to me and over came the goats. The four of us stood together in the quiet night, letting go of any fear. When I could feel their tension slip away and I could hear Alibi's breath soften, I knew I could start contemplating bedtime again.

Getting back to this morning, unlike the other night, Alibi was not snorting. There was no audible sound from him but he most certainly called me. As I noted his neck wringing, with really really tired eyes I started to take in the scene. He had managed to get his hind leg caught in the electric net fencing around the pear trees.

For my convenience only, I do not have the fence energized. For the most part, they all assume it's always hot...until they don't.

Here we go again, dress up, head out. The goodles are once again standing back and side by side, not in fear this time but in concern. They understand that getting closer to him may stress him out.

Alibi knows me so well he knows I'm there to solve his every problem. He recognizes his hind leg is caught. If you know anything about an animal, you know that anything around their legs generally sets them to panic, particularly animals considered prey. Their legs are their escape. But rather than panic and try to pull out of the fence, which really would be typical of many other horses, he was standing still trusting I would hear his call.

As I approach, not speaking a word, he poops. Ha! Finally he can relax. He cooperates and lifts his hind leg for me so I can untangle the fence and kiss him with reassurance that he is safe to move. Once again, the goodles come over now that everything is clear, and the morning carries on like any other day.

The thinking goes that I might as well scoop poop, let the girls out, and put out some hay while I'm out there.

Tomorrow. Maybe I'll sleep in tomorrow.

If you want to hear what a horse snort sounds like to alert others to danger, this is a good example:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VtxecUYUH8A

Alibi freezing mid-bite to key in on a deer friend across the road

When Is It A Good Time To Be An Empath?

For an empath, probably all of the time, but lately, being an empath has become almost debilitating.

There are some empaths who struggle to be in public places because they constantly absorb other people's energies and that is paralyzing for them. For me, for the most part, I am able to manage those interactions so that I can function socially. Of course, then I need to retreat, clear out, and recharge and then I can go back out and face the world again.

For as long as I can remember, I feel other people's experiences. I can hear a story and it's not just relating that affects me, it's as if I am in that person's shoes. I think it's why I don't care for violent or sad movies (truth be told, I don't watch many movies anyway), or movies with animals or children. Despite them being fiction, the possibility of another's suffering hits me hard and deep.

On top of this, I have a blunt sense of right and wrong, often much to the chagrin of others. Over the years, I've been working to integrate a gray area in this duality, but I am a fierce defender of those upon whom an injustice has been inflicted.

Back in the early 90s, I chased a claim of sexual harassment toward a young woman in my office all the way up to corporate counsel of one of the largest accounting firms in the world because it wouldn't stop and I was not going to let her leave her job because of it. I filed a complaint with the supervisor of a Department of Labor auditor who sat in front of me and told me my records were wrong because there was no way a woman named Alicia Anderson living in that neighborhood was white. I spoke up for the young couple who were visibly disturbed by service they received but didn't have the tools to rectify the situation. I got on the phone with an office in Wyoming who mistreated an Eastern Indian woman on my team most certainly because of her name and accent. I called animal control and worked with the sheriff to be sure a herd of horses rapidly losing weight would either get the quality hay and water they needed or they'd be surrendered. I can make a crying baby stop almost instantly, just by looking at her or him with understanding. And I smile, at anyone.

Being a social justice fighter isn't just about right and wrong, it's about feeling another's suffering and doing what I can to bring about relief. I am capable, competent, resourceful, and quick to act. You'd want me on your team if compassion and justice were your mission.

I walked to school in the 70's in Boston. If you don't know about school busing, it's worth a dive into a few books or a listen to a podcast. I walked past buses with black kids behind the windows and I heard what white adults would say to these kids. I'd seen people spit as they walked by. At kids. KIDS! Like me! Every n-word, every curled lipped pejorative, every huff of disgust was slung at me too. I saw no difference between those kids on the bus and myself. I listened to family members talk with disgust about black kids "coming in" and my heart hurt. My stomach cramped. My head swirled with the question, how can you hate someone you don't know? If you hated them, you hated me. I distanced myself from my family for some time because I didn't know how to deal with that.

Expressing compassion is part of an empath's life. Over the years, I have learned to feel compassion not just for those who are hurting, but for those who do the hurting. I have been able to still love family who say some really racist and hurtful things. I would say friends as well, but I choose my friends. I can separate love from agreement. I can love someone and not agree with their beliefs. I can have compassion for the hurt they have deep inside that would cause them to hate others and deny current events.

But something is happening. Over the past two years, the global injustices, persecutions, separations, discriminations, murders, court decisions are taking their toll on me and now I am having a hard time not absorbing so much suffering. I cannot hear a separated child's cry without breaking down with a split heart: one half feeling the fear and terror of a confused child alone in an unfamiliar world, and the other half feeling the helplessness, despair, and agony of a parent whose child's whereabouts are unknown. I cannot look at a photo of a starving seal cub or polar bear disoriented by a landscape that no longer provides food and the map needed for survival, because I cry knowing we ought to be doing better. I cannot sit at a table with a dead animal in the center because I know it was once part of a family unit and I know of the fright it experienced right before it was slaughtered. I cannot read a headline of a mother screaming because her child's leg was just blown off, literally, in what is one of the most senseless and egregious abuses of power in my lifetime, because her voice and pain permeate my entire being. I cannot listen to a privileged man berate a woman for speaking out about sexual abuse many years ago because I know her story and I know why she kept quiet, and I know what shame of privilege looks like. And here I sit feeling helpless and hopeless.

I am the fixer, the protector, the one who knows what someone is feeling and can be there to offer comfort and guidance. But I can't fix this. I can't help them all. And my ability to send compassion to those who are complicit by way of choice, silence, ignorance, convenient disregard, vote, is fading. And that is a horrible sinking feeling. It feels like a personal failure.

Can I still love all as one when so many others are suffering, and hurting, and dying? I cannot give up on that.

I cannot.

I must not.

#chooselove
#weareone
#itshumanity

It is What It is. I am Who I am.

It is what it is. I am white. I have fair skin. I have blue eyes. I am slender. These physical traits are worth gold. Sometimes, that I am a woman, strikes oil! But who am I? No one who doesn't know me, really knows that answer. But looking at me, they are certain they do.

They don't follow me around the department store. My former partner regularly shoplifted at Home Depot. But he was white and middle-aged. It is the Latinos who really needed to be watched.

I can get a job fairly easily. Many people in my predominantly white community don't show up for jobs, quit and complain when things don't go their way or when they want to ski or play instead. But those Native Americans are so lazy.

When I walk into a bank, I am greeted and it's likely assumed that I am depositing a respectable pay check or withdrawing money from a stable bank account. Surely that black woman must need help for a loan.

I can get a job. I can get a loan. I am more likely to get out of a ticket. I am less likely to go to jail.

My friends, and I mean good friends, have these traits: black, Asian, Latino, Native American, Eastern Indian, gay, bi, trans, asexual, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, atheist, agnostic, tall, fat, super short, have a gold tooth or a missing tooth.

And for any one of these traits, they have been criticized, ostracized, bullied, passed over. It occurs to me that if I asked them to share a short story of one of these experiences, it would knock my socks off because I'm confident I only know a small part of that experience of harsh judgment.

There are people in my blood circle who use the N word and huff in disgust when they see Black Lives Matter or a black president, or families seeking asylum--in accordance with US law. Because who knows better than they when these people should be "over" racism and segregation; surely they can judge that better than those who suffer the N label.

I don't apologize for what I look like; as I said, I am who I am. But I am acutely aware of the overt favoritism and the unconscious preferential treatment I receive.

If I am the majority, by society's standard, then I must stand up for the minority. To not would be to not use my magic for good.

And I believe people who look like me judge more, hate more, blame more, because they don't know what to do with their feeling of shame or guilt, so it's easier to be angry. It's easier to separate. But really, if they embraced who they are fully, empowered themselves with that, they could lift up many. They could help change the world, literally.

But hey, even with all the perks and security of my physical traits, when it gets down to brass tacks, I am more likely to be grabbed by the pussy. Isn't that special.

#justsayin'
#neverthelessshepersisted
#goddesses

Prayer for 2019

If you've shared a meal with me, you know that before eating, I bow and give thanks.

Someone once asked, out of curiosity, what I said in my prayer. It can go anywhere from the obvious, such as, thanking the planet for providing the food in front of me and for bringing my meal companion to the table, to giving thanks for the hot water water I use to wash my plates and the four walls surrounding us in safety, to being grateful for coming to a place of compassion and no harm in my food choices. I may send out prayers to someone in particular who has been on my mind, or ask that all beings know peace.

Last night, as I was having an early dinner because it was the eve of the new year and I needed to be ready to spend hours outdoors with my herd if the fireworks got too close, I sat in quiet and in prayer. For the new year, the new moon, the partial solar eclipse of this week, I felt the pull to pray deep for the planet and all its beings. More than that, to pray for love. To pray that all beings may know love, love for themselves and love for others. That they may know love from themselves and from others.

Suddenly, I heard the message, it was healing. Healing needed the space.

I realized, I could pray for love--and I will continue to do so, but it is healing that is needed. For if a person has trauma, self-loathing, lacks belief in their value, stews in old patterns and thoughts, they cannot be in a space of true love. Because love of self is often the hardest to achieve, yet it is essential to really loving another. Love of self comes from being healed of worn stories, from karma of past lifetimes; it comes from believing that you are love and so is every other being on this planet.

If you cannot see yourself in every other being, your expression of love is short-circuiting. To not see yourself in other beings, is to put yourself above others, creating separation and distinction, imposing a measure of worthiness and the right to exist.

Once we heal a wound, one at a time, once we forgive a past injustice, once we detach from the story we created that binds us to what happened, we experience a freedom like nothing else. We then possess the vision to continue our healing. As this happens, the pain is transmuted to universal love.

Love isn't agreeing with or forgetting, it's allowing space for all of us to heal, including ourselves. It's holding space for another to go through their process and not be tied to the outcome for them. Love is a practice and a journey.

I. We. All.

In light and love,

A Little Story About Gent

Ten or so years ago, when I first started coming up to Oregon, we stayed at a vacation rental on a ranch for well over six months, and then returned for several months more. This truly was my first dive into just how magical animals are.

There are photos of me standing at the fence of our yard, as far back as I could be with my arm extended as far forward as it could go, holding on to a baby carrot by the tippy tips of my fingers, all in an attempt to not get too close to the horse. Oh, who was that woman?!

One of the ranch horses was Gent. He was a gorgeous dark bay Thoroughbred/Quarter mix. He was the alpha of the herd and really didn't mind making that undeniably obvious any chance he could get. I was in love with Gingerbread Man, a buckskin Arab/Quarter cross. He got much of my attention as he was low on the pecking order, and who else wanted to be over there at the fence with that skittish woman anyway. Then I took steps closer to the fence, then I had a bent arm, then I had an open palm, then I quietly reached forward, then I began to understand the energy that flows between two hearts seeking whole.

Gingerbread and I continued with our tête-à-têtes and my draw into the equine world would become irreversible.

This went on for a while. If you know horses, you know they can sense your tenor the moment you open a door. As my comfort with Gingerbread Man grew, everything about me was different when I stepped out onto the deck. And that is when Gent started to pay attention. One of those days, he acknowledged me as one of the herd.

Two geldings vying for my attention required deft tactics. I would quietly walk around the other side of a structure to get time with Gingerbread Man because any time Gent approached, he smartly moved off. And then we had a hot summer lazy day and Gent was under the Ponderosa Pine tree, beside the gurgling creek, steps away from the water trough, head hung low and back hoof cocked, indicating he was at deep rest.

I'd like to think it was my sing-song voice, but maybe it was just his mood. He came out from under the tree, to the fence rail, put his head in my hands, closed his eyes, and feel asleep. There I stayed with him for what seemed hours, in absolute awe of the size of his head, and how soft his muzzle was, and how steady his breathing was. I would come to know this experience over and over, just about daily. I was drunk with how much was going on inside of me. My heart was growing and beaming, and feeling so much more at peace and safe than decades before.

Years have passed. Things have changed.

I drove by that property this afternoon and saw the horses out in the far end of the pasture. On my way back, they were closer to the fence. I pulled over, got out of my car, and walked to the fence saying, "Are you Gent?" There were three horses. Two did not even give me an ear flick, but one walked directly over to me, put his neck over the fence straight into me. I took his head in my hands, looking over him, noting that he had lost an eye, still asking, "Are you Gent?" There were things about him that seemed so familiar, yet the size and shape of his head seemed bigger. And didn't Gent have white stockings?

This boy stayed with me, eye closing, breathing with intention. I continued to talk to him and I asked again, "Are you Gent? How am I to know?" Within a moment or two, he raised his head and pulled back a bit back over the fence, he looked at me and a tear fell from his right eye. It was a tear. A dropping tear. It wasn't gunky eye stuff that horses can get in the summer as they defend their keen sight from dust and flies. It was pure, clear tear. It would go without saying that I offered one in return.

Later this evening, I learned from the owners of the property that Gent was euthanized three and a half years ago. His body may have left this physical world, but I am here to tell you, his spirit is alive and strong.

As I was telling a friend of this afternoon, I looked up and in my container of a roasted sweet potato, staring straight at me was a heart. #weareone

With Gent, 2007/2008

If you believe it, you will see it, 2018

Free Fallin'

So here's what happened this evening.

I went to the home of a couple, long time students of mine, to give them a private dance lesson before they left town for a wedding. They're just breaking speed in West Coast Swing, their fourth dance.

We were coming to the end of the lesson and I was explaining how at the wedding they will likely be able to fit WCS into much of the music. As an example of how to use the music to create the dance, I played Free Fallin', the Tom Petty cover by John Mayer.

Oh how the dance angels descended upon this pair! It was magical. Lost was the concentration on left or right, or 1, 2, 3 & 4. They danced. They melted into the music, they moved as one, the room became quite small.

It was an emotional moment I don't think any of us saw coming.

I remember my time at the Damn the Torpedoes concert as a 15 year old. And with that same appreciative but more wise heart, I shall remember my time feeling Tom Petty free fallin' into eternal grace.

Thank you J & R.

Thank You, Roberta Flack

We all know how music can transport us, heal us, comfort us, inspire us, energize us. And when the Universe is on a roll, the right song comes at the right moment.

Most of my friends remember the end of our relationship, the last few years. Those were hard years, painful and challenging. Of course, my friends have not experienced my journey as I have, since then, my healing, my understanding, my compassion, my forgiveness. So when people say something like, "I know your relationship didn't end well" it's almost as if I am being reminded of something, or really, more like being told something that seems so distant and almost foreign. It's just not where I live any longer. I have moved far away from those days. But I understand their point.

Our connection was soul lives long. Our time together was profoundly deep. Now that he has changed the dynamic, in death, another phase of movement is occurring.

Someone posted Roberta Flack's The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. Who hasn't loved this song! But tonight, it's as if I am hearing this fully, for the first time. It was a movie replaying. It was the feeling of cheeks touching that first time in the kitchen, of my heart pounding like never before. He was the one person who knew me and all of my demons better than anyone. It was vulnerable and raw and real. It was love.

My mother had said we had child-like play and laughter. It's because we offered our inner child to the other, to be known, to be appreciated, and to be healed of all the burdens our little one carries for us as adults. That's how deep we went.

For all that happened over our many years together, it cannot erase this. We were destined for one another, we had a soul contract. And now, I think I can finally grieve without fearing being caught in the loop of past lives.

We have truly separated.

And this calls for something different. This is what I am discovering.


Roberta Flack: https://youtu.be/Id_UYLPSn6U