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

Finding My High, Part I

I met her today. She's been screaming in silence. She was in a state of panic. Of shame. A state of fear. She's been showing up, tucked into an oversized barrel chair in the living room in Long Beach where I used to live.

I met her today. I took her hand. The hand that had been clenched with hurt, with rage, with pain. I went to her, stood beside her, and extended my hand. She took my hand. She stood up. My back straightened and my shoulders rolled back. My gaze steadied. My nostrils widened as I filled my lungs with space, expanding what had collapsed until I understood it was her silent roar I had been hearing.

There once was a door, and a room, and that too big chair. Then it was just us. Side by side, yet one in the same. She can rest now. All the work she had done, the struggling, the suffering, the crying, it was necessary. It was the sacrifice she made for me. She built me up. She kept reminding me to go forward. She demands that I never be silent.

She will always be with me; she is me.

She Says It's Time

What's a trigger if not to expel something lodged deep inside.
Encased. Enclosed. Ensconced.
A secret. But at whose expense?
Discomfort. Dis-ease. Distant.
Distant from the life She lives today.
The life She deserves.
The life She created.
The life She so wants to reclaim.
The trigger rang the doorbell at 8:10a.m.
Confusion. Cloudiness. Chaos within.
Sorting protective layers of survival.
Once firmly pressed down, sheet by sheet, as She kept climbing ahead.
Now the layers are rippled, exposing the spaces wanting to be healed.
She Says It's Time.
Time to go dark. Time to go deep. Time to let go.
It's Time to Speak.
It's Time to Expose.
Expose not the illness of another, but Her experience.
The trigger clicked.
Retraction is not an option.

How Sweet It Is

It is exactly three weeks ago today that the poodles, Pooker, and I moved to the new house. And today, exactly three weeks later, the other feathers and furs joined us. They moved in like they have been waiting to arrive, waiting to demonstrate their new routines. And they got right to it.

At some point I'll be able to articulate what I am feeling in this moment. For now, I'll use words like relief, contentment, satisfaction, pride, exhaustion, hopeful, encouraged, grateful, humbled, determined, protective, accomplished.

Today, it's mostly about the word gratitude. Heaps and buckets, rivers and pools, an endless supply.

Moving the ranch is not easy. Moving while renovating is not easy. Moving while leaving half your family behind is definitely not easy. Without my friends, well, let's just say I was fortunate enough to not know what that would mean.

I thank you, my friends and family, for your support, your time, your encouragement, your talent, your car, your trailer, your truck, your generosity, your caring, your strength, your humor, your effort, your thoughtfulness, your food, YOU.

I love you all. You all have your own spot in my heart. And while my animals are not sure who some of you are yet, I know they too send you love because they know who and what is important to me, that is for sure.

So, as I sit here worn out from the day's physical activity and emotional experience, I am freshly showered and comfortable on my sofa. The night air is cooling. I can hear the night bugs, I can hear my pups breathing in deep sleep. And I can hear my boys outside my window moving around, Shadow calling up to me on occasion, and I can reassure him quite easily no matter where I am in the house.

This is how sweet it is.

Unraveling

It's a word that has come up quite a bit lately.

First, it was used multiple times while doing exactly that with a little more than acres of electric fence tape. Five individual strands were wound together, criss-crossing around a long pressure treated post to make it easier to store and transport. No one thought about the unwind.

Then it was an emotional meltdown last Sunday. I'm not sure I used the word unravel, but it sure was a great description of my state of mind.

Yesterday, it came up again. This time, it was attempting to start a new roll of toilet tissue. There were pieces flying all over the place, big, little, long strips, tiny specs, and I was digging down two layers before I could get that bugger started.

So, what is it about that word? Is it my life unraveling before my eyes? Is it unraveling the binds of the past few years, strung so tightly while desperately holding us all together, waiting for our own space to appear? Is there a mystery somewhere deep down inside that with some crafty soul unraveling, I'll become much wiser?

Or is it as my friend, Mark, said to me while I was grunting and snorting and rejecting any pause in progress of unraveling that danged electric tape: "With a little bit of patience, we can get this done."

Well, such a simple statement for such a huge undertaking. But what about that? What about recognizing that as this new chapter page turns, awaiting the words to be written, patience will lay it out nicely, line by line, at the pace of a relaxed Sunday reader. It's my story. I'm the author. With what word will I choose to begin?

We got that post unraveled. And now with that tape I am creating a new space for my family.

Patience. Who knew!

Unraveling

It's a word that has come up quite a bit lately.

First, it was used multiple times while doing exactly that with a little more than acres of electric fence tape. Five individual strands were wound together, criss-crossing around a long pressure treated post to make it easier to store and transport. No one thought about the unwind.

Then it was an emotional meltdown last Sunday. I'm not sure I used the word unravel, but it sure was a great description of my state of mind.

Yesterday, it came up again. This time, it was attempting to start a new roll of toilet tissue. There were pieces flying all over the place, big, little, long strips, tiny specs, and I was digging down two layers before I could get that bugger started.

So, what is it about that word? Is it my life unraveling before my eyes? Is it unraveling the binds of the past few years, strung so tightly while desperately holding us all together, waiting for our own space to appear? Is there a mystery somewhere deep down inside that with some crafty soul unraveling, I'll become much wiser?

Or is it as my friend, Mark, said to me while I was grunting and snorting and rejecting any pause in progress of unraveling that danged electric tape: "With a little bit of patience, we can get this done."

Well, such a simple statement for such a huge undertaking. But what about that? What about recognizing that as this new chapter page turns, awaiting the words to be written, patience will lay it out nicely, line by line, at the pace of a relaxed Sunday reader. It's my story. I'm the author. How will I choose to start this?

We got that post unraveled. And now with that tape I am creating a new space for my family.

Patience. Who knew!

It's a New Year

As I'm sure you have noticed. A new calendar. A new line in the checkbook. A new annual deductible.

There is much that needs to shift. It is a time to reevaluate. The movement has been happening. The desire for different, growing.

When we have certain responsibilities, sometimes it is difficult to see how we can fit anything else in or change what must be done. I have been caught in this trap of thinking a little bit. I created the responsibilities. I created what must be done. As such, I can create the change. And what is it that I am seeking to change?

On this journey, sometimes that answer is crystal clear and that makes the mission easier. Then there are times when it is fuzzy, hazy, prickly, and that requires really going quiet to listen to the defined tones within the static. You know something isn't feeling right, you know it's time. But for what exactly? It's inquietude.

For the last few years I have been enjoying the unfolding of Facebook. I have been so grateful to reconnect with people from my past for whom I have always had a fondness. Our paths, while traveling in a different trajectory, still run parallel. Becoming friends with people I have never met in person has redefined the word friend to include kindred spirits. Facebook has been a fountain of useful information, expanding my knowledge base about familiar and unfamiliar topics. And the personal photos and videos--I think I enjoy them the most.

And now it seems, over the past year or so, that this social medium has become the lazy person's way to express their own dissatisfaction with life. It's a way to shift the responsibility for their state away from themselves. Stories are shared that are just not even true. There is no vetting that takes place. The story fits the fear that is festering so it warrants that Share button. Then there generally is no comment along with it. If there were, it would at least suggest some critical thought went into the sharing of information. No, just a share. In many cases, I don't believe the sharer even read the post themselves. I think the caption was enough to satisfy the need to feed the fearwolf (TM on that word, thank you.)

I find myself reading some of these posts and without knowing much about the history or the supposed author, my reasonable person's mind tells me something doesn't add up. So I do a very simple query, see that it's not accurate, I respond to the poster, and only in very few cases does the post get removed. For the rest, the post remains for others to share, perpetuating the negativity and untruth.

I have quite a few Facebook friends who never post anything fear-based, and I sure appreciate their choices. And then I just see so many posts with real low vibration that I ask, "What do you want to feel like every day? What makes you feel good?"

The unworthy: I bet only my real friends will send me a hug today.
The wannabe patriot: Share this if you support our veterans.
The God believer: Prove you love God and share this in the next 10 seconds.
The responsible US citizen: Let's build a wall to keep out all immigrants and refugees until we can take care of our homeless.
The only hard workers: Like if you think we should drug test all people on welfare.

What is it about these posts that make people feel good about themselves? These kinds of posts are very connected. They are divisive, they are judgmental, they are based in fear, and for me, they are too negative.

It has me questioning my own posts.  Do they fall into these categories that I find distasteful and uninteresting? I imagine we all like to think we are adding to the greater good when we hit Share or Like, but are we?

Admittedly, I am strong in my convictions. Would I like to see everyone move toward plant-based eating to end cruelty to all animals and improve our overall health? Yes, very much so. Would I like for everyone to choose a loving thought, action or intention over something spiteful, vindictive, or hurtful? Oh yes, I would. Would I like for everyone to wake up in the morning and see themselves as the most important priority in their life? I would because I believe all of their other relationships would flourish. Would I like everyone to honor their own god? Absolutely yes, because when we can truly honor our god, we can only honor others.

As difficult as it may be, I am going to refrain from posting much on Facebook for a bit while I explore my own intentions. It will be a challenge because I find Andy Borowitz incredibly funny. I may post some photos or comment on another post, but I will be keeping a vigilant eye on the tone. I want to live in the most positive light possible. Only I can make space for the positive light around me, only I am responsible for that.

Peace.

Fierce Protectors

This has come up before and again in the past couple of weeks, and that is how protective my animals are of me.  It isn't until someone else points it out that I am aware of it.  I don't think of them as protecting me, but only of how protecting them is my mission, part of my commitment to them.

When I stop and think of it though, we are a family and very bonded to one another, regardless of species.  Thinking about my own human biological family, we are fiercely protective of each other if someone else criticizes one of us or makes life difficult for one of us. It only stands to reason that my pack family would be the same.

Aside from the poodles, all of the animals are prey species, meaning, they are not predatory. But each of them has at one time or another come to my defense. I can recall very specific stories. And it isn't that I've been threatened all of those times, but it is what they have perceived. Sometimes, it has been one defending me from another, mainly Pippin.

I know that can be humorous but there have been a couple of instances where I have needed help because he turned on me without warning.  It has been a long time since I've needed to call on Shadow to help me. All I would do was call out, "Shadow!" with a very certain sound in my voice, and that angel of mine would come running from wherever he was. Pippin would back off immediately and proceed to be broadsided by all of Shadow's might if he didn't move quickly enough.  And then Shadow would stand tall beside me until I let him know I was safe. (And then I would proceed to comfort Pippin after being charged by his big brother.)

There are other stories like this that I can recall, when there was no denying one of them was looking after me. It makes me think how proud and fulfilled they must feel because when I care for them, when I command Shadow off of Pippin, or catch Alibi wanting to nip at Shadow's little behind, I know how strong I feel.

It is an honor to protect another. I think we all wear that badge of love with pride.

But Where Do You Get Your Protein?

This is very common question I am asked by people who really don't know where they get their own protein.  They've heard that protein is necessary to eat and that it is found in meat, chicken and fish, so that's what they eat.  My guess is, they're not really sure how many grams of protein their own body requires per day.  In fact, a study by Luna revealed that 50% of women between the ages of 18 and 50 do not know if they get enough protein in a day.

Where someone chooses to get their protein is their business.  And where I get mine is my business.

But, for the sake of sharing information, which might be helpful to everyone in this round of question and answer...

The recommended protein intake per day for the average sedentary woman is 46g. Note that most recommendations you'll see are for sedentary people; that's alarming. I bump my protein intake up to account for my activity level and aim to consume 70g of protein per day. I can achieve this rather easily without eating animal products.*

So, starting with a minimum of 46g per day, this is my tally so far, and I haven't had lunch yet:

protein bar 8g
almonds 21.1g
raisins 1g
apple 1g
egg* x 2 12g
lentils 9g
avocado 1.9g
tortilla 1g
lettuce .5g

I have already consumed 55.5g of protein.  I have surpassed the sedentary woman recommendation and am just 14.5g shy of the active woman recommendation.

In addition to the protein I gain from this food, you can see the other nutrients, vitamins and fiber included.  

If you believe your best source of protein comes from meat, are you aware of how little the recommended serving is compared to the average portion served?

I say, eat what makes you happy.  While doing that, I hope you are healthy.

I know I am both.

*I eat the eggs of my own happy, free-range, well-fed hens.  When they are not laying, I do not buy eggs from any other source.

What a Coincidence!

Said no one today.

I spent the full day at the first annual Wellness Faire hosted by my favorite local vegan restaurant, Salud Raw Food. Corrine put the idea out there and she drew in some 30+ wellness practitioners with everything from gong immersion to Reiki, to natural soap, massage and of course, Angel Card Readings.

My day started by helping my neighbors turn their canopy around.  As it turns out, my neighbors were Judy Petullo and her partner, Barb, of VegNet Bend.  Judy and I are friends on Facebook, like each other's posts, share interests, but have never met in person. Check.

At 11:11, we all gathered in a circle for an opening celebration which included a singing bowl, a beautiful spoken word of gratitude and a sweetly sung mantra, one of my favorites.  That felt right.

A woman came to my table before I had finished setting up just as I was realizing that the pretty sign I made was at home on my scanner. It was quite breezy so my candle wouldn't stay lit, neither would my sage.  She graciously offered to come back in ten minutes.

The day started out quiet, for which I was grateful, because I really needed to pull back and get grounded in why I was there.  And then the day started rolling.

One woman, a Queen of Swords, told me some things about just saying what needs to be said, saying what people may not want to hear, getting it done and how sometimes it sounds harsh, but she has incredible compassion for people. She is a Sagittarian and did I know what she means. Her reading had the Eight of Swords, referred to as the Victim Card.  I told her I didn't get the sense that it was referring to her but more to people around her.  She has ten people in her care, two are soon leaving, and just this morning she told them they have a choice to either play the victim or take control of their lives.  She also told me she took herself out last night with friends and they went to dinner and dancing at a place called Maverick's and asked if I had heard of it.

The young woman she brought with her, a very at risk gal, sat down for a reading.  She was new to Tarot but used some of her counselor's oracle cards. What powerful cards appeared for such a delicate question.  When I told her that as The Magician she has every tool she needs to bring about the change she wants to see, she beamed.  And then the Ace of Fire appeared followed by The Wheel of Fortune. In this deck, The Wheel is represented by Archangel Michael and when I asked her if she ever works with him, she pulled her medallion out from under her sweatshirt and she was radiant with hope.  She told me other people had told her it's up to her to make changes in her life, but "to hear it from you, you don't even know me" really hit home for her.

A very patient man waited for the people ahead of him and he told me he had to come over.  He wondered if he should but this morning he had seen a bluebird and when he looked over at me, there was a Western Scrub Jay hopping around beside me, and I was wearing blue.  He told me he keeps being drawn to the area near Smith Rock; he's looked at other areas, but keeps coming back.  I said, "because I live near Smith Rock?" He didn't believe me at first and then realized I was serious.  All four cards were of the suit of Water. He said, "well, you shuffled them!" and I said, "yes, but you cut them."

The readings went on and for those who know about the cards, it was one aha! moment after another.

My last reading was with another practitioner.  We were the last two in the parking lot and the sun finally was shining right over us, a little warmth to an otherwise cool day.  She mentioned living in another country, learning to speak another language and making a new life, living in several other places, being drawn to Oregon for some reason and finding Bend to be the place she couldn't find on the East coast, and as a Sagittarius, moving and starting again is exciting.  "Do you know what I mean?"

In my world, coincidence, as is typically defined, is to be expected.  Every one of those connections enriches the journey for each of us.

To My Mother

Happy Mother's Day to my mother, Joan.

You are my mother, my friend, my confidante, my vicarious dance competition co-judge, my fan, my weekend call just to shoot the breeze, my weekly call just because, my concern, my lesson in forgiveness, my motivation to always do my best, my audience for my ranch tales, my reason for buying the car I did, my sounding board, my place of truth. 

Every day and night I give thanks that you are here in this lifetime.  Every day and night I ask Divine spirit to watch over you and protect you. Every day and night I feel special and loved when I think of you.

Thank you for supporting me in each and every one of my adventures and passions. Thank you for acknowledging events in my life. Thank you for admiring my writing. Thank you for asking. Thank you for knowing. Thank you for ignoring the human tendency to judge me. Thank you for showing me the freedom of releasing a secret. Thank you for inviting me to show and tell you how much I have learned and continue to learn. Thank you for updating me on your appointments and results. Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts. 

Whenever I say anything that includes "my mother" my heart smiles with deep appreciation.

You are my gift.  

With endless blessings of peace, light, and love.

Noelle.

Animal Communication

Today I had lunch with my friend, April, and as usual our conversation covered a multitude of topics over the course of a couple of hours. One of them was about animal communicators and animal communication, and horses. We talked about just how sensitive horses are, and how intuitive they are.  They know what's on your mind before you get down off the porch.  I was telling her just how trippy Alibi is and how I can ask him to do something and he does it.  I mean, verbally ask, not through body language related to conditioning.

When I got back home, I went out to enjoy my animals and noticed Hy Note's eye area and right side of his face looked discolored.  They roll in the dirt and sometimes he's just dusty, but this was different.  I moved his thick forelock out of the way and saw a little blood in his tear duct and then upon a complete body check, I noticed his cannon had blood from where he must have been rubbing his eye.  Looking again, I saw a very small cut on the lower eyelid.  Another half a millimeter and it would have been his eyeball--it was that close.

Naturally, I asked Hy Note what the heck he did.  What poked him in the eye? For a while it was just late afternoon horse scratching and loving time, so end of discussion there.  I realized it wasn't serious; I would get a warm cloth and wipe his eye and wash his face and soothe him a bit.

When I came out with the feed cart a little later, instead of standing over the bucket he has declared to be his, Hy Note walked away and over to one of the feed bags hanging on the fence.  It hadn't yet been filled, so this was significant.  He stood directly in front of the bag and then looked over at me to be sure I was paying attention.  I acknowledged that I saw him and that I would come look, so he left the empty bag and came to meet me at the feed cart and resumed his usual routine.

When I went over to the feed bag with the suspicion that whatever cut his eye was there, sure enough I found a long strand of chicken wire that had snapped off the netting and was sticking straight out right beside the feed bag.  Knowing how the horses eat from the bags, I was certain this was the culprit.

I have a gal coming for a few hours each week to help me with chores and we started moving the chicken wire that runs along the bottom of the field fencing to the outside of the fence.  The goats put their horns in it and pull, Faramir puts his hoof in it and pulls, it does no good on the inside of the fence and just gives me a constant maintenance project. Yesterday, we got as far as the section just before the feed bags.

One thing you learn when you have horses: if there is anything at all that can remotely possibly cut, hurt, or trip a horse, they will find it.

The other thing you learn is: if you pay attention and listen, a horse will tell you everything you need to know.

A Blessing, Right?

When you have heightened intuitive gifts, sometimes you have to stop yourself from completing that age old question: Is it a blessing or a ... and just look for the blessing. At the time, it may seem like a curse, but no such gift from the Universe would be a curse, so taking time to sit back and reflect often reveals the blessing, as shrouded as it may be.

On the drive home tonight, I just knew there would be a baby animal on the road that needed to be rescued.  I knew it like I knew today was Thursday.  All I kept hoping was that it wasn't one of the playful kids in a fenced pasture I pass several times a week.  I stayed in the left lane thinking that would give me the best chance of seeing both sides of the highway.  My eyes were darting back and forth, and back and forth.

And just ahead in between cars in the right lane there was a brief clearing and I saw.  I saw what seemed to be the down of a parent goose being swept up in the air as the other parent was frantically circling several goslings.  I couldn't stop.  There was a stream of cars behind me and no space to safely pull to the right and off the road quickly enough.

I watched in my rearview mirror as another car in the right lane approached and it seemed to me as if they slowed down.  It was hard to judge as I still had to keep my eyes ahead.

Tears started rolling down my cheeks.  The sobbing started. How is it that I knew an innocent creature would need help and then I was left powerless.  I ran through possibilities. If I pulled over I could run back along the shoulder and try to coax them off the road.  But what if my approach frightened them and they ran back out.  What if someone swerved to avoid them and I was there.  From what I could deduce, they were trying to get across the four lanes of highway, they were just starting out, not reaching the other side, would I be able to affect their instinct.

So, I continued driving, my vision getting more and more blurry.  I just kept seeing the frantic adult and very frightened and confused goslings.  When I got home, I changed and I went outside and hugged Alibi and cried while I told him what happened.

It wasn't until I picked up my computer to write this blog that it struck me.  Whenever I set out in the car, I always ask my angels to keep my path clear and all animals off the road and to guide me back home safely. Knowing in my gut there would be an animal in the road kept me in the left lane. My path was clear. I returned home safely.  Sad, but safe.

Happy

The day I realized 

that I didn't need a reason to be happy 

is the day I discovered

what happiness is.

I choose to be happy.