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The Place of In-Between, Part  3 ~ Quiet.


(Written a week ago).

It is weirdly quiet in the house today. There’s a brisk wind outside I can just hear in the rumble of higher gusts, there’s the humming of the furnace and the refrigerator. And now as I write even those have paused.

I’m sitting at what has been Edward’s desk for the past 5 years, in the office addition of our home that first housed my photo gallery and most recently was Edward’s massage clinic. The room to the right of me has sunlight beaming in, with nothing to interrupt its path across the floor.

Spirit Cat has curled up in a waiting room chair, and Alfie Dog snoozes at my feet under the desk. In our house of dwindling critters (sadly, dear Rosie Cat had to be euthanized about two weeks ago due to kidney failure), only Charlie is not sharing this room with us today. He prefers the comfort and solitude of our bedroom upstairs most mornings.

There’s a lot missing from the clinic today… the bench at the entrance, one of the wicker chairs in the waiting room, the altar table and massage table and stool, as well as all the sheets, heating pads, tuning forks, salt lamp, lotions, pillows, and more, from the treatment room. And, of course, Edward.

Not to worry, no crisis here. He has simply started work today in his new office in town.

But it feels so strange, and a little lonely.

Not that operating a massage clinic at home, in a separate addition to the house, is all that noisy, but usually, at least once a day, a few hearty chuckles make it through the walls from Edward and/or his clients as they chat. He has such a down-to-earth, to-the-point manner that catches people off-guard sometimes, especially as he challenges them in a loving way, that the eruption of startled laughter is a frequent occurrence.

So, I’m missing the murmur of conversation and the odd guffaw on the other side of the walls today. And the brief encounters for a quick coffee and a snack during breaks. And the office phone, rerouted to his new space, no longer rings here.

It’s strange how just the difference of one person (well, I guess one person plus one client at a time) changes the feeling of the entire property for me. It shifts the routine too, since we are a one-car family, this means I will either spend the day here without a means of getting to town or I’ll drive him to work, which I did today. That probably makes things easier for me in a way, as then Alfie gets to come along for the ride and see where I have left her hero. She LOVES car rides. And she LOVES, no… ADORES Edward.

When’s dad coming home?

Were he to leave the house on his own as he often does to do errands and such, she pretty much pines at the doors until he returns, looking out one window or the other to see if she can be first to see him coming back up the driveway. I am, it seems, a mediocre substitute.

Somedays when he has gone to town for something and I am here and try to take her for a walk, she resists unless I leash her, preferring to wait at the top of the driveway, watching for him. Today, his first day at the new office, she got to see where he was dropped off, and while I did put her on the leash for our walk when we got home, there was no sign of resistance. I think she understood that he wouldn’t be back without our picking him up.

I know some of the quietude here is also due to our recent loss of sweet Rosie Posie. Not that this old kitty was noisy, but we had our routines too. A tiny, 17-year-old calico, she lately slept most of the time, day and night, but for a few daily habits. In the morning as we sat at the breakfast table she would get up from her kitty bed on the ottoman by the window and come over to make a small but sharp request for Edward’s attention. It’s difficult to reproduce her sound in writing, but it was more akin to a squawk than a meow.

She’d stand by his chair looking up at him, her wee white paws with heels together, toes slightly turned out, and make her plea, and he would scoop her up and pull an extra dining chair over beside him so she could sit by him and get a few scratches under the chin. She was not at all interested in his sausages like Jack had been (who’d been known to steal them right off your plate if you weren’t looking). But as soon as Edward finished his meal it was cuddle time, and this little bean-bag-like cat could be held mostly with one hand, with her paws up on his shoulder, and would purr and purr and rub against his face and waggle her tiny toes, kneading him or the air. Edward called her the “Gund” kitty, like the soft stuffed toys.

I know, it sounds like any other cat probably. But this was our Rosie, who would repeat the ritual quite often at dinner in the evenings too.

And because she’d had thyroid issues for the past year or two, part of my own routine was to pill her twice a day, which sometimes proved challenging as she was expert at popping them back up out of her mouth, tasty salmon “Pill Pocket” and all. I had spent about a year and a half medicating both Jack and Rosie, each twice a day, with what they needed for their respective ailments. And it seems I spent an inordinate amount of time every day hopping up from my desk to serve my feline masters  (don’t forget there were and still are Charlie and Spirit as well), as they seemed to all beg for either food or a door opening on their own individual schedules. I am obviously well-trained.

So, there’s that piece of the picture missing now too. And it feels a bit too close on the heels of Angus’ and Jack’s passing before Christmas, as well as the recent re-homing of our chickens. I notice the gradually diminishing feeling of liveliness and activity here on the farm. Edward has even removed so many of his junk piles now (you know, those reserves of lumber and fencing and other building and gardening materials that he might need someday) that it is becoming clear that no new projects will be initiated here.

If only I enjoyed the seemingly relentless wind these days, maybe I’d feel there was enough movement.

But as spring warmth and growth seem elusive, I am still feeling stuck in that in-between zone, between seasons, between lives almost….

Edward has started a new phase of his life by working again in town, with a new space, and new professional colleagues, and it seems to have energized him as well as his practice. And I am still here on the farm that is no longer a farm, (albeit only ever a “hobby” farm), trying to maintain a state of realtor-ready tidiness. We have even avoided starting seeds this year, anticipating, or hoping at least, that we will not still be on this property to see them through to harvest.

I find myself holding my breath a lot.

No chickens to fly the coop.


The Place of In-Between Part 2 ~ Tea and Certainty. And Biscuits.

Seems the “in-betweenness” of this time for me continues. As I start to write this it is the first day of spring, according to the astronomical calendar. The spring equinox, as well as the autumnal one, and the winter and summer solstices, is determined by the position of the sun relative to the earth in the astronomical calendar. At the equinoxes the sun passes directly over the equator giving us daylight and darkness of equal length. Can’t be much more in-between than that I suppose.

It also feels in-between because we’ve just had another snowfall, winter not yet releasing its grip. It wasn’t a huge one mind-you, but annoying nevertheless. It brought enough ice and freezing rain to cancel schools and necessitate snow plowing and shovelling once more.

I guess if we worked on the idea of the “meteorological” calendar, where seasons are determined by temperature cycles, we’d have already been into spring for three weeks by now (March, April, and May constituting spring in the northern hemisphere). Maybe that would feel even more confused as we like to equate spring with tulips and daffodils blooming and buds bursting on trees. I suppose in some parts of Canada this happens now (like in Victoria BC), but not on the east coast.

We in Nova Scotia feel like we’re between our idea of winter and spring, and some of us are getting impatient to move fully into the latter. For Edward and me, the idea of moving from winter into spring seems especially metaphorical too, as we have spent the winter preparing for a new beginning.

Too darn tidy to be our kitchen.

As I wrote in my previous post, I have been feeling a little anxious being in my own “place of in-between” with this moving of home that we are engaged in, still living in our house at We Are One Farm, but not feeling like it’s ours anymore as it is decluttered and staged for sale. We can’t relax fully into living here as we always have, fearing we’ll make too much mess to tidy up again for showings. So far we’ve had four potential buyers look at it, and one of those has already come for a second viewing. Plus a couple of agents came by to preview for an out-of-province client.

We keep mopping the floor and shining the windows, and putting every-darn-thing away as soon as we’re done with it (not such a bad thing really), while we ask the Universe to send us the right person at the right price at the right time to come and buy this property. We’re ready to move out of limbo and on to something more …certain.

Although Edward and I know where we want to be living when we sell this place, it could all fall through if the timing’s not right. We can’t control when the right buyer will appear, so it creates uncertainty not only of when we leave here but about whether we will be able to get the new home we currently have in our sights.

I am also feeling a little uncertain these days about what the change will be like for me work-wise. I wonder whether I will still feel the pull to do journey work and soul coaching without the particular environment we have both found and created here in this home. The outdoors is not a necessary part of this, indeed I can work with people over the phone or Skype if need be. But there is something about this place that has created a healing base grounded in the natural beauty and spaciousness. And it is far enough from neighbours that we can beat drums or have ceremonial fires when we want to. So at this point, I am not sure how that will change things for me, even though I know I can create a sense of sacred space wherever I go.

Another change will be not having Edward working from home as he has done for the past six years. Even though his new office will not be far from our desired house, it will feel really strange not to have him around all day, popping in for a cup of coffee or a chat, or attending to some chore around the house when there’s a big gap between clients. Plus he’s my best pal and I simply love his presence, even if we are quietly going about our own business most of the time.

I’m not sure how Alfie Dog is going to take it either, she likes to snooze under his desk for a little while most days. She’s more his dog than mine. Perhaps it will just make our time together that much more special.

A dozen muffins, two stressed people, a dangerous combination.

As this process of deciding to sell and move and declutter has all been happening during the winter months, it has coincided with what I might call “biscuit-making season.” A couple of years ago when the winter snowfall was extreme, I started making baking powder biscuits or scones or muffins as a reward every time Edward came in from plowing our long driveway on the old Massey Ferguson farm tractor. It’s hard, cold work on that old machine with no cab to protect him from the weather. I baked for moral support, because after all, he’d be chilled and hungry when he came in. Nothing like a mug of tea or coffee and a warm, buttered biscuit or muffin after being out in the snow. Plus we both grew up with mothers who showed some of their love and affection by baking treats.

The biscuit making became a ritual that continued through the next winter into this one, but took on a new twist. There haven’t been so many snow-plowing days this season but my expertise in perfecting a couple of recipes has expanded greatly, along, I think, with my waistline. Instead of just baking on snow days, I have realized I’ve been baking on a LOT of days, particularly days when I’m feeling that sense of uncertainty or anxiousness about our current situation.

I mean, how can anyone resist this? Apple oatmeal muffin with cinnamon streusel topping.

At first I pegged this as just an unhealthy addiction, using carbs to give me a little boost of serotonin, food as drugs, not just for the pleasure of the flavour but actually getting a chemical soothing. In fact, I have given up alcohol (red wine being my usual go-to) until we can celebrate a signed purchase and sale agreement on the house, so I thought maybe I was just substituting one type of carbohydrate for another with the biscuit eating.

And of course there was that psychological early programming equating sweet baked treats with love… even if I was giving it to myself.

But I had an “aha” moment a couple of weeks ago about another way in which my new baking habit was giving me comfort. Once I had perfected a few favourite recipes, a couple versions of scones and one for a muffin, I found myself reclaiming some certainty. They started coming out beautifully, every time. I knew exactly what to do, any variations were within specific parameters (would it be currants and cranberries or blueberries? lemon or orange rind?) Baking a batch of biscuits or muffins gave me something specific and focused to do, and I got predictably great results. And I could make them any time I wanted to! I felt …in control.

Blueberry-lemon buckwheat scones. Moist in the middle with a sugary crust. Perfection.

Realizing that I could control this one small part of my day with total success helped soften the knot in my stomach, (while softening my belly in ways less appreciated…. is it a muffin top now or a biscuit belly? Or maybe it’s biscuit butt?) I have realized I do need to find a healthier means to attain this feeling.

Or, maybe not. I mean, maybe, despite certainty being one of our basic human needs, according to Tony Robbins’ Human Needs Psychology, perhaps I don’t actually need to feel more certain about my life right now. In fact Robbins and others have said that the quality of our lives is in direct proportion to the amount of uncertainty we can live with.

After reading my previous blog post, my Nia dance teacher Kathleen sent me a link to a piece of writing by Danaan Perry called “The Parable of the Trapeze”, from his book Warriors of the Heart. In it he likens his life to swinging happily along on his trapeze bar until, at some point, he sees another trapeze bar swinging towards him, and he realizes it’s for him. But of course in order for him to grab it, he has to let go of the one he’s hanging onto. And there is where his version of the place of in-between comes. It’s that scary, uncertain, transition zone of “no thing” where you have to let go of control…frightening for sure, but it’s where one feels most alive, and where growth happens.

(You can read the parable at the link above or listen to this great video/audio version Kathleen also sent me.)

So maybe I don’t necessarily need to find a healthier way (or any way) to be “comfortable” with uncertainty. Maybe I need to learn to just surrender and open up to the faith that’s required to get across that gap from one trapeze bar to the next, even as it feels uncomfortable. Maybe I can simply appreciate the stimulation of being a little on edge for a while. Oh yes, I can hear it now….”life begins at the edge of your comfort zone…”  Honestly, I didn’t think my ruminating about biscuits and uncertainty would bring me all the way around to that worn-out aphorism. But it fits.

And like Danaan Perry, I have been here before, many times in fact, often in much more challenging ways than I am now. I’ve wondered whether I’ll catch the new trapeze bar, whether it’s the “right” one, or whether there will even be one to catch if I let go of the old one. And like him, “I have always made it.” And if you happen to find yourself in a similar state of in-betweenness, I’ll make a bet you’ve been there before too, in one way or another. And I expect you’ll make it too.

And because I have no trapeze pictures in my personal collection, we’ll go back to the winter-spring metaphor. Spring always comes around again, eventually, the snow goes, sun shines, plants grow, and all is well again.

The Place of In-Between

I’m sitting at my desk in the corner of our open-concept main floor at home, letting my eyes scan the room. I have a view of just about everything on this floor except the bathroom around the corner, and the end of the kitchen island, stove, and sink which are on the other side of the big central chimney and wood stove. I have a view of the entrance door, the staircase to our bedroom and loft, half of the kitchen and hallway, a little sitting area near the patio doors to the deck, the dining area (can’t really call it a “room” without walls in between), and the living area/sofa etc. And were it still daylight, I’d have views of the treed countryside to the north and west, and garden to the south, though big, bright windows.

From this corner I have sat and written and read and pondered and Face-booked and coached and doodled and edited photos, for almost 6 years since we built the addition that expanded this space. Before that I worked from a room in the smaller addition on the east side of the house that was built three years earlier to house my photography gallery and studio, and which is now my husband’s massage clinic.

As I look around in the silence of the evening, hearing just a slight crackle from the waning fire in the wood stove and some clickety-clicks from Edward’s keyboard in his office, I have a kind of unease in my belly and my chest, stemming, I think, from a weird new sense of un-familiarity with this place. The same furniture is still here, the same paint colour, the same rustic logs and wood panelling, the same art remains hanging where it’s been for years.

A couple things have changed, some external, some internal. It’s not just the shine on the refinished staircase that we’ve finally dealt with after 12 years in this house, though that’s part of it. The whole place has been significantly de-cluttered and polished over the past two-and-a-half months. It’s cleaner and shinier than I’ve ever seen it. Scratches have been touched up, some woodwork has been re-sanded and finished. The kitchen counter has been cleared off but for a few necessary items. Books on the once-crowded shelves have been pared down to create a sense of spaciousness.

There is of course the lingering absence in our house and hearts of dear Angus Dog and Jack the Cat, who both left this earth before Christmas. And certainly there is less fur and such to clean up after. But that’s not it.

We’ve been cleaning-up, refinishing, even renovating the bathrooms, as well as decluttering and purging possessions, in order to list our house for sale. Yes, we are selling We Are One Farm.

As guides to selling one’s home advise, we have “de-personalized” it a little by packing up family photos. We could have gone further, could have painted the terra cotta dining room taupe or some other “neutral,” and hidden some of our art, or our bits of “woowoo” paraphernalia, like the too many Buddhas, singing bowls, and crystals, and my feng shui “cures” like the money frog and bamboo flute chimes, placed here and there, but I’m willing to take the risk that they won’t be off-putting to someone of a different mindset.

We’ve done a good job of purging, and we’re still not finished. A few things are stuffed in a  rented storage locker for now, things we thought we’d still need later. But I am starting to wonder…if we don’t need them now, will we ever?

We’ve given building supplies from the workshop to a friend who can use them; some of my fine art photos and odds and ends to my nieces; household goods and books to the hospital charity shop; sold a few flea-markety items online; gave away my late mother’s vintage dresses, dad’s top hat, and my wetsuit to a local theatre group for costumes. Put my vest and robe and “tabs” from my former barrister’s uniform, which I’d dragged along with me on several moves since I left the practice in 1991, in the kitchen garbage. I was too busy to have a ceremonial fire for it. The attachment was long gone.

Edward has trucked all sort of useless remains from construction and garden projects to the dump and recyclers. Old car and tractor tires have been recycled through tire shops. Old built-ins that we’d torn out of this house during earlier renovations we offered up to the magic of the roadside vortex. What was put out in the morning had vanished by evening. A miracle.

I have thrown out hundreds of old slides and prints, and various old file folders of taxes, bank statements, early writing submissions, and more. I gave away hundreds of dollars worth of darkroom tools and accessories to a grandmother whose son was teaching his own boy how to take pinhole photos and planned to build a darkroom.

I still have thousands of old slides and negatives to deal with, but that will have to be a gradual project. A big box of images even got shipped across the country to my ex-husband. Sometimes it takes a long time to deal with our “stuff”. I still need to have a big sale of some of my remaining fine art photos, and I’d love to find a home (in return for some cash) for my studio lighting gear from a few years ago.

Then last week, perhaps one of the hardest parts of the Big Letting-Go of 2017, we re-homed our flock of 11 hens and our gentle rooster, Baby Roo, (who’s not a baby anymore). A sweet young family was kind enough to take most of them to add to their flock, and placed Roo and a couple of his girls with another friend of theirs. They are in good hands, for which we are most grateful, considering they are no longer spring chickens.

There were more than a few tears shed by both Edward and me over that good-bye. We’d had chickens for over 8 years and a daily routine had developed around them. Edward and Alfie Dog (and formerly Angus too) would stroll down to the coop first thing each morning, to water and feed them, and let them out to forage, weather permitting. And then the dogs and I would stop by to collect any eggs on our way back from our daily walk in the woods later in the day. And then one or other of us would shut them in at dusk, often stopping outside to appreciate the sunset at the end of another beautiful day. I would occasionally try to herd a wayward girl or two into the coop to speed things up, often a futile effort of playing silly beggars ‘round and ‘round the shed. Edward knew enough to just calmly wait ’til dark if they weren’t cooperating earlier.

There was a distinctive sense of life force in having a flock of chickens free-ranging on the lawn most days, doing their little two-step and bow, while scratching in the soil for grubs. And there was a jarring stillness outside in the days following delivery to their gentle new homestead down the shore. Something was definitely missing. IS missing.

And inside our house a sense of life force also seems strangely missing, in spite of still having Alfie and three cats and numerous plants occupying the space with us.

In order to “stage” the house for potential buyers to view, which has just commenced with our listing this past week, not only have we de-personalized by packing away family photos, but we also make sure all towels are clean and white, desks cleared off, counter tops cleared, toothbrushes and personal effects in the vanity out of sight. Our bathrooms and bedrooms look like they are in a B&B. The whole house does, but perhaps even more sparsely appointed. For a viewing we have to vacate the premises (unless Edward has clients in his clinic), and Alfie comes with us, leaving only the cats at home. We try to hide most evidence that a dog even lives here.

And there are fresh flowers on the dining table. And even in the bathroom. Who does that? People who are trying to sell their houses, that’s who. It’s lovely. But weird, except in summer when they are abundant in my own garden.

The only time our house is anywhere near this clean and tidy is when relatives from away come to stay, but even then, they don’t usually get the run of our room upstairs or the basement. There had to be a space to toss stuff out of sight. Not any more, the whole place is on display.

We have tried to make this property become somewhere that other people, as yet unknown to us, could imagine themselves living. There is still quite a lot of our own personality expressed here through colour, art, books, and our particular renovation choices. But it is becoming less and less…ours.

And then perhaps what has really shifted, besides the departure of the hens and of so much stuff, is the energy. Yep, the energy…of intention.

With my having studied feng shui and space-clearing, and Edward being a practitioner of various energy healing techniques, we are pretty attuned to what energies we are creating or projecting through our intention.  Not to say we (or is that just I ?) always project what would best serve us (that’s the “royal” us)… but we do both know better.

In this case, I have been working very intentionally throughout this purging process to let go of this house and land and “free” it for a new owner. Both Edward and I have done some small ceremonies of sorts to speak our intentions into the world…about releasing our connections to this land and house, releasing our desire to continue living here, and stating our intentions to move on, intending that the right people will find this property soon. And also expressing our deep gratitude for what this place has meant to us.

Creating a vision like this important. Making space, not only physically, but emotionally and mentally, for something new to enter our lives, usually requires letting go of something. It seems obvious that one has to sell one place to get another (for most folks), but this letting-go goes deeper. For us to be able to buy our new home we have to really be in a place of releasing the old one in our hearts. And to attract someone new to come and buy ours, we also have to release our attachment to being here. We have to make space for them to move in.

We have tried to intentionally withdraw our energetic connection to this place, to the extensive gardens we have built, rebuilt, and tended over these last 12 years; to the boules court where we have entertained friends with our signature “Provence party” every July filled with food and friendly competition and great conversations; to the patio we built together when I first moved in and where we were later married in 2008 surrounded by an intimate group of friends. There are so many wonderful memories associated with this space.

It was on this property I first told Edward I loved him. It is where I adopted my first and second dogs, the first of whom we also sadly buried here last fall.  Here is where I learned about shamanism and had the first of many profound experiences that awakened me to a spiritual connection I had not known before.

This is where I created my first photographic art gallery, later started practice as a soul coach, life coach, and Reiki practitioner.

And on a romantic whim, this is the place where I also planted over 500 lavender plants to create my small farm for a while, eventually participating for a couple of summers as a vendor at local farmers’ markets, where I built a lasting connection with some amazing people.

This is also the place where I truly connected to the earth and nature, not only developing a passion for gardening, but for appreciating the wonder of the sparkling night sky, the variety of sunsets and clouds, the awareness and joy of watching weather systems approaching and passing by. And this is where I especially learned to appreciate the comforting sanctuary of the trail through our woods with it’s rusty carpet of pine needles, the leathery shades of moist leaves in the fall, the delight in spring wildflowers, and the silent embrace of the tall trees at the back of the land. I even learned to love and appreciate a variety of frogs, toads, and snakes that became like spirit guides from time to time.

These past 12 years have been a transformative journey for me on this beautiful property, both totally grounding, getting me more in my body than ever, and at the same time, being spiritually uplifted.

As I have set out to withdraw my energetic attachment here to make space for someone new to take over, and for us to find the new home that we need, I have removed some of the hidden crystals I had placed in my sacred circle, the simple stone medicine wheel where I prayed and quested at the end of the woods trail. I also removed some of the special stones and crystals from the rock labyrinth we made last summer. This won’t change it for anyone else but me as it is more symbolic than anything. Crystals or no crystals, there is still much magic to be experienced here. It is all about intention in the end.

As I finish this post we have just received news that the folks who had viewed our home on the weekend will be back for a second look in the morning, with a chance for a warmer walk through the woods, weather permitting. We’ve decided to grab a bite in town rather than disturb my pristine kitchen both this evening and in the morning. I had to open the windows on this cold day to remove evidence of the fried sausages Edward cooked for breakfast. I understand that real estate purchasers are highly conscious of smells.

We are in that place of in-between. The property is still ours on paper, but whether the folks tomorrow make an offer or not, energetically this no longer feels like our home. The unfamiliarity I wrote about at the beginning is that sense that we don’t really own this anymore. We’ve lost the freedom to mess it up. We no longer view it with our own eyes but attempt to see it with the eyes of a potential purchaser, scrutinizing details that we were able to live with for years but lately have repaired or renovated judging it otherwise unsuitable for others.

When I walk Alfie to the back of the trail now I no longer feel like lingering to pray or just observe. I sobbed big, deep sobs from my belly a few weeks ago in the sacred circle when I retrieved my crystals, the reality of the shift catching me off guard. This is not “ours” anymore…. if it ever was. Edward always called us “stewards” of the land. I guess he already understood that it it is all a temporary state of being, and nothing is ever truly owned. I expect I’m not quite done with the tears, but in this state of in-between-ness, I am getting anxious to go.

A dog, death, and dragonflies.

Back in mid-April I wrote here about our dog Angus (“A dog, love, and living in the now”) .

At the time I was uneasily anticipating going to the veterinary clinic to take Angus back, as I had discovered a new cancerous lump since his second surgery to remove one in January. As of my April blog we’d thought, due to its fairly quick regrowth, that we would not do any further surgery. But two weeks later decided in consultation with our vet, to give it another go, as it was still fairly small. She operated on May 3rd.


The post-surgical patient.

It was much more extensive this time, with a large incision to remove the lump and more tissue around it to give it better margins, and then a second, longer incision down his inner thigh to create a flap of skin sufficient to cover the other incision where so much was removed. He came home groggy with meds and rows of staples and a couple small tubes protruding slightly for the incisions to drain. My poor sweet boy.

In only a few days this remarkable senior pooch was eager to get back to the woods to chase rabbits. The pain meds must have been really good! We had to restrain him however, and limit him to brief, gentle walks for a couple of weeks until he could heal and have the staples removed. But soon enough, as we approached summer, he was off and running again. We’d hoped that enough had been removed to stave off regrowth for much longer this time, and were happy that it was apparently not a cancer that was metastasizing to other organs, it was at least fairly localized as far as they could tell.

Periodically I would run a hand gently over his belly to scan for lumps as he slept, splayed out on his back, legs wide apart, toes in the air. It seemed all clear. But by the summer solstice our hearts had fallen. One day I was towelling him off after a romp in the woods, and as I patted underneath his groin area as he was standing I was horrified to find a substantial lump under his skin, hanging down, much bigger than the initial lump that had ulcerated. “It” was back, and growing quickly in only about 6 or 7 weeks.

We visited our vet again and, all of us so disappointed, resolved we would let it be. It seemed unlikely cutting this one out would’ve solved the problem, and it was too much for Angus’s comfort and quality of life, and for us too, for him to be having surgeries every 6 or 8 weeks.

We took home some pain meds to keep him comfortable and enjoyed the glorious hot summer.

Most of the time he seemed fine, although after his daily runs through the bush he’d go straight up to our bed when we’d get home and crash for a few hours. Normally he had spent more time beside or under my desk, or on the sofa. It was an unusually hot summer, mind you, and perhaps some of his fatigue was due to that fact, as Angus tended to mind the heat.

As summer gave way to fall and our other dog Alfie was clinging to the air-conditioned comfort of Edward’s office in the adjacent addition, it was just Angus and me for most of our woods walks. I noticed the bunny chases were fewer, and he spent more time close to me on the trail, no longer focused on his own agenda, but stopping and looking back at me if I paused, as if to say, “C’mon Mom.”  I was paying more and more attention to him too, “lovin’ him up” , enjoying all the kisses and snuggles I could.


“C’mon Mom!”

When I was younger I had never imagined I would like “dog smell”, but I had grown to love Angus’s, and would inhale him as I nuzzled his velvety ears and head. I think I probably mentioned in my other blog too about how I loved his big toes, how amazing I thought they were to be able to carry him all over the crazy terrain of the forest, full of rocks and stumps and fallen trees, some mucky swamps, and lots of thorny blackberry brambles, and that he could return home, pads smooth, mostly clean, and uninjured.


Wonderful toes.

And as much as I wanted to enjoy the silence of our woods on our walks, where I’d often go to my sacred circle to pray or give thanks or ask for guidance, I grew to love the enthusiasm of both Angus and Alfie in their never-ending frenzy over squirrels, with not a hope in hell of ever catching one.



As I am always “looking for signs” in nature in answer to my questions, I take note of unusual encounters with birds, bugs, and other creatures. Dragonflies and damselflies (I confess I am not sure which are which) are a special delight, having many symbolic associations with illusion, transformation, changing habits, and being a bridge between emotion (associated with the element of water) and spirit (associated with air). _mg_2700So I spent many hours over the summer photographing them around the pond. I would call to them as we neared, and most days in late summer I’d see one or two red or reddish-brown ones (which I now know to be cherry-faced meadowhawks), sometimes a skinny bright blue one called a bluet (a type of damselfly),


and occasionally a large black one with black and white wings (a 12-spotted skimmer!)


Angus Dog had spent lots of time patiently waiting for me near the culvert where the pond flows under the trail, as I tried to get close-ups of these creatures, using my macro lens to get a view of their amazing faces with giant eyeballs. The red ones were the most cooperative and became my “friends”, posing at the tip of long grasses or shrubs, or landing on a rock. I got so I could coach them onto my hands too. I enjoyed their funny faces and the stained-glass quality of their delicate wings.

The huge black and blue-patterned ones I believe are called “Canada Darners” continued to elude me. They would zoom by as if to tease, and then dart away and hover over the water, moving from place to place and never landing on a stem or stone for me to capture an image. Always in constant motion. The closest I got was a zoomed-in crop of one hovering over the water, missing the beautiful details of his colouring.


As Angus’ tumour grew and his gait became more awkward, adjusting to it’s size, he paused to wait for me more and more and stayed pretty near for our walks. I enjoyed the closer contact with him, but it was bittersweet knowing our time was getting short and at some point we’d have to make the dreadful decision to euthanize him before he was in too much pain as our vet had advised.

And I also felt bad noticing he wasn’t always doing his usual circuit back to the house. Normally once he got back to the pond he would go off trail to the left, through the trees, trying to stir up a hare in a particular spot…often succeeding. Then it would be “yip! yip! yip! yip!” and we could follow his location by ear as he traversed the bush, crisscrossing the trail. Sometimes I would just stop and wait quietly and hear a slight noise as the hare would emerge leaping across the path, Angus, and sometimes Alfie, in hot pursuit…but often ending up going in the opposite direction!


“I almost had him this time!”

Hare always had the last laugh, and Angus would return home tongue dragging, but he seemed happy enough. He always looked like “I almost got him this time!!” rather than defeated.


The one that got away…

The time finally came, just over two weeks ago now, when we felt it was “time”, as yet another lump had emerged in a spot on his leg. Thanks to an opioid painkiller, Angus still could enjoy a short run and a good plate-licking, which made it more difficult, but we didn’t want him to be suffering or get injured, and then have to make a decision in a crisis. The vet advised, in her wisdom, it was the humane thing to do.

Of course, on the appointed day, November 1, we took him and Alfie for one last woods walk together. He stayed with us to the end of the trail, and then, returning to the pond, he took off on his rabbit run. We waited…and waited…and called, “Anguuuus! Angg-guuuuus! Come!!” No response. No yips. I had to head back to the house because the vet was going to call when ready to leave the clinic for our house. About a half hour later, Angus returned, tongue dragging. Five minutes later the vet called. On her way.

As I do to honour significant events, I burned some sage and asked for the space and us and Angus to be blessed. I created an altar on the coffee table beside the sofa where he would lie. I had some healing crystals on a bed of autumn leaves and pinecones collected from our special spot in the woods. Rose quartz for love and compassion, amethyst for healing and connection with spirit, selenite which clears negativity, and a tiger’s eye for courage. I lit a candle as a symbol of the spirit or light within each of us. And put out a little plaque I have of St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of nature and animals.

It felt too awkward to ask the vet and her assistant to listen to some readings I had selected, I think they wanted to just do the business without getting too involved. But it was difficult for all of us, we were all in tears by the end. So after she left I read aloud some poems and prayers. We needed to honour Angus in this way.


Alfie. Wondering where Angus is.

The next day we took a walk together with Alfie into the woods.

I glanced at Edward as we walked down toward the pond and blurted, “you look suddenly more handsome than ever”. He looked perplexed, saying half jokingly “must be these red eyes of mine,” which he had from tears shed for Angus. He said, “I looked at my face in the mirror this morning and had never seen myself look so vulnerable.” “That’s it, “ I replied, “the vulnerability…. that’s why I think you’re more handsome…it’s removed a barrier.”

Having Angus as a pet had opened my husband up to being able to play again. He’d not had a dog since he was a boy on the family farm, where dogs were more for guarding livestock than as pets, and slept out in the cattle barn, even in those 30 below Alberta winters. When I first wanted to get a dog the response was, “Okay but he’ll sleep outside”. I held that I wouldn’t get one if he was kept outdoors. By the first night Angus was in our bedroom.

On this first day post-Angus we arrived at the pond, and five dragonflies (the cherry-faced meadowhawks) descended upon us, at the usual spot where I’d photographed them this summer, although normally I’ll only see one or two at a time. This time they showed up like a “flock” all fluttering right around us as if to greet us officially. These were the ones I’d seen most often and spent hours photographing.

I was so delighted to see them again as I thought they’d be gone for the year, being the 2nd of November. They hadn’t been around in the past few weeks as it was colder and grey. But the sun came out that day and it was quite warm, and there they were.

A couple meadowhawks landed on my back and shoulders, perhaps attracted to the neon green of the jacket I had on. Then one landed on Edward’s jean jacket, over his heart, he noted, and I snapped some photos.

_mg_3815“Pick him up” I said, and he coached it onto his hand, as I had been able to do many times before. I put my finger in front of another one who climbed on, and I snapped again.


On the way back to the house we went up to our labyrinth and Edward stood by an apple tree nearby while I walked the three-circuit path. I asked in my head for a sign from Angus that all was well, that he was there in spirit. I had hoped to find a feather, as a friend had told me to look for one in her card reading that morning. We did see both a eagle and a hawk when we were at the pond, but they were so high and heading away as to not seem significant.

I knew that five dragonflies flying around us had seemed a pretty good sign as it was. As I’d mentioned, Angus spent more than a few hours over the previous weeks waiting patiently for me to shoot “just one more”.

As I walked the labyrinth Edward was startled to “hear” beside him what he described as a kind of snort, like Angus would make when looking in holes for mice. He thought it must’ve been Alfie, but she was too far away to have made a snort he could hear.

Just as he told me that I said, “Well, I asked for a sign from Angus that he was here, and one of those big black dragonflies that I can never photograph flew through the labyrinth and away!” And then I held my hand to my ear and laughed aloud as I heard the clear message from Angus, “That’s your hare!”  alluding to the hare he always chased but could never, ever catch.


My handsome boy.

Thank you dear Angus. That’s perfect. May there always be a hare for you to chase in the afterlife, and a dragonfly for me to chase in this one. After all, it is about the journey, not the destination, right?

As for the symbology of dragonflies, here’s what one site I found said, that actually mentioned red ones in particular like the ones that surrounded us at the pond:

(On a page about Transformation:)

“…. Dragonfly is the metaphor for our own transformations out of the depths of our emotional dramas into a place of freedom. A place we could equate to going when we depart this world. Thus, the red dragonfly may emerge around death with the soothing message that this transformation will carry us to freedom and eternal love.

[…] Native Americans perceived dragonflies as the “souls of the dead” so a dragonfly visitation around a loved one’s death could well signify the loved one’s soul taking form in the spirit of dragonfly. It offers the assurance their soul is free.

When we consider the color red and its meaning, particularly in relation to it as the color of the Root chakra, we find the significance to be deeply linked to the Earth. The Root chakra is associated with our basic survival needs, resources, stability, security and all manner of grounding spirit energy into both the body and the Earth. The color red is affiliated with our passions and strong emotions around heat, fire, anger and love. Thus, the color red represents a strong connection to this material world and our emotional experiences along our life journey. When we depart this world, we let go of all our earthly and emotional attachments. To witness a red dragonfly around death is a comforting reminder that in our letting go of material and emotional trappings, we are being set free.” (From: )



Stumbling Part 5 ~ Climbing Out of the Dark : 8 steps that helped me up.


(This was the basis of my talk for the Heart, Mind, Body & Soul Healing and Holistic Fair in Bridgewater, NS, May 2016.  In the actual talk there were ad libs and omissions, but this was my main content.)

My name is Mary Dixon. I work in a partnership with my husband Edward Howell called Co-Creative Healing Arts. Edward is a registered massage therapist and  Reiki master/teacher, and I work as a life coach and soul coach.

The soul coach part is based on the work of author and healer Denise Linn and I was personally certified by her to do a type of motivational & spiritual coaching called Soul Coaching® as well as past life journey work. The focus of Soul Coaching® is primarily helping people get in touch with their spirit, their soul, their own inner knowing, and really starting to appreciate their true nature as a little piece of the Divine. It is about really getting to know yourself by connecting with the greater wisdom within you, so that you can discover your authentic self and live your life in alignment with that.

As a “life coach” my work tends to be a little more oriented toward helping you create something, moving toward what you want to achieve in your life, your goals, especially for women probably around my age, mid ’40’s to mid-’60’s, but often some younger.…so not people fresh out of high school looking to plan a life, but in that transitional time of perhaps becoming an empty-nester, or career-changer, or retiring, or being divorced, or having some kind of wake-up call, like illness. A lot of people have issues of identity tied up with being a certain way or in a certain role for a long time and may feel stagnant or confused about who they are or what they want. So we look at what they’d like to create or what they wish to change about where they are now.

The two bodies of work intertwine and overlap because getting people moving toward their desired goals usually involves helping them get clarity first on who they really are and what they really want, what they value, and find ways of aligning their outer world with their inner world.

When people get stuck I sometimes use the kind of journey work I use in soul coaching, or even shamanic journeying while I drum for them in a sacred ceremony, to help people tap into that other layer of awareness, their Higher Self or Inner knowing or Divine Consciousness…their soul, however you are comfortable looking at that. We interweave that kind of work in the coaching process to help keep you in touch with your own truth.

So, I am going to talk to you today about what can happen when you don’t keep in touch with that inner truth, when you don’t hear the voice of your soul, those inner nudges poking at you. Or when you hear them and then you shut them down, tune them out, numb them, or you simply ignore and forget to do the work they are asking you to do.

There is a game occasionally played by some people in a couple of the coaching communities I belong to online, a game we played in one of the in-person intensives I attended in California a couple of years ago. It is called “What I don’t want you to know about me.” It is essentially an exercise in vulnerability, the premise being, you cannot take your clients any deeper than you are prepared to go yourself. That doesn’t mean we as coaches have to be perfect and totally enlightened and successful in all things in order to coach people, but we do have to be courageous enough to do the tough work on ourselves too, and also to let ourselves be seen as honestly as we can. Vulnerability builds courage, connection, and compassion, as well as trust in a relationship, as any of you who have listened to any of Brene Brown’s Ted talks would know or if you’ve read her book, “The Gifts of Imperfection.”

The first thing I don’t want you to know about me is that I am feeling a little vulnerable because my preparation for this talk has been totally last-minute… so I may stumble and have to read my notes to keep on track. I hope you will forgive me, I realize that it’s not very professional.

The second and major thing I don’t want you to know about me is the reason for this being so last-minute is that, in spite of having been a soul coach since 2008, and certified in NLP since 2009 and in Strategic Intervention coaching in 2014, I have probably had the most difficult dark night of the soul this past winter, and I think I am only just emerging from it now, as in this week. I have been a bit of a mess up until a few days ago and I kept thinking, “How the heck can I possibly have anything useful to share with these people at a healing fair when I am feeling like a total basket case??”

_MG_1544I was not only feeling depressed, with waves of self-destructive thinking, I was at the beginning of this week starting to feel real anxiety, which is not very familiar to me. Even depression was not so familiar, although I think many years ago I “avoided” it for a while by numbing my feelings with alcohol… That was before I got into coaching, spirituality, and a lot of self-examination.

With all I know and have learned and practiced, about how thought creates emotion, how we only really have “problems” when we believe our thoughts, or we focus on the wrong or negative thoughts, and use degenerative language and get stuck and mired in negativity; about how we can use our physiology and our focus and our language to get us out of a funk…. what I don’t want you to know about me is that I got well and truly stuck this past winter. And I was becoming afraid I wouldn’t be able to get out of a serious downward spiral. I had a public face I could still put on, but my emotions were so close to the edge I was tearful on an almost daily basis. I really felt like I was going nuts.

I am in the midst of menopause, so for all I know, hormonal swings may well have something to do with it, but I was also facing some big financial challenges, a lot of unexpected major expenses, like cancer surgery for my dog and major car repairs, and not enough work coming in, and it all fed into my feelings of inadequacy and confusion about what I was doing with my life and career. Something HAD to change.

You may know last year when I was here I did a presentation about a project I got into where I’d started doodling, being challenged to do daily doodles by my own coach because he’d seen something uniquely “me” in a drawing I’d posted on Facebook. 120 daily doodles later, people were following my posts, engaging with me on the topics they brought up, and asking about when “the book” was coming out. So I took up that challenge too, spent a couple months refining and redrawing many doodles, and creating new ones, writing some text, hiring a graphic designer, invested some money, and printed 200 copies of Mary Doodle ~ Stumbling Toward Enlightenment, which is a collection of some of the doodles focused on Mary’s self-help and spiritual path…trying to figure it all out.

So as I contemplated, in some desperation this week, what I was going to offer you lovely people today, I decided only yesterday, (upon the suggestion of a friend) to invite Mary Doodle in to help illustrate my talk.

(Btw, these doodles were done on a large flip chart…after midnight… and I apologize for the colour casts as I had to photograph them to reproduce them here. You can click on each image to see them full size.)

Maybe I want Mary Doodle to help me soften this talk, or lighten it up, because I don’t need this to be a total tale of woe. I am climbing out and I’m going to tell you how.

I preface this with this: I am not a therapist or psychologist or psychotherapist or counsellor. I am a coach, and I am not specifically trained in therapies to deal with depression or anxiety although I do know something about it. This story I offer you is only my personal experience, and it’s still unfolding, so don’t think it’s the be-all and end-all. If you are in a serious downward spiral, do please consult a doctor (it may be hormonal or chemical), and some kind of therapist or spiritual counsellor to talk it out. There is help available. Go get it.

No doubt I was not as far down the hole as I could go because I still got up every morning, got showered and dressed, cooked dinner, did the shopping, etc., etc., AND got some work done, including facilitating my winter coaching course, but the emotional swings were to me, crazy, and often overwhelming. My creativity ground to a halt as I thought I had to feel better in order to create. That is one thing I got backwards.

I’m going to try to fit this talk into a format easy to remember so I am going to try label all these ideas into words starting with “C”.  I may not have experienced these in the same order in my coming to awareness, but as I went through the process of developing this talk, some came to the forefront as really necessary, and would’ve been helpful to have attended to first.

1. The first one is COMPASSION or “Cultivate Compassion”.

_MG_1549Start with an awareness that almost everybody has something they are struggling with. Even if you do not see it, some of us are really good at hiding it from others. Some people hide it by retreating, not socializing, wearing masks, numbing feelings, or being very “busy”, but know that everyone has some struggle, maybe not all the time, but throughout our lives. It is part of the human journey. So, in having compassion for yourself, allow yourself to just be with the experience of your suffering for a bit. Accept that it is there and sit with it rather than rushing to numb it, fix it, or hide it. Ask the pain what it is trying to tell you.

Hold it as if it was your own child and tell it you are there for it, you love it and yourself, and that you will be there for yourself. It is only when you stop resisting and fighting with it that you can see it for what it is and love yourself as you would love another in the same struggle.

When you can love yourself and accept where you are and stop fighting, you move from fear, shame, and self-hatred, into love, and love is the only space into which creation flows and can happen. Our life is for us to create on some level. So you must surrender to a degree, and be kind and compassionate to yourself.

Trust that you are not alone and unique in your suffering. Don’t compare your suffering to others, just sit with it. That doesn’t mean chewing on it or analyzing it. It is a space of openness and acceptance where you say to yourself, “I see you, I love you, and I will be here loving you through this. When you are ready we will move forward.”

I find the work of Tara Brach very helpful, she has many online recordings and courses through Sounds True, as well as her books. She is a psychologist and lead teacher and founder of the Insight Meditation centre in Washington, DC.  One book is called Radical Acceptance and she has an audio program I bought from Sounds True called Radical Self-Acceptance ~ A Buddhist guide to Freeing Yourself From Shame. Very good stuff.

I recognized my need for that this winter and ordered it when I saw a sale on Sounds True and listened to it and some other videos of hers online. And I started to have some compassion for myself. I also did the loving kindness meditation which I found in the wonderful book which I also revisited: A Path With Heart, by Jack Kornfield.

May I be filled with loving kindness.

May I be well.

May I be peaceful and at ease.

May I be happy.

I sat or walked and said this to myself over and over. It is recommended to do it for 20 minutes at a time. You can also use it substituting “you” for “I” when you need to work on your compassion for others.


2.  CENTER yourself

_MG_1557And because I am trying to have all “C” words here I may be stretching this concept, but I will use “centering” to encompass a bunch of things. Essentially I am associating centering with the body, the physical self, how you are using it, holding it, treating it, and also where you are being physically. I am really referring to grounding.

When one is having anxiety or just a lot of worrying, it starts in the head…being all in the head, turning your thoughts around over and over and letting possible scenarios spin out of control.

That means you have come ungrounded. So how do you ground yourself? In the moment if you can sit, you can massage your feet, really hard, digging a thumb into your foot under the ball of your big toe. It brings the attention down out of the head and into the body quickly.

For me, I like to use the earth and nature to ground, so I did a lot of walking in the woods, more than my usual dog walks, and also connecting with the earth, on my knees or sitting and putting my hands on the ground. I stacked rocks in balancing piles, which required me to be very present and in the moment. I did a little gardening as soon as the weather allowed. I breathed the fresh air deeply into my lungs. Big, deep belly breaths are grounding as opposed to the shallow chest breathing we do when anxious, which can actually exacerbate our anxiety if we start to hyperventilate. They “bring you back to your center”.

Or there’s a meditation I often do with clients, imagining you’re an oak tree, sending your energy and anything you don’t need flowing down into the earth, like tree roots right out through your feet, anchoring you.  Then you envision your negativity being cleansed by the roots and rocks and sand. And then you draw the cleansed life force energies up again like water and minerals from the earth up through the tree roots, to enliven and energize you. This is an easy one to do for yourself.

Using your body in regular exercise, especially yoga where you have to be very attentive to postures and alignment, or chi gong or tai chi where you flow through a meditative sequence in a particular order, all of these get you reconnected to your body, help you pay attention to your breathing, and bring you out of your head by requiring you to be very present. These are just a few examples of centering.


3. CONNECT ….with people you love and trust and whom you know love and accept you.

_MG_1559Scientific studies have shown that people who have positive social networks, and this is in person, not online, (there is a difference), have generally better health, less cognitive decline (like dementia) and less depression. Although it is noted that if you hang out with other depressed people, that can actually reinforce and spread the low feelings. So, pick your friends wisely.

And let them know they don’t need to “fix” you, as some will, just to accept you and be constant.  Connection can help you discover that you are not alone in what you are going through, which can make it a little easier knowing others have survived similar experiences, and so will you.

Connection provides someone to hear you. Sometimes that’s all we need is feeling that we’re heard. It helps us to know we matter. And that people will be there for you even in tougher times.

And if you can find the energy for it, connecting socially lifts your spirits, maybe your friends will help you laugh. In the midst of my painful episode this winter I still made decisions to invite people to dinner because I know when I am cooking and preparing an evening for other people I am not thinking about myself, and when I am listening to the stories of other people, I am not thinking about myself. And if I am not thinking about myself I am not in my “problem”.

Which leads me to number 4, which is


_MG_1564When we contribute to something or someone outside of ourselves, by our own choice, when we come from a place of service or love, or “how can I help?”, we are coming from a place of love and not fear, and we are thinking of the other person or community, or the cause, and not ourselves and our problem.

In Human Needs Psychology created by Tony Robbins and Cloe Madanes, which was a big part of my Strategic Intervention coach training,  we have 6 basic human needs:

i) Certainty – There needs to be something certain in our lives, something we can count on…that’s why we create habits and routines. This is about our safety and security;

ii) Variety, or uncertainty –  because we need change, we get bored, we need stimulation;

iii) Love and/or Connection – relationships between people who care about each other, whether family, significant other, colleagues at work or friends, or a team etc… The social part I talked about before, it is a basic human need…

iv)Significance — the need to feel unique or special or that you matter;

Those are all considered needs of the “personality”.

Then there are two more needs…considered needs of the “spirit”:

v) Growth – Learning, changing , expanding our awareness. Tony Robbins says we either grow or we die.


vi) Contribution – Contributing to something greater than or outside of ourselves.

It is said that when we contribute, even if it is just making dinner or doing laundry for our family, adopting an animal, helping at the local fire hall, or teaching somebody something…or maybe writing a blog (like this) that others will read that may help someone, or holding the hand of a relative in the senior’s home or hospital, contributions such as these actually serve all the other human needs….we feel significant, like we matter, we connect with others, we have experiences that provide both certainty and variety, and we grow as we learn from such activities and from others.

So, contribute to someone or some cause other than your self, even if it seems small. It is about taking the focus off of your thoughts and directing them beyond yourself and how you can benefit others.

In my case, I knew I was coming to this healing fair and had offered to give a talk. When I took the focus off me and that I was giving a talk for my business and focused on how I might contribute, who I might serve, by offering some insight, the whole game changed. When it is not about me it becomes a no-brainer really…..I am out of my story of “Oh my god, what am I going to do, I’ll look like an idiot if I don’t have myself together!” and I look instead at, “Who might I help this week if I give this talk? Who out there needs to hear this from me right now?”

I know from writing my blog that even if there are few readers, whenever I share a story close to my heart about my own experience, I inevitably manage to touch someone who thanks me for that, that they needed to hear it. That one person matters a great deal to me. So maybe there will be one person that needed to hear (or read) this. So in creating this talk I focused on how I could contribute to that person.

Which in itself is creative…which leads me to number 5…



Create something ….anything…create breakfast…create a clean house…draw a doodle, or colour in one of those adult colouring books. Write a story or poem or essay on some topic. Knit a scarf. Take a photo of your dog or a flower and mess with it with some app. I stopped doodling this winter, except for a few times, because I got so up in my head about what I thought I “should” do, like marketing my business, I lost sight of what I wanted to do.…which was to create….writing and doodling, which actually gives me the energy to do some of the other stuff.  I managed to eke out a few drawings and blogs here and there, and every time it took me out of my head…even while writing…it took me into a flow that was not consumed by my worries about money or my dog with cancer or my struggles with entrepreneurship. When I create I am in flow, and when I am in flow I am at peace.

When I create I am “expressing” myself. What does express mean? From the Latin ex meaning “out” and pressare, “to press”… I am pressing out or squeezing out … “out” being the operative word I think. I am pushing something out of myself when I express or create. So expression is getting out of oneself…like connecting and contributing, it is no longer all about me, even if my ideas ARE about me or from me…I am putting it out there in the world and suddenly I am no longer stuck.

In the last two days I created this talk and these drawings. I felt fabulous, albeit a little nervous as I was cutting it close! I wanted to create something helpful to you today.

6. CALL  …upon your Spiritual Helpers

_MG_1573Whether you envision “Beings” outside of yourself like angels, or God, or your power animal or ancestors in spirit, or if that doesn’t resonate, you can call on your own inner wisdom, your “Inner Wise One” (if you want to personify it), or check in with your “gut feelings” or your intuition….there is a deeper guidance available, not just from your friends and therapists and coaches and spiritual counsellors. Sometimes you may need the assistance of those people to help you access that inner wisdom or your Higher Self, but sometimes what gets us stuck in a downward spiral is that we have forgotten to call upon that special wisdom, what you might call the deeper knowing of your soul.

There is a place behind our conscious thought, that has all the answers we need to our dilemmas and fears, if only we knew how to tap in and connect with that. Some folks can find it through prayer, asking God, Creator, great Spirit, The Universe, for guidance.

Some can do it through meditation, by being still and present. However I think that meditation for a depressed person can run the risk of allowing too much mental chatter to overwhelm us. It can be painful to just sit if the usual negative mind chatter keeps flowing through our heads. It might actually make things worse, unless one can be in a place of acceptance, and just observe the thoughts without attaching to them. But simply being still and asking for guidance, and “listening” can be helpful.

Sometimes keeping a journal is helpful. What I have been doing on my own this winter is a combination. I have gone to my office and created a sacred space, with a small altar of certain objects to support my intention…my intention to get clear and helpful guidance. I light a candle to invite in Spirit. And I ask my questions and write the answers in my journal. Sometimes it takes a few minutes of writing random thoughts like, “I know if I keep writing I will eventually hear you so I’ll just keep going…. are you there?…” and then eventually a flow starts.

Sometimes I ask questions and draw from a  deck of oracle cards. Sometimes a journey with shamanic practitioners or a soul coach (my shameless plug) can help a great deal. We have the wisdom within us.…we need to hear it. And then we need to trust it and take action on it.

Just this week on my walks in the woods I had an encounter with a snake. Three times in less than 24 hours it appeared in the path, a large snake about two feet long. It looked like the same one each time, although not in the exact same location. When I stopped by him he stopped, and let me talk to him. I photographed him and even picked him up. So I went to remind myself about Snake medicine as a totem animal. It is partly about transmutation…transmuting poison into healing. So I immediately thought of my talk and realized I have to turn my pain into healing by creating a story that can help others.

Part of my problem this winter is I did not trust the wisdom I had already received, even when repetitively reassuring, that told me to create and to be patient, that all was well and would get better. So I stopped creating for a while, and fell back down the spiral staircase.

Leading me to # 7.


_MG_1578Make a choice, based on the wisdom. Stop second-guessing it! Nothing is permanent!! We think it has to be the “right” decision. Nothing is permanent. We can change our minds, it is ok. Get rid of “shoulds” and do what you want to do. But staying in what my hubby calls “the paralysis of analysis” is crippling. It’s like that line about worrying: “Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do but doesn’t get you anywhere. “

Well, not choosing to act, not making a decision on anything, is exhausting and crippling. I was caught in “should I do this or should I do that??” and didn’t listen to the guidance. If I had just started creating something, anything, my blogs, more doodles, sooner, I could have shortened my suffering. I had to make a choice.

Thank god I had this talk to give. I am deadline-driven. And once I made the choice this week “should I do the talk or cancel?”…and chose to follow my commitment to do it, (wouldn’t really have been a “commitment” if I hadn’t) especially at this late date, then everything went into motion.

I Chose to go ahead and write the talk, I started to Create this talk in order to Contribute to others. I got Centered by extra walks in the woods, where I Called on my spirit helpers following prompts in the cards and from the animal spirits of the forest and through prayer and asking for help.  Connecting with friends in the winter probably helped me get through better than if I had not, even though they didn’t know what was going on with me, and connecting with my husband by finally telling him how I really felt, helped too. And now I am Connecting with you by sharing.  And as I learned and utilized loving kindness practices, I developed Compassion for myself, and became able to accept my challenging thoughts and feelings with an open heart and less judgment. I stopped beating myself up.

Finally, and I realize this has been a lot to ponder, but all of these were important for me and worked together in this instance to get me through the door today to give this presentation:

8. COUNT …   Count your blessings.

_MG_1581Everybody says this, a gratitude practice is essential. Because our minds can’t hold two opposing thoughts at the same time. Just like we cannot hold onto fear when we are actively loving, neither can we hold onto thoughts about what’s missing in our lives when we are grateful for what we do have. The more we focus on gratitude, no matter how small the gifts seem, the more we let go of our sense of lack, of not enough, of ourselves not being enough, and of our pain. Keeping a journal next to the bed is easy, jotting down some good things about the day, what you are grateful for, immediately before you fall asleep and again upon waking, is a great practice for setting up a powerful frame of mind.

Right now I am grateful for my brain, which as much as it can spin thoughts in an unhelpful direction, it can also create drawings and photos and writing and talks and dinner parties. I am grateful for my dog getting through his cancer surgery and for the lovely doctors and vet techs that have helped us with him. I am grateful for all the education I have had that lets me put this all into perspective. I am grateful for this wonderful event to share ideas and healing help with so many people. I am grateful to my husband for being a rock that can withstand my stormy waves. And I am grateful to you for listening to my story. I created this for you, I hope it is helpful. It has helped me. Thank you.

Stumbling Part Four ~ Signs, Snakes, and Shedding Skin.

Stumbling Part 4 ~ Of Snakes, Signs, and Shedding Skin.
This past winter I was depressed. Pretty seriously depressed I think, although I was in denial to the degree that I refused to use the “D” word until only recently, and did not seek any medical or psychological help outside of my own resources. And, I might add, the determinedly loving and grounded presence of my wonderful husband. Not sure what I would’ve done without him.

I had refused to use the word “depressed” or “depression” because I have this idea that if I label it, or label myself as “depressed”, then I own it, and it makes it not only more “real,” but I risk identifying with it. I didn’t want to become that.

In hindsight, as a coach, if I’d had a client presenting as I did, I would’ve been urging them to get some other professional help, as well as working with me on breaking the habits of thought and physiology that contribute to depression and creating something to lift their focus. But for myself… the same reason you shouldn’t be your own lawyer or therapist… we lose objectivity about ourselves, and it is difficult to see the way out alone when you are in such a dark place.

Despite all I know, all my studies in coaching, and readings in self-development, I found myself in tears almost daily, for a few months, not for the whole day, but in waves. Sometimes I was just feeling hyper-sensitive to the state of the world and various incidents I would hear about on the news. But mostly it was a result of a downward spiral of negative self-talk, basically carrying a huge load of shame around for not being the “success” I’d imagined I “should’ve” been by now, having passed my 55th birthday in December.

I’d had a vision for how my life was supposed to look, and although I’d really abandoned it years ago, I was nevertheless regretting not being “there”. My coaching practice was not where I’d hoped it would be by now, I had a frustrating lack of income, and periodic regrets about not being more conventional and sticking to some job that would’ve offered a pension and all those things I’d imagined in my 20’s as I finished law school.

I looked at one of my older brothers, recently retired, government pension from a life-long career… he’s happy, fit, traveling, exercising, having fun. Why did I have to be the “creative” in the family who couldn’t stick to one thing long enough to make something prosperous of it? And who were all these coaches on Facebook or sending me emails (to which I’d foolishly subscribed), telling me about their system for making “Six Figures?” Not that I really believe them, but I couldn’t help but think I should’ve been “more”.


Ah yes, I know, I know. I had once drawn a Mary Doodle cartoon with the Theodore Roosevelt quote: “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Indeed it is. The constant reminders of how I wasn’t as successful as so-and-so and of what a “successful” life is “supposed” to look like (a materialistic point of view), took their toll on my confidence and self-worth.

The revelation I’d had in the fall as well, that I wasn’t really congruent in terms of who I was, what my true interests were, and how I was presenting as a coach, also threw me off-kilter. I had discovered that in my quest to look more mainstream in terms of how I coached and what my focus was, I had abandoned a lot of the things that drew me toward coaching in the first place, which was the SOULful part of Soul Coaching®, the guided journey work, the work with cards, signs, and spirit guides, the creation of altars and sacred space.

I was confused about what I had to offer. I hadn’t been following my spirit’s calling because I guess I couldn’t really believe that I could do that kind of inner, soulful work with people that I wanted to, ie. that not enough people wanted that. I thought my coaching practice had to look a little more like some therapeutic psychological model, which isn’t necessarily “coaching” anyway.

To compound my frustration and fears, we had some big financial challenges this winter, unexpected expenses that kept mounting for treating our elderly cats, several surgeries for our dog Angus’ cancer, and a huge expense for our aging automobile. Combined with a downturn in business for both of us, this added to my feelings that I was not enough, that I needed to be contributing much more to our household.

My denial that I was capital “D” Depressed was supported by the fact that I at least was determined to get out of bed, showered, and dressed every day. I still went to town for groceries, wrote a few blogs and newsletters, managed to run my winter coaching class, had some dinner guests over and talked and laughed, walked the dogs, and did the laundry. I was functional, but very, very tired. And I cried… a lot, mostly out of sight of my husband.

And I had some really dark thoughts that scared me._MG_1672

And I would spiral downward because then I would think, “See?? What kind of coach am I that I feel this way?” And then my shame would feed on itself and take me even lower.

Maybe menopause had a big part to play, messing with my hormones with all the attendant mood swings. But nobody knew about my sadness except my hubby, and he didn’t see the full extent of my pain. Eventually, when it became too much, I was able to simply tell him, and being able to be totally upfront about how I was feeling helped me through the worst of it. He didn’t treat me like I was the crazy person I felt I was. He was a rock. He knew the only way out was through it, and was willing to hang in there with me all the way.

But there were other things too that started shifting everything for me, or, I like to think, that I started to shift.

In May we were scheduled to have a booth at the local mind, body, spirit fair, and in my enthusiasm before I went south into my “spiral of despair”, I had committed to giving a talk at said fair. As the date approached, I started experiencing anxiety, not only regarding my own concern about my mental state, but about the fact that I, a life coach, was supposed to give a talk teaching or inspiring others when I was still in the throes of my own deep pain and confusion. Who the heck was I to offer any help on happier living when I had fallen into this hole?

Indeed that’s one of the biggest hang-ups of many coaches…the “Who am I to coach anyone…?” question. Coaching isn’t the same as advising or mentoring (although that may be a part of it), but it helps to be congruent in your life about what you offer in your work. I certainly wouldn’t offer to mentor or teach anyone about running a profitable business! But often we do “teach what we most need to learn” (that’s a broad “we,” not coaches in particular), and sometimes it is something we already know very well but have simply gotten off course and need to find our way back. We don’t have to be “perfect” on all levels of our life to be an effective coach to others. But we do need to be always aware and doing our own work in order to stay in alignment with who we are and what we project and offer.

_MG_2486According to my journal, on Mother’s Day, a week before the fair, I took the dogs on our usual walk to my sacred stone circle at the back of our woods. I had started the return toward home but then went back again to the circle, feeling suddenly quite overwhelmed with tears, feeling bad about myself once more. I think I spent an hour or so there, asking for guidance, praying. Worried that Edward would wonder what had happened to me, I finally pulled myself together and headed home.

On the way I stopped by the pond, walked around the small stone circle I have there, saw a turtle slip into the water, then re-stacked some of my rock piles along the trail.

Suddenly something moved in the grass in front of me. I stopped. It stopped. It was a handsome garter snake, about two feet long. Luckily the dogs seemed not to notice him. I said, “Oh! Hello!” He just stayed there at the edge of the path, flicking his red tongue at me as I talked to him. I had my gardening gloves on, so I took a chance and gently picked him up to have a closer look. Not wanting to stress him I put him back down quickly. I had rarely seen a snake on the trail and certainly not one that had stopped and allowed me that close._MG_0059

The next day on the dog walk I saw him again on my way down. At least, I think it was the same snake, he looked the same kind and size, although further down the trail. Alfie had noticed him first and before the dogs could get too close I tied her and Angus to a tree. This time I had my camera with me, and again the snake stopped and let me get really close. I got down on my knees and elbows to take some photos, then thanked him as we continued on.

However on the way back, although he had slithered off the trail several feet when I had taken the pictures, there he was, back again in the middle of the path. This time Angus saw him first and pounced as I shouted at him “NO!” Snake slid safely away._MG_0057

Heading home I realized I had encountered him three times in 24 hours. It can be considered a “sign” from Spirit if you have such an unusual experience or see a particular animal three times. When we do shamanic journeys we are told that the animal we encounter three times in our first journey is likely our power animal, especially if they acknowledge us or stand out in some way.

The fact that he actually stopped and I was able to pick him up and later photograph him, seemed pretty significant to me, and I thought perhaps I was receiving a new power animal.

In the book for the “Medicine Cards” oracle deck by Jamie Sams and David Carson (St. Martin’s Press), Snake medicine is “Transmutation”. Transmutation is basically the changing of one thing into another, something bad to good, as in alchemy, turning lead into gold. In the medicine of some indigenous peoples it is about turning poison into healing.

“The transmutation of the life-death-rebirth cycle is exemplified by the shedding of snake’s skin. It is the energy of wholeness, cosmic consciousness, and the ability to experience anything willingly and without resistance. It is the knowledge that all things are equal in creation, and that those things which might be experienced as poison can be eaten, ingested, integrated, and transmuted if one has the proper state of mind. [……]

“If you have chosen this symbol, there is a need within you to transmute some thought, action, or desire so that wholeness may be achieved. This is heavy magic, but remember, magic is no more than a change in consciousness. [.…]”

“Look at the idea that you may fear changing your present state of affairs because this may entail a short passage into discomfort […..] In order to glide beyond the place which has become safe but nonproductive, become Snake. Release the outer skin of your present identity….”_MG_1290

In light of my encounter with snake and these words, I asked myself, “What is my poison and how can I turn that into healing?” In my habit of second-guessing, snake’s medicine was not quite enough for me. I decided I had also to consult some other oracle cards for guidance on what to do about my upcoming talk. I consulted the “Soul Lessons and Soul Purpose” card deck by Sonia Choquette (Hay House) and got the cards “Become a clear channel” and “Bust out of your cocoon”.

The guidebook for these said the “clear channel” card was about clearing “mental debris, confusion, psychic clutter” to “be a clear channel for myself and Divine Spirit”. And the one about “busting out” said one phase of my life was ending and a new one beginning (a message I’d received several time over the course of the winter).

It continued, “Do you feel on the verge of exciting new possibilities but not sure where they’ll come from? Seems like life as you know it is crumbling? It’s okay — you’re breaking free from past karma and releasing your spirit to a greater tomorrow […..] You’re on the threshold of spreading your spiritual wings in a brand new direction of understanding and embracing your full potential […..] release what no longer attracts you. Drop what’s in your hand to reach for something greater. You’re reaching spiritual adulthood. All that’s ending is an old, stagnant self that no longer serves your spirit, so turn your fear into action.”

Hmmm..sounds remarkably like the shedding of snake’s skin…my old identity…and transmutation…turning fear into action.

Once again the signs and messages coincided, and my takeaway was that my “safe but nonproductive” work as I’d been offering it was something to release…to shed like a snake skin or bust out of the cocoon of that phase of my life, where I’d been trying to be someone I was not again, and to become a clear channel for Spirit. I had to have a change in consciousness, maybe an uncomfortable phase, in order to let go of a past identity that wasn’t serving my spirit.

The transmutation? Turning the fear (of being unconventional as a more soul and spirit-focused coach) into action. I knew I had to take action and create something.

And how would I turn the “poison into healing” right now? By telling my story about this very situation, about how I could turn it around from being depressed and despairing and offer up creative action to heal both myself and others in a similar situation.

So I started writing my speech for the healing fair…on the Friday, the day before my talk. And as I created, my mood improved and more clarity emerged about what I was doing, and that inspired the writing. The action of keeping my commitment to the fair and making something that could help others, became for me a magical process…. heavy magic, as the cards said, creating a change in consciousness.

One other thing had happened. On the Thursday I ran into a friend at the farmers’ market, where I had just started a part-time job selling wine for a local vineyard. It was great for me to get out into the community doing something fun, talking to lots of people, selling a great product, and also bringing in a little additional revenue to the household. Just the commitment to doing that weekly also helped me turn things around and made me feel useful and outward-focused.

My friend mentioned something to me about a comment I had made on her Facebook post…it had made me think about my struggles of the winter, and when she inquired about my comment I started to tear-up, and told her about what had been going on with me. I also told her of my need to get a presentation together for the fair and what I was thinking about writing. She suggested I incorporate some of my “Mary Doodle” doodles in my talk to illustrate it, especially since I had done a presentation about the creation of Mary Doodle the previous year.

I thought if I could make the time, I would draw on a big flip chart to illustrate each of the main points in the talk, which was becoming how I got myself out of my dark hole. But my friend Karen said, “But you have to do one of the despairing, depressed you too.” Mary Doodle’s misery. That could be challenging.

After writing my speech on the Friday I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. doodling….including a drawing of Mary Doodle with her darkest thoughts._MG_0171

The next day in the noisy conference room I managed to keep the rapt attention of around 10 or 12 people who’d stopped by for my talk, including at least 4 who stood at the back of my audience for the whole 45-minute presentation. I received some great feedback. By sharing my story and my perspective on getting out of that situation, I turned my poison into my own healing, and possibly some healing for those in attendance.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I have also begun attracting clients and potential clients, who resonate with the kind of spirit-based work I really love to do. In fact, as a result of a client I met at that healing fair and another who called me based on my last blog entry here, I have created a new program for the two of them, and hopefully for others in the future, which is in progress now. It is an experiential journey over eight sessions intended to be an introduction to the ideas and many of the processes which have been personally helpful to me in connecting with Spirit and with my Soul or Higher Self. It was exactly what they were looking for.

The fact that both of these people could only fit in their first appointments with me on the very same day in back-to-back sessions was a delightful synchronicity that helped confirm for me I was on the right track in getting back to offering the work that is closest to my heart.

But my story of Snake doesn’t end there!

_MG_9219We have a large garden we created several years ago which had been our “Medicine Wheel” garden. It is 32 feet in diameter on the inside of the circle, ringed with lavender plants (originally there were 32 lavender plants). Inside the circle we planted beds in 4 quadrants to represent the colours of the Four Directions as conceived of by certain native American tribes, and we had paths running north/south and east/west, as well as a kind of zigzag path through the beds. It was lovely at its peak, but due to it’s location in a very dry spot far from our water hoses, it became a real chore to maintain. The lavender did well but the other plants suffered and I gave up and let it get weedy.

But we still had a vision for that spot as some kind of healing space. So finally last month Edward scooped out the interior plants with the tractor, leaving the lavender ring, and we found a design for a small three-circuit labyrinth. We decided we would fill the centre with gravel and mark the pathway with larger rocks, keeping it simple to maintain.

A couple days before the gravel was to be delivered I went into a garden shed nearby to get something. The next morning Edward asked, “Were you in the garden shed yesterday?” “Yes, why?” “You killed a snake. I found a snake dead with the door closed on him.”

“Oh no!!” I cried, “Not Snake!!”

I felt terrible to have killed a snake which I felt had just become my new power animal and who’s medicine had helped me so much. I wondered what meaning do I make of this?

Edward said he had just put the snake to the side of the shed so I went down to find it. It was the same kind of garter snake I’d found in the woods. His form and skin was still intact.He was quite beautiful, with a little green tinge that the other snake did not have.

I asked myself, if Snake medicine is to turn poison into healing, how can I turn this situation around? Perhaps Snake is a sacrifice to bring healing to the labyrinth. We want it to be a healing space after all.

So I immediately chose to bless the space with an empowering meaning. I scooped a small hole in the earth in the very centre of the labyrinth-to-be. I picked daisies and some artemesia and lavender to make a bed for the snake and coiled him gently on top. I surrounded him with some stones, some amethyst, for healing and connection to Spirit, some red granite for grounding the energy, red jasper for grounding, healing, and emotional stability, and some clear quartz underneath him to amplify the healing energy of my intentions and of the other crystals._MG_0858

I brought some sage for smudge from my office and burned it and smudged the snake, asking forgiveness for killing it, giving thanks to Snake for his medicine, and asking that the gift of transmutation and healing be brought to the labyrinth. I then proceeded to walk around in back and forth rings as if the labyrinth paths were already there, offering the smoke to bless and purify the space and make it a place of healing for all.

Then I covered the snake with some handfuls of sand, pulled the weed mat over it, and placed a smooth flat rock on top of him and a wild pink rose on top of that, for love._MG_0865

The next day the gravel was delivered.

The day after we‘d leveled the gravel I was gathering more rocks from the edges of our property and piling them at the entrance to the circle to use to mark the path. One pile had already been there for a couple of days, but I started laying them out using the ones I had just dumped out of the wheelbarrow.

_MG_1039When I’d used up that pile I started to pick rocks from the one at the other side of the entrance. As I lifted a rock a large garter snake slithered out from the pile and onto the lavender bed surrounding the circle. Angus was with me looking quizzically and I told him to “Stay!”

The snake moved around a large rock at the entrance to the inside of the lavender bed (I was on the outside of it) and stopped, raised his head above the earth to see us and flicked his red tongue. I was so excited! In my meaning-making mind I chose to see this as a sign that Snake was indeed blessing the labyrinth with his presence. I thanked him for showing up while I laid the path, and as I spoke I moved gently over to my right to get a little closer and knelt in the centre of the entrance, with the snake to my left now. Unbelievably, Angus did not pounce.

And then, the snake turned right around and moved across the entrance, curling itself against my bare knees as it moved across the path to disappear under a plant to my right. I was delighted to have contact!

I guess there must be a few good-sized garter snakes around here this summer, enjoying the heat. Edward says he’s seen some others in the pile of old lumber not far from the labyrinth, and there’s been at least one in the greenhouse which was curled up in a plant pot for a while. He also found a snake skin that had been shed there. So I pop into the greenhouses myself to have a peek now and then, to see if I can spot one. The other day I also found a snake skin near the entrance of the large greenhouse and minutes later found another in the small greenhouse, right where I’d seen a snake the day before. Seemed as if he’d used a pile of bird netting as a tool to help pull off his skin, as it was trapped inside the net.


Once completed, I noticed that the labyrinth itself is somewhat snake-like…not a proper coil or spiral, but having snake-like curves. As I walk it daily, and have witnessed the immediate insights it has already provided for my clients who’ve walked it also, I feel the healing is happening, for me and for others. I will write another post soon with the main content of the talk I did at the fair and the accompanying doodles, to describe the eight steps that seemed influential in my pulling myself out of my downward spiral.

But for now I would say that ultimately it was a matter not only of those steps, which included creating and contributing to others as well as reconnecting with my spiritual guidance. But it was also a real letting go, of my fear of being seen and judged for who I really am. I did shed my skin…and not just the skin of the person who was depressed and had struggled greatly despite all my training and advantages. I also shed the skin of the person who was fearful of being seen as embracing the metaphysical, the mysteries of things like signs and synchronicities, one who creates my own ceremonies and rituals to celebrate and honour my intentions, my gratitude, and prayers, and who makes meaning that ultimately is proving to empower myself and others.

I used to think that becoming one’s authentic self was like peeling the layers of an onion, always another layer to reveal what’s inside. While not a bad analogy, as you peel those layers, the onion gets smaller. But if you become like Snake, you shed your skin as you grow, you become more and more of yourself, and cast off what no longer fits. I think I like that version better. My authentic self is not some static thing that was once covered up and is being revealed. It is constantly evolving, growing, and changing, repeatedly bursting out of a skin that’s too tight, like Snake._MG_1059

Stumbling Part Three ~ Messages from Spirit and The Healing Power of Ceremony.


One of the most interesting and mind-shifting episodes in my journey towards connecting with the spiritual realm was when my mother’s ghost turned up bothering a friend of mine, just after I’d had an almost hysterical experience getting messages from “The Beings” while saying affirmations, which led to a journey in which Otter, my power animal, told me, point by point, what I needed to do to relieve my friend of Mom’s spirit and ultimately make me feel better about myself. Whew! Sounds crazy huh? It sure felt like it at the time!

This is a long story. Make yourself some tea.

In my last writing I made reference to Otter, my power animal (actually one of several I have since encountered). I have received great wisdom through him in circles where someone has drummed (usually my husband) for a small group of us to journey.

During my first couple of years with Edward it was like I was exploding into discovery of the spiritual resources at hand, with journeying being most profound for me. But I was also working on exercising my intuitive abilities, playing with things like oracle cards,  automatic writing, and pendulums, to divine answers to my many questions about the direction of my life and the challenges I was experiencing.

One of the fun things we did was take introductory and advanced classes in “Mediumship and Psychic Development,” to work on tapping into our intuitive skills. The mediumship was more of a secondary interest, but really opened my eyes and heart to the idea that there is another plane of existence (perhaps many).

There was a point around this time that I was going through some personal difficulties and was feeling extremely down on myself, judging myself harshly for some poor decisions I’d made in the past, and feeling great regret. No one can punish me like I can punish myself. So I decided to try working with affirmations to see if it would shift my mindset about how I felt about myself and what I felt was possible for me.


Some of Louise Hay’s “Wisdom Cards” and “I Can Do It Cards.”

One of my affirmations was about loving and accepting myself unconditionally. I read them aloud several times one day. The next day I decided to take it a step further, and as Louise Hay suggests, say them to myself looking in a mirror. These were about loving myself “just as I am”, that I was “worthy of love”,  and similar statements. When self-esteem is low it can be challenging to say this aloud to oneself and believe it. It started to bring a few tears to my eyes, and I thought, well, I guess this is the stuff I have a hard time believing if it’s making me so tearful.

The next day I tried again, thinking I would keep repeating these to myself until I lost the emotional charge and really started to accept this. I had added in words like, “You are a divine being and have a right to be here.” But rather than losing the emotional charge, it became greater. My throat constricted, and I became very physically uncomfortable. So I asked…Spirit, The Beings, whomever was out there, I asked, “So what is it now?? What am I so upset about, what do I need to know??”

I kept talking aloud and asking what this strange feeling meant. And then I kind of lost a grip… started crying, then giggling, felt a little like I was going crazy, having some kind of breakdown. So I asked aloud, “Am I going crazy??” But I really didn’t think I was, and the answer that came to me as if from “The Beings” was, “No, you’re not going crazy, you’re just scared because this is new and unfamiliar to you, but it will pass over time.”

I actually felt what I think some might call hysteria. It was like I had broken open, but I knew on some level I wasn’t losing touch, I was actually getting in touch, with Divine Consciousness. I started to get messages about what I was here for, what my role in this world was. And I asked again, “Am I going crazy?” And they said, “No, you are just remembering who you are — a divine creation.”

A number of other messages were given to me, that I was finding hard to accept, positive messages about what I would do with my life, what my purpose was, messages I have kept closing the books on and “forgetting” about because it all seemed so foreign to what my upbringing led me to expect in my life. It was the strangest, scary/exhilarating experience having this “conversation” and feeling so agitated, and yet, on a deeper level, knowing it was all okay.

As I kept speaking aloud, the grip I had felt on my throat gradually released. I guess I must’ve been in the middle of a photography project at the time because I then asked, “So should I go do some printing in the darkroom now?” and they said, “Yes, you need a distraction, and you need to create.”

After this I felt really cold and I decided to go into the kitchen, just around the corner from where I’d been doing the mirror work, and I started to make myself a snack. Two of the three cats were outside and Sophie cat was sitting across the living room looking out the door to the verandah. As I was in the kitchen I suddenly heard a loud “thunk!” as if someone had dropped a large book on the floor, in the area of the mirror where I had been a few minutes before. My cat Sophie heard it too as she suddenly turned around to look in that direction.

I went to see what could’ve fallen over. Nothing on the floor, nothing on the staircases, nor in the adjacent bathroom, nor in the hall closet.

I thought maybe the mirror was calling me back so I looked at it and said, “You hooo… are you there? Do you have something else to say?” I really didn’t get anything except a thought popped into my head that “my mother was fine ‘over there'”, and that the “ghosts of her past” she’d alluded to (noted in some of her old day calendars I’d found) were not any traumas in her past, but rather the voices of the Divine trying to get her attention, to “remind her of who she really was… she had totally forgotten”. But she couldn’t believe them, the voices that is. And as she had no one she could share such thoughts with, she though she was going crazy…. at about the same age as I was at this moment.

Of course I second-guessed and asked, “How do I know this is your voice and not just my head, my mind or imagination?” And they said, “It will come more quickly than you can normally think, and in ways which you might not normally speak.” The answers had certainly come quickly.

That was all that came to me that day. I think one has to keep talking to keep the flow going, because once you stop it gives space for the left brain to interfere and question it all.

I wasn’t really sure why my mother came into the picture at this time, about 13 years after her death, but what happened next became more and more intriguing.

Two days later, Leap Day, February 29 of 2008, we were hosting a drumming and journey circle, with Edward, myself, and three friends. When we all drum together before the actual journey part where we lie down, occasionally people will take little journeys in their minds while drumming. When my friend Jeannine shared her journey after the drumming, she was actually having a mediumship experience. Jeannine had also been in the class we took on mediumship and psychic development. (Note: I do have her permission to share this story since it came as part of her journey).

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Strangely, I cannot find any photos of me with my mother when I was 11 or 12

She told us that she saw this woman with dirty blond-to-brown, curly hair, wearing a pink nightgown. She said she was told to give a message and the person for whom it was intended would know. The message from the woman was that “she was okay”, and that the person receiving the message was “on her path and not to worry”. She said the woman looked very loving and nurturing and that the little girl of 11 or 12 was just looking  up at her trying to get what she could from her. Jeannine had thought that the message was for someone else in our circle but I immediately knew it was for me, as tears welled up in recognition. I just knew. And I had not previously told Jeannine of my weird experience two days before. But the message was the same…that she, my mom, was fine or okay.

As I write this now, going through my journal notes I had recorded at the time, I notice the part about the 11 or 12 year old girl…me…looking at my mom. I was about 11 or 12 when my mother wrote those day-book entries that alluded to her “ghosts” and where she had seemed to be feeling really low about her life. I guess that’s the stuff she wanted me to know that she was now okay about.

Later in my own journey that night I asked Otter if he had any other messages from my mom. He said, “No, that’s enough.” I said, “What about her ‘ghosts’?” He said, “You don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter.”

So I said, “Oh… hmmm, what else do I need to know today?” He answered, “That you are loved beyond measure.”

I said, “Wow… by Edward?” He said, “Could be, but it doesn’t matter if Edward’s around or anyone… if no one is here… know that you are loved beyond measure.”

I said, “Anything else?”

“You have nothing to fear.”

I said, “Wow, I am loved beyond measure and have nothing to fear. That’s pretty good news!” And Otter replied, “Yes, it’s pretty good news. And it’s the only news you’ll ever need.”

There was another brief message after that but this exchange really felt amazing. It seemed the message about love and nothing to fear was really universal… like it was meant for more than just me.

But back to my mother…. Two days later Jeannine called. She said she couldn’t wait any longer to tell me… my mother had visited her in her car while she was driving alone to the city the previous day, the day after our journeys. Jeannine said Mom was very insistent on coming through even though she tried to push her away. Then Jeannine got a big pain at the base of her neck and as the day progressed she became hunched over with back pain and stiffness. She felt it was coming from my mom. She was getting a message of “not to fear or not to resist….not to fear moving ahead”. It was not clear to us what it was really all about, so Jeannine called our psychic development teacher George for advice. They both picked up on some sadness.

In the few journal entries from my mother’s old day calendars there were indications of some real sadness and frustration, but it was cryptic and poetic. Nothing clear about what was actually going on at that time. I had been, as I said, about 11 or 12 when those were written, just a few odd notes between pages of records about the weather, social engagements, which of my older brothers were coming home for a visit, and what she’d made for dinner that night.

Our mediumship teacher George thought that because he and Jeannine sensed her sadness, perhaps my mother had not fully “crossed over” into the light. I wondered, my mother being quite a pious and faithful woman, if she for some reason felt unworthy. My mother was a beautiful, gentle, and kind woman, a philosophical searcher I think, like I am, looking for meaning in her life, although her faith was directed toward more traditional religious beliefs. Although raised an Anglican, she had actually loved being taught by the Catholic nuns in a convent school she’d been sent to as a girl from her small outport village. She was devoted and had a real faith in God. I wondered if for some reason she didn’t feel good enough to go “into the light”, whatever that might have meant to her, in spirit. I believed she’d had some suppressed anger and resentment when she died, after many painful and difficult years with cancer, and perhaps from some other life challenges, and may have felt that being angry made her not good enough in the eyes of God.

On George’s advice, Jeannine bargained with the spirit and refused to pass on any more messages unless she released her back from the pain. It started to ease a little as Jeannine spoke to me on the phone.

The next morning, she called again and asked to meet at a café to discuss this further, as she still felt the presence and was quite at loose ends experiencing this. This time I took some old photos of my mom to show her, ones where mom had curlier hair, one in the ’60’s and one from the time she was undergoing cancer treatments and her hair grew in curly.  Jeannine connected with the one of her in the 1960’s, where she looked more glamorous. No messages came through however, and I went home, feeling overwhelmed and uncomfortable with all of this, wondering why it was happening.

Seeing my anxiousness to know how to solve this situation and relieve my friend from the apparent grip of this spirit, Edward offered to drum for me so I could take a journey and ask my power animal for advice. We did so that evening._MG_0395

I connected with Otter immediately. My left hand started twitching, which it often does when I am deep in trance in a journey, aware that I am twitching but still fully in the experience too. Usually just my middle finger jumps but this time my whole hand started lifting right off my chest.

Otter let me have it. For some reason I never journalled his instructions, but they are as clear to me now as on that night eight years ago. “You know what your problem is?” he started, “You have been remembering your mother in exactly the wrong way! You have been holding onto all the bad things about her life rather than all the good things!”

He proceeded to give me a list of what I must do to fix it. I had to have a ceremony and invite a couple of my friends from the previous journey circle. I invited them and they were able to arrange to come the very next night.

First I had to create an altar in Mom’s honour, representing only good, happy times in her life. So I dug through boxes of old letters of hers that she had written to her own parents during her boarding school and nursing school days, and selected ones that told cheerful stories. I knew that those times in her life held very fond memories for her and she’d built life-long friendships during both.

I found photographs of her smiling and having fun, mostly in her youth and long before she got breast cancer, and when my siblings and I were much younger. I laid some of these out on a table and added some pieces of her favourite gold jewelry, some antique chains and watch fobs that she’d collected. I added some of her scrap-booked recipe collections since she was known for her great meals. I added a copy of a funny joke sent to her by her favourite uncle, her confirmation photo, and a small framed image of Mother Mary that she had kept on her dressing table._MG_0385

I also laid-out a couple of her beautiful old dresses from the ’60’s that I had kept, ones that spoke of her more elegant and playful times. I had always thought she was as attractive and sophisticated as Lauren Bacall in those days. I also made a fast run to the city to buy some crystals, both for the altar and to give to my friends who were coming to help me create ceremony. I bought rose quartz and tiger’s eye, to represent the message Otter had given me, “You are loved beyond measure (rose quartz for love) and have nothing to fear (tiger’s eye for courage and confidence).

The next step as per Otter’s instructions was to write out all the things I had felt sad about for mom’s life, the places where I felt, rightly or wrongly, in my own perception, that she was unfulfilled, where she was disappointed, and also the things that I wished had been different about her, that I thought would’ve made her life better, happier, and more confident. These included the things about her that I did not want to emulate.

Third step was to write out all the gifts she brought to me and the world that I was grateful for… her affectionate nature, her humour, her worldly intelligence, and artistic ability and interest, her philosophical inquiry, her great hostessing and culinary skills, her sensitivity to and appreciation for people.

Evening came. I had the fire on in the wood stove and had lit candles around the room. The altar spread across a coffee table and the sofa that had the dresses on it. We brought out our drums. My friends Christine and Jeannine arrived together. They and Edward said the air felt “thick.” I was so focused on getting everything in place for this ceremony I had not noticed.

After showing them the significance of all the items on the altar, we sat down, me in front of the fire, my friends on either side of me. I knew I wanted feminine energy to support me in this. Edward opened the circle by calling the directions, then I asked them to drum for me while I read all the items on the “sad” list. It was an emotional moment. Then, as per Otter’s instructions, I rolled up that list into a scroll, lit the end with a match, and said words about releasing all that sadness and disappointment, asking for Mother Earth to transmute the energies of the ashes into healing. When I could no longer hold the burning paper I threw it into the fire._MG_6702

After releasing the “negative” aspects I’d been holding onto about my mother,  I lit the candle on the altar and placed the rose quartz heart and tiger’s eye crystals there too. I then read the papers upon which I had written about all the good things, the gifts my mother brought to my life for which I was and am grateful. Lots of tears were shed. It was good. I rolled up that scroll, tied it with a ribbon, and placed it on the altar to keep.

Jeannine had brought a dozen long-stemmed pink and fragrant roses which she’d held onto until that moment, when she said they were for me from my mom. She told me Mom was there with us and was happy and pleased with what I had done. It wasn’t quite clear whether Mom was complete with her messages or not, although Jeannine was going away for a while shortly afterward and I don’t think anything else came through to her.

Once we ended the ceremony everyone commented that the air felt completely different. I noticed it seemed a lot cooler, fresher. I gave my friends each a copy of my teacher Denise Linn’s book, “Four Acts of Personal Power” which is about healing family legacies using ceremony and meditations. I thought perhaps that was part of the gift in receiving these messages, that we needn’t carry around the sadness or hurts of previous generations and wear them as our own. We could let go.

Then we all enjoyed some food and tea and talked around the table for quite some time afterwards. The energy was really very buoyant then, just lovely.

After the evening I put the scroll of “good things”, the photographs, letters, and a dried rose, in a keepsake box.

It was such a gift to have all this guidance, from “The Beings”, from Otter, from Mom via Jeannine, and the support of intuitive, understanding, and open-minded friends, as well as a husband willing to support me in creating this healing ritual. The result has been freedom from a weight of seemingly inexplicable sadness I realized I had been carrying around like someone else’s backpack for many years, likely even from before her death from cancer. It really dissolved that very night and has not been back.

That is not to say I haven’t had bouts of sadness or even depression, as I think I experienced this past winter for a little while. But I can distinguish that from the earlier feelings, and I know that I had been carrying a sadness that did not belong to me… it was either her sadness, or perhaps my projections of what I thought she felt… a sadness that I held onto as a way to stay connected to my mother who left too soon… Too soon for me to know her really as I grew into my fully adult self… Too soon for us to have deep and heart-felt conversations about the meaning of life and our respective takes on spirituality. Too soon for her to see me as a middle-aged woman who now expresses so many of my mother’s attributes like creativity and gardening and a love of hosting people, for which I am truly grateful.

It’s a lot lighter and happier to feel connected to her through focusing on what was really good about her life and what gifts she brought into the world.

Thanks Mom.

(My mother died 21 years ago last week.)20080305_0001

(In my work as a coach I love to help people connect with their own well of inner knowing and guidance from Spirit in whatever way they can conceive of that, through conversational soul journeys as well as teaching them how to journey with their power animal and facilitating that for them with drumming and ceremony. And I am happy to help people create their own healing rituals as I did to move forward in their lives.)








Stumbling, Part Two: A Meditation, The Beings, and our Stories

About 10 years ago, in the early stages of my life “post-hit-on-the-head”, there seemed to be an extraordinary flood of insight and messages coming to various people, professional intuitives and “channelers” and “ordinary” folk alike, about great changes coming to the world, things like “the Ascension” where humankind would go through some kind of evolutionary rebirthing into a more spiritual or enlightened phase. We would move from the “dense energies” of the third dimension into the higher vibration of the fourth dimension.
That’s about all I know of this idea, I am not sure where it comes from or even if I have the right notion about it. Obviously there have been Ascension ideas around the biblical Ascension of Jesus Christ into heaven. Maybe there are others associated with the Mayan calendar or ancient Egyptian stories. I guess this is the more new age/non-religious version of the same idea, but that it is available to all who are willing to work towards that more high-vibration state of being.  I am not pooh-poohing it, I just have no personal knowledge of what it’s all about or who started the idea, and it would seem it is something that many different spiritual channelers write about.

Some talk about it being connected to returning “home” to other planets with the extraterrestrials, others refer to angels and/or the ascended people developing angel wings as they shift into a higher state of consciousness.  I read a long list of “ascension symptoms” the other day on someone’s blog and pretty much all of them sounded like the stuff I am experiencing lately…and here I just thought it was menopause…seriously! (No angel wings appearing so far!)

But as I say, I am not pooh-poohing it because, well, it could happen, although I don’t like theories that leave people behind only because they didn’t get the memo that they were supposed to raise their vibration.  And I expect for the masses of people in the world right now suffering armed conflict, persecution, poverty, and environmental devastation, not to mention abuse even within their own families, the concept of “keeping your vibration high” would sound ridiculous and insulting. I think a lot of this ascension stuff is for people who are in westernized, developed, reasonably-educated countries, who are not so totally overwhelmed with basic survival needs that they are barely treading water.

I am not sure what it all means really. I like the notion that we might become more evolved in some way so we could stop the cruelty in the world. If it means looking for some kind of saviour to rescue us however, alien or otherwise, I’m not so keen.

As much as I have been a skeptic in my life prior to my meeting Otter (my power animal) during a journey, and receiving his helpful wit and wisdom, I dare say I have had the odd experience of my own which I call channeling, for lack of knowing really what else to call it. Some would say dreaming or hallucinating or simply imagining. Come to think of it, I am not sure even what imagination is.


There are times now (since the event I am about to recount) when I just sit with a journal and ask “the Beings” my questions, and sometimes I get something that seems like an answer, and sometimes I don’t. When it comes it seems to flow (some call the process automatic writing), and feels like I am not “thinking” it up. It’s coming through me not from me. Many authors and songwriters talk about this kind of flow, like their work is not being written by them but through them. Maybe it is all the same. I have never had a message about an Ascension, but I have never asked, and I don’t actually do this kind of asking very often.

Back in 2007 there was an event that we’d heard about that was inviting people to meditate at a certain time on a certain day and to send loving thoughts to the world, with the intention that this would be a mass meditation of millions of people worldwide creating a wonderful healing energy for the planet. We don’t know how many folks actually participated but we thought “that sounds like a nice idea”, and invited some friends to join us.

Only two friends showed up, so the four of us (including my hubby) sat outside on the beautiful summer morning, closed our eyes, and imagined sending only loving thoughts out to the world.

As soon as I settled in with my eyes closed, and began focusing on sending love, this happened. Imaginings, dreams, delusions, or real messages from….something? someone? I don’t know. All I can tell you is the following is part of what I wrote in my journal immediately after we ended the meditation. It’s my personal experience, make of it what you will. I think the message is pretty good. (I am adding a few comments in brackets that I am making as I write this for clarity’s sake.) This writing is how it flowed, basically unedited.

A conversation began in my head, the “Beings” I guess — just like a journey, just a dialogue — I said, Are you the Beings, or “Light Beings”? The “Emissaries of the Third Ray” as Sonia Choquette (a well-known intuitive and author) calls the ones she speaks to?

“They” said “Yes, but we are whatever you call us. There is no hierarchy — We are your Higher Self, we are your Otter, your power animal, although that is indicative of some personal characteristics you possess, your human nature, but it is all the same voice.”

As I write it becomes a summary or rewording of what “They” said, but the meaning becomes clearer.

“There is Source, from whence we came, to which we return, the Creator, a Universal Energy, that is us, that connects us, that powers us. It is the electricity, the spark, the life force, the Love — pure, essential, unconditional Love.

The “Beings”, our Higher Self, power animal, spirit guides, angels, are all forms or conceptualizations of our Higher Self or Light Beings. They/It are the voices of experience, the Ancestors, those who have come before and who have experience to guide us in our incarnation. They are our conduit or connector with Source, our translator to help us use or reconnect with Source Energy.

There is no hierarchy — names do not matter. Just like near death experiences they vary according to one’s own set of beliefs, one’s history, one’s literary imaginings. So if you think that Light Beings are like extraterrestrials or interplanetary entities, sure, we can be the Emissaries of the Third Ray, or we can be from the planet Zorgon. It doesn’t matter.

We can be tall and thin and white and glowing, or winged angels or fairies. We are all just a means, a phrasing, a framing, for you to connect with your Higher Self —your connection with Source — the intermediary between the earthly you and your divine origin or Creator.

If you still haven’t accepted ownership of your divine nature or trust in your own intuitive voice/Higher Self, you may be more comfortable having a third party give you advice — something majestic, glowing, pure, white-robed, Godly, extraterrestrial —you’ll trust anything before (you’ll trust) your own divine and miraculous self.

In your DNA and in your energy body is imprinted all the history, all the ancestral experience on earth to date — you have only to access it — and if calling on “external” guides rather than your own Higher Self is more comfortable or more “trustworthy” to you in your current state of still not accepting your holiness, then that is what you may do — until such time as it becomes clear that the messages are all from within from the beginning.

The essential journey here is finding your way back to remembering who you really are, while having experiences on earth with all its “apparent” limitations.

In order to find the way there are two essential hurdles:    

First, give up your history, or at least, your “attachment” to your story, your history, which involves the labels, I am a survivor, or I am privileged, or I was poor, or disabled, or was abused, or was too ugly, or too pretty, too rich or addicted, as while they are your experience, they are not you, and while they define partly where you are now, they are not who you are. (Not necessarily my personal labels/story noted here, just examples of our stories).

But as long as we hold them, the stories, as defining us, as our “identity”, then we are blocking our acceptance of our true identities as being of divine origin. Who can believe in themselves as a child of God, a divine creation, and the equal brother and sister of all other beings, as long as we hold to those stories and our identification with them? They limit us. Let go.

Likewise as many have also been saying, “relinquish your need for the approval of others”.  As long as you hold to their approval then you are living the story or history that others believe is you, or ought to be you — or is their history and therefore yours. By seeking approval you are seeking to live someone else’s story, and that gets you even further from knowing your own Divine Nature. You can never measure up to someone else’s story, and so you will always feel you are failing — and as long as you feel you are failing then you take yourself further from the knowledge of your own original greatness, goodness, divinity.

Regarding Mary & Edward — you were put together because you are at a similar stage in your evolution to finding your true selves, and as each others’  “earth angels” as you like to call each other, you are serving as mirror-holders, reflecting back your divinity and beauty to each other because so far you have been unable to see it within yourselves unaided. This will cease to be a crutch and your relationship will flourish once you know and accept your own greatness and not rely on your partner to continue to mirror this to you. Then you will be free to have a mature spiritual relationship.

(There were a few other things said here that are a little too personal for me to share, but were very helpful.)

(While I was writing some of this message in the journal that day about our relationship and the kind of work Edward and I would be doing, I recorded that a hawk flew over and screeched, which I took as a spirit messenger, it seemed so apropos, adding significance since in first nations traditions Hawk is known as a messenger.)

The last thing that was said in this stream was (when I had asked about some other people close to me),

Unconditional love is what they need — we all do — being stuck in a history that was full of conditions and full of needing others’ approval, leaves no room for unconditional love and acceptance. It starts with the self — one cannot unconditionally love others until one has found it in oneself.’
And that was the end of the message. I was surprised and delighted and a little bit stunned. Some folks will think I’m nuts or making it all up. Chances are we make everything up anyway. But I guess I needed to hear this.

Four months later to the day was my next entry in my journal. The night before writing, we had hosted a drumming and journey circle. In my journey I met with Otter. I had asked a question about how I could help some friends who were going through a rough time in their business and relationship, and Otter just told me to send them love, to let them know I cared and if they needed my help to feel free to ask. Simple.

So then for lack of a more pressing question, I asked, “What else do I need to know?”

Otter said, “To approach everyone with an open heart and compassion.”  “Yes,” I said.

He continued, “And to let go of your attachment to outcomes for yourself or for anyone else, for example, your attachment to having anyone else respond the way you’d like, or anything to turn out the way you’d like.”

Me: “Hmm — yes — you’re sounding like a regular Wayne Dyer in his ‘Ten Secrets To Success And Inner Peace’!”

Otter: “Right, and also, let go of your ‘story’.”

Me: “Yes well I actually think I’ve been pretty good at letting go of my story — I am reinventing myself daily and it’s really changing.”

Otter: “Yes you’re right, you have done pretty well letting go of your story, but there’s something else you must do — you must let go of your story about other people.That is, whether your story of others comes from your observations of them, your projections onto them, or what they have stated as their story, you must nevertheless let go of your story of them because it doesn’t help them progress. It reinforces their story whether it is the story they subscribe to or the one you project on them, and all stories are limiting. If they choose to remain bound by their story that’s their issue, their path to sort out, not yours.

Me: “So what do I do?”

Otter: “Go back to step 1 & 2: Approach everyone with an open heart and compassion.”

Me: “That’s it?”

Otter: “That’s it.”

I hadn’t planned to write today about anything beyond the event in July ’07, but when I saw that next entry in my journal months later talking about the stories we hold onto, this time about others as opposed to ourselves, I thought it relevant to add.

When I am conscious and not distracted, I seem to make great strides in creating a happy and energized life. But then life gets busy, my focus gets shifted, I get preoccupied with some issue, I fail to meditate or journey, and the journals stay on the shelf, unopened. And I forget. I forget all the messages I have already received. I fall into my story (probably a couple of stories), the ones that limit me and sometimes make me downright miserable.

I forget that all this wisdom, as simple as it is profound, is available to me. It came through me, perhaps from me, from my Higher Self, sometimes in the form of Otter, sometimes in the voice of The Beings. Their voices sound a little different, but in our inability to trust our own divine nature as “they” said, I need to hear from someone or some thing “outside” myself, and sometimes one voice serves me more than the other.

Sometimes I realize I need to journey again. Other times I realize I have already been told, over and over, the essential truths I need to know. My left brain has been so conditioned to look for “proof”, facts, consistency, in order to know it is trustworthy, that I need the proverbial 2X4 to the head to get it.

But when I do these kinds of journeys and the information just flows, like I’ve turned on a tap straight from the Source, I just know. I know.
(Note: Sharing one’s journey of this nature is usually only done in the safety of a sacred circle or space convened for that purpose. Feel free to comment if this has helped you in any way, but I ask that in the spirit of sharing journeys that you don’t attempt to analyze or reinterpret my experience. It is my experience. While others may gain insight, a message, or resonance for their own lives, which is the benefit of sharing, it is not appropriate to deny or challenge or analyze what I experienced, or what others may respectfully share in the comments. It does not have to be your truth, you need to find your own. Thank you for respecting this space.)

Cleaning Toilets and Summoning the Goddess.

While cleaning the toilet this morning I recalled one of my Mary Doodle doodles, wherein she was also cleaning a toilet, and musing that her Inner Goddess must be on vacation somewhere else.
Scan 61
Then I stopped myself and said, “Heck no… the Inner Goddess is right here, right now!”

My Inner Goddess is a powerful warrior queen who is creative, loving, AND gets shit done!

She honours cleanliness and health. So she does the work like cleaning the toilets and sinks and sweeping floors and taking out the garbage and scooping litterboxes, along with feng-shui-ing the house to help the energy flow smoothly to make a clean, welcoming, and peaceful space.

My Inner Goddess is a divine mother goddess, who loves fiercely, mothering six pets, half of whom need a lot of veterinary care lately, so does trips to the vet, twice-daily medicating of two elderly cats, feeding special foods to two of them, dealing with one cat’s chronic diarrhea (most of which at least makes it into the litterbox) , and managing post-op care to the dog who had cancer surgery, along with daily walks.  She is a goddess of love with a big and tender heart.


You’re going to try to pill me again aren’t you?

My Inner Goddess may not resemble Botticelli’s version of Venus, but she loves her man with a devotion that is deep and commitment that is strong.

My Inner Goddess values physical well-being. She makes the effort, along with her warrior man, to eat healthy, local food, which they prepare from scratch after taking the extra time to go to the farmer’s market to shop every week, for the freshest produce and pastured meat. She also values community and they go there to connect with friends they care about who share the same values. And she helps to grow some of their own food too.


Fresh from the garden.

My Inner Goddess loves beauty, and helps to create it by getting dirty in the muck of the garden, digging, weeding, preparing beds, moving, pruning, and nurturing plants, and sometimes (often) lets the floors in the house get dirty with paw prints and fur balls while the outdoors gets even more lovely as flowers bloom.




and after.

My Inner Goddess may not pray at temples in Bali and do rituals at Glastonbury, or even belly or pole dance or do tantric yoga, but she prays in the temple of the forest behind her house, honouring nature and animals and the earth, walking dogs daily in her worn rubber boots, enjoying the holy simplicity of the woodland trail and perhaps communing with the elementals.


A friend stopped by in the woods to say hello.

Some days, if she gets up extra early, she might actually squeeze in a round of sun salutations and a 15-minute meditation to feel more centered and strong before cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

She chastises herself for her seeming inability to stick to regular, consistent practices even when she knows, as a coach, and from previous experiences where she has succeeded, that  developing regular practices leads to mastery, productivity, and greater confidence.

But my Inner Goddess creates and inspires nevertheless, making photographs, writing, and doodling in erratic but concentrated spurts of project focus, working well to deadlines, and still manages to keep the pantry stocked with all the essentials, so the toilet paper never runs out.

My Inner Goddess is not some winsome being, wandering around in robes fit for wiccan priestesses and doing full-moon drumming ceremonies (although the latter sounds possibly within her reach). And while she is not averse to creating ceremonial altars from time to time to support her prayers and intentions, she is more likely to light candles and place flowers on a table laden with good food surrounded by jovial friends, an altar to hospitality and good fortune and gratitude.

_MG_9569 - Version 2

Friends who love food, laughter, and conversation are the best.

My Inner Goddess is not one who reigns above the fray, always composed, feeling powerful and untouched by uncertainty. She is a warrior of the heart who sees and feels the fullness of her wounds and what they’ve taught her, riding her life in waves, ebbing and flowing, from excitement to frustration, from focus to confusion, from creation to reflection, from action to rest, from expansion to withdrawal.

My Inner Goddess is a creative force who conceived this whole article while cleaning a toilet. She is not on vacation. She is always here.

A dog, love, and living in the now.

There is an unsettling north wind blowing today on our hilltop. The sky is grey, flat overcast, just a hint of a pale, turquoise-y blue on the western horizon. It is cooler than average for this time in April and the 60 kilometer gusts make the house shudder a little.

While I love the views of the forests all around us and of sunsets to the west, I don’t like wind. Even on a sunny day I can feel a little uneasy when it is gusting like this. But my mood is likely amplified today anticipating a visit to the veterinarian with our dog Angus. I fear there may not be many more visits to the vet with him, and despite the onerous expense of our vet bills lately for Angus as well as two elderly, ailing cats, for once that’s not a good thing.

Last fall we took Angus in for dental surgery to remove a broken lower canine that was down to the gum line and had a dead root. He needed it removed before it became infected, as well as a cleaning. He also had a wart-like growth on his paw that was to be taken off as it was vulnerable to tears with all his running about the woods.


Angus passed-out on painkillers after dental surgery and wart removal.

While in surgery the vet called us to ask if we’d known about the strange kind of hole or opening tucked high up in his groin. No, we did not! It was not in an easily accessible spot, not at all visible unless he was splayed out, belly-up on the couch or the bed, and even then you had to poke around a bit.

We thought it could be a wound from his runs in the woods through blackberry bushes and broken sticks and such. The vets thought it could be a fistula, an abnormal passage sometimes caused by infection or inflammation, in this case perhaps an opening in the skin indicative of some interior infection that was creating an outlet to drain. There was no extra time in that surgery to check it out so we scheduled another surgery to see if it led somewhere and to deal with any infection, cut out the dead tissue around the edges, and stitch it up.

When that was done some weeks later, there was no indication of a passage anywhere nor infection. Angus recovered well at home. But barely a month later I noticed a small bump on the suture scar. We thought it might be scar tissue. But then three weeks later, after a short vacation away, we returned to find the bump was larger and ulcerated, becoming, we thought, like the original hole. Looked like we could be dealing with some kind of tumour and so requested the tissue sample that had been retained from the last surgery to be sent to a lab. And indeed it was a sarcoma.

So in January Angus went back for surgery number three in as many months, this time with the intention to cut away far enough that all cancerous tissue was removed, meaning a bigger scar than last time. In fact two cuts were made, and tissue samples sent post-op indicated that while the “margins were narrow,” there was no cancerous tissue in the margins.


After the second lump was removed.

So now it is April, we’d kept an eye on his scar as much as he would let us see, and visibly there was nothing new. We were hopeful it was all gone and he’d have a couple more years with us. Until a couple of weeks ago, I saw him sleeping on his back and gently touched along the scar and felt a wee bump. I had hoped again it was scar tissue.

But then this week, after a big rabbit run in the woods (there were at least two hares that I saw myself, as usual going in the opposite direction to Angus!) he seemed to be limping a bit. I felt all over his legs and hips thinking he’d pulled a muscle. But as I toweled off his fur damp from the woods I reached up and felt around in his groin while he was standing this time, and was horrified to find a large, very hard and lumpy mass, in the area of his previous surgery. I think that earlier, because I’d touched him only lightly looking for something like an ulcer on the skin’s surface like the previous one, and he’d been on his back, that the lump was not apparent. Hanging down it certainly was. And this was under the skin, not just on the surface this time. My heart sank.


Chasing the stick with Alfie

So here I sit feeling as uneasy as the wind is restless, waiting to leave for the appointment in a little while when Edward’s finished work. There’s a fluttering in my chest. Maybe it’s my nerves, wondering what’s next, or just too much coffee, brewed and drunk while trying keep distracted from worry. If Angus is limping due to this lump and not from some pulled muscle, who knows what else inside might be being affected or how much pain he could be in. I just know that this mass, if it is indeed the cancer, is very fast-growing to be this big in only three months.

Despite this, he enjoyed a bit of a romp in the woods earlier today on our usual walk with Alfie. He nosed around the pond and the abandoned beaver lodge, and then chased off after a noise that sounded like a bark in the back of the woods, which I managed to call him back from moments before I saw a large deer dash away in the distance. I was feeling torn between wanting him to have as many fun, free runs as possible in what time he has left, and the fear that if he was already limping and possibly having nerve entrapment from the lump, he’d do some damage by racing off, and I didn’t want there to be even more urgent issues or pain for us all to deal with.

He is passed-out on the floor beside my desk now, as he is on many afternoons. He looks perfectly fine, just some telltale grey whiskers on his muzzle showing signs of his approximately 11 or 12 years. There was no history on him when we adopted him from the shelter 7 and a half years ago, so we don’t know his exact age, although it was estimated to be 3 or 4 at the time. Our local shelter had received him from an overcrowded rescue in the city.

I love watching him. He’s my first ever dog. I doubt I could love him any more than I would had I received him as a child or had he been a puppy. I was always an avowed “cat person.” I used to think dogs were kind of stinky and drooly. That was before I moved to the countryside and started gardening and raising chickens. But I had not met many dogs I really connected with. That is, until I took my soul coaching® training in 2008 with Denise Linn at her home in California. There I fell in love with her dog Pepper, a black and tan mixed breed who was a sweet and gentle soul.


Those eyes, those ears, that nose….

As soon as I came home from that course I started scanning the web listings at our local shelter looking for his doppelganger, until one day I saw a dog named “Bongo” smiling at me (at ME!) from the page. He wasn’t black and tan, he was tri-colour, but about the same size as Pepper, a short haired lab-shepherd mix (so they said…they missed the undoubted beagle hound part). And so Bongo became became our Angus.

I’m sure there’s nothing extraordinary about our relationship. Sometimes it seems like less of a bond than some folks have with their dogs, as he pretty much refuses to lick me although he’ll kiss visitors and Edward. I write it off as some weird mother-dog relationship thing, kind of like an embarrassed teenage boy, “Aw MOM!”. But some days when he’s overwhelmed with excitement to see me come in the door after being gone for the day, he might inadvertently let his nose brush across my face, almost simulating a kiss. I take what I can get.


No matter the weather we go together. And it’s beautiful.

Our daily walks have kept me fitter than I would be otherwise, mentally and physically, as I tended to suffer a little from the winter blahs, and he forced me outside in all kinds of weather when I was not a “winter person.” Neither snow nor sleet could keep us from our appointed rounds. Although summer’s aggressive deer flies could. But I have enjoyed many beautiful starry skies at night year-round that I would have missed had a dog not needed to pee before bed. We always scan the skies for the few constellations we know, Orion, Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper. And sniff the air for a wandering deer.


My favourite view.

The joy I feel watching him trot ahead of me on our walks in the woods with his plumy tail held high, waving back and forth fills me with real joy. His deep brown, soulful eyes with their black eyeliner and eyebrows and his floppy triangle ears melt my heart. I marvel at his big, smooth toes that can safely take him over acres of woods and beaver dams and blackberry brambles at high speeds without an injury. And his big black nose, likely inherited from some beagle, has impressed with it’s ability to find hibernating voles under deep snow as well as detect the opening of a cheese wrapper two rooms away while sound asleep.

And as he lies here beside me, those eyes and nose twitching and toes jerking in his sleep, I wonder if he’s happily chasing those hares in his dreams and if he’s ever finally caught one in them.

Well, it’s about time to leave for the vet consultation. I suspect with the speed of this growth we will not be doing further surgery. I just hope we have a little more time before any of his organs or functioning get compromised or painful. I love this dog.

P.S. After discussion with the vet, looks like the plan is to just love and enjoy Angus as long as we can, as long as he is functioning and can be kept pain-free. We have no idea how long that will be. And for a dog there really only is the Now. But I guess that’s really the truth for all of us isn’t it?  We may think we have a future, but the only thing we can be sure of is in this moment. And in this moment too I am loving this dog.


Cooling down after the daily chasing of the hares.

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