Monday, March 31, 2008


"There will always be times when you feel discouraged. I too have felt despair many times in my life, but I do not keep a chair for it; I will not entertain it. It is not allowed to eat from my plate. The reason is this: In my uttermost bones I know something, as do you. It is that there can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth, who you serve, and who sent you here."

Clarissa Pinkola Estes
American Author, Poet and Psychologist

I came late to the Clarissa party, she's been around forever, and I've only been grooving with her since last summer. She is it on a stick (another Terry Whitaker expression, along with, "Not enough has been made..." and many others that I've stolen from her outright).

I've been looking for a particular mantra, one that I can use to shut out the voices on the outside of me, that threaten to drown out my inner voice. This is it, "I do not keep a chair for it." When the noise starts to deafen I am going to acknowledge it, merely observe it, and let it go back from whence it came.

I do not need to make others wrong for me to be right.

I do not need to justify/explain/correct/set the record straight.

I do not need to keep a chair for anything I don't choose to, even if it would please others a great deal if I did.

I know why I came here, I think.

I know who I serve, pretty much.

I know who sent me here, kinda.

I will hold a chair for I Think, Pretty Much, and Kinda. I've got plans for them. I will entertain them and allow them to eat from my plate, freely, until I Think, Pretty Much and Kinda grow so big and so strong THEY entertain and feed ME.

*Photo from Monty Stabler Galleries


I'm not crafty.

I don't cook.

But my hands like to stay busy. So I clean, compulsively, and when I am trying to be all deep and Zen-like, I do jigsaw puzzles
while listening to the words of great music. It's my thing. If I want both my ears to fully open, my hands must be fully occupied, I've learned.

And while I work the pieces I always have a drink going, coffee in the morning, Pellegrino during the day, a Corona with lime at Beer O'Clock. And sometimes my drink just accidently sits on a piece and the glass sweats, or spills, and the piece becomes affected. It swells. It becomes waterlogged. It won't fit into the puzzle anymore. All the attention from the moisture goes to its head and it becomes so egoic it can't exist amongst the regular pieces, the "little guys."

One over-sized piece spoils the puzzle. It loses its balance. It loses its sense of proportion, of equality, of perspective.

Diversity is great, love it, but all things being equal? It's nice when things fit together. Don't you think? The force-fit? Over. Rated.

Saturday, March 29, 2008


I know several people that lost one or more parents when they were young, and they practically make it their life's work to learn who they are. It's so impressive. Really. I think that. I think that those of us that did not lose a parent when we were young, are less inclined to do the same thing. Why is that? Are our lives any less mysterious?

I was sitting across from my cousin, Nancy, last week. She's 15 years older than me. A whole generation really. When she got married I was seven. We reminisced about her wedding, since it took place on our family-owned property, "WUG," and the meadow is forever named, "Nancy's Meadow." Without revealing just how many mind-altering substances were involved, let's just say that is not my memory of her wedding. I remember changing out of a filthy bathing suit, having my sunburned scalp brushed by my mom, and putting on my favorite dress, the one with the keyholes. That's what I remember, how funny it felt to dress up while camping. No running water, no electricity, but getting dressed up.

"I liked the post you wrote about your conversation with your mom," Nancy said, "the one where you reminded her you weren't leaving your kids with your dad, you were leaving them with YOUR husband."

When she said that I had an "aha." There was a look on her face, a tone to her voice. A knowing. Clearly she has a story about my dad, and clearly it's not great, and clearly she knows that leaving children with him was not the best move in the world.

I want to know that story. I want to know what the story of my life is, from another's perspective.

I want to know my whole life story. I just figured that out. I only know my perspective of my life. If my perspective of a wedding in 1970 is forever trapped by the memory of a seven-year-old, then certainly the memories of my father are also trapped in childhood. What happened that I don't know about? What do others know that I don't? How did those that were on the outside of our story, view it? I want that perspective. It may or may not change anything for me. But I want it.

In Nancy's family there had been a great tragedy. I knew of this great tragedy always, my mom told me. My mom had been there at the time. Nancy and her siblings were either too young or not even born yet. They grew up not knowing the details of "the great tragedy," but I did. I knew them. I was able to share what I knew with one of Nancy's sisters a year ago. I didn't even know I knew something she'd spent most of her life looking for. I had it the whole time.

I think that often there are people right in front of us that know what it is we search so hard to find. We just need to find those people and ask.

"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." Matthew 7:7

I'm asking.

I'm seeking.

I'm knocking.

It's opening.

Here I go.

Friday, March 28, 2008


Ever try to stick the "wrong" ends of a magnet together? It can't be done.

Ever try to do that for years?

It still can't be done.

Ever get so damn tired of trying to do the impossible, you go into a full blown meltdown/breakdown/mid-life crisis?

You know there is a universal law that says, like attracts like?

Did you know that I am not stronger than a UNIVERSAL LAW?

I didn't know that.

Now I do.

If one more person marvels at my strength I will commit a homicide.

I am not strong.

I am stubborn.

I am tenacious.

I am unrelenting.

But I am not strong.

Strong people recognize impossibilities and don't kill themselves over them.

That is strong.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Alexander Pope

That's really "it," isn't it?

Guess I'm not the only one out there working on forgiveness. A friend sent me this link it's wonderful. Try it. You'll like it. Forgiveness feels good. And don't even get me started on how good it feels to forgive yourself...

Wednesday, March 26, 2008


If you want to know what it's like to parent a child with autism? Be married to someone that does not appreciate what it's like to be the primary parent of a child with autism, or, I know, actually BE a child with autism? Watch this movie.

In 1980 1 in 150,000 kids was diagnosed with Autism. Today it is 1 in 150. Can you say epidemic? You will be, if you are not already, affected by this.

This documentary is wonderful. It is honest. It is loving. It is hopeful. And I went through a whole box of Kleenex while watching it, and haven't stopped since.

I think I'm much further along the path than I am, then I see something like this and all the rage, resentment, slammed doors, ignorant responses to my pleas for help, all the doing it all alone, all of it, comes right back to the surface.

I am lucky. My child is a happy, highly functioning human. The world is his oyster. He is no worse for wear for what he's endured. Me? The jury is still out.


10. More time to watch Rojo's games.

9. More time to hear about watching Rojo's games.

8. More time to be interviewed following Rojo's games.

7. More time to dread the watching of Rojo's games.

6. More time to hear how I could actually add coaching to my list of responsibilities while watching Rojo's games.

5. More time to hear Rojo play on his piano all the game songs.

4. Each hour of the day feels like 10, so I'm getting a full 240 hour day. Times 11.

3. More time to feel like a crazy, bat out of hell whack job after completing the watching of each of Rojo's games.

2. More places to use my Magic Eraser after Rojo writes the game schedules, with Sharpies, all over/on the house.

1. More opportunities to do my spiritual practice. And if anyone wants to tell me that being Rojo's mother isn't enough of a spiritual practice. I. Dare. You.

Monday, March 24, 2008


I went on a walk today with a friend that suggested I bring a flashlight with me. The amazing part is I did. Brought a flashlight. Didn't even ask the friend, "Now, why on God's green earth would I need a flashlight to go on a walk in broad

I trusted the friend. "Bring a flashlight," she said.

I brought a flashlight.

I trusted her.

Now, it's TOTALLY open to debate whether or not walking inside train tunnels is wise, or trusting that a person that suggests such things is well, trustworthy, but I do. I trust her.

"Forgive them, for they know not what they do," the Bible tells us Jesus said of his executors.

Forgiveness. That's even harder than trust.

If we believe that everyone is just plugging along, doing their best, regardless of what we think about that "best," it's a bit easier to forgive them, for they know not what they do.

What, then, do we do with them after we forgive them? Trust them? Sign right up for another round with them? Walk away? Keep our distance? Make them prove to us they've changed? What is the fair and kind thing to do? And to whom, is it fair and/or kind? To them? To ourselves?

In the last several days I've had several of these types of conversations. Several different theories on the matter have been shared. One theory we all seem to share is that forgiveness and trust are two really important things to have the capacity for, but really hard to have in your heart, especially towards those with whom we at one time had them, and no longer do.

Once you've forgiven a person and they "sin against you" again, or you trust someone and they behave in such a way that you lose that trust, what then?

The Buddhists say the cause of suffering is attachment, and therefore the cessation of suffering is detachment. This makes sense to me, intellectually, but emotionally? So. Hard. To. Do. Detach? I think I'd have an easier time detaching a limb from my body than my emotional attachment to people in my life.

I trust that I can do it, though, and that gives me enough light at the end of my personal, emotional tunnel, that I think I can make it from here.

Sunday, March 23, 2008


I've always said my son, Rojo, is the kind of person that would give you the shirt right off his back. That's true. But not today. Today he is wearing his new Allen Iverson #3 Denver Nugget t-shirt that the Easter Bunny brought him, Devohn. That's right. The Easter Bunny's name is Devohn. Has been for years. Don't ask me why. It. Just. Is.

Rojo will be 12 in July and is still as excited about the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and Santa as ever, if not more so. Yesterday I was given big instructions:

1) Call Devohn at 8:00 PM and iron out the details regarding exactly what time he'd be arriving to hide the eggs.

2) Don't forget.

3) Tell Devohn to wake up Rojo because Rojo wants to hold his hand when he comes. And take a picture of himself with Devohn.

4) Don't forget.

5) Make brownies for Devohn and don't let anyone else eat them.

6) Don't forget.

7) Make sure Devohn doesn't forget to bring Reeses's peanut butter cups. The small ones with pretty colors.

8) Don't forget. (And yes, I had forgotten, and yes, I went back to the store. Again.)

I was reminded of these instructions approximately every 2 1/2 seconds, give or take a second.

Devohn came at 1:45 AM and "tried" to wake up Rojo, but Rojo just wouldn't wake up, but Devohn held his hand anyway. We know this, because Devohn used our digital camera we left out for him, and my printer we'd set up, and he took a really cute picture of himself and printed it out. Then Devohn wrote Rojo a note about holding his hand.

That shirt's not coming off. It's got Allen on the front and Devohn picked it out for him special.

But if you really want it? I think he'd give it to you. He's just like that.

Rachel Bissex

When a young woman falls
Do you pick her up
When a young man is lost
Do you show him the way
When a dreamer’s dream is gone
Do you help them see
They gotta have a dream
Help them through each day

I know some people just like that
Give the shirt right off their back
Yea, they’re just like that

When you find the girl you love
Do you steal her away
When you see the man that’s right for you
Do you marry him that day
When you have more than you need
Do you spread the rest around
Be it time, be it money, be it love

I know some people just like that
Give the shirt right off their back
Yea, they’re just like that

When you reach out the heavens open
When sun pours down upon your face
When hope speaks a door way opens
When you’re welcome into a loving place

When 50 years go by
Does it feel like two
Do you share every moment
Do you always speak the truth
When you go out to a show
Do you dress like twins
When his hand is shaking
Do you put yours in his

I know some people just like that
Give the shirt right off their back
Yea, they’re just like that
I know some people just like that
They give the shirt right off their back
Yea, they’re just like that
Yea, they’re just like that

*Photo from Costumes of

Friday, March 21, 2008


"Mom, if today is the day people killed Jesus, why is it 'good?'" I asked about a million years ago. The question has followed me like a bad habit.

Jesus is on my list of top 10 people, dead or alive, with whom I'd like to have coffee. The more I study His life and words, the more they resonate with me, deeply. When I listen to all my "New Age" or "occult" teachers, what I experience is the universality of all the great leaders past and present. The Dalai Lama, Abraham-Hicks, Wayne Dyer, Eckhart Tolle, Gary Zukav, etc. all say the same thing.


The same thing.


Isn't that GOOD? We, the humans, are all so different. Isn't it marvelous there are so many great teachers that have the power to reach our particular ways of learning and understanding?

In Sunday School I made a wall hanging that said, "God is love." It hung in our house for years. Like the question of what is good about Good Friday, that hanging haunted me. I wrestled with those three words every time I passed them.

Today I get it.

God is love.


And that is good.

That, is very, very good.

Thursday, March 20, 2008


Didn't know one single thing about numerology until yesterday. I had a good guess it had something to do with numerals. Period. I spent an hour having someone do my chart, and wow, oh wow, what a powerful experience!

Now I only know enough to know I want to know more. You know?

I learned about karma numbers. Your karma numbers are those that help explain what it is you are here to learn in this incarnation, A.K.A. your biggest areas of challenge. If you already had these nailed, you wouldn't be here working on them. All the people that come into your life? They are here to help you learn your particular lesson. Isn't that sweet of them? So, if you're here to learn forgiveness? You'll be given a whole bunch of opportunities to practice!

My karma numbers are 2,4 and 7. Two has to do with relationships and patience. Four has to do with structure, and "staying," and seven has to do with trusting intuition, being in silence and nature. Yea. Not things I'm super great at, let's just say that. I will say this, I am getting better, especially at the silence and nature part, and trusting my intuition. Time to step up the whole patience thing with relationships. Damn. And structure? Yea. Structure is a better word than hostage in my own home, don't you think? I think so too.

Oops! Can't talk now - gotta go! I'm being given an opportunity to practice patience in my relationships with my children! I appreciate their constant help in my karmic lessons!

For more info., click here.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008


"The question is not what you look at, but what you see."
Henry David Thoreau

I've been guilty with a capital G of looking at the dark side of things lately. No more. Done. Dark side? TFBS!

So, I made me a little list of people and things I knew would help pull me out of myself and back into the light. One by one I contacted all the people and made appointments with them professionally or personally, as the case may be.

Each person I contacted responded immediately and enthusiastically, and soon a week I'd been dreading was filled with things I couldn't wait to experience.

There was still one item on the list I hadn't checked off, though, "Walk a labyrinth." I just put it on the list and out to the Universe. Within 12 hours of me putting it "out there" I got an e-mail from someone I've met once. Once. She wrote, "We are going to have a labyrinth set up next week at my church, and I just thought it might be something you'd enjoy experiencing!"





Last night I "held space," that's her term, with an "old" friend. Technically? I've known her a little over a year. Realistically? Lifetime after lifetime. She sees me. I see her. Oh, the utter intoxication of being truly seen. There is nothing I could do or say that would shock her, nothing that would raise a judgment response. Nothing. She just sees me and "holds space" and I am profoundly affected. Immediately.

She was #1 on my "Need to See" list and that was no accident. I needed to "see" her to be seen. It can be a lonely existence when you simultaneously live in a glass house, under a microscope, with your every move noted and scrutinized, where you cannot go to the grocery store or post office without running into 5 people you know, but are not seen.

But that's not fair. Just because I "know" she sees me, how, and where do I get off saying that nobody else does? Perhaps they do see me. Clearly. Perfectly. I just do not care for what is reflected back at me? Parts of myself I would prefer not to see?

If only I could look and listen to myself with utter lack of judgment, as my friend is so skilled at doing. Perhaps I would better like what I see.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008


It's started, the Ides of March! STM and Rojo are beside themselves over basketball, and I'm just beside myself. I'm so grumpy/irritable/irrational/reactive, I'm on my own last nerve. I can hardly stand to be around myself. So, dear readers, let me warn you:


10. When I start my rant, God forbid you insert a, "Well, at least..." at me!

9. Agree with everything I say.

8. Nodding is helpful.

7. When I contradict myself, IGNORE this, don't even let your face betray you!

6. Walk on eggshells.

5. Cut me a wide path and stay out of my way.

4. Don't ask, "Was going off your meds a good idea?"

3. Don't ask if I would like a drink, BRING ONE TO ME, dammit!

2. I will not be wearing make up or doing my hair today, nor getting out of my pajamas, tell me I've never been more beautiful.

1. Expect tomorrow to be very much the same. Act like this is just fine with you.

Jess, my music aficionado, turned me onto Lucy Kaplansky yesterday. No accidents. Check out her song, "The Tide." Sing it, Lucy! Just don't say, "Well, at least..."

The Tide

There are demons in the water
There are devils in the sea
There are dangers in the current
When the tide goes out of me

I could drink you under the table
I could drink you out of town
I could drink you off the planet
Drink myself into the ground


And I have nothing for you tonight
I have nothing for you tonight
I have nothing for you tonight
I have nothing for you

I was made to be a good girl
Carried buckets made of stone
Full of envy, full of sorrow
On a tightrope all alone

And all the time I was on fire
I burned with every stride
And now I see this anger
Is the horse I choose to ride

Now you say you want something nice from me
Well if you find it, take it, it's on me
In the meantime don't bother me
The tide has washed the nice from me


In the nothing are the voices
And the pictures of my life
In the nothing of the sky
Is an ocean made of light

In the nothing of my silence
Is a sad-eyed little girl
On a tightrope she is singing
As she passes through this world


Monday, March 17, 2008


10. Be upstairs if they are downstairs. This encourages yelling - always a favorite.

9. When they say, "Can I just tell you something really quick?" Say, "ly - don't forget the ly" this is guaranteed to start a fight.

8. Go to bed before them. They always want to talk when you are asleep.

7. Ask before you leave a room, "Does anyone have anything else they want to tell me before I leave?" They will say, "No." Then, as if by magic, they will have LOTS of things to tell you when you go upstairs. (See #10)

6. Be speaking to the other one.

5. Be doing something really noisy, they LOVE to talk to you when you can't possibly hear them.

4. Try and take a bath.

3. Talk to your spouse

2. Be on the computer.

1. Be on the phone.

Friday, March 14, 2008


Well, you'll all be relieved to know that Obama chose me for his running mate last night, and I accepted. Michelle O'Neil is coming with. We are going to unite the party. WHEW! I also helped unite a woman with her abducted child, transformed a homeless shelter and united a writing group that had splintered. All I had to do to accomplish that one was move from one seat to another, then everyone was fine.

United. Nice word, don't you think?

Bought myself a ring. It has the six Sanskrit syllables of Om Mani Padme Hung on it. I wear it on my right hand, ring finger. I've united myself with myself. We are very happy these days.


All that strife? TFBS.

United we stand, divided we fall.

Thursday, March 13, 2008


When I was a kid I was a loner, kept to myself, at home anyway, spent most of my time in my room, my haven. When I did emerge my mom would often say, with a smile and a warm heart, "Oh! Look who decided to grace us with her presence!" She wasn't being sarcastic, she meant it. She liked it when I was around. I didn't care so much for being around her, though, tended to drive me right up the wall, still does.

I wonder if my kids think I like having them around? I wonder if I DO like having them around? There is grace in their presence, for sure, they are two amazing, Divine and soulful humans. I love them. Period. And they drive me f'ing crazy. Always.

So, what is it about me that finds the humans I most love, so BUGGY? Is it them? Is it me? Is it "us?"

Today my mantra is, "Be present. Be full of grace."

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


Did you ever notice how everything you do/think/say seems to ripple out and effect everyone around you? Even those not "around" you but "in" your life? I think it's the whole interconnectedness thing, what we do DOES impact people. And that's the good news.

A fellow writer and I were discussing the pros and cons of blogging. For me the pros far outweigh the cons. My blog is where I further develop baby ideas in my mind. It is where I throw out to the Universe what I'm struggling with, and see what the Universe brings back to me. It is where I connect with others of like and unlike minds.

But, bar none, the biggest advantage has been the deeper connections to the people already in my life, and those in my life, but only on the periphery. This blog has helped me get to know members of my own family! I am one of 28 grandchildren from Ted and Miriam. We now range in age from 62 to 17. We live all across the world and come from all walks of life. We are Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Buddhists, Christians, Atheists, and Muslims. We are many in number and vast in our beliefs, but we are one. One family.

Once a year as many of us as possible gather along a lazy river and celebrate. This is a wonderful time, but not conducive to HDRs, just too many of us in too short a period of time.

Because of this blog I have grown closer to those that I already knew, and grown to know those that I was not as close to.

One pull on the energetic mobile and all the other pieces move and reshape. Move and reshape, something inevitable anyway, but instead of being passive, blogging has helped me be deliberate.

Ain't nothin' wrong with that. Thank you, Janie, Mary Jo, Nancy and Kalei. You are the greatest blessings from this process.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008


Eight deer came to the back yesterday. Hungry. Expectant. Confused. How could I just sit there on my side of the glass and not pop up to feed them as I always do?

How do you explain to deer that they've eaten you out of house and home? They are eating 20 pounds of food a day? You are OUT of deer food and have resorted to putting out your own human food just because you cannot stand the sad look in their eyes? Well, let's just say I tried telling them that, and they staged a protest. All eight of them collapsed their fold up legs and laid down before me and waited.

I took the hint, got car keys, shoes and coat and went in search of provisions. While returning to my car with the goods, I said to the Universe, "I need a windfall. There are lots of things I want to do that require money. Bring it." Of course you know what happened, a large gust came up blowing litter and dust from the parking lot up into a swirl and nearly hitting me in the face.

I brought the food in from the car, poured it into the pans for the deer and stopped. The noise was deafening. The two wind chimes I have hung, one in front and one in back, were ringing wildly.

No accidents.

No scarcity.

Om mani padme hung.


Monday, March 10, 2008


I put feet into slippers, arms into sweaters and walk the dark hallway to the kitchen. Hands open drawers and find the lighter. To the alter I go, lighting the three tea lights, the one in the center of the Buddha, the two on either side. The light kicks up and shines on the mala around the Buddha's neck.

I spin the top of the prayer wheel, sending blessings and positive wishes for all beings out into the Universe. Inside the wheel is paper with the words "Om Mani Padme Hung" - six Sanskrit syllables that are nearly impossible to "explain" but are believed to purify the six negative emotions: anger, pride, greed, jealousy, desire/lust, ignorance while simultaneously evoking the six qualities of the enlightened heart: generosity, harmonious conduct, endurance, enthusiasm, concentration, and insight.

I move to the card table and look one last time at the puzzle I completed last night. I take the 500 interlocking pieces and break them apart, open the box and slide their shapes inside, closing the lid, returning box to closet, closing the closet doors and being done with that puzzle. All. Done.

Tibetan monks create what are called sand mandalas. Traditionally most sand mandalas are destroyed shortly after their completion. This is done as a metaphor of the impermanence of life. The sands are swept up and placed in an urn; to fulfill the function of healing, half is distributed to the audience at the closing ceremony, while the remainder is carried to a nearby body of water, where it is deposited. The waters then carry the healing blessing to the ocean, and from there it spreads throughout the world for planetary healing.

I am a monk when in Sisters. Solitary, cloistered, celebate, prayerful and contemplative. I will be back in Portland soon. Back. A funny word. A word associated with permanence, when in actuality, there is only impermanence.

Om mani padme hung.

Friday, March 07, 2008


My time here in Sisters is pushing a lot of buttons for my mom. Could be the fact that energetically she is feeling how much of my writing is about her, scratch that, about my trying to differentiate from her. Could be because she did exactly what I'm doing, left her kids to find herself when I was 13, the age my daughter is now. She sees history repeating and she does not like what she sees.

So, because there are no accidents, the day I "finished" my book, she happened to be here in town, in Sisters. Can enough be made of that name, by the way? We went out to dinner. We talked. We had an HDR (heavy, deep and real) and she raised her concern for the kids.

"Mom. I've thought about what I'm doing and how I'm doing it, exhaustively. This is the best option for all of us, at this point in time. And please remember, I am not leaving my kids with Dad, I'm leaving them with MY husband. This is not your story, this is my story."

"I know, I keep trying to remember that," she confessed.

And there it is. A 77-year-old and 45-year-old realizing, and vocalizing, that they are separate. Two women, two stories, much overlap, but separate.

We enjoyed the rest of our dinner and when we were done, we split the check.

Thursday, March 06, 2008


10. You get to cry a lot.

9. You get to practice all your self-soothing techniques.

8. You get to add drama to all existing relationships.

7. You get to look at your parents through new eyes.

6. You get to take all those areas of your psyche with thick scar tissue and just RIP it all off.

5. You get to meet other AMAZING humans doing the same thing, brave and strong humans!

4. You cut through all the TFBS and find what's true.

3. You get to re-live all moments in your life, the good, bad and ugly, and see them differently.

2. You get to be "done" with some of the stories you've been told, or have told yourself.

1. You get to come through on the other end. The love period end.

I did it! I finished my book! AGAIN! Can you believe how many times I've said that and how far I still have to go before it's "done?" Well, I've written all the way up to this morning. Guess I could go do something, come back and write about that, but I'm done, I've written all the way up to right. Now.

"My editor," and not enough can be made of how much I like saying, "my editor," and I are spitting and polishing the first half and then "we" go on an agent search. I'm pretty sure the Universe will drop an agent in my lap. I'm totally ready for that, got my lap all cleared off.

In the last 3 1/2 years I've written about every single incident in my life. Guess what my final page count is for this draft? Go ahead, guess. 120 pages. Turns out an awful lot of what I wrote just didn't hold MY attention this long, so how could I expect it to hold yours? It may all get re-worked and come out eventually, hope it does, I do hate to "waste," but if it doesn't, it's OK. They say cream rises to the top and what I've got in these 120 pages is the cream.

My affirmations these days are thus:

1) The perfect agent is coming to me at the perfect time.

2) The perfect agent is bringing me the perfect publishing house.

3) I am a vibrational match for my book being published and getting into the hands of millions of women all over the world. Move over Elizabeth Gilbert, literally, just scoot, I'm willing to share the yellow couch with you. No scarcity.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008


A big thank you to all those that called, e-mailed and posted comments to let me know I was being reckless going off my meds cold turkey. Cold turkey is TFBS. I am going Tepid Turkey now. I am going, as Tracy Grammer put it, part way up the ramp again before going back down. When I heard going off Paxil was harder than going off heroin, that did it, I have never been a heroin addict, and let me just say, I for sure won't be becoming one now, BRUTAL is the only word to describe it.

So, rest assured, I'm part way up the ramp again, and will be careful and wise going down. HT (Hot Toddy - Michelle O'Neil's husband) has given me a taper off program much more wise and responsible.

The good news is, the next time my ego feels it needs extra attention, I'll just post a blog about going off my meds! BUT, my ego won't be doing that TFBS, because I am part of Oprah's on-line class with Eckhart Tolle! I studied A NEW EARTH pretty intensely last summer, but it's the kind of thing you need to keep hearing and working on. I am a big Oprah fan, and I personally think this is the greatest thing she's ever done. I love that she's making her webcasts FREE to download on I-Tunes or her website. I encourage everyone to do so.

Oprah also earned extra credit for pronouncing Oregon (Orygun) to about a billion people, when a caller from here was identified. The other area for which I am giving her a double A++ is her answer to the question, how does she reconcile her Christianity with the information in this book? That is, I think, the biggest obstacle, for people embracing this spirituality. She recommended some great books, talked about how she is a Christian, but she does not believe it is the only "way" and she doesn't believe Christ came to start Christianity. I agree 100%. I am a HUGE Jesus lover. Period. For me, the big moment in my life when I had to add paths to that path, was when I was told all the Holocaust survivors were still going to hell unless they accepted Jesus as their Lord and Savior. Just cannot get my arms around that. Period.

And, as long as I'm talking religion, I might as well talk politics! GO, OBAMA! You in Pennsylvania, we've got 7 weeks for you to do your thing! Let's get it going! Hope. What is wrong with hope? He is the human who can bring the change our planet SO DESPERATELY needs!


Tuesday, March 04, 2008


Guess my body figured out it wasn't getting any more of the good drugs and decided to rebel. Here are the common symptoms of Paxil withdrawal, and let's just say I've got a good 90% of them, fortunately NOT feeling depressed or panicky! So, I'll return after I am able to write cohesive sentences again!

Love, love and more love, dear readers!

- intense insomnia
- extraordinarily vivid dreams
- extreme confusion during waking hours
- intense fear of losing your sanity
-steady feeling of existing outside of reality as you know it (referred to as depersonalization at times)
-memory and concentration problems
- Panic Attacks (even if you never had one before)
- severe mood swings, esp. heightened irritability / anger.
- suicidal thoughts (in extreme cases)
- an unconventional dizziness/ vertigo
- the feeling of shocks, similar to mild electric one, running the length of your body
- an unsteady gait
- slurred speech
- headaches
- profuse sweating, esp. at night
- muscle cramps
- blurred vision
- breaking out in tears.
- hypersensitivity to motion, sounds, smells.
- decreased appetite
- nausea
- abdominal cramping, diarrhea
- loss of appetite
- chills/ hot flashes

Monday, March 03, 2008


I had a once-in-a-lifetime experience last night, except it's not the first time it's happened, so it's a twice-in-a-lifetime experience I share with you now.

Someone I am proud to call friend, Tracy Grammer, was here in Sisters last night. She is a rock star in her own right, and most of Sisters already knows that. On a Sunday night in winter in this sleepy little town, 200 people turned out to see her. I got to help Jess work the "merch" table, and the common thing I heard was, "What's new, because I already own everything she's done so far."

My ego got a nice stroke when she dedicated a song to me. She said, "This is for my friend, Carrie Link. When I was at Carrie's house I played this song, and a deer came to the window. The song is called, 'The Mountain.'"

I wept as she sang that beautiful song. Wept because I'm off my meds and all the tears from the last many years are now coming through, the ones I needed/wanted/glad I did at the time, blocked for so long.

When the show was over, Tracy, Jess and I got to spend a few quiet hours high in the mountains, by a fire, talking, sharing, healing together.

This morning I rose, went to that window where the deer came in June at Tracy's calling. I looked at my my mountain sisters, Faith, Hope and Charity, high and majestic, went to the CD player and loaded up "The Mountain" and put it on repeat, started the coffee, lit the candles, turned on the computer and wept again. Something from my peripheral vision caught my attention. There were the deer. The picture doesn't show them all, but there were seven. Seven, a holy number to me, sacred, significant.

Three women, sisters on the path, brought together for a night. Three sisters, majestic beings, brought together by something bigger than all of us, for all eternity.

There are no accidents.

** Please visit Michelle O'Neil's blog and see what she's doing for another sister on the path.

©2000, Dave Carter/Dave Carter Music (BMI)

i was born in a forked-tongued story
raised up by merchants and drugstore liars
now i walk on the paths of glory
one foot in ice, one in fire

i see the mountain, the mountain comes to me
i see the mountain and that is all i see

some poor prophet comes, some find solace
some lay him down in a junkyard bay
some will chase us and some will call us
gone, gone, gone in a day

gone to the mountain, the mountain comes to me
i see the mountain and that is all i see

miller take me and miller grind me
scatter by bones on the wild green tide
maybe some roving bird will find me
over the water we'll ride

over the mountain, the mountain comes to me
i see the mountain and that is all i see

some build temples and some find altars
some come in tall hats and robes spun fine
some in rags, some in gemstone halters
some push the pegs back in line

i see the mountain, the mountain comes to me
i see the mountain and that is all i see
sumerian lyrics:
da-ri kur-niserin-na, pirin zalag, pirin zalag
da-ri kur-niserin-na, dili-du-a, dili-du
[endless mountain of cedar trees, forest of light, forest of light
endless mountain of cedar trees, i walk alone, i walk alone]

Sunday, March 02, 2008

For my "sisters," Julie, Emily and Rachel.

I love you.

5/26/36 - 3/2/88

He was from Ed and Ella, Ardie, Ollie and Eldon
Portland, Salem, and NYU.
He was from, "Off the leather!" and "Voice control, girls,"
Green BMWs and imports from Germany.

He was from deals and bargains and Andy and Bax,
Mimi, Julie, Emily and Rachel and weddings not attended.
He was from hand over head to wipe stress far away,
Wrinkled eyes and worried words and care from deep inside.

He was from family and friends and clients and partners,
Tennis, canoe rides and Krustez pancakes along lazy rivers.
He was from Baptists and guilt and, "Look at the Tetons!"
Reunions and togetherness, and "Have you called your dad?"

He was from pearls for all the ladies, Pendleton too,
Washing cars, getting straight A's and hundred dollar rewards.
He was from loyalty, kindness, and sweet concern,
He was from devotion, hard work, and love.

He was from, "Go, Ducks!" and Blazer games and the weight of the world,
The youngest and oldest all wrapped into one.
He was from no time to himself, give me your worries and I'll make them mine,
Come to my funeral, standing room only.

(Julie and me around 1984? -don't know how to get this thing to rotate, so get on your side to look.)

Some of his official and unofficial grandchildren he never got to meet: