Kissing The Bull

My client hesitated at the door before leaving. “So, this is feeling stuff is supposed to make me feel better?” she asked.

I put a hand on her shoulder and sighed. “Yes. It will.”

Image: CarleMuseum.org

The trials of meeting our inner monsters: I couldn’t bear to tell her that it would be like riding a rank bull and getting thrown a few times. Or staying on only to have your face meet the bull's head, termed "kissing the bull." I wanted to tell her it would hurt like Hell, but it would be worth it. Down the road her heart would expand, and she would feel more keenly connected to the whole human race. She would forgive more quickly, love more deeply and experience radiant joy. (Disclaimer: I don't know if this is true for bull riders.)

Counseling is an art with diverging theories and myriad techniques. (If only people knew!) And, good news, it works! (At least, most of the time). A lot of what goes on cannot be measured. The aspects that can be measured are occasionally not what make counseling effective, but numbers please the funders and universities.

A universal understanding in the field is that after developing a trusting bond, we ask a client to acknowledge and feel his/her feelings, which ultimately helps the client process them. By feeling and processing, emotions shift and release hold of us. But if someone is accustomed to thinking their way through life, they will be in for a rough ride initially. Often clients assume that in counseling we are going to spread out their life on a table, like puzzle pieces, hold our chins and analyze it. When they are asked to be vulnerable and stay with their heart, it is not easy. And, if I ask my clients to stay with their hearts, I have to do it too. I have to walk the ego’s fire, trusting that my spirit will overrule.

Part of the trouble is, in terms of feelings, we are a constipated culture. We’ll do almost anything to talk ourselves out of them. Here’s what I know about feelings: If you ignore them, they will show up at

A Response to the Tragic Incident in Aurora

The devastation in Aurora is not only an opportunity to consider and discuss legislation related to mental health and gun control, but it is also a chance to hold up a mirror. Who sends us off the deep end? Parents? The boss? Who triggers us so that we become screaming lunatics? Our children? Who provokes uncontrollable crying or road rage? Stupid drivers? Well maybe. But the fact is, we want to be heard but we end up pushing people we love away. We are "nice" until we're not and we act surprised. It took me years to get in touch with my anger and then it was a process to become genuine yet conscious of my actions. My kids will vouch for the fact that I used to get triggered big time. Now, while I have other challenges that inspire... nudge... no shove me to evolve, being mean and exploding into angry outbursts are not as much of a problem for me. I will share the steps to a practice of the heart.

There is a way to feel anger, to be our animal selves, to be charged without reacting.

Life in the Mystical Middle

There are no accidents. When we get out of our way and open to the possibilities outside of ourselves, the universe responds. Sometimes we miss the signs, but eyes wide open we will be led.

One of my favorite coincidences was the time in graduate school that I was required to choose a favorite author and a topic and speak to it for 30 minutes. I am a huge fan of the magical realism of Isabel Allende (Eva Luna and The House of Spirits - also a great movie by the way), probably because my life has been so blessed with synchronicity - full of wonder, occasionally strange and seemingly impossible. I decided to address the differences between fantasy, surrealism and magical realism.

I was walking down the hall at University of Colorado when I ran into a classmate. She asked me how I was doing and I told her about my report due the following day. “Isabel Allende is speaking at the Tattered Cover in Denver tonight!” she informed me. I couldn’t believe my luck! I had no idea!

When I arrived at the renowned bookstore, people were already pouring outside of the crowded room. I don’t know why but I impulsively plowed a path through the mass. Stepping over people: Excuse me. Oh sorry! I managed enter the room, stopped at the end of the open aisle. At that exact moment an elderly woman on the aisle of the 3^rd row turned and motioned to me with her index finger to approach her.