A Change for Humanity

I met someone who was once beaten to a pulp and lay in a hospital with “eyes like plums” he describes it, broken nose packed with cotton. Who does these things? I’ve met people who have been raped; people whose parents and grandparents have physically or sexually tortured them; people with parents who abandoned them or raised them with such neglect the thought of human connection is foreign. I have read case studies that left me shaking and crying. Victims have no choice but to dissociate, as many as 70 million people learning to function with splits in their consciousness; with lack of awareness about the Dissociative Disorders most never get the help that they need. So much of the damage is done behind closed doors, evidence of the loss of deeper connection between families and communities. Neighbors and family members turn a blind eye, often too damaged themselves to step in and advocate for the innocent.

But, I am blessed to live in a country where when the secrets bust loose, when kids are old enough to report, when wives or husbands are brave enough to leave, there is a place to go; there are services available to help. I live in a country where we can speak our minds and practice any religion we choose. We can celebrate our government or criticize and protest. 

Yet, by and large, we are consumers, striving for more things outside of ourselves to fill up the unnamable, confusing emptiness inside of us - slow to eliminate plastic, to recycle and compost, to eat healthfully, to break habits that pollute our ocean, skies and bodies. For this reason addiction is rampant. We are willing to turn a blind eye to preserve what we consider is safe and easy. We think it’s okay to frack and build pipelines that carry tar sands oil despite what happened to the Kalamazoo River. That could NEVER happen to us. But it has happened to us. We are one. Every tragedy is personal. I live an hour from where the Aurora shootings occurred and one of my daughters was at the Batman midnight premiere. There but for the grace of God goes she. We mourn the news, yet we are detached. The top 1% has a carbon footprint the equivalent of a small country - all of our footprints are too big. We are afraid of what we don’t know and hesitate to venture outside of our box. The computer culture is detaching us from our actual lives – we are beginning to lose sight of what is actually present in our immediate environment.

All that being said, I believe in people.

What’s the answer? Tell personal stories to feel less alone. Be discrete about the stories you retell. Listen. Create a culture of service. Pray. Focus on the positive. Be accountable. Listen. Reach out. Be tolerant. Stand up for the innocent. Get out into Nature. Dance. Leave your comfort zone. Be an example of love and peace. Seek and receive help. Forgive. A lot of forgiveness which means searching your memories, plumbing the depths to forgive as far back in time as even your ancestors can remember. Every action, every prayer, every example you set of tolerance and love is a step closer to change for humanity. God Goddess Big Beautiful Universal Loving Energy, please bless us all!

For information about Dissociation, please read Dr. Marlene Steinberg's A Stranger in the Mirror: Dissociation - the Hidden Epidemic.

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.

Dog of our Heart

REFLEX
When I heard the jingle of a collar as I was making tea this morning, a hopeful flash raced through my body before my mind had time to stop it. KEESHA’S BACK! Of course she’s not; she’s dead. Transitioned. Crossed over. It was my daughter's dog's collar. My body keeps anticipating what my mind knows is not true. Grief has many faces. I’m a little confused, really tired and have no sense of time. I cleared my schedule to give myself the space I need to honor my companion, which includes writing these highlights of our time with Keesha.

STROKE OF LUCK

When Bella was 6, she started riding lessons at a local riding center, Mita Sunke (which means “my horse” in Oglala Sioux). Lizzie was 2 and would observe Bella’s lessons with me. The first time we set eyes on Keesha she was tied near the parking lot, and she dropped down and rolled over for a belly rub. We kneeled and stroked her soft, red coat. When I looked into her eyes I thought: “You are my dog!” But that was impossible! She belonged to the wonderful family who ran Mita Sunke. I walked over to Sandy, one of the barn owners, and commented: “I just LOVE your dog.”

“Do you want her?” she asked point blank.

Skid in Broadside, Balls to the Wall

I am watching my 16 year old dog sleeping soundly – eyes pressed closed, her head encircled by a soft cone to keep her from gnawing on wounds. She has days, maybe weeks to live. I wish she would just go to sleep one day, outside in the sun, and never wake up, instead of slowly losing function. She’s not in a huge amount of pain yet, but there are moments like when she can’t stand in the morning and I help her up and hold her belly until I feel her legs able to carry her weight. She is still eating although she’s picky. I’ve never known Keesha to turn down anything!

Today I lay on the back porch with her and sobbed. Her imminent death brings up the people and pets I’ve lost, as well as those I will lose; my own mortality… failed relationships and missed opportunities. I let the grief grab hold and swallow me until it spits me out. It’s the only way to clear it.