“A Thousand Broken Pieces of Pretty” ©2017

I glared into the lights of the transport ahead of me. Released my shoulders and took a deep breath. I took one last glance up at the bear behind me. Locked eyes and watched as he slowly dropped his under my gaze…

“F*ck you Boo Boo, lets dance”

Photo: Tony Boot

*****Language alert. Not suitable for young audiences*****



I’ve always found it extraordinarily difficult to completely step out of all the energies and emotional baggage attached to all those experiences I have encountered in  both my professional life and my personal life. Taking little pieces of fabric from each story, I stock a shoe box that quickly overflows and fills the room, leaving me standing in piles of colorful edges and dark frays where the thread has aged. I look about and wonder how do I put all this together to create something incredible?

And then I freak out because I can’t sew and even if I could what pieces do I pull together first?

So. I step out and shut the door and hang my “Do Not Disturb” sign from the knob.

I’ve always been this way. It’s a strange ten year cycle that has repeated for five decades  now.  I think a small part of me holds hope that the more broken pieces of fabric might disintegrate and blow away leaving space to add  more of the new. After all what can I do with the thin and worn. How can that cover and comfort anyone?

My ten year cycle extended to 12 this time. I’m impressed. The last time I opened the door was in 2005 and all I really managed to do then was to sit quietly for two years and match sizes into piles that represented chapters before I shut the door again.  Theoretically of course if you take into account the two years I sat creating the piles….yes…I guess it’s been ten years after all.

Three weeks ago I discovered myself standing on the “Do Not Disturb” sign and glancing upwards saw that the door had opened just a crack.

I slowly approached the door and very cautiously peeked in. As my eyes took in the floor to ceiling kaleidoscope of color and ragged edges I became aware of a familiar sound that made me fall back into the wall behind me.

I’d buried my grizzly.

For those that know  me they know what I am speaking of. For those new to my journey, I spent two long years with a bear that was ferocious and ten feet tall when I took him in. In that two year period I managed to tame him and create a cub that I could slap on the head when he got out of control.

The sound that came from under a pile of pieces was not that of the cub I forgot when I shut the door. There was nothing cute and controllable about this sound.

I shook my head and processed quickly what this might mean. Pulled into my resolve and muttered “Not this time you bastard”  I grabbed the doorknob and pulled but in retrospect I don’t recall hearing it click into locked position.

Only one hour later I was driving the 401 westbound when the familiar spin sensation slammed into me. Trying to maintain control in the middle lane, a transport to one side, a string of vehicles to my other.

Knowing what was happening, I reached for the water bottle, twisted the cap and focused on the sensation as the liquid poured down my throat. My breathing, the all too familiar panting, I struggled to not allow the oxygen to flood my brain and further disconnect me from the focus I needed at that moment.

I glanced up to find an opening in the traffic to escape and instead found myself staring into the yellow eyes of my bear. He’d followed me.

My panic had returned.

All that had terrified me the first night in 2005 was looking right through me. Except this time it was different. This time I knew that there was a cub in there, more scared of me than I was of it. I glared into the lights of the transport ahead of me. Released my shoulders and took a deep breath. I took one last glance up at the bear behind me. Locked eyes and watched as he slowly dropped his under my gaze…

“F*ck you Boo Boo, lets dance”

The problem with panic disorder is that you have absolutely no idea when, if or where it might suddenly appear. You can keep piling pieces in the corner but a point arrives where its too much weight for the walls to hold and the door will fall open.  Eventually you have to sink into the fabrics and make a decision to pull them together into something manageable.

I’ve had two fairly significant attacks these past two weeks. Hence my decision to step out of life for a couple of weeks and step into the room that feeds the bear. In that space lined with a thousand words and long chapters. In that space where new beginnings emerge.

In that space where the story of my life is told.

You just read the prologue….

“Shattered Reflections”

“A Thousand Broken Pieces of Pretty”©2017
























No Sex or Chocolate in Heaven

Take your credit card. Sex is pricey. And stock up on cake for when the bill comes rolling in. You’ll be both depressed and exhausted. But wait…chocolate…

“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche”

Marie Antoinette

Although her context was less than compassionate…her words are fairly in keeping with what we were promised when we fell out of the uterus.

“Its gonna suck sometimes kid…but there’s chocolate”


I know, I know. I too shivered at the realization that there would be no cake in heaven. Imagine for a moment no chocolate for all of eternity. Gads.

Spending our afterlife minus the comfort food that has sustained us through so many of our discomforts in this physical life. Good God all mighty this is asking an awful lot in exchange for all we’ve endured here!

However, before you go pushing down the doors of the local churches screaming

“Why oh why!?!?!” …

Let me shed some light on what might be considered a tremendous faux pas on the part of the hospitality committee at the pearly gates. Before you all withhold tip out to Angel Boy there…

You see…

We don’t need cake in heaven.

Oh and get ready…..

We don’t need sex either. Oh my God…I KNOW.  Quickly now…run to the nearest XXX store and buy everything you need to experience it ALL before it’s too late!

Take your credit card. Sex is pricey. And stock up on cake for when the bill comes rolling in. You’ll be both depressed and exhausted. But wait…chocolate…

That’ll fix ya.

There’s always that.

Here in this physical lifetime we are asked to endure some of the most difficult experiences we can possibly anticipate. We signed up for this when we chose to dive into the womb after one of those “sexcapades” mentioned above.

Why did we choose that? The easy answer obviously would be for cake.

We need the comforts that we are permitted to make this journey a more manageable one. It is just that simple. Because we as humans struggle with finding comfort within our own souls we are offered the next best thing to blunt off what hurts us.

I will always remember my Nanny unwrapping a Dairy Milk to shove into my whiny little face.

“Chocolate fixes everything Fanlight”

And she was right bless her soul. All of my earthly discomfort would evaporate as the creamy sweetness would wrap itself around my tongue.

Not for long of course. Many, many Dairy Milks were consumed in the making of a Happy Medium.

In the keeping of spiritual I am leaving out the XXX store visits. 😉

The physical world requires compensation prizes. It’s just that simple.

And Heaven does not.

Think to one of the best meals you have ever tasted. Or the most unbelievably intimate experience you have ever felt. We’ve all said it.

“OMG this tastes like heaven”

“OMG I think I died and went to heaven”

“OMG this is better than sex!”

These moments I mention above are few and far between. We are not intended to know this feeling everyday because we need to prepare to feel it for eternity.

We are simply allowed tastings to sustain us through all the awful times when it doesn’t taste quite so palatable.

Do yourselves a favor. Don’t always turn down the cake. It was our birthright to take some small consolations for agreeing to live.

Life is hard. We love, we lose. We love, we grieve. We dream, we shatter. We want, we don’t get. We ask, we don’t receive. We go through every day accepting what is not acceptable and being asked to forgive what is unforgivable. We are told we are not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough. We are shaken and stirred, broken and rebuilt,

Damn right we deserve chocolate.

Eat yours and know you have earned every bite.

And when its time for you to leave this world.

It’s gonna feel like chocolate after sex.

Forever and Ever



Be gentle on yourselves.














#Me Too. #You Too. #Us Too.

“All of my years of denouncing sexual predatory behavior, all the times where I firmly announced “Not to my kids!” imploded over chicken mcnuggets and fries in a local restaurant. Flames raged up into my chest while I fought to control them and maintain gentle compassionate contact with the big eyes that stared back at me”

And yes…

Me Too


People will often ask me how it is that I can so easily slip into a place of understanding with the struggles that they may bring my way. The only answer for that is because I have, for the most part, shared in those same discomforts at some point along my years. There are many for which I cannot assign my own experience but for this particular one I can commiserate well. The details are unimportant, my story settled in my own soul, there is no need nor desire to share beyond the obligatory hashtag to prove my authority on the words to follow.

I truly don’t know what’s worse. The fact that there are hundreds of thousands who stepped forward to claim “Me Too” or the fact that I was completely unfazed at the numbers. I was not shocked. And there is no more painful a truth than that.

Which makes me a part of the problem.

And…if you WERE shocked….

That makes you a part of the problem as well…

You’ll forgive me my bluntness.  We have a lot to fix.

As I continued to peruse the many posts I became aware of a few men on my wall who had stepped forward to apologize for the behavior of many others. My heart tore as I read their words, their  discomfort in belonging to the masculine species was clearly evident as they tried desperately to voice their thoughts in a manner that would show their intended support, while choosing a vernacular that could not be misconstrued in any way.

I stopped dead and reflected.

On my own experiences and in how it created for me two very different parenting styles.

To my daughter I instilled a high demand for self respect and for her to be strong and well voiced should she ever find herself in a position of which she would need it.

To my sons I uttered…

“You ever once behave like a caveman to any woman and this woman will bring you to your knees. Count on that”

Without once giving consideration to the fact that perhaps these boys may simply grow to be good men without my veiled threat if they did not.

This was wrong. And it was only in seeing the words yesterday that it hit me.

I shared my discomfort with someone near and dear to me today. She understood it from the same value with which I was expressing it. And we both agreed that there are those for whom no responsibility falls, nor those for whom will accept such even when it is laid out in full color.

Several months back, a young member of our family shared some things that buckled my legs and left me looking for a wall to stop the fall.

All of my years of denouncing sexual predatory behavior, all the times where I firmly announced “Not to my kids!” imploded over chicken mcnuggets and fries in a local restaurant. Flames raged up into my chest while I fought to control them and maintain gentle compassionate contact with the big eyes that stared back at me.

As I smothered the flames, the ashes drifted downward curling around my feet. I glanced to the floor  and wondered how I might return this refuse to the soul it had broken free of.  Knowing that I could not, I looked back to the eyes that trusted me and realized…

I felt helpless.

And that infuriated me further.

I reached across to the little fingers that held out a fry in my direction. I smiled  and took it, popped it between parched lips…and whispered…

“I believe you”

These words were shared with this child by all the people that count most. And for that I am grateful.

Because where the judicial process to follow failed in the most disgraceful of ways, we did not.

And that’s what will be remembered.

My initial helplessness was well founded in the responses of those that should have treated this as the truth and chose not to.  Case closed. Eyes closed.

We, as a society, as humans, as souls….

We are all to blame.

We are to blame because this has been occurring since humans first set foot on this planet we call home. Have we grown so accustomed to this behavior that we consider it normal human process? Is this the answer?

Is this why offenders receive less jail time than other crimes of much less significance? Because it just is? Because it has always been?

Because it took place in every generation before ours. Before yours. Before our grandchildren’s. Like some grotesque right of passage that no one speaks of?

To women. And to men.

It happens to us all.

We are all guilty for allowing it to continue.

The families that don’t believe. The families that don’t want to upset the dynamics. The families that are fearful of what people would think.

The guy next door. The girl next door. The coworker. The employer. The friend. The spouse. The police. The judge. All those who have seen the truth or heard that truth, who turn around and decide that it’s not their business or that it’s not worthy of a place in the courtroom.

I want to share with you something that was stated by a court official one day not so long ago. It was overheard by a family member. My family member.

“What was so pressing about this that you had to bring it before me the day before the holidays”

Just to be clear. This official was a woman.

So our assertion for the most part that men are to blame for this….

Well that falls flat for me and I’ll forgive you if you disagree…

Because like a lot of women…and men…and neighbors…and friends…and coworkers..I could go on forever…

She simply stated the obvious.

What makes this so special?

It’s been happening since we froze out the last dinosaur.

It’s old news. Get over it.

But in new news….

Lets fill our prisons with pot smokers, with shoplifters, with the one that stole a tank of gas…

And let’s leave the most abhorrent out among society to inflict decades of discomfort that often finds no resolve because no one wants to talk about something that no one does anything to stop.

Because no one believes it still happens.

It begins with us.

It begins with allowing ourselves to take some responsibility for not stopping it sooner. It begins with recognizing that there was something we could have said. Something we could have shared. Something we could have stopped.

But because we did not we cannot believe it when it hits the light of day.

Because to do so means we are also at fault.

One of the lessons we are here to learn in this human journey is the lesson of Personal Responsibility.

And quite frankly. We’re doing a shitty job.

And if we don’t pull it together and work to protect one another we’ll be seeing a new wave of “Me Too” in our next generations.

And what scares me most about this…

It won’t shock me.

I stand firmly with every person that shares this pain. Many are still waiting to hear “I am sorry”

And most will not.

Because, we have taught the offenders that they have nothing to be sorry for. We allow the judicial system to issue a wrist slap, to place them into protective custody and to live next door among us.

We drive the justice system in this world. They are not GODS. They are you. They are me. They are us. And they issue sentence on what we as a whole accept.

Think on that.

Animal abusers are dealt with more harshly.

Think on that too.

“It happened to me so it could happen to you. We don’t talk about it. We just live with it. You’ll forget one day. I forgot”

Lets stop forgetting.

And lets start believing.

And let’s start the stop.

Lets also place responsibility on all those who did nothing to deter it. Let’s stop making it all about the offender and start focusing on those that abet him/her.

When we do nothing. When we question the authenticity. When we allow for leniency.

We become accessories to the crime. We have taken the side of the offender.

Is that what we want to be for our children?


The child I refer to in this blog is not a girl.

And one day he may find himself struggling to find words to apologize for the behaviors of his gender.

But who apologizes to him?

“I Believe You”

We can change.


In love, in light and in hopes for a better tomorrow.

































The Androgyny of Soul

“Souls don’t choose a gender. Souls choose a life”

I’m expecting this topic to garner some raised eyebrows. But, true to me, I tend to gravitate towards what others may not wish to bring up. And I do it because I believe in the community of inclusion and in understanding things which you may not have taken time to want to understand before.

We are finally moving toward complete unity. I know how odd that might sound given the current state of our world. But, bear with me here as I try to explain my reasoning for making such a huge statement.

Souls…are androgynous. For those who are unsure of what this means….to pull it down to basics here without having to get into the whole social context….

“Indeterminate Sex” is what this means. Otherwise referred to as non gender specific.

Souls…the very basic necessity to create this human existence…..

Are non gender specific.



Too often we hear people try to compartmentalize this as being something related to physical needs, desires, manners of dress or at the very worst….mental health issues.

When in truth, our soul, our spirit, the very essence of what makes us “us” comes to the world with no defined role whatsoever only to find itself pushed into a role that humans have decided is normal.

“Androgyny is not trying to balance the relationship between opposites; it is simply flowing between them”

How beautifully stated is that.

To simply flow between.

And this….this is where we are moving to. Between. The exact same space that is occupied by the spirit world itself. When I am presented with an energy from the spirit side I always have to ask them to show me some physical attribute from their prior journey that would indicate for me a father or a mother…a daughter or son…

And they typically acquiesce with my request despite knowing that I should know better. But..for the purpose of my work, and to provide the best connection for those I am serving, I need to know where they “fit” per-say into the family unit.

So, I am presented with chin whiskers or the scents of feminine perfumes, skateboards or dolls…everything that I am familiar with in determining the gender that you knew and you loved.

Every so often an energy will step forward and do their best to confuse me because they find it frustrating that we are still so hung up on the specifics of gender. A dad will appear sporting pink slippers and hairy legs…leaving me both frustrated and giggling at his obvious ability to move so easily into the feminine persuasion. To flow as it was…

What this comes down to is basic soul sense.

Those in our communities who are stepping forward and embracing the flow that exists between what we commonly accept as gender ideals….

They are moving us slowly toward the ideals of spirit. To be without the definition of being anything at all except ourselves.

And in ourselves we find each other.

Souls don’t choose a gender. Souls choose a life.

We should let them live it.

And love in it.

Thanks for being your true selves.

We’re coming together.

The way it was intended.












I Promise You’ll Have Good Days

“I woke yesterday morning with a familiar discomfort spreading into my chest wall….”

first blog


“There will  be bad days…that make you cry”

I understand.

I woke yesterday morning with a familiar discomfort spreading into my chest wall, the indescribable ache that no surgeon can find nor repair.  The grief pit where all of my intentions of a good day are collected as they fall over the edge with each heartbeat.

There was nothing I could do to stop the descent, no pills to slow the fall, no hands to reach in to pull the heart muscle back to its regular size. Nothing to do but to wait it out…just another bad day….

No words would bandage the raw edges….just another bad day…

If you have experienced the loss of someone who you love you will understand the feeling I describe above. I can’t say you could describe it because that is impossible no words exist in this place. But you certainly can understand it in how it aches.

It’s like we are all part of a grieving community that no one really wants to belong to at all. Life doesn’t give us the option of a membership choice unfortunately. Because we choose to live, we must go through the inescapable pain of loss. If any one life lesson was designed to test your own ability to want to live at all…this is the one.

As I lolled back into my recliner and watched half interested in what was happening in the world of those that were experiencing a good day I began to notice a theme emerging in what I was being presented with. I pulled myself up a little straighter, pushed a tear from my cheek and felt a small crooked smile begin to form..my heart tried to stop it but like a puppet tied to strings I found myself unable to pull the corners back down into my bad day face…

I was grateful.

I was looking at smiling faces, at life being lived, at funny stories and blessings to others to have a great day. And what stood out was that these were not benign reminders at all, but authored by all those with whom my relationship started in the darkest moments of their lives.

And yesterday/the day before/last week even… their pages sat idle, no posts were applied..maybe it was their bad day… just sitting there waiting for the bleeding to stop. Just sit and wait it out…just another bad day…

We are not alone in our grieving lives. We are a community albeit unwillingly, and in each other we can find ourselves.

And in each other we can see that there will be those bad days….

But a good day will follow…

It’s a good day…

I hope yours is too…

And if it’s a bad day….

I promise you good days ahead.


In love…in understanding…in comfort….