Love's Ancient Pulse

I often wonder if at the end of the day, the psychologists adjacent to my office sit in dismay at the sheer saddness they embrace day in and day out. Mixed with morsals of happiness and lowly, infrequent breakthroughs...do they travel home by car, train, bus, bike or foot, whispering from the cracks in their throat...did I do right by the light within me?

There is only so much they can say. It is not enough, to implement a man-made therapy plan and to work miracles. The turnover rates are nonexistent, and the flow of customers, endless. I have people cry over the phone to me that they need help, they need someone to part the nebulus, thick clouds that block their sight from clear, joyful views. Someone to listen to the bouts of hunger in their belly, still full from a family thanksgiving past.

And I hear their cries as I feel my own. They roll down my cheeks and splash off my shirt to the ground.

But I travel with my head high, shoulders back, and hold onto life in my hands. Go inward I say. Find the light that opens at the close. Choose happiness. Choose white, fluffy light.

And this flame will pass on like torches at the Olympics. We will throw our hands in the air, much like the runners, sweat rolling down our necks--living, breathing, and celebrating the fact that we have become that which we always were before the storm--pure, infinite love.

In Everything, Give Thanks

My frequency is shifting from low to high and at a rapid rate. As I begin to read about the angels that surround me, the Seven Spiritual Laws that can set any thought free, and the poignant teachings of Dr. Wayne Dyer, the spiritual master of our time...my life has drastically changed.

I am starting to see every word, thought and intention I have in a new light. People in a new perspective. This shift will also have those closest to me, view my changes dead on. And so I ask, dear friends, to be open, willing, and kind. I share them with love, not fear. I talk about it only when asked, and I promise not to freak you out, for real.

I have dozens of coin stories, each of them placed on the street by the angels at my side, hearing my call.
I want to tell you about the synchronicity of finding a coin from England, with Queen Elizabeth etched in the center. At my lowest, most doubt-induced moment, I find this coin that reads "D. G. REG. F.D."=abbreviated in latin, and stands for "Defender of the Faith."

Have faith. Yes! That's what the angels were trying to tell me.

I found a coin from Switzerland on the bus back to Boston, with the words "The Neutrality State" abbreviated. The night before I provided my first couple's therapy session, and remained as neutral as possible.

Last night, I found a coin from Panama, with the conquistador Balboa on it. I was explaining my goals in life to a dear friend that same night, and there it was, wedged inbetween the door on our way into the restaurant.


No mistakes.

Star Lily

I woke up before the sun today, to my yellow star lilies resting near my chilled window. I bought them at the grocery store the day before, and fell in love with the richness of their butter-yellow petals. Two of them had yet to bloom. I usually buy the battered and torn flowers because I fear they will not experience the love they need before an eventual shrivel. And even though each flower faces the same fate, I knew to pick the budding yellow lilies...still fresh like spring, and kiss goodbye the beaten and worn for another day.

My little lilies have brown cinnamon dots on their insides, much like freckles on child. They are a sweet surprise when in bloom. And in the stillness of the morning, with slight frost on my windows from the chilly evening, I got up from underneath the covers and felt the grooves of their insides, the thinness of their edges. One bud, the largest of the bunch, began to move under my fingers. And with the slightest of motion, each petal split smoothly, and half way out like a banana, freshly peeled. It was as though I was watching a nature show that speeds up the film to show the growth of the flower, in a moments' time. But it happened before me...and I removed my hand so as to let nature take its' course.

The silence of my old red barn house. The deep purple of the night. The african colors of my room. The mini pumpkins that sit on my sill, aging gracefully into their senior year. All of it, miraculous. The space between our thoughts. The moments we are present for. The moments we miss.

The dance our heart really beats for.

At 6am, this is life.