Posts Tagged ‘Animal Communication’

Compost, Critters and Fritillaria

Another update from the Wild Kingdom of Faery Gardening. This morning features hopefully my last truckload of compost and soil. I ordered a lighter blend and 1/3 less than last time, so I also hope to finish today rather than in tomorrow’s 87 degrees! We shall see. I had planned to get the delivery yesterday with its balmy high of 75 degrees; however, I had a backlog of email sessions Continue reading

Do Trees Communicate?

On a lighter, more expansive note …

The Upside of Slumlord Beekeeping

A side note on the pear theft mentioned in the last post: I originally had contacted the Deva of our yard about the theft and was informed that it was really about not planting the apricot tree up front, not so much due to possible theft, but due to possible soil contamination from nearby cars parking on bare soil not that far away. According to the Deva of the yard, the theft of 100% of tree fruit was unlikely to occur again, since it was really about the apricot tree. While part of me buys that, the other part of me that somehow trusts wasps, yellow jackets and Mason bees more than the Deva of our yard — as if speaking with any of those is “normal” — called in the new residents just in case.

This afternoon I went outside and watched the new bees and wasps fill their holes, bit by bit. It’s really quite amazing to watch them work, and the number of honey bees and Mason bees in this part of the garden has also radically amplified. It’s like my call for wasps or other stingers or stinger lookalikes acted like a beacon to the whole area. Bees that gorged themselves on the thyme up front suddenly discovered the borage out back.

All’s buzzin’ along now, and hopefully, I heard the yard Deva right. I’d prefer to give away produce and chat with people walking by the yard, answering their garden questions and helping them set up their own sanctuaries. No need for lurkers and thieves. Meanwhile the pollinators have increased big time, and I feel like between the Deva and the new kids on the block, all has returned to balance. Sometimes you need to draw an energetic boundary so that a healthier one can take its place.

Blessed Bee.

Lance White ~ A Little Birdie Told Me

I love this post from Lance!

A Little Birdie Told Me

By Lance White

I love birds. I mean, I really love birds! When I was a child, growing up in Santa Barbara, California, my grandparents let me stay with them during the summer months, on their idyllic ranch in Goleta. You can’t imagine a more heavenly, enchanting, magical place for an inquisitive child to let loose creatively through imagination and nature connections. Lance's bird There were acres of walnut trees, fruit trees, berries, corn, pumpkins and squashes, okra, peaches, persimmons and apricots. The fruit was so luscious and abundant that my Grandmother and I would eat till we were full, while picking the ripe ones; the sweetest, most flavorful fruits like none found today in a “super market”. In the mornings, before I awakened, I’d hear the train going by blowing its whistle in the distance, at the end of the ranch. But my favorite sound and language was bird song. Blue jays, especially, entranced me. I’d hear the many voices: delicate warbles, tiny tunes, fluttering wings of hummingbirds, swarming around the lush honeysuckle vines that grew on the posts of the front porch of the cottage. A pot bellied stove simmered in the winter, keeping us warm, adding a “smokey smell” from a variety of woods, mainly eucalyptus. One of my pastimes was collecting Black Widow Spiders in Bell jars. I’d find one, put it in the jar with a stick and some bugs, leaves and just study and talk to it. I never got bitten.

Then, as now, my “best thinking” is often performed in the wee hours in a supine position; meaning, horizontal. Yesterday, while laying in a semi-awake dream state, pondering the many questions floating in space, there was a recurring complaint from the “complaint department”. It went something like: “We never seem to be able to really get close to nature…birds just fly away before we can get close enough.” In that very moment, I heard a noise that seemed to come from outside my open window, just over the head of my pillow. There are louvered blinds and they were “rattling”. I turned my head to see what was out there and was utterly shocked to see a bird sitting on the window sill, in spite of the open louvered blinds. It had apparently heard my complaint and was saying, “You called?” I’ve never had a bird show up unafraid and literally inches from my face, in the very moment I was feeling sorrow from the mind telling me that we can’t get closer! Synchronicity. I shared that story last night on my radio show, with guest Tantra Maat. The energy of the show was also magical. I’ve been reading her book, “The Language of Creation”. It is the perfect information in perfect timing. She includes exercises to restore the ability to function from the Templates. Direct communication without the necessity of intermediaries or “brokers”. More synchronicity.

Lance's bird 2

Today, Easter Day April 20th, there were special energies and thoughts floating around. This blog was one of them; and as it wrote itself in my head, it hit me that I had to get up early and get it down on paper, while it was fresh. If a direct message from nature, the solar system and the cosmos could be directly given to me the day before Easter, I thought that all my old belief systems and “complaints” were probably also incorrect and distorted thought forms, long overdue for tossing out the very same window! After all, if a bird and I can co-create together, telepathically communing, then all sentience is in direct communication and probably blaring new messages over our old, broken down belief systems. Our beliefs are too loud to allow the delicate and subtle nuances of invisible, multi-dimensional messages to break through. A choice has to be made: take the low road and wallow or a higher path, where the lower disappears from view. Many, if not most, of our beliefs are programmed through “direct assault”. We are assaulted by mass murderers: media and marketing ploys, drilling down to nanotechnological thought forms: meme control at best, mind control more likely. Advertising and media is shaping and distorting who we are until there’s nothing left – but to consume our Selves. This is the sad result of consumer-ism. The snake eats its tail, until it vanishes.

This endless consumer meme is created by lifeless corporations which banks of clever lawyers have turned into “people” legally. That means they get special treatment, as if they are living human beings. Notice, I said the “B” word: Banks. Little did we know, being born into a system of unconscious slavery, that the banks were not our friends! The smiling teller, taking our weekly or monthly checks; or our cash from working out in the fields or under the table. We were not told they were the most skilled thieves ever to walk the earth, united in one common cause: to steal the entire world, the planets around us and all future generations. Oh, we heard about someone getting pissed off 2,000 years ago and turning the tables of the money lenders. If that person was alive today, how could he overturn the vast interconnected global network of layered banking institutions and vast monetary controls in every country, town and hamlet? Where to begin?! We did not know about fractional reserve lending or reverse mortgage debt instruments. A cornucopia of “legal theft”, less transparent than the Mafia, is “just another day” in the business world, so that staggering illegal sums could be “laundered” and moved around to destroy the hand that feeds it. Is this vast money laundering operation like taking your shirts to the Chinese laundry and getting them back all white, clean and stiff? I think not!

Bird at window
These things will sort themselves out, as the collapse of unsustainable dying archaic Patriarchal systems end as fast as the Twin Towers and Building 7 fell in minutes, in their own footprint. Now that was a magic act! I’m far more interested in communing with what is Real: nature; the birds, wind, water, trees, grass, bugs and even the occasional bacteria has something of interest to talk about. First, do no harm. Any individual or group that is killing others with any kind of justification, especially religious or “terrorist”, should not be allowed to continue for one moment longer. Wars are a cancer which needs to be healed in the collective body. Within, we can have chats with our cells, organs, blood, bacteria, viruses and so on. In our own Universe, we are God! Imagine the glee from a foot cell when it hears you say, from on High, “Hello little foot cell…how are you?” Still, my favorite communications are birds and their songs. They watch us and are with us, even if it appears they are frightened away by our movement. Is it possible that they are simply going ahead of us to make sure that our way is safe, beautiful and full of magic? Perhaps, they are chirping to our feathered friends in the distance, saying, “Lance is coming! Watch the path…look pretty and play an uplifting tune; he seems sad today”.

Before anyone is “taken” by programmed running beLIEfs, designed to keep us from communing directly with infinite cosmic intelligence, create a new thought today. It doesn’t matter what, where or how. Just shift and see your own little birdy on the window sill. It’s there – just for you.

In Unity and Joy,
Lance

Why Telepathy Makes People Mad

Someone contacted me this morning about her increasing telepathic gifts, and our discussion reminded me of this article I wrote way back in 2008. That seems like forever ago, but I enjoyed the review, as world events and the worldwide awakening have continued to lead us more in the direction of Universal Telepathy. My original post rushed through me after I synchronously stumbled upon an online argument about Steve Pavlina “going off the deep end” and “talking to spiders.” Little did I know that my own post would create an even bigger stir as some people on Steve’s forums and in the blogosphere embraced new possibilities while others ramped up their denial in aggressive ways.

Given the massive doses of Truth sleeping masses on Earth are about to receive, this revelation-denial-acceptance-liberation process has even bigger implications for our changing world in 2012. I hope you enjoy my trip down memory/future lane:

Why Telepathy Makes People Mad

With the growing interest in Animal Communication, uber-bloggers like Steve Pavlina talking to spiders, and more people embracing higher vibration foods, also comes a backlash from people who would rather maintain old boundaries and a “comfortable” sense of separation. Anger, outrage, scorn and disbelief explode as those who accept (or at least explore) ideas of Oneness make their voices heard in larger and different ways.

Despite diatribes against talking to ants, I really don’t believe people hate bugs that much. They just don’t want to think of bugs as sentient, conscious beings, because, let’s face it: if the bugs have feelings and respond to us, then what does that say about animals and humans? And what about “no see ’ems” like angels, extraterrestrials, spirit guides, and disembodied souls? When you start talking about bugs as conscious beings with whom we can communicate, you open a whole ‘nother can of (potentially thinking and feeling) worms!

This polarization occurs in areas besides Animal Communication. My deaf niece Amanda recently received a cochlear implant and for the first time in her life has begun to hear. I have several contacts in the deaf community, and from what I understand, cochlear implants have become incredibly controversial. Parts of the deaf community feel that hearing will rob children of the gifts of being deaf, while others laud how technological progress opens possibilities. Many people have so appreciated my sister-in-law’s careful chronical of Amanda’s journey, because it brings this controvery back to individuals simply documenting their experience. Their blogs acknowledge the challenges but also share a sense of joy and liberation at Amanda’s growing ability to communicate in different ways.

The controversy of cochlear implants has actually reached the national level, as advances in hearing technology have literally changed expectations and responsibilities for educating the deaf. Teachers who cannot hear and who communicate with ASL (American Sign Language) only, must now find ways to help students with CI’s embrace other languages and techniques. People who have never used their own voice must now teach others to use theirs. How do schools find a balance among so many different levels of hearing, speaking and awareness? What does it mean to be deaf in 2008? Emotions on both sides mirror what’s taking place in the world at large.

Consider how communication has changed and expanded exponentially in recent years. When the World Wide Web initially appeared, some people “got” the potential, but very few could predict just how much it would revolutionize our world. Within a few short years, “everyone” was online. Communities like MySpace, Facebook, GI2MR, Twitter, eHarmony, and others have practically eliminated space-time restrictions to communication and relationship. It’s no longer unusual for folks to have friends on several continents, even if they’ve never left their own country.

The advent of blogging and e-books has further crunched time and space. We no longer need to wait for publishers and printers to release our messages. One click of the “publish” or “post” button does the trick, making words, sounds and images immediately available to millions. Translation software turns language differences into a non-issue, and viral videos like Dancing with the Universe go beyond words altogether.

Even the news media has had to reckon with YouTube. Primary debates allowed videos from actual voters asking questions of the candidates, and today’s presidential race dodges daily influence from blogs, pirate videos and online fact-checkers. Today, I saw a political analyst on TV, superimposed by his Twitter account with viewers asking him “real-time” questions.

For those of you not familiar with Twitter, it differs from email in that everyone can follow your conversations with everyone else. Talk about communication transparency! If you sign up to “follow” someone on Twitter, you can view their “tweets” all day long, along with online archives of all correspondence. In a sense you merge your consciousness with theirs, past, present and with the opportunity of future tweets. The catch? The messages must be conveyed in 140 characters or less. Thus, shorthand and abbreviations dominate, just like in animal communication sessions or sign language. Oddly evocative of Haiku, Twitter encourages its “tweeters” to convey much with little.

Major news programs now request photos and text messages from ordinary people’s cells and Blackberries. Why? Because it’s faster; they get immediate coverage. Thus, the desire to crush time as a factor in communication has democratized the news. Significant enough numbers of people have tired of the elite forms of information distribution. En masse and individually, they have finally said, “No, thank you” to old boundaries, hierarchies and separation. They have reclaimed and/or invented new means of communication that transcend the bounds of time and space. The more this happens, the more we’ve moved into COMMUNicatION. Crunch it just a little more, and you get COMMUNION. Oneness.

So, why does telepathy make people mad?

Because telepathy means change. Mainstreaming telepathy means an inevitable collapse of all the boundaries, fences, walls and judgments that keep things separate. It means lies we tell ourselves and others will become more transparent. It means intention becomes a more powerful and obvious force. It means that those whose power comes from secrecy or fear mongering will eventually lose their sway. Because individuals refuse to be silenced: man, woman, child, animal, bug, angel, extraterrestrial … they’re all exploring new ways to hear and help themselves be heard. The intense emotions and attacks in the deaf and Animal Communication arenas only amplify what’s happening everywhere else.

The writing is already on the wall. And in the blogs. And paintings and tweets and chat rooms. I’m reminded here of William Wordsworth:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.–Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

In reality, we’re really not that far from universal telepathy. Think about it: fifty years ago, few people thought the deaf would ever hear; fewer people imagined sending “Instant Messages” to people in different time zones; and almost no one expected someone named Steve Pavlina to talk to spiders!

Whether or not people “believe in evolution,” we’re all in it. Right this very moment, humans and this planet are evolving. The Mayan Calendar, E.T. channelings and the New Age movement all suggest a movement to the 4th dimension, one in which time functions in a very different way. One which emphasizes timing more than time. Synchronicity. This shift involves a change of vibration, perhaps the very vibration heralded by raw foodists and long time meditators. In the end, though, it doesn’t really matter which route you choose, because the tide is strong now.

You don’t need to read esoteric spiritual teaching to recognize the forces of change. Turn on the news. Look at the stock market. 777 point drop on 9/29? The US Financial Market in a shambles? The barriers have already begun to crumble. CNN’s feature on raw food generated unprecedented interest. We have a black man in the running for president. Oprah’s talking about past lives. You can “tweet” from anywhere. Technology, Telepathy, Synchronicity, and Oneness. “The Word is very near. It is in your mouth and in your heart that you may observe it.”

Isn’t it time we do?

Copyright 2008 Laura Bruno

https://laurabruno.wordpress.com

Synchronous Owls

I have been having so many owl synchronicities the past two months that I decided to repost this essay from 2002. Originally published in The Spiral Journey, it won an Animal Communication Writing contest when I could barely write more than 20 minutes per day and when I had never even heard of Animal Communication!

On my most recent trip to visit my parents, my mom alerted me that she had heard “my” owl hooting on a very significant date for me. Owl Wisdom emphasizes a change in cycle, clairaudience, communication between realms, stealth, reincarnation and shapeshifting. These things certainly make a lot more sense to me now than they did in 1998 when I first encountered this lovely visitor!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my trip down memory lane. Maybe some day I’ll write a sequel. For those interested in learning more about owls and their extraordinary passion and intelligence, my mom recommends the book, “Wesley the Owl: The Remarkable Love Story of an Owl and His Girl.” I’ve only read snippets, but it seems like a nice bridge between science and heart. In fact, my mom loves the book so much that she asked me to paint her a picture of Wesley the Owl before I left. The little canvas is already hanging on her wall. 🙂

The Backyard Owl

by Laura (Derbenwick) Bruno

In May of 1998, I suffered a traumatic brain injury, the effects of which forced me to spend the summer recovering at my parents’ home in Pennsylvania . The nausea, confusion, and perpetual migraine headaches left me unable to do much but sleep for 16 hours a day, listen to Chopin, and eat whatever food my queasy stomach could handle.

I passed my first few weeks there in an alternately excruciating and euphoric haze, but by mid-June, I had developed an afternoon routine. With Chopin lulling my brainwaves into submission, I would boil water and heat two scones in the toaster oven. Struggling to walk with a cup of tea in one hand and the scones in the other, I would then sink into the back porch chaise—exhausted once again. I was often too tired to feel my boredom, but occasionally it surfaced in anguishing waves of isolation. My parents worked during the day, so when I awoke at 1p.m. I had no companionship, and I could not focus my attention enough to read or meditate. In fact, almost any stimulation sent me reeling into vertigo, but the lack of conversation or distraction sometimes felt unbearably lonely.

Somewhere in the course of those afternoons on the back porch, I noticed what looked to me like an owl sitting on a branch at the back of my parents’ property. Day after day it would return, and when the thought finally occurred to me that owls do not usually show themselves in daylight, I considered that I might be hallucinating. With intermittently double vision and all those painkillers, it certainly seemed possible. Still, I came to enjoy my afternoons with this owl, who so reliably settled himself on the same branch—always within a few minutes of my thud into the chaise. He was the perfect companion. Quiet, knowing, keen of sight. I never spoke to him, nor he to me, yet we developed an understanding between us; I could feel his presence, even with my eyes closed. Although the crows harassed him mercilessly, he sat with me for as long as I remained outside.

One Saturday, my mother decided to lounge on the back porch as well. I stretched out and began to anticipate the owl’s company, when my mom suddenly hissed in excitement: “Laura, that looks like an owl! Back there, in the trees. I have to go get my binoculars.” She ran into the house and came out with them around her neck: “Oh my Go– It is. A great horned owl! But what’s it doing outside at 3:00 in June?” As she gazed through her binoculars, I nonchalantly explained to her, “He’s my friend. He sits with me every day when I come out here.” “What!?” My mom was now surprised and envious. A longtime collector of owls, she had joined the Audubon Society in hopes of seeing more of them in the wild. “Laura, why didn’t you tell me?” I answered her truthfully, “Because I wasn’t sure if he was real.”

Eventually, I recovered enough to return to my own apartment, and my mother never saw the owl again. Curiously, she did hear the owl on certain nights, but only when I happened to be visiting their home again. Over the years, it has become a joke between us that when I arrive, “my” owl welcomes me. On a visit home last winter, I had a strange dream of two dark, catlike figures that were not cats. They danced an elaborate S-pattern and then melted into one another. I had no idea what the dream might symbolize, and yet it seemed important—like in dreaming it, I had participated in a ritual of wholeness.

At breakfast, I described the dream to my mom, and she did not know what to make of it either. She went upstairs to fold laundry and abruptly yelled for me to come up there. She stood looking outside the window at some disturbances on the previous night’s snowfall. “Laura, I think we need to go outside and check this out.” We bundled up and trudged through the snow to the markings she had noticed from above. Two sets of tracks in S-like patterns appeared as if out of nowhere. Judging by the direction of the toes, two large birds had dropped from the sky and undulated towards one another on the ground. After coming together, they once again took flight.

Of course, I cannot say with certainty that it was my old companion, but great horned owls do begin their courtship in late January. I like to think our bond remains. A true friendship: no matter how long the separation, we share key moments in our lives.

http://www.internationalrenaissancecoaching.com

Amazon Reader Reviews of Schizandra

Schizandra’s getting some really interesting reviews on Amazon. Test readers noticed more vivid dreams, too. I’ve also been hearing from clients who bought the novel but haven’t finished it yet that their dreams and thought patterns are becoming noticeably more creative and fluid.

Cool! I edited the heck out of this book to help people feel and experience a sense of oneness and movement in and through different realities on the edge of their current consciousness. With my soul readings and medical intuitive work, “dimension hopping” as Shazzie calls it, comes naturally to me. Moving in and out of ancient memories forms an everyday occurence. I’m happy to see from these initial reviews that Schizandra and the Gates of Mu has begun to weave its magic in others’ lives.

Here’s a HUGE thank you to everyone who has ever had a soul reading, intuitive life path assessment, animal communication session, Reiki class/session, or medical intuitive reading from me. I didn’t know it at the time, but providing those services was honing my brain to write a book about conscious expansion into freedom and bliss. Much love!

Laura Bruno

www.internationalrenaissancecoaching.com

Synchronicity, Seattle, Schizandra and Amazon’s 2009 Breakthrough Novel Award Contest

Anyone who reads this blog or knows me also knows that synchronicity plays a dramatic role in my daily life.  The “coincidences” happen so often that my hubby and I joke about the phenomenon.  When I walk into the room, T.V. characters start talking about being vegetarian, doing a cleanse or eating only raw foods–even if the plot has nothing to do with any of those topics!  You might not know some of the following stories, though, or how they relate to Amazon, so I decided to share a little background.

While recovering from my devastating 1998 brain injury, I reached a point where I had run out of funds.  I had a nasty Worker’s Comp lawsuit going on, which looked like it was going nowhere soon.  I had already sold my car to pay my rent, and I was still unable to work.  Things looked bleak. 

In the midst of this, I started getting nightly “instructions” to move to Seattle by August 1, 2001 so that I could meet my future husband.  If I didn’t move by that date, I’d miss the boat entirely!  Nevermind that my lease went until September.  Nevermind that I had no way of paying June or July’s rent, let alone making a cross-country move to a place I’d only briefly visited!  Every night I would dream of my future husband’s eyes and a long list of characteristics by which I would recognize him.

At this point, I questioned my sanity, but without a rational mind, leaps of faith somehow made more sense.  I began bargaining for signs.  “If I’m really meant to move to Seattle, then I want to be sure.  If I’m meant to go by August 1, then I need something big: huge.  I want my Worker’s Comp settlement to come through on my birthday.  If that happens, then I’ll know these instructions are for real.”

From that day forward, I started talking about “my birthday settlement.”  People would shake their heads and say, “Poor Laura, she has a brain injury! She’s totally lost touch with reality!  Laura, don’t ruin your birthday by setting yourself up for disappointment.”  No matter what they or my lawyer said, though, I couldn’t shake the idea that I’d get a Worker’s Comp settlement on my birthday.  Even when May 22, 2001’s workday came and went, I continued talking about it that night.

The following morning, my Worker’s Comp attorney woke me up with a phone call about “an interesting conversation with the insurance company late yesterday afternoon.  Out of nowhere, they’ve decided to settle for more than we even thought we could expect.  You should have the check by late July.”  Vindicated, I made plans to move to Seattle, and the check arrived on July 28, the day before my movers took off, and I flew across the country.

The first weeks in Seattle felt wonderful because of the beauty and long, sunny days.  Summer in Seattle rocks!  But towards the end of August, I started to question myself.  Just where was this mysterious husband who needed to be met in August rather than September?  Had I made up the whole thing? 

And then it happened:  on August 24th, my parents’ wedding anniversary and the day after Stephen’s birthday, we met.  He had planned to leave Seattle in September. That meeting involved a whole slew of other synchronicities, but suffice to say we connected immediately through our love of writing and literature.  I had hauled certain books all the way from Evanston, Illinois, just because something told me to keep them–even though at the time, I could not read!  Stephen told me he was writing a historical fiction novel on Marie Antoinette; the books in question were all about the French Revolution.

When Stephen learned how much I wanted to write, he did not accept my (in my mind legitimate) excuse that I could no longer read for more than 5-20 minutes per day. He just said, “So, write poetry!” I did, and when I showed him, he said, “These are definitely publishable.  If you send these out, I guarantee you’ll be published by the end of the year.”  Hello?  Who guarantees that sort of thing?  It was October! 

Did he help me find the places for submission when I complained I couldn’t read the Writer’s Market Guide to Poetry? Nope. He told me to use my intuition and just pick some places. Having a brain injury and no rational side, I thought this sounded just crazy enough to work, and guess what?  It did! In December 2001, I had two poems published by a small, but national poetry magazine.  

Stephen and I eventually got married– on my brother’s birthday in 2003.  I won an Animal Communication Essay contest and started publishing online articles and essays in literary magazines. I healed completely; he caught Lyme Disease and retired from Life Coaching; he started a photography career, and I took over his coaching business; I published If I Only Had a Brain Injury; he healed enough to start his intuitive work again.  During this time, we moved all over the Southwest and West Coast, eventually landing just north of San Francisco.

This past winter, we began talking about places to live when our lease ends.  Having both recovered from massive health crises, we also talked about life goals we still had yet to meet.  I’ve published two non-fiction books (the brain injury one and The Lazy Raw Foodist’s Guide).  Still, I’ve always dreamed of writing a novel.  Even when I thought I’d be an English Professor, I always envisioned myself as a novelist first. 

We talked about possibly moving back to Seattle, where we met.  At some point, I said, “I don’t care whether we move there or just visit, but I see myself in Seattle on my birthday this year.  If we’re moving, I want to be there by Summer Solstice, so either way, let’s make a trip there for my birthday.”  We didn’t give it much more thought.  Then, in a separate conversation, I said, “I really want a book contract for my novel (Schizandra and the Gates of Mu) by my birthday.  (For those who don’t know about this project, it’s The Celestine Prophecy meets Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, with a diverse cast of characters, including a raw cacao loving Lemurian queen.  To my knowledge, this is the first novel to discuss raw cacao and veganism in an obvious, open way. It also features Reiki, shapeshifting, reflexology, natural childbirth, astrology and other spiritual or natural healing topics.)

Back in January, I had planned two classes and a talk in Seattle, which got cancelled due to this winter’s bizarre weather there.  Because my calendar was empty, that weekend gave me the perfect concentrated time to finish the last few scenes of Schizandra and the Gates of Mu.  I completed the manuscript on a very significant date in the plot, which seemed fitting for a book about synchronicities and healing.

Two weekends ago, something similar happened.  I had made plans to visit some friends (Erin and Steve Pavlina) coming in from out of town.  We were all looking forward to a great visit at Cafe Gratitude, plus hanging out in San Francisco.  Out of “nowhere,” a family crisis arose.  It wasn’t clear that I would need to do anything, but I did need to be “on call” and ready for action.  I spent most of the time I would have been visiting with friends in front of the computer, trying to figure out what to do with Schizandra: the book is done; it has a Mayan Calendar theme, and it’s meant to be a series.  How would that play into a crumbled publishing industry not wanting to take chances on new writers?  I couldn’t afford to let it sit in the slush pile for four years.  Should I self-publish my novel even though I never meant to do it that way?  Should I release it as an ebook?  These questions and others plagued me that Saturday.

The next day, I received an email from Book Surge, a self-publishing company I had just begun to research.  The email mentioned the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest, with its grand prize of a $25,000 publishing contract with Penguin Books.  “Cool!”  I thought. But it got better:  the grand prize winner will be announced in Seattle on May 22, 2009–my birthday!

I got started right away.  The contest requires some pretty intense pitch-writing and other prep work, plus I still needed to edit and format my manuscript.  Starting that weekend gave me just enough time to finish all the submission requirements to enter when the contest opened on February 2, 2009.  People can enter the contest until February 8, 2009 or until they receive 10,000 entries, whichever comes first. 

Anyway, it’s a long shot with many rounds of elimination, but I’m a huge fan of synchronicity, and this would be one heckuva publishing story if it happens!  Best wishes to everyone who enters.  I’ll keep you posted.  Thanks to everyone whose journeys and spiritual service have helped inspire me along the way.

 

www.internationalrenaissancecoaching.com

www.lazyrawfoodist.com

www.ifionlyhadabraininjury.com

Menu for Bodega Bay Weekend of Classes

Since the people attending this special weekend of classes  (Animal Communication and Past Lives) are all raw foodies, I’ve decided to cater the class myself!

Here’s the menu (all raw, vegan and living foods):

Friday Dinner

Coconut Curry Soup

Live Moo Shu veggies (a variation of the recipe posted here), with some sub’s to avoid using migraine-causing Nama Shoyu

Cinnamon Raisin “French Toast” for dessert

Saturday A.M.

Fresh green juices, followed by fruit or Cafe Gratitude’s almond “toast” recipe

Saturday Lunch

HuuRaw Chips (carrot curry flavor–with chia seeds–found at our Whole Foods)

Sprouted Red Lentil-Sweet Potato Hummus

Hemp Seed Tabouli

Parsnip “Rice” from Cafe Gratitude’s I Am Grateful

Carrot Cake for dessert

Saturday Dinner

I AM DAZZLING Caesar salad recipe from Cafe Gratitude’s I Am Grateful

Tomato Mushroom Bisque (warmed) from Cherie Soria’s The Raw Revolution Diet

Simple Collard Rolls (avocado, sprouts, micro greens and tomato)

Banana Nectarine Pudding in a Pumpkin Seed-Almond-Date Crust for dessert

Sunday A.M.

Fresh green juice, followed by optional fruit or almond “toast”

Sunday Lunch

Savory Squash “Bake” warmed in the dehydrator

Braised Greens from Cherie Soria’s The Raw Revolution Diet

Mmmmm … as a Lazy Raw Foodist, it’s unlike me to go quite so all out on the complex and extended food prep, but I’m testing new recipes for a future book.  I also love Cafe Gratitude and Cherie Soria’s recipes–so tasty and filled with love.  We’ll be doing so much intuitive work in this class that it just seemed right to offer the cleanest, freshest food that allows us all to “veg out” after class and enjoy the view!

For a sneak peak at me giving the talk “Maximize Your Brain Function,” please click here.

Moths and Healing

We really can learn a lot from bugs!  Consider the lowly moth.  Usually not so glorious in color as its better loved cousin the butterfly, moths nonetheless can teach brilliantly about light and truth. 

“Like a moth to the flame,” we say to describe seemingly uncontrollable actions in the name of love or desire.  The expression often carries with it a sense of pathos.  Poor moth, unable to resist the fire that would destroy it!  And yet, there’s something admirable in that kind of one-pointed devotion to the light.  It reminds us of the potential we all have for true healing through love and Oneness. 

Shortly after we moved to Las Vegas, New Mexico, in 2002, we learned that in May and June, moths overrun the entire town.  Screens and adobe walls do little to deter these shiny grey intruders, and every morning meant awakening to glitter on our pillows.  And sheets. And floors.  And windows.  Moths, pressed against our screens!  Moths on the counters.  Antennae and wings streaked across our bathroom floor from accidental nightime tramplings.

Still recovering from a brain injury,  I found the whole scene maddening.  They flitted in my peripheral vision, teasing eyes that preferred to shut out a world which no longer made much sense.  Anything that moved or flickered bothered me in ways a healhty person cannot fathom.  It felt like pieces of my soul were tickling me with stinging nettle.  My neck would spasm as my eyes twitched, trying to interpret a fluttering world.  I’d grow dizzy and the room would spin.  If my surroundings did not stay completely static, then I felt sick.  All change was bad change, and I had literally developed tunnel vision as a way to cope.

Night after night, I sat at my little writer’s desk, tense with the prospect of grey moths dive bombing my face.  It’s not like I could write for more than 15 minutes anyway!  My eyes would pulse into a migraine after a short time of visual stimulation.  I resented these moths for taking my preciously small amount of visual attention and wasting it!  I wanted them OUT of our house, but every evening more and more appeared. 

Killing them, even if I’d wanted to, meant a gruesome, sticky mess, and so I became obsessed with catching them.  My first night of moth hunting, I only captured a single moth, and it took me three hours to do so.  I chased dozens of moths around the house holding a glass in one hand and a postcard in the other, determined to trap and release.  They made a game of it, lighting on the wall just long enough for me to aim, but not long enough to pounce.  My impaired brain and visual function definitely left me at a disadvantage.  Through tears, I swore the moths were mocking me.

Finally, after hours of missed opportunities, I managed to land a glass on the wall above a moth.  I carefully slid the postcard under the lip and triumphantly showed my now-husband. 

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked, somewhat bemused. 

“Put it outside,” I exclaimed, throwing open the door, at which time ten more moths enterred our home.  I fought and lost the battle with tears of frustration.

“That’s enough for tonight,” said Stephen, giving me a hug.  “You need to rest up for tomorrow.”

Practically sulking, I went to bed and had an exceptionally good night’s sleep.  I awoke the next morning to the usual glitter and wings, but somehow I felt a little more relaxed.  … Until that evening, when the moths began their nightly blitzkrieg.  This time I developed a strategy.  I would follow one or two around the entire house, wearing them down so that they couldn’t dart away from me at the last moment.  

The moths moved fast around my head, reminding me of Wolfe Pursuits–an exercise from my old days of vision therapy.  Three times a week, I had needed to go to the behavioral optometrist’s office, wear prism glasses and follow two curved handles with little silver balls on the end, expertly guided by trained vision therapists.  The goal was to line up the silver balls without shifting my eyes from their smooth flowing motions.  While doing this, I had to concentrate on the entire room as well, because my doctor would sneak up on me to ask, “What color shirt is Willy wearing today?  Who’s behind you?  How far to your right is this chair?” If I turned my head, I had to start over.  

These moths zoomed in front of my face like the silver balls, leaving tracers in their wake.  “This is trippy,” I told Stephen, who continued to look bemused.  That night, I could have caught both moths, but I had forgotten the glasses in the kitchen!  This strategy required more planning than I’d anticipated (no surprise since my sequential reasoning remained severely impaired). 

I was about to quit, but Stephen said, “You give up too easily.”  Well, that made me mad!  Damn moths, I muttered below my breath.  Making me chase you around the whole damn house.  Fluttering around my face.  Ha!  I snagged one on the curtain and quickly realized I had forgotten the postcards.  “Can you please bring me an envelope?” I asked.  Stephen did. 

Once I captured moth number 1, Stephen asked, “What are you going to do with it?” 

“Put it in the kitchen until tomorrow morning,” I said, recalling what had happened the night before.  I actually felt proud of myself for that forethought!  “And now I’m going to catch one more before I go to bed.”  Armed with a glass and postcard, I managed to trap moth number 2 much faster.  I set the second glass by the first and went to bed, feeling the sweet exhaustion of a well exercised body and brain.  In the morning, I released the moths outside, remembering to close the screen door so they would not immediately reenter our house.

This process continued each night for weeks, until I got so good at catching and releasing moths that I ran out of glasses, mugs and cups.  In the morning, our whole walkway would be lined with every container from our kitchen as I ritualistically removed the paper lids and let the creatures go.  “Wow,” said Stephen, “You’ve really gotten good at this.”

“Yep,” I agreed, smiling.  I also felt good.  Due to finances, I had had to quit visual therapy before healing all the way.  Chasing moths reintegrated my vision and brain with surprisingly similar methods.  No, I didn’t have prism glasses, but I did learn to follow moving objects with my eyes instead of my head while paying attention to the entire room. My horribly dimished peripheral field re-opened because I needed it to catch the moths.  (They were tricky!)  My sequential reasoning improved as I spent hours trying to outsmart these furry little insects, and my balance returned by practicing launches and then steadying myself until I could slide a postcard over the glass.

By the time I realized what was happening, moth season ended, but my healing had already solidified.  “Is that why you wouldn’t ever help me catch them?” I demanded.  Stephen just smiled.  To this day, I thank those moths for giving me the discipline and freedom to pursue the treatment I so desperately needed at the time.  And I thank Stephen for his smiles.  He always has liked bugs!