HOW WAS I TO KNOW? “How was I to know that what I am you didn’t want me to be?” I have no recollection of what play that line is from. I heard it when I was between eighteen and nineteen years of age, in a small Illinois theater. I recall little else about the play itself. And yet my entire body remembers vividly the feeling that occurred as I heard an actor utter that line. “How was I to know that what I am you didn’t want me to be?” Those words reactivated an internal trauma it would take decades to even begin to integrate. We knew little about the dynamics of in utero imprinting or of birth trauma when that declaration first landed with a

TIRED OF THE SELF It seems to me that there are those who never tire of telling self-diminishing stories about themselves, and then blaming others for the effects those stories generate. Please feel free to delete and/or to unsubscribe at any point. I just feel compelled to say this and to say it now. It is common in our culture to deal with issues surrounding self-esteem. Most if not all of us have or continue to struggle with a wounded sense of self. I personally believe these challenges are integral to our spiritual evolution. We are meant to grow from a false to a truer self-image. The false sense of self is emotionally originated and is then perpetuated by the mental stories we tell from this wounding

APPROVAL SEEKING Being born to a highly critical mother left me spending much of my life seeking approval or at least acceptance. I am long past blaming my mother. I knew my grandmother, and so I know from whence the judging consciousness came from. My mother spent her entire life seeking approval from a woman who was not capable of giving it. This continued long after my grandmother’s death. I lived and experienced this long enough to see that my mothers torment was of her own making. I vowed that I would not make the same mistake. While my pattern was particularly geared toward gaining the attention and affection of men the mother dynamic is to this day alive and active. The differential that keeps me from

WHERE I BELONG While I grew up in the Midwest I never really felt like I belonged there. I could write volumes as to why that might be. Ultimately it really doesn’t matter. From early in adolescents I always knew I would leave my native Ohio and only occasionally look back. I longed for what I perceived to be life in the big city. A big part of that longing was career aspiration. I wanted to go to New York City and leave my mark on the Great White Way. I was going to sing and dance on Broadway, and then make my way into the film versions of the same shows. I would have a huge mantle to hold all of my awards. In the privacy

THE BIO OF A BIOPSY Here we go again. The glare of the fluorescent light was softened only slightly by the hint of sun glinting through the small window. The same mass-produced village scape hung slightly crooked on the wall. The same unimaginably uncomfortable chairs. The same computer. The canned music seemed louder than before. The music seemed so much louder than before. Here we go again. And yet not. In the mere months following open heart surgery there was now evidence that cancer may be coming to teach its revolutionary curriculum once again. And yet not. Not again. Not a repeat. Though it is the very same room lit by the same fluorescent light with the same sterile décor that six years ago I heard the

RIGHT RELATING I have always been surrounded by the exact right mix of people to ensure that my spiritual emergence remains on schedule. That has included people who have loved me as close to unconditionally as I believe is humanly possible. I can count those on one hand with fingers to spare. It has also included people that I swore were sent to this planet just to work my last nerve. There have been a long and winding parade of those. We are wounded in relationship and we heal in relationship. Do not let the tidiness of that sentence fool you. I deeply appreciate the fact that I now recognize the people that have populated my life as precious teachers in my own Soul curriculum. I am

THE RIGHT TO BE WRONG I have the right to be wrong. There are moments when Life lands in me like a sonic boom of awareness. Such was a moment this morning when intellectual knowledge became felt experience. I have the right to be wrong. Being wrong is my right by virtue of my humanity. Humans are by nature imperfect and fallible. We all make mistakes. We all stumble and fall. Sometimes when we fall, we take others with us. We are unskillful and sometimes unconsciousness. The friendlier we are with that fact the less our imperfection will kidnap us. The friendlier we are with that fact the less we will lead with pretense. The less we lead with pretense the less likely we are to react

IS THAT SO? Someone recently felt compelled to share with me that there is a less than flattering story about me being told. Is that so? There was a time in my life when that news would have shattered me. I would have stewed in the news, scripting for myself what people must be saying about me. That scripting would have led me to expanding levels of emotional disturbance, distorting my view of myself and those who are reportingly telling the tale. The dynamic of the disturbance and distortion would have been a quicksand that would have sucked me down into myself. There I would have suffered, plotting my retaliation, no matter how subtle it might have to be. I would, after all, still need to appear

TALK IS CHEAP The older I get and the longer I am treading a conscious spiritual path the more the old adage “talk is cheap” means to me. It is common for we spiritual types to talk a lot about what we want to be true. We often convince ourselves that what we want to be true is in fact, true. That does not mean, however, that it is. Spiritual Truth is beyond what can be thought or talked about. Language is, however, what we have to work with. A big part of our evolution is hearing what seem to be new ideas. I say “seem to be new ideas” because wisdom and Knowing are already within us, just waiting to be awakened. So, we hear ideas

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of my friend Roger’s passing. It was as shocking as it was sudden. No illness or warning. No chance to prepare or say goodbye. His massive heart gave way to immortality and instantly he was gone. I have long been fascinated by such transitions. I have known several people that have exited embodiment in a similar way. My fascination is in my own inquiry as to whether there is any indication for them that death was imminent. Was there any notion, any awareness that the end of this lifetime was about to come to a close? Did the last goodbye with loved ones somehow feel unique, more precious, more vital? Was there an extended embrace, a lasting gaze,