Today I received a call from a woman wanting to schedule an appointment with me for Spiritual Counseling. I have had a private practice, taught workshops and classes in intuitive and healing arts since 1990. I have advertised, promoted myself and done all the things one does to build a practice. Like trying to slow a freight train, the information that I have closed my practice takes much longer to slow down than it did to start up.
Because I am still trying to find the right way to answer why I can no longer see clients I have tried the following reasons:
Closing my practice and getting disability was not my first choice, but referring to answer #2: There is a high likelihood that even if I could get dressed for an appointment, I just might faint, covered with sweat, part way through the session. Oh, and I would have to push my little “She has fallen and can’t get up” button. I gave applying for disability a try; after all as a sole proprietor I had diligently paid into the system. And they promptly turned me down. What?! Oh yes, I remember now.
Several years ago, when I actually had this fast tracked disease but had not been diagnosed, I applied for disability. After careful consideration the judge noted that I had listed my profession as a “Spiritual Healer and Teacher”, which to him seemed down right suspicious. He announced that I must really be a psychic, and everyone knows that a psychic’s job is to fool people. So he threw out my testimony, and any testimony based on what I had told my doctors. I must be amazing because I apparently have fooled all my doctors into thinking I am actually sick. This was all explained to me by a Social Security agent, that because of that decision I was not eligible for disability, but wait! The good news is I can apply for my regular Social Security when I turn 62, in two years. Note the irony here.
So here is the part where I complain that one very incompetent doctor in Seattle decided to take me off all my medications to see if any of those could be the cause of my symptoms. It took a month to titrate off them all. Over the six years I have been looking for a reason for what I called my “fainting goat syndrome” doctors have ordered many tests and tried all sorts of medications. Some of those actually helped. Why you ask would this doctor think the medications, or my heart, or whatever else he could think of, would be causing the symptoms of Atypical Parkinson’s Multiple Systems Atrophy? HE HAD NOT READ MY CHART AND HAD NO IDEA THAT I EVEN HAD A DIAGNOSIS. (Yes, I am aware that all caps equal a rant.)
So, let’s figure this out; two days of Chuck needing to take off from work, two trips to Seattle, two appointments to a doctor I was referred to by the neurologist, my wise and brave decision not to follow through with the two days of testing at Swedish to check to see if this could all be my heart (not the first dog and pony show with that, and every time the same tests show it is not my heart) and a month of a “drug vacation” from medications that actually were helping me. Yep, I am coughing and choking, hurting, not sleeping, depressed, experiencing flair up of my Irritable Bowel Syndrome because he did not read my chart. Now how much did those appointments cost?
So tomorrow it is another day off work for Chuck, a drive to Seattle and an appointment with my neurologist to most likely figure out a plan to titrate back on the medications I just went off.
No moral lesson in this post, I will end with assistance from Sister Mary Margaret’s special autocorrect, that duckin’ double duck everything, and tomorrow is another duckin’ day.
As of this posting I have given up the fantasy of someone reading from my blog or journal at my memorial service. Some lovely prayer or thought I carefully transcribed as part of my journey, so sweet and insightful.
I have officially moved into the no-more-nice-girl part of my process. I swore up a storm, proclaimed my doctors to be all jerks, and that there was no reason to go to physical therapy or to the YMCA to build up my endurance for some sort of triathlon death march.
I have vacillated between crying at a video showing the back of a bus carrying the Sea Hawks to the airport, to posting a harsh criticism of a local florist’s misuse of the term “topiary” on Facebook.
I tried really hard to share how I was feeling in an e-mail to my friend Dolly Mae, to become even more enraged that somehow Sister Mary Margaret has gained control of my spell check. My deluge went like this: Duck all of this – those ducking duck duck…
I have held this picture that each symptom comes with its own gift, yet to be unwrapped. I am still waiting for the big a-ha that will come, on why having a cold or being stressed over needless medical tests, caused me to lose the privilege of big girl panties, only to regain my pantie prize as I started to feel better and figured out I could just say no to testing. I will leave out the too obvious about just being pissed.
One of my “gifts” that await the gem that will come is one called “emotional incontinence”. I pried open the lid for a quick peek. Of course it was filled with ducking duck duck duck.
Oh, by the way, I will be interviewed on Hay House Radio on Friday at 1pm. It is supposed to be about my book, Letters to Anna, but it ended up a real duck fest. I will download the interview to my webpage so you can listen in.
Life is good!
Some years ago, in a time of magic much like now, I lived in a house that was near a lake. I was a young mother then with a toddler and a preschooler. As I worked around the house on a particularly beautiful spring day, I heard a strange sound coming from outside. I went to the front door and there on the stoop stood a duck.
Although to my knowledge I had never actually conversed with a duck, there I was. Her quacking and clucking gave way to understanding of why she was there. She expressed her displeasure for having to seek out human help, but a stronger interspecies tie of motherhood had drawn us together. At her urging I followed her around to the back of the house. "See, there they are!", mother duck exclaimed. "I don't know how this happened!", she said, "they were with me one moment, and the next, well, there they are!" Sure enough, there they were all right, ten little ducklings, squawking and hopping madly, stuck down in the crawl space beside the house.
By this time quite a crowd was gathering. Children from all over the neighborhood rushed to the scene, all wanting to see the baby ducklings up close. This further flustered momma duck, and I shooed the children back to the fence to watch from a respectful distance. The children thought nothing of me conversing out loud with a duck, perfectly natural.
There was a busy street between our house and the lake. I was afraid if I just took the ducklings out they would never make it across the road. "I'm going for a box", I told the momma duck.
Returning with a box from the garage, I carefully picked up each baby and placed them into the box. The babies yelled "momma!", and momma yelled back "It's all right, she's trying to help!"
"OK, they are in the box, now show me were to go", I said. Momma duck was off, first flying, then walking directly in front of me, quacking out "this way!", and "just a little farther", and exclaiming that we would be there now if only I could fly.
Down the street in procession we went, momma duck, me with the box full of squeaking babies, and the whole group of children, both walking and on tricycles singing "We’re taking the babies home!"
As we all carefully crossed the street and headed up the grassy hill leading to the lake, momma duck told me this was far enough. I put the box down and tipped it over so the baby ducks could hop out. They all ran straight to their mother, where she kissed and scolded them saying, "now stay close, don't wander about!" And off they went, momma duck leading the way and all the ducklings in a line behind her.
The children and I watched as they disappeared down the hill. We turned and headed back for home when there above our heads circled mamma duck! "Thank you! thank you!" and off she flew to rejoin her babies.
Spring surrounds us now. The promise of renewal unfolds around us. This is a time to breath deeply, become aware of the small details in nature and rejoice in relationships with others, even those who appear quite different from us. Spring is the time to open our hearts wide, and honor Spirit flowing through everything, connecting us in a way so even humans and ducks can speak to each other. We are all one.
May you be still enough inside to hear a duck at your door.
I have begun to change my relationship to the spiritual teachings coming to me. I am really good at huge events that create transformation in my life. I have experienced traumatic events including a head on car crash at 100 miles an hour. Because of these events that have occurred in my life I have gained tremendous insight and spiritual awakening.
Because I had chosen huge 100-mph in-your-face experiences to "get it" I began adding to my prayers that I could be still enough and awake enough to be able to hear the voice of God in gentle ways. I took a trip down to San Luis Obispo, California were I was seeing clients and was on the radio.
I left in the middle of the night to get to the airport for a 6 a.m. flight. I was feeling unsettled. I had several glitches leading up to that trip that brought up some old issues about feeling alone on my path. There were some events that previous week that supported my preconceived notion that life had to be hard.
As I was boarding the plane I began to realize something was very wrong. Every person on the plane was intensely interacting. Everyone was talking to each other. Everything had taken on a glow of Technicolor. It became very clear we were beginning some significant event.
I fly quite a bit in my work and I always do a quick check of everyone's aura before boarding. I had the idea that if with my psychic eye if something was wrong I would not get on the plane and somehow save myself from doom.
As I sat down in my seat with the in focus intensity of something very out of the ordinary. I centered myself and went within to ask what was happening. The first thing I got was that something was wrong with my luggage. Then I heard emergency landing. I knew I was part of whatever was about to unfold on that plane. I continued to move within and be in
clarity for what ever was ahead.
A very old man and woman boarded and sat next to me. She seemed confused and he was helping her with her seat belt and all the details of settling in for the flight. I tried to engage her in conversation but she was too confused to follow in a conversation.
We took off and began our flight. Morning coffee was passed out but immediately picked back up because of the turbulence we began to experience. No one was moving around the cabin; the flight attendants were all safely buckled in.
I was in the isle seat and the elderly man next to me suddenly asked to get out and went down to the bathroom. As I turned towards his wife she said very clearly, "He has had a heart attack before and I think he is going to die this time." I pushed my assistance button and got out of my seat. Stumbling down the isle the attendant met me. "There is a man in
the bathroom having a heart attack', I said. The attendants went to assist the man. I went back to my seat and began to talk to his wife. Again she acted as though she could not understand me and could not answer. I realized that it was highly unlikely that she had spoken to me about her concern for her partner out loud. I had heard her inner plea to help her husband.
A few moments later I was asked to exchange seats with a paramedic that was going to assist. The turbulence was still bouncing the plane along and with everyone else safely in their seatbelts as I began to walk down the isle to the back of the plane. Because of old injuries causing nerve damage to my feet and legs I still have difficulty walking on uneven
surfaces. The plane being tossed in the turbulence had now become my personal Spirit walk just to get down the isle.
It was at that moment that the clarity and intensity came fully into supernatural focus. The intention on the entire plane focused for those few minutes on getting me safely to that seat. Each person held my arms as I passed them. The plane movement at points lifting me completely off the ground.
I looked down the isle at the beautiful faces of these strangers who had been for that instant connected in a higher purpose. I knew at once what was happening and began to walk.
In our spiritual community we do an exercise called an Angel Walk. The two lines of people face each other and one at a time we take turns walking with our eyes closed down the middle. People gently touch and support you on your journey. We sing, "How could anyone every tell you, you were anything less that beautiful, how could anyone every tell you, you were less than whole…"
Down the isle of the plane I walked. Surrounded by Angels and the support of my community of humankind. As I walked I said to myself, "I am supported by the Universe. My path is made easy by the support of those who surround me." The song we sing at the Angel walk came flooding back, "How deeply we are connected in our souls."
We made an emergency landing and the couple disembarked to receive medical care. The moment ended, people fell back into their own agendas. Complaints of missing connecting flights and grumbling replaced the precious moments that had just proceeded.
I however hold the memory and speak to you with the knowledge that you don't have to huge experience happen to you to be in the presence of Angels. Even a walk down the isle of a plane on a Sunday morning can change your life with grace and ease.
Melba came into my life shortly after my mother-in-law Edna was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She fixed the meals, kept the house, bathed her, and generally helped out. This is not the first time Melba had played this role. She had helped many loved ones through terminal illness. What she really did was hold the space and prepared us for Edna's transition.
I have to admit I almost missed the opportunity to learn and accept love from her. Melba was soft and round. She wore polyester pants and seldom wore her false teeth. She was raised in a small town and had been a care giver of one type or another all her life. The kind of person, much to my chagrin, I might not have seen. Melba's teaching came through who she was; this is what I call "Melba Wisdom".
Melba was a Gatekeeper. There was a shine about her, a sparkle of Spirit that could not be concealed. My first lesson was to really see her and to keep seeing the real Edna as her physical appearance deteriorated so quickly. Melba encouraged us to say what we needed to say, to love Edna fully and to risk not pulling back. Melba was quick to hug and quicker to laugh deeply. Many times Melba cried with us. Melba encouraged us to keep Edna's bedroom full of grandchildren playing. She took time to let us speak our sorrow. Melba said, "Just love each other".
Edna made her transition; and Melba followed a year later, her body tired from doing the work Spirit asked of her in this lifetime. Since then I have learned much about the special work Melba, and so many other Gatekeepers like her, do on this planet. I have also learned to assist these special souls to continue their work without unnecessary toll to their physical and emotional bodies.
Gatekeepers hold a special place. You can often find them in helping professions working with birthing and dying. Gatekeepers gather and hold aspects of soul fragments that might otherwise become lost or confused. They assist others into the Light. Gathering and holding these soul fragments can cause illness as well as emotional and physical symptoms of being "full" or holding physical weight. It takes a tremendous amount of energy for Gatekeepers to hold these soul fragments, energy that could otherwise be used for health and other life processes.
Being a Gatekeeper is much like having a neon sign above your head with a constant "open" sign on, directing souls to safe haven. Although the job of Gatekeeper includes gathering and releasing soul fragments, many Gatekeepers, because of a feeling of concern and compassion to help others, hold onto the fragments without releasing them into the Light.
Gatekeepers will always continue doing their job even if it is detrimental to them because it is part of their soul purpose. I believe Gatekeepers need to reawaken to their soul purpose in a conscious way and create a plan to automatically release soul fragments into the Light.
If you gravitate towards healing professions, have worked with people making transitions or been drawn towards places where great numbers of people have made their transitions you could be a Gatekeeper. If so, I encourage you to use the following technique based on my work in Multidimensional Cellular Healing to call on assistance from the Angelic realm to guide soul fragments into the Light:
Move into a meditative state. Ask for Angels, Guides and Psychic Surgeons to come down and be with you throughout the procedure. Place your hand on your body in the location where you are drawn, usually this is the chest or belly, and imagine you can hold the soul fragments under you hand. Ask an Angel to come and hold these fragments and all the ways they have been affecting you. Watch as the Angel lifts the fragments and feel your body responding to the removal of these energies.
After the Angel has them all ask the Angel how many fragments you were holding. (The most fragments I have retrieved were from a woman who had strong religious beliefs around abortions. She released thousands of fragments of babies she had drawn to her and had been compassionately holding.) Ask the Angel how these soul fragments were affecting you physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.
Ask the Angel if these fragments manifested as physical weight on your body and get a specific number of pounds it represents. Often the number will be very large, hundreds or thousands of pounds. This weight represents etheric weight and can be responsible for fatigue. You can imagine how much energy it takes to hold hundreds of pounds of etheric weight.
Look up with your spiritual eyes and see the Light of Source. Press down on your body with your hands to represent the weight this has been and all the ways it has affected you. Watch as the Angel releases the fragments into the Light. Feel yourself get lighter and lighter.
After the release is complete look up again to the Light of Source and ask two Angels or Teachers who are willing to work with you as a Gatekeeper to step forward. Two beings will emerge from the light. Be specific that you want Gatekeeper assistance. These beings are specific to this work. Many of the beings that come to help in this way are very tall and narrow, somewhat pillar like in appearance. Often there is a birdlike representation at the top of the pillar. I call these beings "Pillar Angels" or Falcon Angels". These particular beings have a protective aspect to them and do come for other purposes too.
These Angels will now stand with you to meet souls coming towards your light. They will take the souls into the Light without soul fragments coming into your space. This method enables Gatekeepers to continue to do this soul work without expending energetics needed for other purposes.
I almost missed my teacher Melba. Missing Melba might have meant missing the lesson about Gatekeepers which has helped so many others. I hold no sadness in thinking I could have in some way helped Melba with what I know now. I know there are no mistakes and the timing of my process has been perfect. Melba has been my teacher and continues to do her soul work. I end with offering you this prayer so you too can meet your Melba:
"May I stay vigilant and look for Spirit in every form it takes without judging outside appearance. May I recognize my teachers. Let me love without fear of being left alone. Let me give voice to what is in my heart and listen from a place of healing. May I honor Spirit in simplicity."
Just love each other.
It has been many years since Santa has visited our house. With our daughter Heather and her two children now living with us we bought our first actual tree in years, strung popcorn, wrote letters to Santa and had long philosophical conversations about the reality of Santa and that Santa had a clear understanding that he needed to leave gifts at both his parents’ homes.
The one thing I really do love to do is put out Christmas lights. This year I was hoping to have a large flowering Cherry tree wrapped in lights. From my bedroom window I can see the tree, during the day filled with birds, and thanks to Chuck and the amazing men in his life, I have the tree filled with light each night. We have no intention of taking the lights down, having lights in that tree are part of my bottomless bucket list, the one that will not be able to be filled for 30 years or so. And I am so thankful for every one of those nights.
Finally I am writing another installment of Currents. First, let me update you all on the surgery I had at Virginia Mason before Christmas. This was a surgery to replace a lead wire I had somehow dislodged from my spine, probably from fainting and falling.
Buried deep under the ample material of my right bum cheek I have a computer that runs a wire through the foramina, or hole as most of us would call it. I can control the amount of stimulation sent down the wire by placing a plastic paddle over the area with the device and dial in the pulse length and intensity. How this actually works to control bladder function is not actually known, or at least I do not hold I high enough government clearance to have that information. The part that is clear is level 3/1.0 puts me back in BIG GIRL PANTIES.
The other news about the surgery is from my Health Insurance. Because my new diagnosis of Multiple Systems Atrophy includes bladder symptoms, they are not willing to pay for the wire to be replaced from a previous surgery which they paid for, but I was not diagnosed at that time. And of course, needing the surgery in the first case was because I was having the symptoms of an undiagnosed disease.
This year, right after Thanksgiving, our grandson Oliver came home from kindergarten asking questions about how to rig the camera so that it would take a picture of Santa as he came in the living room. Apparently the existence of Santa is a hotly debated topic in the Lincoln Elementary Kindergarten. Which reminds me of my favorite Christmas Poem, The Boy Who Laughed at Santa Claus by Ogden Nash that has a line, “Slunk like a weasel or a marten; Through nursery and kindergarten; Whispering low to every tot; 'There isn't any, no there's not!'
So here is our high tech little guy, ready to set motion detectors on the roof, and install low light cameras in the living room so he could bring this definitive proof to school, to defend his belief in Santa to all the weasels and martens. So I helped him out.
Did you know that during Christmas it is the darkest time of the year? I point to the table top I painted showing the wheel of the year, the solstices and equinoxes. (Yes, I am a very hip grandmother!) See, December 21st has the longest night and shortest day. So it is a time when everyone kind of huddles together. It used to be there were no lights, no warm heaters or anything to help keep people feeling safe and comfy through these dark nights. That is why we have a big bonfire and share a meal with all our friends on that night.
Lots of people thought it would be a good idea to gather in one place and share what they had, to feel safe and make it through these dark nights. People in different places and who have different religions all had special names for this time of sharing. The Winter Solstice, Christmas and Chanukah are only three of many names people have for celebrating this special time of sharing with those they love. We carry the idea that the light can stay lit and carry us through the darkest nights. And where is that light? It is the light within each of us, so we share, increase the flame, the warmth and the light.
During this season of sharing, people’s hearts feel so full of love that they want to give special gifts to others to remind everyone that in the darkest of days we can find love and sharing together. This feeling of giving and sharing is so huge that the idea of Santa is the idea that represents how big this feeling is. So lots of people want to be Santa. You see him at the store, or in parades, those are all people who are channeling the joy of the season. People see him and say, Yes! I remember that good feeling, and they want to pass it on. When we collect food for the food bank and take it there, or make a gift for someone we care about, we get to be the channel of giving too.
As a child you get to be the receiver of lots of presents from Santa and everyone who loves you, when you are older it gets even better, you get to become an aspect of the Spirit of Giving. So is there a real Santa? Indeed there is.
So don’t bother trying to catch him in the act, you will never catch him. Although there was one time when I was very small I am pretty sure I saw him as he was flying away. Hold your magic close; those dark nights can only be filled with the brightness of your love.
The Boy Who Laughed at Santa Claus by Ogden Nash
In Baltimore there lived a boy.
He wasn't anybody's joy.
Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
His character was full of flaws.
In school he never led his classes,
He hid old ladies' reading glasses,
His mouth was open when he chewed,
And elbows to the table glued.
He stole the milk of hungry kittens,
And walked through doors marked
He said he acted thus because
There wasn't any Santa Claus.
Another trick that tickled Jabez
Was crying 'Boo' at little babies.
He brushed his teeth, they said in town,
Sideways instead of up and down.
Yet people pardoned every sin,
And viewed his antics with a grin,
Till they were told by Jabez Dawes,
'There isn't any Santa Claus!'
Deploring how he did behave,
His parents swiftly sought their grave.
They hurried through the portals pearly,
And Jabez left the funeral early.
Like whooping cough, from child to child,
He sped to spread the rumor wild:
'Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes
There isn't any Santa Claus!'
Slunk like a weasel or a marten
Through nursery and kindergarten,
Whispering low to every tot,
'There isn't any, no there's not!'
The children wept all Christmas eve
And Jabez chortled up his sleeve.
No infant dared hang up his stocking
For fear of Jabez' ribald mocking.
He sprawled on his untidy bed,
Fresh malice dancing in his head,
When presently with scalp-a-tingling,
Jabez heard a distant jingling;
He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof
Crisply alighting on the roof.
What good to rise and bar the door?
A shower of soot was on the floor.
What was beheld by Jabez Dawes?
The fireplace full of Santa Claus!
Then Jabez fell upon his knees
With cries of 'Don't,' and 'Pretty Please.'
He howled, 'I don't know where you read it,
But anyhow, I never said it!'
'Jabez' replied the angry saint,
'It isn't I, it's you that ain't.
Although there is a Santa Claus,
There isn't any Jabez Dawes!'
Said Jabez then with impudent vim,
'Oh, yes there is, and I am him!
Your magic don't scare me, it doesn't'
And suddenly he found he wasn't!
From grimy feet to grimy locks,
Jabez became a Jack-in-the-box,
An ugly toy with springs unsprung,
Forever sticking out his tongue.
The neighbors heard his mournful squeal;
They searched for him, but not with zeal.
No trace was found of Jabez Dawes,
Which led to thunderous applause,
And people drank a loving cup
And went and hung their stockings up.
All you who sneer at Santa Claus,
Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes,
The saucy boy who told the saint off.
The boy who got him licked his paint off.
Welcome to my blog. Here I will write about all things Cathy.