My Blog

You have to be there

Paisa taking me to the waterfallWhen I first met my animal communication teacher, Danielle MacKinnon, I learned that she made bi-yearly trips to Costa Rica where she conducts workshops that allow you to work intuitively with horses.  Several months later, a few people who were in my class went on one of these retreats.  They came back raving, expounding on what a remarkable, amazing, fascinating experience they had had.   It made me feel left out that I hadn’t been able to join them.  It took me another year before I could go and experience for myself just what they were talking about.  No words, nothing they conveyed, did the trip justice.  It wasn’t until I did the workshop that the transformation they attempted to describe occurred.  It truly was an eye opening adventure that had to be experienced to be believed.

I had never been on a horse before. This seven day excursion was way more than that.  Set in the rainforest, with a stunning volcano in the background, merely being there put me in a state of surreal shock.  The energy was so immediately powerful and comforting, I couldn’t wait to get started on the program.   Throughout the week many things occurred (way too many to name in a short blog).  I was unprepared for the level of catharsis and deep work that would take place.  I’m a person who loves going deep to understand who I am and what motivates my pain and suffering.  The retreat was led by Danielle, along with two of the most fabulous, wise, nurturing women I have come across. These women, along with the horses, lead Eponicity.

  https://www.leavesandlizards.com/eponicity/

I was part of a group of eight and bonded deeply and quickly with many.  There was no pretension or judgment during this week of transformation.   And to learn from horses?  To be able to recognize the power inside myself that I, until this time, was holding back, and come to know the bigger picture of understanding why my existence is the way it is, is something no amount of sitting in a therapist’s office could ever offer me.

One of the coolest things that goes on there is that the horse you work with for the week chooses you.  You sit in a chair blindfolded while horses are led in to pick.  My heart was pounding in anticipation and I was so moved that I was crying into my bandana.  At some point I felt a surge of calm enter me instantly, and I believe at that moment is when the soul of my horse communicated with my soul.  I knew then that everything is as it should be.

I am going to return to this wonderful magical place in September.  I, along with the two wonderful women I spoke of earlier, am leading a workshop, The Power of You, from September 4-11.  Come with me!  You can’t know what it is until you experience it yourself.

For more information, you can click on Upcoming Events on my menu, or go directly to the Leaves and Lizards website.  https://www.leavesandlizards.com/

Paisa playing in the river

 

 

 

I like questions

Something I’ve observed for quite a while is how few questions people ask.  I don’t mean the perfunctory greetings, i.e., how are you, what do you do, where do you come from?  Those are almost knee jerk clichés that are said more out of courtesy and a need to fill awkward silences with small talk.  I’m talking about thoughtful questions that provoke thoughtful responses, like what books do you read? What movies have deeply affected you?  What music do you listen to? What bands or singers make you happy?  I love knowing these things about people as well as their many quirks.  When someone tells me they have siblings I have followed that with: do you like them?  The faces I get when I ask that are priceless.  But, really, I do want to know.  I want to know everything about who the person standing in front of me, or on a Facebook screen on the other side of the world is.  It amazes me how many times I’ve conversed with someone and it results in a monologue instead of a dialogue.  The lack of curiosity and/or wonder astounds me and makes me think, why is that?

I’ve always been considered a good listener (even when I’m bored out of my skull).   Most humans need to talk.  It’s the absence of reciprocity that gets to me.  There are people I’ve interacted with for many years who’ve never asked me a single thing about who I am, or what I like or desire.  So many chatterboxes uttering so many banalities who won’t stop about whatever minutiae that’s on their mind.  I LOVE nothing more than a great conversation, but often that is not how it goes down.  When I am blessed to experience a great conversationalist, it gives me hope.  Lately, I have had the good fortune to meet several people who show interest in things that I find intriguing.  I can’t tell you how much enrichment and excitement that provides.

There’s a movie with the title Naked that came out in 1993.  It’s a British film directed by Mike Leigh.  The lead character gives a speech that has always stayed with me. I will paraphrase: he’s enraged about how everywhere he goes people are bored. “Bored, bored? They’ve opened the human body and you’re bored?” They’ve explored outer space, walked on the moon, mapped the ocean floor”… you get the picture.  It’s so true.  With all the millions upon millions of ideas, thoughts, discoveries, inventions, movies, and books, etc., many people are always bored.    When I meet someone and find any hint of intrigue, or mystery, or actual personality, I want to know more.  I’m not satisfied with the normal, automatic, getting to know you type questions.  We’re alive for the time being, and I want to know what drives your world.  What gets you going?  What do you like? What don’t you like?  Are you happy? Miserable? Both?  Neither?

It fascinates me to know what entertains human beings.  Many times someone will say they love to read, but when I inquire what, they can’t name a book or an author.  How can that be?  How can you not remember something or anything that you say affected you?

I’ve been told I ask weird questions.  I take that as a compliment.

Central Park

Today I did something I’ve been avoiding for as long as I can remember.  I went to Central Park and confronted the horses.  These are the horses that are lined up and made to pull loaded carriages of those who pay for the romanticized experience of “old New York”.    Tourists flock to be taken on a ride through the park or anywhere else they want to go and are willing to pay for.   I hate this.  These horses are abused and made to work in less than stellar conditions against their will.  Today, in New York City, the temperature was around 90 degrees.   I had no idea when I awoke that this would be how I would spend my morning.

A Belgian photographer contacted me a little over a month ago because he is working on a documentary portrait series of mystical New York.  I was excited to receive his email asking me to be part of something extremely up my alley.  After looking at his work and seeing he used an old camera from 1962 (not digital!), I looked forward to being a subject of his art.  He interviewed me and expressed enormous interest in what I do and my intuitive process.  It is always refreshing when a person shows interest and is not in a rush to talk about themselves.  This is a man committed to the truth, and travels all around the globe in a quest to match his vision with his creativity.

He had come over to my apartment weeks ago and taken several photos, but they were unsatisfactory; they in no way showed what I do with regard to animals.  After all, it is not easy to capture someone being psychic.  My mother had an idea which I really did not like.  She suggested that we go to Central Park, a place I stay away from because of the sight of horses that are, in my opinion, suffering in atrocious circumstances.  I ran it by Thomas (the photographer) and his eyes lit up with inspiration.  The park is a ten minute subway ride from my apartment, and even though I feared how unpleasant this outing could be, it felt right to do it.

I am someone who will do anything to avoid a horse walking amid all of the chaos of cars, taxi’s, trucks, buses, motorcycles, pedestrians, honking, etc.  If I even hear the telltale clanking  I walk the other way or go into the nearest store to avoid the pain I feel.  I use my wild, curly hair to block my peripheral vision because I just can’t take it.  My empathy knows no bounds, it’s so intense.

I did it, and I survived.  I even was able to stay completely composed while staring into the eyes of a horse named Max.  I told him how much I loved him, and how I empathized with his situation.  I apologized for mankind and all the ignorance and naivete that encourages these hansom cabs to be such a tourist draw.  I just sat with him sending him love.  That was all I could do.

As out of towners went for rides in a haze of humidity and nonchalance, I left to go home.  Sorry carriage horses.  If I ruled the world this wouldn’t be your fate.

An avocado love story

I could never pick one favorite food.  When that question is posed it strikes me as absurd.  There are so many options when it comes to eating, it’s impossible to say any food is better than all the rest.  What I can say is that one of my great pleasures in life is simply the avocado.

Since I was a child the allure of guacamole was strong.  I wanted it all of the time, and would beg my mother when we went out to eat to take me to a Mexican restaurant.  I liked the other food on the plate, but none of it would have meant anything without a big dollop of green on top.  I gravitated towards that color, but really, only in food.  I would actually get excited if I was going somewhere and knew that guacamole and chips were being served.  You would think all these years later the excitement would die down or at least not be as inviting, but nope, I am in love with avocados all the time, every day, still.  Not a day goes by where I don’t think of slicing one open and incorporating it into a meal.  I eat them with almost everything: salads, soups, pasta, sandwiches, vegetables, grains, etc… They never bore me or disappoint.

I have even come to exhibit what I refer to as avocado anxiety.  Sometimes, like a bad apple that’s bruised, an avocado can look intact and perfect from the outside, but when cut open it’s black.  Those are some of the worst moments food wise when what’s usually a home run is instantly turned into a strike out.  The few times I had a piece of black avocado in my mouth the taste was vile, like garbage that had been sitting out in a heatwave.  Sickening.  Nauseating.  I have become somewhat of an expert when picking them out over the years.  I feel them and examine their skin, looking for any possible blemish that could cause this awful syndrome.  But, it’s never foolproof.  Nine out of ten times they’re perfect, and their creamy goodness is present waiting for me to appreciate it like it’s a great work of art, which to me it is.

Avocados only start to ripen when they’re picked from a tree.  Knowing when it’s in it’s prime and ready to be consumed necessitates attention.  I like to buy them hard so I can monitor their progress closely.  I don’t mess around with this.  When I have several ripe ones at the same time, I immediately refrigerate them to stave off future decay.  I hate losing one, they’re all so precious.

Avocados are always going up and down in cost.  Most come from California and Mexico.  Because of climate change and droughts, shortages can occur with not much warning.  When I come across an article admonishing avocado lovers beware: there’s gonna be a scarcity soon and prices will skyrocket, I start to panic.  Just the idea that there won’t be an ample supply is enough to drive me to a melancholic state.

The good news:  my animals have never been interested in them, so I’ve never had to share.

Gray Hair

My hair is turning gray.  Currently I have way more dark brown than gray, but, slowly and surely this change is happening.   A lot of women dye their hair not ever entertaining the idea of letting nature take its course.  They think it would make them look old, or even worse, undesirable, and it is simply not an option.   More and more when I look in the mirror, especially on a bright sunny day, I notice the silver strands scattered all around, and I can’t help but, in some way still be surprised to see them.  At these moments they really stand out, and, my mortality hits me; I am aging.  At 35 years old I don’t feel old old, but I can’t say I feel particularly young either.  Time is flying by, and the gray shouts that out to me loud and clear.

The thing is…I don’t want to color my hair.  I’m worried about putting such toxic chemicals right into my skin.  They are cancer causing, yet many people who care about environmental toxins seem to make an exception when it comes to their hair.  They buy organic food, drink filtered water, exercise, but risk their health in this common, ubiquitous way.   Besides that, there’s the maintenance of it, not to mention the cost.  To me, sitting in some salon every 5-6 weeks for hours makes me feel imprisoned and obligated in a way that stresses me out.   I’m definitely not looking forward to losing all of my dark hair (I love the color), but I also don’t mind the amount of gray I currently have.  I don’t think it makes me look unattractive, but I’m noticing how others (always women) sometimes react by the way they look at it or make a comment.  I’ve heard things like “you know you’re gonna end up dyeing it”, or, “your face is too pretty to age yourself before your time”.

I see women all the time who have beautiful uncolored hair.  I think, depending on the shade, it can be striking, alluring, interesting.  There’s something about someone, woman or man, who accepts the trajectory of natural aging that moves me.  I respect and find appealing the absence of vanity and self-consciousness and admire the positive acceptance of those not trying so hard to look younger than they are.  I definitely don’t find a man unattractive who’s a silver fox.  It’s such a double standard in this culture when it comes to our beauty.  Men are found to be distinguished, and women, invisible, and over the hill.

Animals don’t judge our looks or give a damn about any of this.  They could care less whether their human is gray.  It is that attitude and their enlightened countenance that makes our furry friends all the more loveable.

 

Coffee Shop

I am a non-conformist, an outsider.  I have always been drawn to weirdness, oddities, and esoteric ideas.  I love coming across a book or movie that blows my mind and gives me a new way to look at the world.  Many of the best moments of my life come from those discoveries that shake me to my core and fill me with excitement about being alive, despite the always present pain of being a sensitive human existing in an often ugly, terrifying world.   I tend to shy away from what’s popular or what’s “in” at any given moment.  No matter how many people get excited about the latest cinematic superhero offering, I am never interested in seeing it, and the few times I have I’ve been miserable trying to get through it.  I like this aspect of myself, take pride in my taste, and am glad to know when I like something and when I don’t.  The way I’m certain that I’m into something, be it a film or a person, is simply interest.  If I’m digging it I pay attention and become absorbed.  When I don’t care, I zone out even when I’m really trying to focus. This is a blessing and a curse.  There are parts of life that require attention even if they’re super boring, and I don’t “get” things that are important, things that require a fundamental understanding.

I often beat myself up for not retaining what I’m told I need to know.  When an explanation is given, I pretend I understand because of my fear of being thought of as stupid.  That’s my worst worry, that someone will think of me as stupid and/or boring.  The irony is that my experiences have taught me that people who might think that of me are the very people that I generally experience as stupid and/or boring themselves.  I see it now, as I continue to develop more and more confidence in my intuitive skills as a positive thing; to get someone out of the way before any more of my time is spent.

I once got a job at a cute, trendy café in downtown Manhattan.  I was nervous about taking on this responsibility but intrigued at the same time.  I walked around the neighborhood, getting excited about where I would soon be spending my time, imagining the funky bookstore I would frequent after a long day of making cappuccinos and serving fancy croissants to all the cool city folk.  The morning came for my first day, where I would be trained do whatever it is that it takes to run a coffee shop.  A man took me over to the machine that made the coffee: espressos, cappuccinos, macchiatos, etc.  He ran through it a couple of times then asked me to do it.  I froze.  I didn’t know where to begin.  I asked him to please show me again.  He was nice and repeated the process.  I felt his frustration (as well as my own) but assumed it would fade as the day went on.  He gave up and told me to help with something else in the meantime.  A couple of hours later the lunchtime crowd came in, and the place was swarmed.  The manager came over to me and said, in the midst of this influx of energy, “wrap the sandwiches in wax paper and aluminum foil after they’re made by the guy who makes the sandwiches fresh to order”.  She handed me one, and when I wrapped it she said “no, not like that, let me show you.”  After two more attempts she glared at me with disgust and anger and fired me.  Just like that.  I saw it in her face: I was too much of an imbecile to wrap a sandwich properly.

I left the place and burst into tears.  I was hysterical.  I couldn’t contain my self-loathing, not being able to accomplish this simple task.  An animal would never fire me for this.  An animal would never condemn so quickly and easily, ever.  This event took place about 15 years ago, and now I can laugh at it.  I was so negatively impacted at the time, but now it’s a memory of little importance other than it being so memorable.

The Power of Connection

I spent time the other day with a new friend, someone I met not too long ago, but instantly felt a connection with; a strong familiarity.  We spoke about many things: family, politics, books, travel, etc.  There wasn’t an awkward silence or an uncomfortable moment; a most pleasant way to spend an afternoon.  Many aspects of this conversation struck me, and when it was over, and we said goodbye, I couldn’t stop thinking about myself and my place in this world through the eyes of this human being.

I grew up alone in many ways.  I am an only child with divorced parents with whom I was and am deeply involved, but my other family members, beside the grandparents I lived with for six years in a hellish home, were scarcely in my life.  I never had the closeness I craved: no loving circle of aunts, uncles, or cousins, or close family friends.  I would always look at people I knew who had places to go and people to spend holidays with, the ones with abundant camaraderie and warmth centered around their bloodline.  That would lead me to feeling unwanted and unlucky.

As I grew up, I desperately needed to be noticed and seen.  I pretended that I didn’t need anyone, that I had an independence and didn’t need validation from the outside world, but that was not true; it was a way for me to try and mask the emotional pain that festered within me.  The hurt was so pervasive that I became extremely self-deprecating and lived permanently in a dark night of the soul.  I desired guidance, mentorship and direction, someone to lead me through this abyss of alienation.

What I’m getting at is how crucial it is to feel the interest of others, to know that your life is being seen by people who have an authentic curiosity and investment in how your life progresses.  I had a glimpse of that feeling while sitting with this wonderful, insightful, brilliant person who gets me, who looked at me deeply, not just my appearance or my resume, and sees through the surface to the unique person I am.  To feel appreciated is priceless, and how different our world would be if everyone received recognition for the creation they are.  So much pain from feelings and experiences of being unloved, of being treated as insignificant and deemed worthless, leads to devastation and destruction of mass proportions that denies so many of us the beautiful, fulfilling lives that we deserve to live.

Animals, on the other hand, are always paying close attention.  My cat Bubby stops right in front of me and stares every time she walks in the room.  Even when I’m immersed watching T.V or reading a book, she waits with her penetrating gaze until I acknowledge her and touch her body.  She is teaching me many things, but this particular lesson is that I am worth stopping for and being paid attention to.  I appreciate her appreciation and, no matter what’s going on, I let her know that I’m thankful for this most important reminder.

I’m honest about my needs even if they come across as selfish to others.  I want to be loved.