A young girls smiles with many colors of paint all over her face, neck, arms and white tank top.

Photo by Senjuti Kundu on Unsplash


I can hardly believe that this gentle morning involves tea and writing for me. Thank you.

I spent a couple of hours cleaning in the middle of the night with my wild happy excited energy for our band’s upcoming concert!

Of course, now it’s taking some stiff dark Earl Gray tea to muster the synapses to do more than drool. It’s all okay. You know how they say that God loves us totally and is always doing so? I’ve supposed this was true for a long time. Yet often when I drop into meditation lately, I feel it, truly feel a longing more than anything to merge fully with this divinity, to become one with it, to lose all sense of time, space, my body, myself, and fuse with the bliss that pervades everything. Once in a while, my merging feels so total I never want to leave. It feels like I’d have no need for sleep or food or anything else.

A Course in Miracles” calls these instants Grace. They are those miracle moments outside of time when we stand on the lips of the divine mother and are inhaled into the solar system. Nothing’s as it were, and we lose count of everything for an instant that seems to last for always. I’m developing a love of saints and yogis, understanding them more and more. It’s come at least in part from reading “Autobiography of a Yogi” by Paramahansa Yogananda.

I’m also a student of both Machaelle Small Wright and Matt Kahn’s, Bryon Katie and Thich Nhat Hanh. I’ve benefited immensely from gifted and talented healers like Trise Ruskay and Emma Back along my journey. A seed drops into fertile ground and grows like gangbusters. Light prayed for and craved for years finally dawns through the cracks in my awareness everywhere like welcome air.

I feel like Paramahansa Yogananda is my guru for the duration of our time together as I read, opening me to the divine. Not having studied much about India or its spiritual traditions before reading this book, I confess to a Western bias toward the entire concept of gurus previously. I mean, we value our independence so much, and to me the idea of having a guru felt like some kind of cult where one would forsake one’s freedom and risk manipulation.

Now I understand better that some beings embody Oneness so thoroughly that their very presence—even via writing—can hasten our journeys into the arms of God. That we are helped along, transported, via them sharing what they know with us. And I mean “know” in an experiential, visceral way. Not one of my best teachers has ever asked me to believe anything, but rather shared their experience and invited me in to where they’ve journeyed.

I am young yet. Maybe not in years, but I feel like I’m budding like these spring blossoms, new to attainment, new to willingly giving everything I am into these soft arms extended to each of us with so much love. So I share my experience in case it helps and also because I savor dwelling here. And the words I use also carry me into this unity consciousness of pure love.

I went through such hell as a young woman. I understand now how much of this hell was of my own making. We are terrifying, honestly, especially when we wield power we don’t even understand to build ourselves into horrible configurations of reality. Easy, tigers, conspiracy theorists, the paranoid and angry, and those full of more fear than love. It’s so easy to get lost and then become a victim to the lies we ourselves wield like swords trying to protect ourselves.

I wish I’d known back then to pray, to simply ask God to fill my heart and mind and life. But my journey involved hitting bottom in such a deep way that I had no hope for over a year.

Photo by Khashayar Kouchpeydeh on Unsplash

Later, after I’d been on my healing journey with Trise for a couple of years, I would weep openly in synagogues, in churches, any time God’s breath was acknowledged, sobbing in deep gratitude to be reunited with my Source. And Trise’s work always included honoring the divine feminine, the Earth, my body, and beginning to develop resources outside the mind that were so trustworthy that I could directly experience the divine mother and father for myself within myself and begin to trust not only them but me.

Lately, I’m bringing my mind back online and into service. I’m learning to welcome back my masculine fully in balance with my body, heart, and feminine wisdom. No one is invited or welcome to dominate anyone ever again. No, sir. Not on my watch. So this is new. And with it comes rage and vengeance for all the eons of the feminine being harmed by the masculine in domination mode, both within me and without. I’ve taken months of long hard runs letting this rage fully transmute through my system so I could exhaust myself enough to at last surrender, to willingly will God’s will, which means letting go of vengeance, claiming my power for good.

It’s all been worth it. Oh, wild light, you are my salvation. Thank you. Whatever I can do to help you I will. To help the Earth. To support all life. I’m willing to be one with you and at your service.

But the timing is divine and not my own. I start to cry. We are exactly as we are, so molten, so physical, emotional, releasing and loving and surrendering and I love you and me just as we are with the fierce kind gentle all-encompassing grace that will hold you and me through this profoundly, exquisitely, painfully unyielding human moment with great tenderness and awe. How beautiful are we! How imperfect and splendid and so sweet in all our rough edges as we cry the tears of rocks melting over eons into the waters to form the grand canyon. We have to give up everything to receive all we are. Molting, meandering water, drinking us, bubbling us into this Earth, beyond ourselves and the rocks and bodies home into infinity. I love you!

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