We Wont Be Derailed.

Daniel, our rideshare from San Francisco, had contacted us just a few hours before we planned to shove off after having thumbed his way to Palo Alto from Los Angeles. We were happy to have his bright energy and knowledge of the area. I did, however, find the need to conjure my bull guide and speak up to him, every plan Veronika and I constructed was met with discouragement, aiming only to please his personal agenda of arriving in Eugene A.S.A.P. I told him we were on this epic road trip and had plans to see Mt. Shasta, Ashland and Eugene. He seemed to understand, but later, while barely conscious after many hours of night driving on no sleep and curled up in the front passenger seat I heard him discussing the “new plan” while pumping gas with Veronika. I angrily bundled and got out of the car to remind him again that we would be spending the night in Mt. Shasta so we could see it in the morning. He kept agreeing that what we wanted was great, and then slightly manipulating events to his discretion. When we pulled into the spring head in Mt. Shasta he was convinced we were only staying to rest an hour, but I told him he was welcome to set up his tent if he wanted. Slumber was again interrupted by sleeping body parts every 15 minutes, but it was worth it to be partially refreshed to see beautiful Mt. Shasta in the morning. Our new travel companion woke with a fresh perspective on the trip and had moved into alignment with our seat-of-the-pants, fly-by-night disposition. We filled our jugs in the icy waters and pushed on, stopping for coffee in Ashland. Veronika struck up conversation with a local, who was of course a spiritual teacher who divulged to her a website where she could promote her healing art.
Driving scenic route 99 Daniel remembered his family owns property along the Rogue River, just as we were about to pass it so we stopped, happy to deliver him to a destination of his own. In Eugene, he proudly pointed out the places that shaped his childhood and brought us to a hill similar to the one we climbed in San Francisco. It was cold and rainy, but we enjoyed the leafy stroll. We parted, relieved to be off defense duty, and rejoined I5 to Portland.
　
　
　
　

Amazed in Anza

 

 The good old Rav 4’s front passenger tire was holding up well despite having carelessly colliding with a tumbleweed, which should really be called tumblebombs, causing a slow leak.  We kept an eye on it.  

The sun was setting over Anza as we pulled into the towns one lonely market for some food supplies and to change.  Veronika opted not to change in the porter john and was struggling out of a difficult shirt to put on a sports bra when I said, “he’s looking right at you!” the store clerk had come out to water plants or some other façade in an attempt to conceal his voyeurism, he was only two feet from the car.  He caught me catching him and, blushing, he turned his back.

Christiana with Princess... I think

Meet the hoof pick, before I pick up your leg...

I opened the gate to Green Mountain Refuge so Veronika could pull the car down the dirt driveway towards the house.  We approached the door and I wondered what kind of dog they would have and the answer was many! “There are like ten dogs at the door,“ I said over my shoulder as Christiana, the ranch owner and operator greeted us.  A rush of furry excitement bottlenecked the doorway, each K9 of all shapes, sizes, breeds and ages bulldozed over one another to sniff the new comers but in 15 minutes they were, every one of them, calm submissive and laying by our feet, in arms, on sofas, chairs and dog beds.  We were overwhelmed with all the loving dog energy everywhere you looked and curled lovingly around every kitten. 

Christiana spoke of our Hostel friend, Eddie, who’d connected us here with her.  He’d come to work after sustaining a brain injury, relearning certain things physically while healing emotionally and mentally.  She sent his love to him through us, wishing he could have stayed forever. We were introduced to her spritely ranch hand Julie, who had taken Eddie’s place and would be putting us to work bright and early.

Budda Baby

Green Mountain Refuge is a non-profit rescue facility, never turning down a horse, dog or cat in need.  Christiana, mother of one and lover of all things animal, was preparing her proposal for a non-profit, self-sustaining elementary school she named Green Acres Sustainable Living Farm.  The foundation for the school lies in the basics: to teach children from a young age how to live off the earth without depleting its resources, recycle waste, meditate, be creative… basically all the elements that are missing now from public schools. She would be presenting the next day to town officials in a press release and so dabbed on hair color in the kitchen mirror; focused on looking her best.  In order to raise money to keep her rescue and home running, Christiana bakes confections fit for Gods.  We gluttonously helped ourselves to extra gluten and dairy banana cake and brownies that are meant to go to pastry shops in LA and surrounding areas. It was impossible to stop, they were addictive, one morning the mere thought of it lured me out of bed.

Bella, sweetest bully

Just horsin around

As promised, we awoke to the sounds of names being hollered. “CODY! COOPER! TUCKER! LUUUUUKE!” Moments later, a heard of elephants barreled across the front porch and piled into the kitchen! Oh. No.  Just dogs.  The sun wasn’t up yet and the stars were blazing their brightest, like a runner sprinting to the finish knowing he would soon be rewarded with rest.  I splashed some warm water on my face, there was no cold water, bundled up to the tip of my nose and rode three or four dogs down the steps.  Julie was bounding around bushy tailed as we spread flakes of hay for the horses. It took about an hour to rake and scoop all the poop, I felt the memory in my muscle from years of shoveling manure as a girl.  The morning chores put us in a quiet and meditative state so that by the time we were to pick all 68 hooves I was completely centered.  Everyone picked up their feet obligingly and I was a kid again, brushing and currying while necks leaned into the grooming, targeting their itchy spots and then showing gratitude with furry hugs and snuggles. I bet you didn’t know horses snuggle, they do.  Dogs ran in and around bands of ponies and horses and no one spooked or budged.  There is a harmony between the different species of animals, co existing with people and I don’t believe it would work like that anywhere else on earth than on that slice of happy energized desert land run by two bad ass women.  We took a break from chores to visit their horse, Gypsy, who refuses to return to the refuge via trailer or ride.  On this farm we were followed, suspiciously, by a wolf dog.  I followed Cesar’s advice and remained calm assertive and soon he was licking my palm and by my side confidently.

Later in the afternoon I walked into the Green Mountain paddock and stood alone, quietly, as a slender Arab mare trotted curiously to my side, sniffing me head to toe playfully but would not let me pet her.  I later learned it had been Maggie, the horse Eddie had bonded with during his stay.  Good taste, Eddie! Budda, the colt of a horse Christiana deeply regrets re-homing, followed me around from the moment I brushed him until I left.  Anytime I walked through a gate or doorway, four dogs and two cats would seize the opportunity to escape to the outdoors, while 3 collided their way in to check out the house, curl up and take a nap. I was in heaven, visiting the fruition of my own childhood dream in someone else’s life!

Miss Maggie

Chicken Coop where Veronika offered her Chicken Shaman
Advice!

The next morning, equipped with permagrin, Veronika mounted Princess the regal white Arab mare and I hopped face first, ever so gracefully, onto Maura.  As soon as I was seated, the whisperer in me took over and my body fell into position as we walked the property waiting for Julie and Christiana.  Christiana rode bareback; farm life hardened every muscle in her body and she might as well have been riding a raging bull with those thighs! She’s an endurance rider and Arabs are the perfect breed for it.  I galloped farther and faster than I have in years! I grabbed the saddle and rocked into the rhythm, wind in my hair and breath in my soul.  An eternity fit into the few moments of flight, Maura was aching to go and I trusted her to help me keep balance.  A true cowgirl at heart, I left a piece of it on the dusty road.  Veronika beamed, her first canter had her hooked, she exclaimed “I could get used to this!”

For the last few hours on the farm Veronika led a mini intuitive art session with Christiana and her daughter Dylan, Julie and I.  Continuously I am surprised by the opportunities that arise for us to utilize our talents and run our classes on this trip! We promised to return and send other amazing women through her gate.  I said goodbye silently to all the furry beauties refreshed and lightened again. 

Camp Pendleton Marine Hoopfest!

With the Ipod connected and at full blast we drove in short spurts until we were forced to pull over and sleep in Southern California.  Parys continued to sleep, and while awake helped herself to Veronika’s phone and our food.  Either way she was occupied and quiet so we let her.  She asked us to drop her in North Hollywood to which I replied “We’re only taking you as far as San Diego.”  This had been made clear during our conversation, but she knew we were headed to LA in a couple of days and so had decided in some internal dialogue that we were responsible for her somehow.  I let her know she was not invited to stay in Anza with us and we’d be happy dropping her off at the bus station in San Diego.  Veronika looked up ticket prices for various modes of transportation, and we agreed to help her out with a few dollars for a ticket.  When we finally released her back into the wild in downtown San Diego’s Greyhound station and handed her $10 towards her $19 ticket, we realized she’d only given us $35 for gas, so she ended up taking advantage of us in the end.  Relieved to have the car back to ourselves we laughed through the city streets and headed towards Camp Pendleton.

Veronika lit up at the sight of her home of four years while serving in the Marine Corp.  She wound skillfully through the giant town sized base complete with every fast food chain a soldier and his family could ever crave, bars, gas stations, shopping and recreation.  I was able to see the places where Veronika worked in PR as a journalist for the newspaper and then the television station where she was promoted several times and had the opportunity to see every branch, protocol and event on the entire base.  She pointed out firewalls they’d dangerously climbed in Hummers and four wheelers, shooting ranges that cease fire when so much as a bird landed or a buffalo wandered in, rock climbing walls and obstacle courses, the singles association where unmarried Marines went on bad ass field trips.  We passed the Deadliest Battalion to which Veronika mumbled something to the effect of major ego tripping tough guys.   She even remembered the place she threw up before a drug test and another spot where she broke down in front of an officer she was close to; who hasn’t spoken to her since.

I was surprised to learn if you see an officer’s vehicle, no matter who in the family, a son, wife, etc, was driving, you must salute, or be pulled over and yelled at.  In fact, you are yelled at for about anything you do or don’t do outside of the rigid collection of asinine rules.  She recalled feeling rebellious one day, drawing the gasping and excited whispers of classmates as she wrote her assignment in blue pen as opposed to black.  She was torn a new asshole for that smart-ass move.  ???  I twisted my thoughts and perceptions of my gentle hearted free spirit sister and still could not place her in fatigues and a straight line.  Nor could she, she cooed, and mentioned the day she was honorably discharged was the happiest day of her life.

Hooping on the beach at lunch time, we took some amazing pictures of a very happy ex-marine and her hippy accompaniment.  In the parking lot and having lunch we watched four cars full of young Marine men hop out, remove shirts and approach us.  “Look! Hippy chicks!” One exclaimed.  The invited us to grill and drink on the beach with them.  We declined, but challenged them to a hula hoop contest instead, which everyone of them lost to me.  When I won I asked, “What do I get for winning? Besides the satisfaction of bruising your ego in front of your military buddies that is,”  I teased them in that Boston sarcastic way and they ate it up, just happy to be speaking to females for a change.  One revealed he works for Chippendale’s while not serving the country, he proceeded to attempt the hoop while gyrating his hips towards me in a terribly offensive (wink wink) way, but dropped the hoop to his feet.  We didn’t join their party but set out for Anza with ego’s boosted and spirits lifted!

Sedona, AZ Part II

I checked my phone and had 11 texts requesting rideshares in various places.  A ride to the airport, a ride for a dog and a ride out of Sedona that night to San Diego or LA.   The girl who needed a lift called as I was reading and explained she needed to get to LA, would be happy to find her way from San Diego but had no money.  I thought for a minute but said “Sorry it wouldn’t be worth it to re arrange the whole car, not be able to sleep in it and drive you for free. If you come up with 45 bucks give us a call.”  She called and checked in with us all day as she raised funds.

The problem with a place that draws people is, it draws all kinds of people so there are many unstable people tripping around.  We met Ole for coffee on Sunday night and I knew the girl, Parys, who needed a ride would be there too.  Sure enough, the frazzled looking woman I’d noticed earlier still sat in the middle of her sofa beside her oversized pink suitcase and various other belongings.  While conversing with her, Ole and Veronika, Jon (mountain bike couch surf host guy) called to invite us to Kirtan, Hindu chanting.  We told Parys we would pick her up after that and Jon’s massage, but she followed us, wanting to come along. I again had to put my proverbial and physical foot down.  I wasn’t inviting her into homes of strangers who trusted me when I knew nothing about her myself.  We told her to wait there at Java Love.  She is on the road like us.  A bad relationship dragged her from home in New York all the way to Arizona, and a bitter end to it left her homeless and LA bound.  “I’m off to pursue my acting career! I’m going to be famous!”

Superstar Parys and Trippy Darryl

On our way out of the coffee shop we nearly collided with a young dreaded man.  He smelled of patchouli and his eyes were twisting around in his head, clearly on some hallucinogenic.  I asked if he was ok to which he responded yes and we headed out to the parking lot. He burst out the door calling after us “You know what? I’m NOT ok!” He continued on about the humane society having stolen and fixed his dog and killed her entire liter of unborn puppies.  He wept in my arms a few minutes, explaining he was on LSD and tried holding up more conversation, we had to leave him mid sentence. 

Kirtan was highly uplifting and we left with open hearts and ready to begin our journey so after giving Jon his massage we headed back to pick up a very excited Parys and give her tripping, homeless, hippy boyfriend of 3 days a ride to his sewer pipe in Cottonwood.  It took us close to an hour to get him out of the car!  Finally we booted him and I suggested we kick off the next leg with some music.  Thankfully, Parys is a highly talented singer, she claimed, and offered to get it started with one of her jams.  I’m just going to ask you to watch the video we took.  Veronika graciously shot the footage, I was reduced to a convulsing mess of repressed laughter, curled up in the passenger seat.  I couldn’t watch.  I was Simon, Randy and Paula wrapped up in a conundrum of the deep desire to be honest but loving, give constructive criticism and out-right laughing and kicking her out of the car to invite the next contestant in.  It was going to be a looooooooooong ride.

Sedona, AZ Part I

Veronika in "Balance"

Meditation in Boyton Canyon: Masculine Side

Snow was falling as we neared 89S and passed through Roper Lake State Park.  We looped south and were enchanted by the looming mountains that funneled us down, spiraling us into Sedona.  It was like a gateway into another world.  Red Rock knolls, nobs, plateaus and mountains in every direction take your breath away.   We had heard Sedona is considered a spiritual Mecca, the beauty itself is mystical and peace promoting.  Boyton Canyon was chosen for our first stop; we wanted to jump right into the heart of Arizona.  As soon as we begrudgingly paid 5 dollars to a park that was closing in an hour we noticed the “free parking for Veteran’s Day Weekend” sign tucked conveniently behind a bush on a fence post. Feeling much better about the transaction, we layered up and pushed through the wind to find balance.  It was 40 degrees upon arrival and the sun was setting prettily behind ominous looking clouds.  The sound of the flute dancing occasionally on the wind stopped us, and then led us toward the first vortex, but first we ran into a man with a long metal pole, standing opposite a slightly twisted tree.  He claimed that tree is where he senses energy the strongest and (withhold inappropriate innuendo here) offered to let us try holding his instrument.  The metal rod, about three feet long, worked like a compass and pulled us in the direction of the tree. We were not discouraged from seeking out the energetic hot spot and continued ascending, following the trance like notes of the flute. As we approached the knolls that are known as the male and female energy points of the vortex, the flutist was climbing off the masculine side and coming our way.  Stopping to offer us heart shaped red rocks he’d found, he described their qualities and said they contain the healing energies of the center.  While the snow began blowing around us he explained kindly the optimal way in which we might utilize this opportunity: grounding, touching the rocks and leaving behind all our crap.  We parted, uplifted, with a hug.  We stood in “balance” the space between the feminine and masculine energies, breathing in the crisp air and with it the intense vibrations swirling around us.  We sat on the masculine side and grounded, connecting.  By the time we crossed to the feminine, the wind had picked up, it was snowing harder and the sunlight was slipping away behind the west peaks.  We hurried back to the car for dinner.

Our plan was we didn’t have a plan so we just stopped by a crystal shop after dark and poked around inside.  It was warm, there were lots of excited people who’d come from all over to experience the mysticism of Sedona.  I was toying with a key chain that said “I live in my car” when a long haired man of about 45 approached me and asked where I was sleeping that night. I told him we were sleeping in the car which horrified him and he replied it would be only 19 degrees that night.  He offered us a place to stay, which I considered, or rather, told him I’d keep him in mind.  However in my mind, I knew that was highly unlikely.  We were inspired, though, by the gesture, to set up the lap top in a coffee shop and log onto Couchsurfers.com.  As I scrolled through the dozens of free couches in Sedona, a man named Ole and his group of traveling students sat in front of us and struck up a conversation.  He and his group of 9 college aged kids travel for three months at a time studying topics of their choosing.  They were currently researching Native American heritage in Arizona and New Mexico. 

I’d found us a couch, 5 minutes up the road and in under 5 minutes.  Mountain biker Jon, his girlfriend nurse Amy and minimalist roommate Brian hosted us to two gloriously long couches by a roaring wood burning stove.  Their female lab mix, Kevin, provided the sweet, protective dog energy we love. 

We awoke to breakfast being made by an eager, single roommate. After we finished the dishes we headed out to grab coffee and explore. At a place called “Java Love” we set up the lap top, sipped on coffee and watched. Everywhere you go in this sleepy, eclectic town you get a show of some kind.  In fact here we watched an old lady shout at the barista from across the restaurant that they need to deliver her food to her sofa.  The line was out the door, the girl did not move from her post behind the crowded counter.  A 9 year old girl serenaded the loaded coffee shop with her violin to raise money for charity. Hippy dudes watched as their free spirited children ran amok.  A young woman with a frizzed out afro sat anxious yet completely still in the middle of a lone couch. 

We chose to attend a lecture on the evolution of life hosted by Daimon Catizone at the Creative Life Center.  He explained how our evolution has been devolving from spirit to physical form for millions of millions of years.  The reason current times are  seemingly so important is because it is, we are now on the upswing, revolving back into light. Of course this happens a mind bogglingly long time ahead in the future, but it explains the shift in consciousness that is rippling across our entire planet! And here we all merge at some point or another in Sedona, AZ where UFO’s show up constantly to recharge or drop off or abduct people or whatever else may be on their alien agenda.  On a drive looking for more vortex hike opportunity, Veronika intuitively pulled over into a scenic overlook and we ran into a man named Alfonso and his daughter who were very interested in the extraterrestrial encounters in Sedona.  He had, himself, had inexplicable experiences that changed his life and he stumbled to find the convincing words to share with us.  I told him I believed him because I’ve had spiritual things happen that are impossible to explain.  Veronika and I had a simultaneous thought: The Sedona portion of the trip is like the movie Waking Life; people just walk up to you and start talking from their perspective on life’s unknown.  He led us to Rachel’s Knoll which winds through a private community where Madonna is said to own property. 

Kind Native American led us to a cliff to meditate nearby.

On the cliffs over looking the knoll we, again, heard a flute and followed.  We came across a Native American healer playing the flute, drumming and singing over a man laying on a blanket.  While we received the sound healing by proxy, another man began chiming over another recipient 50 feet away.  Feeling very blessed to have been in the right place at the right time, we collected our things and headed out.

Quick Note: On the way to Sedona, AZ

On the way to Sedona, AZ….

40 West had us entertained with a diverse spread of hills, rock formations and mountains near and far.  Our whole drive seemed to be enveloped in distant ridges like a wide corridor. From mile-long plateaus to thin, hundred foot stacked structures.  Every color I could imagine was twisted into the stones! I was consistently wowed every thirty miles or so.

One particularly red stretch of geographical splendor an orange dog appeared, sauntering carelessly across eighty mph traffic and slowed a hundred feet before us in our lane and made eye contact with both of us.  I slowed, not slamming but unable to swerve into the right lane.  Blaring the horn, I somehow missed the senile, chow looking boy- checking my rear view so as not to be rear-ended.  The white Taurus behind me was at an appropriate distance and so stopped in time, but the car behind him attempted to swerve left, saw the dog and whipped to the right sliding into the guard rail which he bounced off, went spinning sideways into the right lane, nearly being t-boned by traffic behind.  I pulled over but miraculously, not one car had collided, no one was hurt. Not even the death wishing dog.  (Veronika saw him cross back to the other side of the highway, safely.) The driver who spun out caught up to shake his fist and pass us, but I don’t feel responsible for him not paying attention.  We were just grateful all was well.

Albuquerque Check Up

The one rest stop in New Mexico was closed and my patience for the road and spasms in my upper back was growing thin, so we looped back east to the opposing

Rest area and crashed into a great night’s sleep.  We awoke to the desert, estranged from the mountainous landscape we’d left at sunset the night before.  After sharing Veronika’s La Luna meal (another 4.95 IN YOUR FACE!) we headed into the city towards Eagle Feather Metaphysical Emporium in Albuquerque.  The store owner’s partner dazzled us with his moldavite collection.   I chose stones carefully for each of my sister Amy’s kids who love crystals and all things metaphysical, and two Native American art cards; one for them and one for Shane. I desperately wanted to show my appreciation for caring for Josie and allowing me the peace of mind I deserve on this journey.  Veronika purchased a book on Shamanism, a path that has been drawing her for years.

Veronika feelin the love in Albuquerque

We pulled over to climb, noting warning signs for bears and cougars which both suggested we “fight back aggressively if attacked.”  The mountain was a complete pile of enormous boulders, some delicatly balancing against one another.  We climbed separately, meditating while gazing over all of Albuquerque and beyond.  You could hear dogs barking for miles, peoples’ conversations in the parking lot, even the running footfalls of a jogger and his dog. 

Downtown we parked, intending to set up the Magic Eye painting and attempt to draw people to us, but before we could unload a man approached us and insisted he help us carry our stuff to a nearby park where we would be seen.  He is homeless, which astonishes me for the ideas and experiences he expressed are likened to that of a star child.  He offered us his blanket to sit upon and to use his EBT card to buy us anything we should need.  A homeless man, giving anything he can to strangers, this is a lesson to us all.  Everyone who stopped to speak to us was homeless.  We had amazing metaphysical conversations with each of them, some broadening our horizons while receiving healing guidance from us.  I was so touched emotionally by each of them.  The man who’d assisted us was named Angelo.  Veronika and I exchanged knowing glances, of course he is an angel!  Carlos, a former artist turned heroin addict currently looking for Seboxin, the drug that “cures” heroin addiction, although seemingly just exchanging one substance for the next, suggested an “us and them” view of society.  There are those wrapped up in their world of capitalism, technology, societal norms and class climbing.  Then there are those who broke free of the confines of current social standards and strive to remain apart from the “dream.”  He had first simplified these categories into the homed and the homeless.  I don’t know where we fall in those descriptions, but Veronika noted “We’re kinda homeless, too, dude. Just living in the car. And guess what? We’re happy and doing everything and anything we want!”  We were deeply saddened by Carlos’s defeatist stance in life, he reminisced while watching Veronika paint, claiming he would never again be able to express himself artistically as drugs and circumstance have banned him that right somehow.  He would not hear otherwise.

I gave my undivided attention to Angelo.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m just paying attention.” “Don’t apologize!” He laughed, “I’m just not used to anyone making eye contact with me.”  We had a safety meeting in the center of the park with his homeless friends, who, not surprisingly, are no different than you and I except of course for the added experience of living outside.  Outside, outside the box, outside obligation and expectation.  They were kind, giving, happy and not complaining.  Angelo escorted us back to our car and saw us off safely. 

He had recommended we check out “Nob Hill” by heading straight up Central St passing UNM.  As the scene we passed grew steadily more interesting I said “here’s Nob Hill!”  After another quarter mile, “Oh this  is Nob Hill.”  Two or three more failed Nob identifications later, we arrived at the actual Nob Hill.  What an eclectic spot! A 1950’s-contemporary blend colored in deep yellows and turquoise, all alight with a young college aged buzz.  We drove up, down, and through surrounding neighborhoods as we often do in new places, just absorbing the lifestyle of the Albuquerque young.

I felt the excitement rise as 5:30 approached, the time my Aunt Emily would be home to receive us.  I had not seen her in probably 20 years, a family falling out on my mother’s side had closed the door between me and her a long time ago.  I didn’t know what to expect.  I assumed she had certainly heard of the splitting of families caused  in part by yours truly. I also considered fearfully the probability of her having sided with them in the disturbing pattern of protecting family members regardless of their crimes.  As soon as the door opened every ounce of fear and doubt shattered and I crumbled into her arms.  Her light penetrated mine immediately, her love radiated directly to the child in me that missed her and longed for a family connection.   She was so welcoming to me and Veronika, offered us each our own bed, plenty of food and anything we could possibly need.

Chloe Faith Wadsworth organized "Hollographic
Repatterning."

While dinner was being cooked, I sat silently, mouth agape, as she listed the multitude of alternative healing modalities she is practiced in from massage therapy to Reiki and everything in between.  She helped develop a school of healing known as “Holographic Repatterning” also known as “Resonance Repatterning.”  It’s a system of muscle checking a persons many systems: chakra, Chinese meridians, etc., to discover the best path to healing on all levels.   Veronika booked a treatment immediately and later insisted we find a way for me to also receive.  My travel funds dwindling, I didn’t see it as a possibility even in exchange.

Becca, Laura, Emily

As Emily cooked and spoke I tried to express the relief I felt in knowing I wasn’t the only one in the family into healing.  I felt emotional and the words wouldn’t come but she wrapped me in her arms and asked, with a kiss on the head, “Did you think you were the only little black sheep?”  She’d heard nothing, after all; she had left the family at the same age I did to blaze her own trail without condemnation.  She was sad, but not surprised that the patterns of abuse and denial had continued into the next generation, she offered me a treatment immediately.  We stayed an extra night to fit it, and a massage for her, in. The healing consisted of sound therapy with healing bowls, music and tuning forks; essential oils and flower essences; cranio-sacral therapy, clapping, bodily positioning and so much more.  She even helped me dissect a recurring dream and gave me a “prescription” for continued healing. 

We didn't realize the healing tour would be so good for us, we thought we were delivering but so far have received in so many ways. 

After catching up with Emily and my cousin, Becca, who might I add is absolutely and stunningly beautiful, we grabbed our auntie-made, oat bran cinnamon pancakes and traveled on.