I love you, Mom


I’m reading lots of wonderful posts online today, and looking at all the photos of people hugging their moms. And when I go to the store, there are countless of choices of floral bouquets and Mother’s Day cards.

I think that’s the toughest part—seeing all those cards.

I used to read every single one—searching for the perfect card to tell my mother how much she meant to me. She was my best friend. My healer, my confidant, the one who loved me unconditionally. I adored her. On her gravestone, I had them inscribe: “Our angel.”

My mother had the softest hands and the warmest hugs. Her smile could light up a room.

Mom taught me to believe in God and she taught me the importance of being a good person—to be honest and trustworthy—even when it’s not convenient or expected, even when no one is looking, and even when those around you are not behaving that way. She taught me that it’s the little things in life that matter most—like being with your family and your friends. She taught me to fish, to cook and to bake, to love animals, and the importance of getting down on the floor with your kids to color in coloring books, to toss the baseball in the backyard with your sons, or that you’re never too old to play Barbies with your daughter.

My mother taught me that hugs are to be given freely, and she taught me the importance of saying, “I love you” because you never know when you will see that person again. Maybe not until the next lifetime. I am forever grateful that the words “I love you” were the last words I spoke to her and she to me.

Is it mere coincidence that when I went to the Pixabay website just now, to find a picture of daisies (my mom’s favorite flower) to insert in this post, that before I even typed in what I wanted to search for–a picture of a daisy popped up?

I don’t believe in coincidences. I had the best mom in the universe.

Happy Mother’s Day in heaven, Momma. I miss you every single day.

The Stuff of Holidays: Magic, Tears and Blessings

Christmas tree with presents and fireplace with stockings --- Image by © Royalty-Free/CorbisI’ve already shed a few sentimental tears this past week—at my cousin’s photo of her kids brandishing candy canes and big grins, all bundled up and piled in the car as they get ready to go cut their annual family Christmas tree; at the silly Christmas program on TV yesterday when Santa Claus made his entrance ho ho ho’ing as he passed out candy to those in attendance; at songs like “A Mother’s Christmas Wish” by Olivia Newton John (and I don’t ordinarily even like her music) and “Believe” by Josh Groban; and at movies I will always treasure, no matter how corny they seem to anyone else: “The Homecoming,” “Prancer,” “Christmas Vacation,” the cartoon version of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” and the puppet versions of “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.”

It’s funny, isn’t it? How a holiday can have such a profound effect on a person.

You see, Christmas has always been my favorite time of year—a time of joy: the intoxicating smells of evergreen, baking cookies, roast turkey, hot cocoa, a fire in the fireplace, stockings hung by the chimney with care (as my dad used to say), colored lights and sparkles everywhere, the anticipation of the looks on my kids’ faces on Christmas morning, and the way my heart overflows with joy when making others happy. I get caught up in the rush of it all, yes, the chaotic craziness, fights with my husband because try as I may (and I really DO try), I always end up spending too much, but I do it because I want to make that one special day perfect for my family. My mother used to do the same, and those are memories I will never forget. They are the stuff that made me believe, and never stop believing—that dreams really do come true, and that real love never dies.

The older I get, the more memories I now associate with Christmas, and although all of them used to be good, that is no longer the case. My precious father died unexpectedly just days before Christmas in 2005, followed by my mother in early 2006. In deep shock and inexplicable horror, we were forced to bury Dad on a snowy and cold Christmas Eve that year. It’s hard enough to enjoy the holidays after you’ve lost a loved-one, but even harder when you lose someone during what to me had always been the happiest season of all.

But, such is the price of getting older, I guess.

My tears during the holidays now come with mixed emotions—joy for the family I still have, and the grandchildren who now grace my home with the laughter, excitement, and innocence my own children used to exhibit—and a longing for those whom I once adored but are no longer here in the flesh.

Each year though, they send me signs that they are still with me in spirit, signs that my husband would say are mere coincidence—like how my husband’s computer turned on all by itself the other night—the screen suddenly bursting with a bright, blue photo of the ocean, desktop icons along one side. I got up to turn it off, but since it’s a version of Windows I’m unfamiliar with, I couldn’t figure out how, so I simply turned off the monitor. The next day when I told him about it, my husband said that that was impossible; the monitor wasn’t even connected to the computer; it couldn’t have turned itself on or displayed that photo.

But it did.

And, when getting out of the car two weeks ago, I clearly smelled the scent of my dad’s pipe. Impossible.

Not impossible. For me, Christmas prompts me to treasure the blessings I have—a roof over my head, food in my belly, and all the other material things I have, but most of all, Christmas is a time to remember that real love never dies, and to treasure those whom have blessed my life in so many ways.

Thank you for blessing my life. (Written with a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat.)



Podcast of “Positive Perspectives” with Melinda Carver

According to talk show host Melinda Carver, at first, her listeners wondered how a spiritual awakening could take place during a rock concert. And who would blame them? I thought the same thing, even as it was happening to me! Hopefully all their questions were answered during our interview. Melinda was an outstanding host, asking questions such as, “How did you balance being a wife and mom with having such extraordinary experiences?” and “What was it like to be singing onstage with a famous rock star?” She also inquired about how I compared my journey to that of Paulo Coelho’s award-winning book, “The Alchemist.”

Melinda and I further discussed the role music and sound played in what happened to me, the implications of what experiences like mine could mean for others, and how my book has effected many of my readers. It was a great interview. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Thank you, Melinda!

Angels Among Us

Rain in Australian Rainforest

I get very attached to people. People are the most important things in my life. And when special people leave my life, it creates a hole where something wonderful used to be.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to a man who took care of me for more than 30 years, a man who enriched my life in ways I can never come close to repaying. He knew every inch of my body on an intimate level; he delivered my babies, performed surgeries on me, and became my primary care physician as well. And my friend.

At first glance, this post might seem silly, but 30 years is a long time, and to have someone you can trust, someone who made you feel like you mattered—is a precious thing. Especially in a world where a lot of doctors treat their patients as if they’re just a number. Or worse—a nuisance they’re forced to deal with so that they can buy that new Ferrari. Yes, I’ve had doctors like that.

A few weeks ago, I received a letter notifying me that Dr. H. was moving to another city. He had been my OB/GYN when I lived in Denver and after I moved to Northern Colorado 18 years ago, I continued to drive two hours each way just to go to him. And I never regretted it.

But now an important chapter in my life was coming to an end. You see, Dr. H. was not your ordinary doctor; he helped me through some very tough times in my life—from births to deaths to cancer-scares and everything in between. I couldn’t let someone like that just slip away without letting him know how much he meant to me, so I phoned his office to make an appointment. “All his patients want to see him one more time,” the receptionist informed me. “There’s nothing available, but you can send him a letter.”

My heart sank down into my shoes, into the floor, and into the earth beneath the floor. No, I need to see him, I thought. I need to look into his eyes and thank him, in person, for everything he did for me. Even if I can’t get an appointment, I’m going down there just to say goodbye.

I explained my situation to the receptionist and she squeezed me in.

In the meantime, I decided that I wanted to give Dr. H. something to let him know how much he meant to me. Thirty years is a long time. How did you thank someone for giving you the gift of good health? My husband would say, “You pay him LOTS of money; you don’t need to give him anything—he already has everything money can buy.”

But there are some things money can’t buy—like making a person feel that they’re important—that they matter, easing another person’s fears and assuring them that everything is going to be alright. How do you thank someone for that? How do you thank someone for really caring?

I decided to write Dr. H. a letter telling him how his compassion, kindness and expertise effected my life. Maybe someday he would look back on it and realize what a huge difference he made in the world–and not just in my life, but in the lives of thousands of others.

Through my tears, I remembered how he took care of me during my pregnancies—the last one in which, when I waddled in for my weekly checkup, well past my due date, hugely pregnant and miserable, and complaining, “Dr. H., has anyone ever died from terminal pregnancy?” He laughed and said, “Not that I know of!” “Well, I think I’m going to be the first, then,” I moaned. A few hours later, I went into labor.

I told him how much it meant to me that whenever I was giving birth, and in that cold and unfamiliar place—the hospital delivery room—surrounded by all that sterile equipment and tiled walls and being poked and prodded and examined by doctors and nurses in masks, and salespeople and janitors (just kidding about the salespeople and janitors, but it sure felt that way at the time) the moment I saw his kind and familiar eyes, my entire being relaxed because I knew that now everything would be just fine.

Close up of baby's foot in mother's handI told him that I had pictures of him from 27 years ago in the delivery room suctioning out my newborn son’s nose and mouth because he had swallowed a lot of amniotic fluid during his entrance into the world, and I truly think it was Dr. H.’s knowledge and quick thinking that day, that saved my son from what could have been severe complications.

And when I went to see him for a follow-up after my hysterectomy, he chuckled as he told me that during the surgery, I “woke up” and reminded him not once or twice, but numerous times, “Don’t forget to leave my ovaries in, Dr. H.!”

When I went to see him the year after my parents died, I told him how much it meant to me to see his familiar face again—it felt like it had been ages after all I’d been through—but his compassion in listening to what I had to say was like a light in the darkness that day and it gave me something I so desperately needed—hope and the strength to carry on.

And when I was terrified upon finding lumps in my breasts, he made sure that I got the best care available with the best surgeons and facilities in Denver and he stood by me every step of the way to calm my fears and keep me healthy.

I wrote that in his care, I always knew that everything would be alright. And it always was. And that, right there, is something undeniably rare and priceless.

I put the letter into my purse and went for my appointment.

It was weird, because when I got there, the waiting room was empty; usually the chairs were filled with women in various stages of pregnancy or juggling newborns in car seats, or elderly ladies waiting to see their doctors. Not today. I proceeded to sign in but the receptionist told me not to bother.

A strange feeling erupted in the pit of my stomach; I felt like I was in a place I shouldn’t be.

There were wooden carts in the hallways and behind the great reception desk filled with rows and rows of manila file folders covered with sheets, each folder representing one woman’s medical history—a sad reminder that someone who had been there a very long time was getting ready to leave—someone who was obviously very well-loved because there were a lot of carts with a lot of folders. I had to squeeze past them to get to the examining room.

When Dr. H. came in, his face was tanned and his shirt impeccably pressed. His once-dark hair was dyed a light brown, and he was sporting a grey goatee, which seemed an attempt to hide the sagging skin on his neck, but his brown eyes were as soft and kind as usual. He asked if I’d gotten his letter announcing his move. I said that I had and I fought back tears as I handed him my letter.

After the exam, we talked for a few minutes and shared some memories. Once again, his warm and gentle demeanor reassured me that even though he was moving away, everything would be just fine, and that if I still wanted to come see him, I was more than welcome. He handed me his business card and said that if I was in the area, to let him know, and that “If there is ever anything you need, you just call, ok?” Then he hugged me. I don’t think there is another human being on this planet who could have gotten away with hugging me while I was dressed in a paper drape like that!

When he walked out of the room, I could hear him talking into his little voice recorder as he always did—saying my name and noting the results of my check-up. But things were no longer going to be as they’d always been; this would be the last time he would speak into his recorder about me.

I got dressed and walked out into the hallway. Dr. H. was waiting there for me and he gave me another hug. My heart felt like it was dissolving into liquid—tears. Then he went in to see his next patient.

This was not a physical or romantic-type of relationship I had with my doctor; it was personal on a different level–and based on respect and unwavering trust for a professional who continuously went above and beyond stipulated job duties to make me feel like I mattered. I am a better person for having known him.

He once told me about the time he accidentally killed a fish in a lake with a bright orange, Pinnacle golf ball when he was golfing and that someday he was going to buy himself a Harley. And last year, I gave him a copy of my book because he said he was interested in reading it… Thirty years is a long time…


Ode to My Dad

Snow Geese in Flight at Sunset

One life touches so many others: my Dad loved
his country
John Wayne and Jim Beam
my mom
carving waterfowl out of wood
antelope hunting
goose hunting
elk hunting
telling stories and corny jokes,
restoring antique automobiles
taking home videos
baked macaroni and cheese topped with bread crumbs
German chocolate cake
smoking his pipe
watching wild birds
John Denver
WWII movies
his family
his church
Lay’s potato chips
his Ford F250 pickup truck, midnight blue
backpacking in the mountains
Dickies pants
Frank Sinatra
Patsy Kline
Johnny Cash
The Denver Broncos
Jerry Clower
old-time musicals like “South Pacific,” “Oklahoma,” “The Music Man,” and                   “The Carousel”
Chet Atkins, Hank Williams, Sr. and Waylon Jennings
classic poems
his grandsons
and me.

I miss you, Daddy.

Gateway to Altered States of Consciousness

TMI by Baja Rock Pat

It’s been a month since I returned home from my six-day Gateway Voyage program at The Monroe Institute (TMI) in Faber, Virginia. TMI specializes in exploring altered states of consciousness, out-of-body experiences and peak human performance and they use sound frequencies (Hemi-sync© binaural beats) to induce these states.

As the old song by Jim Stafford went: “Take a trip and never leave the farm!” Indeed.

“Hemi-sync” is short for “hemispheric synchronization,” or the coordination of both left and right sides of the brain to stimulate expanded awareness and more focused human performance. Wearing headphones, the listener hears similar but slightly different beats played in each ear. For example, the listener might hear a beat of 100 Hz in one ear and 104 Hz in the other. The brain then interprets the difference of 4 Hz as that of a third beat, which it mimics, creating theta brain waves, which is the brain’s natural state of deep relaxation and increased learning. And when combined with an atmosphere with minimal or no outside sensory input, the mind is capable of incredible things. Therefore, each participant is assigned his or her own CHEC unit complete with headphones, volume and light controls, and a black drape to block out noise and extraneous sound and light.





CHEC Unit                                                         (Controlled Holistic Environmental Chamber)


Founder, Robert Monroe, strove to keep his research scientific and credible, so in developing his techniques, he worked with many professionals including psychiatrists, psychologists, physicists, and electronics engineers to name a few. It was crucial to him that his research was considered valid in the scientific community. And this was one of the reasons I wanted to attend TMI. What they offer there is not spiritual shenanigans. The human brain is an amazing instrument and capable of far more than we realize.

Robert Monroe

                                                                Robert Monroe




I’ve been going over the notes I took while I was there in order to process the incredible things that happened to me. There were many. And some were intense. Not for the faint-of-heart. After six days of lying in the dark on my back in my cubicle with headphones on, the experiences I had will probably take me years to absorb, but I thought you might be interested in a little introduction here, as I continue to sort everything out. Some of my deductions thus far:

  • Death of the physical body is not the end.
  • If we were to use just a tiny bit more of that which our brains are capable, we would be able to accomplish more in our lives than we ever dreamed.
  • NOTHING is impossible.
  • I have complete and total control of my life–my thoughts, my deeds, my circumstances–and I can change these any time I choose.
  • The physical world is an illusion. Our perceptions of what is real and/or true are based on our beliefs, our thoughts, our heritage, our religious teachings, society, and many more influences.
  • I am so much more than my physical body.



                                    Crystal on the property




So, what exactly did I experience? How did it feel? Why would anyone take the time to explore something like this? Wasn’t I scared? Did I experience other levels of consciousness? Did I leave my physical body? Did I encounter intelligences from other dimensions?

Stay tuned!                                                                                                                    (PS–the answer to the last four questions is yes.)

Rachel Love Show Podcast

I had a super great time chatting with Rachel Love on a2zen.fm yesterday about my book “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird,” what I learned from my experiences and about Sammy Hagar.

Although I always visit the host’s website to learn about him or her before I go on the air, one of the most difficult things about being interviewed is that you never really know what to expect. What are the host’s beliefs? Did s/he read my book? Plus, you have to be prepared for anything–you never know what they’re going to ask, and you want to come across as intelligent and interesting.

Rachel was a delight; she has a wonderful sense of humor and had me laughing most of the time. However, there was a moment about half-way through the show where we became disconnected. I had headphones on and was nowhere near my phone, so how this happened, I have no idea. All I know is that since I’ve become a bit more comfortable with things that aren’t always explainable, perhaps the energy between Rachel and me was just so great that it overloaded the airwaves because this has never happened to me before! So please excuse the dead-air space until I was able to call her back and resume the interview.

In case you missed the show, you can listen here:

Thanks again, Rachel! I enjoyed talking with you. It was like chatting with a dear friend.

And thank you to all of you who tuned in. You are the greatest!

Voyage into the Mind and Limitless Possibilities

My heart is beating fast with anticipation, frustration and excitement because I’m so inspired I want to climb out of my skin. My next book is swirling in my mind like a mad tornado, ripping up everything in its path: ideas are bouncing around in my head, in the pages of my notebook, scribbled on scraps of paper that get scattered all over the house, and saved in dozens of computer files. In other words, the story is still working itself out but not fast enough to catch up with my emotions. That’s often what happens to me. I don’t write the story, or the poetry that comes out of my hands—they write themselves. But it’s coming. I still need to do some research though, and that takes time.

As a means of better understanding the revelations I’ve been shown about the power of the body, mind, and spirit, and in order to more effectively relate what I’ve learned through my books, in a few weeks, I’m attending the 6-day Gateway Voyage program at The Monroe Institute (TMI) in Virginia. TMI is dedicated to educating people from all walks of life and from over the world about peak human performance under the premise that human beings are much more than their physical bodies and they use sound to induce altered states of consciousness. That’s exactly how my out-of-body experience (OBE) happened to me—sound waves (in my case through live music) lifted me out of my body and showed me my definition of self, God, truth, and the meaning of my life, so TMI seemed like the next logical step.

In retrospect, it’s no surprise that TMI came to me in the serendipitous manner in which it did. When I first had my OBE during Sammy Hagar’s concert in Mexico in 2003, I had no idea what had happened to me. I thought it was my imagination. Or the heat. Or the tequila. But things changed instantly in my life as a result, and I knew that heat or tequila or my imagination were not enough to maintain the ongoing and exceedingly incredible things that I soon found taking place in my life.

I kept a journal, because the things that were happening to me were so hard for me to believe and so wonderful. These things didn’t happen to ordinary people like me! But they were. Fearing for my sanity while at the same time, feeling in complete awe at all the events taking place, I sought concrete explanations. After my Internet search of the words “altered states of consciousness” brought up a book titled Muddy Tracks by Frank DeMarco, I checked the book out of my local library and eventually bought it.

As I read the first few chapters of Frank’s book, I became disgusted with myself for harboring the ridiculous notion that I could ever write a book about what was happening to me. “There’s no reason for me to try to write a book about all this,” I told myself. “Frank already wrote it!” DeMarco was saying the exact same things that I was going to say–and although I initially felt discouraged as far as the writing of my own book, it was such a relief to discover that I wasn’t losing my mind because obviously, these things happened to other people too. But Frank’s story also differed from mine in a lot of ways, one of which was his mentioning of a place in Virginia called The Monroe Institute and how it helped him travel out of his body to places all over the world and to other dimensions.

The more I read Muddy Tracks, the more I got the feeling that I was supposed to contact Mr. DeMarco, but I kept pushing the thought away, telling myself that it was ridiculous. What would I say to him? And the moment I had these thoughts, I read in Muddy Tracks, how Frank was considering writing to the author of a book he was reading. The title was something about a praying mantis, I think. One day as he was pondering all this, he noticed a praying mantis clinging to the outside of his screen door, and he took it as a sign that he should indeed contact that author. But like me, he told himself he was being ridiculous and he didn’t know what to say to her, so he talked himself out of it. A year later, he finally decided to reach out to that author but when he did, he discovered that she had recently passed away. He would never know the impact that author would have had on his life.

When I read this in Frank’s book, I nearly fell out of my chair. It was as if he had read my mind and was telling me not to make the same mistake he did. So with trepidation, I emailed him, telling myself, “He’s a famous writer. He’ll never answer me.”

Days later, I received an email from him.

We exchanged emails for a little while and he was very encouraging and kind. At the time I was still unsure of where my experiences were leading me and I was afraid, so I was rather vague about whom the famous celebrity was that was involved in my story and other details.

Years passed. I wrote my book, got an official endorsement from Sammy, then proceeded to try and find an agent. After countless rejection letters, I decided to self-publish. I knew I had a good book. I knew it was well-written. But something told me to contact Mr. DeMarco again. Maybe he’d be interested in hearing what became of my experiences. Maybe he’d even write me a blurb of endorsement! I almost talked myself out of it again because I didn’t want to bother him, but something within me insisted, so I emailed him once more.

Not only did he write a blurb for my book, but he gave me the name of his publisher and told me he would recommend me to him because he thought his publisher might be interested in my story since he specialized in New Age books.

I contacted Frank’s publisher and he asked for my book proposal, which I sent. Then I held my breath. I’d been through this process before, but something about this time felt different. Within a week, the publisher told me that he loved my book and wanted to publish it.

I later learned that my publisher too, had participated in several workshops at The Monroe Institute, and when the opportunity recently presented itself for me to go, I jumped on it without giving it much thought. Part of me scolded, “It’s too expensive! Think of all the other things you could do with that money!” But, as is now typical of the serendipity and synchronicity that has poured into my life since my OBE in 2003 at Sammy’s concert, it all just fell into my lap and I felt nudged by an unseen force, so I’m doing it! I’ve learned over the years that when something happens so effortlessly like that, whether I understand its significance at the time or not, it’s always in my  best interest to see it through.

I will keep a journal while I’m there to record my experiences. From what I hear, I’m sure they will be vast. And although I’m going there with no expectations other than to gain a better understanding of the power of my mind and spirit, since I’ve already had an OBE, I’m curious to find out what will happen during my Gateway Voyage.

Stay tuned.

(For more information on The Monroe Institute, please click here: The Monroe Institute)


Mitochondrial Eve

Author’s note: This is a post I’ve been working on for a long time. I hesitated to post it due to its controversial nature. However, I think it is important to expand our horizons by considering different perspectives, because when we are exposed to new theories, it opens our minds a little bit and helps us grow as human beings. In no way do I intend to offend anyone’s belief system. Please also know that I am not stating here whether I believe or disbelief any of the contents of this post. It is a fact that Mitochondrial Eve exists, but its implications are subjective. And that’s what I find so fascinating, so I wanted to introduce new concepts and possibilities to those who may never have considered this subject before.

In 1987, scientists discovered a common ancestor to all humans alive today. She lived in Africa 200,000 years ago and was given the name “Eve,” not to be confused with the Eve from the biblical story of the Garden of Eden. Mitochondrial Eve was not the first woman from whom all humans were descended, just a common ancestor.

According to Nova’s website, Mitochondrial Eve was actually the most recent common ancestor through matrilineal descent of all humans living today. That is, all people alive today can trace some of their genetic heritage through their mothers back to this one woman.

Trace our heritage through our mother’s side? How is this possible?

Whenever an egg cell is fertilized, nuclear chromosomes from a sperm cell enter the egg and combine with the egg’s nuclear DNA, producing a mixture of both parents’ genetic code. The mtDNA from the sperm cell, however, is left behind, outside of the egg cell.

So the fertilized egg contains a mixture of the father and mother’s nuclear DNA and an exact copy of the mother’s mtDNA, but none of the father’s mtDNA. The result is that mtDNA is passed on only along the maternal line. This means that all of the mtDNA in the cells of a person’s body are copies of his or her mother’s mtDNA, and all of the mother’s mtDNA is a copy of her mother’s, and so on. No matter how far back you go, mtDNA is always inherited only from the mother.

Like the debate between Creationism and Evolution, the theory of Mitochondrial Eve is also highly controversial.

But let’s just assume for a moment that it’s true, and if so, could it have an effect on the manner in which women are treated even today? In my Women’s Studies classes in college, we discussed the goddess theory and how in the beginning, woman was worshipped because woman was the bearer of life. Among her sacred symbols were the serpent, the apple and others which through time became associated with evil and sin in Christianity (the story of the Garden of Eden is but one example). Perhaps this sowed the seeds for the oppression of women.

If it’s true that our heritage can be traced back to one woman, isn’t it interesting that even today when she marries, a woman often takes the surname of her husband? I wonder how different the world might be if it were the other way around.

On a more positive note, I am fascinated by the way “the Great Mother” has affected my life. I have heard differing opinions of this term. Some believe “The Great Mother” was Mary, the mother of Jesus and she very well may have been. But I tend to think of her as half of Father God, as in Mother God/Father God; the two of them being two halves of the one entity I call God. For me, the yin/yang symbol represents this concept perfectly.

Yin/yang represents all opposites of the universe–long and short, postive and negative, male and female, up and down, etc. It’s also interesting to note that each half contains the seed of the other. To me, that symbolizes our personal duality: we all have male and female hormones and we all have both positive and negative qualities, but in order to be whole, we must embrace both sides.

The term “Mother Earth” is also a common expression, along with “Mother Nature.” perhaps as a complement to “Sky Father” or “Heavenly Father” (the yin/yang principle again). See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sky_father.

In any case, I wonder whether the discovery of Mitochondrial Eve was a possible sign that it is time for us to embrace the sacred feminine in ourselves and each other. If you don’t believe in signs, it can only be a beneficial thing to embrace all aspects of ourselves and others, can it not?


Celebrating Joy and Gratitude and YOU!

To me, it matters not, which holiday one celebrates, whether it’s Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Solstice or nothing at all, but I’d like to share something I wrote in my journal the other day because it’s about experiencing joy and most of us could use more joy in our lives:

According to the Mayan calendar, today wasn’t supposed to come, yet here we are: days away from Christmas. To me, Christmas is a magical time, and this year, I’ve been trying to sneak in little moments of joy whenever possible–to pause and really appreciate the moment–because obviously, December 21, 2012 wasn’t the end of the world, but perhaps it will be the beginning of a new world where peace and love prevail at last.

I was walking through our local mall the other day when all of a sudden, a children’s choir began to sing, diverting my attention from the rush I was in. When I looked in the direction of the sound, I saw parents and grandparents crowded together in coats and boots and beaming as they watched their little ones perform. The children looked to be about 5-6 years-old.

I paused for a moment to listen to their sweet, little voices, but a tear formed in my eye and a lump rose in my throat as I thought about the twenty 5-6 year-olds who were gunned down last week at an elementary school in Connecticut. I don’t think I’ve ever cried as hard for people I didn’t even know, as I did for those babies. That inconceivable event NEVER should have happened.

I didn’t stay and listen to the children at the mall for long because I didn’t want those kids’ parents and grandparents to see me crying. Instead, I tried to focus on how it felt when my kids were that age and had to perform in the mall like that. There was never a mother more proud than I was as I watched my kids deliver their practiced lines while dressed as Santa’s reindeer or elves.

When I walked out of the mall the other day, huge, fluffy snowflakes began to fall from the grey sky and a sort of hush seemed to descend over the parking lot, even though people were scampering here and there to finish their last-minute shopping.

I stood beside my car for a moment and I smiled and sighed at the beauty of the snowflakes. I wished I could have stood there taking it all in for hours, but it was getting dark and I had a lot of things I needed to accomplish before nightfall, plus I knew I was probably getting dirty looks from impatient drivers waiting for me to vacate my parking spot.

Days later, I sat on the floor in front of our Christmas tree–we bought a real tree this year for the first time in over a decade–so I sat and gazed at the tree decorated with lights, tinsel and color and I thought to myself, “It just sings of joy!” And I wondered, why is it that the anticipation of Christmas is so magical? –the songs on the radio, the decorations and colored lights in the stores and all over town, gifts beneath the tree–yet once Christmas Day is over, so is the magic.

And how can I tap into that magical feeling and joy that only comes at Christmastime, throughout the year? I wonder if I’d still feel the magic if I couldn’t afford a Christmas tree or gifts for those I love. But like “The Whos Down in Whoville” in the Dr. Seuss story of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” I realize that the magic of Christmas–and joy–do not come from a store–they come from the heart.

So as 2012 winds to a close, I want to extend a sincere and heartfelt thank-you to all of you for your love and support of this website and my book “Dance of the Electric Hummingbird.” Without you, my book would simply be a conglomerate of typed words in my computer or a bunch of sentiments in my head. YOU helped make it reality by buying the book, telling your friends about it, by attending my book signings and by being there for me every step of the way. I couldn’t have accomplished this without you and it means more to me than words can relate. Please do not ever give up on your dreams and never stop believing in the marvelous and magnificent gift that is YOU.

Wishing you and yours the happiest of holidays and a New Year filled with perfect healthy, prosperity, peace, love and joy.

~Baja Rock Pat