The Magic of Speaking Your Truth

Embracing and Living Your TRUTH the first step to Living Authentically and Living your Power!!! 

I've spent a lot of time with self help books...oh have I! I didn't have the easiest childhood. Not because my parents weren't wonderful people who loved and adored me but because we moved around frequently and I was constantly adjusting to new towns, new schools, new ways to dress, new people. No, we weren't a military family, my father was changing professions from a jazz bass player in LA to a PHD in Psychology. We moved around all over the country in the process. So I had never had any long term friends or network of people around. And my parents, also affected by all the moving around, tragically had a very difficult time keeping their marriage working. So, sadly, they divorced when I was 11 years old. I'm an only child so they were pretty much it as far as my family and connections went. Along with our dog...Mojo 

My father was broken hearted and my mother fell into a loss of confidence and strength that devastated her . And worst of all, my mother and I eventually moved very far away from my father so I hardly ever saw him. My father and I were incredibly close so leaving him left me almost irreparably broken. I was flailing everyday trying to keep it together as I moved from Junior High to High School in yet another new school in a new city.  My only grounding anchor, my only safe bubble, my family had exploded and was shattered in front of my eyes. It shook me to my core. I lost my sense of self in those years. Lost my confidence, my self pride, my safety, my courage, my everything. 

It has taken me years, taken me really getting into adult hood and making what seems like endless mistake after mistake,  to really look internally and begin healing the broken pieces inside me. 

And only after a great deal of self reflection, self observation, and self-realization through yoga, meditation, endless self help books, therapy, talks with my father ( and my mother when she was alive), seminars and new age gurus, did I start to see my patterns and repeating issues clearly so I can begin to heal them. I am swimming in them and rebuilding as we speak. There are many things to work on but one little book in the sea of many self help books seemed to break me open somehow and cause a real "breakthrough."

I haven't had many of those kinds of breakthroughs. I'm always jealous of those I hear who had this breakthrough and their life changed over night. For me it's - I have the breakthrough mentally but can't really get the consistant behavior to match up with it. It's one step forward and two steps back. That's why this one little book was so powerful for me. It actually changed me as I was reading it. It caused me to act differently immediately within an hour of putting the book down after just a few pages. And I feel that the change has lasted, is here to stay,  and has most certainly improved my life for the better. The book is called: Know Your Truth, Speak Your Truth, Live Your Truth by Eileen R Hannegan. 

The reason I loved this book so much is that not only does it get to the heart of finding your Truth, but it emphasized the importance of "Speaking Your Truth." Of taking action on your truth and why that step is soooo important. I think it's not uncommon for a woman in a a male dominated profession ( the music business) to keep quite, smile and nod quite often when she is in her professional surrounding. I know I definitely did and it was constantly creating feelings of Anger and Victimization every day. Anger and Victimization are very close relatives, I find that they are always connected to each other in some way.

And it wasn't just in my profession. It was with my mother, my friends, my boyfriends, you name it. I was playing a role, a facade that wasn't me. The people pleaser. The go along to get along....God it's exhausting! And when I wouldn't speak my truth on a myriad of different topics in a myriad of different situations: politics, work, my needs, when I felt disrespected or disregarded etc, I would always walk away and get angry about it later. I would vent to my partner, my mom, my dad, my friends or my journal all the while not doing what I really needed to do which was speak the truth directly to the person or situation concerned.  It's a toxic pattern. Because you bring home all that anger and frustration and dump it on the wrong people or the wrong space.

Now, the other magical thing I discovered was that Speaking Your Truth doesn't mean "Going over there and giving that &%$$%$!!! a piece of my mind!!!" No that is rooted in VictimHood posturing as Powerful. No, the less angry and the more confidently calm and direct you are the better the results!! And the more you're really standing in your personal power. And no one has to hate each other or get in a big fight. Most of the time, I found that whoever the person involved was, was GLAD to do what I needed or asked. All I had to do was ask.

On top of that, you immediately gain RESPECT from the other person. I found that if you keep sending out the signal that you're not going to make waves or make demands, people will kind of roll over you expecting you to just go along with it. And the minute you actually, with poise and grace, or even humor ( very effective at times) make a stand or a request, they instantly fall in line like..."Oh..wow...ok...I didn't think it mattered to you" And now you have shown them differently and they will be different.

So I went from thinking that "Speaking Your Truth" was going to "make others mad" or "make everything uncomfortable" to feeling like "Speaking my Truth" is this amazing way to Live my Truth with Power and Confidence in my life ...I LOVE IT. And it instantly pops the "victimization" bubble. Really!! No joke! That pent up feeling of frustration and lingering anger or rage that builds up after walking away from a situation when you have swallowed your truth just disappears  I mean instantly! Totally transformative! I highly recommend it! It's magically life changing. And Empowering!

At the heart of my issues was the lack of feeling Powerful or Expressing my personal Power. Speaking your Truth just busts you into your Power. Beams you right to it! Life changing! Enjoy!

Maintaining Integrity in our Dialogue of Differences in the Cyber Scene

Democracy has within it a constant dialogue of differences. It's something we should cherish. And the onset of the Social Networks have given us a forum for dialogue on every subject all around the world. But I'm noticing something else about the social network. It's revealing something even deeper. It's revealing one's character. 

In between the lines of the topics that people post,  whether it be politics, activism, opinions on movies, Youtube shares or simple pics of importance, you get to see right there in front of you, colors of the character of the person who is posting. Character is defined by google as "The mental and moral qualities distinctive to an individual"  and defined by Merriam-Webster as "one of the attributes or features that make up and distinguish an individual"   So...

People reveal their character in their posts and comments in the Social Network forum. If they post pics of their pets you know they love animals. If they post links to concerts on youtube, you know they value the experience of music. If they post links to NY times articles, you know they value being intellectually astute. If they post links to gun shows, you know they value the right to bear arms. If they mostly post to "brag" about something you know they value attention and impressing others,  if they post pictures of girls in bikinis in provocative positions, you know ....well...you know. But the beautiful thing about democracy is that everyone gets room to let their flag fly and be who they want to be and say what they want to say. But the thing that strikes me the most these days, is observing human reaction to other's self expression. Mostly if the reaction is adverse. And it always fascinates me when people choose to attack another's post that is distasteful to them rather than just "hiding" the post. 

Right now presents quite an opportunity to observe the character of others as fires are being stoked everywhere in the dialogue regarding the last election and current affairs. And now the Benghazi issue. 

Just today there was a post on Facebook asking how many other American consulates died in terrorist attacks in the previous administration? It was intended to question John McCain's latest platform. There was one person in particular who immediately piped with responses clothed in a hostile angry tone. See what I noticed was not so much his point but his TONE. His responses were constantly laced in angry and bullying language. And lots of Exclamation Points!!!!!  Every time he was met with a calm response to his angry response, he pushed the hostility further. Until he eventually got  personally insulting to the person who started the original post. At one point someone else piped in pleading that the tone be softened because of the sensitivity of the issue and those who had lost their lives in the attack. 

The tone in this particular dialogue was only inflamed by one person. The Angry Hostile one. Everyone else was keeping their cool and intelligently exchanging ideas and facts. The Angry One clearly stood out. So what stood out was his ANGER and CRUDE LANGUAGE not his POINT. If anything, the anger and language caused everyone else to disregard his points. He shot himself in the foot by letting his anger and crude words rule his response. He successfully lowered his respectability and validity.  His points would have been much more effective had he stayed calm and clear, and communicated his ideas with dignity and respect for others. He did not. And if he had stayed calm, what would the others have genuinely learned or been able to understand in a new way. He'll never know. We'll never know.

To me, that's the most secret and interesting and valuable part Facebook and these public chat forums. Not so much the opinions but the character of the persons behind the opinions. They reveal it in their words , tone and choices to use inflammatory language and insults... or not.  I've learned so much about people by watching how they conduct themselves in these public cyber forums. It's almost as if the distance between them and the other people, because it's happening on screen,  gives them a strange courage or permission to bully others or act inappropriately. And what is most noteworthy, is when I witness a behavior or color of character that I'd never seen in the person before when I was with them in person. It's like a Jekyll and Hyde or some dark Alter Ego comes out. Like the person I knew is just a public facade and this is who they really are. It's disconcerting and unsettling. But very informative at the same time. 

And as I watch the angry ones rant in their rambling and hostile responses, I feel like I'm just watching them reveal their insecurities and shortcomings.  It's uncomfortable not because I agree or disagree with their point but because I'm watching them voluntarily pull their pants down in front of others. 

It reminds me of the moment in Obama's first State of the Union address in January 2010 when Joe Wilson, the Congressman from South Carolina, yelled out "You Lie" in the middle of Obama's address. That moment revealed the content of the character of both men. And, in my humble opinion, Obama's character stood tall while Joe Wilson's withered. That was a very loud moment in political history because it was so disrespectful. To speak to a president like that is so clearly out of turn. And, as a result, Joe Wilson is the only House member ever to have been admonished by the chamber for speaking out while the president was delivering a speech, according to the Office of the House Historian. A week after the incident, the House passed a resolution, largely along party lines, saying Wilson's conduct was a breach of congressional decorum that brought "discredit to the House."

But speaking to each other like that in CyberVille gets a pass? I know the two forums aren't even close to equal, but it's the basic principle of being respectful to each other as individuals. 

I'm not at all saying that we can't get angry and express it. Or whine and complain or just let out emotions. It's absolutely human to do that. I'm not saying suppress true feelings or "act positive" or deny our own truth. It's essential that we embrace our true feelings and let them out.  That we dig into topics that concern us and stand by our truth and convictions. That we stand up for what we feel is right and wrong. That we explore and uncover our shadows and darknesses and transform them through expression.  I try to do it in my songs, in my writing, in my journaling, in my art. I'm a big believer of authentic expression. But in this post, I'm strictly addressing the "art of conversation" and "interest in communication" with others. And the way we dialogue about our differences. And particularly the phenomenon that happens in "cyber behavior" when we dialogue about our differences. And why in cyber behavior people lose their dignity in their expression and resort to attacking and directly hurting others as a tactic.

So why is it that "cyber behavior" is suddenly void of all the rules of "social behavior." It's ok to insult, degrade, bully, and belittle because we're not officially in each other's presence? Where does that switch live that we switch on and off in ourselves? How is that it is acceptable in one's own mind to be polite and calm when in the physical presence of others but rude and hostile in cyber presence? 

MLK so eloquently stressed the importance of being judged by "content of character." And I wonder if  we wouldn't all advance in intellect and citizenship if we raise our character when discussing important issues rather than lowering it? By standing in dignity and integrity in our behavior "cyber" and otherwise? By respecting the differences of others rather than belittling them. 

My best conversations are with my friends with whom I might disagree on certain issues but our mutual respect keeps the conversation on a level where we both listen and learn. I cherish those conversations and believe I grow the most from them. 

 I will continue to be fascinated by those who voluntarily reveal the weakest and most unpleasant parts of their character so recklessly and sloppily on FB. Maybe it is a mirror for all of us to keep the checks and balances in place for ourselves? To give us an opportunity to raise ourselves rather than lower ourselves. To help rather than hurt. To create rather than destroy. To see that ultimately, we're all in this together and bonding over our similarities rather than fighting over our differences might be the first step to real change. And most of all, to keep getting better. 

Complicated Grief

So I finally saw "The Descendants." ( Spoiler alert by the way...) I'm not sure why no one had explained to me how appropriate this movie was for me to see. Appropriate for anyone who has lost a loved one suddenly, with no warning, in a way that leaves the survivor nothing but a trail of complicated emotions to figure out. I feel like I've been floating on this solitary island in the middle of the ocean being the only one in the history of "loved ones lost" that has such complicated , conflicting and confusing emotions about the death of my mother.

Well, "The Descendants" drove fiercely straight into the bulls eye of the heart of that exact topic. Like no movie I've ever seen. Exposing the deep, dark and ugly side of being angry at the one who died for actions they did that betrayed you. In the movie, the husband ( George Clooney) only finds out his wife had been cheating on him after she is in a coma and is not expected to recover. And their relationship had been strained for years for which he was experiencing extreme regret. And they have two daughters who have to process this as well. Whew...heavy shit. Then the movie dives straight into the deep end of the pool of the messy side of life. But what really struck me was the fine, delicate, fragile, volatile phenomenon that occurs when one doesn't have "closure" with the one who died.

Let's talk about "closure" and the lack there of it. My mother died alone, in her house, suddenly within minutes, unexpectedly on a Monday morning. Monday, March 7 to be exact. The one year anniversary just passed and I basically stayed in bed for a week being inexplicably tired. Hmmm ...wonder why? I leaned on Xanax for a bit but that just numbs me out more and I miss my juicy, sparkly natural energy. Even if it is wrought with anxiety at times, at least anxiety is energy. Excitement even. But I was trying to just feel better. Trying to cover up the constant undercurrent of sad that exists in me from this sudden YANK of my mother from my world.  Trying to numb the constant feeling that on March 7, someone cut off one of my limbs. Trying to hide from the voices that keep telling me that I'm a horrible person, a bad daughter and a basically worthless person.

Because something more insidious than just the "loss" or "absense" of her is what has been really dominating the depths of me. What has really consumed me and eaten me up is all of the unfinished stuff. Recent frictions not fully healed, plans never realized ( our trip to Europe - she never got a chance to use her passport...ever), harsh words said to her now ringing in my head in a thick cloud of regret and shame, ways she supported me that i never fully got to pay back, and accomplishes of mine that she will never get to see.

But accompanying these regrets of mine, is anger. Anger at her. Anger at her for certain things that I found out, after her death,  that she had done and said that I didn't know about. Things she had said about me, untruths she spread to justify her emotional states, information she kept from me, opinions and comments about my mate, her inability to ever really share me with anyone else thus making it virtually impossible for me to have a successful relationship, and irresponsible, selfish demands she put on me her whole life. Keeping me basically chained to her...

This huge buffet of unfinished tangled topics and emotions are mainly attributed to the lack of "closure"with her. It is a HUGE bunch of stuff to have piled on you on top of the sheer shock of the person suddenly vanishing from your life. It made me think that the natural slow deterioration of the human body as it gets older is nature's way of sending out the signal to everyone that this person is starting to fade, and will be out of our life soon so now is the time to say everything you want to say and clean anything up with this person so you can say goodbye with peace, calm and ease. Allowing you to continue your journey in this lifetime with a clean conscious and settled karma. So it feels like a cruel suckerpunch left hook when the person is just yanked away with no warning at all. Why why why??!! I kept asking myself that. WHY? No warning? No phone call that she's in the hospital so I can run to her and be with her, hold her hand, look her in the eyes and tell her I love her. So we can clean up this nonsensical garbage that might be lingering between us. Nothing??!! It's almost unbearably frustrating at times.

And then there are the people who say they can "feel" their deceased loved ones around them "all the time". Little signs in the house that they've been there. That the person talks to them. That the presence of the deceased is always there. Well I've felt none of that. The only thing that comes remotely close is my cat, Smokey. Who was hers. Whom I bonded with very strongly the night my mother died. Smokey was probably right next to my mother when she slipped away. The only one with my mother when she slipped away. I slept with Smokey every night at my mom's house while I was handling all the details. For three months, Smokey and I hung in there together and got through it. I simply had to adopt Smokey and keep her with me. We became war buddies in this unexpected tragedy. There for each other every night, comforting each other's pain. Sometimes I wonder if my mom is in Smokey because they have similar tendencies. She wants my attention all the time. Prefers when it's just she and I alone. Is extremely attached to me. Wants to play with me and only me. I swear to God, this cat is the closest thing to my mother I've felt.

But in reality, I think my mother's soul is long gone on the next journey. I think she's frolicking, playing  free and I don't think she's here with me. Maybe I'm wrong, I hope she can do both. I hope she can frolic about in wonderland and visit me as well. But I haven't felt her visit me. And it has just made me feel that weird lonely isolated island feeling when I hear everyone talk about all the times that they feel the deceased around them. I'm jealous. I call bullshit. Why dont I feel that? Is she ashamed that she left me with a bit of a mess? Is she afraid to come around? Do I have to fully forgive and be at peace before I'll feel her? Do I have to create my own closure before she'll visit me from the far away magical land she's flying in?

These questions float through my head every day. This big luggage bag follows me around to my gigs, shows up in my songs, causes tears out of nowhere and is basically causing me to reinvent myself. Reincarnate if you will.
Is this the lotus flower evolving out of the mud?
Is this the new growth after a burn?
Is this what we're really here to learn?
Is this the love we have to earn?
Is this the juicy part of the path?
Is this beyond math?
Will i learn to simply choose love? It's so hard when drowning in mud?
When I'm in the most tender place, blanketed in soft grace, the only air i feel, is hers to help me heal...

I miss you mom, I will always love you. And I want to fly with you in that magical land...some day some day...

Grounded in the Core

I haven't written in a very long time. The ebs and flows I've experienced since last year's tragedy has definitely affected my drive to blog, my drive to write, my drive to do anything but stay home in bed with my cat.  But the new year is starting out very well for me. I'm singing quite a bit. Lot's of singing work. Many private parties, events and concerts that keep the money coming in and keep my instrument hot. I'm also back to my studio writing new songs and recrafting older songs in preparation for recording. It feels great to be motivated to go back to my art, soul project. My original music. 

I've been headed back to yoga on a more consistent basis as well. I've found 2 teachers that I really enjoy and I bounce back and forth between their classes. Finding the right teacher is everything. The wrong teacher can really sour what would have been a wonderful yoga experience. If the teacher is pushing too hard or too caught up in the "workout" of it forgetting about the connected flow that must remain, yoga can be painstakingly unpleasant. And you can easily injure yourself. So I stick with the teachers I know, or I do my own practice at home. But there is something very focusing about going to a class. No phones or computers to distract me and I'm not constantly distracted by what I want to clean in my apartment. So going to a class helps me focus my full mind on the practice. So last night I went to one of my favorite classes and here was my experience: 

It's dark out side, everyone is getting off of work and bustling to get home. A few of us committed yoginis carve our way to the 8pm yoga class. It's never as packed at the 6pm classes because, by that time,  most people would rather be at home watching the Thursday night onslaught of favorite programs on the couch. 

We all wait in the lobby while the other class finishes up. Then at around 7:45, the door opens. Sweaty calm bodies start slowly walking out into the lobby as we pass them walking into the studio. The room is very hot and moist from the previous class. The lights are dim. I find a corner spot by a buddha statue and a candle. I love the dark yoga classes. It helps foster the moving meditation that is supposed to accompany yoga. I settle in my spot, get my bolster, my block,  my strap, all the tools that can be used to enhance or support my practice. 

I am very very tired tonight. Dangerously tired. Have to be careful driving the car, tired. Left my purse in the lobby of the yoga studio tired…it was still there when i was done, i completely spaced. At times like that i feel truly protected by some other force. I have periods like this. Suffocatingly tired. It effects my productivity and life goals. The tiredness is usually accompanied by depression, apathy, and a general malaise. Do i have bi polar disorder?? Is it a swing state of my hormones because it is approaching that time of the month? Is it still the fallout from the grief of losing my mother? I never know but I usually HATE being tired and i get irritated and depressed because of it. But tonight, I decided to take a little Tolle with me. Eckart Tolle. In “The Power of Now”, my favorite book of his, a common theme that runs through it is “Resistance”…”Resistance to what it.” Tolle attributes this resistance to most of human suffering. That we simply won’t accept the moment as it is, we want it to be different, we fight it, push it, yank it, and try to drag it into what we WANT it to be rather than just accepting what it is. I was certainly feeling that way this evening. I so desperately wanted to have the “electric” energy that I have when I’m in a ‘high period” . But instead I released the resistance and just went with it. 

I began the class very slowly and gently and only going as far as it felt good. I didn’t push every asana( yoga pose) to it’s furthest degree. I stayed right in the middle and took frequent rests. It worked magic. It didn’t really take my tiredness away but it helped me to have a very enjoyable class.  Not fighting myself, just rolling through it. And actually it was a more focused, meditative class because my mind was simply to tired to be jumping around like a monkey. 

Many say that it is in these tired moments that we find clarity or discoveries. Because we just allow the moment to be what it is. So as it happened, I had one of those epiphanies about midway through the class. I realized that all of the asanas are more grounded and still when i really focus on my Core. Which means the stomach. keeping the muscles of your stomach engaged to act as an anchor for your body. Then all of your limbs ( arms and legs) just grow from that grounded solid place. Many of us see the “tricks” of yoga poses. The arms and legs flying out, the impressive poses. And all we see are the flashy parts. We don’t see the rock solid core that has to be engaged to really make the asanas happen truthfully. When i focused on the core , all of the asanas were easier, more fluid and more grounded. 

Then it hit me, the metaphor for life. If we stay grounded within ourselves as we go about our day. We are less likely to be thrown off of our center. Less likely to be yanked into someone else's drama. Less likely to get all worked up by the other drivers. Less likely to lose our temper. Less likely to feel overwhelmed by our jobs, tasks, and daily bumbling. These epiphanies hit me all of the time in yoga. This is one of the reasons I love it so much. It is truly a constantly moving metaphor for life. All things we face on the mat can be related to that which we face in our lives. Our monkey minds, our egos, our self criticism, our difficulties just staying in the moment and most importantly the importance of our breath. Staying grounded in our breath, our core. 

At 9:30pm the class came to it’s close. We were all lying in shavasana ( corpse pose) where you are just lying on your back, arms and legs at diagonals so you look like a long star, eyes closed and letting the heaviness of your body just sink into the earth.  Although, I was operating at half mass all night, I was very glad I went. And the calm, centered , relaxed feeling stayed with me as I left the class and got into my car to drive home. Another wonderful part of yoga. You come out of the class floating in a calm centered place. 

I knew I would sleep well, and I did. 

So tonight, I have a gig with a big band extravaganza. I'll stay rested and calm today and bring a little yoga to the stage :-) 

til next time ( which we be MUCH sooner than the last time) be well

namaste, 

ciao

Goin' Cafe Style

I'm sitting in a lovely cafe around the corner from my house. They definitely got it right with this one. It's got a Parisian style, beautiful Venice style murals on the walls, lots of plants, lovely light music playing in the background, hardwood floors, quaint little wooden tables, big cozy couches if you're feeling more "loungey" and, of course, free wifi. I made myself come here to do some work and to write because I'm feeling the need to push myself out of my cave. It's very easy, in this post mom era, to hole up in my beautifully feng shui-ed nest every day. I do work, I play with Smokey, work , Smokey , work, Smokey. All good but, it's easier to slip into a little depression when I stay in, by myself too much.

So I researched some of the cafe's in my hood and found this little gem only a few blocks away. I have a performance tonight so it's nice to keep the day kind of light and breezy because I put out so much damn energy on stage.

Sunday was a harder day for me than expected. This is the first year of 911 where I know what it's like to lose a loved one. And to lose them suddenly in one day. Boom, they're just gone.

So this year all I could think about was all the husbands, wives, daughters and sons, mothers and fathers who all lost a dear one on that day. I was overwhelmed with missing my mother and with compassion and sadness for all the other grievers that day. But I got a healthy cry in and then I pushed myself out the door to go shopping for more feng shui stuff.


I tell you, the most recent coolest little feng shui ( and green) addition to my pad is the "SodaStream Jet" machine! It's spectacular! You see, I love fizzy drinks ( carbonated drinks) Diet Hansens from Trader Joes, kombuchas, just plain mineral water, soda and cran, soda and bitters...anything soda. It's so much more interesting than regular water. I love the texture. And I wind up drinking like 3 times the amount of water when it's fizzy which is all for the good. I do much better when I'm well hydrated.  But all those cans and bottles can take up lots of room in the fridge not to mention, lots of room in the recycling bin and therefore lots of room on our little planet. But this little device solves all those problems. You just fill up a bottle with regular water, insert it in the machine, press the button a couple of times and bam! your water's fizzy. It's great. There's no plug or battery, just a CO2 bottle in the back that you replace every couple of months. You can buy just about any flavoring of your choice to put in the water. Or just a squeeze of lime or lemon will do the trick too. It's simply spectacular! I highly recommend the Soda Stream to any fizzy drink fans out there. It's just absolutely refreshing!

The healing journey

This is my first post since April.

For the past few months I've wanted to come back to my blog but my thoughts were so dark and painful that I simply couldn't bring myself to write about it. I went from life changing discoveries to extreme emotional pain. Mainly just trying to keep it together to maintain my life. I've seen 2 individual therapists and attended a 5 week "grief counseling group". All of which have been very helpful moving toward healing.

The hardest time was really from March 7 ( the day my mother died) through early June. The taking care of all the details surrounding an unexpected death such as hers, while intensely grieving. It's amazing how difficult it is to take care of everything while trudging along in the molasses of such heavy emotion. The smallest tasks are somehow labored and stumbled; forget about the big tasks. And everything was up to me.

My parents divorced when I was little, she never remarried and I am an only child, so it was just me handling all of her affairs. The notice to the paper, the memorial, the bureaucracy, the possessions, the notifications, the legal necessities, the house, everything. Overwhelmed is a very small word. I'm very lucky that I had tremendous support from her friends and colleges and that I had my wonderful network of caring and sensitive friends. And most of all, that I had my amazingly supportive mate (my "sweet") with me at every step, and my wonderful father who, even though he lives thousands of miles away from me, was on call for me 24/7. They all were truly a gift. So because of all of them, I was never really alone. But at the end of the day, every day, it was just me, spinning around in my head trying to come to terms with this new reality I found myself in.

Since then, color has begun to come back into my life little by little and I am definitely seeing some blue sky. I'm not just living in a world of desolate grey. Last week, while in yoga, I had the insight that just about everything I'm doing right now is my way to heal myself. To help with the grief and to move on to this next chapter in my life in a healthy way. So I thought that's what I should write about. This journey of healing.

Now, I have my pitfalls for sure, and I'm sure they will be showing up in my blog as well. I didn't stray very far from a glass of white wine for the entire month of March, most of April and definitely over half of May. My mother and I frequently enjoyed white wine together. We had many a sprightly evenings drinking wine, laughing, talking, cooking...just being. Wine was our third buddy at times and so it's not hard to figure out why wine became a loyal companion of mine after her death. But my little liquid pal, when played with too much, very quickly starts taking away more than it's giving. So I began turning to other coping mechanisms that are far more healthy, more interesting, have more variety, are more creative and oddly enough, don't come with the dismal side effects.  I'll get into to those new coping mechanisms in a bit. Now I'm sure my little pal will still show up from time to time, but I'm getting many other new pals that are bringing me lots of joy and peace. So now I'll begin the dive into my healing journey.

The Journey Back

It's been treacherous terrain no doubt about it,  but some lovely discoveries, hints of magic and little miracles also seem to be dropping into my life that are instrumental in bringing the color back. Instrumental in helping me to regain a sense of who I am, and even transition into a stronger more self-expressed me, more self-actualized me. I am embracing the inevitable rebirth that accompanies death. And now my journey is one of healing. A journey back to me and a journey toward the evolving new me. Uncovering, discovering and recovering the truthful, authentic me.

There have been several specifics changes, behaviors and focuses that have led to the healing and rebuilding of myself. That is what I'd like to focus on for a while in this blog. The Healing Journey, The Journey Back. And probably the inevitable pit falls in the Journey.

Ok, in short the magic healing cocktail seems to be a combination of Feng Shui, Yoga, Meditation, many cozy moments wrapped in a blanket watching a movie,  anything that makes me laugh, piano playing, singing, writing, green tea, yerba matte tea, my father, my close friends, my incredibly supportive mate (my "sweet") and the clincher, my kitty "Smokey". "Smokey was my mother's cat but she and I bonded heavily the night she died and have kind of clung to each other ever since. She has added more than I ever could have imagined. To take on "mothering" a pet right after my mother died had a beautiful symmetry to it. All listed are prioritized heavily right now. My meds to heal my pain.

No matter how many times I try to describe the effect of my mother's death on me, it still seems to be hard to really get it across. At times I feel like I'm  expected to start my new original music project immediately and I just can't seem to do it. It seems premature. There is this overriding feeling that I have to heal my insides before I'm ready to create some new music. So my focus hasn't necessarily been music. Of course I'm doing lots of shows and gigs because I'm a professional working singer, I still love my acoustic duet "DNA Sings" and we're still playing every Wednesday night, but spearheading my own project has to wait until I feel more put together on the inside. That being said, all of these healing techniques, to me, are all part of my artistic journey as well. Anything that makes me feel invigorated, alive and happy gets more of my attention.

The first big breakthrough and really the most poignant and pivotal moment started when I discovered Feng Shui. Specifically the book  Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui. Life changing! This all began around the middle of June. I really had no idea how much this would change me. Change my outlook, ease my grief, ignite my hope about the future, empower me, excite me, and reground me into myself. It turned out to be soooo much more than just rearranging furniture and bringing in some flowers. Wow!

For those of you new to Feng Shui, it's essentially creating positive, abundant and flowing energy in your space. Feng Shui is an art and science that's over 3000 years old and it literally translates into "wind-water". Using the energy of the elements is very important in FS. Fire, water, wood, metal are all incorporated. It also asserts that individual sections of your space can be connected to certain parts of your life - creativity, relationship, career...etc. It focuses on making room for and enhancing your space so that the positive chi energy can flow to all the areas. So abundance and prosperity can flow. But before you can create that energy you have to get rid of a bunch of crap! A bunch of crap that's in your space that's probably blocking the energy from flowing. All your clutter. Not to alienate by sounding "new age-y" and stuff, but the change it makes is really powerful. It's like magical spring cleaning! But without getting too far down the rabbit hole I'll explain how it started.

I live in San Francisco and have an amazingly wonderful flat. I LOVE my apartment. It's been my nest, my cave, my safe place. It's one of those hardwood floor high ceiling San Francisco beauties. I've lived in it for 6 years now. I've been incredibly busy touring, performing, working, and just being pulled out of town constantly. In the last few years I've wanted to kind of "face-lift" my apartment but I simply hadn't had time. Hadn't had time to really get it looking and feeling the way I wanted. And I had been feeling more and more stagnant, cluttered and stuck in my apartment for a while. Even before my mom died. But after I tidied up her affairs and closed up her house, I was just left with my apartment. It was all I had left that could be called home so I began a fierce focus on making my space more enjoyable for me.  This was late May 2011. I was feeling the need for a serious change.

Well, on June 14 is when it all began to change. It was on that night that I had made a date to go out to dinner with a friend of mine (who I'll call "Amber" to respect her privacy). She's a wonderful woman who lives nearby. She has also just suffered a tremendous loss of a loved one so we became kind of soul connected. Before we went to dinner, we stepped into her apartment for a minute. I'd never seen her apartment and holy crap! It was beautiful! Like a museum. And the energy was so palpably LOVELY. What really struck me is that our apartments are very similar. Similar size, similar layout. But the difference in how her apartment felt and how mine felt was extraordinary. I was effusive in my compliments of her flat and she just humbly said. "I'm really into Feng Shui."

So, as we proceeded to the Thai place around the corner for dinner, we started talking Feng Shui. I told Amber that, oddly enough, another friend of mine had recommend a book to me about a month before my mother died. I had just left a band that I was in and I was ready for some reinventing. My friend said "This book will help. It's exactly what you need right now" As it turns out the book was Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui. Too coincidental indeed. Feng Shui was showing up everywhere.

After dinner Amber and I went to my apartment so she could give me some ideas of where to start. She made just a few suggestions and that did it. I was up until 3am scrubbing, moving, clearing and rearranging. It was so exciting! It was the first true feeling of inspiration or excitement I had felt since my mother's death. Smokey was en fuego while I was scrubbing. She was scurrying all around the apartment playing with her toys, picking up on my energy. We were both very excited. This was exciting stuff!

That night is when it all began. Over the next few days I read "Clear Your Clutter with Feng Shui" cover to cover. In the last 2 and 1/2 months, I've become a FS maniac. I've turned it into a verb. Anyone calls me and asks what I'm doing and my first answer is ... "I'm Feng Shui-ing." The Salvation Army has come to my house three separate times to haul away crap.  I've probably gone to Salvation Army, used clothing stores and used books stores a dozen times with bags and bags and bags of clothes, books, CD's pans, and just random crap to either sell or give away - all unused, hardly used or just taking up space. You'd be AMAZED at how much is in your house or apartment that is unused and taking up space that needs to transition to another home where it will be brought back to life. Or at how much of the stuff that you have has old, negative experiences, energies, and memories attached to it. So that when you see it, whether you know it or not, you're calling up old negative stuff and therefore blocking new cool positive stuff from coming in. The book really lays out the criteria to think about when clearing out your clutter.

The change in me has been dramatic and powerful. I feel lighter and free-er. I feel like I'm taking my life back. That I'm not just the victim of circumstance and grief but that I'm positively and proactively elevating my life. It is truly the first thing that helped me turn the corner from depressed and despondent to excited and hopeful.  The difference in the way my apartment feels is extraordinary. Everyone who comes over notices it. My mate couldn't believe it. He marvels at how it doesn't even feel like the same space. It's a small apartment but it feels twice as big as it did. And the energy is peaceful, playful, cozy, comfortable and grounded.

I'm not at all done with the FS. It really never ends. I think once you're bitten by the FS bug you're always looking around seeing how you can improve your space and it's a never ending mystical journey.

So that's it for my first blog back. Thanks all for listening. Soon to come is lots about yoga, meditation, friends, laughter, singing, art, music, living the truth...and anything else that points me in that excited or empowered direction. Or the little bumps in the road that I will inevitably run into. I will be writing much more frequently. It's part of my self-imposed healing journey. And they might not all be as long. I just kind of felt the need to catch up on all the goings-ons since April.

I still miss my mother every day. And wish she was here to see and share all the changes caused by my FS explosion. I pulled out the vacuum that she gave me the other day and completely broke down in tears. You never know when it's going to hit. Certain songs bring me to tears and there are some songs I can't sing all the way through without breaking down. I'm sure I'll be experiencing that for a while. But it's in that tender place that I hold her and will hold her always. Until the next time...

Nothing can prepare you...

This is my first blog since what seemed like a nuclear torpedo crashed into my life as I had known it. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Because, as I now realize, nothing can prepare for the death of your mother. Especially a sudden death. Where one day she is just gone. No goodbye, no final words, no hugs, no "I love you" nothing. You are just left there, and she is gone.

My mother died suddenly, in her home in Santa Rosa, California on Monday March 7, 2011. The police declared the time of death 8:18 am. The Autopsy called it "Sudden Cardiac Death" She was 68 years old. The last words anyone heard were heard by her friend who she called for help. All her friend heard over the phone was a faint, out of breath, child-like voice struggling out the words..."help, help me, help." Her friend called 911 but by the time the police and the paramedics got there, she was gone. Incidentally, she lives right across the street from Police and Fire Station so we are all very perplexed at how long it took them to get there. But that's another blog.

That morning, I was in my flat in San Francisco just waking up when I heard my partner open my front door and enter. He pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, held my hand and said. "I love you very much. It's going to be a hard day, sweet, a very hard day. It's your mother." I slowly and clumsily tried to sit myself up looking confused and lost. He said "She had an episode this morning and was taken to the hospital." My face turned to a look of panic and concern. Then the words that you'll never forget for the rest of your life came out of his mouth. "She didn't make it."

At that moment the world literally stopped and I went white and numb. No emotion really, just stunned. I said "No, no , no" in a stilted and droned tone. The rest of the day is bleary and blurred. I threw the most haphazard, non sensical things into a bag. Jeans, hairspray, a dress, a luna bar, a hat...I don't even remember the rest. My incredibly supportive and helpful partner guided me to his car where he shuffled me into the passenger seat. We got coffee at Angelina's Cafe down the block, water from a convenient store and began the race up to Santa Rosa. That hour long drive is when it all just began kicking in. I started making the calls. It is in that process that it really becomes real. I called my dad, pertinent friends, anyone else I could think of.

We went straight to the hospital where one of her best friends with her husband was waiting for me. I walked into the lobby of the Emergency Room and she and I crashed into each other arms in a hug that was like clinging to life. We stood there hugging, shaking and sobbing. When we finally released the desperate embrace to take in the situation around us I was led into a little, tiny, sterile, cold room to be given further information. The priest, told me that they had already taken her body away so I couldn't see her. Everyone told me that was probably better. I explained that she was not a Christian so we didn't need any of his formal services. He began giving me information about Funeral Homes and such...all I heard was words, words, words. Nothing could be put together to make sense.

What then began is my first experience with the deep, muggy, murky, prickly, empty, lonely, swirling world of what they call "Grief." I've never had anyone close to me die before so this was my first time. What a way to start.

I'm an only child and my parents divorced when I was 13. I lived with my mother from that point on so needless to say we were as close as a mother and daughter could be. We locked arms and took the world on together. We were a system. A survival team. We were enmeshed. A word I came to understand later when I started reading literature on Co-Dependency. My mother and I definitely qualified. This only added to the complicated myriad of emotions I was about to experience. After doing some reading on "Greif" I've realized that I fall under the category of "Complicated Grief." The mother/daughter intertwining brings it all out. The good, the bad and the ugly.

The death seemed cruel and confusing. Not how it happened but "Why??" The only medical condition she had was COPD- Chronic Obtrusive Pulmonary Disease. It's essentially a form of emphysema. She smoked most of her life and her lungs had suffered some irreversible damage. We called it compromised breathing. It mainly meant she couldn't go up hills, lift heavy things, or do anything that would strain her lungs. She had inhalers she used to help her pathways. We never thought this would cause a sudden fatality. Especially at this stage in her life. I'm continually investigating how COPD might have contributed to her death.

She went very quickly and many say that's better, I'm still not sure. The death was cruel because it just didn't seem like her time. She was in mid stride, happier than she's ever been, more self-expressed and self-empowered than she had been her whole life. She was making great money working part-time as a Special Ed Teacher. A job that she LOVED and was extremely gifted at. Everyone at her school LOVED her - teachers, faculty and students alike. She was in that glorious place where she got to work with the kids but without the crushing overload that full time teachers experience. That she had experienced for so many years.

She was a very gifted artist. She actually got her BA in Fine Arts but when the divorce hit she had to put her art dreams on the back burner and find a job that would support her and her daughter. But the art was always prominent. Our house was bursting with all her work. Her paintings, etchings, prints and potteries. She had moved to more arts and crafts working on her newest creation "Plant Bling." Little sticks with sparkly beads boinging out on the top. You put the stick in the soil of the plant and the beads boing out around the leaves giving your plants some "bling." They are delightful and everyone took note of them. Teachers, friends and neighbors all marveled at her "Plant Bling"

This "life" that was illuminating from her made her death even more nonsensical to all of us who knew her well. It's been over a month and we are all still fighting our frustration. Our irritation. Our anger that she was taken too soon. You can absolutely bury yourself in the quicksand of "Why?" if you let yourself.

But then we turn to me. The change of color I was about to experience that rocked me to my core. It was like the etherial umbilical chord was being ripped from me bit by bit causing me to lose all sense of myself.

I got through the first day of death with copious amounts of white wine. White wine became a pal of rescue for most of the month of March and well into April. I don't know if that is the right way to handle it but I simply couldn't stand the pain in my abdomen and the relentless, self -critical voices in my head convincing me that her death was all my fault. I really believed that. One hundred percent. I went over all of the things I did, the choices I had made in the last few months, not being there enough. Every road led to it's all my fault.

The bomb really hit me on the third day. She died on a Monday. Tuesday was a blurry mush of disbelief. Just keeping up with the stuff. Feeding her cats, breaking the news of her death the the closest people, managing everyone's utter shock. It wasn't until Wednesday that I started melting down. The day we went to the Mortuary to arrange to have her Cremated.

It was a notably gloomy day. Grey sky, grey air, grey, grey, grey. All I could see was grey. Luckily my partner was protecting and helping me. He drove the car to the Funeral Home. There's no way I could have driven through the tears. The parking lot was sad and empty and the building was droll and dull. Walking in the door to the sterile room, beige floor, beige wall, cold and stark had a chill that stiffened me. We sat on a sad, uncomfortable little flowered couch that looked like it came from the Good Will while we waited to go back into the little room to handle the paperwork. Signing the papers to have her cremated seemed like the most complicated, confusing paperwork I'd ever done in my life. And the tears wouldn't stop. I could barely maintain. I asked the same questions over and over again and couldn't even see where to print my name. We had to stop several times. Carmen, the gentle, older man who ran the Funeral Home just surrendered and got up to get me kleenex. We had to just wait until the emotional storm passed. I finally managed to sign the papers, I wrote the check, and then I slowly rose to walk back out to the car. Carmen put his hands on my shoulders, looked at me with loving grandpa eyes and said " I'm so sorry about your mother" and he gave me the longest most sincere hug I had ever had from a stranger.

My partner and I walked back out into the grey world, got into the car and I fell apart. Every part of me. I had this overwhelming, oppressive cloud come over me and I was convinced that I was nothing. That she was the spark in me. She was the light and without her I'm a complete nothing. I'm a dark, drab, failure. Dizzy dismay spelled that day. I had to call my father in a state of emergency. A frantic search for who I was.

Thank god my father and I have the relationship that we have. He has been outstanding. Keeping his cell phone on him in an "on call" status at all hours. Whether at work or asleep, he picks up and is there for me. I'm extraordinarily lucky to have him. I would need him as the hardest part of this journey was just beginning.

When someone dies, whether you want to or not, you inevitably start finding out things about them that you didn't know. This was very disorienting for me because, of course, I thought I knew everything about my mother. Well apparently there were many things I didn't know about her. She loved to eat at a fried fish taco stand when she would go to Estate Sales with her friend, she would bring all the teachers into faculty room to eat Fritos when things got too stressful at school, her students called her "Mommy" she put a smiley face in her checkbook when she balanced it to the penny, and she was working on delightful new art projects, making jewelry, and she had planned to put new dark curtains in my room. I'm sure it's so that I knew I could sleep well in there so I would come there more often. It's a lonely feeling to find these things out after she's gone because it makes me feel even farther away from her.

The next and most powerful form of grief for me was just about to hit. The complete self-loathing, self-blaming, self-criticizing, self-rejection basically a complete lack of self-worth. My mother and I had a dynamic that had a very strong pull on me. I found myself constantly trying to protect, take care, assist and lift her. At times it was as if, if i walked away from her she would fall down, make a mistake, hurt herself, break something. That if I didn't monitor her all the time, something would go wrong.

One Christmas Eve, I was at her house with my partner. We all were having quite a roaring time. The wine was a flowing, the music was playing, laughter was rolling through the evening. For one minute, I left to go into the kitchen while she was alone in the living room. Almost the minute I walked out of the room I heard this unsettling bang/ thump in the living room. I ran into see that my mother had fallen face down by the wall by the tv. I guess she was trying to plug something into the wall. She looked up and her face was completely bloody. She had slammed her upper lip on the side of a chair. I immediately thought it was my fault. "I never should have left the room, " I thought.

The next day my mother woke up looking like a cross between the Elephant Woman and Rocky. Her face was extremely swollen, bloody and black and blue. We were supposed to all go to a friend's house for Christmas dinner. We were supposed to go to this beautiful mansion in the elegant neighborhood in Santa Rosa. Needless to say, my mother decided not to go. I felt so guilty leaving her alone on Christmas day. She seemed ok with it but I know she would have loved it if I had stayed. And to this day, I still feel like I should have stayed with her and not gone to the dinner.

I have countless examples of this dynamic in our history. So it's not hard to imagine what I was absolutely pummeled with when she died alone in her house and I wan't there to save her. It's all my fault. I literally thought I "killed" her. I "killed her because I wasn't there enough, she was resisting my current partner, I didn't live with her, I didn't call her the day before just to say hi and see how she was doing. I lived in this cloud of regret and self blame constantly for the first two weeks after her death.

Another lovely dynamic to add to this complicated grief was that she did not like my current partner. She had dozens of reasons why she wanted me away from him. The problem was he was incredibly supportive to ME. Maybe he wasn't all about her, but he was a rock of support for ME. This caused palpable tension in our relationship.

After her death, I found myself hovering closely to her community of friends. They hovered close to me too. We were all hovering close to each other to soothe the big empty hole where my mother used to be. We were each grasping for her in each other. As we all started to break down our barriers it started to come out that my mother had been shall we say, quite publicly opinionated about my how she felt about my partner. She had been complaining to all of them about him and basically trashing him in the process. How was I supposed to explain to them that they were only hearing a "version" of him through my mother's clouded filter.

The despondency that followed was a new planet of dark for me. I have never felt more worthless, useless, and like I was a complete failure and disappointment. That I had wasted my life. I was struggling with my partner for my own reasons and this just pushed me over the edge. I almost broke up with him everyday for 3 weeks. Everyone told me not to make any big changes while grieving but I woke up every day with paralyzing anxiety that if I didn't break up with my partner I would always be living an ignoble life that my mother would and will disapprove of.

It was in the blackest moments that I realized that it was time for professional help. A recommendation from a dear friend led me to an incredible woman who we'll call Dr P.  She goes deep into the subconscious and psychological root causes of your current condition, block, or pain. It's like having an emotional root canal. We got to a very key place: I am not responsible for my mother's pain. Something clicked for me in this session. I have never had one of those therapy sessions where you have a "breakthrough." All of my talk therapy sessions in the past have left me with a hoarse tired voice and still feeling crappy. Just "talking, talking, talking" about all the intellectual reasons for my feelings have never led me to that ever desired "breakthrough." My experience with Dr P. was a whole new world for me. It was literally the turning point.

So now I am at least able to get back on my feet without feeling completely worthless so that I can deal with her affairs. Her friends and my friends have been outstanding. I am so blessed to have beautiful helpers fluttering around me at all times helping me out. They have really been the unsung heroes.

Her "Celebration of Life" Memorial Service that we had was exqusitely beautiful. It couldn't have gone more perfect. We had it at the most beautiful house of her dear friend. Many people showed up, it was a beautiful day, I gave a speech and we presented some DVD's of photos that we put together for the event. I had her artwork displayed all over the house. And all my musician friends came up and we played music in her honor to close the day. Many said it was the best Service they had ever been to. I am so grateful.

I am still in mid grief. There are many emotions running in and out of me. This blog is just the first of many to come on this topic I'm sure. I'm digging deeper into the cause of her death and I have a feeling a blog on the prescription inhalers used by COPD patients is in the near future. But for now, at least I pulled out of the murky muck enough to write again. And that's the first start. Thanks for reading, listening and sharing this experience. P.S. No matter how you feel about your mother, call her and tell her you love her. You'll be glad you did later.