December 29th, 2011 National Treasures in Disguise

Every now and then I have to get out of my own head space, eat a few Jelly Bellies and do something outside of the ordinary. No, I don’t smoke pot, or jam ’shrooms. I watch YouTube videos. The wierdest, most fascinating, moving, hilarious, disgusting, mind-blowing ones I can.
Used to be people had the Enquirer or Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Now we have technology.
This past week I’ve been moving past a lot of personal obstacles. I actually had a person tell me this week that I am becoming the person I always should have been.
uhhh…….thanks, I think.
The phrase, “should have been” really did nothing for elimating the fear i have of growimg old and never accomplishing what I was put her to do. Some people have been in that headspace with me and faithfully cheer me from the sidelines. It also did nothing to quiet the fear I have of never figuring out the plan I need to initiate to go to the next level.
Nike and others tell me, “Just do it!” but just doing it hasn’t been extremely profitable for me because I probably interpreted that the wrong way.
Had I “just done it” with a few of the rich men who’ve graced my walk here on Earth I might have had the denero to do more but I’ve never been that kind of girl. My independent streak married my logical side and they emotionally eloped into the sunset leaving me the divorced spouse of an uncertain future.
Anyway, if that was too deep for you, the fact that life is short was brought home all to soon last year with my Mom passing.
When conferencing with my personal coach this morning we talked about elliminating one word from my vocabulary. That word is “struggle”. He finally pried that one out of my clammy hands and replaced it with something else. One helping of a whole lot of wup ass.
That’s going to be the name of my next Mustang by the way. WUPASS!
But I digress.
In contemplating some of my next moves I have initiated a few things that I know I am going to have to commit and follow through on.
During my conversation with my coach I found myself idly rifling through my briefcase like some bag lady that had misplaced her precious hoard of what nothings.
I realized that the conversation was idling on the dream I had several nights before. A dream I’ve had three times now. That disturbs me because its a replay of an event that I never want to happen.
I am invited to ride a very famous and talented Dressage horse at an exhibition. I am excited because I am promised that I will have plenty of time to work with him prior to the show. I have a schedule that I know must be kept. A time frame to saddle and ready the horse.
I arrive at the event, nervous because I am already running late on time. I get delayed by trivial things and I rush to the barn.
The horse has not been saddled. The troupe of riders is already in the spotlight warming up their horses. Everyone is in place but me.
One young rider shouts to me, his pony is misbehaving. I go to rush to him but he is shushed and I am told to go and ready my horse.
I realize that I can’t get ready in time because I am not prepared and the barn where my horse is being kept is too far away to allow me to change clothes, saddle and ride the horse with professionalism.
I politely shrink.
Everyone is disappointed. They had faith, excitement and expectations. I have let them down.
There is no excuse and then I wake up.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist or dream analyst to understand what this dream means.
The fact I am in a dead sweat when I awake is my body telling me I better not keep making the mistake I’ve made many times.
Too little time in attention to details and too much time catering to everything else unimportant, important, justified, whatever. It doesn’t matter.
If I don’t initiate for ME, I will go nowhere, accomplish nothing and my gifts will have been appreciated, even recognized, but not utilized to the shining potential.
I want this more than anything in the world.
Remember, I am rifling in my briefcase for no apparent reason other than to divert my attention like some OCD patient that can’t stop washing their hands.
I quickly realize this when my Coach brings me back to Earth by telling me that he personally has seen Oprah and Lady GaGa walk on fire.
We’ve talked a lot about the patterns and behaviors of truly successful people and this caught my attention. I keep forgetting that my Coach is COACHING people of this calibre. The little girl from Montana still lives inside of me so I still am amazed when I am speaking face to face with those famous and those who put them there.
Anyway, I shared with my Coach that I find Lady GaGa fascinating.
WHOA! HOld on there! I know I may catch flak for that but truthfully, her freedom of expression in HER art is enviable.
My Coach brought me back to Earth by sharing a few secrets about Madam Gaga. She loses sleep just like I do worrying about whether or not her ideas will be well received and if she will be able to forward her message of acceptance, individuality and person strength.
I stopped rifling through my well worn brief case when he said this.
The difference he said, is that she doesn’t get distracted. She just does it. She has steeled herself against the ridicule of people that say she’s a heathen. She doesn’t listen to the twenty critics who tear her work apart because she knows that it took 5 million people listening to get to those 20 critics.
Pretty cool if you think about it.
It’s a personal thing but you would have to know how I grew up to understand why bringing information, especially cutting edge philosophy and method and techniques, to people in an approving way is so damn important to me.
I know at that moment, I did.
I renounce it! I dropped my rifling and mentall focused, forcing myself from an old habit to truly commit to my agenda, my calling and my passion.
You see, I am truly comfortable in the full illumination of my intuition. So much so that I am not committed to the dirty trench work my mind tells me is useless.
I am running to help that little boy on the pony who is already being looked after by a trainer and countless other horse riding villagers.
The door to the stage is right in front of me and lifting the curtain of how we work and treat our horses is ready for its debut. But it can’t happen without the host/star.
I was pondering this tonight as I logged on to YouTube. I always browse the listings of most viewed and the sidebar of video suggestions. This one jumped out at me and I cllicked on it. I am glad I did.

I don’t speak Korean but you don’t have to. One because there are subtitles and the other because the emotion reflected in this clip is umistakable. The boy showed up, had the courage to sing and showed the world that little orphans selling gum are really national treasures in disguise.

December 19th, 2011 Color by Numbers

Some people doubt psychics. I know because I’ve been one my whole life. As I have struggled through this past year I have sought the advice of several talented psychics. I find the clarity they bring refreshing.
When my Mom was alive we would talk with one another about the powers of the Universe and I always came away enlightened. As a guide, none could be better than my Mom. Even as she was passing she was concerned for my spiritual well being. I irreverantly bantered with her often just to get a rise out of her. It was a fun game until she passed and now appears to be settling her promises to me to encourage me from beyond. She had a profound faith while mine is mediocre at best. That is why my meeting with Mr. Bearded friend alongside the road has shaken me a little.
You see, I also asked my Mom to prove to me heaven exists.
Mr. Bearded went on and on about our path to salvation so naturally I am hoping my sacriledge is not taboo up there. I still must be who I am until something further changes.
If you read my last post, Trip on THIS, this is a continuation of that blog.
The night before I picked up my stranger friend along side the highway I had consulted a psychic. I do this about every 4-6 months. It’s amazing to get overlap information on prior readings. This is validation that I am on the right track and that the psychic on track with my path. I use different psychics at times to get validation that the information I am being given is correct.
The night I spoke with Lani from PsychicSource I was searching for some answers to questions having a tremendous impact on my life.
Lani is also a medium and i wanted to see if my Mom would come through. She did, loud and clear. Thanks MOM!
At the end of my reading Lani said, “you need to pay attention to numbers. When you have a significant encounter, look around. The numbers you will see will have meaning.”
She also shared that this apparently was coming from my Mom.
So, after I met my bearded friend and had that experience it hit me. I needed to look for numbers.
The clock in my truck read 5:17 when I dropped him off.
Then it occurred to me. The mountain road, more like a trail, had been marked with the number 492.
After blogging last night I was reflecting on the event when it hit me that I should research that number.
I did and it led me to the yeard 492, which was a leap year, then the Julian Calendar. Apparently the number has a basis in shamanism.
This hit home because Lani had told me I needed to become more proficient in light working, astral projection and spiritual endeavors.
I followed the link as it applies numerology and found out that numerologists believe we have significance in our names.
The link I inspected gave me a great surge of confidence. It outlined my attributes specifically and accurately.
Yeah, I know. I’m TRIPPIN!
I thought about including the information in my last blog but truthfully I needed time to digest this.
How in the ???? What the ????
It was almost too much. But moments like these have come often this year so reading through the link I voiced thanks to my Mom and the Universe for coming to me in a way that I could embrace and understand. Its all rather extraordinary.
And worth sharing.
The link to the numerology site is:

I am not done with my research yet. I instinctively feel that there is more to it. I expect my numbers to appear and as they do, I am going to play them in the lottery. After all, I do pray.
My Mom would be proud.
I pray every day that God would allow me to win the lottery so that I could prove money does not make one evil.

December 18th, 2011 Trip on THIS

“Trip on THIS!” he said just after I had picked him up along the side of the highway.
Last winter at almost this same time as I was grieving heavily the loss of my Mother, I made a trip to the local health food store to pick up some ear candles for my Grandpa (that’s another blog). While I was there a healthy, spry, bearded man popped into the store.
Immediately I knew he was different but not in the way you know people are different. It was his spirit. His countenance and his presence.
He didn’t skip a beat as he looked me straight in the eye and said, “move forward, stay focused and follow the light.”
This hit me like a ton of bricks given that my Mom had said nearly the same thing to me two days before she died.
I was stunned, shaken and beyond words.
I quickly stepped out the door of the store, guilty for not acknowledging this stranger and sucked in a ragged breath and the tears started rolling down my face. I choked them back and ran for my truck.
I have seen him several times since but never had the courage to tell him why I rushed past him with no words or why those words meant so much to me.
Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day I received my Mom’s call. The call that changed my life forever. Christmas eve will be the anniversary of her death and I have fought and choked back those tears all week.
But amazing events have occurred with this time of pain.
One of my clients lost her Dad last year on Christmas Day and her husband lost his father on New Years.
My Mom’s funeral was on New Years.
Both of us experienced the same sudden tearing in our lives that have left us raw, broken and starving to find someone that can understand the loss of a loved one at a time of year celebrated with gifts, happiness and joy. None of which fit the occassion and probably never will.
We talked about the pain of that loss and the added pain of having to deal with the aftermath.
She had to put her Dad’s mules down.
I had to sell my Mom’s horses and best friends. I also supervised the euthanasia of my niece’s horse who in turn received one of my Mom’s horses. We both agreed that euthanizing our loved one’s horses felt like going through the loss all over again. Sometimes I feel like I am going crazy.
I shared that with my client and we hugged each other because she said she felt like that too. We agreed that if we both felt this way that our emotions must be normal.
Enter old, bearded man with the wise, beady eyes and clean clothes.
I’ve seen him walking through town, out of town and down the road more than once but I still didn’t stop. It was clear to me he was a vagrant of some sort, or was he?
I am loathe to pass judgement but something about him said Earth in only the way vagrancy can.
At the very least he didn’t own a car and made regular trips into town for supplies presumably.  I have seen him walking the road many times.
After a long day of trimming horses, answering dozens of questions (it seems I am a bit of talk about town with what my work is doing here in this little town in Idaho) and laying down one rotten, rank and spoiled horse down so she might have a future with the people who love her and after making countless phone calls to schedule hay sales, deliveries and manage farrier appointments both here and in Colorado…wait for it….deep breath!..I was finally headed home.
Home means I check on Grandpa, make sure he has had dinner, take care of any chores he needs and organize for the next day while filling him in on everything that I’ve done that day while listening as he asks questions…I answer questions and generally he gives me a summation, brief and several dollops of worldly wisdom until he notices my eyelids are drooping and I’ve melted six inches into the couch cushions from exhaustion.
That’s life right now plus minor worry for the wayward cow. I am sick over her fate. I fed and watered she and three of her compadres for several days not knowing who they belonged to.  Two days ago their goofy owners came and chased them all over hell with their four wheelers.  I was livid.  They were calm, gentled cows around me but I had to earn that over two weeks of being around them.  Grandpa said they hadn’t even gotten into the yard and those cows had bolted.  This after they had hung around docile for over a week.  I couldn’t stand it.  It was foolish to say the least to think you could catch or herd a cow in Idaho’s mountain country.  Further, the cows had been in our corral.  All they would have had to do is pull in with a trailer, load them up and be on their way.

Driving home I had seen my adopted cow, alone, ambling down the middle of the highway, homeless without her compadres!

Two days ago I heard wolves chasing something through the brush.  Now I am worried about the missing cows that aren’t mine anyway.
Wolves regularly run through here so she is just bait and I am powerless to do anything to help her.
Ok, I think you get the picture.
I am winding all of this through my brain when suddenly I see a dark figure walking past the entrance to my drive.
Old, beady eyed, bearded man with his characteristic back pack, power walk and umbrella.
Something prompted me to stop and offer the man a ride.
We made introduction and immediately his eyes lit up.

“I know you! I saw you at the good food store!”

There it was, my folly before me.  I am sure I turned three shades of red.
I told him my name and then blurted, “it’s Russian. My dad named me.” I had no idea why I felt compelled to share that information. None whatsoever. It just came out.
He answered back in Russian.
Stunned I told him I didn’t speak a word of Russian and explained that I had no idea why I had shared that. Its not important to anyone.
He started in with talk about how we were destined to meet and that God had scheduled it light years before.
Suddenly I found myself telling him why I had not said anything to him at the health food store, the reason why. I also shared with him that his words meant something to me and that I needed to hear them at that exact time.
He went on about God but not until after he called me Sister when I affirmed I had a Faith and believe in a power beyond us.
As we talked he said a number of things….just like my MOM.
I find this incredibly funny since it was all biblical and I just posted a very non-biblical proclamation some days before in my blog.  It would be just like my Mom to come back and nag me from the dead about my spiritual well being.

It was uncanny. I felt uncomfortable and intrigued at the same time.
We drove, and drove and drove for what seemed like forever on windy, slick and icey roads until we neared his dropping off point.
I didn’t know how far we had come up the river and into the mountains as our steady chatter kept my mind spinning.
He comforted me about the loss of my mom and continued with phrases I KNEW had to be meant for me, direct from my Mom.
I fought back those tears again and tried to actively concentrate on the windshield, the road, rocks, gravel. Just about anything to keep from feeling the pain her loss has brought me.
Along mid-conversation he blurts, “Trip on THIS! Isn’t it possible that…..
Yeah I was tripping all right. He had no idea how much.
I found out he was originally from California and has lived quite a lot of life that included a lot of taudry and unspeakable things he no longer wishes to embrace.  Drugs included.  I am living proof you don’t need them to trip!
We talked of revival and renewal.
We spoke of our individual journeys.
He listened quite well, letting me finish my stories and impacted me with his unequivacal acceptance of what will be will be and what is, is, but you must continue to be true to who you are, love each other and be thankful, expressive in that thanks and complete, no matter what circumstance.
Now, I might not believe this was real unless it was delivered by a man who lives 40+ miles from town in a wilderness where he says he regularly communes with wolves, mink, ermin, and bear.
We spoke of our love of animals after I had gushed the story about the cow I was worried sick about and how I feel about horses. I was still raw from the experience of having to lay down that horse today, an action that needed to be done if this horse is to go forward without conflict with humans. I felt a tremendous burden of weight and responsibility to exorcise her of her humanic demons and set her free to enjoy her herd while building some bridge toward being able to commune with humans.
My bearded friend pulled a couple of books from his pack, wrapped in plastic.
“Do you read?” he said.
I do I replied and he explained that sometimes he gets caught in storms and that this is the soul reason why he wraps everything in plastic.  His statement seared a picture into my  head of his braving the elements to walk 40 miles to town….one way!
He shared that his is a life where he knows everything will be provided. He has no worries so therefore he has no ability to pass judgement on another human being.
I pondered this statement and got it right away.
We agreed most humans pass judgement from the basis of fear.
He understands this and forgives anyone passing him by as he hitchhikes to and from his home.
His mission you see is to enlighten people. He does so freely, without pushing and simply accepts opportunity.
He does so openly but without arrogance or urgency.
He simply believes he has had some of the experiences he has had so that he can love who he is, his life and the lives of others.

He shared with me that in his younger years he did a lot of things he now regrets but that he isn’t ashamed ofthe experience because its given him the courage to help others.  He likes to give books away and with that he gave me two.

“Here, take these.  I think you will find them very interesting.”

Their titles intrigued me and I wondered, had he been carrying those books around all day waiting for just the right person to share them with?

I think he had.  I couldn’t really see my picking him up alongside the road on the week of the anniversary of my Mom’s passing as coincidence.

He shared with me that when he goes to town he walks over 40 miles….expecting to find a ride along the way. Still, I definitely understood that doesn’t always happen so he is “homeless” against the brutal Idaho weather unless someone, like me, stops to help.  I used that term loosely because truly this man doesn’t need help. He is living his life giving help and encouragment.  He said not everyone is willing to help a perfect stranger, but admonished that as humans we should all be more giving, loving and accepting.  To do so is to live on a higher level of awareness and enlightenment.

I couldn’t have agreed more.  Those words too echoed of my Mom.  Her last words were that we should all love one another no matter what.
I had no idea he lived 40 miles up in the mountains when I picked him or and offered to take him all the way home.  Driving that distance on 35 mpg roads I knew that’s got to be a tough existence.  I doubt his dwelling is a mansion.  I didn’t ask about what his every day life is but one could tell it isn’t always easy.  What impressed me was his absolute comfort with it.

I have secretly always admired the loners of the wilderness but I know that I may not be entirely equipped to live the life of a hermit melting snow into water to eat with meager meals as I imagined he did.  His clothes were clean, kept and warm, practical and he had the lean pysique of an organic human.  I admired his committment to his lifestyle.  His vagrancy had an unmistakable control.  An odd twist that fascinated me.

 In a way I admire his perseverance and overall ambition to take that hardship and endure that pain to be available to others as encouragement.  It’s unusual and at the same time, noble.

As I drove up the windy, snowy mountain road the headlights illuminated the road and I couldn’t help but thinking how it symbolized the last year of my life.  An uphill climb, long and winding, the horizon always out of sight.  Had I always been so peaceful and open to opportunity in the face of my own adversity?

We exchanged our pleasantries and as he got out of my truck he turned around and said with his intent stare, “”Move forward, stay focused and follow the light.”
  Yes, my MOm’s words once again and then….with his finger he pointed at me and smiled…just like my MOm used to.


December 13th, 2011 Worshipping Comfort

this thing…blogging…is becoming a therapeutic avenue for me. Much like playing solitaire, it helps me to clear my mind. So does driving down the Lochsa river. It’s a little perk of my being in Idaho.
This time of year the water is low and cold, ice rims the edges.
I like driving by in my vehicle and muse about having the time to actually stop and feel the mist on my face.
I love nature.
From the time I was young nature has been both a tonic and a salve to me.
I can’t explain why it makes me feel alive and fresh. It just does.
But I work outside all day long and those days are hard, strenuous and sweaty.
When I get back into my truck after wrassling hooves the first thing I do is crank up the heat and I am reluctant to leave it once I’m enveloped in its warmth. After building up a sweat any cool breeze is a wicked source of chill.
Trimming horses is HARD work.
Tonight I came across a CD of photos I had taken to Denver with me. An attempt to hang on to my creative ideas even though I know better. Going to Denver is no picnic. It’s race here, work there and vice versa.
Still, there is a sense of accomplishment. Hard works does this for you.
Recently as I was heaving 80lb bales of hay off the trailer, which was facing UPHILL, I realized that after years of working horses and now, trimming and shoeing them, I can really heft A LOT!
Its a good feeling.
However, looking at the photos my photographic friend took I have also realized that unlike my thinner, leaner, just riding horses every day physique, I have really developed some muscle!
Thank God for SHAPE magazine.
I eat like a bird, a gift from my Mother. She worked like a dang mule too her whole life and always hated her strong arms. Thanks to a hypothyroid condition which I inherited we both have very slow metabolisms. ARG!
I love my strong arms. I just wish my butt wasn’t so puny. I’ve worked that off, you see.
This morning as I drank my usual protein shake (I know – bodybuilders beware!) – I don’t do it for that, I do it because if I eat I puke everything up the first horse I bend under….a little known side effect for all of you who haven’t spent any time under a horse…farriers can suffer from major heartburn….I am one of those farriers. Right now I am trying not to eat anything inflammatory and subsisting instead on a diet of antacids. It’s working but I am not sure of the health benefits. – I contemplated my future physical self.
Although I get up and do the job of three men in one day I do not wish to look like one.
Then, there inside my new SHAPE magazine was an article titled, “20 minutes to toned”.
“I wonder what they would call 8 or 9 hours of hard physical labor?” I thought to myself.
I leafed through the magazine and there it was. My salvation sentence.
“I’ve never strived to be skinny. I’ve always wanted a strong body – strength is beautiful”
All at once I felt defined. The girl in the photos looked a lot like my physique. Her torso a bit thick and her arms and legs beefier than the usual stick thin models.
All at once I felt validated. Heroic even.
The words fed me through the day and I found as I worked through 5 horses in four hours that I have something to be proud of. Not everyone can do what I do. Most everyone wouldn’t want to! But still, I get to interact with a species that is genuinely appreciative, communicative and in a way, holy.
My work is my own religion. Every day I get to go out a preach a concept that I value and believe in and like today, convert new people to a new way of thinking. Its hard to miss the benefits when the horses do things like lean on me, hug me, push into me with their heads, sniff me, puff their breath on me, inspect me and lick and chew like there is no tomorrow. The horses tell their own story and its like they are worshipping their comfort.
Perhaps tomorrow I will stop by that river and do a little bit of comfort worshipping myself.

December 9th, 2011 The Beat of the Drummers Drum

Sometimes it seems as if the beat of the drummer’s drum is much faster than I would prefer. Life keeps steam rolling over me and daring me to run faster. Why is that? Today as I drove back to Idaho from Colorado I was amazed when 700 miles slipped by and I hadn’t even had one complete thought or plan run through my head.
I think I must have needed the mental break because the hours of the past weeks have charged by at a tempo I keep time to but rarely harmonize with.
My Dad once told me that life is like that. It goes faster as you get older.
Tonight my Grandfather informed me that at 41 I am sure to feel my body slipping from here on out.
I spend days bent under horses mastering my craft fielding multiple questions about why in the hell I, as a female, an attractive female, would crave trimming or shoeing horses.
I don’t crave that part. I crave the lessons.
You can’t truly master anything without experiencing the lessons.
Its been some time now since I had that moment that bursts like fireworks upon the sky but last Sunday I had one.
For over a year I have been observing a horse in our herd whose owner has gone incognito in his horses life. It’s temporary I am sure but his horse didn’t know that. She mopes around looking for someone to love her again.
I couldn’t stand it so I handed her over to my cousin Jake and he’s been doing wonders with her. She is soft eyed, happy and a horse with purpose again.
But something’s been nagging me about her as I watch her move throughout her day.
She isn’t as fluid or as sharp as she should be.
I have tried to chalk it up to her individuality but my intuiton won’t let me rest that easily.
I’ve massaged her, taken time and patience with her guarding of her head and incessant flight from trims and seemingly sensitive nature.
Then this week I was introduced to Phil Ratliffe
I had heard about him from a client and both Kirk and I were intent on meeting him. The opportunity finally came and I eagerly awaited his assessment of this mare.
He took one look at her hooves and said, “Does this mare trip when she is transitioning from a trot to a walk or canter to a walk?”
I love it when intuitives like me enter my cosmic space.
“yes” I said, curious about how an equine dentist would know this.
“She has scuffing one the fronts of her hooves and this generally indicates that the horse cannot get its bottom jaw forward at the point of transition due to improper dental alignment and this is what causes tripping.”
His simple assessment made complete sense to me. This mare has been chiropractored, massaged, finnessed and this was the one thing that didn’t resolve itself. Tripping and that awful head in the air avoidance despite the gentlest of care.
I tried to blame past experiences but even after a year her response was always the same. Head high in the air, her gaze looking down through the bottom of her eye.
Telltale I was missing something.
Animals, like humans have proprioception.

Proprioception is the unconscious perception of movement and spatial orientation arising from stimuli within the body itself. One of Phil’s beliefs is that if a horse’s dentician is not properly aligned that this can adversly impact proprioception.
He opened her mouth and sure enough she had a ridge extending from her top incisors over her bottom incisors. She could not get her jaw aligned correctly when in transition. More, the pressure on the TMJ joint was causing the head tossing.
Phil did his thing and I held my breath.
Less than 24 hours later I witnessed a miracle.
With no training, no manipulation other than removing dental enamel this mare completely transformed.
Aemelie, my wise friend and mare also had her teeth done and during her procedure Phil manipulated her jaw. I heard a loud CLUNK.

Phil manipulated her jaw more and then went to work with his dental float.  A few passes later he manipulated her again.

I trust my dear friend to tell me what she knows.

Her eye rolled skyward as she anticipated the pain she had felt earlier.

Manipulate, manipulate, manipulate…her eye shifted, rolled, and she almost flinched, then set her eye toward me.  She stared directly, intently at me, telling me she felt better.  A sigh and some licking later, she did what I know is her affirmation I am listening to her guidance.  She pushed her head into me and rested her head on my chest.

I was blown away.

Two days later Kirk and I had the chance to visit for several uninterrupted hours with Phil as we discussed what we all knew.  That with animals the power in healing is in accepting there is a power we cannot see.  An energy we cannot harness.  We are simply the students and receivers of this power, guides of how it is applied and if we are lucky, teachers of others when we frame these firework moments that bring new realizations to our awareness.  that put our head and mind to spinning.

At a 1000 miles I was almost back to Idaho and eager to share these new realizations, my mind spinning with the complexity, yet simplicity of what I have learned.  Drummer, drum away.  I am ready to march.

December 3rd, 2011 Emotional value of fish

I am beginning to think that I have much to learn in this life regarding the value of emotions. I once had a psychic tell me that I was extremely emotional and that this sometimes caused conflict or misunderstanding with those around me. He also said that my deep connection with my emotions was a gift and that I should not be thwarted by those who found my emotional value burdensome.
Well, what do you do when someone you care deeply about brings the opposite in to you life? No or little emotion.
I was visiting with one of my clients the other day. An extremely artistic woman who has many intense interests, one of them being horses. The other being art.
Those two things rarely go together well in this world from a financial standpoint.
It seems that those blessed with artistic talent and a passion to be artistic continually struggle to find financial stability in those interests. Add horses and it might be considered catastrauphic.
She shared with me that she had heard from a mentor of hers that a study had been conducted on the suicide rate amongst artists and that artists ranked among the most likely to do so.
She said that her mentor had found that artists, in their struggle to cope, find living in every day society difficult.
I couldn’t help but wonder though, doesn’t everybody struggle to cope?
I haven’t met one person on this planet that hasn’t had struggles with life and as a consequence, struggled to cope.
My friend went on to explain that her mentor also shared that in today’s society we are living in a time and era when artists are not fully appreciated. That we have had in our human history times when artists were revered, respected and sought out for their “genius”.
Genius, she explained, was a seperate part of an artist. Almost like an alter ego. That genius was either referred to as strong or weak, depending upon the application but never was the artist referred to as strong or weak personally.
In today’s society, people often point the finger of weakness at one another. It’s become a common symbol of humanity.
I have been guilty of that but I admit too that my pointing is often done in respect to helping another grow, to learn and to improve.
However, when it is pointed at me I split thoughts between guaging the validity of the words against my own self perceived worth and the liklihood that I am facing words that may help me grow.
Long ago I read an article on the attributes of an “emotional abuser”.
Emotional abusers often berate, put down and pick apart another individual in an attempt to “show them the error or their ways” in order that the person may improve and is always done because the abuser “loves” the person enough to point out the discretions.
I guess the difference is in how the words are said and the emotion with which they are conveyed.
Teachers speak with the knowledge to guide and abusers the desire to manipulate and control. I guess that is the guide with which we must weight the measure of life and our impact upon it. It’s a delicate balancing act, no doubt to speak with authority while loving the other person and keeping mindful that despite your opinion, you may not be right.
Reflecting on my conversation with my artist friend I also pondered another of her statements. That stacking stones had helped her to relax over her angst about being a lowly artist and also, that it had helped her to focus more as a rider.
I looked up stacking stones and immediately an article came up in my browser relating that christians often stack stones as a way to mark the good things (or bad) that God does in their lives.
I found that interesting since I have attempted to stack stones (from curiosity not for symbolism) and finally graduated to stacking sand. It’s much harder to do and it takes a lot of concentration. (grin)
This summer I found myself stacking sand on a beach when for once I played hookie from my clients and took an afternoon to sit by the river and contemplate the direction of my life.
I made some decisions then that are still impacting me today.
Thus, I come to the topic of my blog. What do you do when someone you care deeply about brings the emotional value of a fish to your life? Do you attempt to speak with the love of a teacher hoping they will hear your need, or resort to the silly manipulations easily recognized?
It’s a great question because when you care deeply about someone there are usually lots of other life facets that play into each scene.
Tonight I did something that I haven’t done in seven years. I took a hot bath.
I know. That sounds stupid but literally, my life is moving so fast and has so many currents in it that my life is being swept by so fast I am having a hard time keeping my head above water. I needed to metaphorically stack sand so I ran a hot bath and pretended I was on a beach.
I can rationalize and say that my life’s events over the past year have been beyond my control, difficult and overwhelming but that doesn’t change the reality.
Like a baptism tonight I let the hot water soak over my body and listened as the drain plug gurgled.
I have never desired before tonight to take a long, hot bath, so I never checked to make sure it actually fit. But today I found myself on the verge of my limits of patience and stamina. I needed that bath. Within moments of sinking beneath the surface of the water I found myself relaxing away the tension of the day. I only had a short bath but it was renewing just the same. I missed the warmth of the sand that I had felt that summer day near the river but I still connected with the peace of an uninterrupted moment for clear thoughts.
It was during this time of renewal that I remembered what my artist friend had said to me. I am not like her. I don’t crave making art. But I do crave the crafting my horse abilities. It seems that I and only I have the power to make decisions that will impact that path. Unlike my friend, I don’t care what society things about my artistic notions regarding horses. I like being unique. I don’t seek the approval of others to put value to my worth but I do believe that my worth is what brings value. That is what brings me great pleasure and wonder, hope and life force. And keeps me going when someone close to me lets me down, harms my emotions and callouses my desire to share a part of my life with them. I don’t need to believe others have to accept my ideas, only the belief that I have the power to connect with them and in that is my power.
Like a fish in the sea I am one of many.
I picture that fish, to some, bring happiness and joy. To others, nourishment. Others keep them as pets. I too had an aquarium growing up but the love I had for my fish was nothing like the love I have for my horse or my dog or important people in my life.
Being fair, I realize there are those that are passionate about fish but really, how many people love, I mean really love, fish?
It’s just a question.
I asked myself today after becoming frustrated with my “fishy” acquaintance, how fair it was to compare them with a fish?
It occurred to me that I could inform them they brought the emotional value of a cockroach to our relationship. But that I felt was too cruel. Fish seemed less harsh, more real and aptly pointed.
I guess it depends on who you are. Some find all animals valuable beyond human life. I have never been one of these people. I love animals but I don’t find fish warming my heart as my kittens, dog, pigs, cows or horses do. The feeling simply isn’t there.
It seemed fitting as I soaked in my tub to ask myself, truely, on a common scale, “What is the emotional value of a fish?” How fair was my statement to my friend?
Yes, I had actually said this to them during our discussion and prefaced the comment by saying that I was not being cruel or condescending, merely pointing this out to punctuate my strong emotions. 
I think the point was made though I wish without insult to fish as I am sure they are, like other animals, incredible in their own right.