How Hera Cured my Snake Phobia

I've had a snake phobia all my life. I don't know how to explain phobias, given their irrational nature. Phobias weren't meant to be rationalized, were they?  It makes perfect sense that a good number of the people on the planet at any given time are really, really scared of slithering, limbless reptiles that can move really, really fast and scare the hell out of me just like that with the whip of their tail. And most of them don't even give a  warning! In the reptilian world of Beauty Contests, the rattlesnake would snag the Miss Congeniality prize  everytime for the simple truth that she has the decency to let you know that she's THERE!

I'm curious about the demographics of snake phobia. On an evolutionary level it made sense to avoid them and like, not make your bed in a nest of them, but they are accustomed to lying, coiled and  immobile so as not to be detected.  Snakes are silent observers and it's not like they enjoy the company of humans, or any other species for that matter. Snakes are very solitary creatures that hang out in the sun trying to stay warm from what I can tell. 

Early on in my Virginia residency, I read an article of a girl in Chesapeake who was bitten on the neck by a snake with fangs of some sort. As I recall the story, which was published in the Virginian Pilot Ledger Star back in 80's, the girl was riding her bike and must have run over it, but by some freak accident the snake went flying in the air, landed around her neck and bit her. I'm not making this up! I wish to hell I was making it up because , THAT particular image is certainly the Mother of the Ophidiophobe Nightmare!

My fourteen year old, Jesse has been telling me about Hera, the 8th grade Biology teacher's ALBINO CORN SNAKE, since school started in Aug. I've always loved Biology teachers and have great respect for the women who have snakes as pets. My friend Marge, twenty years ago, had me work on my Ophidiophobia by hanging out in the same room with her boa, Squeeze, first with him IN his tank/home and finally, after any number of bong hits and who knows how much vodka, out of his tank. I'd be sitting on the sofa, look over at the rubber tree plant and there was a green boa, tongue darting and inching toward my ear. If you don't think that every muscle in my body was contracted, then you are out of your mind. Once, I even managed to hold that snake but NEVER did I feel safe or relaxed. I did learn though that it's true what they say:
Snakes are not wet, cold or slimy but soft, supple, warm and dry.

I was at Jesse's school the other day and the math teacher, Deb Miflin, took me into see Hera, the biology teacher's beloved albino Corn Snake. (I have come to appreciate constrictors...I like the green ones especially...the black and brown snakes? Not for me! and to people like me, Steve Irwin was just a big SNAKE HANDLING SHOW OFF! ) While Ms. Mifflin lifted Hera out of her tank, she told me how in assembly that morning, she was "wearing" Hera under her clothes because Hera's warming light had burned out overnight and she was cold. Hera, not Debbie. Debbie was trying to be cool and discreet in the assembly, keeping Hera inside her clothes so as not to freak out all the little Ophidiophobes in the room, but at one point Hera rose up out from behind Ms. Mifflin's head and oh my god, can you imagine the response? MS. MIFFLIN!!! THERE'S A SNAKE IN YOUR HAIR!!

So, Debbie, this amazing spirit of an angel-woman-math-teacher-extraordinaire, reaches into the tank and pulls Hera out and just offers her to me. I love Debbie because it didn't occur to her that holding a tame snake was something I wouldn't do for whatever irrational reason I might have. And I was proud of me for not getting into the drama of my phobia. Here I was being presented with an opportunity to GET OVER a fear I'd carried with me from the womb. So, I sat down, and reached out my hands to accept this gift that I was being given. I call it a gift because until recently, I wasn't always awake enough to hear the call of those fear based opportunities to be re-created into new realities.

Now, if you know anything about me, you should know that I am heart led on this spiritual path, so the next thing I know, I'm falling in love with this beautiful, mysterious animal who is wrapping herself around me, seeking my warmth and comfort; moving effortlessly, sliding, worming her way into my vest, out the armhole. Debbie and Hera have become such heroes to me! She was the perfect snake to experience without fear and Debbie knew that. There was nothing TO fear, for Hera is a gentle, living, breathing, silky smooth mass of cells, just like me: just warmth and firm muscle moving over my mass of skin cells, with all their millions of nerves that have never known the pleasurable touch, til now, of silky scales sliding, wrapping, enveloping and recreating a new version of a timeless, sacred sensation, a new version of communing with one of God's OTHER creatures.

Thank you Hera, Thank You Debbie!

For this I am very Grateful!

Connie

baby you can drive my car but

age is a state of mind and I ain't goin' through that particular territory.

SATCHIDANANDA WISDOM

“A Healthy Ego” “"Don't try to get rid of your ego. Without ego, there's no incentive. Even God has a super-ego, otherwise why would God create the universe? Just change your ego. Make it healthy. If you get rid of it, you will be useless. But if you purify it by changing 'I' to 'we' and 'mine' to 'our,' then you have gone to the root cause and transformed it. Then you can develop a strong, healthy ego. After all, what is ego? It's just the individual feeling, which eventually disappears in the universality of God. Until then, it is your ego that takes you toward God. Without that good ego, how could you do your sadhana or spiritual practice? To approach God, you need the ego. But as you get very close, you lose it.
“God bless you. Om Shanthi, Shanthi, Shanthi.”

Swami Satchidananda
http://swamisatchidananda.org/

dream journal

In my dream I've been in a play and cast members and I are headed to a party in my VW bug. I'm driving and the front seat passenger is directing me where to go. We head down a long dark road and he says to keep going. The road ends and we are at a cliff over the ocean. It is a stunningly beautiful view. The car does'nt t stop quite soon enough and we bump down to a little plateau and the brakes still don't work well enough to hold us in place and then we are in a nose dive down the side of the cliff. The ocean and rocks are hundreds of feet below but death is certain and I'm thinking, "I CAN'T BELIEVE I"M GOING TO DIE THIS WAY, but ok God, if this is how you want it, thank you for this life, thank you, thank you, thank you, and for all the non-believers in the car with me, bless them God, accept them, protect them."

And we keep heading slowly down the side of a cliff at a 90degree angle as though a large hand is holding onto the back of the bumper and slowly easing us down. And I just keep praying with gratitude for life.

And then we're not crashing, we're piling out of the car, passing under an overpass and into a open top cylindrical tank and it starts to rain and then big globs of white gook come flying down and I dodge out of the way quickly, to the shelter of the overpass and realize the other cast members are way up on the cliff throwing things at us and it's all a big joke.

DREAM Journal

Last night I dreamt of Marc Murray, a troubled young man from my 17-18th year back in Santa Cruz. So much information has been received over the years about just what I was dealing with. I was dealing with Karma, of course. In this dream as in Mike dreams, I pursue the animus; this time, in the form of Marc as a football player at UVA. The most important part of the dream for me, was, realizing that Jesse belonged at UVA. Marc said that the first three months of Physics class was memorizing one thousand dreams. When a student would share a dream with the class, the professor would announce: "This person is a Magical Thinker!".

U2 3D IMAX CONCERT

Shot at seven different shows during the Vertigo tour of 2006, this production employs the greatest number of 3-D cameras ever used for a single project. (Associated Press / January 21, 2008)


Holy Mother of God, if you have an opportunity to see this 3d film, by all means DO! The message is Loud and Clear for Human Rights now AND it will get your kundalini flowing!

Obama and Oprah 2008

Now that my Presidential choice Elizabeth Edwards and her husband John have dropped out of the race, this is my new ideal for the election in November. Oprah is Goddess energy personified, the most powerful female on the planet.


Obama, if you want to win the White House, choose Oprah as your running mate!~

Be well, do good work,
Connie

Recurring Mike Dream

For years and years I have dreamt of my first "boyfriend", Michael Mattson whom I met in the 8th grade at Del Mar School and continued to make out with him for a year until the first day of High School when the Conquistador in me said, "wow, look at all these nice fish in this exciting pond!" I have come to realize how deeply affected I have been this early relationship. I explored my first steps into sexuality with him, and learned my worth very much imprisoned in my willingness to make out, or not. The first time he broke up with me it was because I wouldn't kiss him in public. I remember one conversation with this very introverted, strong, silent type man boy. He was so silent, I would often ask him, 'what's wrong?". I mean, we would just sit together never saying a word; we were 13 with absolutely nothing to say just this huge awkward silence between us. One night he snapped at me, "why did anything have to be wrong?" Forty odd years later, I see he had a point.

But there was something deeply missing in this guy. To say he was independent (he had complete freedom to be anywhere, any time he wanted to be) doesn't cover the sense of responsibility he had toward his brother. I suspect Mike's childhood ended shortly before I met him. He never spoke about his home or his parents. I intuited that his mother was single and working to support her kids but that left him to parent his brother, Stacy, a year or two younger and with a girl name like Stacy, Mike had a very protective aura about him; he was tough enough that if you teased Stacy, you were going to have to face Mike and given his mature physical body, that may have stopped you.

In 8th grade I was spending the night occasionally with this boy; the first time at a beach cottage that our friend Betty's parents took care of in the off-season. Betty sneaked the key and a bunch of us partied in some body's beach house in the middle of winter. God, it was cold! All that Mike wanted to do was make-out so that is what we did. I learned how to kiss Michael Mattson, let me tell you. But jeez, I'd get so bored after a while. I guess I wasn't as into it as he was. Curious, yes. Turned on? No. The second time was the following summer, months of kissing behind us. ( We told our mothers we were staying at Karen's house but we didn't tell them Karen's mom was out of town; Karen told her Aunt she was spending the night with me. ) Here was a group of three adolescent "couple", Karen, Sin, Carrie, Bobby, Connie, Mike, pairing off in the bedrooms to learn a few new things.

This is the night I heard Roberta Flack's recording of "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face". Her voice woke up my heart chakra and I tumbled irreversibly down the rabbit hole of romantic love. And this is the next morning I wake up to find his finger in my bone-dry vagina. Of course at the time, I didn't know what to think and it took years for me to own my sense rage at this, my second violation. I guess I could be grateful that he woke up my second chakra the way Roberta Flack opened my heart, but a gentleman would have asked first.

So, for years, I've been dreaming of Mike and what recurs is intense visceral physiological longing, sometimes in my vagina, but more recently, in my heart. I awoke with an aching heart the other morning, having touched him, finally, in the dreamtime, only to have him slip away again. If I researched my journals, I imagine I've dreamt Mike hundreds of times since 1972, always searching and seeking to physically connect.

In tonight's dream he and Bobby are walking toward me. When we meet, Mike says he's going surfing but the climb down the cliff to the waves is a dangerous endeavor. In typical Mike fashion, he thinks nothing of it and take a path away from us, on a road to the west, heading for the cliff with the waves far below. We've made a plan to meet later at his sister's huge, rambling wind-weathered house which is full of Mike's family. Brother's keep showing up, but not Mike. Finally, he does and we sit on the floor in front of the sofa. I put my hand on this leg, he turns on the t.v., to watch porn! (I was soooo disappointed by this turn of events!)

He tells me in the dream that we wants to marry but must go work for three months before returning. He seems unsure if I'll wait for him and I tell him that yes, of course I will. And so again, the longing comes in. But I am heartened on this journey to my animus...I am encouraged that I am moving closer to integration with this avatar of mine, Mike, who I realize now, is a protector for me but also my strong, male, warrior spirit who easily makes the choice about which cliffs to scale down, rather than jump from. He is also the bold and arrogant risk taker, who doesn't feel the need to ask permission.

This wouldn't be a true Santa Cruz dream if I didn't dream the huge nightmarish wave bearing down on me, but this time it was only one and though it was big, I knew it wouldn't catch me. Anyway, I was safely behind glass, watching it roll in and exclaiming, "oh, that's exactly the kind of wave I have nightmares about".

Namaste`
Connie

Stumble into Jesus

I was scheduled to bear the Chalice at St. Paul's Episcopal yesterday. I SO did not want to perform this service! As much as I'd tried to wiggle off the roster of readers and Chalists in the past six months, I had given my word and as a matter of personal integrity, I HAD to show up. For five years, I have loved offering that most holy of cups to the followers of Christ, but lately I've been a hypocrite, listening to, but not reciting with everyone else, a liturgy practiced by rote, that I now experience as hollow and empty of deep spiritual meaning. These words spoken by millions, every Sunday around the globe, which in itself is a fantastically miraculous thing.

A wise woman told me that when she felt conflicted with the church she’d go anyway and pray to hear just one thing. WIth her voice in my head, I showed up to offer what I could to the "service": meditative peace and serenity. I may have been reciting internal, melodic mantras instead of the Nicene Creed, but my heart was in the right place.

So, having made the commitment to show up and serve, and much as I had to drag my butt there, I was relieved to find my friend Doug as compatriot in the tag team bearing of the Holy Cup, offering the masses their elixir of Christ's blood with the following blessing: "The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation" or " May the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, keep you in everlasting life.” Ok, this was the hard part? I kept forgetting what I was to say! And you have to alternate it and Doug and I are supposed to be saying the same thing at the same time, but who cares, cuz the awesome thing is bearing witness for folks experiencing their faith in this distinct version of "care and feeding of the soul".

(I think it's the blood part that really bugs me. Personally, I'd much rather offer chocolate chip cookies and breast milk to followers seeking salvation and forgiveness, because in a lot of ways, it is the hurt and broken child that many bring to the sacrament of communion. Ok. It's my hurt and broken child that I have brought to the ritual I just feel certain that milk and cookies would be what the HOLY BLESSED VIRGIN MARY would do... unless she was PMS or in menopause and then it would probably sound like, "make your own damned cookies, I'm busy!")


When all who came to the rail had been served, I followed our Rector, Scott, keeper of the Body of Christ, with my Cup of Salvation into the pews to offer bread and wine to a woman not able to stand. Scott stepped into the pew, I followed...

and tripped over the kneeler, stumbled, thrown way off balance but then, voila! caught myself absolutely determined not to spill a single drop of that consecrated blood! The woman's husband touched my hand and kept it there, he looked me in the eye, asked if I was ok. And it was in that moment that I recognized the love of Jesus, right there in church. The stumble took place in slow motion of course, and it was in that moment that I learned how much I do value, for those who seek salvation in it, the chalice of life-giving wine that is so central and integral to Anglican worship. The really sweet part was that the divine child in me crowed, "I didn't spill a drop!".

There was such glee and wonde, pride and delight in the voice of my beloved tender-hearted-CHILD-self! Scott did not join me in any of that - instantly I felt that child silenced for the sake of the sacrament being delivered to this woman unable to stand. I could see in her eyes that the outburst had unhinged her a bit and that my lack of comportment was unexpected and perhaps a little scary. (I am self-aware enough to know that I can be intense and just a little scary). TO say that I found the entire experience tremendously HUMILIATING would not begin to cover it. With the weight of hundreds of eyes watching, I smiled and chuckled quietly, but no other voice was muttered. So, the voice I will continue to recall is that of the one who took my hand and steadied me with a loving heart, looked me in the eye and asked after my condition. Thank you, dear one.


Maybe I'm just getting ready for the seasonal winter/lenten journey of either embracing or rejecting this Jesus guy, as the only son of God. I just want to say, "oh, give me a break!" One God? Come on! What's the point of one God? The "archetypal" Jesus is out there in the world right now, working through people like our rector, Scott, through souls like Doug, who has experienced first-hand the miraculous healing of prayers uttered in Jesus’ name. I’ve seen Jesus dancing to Moby at the Norva, and I've conjured him up holding hands with a stranger at the scene of a horrific car crash, praying for life to be spared. Jesus is awesome in his ability to be in the present moment, but his God status doesn't speak to me, and in truth, it never has, for the simple truth that the experience of women is left out of the entire fable/myth/fairy tale.

Where is the SACRED DIVINE FEMININE IN THE ANGLICAN CHURCH? Sophia, the holy spirit symbolically rendered in DOVE as the physical form of WISDOM was left out of the Bible! (was the feminine just not quite important enough for those men making choices, laying down law...about what got said, what got written down, not to mention tracking down the witnesses to the red letter words that actually fell from the mans' tongue, lo those hundred years earlier?) You know, if there was one book to leave out of the Bible, why do you think WISDOM was left out? It was left out because it represented the intuitive mind, the mind that doesn't require a face for God in order to believe it exists. WISDOM represents the human capacity and hard-wired programming for higher knowledge available to each of us if we will only find our salvation in our own bodies, minds, in our hearts, not in the sky resting on clouds too far away to feel or touch. Unless you're dead.


Today, Jesus is not the way for me. I get that I am a divine being and so are you. I get that one of my lessons in this incarnation is to see the value in all humanity, not just in women and our ability to create, which hello?, kind of gives us the power to hold the future of the human race in our beautiful, soft, warm wombs, doesn't it? I will not, cannot, worship a God who plays a passive aggressive power game that ends in the sacrifice of the BELOVED. If that's the story, give me Shakespeare, he was so much more eloquent with Tragedy! It feels like the sequel to Abrahams' drama in "Old Testament v. 2". More blood, more suffering, more, "Oh! I am not worthy"? No thank you.

Jesus had a message: Love yourself. Love your God, Love your friends, your neighbors, your enemies. Beyond that, I am fatigued by all the WORDS that come between me and what it feels like to hold, to own, to offer something sacred, to clutch it in both my hands, to not spill a drop.

With due reverence and honor for your journey,
Namste`,
Connie
Connie Hanna
Norfolk VA
1-14-07

Today, I Choose Happy

On Dec. 10, 2007, I awoke from my sleep faced with a well known dynamic: things had not gone as I'd expected, financially, and I began to feel myself on the precipice of an all-too familiar abyss that, should I have chosen to fall, very possibly could have plunged me once again into the depth of winter depression.

Some brilliant psychologist coined the term SAD, or Season Affective Disorder , in an attempt to categorize a natural chemically organic phenomenon; the tendency for homo sapiens to seek the inner cave when it's dark and cold outside in the season of winter. At least, like me, for humans in the northern hemisphere. I started noticing about five years ago that what my soul sought in winter was retreat, to go within, introspect and more than anything, REST.

I talked a good game for several years about doing that; going into my natural desire for hibernation. I've tried and tried not to work in the winter, but the nature of the artist is so damned compulsive!! Might as well just expect the birds will stay in the north for the winter, where they will die of freezing temperatures and starvation. To NOT create is the artistic equivalent of staying in the north, or not retreating to the bear cave where the simple warmth of the body (or all those blankets on this bed of mine) is enough comfort to nurture a mind and body in search of peace, a soul in search of reflection and deep contemplation in order to see more clearly the inevitable clearing of the path come late March, when the stretch of road ahead is cleared of snow, and the heart, like a seed, well rested and open, will begin it's onward journey into the mystery of the unknown.

It seems to me, in my 50th winter, that I truly come to a place of recognizing that focused creative and artistic work earns and deserves this time of natural inward turning. My work has kept me so connected to the outside world all these 20 years that I continued to put the needs of others in front of my own natural inclination to retreat, out of fear that those who needed me couldn't wait for my return. Jeez, how egocentric is that? I can be so arrogant at times, I'm telling you, it humiliating!

So back to that morning of choice on the edge of the abyss. That old familiar darkness...that depression? I chose to flip that thought over and said," I choose Happy". And so I have. And since that Monday morning, when I find myself slipping into that familiar skin of worry, I stop and I tell myself, "No, I choose happy today." Indeed, that is what I find I create.

And so it is. And for this I am very grateful. May you choose happy today!

Namaste`,
Connie

Accident on Granby St. Norfolk VA in front of DePaul Hospital

While taking my dog Lucy for a walk, I heard a rash of sirens near
by. When we got to Granby St. my soul led my self to the scene of an
automobile accident that, from the looks of it, had been extremely
exciting had one been there to witness it or experience it.

As Lucy and I approached the scene on foot, a small group was
gathered across the street from the site of six firefighters working
to remove a body from the drivers side of a late model silver Lexus.
The front end of this car was a mangled mass of steel, or is it
aluminum that car engines are made of? My eyes told me that a person
couldn't survive the damage done to that mermaid in the median, the
wounded oak tree 30 feet from her clipped off tail, or the empirical
evidence of the remains of this sedan now 25 feet from either of
those two obstacles that failed in ceasing the rocketing forward
momentum of a vehicle not intended for flight.

The small group gathered on the sidewalk in front of DePaul's
emergnecy room were mostly men, one woman. One man kept saying the
same thing, over and over. "We were coming by here not 15 minutes
ago..." the subtext was his disappointment at not having witnessed
the actual event. I asked if any one cared to join me in prayer.
The only black man in the group was the one who nodded and joined me
at my side. I took off my glove, I took his hand and we started to
pray. And you know who showed up? JESUS did! And his mother too!

I was so surprised to find myself praying with Jesus on Granby St.,
since I've so recently come to the conclusion that he just isn't my
God and try as I might, I haven't been able to make that connection
with a male God. I have come to think of myself more as a Buddhist
rather than a Christian; the spiritual aspects of Buddhism surely
have led me much further into my beloved walk with mysticism than the
Episcopal church ever has.

But...this is what I learned: when you need to pray for someone's
life, when you find yourself taking the dark and beautiful hand of a
perfect stranger who, out of half a dozen is the one willing to
conjure up some God with you, praying that if it be His will, and
that means saving a life, than by all means, please Jesus, intervene
and do that...Christ is the guy for the job.

So, thank you Jesus. Thanks for being present and such a huge source
of healing and love for so many wounded and broken and frightened
people. Thanks to Mary for being there with her nurturing maternal
essence. Thanks to those amazing firefighters, whose work is so
clearly laid out for them when they show up to rescue. Those men and
women never cease to amaze me when I see them do what they do. I
just know that that's how God shows up at the scene: with the
firefighters... through them, with them, in them. Thanks be to God,
which ever one works for you. Thanks be to the God that shows up!

Connie Hanna

Dear Sweet, Paige:

Having learned how to love you, my soul eternally remembers the joy.

Namaste` little sister
Connie

Weekly Words of Wisdom

From Sri Swami Satchidananda~

 

You are Happiness Personified You never get happiness by doing something or achieving something, including spiritual practices, prayer or the search for God. Even God cannot give you happiness. If God gives, God might take away. Anything that comes, goes. Even in the name of searching for God, we see people becoming unhappy. Here is my answer: Happiness is not to be sought outside. It can never come from outside or from inside. It can't come, because it simply is. It is always. Where? Everywhere. It is just happiness. You are Happiness personified. You are that Supreme Bliss. You are that joy. You are the image of happiness. If you want, use the word God. Who is God? What are God's qualifications? Always being happy. So, as the image of God, how can you be unhappy?
God bless you. Om Shanthi, Shanthi, Shanthi.

Mad as Hell. Not gonna take it anymore. Profanity warning: there is some

There has been a convicted child molester in my life for about a year.  I don't recall asking for this specific gift, but alas, it was bestowed.  I've written others letters to this individual on this blog, so if you're curious, the information is probably available. 

 

But here's the thing:  I first  thought the lesson was forgiveness.  I forgave.  I did not judge.  I wrote letters to jail. 

We went for sushi not long after his release and I played the angel who asks, "if you had your choice, what would the karmic payback for what you did be?"  It was not a rhetorical question, AND I did not expect a forthright answer.    I asked him to tell me when he had an answer.     NOT GONNA HAPPEN!

I have not felt  empowered, as a survivor of childhood sex abuse,  by the experience of forgiving.  In fact, I'm mad as hell.  

He showed up unannounced at my studio and  after fifteen minutes of listening to his arrogant whining, this is what I said: 

"I am not here for you to dump your shit one".  

"I'm not dumping shit..."

"Yes, you are, that is how I'm experiencing this.  And it's the same old shit that you've been dishing out for all your 33 years.  I am not here for that.  I am here as a spiritual director, not to listen to whine and make excuses for your deplorable behavior.   Get over yourself.    And by the way, your karma payback for getting so drunk you molested your live-in girlfriends  12 year old daughter is 12 years of CELIBACY . You don't deserve anything for what you did to that little girl.  12 years Brandon, now get the fuck out of here".

"I'm sorry, Connie!" 

Brandon, tell it to the child whose healthy sexuality you robbed her of. 

You are a thief.  You cannot be trusted. 

Could I find the Divine in you, I'd honor it. 

I was talking with Renee, Steve and Cathy, three highly spiritually connected people on Sat. night and I heard myself gushing about the richness of my spiritual path after 19 years.

The path is so beautiful! There are choices everyday to be made but they all lead to the top of the mountain, where, I'm told, it's quite easy to be enlightened!

Divine Service (great name for a diner) is the daily work, but every once in awhile, I curl up in the arms of God when I think I can handle it.

Sparkles to you all!

Addiction

My web friend Paige says that creativity is an addiction. I cannot think of a more positive and astute definition of what drives me to create. Thank you Paige. You are a gem.

Robbie Schneider

In 1983, I had recently moved from my hometown of Santa Cruz to San Francisco, to live with my best friend Marge who was leaving her husband of five years, Patrick Fitzgerald. I was 23 and I think she was 22. Our birthdays are a year and a day apart. She was dating Rocky at the time....Marge was my first girl crush and she is one of the women I have loved most intensely in this life. Marge was a first in many ways for me, but she truly taught me what it is to be a member of a tribe.

Marge's mother was Athabaskan and their summer ritual was to go up the river and catch salmon. Salmon camp; hard work, that went on for weeks and weeks in those days of so very much light. Her aunties and grandmothers stitched and beaded the most beautiful slippers you've ever seen. Such an exquisite gift.

I coveted those slippers. I have a picture of my feet in them somewhere in the attic. the picture, not the feet, are in the attic.

Jeez, so I'm taking a long way around to tell you that when Marge and I lived together in a McAllister Ave. brownstone basement apartment, just west of Haight Ashbury ,she met Robbie Schneider from San Mateo one night at a comedy club....and she brought him home and we hung out on your living room floor. He was such a boy! And Robbie, if you ever happen to read this, I want you to know that your CERTAINTY of your destiny has always stayed with me. You JUST KNEW that your star was brilliant and bright. I hope that it still is my friend, I hope your destiny has been kind to you. You were funny then and you're funny now and I thank you for that!

Connie

Advice to a Stressed Out Bride

Hey there, take a minute and imagine yourself in Japan, like in a Samurai  movie, alone in a courtyard, you, the warrior in black; with  hands on your waist and a big sword at your hip,  you confront the inevitable and dare it to proceed.  

Now step out of it's way and let it proceed. 

This is the truth:  it is not up to you to please anyone but yourself and Chris on Saturday.  You simply don't have the strength at this point, drained as you are, to command the day like some Queen from her throne.  You are not Cate Blanchett in ELIZABETH, (though you were undoubtedly there) and the Samurai warrior is scaring the hell out of folks, LOL    hallaleujah!,  can I get an amen?  ;o}  

Let the Goddess woman earth mother of Celtic origin who empowers your  essential, true nature take over from here.  Let her drive.  You can sit in the back or to her right, but you no longer are steering this vehicle.   It's a Cadillac El Dorado and it's a nice, floaty ride!

Let if flow, Kelly. 

Breathe. 

Connie 

The Nature of Treasure

The nature of the treasure box. The treasure box came of clearing
space in my studio for new stuff to come into. What I invited was
magical thinking, to reference Joan Didion, one of my favorite non-
fiction writers.
So what form does treasure take? And how does one let go of what was
once treasured enough to keep, but is now ready to move along it's path?

I guess it's as simple as watching the russet leaves fall from the
maple trees in November. Leaves that decorated the branches of a
succulent, living, plant form that each autumn, due to it's nature,
must let go and release what is no longer vibrant and useful, whose
purpose has been served; life, so that it may be lived.

Retirement

I made an announcement yesterday to those gathered in my home for an open house, that as of the end of this year, I am retiring from the business of being in business so that I may more fully live my life as an artist. I felt so supported by my loyal friends and fans in making the announcement of change. Although I will undoubtedly continue to make jewelry, it's production will no longer by my focus for financial security. I'll make jewelry because it brings me joy, because I must, because I have so many beads to string!

I have no intention of giving up the little house/studio and I trust that the resources required to keep it open and and paid for will simply materialize as necessary.

A few weeks ago, I stepped onto my back porch on a lovely fall morning and surrendered my need to control and be controlled by worry over money. It was a deeply profound surrender of a life long habit of engaging in the illusion that there isn't enough to go around. Or, if you're not careful, you're going to come up short and be humiliated by not having enough. This is my mother's drama, not mine and I hereby relinquish the hold I've kept on that drama.

Worry over money? I let it go! Money is flow, money is energy: it can't be created or destroyed! My intention is to open pathways to multiple streams of energy that flow into my greater river of revenue!!

The cool thing was that after making this surrender, I looked over at a 25 year old above ground deck pool that has brought us much fun, joy and refreshment in the past 13 years. I thought to myself: "that pool is done".

Twenty four hours later is had completely drained! Now I have an empty pool in my backyard! The God Tree must be so happy for all those gallons of water released into it's root system that it may be fed and nourished and quenched!!