Off, off & Away again

It started simply enough, a couple of emails back and forth, a few phone calls to talk about the details, an offer to fly away in just a few days – to a place I’ve never been, with someone I’ve never met. Oh this life of mine.. Here I was craving a trip off, off and away, and here I go..

***Note to self, never take a split flight red-eye again without drugs at the ready, or sound cancelling headphones at least…

Breakfast Tacos


And that was how I found myself at the Austin airport, enjoying (ok maybe that’s too strong a word, partaking of…) a couple breakfast tacos at a time when I’d usually be deep in my dreams with hours to go before I wake. While the sounds of country music kept me entertained.

I mean, there’s nothing quite like eating eggs, microwaved bacon and a potato piece or two (with lots of salsa thank you kindly) at 5:30am listening to a classic country song:

She’s a good hearted woman
In love with a good timin’ man
She loves him in spite of his ways
That she don’t understand

Farewell Austin

She’s a good hearted woman
In love with a good timin’ man
And she loves him in spite of his wicked ways
That she don’t understand

Farewell Austin, perhaps one day I’ll know your weirdness further!!

And onward I flew, with less sleep than is smart – to a place I’d never considered going before, not for lack of beauty or pleasure found there but because up until this point, the list of places I want to visit (when I find the resources) has been rather small, and specific..

Last year was Tokyo, Japan, a city, and a country that was just so far out of reach financially I left it way on the sidelines. Yet when chance favored chance, I found myself there, and in love with .. everything.


Here I am again… finding myself in a far off land, filled with amazing experiences to tease me and leave me longing for a more I never knew I’d crave.

The pool, so blue isn’t it?

But it doesn’t stop here – and amazingly enough, I never stuck more than a toe and a finger or two in this beautiful looking water (and oh so warm)..

Why, you may ask?

Well there was something else that drew my attention..

3 Blues

Oh, what’s that? Off just at the edge of this tempting pool?

It’s a little bit of an even more amazing blue, and green and … life filled colors.

As far as my eye could see.

DSC01350                                 DSC01356

And here, I dove right in, I didn’t linger at the edge..


But for just a second, to prove I was here at all, to myself and to you.

Feet in the Sand

The sand is like walking on a soft cloud here, the water, welcoming me in, and home for now.

I am mildly ashamed to admit I visited an old friend, a lover of sorts, that I had not consorted with in almost a year..

Happy Hour!

“Grown-ups love figures…

When you tell them you’ve made a new friend they never ask you any questions about essential matters.

They never say to you “What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies? ”

Instead they demand “How old is he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make? ”

Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him.”  

-Antoine de Saint-Exupery  (the quote on the Starbucks board here, as are all of the non-Waylon Jennings lyrics in this post)

That’s right, I’m in fantastical Playa Del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico – and I’m at Starbucks!! (Shhh)


The only place I found soy milk (they even offer lactose free milk here! Though I have as many issues with that as milk usually…) was offered with coffee in my short visit.

Never leave

I spent a very brief 48 hours here, but found many wonderful sights and a few friends…

Maya Portal


Agouti (Funny Friend)



“She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her…

I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems.

Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her…”  

My sweet canine friend, one of a few homeless dogs we ran in to here, this lovely lady was .. one of the sweetest critters I’ve been blessed to meet – and she ended up with my dinner in her belly (chicken, she wasn’t a fan of the baked potato) and most of my companions steak too.


Those eyes!

“People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said. “But you mustn’t forget it.

You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.”

If they wouldn’t have halted me at the airport, this dog would have been at my side back home… perhaps if I go back, a bribe will suffice.. as it seems to work for nearly everything else here!

Sometimes I wonder at the moments in our lives, this one, meeting this sweet lady, is one of those that left me with a distinct awareness of something inside, shifting, awakening.

Rescue Me


Fred (Ethel and the kin were hiding)


For my last few hours I spent my time at the spot I could never get enough of.

Floating, resting, in the presence of the holy divine. For though my trip was not entirely as calm and centered as I would plan, and hope, any trip to be (it started out VERY BUMPY), it was amazing, and I am grateful for the chance that I was given to visit.

“Well, I must endure the presence of a few caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.”  


To see, to feel, to be felt…

“The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.”  

20140609_124024                 20140609_123954

And as all beginnings do, this one had an eventual end.

Farewell Mexico

Farewell Carmen Del Playa – may I be graced with your company again someday.

“All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people.

For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides.

For others they are no more than little lights in the sky.

For others, who are scholars, they are problems…

But all these stars are silent.

You-You alone will have stars as no one else has them…

In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing.

And so it will be as if all the stars will be laughing when you look at the sky at night..

You, only you, will have stars that can laugh!

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me…

You will always be my friend.

You will want to laugh with me.

And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that pleasure…

It will be as if, in place of the stars, I had given you a great number of little bells that knew how to laugh”  


Energy Shared, Not Always Gained

Today I was reminded of the many ways in which energy is shared, and how I have stayed so – asleep to it all.


Though one of my favorite stories/movies is Like Water for Chocolate, and though I have always cooked with the intention to share loving energy (if I’m in a foul mood I will stop any and all food preparation, I do believe the energy can be imparted this way) I was awakened today to how much I still ignore the possibility that I too receive this energy – not just send it out.


If you haven’t ever watched the movie or read the book, Like Water for Chocolate is about a woman who is in love, but unable to marry her lover (it’s a bit more complicated than this of course) and through her passions felt while cooking shares these energies with all who eat her food – “Tita’s strong emotions become infused into her cooking, and she unintentionally begins to affect the people around her through the food she prepares.” (As the wiki so succinctly puts it)

My husband has stated for some time, and will often act on it, that he won’t eat food made from an unhappy chef/cook because the food just doesn’t taste right to him because of the energy shared while cooking.

But I have wandered in a bit of a fog about this as it applies to myself. Until this morning.

I had two dreams that I recall that were not mine – this might sound a bit strange but, it’s become rather clear to me at times that the dreams coming through are not always .. meant for me (the simplest way to put it). These two dreams in particular were seen through the chef that prepared the food I ate last night, and were strongly involved in his family details. They were very interesting and beautiful, but I knew they were not mine.

When I woke up I acknowledged these dreams but moved on to my other dreams, one in particular had me all wrapped up in layers of meaning and thought contemplation that I didn’t even catch on to just what having those dreams meant.

I hadn’t really shielded myself after my time with my counselor/waking guide/therapist in any way. And had left myself completely open to taking in this energy. Thankfully this energy was a very warm, loving energy to have consumed and processed over night!


However sleepwalking through my day, not paying attention to this little, blip of a warning I found myself in a completely different frame of mind after lunch. Once again the thoughts coming to me, were not mine to lay claim to. This was very clear.

And while I know that eating certain foods does affect my moods, when the “moods” come through with images and clear emotion that doesn’t match my own I know something else has come in to play.

I’m not entirely certain the energy this afternoon came from the chef that cooked my food, it could have been the server, it could have been the barista, it could have been someone I was sitting close to.

It brought home how very little I work with, in any way, energy shields – I feel very .. lacking in this ability for some reason, and it usually takes a strong reminder such as today, to get me to work on that subject.

I have, for decades now, tried so hard to simply block it ALL out that now that I’m intentionally opening up once again I’m finding myself .. well, uneducated in some very key areas. And the many shield visualizations/meditations I’ve tried out just haven’t felt like they clicked completely, so I tend to ignore them completely.


Which is perhaps not the healthiest way to go about this. I don’t know if I need to work on the visualization, or find a new one that sinks in fully.

I do know that our energy is shared in some truly powerful ways, and though we often deny it, we always share with others. It’s just catching the how we do it, not that we do it – that we do it is undeniable (though we may try), how we do it is a fantastic lesson in life.

Even in short emails, two word text messages, brief phone conversations, glances on the street, or simply a thought – a beam of energy sent in to the universe, can be imbued with layers of beautiful, powerful, and sometimes unhealthy, energy.

Though we may think we did nothing of the sort, we’ve actually sent of and shared an immense amount of energy.

I’m thankful for the two lovely dreams last night, but I’m also thankful for the reminder to awake, and learn to take in carefully, and shield properly  energy of all kinds. Also, to adjust my own energy further, so that what I send out feels a whole lot better than some of what I take in!

And that we are, truly, so much more than “just” what we eat. (even science has proved this one)

Permanent Paw Prints across my soul, or Saying goodbye to best friends

Most days the four legged, furry, paw print leaving friends I’ve had throughout the years will cross my mind – and I will smile, fondly, sometimes bittersweet for they are no longer with me.

I’ve grown up with critters of all sorts around me, I believe that they, and the nature I often found myself wandering in (usually with them or because of their presence), were the saving graces that lifted me out of my dark nights.

We currently have two furry angels honoring us with their lively company (and a third outdoor friend that has decided to adopt us), we recently had to say farewell to a third feline friend. And though I think of him every day, some days the missing him crawls in deeper, the longing for golden glances, soft paws and gentle mews is like an infinite crevace.

I will share someday, soon perhaps, the story of his life with us – it was beautiful, and too short. But today is for saying goodbye, and for the how of it’s coming to us.

We had decided, earlier this year, to move back to our home state of California, to sunshine and green grass – less gray skies and muddy ground. Where I hoped the rays of the sun and the fresh air, sans mold 9 months out of the year, would help my cats as well as myself.

aug 2011 040

In early March I had a dream, in which my cat (Mute, the name he was given by others, though he was NEVER Mute) came to me. In this dream he fell asleep on my chest as a I lay on the couch, with the clear message he would never leave my heart and would always be with me. I assumed this was a sweet reminder that while I traveled I need not worry of him, for he would be there.

He had a lump in one of his lymph nodes that had grown a bit, but he was showing no other signs of illness and the two blood tests we did showed only minor elevations – suggesting probable infection but not much else – we were told to just observe and see. When I flew to CA in mid-March to look for a place, Mute began to limp, something he’d never done before.

My husband got him in to the vet immediately, where they discovered he had lung cancer, that had progressed through over 80% of his lungs. The vet, and the specialists, were shocked and amazed he wasn’t showing any other signs of being so sick.

Here I was 900 miles away, trying to find us a place that I hoped would offer healing, unsure of what to do at this point. Keep looking? Stay where we are? Look closer to our old home? Chemo? Surgery? More natural remedies? What… can we do.

I knew now the dream of just a few weeks before was a gift, and a warning. He was letting me know he would always be with me, in my heart, even if not in physical being/presence. Though many of the cats, and dogs, in my life have journeyed with me spiritually, Mute was especially unique and tuned in to my energy in a way no other critter had ever been.

After weeks of watching him, discussions between us, God, the vets, friends & family… it was clear that Chemo** would only prolong his death, and his little body would be even sicker from it, we would gain only months and those months would not be healthy ones for him. We made the appointment for the vet to come out to our house and help us say goodbye there – one of the hardest choices to make.


I agonized the entire time over this, if perhaps we should take him to CA and see how the healing energies here would help, or if we should stay and give him more time at home, or of course if Chemo was in fact the solution (though the cancer was too far progressed to be cured I thought perhaps that and prayer and energy healing would be … enough).

For days before the vets arrival we took him outside, sans harness & leash as we’d gone out with for years before (he had become a “privileged” indoor kitty with many outdoor walks and adventures), he wouldn’t go more than 20 feets past the house – not typical for him at all. And the sun? Graced us with four wonderful days of sunshine like we hadn’t seen in almost a year…

The day of the vet visit, we spent more time outside. When he wen’t back in to rest (he was sleeping so much more than before) I tried to ply him with his favorite treats, catnip, salmon bits and bonita flakes. He wouldn’t touch any of it. And after I tried the third time he turned and looked at me, in a way that only he could do, and I knew… he was ready to go.

Even if I wasn’t ready to let him go.


He was barely 8 years old (give or take a year) and we had thought he’d be with us another 8-10+ years, that he would outlive the “senior” cat in our house and be an older brother to the youngest, most recent rescue addition.

His departure was quiet, and peaceful, aside from my tears and sobs after he was gone.

In the months following I would have many dreams after a day of deep sorrow over missing his presence, in which he/his higher self/guide would visit me briefly and let me know I needed to let him go – that holding on to him in this way was holding his soul back from the .. whatever he was doing after he’d moved on. That he would come back in his time, not mine.


I wished to dream of him, to have him in my life somehow, but I understood. And I would let the tears flow, and then focus on the good, healthy, joyous, light energy of his life, and our lives now before going to sleep – so as to leave his soul to rest. (literally)

He has come back the past couple of months in my dreams, as a visitor and companion, even last week my husband said he had a dream with this beloved cat – he is with us now and then, hanging out with all of us, two legged and four paws.

It is so hard to let go of the illusion of this physical manifestation, that even though I have experienced the energy/souls/spirits of many others (animal and human in particular) throughout my life, I so dearly miss their presence in my waking hours.


I miss their kind words, the smells in their kitchens, their smiles, their soft fur, gentle purrs, sweet chirps, tender kisses and just their general… presence on this planet. I know that I will see them again, if not in waking hours, or in my dreams, then in the next phase of our friendship – whenever that may be, wherever that may be.

But I still miss them, every day, in little and big ways. And saying goodbye changes, but does not get easier.

Mute gave to me the example of loving others, even after they’ve hurt you, abused you, abandoned you. That one could still love and be loved. His presence and life, showed me a light in the darkness, and I will be forever honored by his decision to be with us – to make us his family as he did.

Though I still imagine him out in our new, wonderful yard, and sometimes I swear I see him out of the corner of my eye…    I hope, and I pray, I can share that with others as he shared his life, and love, with me.


**Please know, we had been giving him many natural/herbal supplements for some time before this, due to his ongoing issues with other health concerns (many infections and such from his early life as an almost solely outdoor cat) – Chemo was not the only possible healing route for us – simply one of the only ones the vets could offer beyond what we’d already been doing.

Why some Dreams must Die


When I was 11 I made a statement to the universe that I wanted to work at Microsoft someday. I recall clearly standing in the Seattle public library, with an idea of this fantastic company, a place full of computers and endless creative possibilities in my mind.

When I was 19 I was offered a job there, and turned it down, at the time it was not a fit. 2 hours of commute each way and minimum wage for a front office position just didn’t quite appeal to me. But my dream didn’t die then.

Then when I was 25, and lived across the street from the MS campus, with some serious experience behind me, I accepted a position with my dream company. It was a wonderful, but tedious, position – I assisted one of the teams in the MS Research division – and I’d sit and listen to students and professors and employees outside my office talk about theoretical physics, computers, algorithms, I loved this part of it. On the other hand I had a co-worker who loathed her job, and the company, and was so bitter she poisoned the water of the well I was drinking from.

I left without hitting a year, the image I had of my dream was surely tainted at this point, but it wasn’t gone yet.

I returned some months later, after many wonderings along the way, if I should really pursue this company the way that I was. Yet I’d found an awesome group to work with and that did help, a lot.

I will shorten this part of the story, not because it isn’t worth telling, but because it is too sad and I still carry too much of that sorrow with me, to want to delve too deeply in to it tonight. I spent another 3 1/2 years with MS, and I left because my dream had died.

My dream had failed to evolve with me, with the company I had longed to work for, with the job I loved to do. And I held on to this dream so tightly, that even as it was killing me (literally, the stress was killing me, I was suffering organ issues and terrible pain among other things) I couldn’t let go, I couldn’t admit that this dream, had to die.

And I had to walk away from it’s corpse.

I spent the better part of 2 years trying to change things there, trying to change myself to fit perfectly, so that the dream could live – and I was dying to do so.

Now, I don’t regret, for one moment, my choice to follow my dream there. To have the experiences I did, positive or otherwise, to meet the people along the way, to learn and grow. I don’t regret much in my life…

However I regret not letting go of the dream, not letting it die, and creating a new dream to follow. One that expanded and allowed for the changes that life inevitably brings to us all.

From my time there, from birth to death of this dream of mine, I learned that I can do just about anything, and succeed, anywhere in the world. It was a bit like my childhood, if I can make it through these years? I can make it through the next years of my life no sweat.

There seems to be an either/or approach to our waking dreams in society – we either cling on to them and Follow them, “Never give up on your dreams”, or we ignore them, what’s the use, I can’t have that.. No ones successful following their dreams, or.. get your head out of the clouds.

I believe there needs to be a middle ground. So that we follow our dreams, like a trail up the mountain, but understand that sometimes? There are not just rocks along the path, but boulders, crevices, and once in a while, the path just utterly dissapears. And rather than giving up, packing it in and going back the way we came, or pushing on in to dangerous wilderness, sometimes? We need to stop, reconnect with our direction, our dream, our path. And allow it to be adjusted, understanding we are exactly where we are meant to be.

And we don’t have to fight this, we don’t have to struggle with the change, we don’t have to put on blinders and pretend it’s all ok either.

Dreams need room to breathe, to evolve. A seed is a dream unborn, it will break free of it’s current casing and become something wild and free, if we will step back and allow it.

Set fire to the words



I have read quite a bit recently from authors who don’t feel as though they are writers.

They share hopes and fears that: “One day I’ll be a real writer” “I’m working on becoming a writer” “Some day I’ll be good enough to consider publishing my work” “This is just my beginning work” “I’m not the best, but I’m sharing what I can”.

I’ve suffered with these fears and soft hopes for years myself.

And I long to tell them they are under an illusion, the illusion that there is some “right” way to write.  There is only one way to write, with your spirit blazing a trail of words across the page, the paper, the screen – does your heart and soul set the words on fire?

They, we, are already Writers.

When we feel as though we are waiting for “someday” to arrive when we magically feel as though we’re true writers we are giving in to the fear, giving in to the demons. Because there is no someday. The moment you pick up the pen, put your fingers to the keys, you are a Writer.

This doesn’t mean you can’t, or won’t, refine your work. Follow your subject of passion, Find your voice in the words, share your stories as the infinite magical, often harrowing, realms they can be.

I have read many, many books and articles on subjects I have a strong passion for, a love of reading about, and yet I find myself, often within the first chapter, falling asleep at the words crawling across the page. These writers, have been published, have even had MANY books published, may even be quite wealthy from their writing. And everyone acknowledges them as writers.

However, to me? They were more like parrots, reciting the words they’d heard or read or researched. They have no passion, no spirit involved in the work, and it shows.

Think of the best book, story, blog post, you’ve ever read – forget the subject of it, and think about what it made you feel, why it left you feeling that way. It’s unlikely due to the factual information, the perfect grammar, or even the background of the author – though they may all play a part in what you’re reading… What really drags us in, over and over again, is the feeling that the writer imparted, the passion they shared, for whatever they were writing about.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine. – Pablo Neruda

J.R.R. Tolkien took over ten years to write The Lord of the Rings, a story that is still to this day – 60 years after it was published, and decades after the authors death, ranked as one of the top books to multiple generations of people. He had a passion for the story, one so deep that when publishers “edited” his words in a version or two, he went back and made them reprint their “mistake”, to print it as he wrote it. Because this was his story, and that is what mattered. Not how he told it… Not whether anyone else would understand the elven language (though he spent years on a dictionary for that too, he was so involved in the tale), or be bothered by names like Mordor or Aragorn. His concern was that his story, his… story… was told as it was meant to be.

And think about that.. the editors/publishers were striving for some idea of perfect writing. Tolkien was striving for perfection in the tale, to be true to his ideas, his dreams, his Writing.

Tolkien is just one example of an author who wrote imperfectly, if you will, created a world like no other, and succeeded BECAUSE of his unique spirit coming through in to the story, on to the pages, in to our lives.

So next time you’re doubting your own writing skills, your grammar, your verbiage, punctuation, language, whatever is holding you back from sharing your self, your passion, Stop. Let go of the doubt. Move on to the words, the feeling you have that inspires you to write at all, and just open up.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—    – Emily Dickinson

If you feel a passion for disco dancing, write about that, write about the love you feel when you look at your lover, the trees outside, write about the way baking soda mixes with vinegar, write about the way your toes curl when the chocolate first hits your tongue, or fear you have of spiders, or just your fear. Bring to your words the fire alive in your soul. Whatever that may be, it doesn’t matter, what matters is how you feel about it, that’s what we read, that’s what we feel when we read. I don’t have to believe in God the way Rumi does to feel the immense divine love he shares, I don’t need to be a child wizard to enjoy reading Harry Potter, I don’t even have to be able to Cook to love reading a great cookbook.

I just have to sense the passion, the love, the sense of awe the author had at the story itself, to fall in love with the words.

Now go write, Let the music of your soul pour forth.

(And send me a link!! I love to read other people’s thoughts and dreams!)

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.”
― Sylvia Plath, Ariel

Today’s Demon (Fear of Writing) – A new meet and greet

So I have a few friends, probably a few dozen really, that are often labeled demons. While, it’s true, they are demons, yet after a lifetime of hanging out with them, they have in some respects, become friends – it was this or death so… I chose friendship.

I decided that I would share my demons, here and there, so you could get to know them – and me I suppose.

Today’s Demon is… Fear of Writing.

This demon has been a rather constant companion since I was about 9, when I first decided I wanted to write, and share, my story. Not long before this decision, when I turned 9, I realized that if I could survive the first 9 years of my life, I could survive another 9 years no problem. Months later standing out in the backyard, climbing around the not so sturdy tree and bushes, I came upon the realization that others should know they can survive as well.

Now it’s… 25 years later and I’m barely writing, just beginning to share further about ALL of the details, realizing the Fear of Writing Demon was, and still is, superbly strong.

I think she first came to visit as a guest of my mothers, who was in college to become a journalist when I came in to her life, and her sense, her feeling, that she gave up a writing career to juggle the details of being a single mom was always there. She would try to share with me the way a writer “should” write, a journalist writer perhaps, always with the Who, What, Why, Where, When and How.

Well, shit. At 9 getting caught up in the “details” is where I lose my focus, and for decades after. Striving for some perfection in How I phrase it, Who I’m speaking to or referring to, What I’m talking about (sometimes I lose the thread), Why I feel I must share, etc. etc. And then often the Worthiness Demons voice pops in (now that demon is a jerk), like I needed assistance with this..

Then, when I was 13, while visiting family out of state, my Grandmother was watching me write a letter home. She was quite inebriated (alcohol is a huge (demon) visitor in my life story) and made a comment about my handwriting being terrible. My Grandmother is a prolific writer, and I’ve always loved the way her handwriting looks on the page. So this? Was akin to a judgement from God.

Now I don’t just feel like I can’t write the subject at hand perfectly, but it, apparently, also looks like shit too.


Somehow I managed to write journals from about 15-18, here and there. But my poetry river ran dry, my letters to friends & family were shorter, even my dreams slowly faded, and every time I picked up the pen… I felt sick. Guilty, Terrified, because I? Was not a worthy writer.

It really didn’t matter that people asked to read my writings, that they missed my letters, that writing down the pieces of my life might have helped me put them back together..

I would even rewrite post it notes at work, 5, 6 times, JUST to get my handwriting a little clearer, softer. I would take HOURS to write an email that was a mere paragraph or two because I would write, rewrite, read, adjust, endlessly to be sure it sounded perfect, wasn’t too offensive, made sense (OMG what if it doesn’t make sense?!), clearly stated without being emotional, whatever message I was trying to get through in this email.. it had to be perfect.

And I would fret for hours, even days, that my writing – even a meeting request to the team, was being criticized and unliked.

How the Frick did I make it out of that mess, sometimes I wonder.

Well, really I think it was my cats and my dreams and … moving away from the chaos. But 90% is probably my dreams. About 3 years ago I began to have vivid, clear dreams that were expressing a need for me to change my life, my reaction to life and my approach to my very soul. I started writing them down because I knew, I wanted to remember them, I needed a record of these images and messages. So I’d begin to write on every scrap of paper I could find, and eventually moved to the collection of journals I’d amassed (I knew I wanted to write, but the journals remained blank for years, sitting there, taunting me).

Though now that I look back, perhaps I was simply gathering the journals, preparing for the return of my dreams.

And as I wrote my dreams, often from a state of half sleep, down in to books no one else would read, or judge. Only able to write down what I could recall, and not have to worry about details that just didn’t surface, my dreams and my writing, flourished.

My fear of writing diminished.

I’d tried to follow other authors suggestions on how to get through what I believed to be “writers block”, none of it stuck, none of it fit. I love Julia Camerons the Artists Way, and her subsequent books, but even this approach was akin to taking a toothpick to a brick wall and trying to break it down. It wasn’t the right tool for me.

So my dreams stepped in, and as I began to realize that the demon was really just afraid, as most demons are, and in letting go of the fear, of accepting that as others have shared their fears, their history, their pain and sorrow, their joy and light, their fear of writing, speaking, and doing so in THEIR own way of doing it – and loving to read their books, stories, blogs, letters.. that I could share mine.

And that I would live, I would survive. I might even thrive.

Fear of Writing now has very little to feed on. I see posts on FB, Twitter and elsewhere online and I realize my writing? My Grammar? Is actually not that bad… and the way I write?

It’s mine.

It’s my voice, it’s my soul. And it’s beautiful.

Veronica Yem

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