When Your Child is in Trouble

Today’s Soul Report: Parenting

I suppose it has been going on since the beginning of time, children in trouble. And I suppose, to feel alone while going through troubles, also, has quite a history.

Today’s post will identify some patterns that cloud our ability as parents, to truly assist our children when they are in trouble. These patterns are mind grooves, which are more satisfying to our egos- enhancing our selfishness, ignorance and fear, but WILL NOT help our child who is in trouble. But first we must be willing to SEE WHAT IS, and remember this is about them, and not us.

  • Worry & Fear I have one child I don’t worry about. I have another I do. With this child, my eyes, one would think are a bit wider, paying attention a bit more. But quite honestly, even while in the womb, this little girl, of 11 now, troubled me. We were told she might have Down’s Syndrome, but as it turned out she just had a lot of hair. But even so, this child of mine is different. She is the one, I saw on the side of the road after the car accident. She is the one who carries such intensity, it overwhelms even me, who also carries intensity. My own fear and worry for her, and overwhelm, has often prevented me from seeing where and who she is, and what she truly needs from me.

What I am learning, is there is a space, not often easy to get to, beyond the fear and worry, that is in a way neutral, and intensely focused on our child, and only our child. In this space, we face what we must and assist how we must. We can fall apart later. Just knowing there is a space beyond worry and fear, can be enough for us to get there, if this is what we intend.

  • But, you don’t understand my child would never do that. I had a friend once say, his young daughter of five, wouldn’t get into trouble, that somehow he, as a parent, would not have to deal with it. He wasn’t kidding. I knew then, having older children, she probably will surprise him. As uncomfortable as it is, we must open our eyes and really SEE our children. They too, are developing patterns and mind grooves, and showing us how they perceive and deal with the world around them, and beyond them. Seeing might even save their lives.
  • Where did I go wrong? This question can haunt us, and seem perfectly justifiable, but depending on the kind of trouble your child is in- how does pondering this question serve them? We must instead wonder what is immediate right now. This isn’t to say, self-reflection as a parent is not necessary, but it is only useful if we can truly SEE with understanding where we might have abandoned them and correct it now, and for the future. It is not useful to just sit and swim in.
  • I miss the little girl she was….We wonder where the smiley, happy, child went, especially in pre-adolescence and adolescence. We want them to stay innocent. We are afraid for them. We remember our adolescence. Maybe have regrets. When they were little, they talked our ears off and we were tired after a long day, but at least they were happy. At least they talked. As we know we can’t go back, but we can be with them where they are.
  • Punishing. Yelling, and other behaviors that arise from feeling out of control, and only serve to shame. Often our children keep secrets because they think we will yell at them, even if we aren’t yelling parents, but secrets keep our children sick. We need to hold a space for them to share what they do, how they feel and what they think. My parents provided a safe enough container for me to tell them the first time I had sex. When I was pregnant at 19. When I was drinking too much in junior high. Speaking saved me. Their support made it easier to stay “saved.”

As difficult as it might be, just listen. Look at them. Hear them. Hold the space, and remember you are their parent first and foremost. Our job is to guide them, and that is what they need, and sometimes you might need to get really firm and absolute, and say -ENOUGH. It is also time, after all these years and years and years and years of shame, coming from the church, the school, the household, to say ENOUGH to shame, and break that old, tired cycle.


  • I have no right to go through their ipods, phones, computer...Privacy is a privilege for those still in our nest. I didn’t use to know this because child number one had a strong desire to please and be a “good girl,” so she had a lot of space and privacy. This is the way I prefer to parent, but child number two shows me she needs less space and more restriction. What is terrifying about our culture for me right now, is the access to technology. There are networks “out there” that support suicide. Eating disorders. Cutting. Our children, even at 11 or younger are being subjected to thoughts, ideas that are very distrubing.

Maybe this is too much information, but I remember being 10 years old and walking into my mother’s boyfriend’s room and seeing pornography for the first time. I was horrified. I felt assualted. At 10, 11, 12- even 13, 14 and 15 we are still innocent, close to the womb, or as Lilli said as a little girl, close to the “The Place Called Love.” These images and words and thoughts are too much for them. They are carrying too much. And it is confusing because they think being exposed to this means they understand, and they don’t. In fact, their young brains won’t even allow for it. They are not developed enough to process through such things, so if you feel your child is in trouble, investigate, and know you are doing it because you are looking for signs to see what she or he is going through, so you can assist, and let them know, you know. Secrets keep our children sick.      

What we all really want to know, beyond all of our patterns and mind grooves, is- do the people in my life know how I much I love them. As we reconnect to this, we will always do what’s right. 


The Soul Reporter


A Safe Purpose (a rejected essay)

Today’s Soul Report: A Dangerous Purpose

What is your safe purpose? What do I mean by this? Well, actually it came from my very wise daughter. The other day, I found myself smiling, more than I have in awhile, and I remembered days in which I felt full, and realized it is a full life, which brings happiness. At least for me. The day I found myself smiling, I felt full. And what was I doing? Laundry. Yes. Laundry.

I love laundry. I really do. In fact, and this I just realized, I could probably be happy having a job as a laundress. I think it would be extra wonderful if it were at Downton Abbey, and not some dingy place like, say a laundry mat. Yes, I see myself in the lower half of Downton, washing her Ladyship’s attire. In between the cycles of wash, rinse and dry, I read and write in my journal. I don’t have to make a living from writing because I have my living quarters there, and receive pay for doing laundry. A simple task, at least for me, which gives purpose and fulfillment, and is completley satisfying. Clothes are dirty. They are sorted. They are washed, and now clean. Folded, smelling good, and put away- and then more laundry accumulates. Does anyone relate? Or is this just me?

Does not matter- because I love doing laundry, and as I shared my love for this satisfactory task with my daughter, she says, “So laundry is your safe purpose.” Yes. By God, it is. “But,” she continues, “what is your dangerous purpose?”

I love doing what I’m doing, but while I’m doing it, I’m miserable. ~Viola Davis

That would be writing, something other than a blog post, which is another safe purpose. Over  7 years of writing them, I have learned how to compose a blog post, and in an instant I can publish. Satisfying. But, a book? A screenplay? A children’s story? Then, not only do I have to write it, I have to edit and submit it, and seek publication, and an agent, or e-book it, which I don’t want all my books to be e-books. Arduous. Can I just do some more laundry, please?

You have a talent that none of us have. Just find out what it is and do it. It’s doing nothing that’s the enemy. -Sybil in Downton Abbey

But, I am not a laundress, except every two weeks for my family of four. And unfortunately (and fortunately), something else has been put into my heart to do. An itch, that won’t be satisfied until I do it. When I sit down to do it, it’s often excruciating. I look for exits. Something easier. What I have in me to give, even in an attempt to give, looks weak in comparison to how I feel it inside, therefore I’d rather keep it inside. Hold it. But it itches, and it won’t stop. It wants to be freed. That dangerous purpose, wants to be realized, and because it is in me, I am the only one to free it.

And then, on a walk I realize how to free it. My inspiration? A man with a mop bucket. He’s working, and I envy him. He has work to do. It is work, which gives purpose and makes life full. No matter how long a process, to complete, or short. No  matter how internal the work is, or external. It’s work, and I have lots of it to do. Laundry, and writing and who knows what else. To work satisfies the itch. To not work, as Sybil so suggests, is the enemy. It simply is, just time to move into that dangerous purpose, and work.

To get me started, I have a tip that might work for you too, and it begins with a question- could it be, the impulses I receive in a day, are clues about the work that is to be done for that day? If so, it is time I not just listen and take notes about those impulses- it is time I act upon them, and see them into completion. ***Beyond this, it is time to put the fantasy away- the image I have of me as said writer, writing, happily and consistently as a livelihood. The more I work, the fantasy becomes weak in comparison because it cannot not offer what is truly at the heart of wanting to be that writer- which is to help. To share honestly, and as one commenter said, to do this, and I quote her: “You articulated many thoughts I wasn’t even aware I was thinking.” This is why I dare to move into that dangerous purpose.

***These last few sentences were added after the “rejection” of this piece. Maybe with them, it would have hit that “sweet spot” they look for that combines spirituality and creativity, and it could have been published. The timing of the rejection was ironic, but of course perfect. I was just finishing up yesterday’s post about finding my voice, which I think does hit that spot, when I saw the email come through, and I immediately became anxious, but did not allow myself to read it until I accomplished the post, and shared it. I needed a victory, because somehow I might have known I was getting the old, thanks for your submission, but I am afraid….song and dance. I was not as elegant and strong as I thought I might be. First, my heart races. I am mad. I want to vent. I am angry. Bitter. Want to lash out and defend myself- what do you mean- me not writing spiritually.? I send my husband a text. I cry. This is all in 5 minutes or less of time. I turn off Pandora. My head is down and I ask my question from the last couple days: what can I embrace now?  It turns out I am embracing this post, and the last words, the editor said to me: “That this piece didn’t come together for me is neither here nor there. Keep going.”

He’s right it is neither here nor there. I will keep going. Unfortunately, and fortunately I have to. #theartist’slife.


The Soul Reporter


Where the Magic Happens

Today’s Soul Report: Further Embracing

In times of frustration, creative or otherwise, ask- what can I embrace now?

Yesterday, I wrote an honest post about my creative/work struggle (click here to read). My ending question was: what can I embrace now, until I’ve had enough- enough of the puppy’s paw on the nail- enough of the pain of my frustration?

I had no answer until I walked out of my front door, red umbrella in hand. It was raining and I had to pick up my daughter. Being carless since the accident, it is one of life’s mysteries and blessings, that her school is within walking distance. Now, one could think it was not one of life’s blessings, to have hail fall once I stepped out the door, as it did, but it soon stopped. Rain is not common in Southern California, so really how often do I have the opportunity to walk in the rain? I embraced it, and it was soft, calm, and in a strange way, purposeful and delightful.

There was something else I had embraced after I wrote that post, which was less obvious until it occurred to me this morning. While talking to my father on the phone, I embraced a rather embarrasing, yet persistent impulse, which was to ask him if I was a good writer. You know, those “singers” on American Idol who can’t sing, yet their moms and dads tell them they can, but they really can’t- was I one of those? But more than this, my little girl wanted to know- Daddy, am I good at something? Validate my purpose and talent, daddy.

And he did. “Yes,” he said, “you are a good writer.” In a way, the sad, neglected, little girl needed permission to do her art, and dad gave it. At age 39, his words brought a tear, and liberation to move even deeper toward me.

This is not to say, we need this validation to do our art. I’ve written hundreds, if not thousands of posts, and essays, unpublished, with no validation whatsoever, and in some cases we might not ever get this from our mom or dad or whomever would feed this most for us. But, what I am observing, as I push more and more of myself forward into some sort of artistic and helpful expression is, to bring all of who we are to it. This is where the magic happens. Where we speak deeply to others, where we feel the most alive, and at home.

When we do create something, what makes it move people beyond just the giving of information or our art, is when we put our whole self into it, and not just a part of our self. Especially, the part who thinks she should do it a certain way in order to be liked. To move, and be in the fullness of that creative current, that indestructible life force, is to bring our whole self. I’ve suddenly noticed how people write. I notice a certain generic style and this is fine, but I don’t notice a voice. A person inside the message. The life force vibrating within it. This is not necessary for us to learn or even be inspired, but maybe it is to be moved. Really moved.

We went to a screening last night of a movie that will be out at the end of March. It served the purpose it had- it entertained in the moment. It was funny at times and had interesting images to be taken in by, but once the lights came on, it was over. The movie did not linger. It did not stay with me, and this is fine. But the movies, which do, like Shawshank Redemption for me, lingers, and continues to teach me, and often shows up when I write. Rumi’s poetry lingers, and does more- it awaknes and enlivens. Once, on a cloudy Minnesota day, I sat outside and read an entire book of Rumi poetry. When I was done- my insides were swirling as it is said he did- the whirling dervish. In a way, I felt high. His magic literally moved me. It went somewhere deep. It’s rare, but it happens. And I guess as I write this out, I see this is the instrument I want to be. No small order.

My daughter who is an actor, admires Meryl. Yes, cliche- she is one, if not the greatest actress of our time, but not only does my daughter admire her, she wants to give what she gives. But she, will admit, wanted that yesterday. That’s the perfectionist. That’s the ego. Someone asked my daughter, what Meryl was doing at 19.

“Meryl was going to school,” my daughter said- and so is my daughter.  If we continue to keep that desire within us, and allow that intetnion to move us, it will begin to reveal itself. We will begin to see not a copycat of Meryl or Rumi or whomever, we will begin to see ourselves. Our essence will be within what we give. Not just in our art, but to every person and experience we meet.

This is where the magic happens.

Once we find our voice, which means after some time and probably with lots of practice, a personality or a style emerges out of all the parts of our self. I had no idea the last seven years blogging was not about being followed and getting comments and having my blog turn into a book. What it was really about was turning a journal writer into another kind of writer. To turn my insights and stories outwards, first to practice so the reader understands, and than to find a style, a self- I did not even know was there.

That little girl, who I have often denied, who needed to hear her dad say, she is a good at something, can now be brought into the mix of what is me. The less afraid I am of all the parts in me, the less I resist and deny my parts, wholeness arrives and embraces the fullness of creating, loving and living, and that paw is gently removed from that nail.

Listen to Adele’s words in this video, from AmericanVogue 


The Soul Reporter

The Greatest Love of All

Today’s Soul Report: Love & Projection

The inspiration for today’s post began with a tweet from Oprah. She was responding to a man, who I now see from his twitter page is obviously trying to get attention by being really, really mean.

Here is the conversation: @Oprah- To me Whitney was THE VOICE. We got to hear a part of God every time she sang. Heart is heavy, spirit grateful for the GIFT of her. In which man who I won’t name says: I did not know God condoned illicit drug use. #Hypocrite. In which @Oprah responded: What I know for sure: God is love. Love does not condemn. I did not know God was in the drug law business.

There was also another conversation on Facebook after Madonna’s Super Bowl performance. A few people felt the need to condemn Madonna and make comments about who she is a person and so on. I felt a need to defend Madonna, maybe to defend the part of me that feels judged, knowing that we are not just what we show- that we are so much more, and at times, so much less. I also responded because I am so over seeing others (and myself) talk shit about people, especially, as a culture, celebrities.

The excuse, as I defended Madonna, is this is what happens to them because of the attention- they get admired and ridiculed, but this doesn’t make it right.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer, on her Facebook page, made an interesting comment about Whitney’s death- she called it “Death by Perfection.” As I thought about this further, the Whitney I loved in the 80’s and 90’s was sweet, beautiful and obviously THE VOICE, as Oprah said. Perfection was projected at her. She was the perfect diva, the perfect performer, having the perfect look, and voice. She had everything. Is it possible, there was a secret she was holding- a secret that said I am not all of those things. I am not as perfect as you think I am. In fact, I recall her telling us during an interview that she has another side, a side at the time, she seemed proud of. Is it possible, part of what she did was show us, and herself, how imperfect she is.

Addiciton or no addiction- just to say it was addiction that killed her doesn’t go deep enough. People say addiction is a disease, but I think it is a symptom of a much deeper disease. Whitney sang a song, Greatest Love of All– not having love for ourselves is our disease, and for most of us, it begins right out the womb, and perhaps before. We are a world of the walking wounded and rejected. Because of this, the culture can’t help but to tell us we aren’t okay- that who we inherently are is imperfect, or just as bad, we are told how perfect we are. We are neither. We just are and should be taken as such, and as such in each moment, but we aren’t. Instead we must define, concrete and project, and celebrities get this in enormous waves.

Life is difficult for us “common” folk, so imagine what it might be like for the famous, regardless if they conscioulsy sought fame out or not or how much damn money they have. Does it make us feel better to ridicule  them becuase we have a part of us that would like to famous, and rich? Does it feel good to be in awe of them because we feel so inadequate? How do you think it makes them feel when we give them all our shit? How do we feel when we are projected upon?

I have a few points to this post, I see, probably running off on a couple tangents. It’s a hot button for me, and from this post, I want us to really consider that we are all energy. What this means is we feel everything that is being projected at us, near and far. If we were a culture seeped in a lifestyle right out of the womb to know, and love thyself- then there would not be projection. There might actually be more love.

Yes, I am of the 2% of the population, according to some test, labeled as “the idealist.” I see what is possible, and I often, almost always fall short myself, and it hurts me more and more to see us so critical and condemning toward others.  My response to the twitter conversation from above: People condemn so to not feel that Love- but it’s there.

I condemned Whitney during the Oprah interview, which was the last time I saw her. Why? Because my mom was an addict, and I was the one who was more responsible than she was. It is a common role, children of addicts, play, and I saw Bobby Kristina being put in that position by her mother. This is my stuff. Truth may be in this for Whitney and her daughter, but at the time I was still angry by the responsibility I carried in lack of my mother’s,  and projected that upon Whitney.

I don’t know Whitney at all. And maybe Whitney probably didn’t know Whitney as well as she would have liked. I mean does anyone really want to throw their life away, as what has been suggested? And is Whitney’s death or life a waste because of what we think we know about her? This was HER life. This is OUR life, and it is of no one to say to us what is a waste and what is not. What is wrong and what is not. What is right and what is not. We come here for our own reasons. Our own lessons. Our own possibilities.

Our possibility, to my idealist mind, is one of the greatest lessons, a lesson that cannot be learned just in school or by some famous person who we want to be our role model or that can even be done in one life, and that possibility is to know our self, all of our self. Not only know it all, but love it all, and from what I see, we have hardly touchded upon the friendship, compassion and deep, deep wisdom that is in the self.

To tweet a respoonse to that conversation was a step forward in my evolution toward that love. I didn’t condemn the man who said this or defend or project. Instead I saw that the love Oprah mentioned is there- in all of us, and we condemn others so we don’t have to feel our own pain. Our pain can’t kill us. We only fear it might, and we get involved in all sorts of destrucitve behaviors because of that fear.

None of us are squeky clean, and when we are, we will be out teaching in love and compassion and not condemnation, superiority and judgement. To have compassion is to understand our human condition. To express love is to know that is what we are. That love is what we all hold and often try and ignore, but it’s there.

I know this wasn’t an ooey-gooey Valentines post, but sometimes we must go beyond the oo and the goo. I will leave you with this video of Whitney singing the Greatest Love of All. What brought tears to my eyes, is seeing how happy this woman was when she sang. That is a look of pure love, that existed even in her so-called dysfunction. That, maybe even more than the voice, inspires, and learning to love ourselves is the greatest gift of all, and it’s a process.

Please spread the love and the message. I’d love it if you did. Happy Valentines Day.


The Soul Reporter

Little Bug

Today’s Soul Report: Help is on the way

I helped save a bug. An itsy-bitsy one. I was outside, filling up the dog dish with water, when this tiny little bug flew into the water. In an instant it jumped out, dry, as if never wet, ready to fly. But then, maybe the wind blew, and it fell back in. This time , I thought, it might not make it out, so I helped it. I put my hand in, trying to flush it out. It landed on my finger, and after a bit of wobbling, it flew away.

Why did I help this bug? It’s spirit. It kept trying to live, and keep going. It inspired me to assist. My insight from this tiny experience- someone might see my spirit, and lend a helping hand (toward my desire to be a published writer). If not, at least I know I keep going even after being thrown in a dog dish full of water, which often happens- not literally of course.

Sometimes life feels shitty and yet somehow I remain committed. My bet is we all do. Maybe this is the miracle.

There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way and not starting. ~The Buddha

Keep striving, no matter where you are. Help is on the way.


The Soul Reporter

The Universal Story

Today’s Soul Report: Fairy Tales


I am putting together pieces I have accumulated over the years for the memoir I am writing. Here’s a piece on fairy tales, that I’d like to let go of, that won’t be getting into the book. However,  it is the perfect theme of my book. A woman imprisoned within her own self, with a wish for something more, who goes into the dark forest and meets monsters and obstacles, all there to untie her from herself, so that she may reunite with herSelf and be free- or at the very least, have extended moments of liberation, and whispers of who she really is.

And here is the piece:

Fairy tales tell the story of transformation. They are symbolic of our growth and when taken too literally, we miss their meaning. We must look deeper, and see how they show us our process of becoming.

For instance- Cinderella. As with all princesses (to be) they have a wish. If we just believe, and perhaps sing about it too, they might just come true. Our wish, coming from innocent faith, sets the intention to leave our current existence behind, usually one exhibiting some sort of imprisonment or enslavement.

From here the trials begin. Cinderella faces, and for a time, succumbs and is controlled by her jealous step-mother and sisters, which are aspects of herself. Her own jealousies and insecurities. Through this, however she remains innocent and faithful, and when the fairy godmother appears, she is open to her. She requested her with her wish, and attracted her with her innocence and faith. The fairy godmother, a higher aspect of herself, has come to show a way to get through to the land of her dreams.

Once shown, there is still more work to do. More trials to get through, and hopefully as she goes through them, she finds her strength, wisdom, courage, and patience. At some point, all of the energies, energies she has been facing and have surfaced on her journey, come together, and a miracle happens. A wish is granted. A dream fulfilled. And as I have heard Oprah say, now dream a bigger dream. And if we do, we will begin the process again. And even if we don’t, as we know, for now, at least for most of us, there is not the “happily ever after.” This is because we are not stagnant beings. We are not done. We are still growing, and growing brings with it everything we need to grow. The sun. The rain. Dirt. Weeds….you get the point.

We must allow ourselves to go through the trials, those middle places where we release our insecurities, and look at them with as much curiosity and understanding as we can muster. Try and empathize with their nature. We must also allow, and notice the moments where we are the wise prince or princess of our dreams, living and loving beautifully and abundantly. This story is inherent. It resides within. It is universal.


The Soul Reporter

True Spirit-Gifts

Today’s (Second) Soul Report: True Confessions & True Spirit-Gifts

True Confessions (a-1-in-the-morning-revelation)~

I want people to listen to me. I am mad I think no one does. I need too much acknowledgment, too much recognition. This desire brings me little, to no rest. I’m always after it. Seeking it. It’s partly the internet- did anyone email me? My dumb mobile phone- is my screen lighting up?  Facebook- did someone like my status? Blogs (although I rather love my blog)- how are my stats today? These are mediums in which we can earn instant recognition and validation (or not). Sometimes I do, but it isn’t enough. My hunger for it is far too greedy.

Okay- do you hate me? 

But hold the mobile phone- on a recent Facebook comment thread, I added my truth to an update. I hovered over, and reread my words as if they were laced with silver and gold, and a new commenter posted. Surely, I was the one to admire. But no, it was another. Every comment she had written was “amazing and so true.” I laughed. I honestly laughed, and truly did not care. Not a bit, and no I’m not just saying it. I did not give a shit. Who cares if someone likes what I say or not. Who really cares. Why does it matter? Why should it concern me? Really, and not bitterly, but really, why should it?

It’s not what life is about, at least not for me- anymore (and don’t think this happened in an instant- I’ve been wrestling with this a long while). I don’t want to be that writer who stands in front of a crowd, reading the words I have written as if I’m the greatest creative genius since Mozart. I don’t want to be bounced around by every word of praise and every word of criticism. I don’t want to manipulate and maneuver to get what I want. Or strategize or be like someone else to get what I want. It’s more simple than this. More honest. More real.

Rumi writes, and I opened spontaneously to this passage:

You live in an admiration world, but what do you offer your admirers? If you had true spirit-gifts to give, you would not think of customers? 

At first when I read this, I shuddered. Sure, I hope to be that person who does not think of customers, but really? Is this possible? It is. And for me, right now it has to be. To only seek admiration is petty and sad, and because I don’t truly and honestly believe this was my only motivation, to believe or fear it might be, covers up a more pure intention, and it is with this pure intention, I would like to consciously lead from. It is with this pure intention, that will help me to stop avoiding and fearing the possibility of giving the true spirit-gifts.

So I have confessed to you, and to myself. It’s a risk, this I know. But it is worth the risk. I cannot work for admiration any longer. I just cannot, and now that it is said, perhaps I can get busy with what really matters and leave the fluff and stuff behind, or at the very least be more aware of when it rears its tiny head.

What can you confess to today?  Oh, and wait- there’s more.

A week or so later….

I wrote this post (the one above) early one morning, last week. I was going to read it later that day, and post, but I didn’t. I also didn’t post it the next day, and then I had days of not posting at all. It turns out this 1-in-the-morning-revelation brought me another layer deep (into myself). When I was a little girl, an only child, I spent a lot of time alone- in my room. In my room I created. I made up classroom curriculums, which I taught in an imaginary class. I was a conductor of an orchestra atop my cushy toy box. I choreographed dances. Pretended I was Sandy (in Grease of course). I read books. I colored and drew.

In her room


This time alone, where I was creating was about creating. And maybe also about coping with loneliness, although I don’t remember if I felt lonely. I was too busy creating. I did not seek recognition or praise, but as I got older, this little girl had some cries. She was in fact lonely. She felt a bit lost. She didn’t feel like kids liked her. Or that anyone paid much attention to what might be her gifts- her true spirit-gifts. These honest cries turned bitter. Turned into disappointment. Rejection. A sore layer where I projected what I thought was real at others.

In my writing work, which seems to now be where I create the most, I wanted the work to mean something. I began to need it to have a result. You know because “they” say do what you love and the money, accolades and blah, blah, blah will follow. So because I am a thinker, often thinking way too ahead of myself- if I write, then result should be recognition. Recognition means opportunity. Opportunity means a livelihood that could pay my bills and than some. And all this means fulfillment.

After exposing this need for recognition, to write was no longer appleaing if it meant I had to also carry all of those expectations. Really, what this entire revelation is about is to have me return to that little girl who created. Maybe who did so to cope and escape her circumstances, but I find in a way I need that now anyway, but more so to return to the place where creativity is pure and real, and does not look for results, or customers.

I expect this important learning to continue to unfold.


The Soul Reporter


Today’s Soul Report: Saying YES


“I imagine that yes is the only living thing.”         ~ee cummings

Every once and awhile I receive a writing prompt in my inbox from Laura Davis, and the Writer’s Journey Roadmap. Today’s prompt is: What do you need to say yes to in your life? I thought I’d share my answer with you, and maybe you’d also like to answer this question for you.

My answer:

In the past years, I have noticed many no’s. These no’s have created disappointment and discouragement in me, but I also see that these “no’s” are bringing me to yes. Yes. Once again I say yes to me. To my essence. To my power. To my light. To my wisdom. To my grace. To my life. To my love. To my heart. To my mind, body & soul. Really, I’ve been saying yes all along- to something larger beyond what I think I want or need- like that yes from an agent. Or that yes for a possible job contract. Or that yes for a friendship, or a yes for life to be easier. That yes, from the world outside that says, I’m okay. I’m wanted. I’m needed. All of these “no’s” bring me to how I fully answer today’s prompt, I say yes to me. All of me. 

To visit, Laura Davis’s site, click here, and maybe you’d like to receive writing prompts.


The Soul Reporter

A Whistling-Humming Story

Today’s Soul Report: Just Sharing



My dad called today. He was the happiest I’ve heard him. He said, today during his meditation, he found his whistle. For awhile, it was gone.

My Cool Dad

One of few early memories I can recall is of he and I sitting in his car. My parents had recently divorced and I think he was dropping me off at home. We must have gone out to eat because we both had toothpicks in our mouth. My dad always got a toothpick after dinner, and somehow I have a feeling I thought my dad was pretty cool, and I think, maybe I wanted to be just like him. So, of course, like him, I too had a toothpick in my mouth.

Not only was my dad cool with a toothpick, he was a great whistler. I definitely had whistle envy. I’d pucker up and all you heard from me was forced, strained air. My dad, however could not only project a crisp, clear sound, he could whistle a tune. Wow.

Teach me, daddy. Teach me. 

With the toothpick in my mouth, in the center of a small circle formed by my lips, I pulled out the toothpick and out came a sound. It was a whistle. My dad, in my young  mind, taught me how to whistle. Although I don’t think I’ve whistled since.

I was surprised he had lost his whistle and we both laughed as he shared how today, he had found it. When we whistle we can’t really be sad. It’s a happy thing to do, and I think thoughtful. Reflective, perhaps. Even if we whistle a sad tune, the sorrow we may feel, but our whistling lets us know we are NOT the sorrow we feel.

I have two theories~ I think men whistle and women hum. My mom hates humming. Her aunt, and I believe her mother hummed, as do the “old ladies” in the community where she lives. She will not admit this, but my mom, now hums too. Which brings me to theory two- whistling & humming are good for the soul. And speaking of humming, four hummingbirds drank from my feeder today. Two, I have seen, but never four.

These are just a few simple experiences, thoughts, and memories I had today, that I wanted to share.


The Soul Reporter

Same Cloud

Today’s Soul Report: Light & Dark

Same cloud. Varying light. Same Source.

It’s difficult to say the gray cloud is worse or uglier, knowing it’s the same. When I took these pictures, I realized the cloud was like me. Many days of gray l’ve had this week. Today more light is turning my perspective more bright.

When we go into a dark space, we don’t really hate our lives or ourselves. We just hate how in varying moments, we see our lives and ourselves.

Varying light. The light moves. Our consciousness wavers. From bright to gray to bright again.

When I was new and young to the wake-up journey (what I call the road I am on as I become more awake, expand my consciousness, unfold my evolution), I quickly came to know the dark spots- those gray masses of funk, eventually break away toward more light. More life. It is part of the journey. I used to know this. I trusted this. But at times the dark got so dark and lasted so long, I got caught up in it, and I forgot. Now I know this again.

What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.

Let’s honor both dark and light, and remember the source is always the light- it just varies. Changes. Goes away. Comes back. Or so it seems. It’s part of the wake-up journey.


The Soul Reporter