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Naropa Buddhist University: What is the Summer Writing Program?

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When I arrived in Boulder, the journey of several days was over. I had opened up to change, to challenge and to creating a new future for myself. The journey was about releasing fear, bodily tension and watching the anxious, limiting thoughts arise.

Every time I passed a semi-truck, I talked to myself about how wide my lane was, how protect I was by universal energy. I thanked the driver for safeguarding me and being aware of the presence of my 2003 golden Nissan with the Buddha on the dash board.

“Drop your tongue down,” I would tell myself. To release the energy in my jaw, to keep my face from clamping shut in fear, the tongue drop works beautifully. “Soft hands, ” I would tell myself. My hands upon the wheel would loosen and I noticed the tension in my neck and back would lessen. The car engine, the universal field were the power and it wasn’t my grabbing instinct that was keeping me safe.

The tomtom got me to Naropa and from there I asked directions to Snow Lions. The mix up was amazing. I had been assigned three different room numbers over a few weeks. But I got the contract to fill out for my room and was told to come back after three.

Moving my suitcase into my room seemed rather awkward. It was full (because I am always packed for survival on the moon, after a nuclear war or stranded on an island). So I left the suitcase in my car trunk as a chest of drawers and stuffed underwear, makeup and jewelry into my back pack. Vital survival items. Oh and the four dresses and three pairs of shoes. Also very important for a Leo.

The Snow Lions was not an up to date, meticulously clean environment; however, my university friends tell me this is typical. My OCD started kicking in right away. Walking past the two large white lions at the entry way, I thought about where I could get glue to reattach one of the corners that had been knocked off. I eyed the central patio area and wondered how long it would take me to sweep the area clean. I had to quell the OCD fairey’s voice.

“Just do what you came here to do, ” I told myself. “Let everything else go. Let it go.”

I was in the dorm for two days before I figured out how to use the magnetized fob thing to get me in the door. I tried making one of the room keys work. So for the first two days, I stood outside the door and waited for someone else to open the door until I could observe how to work the gizmo on my own. What a metaphor for the last two years. Standing in front of a door and just not being able to figure out how to work it. Yes. That is it!

The beds were small with a thin mattress but I didn’t care. The classes were inspiring. The people that surrounded me were creative spirits who had made a voyage out of their lives. Some were from small towns in Alabama, Texas, California. Some had grown up with racial discrimination with learning disabilities, with an angry household and yet each of these people had kept writing, had kept learning and had honed his or her skills. I felt as if my entire body was on fire.

Tracie Morris was the instructor for my section and when the short, fit African-American woman walked into the room we were in for a surprise. Her power revealed itself over the week. She was unfailingly kind and sensitive to each of the students in our group. There was no attempt to establish status. Her knowledge of writing, of performing, of the academic background of all that she presented simply poured out of her as she answered our questions. Twenty minutes into class, I felt as if I were in an Alice in Wonderland experience. Tracie’s stature just kept growing. At the end of the week, I captured some pictures of her and was astounded at the fact that she is fairly short. We lost that sense of her early on.

Her compassion and commitment to others is what most struck me. She genuinely wants to best for those around her. In my thirty years as a teacher, I can honestly say that I was blessed to be in a class with such a natural excellent teacher. She informed us that her meditative practice had taken much of the “edge” off of her personality. However, one knows that if it is needed she will step up and defend her beliefs with whatever it takes.

What did she teach me? She taught me that stature, status, reputation are irrelevant. She taught me that what is most important is to network with other souls on the same path as myself. Being open to working closely with others with an attitude of humility, is the quickest way to become better at the skills I have been given. Leave the ego behind and edit that sucker. Slice and dice. Go for the gut. Punch it out. But at the end of the performance, don’t leave them bleeding. Offer an after dinner mint with sweetness on the lips to complete the experience.

Be there for others, Tracie showed through example. Be fully and completely in the moment. Listen to others. Take classes. This woman has many prestigious degrees and yet she is constantly taking classes. Learn. Sit at the feet of others. Be open.

She taught us about breathing so there is power behind our words. She taught us about breathing so there is a strong connection to body passion in our words. She taught us about breathing so we can hear what our bodies are experiencing.
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One of her exercises was to connect with an organ and talk to it. Many in my class connected with the liver: seat of anger. seat of stored grief. seat of unfair treatment. Poets…. yes it makes sense. Poets are called to speak out the grief and beauty of life. It makes sense.

My pancreas talked to me. According to Louis Hay the Pancreas is affected when life has lost its sweetness, when one is rejected. I have been like a Victorian heroine these last two years. Trailing through mind fog trying to find my purpose, passion and power, I picture myself in wafting gowns locked in a stone fenced territory. My pancreas I envisioned as a kind of meat baby, curled in fear under my heart.

This was a very powerful exercise and surprisingly clear in the message that we all experienced. After the visualization and breathing exercise we each wrote a poem message to the organ that was “talking” to each of us. The poems were powerful, lucid.

Tracie completed her lesson to us through her performance later in the week. Her rendering of “I’ve got you under my skin” with the voices of those sexually abused at Penn State was electrifying. She brought us to our emotional knees. I kept thinking it was more than I could take and yet it went deeper. She was merciless in her mercy.

Another influence on all of us was to spend the afternoon listening to panels or presentations by other artists. There was never a sense of the usual academic hierarchy. And I noted how incredibly effective it is to have someone stand before me who had simply made a choice to be who he or she wanted to be. To strike out into the world and make the heart’s statement without waiting for validation had been a choice. Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth put together his band and ruthlessly toured the world. Find others, say what you have to say, keep moving!

Laurie Anderson was so simple, direct, unassuming in person as she stood on stage in front of us. And then she performed. It was watching a kitten become a dragon. Her power and presence was transformative. She had one number in which she described her obsessive experience with a ouija board. In her first life…. pause… she was a raccoon. In her second life…. so gentle the voice…. she was a hat. The people in my row were laughing together. We looked at one another, we bent over with laughter. It opened us up. It opened us up to saying whatever came to mind, to standing on a stage saying whatever came to mind, to one another, to the flow of energy in the audience, to and from the stage. Laurie is a catalyst. She creates magic. Period. Period.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXyisdc6ggc&list=UU1sbb545hr0EwWCwEsntUNA&index=5&feature=plcp

The other teachers each took the stage: Caroline Bergvall, Toi Derracotte, Jena Osman, Bhanu Kapil, Bobbie Louise Hawkins, Brad O’Sullivan, Claudia Rankine, Roberto Tejada, Anne Waldman and Matvei Yankelevich. It was like watching the Olympics of creatives. They each made it look so simple.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAIY_v8rzew&list=UU1sbb545hr0EwWCwEsntUNA&index=3&feature=plcp

The ability to take the gifts that the universe gave to you, find shelter in friends/networks and feed your flame was demonstrated for the students. Skill. Pushing through. Listening to your inner voice. Seeing setbacks as lessons. What better way to encourage students than to be authentic and open about your own journey?

I was filled with energy. I felt as if I had been hit by lightening, light en ing. When I read out my poetry in front of the school, teachers and other students came to me to tell me they liked my work. I sat in the audience with tears pouring down my face.

I was so grateful for the encouragement. I was so grateful to feel as if I was in the right place, with the right people doing what I was born to do. The stimulus was challenging and overwhelming but for the first time in almost three years I felt fully alive.

Finally, the message that Amiri Barake delivered stayed in my consciousness. Make it happen. Get out there and witness for a better world. Speak your truth. Be who you are without fear. Passion is a gift. Intensity is a gift.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIpAOGHW8T4&list=UU1sbb545hr0EwWCwEsntUNA&index=2&feature=plcp

Thank you Anne Waldman for creating and sustaining this transformative haven. Thank you fellow Naropa students for your diversity, your imaginative genius and your loving kindness. A creative center founded on compassion and keeping oneself humble is exactly what is needed as a “spark” in today’s world. I was lucky enough to be a part of that for a short period. Gratitude.
http://naropaswp.blogspot.ca/p/week-4-course-descriptions.html

Where Am I Now?

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Washington State passes

The question of where I am in life keeps popping up in my head. It is the result of linear thinking, three dimensional floating in my own waters of delusional aquarium life existence. “Where am I?” “How am I doing?” “What next?”

The sense of not knowing has been hanging in the air like some heavily laden perfume. The smell of repressed depression has lingered in the environment for almost three years.

The journey this summer has caused a sharp break in that sense of constraint. Driving across the states of Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah and Colorado through the haze of smoke nestled on the horizon was an adventure.

The flat land stretched out for days. One night I was listening to the University of Utah’s jazz program that runs for several hours. Darkness, stars, flat almost deserted highway and beautiful Cab Calloway pieces were surrounding me. The show told me stories about the history of jazz and its great musicians.

Travel is so much a metaphor for life. The assumptions that I make about the next stretch are usually in error. Sitting in the heat inching along in Vancouver, B.C. because there were accidents on all three major egresses is good practice for patience. I put on my favorite CD and sang along. The thoughts peeking out from the back of my mind was, “Oh no. This will go on forever. It will take hours to get out of here. Now I will be late for the entire journey.” But it was a small voice.

My bigger voice was telling me, “You are here.” Period. Who knows what conditions will exist in an hour, in a day, or tomorrow. The mountain pass was challenging with the rapacious, semi-suicidal semi-truck drivers jumping one another, cutting in, passing on impossible curves. I thought about the economic downswing or more accurately the depression and how much these drivers had riding on each trip. Their very desperation was obvious in their driving.

So it is now dark. It is now road construction with the lanes winding in unpredictable loops with the orange toy-like markers directing where to swoop next. How long will this go on? As long as it does.

The sky in the flat states is stunning. Blues so intense that they made my eyes sting. The clouds become the landscape. The clouds become the geography in these planed horizons.

My cell phone was reassuring. I texted both of my children to tell them where I was on the journey. “I am approaching Boise now,” I would indicate to my son and my daughter. The cell phone and the Tom Tom embolded me. I felt supported.

Because I was unused to driving and it is difficult to predict travel time, I stopped only for what I called liquid in or liquid out. I would get gas, use the washroom and replenish my water. My meals due to my financial straits were usually almonds and grapes that I could eat as I drove.

Bathrooms, washrooms, rest stops. Well now that is an entirely different issue. Some places were clean and welcoming. Others I had the urge to go to a local emergency room to have my nethers disinfected by a surgeon. The rule of thumb seemed to be the further away another service station was, the less the proprietor had to do to maintain the facility. Only show in town mentality rules.

I was very excited when I saw the first outcropping. Climbing a hill somewhere (I frequently let tomtom make the decisions and had no clue which state I was crossing) I saw a big of greenish earth and rocks jutting out.


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As I stepped on my 2003 Nissan Sentra’s gas pedal and she jumped into charge mode, I saw a young man with a woman on the back of a motorcycle coming up behind me. She had black hair tied back on her neck and a white peasant off the shoulder blouse. Her feet were barely clothed in minimalist sandles. The sleeves on her blouse whipped around her arms. I smiled and envied her freedom. She rode in the open air, up a pass without protection. (Also, what crossed my mind was the fact that a daughter of a friend had spent her life recovering from a motorcycle accident whereby she had her leg sliced and experienced multiple operations.) Both thoughts rested in my mind at once.

The real sense of accomplishment came when I saw red. Finally, the beautiful red earth of Colorado began to show up in outcroppings along the road. Getting there. I was getting there.

Driving along the highway to Boulder was challenging. I got off the road and got lost early on but found a way to circle back. Tomtom was furiously trying to correct me but I refused to listen. I was a bit frightened and would only double back on tracks I know I had laid down. Too insecure to break off onto a new road, I ignored her voice.

By night fall I was well and truly exhausted. It had been a long day, a long three days and I just wanted to find a place to stay. I got to Boulder with the kindness of stranger. Three different times cars behind me laid on the horn and came close to hitting my rear end. It was dark. I was lost. And the exits were just coming too fast for me to process.

Exiting in Boulder, I drove around in circles. Finally, demoralized I pulled into a parking lot next to Chucky Cheese and laid down in the backseat. I thought to myself just stay here until morning. I had tried two motels and been told that a state wide Baseball tournament had every single hotel/motel in the state filled up. The rooms had been reserved a year ago. I texted both of my kids that they could find me at Chucky Cheese and laid down.

Then the voice started.” You deserve better than this. What are you doing woman?
Just take a few minutes to rest and calm down. The universe supports and cares for you. Trust.”

I locked up the car and went for the first time in my life into a Chucky Cheese at 10 pm at night after an eleven hour day of driving. The noise was blinding. The colors were deafening. But behind the counter was a small, dark haired obviously gay kid who was an angel. He looked up the hotels, called the first one on the list for me and I ended up with a reservation.

My previous rooms had been under $70 a night with a free coffee in the morning. My gluten free cereal was in plastic refrigerator dishes and I added milk or coffee cream to them and ate them in the morning. This time the room was $135 but it was better than being rousted in the night by a security child in a dark uniform.

So I followed the “loosey goosey” directions from the desk clerk. On the street he had indicated, I got out at the first motel and discovered that was not the place. They had a $150 + room still available but not my reservation. I walked over to the next motel. A young, efficient woman at the desk told me ‘everyone’ came there by mistake. What I was seeking was around the bend.

Well, yes!

So on the third try, I scored the motel room and thankfully went to sleep. I was glad I had decided to leave Boulder and go up or down (Lord only knows) to Louisville to find this haven. The next day I headed to the Snow Lion dormitory only to discover that once again life is always fascinating.

The first room assignment I received changed early on. However, I was sent an email calling me Bob Hanson and moving me in with two “other” men. I replied that it was very generous of the dorm to provide me with two men when I had been around no men at all for the last 28 months. Perhaps, I should mention that I wasn’t Bob.

So a third room assignment was emailed to me. I printed out the email and included it in my documents before the journey. When I arrived at Snow Lions in Boulder at noon, I presented the paper.

No, the Resident director informed me. No that isn’t your room. It had been changed yet again and I had to wait until after 3 pm to get into the room because it hadn’t been cleaned. So I filled out the required paperwork and went away.

I walked around Naropa campus, going into rooms, moving in and out of various buildings trying to get a sense of the place. Finally, I ended up sitting upstairs in a large space looking like it was set aside for meditation. I sat quietly for an extended period of time grounding myself, dropping the anxiety from last nights three hours of driving in circles, being lost and releasing frightened thoughts as they came up. I was here now whatever that meant.

I had crossed the mountains, climbed the passes, driven the plains, found motels and gas stations. My body was not sore. I was not feeling depleted. Whatever happened next, happened next. And as I sat in the room with pictures of Buddha, I thanked my spiritual practice for being a home for me, no matter what happened in the outer world, I was safe, protected and fascinated by the journey. Gratitude arose and I sat in it.

What comes in?

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We have all seen the doorway that has served as a place to record the growth of a child though out the years. There is something poignant and universal when we view the ledger of a person thriving. Some years the gaps between marks is very small and then… The spurts are times when the child changes height, configuration and more subtle are the rapid changes in abilities and skills.
The vision I have held in my mind for these last 28 months since my old life fell away, or exploded, or imploded or was surgically removed is a vision of a caterpillar being encapsulated. Within the shell, a dissolving was going on.

The person who was became a formless mush. The sense of purpose was gone, the passion for life, the focus on the future fell away. The form of formlessness was where I floated. One day I had a vision of a self with no centre.

The centre I had held for the last 16 years was held by my concern and love for my husband, my job, and then my art. All of these fell away. So I sat meditation each day holding my grief like my baby and had the vision of a big mush of an entity with no centre.

At times I was almost werewolf frustrated and just needed the bright moon to call out to. At others I was in deep acceptance that what was happening was a process and that one day I would reform, I would feel a calling. What I didn’t know was what I would be after I passed through the process.

In April, it began. I volunteered to care for babies and toddlers at the Women’s Place. Sitting with a warm baby on my lap, having two three year old girls climbing me and touching my bracelets, earrings, necklace and saying , “pretty,” was healing. These open, vibrant souls are so present that each time I finished the session of day care I felt like I had left an acupuncture treatment… for the heart. They offer love like there is no tomorrow.


I joined choir because the director Barbara Samuels said to me, “Lean into it baby. Lean into it.” When I walked into the room I saw radiant, amazing women wearing (hold on to your door handle Kelowna residents) color. Real for sure color. Not urban camoflage that is meant to blend everyone into the same beige-gray. Purples and Golds and Coral and Greens were pure and bold. I was delighted. And each choir practice I was puzzled, challenged, stretched and could feel myself grow.

The writing in the dark experience of forcing myself to spend hours every day working on my voice became a doorway. Accepted into the Naropa Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetry Summer School program spurred me on to go the full out choice. I had given up my M.F.A. in Bellingham in order to protect my then husband from the draft. The dream of completing it had stayed with me. So now I am in the process of winding my way through the labyrinth of entry into Naropa’s M.F.A. program in Boulder.
I have never been to Boulder. I know nothing about the program but it feels right.

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So as I stand assessing my life, looking at the doorway at the markers I see that April was a growth spurt. All of the work, the intention to live consciously and authentically is starting to manifest a new life for me. I feel taller, stronger, more substantial.

And what I now understand is that the “hole” in the centre of my being is a blessing. It is where all of my strength comes from. It is the garden at the centre of my physical being. It is quiet, empty and filled with silence. I do not need to try to jam another man into that empty place. I do not need to try to move emotional furniture in and make it a crowded room. It is where the divine lives.

The relationship with my body is more loving. I have worked out most days and built muscle, strength and substance. My heart is what I call “more fluffy” because of the children, the choir, the singing, the shamanic practices.


There are times when the patterns of the last 18 years are a source of loss memory. There are times of discouragement and desire for a strong calling.

There are nights when I am deeply sad.

However, I have friends around me who are on a spiritual path and they whisper sweet everythings in my ear. Their presence helps me to walk to the doorway and look at how I have grown. I am about to take what feel like big risks in the world. But I see myself as a fully formed butterfly and I trust my wings and the wind.

I am about to fly.

When are you “in” and when are you an “outsider?”

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Much of my life I have felt I was an outsider. While others might have had safe homes, mine was a war zone. I was kept home for three months out of a year I see from my grade four report card most likely from being bruised so badly I couldn’t be in public. When I did attend school the possibility of frustration leading me to tears was a haunting presence. The report cards exclaim to my parents, as if they are the school’s ally, that “Cherie will frequently burst into tears for no reason.”

The dyslexia which I only discovered after it appeared in both of my children, caused me to have difficulty learning to read. I would sit quietly and listen with interest when my father read G.H. Well’s Outline of History out loud to me for hours at a time. So the failure to read was obviously not a sign of lack of intellectual curiosity or a lack of depth of mind.

leaving the fire and darkness


My teacher in Grade three kept me in at noon hour to work with me until I made a break through. Bless her persistence. It is when I first knew that one caring person could change your life. It is probably when I knew I wanted to be that teacher, that person for others’ lives.

However, the social outfall of being abused, emotionally weak (with a hyper sensitivity to others’ energies) and having learning disabilities lead to a deep sense of shame. I retreated into myself. Others would bully me, isolate me and my response was not to defend myself, to step into my power but rather to shrink even further.

What effect has this had on the landscape of my life? Having a quick, perceptive mind locked in a shame-filled personality is a formula for failure.

Although I scored in the 98% on the standardized National Education Exams for all grade 11’s and all grade 12’s in the United States, I had few close friends. I could not speak out freely in class unless I was suddenly overcome by my inner power. When people talked about oppression of national minorities, about denying power to others, with a mindless philosophy that would lead to pain for others my mouth would open. I would blurt out something that I didn’t even hear or register. It was like channeling. My teachers told me I was brilliant. Classmates would come to me to ask what was going to be on the test or just before an exam ask me for answers to something they could not decipher. But that was one of the few times they spoke to me.

I know now that most of the failure to be seen was mine. Having taught acting classes for 25 years I have seen how those who carry pain and low self esteem make it almost impossible for others to show affection and to include them.

Where am I now? Today when I saw that artists had created banners for a street in our town, it came back. The full hit in the gut pain of being outside, excluded, not validated, being invisible. After working as an artist almost daily for 18 years, my work is not on display.

Is it that my work isn’t considered important? I am not selling. The work continues to be shown in secondary venues. Even though I garnered awards in the European shows in Florence and Vienna, I lose money when I have booths at local fairs.

Because of my spiritual beliefs and because of the interior plastic surgery I have done on myself in the last two years I am able to sit with the deep grief I feel coming up. Again, my body tells me I am less than others. I am not included. I am somehow damaged and a lesser being.

These stories are old stories. They are the stories of a little girl who is dressed beautifully and sent off into the world. But under her starched puffed sleeve dress are bruises on her arms, finger prints in blue and green.

Under her bow on the back of her dress are marks and fractured bones.

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I am neither an insider nor an outsider. I am an artist who is called to create by some higher urge. My visual art, my poetry, my plays, my voice rising in choir, my dancing and spreading my arms out to take the space are my soul’s work.

These people whose banners are flying have spent time building a network. They validate one another in this tribe of artists. Social equity results in more exposure of their creations.

It is the hours over coffee, the showing up at events, the building a following that pays off. Literally pays off. So this is another in the lessons that I am learning.

I also realize that I can never quite trust my interpretation of events. As within so without, my spiritual teacher reminds me. How much of my reality am I creating and how much of my reality am I misinterpreting? As Buddhist teachings say, “If you see Buddha, kill him.” So being able to drop the story and just know feeling excluded hurts. Feeling invalid and invisible hurts.

The work is to feel that in my body, sit with it as if it were a baby as Thich Nhat Hahn says. Let it cry. Then move on to make my life more satisfying. Grieve it, feel it then heal it.

The questions always comes back, “Who are you when you are authentic?”

I am still struggling. Perhaps, because of my family history my social development is not very far along. But today, this day I am working on the problem that life has given me. My heart is open to those around me who offer me friendship.

I am learning that if a friend needs me, to stop everything I am doing and just go be with that friend. I am learning that I no longer need to isolate myself. I will never show up at an event or in life simply to push my agenda or to garner financial gain for my art. It is against my nature.

But perhaps, I can begin to see that by being genuinely caring there are connections I can make to others. That I don’t need to hide any more.

And as for bullies. Yes. They exist in the cultural community as well. But now I am strong enough to either turn around and leave ( if the energy feels negative) or to speak out against the attempts at manipulation. I am no longer afraid to speak up. And I don’t need to zone out, to disconnect and allow the channeling voice to speak. I can speak from my heart in my work, in my friendships and in my life.

Living with Intention and Love


I might be growing up. Gratitude for my lessons.

One day, my banner will be waving for all to see. I know this.

Distant and Dealing

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I have not posted for six weeks. The sense of making each day count has been the driving motivation for me lately. After reading Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project, I made a chart for my refrigerator. On the chart are those things which are most supportive of my well being, in other words the care of my body.

At the top of the list is drinking water. From all that I have read, getting enough water can offer immense support for the “plant.” Inflammation is a response which must be avoided. Inflammation damages the body, creates stress and can lead to a cancer response. Drinking enough water also keeps the body from signaling “hungry, hungry,” when in fact it is dehydrated. Toxins are also carried through with water. Honoponopono practice which is traditional Hawaiian spiritual practice has as its core drinking water. A blue bottle is placed in the sun (try that in the Okanagan winter). As the sun goes through the water, it is believed it activates it to heal. The thought that the practitioner is supposed to hold is that all past “scripts” are washing through the body. What happened to me when I was two or twenty or sixty is now flushed out. Now. That brings to you now. Without a story, a bag of past grievances slung over the shoulder. Just you, the ground, the breath and the flow of water washing through the body.
Sleep is the next item on my chart. Getting eight hours sleep can pull down the inflammation response very efficiently. When the body is rested, it feels strong and calm. The daily attacks: bills, broken appliances, family disasters, angry people are inevitable. But if the body feels strong and rested, a person is in a more capable state. Solutions are easier to discover. I also find that it is easier for me to not attach to the difficulty with an emotional state that strangely enough usually outlasts the problem. So often in the past I start to out run the tiger long after it has retreated to the dark forest again. The sound of my own hyperventilation and pounding anxiety would accompany me long after the threat had passed.
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My goal is to make contact with old friends or to meet new friends every day. As with all activities, it becomes easier the longer I do it. At first, going through the door after my long retreat was like breaking through one of those aluminum foil barriers on a jar… only it was over the door. One evening I went out just because I didn’t feel like going on.
These simple items top my list on my happiness project chart. Another part of the process, is to realize that it is a process. When I misstep or don’t have an X to put in the box, I realize that I am changing myself for the better. I celebrate that and treat myself with compassion because I am my friend as well. Right?

Christmas Eve

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Beautiful blue eyes

I have been staying with my daughter, Dominique, and her husband Troy since I was coughed up by the Greyhound Bus after a twenty hour ride on rough roads. The fact that somewhere along the journey my suitcase that I foolishly dropped my medications into and that was full to the gills with Christmas Presents had gone veering off in a separate direction from my bumpy trajectory could not lessen the experience of arriving.

Firstly, seeing my daughter was wonderful. Secondly, just being able to stop the alternating of the rough jostling with being kicked out into the yellow-green slime of light that coats all the surfaces in the small “cafes” lining the route was a cause for celebration. Had I been able to unbend my knees sufficiently to dance, I would have. However being in hedgehog-fetal position to try to fit onto the seat through the night precluded anything more than being calmly thankful that I had enough stamina left to disembark.

Lastly, I had the practice. My mind wanted to run to the first window which was victim. Oh poor me. No suitcase. Then came the second window which was blame.

“You stupid twit, why did you put your medications in the suitcase. You traveled all over Europe. Twice. And you knew enough not to separate yourself from clean underwear and medications.” But because I have been basting my brain with Buddhism, the last part of that alternative of bad vision was minimized. I managed to shut the curtains shortly after, “You stupid twit.”

Then came the use of the practice…. being patient. I asked to file a missing luggage form but was told by a very terse woman (who had previously hung up on my daughter) that they waited five days or more before filing a lost report.

Rahne is a serious, focussed leader. Her eyes say it all.

Now my mind did its work. I saw that the woman was angry. I saw that her life wasn’t working. I saw her treat people without respect including hanging up on another caller as I watched and I wondered, “How’d you get that way?” Reading Wayne Dyer and How to Win Friend’s and Influence People taught me a few skills.

I was patient. I didn’t crowd the woman but I didn’t go away either.

I came back to the depot three times, phoned three times. Politely. I explained that my daughter would be living with a werewoman after my withdrawal from my bionic woman meds. My poor little waifs of grand daughters would be deprived of their Christmas presents.

And lastly I went for the heart or the jugular. I said I had no other clothing and needed a change of underwear after 21 straight hours on the bus. What human being could resist that plea?

During the recounting of my tale, it spilled out that I had purchased my ticket on line. The woman’s face shut down like a castle gate under attack.

“On line. We don’t want you to purchase tickets on line. We don’t get any commission for finding lost luggage for people who purchased a ticket on line.”

Poison words. I had poisoned my case and now had to begin reworking our relationship. She was mistress of that desk and I a mere suppliant. The very repetition of the phrase, “on line” was for my benefit because I was obviously an “idiot.”

Part way through the days of sweet persistence, she deigned to fill out a form while asking me questions. I described my luggage in laborious detail. When we were done, she handed me a slip of paper indicating that I now had permission to pick up my suitcase. And when the detailed, adjective rich depiction of my suitcase was complete the line for description on this power-of-pick up form simply stated,” suitcase.”

Safed musli is the herb which helps the men to cheapest levitra https://pdxcommercial.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/NE-Sandy-Blvd-Ave.-Flyer.pdf resolve the impotence problem easily. Erectile dysfunction leads for efficient issues during the process of ejaculation & such patients must be guided in order to get rid of such pain. pdxcommercial.com best buy for viagra That’s a good thing, right? Maybe yes, maybe no tadalafil soft or maybe it doesn’t matter. You can create more nerve stimulation in her genital passage using the viagra sale online bigger and stronger male organ. To understand the depth of mini-autocracy at work, I had talked to this woman daily. She is working at a depot with only two people. Both people had been included in the conversations I held with them. So as I took the paper which said that I could pick up my luggage should it ever arrive and present it to the only two people in this tiny, unadorned closet of a depot to make sure that it was official, I was silenced by the sheer force of convoluted logic. Perhaps the idea was to get rid of me by sending me away with a white scrap of hope.

She could, apparently rule her kingdom with an iron will.

So I called the Greyhound national office… It is in Texas. The woman who answered gave me the Canadian corporate headquarter’s phone number. And thus began my Christmas conversation with Emmanuel. I explained to this savior the details of my plight… now for the eighth time. It was good practice. I was becoming more succinct and gently hopeful while maintaining my dogged persistence with each retelling of the saga of the lost suitcase.

He said I should call the national office in Texas. I told him that I had. He said,” You should ask the depot to put a trace on it.”

I said, ” I asked the depot immediately.Yes. Yes I have tried for three days, six different times,” I informed him.

“Why don’t you go to another depot and fill out the form?” he asked.

I fell for a moment into a pool of confusion. Whaaaat?

“The nearest town with a depot is four hours away and I took the bus. I don’t have a car with me, ” I said starting to blank out from the sheer confusion of those I was dealing with.

“Well, I don’t really do that, the tracing. But I can ask for a trace if I file a complaint at the same time,” he offered.

And there it was. The rune in the full moon light. The switch to the sliding bookcase. An opportunity to educate the Houston, B.C. Greyhound Depot staff on the company policy. A chance to help those poor fools who thought they could call a business and ask a question without having someone slam down the phone. My intention was to stay out of anger and just keep the attitude that everybody was going to be alright. Even my dark blue almost black, 35 lb, cloth covered suitcase with a pull handle and wheels.

On the fourth day, Donna, who reigns supreme, allowed me to fill out a form. From then on everything changed. She actually looked at my face when we talked. She immediately faxed the request to the stations along the way where some, in her words, “idiot” could have miss-routed my luggage.

The next day after the fax went through to the six stops along the way, my luggage showed up. The woman was actually happy for me. Her face had softened. She said, “Now your grand daughters have their Christmas presents.” She let me hug her.

I will write a letter. But now it won’t be a letter of complaint. Communication is the problem all down the line. The mistresses of the desk needs to know that, yes, a trace can be filed immediately. The company needs to know that a review of procedures will help bring in more customers. And the driver needs to know not to leave Christmas parcels out in the parking lot where some “idiot” will back over them.

My body is now nicely humming along with all of my bionic woman meds, I have clean underwear, the Christmas presents are under the tree. I have learned so many things about travel, about loss of focus when packing, about compassion and not least of all about why I want to be rich enough to fly first class.

Merry Christmas everyone. Blessings out.

Teagan is a loving, sensitive, bumptuous soul.

Moving Up

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I have had my ups and downs in the last year. The ups are like an elevator overshooting the floor I want to be on and I either get out for only a short while or just stand waiting for the momentary euphoria to pass.

mating for life, partnership


Reading and studying; meditating and praying; seeking counsel and shamanic practice has moved me a few floors higher up. It has given me a larger view as I look down over my life.
Recently while at an event, the woman who dated my ex-husband on our anniversary, went to coffee with him while we were still trying to get back together, went to dinner and movies with him approached me. I went into shock and lost the feeling connections with my legs. In my head I could hear the question, “What do you want from me?”
It was kind of a report card for me about where I am spiritually and as a person. I felt sick to my stomach, weak and sad but in the moment I understood that her issues involved her sense of self worth. She, wounded in some way, could date and call it not dating. She needed to show her self off in black lace and find solace in a man.
These are phishing emails, hoping that you will click on the links provided and willingly give your credit card or other personal information to the third parties and you would suffer a lot once this happens. 6- This is the most important thing is to consult your doctor before consuming it. best price tadalafil Nevertheless, these persons would still not be able brand cialis prices to get the best source. So, order now, and check the effect on online viagra in australia your stamina and vigor in time of copulation. If anytime, you observe it complicated to buy or feel like to identify its consequences, you need to look out for when shopping for Kamagra Online: Don’t Fall for the Cheapest Option A low price is never a remedy or prevention for any sexually transmitted viagra pills in canada illnesses including HIV. How different is she than the way I am? Not really much different. My self esteem issues around being loveable, of being someone’s wife were huge.
As I stood checking in on my body which is my practice, I felt fear, anger and actual nausea. If I had had any feeling in my legs I might have fled. So instead, I made eye contact. I thought about why she could possibly want to talk to me when I had had friends who had tried to carry on a conversation with her and been rebuffed. She had walked across a very crowded room to stand in front of me. Months ago I had wanted to warn her to protect herself against the known dangers of being in any relationship with this man: health issues, financial issues, mental health issues. But now, I have come so far that I realized that her journey is her journey. Unless she specifically asked me a question, there was nothing I could do.

Fire in the sky sunset


I remained pleasant, made small talk and as soon as I could feel my legs again, I excused myself. My grief was enormous and I went home to crawl under the covers for two days. I cried for my loss of a dream. I cried for the betrayal of someone who would not only go out on our anniversary, but would come to me the next day to tell me. But it was like the returning fever sweat of Malaria. It came and it left.
So how did I conduct myself? What was my report card? I had one negative thought as I was talking to her. I thought, “I could give her some suggestions about that dry skin problem.” Mostly, I just saw how desperate being desperate for love makes anyone.

The perfect love is nurturing


Today the frozen sun is out and I am beginning again. I have come a long way and I am proud of myself. I see where I want to be…. and how I want to be in the world. The elevator is on the way up.

Anthologies with art now for sale

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http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/cheriehanson is the link where my two anthologies of paperback books with art on each page are for sale.
I ordered copies to hold in my hands. How thrilling is that? I have one course left in the UBC-O Continuing studies offerings this winter. The subject of how to set up and organize a blog will be for novices. To date, I am getting 150 hits a day on this site.

my toe cards


Today, I gathered gold into clear bags during the autumnal windy day. Leaves were lifting from the ground flying around me and I thought of what it is like to be a child. If I were a child, I would throw the leaves in the air to watch them caught up and flowing like angels, birds, small air ships, I thought to myself. The most I could work up was enjoyment of the newly raked pile spiraling up and over my head. Too serious to consciously release the yellow leaves, I could still laugh out loud and enjoy the presence of the wind.

reflected angel. The first image I ever sold 15 years ago.


This is purchasing cialis online the specific hour when they feel low and depressed because of this issue. From his 779 rides last season ‘King Kieren’ rode 131 winners with a strike rate viagra cost in canada 0f 17%. Physiology cialis price online of Penile Erection in Men A balance is usually noticed among the blood flowing in and out of the erectile bodies. Omega 3 fatty acids shows a beneficial effect on libido and sexual health: Vitamins A, B, C, E: Minerals zinc, calcium, magnesium, selenium, manganese; essential fatty acids, whole soy foods go now 5mg cialis online (no isolates) and antioxidants like resveratrol. I was very pleased that my small canvas mixed media piece I donated to the Salvation Army was in a bidding war and sold for $320. What I have noticed is the value of my work is going up over the last few months.

playing with light. Gray Foil mixed media on canvas


I am busy creating greeting cards for Christmas which I sell on line for $5 or 5 cards for $20. Today, I had the idea of taking an image that someone had shot of a family group or a loved one, manipulate it and make handmade cards from the image. I am going to be posting this possibility on linked in.
Tonight, I will finish reading Daniel H. Pink’s books A Whole New Mind and Drive. Fascinating to be reading about the creative community.
If you are reading my blog, then that would be you. Blessings out.

Ready or Not Here It Comes

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My friend Elaine came by for a brief visit and filled me in on her life in the past few months. She looks wonderful. She is one of those blessed women who has radiant skin and while she wears no make up at all, she looks beautiful.

with lighting filters


I wish i had been born with eyebrows. She has lost weight which she didn’t even notice. Her life is so busy with the job and kids and volunteer work that she is not at all self-absorbed. It was great to see her and to see her transformation.
My brother sent through an email to me suggesting I get out more, start working out. Oh do I wish. I probably have another month of limited mobility. The issue is how much I push using my foot. Tomorrow I will go collect my art work from a show home and go to a doctor’s appointment. That will be a big day out for me.

with sketching filter


I am almost done listing possible magazines for submission from Poetry Market 2011. Once that is done I will move on to Michael Brown’s workbook. Gabor Mate suggested Michael for me to work through a few things.
It helps to maintain erection quality and boosts viagra uk shop sperm count. Timing is important when you plan on spending a few thousand dollars for a horse for you, a child, or friend, you should make sure that you are not allergic to Sildenafil before you take levitra free this medicine. Overnight oil and 4T Plus capsules can be used to enhance men’s virility cialis mastercard while treating erectile dysfunction in men. This way the medication can be sildenafil 25mg termed to be the highest absorption, with Bengaluru leading the way followed by Delhi NCR. I know I am getting better because i am getting restless. I want more social contact, more stimulus, more things to look forward to. My brother and my daughter keep urging me to just go out. But I was doing that previously… sitting alone in Chapters reading, going to a movie alone, eating in a restaurant alone. Maybe, that is not what they are saying. Just maybe I need to start connecting with people more.
I think there has been an element of shame around my past choices and a feeling that I didn’t want to be seen because of past associations. But as my brother was reiterating to me today, it is not me who was unethical. So I need to leave the past behind.
Learning how to use my new pse software is fun. Yesterday I took an image that was posted on facebook of my grand daughter and treated it in various ways. I was very pleased with the result.

chalk and charcoal


Setting goals for the future, having something to look forward to, spicing things up with fun are all important once I can step down and out again. Then I can say…. I am truly looking forward.

conte crayon filter

Going Around the Bend, Is it a Good Thing?

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Life can sometimes be a winding road. As I sit with my foot up, waiting for my healthy, vibrant body to heal the bones, I ask. The questions are many-faceted. Where do I live? What do I do to make a living? Am I ready to be with a partner or will the bitterness from the last relationship work its way into the next?

Two souls reaching for one another: love


Should I sit still, save my money, get work or should I be more expansive and take opportunities for further healing work with Gabor Mate?

earth a grounding


Have all of my protective strategies become a constrictive bunker stopping my growth. Sonia Choquette suggests that a person perplexed ask the divine and then sit quietly. Surety. That is what I seek. But it is an insane quest. How do we have any guarantee that being safe is safe or that taking a risk is bound to end badly?
One thing I do know is that I am definitely becoming healthier. The very restlessness is a clue to that.
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So my subconscious mind is a witty and amusing creator of dreams. Yes, I feel sad. But did I always want to be afraid of the elephant in the room destroying the home?
I awoke with a back-ground head ache which is an indication that I was grinding my teeth. Where did this tension come from? My sensitivity continually surprises me. I moved the screens in the yard and there was his saw that he has left here for pick up. Seeing the saw unleashed all of the fear, the memory of deep pain and a sense of insecurity in my own environment. Perhaps dreaming about it is one way of releasing it.

Looking beyond where I am now, asking to see around the corner is my goal. Make a plan. Four hundred steps towards the future. No matter how much it looks like a hop on my healing foot. There is a better life around the Bend. I am a seeker.