Any Other Option Than Love

healingwallUsually my blogs are not blogs, they’re essays. And usually they’re animal inspired and written while caffeinated. This is none of the above. This is what spirit downloaded to me yesterday while working out, after I asked Spirit how I could help another heal. As usual, I had an idea of the answer – “leave it the fuck alone.” Or as spirit gently puts it: Continue reading

Why I need an animal communicator.

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People say – I can talk to my dog or my cat understands me. What about your cat or dog being understood? I get it that animals read energy better than most human beings. They’re superior to us at a multitude of things, but ask them to understand our words; that’s like asking an Irish woman to  understand why there are no teacups in the house. It simply does not compute. Continue reading

So What Exactly Is A Healing?

SUnset

Anytime I sit down to write, I get up five minutes later to use the loo. Anytime I walk into a department store and smell perfume and make-up and start lathering my elbows and knees with the most ludicrously expensive facial cream (before being tossed out by one highly-painted Sephora-Geisha), I start frantically looking around for the restrooms and do a well-lubed slide towards them. Anytime I read poetry that either I have written or some other well-troubled Irish poet has, I feel a stirring, and last but not least, anytime I think about my morning latte and then suck it down, I am generally on the loo just to save time. I am also about convenience. Yet, this has become my baseline for happiness. Happiness = movement. Movement = happiness. Continue reading

Don’t Cry For Me

Miriam_Gordo

I like to sing. I’ve become quite good over the years, at least my captive audience of four can attest to that. And the songs are utterly random. Anything from “Who let the dogs out” to something from my childhood, or Justin B’s latest jingle that just begs for expression or is that suppression? And teatime is when the songs get sung as the dogs sit, albeit begrudgingly, waiting for their supper, while the cats continue to fight for world dominance, unmoved by my dulcet tones and infusion of Irish jig moves – once more from a long ago but not forgotten childhood. Continue reading