I taught myself how to lucid dream around the age of ten years old. I would often sneak into my brother's room to steal his Omni science magazines and then devour them secretly in my own bedroom. There was a particular issue that had a thorough step-by-step guide on how to train yourself to become aware mid-dream that, in fact, you were dreaming. I studied this article and practiced the steps every single night. Eventually, (actually I think it took months or maybe even a year) I could drop into lucid dreams by setting up my thoughts before I fell asleep. I would make up little plays and dramas in my head just before sleep at night and then wake up mid-dream with the ability to actually orchestrate, control, and remember these custom-made dream-scapes. I didn't actually begin to document and record my dreams until I got into college. As I got older I had fewer lucid dreams but still wanted direct access to my nightly adventures in order to remember them and dissect their s

 At the top of the highest peak in the contiguous United States at 14,505ft.  There are days when I'm inspired to write and there are the days when I HAVE to write. I'm not talking about the "have to write" like it's a real job, I'm talking about the "have to write" because I need to get shit off my chest. Well this is most definitely the latter. One of the things that I miss most about being married and sharing a business is the fact that there was another human occupying the same space where I lived and worked almost 24/7. Ok. Well maybe the 24/7 pushed that relationship a tad over the edge but the point is there was always a sounding board potentially available to listen to my shit at any given point during the day. My crazy idea shit, my I-did-something-stupid-shit, my dreams-and-goals shit, my anxious the-sky-is-falling shit... all of it. Knowing that someone was just listening was so critical for me. In fact, I've learned that being

The Majestic Madrone - My favorite tree from childhood Life has been chaotic to say the least. I just moved my mom into a new memory care facility, I'm currently engaged in actively filling out divorce paperwork, and my oldest kid is a teenager. Just being a single mom of a teenager is chaos enough let alone the added bonus of all the other life stuff. I've never had a teenager before. Life is teaching me many things. My brain is full. I've been working on quieting that busy voice in my head lately, but this morning it kept saying "The kids are gone, the place is quiet, you have a moment to yourself... WRITE." And so I am. I've been feeling changes and shifts in my whole body the last few months. Lately my circadian rhythm has been reinventing itself. It seems I rediscovered my youth over the last few years and was easily able to burn the candle late into the night. But different changes are taking place and now I'm ready to crash by 9

The car I bought when I was eighteen was cheap, used, and manual transmission. It was the only vehicle I could afford that would drive my ass to the San Francisco Bay Area to attend university. It was also a pale yellow and I had given it the endearing name of Banana-Mobile. I had no idea how to drive a stick. My Dad taught me how to drive this car and I spent countless hours with him seated in the passenger seat sputtering around an empty parking lot launching forward, killing the engine, and restarting again. It was so difficult to learn how to get the hang of the push-pull of using the gas pedal and the clutch simultaneously. I remember being infinitely frustrated because I still needed a car to get around so I often ended up borrowing the family car (an automatic transmission) before I left for college and practiced the "feeling" of using the clutch while driving by mimicking the movements, "pretending" to shift just so I could train myself. It took me a wh

I've been spending the last couple years trimming the frayed edges. I've had to mend a few holes and there's still parts of this beautiful tapestry that is me, that are thin, worn out, and barely there. I'm working on mending that. I've been doing so much work on this that it depletes me sometimes. I've embraced meditation, visualization, and internal work even more than I ever have and have seen parts of me that frankly have surprised and scared me. There's a shit ton of layers I've discovered, pulled back, and examined every little thread of. There's also a shit ton of layers that still sit in a fog below all of that, barely reachable, edges illuminated just enough so I know they are there, and then, just like that, they vaporize. Who knows if those will ever rise above the fog again. It's a strange thing to be back in the pool of dating. Especially now. With all the years that have gone by. I'm not even quite sure I'm ready for th

Pre Night Stalker c irca 1972 / Post(?) Night Stalker circa 1978 Is this mic on? Can you hear me? It may have been nearly a year since the last time I posted in this blog, but that doesn't mean I haven't stopped writing. Oh HELL NO. In fact, despite my eagerness to get back to writing in this little space of the webosphere, I have been making a point to indulge in the real deal daily - pen and paper, which consequently, I'm extremely particular about. So much so that I will not even ATTEMPT to write unless I have my beloved Precise V5 Extra Fine Point Rolling Ballpoint pen in hand. This one has a peek-a-boo window that looks into the cartridge, (which reminds me of my calligraphy days), where I can see just how much ink I have left. I keep one pen saving my place in each journal I write in. I sorta have multiple love affairs simultaneously happening although, I think my pens are jealous of my keyboard. My keyboard sees way more action, especially at work. My i