Essential Oils 1-OH!-1
a teleclass taught by moi, Heidi Fischbach, wearing my
scent artist & mood detective scarf

Click on ze bottle to sign yourself up!

Are you intrigued about essential oils? Do you need a little shot
of confidence in order to start playing & experimenting with them?

This class is for you!

See you in class, I hope! (And if you want to take the class but can’t make the time, fret not: there will be a recording! Also, pssst, the cost for the recording and class material will be going up after February 15).

Have a question about essential oils? Share it in the comments below!

xo

Heidi

P.S. Sign up here!

Happy hour every day!
Come in any attire,
all moods welcome.

Also? Hottest bartender ever
—ahem!—
Presence is his name.

Be sure to try their signature drink
Patience, I think it’s called—
not sure of the secret ingredient,
but from what I can tell
it’s got some muddled Time,
macerated in oak barrel-aged Joy.
Seriously? Best drink ever.
(And don’t worry about getting drunk
on it, even the hangover is great!)

The Pause, meet me there?

~ * ~

The hoopla and flash of December have passed… the days are short, the nights are long, and the trees are bare.

Ahh, January, hello there. And hello you, curious reader. How are you and 2012 getting on?

I remember a phone conversation with my youngest brother around this time several years ago… Summer girl that I am, I was probably complaining about
winter. Danny, on the other hand, loves winter and I just had to know why.

“The trees are bare,” he said, “and I can see so much more when the trees are bare.”

Interesting, isn’t it?

Danny is right. Bare-branch days give us wide angle lenses, perfect for seeing the bigger picture.

When I take a moment to pause and get a sense of 2012 and what it might want for me, I feel it a-buzz with energy. It’s not the hyper and static-y buzz of television, but a kind of glowing warm hum…

I listen more… Yes, 2012 wants me to fall in love with life. Oh wait, it’s got more… it says you can’t love things you don’t notice, and that you are much more likely to notice things when you pause.

Ahh, to pause. It’s the easiest and the hardest thing to do. And it’s my aspiration for 2012.

And you? Have you checked in with 2012 to find out what it might want for you? Give it a try. Often we think we need to make things happen… making things happen is tiring and usually involves a lot of things we think we should do but in our heart of hearts aren’t fully on board about.

What happens when you get quiet for a moment, look through the bare trees, and ask your life what it wants for you?

If it’d help you to write it out loud and tell us what it says, you can add a comment below, or drop me a line. I’m here, and I’d love to hear.

Also? My office is open and my massage table warmer is on. Mmmm… Here are my hours this week:

Thursday 11 a.m. – 8 p.m.
Friday 9 a.m. – 8 p.m.
Saturday 8:30 a.m. – 1 p.m.

(And yes, there are openings!)

Listening and curious about what’s in store, and looking forward to seeing you soon…

Heidi

We had great fun. I hope you enjoy listening! (Click on the link)

Heidi Fischbach from Aardvark Essentials
on magic potions and getting through the holidays

To get your very own Care Package, go here:

http://heidistable.com/care-package/

(Even though Jean McGillicuddy is not my friend’s real name –she’s a bit shy– and even though LMNO is not a real radio station, I can assure you that everything in the interview is as I say. Well, OK, the elephant’s hoof on my chest? Metaphorical. But then, you knew that, right?)

Heidi's lemonade stand, circa 1976

Mom agreed.

We lived in Wheaton, Illinois, that year. A block from the railroad tracks. Trains in Illinois were looooong and came often. It was not unusual for cars to be stopped for many minutes. Often the waiting traffic would pile up for blocks past the front of our house. And if the insides of their cars got as hot as the inside of our station wagon, of course people would be thirsty.

Exactly two years ago, when Aardvark Essentials was just being born, my mom sent me this lemonade stand picture. Today it’s on my bulletin board above my laptop and it makes me smile. I still like stripey socks. And yes, I still take what I do verrry seriously.

Sometimes I go back and visit Heidi-of-then. I always buy lemonade from her. And I smile. Grin is more like it. I adore her. She reeeally wanted to be selling lemonade, but she also felt shy and self-conscious of the people stopped in their cars, looking over her way.

Before I leave this time, I hand her a potion.

She looks at it curiously and reads, mostly to herself, “Sassypants: “Turn up the volume on fabulous you!” She’s not sure what to do with it.

“It’s a magic potion,” I tell her. I also want to tell her she made it, that it’s ours and isn’t it just fantastic?!, but I don’t want to take the surprises of her life away from her.

“You can roll it on your wrists. People will think it’s a perfume, but you’ll know it’s magic,” I add conspiratorially.

“What’ll it do?” she asks.

“Oh, you’ll have to see. But I promise, it’ll be good, really good.”

The traffic has started to move. “Oh, gotta run! Thanks for the lemonade. It’s fabulous.” I hurry back to my car, turn to wave, and drive back to here. To now. To selling potions that she and I have made. We have gift sets! For the holidays. For you and your people. Come visit our potion store! It’s nowhere near the mall and we will never play Jingle Bell Rock. Promise!

It’s too much: too much pressure, too much to do, too much to keep track of, too much noise, too much work, too many messages, too many things… Too much, you think.

Even while it feels like not enough. Not enough time, not enough money, not enough business, not enough lovin’… Not enough, you think.

And you are tired. So tired. If only you could rest, you think. You try to remember when you last sat in the sun and read for an hour. You want to get away… But there’s so much to take care of, you think.

Maybe you have a business. Maybe you have a family. There are people you feel responsible for, or to… Or maybe it’s just you, and maybe that is the thought that wakes you: I am alone, you think.

Oh sweetest heart, come. What I want to tell you is simple, and yet we forget it all the time. I do. (Why do you think I’m writing it to you right now, before I go to bed?!)

Dearest heart,

You do not need to hold yourself up. You do not need to keep it together. The ground, it is strong. And it’s right there under you at 3 in the morning or afternoon. Supporting you. Let the ground hold you. All of you:

Head? Yes.
Butt? For sure.
Neck? Absolutely.
Arms? Ahhhhrms.
Legs? Mmmmm.
Back? The ground has got your back, for sure!

See if you can let yourself be held.

Sweet dreams, my sweet…

*Kissing your forehead… slipping out quietly*

Oh my! Come say HI to Sprezzatura!

“Spritz-a-whatta?” you ask.

Sprezzatura! Its tagline —Hocus Focus!— sums up what its magic is all about. I’ve been needing (and working on) this potion for a looooong time. Although maybe, true to its name, it will seem to you that I created Sprezzatura in a flash of ta-da!

I’ve been told that just reading Sprezzatura’s page is magical… Just imagine what reading AND experiencing the potion can do for you. OK then. Off you go…

Can’t wait to hear what you think!

xo
Heidi

P.S. When you’re over there be sure to press the Italian pronunciation button for Sprezzatura… I hope it makes you as ridiculously happy as it does me!

Ready? Here, I saved a spot for you on the bench… Make yourself comfy.

Once upon a time there was a Titan named Atlas. The Titans were giants and Atlas, for sure, was gi-normous. Anyway, the Titans had lost a battle with the Greek gods and so, as punishment, the gods made Atlas hold up the sky, and some say, the whole world.

What’s that you say? … Oh yes. That would get tiring on the shoulders even for a giant, for sure!

Anyway… Atlas, poor guy, held up the sky for years and years until one day Hercules came along looking for some golden apples. (Let’s save the story of the golden apples and why Hercules was so desperate to find them for another rainy day, OK?).

Atlas said, “Herc, what’s up? You look distraught.”

“I’m looking for some golden apples.”

“Finding those apples seems very important to you–”

“You have no idea! I’d do anything to get them. Anything.”

“Um, as it turns out, I happen to know where they are.”

“You do?!”

“Yes. If you hold up the world for me, I’ll go get them for you.”

Hercules happened to also be very strong, not quite as strong as Atlas the giant, but very strong nonetheless and he reeeeally wanted those apples. In fact, you could say that getting those apples was more important to him than pretty much anything else in the world. And so it was that Hercules agreed.

Soon Atlas came back and, sure enough, he had the golden apples. As he got closer he noticed Hercules sweating and grunting from holding up all that weight and he thought to himself, “Know what? That there is actually not a job I want to take back.”

Now Hercules could see what Atlas was thinking and he did not like it one bit. So he thought up a trick.

“Wow, thanks, Atlas!” he said.

“No problem, man. I’ll leave them right here for you. Actually, I’ll even tuck them in your pockets… OK then, goodbye. It’s been nice doing business with you.”

“Oh uh, say, before you go… I wonder if you could help me with something.”

“Possibly…”

“As you know, this is some heavy heavy weight to hold and I’d like to get myself more comfortable in this position here… Could you hold the sky up for me for just a minute while I go get myself some padding for my shoulders?”

“Um… OK but just for a minute.”

So Atlas took back the sky from Hercules, and Hercules, of course, did not come back. [Insert expletive!] And that’s the story of how Atlas ended up with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

What’s that?… You’re wondering what happened to him?

Well, no one really knows, of course, but eventually, it is believed, he turned into a mountain. In fact, the Atlas mountains in Northwestern Africa, are named for him. As is a bone in your body! No kidding. Can you guess which one?

Yes, exactly! The very first vertebra (C1) in your spine, the one at the tippy top where your neck meets your head, is also named after Atlas.

Go ahead, check it out. Reach your hand behind you and find your spine at about shoulder level. You’ll know you’re on your spine by its bumpy ridgy stick-y-out-y bits. Each one of those bumps corresponds to a vertebra.

Now inch your fingers up the spine, over the bumps, until you reach the base of your skull/head… Right there, yes. Good.

Now go ahead and say hi to Atlas and his band of supporting tissues (made of muscles, ligaments and fascia).

Hiiiiiii!

Good. Since you’re there, why not give Atlas and Company a good squeeze. I promise, this should feel reeeeally good. While you’re there massaging with your hand, go ahead and roll your head around in slow, small little circles.

If you’ve been sitting for awhile staring at a screen (ahem!) you may well hear little crackly sounds when you do this… that is the sound of your joints saying, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou! FI-nally someone is moving us!”

Movement is what keeps your joints nice and lubricated… Lubricated joints are happy joints. Dry and sticky joints that have not gotten movement, are not happy. (And the lubrication, called “synovial fluid,” is already right there in your joints. You do not even have to get your squirt gun.)

“Ahhhhhh”… I swear I just heard your Atlas moan. “Ahhhh…”

That there is the sound of one very appreciative wee bone that has the equivalent of a bowling ball sitting on top of it day in and day out. Yes, your head weighs somewhere between 8 – 12 lbs. Not counting hair!

That is all for today. Thank you for taking these moments with me and with Atlas.

If you live in the Boston area and would like me to work on your Atlas and Company, please give me a call or email me. I’d love to help.

There are even a few openings left this week: two today(!), Friday. And one tomorrow, Saturday, afternoon.

Until soon, I hope–
Heidi

Muscular Therapy Institute / Cambridge, Massachusetts
Sunday, 26 June 2005 (RJUN05) Graduation

I am often amazed by the number of people who’ve never experienced massage. I was thinking about this as I was gathering my thoughts for today and so I decided to have a talk with my friend Juliette, who might be 5 but is a wise old soul who puts things that we adults can get all complicated about in the simplest of terms. Juliette’s mom, Cécile, also happens to be graduating today, hence Juliette knows a thing or two about this thing we are becoming: massage therapists.

Over chocolate milk and stories our conversation went something like this:

Me: Who is your mom?

J: She is a French person. She is nice.

Me: What does your mom do?

J: She gives people massage.

Me: What is that, massage?

J: She does this thing where she heals people… there’s this special kind of rubbing, with your hands, and people are lying down on a table with a cover over you and you do different hand moves that are supposed to heal. It’s kind of like magic and hands and it feels like a ball rolling around but it’s really just hands.

Me: Why would someone want to heal?

J: Some part of their body is hurting and you try to heal the sore-ing part.

A bit later, while coloring and telling fairy stories, Juliette brought up the subject of being scared, and since fear has been much on my mind —heck! when is it not!— my ears perked up. I asked her what a person should do when they are afraid to do something and she told me,

“It’s OK to be scared but then you can do it anyway – if you just try it you might like it – it’s hard to just think about something and not try it.”

When I woke up at 5:30 this morning, nervous about giving this talk and panicking about taking this leap of a career into an as-of-yet completely empty appointment book I remembered her words:

“It’s OK to be scared but then you can do it anyway.”

Thanks, Juliette!

A few years ago, at another time of fear, indecision and instability, I was trying really hard to figure out and “fix” my life, impatient to attain the things I thought I needed for security and happiness. You know when you keep trying to make something happen but try as you might the pieces just won’t fit? It was like that. At the time, and now, I take courage in the words of German poet Rainer Maria Rilke in Letters to a Young Poet:

“…have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday… you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.” (Translation by Stephen Mitchell)

So I tried as best I could to love the questions and not search for answers at a time when my mind was so muddied by fear. And at some point I started getting a stirring inside to become a massage therapist. It’s amazing what can happen when one becomes still. (Or at least, stiller).

When I fist started mentioning out loud the possibility of becoming a massage therapist, people asked me why. Probably these were people who knew I’d been to graduate school not so long ago and would be repaying those loans for many a year to come. The best answer I could give them at the time was a sheepish, “because I love getting massages–” and my voice would swing up a bit at the end, making it seem much more a question than an answer, even though it was utterly true. Some people smiled politely. Others raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Who doesn’t!” And, being a doubter who’d been taught to give much more credence to my intellect than to my gut, I doubted my intuition. You can ask Joleen Barren, MTI’s director of admissions, how many intro workshops I came to… not one, not two, but three… My head kept clamoring for sureness, some guarantee that this was the right thing to do.  I was only just beginning to learn what creative genius and filmmaker Stanley Cubric knew: “The truth of a thing is in the feel of it, not the think of it.” Coming to massage school has been all about listening for the feel of things and living forward from that.

Often, way before we know something consciously, we know it in our bodies. Our bodies don’t lie. They say it like it is. Pain—physical or emotional or whatever kind—is a great motivator and when I was in enough of it, I began to look more deeply inside myself. But it can be hard to look inside when you’re in a lot of fear and pain—I think most of us keep running away (we all have our ways) until by some grace we stop and turn around and have a look inside at what’s actually there. Looking anywhere else really doesn’t work in the long term. Usually what’s there, what we were afraid of, when simply looked at and felt as it is, isn’t so bad after all. In the light of day we can see that the snake in the corner, the one we stayed up all night chattering our teeth over, was really just a curled up rope. The rope didn’t scare us, our thoughts did.

But anyhow, back to our bodies, it can be painful in our bodies not to be who we are, not to live our truth. In the words of Jungian analyst and writer, Marion Woodman:

“This is your body, your greatest gift, pregnant with wisdom you do not hear, grief you thought was forgotten, and joy you have never known.”

It is no coincidence that I wanted to help people by working with their bodies. My body has been my most direct path to feeling better. And my body not feeling good has been a lighthouse telling me I’m getting too close to the rocks. My body signals me in different ways that something is off in my thinking or in my actions and it tells me through things like stiff necks or a contracted piriformis (more commonly referred to as a pain in the ass!) that maybe, just maybe, I am being a bit unyielding in my beliefs about the ways things “should” be rather than accepting them the way they are. Or a sense of unease might let me know that it might be helpful to stop scurrying about and simply sit still and listen, to be and experience what is there to be felt.

Our bodies are like the canaries miners used to carry with them as they descended deep into the earth: when the canary stopped singing—or worse, died—they knew that Oxygen was getting too scarce and that it was unsafe to proceed. But we don’t need to let any canaries die to tune into our bodies — the more we listen the more we can learn the very distinct language of the body’s wisdom.

While each of us is different and each of our bodies speaks its own language, with its own expressions, dialects and accents, there is one way that is my favorite way of living the truth of who we are. It’s so simple, as truth usually is. Kids, before they’ve been schooled and conditioned too much in the ways of adults, are naturals at this way of being.

There is a poem by Mary Oliver called “Wild Geese” which says it beautifully:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

It is probably the most simple and yet the most courageous thing you can ever do: Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

My wish for every one of my stellar classmates today is that we may love what we love with no apologies or regrets. That we know in our very bones our place in the family of things. And that we feel empowered to live our lives from our place of integrity, being true to who we are first and foremost.

As people who, in Juliette’s words, “heal the sore-ing parts,” most of us have a high degree of compassion for suffering, for pain. As we have learned over and over in these two years: it is a well-nourished self that can best nourish others –nourishing others when we haven’t taken care of ourselves doesn’t hold up for very long. Putting the life preserver on yourself before helping your child, as we are reminded to do on airplanes, can just as well be applied to our work with clients.  May we make taking care of ourselves a daily practice. Here are some ideas:

Get curious about what the soft animal of your body loves.

Let it play. Let it work. Let it move. Let it rest.

Help it stay grounded, whatever grounding might look like for you.

Listen to music.

Watch and listen to a thunder storm.

Get drenched in the rain.

Go skinny dipping.

Spend time with people who feel like family.

Watch kids run through the fountain at the park.

Sleep under the stars.

Dance.

Sing out loud.

Sculpt.

Bake.

Cry.

Sit downwind of flowers. (Thanks to Tara Brach for that image!)

Sit under the trees and watch them: Notice how they change. Notice how they stay the same.

Trust the tides of your breathing.

Take comfort in the change of seasons.

Come back to your breath again and yet again.

And, in a panic or when you get lost, as Tamar Myers, our beloved Technique teacher always said, “go back to ‘basic back’ and ‘heart’”—the names of those techniques say it all.

——–

My practice, Heidi’s Table, is located in Harvard Square, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Come see me! I am open on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.

“Is this all there is?” and “What’s the point?”

Ever since they arrived, I’ve had a queasy knot in my belly and my chest is all a-rumble. When I stop distracting myself with things to put in my mouth, links to click, sites to check, worries to fondle, I feel scared. I’m afraid they’re right.

Now you might be saying that I should just throw them out. And I appreciate your idea. Except that it doesn’t really work. Not really.

I know how trying to ignore or get rid of things I don’t like inside myself goes. I did it for many years and it just makes things change clothes and come back in another form. I can totally see these T-shirt guys coming back in drag. Or taking hold of my body and becoming a pain in my neck. Or butt. Things I try to ignore or banish can totally put my back out. Ow! And let’s not forget how they can make me anxious, and how anxious can grind everything to a halt. Including sleep.

Um, no thanks.

It’s just that I need help. I can’t do it alone. So, I was wondering… um, how to say…

Hi!

You: “You talking to me?” [turning around to see if someone's behind you.]

Yes, you! You’re my smart and courageous reader. Please?

You: “I want you to be OK. It’s just, I don’t know what to do, really… ”

OK. Here’s the thing. I don’t want to be alone. I’m scared. But with you? Different story. Then I’m not alone. You and me is two, and there might be others. Plus, I’ve seen your dance moves and your air guitar… You could totally entertain them, I just know. All you have to do is keep them occupied while I remember who I am. And I’ll totally return the favor. One day I’ll do my best moves for you when you need me.

You: “OK. I’ll try. I want you to be OK.”

Oh wow! Thanks man. Now excuse me while I find my curiosity superpowers… I know I left them here somewhere… Oh, it’s been too long… Ah, there! Good.

—–

Donning my curiosity cape, I re-enter the scene. I can move around freely and see everything. Including you! Oh my, you have totally been practicing your shimmies, haven’t you. My friend, you are amazing. If I didn’t have things to do, I’d totally join you. Maybe later. But now, I’m investigating.

Since they haven’t talked to me, I’ll start with what’s on their shirts. The words look like questions. Except they’re not. Because they contain no curiosity. A true question is curious, open minded and willing to listen, to hear. A true question is wonder-y.

My thought-guys’ questions are very thinly veiled conclusions about me and my life. And the implications of their non-questions really scare me when I believe them. Which I am. I’m TOTALLY believing them. Which can only mean:

I’ve. Gone into. TRANCE!

No wonder! OK. I’ve noticed. Whew! Noticing is crucial. It’s at least, oh, 99%.

Once I notice I’m in trance, then I can send the part of me that noticed, the part NOT in trance (even if it’s just the eensiest bit of me right now) to pull out my sheet of trance procedures trance magics. That’s the other 99%! (Yep.)

ONE. Call yourself only by the sweetest, kindest of names. Sweetheart is good. My love works wonders. Darling drumstick makes you smile. Sweet pea reminds you of people you love.

TWO. Under no circumstances believe any thought crossing your mind while in trance. Don’t try to stop the thoughts. Don’t fight them. But also, don’t believe them. Trust me. Don’t.

Things to do instead of believing thoughts while in trance: You can notice them, you can play Byron Katie with them, you can Veronica Mars them, you can put them in a jar, you can make daisy chains out of them, you can chew on them and blow thought bubbles with them, you can juggle them, you can make soup with them, you can build a tower out of them and lean against it while you eat lunch. But whatever you do: Do NOT Believe Them.

OK, good. Onward:

THREE. Write. Write. Write.

“But I suck. And I have nothing to write about,” says a tranced out voice.

To which I must refer you back to thing ONE and TWO. Also, I’d like to point out that “You Suck” is not a name you like.

FOUR. Get fresh air. Get movement. Find water. Take a shower. Take a bath. Take a lake. Dance. Watch the kids run through the sprinkler at the park. Take pictures of trees. Eat meals. Drink water. Mind your body. Remember animal-you. Remember Mary Oliver: “Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” Which reminds me, you love poetry, so… Read it.

FIVE. Visit The Pause. (Dude! The Pause just opened a page a bar on Facebook. Go! Hang out!)

SIX. Do not, under any circumstance, try to make decisions while in trance.

SEVEN. Call a meeting of your Inner Council.

EIGHT. Listen to a Tara Brach podcast.

NINE. With your Inner Council or with Presence at The Pause, consider this: If you weren’t believing those 2 thought-doozies, what would you be feeling? And then do THREE. Or FOUR. Or EIGHT. In any order.

Rinse and repeat. Until the trance lifts.

———–

Oh my. Thank you so much! You saved my butt. Yes, you! I’m going to be pondering the question in NINE… maybe I’ll write about it here, maybe not. But thank you!

Hey, will you teach me that move? The one that had my beefy thought-guys laughing so hard they were crying?

Until next time, maybe I’ll see you at The Pause. In case you forgot, it’s on the corner of Now and Notice, where that old dive Reaction used to be. Presence tends bar. Shots of compassion on me today.

“H?” you ask.

Yes H. H of the Love is Not a Victory March post. I didn’t mention him by initial before, but yes, H. He’s away for 12 days and I’m cottage- and dog-sitting.

The great thing is that I get to be by the lake. (Water! My favorite place to be in all the world.) And I get to care for and eat from the garden that we’d planted before things ended. (Yes! The baby basils are all grown up.) And if I wake up early and can’t sleep I get to hop in a kayak and watch the vapor rise off the water as the sun comes up. (Magical!) And there’s Jennie who gets me out into the woods for runs and walks and throwing sticks. (Woods! Sticks! Jennie!) Being here is a retreat for me. A get-away! (And yes, I’m returning to Boston for my beloved clients on massage days).

And it’s been hard. I am reminded of all the things I’ve loved and lost. Maybe not lost completely since here I am still enjoying the lake and the garden and Jennie and sometimes in some ways even H, but lost in the sense of hopes and dreams and plans for a future together… The loss of all that has felt so big I’ve been trying to numb and trying not to numb it in various ways for weeks—oh, who’m I kidding: pretty much the entire month of June.

When I stop watching Veronica Mars all the trying and turn toward what’s inside of me I am met with a big empty well and I’m afraid it doesn’t have a bottom. I’d like to understand the well, but I can’t seem to get close enough. Not on my own. Because, hello! Scared!

So I’ve gone all Veronica Mars on the well. You could say I’ve hired her, if by “hire” we mean that I am channeling her. When it comes to understanding and helping myself, I will stop at nothing. Understanding myself helps me love myself. And when I love myself, I can much better love the world. Also? Channeling heroes? Most exciting thing ever. Not sure why it’s not caught on out there!

~ * ~

I’ve parked my Adirondack chair car within view of the well. My journal fancy shmancy camera with ultra zoom lens is at the ready. I’m gathering evidence. I am Veronica Mars. I have a record to uphold: no case unsolved.

It’s dark. My lights are out. Nothing appears to be happening, but I am not fooled. It is not unusual on a stake out to have to wait many hours for action. You, dear reader, may not appreciate this, given the fact that most likely you’ve only ever watched stake outs on TV where the boring parts get cut.

That said, this is boring! Eff it. I’m going in.

I have donned my invisibility cloak (Veronica Mars and Harry Potter are friends. Of course.) and I am now approaching the well’s edge. I peer over. Rather anti-climactic, I’m afraid. I can’t see a thing.

I walk around the well a few times looking for signs, clues, anything…

Clearly it is time to tune in on a subtler level… The feel of the well is sad. A veh———ry heah——–vy sadness. (You must say those words all drawn out like that to get a visceral sense of the sad heaviness of which I speak).

Conventional investigators might not do this, but I am Veronica Mars and so the next thing I do is call into the well: “Um, hi—!”

I’m met with an echo. “Hel-oh-oh-oh.”

I can now deduce at least two things. Thing 1: the well is very deep—the sound of hello bounced many times—but not bottomless. Bottomless does not bounce. Thing 2: there IS something in there. It’s not nothing. Nothing would not have echoed ‘hello,’ when I’d said ‘hi.’ Duh. Easy peasy.

I sit down at the edge of the well and get comfortable. I feel no sense of danger. Clearly IT, whatever it is, wants me to know it is there but it couldn’t, for whatever reason, come right out and answer me directly. As I sit there I feel sadder. It is all I can do not to fold up into a heap and weep the night away. But I am Veronica Mars. I am not the well. I am here on my client’s case: I want to understand the well. It would not help for me to become it.

“Hello, Sad.”

I hear nothing back but the feeling gets even stronger. I continue: “You must be very sad.”

“I’m not Sad.” I hear this bit in my head, not out loud. Actually, I hear it more in my throat, which feels all chocked up. As a mood detective I know that emotions are often felt in the throat, chest and belly areas.

The voice from the well goes on: “Sad and I are related but I’m much older. I’m what Sad gets when it’s big and grown up.”

“Like grief?”

“Yes.”

“Hello, LikeGrief.”

“Say, who are you? And why can’t I see you?”

“Oh sorry. I’m Veronica. Veronica Mars of Mars Investigations and Mood Detective Services.” I pull off my invisibility cloak as I say this. It’s only polite to let myself be seen. Plus, I sense no danger.

“Hello, Veronica. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to investigate a case for my client, Heidi.”

“Ah, Heidi…” his voice trails off.

“You know her?”

Right then LikeGrief actually chuckles a bit. “Of course. I’m hers.”

“You’re hers?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, do you mind if I dangle my legs over your side here while we talk?”

“I don’t mind but you may not want—“

“EW!”

“I was just saying—”

“EW! What IS that!”

“I was about to tell you. Those are the protectors of Heidi’s fear. They dress up all gnarly and nasty because they want to keep her from seeing through her fears and feeling me. Don’t worry, they’re all show, really… “

“Show and slime!”

“Yes. But harmless. They’ve been sending decoys and keeping Heidi in a general state of distraction watching a certain detective show and eating popcorn… That’s why I’m talking to you with your inside your head voice rather than out loud. I saw you up there and wasn’t sure how I was going to contact you without waking them up. I’m glad you picked up on the echo thing. ”

“Piece of cake,” I shrug.

We sit in silence for a long spell. Some of the clouds have cleared and I see a sprinkling of stars and a waning moon above.

“Say! Aren’t you Veronica Mars from the show that Heidi has been losing herself in for weeks?“

“Exactly. She was smart to hire me, our Heidi.”

“So then… wait! Heidi does want to know what’s happening?”

“Yes. She just needs some help. And not just any help, mind you, only the best. Say, can you tell me who those nasties on the edge of your well are decoys for?”

“A powerful belief.”

“A belief?”

“Yes, a belief Heidi’s been nursing. You know how people have thoughts?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing harmful about thoughts, they happen all the time… they scroll across people’s minds constantly… But sometimes people hang onto a thought and won’t just let it scroll by… they get all ‘attached’, you could say… And when someone gets really attached to a thought, it becomes a belief. Nothing wrong with beliefs either, of course, except they make it hard to keep one’s mind open and to stay curious. Even harmless beliefs tend to obscure full vision. It’s always good to be aware of one’s beliefs.”

“Beliefs can hurt?”

“Well, what people do and don’t do based on what they believe can hurt—”

“What belief of Heidi’s are we talking about here, do you know?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me? Or did I come here and get my feet slimed up for nothing?”

He chuckles and then is quiet for awhile before answering. “I wouldn’t usually do this, but seeing that Heidi hired you and really wants help with this, I will. But I’m not going to say it. And I’m not even going to write it out loud. I’m going to write it for you across the screen of your mind’s eye. You’ll see it there. And then you and Heidi can decide what to do.”

“Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”

I close my eyes and then LikeGrief writes Heidi’s belief across my mind’s eye. It is like watching a movie. Something like the writing on the wall—mene mene tekel… I can see the slimy fear-guards in the margins of my mind and for a moment I feel the intensity of how hard things have felt for Heidi and I shudder.

“OhGod, can I open my eyes? Are you done? Oof! That’s a big one. I will talk to her about it. Hey, thank you so much for your help. Do you need anything from me?”

“Oh, I’d just love for you to get Heidi to come see me. I can help her. And, the thing she is forgetting (because, I know she knows this!) is that once she’s with me, allowing the feeling of me in her body, the whole thing will change. I can’t predict how, but it will. She knows that, but she’s forgotten. You might remind her, yes?”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you so much. Do you have any hints for getting this slime off my legs?”

“Matter o’ fact I do. One of Heidi’s potions will do great.”

“Oh! Which one?”

“Night Queen. She ain’t afraid o’ no ghosts.”

And with that I wave and I’m off. Heidi and I have much to talk about.