My friend wasn’t completely off-base. Obviously, for millennia, those who are in power have done unspeakable things as a result of their confusion, distortion, greed, selfishness, hatred and sense of separation from the rest of humanity­. Yet this type of behavior is   precisely what America’s forefathers navigated the perilous waters of the Atlantic to avoid. Unfortunately, they missed an important lesson. They forgot to first look within when facing negativity, trauma and anger. As long as we humans continue to point the finger “our there,” and neglect to do some critical internal spelunking into our own dark corners, we’ll keep on creating the same outer enemies.

Those first settlers who were looking for something unavailable to them in England, were seeking religious freedom. As Calvinist Protestants, they wanted to worship God their own way, and according to one of their religious leaders, John Calvin, the pilgrims found that freedom and much more in the faces and hearts of the indigenous peoples they encountered in the New World.  But instead of learning from those who had been living there for 12,000 years, they killed them by presenting gift baskets of blankets contaminated with smallpox virus, to which the native bodies had no resistance. The settlers then went on to decimate the buffalo herd for hides rather than meat, and to offer a series of so-called treaties supported by never-ending lies. You know the story.

It’s all a part of the human journey. We get it. We lose it. We get it. We lose it. And then we expect one political leader fix it for us, as if he, or anyone else, has the power to fix something within the human psyche that is broken, lost, painful or hidden. Try as we might to blame all of our suffering on another, ultimately we are the source of our own misery. Of course, the mind doesn’t like that Truth one little bit, so spends its entire existence attempting to convince us otherwise. No wonder we continue to believe we are victimized.

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t write to our president and legislators to encourage them to listen to their own hearts rather than to the corporate lobbyists whose sole aim is to expand the profits of a privileged few. It also doesn’t mean that we should bury our heads in the political sand hoping this current mess will all go away. Personally, I probably spend more time than most researching, vetting and looking for what resembles the truth when it comes to politics, religion and other touchy topics. It’s not a search for the truth I want to hear, but for the truth that I find through personal experience, if not my own, then the experience of someone who’s done his or her homework at least as thoroughly as I have.  As David Hawkins M.D. reported in his amazing 2002 book, Power vs. Force, 85% of the human population on this planet cannot tell the difference between a lie and the Truth . I capitalize that word because we each have our own truths, but in reality, those truths are simply perceptions, assumptions, opinions and judgments. Thankfully, some of us are slowly learning to distinguish the difference. Sometimes, at least for me and my periodic lack of patience, too slowly. Another perception, by the way.

Our True Power, as I am realizing more and more, is when we connect to something higher and grander, beyond what the mind wants us to believe, rather than accepting as truth beliefs such as, “I don’t matter” or “No one loves me.” Neither is true, not now, not before, not ever. These are beliefs from the dark ages of our youths, still hanging around wreaking havoc in our lives because we’re still giving them an active voice.

And therein lies the challenge for each and every one of us… accepting as the only Truth, the only real Power, that which is personally experienced, not forced or believed, not accepted, not opinion or judgment, not self-righteous assumptions, but pure humility to just be here witnessing this precious game we are in. And, it all happens one person at a time. Is that you today?

Holding on to false beliefs is a costly business, especially when we’re unaware that we are the one who is carrying around those old, worn-out presumptions that affect our lives on every level: our health, our relationships and our very well-being.

Please join me as I invite us to take a good, hard, deeply curious look at our beliefs around illness, pain, love, society, politics, racism, money, and a whole lot more.

“This is how humans are,” opines Orson Scott Card, “we question all our beliefs, except for the ones we really believe, and those we never think to question.”

Those are the precise beliefs we’re going to thoroughly disembowel on

Sunday, August 14th 9:00am.

And, maybe, just maybe, for good this time.

Dreams are like that. They’re subjective buggers, ephemeral as the current state of the newspaper business and often illusive as, well, a dream.

What if you were one of the over 700,000-member-strong U.S. homeless[1] population and your dream was to have your life back, where no one bothered you anymore, probed into your personal, private corners or insisted you take a bucket load of medications or you couldn’t see your children?

What if one magical day, out of the great blue, you found yourself holding a U.S. Treasury check for 23 thousand smackeroos for the first time in I don’t know how long and it was just enough for a 50% down payment on 20 acres out in the middle of nowhere, where no one would or could bother you ever, ever again?

What if an eager, hungry real estate agent didn’t seem to notice that you were wearing multi-layers of filthy clothes or didn’t quite catch that you had been “camping” out in the wilderness for seven months in one of the most brutal winters in Central Oregon? What if that same oblivious real estate agent didn’t think it was important or significant that the prospective female buyer didn’t own a vehicle, while knowing full well that the 20-acre parcel was seven miles away from the nearest convenience market, which may or may not be open year-round? Year- round services were another 14 miles. That’s on foot, by the way. Try that 20-mile hike in the middle of a two- day January blizzard.

Here’s a few more “what ifs.” What if a new friend of that homeless woman found out the 20- acre fantasy she wanted to buy was zoned “Recreational,” meaning she could never build anything permanent on it? No house. No well. No septic system. But hey, the new friend thought, a good, old-fashioned yurt — a tent-like dwelling — could work. They’re somewhat temporary. Just ask the Mongolians. They’ve been lugging them around the Central Asian steppes quite successfully for at least 3,000 years. Perhaps my homeless friend was a Mongolian in a past life.

Oh, yeah, and one more thing. The new friend discovered there’s no water on or near the property either. The closest water is seven miles away. Not level miles, mind you, but miles of up and down and up and down the cliffs towering above Lake Billy Chinook.

Nice piece of ground, yeah; beautiful surroundings, check; remote, check; affordable, check; survivable — well, that’s where the dream begins to unravel.

What would you do if you were that new friend and you quickly discovered this tenacious, surprisingly competent homeless woman also suffers from decades of diagnosed severe mental illness, what she calls a bipolar disorder? This woman who has survived on her instincts and resilience tells me she hasn’t taken her prescribed psychotropic medications for years, and that she doesn’t need them. “There’s nothin’ wrong with me,” she told me as she launched into another loud, indecipherable diatribe on “those that did wrong to me.”

Nearly 25% of the homeless population in the U.S. suffers from some form of severe mental illness.[2] Most of the afflicted do not take daily medications unless hospitalized. While in the manic phase of severe bipolar disorder, the last thing one wants to do is end the euphoria.

So, what would you do?

Well, I — the new friend — gave up trying to persuade my homeless companion that she might want to consider another piece of property nearer a community where she could get help, food or water if she needed it, thought it prudent to have a frank discussion with the real estate agent. I contacted the agent the day after I drove the homeless woman out to see her new utopian property. I was thankfully accompanied by a 19-year-old young man who was along to lend an able-bodied hand with the trailer full of furniture I was towing behind my truck — including her recent purchases: a dining room table, six chairs, a metal 4-door filing cabinet, several used barely functional window screens, two large metal buckets, a gallon of kerosene, and six 100# bags of grout — not ready-mix concrete — grout.

I told the selling agent it was crazy.

It was the only word I could think of at the time.

The agent responded by saying “I tried to talk her out of it, but she really wants that land. I didn’t notice anything strange about her.” Really? You didn’t notice her repetitive, rapid speech or unpredictable mood swings or racing thoughts from one second to the other? It’s what scripture calls a “spinning web of attention”?

I repeat: there isn’t any available water for miles. What did the homeless woman think she was going to do with the grout without water? In what structure did she envision putting a dining set and a filing cabinet? How was she going to survive, forcryingoutloud???

The last four miles leading to the recreational property is akin to any rural one-lane dirt road, if you don’t mind driving no more than two or three miles an hour while avoiding ruts a foot deep and protruding, immovable boulders that require deft slalom maneuvers. And, that’s in the summer.

When we finally arrived at what she thought was her dream property (frankly, I’m not certain we were on the right property) I got out of the car, tears in my eyes and bluntly told her “I feel like I’ve brought you out here to die.” With a wave of her thin fingers she said, “It’ll all work out. Don’t worry about it,” and determinedly started unloading her new “stuff” from the back of the trailer. That riposte, incidentally, is a textbook maneuver (albeit unconsciously) for one in the midst of a manic episode.
According to a good friend in the real estate biz I consulted on the matter, my new homeless buddy has the right to buy whatever she wants as long as she is responsible for herself, meaning the state hasn’t taken that right away. Unfortunately there’s no mental-health police. And, obviously the ethics and moral clause in most contracts doesn’t apply here either.
This is her dream, the only thing she has left to leave to her children and prove that she can do this on her own. Providing for one’s children is a definitive act. This is her way, perhaps, of making up for past mistakes she thinks she may have made.
So, I ask again, what would you do? The conundrum for me is how much does one get involved when watching a fellow human being making decisions that are irrational and could, potentially lead to her death. My outrage was not — IS not — with my delusional, homeless friend with a Quixotian dream; that I confine to the real estate agent, the seller and the escrow personnel who select oblivion over compassion, and perform their jobs in a bubble of professionalism, even when confronted by the stark incoherence of my friend.

My mind also ricochets off the possibility that from a greater perspective, my unsettled friend does know what she is doing. Her job is to keep the dream alive and well within her idiosyncratic imagination. Who am I to rain on her unusual Pride Parade? Who knows? My histrionic friend may turn out to be far more “in the spiritual groove” than I am.

Dreaming, says iconoclast Jack Kerouac, ties all mankind together. I find myself captivated by the odd curve of my friend’s dream, and in a way I’m slightly envious of her obstinate refusal to let it go.

So, I hold open the door to the mysterious possibilities that everything will work out, just like she says.

________________________________________
[1] http://www.endhomelessness.org/content/article/detail/3668
[2] http://www.nationalhomeless.org/factsheets/Mental_Illness.html

–

At first light, I jumped out of bed, threw on my bathing suit and a light dress and dashed out the door, my boyfriend following closely behind. A mile later, past high rises, honking cars, Speedo-clad Europeans and what appeared to be 10 miles of beach umbrellas, we finally looked at the Andaman Sea. To say I was devastated would be the understatement of the century.

The reason I share this nearly 10-year-old tale has much more to do with my consciousness than it does unfulfilled expectations. I only thought I was celebrating my fifth decade in silky Thai-style. The real reason I was there, come to find out, was to expand my consciousness, to liberate myself from a lifetime of feeling abandoned by everyone who ever mattered to me. That belief had cost me 25 years of migraines. It also nearly cost me my life when I ran away from home as a child, having convinced myself that a ten year-old would be better off leaving than being left.

Here’s where my consciousness did a 180-degree about-face. Nearly a week into the completely regrettable vacation, when I knew I had to do something, anything, to end my misery, I politely excused myself from the restaurant table in Ao Nang where my boyfriend sat with the two traveling companions with whom we’d connected in Kata. After a quiet, two-hour stroll on the unspoiled beaches on the other side of the Andaman Sea, I knew what I had to do. The traveling comrades and my boyfriend were still sitting at the same table when I returned from my walk. After explaining that it was my birthday and my fantasy and that didn’t include traveling with anyone but my boyfriend, the three of them looked at each other, abruptly got up from the table, packed their things and left me standing––alone––in the restaurant of the hotel.

In that instant, I felt the stinging pierce of abandonment, and the concomitant, familiar headache, a feeling that had cost me dearly most of my life. Was it the walk on the beach when I heard my Higher Self encourage me to speak my heart’s truth? Or was it simply the right time, at the right place? I don’t know, but I do know that I heard this, very loud and clear: He may be abandoning you, but you, dear one, do not have to feel abandoned. That is your choice. You can choose to be free.

I never had a migraine again.

We were discussing the Power of Choices. He, an avowed atheist, and I, a devoted Spirited Woman Spiritualist, approach and define the definition of personal choice differently. As someone who believes “No matter what we do, think or feel, we are essentially #?*&@!,” my friend continues to choose anger over compassion and retribution over forgiveness, citing numerous examples from Hitler and Genghis Khan to Jack the Ripper, who are, in his estimation, completely undeserving of forgiveness, as that would constitute acceptance. My friend won’t accept that these souls are deserving of anything, save a swift and true firing squad. His choices often keep him up at night, and are often painful wedges between him and his family.

Ah so, I said, reminding him of his latest medical episode, where he was scared practically out of his mind by a mild myocardial infarction, otherwise known as a heart attack. According to the Journal of the American College of Cardiology , holding on to un-forgiveness, resentment, hostility and rage contribute to one’s risk of heart disease.

Here’s where our choices come in. Consider this: Every thought, every emotion and every action we have and do are directly related to our beliefs. Unfortunately, the vast majority of our beliefs exist below our conscious awareness. It’s slightly easier to identify some of our thoughts, of which we process over 60,000/per day, according to Deepak Chopra, M.D . It’s less complicated, however, to identify our feelings and emotions. Our actions are the most obviously distinguishable. Unless we are in deep denial, we can always ascertain if we’re working joyfully or disdainfully. In the heat of a discussion with a significant other, we know if we are escalating into a rage-filled argument or sitting in quiet contemplation of our SO’s different perspective, intrigued by the differences, rather than annoyance.

Those actions, as the old idiom goes, speak louder than words, and louder than our thoughts. Here’s the thing: We have the power to choose the actions that are connected to the emotions that give way to the desired thoughts. When we do that, our underlying, no longer relevant, beliefs are more accessible.

In order to choose, we must have a conscious mind. Next week I will share a personal story on how we can choose to live more consciously, and therefore more healthfully and joyfully.

What prevents us from trusting our inner, wise guidance? I believe the answer lies in the three letters within that word: be-lie-ve. We were all taught things as children, many of those lessons came more from observing than listening to the lies, half-truths and distortions we heard from our parents, siblings and society in general. Perhaps they didn’t mean to lie, but we tend to perpetuate that which we hear, as if they are truths. That’s how beliefs are born.

A humorous example from my childhood came the day I watched my mother cut the ends of the ham before she put it in the oven one Easter Sunday. I’d seen her do that before, but never said anything. That day, I decided to pluck up the courage and ask her why she would do such a strange thing. “Because it makes the ham taste better,” she replied, licking the sweet, pineapple sauce from her fingers to make the point. “I learned that from my mother when I was your age.”

Oh, I thought, I guess that makes sense. What did I know? I was only eight or nine years old. Our parents were gods, forcryingoutloud. They always knew best, right? Maybe. Maybe not.

Years later I found out the real truth about my mother’s odd ham baking technique. Her older sister informed me that their mother cut the ends off the meat roasts because they wouldn’t fit in their small oven. Ah so. That’s how false beliefs are born.

Regardless of what we were taught as children, the greater Truth is that we are now adults, not children. We have the powers of awareness and discernment today that we may have not experienced in our youth. It is critically important that we value and honor this incredible element of the whole Self, so we can better practice good health and wellness from this day forward.

If you are unsure of whom to trust or how to respond, you always have your own heart as a source of Higher Wisdom. When you learn to trust and look within your heart to discover the Truth, you will fulfill your truest potential.

Stay tuned for Part 2 on What We Need To Do To Open To Our Own Hearts.

The latest statistics on obesity present a sobering truth about weight in the United States, literally reaching epidemic proportions . 58 Million of our fellow brothers and sisters are overweight, 40 million are considered to be obese and 3 million have reached the morbidly obese definition. If that isn’t staggering enough, how about another statistic that shook me at my core: eight out of 10 over 25’s are considered overweight. 80%!!!

What in the heck is going on here? And what can we do about it? Apathy and ignorance are not the same thing. I don’t know is an empowering statement, encouraging one to seek answers and solutions. I don’t care will generally create the same results over and over again. As the old axiom goes, it’s also the definition of insanity.

Because there is no such thing as an ideal body weight… at best, there is only a healthy weight range, according to Anne Collins’ (no relation) weight loss program website . Her weight loss programs are approved and recommended by physicians and also promises no gimmicks, which I consider key to any successful practice.

Many years ago when I returned to the US from a two-year stint in the UK, I brought more than cherished English mementos back with me; namely 20 extra pounds, distributed evenly from my larger head to the expanded size of my feet. Because the weight wasn’t confined to my mid-section or derriere, I wasn’t as conscious of the pounds creeping up as one might expect. It wasn’t until I stood, naked, in front of a mirror that I got it, loud and clear. That wasn’t my body I was looking at. Well, it actually was, but I didn’t recognize it. “How did this happen,” I asked myself?

I knew darned well out it happened. Fourteen hour days on various movie sets with ample “honey wagon” fast food contributed amply. Neglecting to incorporate any daily exercise regimen for two years also added to the staggering number I saw when I stepped on the scale. I couldn’t fool me.

As someone who trusted in my capacity to change pretty much anything within my grasp, including losing weight, I started to ask myself some hard questions. Do you love who you are? What does loving yourself mean to you? Does it mean eating healthful, nourishing food? Does it mean honoring your body by taking good care of it? Are you willing to take personal responsibility for who and what you see what you look in the mirror?

After answering yes to all of those questions, I called a nutritionist/exercise fanatic friend of mine and started that day to love myself better. I encourage you to do the same. Twenty less pounds later, I remembered an old English proverb that I just adore: Don’t dig your grave with your own knife and fork.

At first light, I jumped out of bed, threw on my bathing suit and a light dress and dashed out the door, my boyfriend following closely behind. A mile later, past high rises, honking cars, Speedo-clad Europeans and what appeared to be 10 miles of beach umbrellas, we finally looked at the Andaman Sea. To say I was devastated would be the understatement of the century.

The reason I share this nearly 10-year-old tale has much more to do with my consciousness than it does unfulfilled expectations. I only thought I was celebrating my fifth decade in silky Thai-style. The real reason I was there, come to find out, was to expand my consciousness, to liberate myself from a lifetime of feeling abandoned by everyone who ever mattered to me. That belief had cost me 25 years of migraines. It also nearly cost me my life when I ran away from home as a child, having convinced myself that a ten year-old would be better off leaving than being left.

Here’s where my consciousness did a 180-degree about-face. Nearly a week into the completely regrettable vacation, when I knew I had to do something, anything, to end my misery, I politely excused myself from the restaurant table in Ao Nang where my boyfriend sat with the two traveling companions with whom we’d connected in Kata. After a quiet, two-hour stroll on the unspoiled beaches on the other side of the Andaman Sea, I knew what I had to do. The traveling comrades and my boyfriend were still sitting at the same table when I returned from my walk. After explaining that it was my birthday and my fantasy and that didn’t include traveling with anyone but my boyfriend, the three of them looked at each other, abruptly got up from the table, packed their things and left me standing––alone––in the restaurant of the hotel.

In that instant, I felt the stinging pierce of abandonment, and the concomitant, familiar headache, a feeling that had cost me dearly most of my life. Was it the walk on the beach when I heard my Higher Self encourage me to speak my heart’s truth? Or was it simply the right time, at the right place? I don’t know, but I do know that I heard this, very loud and clear: He may be abandoning you, but you, dear one, do not have to feel abandoned. That is your choice. You can choose to be free.

I never had a migraine again.

Stay tuned for Part 3: Choosing to Follow One’s Heart is Healthier than One’s Head

During a rather fascinating discussion with a good friend today, the conversation floated from politics to relationships to spirituality, in no particular order. Since I’ve known this friend for over 20 years and consider him as much a friend as a trusted advisor, I’m grateful that our semi-frequent palavers aren’t billable hours.

We were discussing the power of choices. He, an avowed atheist, and I, a devoted spiritualist, approach and define the definition of personal choice differently. As someone who believes “no matter what we do, think or feel, we are essentially #?*&@!,” my friend continues to choose anger over compassion and retribution over forgiveness, citing numerous examples from Hitler and Genghis Khan to Jack the Ripper, who are, in his estimation, completely undeserving of forgiveness, as that would constitute acceptance. My friend won’t accept that these souls are deserving of anything, save a swift and true firing squad. His choices often keep him up at night, and are often painful wedges between him and his family.

Ah so, I said, reminding him of his latest medical episode, where he was scared practically out of his mind by a mild myocardial infarction, otherwise known as a heart attack. According to the Journal of the American College of Cardiology , holding on to un-forgiveness, resentment, hostility and rage contribute to one’s risk of heart disease.

Here’s where our choices come in. Consider this: Every thought, every emotion and every action we have and do are directly related to our beliefs. Unfortunately, the vast majority of our beliefs exist below our conscious awareness. It’s slightly easier to identify some of our thoughts, of which we process over 60,000/per day, according to Deepak Chopra, M.D . It’s less complicated, however, to identify our feelings and emotions. Our actions are the most obviously distinguishable. Unless we are in deep denial, we can always ascertain if we’re working joyfully or disdainfully. In the heat of a discussion with a significant other, we know if we are escalating into a rage-filled argument or sitting in quiet contemplation of our SO’s different perspective, intrigued by the differences, rather than annoyance.

Those actions, as the old idiom goes, speak louder than words, and louder than our thoughts. Here’s the thing: We have the power to choose the actions that are connected to the emotions that give way to the desired thoughts. When we do that, our underlying, no longer relevant, beliefs are more accessible.

In order to choose, we must have a conscious mind. In Part 2, I will share a personal story on how we can choose to live more consciously, and therefore more healthfully and joyfully.

– Kelsey Collins

You may recall that I was going to use this next blog to explain some of the reasons why massage therapy may not work for everyone. You can save yourself a lot of time by going to the online book, SaveYourself.ca , written by Paul Ingraham in Vancouver WA. Paul’s website holds over 408 articles and other studies pointing to research on how massage helps pain or other conditions, such as plantar fasciitis, fibromyalgia, reflex sympathetic dystrophy (RSD), or any other disease-driven pain conditions. As a health science journalist and former Registered Massage Therapist, Paul has been at this for awhile, and. now works full-time on this website that is chock full of everything you’ll need to know about therapeutic body work. One of the tutorials, Save Yourself from Low Back Pain, debunks the pain myths while reviewing all of your treatment options. That’s one handy-dandy reference at your fingertips.

More pressing, and the real focus of this particular blog is “Why do we continue to deny ourselves?” Let’s start with a few questions that I’d like you to answer, if you have the time and desire. What are your preconceived notions regarding massage therapy? Is it a luxury that you convince yourself you can’t afford? Do you drag your feet, or are you downright unwilling to care for yourself sufficiently? The answers to those questions are conducive to understanding more about you than a possible reprieve from chronic pain. How you see your self is indicative to what beneficial actions you are willing to take to encourage joy, peacefulness, and increased energy.

Sometimes it just comes down to trust, doesn’t it? Lying on a massage table, covered by a thin blanket with little to no clothes on, can be daunting for some. For me, it’s sheer heaven, but I’ve been enjoying regular massages for nearly 40 years. Finding a reputable masseur or masseuse is always a good start. If it’s your first time, there is nothing better than a personal recommendation when it comes to body work. Statistics cites “Massage therapy’s growing acceptance as a medical tool .” I’d say ‘AMEN to that, sister’. As someone who hasn’t been ill in over 20 years, save for the rare 24 hour-uninvited-viral-guest, I attribute that, in large part, to the healing I receive from massage. And that was long before I read the study in 2000, entitled “Psychosomatic Medicine,” where the data showed a significant boost in the body’s immune system functioning post regular massage.

So, with all the recent research pointing its compelling fingers at the effectiveness of massage for decreasing pain and fatigue in cancer patients, reducing low back pain, osteoarthritis symptoms, and headache reduction, the only real question is: “What are you waiting for?”