Category: Blog-Nature’s Wisdom

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The Horse who Joined the Conversation

Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.

I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.

I fell in love.

Not in the dramatic way we sometimes use that phrase, but in the quiet recognition of feeling unexpectedly at home in the presence of another living being.

When I returned a few months later, I wondered whether he would remember me.
He did.

I have found a deep contentment in being with Zor. Grooming him in his stall. Massaging his neck and shoulders. Singing softly while he lowered his great head to graze. Standing beside him without needing anything from him. I have never asked Zor to attend to me, carry me, or teach me. His quiet companionship has awakened something joyful in me. That has been enough for me.

One afternoon, I carried my chair into the pasture and placed it beneath the shade of a tree.

It was one of those Florida afternoons where the heat seems to shimmer above the grass. The horses grazed quietly under an endless blue sky. I settled into my chair, content to watch the horses, listen to the birds, and perhaps take a nap. As I entered the pasture, Zor lifted his head and followed me with his eyes. Once I was seated beneath the tree, he returned to grazing.

For a long while I simply sat. My body softened. My mind became quiet. My eyes sometimes closed as I listened to the song of nature. 

After a while I noticed that Zor had slowly changed position. He moved in a gentle arc that gradually brought him closer.

Having heard stories about the way he sometimes greeted people, I stood and stepped in front of him to say hello. I preferred not to discover what happens when a two-thousand-pound horse decides to make his presence known by tipping over my chair.

Once met, he returned to grazing.

I remained beneath the tree to have my scheduled phone session with a client. It had been a rough week. Testing revealed that the tumors in her body had grown.

As painful as the diagnosis itself was the experience of trying to receive care. Tests were delayed. Decisions postponed. Phone calls unanswered. She wasn’t simply carrying cancer. She was carrying the exhaustion of trying to find her way through a medical system that seemed unable to meet her with clarity or care.

“I'd like to place my hand on this beautiful horse's heart while we talk,” I said.

 

The phone in my back pocket, an AirPod in one ear, one hand rested on my heart, and the other rested on his.

Quietly, in my own awareness, I introduced them and returned to listening. Zor continued grazing as we moved together across the pasture.

Eventually he wandered beneath a small tree, stopped grazing, and looked directly at me.

For the remainder of our conversation, I stroked his face while listening to this lovely woman navigate this challenging season of her life.

In time, something softened. Her voice became lighter as we moved from frustration toward the next small steps before her. Zor remained completely still beneath my hand. No one hurried the conversation.

This exchange included two humans, a horse, birdsong, the warm sun, and a gentle breeze. Everything belonged.

Toward the end of our conversation, Zor lifted his head, gave a great snort, and calmly returned to grazing. My client heard it through the phone. She laughed, as did I. “I think we’re complete,” she said. Reminding me how her dog always knew our conversation was ending a few minutes before we said goodbye.

“Please thank that horse for me.”

I returned to my chair beneath the tree and closed my eyes. For a long moment I simply rested in that experience.

There is no miraculous ending to this story.

I don’t know whether that afternoon changed her treatment, her health, or even her day. I don’t need to know. I only know that I was part of something beautiful.

A woman seeking healing.
A horse quietly grazing.
One hand resting on my own heart.
The other resting on his.

Three hearts participating in the same quiet field of presence.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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I Met A Duck in the Street

Last week, I left the house a little earlier than usual.

Not because the day ahead was spacious. Quite the opposite. It was full. Appointments, responsibilities, errands to run, bags still to pack for my upcoming conference. One of those days where the hours already seem spoken for before they even begin.

And yet, before leaving, I found myself lingering in the garden.

The overgrown bushes had finally been removed, opening up an entire section of the bed I hadn’t really seen clearly in years. New flowers and shrubs had recently been planted, and I stood there for a few moments appreciating the fresh openness of it all. The morning light and the possibility of adding a few colorful blossoms. The beauty of something being tended and made new.

Then I glanced at the clock. My appointment was in fifteen minutes, and I had fourteen minutes to get there. So I got moving.

As I rounded the final curve on my street, I suddenly noticed a small mallard duck standing directly in the middle of the road.

Not hurrying. Not startled. Just standing there as though the morning belonged entirely to him.

I pulled alongside him and lowered the window. “Buddy,” I said aloud, “this is probably not the safest place to be.”

His green head shimmered in the sunlight, absolutely beautiful. He looked directly at me and quacked back as though we were genuinely having a conversation. Then, instead of moving away, he took a few small steps closer to the car and lifted his head.

No urgency. No concern.

No indication whatsoever that he intended to leave his chosen spot in the curve.

I remember laughing softly to myself as I realized I was not, in fact, in charge of this duck’s life.

 

So after a short, delightful conversation about the nature of life, I slowly drove on with a quiet little prayer that he would stay safe and that the drivers behind me would be paying attention in the early morning light.

Then, just as I checked my rearview mirror, I saw another duck fly low across the street behind me.

And there he went. He lifted gracefully into the air and followed her. He wasn’t stranded in the road at all. He was simply waiting for his gal.

By the time I reached the main road, something inside me had softened.

The fountains in the pond shimmered beside the street. The sky was a brilliant blue. The morning felt unexpectedly alive and intimate somehow, as though Life had quietly reached out and tapped me on the shoulder before the fullness of the day began.

Nothing dramatic happened.

Just a few moments of direct contact with a living world that is constantly speaking, responding, moving, relating. And somehow, it was exactly what I needed.

A reminder that life is not only schedules and tasks and moving efficiently from one obligation to the next.

It is also beauty. Pausing in stillness and appreciation. Being in relationship. Enjoying small unexpected encounters. Belonging.

It is the recognition that the world cares well for itself without my intervention.

And the beneficial pleasure of realizing this when I am willing to slow down enough to notice.

Just a note …. no mallard ducks were harmed in the encounter nor in the use of AI who conveniently recreated the scene for your imaginal pleasure. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Reflections In A Venetian Window

You arrive in Venice the way you always arrive in places that have lived longer than memory can hold. 

Not just by plane or train, but by stepping into a rhythm already in motion.

The Duomo rises before you, not asking for attention, but receiving it anyway. Gold mosaics catch the light in a way that feels almost intentional, as if the building itself knows how to speak to the human longing for beauty. You stand there, looking up, letting your eyes follow stories set into stone and glass. There is devotion here, layered over centuries. Hands that built, restored, and protected. A quiet insistence that something sacred matters.

In the main square, the blue clock turns its ancient face toward you. 

Time, but not the kind you check on your phone. This one carries a story. Figures emerge, disappear, reappear. You watch, not because you need to know the hour, but because something in you recognizes continuity. The kind that outlives urgency.

The tide has pushed into the square and you step through the water at its edge. 

Shoes in hand, coolness around your ankles. People laugh, hesitate, complain, adapt. It is all happening at once. Venice does not pause for inconvenience. It absorbs it.

Later, in a narrow alley, you sit outside and eat what you are certain is the best pizza of your life. The kind that requires no commentary. Simple, perfect, immediate. The table is small. The air is close. Voices move around you in languages you do not need to understand.

You wander.

The streets curve and narrow, then open unexpectedly. Every turn offers something. A small shop filled with glass. A doorway framed in flowers. A bridge where someone pauses just long enough to take a photograph and then disappears into the flow again.

You notice the people.

Waiters moving quickly, carrying plates with practiced ease. Some warm, some indifferent, and some clearly tired. Shopkeepers who greet you with a smile or barely look up. 

There is no uniform mood here. Just life, in all its expressions. 

You can feel the weight of history beneath it, not as something romanticized, but as something lived. A place that has known beauty and strain, wealth and hardship, continuity and change.

And then, without planning it, you stop.
A window.

At first, it is simply a display. White masks, dozens of them, layered and suspended in different shapes and expressions. Some delicate. Some exaggerated. Some almost unsettling. The glass reflects the street behind you, so for a moment, everything overlaps. Faces without bodies. Movement behind stillness.

You step closer.

Masks have always belonged here. Not as decoration, but as function.


In another time, they offered anonymity. Freedom. Protection.

A way to move through society without being fully seen. To speak, to act, or to participate without consequence. They held power. They allowed expression that might otherwise be constrained. They served a purpose.

You stand there, looking at them, and for a brief moment, you see your own reflection layered into the display.

And something in you recognizes something. Not as a dramatic revelation that demands attention. Just a quiet noticing of the masks you have worn.

Not the literal kind, but the ones that form over time. The ways you learned to move through the world. To be accepted. To stay safe. To navigate expectations. To belong, or at least to avoid exclusion.

Some of them were subtle. A tone of voice. A way of agreeing. A way of not saying something. Some of them were more defined. Roles you stepped into. Identities that shaped how others met you, and how you met yourself.

None of them were random. They formed in response to something real. A moment, a relationship, or an environment. Each one carried intelligence. Each one served you.

You can see that now.

Standing in front of that window, in a city that has made an art form out of masks, you are not inclined to judge them. Not yours. Not anyone’s.

There is a kind of beauty in them. Although, you notice that you are no longer reaching for them. Nor have you forced them away. Not because you have decided they are wrong. Simply because, in this moment, they are not needed.

You stand there, unmasked, and realize nothing is missing.

No performance is required. No adjustment is necessary. No role to step into. Just presence.

The street continues behind you. People pass. Conversations unfold. Life moves without interruption. The masks remain in the window, as they should. Honored for what they have been. Available for those who still need them.

So you move on without fanfare. Walking, just as you are now, through a city that has seen everything.

And in this moment, that is more than enough.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Entering the Living Architecture of Wisdom

I remember walking into Westminster Cathedral in London, looking up, and being struck still by the vast beauty and scale of the architecture.

People milled around me, some even bumping into me, yet my face remained turned heavenward. I could not move. Eventually I noticed my body returning to its normal sense of size, as if I had taken a journey within that vastness without realizing it.

Wiping the tears flowing down my face, I smiled at my patient husband and we began our exploration.

Centuries of builders, artists, worshippers, and people from every walk of life had moved through that grand architecture. Many were buried within its walls. Others left artistic impressions and stories of their living legacy for me to witness.

Cathedrals have a way of right-sizing you.

You feel both vast and small at the same time.

This experience requires no belief or prescribed faith. It is a visceral sensory perception of wonder and belonging.

The Field of Feminine Intelligence, while vast and full, is not abstract. It too has architecture that can be sensed, related to, and lived within.

Via Sophia, the Way of Wisdom, unfolds within the architecture of this Field of Feminine Intelligence.

Without rigid structures or spiritual rules, you encounter living forms that appear as pattern, rhythm, and relationship. As you enter a relaxed and coherent state where perception softens, many women begin to notice that Life itself has shape. Movements repeat. Thresholds appear. Cycles of emergence and retreat unfold naturally.

When you begin to sense this architecture, you realize your life is not random.

You begin to see that you are already participating in phases and movements shaping your experience. In Via Sophia, the Feminine Spiral of Unfolding reveals these rhythms as they move through every area of your life.

Rather than a ladder of spiritual ascent, Via Sophia offers a spiral of lived participation.

This spiral reflects how life continually unfolds through phases such as softening, differentiation, expansion, coherence, release, integration, and renewed embodiment. These are not spiritual concepts to achieve, but expressions of the natural intelligence already organizing your life.

Discovering this rhythm and aligning with it brings a deep relaxation to the subtle undercurrent of striving many women quietly carry.

Within this architecture exists another circle-spiral of 13 Mystical Mothers.

Each Mystical Mother illuminates a distinct quality of embodied wisdom. They serve as relational doorways into Temple or Garden environments where particular aspects of Feminine Intelligence become easier to recognize and engage.

One temple may invite compassion.
Another awakens sovereignty.
Another reveals creativity, wildness, humor, or fierce love.

Walking the Way of Wisdom, Via Sophia, invites encounters that are lived experiences within a relational field rather than abstract teachings or distant figures.

The Wheel of Mystical Mothers offers orientation. The Feminine Spiral of Unfolding reveals movement.

Together they help you recognize where you are within the rhythms of your life and how to engage the moment with greater care and understanding.

Over time, something surprising becomes clear.

The architecture within the Field of Feminine Intelligence was never outside of you. It has always been alive within your own field of being.

Temples, gardens, thresholds, and bridges appear as perceptual environments through which intelligence becomes recognizable. They are not rigid structures, but relational spaces that arise as needed.

Just as a map can orient a traveler, these structures help you navigate experience.

The recorded journeys in the class archive provide easy access for exploration and navigation. Yet the terrain itself is always lived directly, and you remain the center of every architecture that appears to support your unfolding.

Via Sophia gently shifts your orientation from managing life to participating with it. From explaining reality to encountering it. From spiritual effort to Living Sacred.

I have explored the Via Sophia architecture intimately over many years, and I am often struck still and right-sized by the vastness and deeply human relational quality of each encounter.

While I still love entering grand cathedrals from time to time, I now recognize the same beauty and wonder within the living architecture of the Feminine Field of Intelligence present in everyday life.

The Via Sophia 16-Week Immersion begins March 31, and three spaces remain in the Circle of 13 women.

Early Circle pricing ends Sunday, March 15.

If something in you resonates with this invitation to walk the Way of Wisdom with me, you can explore the full details here.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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A Horse Bumped My Heart

I’ve always had a distant relationship with horses.

I once rode the pony a friend cared for at a local barn when I was a pre-teen. I’ve done a few trail rides, including what felt like a few death-defying adventures in the Colorado Rockies. I even calmly steered my horse back onto the trail after she reared and raced down a small forest hill.

It was a natural instinct. After all, I’ve watched enough television to witness experienced equestrians deftly managing rearing horses.

Beyond admiring the beauty of horses, especially those running free, I’ve never had any interest in spending time with them. I admired my friends who cared for horses, offered equine-assisted therapy, and even rode into their forest wedding ceremony on their horses with a miniature “flower horse.”

When friends at Liberty Stables in Florida invited me to visit with their three horses, I was eager to witness their new project, which has brought much joy to their lives. Visiting the horses was part of my interest, but mostly it was my relationship with the humans that warmed my heart.

My ambivalence lifted with my first surprising meeting with Zor, a gorgeous Friesian horse who stands between 17 and 18 hands tall.

On a snowy day in New Jersey, I took a break in my comfy chair. Closing my eyes, I noticed the replay of a short “movie” I’d seen of Zor dancing with his previous trainer. He was magnificent, and the fluid interaction between horse and human was like a ballet that moved me deeply.

Suddenly, I saw Zor’s face in my inner sight appear directly in front of me. We were almost nose to nose.

As soon as I indicated a ‘hello and welcome,’ my chest warmed, my heart blew open, and the image disappeared. I stayed within that delicious experience for a while, now intrigued to meet Zor in person.

The first day at the barn, we were going to greet the horses and spend time with them in the paddocks. Liberty training offers the horse freedom in space and interaction with humans.

With four paddocks to choose from, the herd of three horses and three humans would spend time in territory together.

Entering the paddock with some trepidation, I was struck by how Zor towered over the other two horses. I was fully anticipating watching them graze from afar, so was surprised when Zor came directly toward me. I put my closed fist up for a possible greeting, like a fist bump to his nose, as instructed.

Almost immediately, Zor lowered his head and bumped his nose hard against my heart, pushing me back a step.

Contact established, power demonstrated, and heart connection activated, he wandered away to another paddock.

I, in the meantime, took a few moments to both welcome the greeting and calm my nervous system, which had activated with that push.

The afternoon was spent lazily relaxing in a chair beneath the shade of a tree. 



Eyes closed, perception widened, I listened to the breeze in the trees, the bird song, and the sounds of the horses grazing. At times, a horse would come to stand behind us, presencing the harmony felt within the natural world and our bodies.

I felt like I took a nap without sleeping.

I enjoyed watching my daughter and friend brush the horses, always keeping my respectful distance. I squatted before the smallest horse as he ate his hay and had a lovely exchange through both spoken language and inner awareness. All in all, it was a lovely day.

Two days later, I woke up with genuine excitement as I couldn’t wait to spend time with Zor. I was surprised by feelings of strong affection and even a bit of inner longing.

Upon arrival, I was immediately greeted by one of the smaller horses. Again, a nose-to-heart bump, followed by a lovely exchange.

Once these niceties were complete, I made a beeline for Zor. I noticed my delight and respect. Even as I was careful of my position given his size, the intimidation of the previous day was gone.

As I dry brushed his coat, chatting with him, I was struck by the intimate, relational nature of the encounter.

Here was this enormous animal, power incarnate, demonstrating the same comfort with me as I was feeling with him.

Once brushed, Zor walked away to roll around on the ground before returning to me for yet another brushing session.

Laughter, care, and increasing familiarity left me conversing with Zor on multiple levels. Chatting aloud with him and others around us often seemed to narrate the quiet exchange we were having beneath the surface.

When an afternoon snack of hay was delivered, he received my offer of energy healing.  Instinctively, we worked together. It was quiet, clear, and intimate.

Later that evening, I saw some photos my friends had taken of us during this healing exchange.

It struck me fully then what I had experienced but had not fully realized at the time. After a lifetime of indifference or intimidation around horses, I was completely at ease and confident in my interactions with Zor. Beyond comfort was a full-body sense of delight within the beautiful “territory.”

I realized then that this wasn’t about skill development or even courage in the face of a really huge horse.

It was coherence.

Horses respond to the state you are presenting. When the heart, breath, and nervous system settle into rhythm, the body becomes steady. Nature is naturally coherent, and horses, finely attuned to the natural field, recognize coherence.

When you arrive in the ‘field’ or ‘territory’  open, present, and steady, you naturally enter deeper states of coherence.

Beyond your own nervous system relaxation and expanded perception is the dance between other coherent systems: birds, horses, pasture, breeze.

Upon reflection, I recognized there was a mutual reading of one another’s state of being that allowed trust to arise. The connection with Zor revealed itself between us in the relational space enhanced within coherence. Trust was established rapidly, and a relationship formed.

My last moments with Zor were outside of his stall after he enjoyed his snack of watery green nutrition.

I had a hard time saying goodbye. He tried time and time again to give me that hard nose bump to my heart. Given his dripping green snout, we settled for ear scratching.



Coherence exists naturally. When you relax enough to meet life within it, you begin to notice the quiet harmony already unfolding all around and within you.

You don’t need to hang out with horses to discover the way in to coherence. Time in nature is often an easy way to explore harmony within and without. If you’d like to learn more about heart coherence and a simple technique to support you, feel free to enjoy my free resource The Self Soothe Strategy. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Milo, the Snowstorm, and a Small Lie

We recently had a big snow in my neck of the woods.

Everyone was hunkered down. The fridge was full, chicken soup was bubbling on the stove, and my book pile sat patiently on the coffee table. As the snow covered the neighborhood and the plows dumped fresh mounds over our carefully shoveled walk, we took turns peeking outside.

As a kid, snowstorms were pure joy.

The neighborhood gathered as we went sledding and built snow forts until someone’s mom called us in for hot chocolate or hot maple syrup poured onto pristine snow. After drying off in front of the fire, we played Monopoly until the next outdoor adventure began.

These days, naps and shoveling are more my speed.

“It’s still snowing,” my husband reported for the umpteenth time. Milo, with his nose pressed against the glass, stared longingly at the winter wonderland. After a while, the whole scene became a bit ridiculous.

So I channeled my inner child, bundled up, and took Milo sledding.

It was great fun, the two of us flying down a snowy hill on speedy discs, snow spraying everywhere. You can see for yourself that Milo was living his best winter life.

Except for one thing. At fourteen, Milo is deaf. He can’t walk down steps and he got stuck in the snow the last time he went outside.

So no, we didn’t go sledding.

I’m still laughing at the image I created using Milo’s post-bath photo with the help of ChatGPT. In the midst of all the controversy about AI, it felt worth remembering that a funny image can just be funny, even if it isn’t real.

These days, fake images and fabricated narratives are everywhere. That’s the moment we’re living in, and it will only become more apparent as people become more skilled with AI.

Humans making things up is not new. Civilization itself runs on shared fictions.

Myth, metaphor, theater, religion, advertising, etiquette, fashion, money, nations, marriage rituals, résumés, bedtime stories, polite smiles, academic theories, and social media bios are all constructed narratives. What has changed is the scale, speed, and reach of how stories travel. 

So how do you go forward from here?

When I listen to people talk about AI, I hear fear, anger, excitement, and certainty, often all at once. There’s a lot of positional shouting about whether we’re headed for collapse or a shiny new golden age. 

I’ve wanted to slow it down a bit. Not the technology itself. I’m not in charge of that. Just my own response to its obvious presence in the world.

These days, I’m practicing discernment in earnest.

I’m not dismissing everything and I’m not swallowing everything whole. 


Humans have always told stories to entertain, protect, educate, market, control, delight, convert, and create.

It’s complicated. So I’ve simplified it for myself with three questions.



First Question: What’s the intent? Why is this story being told?



Some stories are playful. They invite humor, imagination, or connection. Milo’s wild ride in the snow lives here. No one was harmed or misled.



Some stories are protective, using humor as a shield or storytelling as a way to hold a boundary.



And some stories are manipulative. They seek advantage at another’s expense, meant to sell, control, inflame, extract, or deceive. Our world is full of these narratives, and with AI, they can be harder to spot.



Still, it’s worth remembering that AI doesn’t create intent. Humans bring intent to the tool.



Second Question: What’s the context? Where does this story live and with whom?



A fabricated image meant to delight is not the same as one used to distort consent, truth, or power.

Absurdity works on a playground or a stage. Metaphor belongs in art and education. Accuracy matters in medicine, courts, and aviation.



The same story can be harmless in one context and dangerous in another.

Right now, we’re living with massive context collapse.



When everything arrives on our screens looking equally important, information easily loses its framing, expertise, and relational cues. The answer isn’t to believe everything or to decide nothing can be trusted. 



Discernment asks us to strengthen our contextual literacy.



Third Question: Who holds the power? Who benefits if this is believed? Who is impacted but can’t be heard?



A joke between friends isn’t the same as a narrative imposed on a population. The real danger isn’t fabrication itself. It’s distortion amplified by imbalance.



I understand fear and anger as responses to this messy moment, especially as people worry about the impact of AI on artists, livelihoods, education, the environment, and more.

But fear collapses discernment and anger flattens nuance.

Both push humans toward extremes and give away agency faster than any technology ever could.



Discernment, by contrast, requires a calm nervous system and a willingness to pause.

It asks simple questions: What’s being claimed? Who’s speaking? In what context? And what is being asked of me as I take this in?



As a wise human, you’re capable of asking these questions and choosing your response, including the choice to wait when something isn’t clear.



As for outsourcing creativity, critical thinking, or personal agency, that’s a human decision, not a demand made by AI. So it’s important to think for yourself before handing over that task to AI.



AI is very good at analytical intelligence: pattern recognition, extrapolation, prediction, optimization. Humans participate in a different kind of intelligence when they aren’t overwhelmed or constantly narrating experience. This natural intelligence arises through presence, attunement, coherence, relationship, and timing.



AI works with explicit pattern memory. Humans participate in living systems rich with nuance and meaning.



AI is a tool, an interface, a resource. It is not a human, a guru, a friend, or a conscience.

You choose how to use it, or not. You don’t have to hand over your agency, creativity, or natural intelligence to use a powerful tool.



Smiling at a picture of my dog wildly sledding down a snowy hill doesn’t diminish your capacity to create art, learn something new, share kindness, commune with nature, or embody wisdom.



So with all the harmful intent that has always existed in human history, remember this: don’t abandon your intelligence, your creativity, your heart, or your capacity to choose.



Stay curious. Stay relational. Stay human. 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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We Got Skunked

Decision time.

Do I take my dog out front in my pjs and pink fuzzy slippers to bless “his” fire hydrant or let him roam free in the backyard?

We’ve been a little overprotective of Milo ever since he broke his foot this summer while chasing an intruder. Especially since his tendency is to take off like a bat outta hell if he sees a squirrel or bunny. Yet, his foot had healed nicely and it was early, cold, and damp.

I kept an eye on him as he patrolled and watered the garden beds.

When he disappeared into the overgrown woods, I went to make my smoothie. Trusting he’d bark when it was time to get his portion. Mid-smoothie, I was prompted to look outside as I witnessed him leaping over the greenery and streaking toward the side yard. It was such a full out run that I went out on the deck to investigate.

My mind scrambled and I couldn’t understand why two black and white creatures were nose to nose in my yard.

Within seconds I was screaming “Milo, No!”while watching two snarling creatures locked in a battle. In hindsight, I realize my stress response had diminished my frontal lobe functioning. I was terrified that Milo was going to be bitten in the face by this creature.

Seems I forgot all about a skunk’s secret weapon.

I saw the moment Milo got sprayed in the face and his valiant effort to go in for one more snarl. I’m sure the burning was too much for him as he ran in a panic, rubbing his face in the grass. My extensive vocabulary changed to “Milo, Come!” as I ran along with him.

As he streaked by me on the deck, I saw his look of panic in his blood red eyes.

He’s quick and efficient. I’ll grant him that. In his frenzied state, Milo blessed the carpets in 3 rooms with that skunk’s parting gift before I caught him. Knowing I had to wash out his eyes, I leashed him and dragged the poor beast to grab towels and upstairs to the bathroom. Not even letting him pause for another wipe of his face.

As I ran the water, my entire focus was on protecting his eyes.

We were in sync as he brought his face under the warm water, flushing out his eyes. Quickly laying towels over the bathroom rug, I sought the dog shampoo. Only to find we had none. I grabbed my liquid soap made of plants which was good for sensitive skin. Not so great for de-skunking, but okay if soap got in his eyes.

Keeping up a constant stream of soothing language while lathering Milo allowed me to calm us both down a bit.

As my system reorganized and my higher order thinking came back on line, I realized a few things. He stunk. I stunk. My house stunk. And his eyes were clearing up rapidly. Once he had his roll about on the towels (and my bathroom rug) he was fluffy and a bit less stinky.

Leashed, I took him to the kitchen while I called the vet. “Watch his eyes.” 



I looked up how to get out skunk smell from a dog, my rugs, and my house. Just too complicated for me in that moment to do by myself. When I saw he was still shaking, I sat down and did a Body Code session to clear the trauma. No surprise that first up was the physical-emotional shock, unbalanced adrenals, and other relevant reactions. I treated myself as well while we moved through the protocol to help my system rebalance.

It worked well for both of us.

Too bad The Body Code doesn’t get out skunk oil. 


Next, I found the best rug cleaning service for stinky rugs and arranged for a thorough job three days hence.

With all my tasks done, I made peace with what had rearranged my day and that stink which was well entrenched in my nostrils. 

We took some sniff and strolls. Then sat outside on the deck for hours waiting for my husband to return from a trip.



Welcome home, lol. I quickly headed out to buy skunk shampoo and get my hair triple washed at the salon.

After a second bath that evening, I’d like to say Milo isn’t a skunk pup. But, I’d be lying. Eventually he’ll reject all that oil from his system, but not today. You might be gung ho about coating your dog in a skunk defying mix, leaving it on for 5 minutes, hosing him off, and repeating the process. But, I’m not. 



Our house has very clean rugs, towels on the furniture where skunk pup rests, and a calm dog who continues to keep watch over his domain.



I recognize the power of Energy Medicine techniques such as The Body Code every week in my office. And I saw its potential to help both of us quickly process the trauma of our skunk encounter. We’re all quite calm and tolerant of the subtle, but lingering stink. 



Milo could write a testimonial for The Body Code, but he’s too busy patrolling the yard as the apex predator he believes himself to be.

I won’t disabuse him of this notion. Yet, I will check the back yard before letting him out in the early morning. If I can assist you in processing the challenges of life, old or new, with any of the Energy Psychology or Energy Medicine techniques I know, please reach out.

It’s safe now ‘cause I no longer stink. 


 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Pet Love. The Great Equalizer.

It was a gorgeous, bright morning as I sat in the peaceful stillness of my kitchen.

I settled in near the window to watch the well orchestrated routine of the birds flying into the tree. Chattering as they hopped down the branches until it was their turn at the bird feeder. I never witnessed any bullying by the woodpeckers with their long, hard beaks. The doves or cardinals never bumped the tiny pine siskin or goldfinch out of the pecking order.

This merry band of birds, generously cooperative, even let that busy tailed squirrel have his turn.

The morning’s quiet was shattered by a ferocious bark as not everyone was thrilled with that squirrel entering their domain. In another well practiced routine, I opened the sliding door so Milo could police the yard and chase that furry bandit into the neighbor’s trees. As that blur of black and white flew down the steps, I turned my attention to the trees dancing in the wind.

A shrill yelp of pain followed by rapid squeals of pain had me running around the side of the house.

Where I found my dog standing on three legs with eyes wide with panic. Scooping up the shaking fur ball, I carried him in the house. With a history of straining a muscle after a speed burst, I wondered if he’d work it out with a little rest and energy work. After some soothing and a little Body Code energy work, he still stood on 3 legs.

I offered to take the first shift at the local animal hospital’s emergency room and drove off with quiet whimpers from the back seat.

I carried that wounded warrior to the front desk where I worked to keep my stress to a manageable level. I went through an interminable number of questions and a very thorough confirmation of everything in his virtual chart.

I tried to keep my tone pleasant even as the whimpers grew louder and my thirty pound creature grew heavier.

Just when I felt my arm was going to give out, I was told to take a seat. I found a corner bench where I could keep Milo on the seat next to me. Curious by nature and a big fan of the animal hospital, he was already struggling to stand and whine as he saw staff and other animals.

I spent the next two hours draped over this gentle creature to keep him still.

Given that there was plenty of action and a need to remain calm, we spent a lot of time talking. Well, to be accurate, I spent a lot of time talking quietly to my little black and white companion. His responses were more subtle by way of eye contact, ear movement to indicate he heard me, and head turning to identify the next topic of conversation.

I had a lot of time to join Milo in observing our surroundings.

At first, I took on his role of protector of our domain. Hoping no one sat too close as he’d squirm to investigate. Soon, though, I joined him in the stillness of watching who was showing up and what was happening beyond our small bubble. That perspective changed my experience.

We quietly witnessed the arrival of dogs on leases, carried in arms, and rolled in on stretchers.

The cats went by in carriers to sit in their designated waiting area. We were joined by a poodle in a diaper, a bunny in a soft carry case, a bearded dragon in a towel, and a really annoying chihuahua who made Milo and I jerk in tandem with every shrill bark.

Once the animals were catalogued and discussed, we moved onto observing their humans.

Other than the man with the dragon in the towel who was happily chatting with the blue haired mama and her two kids about their own dragon adventures, the rest of the adults sat quietly.

I watched a woman reading a book while waiting for news, only to realize she never turned a page in the whole hour. The young woman with swollen eyes and blotchy skin buried her face from time to time into that diapered poodle for a short cry.

“Milo, I think they need our help,” I whispered. Again, my small healing magi and I changed the game.

Whispering softly, we coordinated our prayers of light for the wellbeing of those creatures and their people in that room of stress and sorrow. A large black fierce breed of a dog arrived on a stretcher with a matching fierce man speaking harshly to staff. Soothing tones wrapped his sentiments as they rolled that man’s best friend off to the surgeon. For the next hour, that fierce man, undone by the danger facing his dog, stood or paced in front of that door. As if gazing down the hallway would hasten good news and peace of mind.

At times, when a dog rolled by, Milo would look at me. “I know, I don’t think he’s coming out. Let’s send him home in peace.”

It was a long few hours, sitting amidst worry and grief. All the while leaning over a small dog who patiently waited his turn, much like those beautiful birds outside our window. We celebrated when the diapered poodle reappeared even though we witnessed the woman’s quiet sobs, knowing they’d only have a wee bit more time to share their special love bond. Relieved by my husband who covered the next few hours of waiting, I recognized something of importance.

That waiting room of wretched stress, whispered prayers, and soothing staff was filled with one thing.

Humans who loved their pets. And pets who loved their humans.

Loving pets seemed to me to be the great equalizer, allowing me to see the sameness of all of us humans, regardless of how we presented. I wouldn’t have wanted to meet that man and his fierce black dog on the street, but I’m sure glad I met them in the emergency room. While I was sorry that Milo broke his little foot and relieved he had no pain, I was grateful for those hours remembering the value of every human life.

I’ve had time to let that lesson sink in deeply in this summer of slowness.

When I carry Milo up and down stairs and watch him stroll ever so gently down the street with his peg leg, I am reminded that life holds suffering. No one is immune. While the reason isn’t always obvious, everyone deserves understanding, compassion, and some soothing words in times of tension.

I’ll remember that the next time some fierce human barks at me in frustration.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Courage at Sea. A Tiny Drama.

When I was invited to join my husband for his business trip to Hawaii, I got busy planning.

We could visit some of our favorite West Coast people, pay our respects at the Pearl Harbor Memorial, explore the natural beauty of the island, and go find us some wild dolphins to play with. While all of these plans were lovely, it was the bucket list wild dolphin swim that made my heart beat faster.

Truth be told, I had visions of dolphins swimming in a circle around me in warm Caribbean water.

Maybe popping in for a little nudge or kiss on the cheek. So when I read the fine print regulations requiring humans to keep their distance from marine life, my fantasy deflated a tiny bit. Yet, my heart swelled with the wisdom of allowing dolphins their space.

I’ve learned second hand through my Marine Scientist offspring how close human interactions and boats don’t bode well for marine mammals.

So, I was cool with the distance rule. Trusting every whale, dolphin, turtle, and surprise marine guest would find their way to our mutual encounter. Arriving in Oahu, I heard snippets of news about the huge waves on the North Shore that were disrupting the international surfing competition. While fascinating, it had nothing to do with me given that I’d never go near a big wave, let alone balance on a surfboard.

My healthy respect (fear) of this vast ocean jazzed my nervous system just watching tv coverage of tiny humans standing on tiny boards on tremendously huge mountains of water.

Breathing deeply, I remembered that I booked us a sweet frolic with the dolphins on the East side of the island, far from the wild North. However, I forgot Oahu was an island, not a large continent. Turns out high winds and waves in one area actually impact other areas. Weather. Go figure. Given my propensity for sea sickness, I prepared well with my pre-adventure dose of Bonine and a night of dreaming about mild waves and dolphin kisses.

That dream crashed when the captain called to cancel our journey due to, get this, high waves.

If the boat couldn’t safely make it out of the harbor and the waves were too high for snorkeling, the trip was cancelled. Okay, bummer, but safety first. Especially ‘cause I’m not a water baby and rough seas are not my jam. Problem was I couldn’t reschedule because other Bonine laced tourists were gonna swim with my dolphins. Flexibly shifting plans, I booked another naturalist tour on our last full day.

Trusting we’d have time for some splashing in the dolphin pool before returning to see Hamilton in Honolulu.

Racing toward the open sea offered a new perspective of beautiful mountains, undeveloped valleys, beaches and cliffs. This was the magnificent Hawaii I had longed for and it was thrilling to witness. My Bonine filled system protected me from feeling sea sick, so I felt free, alive, and enthusiastic. I called out to the dolphins with my grateful heart, letting them know that Kathy Milano and a few friends had come to play.

And here came the pod of spotted dolphins, joyfully answering that call.

Mothers and calves, singles and couples, they swam with us through this vast fluid playground. I’d like to say we were surrounded by 50 dolphins, but I know things get exaggerated in the wonder of the moment. So, most likely, there were 45. No shit. The largest pod I’ve ever had the privilege of zooming around with.

They weren’t paying attention to that 50 yard distance rule and I wasn’t complaining.

Our tiny group of tourists and marine biologist guides were one big body of delight. Even that really sea sick dude who was wearing my acupressure bands was grinning like a maniac.

It seemed like forever that we all played, marveled, and witnessed a few hot shot leaping dolphins.

The captain stopped the boat, and in silent wonder, we surveyed the pod who stayed with us. It was a moving adventure. There was nothing on my mind and plenty of gratitude in my body.

The biologist had an announcement.

“If you want to swim with these dolphins, now is your chance.”

I was about to jump up and shout “Oh Yeah!” like a crazy wild dolphin freak, but she continued her spiel.

“There are two things you need to know. First, we are in a thousand feet of water.” No worries there, ‘cause I had no plans to touch the bottom.

“Second,” she said in a really solemn voice, “in this deep water there is always the danger of sharks.”

Dun dun. Dunn dunn. Dunnnn duuuun. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome that mythical beast of a party pooper: Jaws.

My whole body flooded with cortisol. I immediately flashed back to 1975 and the Jersey shore with friends. We scared ourselves silly with that movie and I’ve been a chicken shit in the ocean ever since. It’s normally not a problem since I’m not a water baby and rarely go in the ocean. Unless I’m in the Caribbean.

You could’ve heard a pin drop amidst that pod of frolicking dolphins.

Not one person moved a muscle. So, I apparently wasn’t alone. I looked at the other gung ho snorkelers and that 6 foot dude was shaking his head no. My stomach sank as if some part of me had made a clear decision that there was no way I was swimming with sharks that day. My dream was mid crash when her solemn voice broke in with a lilt, “But, if it’s on your bucket list, now is your chance.”

I be a brave, brave girl. I stood up and in a teeny tiny voice asked three questions.

“How long before you spot those tourist eating sharks? How long do you think we have to make it back to the boat?” and “Will you come in with me?” With a few directions about how not to flail about in the water, move slowly toward the boat if I heard the captain call “Jaws Approaching!” and confirmation that I’d have a chaperone, I turned to get my mask and snorkel.

Well, look who else was brave. My husband was nodding and ready to go even though he hated to snorkel.

Only two (non)seafaring adventurers prepared for entry. Here’s the thing with getting in the water with 45 spotted dolphins who decided to follow the distance rule while I battled my terror of Jaws. This mythic beast and my active imagination of my demise put a damper on my experience. Can’t lie about that.

I was so busy monitoring the ocean, mastering my dead lady float, breathing like Darth Vader, and listening for a warning, that I almost forgot to check out my dream dates.

I’m good at managing stress and I do be brave, so I spent as much time as I could redirecting my focus to the dozens of small dolphins swimming by us. It was magical with a tiny dose of fear. The bummer about fear dampening down my brain’s frontal lobe function, thus diminishing my higher order critical thinking and problem solving, was that I missed two simple facts.

Jaws was a movie. And I had a one in 5 million chance of being bitten by a shark.

I wish that biologist had used her encouraging, delighted voice while throwing pixie dust and adding these fun facts to her announcement. Still, I swam with lots of wild dolphins and made it out alive. We both did. I learned a lot about bucket lists, flexible dreaming, old fears with big jaws, and that whales spend a lot of time underwater between sightings.

I ended up taking a small nap during Hamilton.

Nothing dramatic, just resetting my system so I could delight in my next, very safe landlocked Hawaiian adventure.

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions. 

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Does One Tree Matter?

Flash back to December 31, 2021. My husband and I sitting in the warmth of our home while exploring our giving plan for the upcoming year.

One area of focus always includes the environment. Last year we supported organizations clearing plastic and trash from the ocean (4Ocean), conservation efforts (Ocean Conservancy), and sea mammal rescue and rehabilitation (in honor of our budding Marine Biologist daughter).

With a new focus for the upcoming year, we discovered we couldn’t give up the ocean.

I recently learned it was snowing micro plastics in the arctic. Item by item, I remove single use plastic from my home and life. I continue to pick up trash as I walk in nature. I just ordered laundry sheets to try out instead of the plastic laundry soap jugs being tossed into landfills. Every little step brings me closer to honoring the garden I share with all humans and creatures.

I have a thing for trees. So, we decided to look into planting trees for the New Year. I just calculated our progress six months in. Oh, joy. Read on.

When I walk in the woods, I breathe easier. My whole body relaxes. It’s interesting for someone who only walks on a path and would only camp if hotels disappeared forever. I’m heading to the Redwoods in the Fall as they’ve been calling me for a visit. Can’t wait to walk in that marvel of nature. A sight I’ve only seen in photos.

I’m bothered (sometimes downright hot under the collar) when I think of the French cutting down every damn tree in Haiti.

Leaving that side of the island barren and dry. Another way that other countries have sucked the life out of that country, leaving the beautiful Haitian people in the dust. While the Spanish Dominican Republic is lush and inviting for tourism.

My heart breaks when I witness the destruction of the Amazon jungles.

I have been deeply saddened by the loss of the natural resources and the effect on the ecosystem. So many species, healing plants, and the biodiversity that extends to support the world’s health have been lost over these years.

What brought me to my knees last year was the realization that entire tribes in the Amazon were wiped out.

That’s hard to contemplate. The loss of indigenous tribes living deep within the Amazon dying off as their ecosystem is destroyed so we can have hardwood floors, pencils, and decorative bowls. So much wisdom lost. My brothers and sisters dying and the world barely knew of their existence. Aside from how hot the world is getting, I feel this just highlights how shortsighted we are. How shortsighted I am.

Trees are essential to life.

Nature needs forests and jungles which are shelters of biodiversity for the majority of the world’s plants, animals, insects, fungi, and birds. They provide medicine for the body and the soul (natural medicine, forest bathing for stress reduction) and produce nutrition fruit, nuts, and berries. They clean the air we breathe and are necessary to reduce the CO2 warming the atmosphere.

There were once 6 trillion trees on this beautiful Earth. More than half are now gone and disappearing at a rate of over 10 billion trees a year.

 

3 trillion trees gone so I can enjoy the desk I am writing on and chair I am sitting in.

My husband and I talked about trees. How we love to hike in the woods. The beauty and benefit of forests. The large pine trees we lost in our yard and the massive, ancient tree that fell on my childhood home. The protected space leaving fields and forests standing in New Jersey. How the Amazon is known as the lungs of the planet.

True not true. Wait, what? Turns out the Amazon only produces enough oxygen for its own ecosystem.

Check out the show One Strange Rock on Disney+. The episode highlighting the Amazon. Just when you took nature for granted, She turns you upside down. I won’t spoil anything, but I’ll offer you a hint: cloud river. Oh, joy.

Scientists suggest the cheapest and fastest way to tackle the climate crisis by taking the CO2 out of the atmosphere is to plant a trillion trees.

A trillion trees without encroaching on urban areas or farms. Not all scientists agree with this, but a heck of a lot do. You can do your own research at 1t.org. Looking through the pledges by corporations and large organizations, we knew we couldn’t match that impact of those pledging to plant 1 billion trees, 500 million trees, a million trees.

What can a single family do, we wondered. Now, we know.

Beginning in January, we planted trees for family and friends on their birthday. Or to honor a passing or celebrate an achievement. One Tree Planted allows you to choose where you want to gift your trees for planting.

A buck a tree. Yup, $1 per seedling that will grow up to change the future.

We’ve been planting trees in Haiti to honor our Love Orphanage family and the people of Haiti. We’ve been gifting trees in the Amazon so no other tribes, creatures, or plants are lost. In honor of the Peruvian Wisdom Keepers, the medicine men and women who hold the dream of a thriving garden with people living in harmony, we’ve planted a lot of trees.

Six month in and we’ve planted 1005 trees. All without breaking a sweat or the bank.

Every person seemed thrilled with their trees. Delighted to know their 22, 43, 65, or 79 trees were growing in a country far away from their backyards. I loved the 63 trees I received for my birthday. From Pachamama of course. You can bet I’ll be doing the math on December 31st.

One small action done repeatedly impacts the course of the future. This is true for good or ill.

Seek what bothers you in this world. Put your money, time, or talent in service to any group that offers an inspired solution with integrity and enthusiasm. Or start your own movement.

Every tree matters. Especially to our Mother.

 

Peace be with you and with all.  No exceptions.