The Beginnings [life story to 22]

Alone.

I always felt alone. I had a beautiful family. I had beautiful friends. But nothing ever felt quite right...I have never actually felt like I was home.

I have met many who believed there is more to this life than we can see, or perceive with our five senses. I have met many who seemed to know there was something “different” about me. But no one knew much. No one ever had a way to understand exactly how I was different. Of course being a lesbian didn't help. That was super-different for my bible-belt town. So a lot chalked it up to that. I always tried to hide my difference, or turn it into a joke, because on some level, I knew no one could possibly understand.

Maybe part of it was that I could remember everything since I was born. Maybe it was the way I just knew things which no one could explain. Maybe it was the fact that I was able to heal animals and people with light and energy. Maybe it was that I understood the language of the stars. Maybe it was none of these things and all of them at once.

Anyway, I never understood it until that day. That day when finally I saw who I really was, where I was really from, and what I was here to do. That night really… All the broken pieces finally came together. Of course it wouldn’t make any sense unless you knew what I’d really been through all those years. That day might not have ever happened without the cosmic and miraculous convergence of events, places, and people that swirled around me like stars in my perfect, lonely orbit.

~

My mother couldn’t get pregnant. That’s what the doctors had said, anyway. They said that my mother and my father simply wouldn’t be able to have children. Two years later, I came along. There are no pictures of my mother pregnant with me. There is one lone tale about the night I was conceived, but nothing else. No one speaks of my birth (was it hard? was it easy?). My birth certificate said a specific date/time. But that’s really all anyone ever said about it. And, I trusted my parents, and knew they would eventually have told me if I was adopted.

Last year I came across my baby pictures (maybe I was 6 months old to a year?). I was HUGE. I don’t mean I had a little baby fat, I mean I looked like all my body parts were balloons. I didn’t look right. At all. I was only like 7 or 8 pounds when I was born so what caused me to blow up like that? Turns out I’m allergic to dairy, and gluten. And all they fed me was cow’s milk, and teething cookies. So that could have something to do with it.

By the time I was two, I looked “normal.” I was pretty. I had sapphire eyes that twinkled of the stars-my mom said. I had blonde unruly curls that could never be tamed. I had tan skin that my mom always said was the color of a ripened peach in the summer. And that is the year my Mom’s tummy started getting bigger. She was pregnant with my sister. They ended up calling her M for short. I remember my mom pregnant. I remember M being born. Aside from the fact that she came out arm first, and her fingers were ungodly long, everything was perfectly normal about it. And everyone talked about the arm-first, long finger issues. Often. It was very different than everything surrounding my birth.

Interestingly, I did look like my mom. Not so much when I was little, but the older I got, the more you could have mistaken me for a young version of her. I didn’t see it though. Not until my mom passed away. I never looked like my father. I acted like him often, but he had fair skin, pale eyes, gray hair at the age of 22, and a wholly different body type.

I grew up like most children in America did--playing outside until suppertime, making trees into castles, and lying out on the driveway staring at the clouds and the stars. I went to school, wrote stories, and tried to paint (but was never very good at art class). I loved looking at the stars. Late into my teens, I would often stay up all night, enthralled by them.

So, yes, I grew up fairly normal, except when I was little, like two to six, I didn't understand customs. Well, come to think of it I’m 44 now and I still don’t get half of them. Like, one day, when I was maybe 3 or 4, my mom told me I wasn't really supposed to change clothes in front of boys. I was aghast?! How could I not have known that? I panicked. I mean, it affected me so much that I wore long sleeves and pants for the next year, all through the 100° summer and everything. I decided it really was meant that I shouldn't let girls see me naked, since I never cared if boys did, so there must be something mixed up in all this. There were a lot of things that didn't make sense to me in preschool: like the way we went to the bathroom, why adults couldn't understand what I thought were very simple concepts, the way adults did things, the way people yelled, the lack of compassion or understanding, and the lying. I became quite rebellious because I thought I'd have to be in order to fit in.

I was really angry about all this--it seemed completely against Universal Truths to lie, manipulate, avoid, judge, or do anything but share energy and heal others. In fact, I was so frustrated with fitting into that, I even wanted to hit and bite and hurt people, because they made me fit into that. After I got in trouble in preschool for biting Linda (sweetest little girl) just because she moved my drawing, I realized I wasn't going to be able to show all this aggression I felt. I think that's when my mom started me in soccer. You know, so I could get it out on the soccer field. And that seemed to work.

I was four when I started first grade because I could read by the time I was three. The school I went to was scary. It was an old Catholic school, and if I didn't do what they wanted, they made darn sure I figured it out. Fast. I remember my stomach hurting every day. It hurt the most when the teachers would yell. Of course that was almost every second.

My friend Tommy and I sat together. Tommy and I figured out that we both had an Aunt D and Uncle B and therefore we must be related. Because of this family bond, we stuck together. Tommy didn't understand the yelling either. And the teacher would call on him all the time, because she knew he didn't know the answer. When he would stammer and try to say what he thought it was, she would yell and him for not getting it, and send him to the corner, with his back to us. This made me cry, every single time it happened. He was trying so hard, but the teacher didn't even care. I started whispering the answers to him to try to help him not get in trouble but that just made it worse. The teacher moved us away from each other, and started yelling at me when I defended him. It was horrible.

I ended up sitting next to Kim. She was really quiet, and seemed scared of something I couldn't see, and chewed on a random piece of fabric all the time. I thought that looked like a good idea. So, I brought a thin, light blue leather belt from mom's belt drawer, and chewed right along with her. It seemed to keep me from trying to speak up for Tommy, and so it cut down on the yelling. But not the stomach aches.

One day we had a substitute PE teacher. Her name was Mrs. Cushing (yeah, she doesn't get the alien confidentiality agreement, sorry, she's probably dead now anyway, and hopefully reincarnated as someone nice, working off that last-life karma). She was teaching us how to do pushups. She had us all pumping up and down, when she stopped us. She said,"Everyone look at her [yes, me]. See how she's doing them?” So of course I picked up the pace and really got into it. Then as everyone stopped and all eyes were on me she said,"That's how you DON'T do them.” And I think she even laughed a little. Well, that was it. I started crying. I cried for hours, maybe days. My eyes glazed over and later Mom said she'd had to come get me, though I didn't remember that part. I think it was days before I was “back." In fact, I think I glazed over for most of the rest of the year.

I do remember one good thing from that year--one day, we went to a different teacher. She played us a movie called "Free to Be You and Me.” It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. It was loving, and gentle, and caring, and FULL of music, and showed all these different kinds of people being happy to be who they were. I always wondered why they showed that when every time I was “me" they yelled at me for it. But I was glad they showed it, nonetheless. I still remember some of the songs. One was called “It’s Alright to Cry,” and it made me feel so much better.

With all the crying, though, Mom and Dad took me to a psychiatrist. She had me draw pictures and do an IQ test. I had a really, really high IQ. And I couldn't draw at all. I was originally left-handed, but burned both my arms from wrist to elbow on the oven door when I was two and a half; I was "switched to right-handed” after the bandages came off (apparently left handed was a grave omen). I am not sure if that had anything to do with my drawing shortcomings. But the psychiatrist never said what was wrong with me. My mom then let me pick a different school for the next year. I repeated first grade and things were much better for a while. At least there were no teachers yelling, and no kids being hurt or bullied there, at least not as badly.

As I got older, like upper elementary and middle school, I realized how mean people could be. It shocked me every single time when someone was cruel just for the sake of being cruel. It still does. One time in fourth grade we were lined up to leave class, and a girl sneezed, and gross snotty stuff flew out and landed on S’s hand. S flipped the F out (as would I) and ran to the bathroom. The teacher had the audacity to yell at S? I yelled right back at the teacher and told her that S’s reaction was normal and just because the teacher's favorite student was the one expelling the snot was no reason to attack S. The teacher had no comeback. And the fact that I could never get to where I could handle that kind of unneeded attack or yelling made me wonder about myself. Not that there was something wrong with me per se, but more I wondered why I didn't understand. I mean with my IQ, pretty much everything should make sense. But it didn't. And the stomach aches continued. I was determined to figure it out though. So, I started reading. Was there anyone else out there like me? Anywhere?

I was popular in my teens. But I never really fit into a group. And I could never live within a group’s norms. I prided myself on being unique. Maybe because that made it more “natural” that I was so unique. Maybe because I was trying to prove something. I was intelligent, but wasn’t a nerd. I was pretty-ish, but wasn’t a cheerleader. I was athletic, but wasn’t a jock. I liked parties, but wasn’t a pot-head. I enjoyed everyone’s company, for the most part. I’d hang out with the stoners in the bathroom in all their black leather and cigarette smoke, I’d learn to dance from the black kids who had the best music, and the best bling, and who loved my mom’s Cadillac gold kit so much, they asked her if they could have the hood ornament for their necklaces. God I loved their music. I’d hang out with my soccer team. The nerds and I would sometimes study together. And I’d have conversations with the random misfits and hang out and talk with them too. I’d ski with the guys, or tutor the seniors. I even spent a good amount of time in the teachers’ lounges in middle and high school because honestly, they were far more interesting than any kid my age. But, the bottom line is, I could never really share my true thoughts with anyone in high school. Well, except for one of my teachers. Mrs. Montecatini, who I soon ended up calling El Dadora de Pajaros, due to her quirky brilliance and the fact that she gave me two little wooden birds once.

She took me to Europe (along with a group of seniors) when I was about 16 or so. That was the best trip of my life. 5 countries in 28 days. Spain, France, Switzerland, Italy, and England. Oh my gosh. Okay, honestly I hated Madrid. It was the yuckiest energy I’d ever ever EVER encountered. But after that was Barcelona. It was magical. I stood outside almost all night and watched the colorful lighted fountains set to music that echoed throughout one of the timeless squares. I could not get enough. I felt so alone, so much like someone was supposed to be there with me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. No one ever shared these things with me. They just didn’t see the magic for some reason? I never got that…I still don’t. I don't think I have ever met anyone who really saw it, felt it, just dove in with their soul and became one with it? Maybe that is where my aloneness has always come from? I go so deeply into the space of curiosity and throw off every convention sometimes to get there, and when I get there, no one else is with me. It’s like there’s an invisible wall humans won’t cross. There is so much majesty on this planet…how can they not just be swimming around in it, reveling in it resplendently? I think every time I start to feel sad and alone it is from this.

This is primarily why I chose to work with children, you know. They haven’t lost it. They get it. They go there. Until enough adults tell them to stop. I tell them to keep going. Throw off the freaking bow lines and keep going! Go until you are in the pure light or pure darkness and just experience it. Follow every curiosity, every fascination, and follow it like you were 5 years old and met your favorite fairy tale princess and she was leading you there. Let it be magical! Don’t let those old boring adults squelch your fascination with life!

Side not: Where is one single woman who hasn't lost this? Show her to me. Please, show her to me.

So one woman who had that insatiable fascination with the unknown, and less fear of it than fascination, which made her an explorer, was this Mrs. Montecatini. And I wont go into the details but suffice it to say, at 16, I assumed she wouldn't want to be real friends with me because I was a “kid.” And one day I lied to her about something because I was afraid to speak with her as a peer, and I didn't want her to be disappointed in me. She stopped speaking to me for 2 days. It was agonizing. I finally begged her aged parent (our other chaperone) to tell me what exactly made her so upset or what I could do to apologize. Her answer shocked me. She said, she considers you a friend, and you treated her like a teacher. What the…? I had just finally managed to understand the ridiculously arbitrary “age conventions” thing (you know—how age matters so much and you are only supposed to be friends with your age group?) on this planet, and she had to go and blow it out of the water. I begged the aged parent to go get her and humbly request the opportunity for me to apologize. She smiled wisely and headed upstairs.

I was sitting, and this is important, on the front steps of a hotel. This hotel was on the top of a mountain in Switzerland. It was the only thing on the top of this mountain—well, except for a good number of cows with their big bangly bells on. In the twilight, stretched out forever, were The Alps. I ran my eyes along their jagged peaks until they melted into the stars. I just gazed at them, they mesmerized me into an otherworldly state, a place I go to often when presented with this magnitude of magnificence. She jolted me out of my reverie, sitting down close to me on the steps. She didn’t speak. I turned to her.

I spoke slowly, from the deepest part of my heart. “I had no idea. I thought you’d treat me like everyone else, like a child, so I acted like one. You have never, in any way, shown yourself to be like everyone else, and I am horrified that I put you in that category. I am so very sorry. I hope beyond hope that you can forgive me.” She didn't look at me. She looked straight ahead. I had never felt what I felt at that moment. It was a petrified feeling. A fear beyond anything. I had done something manipulative, I had treated her like she was pedestrian, the one who actually was not like that, and what if there was no going back? What if that mistake ruined the only friendship I’d ever had that meant something to me? She continued to stare ahead. I looked away from her, because I couldn't handle her not looking at me…and out over The Alps, a fog was rolling in…it was so thick like clouds, but clearly fog, and it was exponentially expanding in and out of itself simultaneously. It approached us slowly, carefully, and she finally spoke.

She called me by the nickname she had bestowed upon me, “…You hurt my feelings. I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t understand.” I was crushed. She was right. I didn't say anything. She stared straight ahead and continued. “I consider you my equal, my friend. I need to know if you are a friend, or if you aren’t.” My heart broke into a thousand pieces. I tried to speak through my tears. I stumbled. I looked at the fog some more. I finally managed, “I am.”

I don’t remember if I hugged her. I hope I did. I wish now that I had just leaned over and held her tight for an hour. Or never let go. Because for the first time in my life, I had a friend. And I could be a friend back. She is 70 now, and I am 44, and we are still friends. And we always will be.

For my 18th birthday, she gave me a book. It was called “Illusions” and was by Richard Bach.

Her inscription to me went like this:

I feel we have been together in many lifetimes, so I just as easily could have said:

To: Aristotle

From: Plato

(Nothing wrong with our ego's, eh?)

Happy Birthday 1990

Enjoy!

But I digress.

When I first got to High School, I was welcomed into the “popular group.” So, we all walked up to the convenience store for lunch one day (I was about 14). They were all cheerleaders or PomPon girls…needless to say, I was not. Anyhow, this one girl was actually really nice. She was very real, peaceful, kind, and beautiful. Her eyes were sort of a milky blue color that I’d never seen before. Her name was N. So as we walked up to the store, she and I chatted. She wasn’t fake like the others, and I cannot describe what I felt about her. All I can say is it was very strong and contained full loyal instantly.

So, on our way back, N’s shoe came untied. I stopped and waited for her to tie it. The “leader” of the cool kids looked back and told me to hurry up there with her. I said, “Oh, well, N’s shoe! One sec!” And N looked at me very intently and said, “Go.” I said no way! She looked at me like, “I am telling you, you better go up there or you will regret it.” The leader sounded snotty as she commanded again that I get up there by her. I looked at the leader and said kindly, “I will! I am going to wait for N, though, so she’s not walking alone.” Welp, that was it! Just like that I was no longer in the “cool group.” N reminded me she had warned me. I told her it didn’t matter one bit—that waiting for her was more important than any stupid group! And I meant it.

N went on to become a true friend to me. She was the kind of person you didn’t need to see or talk to every day, but you just knew she was there. And if anything felt unmanageable, I could call her. Day or night. We got to do lots of fun things together, and every time I was with her, I was happy. She was very practical and didn’t allow for much “crazy talk” but I loved her endlessly. She didn't think I was weird, and she seemed to be at peace with who I was on the inside. She even invited me to go with her to her dad’s in California for spring break, sophomore year, but I couldn’t go.

So, anyways, I read a lot. There was one tiny book store in town that lived through my teen years. I just started on one side of it when I was about ten years old and read my way through the entire store, except the cookbooks, travel books (I travelled a lot with my family so I had seen most of that before), and politics books (government is not my department, knowledge is). My favorite books in Primary and Middle School were “The Cosmos” by Carl Sagan, “A Wrinkle in Time” by Madeleine L’Engle, and “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams. I've re-read at least one of the 5 books in the increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker’s trilogy every year since. Of course, A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L'Engle was brilliant. I had no doubt that this sort of time travel was not only possible, but had probably happened many, many times. And in my 8th grade English class we read Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. I could see easily how humans could allow themselves to end up in that position if humanity continued on its current route. I started paying more and more attention to what people did and why they did it.

The opening in my psyche really started one day, when I was about 13, and had read every book in the bookstore, and was wandering around aimlessly. Then, I saw a new shelf. It said New Age. That sounded awesome?! I was so excited I could barely stand it. A new genre? A new way of thinking? The unknown brought to light? Bottom Line? This had to be the ultimate genre ever.

There were five books on the shelf. They were: Dick Sutphen’s “You Were Born Again to Be Together” and “Lighting the Light Within” and Jess Stearn’s “Edgar Cayce: The Sleeping Prophet,” as well as Linda Goodman’s “Sun Signs,“ a tiny black and red hardcover called “Love Signs,” and the whole series of Sydney Omar’s yearly Astrology books (you know, there was one for Virgo, one for Libra, etc). There was also a set of Tarot Cards and a couple of books on how to read them. I bought as many as Mom would let me. I read and read and went back every week to see if they had gotten in more books on Astrology, Metaphysics, Psychometry, ESP, Past Lives, UFO’s, Tarot, and the mystical. I had known all of this to be true, but couldn’t explain any of it. Before I read these books, every time I mentioned my intuitive sense about these ideas, people would just laugh at me. I got very good at pretending I was joking around when I realized no one took any of this seriously. Now I didn’t have to pretend any more. I had PROOF! Okay, well I didn’t get proof at first, but having these books allowed me to seek the Truth, the evidence, the history, and read all of that as well. I ended up with scientific understanding of everything from Astrology to Tarot!

I learned so much. I learned about all those things I had imagined and innately understood were real--they weren’t just my imagination if others had experienced them as well. I learned things like Humans only use 10% of their brains. Why??? Tarot cards (and all things) have an electromagnetic vibration. What?? Spaceships only travel using the gravity from planetary orbits. Why? Children talk about when they were a “big person” and about seeing angels. Why? People had been healed by things other than doctors. How?? Between Dick Sutphen’s research on past lives and hypnosis and Jess Stearn’s research on Edgar Cayce and how he accessed his higher self to help understand illness and events that no one could figure out, I was amazed. And, the more I studied Astrology, Physics, and Astronomy, the more I learned about how gravity affects everything, even the smallest particles, far far away, and that the origins of Astrology were actually quite scientific.

Later that year, Mom got me my first set of Tarot Cards. I loved them. Finally, I could access that part of myself that was always there, but was just out of reach. And, my “psychic” abilities that had always freaked everyone out somehow were okay when I was reading the cards. Maybe because it was “in the cards” and not me just knowing too much. I read as much as I could about the cards. I read once that each card has a vibration and that humans have a vibration. Whichever card (or archetype on the card) is most like your vibration is the one you draw (like a magnet kind of). So when I explained that to people, they seemed okay because it was so scientific. I loved reading Tarot Cards for friends, and being the token “fortune teller” at all the Halloween parties. I got the chance to meet several psychics, mediums, intuitives, and psychometrists this way. Their gifts were amazing to me, and yet they felt so very familiar. I didn’t see myself as a “psychic” or “fortune teller” wearing golden turbans and bangles, but I felt akin to them, somehow. And I absolutely did wear the gold turbans for some parties where I read cards for the guests!

I was very familiar with all the constellations, aspects between planets, and how their orbits interacted. One day, I was back at the bookstore when I spied a huge, shiny, new book on the shelf. It was a royal blue with what looked like drawings from the middle ages on it. It was called, “The Only Astrology Book You’ll Ever Need.” And it was. Except until I literally wore it out…I did have to get a new “The Only Astrology Book You’ll Ever Need.” Using this book, I was able to use the trigonometry and physics and geometry I had started to learn in school to draw up charts. By the time I was a sophomore, I was calculating birth charts and progressed charts in Astrology by hand.

I also connected the two concepts that if the moon has such a pronounced gravitational affect on the tides, and the human body is at least 80% water, why wouldn’t it affect us? And other astral bodies with even stronger pulls than the moon, well, they must affect us too, depending on where they are in relation to us. At that point I wanted to be an astronaut. I wanted to be in space. That is where I belonged. I was sure of it.

So, Mom and Dad sent me to Space Camp: Space Academy Level II during spring break of my Sophomore year. I understood all the science, I easily picked up how we assumed we couldn’t travel straight through space, we had to catch orbits, and ride those. I took pages upon pages of notes as I learned how to pilot planes in ground school, and then the Space Shuttle. But something was wrong. They were going about it all wrong. A. It was too risky, too many lives were at stake each time a shuttle went up. And, B. Instead of allowing a craft to travel in synch with space, they were fighting against it (orbits, rocket fuel, size limitations, etc). I didn’t know exactly what was wrong, but I knew that this was a very slow and cumbersome way to travel...even though it was on the leading edge of technology at the time.

I loved Space Camp. For our final 24 hour mission, I chose the position of CapCom. This is the one guy on Earth who talks to the people in the Shuttle. The idea of going up in the Shuttle when I knew my notes were not as thorough as they should have been was too much responsibility for me. People’s lives were at stake. Turns out, in SAII 24 hour missions, CapCom’s notes are kind of the goto. Oh well. We battled erring computer sensors, inanely hot cabin temperatures, and fuel problems, but we, a group of 15-16 year olds, managed to work as a team and complete our mission. It was the best 24 hours of my life.

I returned from Space Academy late at night after a long plane ride, to find one of my friends at my house with my parents. My mom looked positively sick, and my friend looked weird, too. What was she doing there? They kept looking at each other, unsure of how to proceed with something. I finally started to panic and told them to tell me what was going on. They spoke so slowly, like a cassette tape being played at ⅛ of it’s intended speed. Mom said my best friend N had taken B with her to California for spring break. I said, “I know?” And then, mom finished… “N and B were at a party with her cousin in L.A., and when they went to leave, he was very drunk. They got in his Suzuki Samarai SUV for him to drive them home. Once on the freeway, he could not keep the car steady, swerved, and hit the center median going 75mph. Everyone was thrown from the car when it flipped seven times. B lived—barely, with stitches in her skull, and in shock. N didn’t.” I slid down the wall to the floor in a little heap. I just remember thinking “No, No, No. This can’t be happening.”

My best friend was gone. The beautiful soul I had come to love so dearly and to count on, was gone. The person I learned to drive with! The one person who let me be weird, who didn't get it, but allowed it and never made fun of me for it …was gone. The one person who was honest with me all the time, no matter how hard it was, was gone. The one friend my age I could really trust, was gone. I was in shock.

Of all the things I remember in my life, the next few months remain invisible in my memory banks. I don’t remember school, or friends, or dances, or anything. I don’t remember anything I learned in school after that. It’s just black. The only thing I remember is my first soccer game I had to play without N as the other forward. It was agonizing not having her there. I couldn’t take it. I broke my foot kicking a girl’s foot instead of the ball, I broke her foot too (she got taken off the field in an ambulance, I played the rest of the game). I got a concussion from heading a ball while someone else was kicking it (she got my head, not the ball). And I just don’t remember after that.

I know it was N’s time. I mean it should have been, because she was evolved. She understood life. She got it. She didn’t need to do anything else here. She was finished. I knew that. She knew that. But I wanted her here to help me. I needed her to show me the way. I was so very sad to lose her presence on this planet.

It wasn't that N was gone, because oddly, she wasn't. One of my first very clear memories after all that was being in the car at college and she was in the passenger seat talking to me and laughing. I mean it wasn't really her, but it was. It wasn't scary or upsetting, it was fun! And she would just talk me through stuff often, while I was driving. That went on for years, and every once in a while, she would come back to the car to say hi. So, it wasn't that she was gone, but maybe it was how suddenly she left. How I didn't get to say goodbye. How I knew I should have gone to California with her for Spring Break but couldn't at the last minute because of the Space Camp dates. And for B, it was about how N insisted on switching seats with her after they got in the Suzuki. B finally switched. And she lived.

B and I are okay now. But I don't think either of us will ever really be able to say that we "handled this" or have it figured out. It just seemed so wrong...so at odds with how the world is supposed to work.

And I spent the next two years lost, and more alone than ever. I participated in school and sports and class projects, but I wasn't really "there." I'm not sure where I even was. Everyone seemed to hate me. One time after another, someone would do something really mean to me--from kids accusing me of stealing, to teachers accusing me of skipping class. None of which I would ever do. My boyfriend would yell at me, make fun of me, and tell me my outfits looked stupid. Other kids would get drunk at lunch and then copy off my paper and get higher grades than me. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Montecatini, I am certain I wouldn’t have survived it.

One day, Senior year, not long after Christmas break, I got a call that would change everything.

That was precipitated by the most fortunate meeting early Sophomore year, two years before. I was in my counselor's office when a college rep came in. She was from a college in California. Her name was SW and she needed someone to take her to the auditorium and help her unload her car. My counselor volunteered me. So, as we walked, we chatted about her college. She told me about their International Business program and their Arts programs. I really liked her, and she seemed so kind and real.

I knew a lot about California. That's where everyone was different. That's where everyone could be themselves and that was okay. There were psychics on every street corner, and nature abounded, and everyone there had made something of themselves. People seemed less judgmental there. And, that's where most of the new-agers were, well, there and Sedona. Interestingly, Id grown up going to Sedona occasionally with my family. I loved it there. My Dad even felt the energy—of course he explained it in terms of his golf game, but he felt it for sure. Anyways, I always thought I'd feel more at home in California. At least more than in this stupid bible-belt town.

Once we had her presentation set up, SW showed me a picture of her college in Southern California, on a hill, overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

And that's when I knew.

I had to get to that spot—that exact spot—by the ocean...and this was my ticket.

I was only 15 the first time I met Ms. W. But I made sure that the next two years when she came back, I was waiting for her. I invited her to dinner with my parents my senior year. She came. Mom and Dad embarrassed me endlessly, but she seemed to get a kick out of it. I just had to get in. That was all there was to it.

Before that, I'd wanted to go to Stanford. I was planning on going there, in fact, when I was little I'd written "I will go to Stanford" like ten thousand times in a notebook. And I was Salutatorian (not valedictorian because I stopped caring about AP classes after N died, and I got called the Antichrist by my teacher, and was framed for stealing a test--I only had a 4.6 GPA, for the love of all things holy) and the Athlete-Scholar and Most Spirited and Most Likely to Succeed and all that. But when we went to visit all the colleges I liked, I hated Stanford. It was old and dark and busy, stressful, yucky. Everybody was riding bikes fast or rollerblading or running from one place to another. There were signs everywhere with words I didn't understand on them. I always felt so dark and stressed anyway, I figured being someplace that fostered that would not be good for my well-being. I just felt stressed even standing there. I couldn't believe I'd put so much energy into wanting to go someplace like this. What was wrong with me?

And then, we visited SW's college. It was heaven. Everyone was walking slowly, stopping to talk to each other, most had on flip flops or were barefooted, there were fountains everywhere and palm trees. The ocean sparkled endlessly below. I could see that one cove from the dorms. Students rode horses around the campus edges and up into the Santa Monica mountains. It was all stucco and clean and bright. The monument in the front of the campus was gleaming in the shining sun—a beacon to me. The ocean breeze made everything just the right temperature. There were grassy lawns everywhere hosting students and professors and dogs and community members. Students met in outdoor classroom amphitheaters. Even the library had an ocean view from all the study tables. It was so calm and peaceful and open. I knew I was where I needed to be.

When I got back to my assigned home, we got the call. SW called my parents and offered me not only admission, but an academic Scholarship. It was like a dream come true! There were no questions at that point, only answers. My life finally had a direction.

Finally.

I had never felt so many possibilities laid out before me. My new life was like a ribbon that sparkled and changed colors, swirling in the wind. Not that everything was easy, but it was more open...freer...lush with options. My first week at college was full of exploration.

One day I stumbled upon a little bookstore called “The Malibu Shaman.” Get this. There was a whole WALL of Dick Sutphen books!! Not only that, but every tarot card set, spiritual literary work, new age, and metaphysical book ever published was in there. I even saw five books by Richard Bach!! I couldn’t believe what I had been missing all these years.

The guy behind the cash register was kind of laughing at me because I couldn't help but express me excitement out loud, “Oh my GOSH you have ALL the Dick Sutphen books!!!!” He grinned and said, “Well, yeah? You might want to come back next weekend because he will be here doing a group Past Life Regression Seminar."

"WHAT???" I practically fell over with shock. "Dick Sutphen will be HERE???"

“Yeah, I guess you want me to sign you up?” he grinned some more at my naive Midwestern wonder.

“YES! Please. Hi. I’m…”

“Hi, I'm Scott...Sutphen.”

“WHAT????” I was in awe. This stuff never happened to me. It was like for the first time I was on the right track and the Universe was just throwing in all the bonuses possible to let me know it!

“Yeah, I’m Richard’s son.” He kinda looked like he wasn’t sure if that was a great thing or not.

“Wow. That’s insane! I’ve been reading these books since I was 14.”

“Well, what’s your full name and I’ll get you signed up?”

I told him, and he looked shocked.

“What?” I asked curiously.

“Did your dad have a store in Phoenix?” I said he did indeed. And Scott looked as in awe as I had just minutes before. “OH MY GOSH, NO WAY. I got everything there growing up and loved his commercials!” We continued to kind of sit there in shock for several minutes.

Finally, Scott just smiled and said, “Well looks like this was meant to be! I’ll have to introduce you to my wife. You guys will get along great.”

Well, what he said, “Meant to be” doesn’t seem like much to you, but to me, it was. I thought these words all the time. Like we were meant to find those who would spur us to new heights. We were meant to meet like minds, we were meant to BE who we truly are, we were meant to be on this planet at this time for SOME reason. I always thought things flowed when they were meant to be and yet no one had ever said those words to me before that day. It was like someone ripped an old worn out rug that barely worked out from under me and replaced it with the most gorgeous woven tapestries and padded carpets that were infinite in design and usefulness. My foundation (or so I thought) was finally here. I just couldn’t believe it was all happening so fast, and even more amazingly than I could have imagined.

So all those days of feeling weird, feeling lost, feeling like I didn’t belong just didn’t matter any more. It’s not that I belonged in Malibu yet, it’s just that I didn't feel so strange about who I was there. I felt, almost...normal?

I went to the Past Life Regression the next week. Not only did Scott introduce me to his father as “his friend I” but I met two girls who later became good friends.

I learned so much about who I was in that session. It wasn’t like anything I had pictured...but it was a million times more.

First, Richard (that’s what his family called him, even though he authored books as “Dick”) had us run through some imagination exercises...basically it was to open up our minds and relax. The goal was to let go of all expectations and simply let the impressions come in. So, he played 10 different spiritual sounding wordless songs in succession for one minute each. Each one my mind raced to another place and time. The colors, the images, the feelings...it was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt.

I told him about them later. He said that was highly unusual to get all that just on the pre-exercises. Well, now I am even unusual to the unusual people. I guess I better just get over that whole “I’m weird” thing, huh?

Soon after, I met Richard’s wife Tara. If I had to show you an example of the most ethereal and evolved human on the planet, I’d pick her. I’m not sure I “got” the whole aura thing until her. She just felt like happy. Not superficial happy, or happy because her life was perfect…more of a peaceful, amazing happy. Not something I ever felt from humans really. I still know her, and I still am in awe of her. She is truly beyond the realm of human and actually the only human I’ve met who has evolved to this point. Which is beyond amazing…more like phantasmagorical. I just thought you should know that there really are people like this, and that means we can strive to be like this, and succeed.

You know you won't believe this but I soon met Jess Stearn at one of their parties. Seriously. And not just met him but got to be friends with him. He even let me transcribe interviews for his books and water his lemon trees because, "You know I don't need anyone to water those lemon trees. But I know you could use that time away and a beautiful place to just be and relax." These were such neat people. So, humans could be awesome after all?!

Anyways, soon I met “The Nutty Professor.” Turns out he was not nutty in a good way—he was a stalker, likely delusional, and definitely psychologically not what a modern therapist would deem “safe” for society. Of course, learning which people were not whom they pretended to be was an important lesson…and he was acting it all as a ploy to lure me. However, before I knew he was probably going to try to murder me at some point, I found the exact type of person I jived with--the type that doesn't actually exist.

Sadly, I haven't found that person in a partner since (I mean without the psychosis part), and to fully experience humanity, I think I must. But he more than anyone taught me about the beauty of our minds, and the beauty of the Earth, and how it all could harmonically join. He would come randomly pick me up me from studying and take me on “sunset breaks.” Just to watch the sunset over the ocean on particularly extra good sun setting days. We found a group who went on full moon hikes at a state park with the ranger! Oh my GOSH it was heaven.

The hike, punctuated by a tiny light on a tiny wildflower, Ranger Matt letting us know what it was, then asking us to gently, without hurting the plant, rub our fingers on the leaves and smell its exceptionally magical and singular bouquet. Then, a trail of magic, as Ranger Matt mentioned we might notice the coldness when we walked down the crevasses, and it was so beautiful to feel my skin change with the cold, then warmth of the rise on the other side. All the while, us calling the screech owls, and the owls returning our cries…every sense was just enraptured. Until that moment when we topped the depression and rose to the edge of the cliffs, where the full moon would be waiting for us over the ocean…glistening off the waters and waves like the most alluring and ecstatic partner I could ever know. It was just the moon—the same moon of every night of every life on Earth, rising only because of our spinning planet. It was just the same sun, setting because of our simple orbit, and simple gravity… how could it be so spiritually awakening to me? I felt home in those moments.

And it was not just the full moon hikes. We would go hiking and camping everywhere from the beach to the mountains, and I was just so in awe of it all. I still am. THAT is what Earth is supposed to be about, in case anyone was wondering.

Soon, the nutty professor and I parted ways (if you count 4 years of stalking parting ways), but my lesson was learned: Earth was Magical.

Then, I finally got to experience the first tiny piece of human love…not true love but physical captivation. I had had sex with The Professor. It was fine. Really anticlimactic, no pun intended. Not amazing like I had imagined it should be…of course I had never imagined it really with a guy. Every time I tried, I felt like I was “doing it” with my brother. It weirded me out. And after opening to such oneness with the world, it was odd to me to be that close to a person and not feel magically close to them.

Then I met her. She was clearly a lesbian—because she was a PE teacher. I had done enough research to see that a mile away. And honestly, that was really my only criteria at that point. Was she female? Check. Was she likely to sleep with females? Check. Then she’s perfect for me. The sad, sad conclusion of that story is that her Catholic upbringing prohibited her from doing more in bed than actually sleeping with me. Yep 6 months of the worst torture you can imagine. I lived it. Ah to be human.

Though I had begun to know myself, my human needs, my connection to the Earth, I had barely tapped the surface. I was just 19 years old.

I had purchased one of Tara’s tapes which taught how to astral project. So, remember La Dadora de Pajaros? Well, I thought I’d head over to her with my traveling astral body…since I knew she was the only person not in physical proximity whom I could call after and confirm if I was actually there, without her thinking I was completely insane. I followed Tara’s voice and soon found myself floating above the desk of Mrs. Montecatini. She was leaned back in an office chair, reading a book (no surprise since she was an English teacher). The tape said to notice every detail, and the thing that stood out was the cover of her book. It was yellow. With a red stripe. It had bold letters in black but i couldn’t read them. And I saw the colors of her outfit-sort of a pinkish and tan. So, as soon as I finished I called her. I told her about the tape and asked her if I could ask her questions. She agreed. I said what were you doing 30 minutes ago, she said, “I was sitting at my desk, rereading “To Kill A Mockingbird” for the lesson tomorrow. I asked what the cover of the book looked like. She said it was yellow, with a red stripe and big black letters for the title. I asked her what colors her outfit was. She said, “Oh, well, it’s like a pink and light brown flower pattern?” BAM. I could officially astral project—and it was so easy? She was surprised, and impressed to say the least. I continued with other tapes like past life regressions, automatic writing, and more, and I mastered each immediately. Even my metaphysical friends said this was rather unusual. But I still would go through periods of a deep and intense longing…for something I could not explain…and it was so painful, so excruciating, I just couldn’t place what it was.

Meanwhile, I had, one day at The Malibu Shaman, seen some crystals in a lighted case. I didn’t know why, but I needed them. ALL of them. Scott explained that crystals held energy and that if I opened up myself, I’d be able to feel that in each one. So, he’d get one out, and let me hold it. He didn't tell me what to do or anything, just simply, “feel that?” Wow. Now THAT was crazy. A little clear rock the size of a quarter had a buzzing to it? Sometimes a crackling? Others had more of a zappy energy emanating from them, and still others I would describe as like a low and deep humming. The big rose quartz felt like a soft blanket of Light? And not just that, but I could feel them doing something when I held them. It varied from sort of a calming effect, to a harsh cathartic ripping away of emotional (or psychic) gunk. These were real, physical sensations, not just thoughts, not just feelings. Truly each and every crystalline mineral or rock had a vibration and an energy to it. And I could feel them like wildfire when I held them.

I bought a Chumash Indian pendant, with a teal tiny feather, and leather holding a beautifully clear and flawless quartz point crystal. I wore it every single day. And I bought a small piece of malachite. It was a swirled light and dark green opaque stone, smooth and almost bubbly in appearance. I kept it in my pocket or purse all the time. And I also got a black stone. It was very grounding—I think it was obsidian or tourmaline, or maybe onyx. I kept it in my car. Then, as I’d go into the Shaman after that, Scott would ask how I was and tell me which crystals would help with one thing or another. Of course he always said I needed to feel them for myself and decide if the energy fit me.

During first semester, I took “Equestrian Studies” in college. Basically that meant I got to ride horses once a week. Sometimes we rode in the arena nestled in the top of the campus with a view across the campus and out onto the water, sometimes on the trails along the ridges of the Santa Monica Mountains with 180 degree views of the ocean on one side and the craggy peaks as far as I could see on the other. Second semester I took Dressage so I could ride twice a week. And then cut a deal with the instructor (who, I won’t lie, was drop dead gorgeous—with this crazy wild mop of light blonde sun-bleached curly hair—and an intensity like a thousand Visigoths riding to attack a nearby village) to clean tack in exchange for more riding time. So, one day I arrived for my ride and the instructor came running up to me in a panic. A horse and rider had fallen down a hill. The rider was okay, but Nifty wasn’t.

She said the vet had just left and he was going to get euthanasia, then coming back. She didn’t say why or how he was so gravely hurt. Nifty was still standing, with his hoof raised slightly in a bucket of ice up to his little bent horsie knee, but something was clearly very wrong with him. She grabbed my arm and pleaded, “Can’t you do something with your crystals? You’re always carrying them, can’t you DO SOMETHING with them?” I was flabbergasted. I had no idea if I could? I offered to try, though, because she looked so very desperate. I ran back to my car and grabbed my two crystals from in there, and ripped off my necklace to use that quartz—what was I thinking?? Use it how??

First, I squatted by nifty and I just ran my hands slowly all over his body, like 2 inches above his brown hair. I felt heat and electric pain shoot through my veins when my hands were over a spot where he must have been injured. Well, that was new. I kept going until I found all the injuries. Then, I took the malachite, and quartz, and held them over each spot for a while. As I held them, I could feel them (and me?) just sucking out his pain, inflammation, whatever. I could feel tissue mending, bones realigning. I could tell when an area was healed because the painful energy would calm, and feel like a beautiful mid-tone hum, in perfect sync with his body. The heat would dissipate. At first I saw everyone move back like 20 feet and watch, half of them in desperate sadness, and half like, “what does she think she’s doing?” And then I stopped noticing where they were.

It was just me and Nifty in the Universe, as one. I squatted there for over 30 minutes, maybe an hour, just feeling his energy, and hearing him send me messages, “that hurts, that’s better,” and so on. Before long, he felt healed to me. I cannot explain it, he just seemed okay. I asked them to remove the ice bucket, and I felt some more around that leg, sent it healing and peace, and pulled out more gook. And finally, I turned, and told The Instructor, “I don’t know if I did anything…I don’t even know what I just did?” She said it doesn’t matter, she was grateful I tried. Just as I stood up to stretch my legs, the vet returned with the euthanasia. I stepped back to see what would happen. I don’t know why, I didn’t feel anything, not fear or assurance, not emptiness, not fullness—just kind of existence—just nothing, but in a good way?

The vet started towards Nifty, then stopped. He looked very confused. He stammered, stuttered, then collected himself, and queried The Instructor, “Um, where’s the horse?” She replied in her brash filterless way, with a clear tone of—you idiot, right where you left him—“He’s right there!” She pointed to Nifty, still in the same spot. The vet looked suspicious, and slowly walked towards Nifty, almost like he was walking towards a live bomb. He finally got to him, and moved his hands and pressed some spots and pushed on Nifty here and there, lifted a leg, put it back down, then stepped backwards slowly, as if he was in a Twilight Zone episode and had no escape. He looked dumbfounded for about 30 seconds until The Instructor said, “Well?”

He finally spoke. Still staring at Nifty, not at us. “This horse is fine. He does not need to be euthanized.” He said “this horse” almost as if he still did not believe it was the same one he saw just an hour or so before. It was only me, The Instructor, and the stable hand there now, and we got very quiet. With that, the vet turned around, avoided looking at us, and strode off—not another word. I was in shock. Nifty was OK! He was just fine! Then I kind of started to realize what happened and before knew it, The Instructor was hugging me like she would never let go quietly whispering in my ear, “Thank you ….THANK you…I knew you could do something with those crystals!!!” She was almost crying, and that chick did NOT cry for anything, so I knew it was a big deal. I just kind of stood there, half grinning, feeling like I’d tapped into my true self, but surprised I’d never even considered doing anything like that before. Those moments with Nifty were real. That was me. That was truth. That was everything. But how, or why, I had no clue.

The Instructor finally pulled back and just looked at me, her eyes reaching into mine past my very being, deep into my soul. I think she was looking to make sure I knew what I was, to make sure I really got it. To make sure I’d own it. I don’t do well with eye contact—never have—and especially with this kind of intensity, and so I looked down. She said something emphatic, I don’t remember what exactly. It was like, “Now we know.” And with that, she walked briskly off, I’m sure to go cry where no one could see her.

I stumbled back to my car in kind of a stupor. What was that? How did I know what to do? How did the crystals work? How did I talk to a horse? (The Mr. Ed theme song started running mercilessly through my brain). I didn’t know, I just knew it was. It happened. I was one.

TBC (the mid 20-something Alien phones home)

#alien #earth #family #love #lesbian #humanity