Earth: A Provider, Not Depleter

3 Jan

I have a simple message to spread in this new year.  It’s a message that many of us know, but might have forgotten.  It came to me as an abrupt reminder.  And I’m sharing it with you as a still abrupt, but hopefully well-explicated reminder.

“Hey, dude, did you know you come here to get things?”

The messengar.

The messengar.

This is what I saw on January 2nd, in my mind’s eye while I was walking; I swear to you, on the streets of Brooklyn, in the bitter cold, the second day of the new year — through my third eye, clairvoyantly, metaphysically, nearly supernaturally, if you will — a man with a cigarette in his mouth and sunglasses got right in my face and said it.


And just in case you missed it the first time:  “Hey, dude, did you know you come here to get things?”

At first I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.  To get things?  That seemed awful materialistic for a spiritual encounter.  To get things.  Okay. I muddled the phrase through in my head and my thoughts traversed to the vexing year that was 2014.  For me, it was a test year, a trying year — a year filled with great struggle, hard work, isolation, loss — and what I interpreted in angry fits railing against my guides, as deprivation.

“You mean I came all the way to Earth for this?”  I often thought last year.  2014 was a year, more than any other year, of deprivation from so much of what I wanted, the prize so far away from me it felt impossible.  Earth was beginning to look like a depleter, not a provider.


But the messenger had a 2015 greeting that I very much so needed to hear.  “Hey, dude, did you know you come here to get things?” meant that we come to Earth because it truly is a provider, it gives us the tools, opportunities, circumstances and people to achieve our goals.  Sure, we accumulate a lot of “stuff” in a lifetime and Amazon Prime certainly helps with that, but we also accumulate emotional, physical, life-changing experiences that assist us in our journey back to the spiritual realm.  Without Earth facilitating this for us, we would go elsewhere; we are drawn to this place because of what it has to offer — because it equips, it affords, it furnishes growth.

It’s a simple reminder, a reminder we forget when caught up in unmet ambitions — the notion of deprivation as a sign of opportunity’s breadth.



Why We Won’t Trade Our Problems

12 Oct

problems-1All right, do me a favor.  Imagine this.

You’re sitting at a long table surrounded by a crowd of people.  You’ve got folks on your right and folks on your left.  A booming voice calls, “All right, guys, dump ‘em out — one, two, three!”  And all at once, you and your comrades are each expected to dump every single one of your problems out in front of you.  It’s as if you are children on Halloween with a pillowcase full of candy, unpacking all your collected sugary goods.

Moments later, once everyone has done that, the aforementioned booming voice then cries out, “Okay.  Now that it’s all out — trade.”

You stop.  You look at the person next to you.  No one moves.  Everyone around the table stares, reticent to follow the instructions.  Defensively, protectively, a person at the end of the table begins to re-collect all of her problems, stuffing them back to where they came from; the person next to her does the same, and pretty soon everyone follows suit.  Sure, the booming voice is perplexed, but you’re not.  You have no interest giving up your own problems and taking on someone else’s.


But, why is this?  Why are we unwilling to trade our problems?  Why would each of those people around that table clutch onto them defensively as they walked away, protective and possessive?  After all, aren’t problems something we want to give up, say goodbye to, dump onto someone else’s shoulders so we are burden-free?

It’s because we choose our problems, just like we choose the circumstances into the life that we’re born; just like we choose our parents, our struggles, our talents, our obstacles.  A problem can come in the form of a repeated bad habit, a complication with finances, complications with a particular gender, complications with health and chronic conditions — the list is endless.  But each problem is meant to teach us a lesson, is meant to bring great learning and profundity through the superficial hardship and pain.  Iyanla Vanzant often says:  “Growth requires learning from painful experiences by recognizing the role we have played.”  When we imagine giving up our problems, our defensiveness of them arises from a knowing that we will sacrifice growth.  When we envisage flippantly exchanging them with someone else, we immediately sense we are jeopardizing a dire life lesson intended for us specifically in this life, in this incarnation.

When we examine problems through the lens of advancement and expansion, we see that they are actually our friends, they are deeply personal teachers that are with us to serve an essential function to add to our soul’s growth.  We chose them; they are ours.  And when we embrace that, and even more so, imagine parting ways with them at that giant banquet table, we come into a new experience of really owning our problems and the role they play.

That Serious Face

10 Jul

Do you often front your serious face?  Sometimes, I worry it’s the only face I wear.

I carry casual conversation too seriously; I drink a cup of water too seriously; I’m telling you, I’m a Capricorn and any other Capricorn will tell you that when we tell a joke, it’s like we’re delivering it like the Gettysburg Address.  Gravity is in my nature, my DNA.

Although, recently, I’m starting to rethink that.  And going to the Kentucky Derby earlier this year helped that come to the forefront.


I was all set to surprise my sister, something my family likes to do from time to time.  We secretly buy me a ticket to Louisville, (my hometown) we purposely don’t bring it up anywhere near her, and the minute I touch land they pick me up and we throw her a curveball by showing up to where she is.  I was supposed to arrive on a Wednesday evening, but 30 minutes before we were all set to board, our flight was completely cancelled.  I was rebooked for the next morning, set to depart at the humane time of 6:00 AM, and spent most the evening and accompanying early morning hours fuming at the nearly $125 of wasted cab fare I had to spend to get back and forth from the airport so many times.

I board my flight to Kentucky, what is normally a smallish plane that is typically half-full, and am shocked to see it jam-packed full of people, everyone in bright pastels, the women in large, obtrusive traditional Derby hats, all anxiously awaiting their arrival so they can run to the horse tracks.  I sit wedged next to two hefty women, and as we wait impatiently, we are informed our flight is delayed at least another hour.  We all cry out exclamations, I am completely stewing in a web of fury, my blood pressure rises to a point I don’t think I can take it anymore when I suddenly look down at my shirt, a bright pink button-down, which I was instructed to wear to the festivities given my propensity to sport my usual New York black and grays — and I chuckle.

Me, a Capricorn, suffering from sleep deprivation and abuse from the airline — delayed, and chuckling.

What I Practically Looked Like Dressed for Derby.

What I Practically Looked Like Dressed for Derby.

Why am I taking this so seriously? I kept wondering  Why are we all taking this so seriously?  We are rushing to a small town in the middle of the country, sporting big hats and bright shirts, to watch a bunch of horses run around in a circle.  Hell, I practically looked like a cupcake and the women next to me looked like cheap drag queens.  And truly, since that moment, that moment of sitting in my own tempestuousness in my bright pink shirt, I have taken notice of every situation I’m in where I take it very seriously.  And yes, the list is long.

I don’t think this planet is designed for people who take it too seriously; I’m not sure that’s the key to abundance or happiness or even success.  Sure, when we approach situations from a solemn and grave place, we think we are getting ahead, that we are actually beating the system somehow and deserve what we’re trying to achieve more, that this is somehow a tactic that will get us farther along.  But, I’m of the impression that people who are more laid back and carefree actually wind up getting more and becoming less disappointed from this world in the end.  If “all life is a test and only a test, if it were more than a test we would have been given more instructions about what to do and where to go” — as the expression goes — then why take approach it with such sobriety?

Choosing not to take experiences too seriously can wind up cultivating a more authentic experience with it in the end.  Choosing not to take people too seriously can allow you to accept them for who they are.

I was telling a good friend of mine about this very delayed entry I had planned on writing several weeks ago, and she said she thought the topic was relevant as the other morning, she, too, found herself in a flurry of schedules and phone calls and culminating stress.  Her boss, an affable young man who heard her sighing and fretting at her desk, approached her and asked, point blank, “What’s the matter?” And she proceeded to tell him her endless agenda — commitments, activities, obligations, it ran the gamut.  Her boss looked at her, cracked a smile, and earnestly said: “You realize that none of this matters, don’t you?”  And she was dumbstruck, left alone at her desk, her never-ending list of responsibilities having now lost their luster.

Maybe other planets and dimensions are meant to be taken more seriously than this one, I don’t know.  But, the more I look at that famous statue of Buddha, the more I understand why he’s laughing — because down here, you kinda have to.


Commitment Not Compatible With Hovering

27 Apr


I recently had the life-changing opportunity of going to a castle in Scotland for a month to abscond from the outside world to focus solely on my writing. Upon arriving to this aforementioned castle, I spent careful and conscientious time focused on what projects I was committed to working on while I was there. If I wasn’t committed to the project, I wasn’t going to work on it, I said to myself. My time was too valuable and the opportunity was too immense. And upon searching through the copious projects I brought with me, ranging from screenplays to musicals to collections of short fiction, the one that really stuck out as something I was deeply devoted to working on was a book – my first novel, in fact.

NOTE: If you’re not really committed to something, don’t really commit to it.  (Now you can keep reading.)

In the past, amongst the hustle and bustle of everyday New York City life, I’ve pretended not to care about some of my writing. It was a defense mechanism to cover up my true feelings for my work so I could justify ignoring it, devaluing it, passing it off as something not to lose sleep over. The opposite was true of my first few weeks at this castle in Europe; with my commitment known, I would go to sleep staring at the manuscript on my desk, anxiously worrying about the “genius” that would have to be infused into it the following day, terrified that I might not really have the chops to do it.


The Intimidating Presence

Sometimes, after reaching my daily limit of writing, I would return to my room after dinner and flip through the pages, reading random sentences I reworked from earlier, skimming over paragraphs, making useless notes in the margins that I knew would do me no good upon revisiting the pages in the morning. I was hovering. I felt like an overprotective parent who wouldn’t let his child out of his sight, a scrutinizing prison guard not letting the inmate vanish from his gaze. Night and day, in between moments of freneticism and repose, I hovered.

A week into my fellowship there, I realized, while laying in bed one night looking at the moon with a glass of wine in hand, this obsessiveness wasn’t working for me, that not letting this manuscript out of my sight and feeling the need to be connected to it all day was interrupting my flow. Upon sorting through this in my mind, as I looked out my window in the Scottish night, a voice said to me:

Where there is commitment, there is no need to hover.

I sat up in bed, and an extraordinary light bulb that went off in my mind. Of course there’s no need to hover. I am committed to this book. I made my commitment known a while ago for this book. And it’s true, where there is commitment, there is absolutely no need to hover. I got up (after putting my wine down, of course), grabbed a folder and shoved the manuscript in it, closed it, bound it with a rubber band and put it on my bookshelf. The manuscript was out of sight, no longer an intimidating presence; I would not be tempted to hover over it any longer. My commitment to this will bring about a devotion and completion of this, I thought to myself. Immediately, I felt at peace.

Most of my life lessons come in the form of writing lessons first, so thinking through this concise and lucid bit of wisdom that came to me that night, I realized how applicable it can be to interpersonal relationships. When we make a commitment known to a friend, a significant other, even a colleague – a commitment to them and the relationship, there is no need to hold onto it for dear life, to grip it by the neck in total rigidity.

Through true commitment, there is ease; through true commitment, there is an effortlessness and security to what (and who) we are committed to. Take stock of your commitments, choose them wisely, and know that they will never belong in the same room as hovering, that they are about as separate as oil and vinegar.


Yelling At Winter

7 Feb

We have the power to alter our lives in whatever direction we choose.  I really believe that.  I’ve seen it work firsthand for me with a large vision board that hangs prominently on my wall.  Image by image, word by word, I am witnessing these desires slowly manifest and it’s proof to me that most undoubtedly, we have the free will to shape our destiny.  

Except, of course, when we can’t.

As human beings, we are still subject to time.  And the act of receiving something — a partner, a new job, that writing gig you’ve been dreaming of for years — can take years to find its way to you.  Not because the Universe is slow; but, manifestation functions through Divine timing, not the minute-by-minute measurement tool we use on Earth.  The expression “seasons of life” ring true; at some times, we are meant to be doing one thing; others, we’re meant to be doing something else.  I have had a difficult time learning this lesson.  It seems I am in a truly bizarre season of my life.

Realistically, my day-to-day involves great isolation.  I work alone, I write alone, I run errands alone, there are days where I don’t talk to anyone, there are times when a text message conversation is my only interaction of the day.  Now, before you start judging, I have to qualify this here — I asked for this.  I told Spirit years ago that I wanted to work from home, to have a life completely dedicated to my writing.  I wanted total immersion, I wanted a sharp focus, I wanted no distractions.  And I got it.  Boy oh boy, did I get it, and while I’m reaping the benefits, I’m also coping with the disadvantages.  I’m lonely.

One day, in particular several months ago, I remember being totally livid.  I couldn’t believe that at this time in my life I was having such little fun.  “All I do is work,” I kep thinking.  “This is sad, this is pathetic.”  I sat in my kitchen, I put my head in my hands and I said, “Spirit, explain to me what’s happening right now.  I don’t understand.”

I waited. I took a breath. And then, very clearly, Spirit simply told me: “You’re yelling for summer to be here in the middle of winter.”

Me Yelling at Winter.

Me Yelling at Winter.

I stopped. I looked out my window. The snow was stacking on top of itself on the sidewalks outside; I imagined myself out there in the streets, slipping on the icy sidewalks, yelling and screaming at the on pouring of flakes coming at us for spring to just get here already. I realized how insane I would look if I did this, if I were to stand outside and yell at winter … because it’s winter.  And I understood, with great alacrity, what Spirit was trying to show me.

With the knowledge we can shape our destiny, we must also remember to accept the season of our life.

While free will will always hold true, it’s equally important to know there are times in our lives where we must simply experience the experience.  My experience of isolation in order to immerse myself in my work is the season in which I find myself; it cannot be changed, it cannot be redone, it’s clear to me I must experience this and I must see it through. 

Paraphrasing Iyanla Vanzant, she urges people to “enjoy the exits and detours of each byway and highway of life.”  Yes, this is easier to do when that stretch of highway is a fun one.  But what about when it isn’t?  During trying times, I urge you to remind yourself, as I have, that this phase of life, this small fraction of my time here in this body, this bizarre extended season I can’t seem to get out of, is one small part of a greater journey of my experience.  This season of my life does not define me, yet I must experience it.  This season of my life is one stop, among many, down the highway I’m meant to go down.

Accept the season, enjoy the snow.  When you move onto summer, there are no doubt things you will miss when it was cold.


Breakups = Nonevent Shakeups

20 Oct

We have two and a half more months till we say goodbye to the 6 Universal Year, according to Numerology.  And with each year, it has its own characteristics.  But what I think intrigues me most about the 6 Universal Year is that it’s often associated with bringing about breakups.  You could say it’s “the breakup year.”   And honestly, I have seen my fair share of breakups the last nine months.  From January on, I’ve seen countless romantic couples calling it quits week after week; I’ve talked to many people who have had to end close friendships.  I know that I had to “break up” with a job back in April that was no longer serving me, in addition to an agent I was working with up until recently.  It’s been a year of ending relationships on all fronts that no longer serve us or that were initially built on rocky foundations.  And like anyone knows, along with a breakup, comes drama.

Unless, of course, if it’s a nonevent.  And according to life coach Schuyler Manhattan, it is.

man woman hands holding broken heart


I’m sitting in a coffee shop with Schuyler months ago and he casually mentions this in between sentences, as if it’s not completely contradictory, mind-blowing information.  “A breakup is a nonevent,” he tells me.  I’m mid-sip.  I stop.  I stare.  I’m completely struck with what I’m hearing.  This can’t be correct.  Breakups are definite marks on your timeline of life.  Hell, breakups can stop time in and of themselves.  While I’m not exactly sure what a “nonevent” is, I’m pretty positive a breakup IS an event.  It’s a pretty huge event.  “Wait, wait, wait — what?”  I stop him and he explains.

“If you believe that everything that happens to you in the world is for your highest good, then bad events don’t happen ‘to’ you, rather it’s the Divine’s way of working ‘through’ to you,” Schuyler tells me.  “Our life experience alone causes the requests that we are emitting emotionally and through our thoughts, which are vibrations we emanate. The Universe responds through the crack of least resistance.”

The Universe responds through the crack of least resistance.

“Okay, well, that could be true when you’re the one that initiates the breakup,” I tell him.  “But what about when you’re the one being broken up with?  That’s an event.  That’s a calamity.  That’s what sends people to the Self-Help section at bookstores and go off the deep end altogether.” When I say this, I immediately think of a wedding I went to recently where a young woman at my table somewhat drunkenly told me a 20-minute story of how she was completely blindsided by a recent breakup with a younger guy she was dating.  Her pain and confusion was palpable.  I explain her situation to Schuyler as an example.  “What about people like her?” I ask him.

Unknown“Sometimes this crack of least resistance shows up in what at first seems like an unfortunate circumstance (e.g., a breakup), but is really the necessary step to manifest the accumulative desire (your new, evolved soulmate). And so, whilst you might not have had the awareness to call off a relationship that wasn’t truly a match to you on the deepest level, sometimes our divine team works *through* others (e.g., our lover) to take the necessary actions for our best interest that we were unlikely to take.”

My mind is blown.  I look out the window.  A nonevent — who knew?

Schuyler’s wisdom has stayed with me since that conversation, but so have two other realizations I’ve come to about breakups this year.  I couldn’t help but think about the first and only time I’ve ever been fired from a job.  I was living in LA just after undergrad and working at a very dysfunctional music management company in Hollywood.  I was miserable; people yelled at me all day.  I dreaded waking up, I dreaded going to work.  After four months in, I began to plan my exit strategy.  When I returned to LA after the holidays, I would put in my two weeks.

Turns out, I never had to, as I was let go just before I left.  “It’s just not working out for us, and we know it’s not working out for you,” they told me.  I left with a severance check and drove home in shock.  How insane of me to think that everything was fine on their end and it was chaos on mine.  Doesn’t the same apply to romantic relationships, too?  Even though my friend at that wedding was blindsided, in a way, if she was really honest with herself, wasn’t the relationship also not working for her, too?

Breakups set you free from parasitic and commensalistic relationships.

My second and last observation about breakups is best explained through a conversation I had not too long ago with a good friend who lives on the West Coast, who, for the past decade has had an on again, off again tumultuous relationship with her boyfriend.  They’ve broken up several times over the course of ten years; they argue all the time, they complain about each other to friends behind their back.  Earlier this year, they had a very public and vitriolic temporary breakup that was about as dramatic as they get.  Dreading to know the answer, I ask her how things around going and she tells me, “I’m really lonely.  I don’t really laugh anymore.  I can’t be myself around him and I don’t know what to do.”  Um, hello — words like this usually only lead to one logical conclusion, right?  I take a breath and I muster from somewhere deep inside me, advice I’ve never given anyone before.

“Maybe you’ve just been waiting for a peaceful way to end this relationship.  Maybe the lesson here is about your exit; you both have tried time and time again to leave one another, usually amongst a lot of drama, and it’s always resulted in getting back together, yet that then is shortly followed by unhappiness.  You’re just going in this cycle.  Maybe this relationship needs to end in a quiet, peaceful way; maybe what you both need is a soft and gentle passing of you two as a couple, nothing loud, nothing crazy, in order to finally put this relationship to rest.”

Breakups, I believe, are best served as gentle passings.  And while some may be more dramatic than others, I do think it helps to view them, ultimately, as Schuyler notes, as nonevents.  It’s as if what we’re being asked to do is take a turn on a highway we didn’t anticipate, and while it may be jarring and not the route we had initially planned, it’s really a better way to get to that eventual destination.


West Texas Highway

Or More

14 Sep

It’s remarkable when we get exactly what we want.

I can remember about four years ago, I had a short play that I was absolutely in love with.  It was about two older women who had retired to Siberia to escape terrorist attacks, only to be bombarded with oncoming asteroids.  It was funny, touching (if I do say so myself) and eerily relevant given the times in which we live.  I kept telling friends and collaborators that what I wanted more than anything was to get “a New York production of the play and then publish it in a commercial anthology of other short plays.”  I was obsessive about this, relentless about this.  I knew exactly what I wanted for this project and spoke of it often.  And lo and behold, I got it.  About a year or so later, the play received a NYC production with a two-week run in a larger festival and then was published in a short play anthology through Vintage Press.

I asked for it and I got it.  No more, no less.

But I think there is the possibility of more.  I think, had I told everyone I wanted a New York production and it to be published “or something better/something more” I might have actually gotten more.

We think we know what’s best for us.  And if we’re really listening to our intuition, a lot of that is really valid; but I also think we’re not aware to the infinite possibilities that exist for us – that perhaps, what we think we may want, is only a small fraction of what is really possible.

The idea of “more” and abundance is seen in most religions.  Samantha Faye, on her radio show “Psychic Teachers,” often quotes from the Bible where Jesus (and I’m paraphrasing here) says to his disciples: “There is so much more to teach you, but I can’t because you wouldn’t understand,” implying the mind-blowing array of metaphysical knowledge and wisdom he could have shared but knew it wouldn’t be received at that time.  When making New Year’s Resolutions and lists of goals, it’s often said to end your list with the simple phrase: This, or something better.  Often times, too, when I hear people talk about their romantic partners, they will say, “And then so and so came along, who was ten times better than anyone I could have ever imagined.”  If we listen closely, the idea of there being “more” available and dispersed among us is everywhere.

Expectations can be succeeded; possibilities can be immense; abundance can multiply tenfold.

With this recent realization in my mind, I have taken to applying it to my nightly routine.  Before bedtime, I take time to look at my very crowded and ambitious vision board, focusing on one thing in particular that I want to manifest.   I see it clearly before me, through “feelingizations” attain it and try it on, and then hold it in front of me, as if it were gift wrapped and ready to open.  Softly, almost in a whisper, I look at it head-on and proclaim, with hope: “This, or something better; this, too, and more.”


My New Roommate: Pam

3 Aug

There’s a woman with whom I’m lifelong roommates and her name is Pam.

You, too?

Well, Pam takes the cake.  She’s highly paranoid, debilitatingly sensitive, equally pessimistic AND alarmist, not to mention bases 99% of her decisions and actions out of fear.  She snaps at people unnecessarily, is pretty damn judgmental and she struggles, more than anything, with self-love.

I wish she’d move out, but she can’t.  The two of us are going to share a house till the end of time.  Why?  ‘Cause Pam isn’t just someone I’m stuck with for reduced rent; Pam’s my ego.

Pam, meet everyone.  Everyone, meet Pam.

Pam, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Pam.


It wasn’t until recently I valued the necessity of personifying the ego.  In and of itself, the ego can seem like a sexless, nameless, amorphous Freudian thing; but lately, due to some much-needed meditation, it’s become clear to me how much my ego, AKA Pam, influences my life.  I decided to diminish her, to take power away from her, to assign her a gender and facial expressions and even a fictitious grocery store list.  Naming Pam was the first step in the process of creating distance from Pam so I could have a room of my own in the house we’re stuck in till the end of time.

Can we ever fully annihilate our ego?  Probably not.  Its roots, after all, are in survival.  I can’t imagine a world where we don’t have a self-created image of ourselves as human because it’s part of our spiritual experience, sitting in this animal body and perceiving this animal experience.  But I think all too often our decisions, our perceptions and even our relationships are guided from the influence of crazy women like Pam.  I know, for instance, I was astonished to realize that she was tucking me in bed at night and waking me up in the morning; she followed me in the kitchen to eat lunch and stood over my shoulder when I’d brush my teeth.  Let’s face it folks, our egos get up in our grill.


This is Pam getting up in my grill.

This is Pam getting up in my grill.

What I didn’t realize was Pam was dominating all the rooms in the house except one, the room in my core.  When I began my meditation, as each minute passed, I permeated through each of her rooms one by one, moving through the paranoia and pastel curtains, moving past the fear and the highly pungent potpourri.  When I reached my core, when I began breathing and perceiving my life from my center, from my own room with the colors I wanted to be there, I realized it was a room of knowing.  In this room, I knew on a cellular level everything was going to be okay; I knew I was on my life path and I knew everything I have been trying to manifest is on its way to me at just the right time.  In my room, the room she isn’t allowed to go to, I was accessing my authentic self and her madness was nowhere in sight.

The truth of the matter is, I created Pam.  We’re all responsible for the monsters we cultivate to shield ourselves in these animal bodies in this physical world.  And yes, it’s a freaky revelation to accept that we’re always going to have to share a house with them.  But our egos are only as strong as the flamboyant hairpieces we assign to them.  And by giving her a name and  a grocery list, my room is now farther away than it’s ever been from her’s.  In my room I’ve got my favorite wallpaper, but also the answers.  And that’s the room I want to live in from now on.





Worrying Warriors

20 Jun



“She says to stop worrying,” clairvoyant Ellen Tadd tells me a few years ago while channeling my deceased grandmother.  “She is giving me the impression she spent a lot of time worrying while on earth and now looks back, as many of us do when we cross over and is asking, ‘Why did I worry so when you can just trust the natural flow of life?'”

Ironically, this is not the only time a medium has contacted my grandmother and it’s not the only time she’s told me to stop worrying.  Think our loved ones on the other side can’t hear our innermost thoughts and neurotic brain waves?  Think again.  They’re probably up there rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

Lately, I have been plagued with excessive worry.  I am experiencing a lot of changes professionally, personally, even physically and I’m on the cusp of manifesting even more big changes all on those fronts.  But there is a lot of fear surrounding these desires, both about the reality of them manifesting, but also not manifesting soon enough.  Lately, I’ve been waking up at 5:30 AM, eyes wide open, terrified about the dismal, unrealistic possibilities that could lie ahead.  (I think a lot of this has to do with turning 30 at the end of the year, as well.)  Today, I woke up about that time and after tossing and turning with a loud, beating heart I got up at 7 and went for a walk.  After all, when I listen to Passion Pit on my iPod it always seems like whatever I’m going through, they’re going through something way more intense.

As I’m walking around my neighborhood in Brooklyn, I’m surprised to see as many people as I do up and at it, running to the train, starting their early day.  I get into a nice rhythm and flow when I hear loud and clear from one of my guides, “There he goes — the worrying warrior.”

I start to laugh under my breath, hearing their message loud and clear.  At first, I’m amused with the ever-present sense of humor my guides display, but when I think about the phrase more in depth, I realize they are totally right.  While I’m strong, confident and secure in what I want and what I’m fighting for, while others can’t see it on my face, I am a total worry wort about absolutely everything.  I look around at all the early morning people running to Manhattan to start their day, wondering how many of them, too, are worrying warriors, how many of us appear strong and secure, but deep down are in a constant panic.

The Aforementioned Worrying Warrior

The Aforementioned Worrying Warrior

Later that day, I was searching through my pictures in my phone and came across a photo of the whiteboard that hangs next to my bed.  See, when my guides say something particularly profound I like to write it on this whiteboard so that I see it when I go to sleep at night and wake up to it first thing in the morning.  A while ago, my guides delivered the most profound message that related to this very topic and there it was, glaring me in the face on my phone through a picture.  The message on the whiteboard read: “When worry surrounds the want, it impedes the desire.  Want something and then receive it.  Lose the worrying.”

I can remember writing that quote on the board and thinking how genius it was at the time, marveling at the brevity and succinctness of the syntax.  I thought about the reality of worry impeding desire and I immediately thought of past and present scripts of mine.  Some plays or screenplays are easy to write; they flow, you get them on paper, you finish them somewhat quickly and then you move on.  Others take a lot more time, are a lot more terrifying and I’ve experienced being so scared and fraught with fear over a project, that I have actually caused myself to lose passion for it and become apathetic.  My excessive worry impeded my desire and some of those scripts never wound up getting finished.

Worry, when left unchecked, can ruin intent.

Between these messages from my guides that were slowly adding up that day, I began to understand more clearly what my grandmother on the other side was talking about.  Worrying can create a cold distance between our true desires and wants, not only significantly delaying their manifestation, but also subconsciously sabotoging them entirely.  I think there’s a mental blockage many of us have about the simplicity of wanting something and receiving it, too.  We are conditioned to think the Universe doesn’t work that way, it involves a lot more struggle and heartache to get what we want and many of us even were conditioned to think worrying was actually a process and step in manifesting.  Yet in reality, it clouds the desire around it and can leave us desire-less.

So from my whiteboard to yours, I leave you with a picture of the concise advice I woke up to one morning.  It left me with the question: Are we warriors ready for battle in a new way?


Forgiveness Part Deux: Johnny Depp Style

18 May

I think it’s totally possible that if you don’t learn to forgive, you very well could wind up spending your days slitting people’s throats and baking them into meat pies.

An Example of Being Ass Crazy 'Cause You Won't Forgive

An Example of Being Ass Crazy ‘Cause You Won’t Forgive


No, seriously folks, it can happen to you.

Watching for the first time this weekend the film adaptation of SWEENEY TODD featuring Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter, I was struck with not only its gruesome, blood-spurting gore, but also its visual exemplification of what happens when we don’t forgive. Yes, yes, I know my most recent reflection chronicling my own experience with forgiveness probably did you in (which, by the way, you can totally read here).  But I found the display of Sweeney Todd’s nightmare existence walking around Fleet Street refusing to forgive his tragic past worth noting.  And I’m gonna do so in pictures.

Depp, who plays Todd, spends most of his scenes (when he’s not slitting people’s throats) stoic and frozen, wrought with vengeance and fury.  Helena Bonham Carter, who plays Mrs. Lovett, his psychotic counterpart (thank you, Law of Attraction) takes a fervent liking to him and spends most of the film trying to win his love and affection.  But is he able to receive it?

Let’s take Exhibit A.


Exhibit A

Wooing Depp with the charming Sondheimian number “By The Sea,” Carter attempts to paint an idealistic retiree future for the two of them.  She’s looking relaxed and happy at the seaside.  Is he?  Guess he’s not an ocean person.

Exhibit B.  When you have truly forgiven those who have wronged you and tumultuous past events, isn’t walking arm in arm with your partner the bees knees?


Exhibit B

Not for Depp.

Exhibit C.  By not forgiving, you’re closing yourself off to the love of others.  You never really receive a hello; you never fully receive a goodbye; you’re not present for a handshake, a hug or even a kiss.  (And what a bummer since they’re both so cute.)

Exhibit C


Exhibit D.  Worst case scenario.  You choose not forgive, but you’ve met someone amazing and commitment day comes along.  When the aforementioned someone amazing turns to you to seal the deal in front of hundreds, are you going to be able to meet that turn with an open heart?  What happens when she can turn but you can’t?


Exhibit D

(And just think, a paid-for open bar and personally designed napkins all for nothing!)

I guess what I’ve realized is that forgiveness is really not optional; it’s a necessary part of life unless you want a psychotic existence playing out your fury time and time again on those who don’t deserve it.  By choosing not to forgive, it limits you, it restricts you, it only allows room for pint-sized love when you deserve the full gallon size.  More importantly, though, it blocks you from the love that’s out there waiting, emanating from the Mrs. Lovetts in their pie shops wanting to live out their days with you, by the sea.