appreciation

My friend and I were talking yesterday, reminiscing about the state of the world, immediately following 9/11.
Everyone was shell shocked, which disarmed their defenses.
People were kind. They went out of their way to help, they got involved.

Even the French. If you can believe it.

I can say that. I’m married to a Frenchman.
Actually he’s half French, half American.
He has the arrogance and love of food of a Francophile, the other half, Yankee Ingenuity and some Huckleberry Finn “Aww shucks.”

We were given ninety days to use our honeymoon tickets, whose dates fell inside those post September 11th “no air travel” dates.
Wasn’t that nice of them?
It was Air France, so yes, it was EXTREMELY nice of them.

Just under a month later we jetted off to Paris to visit his family.
Italy would have to wait.

“Air travel is safer than it’s ever been” he kept reassuring me, “they’re not going to use planes again, not with everyone watching.”

I suppose he was right, but there weren’t enough drugs in the world to get me through the airport, with the new security and National Guard presence, and then allow me to spend eleven hours in high altitude anxiety, without a puke or five.

Once we landed, I noticed it right away. The energy was palpably different.

There wasn’t any fear in Europe. No recent trauma.
No low grade anxiety that we, in the US, had been marinating in for a month.

I felt lighter immediately.
I felt I could smile and laugh again – except it was Paris and that’s forbidden.

Then an anomaly occurred.
Once a person heard me speak English, they would ask: American? I’d nod, and they would touch my shoulder or take my hand, “So sorry” they would attempt in their best American accent.

Are you kidding me?

In bistros, they would meet my eyes when they heard me speak, and give me a very soulful, extremely sympathetic, little grin. A sort of Mona Lisa smile of compassion. With a tilt of the head.

That’s a HUGE outpouring of emotion for them. I was very, very touched.

The take away for me on that trip and in the weeks and months that followed the tragedy of 911 was this: the world can feel like such a small place. Like a little community, where we all feel each other’s pain.
It was the first time in my life I’d ever noticed that.

The country that holds most Americans in low regard, (I know, BROAD generalization, but…) touched my heart and shared my grief.

Instead of cringing when they heard me speak, which I’ve experienced more times than I can count, my American-ness drew them to me like a magnet, so they could extend their sympathies.

We were all just citizens of the world…for awhile.
I miss that.

Sending Saturday Love,
Xox

Sunrise At Burning Man – Stunning – Enjoy Your Sunday!

Xox

I know for some of you school is back in session, I can tell by the traffic.
When did we vote an end to summer the second week of August?
I didn’t get that ballot.

Are you happy about it because your kids are out from underfoot, or did it fuck up your end of summer trips?

Counting this one, we still have three more August weekends. Let’s not rush summer out the door.

The smell of Suntan lotion, watermelon, peaches, cherries – SUMMER
Seagulls, the Dodger games on the radio, more specifically, Vin Scully’s voice calling the game, tan skin, saltwater, lifeguard towers, colorful beach towels, sea glass, hot sand, the hum of air conditioners, flip flops, cold beer, ice tea, all Mean Summer to me.

What’s your best memory from this summer….so far 😉

Happy Summer Sunday!

Big sandy, saltwater hugs,
Xox

Dear Ones, 
Have you ever loved someone so deeply you thought you might die?

That you would become immersed, completely consumed and drown in the depths of that feeling of connection?

Have you loved so intensely that it made your toes curl, your hair go straight, your skin glow, your fingernails grow, your personality improve, and your temper take a hiatus?

Did you get thinner and more beautiful just because that love permeated every cell of your being? (Also because you were so lovesick you couldn’t eat.)

Did you love so completely that you had the superpowers of infinite selflessness, the need for virtually no sleep, and constant adorable-ness?

Did that love make you a better person?
Could you tell a better story? Remember the end of jokes? Cook the perfect omelet? Remember birthdays? Balance your checkbook? Say please and thank you? Sleep without drooling? Laugh when things were funny, cry when they were sad?

Were you able to be unfiltered, unguarded and uncensored because of that love?

Did the sex render your face more open, your eyes more loving and your skin softer?
It does that you know.

When you loved so intensely – wasn’t the world a better place?
You didn’t care about lines and traffic, they just gave you more time to get lost in thoughts of your beloved.

When that love intoxicated you, wasn’t everyone beautiful?

Didn’t that homeless guy and the lady on the bus stop want to make you weep because suddenly you had new eyes that were able to see their soul?
Love does that.

When that love ended, did you regret you had ever felt it?

Why?

Love, love, 
Xox

Creation!
Think about it.
This world operates on a kind of cosmic auto-pilot where Divine Order prevails.

Buds turn into flowers, acorns to oaks, tadpoles to frogs and an egg and sperm into a human being.
It is automatic, pre-programmed alchemy, mixed with a dash of abracadabra and a pinch of magic.

If you’ve ever planted a garden from seeds you’ve witnessed this.
One day there is dirt. Then maybe some dirt and fertilizer. Later, you throw down some seeds, quite randomly actually, trying your best to duplicate Mother Nature; add some water and sunshine and voila! In a few days, from what was previously barren earth, little green sprouts start to peek their way into existence.

You, with a lot of help from the Universe, have created SOMETHING from NOTHING.

That never ceases to amaze me when I slow down long enough to actually let it sink in.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

Ideas become real, caught in third dimension, for eyes to behold, scholars to ponder, haters to hate.
We cannot help it, residing in this world of creation.
It is everywhere.
Bee hives and boobies, birds nests, coral reefs, ant hills.
Nature is constantly showing off. Her cycles of birth, life and death, showing us the way.
It’s that ashes to ashes thing she does so well.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

The earliest men and women stared at the blank walls of their caves and after dinner and dishes, they drew with ash from their fire what they saw around them.
It’s in our genes.

A blank canvas calls the painter to it, like the marble summons the sculptor.
Aren’t we all glad the marble didn’t summon the painter, the canvas the cook?
Divine Order is savvy that way. An acorn doesn’t become a rosebush any more than we hatch from eggs, it’s all been worked out and it’s perfect.

SOMETHING from NOTHING

It’s the same with writing.
I start with a blank screen. Some days it taunts me with its blankness, but then the Muse starts to talk, and when she talks I listen – and I write.
Soon, that blank screen is filled with five hundred words. In the old days I would have been engulfed in a sea of crumpled rejects, these days if something doesn’t jell it’s as easily forgotten as delete, delete, delete.
I know I’m no different from every other writer when I confess to being as surprised as anyone, that the ideas actually make it to the page.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

Cooking.
Random ingredients, spices, oil, water, et al, gathered into an empty pot, simmering, beckoning for recognition. An hour ago this dish ceased to exist. I’ve said it before – add the final ingredient, LOVE.
It’s freaking alchemy. I’m telling you.

If you make jewelry, it all starts with an idea. Then add gold, stones and artistry.

If you build a house – idea. Then add dirt lot, lumber, elbow grease.

If you write a song, it’s an idea that attaches itself to music. How about THAT.

Every Corporation, company, great cause, charity, invention, started as an invisible idea.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

As I see it, it goes:
idea, intent, execution…..stand back……repeat.

We all do this in so many aspects of our day to day life, I think it’s important to recognize the alchemy and be appreciative of the fact that Divine Order exists.

SOMETHING from NOTHING.

What do you think? What have you created today?
Do you take the time to notice Divine Order in nature?
I’d love it if you told me what you create from nothing – Share it with us!

If you’d rather listen than read, I get it, here you go:

https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/something-from-nothing

Big love,
Xox

I remember riding on the motorcycle last summer along the continental divide, admiring the groves of beautiful Aspen trees that filled the landscape for mile after mile, as far as the eye could see. At that point in September, their leaves were just turning the color of butter.

They are one of my favorite trees.
I have often marveled at their physical beauty, their mottled white bark and the shimmer of their leaves. But when one of my teachers back in the day, told me their amazing story, and how it related to humanity – well, I developed an entirely different appreciation.

Somehow the roads conspired with the music in my ears (or I’d just gotten better at choosing the tracks) as we would wind in and out of the gently sweeping curves, the edges lined with groves of graceful Aspens.

I like big, full orchestra, large, sweeping instrumental pieces when we zig zag through forests.

It provides a perfect soundtrack.
You all have soundtracks that run through your lives – right?

The day I’m thinking of in particular, I was listening to Peter Gabriel’s New Blood Special Edition, which is his genius SO album mixed with full, and I mean a FULL orchestra.
Many of the instrumental tracks are over seven minutes long and IN YOUR EYES, playing at full volume in my headphones all throughout the mountains of Utah, Wyoming and Colorado, just made me weep.
Perfect temperature, scenery, music, road and company often do that to me.
It really is magic.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aq9ZHVAOZDw

Here’s what’s so unusual and really quite mystical about the Aspens.
They are believed to originate from the root system of Pando, which at an estimated 80,000 years old, is thought to be among the oldest living organisms on the planet.

Aspens are very rarely solitary trees, their roots can lie dormant under the surface for years, for instance after a forest fire, or severe climate change, where they will wait for the optimum conditions for an entire grove, not just a few to flourish.

A tree is actually an above-ground stem that has emerged from a single underground root structure.

In other words, they are a collective, a community, all connected to each other with a strength and durability that remains unseen.

Don’t you love that?

My teacher relayed that story to me (which of course I immediately looked up, because it sounded like a bullshit fairytale) to make the point about the origins of our human souls.
He hated that description: human soul. It would get him all fired up, red in the face.

“The soul is immortal, being human for a brief moment of time,” he’d huff.

“It is ancient, and every soul is connected, like the root system of Pando, Pando representing God or Source or whatever you want to call it. We, humanity, are the like stems or Aspen trees, we think once we’re above ground that we are autonomous, (the trees would NEVER be that stupid) when quite the opposite is true.” He was on a roll now.

He continued, “We get all of our wisdom, strength, and beauty from our unseen connection to each other and God. When one part of the group of Aspens is suffering, it affects the whole, once a certain percentage dies, the whole grove is lost. When it thrives, the same is true.”

He was making the second point about a world community, and about the fact that we should care what goes on not only next door to us, but down the street, in the next county, state and every country of the world. We tend to not pay particular attention to wars and suffering in faraway lands, but if you subscribe to the Aspen analogy, any human suffering affects the whole.

That particular teacher was a citizen of the world and he had a soapbox and wasn’t afraid to use it.

As I rode through the groves of Aspens, beholding all the beauty in front of me for those three weeks at the end of last summer,  I remembered his lecture and I could feel how sacred this planet truly is.

If you EVER doubt that, walk or ride, through nature.
No pulpit necessary.
That my loves is Church.

Tell me, do you feel the Universal connection in nature? How can we practice more connection in our day-to-day lives? Any thoughts? I LOVE your feedback!

Sending Aspen Connected Love,
Xox

* I wish I’d written this. Let it sink in.
Happy Saturday,
Love, love,

Xox

Dear America,

Home of these United States.

Happy Birthday, Girl.

I am eternally grateful, even after traveling the world, make that especially after traveling the world, to have won the cosmic lottery, by having had the good fortune to be born in your golden state.

I have traveled this country, sea to shining sea, mostly on the back of a motorcycle, and I’m here to testify that it really does have purple mountain’s majesty and amber waves of grain.

It is gorgeous.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen the trash, graffiti and poverty through these rose-colored glasses, but by and large, this country is a heart swelling great source of pride for me.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

That last pursuit, the pursuit of happiness?
We are blessed that Thomas Jefferson had the wisdom and foresight to write that into The Declaration of Independence.
No other country in the world gives its citizens the RIGHT to happiness.
Who knows what that means, what happiness looks like?
To them it meant emancipation from British Rule.
Happiness means something different to everyone, but we are entitled to it thanks to that sacred declaration, and by God, we go for it.

The American people I’ve met all want the same things from life: Love and a good cup of coffee.

Americans are hard workers. Some of the hardest in the world – check the stats.

We love our pets
Damn, we love our kids.
We are an irrepressible bunch. We are gregarious, out going and LOUD.

We are innovative, curious, quick minded and clever.
We willingly give directions to people who look lost.
We don’t take NO for an answer.

We are MacGyvers, most of us are industrious enough to fix pretty much anything with gum, a paper clip and dental floss. It’s in the water.

The Americans I’ve met, will help a stranger in a heartbeat. They are generous and kind.

The United States is only as great as the sum of its parts; in reality it is only a landmass with man-made borders.

It is the people who make it great and make me grateful to have been born here. 

(Italy was my first choice, I’m sure, but you can’t get an apartment or pay a bill without greasing someone’s palm AND it has no infrastructure.)

Travel outside the states and you’ll share my appreciation for :

Clean water
Indoor plumbing
Hot running water,
A toilet with Real toilet paper
Things that work as expected
Ice cubes
Cold anything really
Decent French fries
King size beds (not two beds pushed together)
Street signs that actually give you correct information.

7 eleven (the ability to buy tampons or Motrin or band aids at 2AM)

Personal space (other countries don’t have the same personal boundaries we do.)
We were standing in some line in Europe, (where they are big on lining up for things to which Americans would say “No fucking way”) when my husband looked over at me with the saddest mix of incredulity and humiliation. The old man behind him was standing so close that if he even so much as puckered his lips, he would have kissed the back of my husband’s neck.
It freaked him out and he’s French…. So, personal boundaries.

A relatively dependable police force and fire department.
A somewhat workable bureaucracy. (Just try to get your VAT tax back)
Real cabs that don’t have hoodlums for drivers
Soap
Pillows that are thicker than 1 inch.
CUSTOMER SERVICE.

I’m serious, these are things we take for granted that some other countries just haven’t figured out yet.

Happy Birthday America. I do love you. You don’t look a day over two hundred.

My birthday wish for you this day is a big fat cake with tons of candles, heaps of vanilla ice cream, and the most badass fireworks display ever, complete with marching bands and a fly over by the Blue Angels.

Too much? Nah, we’re Americans.

*Addendum: there are some things that other countries do that kick our ass.
My husband was riding in the middle of the Namibian desert last year and he had cell phone service – like four bars – four bars is unheard of in LA.
The electricity was dicey, but he was able to FaceTime me every night.
So, yeah, they’re killing it with cell phone service.

Want to wish her a Happy Birthday? Put it in comments below and I’ll forward them to her.

Much love,
Xox

“I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back
I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all

I’m a cowboy on a steel horse I ride
I’m wanted dead or alive
I’m a cowboy, I got the night on my side
I’m wanted dead or alive

And I ride, dead or alive
I still drive, dead or alive

Dead or alive

Dead or alive”

(From the song Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi /Songwriters Jon Bon Jovi, Richard Sambora. Published by Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC)

Call me crazy, but it seldom, if ever, occurs to me that I could die on the back of our motorcycle.

Jon Bon Jovi wailed into my ears while the sexy, steel string guitar licks washed over me as I hunkered down into my husband’s back, attempting to escape the fire hose strength deluge that had just broken loose from the sky.

That song is always in heavy rotation on the endless loop of music that occupies my mind on these long rides. It’s our anthem. A clarion call from the open road.

I usually murder it, loudly sharing the harmonies with Richie Sambora. “Waaaahhhh teddddd” …but not that day.

The rain came at us in sheets, slicing gray from every direction.
Somehow, it was finding its way UNDER my helmet, making it nearly impossible for me to see a thing. Racing down the two-lane highway in northern Montana at 60 miles an hour wasn’t helping.

The storm had left us no choice.
We were half way through another three hundred mile day of a 4500-mile loop.

LA to Glacier Park and back.

That day we were trying to make it through the Blackfeet Indian Reservation to St Mary’s at the base of Glacier Park. About as far north you can go and still remain inside the US.

The rain had stayed away… so far, which is why we take our longer rides in September; the weather tends to be reliable. Little did we know that this was an early start to one of the wettest, snowiest, coldest winters on record. The “Polar Vortex” winter of 2013.

I heard the weather warnings on my way back to the bathroom at the rickety little joint where we had stopped for lunch. They crackled from the ancient portable radio that wore a coat hanger as a hat and was sitting on a chair in the bar. That sinister weather alert tone followed by the robotic voice that droned on and on, full of dire predictions.

Our guys got out the maps and basically informed us that we had no choice but we still took a vote—we’re democratic that way.

The vote said GO but go NOW!

The storm had used the morning to turn into a motherfucker.
Barreling across the plains, the ominous, dark, ground level clouds and distant thunder felt like a herd of stampeding black horses rolling in behind us, giving chase.

“It’s all the same, only the names have changed…”

In my imagination, as we rode the eight to twelve hours each day, WE were part of that wild herd.

A couple straddling the back of a wild stallion.

Cherokee, Apache, Navaho, Sioux, it didn’t matter. We were feral; mad with love and wanderlust, wildly riding the Great Plains bareback, looking for the next great adventure. Our deep brown skin glistening in the sun, our long black hair whipping in the hot Montana wind. That was the spirit of who we were then….and who we are now.

“I’m a cowboy on a steel horse I ride.”

The four of us were determined to outrun it. We were convinced we could.

I’m tellin’ ya, we’re badass.

Have I mentioned yet that I’m riding on the back of my husbands BMW 1200GS Adventurer, and we are accompanied by our trusty fellow riding couple, JT and Ginger? After meeting them in Spain in 2005, we have ridden the world with them.

I’ve been writing this blog since November 2012. Almost two years.
Up until this past September, it was NOT in my own voice.
I was too timid to come out of the shadows. A spiritual coward (my own label).
It was your run of the mill, generic, spiritual wisdom.
No humor. No personal stories and definitely NO F-bombs.

I know VERY few of you were readers back then. I know that because I had 23 followers, all friends, and family who were kind enough to hit follow after I sent them the I have a blog email.

Back to Montana and that freaking storm.

I wrote what happened next in Total Loss of Control (it’s in the archives).
We narrowly escaped being killed by a passing truck.

“Dead or alive”

But this post isn’t about that, it’s about what happened afterward.

Something did die that day. The part of me that wanted to remain in hiding.

When I checked in with the Muse that night to write the blog, I suggested like an idiot, that she might want to write about the harrowing experience of earlier that day.
You know, find the message in the mess. Here’s how the conversation went:

Me: Hey, you should really write about me almost dying today, that was pretty intense.

Muse: You write about it.

Me: Well, I don’t really write this stuff in my own voice. I just kind of download the wisdom and give it my best shot…but I think there could be some really good shit in that story.

Muse: It didn’t happen to me. I happened to YOU. YOU write about it.
How you felt, your thought process...

Me: Uh…yeah, here’s the thing..I don’t write.

Muse: Don’t interrupt me.

Me: Sorry.

And that’s when I started writing in my own voice, with my own personal stories and my “take” on things.
I even apologized in the first few posts.
“Oh hi, sorry, it’s just me here again”

Lame.
Timid.
Living small.
As far from courageous as you can get.
Shirking all responsibility.
Impersonal.
Total lack of vulnerability.

“I play for keeps, ‘cause I might not make it back
I been everywhere, and I’m standing tall
I’ve seen a million faces an I’ve rocked them all”

I can’t see your faces….but I know you’re there. I can feel you.
There’s so many of you now, and if I look at the analytics, you all started to read from September to today. When I started to write.

Changed my life.

Thank you. You keep me pure and true and courageous.

Much love and appreciation,
Xox

Several of you have been lamenting lately about the fact that you’re having trouble finding gratitude these days. You’ve looked over every rainbow and things still look like shit.

Does that happen to me? Um…..hell yah.

There are days when saying “I got up on the wrong side of the bed” is a colossal understatement. They can happen in succession, which then becomes known as “The Week From Hell” to myself and anyone who breaths my air.

I am to be avoided at all costs.

On those days, I can ONLY tell the cold, hard truth, and if “you can’t handle the truth,” as Jack Nicholson so famously snelled (which is a sneer and a yell) to Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, don’t call me or come over. Don’t ask me if your butt looks big in those jeans, if your bangs are too short or if I like your new boyfriend.

Really. I won’t be kind.

On those days the “truth” as I see it is tragically skewed.

All my eyes can register are the flaws and fuck ups in life.
Not the big heavy, real stuff. Those things are glaringly evident.
I’m talking about finding fault with the little shit, and the way those things can pile up and send you over the edge.

We’ve ALL had those days.

A beautiful table, but I can only see the tiny scratch.
My husband comes out in a new shirt he loves; I zero in on a loose thread and a possible stain.
My hair is too soft. (What?)
Why isn’t it hotter/colder?
Why are they always out of my favorite _________?
The garden looks okay, but why aren’t there more roses? There are usually more roses this time of year.
And on and on and on.

Yep, I do that.

Those are the days when I have to literally force myself to practice gratitude.

I do practice gratitude on a pretty regular basis. I teach it after all. I send a daily gratitude text to friends and I write a list, because I know I have a ton to be grateful for.

But…..some days. I have appreciation for nuthin‘.

So a month or so ago, I remembered an old exercise that I used to use, and I thought I’d start again, so that the next time I felt I was grappling with gratitude, I could stop and be reminded. Sometimes I just need a physical anchor to my practice, otherwise it gets too airy fairy and I won’t do it.

It’s simple and easy, and it works.

Here goes:
Get a stone or rock. Something you’ve collected or something from around your environment. It can even be a crystal or your Maya heart stone (wink).
The point is, it has to feel good in your hand.

Kept it next to your bed, and before you go to sleep, think back to the BEST thing that happened to you that day. Hold the stone while you replay how good that experience felt.
Wallow in it.

Then say Thank You to this thing for making your day.
Really say it all the way from your big toe.
Three times usually does it for me.

If things are going well in your life, you’ll know exactly which thing to dwell on. There may even be a few. (Lucky you).
But when you have to rack your brain……..Awww man, I feel ya, it sucks, but this is an important exercise to give you some impetus toward the turn around.

I know it’s hard when you’re not in a good place, so it can be stuff like:
The sweet relief of getting off work.
You got your period.
Realizing you had fifteen more minutes to sleep.
The cleaners was still open when you got there.
Your boss is on vacation.
There was an extra roll of toilet paper in the cabinet.
They got your lunch order right.
Your car started.
Your coffee was hot and how you like it. (Along with that, the barista actually wrote YOUR NAME not some bastardization of it on the cup.) I’ve been Hammit, Jammit, Jnae? , Jane T. , Jana, the list goes on. Some funny, some not so much.

You get the gist.

Feel the gratitude for the mundane things that DO go right.
Get your bearings.
Give up your quest for the flaws.
Search for the BEST thing.
Anchor how good that feels onto that stone.

The energy of gratitude feeds on itself. It will give you more and more things to be thankful for. It’s really crazy how magical it is.

But some days you’ll need the stone staring at you on the nightstand to remind you, and you’ll have a tinge of gratitude for me ( wink, wink).

Then go to sleep knowing you’ll have a better tomorrow.

Sending love,
Xox