motivational

“Suddenly at the next corner, came the craziest thing. About thirty women, all in golden crowns, were crossing Market Street. No, I wasn’t hallucinating, maybe they were heading to some trippy bridesmaid’s party. And there I was, utterly surrounded, crying and laughing in the midst of it all, as they passed by.”
~Tosha Silver — “On Crowns and Mars/Venus”

Yesterday morning Tosha Silver (whom I love), posted this and it prompted one of those out-of-body synchronistic moments; you know the ones where you shiver with goosebumps and break into a cold sweat all at the same time.

Or is that menopause? Nope. Sorry menopause you have never given me goosebumps. Not once, not EVER.

Besides, the serendipity lies in the fact that I had two really heartfelt and deeply intimate conversations with two completely different friends, at two separate times, in the past three days.

About friendship and CROWNS and feeling special.

“I’ve known I was special my whole life” we each confessed in a hushed whisper, as if admitting to a secret affair with Benedict Cumberbatch, or a third nipple.

One of my friends stands on the precipice of great success. Like change your life, slap your mama, kind of success. She confided that the other night she dreamt she was wearing a gold crown, or perhaps it was even (gasp) a halo…and the brightness of it made her so uncomfortable that she pulled up the hoodie she was so conveniently wearing—and covered it up.

Why? Why isn’t that a good thing? To feel special I mean.

Maybe the more important question we have to ask is this: Who killed this in us and why?

What is it with crowns anyway?
I suppose we’ve all agreed that they’re just a physical validation of how special someone is.
Gold and preferably jewel encrusted would suit me just fine, thank you very much.

Then we all laugh, hahaha, that’s so funny—wait, you know you’re not special—right? And just like the soup nazi in Seinfeld, someone shows up and yanks the crown right off of your head, bobby pins and all.

“NO crown for you!” He announces and the crowd applauds,”Who do you think you are? Show some humility!” they all chant.

Here’s the thing: I don’t think the three of us can stay covered very much longer. We seem to have all reached a place in our lives where we are being asked to remove the hoodie and shine!

To spit polish the crown and wear it.
Everyday.
Even with yoga pants. Especially with yoga pants!

We’re called to OWN OUR HALO.

And I know in my kishkis we are not alone.
I’ve seen you in your hoodies, walkin’ around thinkin’ I can’t see the glow underneath. But I can.

We’ll lose friends over it, sure. Family too. Maybe even mates. But that’s old news, it’s already happening.

And just like Tosha asks in the rest of her essay, are you ready to “Own your OWN worthiness, own your own divinity, crown YOURSELF. No one else can do it, no partner, no friend, no teacher. NO one.” Well…are you?

I love that there are a group of us women (& men), at this time in history, that are coming into our own. I love that we are pulling down our hoodies, and shining brightly for all to behold.

You are special too—make no mistake about that! So…are you ready to crown yourselves?

Much love and carry on,
xox

http://toshasilver.com

I saw it when I opened the drawer to get my gardening gloves yesterday.

I was cleaning up after the wind. He has made quite a mess in both my front and back yards the last few days. A fine layer of dirt covering every surface. Leaves, twigs, feathers and discarded cigarette butts lay strewn around and piled up in corners.

We don’t smoke.

My Muse does, so I suppose they’re hers. I’ll have to look for the telltale red lipstick.

The wind always does this the day AFTER the gardener comes. NEVER the day before. He has a twisted sense of humor, he thinks it’s ironic.

It always starts the same way. I pick up a stray piece of trash that has found its way onto the porch. I’m usually in my morning get-up of a combination of pajamas, sweats and flip-flops. Next thing I know, it’s four hours later and I’ve cleaned the gutters and power washed the place. I loose complete track of time and ruin my manicure. This time, about an hour and a half in, it occurred to me to get my gloves.

Sometimes I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

So…..I open the drawer of a little table outside.
It sits under the dining room windows and contains a trowel, clippers, gloves and other assorted yard taming junk.

And there it was……a perfect bird’s nest. Tucked inside this shallow drawer, next to a box of stick matches.(see photo).

My heart skipped a beat as I just about lost my mind with delight.

The thing is, I collect birds nests. I have a couple of hummingbird and five or six regular ones of various sizes.

I also believe they’re good luck. It’s a positive sign.
Protection…safety…being looked after.
Shit. Who doesn’t want that?

My husband just shakes his head.
Hey honey — Don’t be a buzz kill.

So many things crossed my mind as I gently removed it from its perfect hiding place.
The mama did a magnificent job.

It was big and warm and cozy. It’s a masterpiece, that nest-in-a-drawer. Truly one of Mother Nature’s miracles.

I remember seeing her, this tiny mama bird, outside the window, gathering bits of home building materials while singing her lovely melody. I’ve decided she’s my hero.

I sit every day writing, just on the other side of her temporary home. I could hear the babies. A couple of weeks ago, they were so vocal I went out and looked up in the trees for a nest. It never occurred to me to look in the drawer.

Note to self: I’ve GOT to develop an imagination. That bird has really raised the bar around here.

Two days ago I came across the body of a little tiny baby bird in another part of the yard. It was right under a tree and I could see the remnants of its nest high above my head. That baby had not fallen out. It was pushed. Probably by a crow.

The crows can be jerks. They dive bomb my dogs. I’ve seen them bully the smaller birds.

That made the nest-in-a-drawer even that much more ingeniously resourceful.
“Not on my watch, asshole” was the message it sent.

Don’t you love nature?
Don’t you love tenacious mothering?
Don’t you love gifts, beautiful little surprises?
I do.

This was a great reminder to appreciate the little things in life. If we are present and look closely, they are all around. These tiny wonders.

And….one more reason to love Saturdays.

Xox

Post Script: I’m reprising this post from last May because I opened the drawer this past Saturday to find she had built the second nest-in-a-drawer in as many years.(See below) I’m dying to meet her and take her for coffee. Honest to God, she’s my hero.
Carry on,
xox

Another giant masterpiece found this week. I am rich in bird’s nests.
(yelp)

Oh don’t you get all high and mighty on me.

Like you’ve never thought this…or something worse!

Listen, I got an email from a reader, Lisa, who commented on my swearing (she liked the fact that I talked, and these are her words: like a real person), and asked me as someone with a spiritual blog, if I ever lost my temper with people and flipped them off or cursed at them.

Uh…yeah.

Lisa, first of all I think its darling that you aren’t sure about that. Have you met me?
I’m human, with all the faults, flaws and bird-flipping that guarantees.
Lisa, still in doubt, check this out:
http://www.theobserversvoice.com/2014/12/no-amount-of-shitty-is-worth-sacrificing-a-whole-day/

As this blog  has progressed over the years, I starting asking myself: Self, why are you writing this?  And the answer was simple. Because most of the spiritual wisdom that had been around for years has been pretty damn dry and the people who write it sound like living saints; tempers in check, always making the right choices, with no mis-steps or mistakes to speak of.

Well, I don’t know about you all, but that’s not me.

When I talk I use the word fuck –– often. So when I write, it sneaks in. Also shit and assbite and all the other splendid, wildly descriptive words that spellcheck attempts to change to something more docile.

I’m not making excuses, I can’t stand excuses, but if I were –– It’s probably from working around men all my life, I’ve written about living my thirties as a man, and one of side effects is a mouth like a sailor.
http://www.theobserversvoice.com/2014/06/the-gender-of-champions/

It is never my intent to offend anyone, but I write what I know and I’ve gotta be who I am.
I figure if someone logs on and is horrified by my language, or the content or even a graphic about a chair in the face –– they’re not my people and they’ll just move along.

The bottom line is this you guys: You can have a forty-year (gulp –– fuck I’m old) meditation practice, read every spiritual book you can get your hands on, Om and chant and stand on your head, and still have a bad day inside this glorious human life we all have the privilege of living.

And as for the F-bombs? Well, I think I’m okay –– unless God has one of those cursing jars that require you to contribute a dollar for every swear word. If that’s the case –– I’m screwed.

I hope that answers your question Lisa, and thanks for reading!

Carry on you salty dogs,
xox

I’ve just got to say a few words about this. A bit of a rant. You may disagree, you may even get mad. I’ll chance it. At least hear me out.

I have several friends in corporate America.
And while I have to admit that it pays well and the rewards for a job well done, like a bonus or an accommodation (very similar to a star by your name on the chart in grade school – I mean, who doesn’t want THAT?) keep them invested, it’s been my observation that as you tow the company line, it will suck your soul.

And you are REQUIRED to. That line MUST be towed.

What I’ve seen happen, and it may not be in the first five or even ten years, but eventually, after a while, these people lose site of their own voice, their authenticity, their inspiration, their truth, their juju – and then their soul.

They operate in fear of being found out for the joyful, fun-loving, sometimes inappropriate, crazy creative beings that they are.

THAT is often frowned upon and certainly NOT rewarded.

And the tape that plays in the background like cheap elevator music is this: There is nothing special about you. You are expendable. There are thirty people in line behind you that are more qualified for your job. Don’t flinch, don’t be sick, don’t say “no”, don’t look away, keep your eye on the prize – or you’re gone.

Well, that is so empowering, such a morale booster! You must feel so appreciated – treasured even.

Shit – I can hear one friend’s voice now (you know who you are) “Your job is not here to make you feel appreciated and treasured. You have kids for that.”

Just to be fair it’s not every big corporation, but sadly, it’s most.

One of my friends works for a company that was recently purchased by one of those large investment corporations, you know the ones. Every year they have to show a larger and larger profit to keep the hungry share holders at bay. You and your life are of no concern to them.
They don’t care if your kid is sick, your mother is dying, your car was stolen, or you found a lump on your breast. “Get your ass on that plane to Atlanta, you have a big deal to close.”

It’s all about the bottom line – baby.

“We all have to wear navy blue now” it was the latest edict handed down from Headquarters. “Do you know how hard it is to find pants, skirts and jackets that are all the same shade of navy?”
I’m sure the question was rhetorical given the fact that I haven’t matched anything since Geranimals, and MY uniform of late is LuLu Lemon, but I could sympathize.

“Reasonable navy suits are next to impossible! Black would have been so much easier – everybody’s got tons of black. Ugh, I’m getting the feeling this is just the start, I think a uniform is where they’re headed.”

The sad part to me, besides my friend having to go out and purchase a new wardrobe on her own dime, is the fact that as far as I can see, her clothes had become the last way for this young, stylish, corporate woman to assert her individuality – now that ship has sailed.

She was just telling me about a form the company wants them to fill out. They’re looking for suggestions on how to improve things and where she sees her future going.

It’s a trap!! Don’t answer it! Run!

I’m kidding, yet in my imagination, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if they used those answers as grounds for termination somewhere down the line. They ask for initiative and then quell it at every turn.
I’ve seen it happen over and over.

You’re out of line, too much free thinking. Bye bye.

I wish corporations rewarded individuality.
I wish they made people feel appreciated along with compensated.
I wish they invested in their people more.
I wish it wasn’t all about the money.
Money over feelings.
Money over effort.
Money over time served.
Money over people.

But I wish I was six feet tall, dark and exotic looking.
Next life I guess.

Okay…let me have it! If you disagree, tell me in the comments.

Xox

* Hi Loves,
Recently I tried to rush someone’s healing process.
Right? Shame on Me! I’ve been there, I know better!
So I needed to re-read this to remind – myself.
Maybe you need it too.

Healing takes time! Time to find the silver lining, to look on the bright side, to discover the purpose, to remember that this too shall pass.
Sorry.
Carry on-

Barn’s burned down,
now I can see the moon.
~Masahide~

Oh, so I get it!

Don’t worry about the loss of that beautiful, useful, building you’re still paying for, now you have a view…of the moon…on the nights when you’re outside sobbing over your lousy luck and the shit the insurance company’s putting you through.

Only then can you take a second to raise your snot covered face to the sky,
“Oh never-mind, why am I so devastated? – that is so beautiful…now that the barn’s gone…I can see the moon”.

NOT!!

I wish to God Almighty I could always be that enlightened in the face of crisis and chaos!

Car got totaled,
now I can get some exercise…
How practical.

Or how about,

Husband left me,
now I can catch up on my reading…
Ommmmm…perfectly Zen.

Don’t get me wrong.
I love the message behind these spiritual sayings,
and they really do give me pause to do a reality check, but honestly! Who lives like that?
Maybe me on a good day.
But it would have to be my best day ever.

I take it as a suggestion of an ending place, a goal, a place to aspire to.
Because, if I live under the impression that that’s where I should be immediately, it makes me want to scream and cry, and punch somebody in the face.
It may take me awhile to get there, shit, it could take years!

If the proverbial barn burns down, I’m gonna freak out.
I’m gonna get mad.
And sad.
And scared.
Maybe all at the same time.
Because in that moment, that’s appropriate.

I’m going to use every profanity known to man,
in every language I can think of, and some that haven’t been invented yet.
I’m going to yell them loudly – and often.
As verbs and nouns and adjectives.
They will start and end every sentence I speak.

Maybe NOT appropriate, but amazingly cathartic.

Then, only after the dust has settled, and I’ve had a good cry and a glass of wine and regained my composure…
THEN and only then…will I appreciate the fuckin’ view.

Xox

I’ve never really defined the soul on these pages.

Not to be confused with God. Or is it?…

The soul is God’s wingman (duh, everybody know that) but like God, Soul can be an emotionally charged word, and I get scared that you’ll get all “no you didn’t” on me, and slam the door on our friendship.

Soooo…I really like this interpretation by Iyanla Vanzant.
I find it insightful and clever.

“The soul I believe is the fingerprint of God that becomes a physical body.”

I know what I believe, (I’ll tell you later) but just for shits and giggles, I wanted to see what was out there in the popular landscape.

So here goes:
The top, number one definition in the Urban Dictionary is:

SOUL
Currency to trade with the devil.

WTF? Seriously? Yup.
“I just made a deal with the devil – I sold my soul for a brand new television.”

Let’s all take a moment…Hmmmmmm…Okay.

The second one is more comprehensive, I guess. Well except for number 9, number 9 is a cop-out.

SOUL
The existence of the soul is heavily debated in the first place, and its definition varies greatly from party to party, though everyone believes that everyone else’s definitions are wrong. It is generally agreed to be something possessed by every person, and that’s about all. Therefore, the soul may or may not be any of the following:
1. The human mind, that is, that thinking thing lodged behind your eyes;
2. The essence of humanity;
3. The essence of that which makes a person good and decent;
4. The quality of sentience or human intelligence;
5. All of someone’s personality or what makes them unique;
6. Some mystical version of a person that lives on after the body dies;
7. A spiritual concept, created by God (or the gods if you prefer) or a part of him;
8. The quality of being alive;
9. Anything else you can think of along these lines.

Note that it is also up for debate whether or not non-human animals, or for that matter, plants, have souls; feel free to adjust these answers accordingly.

Strangely, no one seems to suggest that animals have souls and humans lack them.

This third one is the gospel truth. Just kidding, but I love it.

SOUL
The Godson of James Brown and Princess of Aretha Franklin. James Brown, the Godfather of Soul / Aretha Franklin, Queen of Soul.

Number four is pretty deep. It appeals to all the angst-ridden artists, writers and philosophers among us – and contemplators of belly button lint.

SOUL
The only part of you that really matters. You can give it to anyone you want, but its hard to ever get back.

“Until you know that life is interesting – and find it so – you haven’t found your soul.”~ Geoffrey Fisher

“How strange a thing this is! The Priest telleth me that the Soul is worth all the gold in the world, and the merchants say that it is not worth a clipped piece of silver.” ~ Oscar Wilde

“A sensible man will remember that the eyes may be confused in two ways – by a change from light to darkness or from darkness to light; and he will recognize that the same thing happens to the soul.” ~ Plato

Finally, the one I believe, number five.

SOUL
The energy of life existing in all beings. Exists both inside and outside of the beings physical shell as both a fuel for the physical realm and a connection to the universal life force.
The force of mind/body/spirit that has always existed and will always exist.

“While life slipped from my body with each breath, my soul emerged, strong and vital and ready for the next part of the journey.”

But wait! There are more! I especially like number thirty-two.

SOUL
A place that exists for the single purpose of hosting a bird house for the blue canary in the outlet by the light switch to live in. Also, the part of your body that lives on after you die.

“Make a little bird house in your soul…”

I was wondering what that bird house for the blue canary in the outlet by the lights switch was!
(Palm slap to the forehead).

But seriously, the soul can be defined these days in whichever way makes you feel the best, which has become abundantly obvious.
Thank you Urban Dictionary. But I like that. I like that there’s no set-in-stone, my-way-or-the-highway definition.

So, are we still friends?

“A love so big it cannot be contained.” came to me while I was writing this. I probably read that somewhere and can’t remember who said it. But I kinda love that too.

Oh wait; maybe that’s a Soul Mate.
Jeez. Carry on.

You want to share your definition of Soul? Now that you’ve seen all these choices, which one resonates with you?

My soul loves your soul,
Xox

PROCRASTINATE

synonyms: delay, put off doing something, postpone action, defer action, be dilatory, use delaying tactics, stall, temporize, drag one’s feet/heels, take one’s time, play for time, play a waiting game
“fear of failure often causes people to procrastinate”

For the last several years, on the date of the Winter Solstice, Darling Diana holds a meditation. It is my favorite one.

Held on the evening of the longest night of the year, it manages to be dark, moody, sacred, and festive all at the same time.
If you can imagine that.

There is always a huge turnout, hugging of old friends, crystals glistening in the candlelight, and this year a Christmas tree.

One of the traditions (and I love a good tradition) is to intuit a word during the meditation and then write it down.
This will be your defining word for the year.
No pressure.

She cautioned us not to overthink it. “Just empty your mind and let the word come to you“, she advised. “It may not even make any sense, just stay with it.”
And off we went; into that dark mid winter’s night meditation deep.

Never one to be able to just follow a simple assignment, I got TWO words that kept repeating. No matter how many times I shouted “NO!” at them.
“Hey, follow the rules you guys, besides, those words suck.” Wow, even my meditation voice is snarky.

I would write them on imaginary paper in my head and then wad it up and throw it away. Still there.
I would scratch them out with a big red circle/slash. No use, they kept coming.
Not only were there two words, one of them scared the shit out of me. It literally made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It gave me a headache.

My words: Aligned Conception. WTF?!

Conception is a loaded word for me, since I’m someone that is of the childless persuasion; and at my age, and in my circumstances, it would be a colossal fuck-up – and a medical miracle.
The act of conceiving a child is something that I have actively avoided my whole life, sooooo I’d have a lot of fast talking and explaining to do – to my body – to my husband – to our doctors – and our future.

For about three minutes, in the grips of a deep panic, I fought that word tooth and nail. I did, I bit it and clawed at it.
It was an epic battle between ME and me.

Then I just gave in. Fine. Fuck you, Conception. (pun intended). You win.

But what I’d been overlooking in my immediate and strenuous, jumping to conclusions, was the word aligned that had preceded it every time.
Aligned conception – idiot.

Aligned Conception. What a concept. Now I love my word(s)!

Aligned, meaning to line things up. BEFORE you make a move.
I tend to be impetuous, so daily, no, make that hourly, I’m attempting to think before I leap.

Well played Universe.

Waiting to be inspired, which I’m doing more and more.

Creating or conceiving ideas or concepts, as they line up, make sense, feel right.

Noticing that if you’re aligned, all the right people, places, ideas, and inspiration will beat a path to your door. Impetuous not so much. It can’t find your door because it couldn’t take a minute to write down your address.

Taking the time to align, sounds a lot like procrastination – well, yeah, it is, except it’s Divine Procrastination. With it you’ll take Inspired Action, you’ll experience Aligned Conception.

This is foreign to me. Fish out of water foreign. I’ve never been a procrastinator. Ever. Ask my husband, oh wait, he’ll tell you later. He’s a pro, and it works for him. I had to break it down to understand it. Here’s how I think it works.

I always thought procrastination was a dirty word, with a negative connotation. It was a habit of the fearful and the lazy. It can be, but it’s also a tool of the wise.

Let me explain.

How many times have you made THAT call or answered THAT email, when you weren’t lined up (aligned)?
You hadn’t taken the time to breathe, get centered, take a walk, or kick the dog. How did that go?

Light-yourself-on-fire shitty, right?

How many projects have you started when the funding was dicey, the players weren’t lined up, your ducks weren’t in a row, your i’s were not dotted, your t’s were not crossed – and your gut told you to wait?
KA BOOM! Crash and burn, right?

I may know a thing or two about this, being as impetuous as I am/was.

What if I had only procrastinated? Waited for the “gut green light”?

If it doesn’t feel right. I won’t do it. I’ll Wait. I’ll Align. Then I’ll Conceive.

Got it!

I don’t know about you, but I think Aligned Conception just kicked Impetuous’ ass.

Xox

The energy since the first of the year has been intense. No, it is not your imagination. It has been howl at the moon, scare small children, eat an entire pizza by yourself level intense. But as fate, or luck, or all our answered prayers would have it, it is leveling the fuck out.

The good part has been that it cleaned out all the muck. Good way to start the new Year – muck free, don’t you agree?

One friend asked her massage therapist last week to virtually “get in
there with a Q-tip.” I like that. Getting into the corners and crevices and really digging that shit out.

This energy, bless it’s heart, cleaned out our collective closets. It shook all of our Etch-A-Sketchs. It threw all the plates in the air. It emptied the refrigerator, even way back on the bottom shelf.

You get the picture.

But that can make life VERY uncomfortable.
Some people get sick in response, ‘cause if you’re in bed, binging on Netflix, you don’t have to deal with the shitstorm…yet.
Others are just pissed off. Cantankerous bastards who keep yelling “get out of my way!” We can forgive them though, right? Hey, their Etch-A-Sketch is blank – and the glass is cracked.

I took the coward’s way out. Kidding, but only a little.
I meditated, went to the movies, wrote and slept, as I waited for the shitstorm to pass. Oh, and I played this little ditty on an endless loop. You remember this from earlier this summer. Deva Premal, her voice and this chant in particular, lull me into a sort of coping coma.
If this is playing in the background, I can read the snarky email, deliver the bad news, eat the last of the disgusting holiday leftovers, listen to someone’s squed logic, and watch three minutes of CNN (with the sound off, it’s easier to stomach that way and hey, the ticker says it all).

All that to say, here it is again. Let it help the dust to settle. Let the sound and the calming effect arrange the dust in a more pleasing pattern, so that when we all emerge in the next week, from our caves of confusion, things will make sense…or at least look better.

Happy Sunday
xox

FIXATE

2) technical, direct one’s eyes toward.
“subjects fixated on a central point”

When riding our motorcycle, it is very important that Raphael look up the road, just ahead of us. One reason seems obvious, so that he can gauge the road, it’s bumps, cracks and any debris; to see the banking of a curve, in order to slow down – in other words, he looks ahead to keep us safe.

What he absolutely cannot do is fixate on one particular object, you know why?

Because wherever you look – is where you will go.

Fixation can send you into the bushes on its best day, and off a cliff on its worst.

I’ve seen many a biker go down on the side of a road because he fixated on a blinking sign, a parked CHP car, or a dog running on the median.

It’s inevitable.
It’s law.

Ask yourself right now, Where or what am I fixated on? Are you headed for a fall?

An acquaintance of mine is in the middle of a remodel.
All she can focus on are the things that haven’t been done, or the tiny things that need to be fixed. She cannot, for the life of her, see all the beautiful tile and finishes of her amazing masterpiece.

Driving over in the car she was fixating on all the sucky things she’d find.
It was all she could talk about. She was in full obsession mode.

So what were her eyes only capable of seeing? The fuck ups.

She was so off in the bushes, it was impossible for her to get any enjoyment from the beautiful fireplace that had just been installed. The stone work was gorgeous, the mantle, incredible. Instead, she was stuck in the foyer, freaking out over a scratch in the drywall.

It’s all she could see.
Crying and yelling and blaming – oh my.
She’s likely to go off the cliff soon.

Several of my friends are already knotting up their stomachs in anticipation of the Holidays. They’re fixated on the shenanigans they’ve come to expect throughout the years. They’re preoccupied with the dysfunction of every jolly participant.

You know where they’re going to end up?
Off road, in the dirt, sadly stuck on the road of dysfunctional shenanigans.

Where you’re fixated is where you will go.
What you’re obsessed with is what you’ll see.
Every time.
Swear to God.
Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Be careful. Mindfully fixate on good things for a change.

This is also the cousin of: Would you rather be right? Or happy?
Ouch.

This has been a Public Service Announcement – from me.

Xox

Hi Loves,

I was lucky enough to be in San Jose this weekend for the last stop of the Life You Want Tour and I gotta say; it was a privilege to breathe the same air as Oprah and all the great teachers that spoke, told stories and brought us to tears…every time.
I’m still processing. I’m sure I’ll write some take-aways soon.

Below is what Elizabeth Gilbert (my new BFF) wrote about her incredible journey. I’m sure if you’d have told this author a few years ago that she would be giving 45 minute inspirational talks to auditoriums of over 10,000 people in 8 different cites across the US she would have thought you were crazy!
Yet, that’s become her latest accomplishment – touring with Oprah.

Dream big, then surrender, because the Universe has even bigger dreams for you than you could ever imagine.
xoxJ

*Thank you to my beloved sister Susan for making this weekend happen and keeping me laughing the ENTIRE time…even through tears. I love you.

Take it away Liz-

DON’T WASTE THE TEACHINGS…

ONWARD!
LG

Another God wink
My sister took this picture of Liz and me in the lobby of our hotel on Friday afternoon while everyone was milling around waiting for the event to start. I, as usual, was foraging for food…and then there she was. We hugged – a lot (she’s a hugger) and talked, and I must say, she is as incredibly kind and down to earth a person as you will EVER meet.

xox