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I was practicing resistance on Saturday morning, like the kid at the piano who is twisted sideways on the bench, one hand practicing their scales while the rest of their body searches for something better to do.

Procrastinating.
Dragging my feet.
Lolly gagging.
Diddly doinking as it’s known in our family.

I should have been tweaking a song that’s been giving me shit in our musical, downloading my screenplay onto a flash drive and then making my way to FedEx to print up the masterpiece, or unloading the dishwasher—but instead, I got sucked into my phone.

Not by Instagram; not even by Facebook.
This day I was swallowed up by the contacts in my cell phone to be exact.

I could say I was purging.
Yeah, that’s it—I was doing a little bit of purging. Except purging a little bit is an oxymoron.

Truth be told, I was looking around. Wasting time. Searching for one thing when I noticed another.

What is this?  I have over seven hundred contacts and I can’t for the life of me remember who the hell many, many of these people are!

For one split second on a random Tuesday, they must have meant something to me because there they are—living in my phone. But honestly, even with the hints I left myself (because I know how lame I can be), like Aaron—Washer Repair in the W’s, or Clifford and for his last name—Sandy’s deadbeat boyfriend. You guys, I haven’t the foggiest idea who Sandy is and for the past fifteen years a man named Raphael has fixed my washing machine.

He also sleeps in my bed, rubs my feet, and makes me coffee in the mornings so I figure he trumps Aaron in more ways than one.

Delete! Delete! Goodbye, Clifford! Adios Aaron!

That was fun!

And it was then that a tangent was born and I got on it and rode that sucker for over an hour!

One of the things that surprised me the most was the fact that there were so many dead people haunting my phone.
Is that a side effect of aging? Please tell me it’s not. I’d rather think that I have a group of extremely unlucky individuals as friends. Careless people who overindulge in the hedonistic pleasures of life or forget to look for falling pianos and such.

Nope. There were actual friends who I’ve known and loved who are gone too soon. Like Vinnie, whose list of emails and six different telephone numbers was like a sucker-punch to the gut.

And then some I just wish were dead. Like the two dozen lawyers and legal firms from back in the days when if you weren’t suing me—you were on the short list.

Because of the “cloud” and the fact that it never forgets a thing, I also had the contact info for a bunch of celebrities who used to shop in my store. The store that’s been closed for seven years. I hesitated in deleting these, you know because celebrities living in my phone made me cool and all, but the fact that most of that information had probably been changed a thousand times by now convinced me of its diminished cool factor—so out it went.

Delete, delete, delete.

Oh, sorry Gayle Zappa, you were an amazing woman and a great customer, but you’re the most useless of contacts: the dead celebrity.

There were five Patty’s.
Patty—with the neck. I suppose I wrote that to distinguish her from the other four Patty’s whose heads sit directly on their shoulders.

Patty S.—Oh, good, that clears THAT up.

Patty, Antique Mall—Which is a place I worked back in 1988.

Patty with a 310 number.

Patty with an 818 number.

I wracked my brain, I did. I actually sat for many minutes and I could not for the life of me remember ANY of these Patty’s. Not a one.
I suppose I could have called each one and asked them if we were close—but I didn’t. I was busy purging.

Delete, delete, delete.

Here is more useless information that was chewing up all of my storage capacity (and my Saturday):

The name, address and phone numbers of every landlord I’ve had since I was twenty.

Bandmates from the days when I was in “New Age” bands around LA. When “New Age” was a thing. This was the early 80’s, people.

Guys I went to acting class with, (I only know this because it says ACTING CLASS after their names), whose numbers I had so we could “run scenes” together. My guess is that most of them live in Orange County and are pretty close to retiring from some big corporate job right about now.

The numbers of every doctor, Gynecologist, dentist, acupuncturist, masseuse, Vet, chiropractor, and nail salon I’ve ever used.

The number for One Hour Photo. Yes, the magical place where you could get your film developed at the lightning speed of one hour! What?
Can you imagine?

All of my favorite restaurants, many of which have been closed for decades. (Rita Flora).

Jewelry contacts. You guessed it. Many who are retired… or dead.

Lessons learned? Were there any? Hell yeah!
1) The first one being, sometimes procrastinating (and purging), can be a good thing! And woman, for the love of God, you need to go through your contacts at least once a decade! (I’m now down to 238!).

2) Celebrities will give you their contact information ONLY if they want something from you. BUT… there is a small window of time where it is accurate. After that it self-destructs or you have to print it—and eat it.

3) Some people’s info NEVER changes. Forty-years later EVERYTHING is the same, and other folks info is obsolete by the time you finish entering it.

4) Be on the lookout for those neck-less Patty’s and if you see them—ask them to call me.

Carry on,
xox

What’s the oldest contact you have in your phone right now?

Transformation tourism

“I bought the diet book, but ate my usual foods.”

“I filled the prescription, but didn’t take the meds.”

“I took the course… well, I watched the videos… but I didn’t do the exercises in writing.”

Merely looking at something almost never causes change. Tourism is fun but rarely transformative.

If it was easy, you would have already achieved the change you seek.

Change comes from new habits, from acting as if, from experiencing the inevitable discomfort of becoming.

Seth Godin

SETH GODIN is the author of 18 books that have been bestsellers around the world and have been translated into more than 35 languages. He writes about the post-industrial revolution, the way ideas spread, marketing, quitting, leadership and most of all, changing everything. You might be familiar with his books Linchpin, Tribes, The Dip and Purple Cow.

His newest book, “What To Do When It’s Your Turn”, is already a bestseller.

sethgodin.com

“Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us.  Between the two stands Resistance”
~Steven Pressfield “The War of Art.” 

“The War of Art” is one of my all-time favorite books on creation, life, love and well… what else is there?

In my humble opinion, it should be a textbook in every school, on every hotel nightstand, next to the Bible, and reduced to liquid form and added to the water supply.

Beyond what the title implies, this book is not strictly written for artists and writers.

As you’ll glean from the list below, Resistance isn’t particular about which endeavors it sabotages. The only thing they have in common is our desire to become fully realized. Whether that be through artistic pursuits, the Paleo diet, Fab Ab Boot camp, that non-profit you want to start or marrying Skipper.

Up until Steven set us straight, we thought we were all just dumbass, procrastinating losers.

Nope, that’s just Resistance talking smack and taking the wheel, leaving us eating its dust and only dreaming about our unlived lives.
It will always stand in the way of our growth.
It’s a law; like gravity. That explains sooooooooooo much.

Assbite.

But…what I know for SURE….Resistance only has the power WE give it. 

“The following is a list, in no particular order, of those activities that most commonly elicit Resistance:

1) The pursuit of any calling in writing, painting, music, film, dance, or any creative art, however marginal or unconventional.

2) The launching of any entrepreneurial venture or enterprise, for profit or otherwise.

3) Any diet or health regimen.

4) Any program of spiritual advancement.

5) Any activity whose aim is tighter abdominals.

6) Any course or program designed to overcome an unwholesome habit or addiction.

7) Education of every kind.

8) Any act of political, moral, or ethical courage, including the decision to change for the better some unworthy pattern of thought or conduct in ourselves.

9) The undertaking of any enterprise or endeavor whose aim is to help others.

10) Any act that entails commitment of the heart. The decision to get married, to have a child, to weather a rocky patch in a relationship.

11) The taking of any principled stand in the face of adversity.

In other words, any act that rejects immediate gratification in favor of long-term growth, health, or integrity. Or, expressed another way, any act that derives from our higher nature instead of our lower.

Any of these will elicit Resistance.

Excerpt From: Steven Pressfield & Shawn Coyne. “The War of Art.” Visionary Press, 2012. iBooks.
This material may be protected by copyright.

I’d LOVE it if you’d tell me:
What beautiful thing has Resistance been talking you out of doing?
Do you agree that we have two lives, the one we live and the unlived life?

MuchO loveO
Xox

Once upon a time I took score too soon.
I was convinced that my life as I knew it was over. Which it was, but not in the sucky way I thought.

I told you guys back at the start of this year how a past love from thirty years ago had contacted me, wanting to reconnect. I also told you how squirmy it made me on account of—he quite literally broke. my. heart!

At the time of our breakup, it seemed as if he’d dumped me right out of the blue, with no rhyme or reason; and it took me five long and torturous (for those around me), years to get over him.

My days consisted of wanton displays of reminiscing, whining, moaning and crying, all of which demonstrated a complete absence of any self-respect or common sense. The cry-fests were of such unending duration that I was single-handedly responsible for the uptick in Kleenex stock at the time.
You’re welcome Proctor and Gamble.

When I was telling my friend Kim (you all remember Kim. She’s the no shit-taker Janet whisperer), the story back in January, I remembered, for the first time in like, forever—this little tidbit.

This nugget of wtf.

This slight of hand that destiny dealt me.

It should have always been the prequel to this tale of woe. The appetizer, the trailer of coming attractions, but it never was, because I forgot about it. Until this year.

Late one hot summer night in 1986, I got off the phone with my luvah boy-toy after what could be described as a three-hour nasty-chat that sizzled the telephone lines between Long Beach, where he was attending college, and LA, where I was busy robbing cradles.

After finishing my post virtual-sex cigarette, I fell asleep ten times less horny and fifty times happier than earlier that night.
He was the love of my life…or so I thought.
Deep into my sexy, sweaty, summer stupor, I had a dream. It was as vivid as real life; only way more interesting.

I was walking barefoot into a cave, running my hands along its cold, smooth, stone walls, feeling the powdery sand between my toes as I ventured further and further into its pitch-blackness. It was cool and dry and I can still smell the mustiness that filled my senses as I  inhaled deeply. Even though I’m not a fan of dark cave walks in real life; at the time I felt more curious than anything else.

Suddenly, there was a male presence ahead of me dressed in a black robe with a hood that obscured his face. Again, in real life that is the universal sign for ‘run for your life’, but inside of this dream instead of being afraid I started a conversation, you know like you do with black hooded figures in pitch dark caves.

It’s not like our lips moved, well, maybe his did but it was so dark I couldn’t see them and besides, it was a dream, so we communicated telepathically. I started by asking him who he was and he immediately broke the ice with an ultimatum.

“This is not the direction your life is meant to go. This relationship must end.”

“Whoa there big hooded fella” I replied, appalled by his rude opening line. “That will NOT be happening!”

“He is not the one for you, this is not where your life is headed, let him go and move on.”

“I don’t remember asking you for advice, this is none of your black capey business.”

“This must end. Now”,  He demanded.

“No!” I could feel myself getting emotional as I argued back.

The tone of his thought/voice was firm and unwavering. There would be no compromise. I started to cry.

“But.. I love him.”

“This is not the life you are meant to live. The relationship must end.”

As he said that, I began to sob, and before I knew it this large hooded figure reached out and pulled me in for a hug.

I kid you not.

The moment we made contact I felt an amazing rush of incredible love and I knew EVERYTHING.

I mean EVERYTHING.

Who killed J.R., why we are here, the reason for it all, the cure for cancer, the names of all the planets in our galaxy and every baby that will ever be born on Earth. EVERYTHING.

I remember thinking for one split second remember this and omg it is all so easy.

When he let go of me I knew in my kishkes that my life had been changed forever, but I didn’t remember anything else.

“Show me your face” I begged.
“Not now”
“Then when?”

It was everything I could do not to reach up and pull the hood down but I was suddenly distracted by a telephone ringing in the distance. I turned around and started to run to answer it. As I raced out of the cave and back toward the light and the sound of the ringing, I remember glancing over my shoulder to see if he was still there—but he was gone.

I opened my eyes to bright sunlight streaming through the blinds and my telephone ringing loudly on the floor just where I’d left it the night before.

“Hello?” I croaked, my mouth so void of saliva that my lips were sticking to my teeth.

Silence. Then, “Hey baby…we have to talk”. And right then and there he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore. I pleaded for a reason, something I did wrong, something I could do to change his mind, but he was adamant. Just like that, we were over.

“That hooded dude did a Jedi-mind trick on your boy!”, Kim exclaimed at the end of my story.
“Really? You don’t see it? It’s as plain as day!”,  she snort-laughed seeing the gobsmacked expression on my face.

Why hadn’t I ever thought of that?!

“OMG! He still can’t explain why he left you, hence all the regrets and looking back”,  she howled.

She’s right. The dream provided me some warning for the impending 180 my life was about to take, but the Universe took the wheel and forgot to share its plans with my friend.

In the middle of it all, I took score.
Note to self: Don’t take score in the middle.

I was convinced my life was over when it was only just beginning.

In response to my extreme dumb-shittery during our time together, his departure facilitated a life-long spiritual practice . I went on a journey of self-discovery, saw the world, and started eating meat again, just not in that order.

And beware of black-hooded telepaths who hang out in caves giving hugs—for they may speak the truth.

Carry on,
xox

“Fear shows up unbidden, it almost never goes away if you will it to, and it’s rarely a useful tool for your best work.

~Seth Godin

I’m going to tattoo this on my forehead or better yet, get it as a tramp-stamp. How about you?

“Never drink wine while operating power tools. The dust will spoil it.”
~Ted Bixby

…or apply eyeliner. “Never apply eyeliner while operating power tools. The line will always be crooked.”
~Me

We are forbidden in our house to use the words never and always. Mostly because when we do they’re spit out through grit teeth during an argument, and secondly, and most importantly—because they’re never true. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

“I can’t wait for that to never happen.”

It’s a good rule (of course it is, I made it up), and I credit it with the longevity of our marriage.

“You never take me anywhere” is quite simply a lie. My husband and I are in the car together a lot and most of the time he drives. Same with the motorcycle, so just as a technicality—it’s total bullshit.

The same holds true for “You are always picking on me!”. IF there were a grain of truth in that statement, he would have left me long ago or my forehead would have met with a fork in a very unfortunate way.

It’s all about communication. Picking the right words. Saying what you REALLY mean…and chocolate. Relationships, and pretty much all the other good things in life are made that much more tolerable with chocolate.

So as not to belabor the point and to maintain my status as a contradicted mess—here are some never’s that never disappoint and a few always that always hold up.

“Wicked people never have time for reading. It’s one of the reasons for their wickedness.”
― Lemony Snicket

No matter how smart you are you can never convince someone stupid that they are stupid.
~Anonymous

I never made a mistake in my life. I thought I did once, but I was wrong.
~Charles M. Schulz (And my husband)

Never moon a werewolf.
~Mike Binder

Never ask a starfish for directions.
~Anonymous

Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.
~Margaret Mead

You can always tell when the groove is working or not.
~Prince

It always seems impossible until it’s done.
~Nelson Mandela

If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were.
~Khalil Gibran

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible. (grimacing a little on this one, but, okay…he’s the Dali fucking Lama…)
~Dalai Lama

All of this just goes to show that it’s a good idea to watch your words and that every rule is made to be broken!

Carry on,
xox

Okay. Prepare to have your minds BLOWN.

I am currently reading The Power of I Am ~ Two Words That Will Change Your Life Today ~ by Joel Osteen.

Yes, you read that right. The book is by pastor Joel Osteen.
Yes, THAT Joel Osteen,
Pastor of the America’s largest congregation, Lakewood Church in Houston Texas, where more than 45,000 people attend services EVERY WEEK.

Before you all think I’ve flipped to the tele-evangelist side of the street, let me explain.
First of all, the rumor that he is supporting Trump is unfounded, I checked, so calm down.

Here’s the thing, when I saw him recently chatting it up with Oprah on Super Soul Sunday, I was like, ‘Oh Oprah, really?’, but if she was willing to devote an hour of her time to promote his book, I could settle in for the forty minutes (sans commercials), and attempt to practice open-mindedness.

You all are familiar with that? Right? Open mindedness I mean.

Well, I did it and I’ve gotta tell ya, to my surprise he did NOT thump a Bible, not once! As a matter of fact, he speaks my language, the language of Law of Attraction, something I’ve studied for over thirty years!

What?

Instead of Universe, or Higher Power or Scott, the terms I prefer, he uses God or The Lord.
I can live with that.
The rest of his message is the SAME!
But you probably already knew that, right?
I forget that many of you still practice Christianity and are not heathens…like me.

The basic tenets of his message being:

Watch your thinking.
Watch your words.
Watch your beliefs, yadda, yadda, yadda.
And it will change your life.

I write about all those things here. A lot.

So, I felt connected. Simpatico with the Pastor. Loving HIS interpretation of that book known as the Bible.

In his book, he talks about a particular passage in that book, Deuteronomy 15 to be exact, and about a law that God gave the people of Israel. Here it is: At the end of every seventh year, you get released from any debt you owe.

Which means—all things are temporary.

“The seventh year is when you break free from any limitation that is holding you back. Sickness, addiction, worry, debt, and constant struggles. Things that looked as if they would never change.”

Situations look and FEEL permanent. Each day repeating itself without any hope of things changing. We’ve all felt that way.

Until…suddenly they do.
Suddenly you meet the right person.
Suddenly you get the right doctor.
Suddenly your health improves.
Suddenly a check arrives.
Suddenly you get the best idea you’ve ever had.
Suddenly things don’t seem insurmountable.

We’ve al had THAT happen too. Come on. You know you have!

According to Pastor Osteen (and Deuteronomy) and the Bible–that’s your “seventh year” in action.

Don’t you love that!

I was reminded once again by Facebook of something I did seven years ago this week. Someone, a friend, had posted a kind response to an email I had sent to the loyal customers of my store. It was 2009 and the economy as in the crapper. Stores all around the neighborhood were closing. Some of them overnight without so much as a whimper. A few of them I loved so much that I was devastated.

Why hadn’t they shared their plight with us, their loyal following? Maybe we could have helped.

When things in my retail world started to crumble and I was literally three months behind in my rent, I decided to send out an email. A clarion call of sorts. It took me days to complete.
It had to have just the right tone. Not too needy—or pleady—or sad-sacky. I thought that if I could explain just how dire the situation was—that I was thisclose to being arrested for squatting—they could consider themselves forewarned and might be more likely to take advantage of the 50% off that I was offering.

It was a HUGE deal for me. I’m not someone who asks for help or solicits pity. I hate feeling ashamed.
I’m a stiff-upperlipper. One of the best. So as you can imagine (or maybe not), I puked when I hit send on the email that day. Then…

Suddenly things turned around.
Suddenly we all stopped pretending things were “great”.
Suddenly people started showing up and BUYING stuff.
Suddenly I could become current with my landlord.

The store did drown later that fall, but still…it was an exercise for me in how people react to courage and authenticity. (They react with compassion and more authenticity, by-the-way).

Knowing that it’s been exactly seven years since I incurred the biggest debt I’ve ever carried while at the same time committing the bold act of leaving my retail career in the rear-view mirror to pursue writing, I feel a renewed sense of excitement after reading about this seven-year forgiveness plan.

So, what was happening with YOU seven years ago? What burden can be set free for YOU?

And if you think about it, every day is your seventh year from something. Which was exactly the point.

Nothing is written in stone, people.
Well, except for the commandments.
But not the bad stuff.
Take it from me. The new Biblical scholar.

Carry on,
xox

http://www.amazon.com/Power-Am-Words-Change-Today/dp/0892969962/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1461613626&sr=8-1&keywords=the+power+of+i+am

I forwarded this to my honey yesterday. He is two weeks into a minor but highly annoying post-surgical recovery.
“Thanks”, he said, nodding his head, “I needed the reminder”.
“Me too”, I replied as I reassuringly rubbed his back. Then I thought of you guys.
I think at one point or another we ALL need the reminder that everything is energy…and we are a self-healing masterpiece/miracle in a meat-suit.
Love you,
Carry on,
xox

Your body has self-healing superpowers
by psgrout

“Life is not about healing; it’s about accepting that we are already healed.”–Annie Zalezsak prescription-pad

Yesterday, I invited readers to share a meme from the old paradigm, a meme they are now re-writing, thank you very much.

A wonderful reader named Bob brought up a meme that is in our face night and day. “Getting old means your body is supposed to fall apart.”

This meme is such a big player in the current paradigm that I thought it deserved its own post. We are constantly being slapped around with the crazy idea that our bodies are plotting against us.

Just watch an hour of television. The drugs ads warn us into great vigilance:

Better watch out for this symptom.

Make sure you’re aware of that problem.

It’s only a matter of time until your body is going to reach out and strangle you.

Here’s the ad I’d like to run:

Your body is a self-healing masterpiece.
It is brilliantly equipped with natural self-repair mechanisms that fight infections, repair broken proteins, kill cancer cells and keep you in tip-top shape. The only thing that ever stops it from doing its job is your ridiculous belief that it is not your closest ally.

I got this story the other day from a reader of E-Squared. It was one of a long list of things she says she manifested:

“I regulate my own health.
If I ever feel like I am going to have an allergy attack or something in my body hurts, I simply give myself command not to entertain it, and the allergy attacks and pain go away immediately. I used to pop anti histamine almost daily in spring and summer seasons. I have not taken any allergy medicine for a while now. I simply tell myself, I don’t believe in allergies and I am the overlord of my body and nervous system. My body obeys what I ask, nicely of course 🙂

“Using this, I have stopped allergy attacks, aches and pains, fever, upset stomach etc. experimenting with my own abilities is just so much fun! Anytime I meditate, I reach a new level of self control and enhancement of my ability to control my own health.”

And lastly, I thought I’d re-run this blog post from a year ago about this very topic. Enjoy!!

“It’s supposed to be a professional secret, but I’ll tell you anyway. We doctors do nothing. We only help and encourage the doctor within.”–Albert Schweitzer

At the party of “anything is possible,” there’s always the one cranky uncle who sits over in the corner. More times than not, the belief that stubbornly refuses to budge is the body as in “My mind has no control over my health, disease, aging, weight and any other fool thing my body decides to do.”

So today, I’ve got a packet of Reese’s Pieces and, like Elliott who was able to lure E.T. out of hiding, I’m hoping to lure out that curmudgeonly uncle to at least take a spin on the dance floor.

Reese Piece No. 1: Dr. Lissa Rankin’s book, Mind Over Medicine. After years of being a physician, Dr. Rankin finally got fed up with the seven minutes she was allowed to see patients and the refusal by her colleagues to acknowledge the most powerful component of a person’s health: their beliefs and their thoughts. Initially, she was as hard-nosed and closed-minded as any doctor, but after investigating 50 years of peer-reviewed medical literature (New England Journal of Medicine and Journal of the American Medical Association, to name a few), she found ample evidence proving that beliefs play a powerful role in a person’s biochemistry and to ignore those findings was irresponsible, a betrayal of the Hippocratic Oath.

Reese’s Piece No. 2: The body is wired to heal itself. Our bodies are self-regulating, healing organisms, constantly striving for homeostasis. But instead of teaching our children this all-important fact, we teach them they need someone or something outside themselves to heal. The minute they get a fever or an earache, we rush them to that all-knowing doctor. This, at a very early age, cements in the fallacy that our bodies can’t heal themselves. Most of the thoughts in our default setting are planted before age 5.

Reese’s Piece No. 3: Placebos are often as effective as drugs. Patients have been able to grow hair, drop blood pressure, lower cholesterol, watch ulcers disappear and cure about every other symptom after being treated with nothing but sugar pills. It was their belief they were getting “medicine” that cured them, not the medicine itself.

Dr. Bruce Mosely, a surgeon and team physician for the Houston Rockets, performed arthroscopic knee surgery on two of ten middle-aged, former military guys. Three of the 10 had their knees rinsed (without the scraping) and the other five had no surgical procedure at all. It was an exercise in just pretend. After two years, all ten believed their surgery was a success. What Mosely discovered is that the bigger and more dramatic the patient perceives the intervention to be, the bigger the placebo effect.

Reese’s Piece No. 4: Our beliefs are the hinge on which our bodies function.
Rankin tells the story of a guy with tumors the size of oranges. After begging his doctor to try an experimental new drug he’d read about, he was treated with the drug and his tumors disappeared. Several weeks later, reports hit the airwaves that this new drug was not as powerful as originally thought. The tumors returned. His doctor, by now savvy, gave his patient a placebo, telling him it was a stronger form of the drug and that the ineffective trials had been using too little of this powerful drug. Once again, the tumors from his stage 4 lymphoma began to disappear. Finally, the FDA pronounced the drug ineffective and pulled it off the market. The patient, who had been rapidly recovering, died within a week.

Okay, enough candy. I could go on and on about how 79 percent of medical students develop the symptoms they’re studying. Or about the woman with a split personality who has diabetes in one of her personalities and normal sugar levels in the other.

But I’m not a doctor and would never dream of prescribing anything.

But I do know this:

We should teach our children that their bodies have self-healing superpowers.

And we should quit hexing ourselves by looking for disease.

And we should remember that if chimpanzees can lower their blood pressure at will, something Harvard doc, Herbert Benson, discovered in his research, there’s probably not much we CAN’T do to heal ourselves.

Uncle, are you ready for that dance?

Pam Grout is the author of 18 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the about to be released, Thank and Grow Rich: a 30-day Experiment in Shameless Gratitude and Unabashed Joy.

To all of you out there, and there are many, many of you, who are willing to be toast on your way to transformation—we are all in this together—and I applaud you with my crispy, toasted little hands!

Love,
The piece of burnt toast you’re smelling right now.
xox

Just when I thought my screenplay was finished, my Muse, who is like a shark in the fact that she never sleeps and hasn’t met anything she won’t eat, suggested that we open our film with the song “Let’s Go Crazy” by that artist who was known as Prince—then the symbol—then Prince again..

Just so you know, her suggestions are more like directives. Softer than outright orders, but hey, who are we kidding, they’re really not open for negotiation.

But still, it’s me…I argued.

“What? What are you saying?” I quizzed the silly ghost who was harping on the fact that it would be a kick-ass opener. A real sit-up-straight-in-your-seat moment.

Well, no argument there, but…

“Just imagine it” she’d say, and I would—vividly—with goosebumps and all—but not without some reservations.

Now don’t get me wrong, I LOVE that song and I’m bat-shit crazy about Prince.
In the 1980’s he was more than the soundtrack of my life. I adored everything about him. I even thought the acting was GOOD in the movie and I subsequently wore the grooves smooth on my Purple Rain album.

But my Muse? SHE is someone from another generation, someone more likely to suggest Nina Simone or Nat King Cole.
Certainly not Prince. Never Prince.
So I questioned her judgment on the relevance of that song at that particular moment in that movie of that subject matter—which is life after death.

During one particularly strenuous argument that I was making about Prince being someone who NEVER licensed his songs out to anyone—for anything, she actually reassured me.
“It’s not your job to worry about that stuff”, she insisted. “None of that will be an issue when the time comes. Besides, why are you arguing? You love that song!”

One day at the gym after that song had interrupted the podcast I was attempting to listen to five times in a row, I heard her voice.

“Hey, you wanna know why this song is so perfect? Did you listen to all the words?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Really? Do you know EVERY word?”

“Maybe… Do you?”

“Sing it for me”, she demanded, testing me.

As I sang the words out loud that morning at the gym with the music blasting in my ears, I suddenly realized, ‘Shit, I’d better shut up because people are staring AND OMG, the bitch is right! This song is all about death and life…and life after death… and… OMG! Who knew?!’

So of course argument over and into the screenplay it went.

FADE IN: [SONG] LET’S GO CRAZY – PRINCE, THE REVOLUTION

EXTERIOR. DAY. CEMETERY
The screen is black. Slowly we see the top of a coffin as the camera pans up to show an overview of mourners, graveside, all in black.

[SONG] “Dearly beloved,

We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life
Electric word life
It means forever and that’s a mighty long time
But I’m here to tell you
There’s something else —
The after world.

A world of never ending happiness
You can always see the sun, day or night
So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills
You know the one, Dr. Everything’ll Be Alright
Instead of asking him how much of your time is left
Ask him how much of your mind, baby
‘Cause in this life
Things are much harder than in the after world

In this life-
You’re on your own.”

EXT. DAY — WIDE SWEEPING AERIAL SHOT – MULHOLLAND DRIVE, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
The camera follows Mulholland Drive while the music plays and the credits roll until we see a Red Fiat Spider convertible sports car with the top down racing along this winding mountain road.

Ironically enough, I spent a majority of March marinating in all things Prince (there’s another Prince song that closes the film), something I haven’t done since my twenties; changing things around, re-writing and wondering whether or not he would approve of the use of his songs inside our material.

During this time I remembered The Tambourine.

A good friend of mine had absconded with one of Prince’s tambourines after working the sound on an impromptu concert two years ago. As the story goes, (and I will believe this until the day I die), it was the actual one that Prince played himself that night.

After I peed my pants, did my spazzy happy dance, and squealed the high-pitched scream of a twelve-year-old girl—I hung it in my “office” as one of my most prized possessions.

Holding it in my hands in March, I consulted with the tambourine (you know, like you do), and the answer came to me loud and clear (and was accompanied by some tambourine rifts just for good measure).

I felt that if he read it—he’d get it.

No need for that after today. The artist known as Prince has gone to the great concert in the sky and knowing what I know about the after world (that it’s a freakin’ free-for-all, y’all), I can rest assured of the fact that my bossy little friend has a back-stage pass—no wait, she’s with the band —and she has cornered the poor guy and is telling him our story. Which means that in due time she will hammer out any and all of the details for our licensing agreement. Mark my words.

Because that’s what they do in the afterlife, they keep doing all the things they loved.

But I can’t help wondering…did she get a head’s up for his departure from this mortal coil in advance? In other words, did she know he was coming?  Was she at the arrivals gate?

For someone of a completely different generation, she seemed REALLY sure of herself about all things Prince.

WTF?

Anyhow, I suppose that’s for her to know–and me to find out…eventually. And when I do, you guys will be the next ones to know.

Carry on,
xox

This is the tambourine. I know. So cool!