Saturday morning

This morning I find myself arguing with myself. After the senseless tragedy in CO at the movie theatre, I feel so grateful that no one I love was involved, but also so heart stricken for those who were.
How horrible it must have been waiting to hear if loved ones were alive or passed. How horrible must the parents of the shooter feel. How deranged must that young man be to have done this. How fragile we are... all of us.

The argument with myself stems from something that confronts me often in my work.
Do we chose our paths? Do we agree to go through the horror that some people suffer? How could we, knowingly as spirits ready to incarnate, decide to take on a life of such grief? But then again, all lives must have good and not so good, right? I question myself, trying to understand, is this all karmic? If so, then doesn't this type of action reap more karma to be worked out? Is this a never ending cycle?

I can only find solace in the fact that everyone has a purpose to bring whatever he or she can to this world. Whether it be good or bad depends on observers' perception. No doubt, going into a movie theatre and randomly murdering and wounding others is bad. It is almost unthinkable, but it has happened, just as other tragedies have happened and no doubt will continue to happen.

So, what makes us, as living spirits, want to continue on? Want to keep experiencing incarnations? Lessons we are to learn? I am sure this has a great deal to do with it, but also, I think we are spiritual beings having human experiences, over and over. I believe our true spiritual beings want to experience life as human beings. After all, what is more wonderful than seeing a baby smile, gaining wisdom from an elder, sensing love in all its forms just by being alive?
But, what hurts more deeply than losing a loved one, knowing your child has taken the lives of others, or even wondering if you should continue attending movies? Life is so mysteriously unbalanced and balanced.

As in nature, we have to experience the good with the not so good. Life giving rains can become life threatening floods.Cooling winds can become destructive tornadoes... and on and on.

My argument with myself helps me to try and make sense of senseless actions. And this argument will continue as long as I am a spiritual being in a human body.

Sometimes, there are no clear answers. Sometimes, all we can do is pray for others and ask that all our lessons be gentle.

Rain? Rain! Rain!

Seems everyone must have been praying for rain here in these old mountains because we have had four days of it.
Much needed rain.... My granddaugher Emma says she can actually see the vegetables and wildflowers in my little garden grow as she looks at them! Ah... the lovely beauty of being seven!

Had a bit of a rough week with eyes. A few little blisters on eyelids are causing much burning and pain, but I am determined to stay positive.

Several of you have sent donations for my silent auction I am planning to help out with medical bills. Some of you have even sent checks. I thank you so much and now I know that I am blessed beyond what I thought. Learning to receive is a big part of my lesson during all of this. I do admit it feels great to feel loved and appreciated and helped.


I also want to say thanks to all of you who commented on my July 4th posting. Some of the comments are available here. This whole helaing path has been one of wonder for me... all the way. We never know what we may be carrying around in our souls.
Healing requires courage and I truly believe we all came here to learn to heal. After all, life always gives us opportunites to smile... to grow.... to hurt.... and to heal.


So, I say to all of you, STAY STRONG! SMILE! GROW! LEARN FROM THE PAIN.

One thing I have learned this week is that loving someone truly means enjoying that person's presence.

Emma taught me that.

I truly love being a mother and a grandmother.

Forty-two years ago today, my first son, Dustan Paul Moore, was born. I was seventeen, single and scared beyond belief. Just a few months before, I had graduated from high school, seven months pregnant, without anyone, even my mother, knowing this. Of course I had told the young man who had impregnated me, but he had suggested I have an abortion. This scared me more than giving birth so I stopped talking to him and kept to myself as much as possible.

As a woman who will be sixty next month, I now look back at that scared, lonely seventeen year old and I marvel at her strength, tenacity and fragileness. I also cry because I can see still her, lying in bed at night, praying for help but not knowing who to go to. Praying that she was not pregnant, all the time knowing she was.


Before I gave birth, I had decided to give the baby up for adoption, which seemed the logical thing to do. My mother was against this, but allowed me to make this decision. On the day he was born, when I held him for the first time, I knew I could not let anyone else have him. I felt a love that I had never known existed. I wanted to take him home to my mother’s house and mother him. At the age of eight months, he passed back to Spirit. He had cerebral hemorrhage and didn’t make it through the operation.

I have always felt deep inside that somehow I was responsible for his death.
After all, I kept the pregnancy a secret, I didn’t take prenatal vitamins, and on and on. I didn’t even see a doctor until I was almost eight months pregnant.

I have two good friends who are prenatal nurses and they told me that sometimes the younger mothers, who don’t take good care of themselves, give birth to healthier babies than the older women who are exquisite in taking care during their pregnancies. This helped me but deep inside I know I still carried guilt.

This morning, July 4, I awoke to the realization that it was not my fault.
The doctor, young and inexperienced had taken my baby by force, tearing my vagina in the process and injuring the baby’s head. I know I must have known this all along, but had pushed it so far deep down inside my soul that my guilt covered it totally.

No, I am not blaming anyone for the death of my baby. I am saying that finally I realized that I truly did LOVE him. That I didn’t want him to die and that his death marred my heart and soul in a way that I did not understand until now.

Now I am healing from a rare autoimmune disease that affects my eyes.
They burn and itch from blisters growing on my cornea. My sight is not as it once was. A holistic doctor is treating me and I am changing my diet, etc., doing everything I can to heal my body.

And now that others are praying for me, doing sweats and ceremonies for me, asking for my healing, I am realizing that disease really does mean – dis ease. I have been carrying so much hurt, guilt, pain, disappointment, etc in my soul that my body had to get my attention to make me deal with these. I am healing all on levels. I am feeling love from so many and I am grateful to be loved.

So, gradually, as I work to heal, and others work to help me heal, my soul is also healing. This is a process, but I know, deeply I know, that all of this is part of my path as a seer, as a medium, as a writer, as a mother, as a grandmother.

Life is full of mystery and we are the mystery.