Coral’s Healing Room at 505-269-9242 I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

What my CPTDS is to me…Why the doggie in the room?

Good morning everyone! Lucky day for us all to learn something, as I’m in a PTSD spin and can’t get out. For me…for Tamara..for you…for the unknowing passerby…I am going to attempt to blog from this space this morning to help you to understand me and those with this diagnosis.


This is a hard fucking write and I imagine it will be a hard read also. Take what you need and leave the rest. I love you. Have a beautiful day!

The C is for complex. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Agent Orange. Vietnam. Desert Storm. 911. All PTSD. Multiple tours in Iraq…EMS and Fire responders…Sexual abuse and incest survivors. You. Me. We have been so egregiously harmed. We have so egregiously harmed. The complex in my PTSD diagnosis is because of the repetitive and unrelenting nature…the family dynamics…I am a triple diagnosed C-PTSD incest survivor.  Did not ever get a break from the abuse, like coming home from a war. I had to stay at war to survive. I still have not come out of fight or flight. I am still at mother fucking war. Every PTSD attack is like the same fucking war. Rest and digest…ya…never…not even now…because the war is in full on battle. Choosing to leave this battleground does not come without its costs. This war waged upon me at one time is now a fucking battle that is only in my mind and only with myself. You witness this in my attacks. The dog in the room and it’s over for me. Why? You don’t want to know. You ask and you won’t be able not to know. You ask again. And again. Why are you as you are with your dogs? Why do you want them near you and push them away when they come to you? Why don’t you love them the way I love my dogs? Why? Why would you surrender Nicholas? Why do you even have dogs? Why is your service dog, Taos, not with you? Why? Why do you put your dogs in crates? Why are you as you are with your dogs Coral?

I am as I am with my dogs, the dearest creatures to my very soul and existence, because as long as I can remember, I have been taught to treat animals as less than human beings. Dogs have no place inside our house. They are animals and we are people. People live inside and animals live outside. Dogs are a nuisance and they are nasty and they don’t belong. I was younger and I didn’t know then what I have come to know. I was one of them. I was in belief of the things I witnessed and was taught. Some of those beliefs hang on tighter than others as I struggle to shake them away. I was forced to intoxicate dogs. I was then forced to jump on the trampoline with them, intoxicated myself. I remember the vodka or gin I was made to pour in the water bowl. I remember my soul dying and tears welling up in my throat. Threatened with my own life if I cried or showed emotion, I began to laugh loudly, to cover and muffle the tears in my throat so that they not dare show through my eyes. “Make sure he drinks it all. You drink yours and I’ll get you another. Put that soccer ball away. You aren’t good enough to make the team anyway, and wouldn’t you rather be doing this than practicing all of the time anyway? If you were good enough, like the girl you love so fucking much, you wouldn’t have to practice all the fucking time, would you? Now get that dog and get your ass on that trampoline. Now. Coral. NOW, and I don’t want to see you crying like a baby. God damnit. Do I have to put him up there? Jump! Coral. Fucking jump. You start jumping or I’m coming up there. Do you hear me?” And the world went black and I jumped. And she yelled and I jumped. My soul died and surrendered and I jumped some more. I jumped and I jumped. I saw his face hit the springs. I saw him struggle and his eyes beg me to stop. I heard his cries as they echoed the cries of being my very soul, as I finally collapsed and fell to the springs myself. I don’t remember his name. He may have been a her. I don’t think he made it because I do not ever remember seeing him again. My soul shrieks now, recounting and sharing this with you. I could lose all of my clients over this. I can never tell.

Why do I freak out at the dog in the room you ask? I go somewhere else. I see and hear and think and feel and know another time and another place. Distant and yet so close, and all at the same time. Out of body. Only my soul with that dog in the room…the dog that I do not even deserve to look at for one fucking minute. Why Coral would you put your dogs in crates? I can either put them in there or me in there to keep us all sane while I try to dodge the land mines of my past, to reach the other side, safely for us all. “Coral, why don’t you love Taos? Baby Taos is the best dog ever.” First of all…Baby Taos is the best dog ever and I love Baby Taos with my very soul. You see, Baby Taos is Sam. Sam got treated how Momma Coral sometimes treats Baby Taos…with contempt and erupting anger for seemingly no reason at all. Baby Taos is Baby Coral and so sometimes we can’t be together as much as we would like to. You may not get it and that is okay because Baby Taos does get it and she loves me just the Sam.

A long time ago and just moments ago, the doggie in the kennel in the corner of the room didn’t trigger me at all and I was so happy to go and bring her out to be with me. The kisses she bestows on me and the tears she licks away. With her or without her, she is with me every day. My soul screams for her and my spirit will not rest. Not until I try my hardest and can say that I have truly done my best. Because I’ve no idea what the corner brings and no idea how I may react, we sometimes keep our dogs in kennels, to keep us all intact. Tamara didn’t come from here and she’s the one who asks the most…when will you be better so we can all become close? You’ve no idea how I pray for it or to what lengths I will go. You see the little doggie on the trampoline, she took me with her soul. I cry for her and I miss him and I cannot even recall a name. A boy or a girl I cannot remember, my soul knows him the same. He was white with a black spot or two…maybe his name was Jack? I will never know for sure, but I cannot give him his life back. So the doggie in the kennel and Taos deprived of momma Coral kisses…prayers for every second and any love that she misses. For Taos is momma Coral in a different time and space. Sometimes when I get lost, I only see another doggies face. A doggie I sent to Heaven long before his time. I was forced to choose his life or me and I chose mine. I do not have regrets as it got me here to tell you this. But God damnit I would give my life if I could only give him one more kiss. The doggie in the kennel and Coral in a little heap upon the floor. I will fight this battle I am fighting until it’s not a battle anymore. For the love of baby Taos and any feelings I have hurt. For Aliah and Rocky and Momma Tamara…all I can say is I hope I am worth…all the trouble I have caused and the hell that I am in. With your love I’m coming out and I beg you not to push me back in. So the doggies in the kennels that you may not understand is the hope for my beginning and my means to an end. To end a war that I have been fighting for every moment of my life…please God if it’s your will, may I sometime have my life? A life not built on torture and trauma of the worst kind. A life abundant and content…a life that I can call mine. With baby Taos and baby Prajna in tow at all times, with Rocky and Aliah and the bears following behind. I see Ali aging and I’ve wanted so much time. You’ve no idea how that kills me and how hard that I try.

Anyway…I am headed to clients, if I still have any after this. Either they will call and book me for an extra appointment because I am only able to do my work so well because of all of this…or I am about to get fired Apprentice style. Either way, I speak my truth to heal us all, as we hold hands and walk each other home. I love you. Have a beautiful day as we take what we need from this and send the rest back to the universe for the greater good of us all. And so it is.

My name is Coral and I am an alcoholic…

Good morning everyone! I thank you for all of the love. Your love got me through yesterday. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Today, I don’t want to talk about any of my medical stuff. Today, I want to focus on my blessings, of which I’ve so many!

The greatest blessing in my life is my wonderful partner Tamara. I know without a doubt, that I would not be here without Tamara. In October two years ago, my life began to fall apart when my Mom was diagnosed with Stage four breast cancer, with metastasis to her liver, her lungs and her brain. My Mom died two months later and my life blew completely out of the water. Tamara carried me through. Fairly new in recovery, this would have been the one thing to drive me to drink again…losing my Mom. I had a choice. I know myself well enough to know that I would have never come back from that. I know that had I started drinking again, I would certainly have joined my Mom. Tamara walked right beside me.

My Sobriety came unexpectedly to me. I was invited to a meeting with a friend who was struggling in her life. I was on my way to happy hour and my friend needed me, so I delayed happy hour to go to a meeting with her. This meeting was to be my first AA meeting. I was scared shitless. I had rehearsed my lines…”My name is Coral and I am a friend of AA…”I got this. I’ve totally got this. And then I was next…shaking and sweating…”Hi, my name is Coral and I am an alcoholic.” What in the fuck? That definitely was NOT my line! What the fuck just happened?! From that moment, in that room, my entire life began to change in ways I could not have foreseen or imagined. My name is Coral and I am an alcoholic.

Do any of you know what it feels like to not know that you are an alcoholic? I mean, truly, to be so deep in it, that you cannot see the reflection in the mirror in your hand? With a dying Mom and the worst pain of my entire life, I made a very conscious decision to stay sober. Had I been drinking when I found out my Mom was dying, I would have made a very conscious decision to keep drinking.  You see, I drank for everything. I lost my job, I drank. I got promoted, I drank. I went to work still drunk from the night before on more than one occasion, and I began drinking again when I got off.

My choice was always beer! I fucking love me some beer! Over the course of my drinking lifetime, I drank me some beer! Okay…I drank enough beer to kill a person  if I’m being honest. Almost Every day I would grab a twelve pack on my way home. Some days more, and hardly ever less, as six packs seemed ridiculous to me. Why bother? That would barely get me started, and what a tease anyway…like I would stop at 6, unless I ran out, which I hardly ever did. So, let’s just say that I drank between 6-12 beers a day, and for this exercise, I will round up, because I was there, to a twelve pack a day. Just for the hell of it, I took my life, minus the years I have been sober and minus the first 21 years of my life (just for the purpose of my little exercise here) and I came up with the number 19. So, for 19 years, drinking fairly countinously, which is  6935 days. I drank a six to a twelve pack of beer a day, and many days more than that. So, $138,700 I spent, very roughly, to drink what I drank, about $15-$20 a twelve pack. I rounded up to $20, over the course of 19 years. This fails to account for all of the alcohol I consumed in my first 21 years, which was excessive as well. Let me say that number again…$138,700. Let that sink in.

My life was consumed by alcohol. I was born into alcoholism. My thinking about alcohol did not come from a nurturing  or responsible or a caring place. My relationship with alcohol began pre-verbally and continued until I was 41 years old. My name is Coral and I am an alcoholic. I know that now, and you can bet your sweet ass that I was too fucking drunk to see it then. I was a social drinker, except for the small fact that I also loved to drink alone. If I went to venues without access to alcohol, you can bet your ass that I took my own, or had plenty before I got there. I really tried to avoid restaurants and venues that didn’t serve alcohol. Sunday’s and voting days fucked with me in the beginning. How can you stand here and tell me that you cannot serve me until noon?! What bullshit! Total and utter bullshit!

My name is Coral and I am an alcoholic. Why do I share this with you today? I share with you today what I see people close to me struggling with. I feel my own struggle listening to them, as they are telling my story. Someone very close and dear to me is 60 days sober today. On this day, right now, he is 60 days sober. Can we all give it up and send some mad and deep and encouraging love to him you guys? Congratulations my love! Keep coming back….it works if you work it. I fucking love you and I am so thankful and so happy and so fucking proud of you! How many days do you have? How many years? I am so proud of you too! Let’s all keep coming back. It does work if you work it. You want something to be fucking proud of, I mean really fucking proud of yourself for? Quit drinking. Like, honestly, quit drinking. You have no idea how your life will open up. You’ve no idea how clarity comes as the fog fades.

I also write this for the alcoholic who still suffers. Actually, I wrote this whole blog especially for the alcoholics who still suffer. I see you standing knee deep in a river and dying of fucking thirst man! I found myself in a bar the other evening, downtown, where I used to work and drink a lot…both working and drinking. I have not been in a bar, since I quit drinking, I avoid all activity with alcohol, as I know my limits. I am a fucking alcoholic and I stay the fuck away from it, at all costs. The other night, in that bar, watching people that I knew and many people that I did not know, getting progressively drunker, right before my very eyes, as I PTSDed out a bit at it all. What and where in the fuck was I? And what a mirror of who I was…it was alarming and painful and uncomfortable. I’m so glad I was there. I really am, as it reminded me of who I was and put directly in front of me, exactly who I didn’t want to be. I saw and smelled and felt things that I hadn’t felt sober and I did not like t at all. I was those people…all of them…and I had no idea how I occurred to others, until the other night in that bar. I’ve no judgement, only the deepest and most heartfelt gratitude for that moment, those moments, that remind me why I am sober. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

There are others that inspired this blog today…many, many others. There are people whom I love deeply that are alcoholics who like me, do not even know it. Maybe they do know and cannot admit it. I see them not even see themselves and it pains me deeply. I have been there and that is why I am here. I see people hurting their loved ones and their spouses and their children and friends with their addiction. Mostly though, I see you struggling, with seemingly no way out. I have been there most of my life…Yes, even all the way up to yesterday…struggling and trying with all of my might to hold on.  Your husband, he fucking needs you. Your son…he loves you with all of his heart. Your daughter…she doesn’t want to lose you, anymore than she already has, to your addiction. Your wife…she needs your help man! Your Mom, she doesn’t want to fucking bury you my friend. Me…I am right here. I am right here. I know you have my number, and in case you don’t, I will post this on FB this morning too. Set your bottle down and call me. Talk to me about you and maybe I can help. You will never know if you don’t ask, right?

If you are reading this and your are thinking that I am talking about you…you may be right, and you’re welcome. Truly, no one ever had this talk with me, so again, you’re welcome. When we love people, I mean when we really fucking love people, don’t we tell them the truth? We must take personal inventory and be honest with ourselves before we can be honest with anyone else, right? Try me. I’ve no judgement, just a whole lot of love for you. If your drowning…of you’re lost…if you’re scared and feel alone, I get it, and you’re not. We are all right here. Hey, have a beautiful day everyone. I close today with my heart overflowing with gratitude for every moment I have been sober. I close today with The Serenity Prayer. If you are so inclined, please say it with me now. And so it is.

God, grant me the serenity to accept he things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Do we know what we are talking about before we open our mouths?


Good evening everyone! I do not prefer to engage in controversy and as always, I write to heal myself. I got on Facebook to post pictures from a beautiful day today, because what a beautiful day it was indeed.

My page seems almost foreign…what is happening to our world? People cleaning up their friends lists by removing anyone who doesn’t share their beliefs? Religion and politics destroying life long friendships….and I wonder how that is…why that is?

Truly, I began posting, trying to be inspiring, and then to be accountable…for what I am not sure. I was simply born into privilege, because you see me as white? Have you met me? Do you know my life? Privilege is about what? And to whom? I am blessed and with privilege and this is true, and I am thankful. Most of all though, didn’t I just get lucky, being born on the soil I was born on?

Anyway in all of this controversy, I came across this a disturbing cartoon by my beloved Dr. Seuss. I won’t lie, it sickened me, a lot. (See below) It Hurt because it is ugly. 1941…Dr. Seuss was how old? Theodor Seuss Giesel was 37 years old in 1904. Born March 2, 1904 and passing away at 87 years old on September 24, 1991. Do you think it’s likely that he evolved a little bit?

“Oh the places you’ll go”…one of my favorite books of all time, published by Random House on January 22, 1990, making it his last book published in his lifetime. You know, “Kids you’ll move  mountains…” This was the last book that He touched, last one published. I have always found such great and evolved wisdom in Dr. Seuss. I am not surprised to know that he, like I and you and yes, even you, are flawed. I don’t have to agree with him and his politics to recognize how inspiring his work has always been to me. As Tamara teaches me daily, for all that we are not, there is much that we are.

I was upset by this cartoon and I did what I do when I am upset…I went to my girl. I showed it to her and I was sad and I said, for all that he was not, there was much that he was, right baby? Tamara asked how old he was in 1941 and I don’t know and so I found out for all of us. Dr. Seuss was 37 years old in 1941, and he lived another 50 years, before he died. Tamara asked me if I thought maybe he had evolved…and yes I do. Haven’t you? I mean, I hope we all have, you know, evolved?

I honestly believe that we must really begin to realize that we are our only hope.  We must be the change we wish to see in our world. Hate breeds more hate and we are a hateful bunch. We spew hate like we have the right to do so. We judge others, as if we have any right or reason to do so. We are a hurt people, hurting people. We are angry…no…we are fucking pissed off and we are entitled and vengeful and resentful, and why? We are mean and exclusive…why? Why do any of us, any of you, have more right to be here? Borders are man made by men who live in and perpetuate fear and intolerance. Land is a human right. Did you know that?

Christopher Columbus and our favorite nursery rhymes…so fucking fucked up! Entitlement and persecution for the color of your skin…pedophiles…and sexual innuendos in our childhood nursery rhymes? I said that can’t be so. Tamara told me to google it, and it is so. It is so fucked up. I will name but a few and challenge you to do your own research and due diligence on his front, as I did, if you are interested like I was.

Wee Willie Winkie, The Farmer’s in His Den, The Grand Old Duke of York, The Owl and the Pussycat, Ride a Cock Horse, Simple Simon, I Love Little Pussy, Old King Cole and Little Boy Blue. Undeniable sexual innuendos.

What about Humpty Dumpty? Humpty Dumpty actually actually Refers to a fearsome canon used in the city of Colchester which fell from a destroyed tower during the English Civil War. Humpty Dumoty is not an egg with a human face. Look up “Ring Around the Rosie”…fucking disturbing. What do you know about “Three Blind Mice”? What about “London Bridge is Falling Down” or “Here we go, Round the Mulberry Bush”? What about this one “Yankee Doodle”? What do you make of “Rub a Dub Dub”? The three men in a tub, originally written, were women, not men. And who was watching, but the “butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, and all of them gone to fair.” All of the towns uostanding men were at a peep who, so to speak. “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary”, you mean like Bloody Mary? Queen Mary I of England, a strict Catholic who enjoyed inflicting great bodily torture.

What about Little a red Riding Hood and Brothers Grimm? I will let you look that one up.

These are our stories, and not so much. I really had no idea of the things that I just researched and shared with you, until I began to want to know from where I came. I want to know a little something about Dr. Suess when Someone asks me about my tattoos or his quotes, hanging around our sanctuary. I knew a little I know a lot more now, thanks to Tamara asking me questions I had no answers for.

We are really all here to walk each other home. We will walk through some darkness, as we find our way to the light.

Religion and Politics aside, we are all different. We have different stories and knowings. We have different shoes to fill and to walk in. We have basic human rights. We have common stories and we all deserve love. Our world is showing us some darkness…we need to get out there and shine our little lights.

Arguing and unfriending people on Facebook because why? I guess it allows us all to say a lot more, with no accountability, no face to face. I don’t like that, because I want to see your beautiful face and I want to feel your heart. I do not have to agree with you on everything, to love you and have you in my life.  I am not a fan of things happening and I am appalled and horrified that we are more worried about “fake news” than we are doing our due diligence to see what is and is not real, for ourselves.

I am new to some of this, naive in a lot of this and striving to know better and do better than I did yesterday. In all of this, I embrace our differences and I celebrate love and light and look for it in all places.

Dr. Seuss was a human being, being human and for all that he was not, in my opinion, there is much that he was. I believe that about myself and I believe that about you.



This is my sober story…What is the DIS in your disEASE?


Good morning my loves! I am back! Changing my stripes has definitely done wonders to heal my badly battered, hardly beating heart. I had no idea I didn’t have pain meds. I had no idea that I just overdosed and that I came a lot closer than I would like to acknowledge, to dying. I’ve no issue with dying…none at all. I won’t lie, I’ve got a different idea of how I’m leaving this world…me having a drug overdose, of any kind, has never even crossed my mind. I am a sober woman who literally just inadvertently overdosed herself on narcotic medication.

I do want to talk about how that feels for me, for just a moment, as I Segway into the healing room this morning. Being sober, especially for an alcoholic, is hard some days, at least for me it is.

For me, my experience of having a potentially near death experience, as a result of a drug overdose is incomprehensible, as I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink alcohol, and haven’t for over four years now.  I haven’t ever done drugs, illegal and not prescribed, unless I’ve used them as they were prescribed, for me. I must admit, the only way I feel that I can express to you how it feels, is really to say, that being vegan, also for over four years, that I do not eat animals. I would fucking die a little inside if I did by accident. I mean a chicken taco, instead of a jackfruit taco would fuck with my very soul. The taste of one of my dear friends, in my mouth, it would fuck me up a bit. Also, because I cannot process animals in my body anymore, it would also make me very physically sick. Our bodies learn to purge what does not belong. You already knew that though, didn’t you. So, for me, Coral, a sober woman, who has had to work at staying sober, extra hard since my Mom got sick and died on me, alcohol, a progressive disease, would probably fucking kill me, even in small doses, if I were to take a drink.  Eating a chicken would make my body sick and torment my very soul, just the same. My drug overdose has done this as well…fucked with my soul and caused me to purge, violently, what does not belong, what makes me sick and what compromises my sobriety. I ate my last animal on my little Brothers Birthday, March 9, 2014, in the form of my favorite ground beef enchiladas, my Mom always made them on the most special of occasions. My little Brothers Birthday dinner..I made a compassionate choice. I made a choice that my soul is at peace with and I am so thankful. I don’t eat animals because it makes my soul and my stomach and my heart sick.

A drug OD for anyone is their own private Hell, isn’t it? I just found out for myself…and hell may not be the word for you. For me though, as I said, I had no idea, in the moment that I was overdosing, that I had overdosed. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening but it was scary and ugly and out of control. Airplanes and giant bumble bees buzzing through my brain and poison, once pain management, coarsing through my veins. Falling and stumbling, or did I fall all the way down? Puking and shitting and holding my guts in, because the vomiting was violent and I was all stitched up inside. All over me and our bathroom, were the evidence that something went wrong. I just had no idea, none at all, for a couple of more days, post op with my surgeon, that I had in fact experienced a narcotic drug overdose. That poison, those feelings, brought back for me, many a drunken nights, where I almost died, at my own hands directly and at others hands indirectly. Our poison comes in different forms and many of you, like me, have ingested a butt load of poison, in whatever form that poison suits you, in some form or another. I didn’t stop drinking because I don’t like to drink. I did not stop eating animals because I didn’t like the way they tasted. I made choices that resonate and fit with my soul.  This drug overdose has really been a catalyst for me, in terms of changing the way I look at things, and watching the things I look at change.

Once a story about how I was wronged and what negligent behavior has done TO me, I write my story from a standpoint of what this lesson has taught me. This lesson, already turned blessing, has taught me that we are all just walking each other home. We are all practicing our crafts. We are all, whether we know it or not, whether we like it or not and whether we believe it or not, a mirror for one another. We must be conscious and we must be aware, and we must hold hands and love each other through our trials and tribulations. We must be the change we wish to see in the world. We cannot say the words and not invest in the time and the blood and the sweat and the tears of actually being in action, doing the work.

I take this experience and I turn it into a beautiful gift for us all. We all have much to learn. We all have much to teach.  This experience has inspired me to share my sober story with all of you. My story, for us all to learn and grow from. I gift my story, and a piece of my journey with you now. I extend my hand, outstretched toward you, if you are on a similar journey now and need a hand. I have gone from being anonymous to being wide open and available to you, so please reach if you need to. I am right here.

Days where things have gone particularly bad, I would love to have me a few beers. Damn straight…and I don’t ever use the word “straight”….days when things go really good, of course I want to go celebrate and tie a few on! My sobriety is because I am sick, not because I do not like the taste or the feel or the social interactions of alcohol. I fucking love me some beer…okay, okay, I love me almost ALL beer. Beer, for me, my very dearest and closest friend, my confidant, my medicine…my drug of choice. My go to in the good times and more so in the great times. My escort to every social event or engagement. My date to every outing. My go to in the bad times and more so in my worst of times. My pain management for all things physical and emotional. For all things real…to real..and way too hard to handle, alcohol carried me through. Alcohol was my courage and my rock. Alcohol was my mask and my laughter. I did not stop drinking alcohol because I didn’t like it. I stopped drinking alcohol because one evening, supporting a dear friend, going through a very difficult time, I went to an AA meeting, my first AA meeting ever, on my way to happy hour. I paused, to support someone I loved, on my way to happy hour, in to an AA meeting that I shall never forget. We met two of her friends there, I met these beautiful ladies for the first time. One woman was many years sober, like my friend. One woman did not drink at all. “What the fuck do I say when they get to me?” I asked her, very nervous and more ready than ever for some fucking happy hour. To which she replied, “Just say, ‘My name is Coral and I am a friend of AA”. Easy enough, right? Easy peasy…then why was I shaking and sweating and nervous and wanting to get the fuck up out of there? I did not know. I truly did not know. I’ll tell you what though…it sure as hell was getting to be my turn pretty soon. I was nervous and sweating and rehearsing in my head…”My name is Coral and I am a friend of AA”…I can fucking do this. Fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck…it is already my turn. Fuck. My friend put her hand on my leg and gave me the “you can do it, nod. You know that nod, right?) I can fucking do this. My name is Coral, and I am an alcoholic”….What in the fuck just happened? That was not at all what I had been rehearsing. Fuck! What in the hell did I just say? Why am I convulsing a bit inside myself? Why did the whole fucking world just disappear, and where the fuck did it go? For Christ’s sake…I just said my lines wrong!!! Fuck! I don’t get a do over…I said it wrong. My friend put her hand in my sweaty and shaking hand. There were no words, just a crushed Oreo cookie, and lots of sweat and shaking going on.

My name is Coral and I am an alcoholic. I never made it to happy hour that night. I never went to happy hour again. I realized in that God-gifted moment, that I was not well. Not consciously….I damn near went down. I didn’t know how my life was about to change. I didn’t know that AA meetings and iced tea would replace Happy hour and my beloved beer. I didn’t know my friends circles would change and shift so drastically and in some cases, even disappear entirely. I had no way of knowing, being an alcoholic, since before I can even truly remember, like before I could even speak at all, that I was sick. I didn’t know that I needed help. The moment I realized I was indeed an alcoholic, I set it down. I said I am done. I fucking meant it. I am still an alcoholic. I am sick and DISeased. I have made a choice as to how I have to manage my sickness…the only way I can…I have to not drink alcohol, at all. i have to not be in the presence of alcohol very much at all. It’s not you…it truly is me. If you are drinking more than a drink or two, I cannot and will not be there.  It’s not because I don’t want to hang out with you. No, you see it’s not that at all. What it is, is…I want what you are having. I can’t just have what you are having and be okay, so I don’t go. I also have the DISease of more and one drink is never enough for me. I don’t go hang out anymore because, as an admitted alcoholic and a committed sober woman, I am no longer at home, in the presence of things I love and cannot have. Not when my world blew out and I lost everything, not when I didn’t have any money, not when I lost my house, not when I sat in the room with my family and realized that my Mom was dying and not when my Mom died. Not when my baby brother whose Mom just died also, turned 40 and threw a bash. Not when I’ve had my worst days. Not when I’ve had my best days. I am Coral and I am an alcoholic.

Is everyone ready to head into the healing room? Does everyone have their coffee hot and ready to go? Okay then, grab my hand and let’s go!

I am Coral and I am an alcoholic. Alcoholism is a disease. Dis-Ease…for me anyway…I spell mine like this…DISease and here is why:

…dissed with ease, over and over and over again. Disconnected. Disenchanted and disenchanting. Distanced and distant. Discombobulated. Discomfort. Disappointed and disappointing. Disturbing and disturbed. Disrupted and disruptive. Discharged and charging. Disorders piling up on top of one another and Delusions. Dismissed and Dismissive. Disbanded in Death a time or two and nearly dead a thousand times more. Disheartened and broken hearted. Disbelieving. Disgusted and disgusting. Discussed a lot and discussing. Disdained and disdainful. Diseased. Disfigured and dismembered bit by bit. Disorder. Disorganized. Disinterested. Displayed and displaying. Disposable and disposing. Disappointed (did I already say that?) and disappointing. Disarmed and disarming. Dissolving. Disappearing. Dissent. Distracted and distracting. Distended. Distorted and distorting. Distant. Disused and misused, and used. Discouraged. Disowned. Disbelief. I am Coral and I am an alcohol and these words help me to define the DIS in my Disease.

As for the ease part of Coral’s disEASE…there really wasn’t lot of ease. Alcohol gave me the illusion that I desperately needed, of easy and easy…manageable and tolerable…OK and fine.

Merrium Webster’s medical definition of disease is as follows: “an impairment of the normal state of the living animal or plant body or one of its parts that interrupts or modifies the performance of the vital functions, is typically manifested by distinguishing signs and symptoms, and is a response to environmental factors (as malnutrition, industrial hazards, or climate), to specific infective agents (as worms, bacteria, or viruses), to inherent defects of the organism (as genetic anomalies), or to combinations of these factors.”

First learned in terms of a plant or an organism, for me, in middle school science class, which I detested, by the way. Required to participate. Replicated in pitre dishes and glass tubes in lab class. I go back and read it now, and I put me in all of the spaces where I envisioned a diseased plant. Apply the words to you. What is the DIS in your DISease?

Whether we like it and whether we are truly able to admit it or not, we all have DISease. We each have something that causes at least some of the feelings that I felt. Depressed and dismissed. We get stuck there when we stay there for too long, don’t we? Our DISease, whatever it is, it is ours to manage, to battle and to feel, to fight and to struggle with…whatever it is…it is our demon and we must slay it alone. We cannot do it for each other and we cannot do it because of one another either. We must reach for those who will help us to navigate our new and uncharted terrain. We must feel fight like hell on some days and bask in our sobriety on others. DISease is not a one size fits all situation, and my remedy won’t be yours. My salvation comes differently than yours will, and just like our stripes…Our diseases are different shapes and colors. We are all just walking each other home.

I want you to know that I am here. I really, really am. I put some hard stuff out there and I’m a tiny stick of dynamite with the power to ignite the world, and with the willingness and the resilience to light us and lift us all up.

I take my hard stuff and I lay it raw and open and unedited for you, so that we can unwrap together, our packages, examine their contents…take what we need, be thankful for it all and to leave the rest.

I know that a huge part of my calling (just came to me in this moment) is to take the ugly and allow it to be as ugly as it needs to be, for as long as it needs to be, and to be silent until I can internally process it and deliver both the story and a remedy for us all, of some kind. I’ve tried to do that and I will be more diligent moving forward, to always close the hard stuff with he good stuff.  I love you and I am so glad you keep coming back.

Please take hands everyone and let us say the Serenity Prayer together this morning, before we head out into the world;

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

Which instrument are you playing in the Orca-stra of your life?


Good morning! I hope you are well rested and ready for your day!

I am really struggling lately and the fatigue is setting in. You know where everything fucking hurts and irritates…where no position is really comfortable and lying down is the best choice, and yet still not a great choice.

Anyway, with that being said, my perception of my world has shifted a bit, from behind the wall of pain.

I feel like I’ve only so many hours where I’m “good” right now and it’s the first part of the day, so I’m trying to cram my life into the “good” hours.

The “good” hours aren’t always the same and so it’s hard to schedule around. Writing and research occupy the not so good hours and I’m learning to work with and around my pain, and I am blessed.

I guess when the portions were being served up, I was glutinous and greedy and I asked for extra. I wanted me some more of that because the benefits were off the fucking charts! I could have eaten everything else twice and not gotten a fraction of the benefit that one bite of this offers.

In true Coral fashion, I took a big ass bite and I’ve been chewing on it ever since. Give me a huge helping of the really, really hard stuff. Oh, and if you don’t mind, could you drench it in some “no one can fucking navigate this bullshit” hot  sauce?

Yep, this is how I do it! As far as I can tell, this is how I’ve always done it. Burn that candle at both ends and full throttle…full speed ahead, without even noticing the caution tape draped across everything.

I don’t know when I chose it or exactly why I chose it…I do believe that I chose it though…all of this. I think I chose all of this to learn all of that.

I am going to die with all of my music inside of me if I don’t start fucking singing! Anyone who knows me knows that we will be having none of that. I will sing like a mother fucking canary before I will go to the grave with all of these unused gifts inside me.

I believe that we have to make that choice at some point…I mean really, really make that choice…to be or not to be.

None of us just landed here, from out of nowhere, to do absolutely nothing with ourselves, did we? I mean, don’t you believe that you have a purpose? What are you doing here? Why are YOU here?

You were brought here and there is a reason for your existence. There is a purpose, a calling…a space, that only you can fill. You, and only you, can fulfill your Dharma.

Look around you, at all of that purpose. Look at all of that unopened, unrecognized and unused potential. Look at all of the beauty and the wonder. Look at the brilliance and the achievements. Seriously, just look at that amazing human being staring back in the mirror at you.

I know…I know. The bags under your eyes and the lines on your face…the age spots and sun damage…the half crooked smile and the struggle…the tear stains and the weight of the entire fucking world on your shoulders…I see the same image staring back at me.

I also see all of the years behind me…all 44 of them, stacked up like the fucking stratosphere, towering and looming over me. I have been living in the shadows under all of those years for many, many years.

I don’t know why I’ve waited for 44 years to start living…maybe because there is a slight fear that I might be dying? Hell, I don’t know…what I do know is that I’m not dead yet. As dead as I’ve felt inside, I am not really dead…and I’m not really living either.

I have the most amazing path, paved with the greatest intentions, leading to absolutely nowhere.

I have a fucking orchestra inside of me, full of stringed instruments with no strings, and wind instruments without wind…

There are four main families of instruments: strings, woodwinds, brass, and percussion…in most orchestras.

Did you know that the piano is considered to be a percussion instrument, even though the piano has strings, 88 of them?

Most experts consider it a percussion instrument because of the way the strings are struck by small hammers to make their sound.

My point, and I do have one, is that we are all part of the orchestra. We all have music inside of us. We may have broken our strings and lost our reeds…maybe the wind was knocked out of us years ago and our trumpet hasnt had air breathed into it since the early 80’s.

Maybe we have been sitting in the string section with our piano, instead of in the percussion section, where we belong. Maybe our sound was off, simply because we were In the wrong section?

Maybe the brass is tarnished on our tuba and maybe our snare drum just needs its head tightened a bit…

Let us all take this opportunity to get up and move around a bit. Go ahead, stretch out and take some breaths. Set your instrument down and leave it there…it’s okay, you can leave it for a minute or two, can’t you?

Now, I want you to go look at all of the other instruments. Pick them up and feel them…touch them and stroke their strings. Blow into their mouth pieces and run your fingers over their ivory keys. Pick up that Timpani…go ahead…grab the mallets and just listen to that amazing pitch…

Now that you’ve tried out some other instruments, are you sure you’ve been playing the right one for all of these years? Are you sure that you’re not a woodwind in the string section or a brass horn in the percussion section?

In order to play YOUR music, maybe it’s time to be sure that you picked up the right instrument. Many of us were handed instruments way, way back…instruments that are not even ours.

Now is the time…and the best news is that no time has been wasted. Everything you’ve been through and every instrument you’ve played, every section you’ve been in, even if it was the wrong section for your instrument, has brought you to right here, right now.

Today is your day to put down what was handed to you, and to pick up what YOU have dreamed of playing. It’s your music in there and it’s up to you…which instrument will best sing your song?


Who are you inviting for morning coffee today?

Good. Morning! I am changing some things on my blog today, so please be patient. I am very new at all of the site building and technical stuff. I just want to write and don’t put a lot of effort into much else on my page. I use my energy on my writing and not on how stellar my page looks, as you have all probably noticed. I also disregard grammar and punctuation editing as I write, so I don’t disturb my flow of thoughts and feelings and ideas.

I also try to avoid any attachments to any stats or comments, as I am really trying to get rid of my ego. I don’t want to worry if anyone is reading or not and what they are thinking…I wont lie, I’m not totally there yet. I do look at my stats and I do read all of your comments and your mail and your texts and I always will do that. I guess what I am trying to say is that those are not the reasons I write. I began this blog in an effort to heal myself, by writing to get it all out, rather than holding it inside. I write to honor a 365 day commitment to myself, to heal myself and to publicly tell my story.

I receive so much from all of you and I hear you and I feel you. I want to address that today…that I do read your mail and I do hear your cries…I am right here with yo, and you with me. We are not alone. I can see that you feel very alone and very isolated. I can feel that your heart is broken and your faith has been badly shaken. I feel you and I am right here. I am right, right here.

I have people that I cannot reach out and touch anymore. I have so many things I wish I had said and plenty of things I wish I hadn’t said. I have conversations on reserve, just in case I ever get another chance, to speak to you again. I spent so much time with you and gave you so much of myself, and then, as suddenly as you appeared, you were gone. I have always kept your secrets and I always hold space for you and send you love and healing light. I realize we were troubled and that we struggled. I still feel a sting from the angry and hurtful words exchanged between us. If love had been enough…if I was where I am at now, way back then…if I had tried harder…I am plagued, as possibly you are too, by unspoken words, unexpressed feelings…by not knowing then what I have come to know now…I am sad that I cant reach you anymore and that you stopped reaching for me. I feel your absence.

My Mom, who I literally cannot reach out and touch anymore and Morgan who I cannot reach out and touch, from across the world…those are the lessons right there. I was in the deepest despair when my Mom died, and I often still am. I could not be without her, after 42 years of being right next to her, I couldn’t be with her anymore. I simply could not handle it. Morgan…I cannot handle not being with Morgan. I must be able to be with my Mom and I must be able to go to Morgan, and so I do.

I am an Animal Communicator, from way back, like lifetimes back. As a child, everyone just thought I was fucking crazy. I was often called a loser that sat off on the side and talked to herself and her imaginary friends. I was mocked and made fun of and ridiculed for being different. I wasn’t talking to myself and my friends were not at all imaginary. I was talking to the birds and the bugs and the bees, the dogs and the cats…and they were talking to me. We knew each other well and we loved each other with all of our hearts.

As an adult, working as an Animal Massage Therapist, I needed more. I knew I was more than that, and so I found someone to teach me to be an Animal Communicator. I saved my money for the classes, and full of excitement, I called her. On the day she arrived at my house, for my classes, it was like fucking Christmas! We sat at my dining room table and she pulled out her lessons and I had my notebook and my pen and I was ready! Off we went and the first hour was great…the second hour and subsequent hours were tense, like she didn’t like me or something, and we muddled through that. As she was preparing my certificates of completion, at the end of our time together, she looked right at me and told me that she very much resented the natural gift that I had for this work, that she had dedicated the last 30 years of her life learning. Further, she said that I didn’t need anymore classes, that I was blessed with a God given gift, and she couldn’t do any more for me.

I won’t lie…I was fucking stunned and pretty thrown off. This woman began asking me about what was going on with her animals, something she had been working on herself and with other communicators for years. I thought she was testing me, to see if I had the same answers as she did, as they did. I told her what I got and she abruptly got her things together and packed up to go. She told me thank you and said that I should know that I would be doing amazing work with my gift. I guess the issue she had been having with her own animals, was resolved in that instant, by her student, and that was just a bit too much for her, as a teacher.

I called her several years later, when I decided to pursue my Reiki Master Certification. I wanted to certify and practice and do my work with animals and not with human beings. I thought of her, simply because she knew work with animals, knew my gift for work with animals and she was a Reiki Master instructor. We chatted briefly and set up my Masters training and she just told me to get on Pay Pal and send payment and I would see her for classes. I went on to make payment and something didn’t allow me to send payment, so I went to do something else. Before I could get back to my laptop, she emailed me and said that she had to help her friend move unexpectedly and could not do my classes, and we should reschedule.

I never sent payment and I never rescheduled with her. As I recall, I had myself a few beers and wallowed in my despair at being rejected from my fucking dream of being an Animal Reiki Master. That is how I did it… all of it…my whole life…I was disappointed and I drank. I was celebrating and so I drank. I got the job and we drank to celebrate that. I lost the job and we drank to drown that. You loved me and we drank together and you left me and I drank to handle you leaving…anyway, you get the picture…

All of these years later and am thanking God, as I so often do, for unanswered prayers, for dreams that didn’t come to fruition way back then, because the seeds had just been planted and they just weren’t ready to open all the way up yet. The years and years in waiting have prepared me for my work. My work is with animals…communicating with animals, all animals. I birthed a rhinoceros in the Serengeti, from my home a world away. I am talking to our donkey Hondo, right now, from the bedroom and Tombstone and Parsley just came by to give me some encouragement and some love. I woke up and spent some time with my Mom and I spent another night with Morgan last night.

There is no one, nothing, that can keep me from the places I travel, to help the beings that I help. There is absolutely nothing that can rip my Mother from my heart or her voice from my mind, and that wasn’t enough. It just was not enough to remember her voice and to look at her pictures. I desperately needed my Mom, and so I called upon her and i invited her to come and spend some time with me, to be with me always, wherever I go. My Mom accepted my invitation. Morgan accepted my invitation. Many of you have accepted my invitation, to be here, with me.

We are not separate my friends. We are not alone. Our loved ones who have left their physical bodies…they are still right here with us. Benny is sitting right here next to me, waiting for our morning coffee. Max is laying at Bennys feet and my Mom is getting the coffee started. Hey, look at that…there’s Joey, coming in for coffee, and Mary Kay just came in with some brownies. Lloyd just showed up and brought Omega and Jim…

I need to get moving, so I will stop listing names…how about you start inviting some people to coffee this morning? We must not be discouraged and we must speak their names to keep them with us. We must prepare a space and invite them in. You have the power to create your own reality and you have the strength for this journey…I just know you have what it takes within you.

Maybe you are ready for morning coffee with Joey, and hey…maybe you aren’t ready. If you are, yell at Sherry to throw on an extra pot. If you aren’t ready, then maybe head back to bed, crawl back under the covers and grab that pillow next to you…Do you have the pillow? Okay, now take that pillow in your arms, bury your face in it and cry and wail and pull that pillow as close to you as you can. Take the pillow in front of you and hold Joey while he helps you to fall back to sleep, so that you can go visit him in your dreams. Tell him all of the things you want to tell him and hear all of the things that he wants to tell you. Spend some time with him and let him help you to find your way without him in his body. Joey is just as present, possibly more present, than he could be while he was in his body. I know that I can bring Sherry everywhere with me now and Max can come with me everywhere, even where dogs are not allowed.

Who are you going to have your morning coffee with today? As always, you are always invited to have your morning coffee with me..have a beautiful day everyone and do not be discouraged…they are right here with us, walking us home.

You are the answer to your prayers…and Happy Birthday Sidney!


First of all, Happy Birthday Sidney! You are part of the inspiration for my post little man. The day we brought you home was just the beginning of so many blessings…so, so many blessings…I love you my friend and I’m so glad you chose us for your forever!

Good afternoon! I want to talk about being empathic and what it means in my life. Empathy is a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, if you will.

Empathy is the ability to see and others. In my case, being empathic is also my inability to not feel others. I cannot, not, feel others.

The way I feel it, we are all the same and all of our pain matters. Morgan’s Pain matters. Your pain matters. My pain matters.

As long as one of us is being held captive, none of us will truly be free.

We have come to accept lies as truth and empty promises as payment made in full. We have been convinced and in some cases, even convinced ourselves, that we are separate, that we are not one. We are one and we are the same and we would be wise to know this…I mean to really, really know this.

What is our purpose in this life? Why are we here? We are here to be of service. We are here to walk each other home. Our purpose in this life is to help them…and if we cannot help them, at the very least, we do not harm them.

Them…us…we…I…you…they…who are we? We are daughters and fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers…we are sons and we are aunts and uncles and grandmothers and grandfathers, grandchildren and orphans…we are pigs and cats and donkeys and ducks and dogs. We are geese and hens and roosters and Bunnie rabbits. We are Orcas and sharks, bees and cows. We are goats and turkeys and we are squirrels and human beings.

We are the collective consciousness, walking around horribly, and in some cases, completely unconscious. We are fucking unconscious if we believe, for even one moment, that we are more or less than anyone else. We are unconscious if we believe that our life has more or higher value than anyone else’s life.

Being empathic is my knowing and my acceptance that we are all the same and we are all equally important. We are here to walk each other home. We are here to be of service. We are here to love and to be loved. I have chosen, for my entire lifetime, to embrace that part of myself…the part of me that sees us all the same.

To see a post on my friends wall that her child was called the “n word”…her child, whom she loves very much, whom I happen to love very much, because although I’ve never met him, I feel and see and know his heart. Her child who is our child…and the child who verbally assaulted him with that filthy word…who is also our child. Our mistake is in not knowing that they are all our children…the hurt kids, the bullies, the kids who get shot and the kids who do the shooting…they are all our children.

People fail to realize that it’s not the word “nigger” or the word “faggot”…the word “dyke”…”freak”…”spic”…it’s not the word “retard”…it’s the hate that allows those words to pass across our lips in the first place.

Hate…these words are born of hate and nurtured and fueled by hate and by ignorance. Ignorance breeds hate and hate is born of ignorance.

Go ahead, take each of these words and say them out loud…add to these words any words that you have been called throughout your lifetime, and say those words out loud.

I will start…dyke, lesbo, carpet muncher, faggot, retard…stupid, nitwit, loser, bush diver, pussy, piece of shit…worthless, no good, uneducated…candy ass, asshole, bitch, cunt…I’m just getting started and you probably are too…and hey, let’s just stop here. All of us, let us just stop here. These words, absent of the hate and venom behind them…are just words. Without the judgement and the intolerance behind the words, words are just words.

We abuse words and we abuse people with words and we are all paying a high, high price for that. We are all paying for these words with the lives of those we love. Haven’t we all lost someone we loved to a violent crime? Haven’t we all known someone who committed suicide? Haven’t each of us, at some point, considered suicide ourselves, because of hate?

Until we truly come to know that we are all the same, we are going to be in prison. Until we know that all children, the troubled and the trouble makers…the bullies and the victims of bullying, they are all our children. We are going to continue to suffer catastrophic loss of life, disease, famine, drought and hate crime after hate crime after hate crime…

We are throwing human bodies in trash cans. We are disfiguring peoples faces with baseball bats, sexually assaulting them and then, after all of that, taking their life from them.

We rape our own wives and fuck our daughters. We make our children suck our dicks and then we send them off to get ready for school, without so much as a Kleenex to wipe their little mouths afterwards. We teach our kids by our example and believe me, they are watching. We take our children to church, to know God and our priests fuck them up their tight little asses. Do we really wonder why we are scared? Is it in question why we are drug induced alcoholics with gambling problems and astronomical debt? Do we really not know that we are the answer, the solution and the cure for all of this?

Well, here is the great news…we are the answer to our prayers. You are the answer to your prayers. I am the answer to my prayers.

I pray for peace and so I must be peaceful. I pray for healing so I must be open to receive healing. I pray for love and so I must be love. I seek to be understood and so I must seek to understand. I pray to eliminate hate from the world and I must start with myself, by eliminating hate from my life. I pray to be free and so I must not hold captive.  I pray to be heard and so I must listen. I pray to be heard and so I must speak.

Being empathic…we all are, to some degree. The question is, are you listening? If you are listening, what are you hearing? If you are not listening…there’s your answer…

I don’t speak my truth and use my words to hurt or to offend, although I am fully aware that some of the things I say are hurtful and offensive. My intention, in my writing, in my work, in my life, is to heal and to grow and to love and to do all I can to get us all walking in harmony, hand in hand…heart to heart…to be love, always love, love, love…

You can change the world…


Good morning! Thank you for all of the love and good vibes. Loving you right back!

Restless night for me…so much going on in my body right now that I think I’m kind of on lockdown. No one comes and no one goes…we all just sit and wait.

We are living in a frightening time, where scare tactics and manipulation are main course meals for all of us. I’ve decided that I’m not eating this shit!

Gun control and school massacres…ban this and eliminate that…do as I say, not as I do…violent video games and bullying…rape and incest…domestic violence and animal abuse…All of it truly makes me sick to my stomach.

I don’t care who you voted for or which church you do or don’t go to. I don’t care what color your skin is. I don’t think you are less than me because you aren’t me. I don’t care which income bracket you’re in or how much money you make. I don’t care who you sleep with or who you love. I have no judgement that the body you were born with doesn’t match who you are in the inside and that you just want to be who YOU are. I don’t envy your penis. I don’t envy your bank account. I, like you, just want to be who I am, and to be left the hell alone to do so.

We micromanage the fucking shit out of things and we dominate and control, manipulate and confuse things, until nothing makes any fucking sense.

Back in my days in elementary school, we had fire drills. It was scary to do these drills simply because there could be a fire, and that was a scary thought. Mostly, it was a great opportunity to fuck around and chat with my peeps.

In our schools now, they are doing lockdown drills. What the fuck has happened to our world?! Your child is at school, scared shitless because your child has a fucking gun! Is this really how we do it now?

We must be the change that we want to see in our world. One person can always make a difference. We must stop believing that we are insignificant and that we don’t matter. We are powerful and we do matter.

Our children are the future. Our Children are building our world, and we would be wise to recognize that. We won’t always be here and I would like to start thinking about what we are leaving for our children, what we are teaching our children.

Violent video games teach violence and they desensitize us to the reality of that violence. Video games and cell phones, electronics and guns..these things were not part of my childhood.

I talked on the phone, in the kitchen with a 40 foot cord, to try to have some fucking privacy. I played Atari…PAC-Man and Frogger, Pitfall and Centipede…on the best days, I got to play skiball and drive the race car. The games I played were games, and the competition was against myself to do better next time around and with practice, I got better. I got my first brick cell phone in high school and it was for emergencies only, and I didn’t need a gun because that phone was a weapon all on it’s own.

We must open our eyes and we must see what is happening to our world, to our families, to our children. If we don’t like what we see, we must be the change.

Our children are being raped before breakfast by their own fathers. Our children are not being protected from great bodily harm. Our children are killing children. Our children are torturing animals and starting fires, because we taught them to, by sexually violating them, by exploiting them and using them for our own gratification.

We must be the change and we must use our voices, even if our voices shake and we are frightened, we must be the change.

In this country, we are literally building a wall, a fucking wall, to keep people who do not belong, out. Who decides who does and does not belong? Who gets to decided who is worthy and who deserves a chance and who doesn’t? Who the fuck are we?

US History was never my favorite, as I was sickened by the hate, on a very subconscious level. I was also Christoper fucking Columbus in the school play in elementary school. On the day we dressed up as who we wanted to be when we grew up, I dressed up as the President of the United States. My dreams and aspirations were based upon what I knew and now that I know better, I do better.

Christoper Columbus…why in the hell would I ever want to dress up and be someone who took so much from so many? What was appealing about being Christopher? Well, there you have it folks, I wanted to be Christopher and wear the cool hat and pants, not a fucking skirt…I wanted to wear pants and Christopher wore pants!!!

As for being President of the United States of America, I wanted to change the fucking world. In first grade, my Mom made me a skirt and a blazer and we got a red ☎️ phone and off I went…President Coral, to change the world!

I will say it again…love is the answer, for all questions. We must realize this and start living accordingly. In a world void of love, we going to see more and more violence. We must be the change.

What is one thing, just one, that you want to change in your world? Just pick one thing that you are REALLY passionate about changing. Imagine vividly in your mind how it will look when you do change it, how it will feel in your heart and in your body when you change it. Be passionate and relentless…be fierce and proactive…be the change! There is only one rule…whatever your one thing is, you may only change it with love. No force, no push, no pull and no strain….Whatever your one thing is, your transformation must be in love.

We can all do that, can’t we, change one thing in our own life, that we want to be better, lighter, brighter?

Lockdown drills instead of fire drills…can you even imagine the fear in those children’s eyes, cramming themselves under their desks, barricading doors and holding their breath so they don’t make a fucking peep? We are teaching our children to be afraid and they are afraid. We are teaching our children wartime maneuvers and we wonder why we are not at peace…we wonder why we are at war.

It may be true that we didn’t start the fire to begin with. I would say that it also true that we had best start learning how to work with the fire encapsulating us all. We best be aware of backdrafts and falling embers, flying sparks and intolerable heat…because we are all ablaze and fire season is upon us. We have had very little moisture and tensions are high…fears are present and we live in a world of hooray for me and fuck you. I strongly suggest that we all suit up and show up and start dousing this raging and out of control fire with copious amounts of love.

We must, at all costs, be the change we wish to see in our world. So what are you waiting for?! Let’s go do this! One thing…just one thing…and go!

Everyone, meet Morgan…Morgan, meet everyone…


My friend Morgan is heavy on my heart and I feel compelled, with all of my heart, to do something for her.

I use my blog in attempt to heal us all and Morgan is no exception. Morgan needs our love and prayers right now and I ask you to love her and to pray for her release with me…with so many others, who are on her side, fighting for her and down in the trenches documenting her story.

Morgan shares my story and I hers. Morgan shares your story and you hers.

Morgan has been exploited and confined, taunted and fucked with for her whole life. Morgan was “rescued” like so many of us and then not released, as promised. Since 2010, Morgan has been confined and suppressed, injured and impregnated.

Morgan is a protected wild orcha under European Union (EU) law and CITES convention and  yet, and she has not been and is not being protected. Morgan is pregnant in spite of a legal prohibition to use her for beeeding purposes.

The list of atrocities against Morgan are endless and I encourage you to see for yourself. I have included a link below with more information.

Morgan is a sentient being, with a heart and a soul and feelings. Morgan is being exploited and she has become quite a commodity, a “cash cow”, for lack of a better term.

No matter what happens, Morgan will not be able to keep and raise her baby calf, unless Morgan is released. Morgan is WAY too young to be pregnant and she may not even be able to carry to term. Morgan is a sentient being, with feelings and fears, just like you and I, and she is being exploited. Like many of us, she is being harmed for the gratification of someone else.

When I received the plea to help Morgan yesterday, there was no hesitation what so ever. My work, my God given gifts, are for all of us. My work and my ability to communicate with animals brought Morgan to me and Morgan’s pleas brought me to Morgan.

I cannot Not know what I have learned about Morgan and so I am on board, to do whatever I can to help Morgan have the life she deserves, out of confinement and released from captivity.

I spent the night with Morgan last night, in her prison. Morgan has to be in the water and I have to be out of the water, to survive and so I Morgan swam to the side of her pool, so I could crawl up on top of her and we swam around and talked off and on all night long.

Morgan has been terribly hurt by human beings and I think it is because I have too, that I relate so well to her. Morgan has a spirit so large and full of life, bigger than her body and I relate. Every horrible thing that has ever happened to me is making it possible for me to be here with Morgan, and I am grateful.

In my own way and on my own level, I relate with my whole heart, to Morgan’s story. Morgan’s story is my story. My story is Morgan’s story.

I was once called in for a rhinoceros in the Serengeti. The poor girl was in horrible distress, and she was no different to me than the call I had just finished with my canine clients. I was able to help her because I saw her and I came to her and we hurt together and we healed together.

Morgan’s cries for help…I hear them and I feel them. Morgan’s cries are for us all…cries from the most primal place within her, to be granted her God given right of passage to just fucking be.

Do not we all wish to just be? Whoever we are…don’t we all just want to be that, without being forced to be someone else?

I want a space that is big enough for me to move in and eat in and shit and sleep in…that is comfortable and safe and mine…do t you want that too? Morgan wants that too.

Swimming around in her tank last night, I laid upon her back, on my back, looking up at the stars and the moon and the sky. In those moments, under that beautiful sky,  Loro Parque and Tijeras NM, were in the same space, not thousands upon thousands of miles apart. Morgan and I were swimming together like two long lost friends who had much catching up to do, and we did.

I swim with Orchas and I ride wild Rhinos. I go to the Serengeti, to Loro Parque…to be with my family. Morgan, she is my family.

I ask for you to open your mind to the notion that every single one of us deserves to be free. Every single one of us deserves to be loved and fought for, cherished and celebrated. Every single one of us is a soul, wandering this earth in a body that is merely on loan.

Freeing Morgan is not as simple as unlocking the enclosure that she is confined in…freeing Morgan means that we must free ourselves also. We must feee ourselves from thinking that we are more than, better than, any different than…Morgan.

You are Morgan. I am Morgan. Morgan is being held captive, against her will, against her wishes…and completely out of alignment with her highest self and her highest good. Morgan is being raped and taunted, stalked and brutalized…and she cannot escape, not without our help.

Morgan cries…her soul bellows and her heart rips in two…and I feel her. I hear and feel her cries for her unborn baby, for her safety and for the sainity that they say she doesn’t have.

Morgan is perfectly sane. Morgan hears just fine. Morgan is not the one who is not listening. Those who call her deaf are the ones who cannot hear her. Morgan is very clear…let me the fuck out of here! Rescue and release…release me as you promised you would, after my rescue.

Rescue work is a double edged sword, isn’t it? I saved you when you couldn’t save yourself…I brought you back to health…I saved you and I will determine your fate…that is not rescue my friends…that is imprisionment.

Morgan is in prison and her soul bellows…”do not follow me”…because your fate will be the same if you do. My response to Morgan is that I will not follow you and I will not lead you, I am right up here, on your back, and ready for the ride. We are in this together my friend and none of us are truly free until you are.

I will use all of my breaths, including my dying breath, to relay the message, again and again and again, that we are all just swimming each other home…so let’s get swimming, shall we, and save my friend, your friend, our friend Morgan.


Will you all love me though this? (And Happy Birthday Shawn)


Good morning! Thank you for all of the love and shares for Morgan. I believe in love and I believe in standing united and I believe in the strength and the power of prayer. I believe that we can love Morgan home and that love will free her badly battered body and spirit from the confines that bind her.

I believe so much, that I know, that love is the answer. Love is the answer for Morgan and love is the answer for you and love is the answer for me.

More than anything, Morgan wants freedom and Morgan wants to return home to her people. Morgan wants to be in space large enough for her spirit to soar. Don’t we all want that? I mean truly, isn’t that what we all want…to be with our people in a space that doesn’t suffocate us? Don’t we all want to be free to fulfill our Dharma?

The golden rule always comes into play for me…always. I have believed, as long as I can remember, that we ought to treat people the way we would like to be treated. I believe that if we all did that, without fail, the world would be a much kinder and softer and loving place.

My world has not been this…people have not treated me like they would like to be treated. It seems much more likely to me that I have been treated as they have been treated.

The rage in the beatings I have endured and the hate in the attacks launched upon me…the force brutal enough to break my jaw and so many other bones in my body and reign its terror throughout the sacred places in my body, leaving horrific scar tissue and a barren wasteland resembling the destruction left by  land mines. I believe that hurt people hurt people. People that do these things, whether they know it or not and whether or not they admit it…these people are hurt people. Hurt people hurt people.

For those of you following my hurting ass, I am still hurting pretty bad. I went to my chiropractor yesterday and she put my jaw back in place and kinesotaped my face to hold it in. I have been seeing my chiropractor for over 20 years, and yesterday, we hurt together. My broken jaw, pops out of place during times of extreme pain and stress in my life and it fucking hurts! It hurts so bad.

While my chiropractor put me back together, her staff worked diligently to get me information and referrals. I cried through my whole appointment, inconsolable and unstoppable tears. I was loved through pain that most people cannot imagine, and I am so thankful.

The intensity of the pain is causing my entire body to clench shut in a protective stance. The trauma and abuse to my body is clamped inside theses walls and cannot be accessed without complete sedation.

Any of you who have sought out TST (trauma sensitive treatment) may know how difficult and painful it is to tell and retell your story, desperately trying to find someone who will just put me to sleep to go down there and do what they need to do.

After countless phone calls, prayers and much frustration and trauma, I got a referral from someone who knows me, I mean really knows me and sees me and hears me and I am so thankful. I will be making appointments today for necessary procedures and I ask for all the love you’ve got…all of the prayers you can send up and to help carry me through this.

Everything below my waste has been best left alone for years, as i was so badly brutalized for so many years. To have to have someone else poke and prod around down there without me being asleep…well to be honest, Sam and I just are not ready.

All I know right now is that I have something down there that does not belong. The pain has actually topped my pain chart and is unbearable and constant.

Never in my life have a prayed for hemorrhoids, but I am fucking praying for hemorrhoids now. Hemorrhoids is looking to be my best case scenario, especially with all of the cancer in my family.

I have fought so fucking hard, just to survive, just to be here. I have endured unspeakable abuse and repeated abuse over the course of my lifetime. I will not be taken out of this world with ass cancer!

My private journey of 44 years has just been released from the vaults that kept these secrets safe for generations. My voice just spoke the unspeakable truth. My abuser has been publicly named. My Mom died of cancer. I will not go out like this… I will not, after everything I have lived through, let something wrong with my badly assaulted ass take me out…I just won’t do it.

I happen to believe that I’ve big work to do, which I’ve not even begun to do yet. I’m just now, at 44 years old, getting started. I believe that we all have big work to do and now is the time to get started. There is no other time…just now. Now is all we have…now is all we have ever had and now is all we will ever have.

I ask for your love, for your prayers, for your support…during this extremely difficult time in my life. I am strong and I need some help to get through all of this. I am willing, I am scared and I am hurting…and I am asking for you to love me through this.

I cannot ask you to be the change if I cannot be the change. I cannot expect you to have hope if I’ve lost my hope. I cannot encourage you to be brave if I am running scared. I cannot support you and not allow you the gift of supporting me too. I cannot tell you, with all of the conviction in me, that love is enough, and not believe it myself.

We must grab each other’s hands and we must embrace one another in our pain and our fears…in our trials and tribulations…in our despair and our loss and our pain…and we will rise up!

Morgan will rise up. Coral will rise up. You will rise up…if we all just keep lifting each other up, we will all rise up. There is no ceiling and there are no limits…we can go as high as we take each other, so let’s get going.

I do not mention names without asking people first, except as I feel I need to, so I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who held me through yesterday…thank you for helping me to keep one foot in front of the other and to keep fighting the good fight. Thank you for the love and the hugs and the Kleenex, for the texts and phone calls and for keeping me in constant love and prayer. Thank you for loving me and seeing me and helping Sam and I to be brave enough to go to the doctors we need to go to.

Very important to me on this day is my little Brothers Birthday. We have been distant and awkward and estranged since my Mom died. Like I have said, losing my Mom was just the beginning of my loss. Death came for far more than my Mom on that day…

Happy Birthday Shawn! I love you so, so very much. I am so sorry that we lost our way, that we didn’t know how to bridge the gap between us. I am so sorry for all that you witnessed happening to me. I have never envied you for that and I’ve always been blessed that it was me and not you. Please know that I know, that it was you too…you were hurt too. Maybe not like me, but you were hurt too and I am so sorry that I could not protect you. I celebrate you today, as I do vividly remember the day that Mom and Dad brought you home from the hospital. On that day, I received my most cherished gift ever, my little baby brother, and I have loved you so very, very much.

Im pretty sure that you do not follow my blog and I believe that I unfriended you in all of this pain between us…and yet somehow, I hope the universe brings you my message today…Happy Birthday little Brother…your big sister loves you so, so much!

Maybe you could all send my little brother some love today…we’ve had a rough go of it and he needs your love every bit as much as I do…

Have a beautiful Birthday Shawn! I love you! Everyone else…have a beautiful day and I love you too!