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.

This morning I write for my dear friend Taffy, who’s needs all of our love…

Good morning everyone! Please welcome my good buddy Taffy to the healing room this morning! Taffy is 14 years old and as you can see, he struggles with some physical ailments. Taffy just turned 14 on Thursday, February 14th. Taffy’s body struggles and yet his spirit soars! Taffy needs assistance for the body that carries his huge spirit and his enormous soul around. Taffy is love and today, I am asking you to send every last bit of love you have to our boy Taffy, his sister Lily and his Mom Nicole and his Father, Rod. This morning, they need us to lift them up and to hold them close. The struggle is real for Taffy and the struggle is just as real for his mom and dad who are carrying him through this storm. Lily, well, her highest self is all about Taffy’s highest good. Her “in body self” though…she is used to Taffy giving her hell, and he isn’t, because he can’t and so please send her all of your good juju this morning to love her bobo through this difficult journey.

We all have that special someone and Victor, well he sure was someone special. Just ask Rod or Nicole about Victor! Victor was the first angel that came down when I called for Taffy’s tribe to surround him. Victor pushes Taffy’s little ass right back across the rainbow bridge that he was trying to cross too soon, back to us, for a bit longer. Victor inhabits Taffy’s little body now much of the time, to help him keep wheeling himself along. Last night, just like I held little Aiden for twelve days, in recliners and felonious hands…in abandoned cars and sickness…I held Taffy. Taffy will not leave my arms, and I ask you to give all the love you mustered up for Aiden and his family for Taffy and his family now. As Taffy and I journey, as Morgan and Marne and I still journey, I ask each of you to lift us up. With all you’ve got this morning, please lift us all up in your love and healing light that we may love Taffy and his family to the brim and overflowing!

I have never really been able to explain my work. I realize as I write this morning that is because it needs no explanation. My work is my work and when it is done, it is forgotten. I once birthed a baby rhinoceros in the Serengeti. I still swim with Morgan and her calf Marne in Tenerife. I am always right next to Aiden and I go to see him every chance I get.

Aiden asks for your love for his buddy Taffy this morning. I never laid hands or eyes on Aiden until Aiden finally came home. My eyes, in my work, they are not what gives me the vision I need to do my work. My heart and my divinity…my love and my desire to spread God’s love and healing…my knowing and my acceptance that I am here to love us all home…that is one tool I use daily…and she has never once failed me. As I walk out of fear and into love, I thank Aiden and Taffy and Teddy and Alice and Penn…Gypsy and Hannah…Michael and Jackson and Sid…Rio and countless other clients who have walked me home. My interaction with these clients has inspired a shift for me in my work. This shift is to return to the Serengeti, where I did not give one fuck what people would think if I relayed my experience, of birthing a baby rhinoceros so that she could live, while her mommy died birthing her. I brought her in and I carried her mom out. When the time came, I picked up my own mother in my loving arms and I carried her home. That is who I am and that is how I do it. Actually, to be honest, I don’t do it. God uses me as a vessel to do what he cannot do without hands. I am merely an instrument used by the master himself, and I am so thankful, grateful and blessed. Thank you God, for choosing me to love your beautiful babies. Love is a verb and I am learning how to love as I am loved.

Taffy might have a day left. Taffy might have a week or a month or years left. We have no way of knowing, until we know. Taffy told me yesterday, as I gazed into his mother’s beautiful, sparkling and “Sherry blue” eyes, filled with tears, that until his soul leaves his eyes, he is all in. My mom opened her beautiful, sparkling blue eyes one last time, before the last time she opened her eyes…and the last time, her eyes were gray…for her soul had left the building. Taffy reminds us all that our eyes are the window to our soul. When that light goes out, the soul soars free and we bust out of the bodies that contained us and can no longer carry us. I saw my mom yesterday, in Nicole’s eyes and I saw little Aiden in Taffy. I see you in me and me in you. As we walk each other home, sometimes we all need a little lift. Today, with all of my heart, I ask you to lift Taffy and his family up and that you love them with all you’ve got!

I hope you all have a beautiful Saturday and I ask you to please say with me, “We love you Taffy! We have got you in our loving arms! Let’s keep rolling big guy!”

Christmas to me…

Good morning. Merry Christmas! I mean if that’s your thing. I am finding that Christmas is not my thing at all. I won’t be writing about Yuletide and joy and decking the halls this morning. You are probably going to church for all of that, like I did for the first 18 or so years of my life. I won’t offer you any of that. In fact, I sit here wondering what all of that really is anyway? Reindeer and Christmas trees…baby Jesus in the manger and exorbitant spending landing so many in debt. Suicide rates climb and alcohol consumption sky rockets as we celebrate baby Jesus? What in the literal fuck? I mean no disrespect…truly. I just cannot help but wonder what all of this Christmas hype is really about? I can guarantee you that it is not about baby Jesus.

I landed in Hell last night and I’ve not re-emerged just yet. These feelings get pushed down and back every year and this year, stifled and repressed. Not this year…this year on Christmas morning as I open not one gift, and as I sit with no tree or Christmas decorations, I wish myself a merry Christmas. I wish you a merry Christmas. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. This day is just another day to me. Unfortunately this day cuts me deeply and I’m not done bleeding just yet. Sherry was Christmas and although she was with me in my dreams, Sherry didn’t make it again this year for Christmas morning. The primal cries dislodging their way out of me this morning feel as though they are fracturing my very soul. Sherry was Christmas.

Days like today wreck me in ways that I cannot articulate. The world feels cold. The world is missing. Tangled up in tinsel and swiping credit cards like clockwork…pushing through crowds in a hurry to get the right sizes and the best deals…disregarding one another and human decency all together. Buying dead birds and stuffing them up their ass so that we can be thankful…ya, I don’t get it. I really have determined that don’t get it.

I remember the joy of Christmas and holding Shawn’s hand as we waited in the hall together for everyone to walk in together. We were so excited to see what Santa brought us! Our Christmases were magical and storybook…full of wonder and joy…family and friends…delicious food and gifts…our house was always a destination spot for sure. I am so thankful that Shawn and I are speaking again. Everything else and everyone else from Christmas past is gone from me. I don’t really feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry. I feel sad. I feel a little lost and empty. I hurt so deep and so badly last night that I prayed I wouldn’t wake this morning. I’ve not prayed that prayer in a while. I meant it. Alas my prayer was not answered and so I am down here in my studio…writing and trying to figure out how to come to life. I cannot stomach the mean and the nasty and the short and the snippet. I cannot understand the irritability and the frustration so present everywhere. The intolerance and the outright abuse all around me. I literally feel it killing my soul slowly and I am tired of fucking dying this slow and agonizing death, over and over and over again. I don’t want to be too much and I am. I don’t want to feel like I’m not enough and I do feel that way, a lot. I don’t want to make excuses for you as to why you are as you are to me. I don’t have any fucking idea why you are as you are to me. I only know that it hurts and I don’t like it. You left and I watched you. I’m not crazy as many suggest. I’m honest. In a dishonest world. The truth that I crave and the denial of it have always made me feel a little crazy I suppose. Talking about how I really feel on Christmas morning…who the fuck does that?! I mean really…who does that, ever? Who talks about what really hurts and how we really feel?

Being alone on Christmas morning isn’t any different than being alone on Thursday or Sunday…but it is, isn’t it? It is different and somehow it hurts more, doesn’t it? That loveless marriage hurts a lot more this morning, doesn’t it? The person you loved with your whole heart, who passed away and left you here…you feel that a bit more today, don’t you? The divorce and the custody battle…it all hits home on days like this…all you’ve lost…all you miss and long for…somehow it hurts worse this morning, doesn’t it? Maybe it doesn’t for you…and I am so happy if you are in a different place than I am this morning. I was once in a different place than I am this morning. I will be in a better place again.

This Christmas morning I could not blog about what I do not feel. I do not feel joy. I do not feel like tinseling the town. I am not digging gifts out from hiding places with a smirk across my face. I’m not playing Santa and passing out gifts under our family tree. I…just I…sit here feeling like a fucking bomb went off in my life. I see all of the pieces scattered everywhere and they look and feel familiar to me…and yet this must be someone else’s ground zero. This must be someone else’s life. This cannot be happening to me.

I just had morning coffee with Tamara and I feel a bit more grounded. We cried together. We hurt together. We come together…in all of this pain…I thank God that Tamara and I always come together. Tamara is my rock and I am so thankful.

Tamara and I decided to begin a new tradition this year for Christmas. A tradition that embodies who we are and how we feel. We are going to be spending our day today being of service. Please join us if you wish! We would love to have you!

Jesus was born in a manger, to a virgin. There was no room for baby Jesus in the inn and so they prepared a place for him in the barn. The wisemen came and gifted him gold, frankincense and myrrh. The gold is a symbol of kingship on earth. The frankincense, an incense, a symbol of deity. The myrrh, am embalming oil, a symbol of death. The shepherds left their flocks and came to the manger. The North Star their only light. The animals gathered around baby Jesus and it was fucking serene and beautiful and holy. How did we get from that manger to the commercialization and exploitation…the exclusion and the alcoholism, the debt and the wars we are waging…all in the name of Christmas?! For fucks sake, where is baby Jesus?!

On your way to your Christmas church service, how many less fortunate people did you pass right by, without a second thought? If Jesus is the reason for the season, I suggest we start being Christlike. If you attribute all of this holiday hype to that baby in the manger, then where is your frankincense? Shoving a turkeys ass full of stuffing while shoving another cocktail down your fillet…excluding that annoying family member and talking shit about the people not sitting with you…failing to set a place for those gone but not forgotten…and tipping back another egg nog…did you think that maybe you might be missing the whole point of Christmas?

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. This day…Tuesday…is a good day to go out there and be love. Don’t take Christ out of Christmas and wonder why we are as we are. We are here to be of service…to walk each other home. We are here to love. Merry Christmas! Maybe take a moment to think about what Christmas is and what Christmas is not to you this year? Don’t continue someone else’s tradition that doesn’t jive with your soul. Don’t honor a tradition that you know absolutely nothing about. We are here to love each other. Our new Christmas tradition is that…to be love…to be loved…to be together. And so it is.

If you’ve nowhere to be today…come be with us. Seriously, message me if you want to be with us today. We would love to have you! All of you…everyone is welcome!

Three years later…I dedicate today’s blog to my Mom…I love you. I miss you. I hear you.

Today is December 3rd. Three years ago at 12:06pm, on this day, my Mom won her battle with stage four breast cancer, with metastasis to her liver, her lungs and her brain, and her heart stopped beating. My Mom was 66 years old. My Mom was a mother and a wife for just over 46 years and that is all she ever wanted to be…a wife and a Mom. My mom was a good wife and my mom was a good mom and my blog today is in honor of and in loving memory of my Mom, Sherry Marie Ricketts.

My soul struggles today. My heart aches with each heartbeat this morning. This gut-wrenching, life-leveling and completely inconsolable pain is upon me and I feel crushed by its weight this morning. My mom is dead and I can’t fucking take it. Three years and yet no time has passed at all. Today, right now…I am right back there.

5:21am and I awake, although I’ve not slept in two months, to my Dad calling down the hall for me. We need to change your mom again. No wait…that was a few days ago. On this morning I got up to let Tamara out, so she can get up the mountain and feed everyone. Tamara came down last night to be with me…to be with us. My Mom has been non-verbal and non-responsive for days now. Aging with every breath she takes…we cannot not know that my mom is going home soon.

Preparing her meds, I hear her gasping in the other room for breath. I can’t fucking take it anymore and I call hospice and she says she will be right there. One of the kindest souls I’ve ever known…an angel came and she said we were getting close. I asked her how close and she said hours to maybe a day. My mom had lost her gag reflex and time was short. Time was so short in fact that it was only a couple of hours between hospices last visit and my calling them back to help me. God damn it I needed someone to help me. My Mom, lying dead in our den, was not there to help me, and I collapsed and I wept and I fucking died in that den too. My dad and I died in that den and we did not know what to do. I had to call my little brother and tell him that mom just died and he died and almost wrecked his car on that day too. I had to call Tamara and I had to tell her that mom was gone. I broke. I wailed. I went completely silent. I went out to smoke, hoping she would be breathing when I came back in. She was not. We all died a little bit that day. We all had absolutely no fucking idea what we were about to be facing…we had no guidance anymore. We were babies, all of us, and we didn’t know what in the fuck to do without that lifeless woman lying there telling us…guiding us…helping us. My God! Please help us!!!

Three years ago and yet I am there now, with and without my mom. I am in the studio she built for me, in front of the fire she insisted that I have and I am without my mom. The cold of that cannot be warmed by this fire. My soul screams this morning and my heart aches for my mom. I just want my mom right now. This is not just another day to me. Maybe someday it will be and today is not that day. December 3, 2015…a million fucking lifetimes ago and right fucking now…1095 days ago…26,280 hours ago…1,576,800 minutes ago…Three years ago on this day, time changed…life changed…I changed…and today I honor the place in me that needs to honor my mom today. And so it is.

Sherry was my Mom…Shawn’s Mom…and countless other people’s mom when they needed her to be.Sherry was Fred’s wife. Sherry was a friend to so many of you…a confidant and a crusader for so many of you. We know her differently and ever the same. We love her differently and ever the same, don’t we? Many of you hurt today too, don’t you? I feel you and I want you to know that I love you. I feel you. I miss those fucking high heels 👠 clicking towards me too.

My mom always told me that I should write. “Sugar, you write so well. Why don’t you write a book? You tell your story so well Sugar, why don’t you be a stand up comedian? Sugar, how do you spell…? Sugar, you write and draw and paint so well…you are an artist and a poet…why don’t you write and illustrate your own book? Maybe a book of your animals at the Sanctuary? Sugar, you are going to write, aren’t you?” Yes Mom. I am going to write. I began writing soon after I realized that was the only thing that could possibly, maybe, save me, and that was a year ago when I started coralsblog I am painting again mom and two of my pieces are in a local art show tomorrow evening, at Effing Bar (coincidence? I think not). I never wanted to be a Mom and my mom didn’t understand it…and she knew it just the same. My mom knew who I wanted to be…who I would be…she bought me their books…Shakespeare…Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso…Michael Jackson…Wayne Dyer Mickey Mouse and Jesus…Shel Silverstein…Dr. Seuss…just to name a few. I don’t know it then and I am grateful to know it now…my mom knew who I was and she knew I was here to do great things…amazing and huge things. I don’t think either of us realized that she would have to die for me to do it. This blog would not exist if my mom were still alive and so I do what I do. For every negative, I offer three positives:

My mom is dead and I can’t call her on the phone.

1. Because my mom has left her body, she is my biggest fan and no longer my biggest critic. For this new relationship with the woman I call my mom, I am eternally thankful.

2. Because my story is my own and because I am allowed to tell it, I am thankful that my mom is supportive and encouraging from where she is, as she was unable to be supportive of my being public about what happened in our family while she was in her body. My mom is my inspiration for much of my story now and I am so grateful.

3. I am so thankful that I had 42 years with my mom. I am thankful for the woman strong enough to carry me in and humble enough to let me carry her out. For every breath I lose missing my mom, someone else never got the time to know their mom at all. For the things I take for granted, I am becoming aware and I am so blessed.

Today, I stand before you making a different choice than I did a year ago…two years ago…on this day. I will not stand at her grave and weep…she is not there…she does not sleep. I am here and I do not sleep either. A little tiny pig needs a ride to her forever home this morning. I had scheduled my first work day with the little co-operative that we’ve been dreaming up, purposely to be on December 3rd, to begin a new, to awaken anew on this morning. We sadly canceled yesterday due to inclement weather and bad roads. So, that freed us up to jump in our Jeep and four wheel up out of here to be of service for a little bit today…and I am so fucking thankful! “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” Thank you Dr.Wayne Dyer. Up there with my mom this morning.,.please tell her I say hello and I love her Wayne. “Coral, you know I will.” And so it is.

I honor the woman who selflessly carried me in, a warrior in her womb and often a thorn in her side, this morning, knowing she would have to die for me to do my work. I honor the woman who was a warrior this morning. I honor the warrior in each of you this morning.

I love you mom. Today, in loving memory and honor of our mom, Tamara and I will be of service and be together. I will cry a lot. I will laugh a lot. I will appreciate your love and prayers and texts a lot. I love you.

We must go toward the love…(a message from Sherry and Coral)

Happy Sunday everyone! What a beautiful snow blanket we are covered in this morning! I love sitting cozy in front of the fire watching it snow and thinking of my Mom. I love living in the mountains, where I’ve always known would be my home and final resting place. I love being in love. As I learn what it means to be in love and how it feels to be in love…I love being in love more and more.

To be in love and I mean really in love, you have to bare your soul, don’t you? You have to bare witness to someone else’s soul too, don’t you? You have to really, really put yourself out there and to trust. You have to be naked in the fucking snow, so to speak, with icicles hanging off of you and you must trust that there is enough warmth within you to endure it. You have to be willing to do the hard work of loving first and risking not being loved in return. Sadly, this will happen to you. You will hurt and you will weep and you will want to not love anymore. And then you will love and someone will love you back and you will forget that you swore to never love again. Love scares the shit out of so many people. Love didn’t hurt us. Love never hurt us. Hurt people who didn’t know how to love us hurt us. Love did not hurt us. We, being hurt people ourselves, hurt people. Love did not do the damage that hurt people blame love for. Hurt people hurt people. (Lyric from one of my favorite songs…just escaped me which song and by whom…I apologize). We must know this so that we stopped blaming love and shying away from love. We must go toward the love. At all costs, we must go toward the love.

At the cemetery yesterday in bone chilling winds, my tears burned my face. The grass…the headstone…the whole fucking world was cold. My heart though…my heart was warm. As I drove off and pulled around to leave, there was a woman collapsed by a grave near my moms…sobbing and weeping and the shiver and tremor and pain ran through my very soul. My heart cracked and I sobbed for her. I sent her all of my love as I left her there to do what I have done so many times before…allow her to break and to pull herself back up in her time. I fucking loved that woman…right there…right then…I loved her through her enormous grief and I love her still and I do not even know her name. We do not have to know names and details that are none of our business anyway, do we? We do not. We can love another because we feel them so deeply that we cannot not know that we are them and they are us. Umbuntu. I am because you are. Do we not fall in love every day with pieces of our fractured selves that we cannot escape or heal…places that we don’t even recognize as our own when we see them in another? When I felt that woman sobbing on her knees on the very soil that I have soaked with my own tears so, so many times before…I did not need to know her name or for whom she cried. I only knew that I fucking loved her with all of my heart. We are here to love.

I woke this morning crying in my sleep, as the impending doom of December 3rd hit me in my heart center, my gut…my very fucking soul. Tomorrow at 12:06pm, three years ago…as I held my mothers hand, and she opened her eyes one last time, squeezed my hand and took her final breath…my Mom launched out of her body and soars above, around, within us all. I carried my mom home…just as my mom carried me in. My mom had a lifetime to look forward to in those tiny and yet unopened eyes and my time ran out as I placed my hands over her eyes and closed them one last time. Time does run out. We don’t do things because we don’t know how and so we just don’t. I can promise you this…I didn’t know how to lose my mom or how to follow that fucking hearse into those cemetery gates and to leave without her. I didn’t know how to do that and my mom wasn’t here to tell me how to do that and I did it. My mom left her body and then we had to leave her body there and what in the fuck is that?! Truly…who knows how to do that?! No one knows how to do that and so we do the best we can and we rely upon those who love us to help us to figure it out. That is love. Being in love is just that…being, in action…love…for someone…for yourself…be in love. You’ve only two choices…love or fear. We have been taught and programmed to fear…and yet we are love. I am. You are. We are love.

Sherry wants you to call your Mom…your Dad…your husband…your brother…your sister…your wife…your kids…your best friend…your grandparents…your neighbor…Sherry hates texting and she insists that you must call someone whom you say that you cannot live without. Not your husband in the next room. Give me a good honest reach here for someone that for whatever reason, you have been afraid to reach out to…afraid to call…call them now. My Mom and I are okay and we will always be okay. I’ve no regrets. Not a single one. My moms dying words to me, as were often her words in life to me, “Leave me alone.” And I did not leave her alone. Thank God that once again I did not listen to her!!! I did not leave her alone. I stayed by her side and I loved her home. You can do that too you know…what you want…what you need…you can do that too. If you want to call your mom…call her. If you are afraid to make that call, definitely make that call. I promise you that if you don’t make that call, you will run out of time to make that call and then you will wish you had made the fucking call. Your time will run out and your wishing you had done it will be for you to deal with in your grief. Don’t do that to you. Trust me…make the call. Hear her voice. Tell her thank you. Tell her you love her. One day there will be a phone with her number still in it that no longer connects to her. Her voice will begin to fade from your mind…your texts will have been lost in phone upgrades and you will be on your fucking knees wishing you could just talk to her one last time. I can’t. You can. Do me a favor and call her, okay?

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.

What in the fuck is right with you?

The picture in front of you is what the fuck is right with me…one of the many things right with this girl, is this girl right here. I love you Tamara. Thank you for being my right…my love and my truth. Every day may not be easy. Every single day with you is worth it though. 40033F82-9937-441B-B62C-58187334BB88.jpeg

Good morning everyone. I am back. My return is timely in that some of you reached while I was away. I am here if you need me. I never announce my departure and so I’m sorry if  I didn’t get back to you. We were out of service most of our trip and it felt so good. I’m here now though if you need me.

Thank you for being here with me this morning. I miss you whenever I am away. Our trip was short and sweet so we could get back to our babies home to our sister. Our sister outdid herself for sure. Our house is cleaner than it’s been in years, even the windows are clean! Our carpet and our bathrooms are clean. Our house feels like home. We came home to Enya playing and candles lit everywhere and it was so beautiful and so wonderful and so amazing. Tamara didn’t hesitate to share her sissy with me and I am so fucking blessed. The thing about this beautiful blessing is that I often don’t know how to receive it. Maybe I don’t feel worthy of it. I know that seeing Tamara with her sissy makes me miss my little brother so bad. Michele flies from California because she wants to be here for us and spend time with us and to help us to get back up. No strings…no pay…she just loves her sissies so much. I feel so blessed to be Michele’s little sister and even though I don’t know how to be a good sister to my big sister, I am learning.

I do not write anything that I write to get your sympathy. I write to get it all out. I am pretty fucking edited, believe it or not. I miss Shawn. I’ve missed him for many years and going to Jemez, I realized that I must leave him there when I returned, in that river. I must allow it all to just wash the fuck away. My mom. My dad. My little brother. The me that I was and the family I once had…all of it…I came to wash it all away. I did not come here to do this because I wanted to and to be honest, I didn’t return to Jemez for this reason at all. As I sat with the river yesterday morning though…and she invited me to take it all away with her…as she seduced me into believing that I let go of nothing that isn’t already gone. I ran to her river bank and I offered up the things I cannot change. I handed over the things I’ve never really held anyway. I broke into a million pieces and I submitted. I hit the jagged rocks at her depths and I crashed and thrashed and cried and resisted. Please river…please, please just let me keep Shawn and my Dad…please, I begged. Don’t take that little boy from me…the little boy I wanted more than anything to come home from the hospital and be my baby brother. Please river…please and with all of my heart…don’t take that little boy away. Weeping at her banks for all that never was…I let myself go too. Please river…take me too. Take the broken and not good enough…too much me away so that Michele will always be my sissy and so that Tamara will always be my girl. Please, for the love of God dear river…with everything I have in me and most of all…please river…don’t take the girl. (Thank you for the inspiration Tim McGraw). Please, whatever you must do and however it must be…please river, have mercy upon my soul and don’t take from me the very last being that I feel I have left. Please river, don’t take the girl.

May begging ceases as I begin to remember that I am in control of absolutely nothing. I must find reprieve from the pain that is crushing my soul into near nonexistence. It is what it is. Nothing going backwards gives me the momentum I need to go forward. No blame I place upon myself or punishment great enough to turn the tide that took it all away in the first place. There is no river deep enough to drown the sorrow of losing ones family to the reality before me. Sherry is not here to make us love one another. Sherry is not here to tell us we have to show up and be together. Sherry took her rules that we al lived by and she has left the building. Sherry is not coming back and neither are Shawn or my Daddy. We don’t have to do anything anymore…any of us. We don’t have to and we don’t. An occasional coffee, minced into less than an hour because we don’t have to make the fucking time and the time we do have is more important than each other. I do not have any time for time like that, with anyone anymore.

I am tired of this rhetoric in my head that tells me that they love me in their own way. I am over the empty excuses that only leave the void larger. I cannot wish any harder or hope anymore that the love I feel I need will be bestowed upon me. Imagine begging for time, not to be denied…and yet not to be accommodated…more honest and to the point…imagine simply checked off of someone’s list somewhere. Coffee with Coral. Check please. Check. Next. No fucking thank you.

I have one life and I have mother fucking pissed a lot of it away already. I sat here waiting for you to come love me and carry me through this. I waited, literally by the phone, hoping and praying that you would call me. I have cried in so much anguish over losing the family I was born into. Why oh why didn’t they just love me? How could they take that beautiful little baby girl and not love her? How can my family have never really have done much more than tolerated me and loved me at such a distance that I cannot even fucking feel it? Shawn and my Dad simply have their own lives now. I guess I’ve put mine on hold, awaiting their return to me. The river says they will not return. The river says it’s okay. The river says let me take them because where you are going, they’ve no interest in being. I tell the river to fuck off! Had she not already taken enough from me for fucks sake? What the fuck is wrong with you I scream? What in the fuck is wrong with you…taking so much from me?! To which the river responds…I took away all that is wrong with you so that you and the world can finally recognize and appreciate you for what is right with you. The river suggests that I begin to ask myself and everyone that I encounter…”What in the fuck is right with you?”

What a beautiful message to come from such a painful and difficult journey of hearing people constantly ask me throughout my life what the fuck is wrong with me. The river says it matters not what is wrong with me…that nothing is wrong with me and has never been wrong with me at all. The only wrong in all of it is that I’ve not allowed it all to wash away sooner. The search for what is right with me begins this, the next leg of my journey. If you’re still sitting there counting what is wrong with Coral…here is my heartfelt invitation to jump in the fucking river and be gone from me. Go and do your counting elsewhere because you sitting here with your abicis counting beads of Corals failures and shortcomings is an unnecessary distraction for the good things coming.  I must go now and begin finding out what in the fuck is right with me. Have a beautiful day everyone! What in the fuck is right with you? Tell me. I will tell you too. What the fuck is right with us?!?

Tell your mom the truth…

Good morning everyone! I got down to the Healing Room early this morning. Sitting in front of the pellet stove next to Prajna and I realize how content I am in these moments.

I feel my load lighten and my path widen a bit. I feel my depths become deeper as the shallow fades into rear view. I am not in the depths of despair this morning and I am grateful. The shallows of expectations not met and dreams shattered seem less significant now as I begin swimming. We are not wading anymore. We are not resting and hiding in life preservers. The leap that I just took into the life I have always imagined takes my breath away as I gently sail down to the water.

Make no mistake, I am here to gather my tribe. Diving to my depths, they await me. I invite you to dive down with me and I give you notice that I won’t be treading in shallow waters anymore and calling that swimming. I won’t be lying in the gutter and call that resting. I won’t be merely surviving and calling that living.

My writing is my way of touching you. My words are your words and your words are mine. We are one. We are the same. If you are drowning, I am drowning. I am because you are. My language, so creative and so Coral…using the word “fuck” like that’s appropriate. Using the word “fuck” because that is part of who I’m called to be. I don’t throw that out there to be an asshole…that was for my moms benefit, and I wouldn’t really user the word benefit. I believe it was subconsciously my only jab back. Now, I’ve come to know that me and my life and my language and my work and my haircut and my tattoos are mine. With my things, on my pages, in my language and in true Coral form…I do what I want. What I want is not the same as what others have wanted from me and for me. What I want is what I want and I am just beginning to figure out what that is.

Many of you close to me still have your Mom. I am here to tell you something really important, so pay attention. I am doing and saying and being someone that I was unable to be when my mom was alive in body. Out of respect for her need to be silent, my story and my experiences as they actually occurred for me, stayed inside of me. At least for the most part. My mom wanted my hair to look a certain way and didn’t like my tattoos or my piercings. My mom hated my favorite word so, so much, until right before she died too. My mom designed her memorial tattoo herself on my right arm right before she died. My mom said “fuck” a number of times right before she died. Greatly offended I asked her “why would say ‘fuck’ to me?!?” My mom said, with brain tumor and eradicated with cancer throughout her entire body…”because it is very liberating” followed by a middle finger and a “fuck you” to my dad from across the room. Why wait to liberate yourself until you are dying? Truly, liberate yourself now, however that looks and feels for you, without being inflictive to others of course. Having me in your living room for five minutes can do that…if you need my help, I’m for hire! If you need a push or some help, reach out.

Your mom is a human being, being human, just like you. Your mom may even be a visit that you have come to dread. Here is my advice: Tell your mom that she is an overbearing, controlling and unkind woman to you. Tell your mom that because you do love her so much, you must tell her how being around her feels for you. Being around the woman because she’s dying or going to fucking die so that you don’t regret not being around her? Really?! Think about that…think about what you are doing to you both by continuing this fucking insanity. You are doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Why? Every miserable fucking minute you spend with anyone for any reason is simply that…a miserable fucking minute. All you are going to get is many more miserable minutes. And yes, as many as you can cram in before she fucking dies…Why? This reminds me of what my health teacher said in the seventh grade, “For every minute you exercise, you live another minute!” That is fucking wonderful if you like to exercise. What if you don’t like to exercise though? All of those extra minutes you racked up doing something you hate are just that…more minutes added to your life, doing something you don’t want to do. Why?

Your mom…she is a perfectly flawed human being. My mom was a perfectly flawed human being. My mom did and your mom may, inflict her will upon you. You may, as I did, allow her to, because she is your mom. I am a perfectly flawed human being myself and I thought that was what I was supposed to do to be a good daughter. I could not have been more wrong, for both of our sakes and here is why; Every moment that you spend being who you are not for or with anyone, including and especially your mom, are robbing you both of the fucking prize. The prize is the authenticity of being yourself…the beauty of dressing like and looking like and being you is the most beautiful gift that you can give your mom. Don’t you want your mom to know what amazing things you are doing with the life she carried into this world? Do you not want your mom to see who you are? Who the fuck are you? I had no idea because I spent my entire life trying to be who others wanted me to be…most of all my mom.

Do yourself and your mom a favor. Be fucking honest. Be kind. Be loving. Be firm. Speak your truth with your voice. You’re mom carried you in and from there on out, you are on your own. We all are on our own. Do not let the woman who carried you in be the reason you want to take yourself out, simply because you will never be who she wanted you to be. Who do you want to be? Who are you?

You are beautiful. You are smart. You are valuable. You are resourceful. You are present. You are a good daughter. You are a good son. Make your mom proud? Why? And truthfully, would it work anyway? Make your mom aware of how you feel when you are around her. Tell your mom how it feels to come see her and that you do it out of obligation and not because you want to. Tell your mom that she is an asshole. Hear your mom when she tells you that you are an asshole. You are neither one wrong. Tell your mom that you love her and that you want to want to come see her and right now you really don’t.  You don’t like to call her and you don’t like to visit because…

I began attempting this several years before my mom passed away and it did not go at all well. My mom didn’t talk to me for weeks the first time that I really stood up to her. The susbsequent Times didn’t go a lot better for a while either. My mom died not knowing how badly she hurt me. Don’t do that to you and don’t do that to your mom.

You deserve to be treated with love and gratitude and respect. Your opinion does matter and your fucked up hair looks great to me! Do not keep yourself from yourself. Don’t keep who you really are from the woman who carried you in. What a horrible shame and substantial loss it would be for you to not let her get to know the wonder of you. What a shame it is that you are only spending quantity and not quality time with her before one of you dies. If she can’t be nice, spend less time with her and make it fucking count when you are there. Don’t stay and put up with it. Pick up your things and tell her that you will return when she can be kind to you. You want to make your mom angry,  proud, comfortable…you cannot make your mom those things. Be who you really are and watch how much she comes to love, respect and admire the amazing human being that she brought into being. Or watch in your rear view as she doesn’t. Sherry and I journeyed closer in two months than we did in 42 years, as I walked my mother home.

My mom loved me with all of her heart and my mom wanted what she thought was best for me. My mom is one of the most poignant and amazing human beings I have ever known and she was my best friend for 42 years. My mom didn’t handle me or my truth or who I was very well at times, as I did not handle hers well at times either. My mom is not here. Your mom still is. Don’t deprive yourselves of each other for one more moment.

Hi mom, it’s Coral. I am wondering if we could spend some time together today? I want to tell you how much I love you. I haven’t been honest with you and I want to set things straight between us. I love you with all of my heart and I need to tell you that you are hurting me. I need you to please not interrupt and to hear me out, okay? Being around you often kills my fucking soul. You are my mom and I want to spend time with you as me. In fact, I wanted to talk to you to tell you that if I cannot be me around you, I am going to spend less time with you….

I cannot choose your words. Only you can do that. Make them your words. If your voice is shaking and your ass is clenching just thinking about this conversation, you are doing it right. If you need help, I’ve many years of experience and a mom that I cannot have this conversation with anymore, so give me a call and I will see how I can help you. For yourself…for your mom…for the sake of the time you have left together, have an honest conversation with your mom today. Make these moments count and be who you are. Don’t let your mom die not ever really knowing the beautiful wonder that you are. Sherry says call your mom and be real. Here if you need me. Have a beautiful day! I live you!

Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,

I m sitting here with you, without you this morning in the studio you built for me. I just fired up the pellet stove for the first time this season and the sun is making her way into the sky. There is a chill in the air and in my soul this morning. An aching, crushing…life leveling pain in my chest and in my existence without you here. Especially in these days, the last days I spent with you. Fuck mom. Fuck. What happened? To everything…what happened? And everyone I used to not even know and thought I knew…where the fuck did everyone go? You know how they feel about me…how they have always felt about me and talked about me. My uncried tears, pent up for decades and generations, for the way we were treated. The way we treated each other…the way we didn’t treat exhausted other it all. It was always the fucking trickster and you and I didn’t like the trickster. Those years and those tears broke the fucking dam when you died Mom. The floods still have not ceased. I know and I feel in every tear, that I cry for you too.

I hope you like my blog as much as everyone likes the tattoo you designed for me. For you, I held it all. For you and I and for everyone else, including your sister and your little brother and everyone in your family who took such pleasure in hurting us…I leave the dam dismantled in solidarity and I allow the waters to rage through. I leave my dam open because theirs are barely intact and when those dams break, the floods will come. When the floods come that bring our family into the light, I will wash us clean and baptize us. We cannot ammend for the horrors we have inflicted and amends cannot be made for the horrors inflicted upon us. We must allow the floods that break our dams down to wash us clean and set us free. I am not going to rebuild until I welcome the flood to drown us out and wash us clean so that we may live life with purpose and meaning.

I only knew what I knew. I only learned what I was taught and I missed the basics. I never learned how to be me. I learned how to emulate who you and everyone else wanted me to be or saw me as. I never knew I had a choice or that only I could be who I am. The struggle is fucking real every day as I learn where I came from. We did not come from greatness and I did not know. I really thought we were the greatest. Did you know that there is no “We” anymore mom? When you left, so did everyone  else. I left too. No one knows how to pretend to be together anymore. No one attempts to gather Everyone anymore, since you left. You wanted this family to be together and to bring it in close for the holidays and to be close knitted…Shawn and I, to be close…a dying wish as I recall. When you left and I couldn’t come in on your arm, when I couldn’t be protected a bit by sticking close by you…there is no place for me anymore. You know Dad…he loves me with all of his heart and I love him with all of my heart..Daddy’s girl until the day I die and join you. You also know that I can’t come in on Daddy’s arm and Daddy’s not going to defend my honor…especially when everyone has always agreed that I don’t have any honor. I speak this aloud now only to let you know I’ve always felt this way. Your family and Dads family, with a few exceptions, and each of you know who you are to me, do not know Coral. The edited and made up and dumbed down and stuffed in Little girl who will never adult in their eyes…Sam…scurrying around and hiding…weird as fuck and awkward…the one the mocked and made fun of…they didn’t know her either. You did though, didn’t you? You were Sam too, weren’t you? Mom…do you have any idea how many fucking Sams there are? So you know that we are not the only badly battered and broken family that needs saving? We aren’t the only family plagued by alcoholism and incest. Did you know that?

Dad is very blessed and remarried. As you know, Dad died with you and the part of Dad that didn’t, needed someone to share the rest of his life with, and she with him. They are in the process of sorting through your things. You know all of those things that you asked us what you were doing with right before you died? Those many things are being painstakingly gone through and sorted to be gifted, donated and returned to the universe for the greater good of us all. I have very few things left after being forced into going through your things too soon for my heart. No matter how long I live, there would never be a “good time” to have to go through letting you go again. Thank you for being down here in the studio with me for nine days straight as I found my way thorough sorting through our things and letting go together.

I sit here now, next to Prajna and in front of the pellet stove…sun coming up with a lump in my throat and tears pouring down my face. I miss you so fucking much Mom. I do not know and I hope you will help me to ease this soul crushing pain. I look out the window and I don’t want to go out there anymore…not today. I cannot stand the fucking pain. On my knees and fucking begging to see and feel and know what I am here to see feel and know and then to be eased if this burden…this Groundhog Day hell that fills my fucking mornings in this, the three year Anniversary of your passing. Please release me of what no longer serves me and help me to manage what I’ve still left to heal through. And so it is.

I know you told Tamara that you couldn’t have left this world if you didn’t know that she had me. I know you and I know you would have found a way to stay. Tamara does have me and I have her and we are glad you went swiftly on your journey when your number came up. You know that I know that you were ready to go, as I have been so many times as well, long before you were taken. I thank God every day for taking you into his loving arms when he did. I have not shed  one tear for you since you left Mom…my tears have been for me, for Dad, for Shawn…for Ida and so many others whose lives have been derailed with your passing…not one for you though, as you know I know you were done with your work here.

Mom, I could write forever. I got my letters back…👠…the ones I wrote to you…hundreds of them…God Mom, I loved and love you still love you so much. What the fuck to do with stacks full of letters addressed to you, in my writing? I read a few and decided that was pretty self inflictive and so I stopped and I put them in the pile to go back to the universe. Now all of your love letters from me can join the rest of the love letters I have written and serve a greater purpose elsewhere, as they are returned to the universe for the greater good of us all.

I just want to sit here a while and let these tears pour out and cleanse me of the codependency I had on you and anyone else I’ve ever been codependent upon. I want to hurt as bad as I need to hurt so that I may purge what no longer serves me and reveal my soul.

Mom, I know you cannot tell me and you don’t have to…I’m going to ask anyway though…good and huge and amazing things are coming, aren’t they? I am stepping up to my life’s purpose in these very moments and I pray that you will guide and direct me, keep me and save me as I learn how to merge as one into spirit. The end of my Dads prayer for our entire life…”Guide us, direct us keep us and save us. Amen.” And so it is.

I will close my letter this morning by saying thank you for being my mom. I know you chose me, and I you. We didn’t go for easy, did we, when we chose? We both picked a mother fucking doozie, and on purpose, so that we could get one of those harder lessons…you know the ones that only we could have taught and learned from one another. Thank you Mom for your place in my journey and please guide me and keep me now as I separate myself from you to return to you…to return to me.

Your things and your holidays are kicking me in my fucking teeth as I learn to let go of what is not mine. Those were your passions and your pretties and I enjoyed them with you. Now, with your love and guidance and absent your control and wishes for me, I am off to become me! I love you Mom, to the moon and back, because I can’t stay just yet. As you know and have always known…I’ve huge work to do and I’m off to do it, and so it is!

I Love You Always Mom…



Sherry came by to say to let it go…

Good morning everyone! Happy Sunday! I am writing from the studio this morning with Prajna. The sun is shining in on both of us and the sky is beautiful! Every moment with Prajna is priceless to me. Our souls feel often to be one in the same. I love you Prajna. Thank you Tamara for trusting us with such an amazing soul. We love Prajna so, so much!

My purging is finally winding down. I am definitely not done. I would guesstimate that I got rid of over half of everything I had. There is quite a bit more left to repurpose and pass on to the next soul in need on this journey. I feel lighter. I feel more purposed. I only wonder why it took me so long to see that the only way to keep anything at all…anyone at all…is to whole heartedly let go.

In going through my Moms things, I picked out a bracelet that looked very much like a Coral bracelet. It is silver and all of my jewelry is silver also, so it was perfect. I placed it on my left wrist and it felt right. Yesterday I was showing my Dad a rough link, which he fixed with his pliers. I told him I had put it on crooked and could he take it off and put it in my right wrist for me. I told him that this was the one piece of my moms jewelry that spoke to me and what did he think? My Dad said he thought it was perfect and that it wasn’t my moms bracelet. This bracelet was my dads bracelet. I was puzzled for a moment because my dad doesn’t wear bracelets. My dad continued on to say that he wore it for wrist pain. In massage school and during my internship, I won’t lie. I used my family and my friends and anyone was willing, to learn and practice my craft on. I told my dad about these energy balancing brackets that help with pain and inflammation in his wrist and hand. This is that bracelet. The perfect bracelet in all of my moms jewelry is actually my dads bracelet.

My Dad said I could keep it and placed it on my right wrist for me. I am not the least bit surprised that I picked out my dads bracelet, a single bracelet, in all of my Moms things. Probably the most purposeful and least expensive or flashy piece of jewelry that I could find…the piece that felt comfortable to me and on my wrist. A silver bracelet to balance energy…just what I was looking for and didn’t know it.

I have always been a lot more like my dad than my mom. I look more like my dad than my mom. This bracelet was my mom telling me that she knew that always and that was okay with her…that I’ve always  been daddy’s girl. As her daughter, I tried to be the little girl she always wanted, to no avail. It pained me greatly that I could never be or give my mom what she wanted. I know that it pained my mom greatly also. This bracelet was my mom telling me to be who I am. This was my mom saying if it feels right, keep it and If it feels wrong, pass it on. If YOU love it, you wear it and if you don’t, let someone else love it and be loved by it. Sherry’s lesson today is not an in body Sherry lesson, as Sherry didn’t part with her things in life. Sherry held on tight and little Sam learned to hold on tight too. Two months before my mom passed away, my mom and I journeyed closer than we ever did in 42 years. My mom and I had few words between us, as I began walking her home. Words were completely inadequate and not needed. We sat in silence a lot. We spent every moment memorizing each other so that we could hold that until we meet again. This morning I listened to a couple of my moms voicemails, just to hear her voice. A voice I also was very mindful to memorize as I realized I would never hear it again.

I have begun to find a healthy place with my mom, in silence and solitude. In all of this purging and baptizing myself and my malas in the fountain at the cemetery in front of my moms headstone, I am learning how to let go. I am letting go of all that doesn’t serve me, not just material things…the memories too. I may not have been what my mom wanted and yet I was exactly who she needed. I fucking know that. We cannot help what we want. My mom could not help but have some dreams shattered when her beautiful baby girl turned out to be a tomboy and then, even worse…a lesbian. My moms heart wanted what my moms heart wanted. Do not all of our hearts want what our hearts want? We are forced and then force ourselves and others into boxes that we never fucking belonged in. We do what we know, what we learned and what was done to us. We learn who we are by watching those around us. We mimic behaviors that do not fucking align with our souls purpose because we are “supposed to” do what we are told. Many of you know that I have made a very conscious effort to take “should” and “supposed to” out of my vocabulary. Those words, hammered into my core, do not fucking serve me and so I release them and any harm they did to me, to be recycled for the greater good of us all.

Sherrys lesson today is to let it go. All of it. Every last and little bit of it. If it does not serve you and make you better…if it doesn’t feel good and grow you, let it go. Let it go for you and let it go to find its happy and rightful home. We stay in homes and marriages and families and clothes and cars and jobs and careers and friendships that do not fucking feel good. Maybe we outgrew them. Maybe they never fucking fit in he first place. Maybe they outgrew us. However it happened, say “Thank you”.

People stay in marriages to keep their children from coming from a broken home. What is more broken than having your kid watch the two of you fucking wreck the two people they love the most? What is not broken about talking shit to the child you loved each other enough to have together, and yet don’t love and respect enough to do your adulting out of the presence of your child? Tamara said to me once that it is better to come from a broken home than to live in a broken home. At first I didn’t get it, as my parents were married for 46 years and only parted by death. If you are struggling to keep your home in tact, for the sake of your child, maybe that’s just bullshit. I mean, have you asked your child what they want and how they feel? And, what happens to both of you when the “Cat’s in the Cradle” and your kid finally gets free of the both of you and your fucking rhetoric and angry words? You both get to taste your own Medicine and without a tiny little buffer in the middle…to live in a loveless fucking relationship because you are so broken in your home that your delusion is more damaging, simply because it is now your reality. I have been a stepparent and I will admit that I was an epic fucking fail. I had no idea what in the fuck I was doing. I did my best, given what I learned by being parented and watching others parenting. I was in active addiction and intolerant as fuck. I tried, so fucking hard, which in retrospect is the problem. I mindfuck things to death, instead of simply letting them be. I hold on tight because fear has been not only my teacher but also my salvation. Sherry says to let it all go and I am letting it all go. I often did not mind well in life, or so my mom said. I definitely mind the lessons my mom sends me now. I pass Sherry’s lessons on to you in love and honor of us all. Have a beautiful day! I love you!

Fighting the good fight…

Good morning everyone! Welcome to the healing room. I began blogging in December of 2017, as a daily commitment to myself. What began and what is evolving…I could not possibly have imagined. My blog became our blog and this became our healing room. We come here to heal together. I began to worry about my content a bit…honestly because there is some hard fucking stuff to read. I didn’t want to make you all sad and sick and worried and I started to pull back a bit. And then I stopped and remembered what this blog was in the first place…this blog is a commitment to myself, evolved into a journey for us all. I want to remind you to take what you need from it and leave the rest. If it fuels you and feeds you, then drink it all in. If it is too much and it pains you more than it helps you, skip that day. I can only write from heart center and some days for me, that is fucking pain staking. Some days I have a difficult time writing at all. Some days, it flows and inspires us all. Whatever day it is, I love you and I am so glad you are here. I thank you so much for sharing in my journey and for being on this crazy ride with me.

I am finding that my solitude is most comfortable for me right now. My inward space is my cozy space. I try to venture out and find myself stuttering and stammering and feeling really awkward. I am flighty and ungrounded in all of this pain and I feel anxious a lot and like I just want to lie down…right here, right now…don’t care where…I just need to fucking lie down. So, all of these not so Coral things that are going on with Coral are a bit much for Coral, if that makes any sense at all.

My malas and my meditation, my reading and writing…beginning to draw again…my quite time in prayer and my solitude…quiet time with Tamara and our beautiful companions…that is where I feel the most okay. Reading is my new hunger and I am satisfying these cravings with amazing books loaned to me. These books are aligned with my purpose and I am so thankful for the time I have with them. I have been gifted so much in the words I am reading, the insights and realizations. I carry these books around with me and I crave the moments I can sit quietly and learn some more. This has never been a common Coral practice, unless it’s a Dr. Seuss book…and then I have been fucking enamored!

I am teaching myself new things and taking pleasure when I practice enough to actually do them well. I am moving forward with what is needed to heal me so that I can have the life I have imagined. I am in relationship with the most amazing partner, who is here in the good times and all of the very hard times. I finally know I am home and that I will not be discarded like trash when she is done with me, because she will never be done with me and I am not trash. I can be me, even though both of us are stunned at who that person is sometimes. I can fall apart for years on end and she still loves me.

I am finding and assembling my tribe and I can tell you that the people I would have imagined would be coming forth are not. The people who have fallen away have been some of my deepest loves and my “forever” people, and they still are, only now, they are gone forever. Not exactly how I imagined my forever with them and the pain of that is beginning to dissipate a bit finally.

My Mom, gone from my sight. Yesterday, as I was about to flail into convulsions of pain and misery and hopelessness, she came as a white butterfly and stayed with me a spell, until I could smoke myself into a calm and relaxedish state again. My medication, the smoke that brings me down enough to breathe again… filled my lungs and my body and renewed my spirit a bit so that I could remain upright. I left before she could fly away because I just could not stand to see her leave me again.

My jaw has been dislocated this time for just over a week and I cannot get it back in myself, so I am off to see the most amazing and kind and compassionate chiropractor in all of the land, to tape my fucking face back together. I admitted hitting someone in the face, and I relayed how that felt for me. I too have been struck in my face, enough to break my right jaw. I can relay how this feels too. For as long as I can remember, my right jaw hurt. In massage school I was getting the worst headaches and they wouldn’t resolve. My instructor, Gurabhai, worked intently on me to some relief and yet the headaches were worsening. I went to my chiropractor and it was discovered for the first time, that my jaw was completely dislocated out of its socket. Thank God, was able to get my jaw back in the socket and then tape it into place every morning before my internship, so that I could graduate on time. I am blessed that when I called this morning she is getting me in to tape me back together.

So…with that I will close for this morning. I hope you have a beautiful and blessed day. I am off to get some relief so that I may show up for my pelvic injections tomorrow morning….as much as I am not wanting to go, I am so thankful that my surgeon and I have come back together and hand in hand on my journey to wellness. It is never too late to do the work to live the life you have imagined. Let’s get building, shall we?