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

I cut this puppets strings and I set this circus down. And so it is.

Happy Sunday everyone. I hope you have a beautiful day planned today. I have a beautiful day planned with my girl and I am so happy to be spending today with her!

I realize that I have been vague and ambiguous as to what exactly is going on in my life for the last month. I really just don’t have words and the words I have had…well they have not been kind, and so as much as possible, I have held on to them. I have been in the most excruciating emotional pain of my entire life and I am done feeling this way. Tamara hit her breaking point last night and I woke to hit mine this morning. These girls are done and fucking done with the pain and drama that has infiltrated our lives…with the non-transparency and the lies and the manipulation and the fucking piles upon piles of bullshit…done and fucking done, we are with this rhetoric. I have cried enough tears in the last month to nearly drown myself. I allow the river I have cried since my mom got sick, to flush my heart of what does not belong to me. I allow the tears to wash it all away…wash it all away…wash it all away. And so it is.

I have learned that I come from the Cherokee Indians. I am 1/16 Cherokee Indian. These shall be the roots that grow deep into the earth to ground and center me. I shall begin to know my people and their ways…their traditions and their customs. Of all that I have come to know that I am, I choose to hold onto this. My mom mentioned this throughout my life…this small part of her lineage, that she seemed to care nothing much about, other than to see if it would qualify me for financial assistance for college. I on the other hand, didn’t give a fuck about college, and have always been far more interested in this piece of myself. Who am I and where did I come from? This information was given to me by my cousin last week and this is all I know of who I am, in lineage. So, if you know anything about me and who I am, I would love to hear from you. If you have a piece of this part of our lineage, I would love for you to share it with me, in a photo…in a story…in a handwritten letter…I would love to have a piece of that part of me. Truly, for me, I am going to take this piece of myself and I am going to let the rest go. I am choosing who I am and I am shedding who I am not. I begin with learning all I can about the People I come from, and their ways and traditions. This piece of myself has always called out to me and I call back now…I am ready. I am here. Please come for me and tell me from where I came. And so it is.

As I came down here to write this morning, stumbling on the wreckage of my past…Bruised and battered and all banged up. Shamed and embarrassed by shit that isn’t even mine…bleeding out for those who have gone on ahead of me and for those who left me behind…flailing and crashing about in all of this fucking rubble…I barely made it safely to the door of our healing space. I am fucking done. Truly, done and fucking done. I have come to let you know that if you are unhealthy for me, I have come to let you go. I will not exert any energy, any longer on anyone who does not love me honestly, openly and like a verb. I will not spend one more moment attempting to save The drowning, until I hone my own swimming skills first. Even then, I shall throw out a life preserver and I shall not be attached to whether you grab hold or not, for you are drowning and only you can save you from that. Only I can save me from this. I have finally come to know that this battle is with myself. I will not spend one more second hating myself. I have been in the very worst space and the very worst pain of my entire life for the past three years and forty days and I am fucking done. I am done and fucking done, dangling by the thread whose puppet master knows no bounds, no mercy and no compassion. Today, I cut this puppets strings and I set this circus down. For this is not my circus and these are not my clowns. As I look around me, I begin to laugh with abandon, at the clowns 🤡 all around me 🤡 look at the silly little 🤡 clowns!!!!! As I untangle myself from these strings and I realize I am finally free, I run with the clowns 🤡 to the gate that has held me! This circus 🎪…these 🤡 clowns….they are not even mine!!! Entangled in their stories and suffocated in their dysfunction no longer…this is not my circus and I am free to go!!!! Not my circus and not my clowns…not my circus and not my clowns…not my circus and not my clowns….and so I set this circus down. And so it is.

Thank you Tamara, for carrying me through the literal hell of the past three years and 40 days and 40 nights. The anguish and the pain…the primal cries and the destruction in our own lives, as a result, all behind us now. Thank you for carrying me when I could not even breathe and for breathing your breath into me when I could not find my own. Thank you for breaking last night, so that I could break this morning, so that we can be done with what is not ours. Thank you for the hell you have endured to see me through my own. Thank you for being my girl and my whole world. I love you to the moon and back, to infinity and beyond, forever and always, my beautiful, dear, and amazing girl! Thank you for seeing me thorough this. We are done and fucking done with that which is not ours. And so it is.

To every single one of you who has held me though this storm, with all of my heart, I love you and I thank you. For every single prayer…for every bit of love…thank you. I love you right back.

For those tossed about by the turbulence of the forces that moved in us when we came together, I pray for your peace and for your return to stillness now. For those whom I chased after being dismissed, I cut the cord that binds us and set us both free to our own dharma now. To the circus and all of the clowns, my deepest thanks for hosting me. It has been quite a fucking doozie up in here, and I thank you for your hospitality and for your lessons, turning into blessings every single day. To anyone I have hurt and to everyone I have harmed, I offer my sincerest and most heartfelt apology to you now. I know I have been the clown in many circuses myself and so I acknowledge the disruption and I set the circus down. And so it is.

I hope you have a beautiful Sunday! As I untangle from the final string, held only by my own pause, I am off to love and live my life today! I love you!

I will rise from these ashes.

I lingered and then lingered some more, as I knew that when I left, I would not pass this way again. All of the memories and horrors…all of the expectation and disappointment and disgust…all of this fucking pain. I stood in all of that pain. As the pain kept raining down, I stopped seeking refuge and shelter. I just stopped. I decided instead, to let the rain and the tears wash me away. Wash me all away. I have never really done much more than existed, and that was a chore at times. Standing here though…being here and repeatedly trying to leave here…all while trying to find a way to stay here. Something broke in me. I let it break. Literally being shredded and mocked and taunted with tones and rigid jaw lines and then being rendered lifeless by the contempt. There’s no fight for this. There are no words for this. There is no reprieve from this. This has never been okay. I have never been safe. I have been thrown away and I grieve as though I am the one who left. I would never have left. I know I am not the leaver… I am the left behind…a pattern I’ve learned and repeated so, so many times before. I won’t act like this is okay. I forgive. I cannot forget. I love. We are the best thing that ever came of all of this. We stand alone. I stayed and I held space. This pain though…I have never known pain like this before. Foreign and so familiar is the pain that finally hit me hard enough for me to go down. We closed out a couple of lifetimes standing there. There was no budge and I cannot bend anymore without fracturing myself beyond repair. I regress. This morning though…first thing when I opened my eyes… the tears continue to fall. No dam can hold the flood of tears on their way down. No force can stop the flood and there is no comfort to be found. I haven’t spoken much of this, as I don’t even begin to know how to find the words. These words, somehow jumbled and coded, edited into “I” statements. These words are so void of all of the pain inside. These words are the best that I can stammer out, in an effort to relieve the tension that holding them has caused.

This is about me. This is about me and how I feel about what has been done. I have the power to make decisions best for me. I am not powerless. Making someone else wrong will never make any of us right. Lies are an attempt to hide a truths that don’t align with us. I have been invisible and I have been hurt repeatedly and on purpose. Over and over, and over again, I’ve not been seen at all. And I…I am barely breathing and moments away from ceasing to exist anymore at all. I am dying and I have been blatantly denied life support. I am drowning and the flood gates have been opened anyway. I am broken as the cord that held my world snaps and crashes down on top of me. I am struggling in the rubble and I extend my hand. I see the shadow pass before me and the hands shoved in the pockets of the dark image passing by. I am but a lowly beggar and my basket is nearly empty. My heart nearly broken. My face tear stained and aged and lined. I stand alone and so I am going now too. Another thing and the worst of things is that I would fix this if I could. I cannot. I cannot fix this. I did not break this. Unaccountability and anger and greed and rage and entitlement and contempt that can no longer be disguised or hidden behind other words seeps out and drains my soul. The mask has fallen off and the truth, scribbled across the shadows of a face I used to know. I can. I won’t. The rhetoric in my head, that I repeat on accident…unsettling. A broken little girl in a woman’s body. Sam and Coral and Coral and Sam, tumbling about, being tossed and turned out…A golden boy falling from grace that never befell him. And she in her casket. We have fallen apart. We have fallen from grace. We have lost more than we ever could have imagined. And my soul shrieks in the most agonizing pain of this lifetime. The bloodstains and the tears…the flashbacks and the right nows…the horrors and the lifelessness…the lovelessness…and I must go on.

For each painful thing that befalls me, and oh how it has befallen me, that I cannot turn seem to turn positive and to the light, I offer three positives and I give thanks. And I am on my way to that, in the midst of all of this.

In the loss of all I’ve truly ever known, I have gained the opportunity to be myself. And I give thanks.

I have done enough here and so I must go, as I’ve much good work to do our there. It rips my heart into bits to be begrudged the little bit of happy I have found and to feel the venom seeping out. Our house was full of strangers and friends…friends who who aren’t even friends back…and we watched from the outside of the glass. We had our little faces pressed against the glass, peering through the window at the Christmas of someone else in a home that we used to call our own. And we cry…God do we fucking cry. And I must go on. Without the knowing of how, I will go on.

Brand new, I return to the rooms of AA. Beginning again, from my lowest point in four and a half decades, I crack the cover of my big book for the first time. I begin again. I die this death to be born anew. I die this death to begin my life as me, for I will not dwell here any longer.

For the gifts and the lessons and for the endless and abundant blessings, I am so thankful. I truly am. I know how blessed I am. I write to heal myself. I write to get all of this out. I write to try to sort myself, my life…this. I intend to harm no one. And, I will not be silent. I have carried the sins of many. I have endured the beatings of nations. Today, on this day, I decide. Tomorrow and the next day and all of the days after that, I decide. From now on and for always, I decide. My decisions will be in my own best interest and in my own highest good…in the highest good of everyone, for we are all the same.

I am in the throes of something that I must go deep within to resolve and sort out. I have pulled myself out of circulation today and will not be available, as I repair my heart and lick my wounds. As I prepare my inner warrior for spiritual battle, I must prepare a place and I must ready myself for the letting go that is taking place, to prepare for all of the good things coming. These embers are still hot and cooling down, and as I patiently wait for them to become ashes, I prepare myself to rise up. I will rise from these ashes. And so it is.

As always, I send all that does not serve us, back to the universe to be recycled for the greater good of us all. I love you. Have a beautiful Sunday!

A jumbled confession for us all…

When the knock at your door finally comes, the knock that you have been praying for, as long as you can remember; will you open the door?

My knock came and I opened the door. A moment of surrender. Asking for help. Seeking to understand. Clarity in an abyss. Calm in a storm. A fucking Tsunami in the middle of meditation. Prison inside a prison. Bars between us. I Caged you in because I could not get out. I pushed you back until I was able to come forward. I did to you, the only thing I knew to do…I mimicked what was done to me. I silenced you. I controlled you so that I could steady myself. I am sorry. I held you down so that, on a wing and a prayer, I might ever be able to stand up again at all. Thank you. I came first. I mattered so much less always that I was dying of thirst to matter most of all. I surrender. I am blessed to matter. My unquenchable thirst left you parched. I offer you my glass. My needs left you…just you, standing there meeting them, without even having the benefit of me. I see that now. I see you now. Your submission in love of me allowed me to come out of submission myself. Thank you. Your being open allows me to be open too. Your strength, my inspiration. The time you did behind bars for me saved me from a death sentence. Thank you. Your love did and does set me free. I want to be just like you, in my own peculiar way-Thank you SOJA. My hopes are mostly expectations. My dreams are mostly someone else’s dreams. My sense of self is in need of some mending. My pain in enormous and I’m setting it down. My mistakes are countless and I’m forgiving them. Much of who I am is, in actuality, it someone else playing through me, a program that does not serve me. I close and end this program now so that I can bring you my own version of me forty. I forgive. I grieve. I let go. I begin anew. I medicate and meditate as rituals to heal and feed my soul. I stand corrected and I stand down where it does not serve for me to stand up. I surrender. My lifelong prayer of healing…how it needs to occur for me…what it feels and looks and is like…that prayer was answered in a moment this morning. I am so, so thankful. Thank you. My burning question, answered…let go. Fear not. Be well. Accept grace. Admit fault. Begin again. My prayer…heard…answered…and now my work is finished and now my work begins. I fake it until I make it sometimes. Sometimes I make it first. Sometimes the struggle is real. Sometimes there feels to be absolutely nothing at all. In this dark stillness, I began to find myself. The bars come down and we are all free. We are free to be, without limits who we are. As we adjust, shower love and grace abundantly around us. Thank you. As I peel away your way, to find my own…please grant me safe passage. Thank you. As I hit the floor on my knees in all of this reality, please keep me down there until I get it this time, until I really fucking get it. Please gently and lovingly hold me accountable. Please call me out lovingly and with kindness so that I may hear you and be called into my own action, and not the one I’m programmed too. Please let me offer all that I ask for my highest good, for your highest good also. Let me let go. Please remind me not to pick up that which is not mine to carry. Let it lie. Practice the pause. Wait to be asked for help. Wherever I go, go with all of my heart. Practice what I preach. Learn what I teach. Love myself enough to let the hate I have for myself be gone for good this time, for real. Let myself be loved. Accept that I am forgiven. Forgive myself. Be love. Forgive. Accept you on your terms. Stop preventing you from being you so that I can be me. Act in accordance with love always and in all ways. Get back up. Wipe my tears. Forgive myself for not knowing what I don’t know before I knew it. Let it go. Begin again. Don’t try so hard. Don’t try at all. Just be. Love. Be love. Be loved. Have a good day. I love you.

Please reflect and pray with me…

Good morning everyone! Happy New Year’s Eve! This day used to be a huge drinking day for me. Everyday was a pretty huge drinking day for me, come to think of it. Anyway…I was fucked up five years ago on this day. Thankful for another shitty year behind me…praying for a better next year…yada, yada, yada…and shots for everyone! I don’t even do shots…unless someone pours or buys me one! Okay though!!! That’s how I spent the first 41 years of my life. Mindless. Careless. Numb. Fucked up. Miserable. Hostage. Stuck. Sad. Drunk. Fighting. Fucking. Arguing. Drinking. Drinking. Drinking. So on this, the eve of a brand new year, I thank God for the friend of Bills he sent to me on that day, on my way to happy hour…a friend needing a friend to go to an AA meeting with her. Sure I could go to an AA meeting on my way to happy hour! I know my friend is going through a hard time and hey, I heard they have free cookies and coffee and I should eat before I hit the bar anyway, right?

I never made it to the bar that evening. I never made it to the bar again. My name is Coral and I am an alcoholic. Thank you Tamara for inviting me to that meeting five years ago. I will be five on January 2nd, 2019. “There but for the grace of God go I.” This morning’s reading on the last day of the year was so powerful for me that I wanted to share it with you also. Thank you Bill.

I am so glad you are here! I really am. Blogging every day, no matter what, has been so good for me. I am going to blog every day for another year. I have heard from so, so many of you who come here. I know my blog has helped you too. To be able to go somewhere every single day, and to know that someone else will be there too…I guess that has helped a lot of you and I am so happy to hear this! You being here every day helps me too. Especially on my most difficult days…you being in the healing room with me…well it helps me so much. Thank you.

As I spend today in prayer and meditation and in loving time and space with my girl, I think of each of you. I want you to know that. As we walk each other home, I place your hand in mine. I place my arm around your shoulder, and I pull you close to me. I whisper in your ear to remind you that I’ve got you. I am because you are. Ubuntu. We are all here to love each other home. We live in community with people starving and dying in our streets. Hooray for me and fuck you, as Tamara says..when we have an attitude of ingratitude.

I am on a hellbent mission to love us home and I will not stop until I’m done. I may not be your typical preacher and I may not speak to you at all. I may though, speak to you. Will you please pray with me? For the year behind us and for the year ahead…for this very moment, let us pray.

My soul brother Rumi, we come to you thankful this morning. We are thankful for the last 365 days…the 525,600 minutes of the year behind us. We ask for your love and guidance for the 52 weeks and 8,760 hours ahead of us. Most of all though brother, we ask you to help us to live in this moment. Just this one…right here and right now. The past is behind us. The future is not promised to us. The present truly is right here and right now. In this fucked up crazy world, where everyone and everything is our business…gently remind us that everything is not our business. We know right from wrong. Lord help us to do what we know in our hearts to be right and just. If we cannot find it within us to stand up…God give us the courage to stand down. If we cannot help them Lord, please stop us from harming them. Please hold our tongues in pause before we cut those we love the most. Please God remind us that we are all the same. Not one of us will be whole until each of us is whole…please let us understand this. Our brothers and our sisters, different from us and yet so very much the same..please let us recognize ourselves in one another. There are no beings less than any other beings. There are people. There are sentient beings. We are all the same. Please remove the slurs and the labels and the judgement from our lips. God please remind us that we’ve two ears and two hands…two eyes and but one mouth. Let us shut our mouths if we’ve nothing nice to say. Let our silence be our gift. Let our words always be kind. Let us love. As we learn who we have been, Rumi, guide us to forgive. Ourselves and those who’ve harmed us…let us show your grace and mercy…let us feel your grace and mercy. Let us know that God is in us…that we are God…that God is us. Let us no longer be separate. Let us love. Father forgive us where we have fallen short. Lift us up. As we come into a new year, we ask with all of our hearts, that you teach us how to love. Open us to your messages. Protect us from the harm that knows know bounds as we stand up in silent solidarity for and with one another. Teach us to stand in silence and in peace, until our voices are warranted. When our voices are warranted, God let us remember to ask if it passes through all three gates; Is it true?Is it necessary? Is it kind? If it does not pass through these gates, let us keep our lips closed until it is. Let us stand up for ourselves and for one another. We learned it wrong and we ask you to help us right it. We misunderstood and we ask you to forgive us. We ask you to bring forth the leaders who are here to love us home. And so it is. Amen.

Thank you for praying with me. Have a beautiful day and please be safe. I love you. Don’t drink and drive. Hey…better yet, don’t drink at all. Be present. Be sober. Be real. Five years later and thankful as hell, I highly recommend setting that bottle down completely my friends.

I dedicate this blog to everyone who ever worked for me…(inspired by Kelli)

Happy Wednesday everyone and Happy Halloween! As a child, I loved Halloween. My mom made our costumes and we got to go trick or treating. Halloween was always special for us. The holidays were always so special to us.

Halloween also marks the beginning of my life’s work. I adopted Max from a local rescue. Max was scheduled for FHO surgery today in 2010 or 2011. (I think it was 2011). Meeting both the veterinarian  and the president of the rescue for the first time, at the vet on the afternoon of the 30th for Max’s pre-op appointment, it was determined that Max didn’t need FHO surgery after all. Long story short, I am a licensed massage therapist and I knew Max’s hips hurt him. While I was watching TV, drinking a beer, I massaged Max’s hips every night and in the morning and all the time. Recounting this period of my life still stings me, as it was a period in which I learned some of my hardest lessons. This period of my life also introduced me to the next level of Coral.

I graduated from massage school in 2008. I hated being touched and I hated touching people. I was working downtown as a bar manager when a young man was jumped by 8 other young men. I was walking to the burrito truck before inventory when I saw him. Bleeding out and convulsing, with people all around and no one touching him, I got down on my knees and held his crushed head C-spine in my hands the best that I could, as his life bled out all over me. He opened his beautiful green eyes one last time, as his mom sobbed in the background on a friend’s cell phone. EMS response time was over 19 minutes and his BPM dropped to 3. He wasn’t pronounced when I took my bloody hands from his hair, and yet he was gone. Unbeknownst to me then, I was gone too. All I saw in his eyes as he took his final breaths was my own little brother and all I could hear was my own moms voice. The aching in my soul for the woman who lost her little boy that night and for the little brother I saw in his eyes, as I walked him home…fuck…just fuck…This was the third person in a two or three week period who I witnessed lose their life downtown, and I was done. I was literally and completely done. I quit my job as a bar manager. I went the next day and applied for massage school. The rest is history.

Today, I am just Coral. I have worked for all of these years to credential myself . I have searched myself completely stupid trying to find out who the fuck I am. You cannot imagine the countless hours and dollars I have spent on business cards and brochures and flyers to sell myself to you. I have taken classes and more classes, attended seminars and lectures. The humans brought me to the animals and the animals brought me back to you. I am in your homes every week working on your animals, and yet I am finding that my work is also with you. My gift is in my ability and in my willingness to help you. I am rearranging people’s homes and holding their hands in prayer. I am working things out with you that I know everything and nothing of. I am available and I am willing and I have been where you are. I care about you and I love you. I will ask you again how I can love you better? How may I help you? One thing that all of my many jobs and my many experiences has taught me is that I cannot be boxed in and anchored down and labeled.

Being your manager was so fucking hard for me. I hated having to be all of these fucking things I wasn’t and making you be who you weren’t either. I hated having to separate myself from you and I couldn’t do it. I gave a shit about you and I wanted to help you. I didn’t ever feel above you, because I wasn’t and yet I was expected to behave as though I was. I cared about you and your families. I wanted you to get promoted. I wrote and rewrote schedules enough to almost get me fired, to try to accommodate and honor your individual lives. I covered your bartender and server shifts so that you wouldn’t miss your first dates, and you all worked your asses off for me. I fucking loved you and that wasn’t in the handbook. I told you I loved you and that was fraternization. I got the worst scheduled because I was gay. I was told that straight to my face. I worked open to closes because you had kids and a family. I had kids and a family too. Three kids to be exact. My employees knew my family and my family knew my employees. I wanted to be a good manager with a Coral twist. I will suffice to say that this Coral twist was not only condemned but caused such hatred and contempt amongst my peers, that we almost ended up in a class action lawsuit for sexual discrimination. My attorney was paid off and we settled out of court for next to nothing after his fees. There was a gag order placed on me and my career was destroyed. My integrity questioned and my name drudged through the mud.

I bring this up because I have been reunited with one of my employees. I cannot tell you what it means to me to have just celebrated her Birthday with her and her son and her husband and my wife.

Kelli, you have no idea how you have touched my life. When you worked for me, you were kind. You were hard working and honest. You had integrity and you did your fucking job. You made my shitty job of babysitting and being babysat easier, just by being you and doing your job. When I was called to your tables, I was called over for compliments. You have no idea how many desserts I comped in gratitude for these compliments about you. When my closer walked, you stayed and helped me close. When I was being berated, you rallied the troops to keep me going. You stood up for me and I for you. When the other bartender was robbing us blind and stealing your tips, I was preparing our case. I was defending us. I know you knew that. I hope you always knew that you defended me too. To have you back in my life…to be a part of your beautiful family…to break bread with you and yours and to have you here volunteering with us…fuck girl…it was worth every single gut wrenching minute. Everything taken from me in that era of my life has been returned tenfold upon your return to my life…upon so many of your returns to my life.

My blog today is dedicated to Kelli and Josh and Lauren and Matt…Sigrid and Gail…Angela and Erin…and every single employee who ever worked their ass of for me…who went to bat for me…who stood up for me and stood down under me, so that I could do my job.

Today I renounce the titles and the labels. I blow the rules and the expectations out of the fucking water, just to let you know that I am Coral and I am here to help you. Have a beautiful day everyone. I love you Kelli. Thank 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.

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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.

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!

Beginning to find and honor my own honor beat…

Good morning everyone! I hope you rested well and that your morning is off to a good start. I am really glad you are here. I had no idea what this blogging experience would be like or where it would take me.  I committed to blogging every day for 365 days, and I’ve been doing just that since December 2017. Setting up my blog I decided to make it really easy to find me, and really easy not to find me. If you’re looking for Coral, here I am and welcome. If you’re looking to avoid Coral, here I am andyou can just keep on going. Easy…right? I figure so…and that way everyone can find me who wants or needs to do so. I want to be available. I really, really do.

For years, I had unlisted and blocked numbers. I was ambiguous about where I lived. I wanted to be anonymous and to not be easily found. I never really thought about why that was, only that it was. I cannot really describe how liberating it feels to just be available, however that looks. Maybe it was paranoia in my addiction, the failed relationships…the jobs I left..friends who were not really friends at all…possibly a combination of all of it. Now, I give my phone number and address freely to whomever needs or wants it. I have no attachment to who finds me and who avoids me, although I won’t lie…I do sometimes wonder, who is out there looking me up. Strange…it’s like it really doesn’t matter and it never really did…at the same time it does matter and it always has mattered to me, at least on some level.

Do any of you have someone you wish you could reach out to? Why don’t you? I mean, why not make that call? Why not send that letter? Why not buy those flowers and have them delivered? Why don’t we reach? I guess I kind of want to talk about that today…what keeps us from reaching? For me, I really resonate with the twelve steps and so when making amends in step 9, I am constantly reminded that we do not make amends and definitely not in person amends when we could harm ourselves or others. We don’t offload our shit and call that amending. We don’t place others in harms way, just to relieve ourselves of the shit piled on top of us. Amends are often difficult and jagged mirrors and should be handled with caution. I know it won’t be a shock, in my amends, I write letters, poetry…send music…and sometimes, all I send, all that is appropriate to send, is all of my love. We must do better when we know better. We learn from our transgressions, don’t we? Being sorry and making amends is as much about changed behavior as it is about being sorry. If you’re truly sorry, enough to make amends for it, you must also be mindful and do better. The best apology for any of us, ever, is changed behavior. We don’t say we are sorry, just to go and do the same hurtful things over again, do we?

What about when our amends are not received well at all? This has happened to me only once and I can’t lie, it fucking hurt me…in fact, it still hurts me. I’ve not mastered the four agreements just yet and I still take things personally. I must have sent it too soon, without the right words…however it happened though, I did not feel better after attempting to convey my heart and my apologies for my failures and shortcomings. Receiving the response I received for a pour my heart out attempt at being very sorry, was like a fucking machete ripping through my very soul. I wanted to snatch my letter right back out of the space that it entered and to act as though I didn’t send it, until I could get it right. I was embarrassed and ashamed and hurt on so many levels. The words that came back were sharp and jagged and blaming and unforgiving and mean as hell…and all intentioned to hurt me, and they achieved that goal…those words and all of that blame and hate, they pierced me like tiny  little daggers assaulting my heart and soul. I kept that letter for a while, almost as though to punish myself for being inforgiven and unforgivable. I read it and I hurt all over again, just like I fucking deserved, right? Not right. Not fucking right at all, and so one day, when I pulled it up to remind me of what a fucking piece of shit I am, I deleted it. I said, no more. I had to accept that the response I got said far more about the other person than it could ever say about me. I had to forgive myself anyway, for not knowing what I didn’t know before I knew it and for not being more than I was before I started to grow into who I’m becoming. I still sit with the hurt of this failed relationship sometimes, as this relationship, as fucked up as it may have been, was a relationship that I put my whole self, my whole life and my entire being into. Years later and it still stings me sometimes, being so unforgiven and so hated by someone whom I love so much and forgave wholeheartedly. How do we love ourselves through this? When someone told us and anyone else who would listen, what a piece of shit loser we are, how do we stop hearing it? How do we silence the voices of those who do not want us to be well? How do we cease to concern ourselves with the blame cast upon us for all transgressions, and not just our own. Truthfully, for the longest time, I didn’t…and instead I picked all of that up and carried it on my back with all of my shit, because after all, it was all my fucking fault in the first place, wasn’t it? It was…all of it, until last week, in the middle of a colossal meltdown…all of it was my fault, every last bit of it. I have been spinning off of my axis in all of this pain, and I have been struggling with not having my Mom and I have been fucking inconsolable…truly…catatonic and completely inconsolable. In one of these episodes, where the world literally begins to close down on top of me and crush me…enter, full blown PTSD…my Mom is dead and I am fucking dying…my family left me and the world I knew just disappeared into thin air, I paused, with tears flowing down my cheeks and popping out my eyes, hyperventilating and so fucking destroyed, I looked up at Tamara and I said this…”I just realized that she threw me away, discarded me like trash, packed all of my things in a fucking box, unbeknownst to me, while sharing the evening drinking with friends…everyone left and we were smoking in the garage and she said I’m going to bed, you’re okay to go home, right? Actually, I had thought I was going to bed with her, like I had for months before. Constant nagging on her part that I never drink and drive because such an accident took her brother…no drinking, no driving, except for tonight, you need to go home. Oh, and here’s a box with some of your things. I couldn’t breathe or see straight or cry or anything. I followed her to the bedroom, where she wanted nothing to do with me, and I laid down on her bed, fully clothed, to try to sober up a bit. After what felt like an eternity, I got up, I kissed her on the forehead and I let myself out for the very last time, of that house. I drove home drunk, because it was less risky than laying there, in that bed, next to someone who was already gone. The problem was that it wasn’t over for me and I was not gone. I hung on forever, until last week actually, to the illusion that I was loved so much, attached at the heart and soul, to someone who threw me the fuck away.”

I was crying so, so hard, so desperately looking at Tamara, searching her eyes with the tears streaming down her face, for something, anything at all, to tell me I wasn’t disposable…that I’m not a piece of trash and unworthy…and I got that. I got it finally, that this person, that I have loved with all of my heart and placed on a pedestal, since the moment I met her, simply did not love me back. Whatever she was to me, I clearly was not to her. The love that I invested and the time and the effort and the planning and the dreaming…I did that by myself. I was in this by myself. I fell in love with someone who was not available, who had already chosen someone else, and my world shattered when she stayed right where she had been, instead of coming with me. I got exactly what I deserved and I was laid flat the fuck out splattered on the floor, unable to be sorry enough. Last week, I told Tamara what really happened…how I was thrown out, with a box full of all of my things, drunk and broken into a million pieces, in the middle of the night, by the woman I loved more than anything in the world, as best as I could, in the fog I was living in.

Somehow, saying all of that out loud to the woman who loves me more than anything in the world, the woman that I love more than I have ever loved another and more than anything in the world, I finally healed a bit. I healed in the crushing pain of a truth that I could not stand to see. I was not loved like a verb and the empty words that captivated my heart and set my soul on fire, they were just words. This person was unkind and vengeful and mean and cruel, and no matter how I try to paint this picture differently, I was thrown away. I have been thrown away, so, so many times. Looking into Tamara’s eyes that morning though, I knew that I would never be thrown away again. I love you Tamara and I thank you so much for how you love me like a verb…how you love me for the best and the worst of me and how you hold space for me and for us and how you have helped me to open my eyes and begin to live a life in alignment with my own soul.

I sit here kind of peacefully, and my heart hurts and keeps beating, to a rhythm all its own…I begin to find my honor beat, as I allow what no longer serves me to fall away from me and to be returned to the universe to be recycled for the greater good of us all. And so it is. Have a beautiful day everyone! I love you!

How do I market me so you will buy me?

Good Afternoon! I am back! I have decided, after goal-setting this morning, that I must get on a writing schedule. I am sure that I need to create both time and space for me to write. For me, that means a set time, every morning, for me to write. I have decided to set my alarm and to get up and write, every day at 5:00am. This allows time for my morning writing. I give myself two hours, every morning to write my morning blog and do my morning meditation. I will wake up and meditate and pray, first thing, in my sacred space, before I begin writing. I set this time aside, every day, first thing in the morning, to begin my day as a writer.

I began blogging in December of 2017. My commitment was to blog, once a day, every single day for 365 days. I have honored my commitment to myself, without fail and I am so glad that I have. My blog has changed my life. My blog really started to change my life when I realized that my blog was changing your life. I feel like I am doing more than simply honoring a commitment to myself. I feel like my commitment to myself, paired with so many other blessings, and Nakho of course, has opened me to being of service in a way I never imagined possible.

Just last week, I transformed coralsblog.com into Coral’s Healing Room, a place for all of us to go. A safe place and a place where we can be real and authentic. We can be wrong and still be okay. Coral’s Healing Room is actually a safe and healing place for us all, not just a place for Coral to honor her own personal commitment. This transformation came about because I want to be of service to you. I want to know what I can do for you and how I can help you. In this room, I want us all to take an active stance in healing ourselves and the world we live in. I want us to take seriously, the important task of walking each other home. In this room, I ask you; what do you need from me and how can I best serve you? I ask because I really want to know, you know? If you don’t know…I only ask you how I can be of service, because I really want you to tell me…what can I do for you?

I have been listening to podcasts watching webinars, and dreaming of my own…and watching you tube videos, been on phone calls, submitted applications…I am inundating myself with positivity and googling ways to make myself , well for lack of a better explanation…to make myself, MY SELF. I have done worksheets and answered questionnaire after questionnaire, as honestly as I can, to find MY true calling, because who really wants a bullshit calling, right? I mean I know I don’t…want a bullshit calling. I want to know MY calling. Anyway, suffice to say, post-op and pretty flat on my back, IPad in hand….I have been trying to find my true calling, my life’s work, my God-realized purpose. I have acquired some amazing tools and I have listened to some amazing people. I have sought out more information on the people I have been watching and I am fucking inspired! I am…truly inspired.

Here’s the thing though, inspired as I am, I do not have $15,000 to $50,000 to send to you, to see if I can make something of me, with your program. I just do not fucking have that kind of money. I cannot sell enough of my things and my possessions, because I don’t have things. On purpose, I don’t have things and I don’t possess what I don’t need, for the most part. I am the co-founder of a 501c3, non-profit. If I did have $15,000-$50,000, it is already spent on our Sanctuary. So, with all of that being said, I am very impressed by your program, your materials,and our our talk…I am fucking pumped and ready to spend the next 8-12 weeks of my life, doing your program. You haven’t gotten back to me about my application, and I keep checking my inbox, because to be accepted, would mean so much to me! Truly, I think I am a perfect fit, given what you’ve asked for…who you need for your program…that is me, so far! A bonus is that I am more dedicated than a lot of people and I have a story I don’t mind telling, to help us all to heal. I think I write pretty well, and I am available and I am coachable . I am open to what you want to show me, and all of the amazing attributes you have and the resources you have available to you…you could help me to help so many others, so, so much! I am awaiting your acceptance letter, because I know I have what it takes!

Seriously, I have spent days looking at all of this inspiration and I am so thankful! I needed to see people out there, doing something with their gifts. I needed to feel like I am on my way to sharing my God given gifts with the world, while making a good living, to support my service work in the world. I need to do something substantial and honest and real and true. I need to do me…like my blog, do me, and for that to be the forum for me to help others. I know who I am. I am love. I know what I do. I am a vessel for substantial and life-altering healing. I am a human being with a story that the world needs to hear and I am willing to tell it. I believe we all deserve love and I am willing to work my ass off for that. I am love and I want to teach love and peace and hope and healing. I want to do me…to write books and stand on stages..write articles and talk to students…stand in the pulpit and preach love and light. I want to work with animals and to help them to heal and have the best lives they can possibly have, as I heal and have the best possible life I can have.

I charge $100 an hour right now, to do the work I do with animals and I need to fill at least a certain number of hours, just to pay my living expenses. I love, love, love what I do and I want to keep doing that. I just know that I am so much more than just that. I am more than the work I do on my clients dogs…I am also to my clients, so much more. I have a gift for writing and I don’t know how to organize all of this into anything helpful for everyone else, and I am willing to learn, because I know what I have to say really is that important to so many.

At the end of those calls…after those webinars, when I feel pumped and ready to go…and then I hear the price, to help me to be a better, more marketable version of me, I feel like someone poked me with a pin, and I begin to deflate a bit. I do not have what you are charging and I do not currently have a way to get it. I also cannot tell, even after all of my research, are you as real as I am? Are you as excited about me, after meeting me, as I was after I met you? Did you go and do your due diligence researching me, like I did mine on you? If you did do your research on me, then you know I am the real deal and I am gifted and I get results. I have countless references and people who will tell you who I am. I am willing to and eager to do your program, and I have so much confidence in me, that if all you say is true, I can guarantee you results, where I am concerned. I can meet your high end clients needs with my God given gifts. I can write the book you will undoubtedly want to publish, if you can do all of the marketing and editing and publishing. I can even sell my book to 25 people, before it is even written for $25.00 a book, and I can guarantee you that. I am so sure that I have what it takes to get the results you speak of with my charisma, my God given gifts and my dedication, that I am asking you to take a chance on me. I am asking you to front me the money for your very best program, and I will give it all I’ve got. I will sell the book before I write it and I will give my first earnings, all of them, back to you, first thing, provided that I get the results you speak of. I will bring my passion and my compassion. I will bring my desire to help others and my willingness to do what it takes to help others to the table, to the masses. I will work my ass off. I will always be transparent and I only ask the same of you. I will give my all and I will do heart and soul work, to help others. I know that I am here to do some amazing and unprecedented work and I am ready. I don’t need something packaged up pretty with bells and whistles…I need what you’ve got that will help me to get what I’ve got out to the people who need me and my message and my result driven, tested and re-tested message of love and hope and peace

I know this is a long shot..a really long shot. I have done my research on you and I hope you have done your research on me. If not, I invite you to. Maybe we can help each other to help the world. I can waive my skepticism and any doubt, and you can waive your upfront fees of $15,000-$50,000 and give me a chance to prove myself, I think we might really be able to help each other out and to make substantial difference in the lives of the people who need us most. You have the power to waive my fee and I have the willingness to change your life! What do you say? Will you take a chance on me?

Hanging out in the healing room…come on in…

Good afternoon! What a wonderful opportunity to meet you in this sacred space! I hope your week is off to a good start and that you’re here ready to heal!

I am ready for some significant healing, aren’t you? Is there something in your life that you have really been battling or wrestling with? Is there a decision you just can’t make? Are there words in your heart that have fallen on deaf ears so many times already, that you’re worn down of trying again? Is there one thing stopping you from all other things? Is your biggest obstacle, in your way right now, you?

I am feeling today that my biggest obstacle has been me in many situations. I was not aware of this and yet I think on some level, it has probably been apparent. I haven’t loved me the way I wanted to be loved. I haven’t valued me as I wish to be valued and so others haven’t valued me either. I haven’t stood up for me and so others have not stood up for me either.

In this room, all of these things are okay. Maybe everywhere else, it’s fucking shitty, and in this room, you can say it anyway. You can let it down, let it out…let it go. You decided how you feel in here. You must feel something or you wouldn’t come back, right? What do you feel here? What do you want to feel when you are here?

I know I want to feel aunthenticity. I want real. I don’t give a shit how bad it feels, I always want the truth. If it hurts me to know something, I want to know it all the more. I want to feel, and I mean really fucking feel when I am in this room. I want to ride to the summit of anger and gently allow myself, to gracefully fall back down into its depths. I want to know why I am fucking angry…why I am hurt…why I feel abandoned…I want real. I always want real. In this room, that’s all there is. There is real….My real…my reality…real as fuck and true. That is how we do it, in this healing room.

I have been afraid to speak my truths. I have been stifled for years and my truths have fallen upon the most deaf of ears, when I did speak. I do not come here to wallow in my pain. I come here to invite my pain, to re-visit my pain, and I mean to really spend some quality time with this pain, so that I may feel it, at its deepest depth and then I may let it go. I come here to come clean. I come here to cleanse us all, of things we cannot speak of, as I remind us that we can speak.

Have you ever watched someone fall down and scramble to get to their feet, before anyone sees that they fell? Why do you think we do that? Truly, why are we more worried that someone saw us stumble, than we are worried that our fall may have hurt us? Why do we look outside of us first? Why do we hide our pain so fucking fast and so fucking deep?

What about when you see this scenario…someone else falling and no one helps? Phones video players running, calls and texts left and right, and yet, why don’t we help each other? In this room, we help each other. In this room, when someone falls…we stop what we are doing and we help them back up. We stop and we help.

I want to take this opportunity, which I’ve not done too much of in the past, to ask you something…What do you need from me when you come here? Once a day, for 365 days, I will be here. I promise. So…how can I help you? What, if anything, can I do, to lighten your load?

Do me a favor and think about that for a bit. Really give some thought to what I can do for you and shoot me a private message. Tell me what I can do, on this blog, as a service to us all, to help us all. What would you like to see? To hear? To say? To do? Shoot me a message and let’s brainstorm this together…what can we all do for each other? How can we individually and collectively, heal ourselves and our world? You tell me what you need from me and I will see what I can do for you.

As we leave this healing room today, I feel a new energy…a little lift, to start making big strides in my life, toward all of the good things coming! I hope you feel it too!