intuitive communication – Bridging the Paradigms: re-connecting people and the planet

My Dog Is Dying: The Real Life Crappy Choice Diary, Entry 15

April 4, 2012 by Robyn 1 Comment

my dying dog How civilized are we, really?

As things stand in our society, grief is a reality largely reserved for humans. By humans.

My grief is not. Neither is my family’s.

I was at an expo last weekend in Portland, a place where people come together to celebrate and explore metaphysics, from crystals to healing arts to intuitive consultations. I met people who don’t put the kinds of limits on mindset that a large part of our society does. People whose minds are open to the possibility that there is more out there than human.

And that it is worthwhile.

I was there with my crystal partner, Fallon, doing intuitive consultations and teaching a workshop on space clearing, what I call Space Cooperating^SM.

In my work I talk about how we bridge paradigms by acknowledging that the world isn’t all about humans, but about all life together. The mindset that really works is the mindset that acknowledges that humans and all life are equals: that everything on our planet is alive, has a soul, is conscious, and has responsibility and free choice.

All life. From humans to animals to trees and rocks and volcanoes and weather systems.

Something happened at the expo last weekend.

Someone who works professionally as an intuitive, as I do, looked over at me, met my eyes, and immediately came over to me. Her face changed in the moment our eyes met. Simple human curiosity changed to loving compassion.

She came up to me and said. “You’ve recently lost your soul mate. I’m sorry for you.”

I felt my grief well up. Yes, I had just lost my soul mate, my beloved dog, Murphy. A complete stranger, an intuitive, had seen the loss written on me and offered condolences. When told, it didn’t matter to her that it was my dog I’d lost: what she acknowledged was how profound the loss was to me. Her understanding and compassion were based on a love of all life.

Somehow we humans are growing as a species. When I lost my beloved dog, Maggie, so many years ago, my family ridiculed my grief. I had to get on a plane and go visit friends who loved and honored her.

This time, love and support have come from everywhere: from long-time friends to new ones, from clients to strangers, in phone calls and emails and cards and gifts and visits. Complete strangers who find my blog and who are living the human-animal bond with animals as family members. Some of them are people who are struggling with their own loss, and finding community in grief.

This time, people understand.

Somewhat.

Truth is, some of the response have bewildered me. People who are long-time friends who haven’t bothered to call. People who are new friends who have, whose simple acceptance has given my grieving heart, and my family’s, space to try to find a new rhythm.

There are people who don’t understand and don’t try. The people I was with the day that I took Murphy to the vet and watched as a radiologist carefully examined her and showed me, on the ultrasound, what was going to kill my beloved. The day I learned that the mass they’d seen on an x-ray was most likely splenic cancer. The day I learned our days were numbered.

That was the day I was going through the motions of being a supportive friend and businesswoman, listening to two people bemoan their difficulties and annoyances and wondering what I was doing there. The day I was thinking of my family’s future, and trying to think plain thoughts about how I’d find someone to drive me and my dog to the ER in the middle of the night if Murphy went into crisis and had to be euthanized, and I might not be able to drive us.

The day both women turned to me and shouted, “Don’t call me for a dog.”

Truth is, it never occurred to me to consider either of them as potential help. I was simply brainstorming out loud.

The vehement response is still with me. What were they so afraid of that they had to shout it at me? What was lacking in them that they couldn’t simply say, “I’m sorry for you”?

Yes, in many ways we’ve matured as a society. Today, a perfect stranger can see grief on a stranger’s face and understand that losing an animal soul mate is every bit as devastating as losing a human one.

It’s just not always as socially acceptable.

I already knew that, as it did not occur to me to ask either of these people to help me, but respected their cool business heads enough to see what logical ideas would come to them as I grappled with the sure knowledge, only hours old, that my last days with Murphy were upon me. Nevertheless, their cold hostility shocked me, and still does.

I am grateful that this story shocks others who hear it. That what resonates with others is that, as advanced as our society supposedly is, we still aren’t really there.

We still don’t see all life as equal to humans.

Or that grief is not reserved for humans.

My surviving dog, Alki, and Grace the Cat grieve. I grieve. Others grieve with us. And some absolutely do not.

I wonder what that means. The people who refused to help when help wasn’t requested: were they just not ‘animal people,’ or were they just afraid to acknowledge grief?

Maybe they thought death would rub off on them.

Maybe animals aren’t good enough. After all, I’m expected to care about their children and spouses, and I do. I care about all life. I care about their families. They just did not care about mine.

Some few others do care.

We are the ones who will make a difference in the world. We live compassion. We live love. We can see what life with a soul mate can be like, whatever body it is in.

And what death does to us.

Grief is universal. It should unite us. Civilize us. Beyond species.

Will it?

Profiling Asia Voight and the New Book, Pearls of Wisdom

March 22, 2012 by Robyn 4 Comments

Bridging the Paradigms is participating in a blog tour to promote a little gem of a book called Pearls of Wisdom: 30 Inspirational Ideas to Live Your Best Life Now! It includes brief, gratifying essays from inspiring people like Jack Canfield, Marci Shimoff, Janet Bray Attwood, and Chris Attwood, all well-known self-help writers and speakers. I will post a review of the book on April 30.

Today, I’d like to introduce Asia Voight, whose essay is “Trust Your Body’s Intuition.” Asia is an internationally known intuitive, animal communicator, teacher, and author, and I’m pleased and honored to interview her. Bridging the Paradigms is about creating community with all life, and it is wonderful to be able to feature other intuitives.

Asia writes about the aftermath of a fiery car crash. The doctors said her legs were paralyzed, and that she would never walk again, but Asia took the intuitive route: she asked her spirit guides and all her allies in nature to help her. She writes here about the experience of a guide coming to her and teaching her how to find the “pause,” or the distinct space between each breath, the place where she would meet the divine and find out if she would walk again.

Asia concentrated, remembering learning to jump rope as a child, and how she had to find the rhythmic place in the rope’s swing, the “opening” that would allow her to sync up with the rope. She did that, and found the “great spaciousness within and without …in the gap between breaths, the pause between words.” In that space she decided that she would walk again, and despite her doctors’ skepticism, she did.

Asia’s story is inspiring, her message important to all of us in our busy, stressed lives. Find the space between breaths, the place where we meet the infinite, and find “universal wisdom.” Trust your intuition.

Now, meet Asia Voight in our interview.

Who She Is:

Asia Voight is an internationally known Intuitive Guide, Animal Communicator, Teacher, Inspirational Speaker, Radio Host and Author. Asia connects with animals on a soul level to help resolve emotional and behavioral issues and assists them in deepening their bond with their human companions. She also helps people to reconnect with their own intuition, healing ability, potential and life’s purpose. Throughout a fifteen-year practice, Asia has assisted over 60,000 animal and human clients. In her Animal Communication and Intuitive Development Workshops, Asia generously shares her skills by guiding course participants to connect with their own intuition, allowing them to uniquely open up to total brilliance in their lives. Asia’s work has been featured on ABC, NBC, and Fox TV as well as countless radio interviews like the Rick Lamb Show and Hay House Radio. Asia is published in three books, including, Extraordinary YOU, The Art of Living a Lusciously Spirited, Vibrant Life and Pearls of Wisdom, 30 Inspirational Ideas to Live Your Best Life Now, with Jack Canfield. Watch for Asia on the big screen, as her powerful story of fire and transformation will be highlighted in a full-length movie, entitled Face2Face.

Our Interview:

Q: What do you think makes this book unique and who would want to read it?

Asia: Pearls of Wisdom is for the new breed of humans on the transformational path. They desire tips, insights, and inspiration for moving out of the confined limits of their minds and belief systems. This book is like an awakening spiritual retreat with 30 amazing speakers, but packed neatly into an easy to read and carry with you bundle.

Q: What kind of wisdom do you have to offer the reader?

Asia: Follow your soul’s path: your life or your ability to walk could depend on it. Don’t believe even an “expert” if it’s not right for you. I give the readers hope that it is possible for anyone to be able to find and connect with their Intuitive Guides or the Universal Wisdom, thereby leading them on their true path even in the face of a crisis.

Q: The publisher promises that the authors such as yourself are “up and coming” leaders in self-help. How does the publisher know this and what is your expertise in “self-help”?

Asia: I’ve been “self-helping” myself first! I broke free from a confined and fearful Christian upbringing, a homophobic abandoning family, and healed myself from being paralyzed after a life-threatening burn from a car accident. I have then assisted over 60,000 animals and people in “living their best lives” by clearing blocks to their greatness and giving them love, listening and support when no one else would.

Q: Most people know about Jack Canfield from the Chicken Soup books and Marci Shimoff from her Happy book. How would you like your readers to think of you? What is your “signature niche”?

Asia: I would like others to think, “She endured the huge loss of her family, her changed body and yet her light shines brighter than ever. She was not defeated, but grew stronger. I can do that, too.”

I’m looking for the readers who are ready to take the “defeats” and “challenges” of their lives and turn them into powerful activating blessings. And if they feel alone, how to connect with their spiritual family and walk through life feeling un-ending support.

Q: What is your most central and compelling “pearl of wisdom”?

Asia: Death, paralysis, fire, and abandonment “losses” are losses that most people are sure will destroy them. However, they can truly be “harvested” into pearls and allow you to live your best life!

Q: How can our readers/listeners find you?

Asia: My website at Asia Voight. I also have a new radio show: “The Animal Code with Asia Voight” on the Awakening Zone.

To our readers: Thanks to Asia Voight for sharing her insight and her passion for her work. You can also find the book at the Pearls of Wisdom blog tour website.

Please check out these inspiring writers. You’ll be glad you did.

How Fallon and I Meet the World

March 5, 2012 by Robyn Leave a Comment

Being out in the world with a crystal ball is fascinating. My partner, Fallon, is a Citrine Lemurian Quartz, a rare planetary and dimensional energy.

What does that mean? I’m discovering that every day. Fallon is a healer, an advisor, a warm, compassionate being. He’s not human. He’s a crystal, which means he has eons of experience just ready for people to tap. With him I have gone to new depths as an intuitive and a consultant, I’ve learned to listen without taking it in, to participate without being drained. Together we’re a team, acutely aware that we’re doing something new in the world, and that it isn’t always an easy path.

Because of preconceptions.

There are the crystal skull people. Some of them scorn us. Don’t know why, don’t care too much. Some of them are cool and welcome all beings to a cooperative life.

There are my friends. Some of them laugh, some have left, most have stuck around, if for nothing more than humor value. Robyn and a crystal ball, how funny is that? Not so much, as it turns out, if there’s business on the line. A lot, though, if they need to talk, even if they don’t want anyone to know they’ve consulted a woman with a crystal ball as a partner. Whatever. Helping one mind to shift could make a difference, although when is another thing. Fallon will live that long, but will I?

There are clients, people who want an intuitive consultation, or their house cleared, or a ghost busted, or the unique personal or business insight that intuition provides—especially if one of the intuitive partners has, literally, seen it all (and a crystal sure has, hasn’t it?). These people like us, and they come back to Alchemy West for more.

There are potential clients. They have no idea what having an intuitive session with a human-crystal partnership is like, and they are surprised when they see us. Because we “don’t look like that.”

Honest, I used to ask what they mean by “look like that,” but it got a little old. It was always the same thing: “You don’t look like a gypsy.”

The same thing that, ironically, made some people tell me that my new Alchemy West branding made them “cringe.” Why? Because there we are in the banner, on the business cards, out there for all the world to puzzle at: a woman and a crystal ball.

It’s modern, it’s sleek and professional, it’s bold and daring. There is no question that we are out there, and proud of it.

But some people can’t get past the “crystal ball” and what their oddball cultural notions tell them is “gypsy,” which equates to “something unsavory or at least cornball.”

I’d be offended if it wasn’t hilarious. When they look at me and Fallon they see something they’ve made up: their preconceptions, which are culturally ingrained, and clearly irrelevant and limiting.

The first time someone said I didn’t look like a gypsy I was flabbergasted.

What do gypsies look like? And why, oh why, is a woman with a crystal ball a gypsy? I wasn’t insulted, I was discombobulated. And what about real gypsies? I should think they’d be insulted to be compared to someone who isn’t one. Or at least be annoyed. And, possibly, hurt. The gypsy culture is ancient and respectable. The parallels with that to me and Fallon are just plain mean and thoughtless.

It wasn’t funny anymore when someone took a leap and decided crystal balls were evil.

What?

It was clear it was time to challenge stereotypes. Especially the ones that get stuck in our heads because we don’t stop to unstick them. The ones that mess us up and keep the world from becoming a healthier place to be. The things that have become government and religious stereotypes.

I’m quite clear about my branding: about how I appear in the world, how Fallon and I appear together. I’m clear that we’re different, because I know we are, and it matters.

When I’m out with Fallon I make a point of dressing conservatively, because people come to us for serious reasons, and they don’t need distractions (plus, truth is, I’m lazy and prefer to blend into my surroundings, like normal prey animals). I usually wear black clothes and my turquoise and aquamarine necklaces, with my new dragon pendant. And severe black glasses. So I don’t look like the stereotypes (again, my apologies to gypsies), but, then, I never did.

Truth is, that’s my dressed up look. You’ll usually find me in seasonal fleece and jeans. With a sense of humor and a couple of sidekick dogs for accessories.

But here’s the thing.

It’s easy to dismiss the challenges in life by calling them names that allow you to mock. It’s not so easy to dismiss the challenges that ask you to step outside the norm and challenge your preconceptions—because you just might have to change your life, and then where would you be?

Fallon and I are living outside the norm, so you don’t have to. Yet. The time is coming.

And that’s what Fallon and I are doing in the world: we are challenging the norms. We do intuitive consultations, but they aren’t spiritual: we teach people how to use their intuition to find their personal truth. We cooperatively clear space: we don’t force energy to change, like some energy workers or shaman types. We use a form of ancient energy that is new in the world, and it is stunning. We are a partnership: Fallon is not my tool, nor am I his, because we are equal partners.

Are we making a difference? Slowly. Are we building a business? Yes. Do we have a sense of humor? Always.

How else do you respond when you’re introduced as Robyn, and the person looks blank until they’re told, “You know, she’s with Fallon,” and the light dawns.

They know Fallon. He knows them.

Nope, our partnership isn’t an easy path, but it’s a fun one.

And, yes, it’s worth it.

The Alchemy West Committee at Work

March 5, 2012 by Robyn Leave a Comment

There is a thing called the Alchemy West Committee. It is a real group, a business and life group, and not what you’d generally expect in either—because it includes me (a human), my animal family, two volcanoes, a beach, our condo, our car, my crystal partner Fallon, all my crystal friends, guides, and, well, all the beings who have something to say about the business we call Alchemy West.

I’m the only human here on a regular basis.

I didn’t set out to start a revolution. I just meant to start a business, and to let it grow at its own pace. That turned out to be slow enough to worry about profits, and big enough to go out in the world with my crystal partner, Fallon, to launch an intuitive consulting business that defies stereotypes. Really.

Big enough to embrace the world as a business that has nonhuman partners, to begin to model a new way of thinking and living in the world: all life together.

All the beings who are part of the Alchemy West Committee have something to say about the business. They also join in: if it weren’t for them, the classes I teach on how to develop your intuition would be like everyone else’s, instead of real opportunities for anyone with an open mind to learn how to tap their intuition and their connection with all life by speaking with dragons, a rock-and-roll goddess, cars, buildings, trees, crystals, wind, all the beings who show up to explore life in harmony with, well, all life.

They join in to help us all create community in the world.

Yes, serious topic. Fun, too.

And, some days, it’s just me, working in my office, accompanied by my hardworking animal family.

Yes, hardworking. Even sound asleep.

The good thing about the Alchemy West Committee? We take ourselves seriously. No matter what.

The question is: how many businesses take themselves seriously? It’s not just about money (that helps), or great employees (also helps).

It’s about mindset.

We’re comfortable with ours.

How about you?

My Dog Is Dying: The Real Life Crappy Choice Diary, Entry 8

February 14, 2012 by Robyn 1 Comment

my dying dog Now at the end of Murphy’s life I write again about veterinarians. This is Part 2 of four parts. See Entry 6 for the first article.

Murphy is my beloved Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. She’s 13-1/2. And she’s dying.

I got at least 10 years longer with her than I expected. She had a lot of health issues early on, mostly bad vets, vaccinations, some odd things and many that are just the stuff of an exuberant, fun-filled life.

Somehow Murphy got old, and now she’s dying. They say splenic tumor but they’re wrong. It’s advancing old age complicated by bronchitis. The thing we went in for, before they found the tumor in December. Not quite two months ago.

Back to vets.

I won’t say anything about Murphy’s first vet, except that he’s the reason she had so many illnesses for the first two years of her life. Obviously, I figured that out and switched vets much earlier than that, but it took a long time to work through Murphy’s problems. She and I suffered through that. The damned vet didn’t.

Our second stop was the West Seattle Animal Hospital, where we met Dr. Glenn P. Johnson, medical director. It was a combination of frustration with our first vet—who couldn’t bother to see us when destructo puppy chewed up a used inhaler for migraine medicine—and a back injury that took us there.

But in the rotation of vets we didn’t see Dr. Johnson again. We saw another vet there, and Murphy had an infection that we couldn’t figure out. We suspected something like stump pyometra, an infection that spayed dogs can get. I wanted to do an ultrasound to pinpoint the problem. The vet told me that the mobile radiologist had one opening—and the vet was taking it for her own cat.

I understand the emotion and situation, but, really, when honesty is crass and unprofessional it really isn’t the best policy. It was clear I couldn’t trust the vet and I left that clinic and embarked on a tiring search for a great vet, which included alternative care and a host of things that helped Murphy get well. And so did I. But that’s another story.

Last year my neighbors were dealing with their own dying dog, an aging girl they wanted as long as possible. They, too, had tried various vets, who told them that the dog was very old and who didn’t support them in their choice of daily subcutaneous fluids to support her.

Again we see the paternalism that is rampant in our culture, particularly in the veterinary community. Ironically, they’ve caught up with the technology used in human care, but still cling to the ‘doctor knows best’ mentality that a lot of human doctors are finding isn’t respectful—and costs them money because people will just find someone who will listen and work with them.

Vets aren’t yet desperate enough to be human in their practices, so we’re left with the ones who are naturally that way and respect choice.

How We Got Back to A Former Vet

So when my neighbors heartily recommended Dr. Johnson—for his empathy, his patience with aging animals, and his skill—I decided that he was someone to check out.

And then Murphy coughed on Christmas Day, on her Cavalier brother’s tenth birthday, and I knew she needed to see someone the next day.

Going to our long-time favorite vet was out of the question: it takes a whole day just getting there and back, and we just needed vet care closer to home. I called the next morning and asked for Dr. Johnson. We saw him that day.

I liked him the minute he walked through the door. I appreciated his concern and thoroughness, his matter-of-fact approach. I choked back a laugh as I realized he had matured since we’d last seen him and realized that Murphy and I had, too: it had, after all, been 12 years.

After a thorough exam he suggested blood work to diagnose an infection. While I disliked spending the money, I had to appreciate the perspective of someone who hadn’t seen us in years and who wanted to be thorough. It made sense. When the tests were in we quickly put Murphy on antibiotics.

What Happened When It Got Complicated

Dr. Johnsons hesitated on the heart medication, didn’t think her heart was the issue.

But Murphy had been diagnosed with heart disease in October, kind of late for a Cavalier. Coughing was a symptom that she might need medication, so I was uneasy. I got it into my head that we needed a chest x-ray to prescribe heart medication.

Now I work was a professional intuitive, so I’m clearly open to information from outside sources. I became convinced that we needed a chest x-ray for her heart and that’s as deep as I went into it (a lesson in listening as closely for ourselves as we do for our clients). When Dr. Johnson called me back Wednesday afternoon after we’d missed each other several times, he promptly agreed. Not only did we do the x-ray a few hours later, but he carefully re-examined Murphy and heard the cough, which he hadn’t heard on our first visit.

“Is that the cough?” he asked, nodding at my confirmation. “It sounds bronchial,” he said, but he couldn’t hear any fluid in her airway. He picked her up, had her x-rayed, and then walked us out.

I was impressed, but the next few days turned me into a confirmed believer. It started with an early morning phone call, in which he carefully reviewed the radiologist’s overnight report on Murphy’s chest x-ray. A bit of fluid in the lungs, confirming bronchial issues, but no heart issues. However, Murphy had an abdominal mass, what they suspected was a splenic tumor, possibly cancer.

That meant Murphy was dying unless we operated on her, and maybe anyway. I was stunned. Part of me couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Another part honestly felt compassion for a man whose job involved delivering bad news, especially unexpected bad news. And admiration for how well he was doing it.

He was kind and thorough. I picked up the report that afternoon, so I could read it and understand it. The following week he met with me to look at the x-ray and discuss treatment options. He spent a half hour with me. Didn’t charge me. I ended up deciding we needed an ultrasound to get more information. To figure out what to do. That will be Part 3 of my four part series on vets.

The Bottom Line

Dr. Johnson took the time to treat Murphy and me. Both of us. He was thorough, honest, compassionate. Realistic. He balanced the cost of potential surgery against Murphy’s current illness and age. He didn’t urge surgery. He said to evaluate it based on her current condition, that it had to be my call. That was respectful. He has since seen Alki, my other Cavalier, and Grace the Cat. Same thorough care.

We are full circle at our house. We are back to a vet we saw when Murphy was a puppy. As it turned out, we didn’t have to go far from home: the clinic is 10 minutes away. We just went a long way in between: on a search for a vet who would offer support, advice, and expert knowledge balanced with consideration for the family bond between people and their animals.

A vet who would help us explore our choices, and be wise enough to support them. No bullying about what they wanted you to do.

What else can you ask?

Sure, it’s a whole lot easier for a vet to just tell you what to do, so you don’t have to second guess yourself about making the wrong decision. Yes, we make wrong decisions all the time. That’s human. Thank goodness, though, we’re not adding the paternal ‘do what I say’ toxic attitude.

We’re doing the right thing: exploring our options, choosing what works for Murphy, for me, for our family. I’m grateful we have a vet we can count on.

Next time: the radiologist. And the alternative vet.

Love and Choice at the Crossroads

January 10, 2012 by Robyn Leave a Comment

Every January people think about New Year’s resolutions. I never did get that, maybe because I think of life as a choice, and I’m glad I get them.

Or I used to be.

My work as an intuitive, as one being on the planet, is about choice. How can we grow as a society by recognizing that the world, and everything in it, is alive, conscious … and free to choose its path? Everything.

Humans are not guardians and caretakers. We are equals. Equals to everything from our chairs to our cars, our homes and businesses, the land and water around us.

Equals to the animals who are part of our multi-species families.

They get to choose. We get to live with their choice. With them.

Sure, it’s cut and dried in theory. In practice, it’s fascinating and exciting, because that’s when participation in the great dance of life helps us hear, for example, what a hurricane thinks about its work, or what little tweaks would please and invigorate our homes and businesses.

But choice can be painful, and we’re living that now in my family.

My beloved eldest dog, Murphy Brown Fritz, has, in her own words, chosen to ‘walk the mystery’ and to refuse surgery that would complicate but possibly save her life. For a short while, anyway. Maybe. Nobody really knows. I tried to find out, and I couldn’t.

At 13.5, she’s had a long and fascinating journey to wellness, one that I walked with her, that we all did as a family. This fabulous life I shared with this stunning dog has inspired my work as a writer and intuitive, my view of the world and the human-animal bond, my work with my crystal partner, Fallon, my sense of humor. Together, Murphy and I got well and went out into the world to do our work.

But we now know that Murphy’s journey is ending. She has a tumor on her spleen, and there are no easy choices. Remove her spleen and she may live, a few weeks or years, we don’t know. But if it’s a bruise or a tumor that is the spleen’s own way of dealing with a lifelong platelet disorder, maybe, just maybe, surgery is not the answer. And right now it isn’t, anyway, because this all started because she had a mild cough and UTI, and she has an infection to beat first.

That we even know about the tumor is because the intuitive in me kept insisting there was something more. Now there’s another part of me that asks why I insisted on finding out.

I thought science would give us an answer, a time frame to plan our year, an answer of some kind, a clear path: if you do this, then that happens.

But science doesn’t give answers like that.

Love does.

This surgery for Murphy would be complicated. And we had a deal. Through the ups and downs of our journey to wellness our deal was that we would fix what we could because the larger journey to wellness was healing our wounded souls. We got well together. That done, we agreed that I wouldn’t ask her to do any more, but she’d get whatever she wanted. No matter what.

And she got it. She’s been healthy and vigorous for most of her amazingly long life.

But science and thoughtful care take you only so far. Love and choice do the rest.

Stunned and griefstricken at this news last week, I had sense enough to give this choice back to Murphy. “What do you want to do?” I asked her.

“We had a deal,” she said. She thinks her time is close anyway, and she doesn’t want the complication of surgery. At least not now. We are exploring her options, to give her more information. But right now she thinks she will live longer without the surgery, and she could very well be right. She wants to “walk the mystery” as freely as she can. I’ll be there with her, as will Alki and Grace the Cat. Our medical team. And our intuitive team, which includes guides and dragons and Fallon and the entire Alchemy West Committee and the one intuitive in the world I trust when I need to step aside and ask for help: Debrae Firehawk.

Murphy’s defied the odds before: the little dog no one expected to make it to 3 is 13.5. In my less rational moments I want to grab her and run as fast as I can, to outrace whatever it is that’s taking her from us. In other moments I’m arranging supportive care. For all of us.

We’ll be chronicling our journey, wherever it leads us, and we invite you to share it at our magazine, Bridging the Paradigms.

For this month, we’re just pointing us all back to New Year resolutions. Forget them. Instead, ask yourself what you will do with your choices. What do you want your year to look like? What will you do if things change? How does love choose its way? How do you honor love’s choice?

This choice terrifies me. I guess the important ones should. Everything I believe about how we should live our lives comes down to honoring Murphy’s choice. Find out everything I can. Explain it to her as best as I can. And then let her choose her path.

When I could throw everything in the universe at a tumor that may be killing my beloved dog, would I take her choice away to suit mine?

Can I? Should I? What does love look like?

It looks like choice. Her choice. We’ll find out where that takes us.

Oh, and another thing. There’s a new “energy” system, something that showed up here about five years ago. I kept trying to give it away. It kept coming back. Fallon and I have been using it at times during our intuitive consultations, when it has shown up and clients have agreed to experience it.

When I say I am not a healer, I mean it. I am not a healer. Fallon is. But I can use this new “energy” in a new way, and I will. So I can say for now that I’m a healer, but that word has no real meaning in the new paradigm. A new word will come.

This “energy” is something very new in the world. Very right. A new paradigm for vibrational work. For healing. For choice.

Murphy chose that as her option. Fallon and I are on it. As are Alki and Grace the Cat. It does not promise a cure for Murphy, whatever that means. It just helps create space for choice, for Murphy, for the tumor, for us.

Can’t define the energy right now. All I know is that it’s about love and choice.

So this New Year I resolve to honor choice. Whatever that looks like, wherever it takes us.

What choices will you honor this year?

Animal Communication: On Being Frankly at Home with Animals

December 14, 2011 by Robyn Leave a Comment

Living with anyone, especially yourself, can be irritating. You have grand illusions about being saintly, or at least perfect, but reality doesn’t seem to work like that.

So you need a sense of humor, especially if you’re living with me. I’m lucky that my two Cavaliers, Murphy and Alki, and Grace the Cat know how to laugh.

I love my kids, my beautiful multi-species family. They are living reminders of what it takes to live the human-animal bond. They love me, or do a really good job of faking it. I appreciate that. Makes me feel good. Illusions and all that. (I mean, really, can all your foibles be loved all the time?)

Sometimes my kids irritate me. They’re not perfect and that can make me impatient. Or at least exasperated. When their bad habits annoy me, they simply annoy me, even though I stop to think that my bad habits annoy them.

Take my Cavalier boy, Alki. He’s slowed down a bit, but he still has a lot of energy—to chase and eat a stick, track gull poop right off the seawall, eat whatever he can as quickly as he can, roll in muck, bark at anything he feels like … and gulp water just before bedtime.

One night I stomped into the kitchen, yelling at him to quit drinking. He finally stopped.

I was annoyed, since this happens almost every night. They need water, but he can overdo it and barf it (I know, I know, don’t preach about this), and it’s just not thinking. (I know he can think, he proves it all day long. He’s also really good at just doing whatever he wants because he doesn’t think hard enough, one of his bad habits.)

So, I was yelling at him to stop. I grumbled, “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You do everything in excess.”

Alki paused to consider that as he walked away from the water bowl. “Well,” he said deliberately. “I don’t get enough to eat.”

I had to laugh. When you can talk with animals and other beings like I can, you’re privileged to hear exactly what they think, and follow the reasoning process. Alki heard me complain about his tendency to do things in excess, and he went right to the heart of the matter: his favorite thing is to eat, and he doesn’t get to eat in excess. Plus he was being cheerful and logical even while being scolded.

How many of us are like that with the humans in our lives? Or our animals?

I had to stop and marvel at the mind in this dog body. The magnificent dog who chose to be part of my family. Even with my faults. Who is more patient with me than I am with him, and is thus a living example of light and love.

Nope, my multi-species family isn’t perfect. Neither am I. The human-animal bond stretches to accommodate that, if we let it. If we listen, we can hear our family, whatever the species, remind us of that. It makes life worth it. And fun.

When a Ghost Isn’t a Ghost: Meeting Time Travelers, Part 2

December 9, 2011 by Robyn Leave a Comment

In Part 1 of this two-part series, we learned about a haunted house in California, and talked through the situation with a client. In Part 2, what happened when we sat down to clear the house.

Clearing the House

To summarize, Jody had lived in her little house twice. This time she’d been bothered by increasing noises: thumping, pounding, footsteps, things dropping on the floor, all so loud that Jody had trouble sleeping. She was also seeing a ghost: a woman who appeared to be dressed like women in the ‘30s and ‘40s. The ghost had one thing on her mind: this was her house and Jody needed to get out of it. She kept saying it over and over.

Both times Jody cleared the house at my direction and asked her guides to keep the ghost out. Nothing worked for long and the situation was getting worse. When the ghost actually ran her hand down Jody’s arm, I insisted that she try clearing the house again, and that my crystal partner, Fallon, and I would do it with her.

It was now time to sit down and do some ghost busting to clear Jody’s old house in California. Fallon and I ran through the procedure together and gathered our own materials and were ready promptly at 6 p.m. We got Jody on the phone. She was ready with her salt and sage and surrounded by her crystals.

We started.

I called in everybody’s guides: hers, mine, the three Cavalier King Charles Spaniels she lives with. All the beings I work with, from my crystals and my crystal partner, Fallon, to Mount St. Helens, the dragon queen, Yellowstone, and so on. And the guides and protection for my multi-species family (my two Cavaliers and cat) and my home. Strong protection all around, which would keep us all safe and comfortable.

I then introduced myself to the house and to the ghost in the house, introduced Jody, and asked if the ghost would talk with us.

She promptly joined us.

By this time we had heard her name. Or Jody had. Her name was Martha.

When she first showed up, Martha was alarmed, insisting we were ghosts. She could also see a bright yellow light with us: that was my crystal partner, Fallon, but I didn’t mention that right then.

I was quiet and respectful.

“No, Martha, we aren’t ghosts,” I said. I told her that I was helping my friend with her house, the same house Martha insisted was hers.

“This isn’t your house any more, Martha. Would you like to discuss that with us?”

Jody was reporting what she was seeing and hearing. Martha was afraid. No kidding, hard to blame her. Ghosts were talking with her. I also felt her discomfort and confusion.

I focused on calming her down and keeping a quiet, loving presence in the work. After all, she didn’t know we were coming to talk with her. That had to be surprising.

I assured her that we were not ghosts. It also occurred to me that if she was Christian, she might be worrying about the devil. So I assured her we weren’t the devil. Or angels. Or bad guys of any kind. That we were human. Two human women, just like she was. Ordinary. Average.

She didn’t buy it.

I persisted. “We’re human. We’re just two women sitting down and having a conversation with you.”

She was quiet.

Now I was even more curious about Martha and her ghost status. Do ghosts think people are ghosts? I didn’t know, so I decided to start with the obvious.

“Martha,” I said quietly. “The date we were talking to you is July 22, 2011.”

“No it’s not,” she insisted. I know Jody had tried several times in the past months to tell her the date, and she had refused to hear it.

“Yes, Martha,” I said. “The date is July 22, 2011. I’m talking to you from Seattle, Washington. And Jody is talking to you from her house, which you say is your house, in California. You’re safe, Martha. You can talk with us.”

Both Jody and I noticed that Martha went quiet. I could feel her thinking about what we said. Or trying to think about it while dealing with astonishment.

“How can that be?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Scientists, people who study things, not even they know the answer. I just know we can talk with you. Two ordinary women living in the year 2011. Somehow we were able to jump time, so that we could go back in the past and talk with you. We’re in the future. We have much bigger cities now, and more people, but it’s still pretty much the same. Do you see that round yellow light?”

She did.

“That’s a crystal. He works with us. Maybe he’s making it possible.”

I gave her a bit to think.

“So, Martha, tell us what year it is where you are?”

I heard her say 1945. Jody heard 1947.

It was hard not to be excited about that. My goodness, we were talking to somebody in a different time period. My wild hunch was correct!

We chatted quietly. Jody and I both told her our birth dates. How we regretted that we’d never meet her in person. She relaxed enough during the conversation that she said she would have liked to meet us, to get to know us.

I was beginning to wonder how we were talking to somebody in the past.

Why had that even occurred to me, that we might not be dealing with the traditional ghost, whatever that is? Well, that was easy. Because I don’t know better, really. I think about things and I try not to be limited by what other people think. Sometimes that gets me in trouble (okay, a lot of times). Now it turned me and my friend into time travelers.

But why? Sure, Jody’s house was the link. Then again …

Why Were We Talking with a Time Traveler? Maybe It’s The Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side

Oh, no. I had a bad feeling about why we were talking with her.

See, my family runs The Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side. I laugh when I say it. I’m not the person I’d think of to usher people across the whatever it is to the place where dead people live. Where they recover and do whatever they do next. But it happened a few years ago, when I started working with animals who were dying and could suddenly see the place where they were going, and animals and people waving them over.

And the day when Jody and I watched two of our friends go over there: Ralph the Deer had recently died, and Jody and I were lucky enough to be intuitively connected to Raymond the Bear as he died, talking with him and encouraging him as his friend Ralph came back to snuggle next to him and then get up and walk with him into the woods—and out into a sunlight field where my dead dad greeted them with a shout of laughter: “Only my daughter would send a bear and deer!” Really. Honest. True.

Oh, yes, I live a strange life. But now I work with my dad and with my animal friends as animals and people transition. But that’s a longer story. The point is, I can call my dad, Ray, and Raymond and Ralph to greet and care for transitioning beings. Jody can, too.

I had a feeling that this is what was happening.

“Martha,” I said gently. “How old are you?”

“Eighty-two,” she said.

In the late 1940s. She was old. And alone so far as I could tell, as I didn’t see or sense another human with her.

“Are you dying?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said softly.

Damn. I briefly struggled with my conscience. Here was an opportunity to learn something about connecting with other people across time. I could apply my analytical brain to asking a lot of questions. By asking her when the war with Germany and Japan ended, and what conditions currently were, I could learn the exact date we were talking to her in her time. I could find out why she thought we were ghosts, learn how long she’d been seeing Jody in her house (how does time run in different time periods?), what she was seeing, who she was and what she did, if other people were around. We could experiment and refine time travel. We could blow the world’s collective mind, get rich, maybe even do some good somewhere, plus tweak a few scientists.

Yes, I could pester a dying woman in her last moments. Or I could get her support as she died.

I knew she was alone. Jody thought so, too.

So I told her that we would stay with her, talking with her, while she died. I also said I was sending her help: and I asked Raymond the Bear and Ralph the Deer to go be with her.

They promptly did. Jody heard the alarm just as I realized what a stupid move that was. Send a bear to a dying woman in the wilds of California? What was I thinking? She’d be terrified of bears, especially such a huge one (Raymond was super-sized in life).

Sure enough, she panicked at seeing Raymond, and not even Ralph the Deer could help that.

Thinking quickly, I asked them to back off and assured Martha I’d send some different help while I called for my dad.

“Dad,” I said urgently. “I need to go help this woman who’s dying in California.”

Like most dads, he was already paying attention to what I was doing. “You want me to time travel?” he asked.

Why do people argue with me when I’m trying to get something done on a deadline?

“Dad, you’re a dead guy. You are time traveling.”

“Oh,” he said, like that had just occurred to him. Honestly, what do dead people do all day that it takes a living one to point out the obvious?

Then he turned, walked forward a few steps, took a few steps sideways and down, and he was suddenly standing beside Martha in the house. She saw him and relaxed. (Which raises another question there isn’t an answer to: Martha got pretty darned comfortable real fast with the situation; while Jody and I both felt she was a cook at the mines, I was wondering what else she was. Maybe regular average people like Martha and me and Jody were quicker to accept what was in front of us than most scientists.)

Jody and I told her we were sorry we couldn’t meet her in real life. Neither of us had actually been born yet in her time. By this time she was relaxing with us. Maybe dying mellows you, I don’t know. She said she wished she could meet us and get to know us.

Jody said we could meet after we were dead. We’d have plenty of time to visit then. (No harps in our futures.)

I told Martha what I was concerned about.

“There can’t be any more communication between you and us,” I told her. “Or between your time and ours. I don’t think it’s safe. We don’t know enough about it. But if you’re seeing us in your time, and we look like ghosts to you, and you look like a ghost to us, that means the connection is the house and I’m concerned for it. It’s vibrating between times. That can’t be healthy or safe. We don’t want the house collapsing on Jody, who is living there now.”

Both Jody and Martha thought that was a good idea. I wondered about that. You hear of buildings suddenly collapsing for no good reason. Maybe they were involved in a time warp something like this one. One thing’s for sure: we don’t know. And we were out Star Treking the trekkies.

I said, “We’ll stay with you until you die, Martha. Then my dad and our animal friends will walk you safely to the other side. When you’re safe, my partner, that light you see? His name is Fallon. We’re going to seal the doorway between the time periods, so there will be no further conversations between us.”

Wow, I sounded like I actually knew what I was talking about. Funny thing, it still makes sense to me. Even though none of us know anything about time traveling.

A few minutes later, Martha died and my dad and Raymond and Ralph escorted her to the other side. Jody reported that Martha was still leery of Raymond the Bear, who was trying very hard not to have hurt feelings. My dad held Martha’s arm as they walked, and Ralph walked beside her. Raymond was on my dad’s other side, walking discreetly beside them all.

I told Fallon it was time to close the doorway between time periods. I watched as two big dark doors closed together, with a thin gold light between them. Fallon then moved from the top of the light to the bottom, and the door was sealed. Jody’s amethyst crystal cluster, James, then scurried up to the door, kissed it, and rejoined us.

And our time traveling was over.

It takes a lot to make me speechless, but that experience did, for a few seconds anyway. Then I thanked all our guides for joining us and ended the session.

I noticed that we were being watched. This happens a lot when I do my work, and I suspect it happens to other people. Nobody can mind their own business. One person I worked with telepathically showed up, smiling at me, and I smiled back. Someone else, someone powerful and curious about what we’d just done, started to look closely at Jody.

“No, you don’t,” I scolded him. “You leave her alone. Don’t go near her. You deal with us,” I said. He turned and regarded me and Fallon, and then left.

Then I yelled at Jody’s guides. “What the heck is wrong with you people? When she asked you to clear the ghost in her house, or make her feel safe, you did nothing. She’s stepping into her work now, and you have to pay attention.”

Here’s hoping they do.

What We Learned from Our Ghost Adventures

Personally I’ve never been fond of ghosts, ghost stories, horror stories, any of that. I don’t like being frightened. Plus not much of the hoopla ever made sense to me. The ghosts I’ve met in real life haven’t been as scary as some of the beings I’ve met who aren’t ghosts. Including humans.

I believe that the ghost stories we hear are often stupid stories dominated by suspicious, naive minds that have accepted the crap that comes down from our cultural and religious and government institutions. Over time we allowed these institutions to deliberately inflict fear on us to collapse our minds into fear-shrouded boxes they could control. If we can break through the boxes, maybe we can help bring the world back into balance.

I think perhaps our ancestors who were more attuned to our animate universe knew better about things we can’t normally see, whether they are ghosts or something else. They weren’t as susceptible to easy control of fear. They were living ‘outside the box.’ Maybe.

Clearly ghosts are real. But we’ve decided what they are without asking them. Sometimes they are dead people or other beings with agendas. Sometimes, as in the case of Martha, it’s obviously something else.

The difference in this case was that I did the ‘think outside the box’ bit. My habit is to be analytical and skeptical but open to possibilities. With a clear-minded approach, we can be open to the ‘What if’s’ that allow us to explore and discover new things, or re-discover old ones that we’ve lost touch with. Like what ghosts really are, and how we can learn about the mysteries of the universe simply by being open to the experience.

I’ll never know why we were able to connect with Martha. I know that houses are strongly connected to us, and that two women dearly love the little house that each insisted was theirs. Jody is digging into archives to see if we can find out something about the real Martha. All we really know is that, at the end of her life, she had a conversation with two women in the future, and because of that she died surrounded by new friends and was safely escorted to whatever it is beyond death, starting with my family’s Way Station for Dead Things on the Other Side. In the last few minutes of her life Martha let go of fear, became friends with two women in the future, and let kindness help her.

One part of me will always regret losing the opportunity to learn more about time traveling, even while I’ll always know that setting it aside to bring assistance to a dying woman was the best and most compassionate choice. There will be other opportunities. Better be.

What I do know is that preconceptions keep us from experiencing the world and the universe as it really is. We are afraid of ghosts, or we hunt them for TV shows. Certainly I’ve talked with shamans who build bridges of light to help souls move on. But there’s clearly more to death and dying that what we think of as ghosts.

How long was Martha seeing Jody in her house? We’ll never know. It could have been only a few hours in her last day of life, even though Jody was aware of her for over a year. Martha could have been actively trying to get rid of her, and maybe we saved Jody’s sanity, and possibly her life, by intervening.

Which makes me worry about ghosts. When we go out and ‘bust’ them, are we hurting a living person in a different time period? I hope not.

I know that my crystal partner, Fallon, played as big a role in this adventure as Jody and I did, as my dad and my animal friends did.

Did the House Get Clear?

After Martha left and the doorway between times was sealed, Jody went off to do the clearing of the house. She spread sea salt in all the rooms and outside, set out bowls of salt water to absorb residual vibrations, smudged the house and yard and herself and her dogs. I finished the clearing of my house and family as well. I also told Jody to take a bath in salt water and rest for the night. No TV. She objected to that (and mostly ignored me, it turns out), and I said, really, we’ve just done something scientists and adventurers dream about. And we don’t know the consequences. So rest up and make sure you’re healthy.

Yes, the house is clear. It immediately felt better, and the next day Jody sounded lighter and happier than she had in months. It has remained clear. Martha has not been back.

Jody and her house and her family are off on new adventures. Which is as it should be. I know Martha is, although I haven’t asked my dad about her. It just doesn’t seem necessary. My job is done.

I’m still wondering, though: what’s next for me and Fallon? I can hardly wait to talk to another time traveler. Well, okay, one besides me. And Jody. And Fallon.

But one thing I do know: it will be an adventure. We’re up for it.

When a Ghost Isn’t a Ghost: Meeting Time Travelers, Part 1

December 8, 2011 by Robyn 1 Comment

Ghosts aren’t always ghosts.

Sometimes they are time travelers. Or we are because we’re talking with them. Or something.

Let me explain.

What I don’t know about ghosts could fill volumes.

What other people think they know about ghosts could fill even more.

So here’s what I know.

Working Between Dimensions and the Crystal Fallon

I clear houses and businesses for people. I cooperatively clear houses and businesses and land systems by creating a conversation between the space being cleared and the humans currently occupying it. Sometimes I clear out things that we call ghosts. Sometimes they’re not willing, but I talk to them about what’s going on and then it’s done. Respectfully. Honestly. As thoroughly as possible.

This process has taken on new dimensions (literally) since Fallon has come back into my life. A citrine Lemurian quartz sphere, Fallon is not a tool. He is my partner. We do intuitive consultations and clearings. A rare planetary and dimensional energy, Fallon has helped me deepen my work, so we’ve been places I didn’t know existed. (Those stories another time.) Point is, Fallon and I work together, and very often it’s the seat-of-my-pants intuitive-logical leap that gets things done. What I call “living outside the box,” or carving my own path instead of adhering to dogmatic lines.

So.

The Haunted House in California

My friend, Jody, lives in a tiny, old, uninsulated house, about 400 square feet, in a small town in northern California. She’s lived in that same house twice. The first time for about 11 months, from late 2006 to 2007. This time she’s been there since April 2010. For years this house was located near Walker Mine in Plumas County, but has been on the current land since sometime after 1948, when the mine was closed.

Jody is one of the best clairaudients I know. That means she can talk to things we wouldn’t ordinarily think to talk with, like animals (and snowflakes). After hanging around with me for awhile and being encouraged to ‘branch out,’ she’s also started talking with many of the same beings I talk with: the land, crystals, and so on. Like most of us she lacks self-confidence, but she has one big thing going for her: she’s willing to listen.

We talk almost every day, but I was slow to pick up on the story about the noises Jody was hearing in the house. She says now that the first time she lived there she heard a few noises, which she dismissed as the creakings of an old house. The second time the noises became louder and more frequent.

Then she saw the ghost. A woman. Over time, Jody saw her more clearly. She was wearing a dress that reminded Jody of pictures she’d seen of relatives back in the ‘30s or ‘40s. One time she even showed up with a man standing beside her.

Now Jody isn’t fond of this ability, but she sees dead people. Sometimes she sees them at other homes, and sometimes they show up at hers. She knows who they are because they make it clear. They have messages. Or sometimes they just hang out. (Yes, she’s seen them all her life but usually ignores them.)

I tell Jody, “So you see dead people, it could be worse, you could see dead murdered people and have to work with the police.”

Somehow that wasn’t comforting. When she insisted she didn’t want to see these things, and didn’t want to talk with dead people, I taught her how to shield herself and tell them “No.”

So that’s what she told the ghost in her house. “Go away and leave me alone.”

Didn’t work. The pounding on the wall continued. Crinkling like cellophane being crumpled. Footsteps across the floor, the sound changing as the ghost moved from carpet to linoleum. Things dropping. Thumping.

Jody would tell me about this and I’d tell her to tell the ghost to stop it. Learning to work with whatever shows up is part of developing your intuitive skills. Being a no-nonsense butt kicker can work, too.

Neither worked.

Being lazy as well as practical, I told Jody, “Well, just tell her to go away.”

Jody would get mad at me. “I’ve tried that! It doesn’t work. I don’t know how to do that.”

“Experiment,” I told her.

So when the ghost thumped and dropped things in the night, Jody would yell out, “Okay, that’s enough, I’m trying to sleep, stop it.” Usually that would work, for that particular night. Honest to goodness, the ghost was generally polite: looking for attention, satisfied to get it.

But still not happy about Jody. Because the ghost never said much, unlike Jody’s other spectral visitors. Didn’t have a message for a loved one. Just said, more than once, “Get out of my house.”

Hmm.

Then things changed. The ghost touched Jody. One night, Jody was lying in bed, and she felt a hand lightly brush down her arm.

Now, that’s just plain creepy.

What If a Ghost Isn’t a Ghost?

When I heard that the ghost had touched Jody something cold and dreaded hit my gut. I stayed calm and thought about it.

I’m happy to say many things show up around me but I’ve only been scared once (and then because I was being silly). I talk to a lot of things, from animals to homes and businesses and weather systems to things we don’t even know realio trulio exist, like dragons (thank you Ogden Nash and The Tale of Custard the Dragon). We talk about fun goofy cocktail party stuff and we talk about how to live together as equal beings on a conscious, evolving planet.

We talk about consequences.

It’s serious business. I take it seriously. And now I was wondering. Seriously.

If a ghost could actually touch Jody, what does that mean? Something awful occurred to me.

“Okay,” I said to Jody. “I’m not liking this. Why haven’t you put a stop to this ghost?”

Jody insisted she didn’t really mind the ghost. But she sounded more defensive than certain. Hmm again.

“I’d mind,” I said. “It’s creepy that there’s a ghost disrupting your house.”

Jody got mad at me. “There’s nothing I can do about it. So quit bringing it up.”

Okay, sometimes you have to let things go, especially when you’re training people to use their intuition, because they have to learn to be self-reliant and self-confident. However, there was the whole matter of touching Jody.

“Thing is, I’m not thinking that’s a good idea. You said the ghost touched you. You actually felt her hand running down your arm.”

“Yes,” Jody said. “That was weird.”

“And potentially dangerous,” I said. “We don’t know everything about the world. But think about it. She wants you out of her house, and keeps saying that. She’s now touching you and she’s a ghost. How far is that from losing her temper … and stabbing you with a knife?”

Jody freaked. Couldn’t blame her. I also couldn’t let it go. “Why do you think she could stab me?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Jody. But if she can touch you with her hand, why couldn’t she pick a knife up and stab you? It’s not like there’s a definitive guidebook on what ghosts can and can’t do. I’d hate to find out that was possible after it happened.”

Jody snorted. She gets impatient with my analytical, skeptical mind. My mom used to complain that I think too much. I’m pretty sure Jody would agree with her.

I said. “Really, what if she isn’t a ghost?”

“What?”

“Honestly, who knows what ghosts really are? All we know is that we can see some vague outline, or in this case, you see a woman. Now you’ve seen dead people before, relatives of people you knew who had messages for them. But this is different. What if she’s not a ghost?”

“Like what would she be?”

“Well, the connection is the house. Clearly you’re living there now and she thinks it’s her house. What if she’s seeing you and thinking you’re a ghost?”

Oh, now I was on a roll.

“We don’t know where she is actually living now. Back years ago the house was in a small rural area. What if she’s intuitive like us? What if she’s practicing some kind of magic and is trying to clear her house of you, thinking you’re a ghost? What if she’s really powerful, which she’d have to be to touch you because she’s not here in a living body? What if she’s hired somebody to clear out the ghost in her house, but that ghost is you? This could be extremely dangerous.”

Jody got quiet. Well, who wouldn’t?

“Here’s another thing,” I said. “You know Fallon and I astral travel, whatever, that we go between dimensions and visit other places. I’m sure we’re not the only ones who do that, we’re just probably the only ones who make up procedures as we go. Not always a good idea, but you know me.”

Jody chuckled.

“So, what if she isn’t a ghost but a time traveler?”

“What?”

“Jody, what if she is alive in another time period and she’s trying to get rid of the ghost she keeps seeing in her house?”

“Is that even possible?”

“Who really knows what’s possible?” I said. “But here’s another thing that bothers me. People who are energy workers and psychics and so on are always talking about ‘energy,’ but not really defining it. From working with other beings I’d say there is a different vibration to every being, which is why my guides explain why I don’t feel the vibrations of things like Mount St. Helens any more, because a volcano is just too big for a human to feel on that level.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about that,” Jody said.

“So here’s the thing. You’re living here in this time period and she’s thinking you’re a ghost in her house, so the connection is the house. So we know from my weird experiences that different dimensions exist, so why not different time periods? What if you’re both living in the house but in different times? And the house is vibrating in both time periods? That worries me. How long could anything hold up like that, especially an old house?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Jody asked.

“Clear your house and get her out of there.”

“I don’t know how!” Jody yelled. “And I’m tired! The noises in the house are getting worse. And my guides aren’t helping. I asked them to keep her out and they don’t do it. And I tell her she’s dead and it’s time to move on and she won’t!”

Now, Jody had cleared her house twice following my directions, with sea salt and smudging and calling her guides to help. Both times were temporary fixes. Her guides were no help, well, that is just guides for you. Sometimes they’re not practical. Sometimes they’re waiting for us to take charge. Sometimes they just give up on you and quit, like mine did for awhile. So no telling what Jody’s guides were up to.

It didn’t matter too much, because I’d just deliberately backed her into a solution, spurred on by my crystal partner, Fallon.

“So Fallon and I will clear the house for you on the phone. You can work with us on your end.”

Jody agreed, sounding relieved.

“Good,” I said. “We’ll call you at six tomorrow night. Now go out and get sea salt, more sage, and be ready when I call.”

In Part 2: What happened next. Did we clear the house? Was it a ghost? What lessons do we carry forward?

Living on the Planet of Awesome and Forever

October 6, 2011 by Robyn Leave a Comment

I live on the Planet of Awesome and Forever.

I have proof.

Sometimes my planet is real and physical: I revel in the sun and rain, the dark and stormy, the people and the beings who make me laugh and think while challenging me to be my best, no matter what.

Always my planet is a state of mind, clear in the choice of love over fear.

Love drives the Planet of Awesome and Forever. There are a lot of us here. It’s time for everyone else to join us. Here’s why.

I keep hearing how bad things are out there, how desperate people are, how survival means anything goes.

Well, anything does not go. Not on the Planet of Awesome and Forever. Here’s what that means for me.

In many ways 2011 has been a wonderful year for me: I won a prestigious national award for my book, I launched a new kind of intuitive consultation practice—a partnership with my crystal, Fallon—and I’ve met fascinating new people on their own amazing journeys. It’s been both humbling and exciting.

I’ve also faced stunning difficulties:

a virulent flu that derailed most of my year
a crisis that both complicates and enlightens my future
people who learned from me and then stole my work
people who expected me to work for free while they paid themselves (welcome to the new feudalism)
negligent and uneducated vets who endangered my dogs

So here’s what I did:

I took time to get well.
I looked for alternatives that make life easier for me and for my family.
I turned some matters over to an attorney.
I strengthened my resolve to model compassionate, thoughtful interactions.
I continued to quietly build a business that enriches my life as it serves an enlightened community.
I’m bringing the vets up on charges. Oh, you better believe that one!

And here’s what happened, just in the last few weeks.

I am finding answers that are healthy and make sense.
I discovered attorneys can be a good thing, and that controversy can both enlighten and strengthen.
I decided that if I’d had a choice 20 years ago, I’d still choose the pain and limitations of being disabled and having to reinvent a life over being an asshole and a thief and never finding my path.
If you open yourself up to love, fear just bounces the hell off:
- I’ve made wonderful new friends who think my intuitive practice with a partner who’s a crystal is intriguing, fun, and worthwhile.
- Neighbors came running to help my recovering dog.
- A close friend whose mother is dying raced to the vet ER and massaged a painful kink out of my shoulder.
- A dear friend who is undergoing her own family crisis cheerfully bathed my stinking dogs in exchange for a home-cooked meal.
- Two wonderful vets who love my dogs expertly cared for them.
- I finally met my eldest dog’s ‘grandma,’ and we’ll be celebrating life, love, and Cavaliers with her and her family next week, on what will be my multi-species family’s 13^th anniversary together.

Life is awesome!

Choosing Love Over Fear in a Practical World

Here’s what I know. Choosing love over fear doesn’t solve all our problems, because we won’t always agree. But choosing love does model our choices.

My experiences this year have sobered and intrigued me. What I and so many people see out there is troubling and encouraging. Troubling, because serious problems exist. Encouraging because many people are choosing healthy, compassionate ways to explore and resolve them.

We urgently need to define community, whether it’s our work or our social life. How do we want to live together, and how will we?

Make no mistake: living on the Planet of Awesome and Forever is not naïve. It is not turning a blind eye to the problems. It recognizes the increasing hostility in our society, the strange personal and business meltdowns that are justified in the name of survival. The disquiet is everywhere. I’m not the only one who’s noticed.

Make note: it is not only humans who are concerned. Remember, I work as a professional intuitive, I talk with all manner of beings, and they, too, are advocating change.

It’s time for change.

The first change is a truth check:

Anything goes does not work.
None of us will survive if ‘survival’ defines our lives.

So here’s a plan:

Quit counting the desperation.
Start counting the awesome.

Here are my awesomes.

I have the world’s greatest family: a woman, two dogs, and a cat are proving that we’ll always be a family, in body or not, because on the Planet of Awesome and Forever love endures.

If we have to have bad days to get to the good ones, then we will. And we’ll make them count. Because there’s no other real, practical, inspiring choice than love. It’s awesome. And forever.

We live on the Planet of Awesome and Forever:

Where nothing is too hard or too much work or too painful
Where all beings are held responsible for their choices: firmly, compassionately, clearly
Because love and truth are always, always awesome and forever

It’s time to take back love, and community. It’s time to stand up for what’s right, to dig deep into conflict with patience and respect and compassion.

It’s time.

Come join us on the Planet of Awesome and Forever.

It’s your planet, too.

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