Maggy Doodles

For my friend Peggy

Wed, 15 Nov 2023 16:45:03 -0800

On the cusp of 75, I'm at the age where losses are coming far too close together. In the heartbreaking journey of saying goodbye to one of my oldest and dearest friends, another friend (just as old and dear) stayed in lockstep with me. I cannot imagine walking into Teri's hospital room without Peggy at my side as we faced the first horrifying look at the way cancer had ravaged Teri's body. When I returned to Denver just weeks later to speak at Teri's celebration of life, Peggy's heart and home gave me the space and grace to prepare for doing such a very hard thing. The evening after the ceremony, as my stockpile of dread and adrenaline drained away, we sat quietly in her living room, talking about eulogies and the great things people have done that we hear about for the first time.

Peggy promised that no such revelations are in store when she takes the dirt nap, and I chimed in, “Same for me!" Because I had described Teri's life path as a beautiful golden straight line and my own like a Jackson Pollock painting, Peggy compared her life to a Picasso painting. Not to be outdone, I piped up with "Salvador Dali!" but she won by shouting "The Scream!" accompanied by the horrified face cupped between two hands. The two of us were already cry-laughing, but The Scream sent us into such loud howls that the reverberation probably rattled her neighbors' windows.

In writing Peggy a long overdue Thank You, I was overwhelmed with the idea of a Living Eulogy. Why do we wait until our loved ones are gone to appreciate all the quirks and gifts of their personality and the twists and turns of their lives? Peggy's Living Eulogy would open on the page where we first met in ninth grade. We were walking those school hallways when the loudspeaker announced the news that President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated in 1963. The next year, Lyndon B. Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act, the US began drafting and...Read More

The World I Govern

Mon, 17 Oct 2022 17:25:23 -0700

Around the first of October, Mr D and I packed up a small suitcase and headed for the Sedona Creative Life Center for one of Ann Alber's playshops, this one entitled "Living in the Flow of Divine Grace." She could have called it Living in the Flow of Love because one of the first points she drove home is the misunderstood nature of grace. Ann said most orthodox religions say that we are unworthy but once in a while we get a shot of it anyway. Like a save-your-ass bonus from Above. Okay, I'm paraphrasing but all she really talked about the entire day was love.

She covered a lot of ground with her usual energetic delivery style, dusting each point with the sparkle of touching stories and personal experiences. She offered any number of ways to jump back into the flow when we go off the rails, but also a hopeful outlook on this topsy-turvy, angry, violent, terrifying world we are all sharing. Pulling sensitive souls from the Slough of Despond is one of the keynote themes for nearly every spiritual teacher these days.

The concept of evolving from 3D to 5D perception is a hot topic in every spiritual circle these days. Some refer to it as the emergence of the multisensory human or universal human. Others just call it the divine human. Whatever you label you give it, mankind is supposedly in the throes of giving birth to an entirely new and higher state of consciousness. In the words of author Gary Zukav, the very container of our consciousness is changing. I find those words especially reassuring because it sounds like a done deal, like an evolutionary process we can't screw up. On the other hand we seem to be running out of time. Zack Bush seems to be...Read More

I am allowed to be angry

Fri, 07 Oct 2022 15:52:48 -0700

This mantra has been quite the journey for someone who grew up in a home of silent desperation where anger was either totally denied or seethed far, far, far beneath the surface where it bubbled up in passive-aggressive behavior. Stir in my own early traumas that made it impossible for me to "be with" any threat of anger or rejection, and you have the perfect recipe for suppression and avoidance.

Face-to-face communication was a total nightmare if the topic was remotely unpleasant or difficult—so I wrote down my thoughts and feelings in "letters" and dropped them like mega-ton emotional bombs. Declarations of love or ultimatums or fiery anger balls, anything I needed to express but could never bear to say—or bear to be present for any reaction. My mother found them between the bedspread and her pillow but friends and lovers opened them as mail. You've got mail!

With the rarest of exceptions, these incredibly thought-out, extremely intense missives were met with complete and total silence. Nothing was ever said. And little wonder. They were rhetorical in nature, they were bullets from an emotional sniper, and most of the people involved were as tongue-tied as I was. Birds of a feather suffer together.

The person who helped me break through that barrier of silence was the father of my children—a fellow whose own childhood was an intermittently violent and abusive, largely acrimonious and fairly constant war zone. His early conditioning was 180 degrees from mine. (I would give it more degrees but that would have us moving closer together again.) The minister who pronounced us "man and wife" should have followed that statement by issuing camouflage military fatigues and helmets with little branches and twigs glued all over them. "Here you go—you're going to need these."

His expressions of anger incited mine in bursts of what felt like raging self defense from a cornered position and we were off and running. Through the...Read More

I am grateful for the pain

Fri, 30 Sep 2022 17:10:48 -0700

A very young, very wise doctor of Eastern Medicine was explaining the acupuncture treatment he was about to give me, and asked about any pain points. Nothing much to speak of except my lower back hurts like hell for a day or two after I clean the house. After bending over for hours vacuuming and scrubbing, I can barely stand up straight and I walk like there's a broom up my keister.

He had two things to say: Tell your husband it's his turn to clean because it makes your back hurt. (His eyes twinkled and he laughed but still, what woman would not love this guy?) And then on a more serious note, he reminded me that pain is one of the languages our body uses to speak to us.

In this human experience, pain can arrive in so many different forms on so many different levels. We suffer just having our thoughts fixated on the past (sorrow/regret/loss) or the future (fear/anxiety/the unknown). We lose ourselves in an existential crisis or just lose ourselves, period. We suffer abuse and arrows of hatred from ourselves and others, isolation and abandonment, bone-aching loneliness, rejection and humiliation, incalculable loss and unrelenting sorrow, debilitating chronic pain and trauma—not to mention people around us who are mean and hurtful and toxic and crazy-making. And those are just the broad brushstrokes.

Some of us are more lucky than others but like any animal, our human nature recoils from pain. The overriding impulse is to escape, resist, run away, and get as far away from the fire as possible. That's why we have invented an entire world of unhealthy, destructive ways to do just that—particularly addictions to substances and addictive behaviors. But these quick and easy fixes to numb and ease our pain only end up adding to our suffering. What we resist does indeed persist. Which, let's face it, feels like the ultimate third finger from the Universe.

As counterintuitive as it sounds and feels, sitting with and...Read More

Rejection is universal protection

Fri, 23 Sep 2022 17:04:23 -0700

Is it really? I would probably reframe that as "Rejection is redirection." But maybe those two phrases are pointing to the same thing. I do love the hindsight that comes with being as old as I am. Being able to look back over the heartaches and disappointments and train wrecks of the past and see very clearly both their gifts and their protection. I remember having a reading from an astrologer when I was still in my 20's and her saying that I was so intent on knowing why. Why did that happen? Was it meant to be? Why? Did I create it? Why? Was there a deeper lesson? What is it? Will this ever stop hurting? Is this precious thing lost forever or will it come back again?

She told me to work on accepting everything that comes into my life as happening for me, not to me. Just keeping that faith that higher wisdom is continually at work, that the entire Universe has conspired to bring me to each moment, each place, each experience. Sometimes the deeper truth will be glaringly evident. But more often several years or even several decades might pass before I see the perfection. Sometimes that clarity never comes and Why? just remains one of life's mysteries.

I've always loved the Hindu perspective of the Divine manifesting in a myriad of aspects. The big three or "great trinity" brings together a creator, a preserver, and a destroyer or transformer. This was a totally fresh concept for someone raised in a traditional orthodox religion where the activity of God was pretty much confined to creating all things bright and beautiful. The Old Testament might talk about a vengeful or pissed off God showering fire and brimstone on a city of sinners. But all in all, God and his blessings were about building and expanding and adding to our good—never about dismantling or destroying or laying low.

And how totally silly is that, really? That our divine Self, our authentic Self, our higher Self would never be fully engaged in the process of...Read More

I am fully supported

Fri, 16 Sep 2022 17:01:30 -0700

It's possible that I went through times of feeling alone and unloved and abandoned and lost, without hope or help—but they would have been measured in moments. Support was always there in helping hands, gentle hearts, last-minute rescues, rickety bridges, a few stones across the water, whatever psychological props might be needed to keep me from breaking in two. Even if I was drowning in dark waters of doubt and fear and anxiety, shafts of light streaming in from above somehow managed to reach me.

From very small things to super big huge things, I have endless stories about support showing up at just the right time in just the right way. After so many years as a single person and single mother, asking for help and depending on strangers became second nature. It was scary at first leaving mom and dad and the security of home base and feeling all alone in the world, but the sense of being protected and watched over and cared for grew with every perfect coincidence and every encounter of kindness. I never signed up for any extreme reality TV adventures like being dropped penniless in a strange city, but it always felt as if angels were on my shoulder—or visible and close by.

My youngest daughters were still in grade school when we started navigating life as a team and creating our own library of colorful stories, including the time we arrived at the movies on gas fumes. Fortunately, a station was a stone's throw from the theater parking lot. Not that any of us thought about that again as we piled back into the car and sped off. About a mile or two down the road a sinking, dying sensation under the gas pedal jogged my memory. Oh, God! Now what? This was BC (before cell phones) and I had no idea where we even were. I had taken the quiet, scenic, meandering route through a residential neighborhood instead of a busy major thoroughfare.

Just as our car was coasting to a dead stop, I caught sight of a policeman who had just turned down the...Read More

I believe in miracles

Fri, 09 Sep 2022 14:55:25 -0700

And so it came to pass, finally finally, that Linda (who flew all the way from Denver just for this event) and Maggy were heading off to Gammage Auditorium in Tempe to see The Book of Mormon from kick-ass fourth row center seats.

Counting backward to accommodate a lengthy commute, parking in the lot the moment it opened at 5 PM, a rickshaw bicycle ride to PF Changs where we had dinner reservations at 5:15, a leisurely dinner and then another rickshaw bicycle ride back to Gammage—in plenty of time to find our seats and visit the restroom—we needed to hit the road by 4:15. And it was by-the-book perfection every step of the way until the moment we hit the doors of the auditorium and the ticket agent scanned our paperwork. Something about the three-second hesitation as she looked down at her device made my heart skip an irregular beat.

Linda looked at me. I looked at Linda. I stared at the paperwork the agent politely handed back to me. No words were coming from my mouth—possibly a gasping WHAT? I can't remember because my mind felt like a white-out in the middle of a howling storm. The agent broke the spell by telling us to check with Customer Service to see what they could do. So off we went, nearly completely around a very large very round building, with me telling Linda I felt like crying and then calling out to the Human Fuckup Lifesaver Angels (they have angels for everything, it's best to be specific): Okay, you guys, we really need a miracle, here!

Customer Service had three things to say:

1. The only option at this point would be last-minute discounted tickets for $52 each

2. The last two tickets were sold an hour ago and there is not one seat left in the entire house.

3. No, you can't get a refund or a partial refund. Your tickets are for a show that's already closed out.

Before we walked away from the window, I wanted to ask her if there was any way in the universe that Linda...Read More

I know that I am being guided

Fri, 02 Sep 2022 13:30:45 -0700

Today's mantra is another one I have loved and believed in for a very long time. I have no doubts about being guided. My only issue is tuning in, keeping my internal air and waters clear enough of mud and debris to be receptive. Oh, and one more thing, that tiny issue of following the guidance. That thing.

We interrupt this program to bring you late-breaking news of this morning's Instagram post by my daughter Katie that featured a photo of a book cover with the title "The Heart's Code" and this message:
I first heard about this book in 2009. I remember exactly where I was (waiting for the Blue line in Boston) and I made a mental note that I wanted to read it. In 2014, I completed a course and it was on the recommended reading list, so I finally bought it. It sat on my shelf for 3 more years. Last night, I wanted to sit outside with a book but all the ones I'm in the middle of reading felt like homework or a chore. This one jumped out at me, so I picked it up. I'd been thinking about a guy named Matt off and on all day. Someone I dated briefly. It wasn't a sad thing, just that I had been listening to a podcast we both love so he was on my mind. Okay, so I chose this book and apparently, I'm supposed to be reading it. The first few pages had me in tears. All this to say that our hearts will guide us if we let them.
(The hand-scrawled dedication inside the book said, "Dear Matt, You already have a good heart but this book just proves it is the best way to approach it. Take Care, love, Kathryn.)
And if you don't have chills yet, there's more. Katie's text letting me know about this mentioned something her Instagram post did not, that the name Kathryn looks exactly like my handwriting.)

With that in-the-moment jewel still glistening, we go back—far far back—to the days when Maggy was still Margaret and the ultimate serendipitous moment of her young and tumultous 20-something life was about to catch...Read More

I trust

Tue, 30 Aug 2022 16:22:29 -0700

My friend Sara introduced me to davidji's "Deep Healing" meditation on Insight Timer a couple of weeks ago. Davidji promises big returns in brain structural changes if you do this "witness and accept" body scan every day for eight weeks, based on research results at Massachusetts General Hospital. He says it's like a "loving-kindness bootcamp for the brain" that will leave us feeling kinder to ourselves and more accepting of the world around us.

I first fell for davidji's soothing voice back in the mid 2000s as a leader of Deepak Chopra's 21-day meditation series, but I had no idea how he arrived at this auspicious position. Apparently, he was a top-flight corporate guy who left New York City in the wake of 9/11 and wandered across the pond to England for one of Deepak Chopra's Seduction of Spirit meditation events. His ascent from student to celebrated meditation teacher was nothing less than meteoric—davidji and his "Velvet Voice of Stillness" had been discovered.

After years of teaching...Read More

Going under the finger

Fri, 26 Aug 2022 13:13:25 -0700

Today's mantra is right after my own heart. If there's anything I'm really really good at doing, it's giving myself a break. Linda and I are off to Ben's Bells to paint a riot of colors on ceramic flowers or construct bells or empty the trash or whatever they might need. I've been talking about going there for months, possibly a couple of years, so this is my chance to break through and get hooked. The world is filled with so many worthwhile causes and endeavors, but the kindness theme and whimsical creations and the sheer randomness of Ben's Bells sings to me in the way few things do.

So in keeping with our mantra and in light of my busy schedule over the next few days, I decided to post some older pieces I've written along the way. Since my spiritual teacher Paula popped up here a day or two ago, the experience with psychic surgeons that she brought into my life seems like a radical, wondrous place to start. For lack of a better title, I called this one Going Under the Finger.

I was stunned at the sight of Paula that bright Saturday morning—moving freely around her yard, hosing off the patio, glowing with vitality. I had stopped to see if she needed groceries and expected to find her hobbling in a state of exhaustion. The journey back to Arizona from the Philippines would have been grueling for anyone, much less someone nearly 70. But the woman I was seeing was not the Paula who left. With her dimpled smile beaming, she lifted up the corner of her long dress and waved her ankle in a circle—the ankle that had been so grotesquely swollen, so angry with deep purple and red discoloration, was identical to the healthy one.

Paula had broken her ankle in a fall several months earlier, an injury that required intensive surgery and hardware installation. The aftermath was tortuous and the pain was constant. Knowing that the break was not healing and the pins had to...Read More