So I’m sitting in my studio apartment at the very bottom of Manhattan, wearing a leopard-print Snuggie and a silver heart locket. I’m wearing the Snuggie backwards, because I roll hard, and I’ve cinched the waist with a pink ribbon that came with a bevy of goodies I received at work from Patty Brisben of Pure Romance. She’s a fascinating woman who built an in-home intimacy products sales empire from her base in Ohio. My favorite thing about Patty’s business is that at one point she began a special line of products for women who are living with cancer and who don’t necessarily feel very sexy or gorgeous in their recovering bodies. I really do think it is beautiful work to help a sick woman feel alive and delectable again.

Now the Snuggie itself was provided me by a gentleman caller who took excellent care of me during my recent bout of December Plague (TM), which most people get at one point or another. So much of my experience with illness has involved mental health concerns rather than physical health concerns that I get simultaneously excited and freaked-out when I fall ill physically. I spent an even-more-obsessive amount of time on my Blackberry than usual, firing off emails to work until my wonderful boss actually sent me an email and ordered me to stop working and go to bed. A boss who does that is a pretty rad boss, in my opinion.

So I remained in the abode of a gentleman who is my favorite companion for such activities as sock hops, cake walks, and fucking. It was a really pleasant experience to spend my time in sick bay with someone who prepared me homemade chicken noodle soup and homemade Italian wedding soup (this involves spinach and other things). He made both very garlicky, because garlic chases the germ beasties away and also because garlic is fucking awesome. He also obtained some homeopathic lozenges for me that tasted suspiciously like hippie candy, as well as pomegranate-infused raw honey that tasted suspiciously like it had issued forth directly from the loins of one Jesus H. Christ. Seriously, it’s hella tasty.

I’m not particularly domestic–my floor is always messy, there are dried noodles and sauce glued to my stovetop, and I do laundry once a month, when I’m down to wearing thermal underpants as outerwear. A strange bit of information is that when I put my mind to it and take my time, I actually can cook. When I went through a break-up this Spring and was living by myself for the first time in years, I went into manic-entertainment mode, cooking up vats of scrambled eggs with fresh local herbs and sea salt for guests at my epic brunches. I loved having people in my house because I wasn’t accustomed to being alone, and also because my mother taught me that a life well-lived is one filled with friends and food, even if it means you have to clean your house beforehand.

I deeply admire those with a skill for cooking and homemaking. To me it is a mysterious and sacred art, rather mystical in its execution. My gentleman caller once made me chicken with roasted pears, and ever since I’ve harbored a secret belief that he is part-wizard. I have a couple of friends who are gifted cooks–one lives in Brooklyn in a magical apartment filled with trinkets and baubles, and the other lives on the Upper West Side with lots of growing things (chief among them plants and animals). I was pleased to e-introduce them via the magic of Twitter/email, doubly so when one helped the other find a Thanksgiving turkey from a good local farm right in the nick of time. I’m into that stuff–local food, organic when one can afford it, with animals treated with something approaching dignity (up until they get their heads cut the fuck off). My gentleman caller isn’t as inspired by this sort of thing, which is why I particularly appreciate when he goes out of his way to indulge my hippie commie tastes. He lives in a neighborhood chock-full of butchers and bakers and breadstick-makers, and I love hearing where each ingredient in a meal originated, the conversations he had with the various merchants–these things that, to our great-grandparents, were completely natural and normal parts of one’s day. When I get groceries, I generally order them from a wonderful delivery service, and my only associated human interaction is with the deliveryman.

All this, really, is just to explain why I so enjoyed the homemade aspect of the sick bay healing festival that took place earlier this month. And then, a few days later, I was rewarded with something so artificial and un-homemade that it defies all laws of nature: the leopard-print Snuggie. And I loved it almost as much as that soup. I mean, it’s a fucking leopard-print Snuggie. Now I have one more thing in common with tacky grandmas all across our great nation. Yesssssssss.

The third item I’m currently sporting is a lovely heart-shaped silver locket on a delicate silver chain. I am terrified of losing it and will probably keep it locked in a vault deep beneath Gotham City when I am not sporting it. I plan to sport it often. I don’t usually wear jewelry, particularly not around my neck. I’m weird about neck stuff. I cut the necks off my t-shirts in order to make them wider, and I refuse to wear turtlenecks or high-collared items of any kind. Once in 7th grade my friend Ingrid and I did a past-life regression session that we invented based on something I read in a magazine, and it emerged that I was hanged in Philadelphia in a former life. By “emerged” I mean “I made it up.” But it’s as plausible an explanation as I can figure for why I don’t like things that cling to my neck.

This necklace, though, is different. It’s light and pretty and wearing it makes me feel light and pretty. I think this is the first time I’ve ever received a piece of jewelry from a gentleman who devoted time and thought to obtaining just the right thing. In fact, I can hardly remember the last time a man gave me jewelry–understandable, since I rarely wear it. I’ve gotten some great, fun gifts from paramours past (in fact, I tend to keep a lot of them even after the relationships die, because I figured, “Hell, it’s MY stuff, who cares?” I have recently begun to reconsider this practice.) I get books and funny ephemera, and he got me those too, along with a gorgeous Gustav Klimt tarot deck, but the necklace was special. It makes me feel like–dare I say–a lady. Whatever the hell that means.

So he’s somewhere else for Christmas and I’m here and then I’m going to the Jerz and then I’m coming back and he is allegedly coming back to NYC in time to ring in the new year with me. I hope it is quiet and sweet, with food we make together (well, I’ll buy the bread, at least) and hot cocoa with whipped cream and marshmallows and funny movies and stories we tell each other about our favorite things and memories and imaginings. I will wear the necklace, and probably the Snuggie, too. Because while I am romantic and sexy and fertile and blooming with vim and vigor, I’m also a future tacky grandma. I like to pretend that I’ll spend my waning days in the manner of a sophisticated artist, enjoying my solitude and my garden and my writing in a lovely warm old house upon a mountaintop. I’ll wear neutral colors and breathable all-natural fibers and make my own arthritis medication from herbs I grow in my garden. But let’s be honest: I’ll probably be wearing a leopard-print Snuggie in my icy-cold air conditioned condo in Florida, watching my stories on the Intergalactic Magic Telly and feeding my grandchildren food made of sugared plastic. And I’m almost okay with that.

Happy Christmas, everybody. Enjoy your Chinese food and your “Sherlock Holmes” opening day, Jews. I’ll be drinking tea out of a Jets mug and opening presents and avoiding church and missing somebody I just saw the other day. Because I’m a dork.

I spent my first three years out of grad school working for a religiously-affiliated educational institution.  I learned a lot there—some of what I learned was stuff I kind of still wish I didn’t know.  Some of it chinked away little pieces of my soul that it’s taken the years since to regain; some little pieces, I fear, are gone for good.

I knew, rationally, before I sat foot on that campus, that even those we believe in the most can fail us.  I think, though, that I thought I was smart and/or intuitive enough not to put my faith in someone who could fail me.  I mean…my dad was a preacher, and if you don’t know, preachers’ kids can end up pretty cynical.  About everything and everyone.  Plus, hello!  I’d been to grad school.  Two years.  For English.

As one of the few females on the faculty, as well as one of the few faculty or staff members under…50, I wasn’t exactly your go-to girl.  (Well, unless you wanted to hand me some meaningless title that carried no extra pay but at least half-a-position’s worth of extra responsibilities—then you’d “go to” me a lot.)  As a pretty naive person in general, I really believed that those who’d hired me and who held positions of authority over me had truly earned them and really were looking out for my best interest.

This is becoming a long introduction to get to where I got my post title.  Long story short, a person I’d admired both in her capacity at the school and outside of it had a phrase she used a lot—”trust the process.”  And, for a while, another person I grew to admire greatly and who ended up breaking my heart (and I mean deeply and gravely so) with his lack of authentic conviction was someone whose office I’d visit when I needed advice; he pointed me to that phrase often:  ”You know what Dr. _________ says—’trust the process.’”

The irony that this particular concept was so verbally espoused by these two people and those surrounding them ended up being a driving force behind my decision to leave.  If they’d stood behind it, actually, I might still be there.  (Probably not, but I’d have stayed at least a little longer.)  Their lack of integrity, though, did not end up eroding my belief in those three words.

See—people fail, and come back around, and fail again, and make their way back up again, and so on; truths, though, never fail.

I really, really struggle with the need to efficiently fill in the blanks of “if ___________, then ____________.”  That’s why, though math and I did not always get along, there were certain aspects of algebra (and, rarely, geometry) that made profound sense to me.  I liked, in equations, that everything equalled out at the end—what you did to one side, you made sure to do to the other, and in this equation, n would always equal this number.  If, you know, you did it right.

That was important to me.

But…even in math, there’s a process.  You have to take the time to do the right thing to each side.  However long that takes, however much thinking needs to be done.  That doesn’t negate that there is a truth you are seeking—it just means you do what it takes to get there.  In time.

I’m in process right now.  I mean, yeah, of course—we all are.  It’s just that some processes have a pre-determined end.  Weight loss, for instance.  Your doctor says you should weigh this, so the end of your process is when you see that number.  You then begin the process of maintaining it.  That process takes longer—life-long, even.

I like to think through things until they sort of die.  It’s how I’ve talked relationships to death.  It’s how I’ve driven those around me insane discussing my next great plan.  I’ll spew platitudes about how I’m so open to guidance in this or that matter, but really, I’ve got it all plotted out.

A real process, though, leaves room for both the divine and the decidedly human effort.  Some people wait to be processed.  Some overprocess themselves.

Mmkay—I’ve reached the point where I’ve typed the word enough that it has no meaning.  It’s just that it does.  And I want to trust it enough to know that I don’t have to be in charge of fitting it into my timeframe, but that I also do have to be an active part of it for it to keep…wait for it…processing.  Finding that balance is difficult.  Trusting others to do so is more difficult.

I’m placing a lot of my trust in some crucial processes right now.  Learning to let go of it myself and actually trust is excruciating.  I quit Facebook, but I still like status updates, you know?  I have to be willing to go without them, though—to know that the process is being carried out as it should, and that I am going to be fine no matter when or what the end of it is.

Brittnay Murphy died this morning at 32 years of age.  When I tap into Brittnay Murphy, I don’t get images of drugs and parties, I get an image of a young woman who set up her path in a very particular way before she even came here to earth.  I see someone who set up her path with huge obstacles and amazing and awarding challenges because that is what her spirit deeply needed this time around.  Let me explain, before we arrive on earth, I believe we decide what it is we want to work on and structure our path in such a way that we are invited to take the challenges, both small and large.  Considering reincarnation, if we’ve attempted to work on certain lessons in past lives and failed, we return again with an even more difficult tasks, more difficult levels, more difficult mountains to climb. This was the case for Brittnay with one of her more tempting and arduous mountain’s being fame.  It was a mountain presented to her in such a way that was tempting and yet fit so perfectly with her given talents, but it wasn’t the mountain she was supposed to climb.  When I look at the life of Brittnay, I believe her guides were recently there for her, trying to show her that “A-list” wasn’t the path for her.  Over the last year or so, she has been pushed to the wayside, receiving smaller film gigs, not receiving the big pictures that she was getting used to.  There were moments for her recently as she worked in the smaller pictures that she really enjoyed herself, she felt her craft and embraced the natural flow of her abilities.  She had small glimpses of her true path, one of creativity and brilliance with no regard to the fame, stardom and acclaim, a path that thrived on the true human experience.  She experienced what it meant to be her authentic self and exude the gifts that were given to her upon arriving here on earth. Sadly, there were also moments that kept pulling at her, calling her if you will, to reach for the big pictures, the big breaks, the A-list status.  But her guides were pulling the status away from her, hoping she would find bravery & not panic.  She was supposed to step onto that path that holds only her, the path that is created uniquely for her and her beauty.  I am sure there were countless times that she experienced her path, that she touched it and felt it in her soul but,  she became lost on her way to finding the shift, her shift onto her path and into unison with her higher self.  She fell too far away and in the end, she was taken from us, not because of her mistakes and screw ups, but because she needed to start again, start fresh.  Also, we need to consider the path that she laid and the people who she brought to her side, they will also be affected by her leaving this dimension.  It will be painful, it will be difficult for them, but it will create growth.  She will be with us again, perhaps we’ll be lucky enough to have her return with her amazing acting gift. She was a beautiful woman who most everyone will acknowledge was full of life.  She will be missed, mostly by those closest to her, including her adoring husband and her most important launching pad, her mother.  It is so difficult to lose someone so young, but it was her time and for us this is a reminder to take on the mountains, love the path and enjoy the ride.

Past lives are wonderful things to work with, especially if you know how to access them. You can do this by working with your Akashic Records and your Past Life Chakra as well. A lot of people do not know where this minor chakra is located, or how to healing, energize or even work with this.

Your Past Life Chakra point is located behind your ear. This one is a minor chakra point and can help access your past lives as well as work on any types of healing that you may need to let go of previous karmic debt you have occurred. Working with your past life chakra, you can open your minor chakra area, release previous karma issues that need to be healed or cleansed so you can move on in your physical life, and even release Akashic Records.

The best crystals to use for this minor chakra point are Blue Fluorite, Amazonite, Amber, and Angelite. I personally prefer to use Amber for these sessions, as this is what resonates within my vibrational fields.

To work with a crystal healing for this chakra point, you can simply lie down on your back, and place three of the appropriate crystals surrounding your head. You can place one behind each ear and remaining crystal over your crown chakra. This will align the healing grid to your Past Life Chakra point. From there you can work on self healings, karmic healings, meditation and much more depending on what your main focus of this session is.

Always remember to cleanse your crystals afterward, as you do not want to hold onto any negative energy dealing with your past lives or karmic issues.

For more information, seminars, online courses, programs, healing and much more visit us at http://www.healingartforms.com

Many Blessings
and Love and Light

Nicole Lanning

Another great question has come across my table.  ”Is it possible that once we have accomplished what we came to do in this world (however many life times that might be) some of us who really did a great job will be able to become guides to the loved ones still in this realm?”

My answer… you already are!  It’s an interesting theory, but stick with me on this.

First I’ll answer it as if linear time mattered and we are working on a solid time line.  If we were on a solid timeline, then yes, you may have 89 lives and when you’re done with those lives you can be a guide not only to your loved ones but also to other people.  Heck, you can even guide people before you complete your 89 lives! When clients come to see me, there are two main types of spirits that come in, loved ones and spirit guides (who categorizes themselves as being someone you didn’t know).  Both of these are examples of spirits that are working on the other side as guides.  Now, it may be thought of that a person who is a spirit guide has completed all their lives and learned what they needed to learn so they can work as a guide.  Not true.  Spirit guides (not loved ones) can be working with you because they understand your path, connect to you with where you’re headed and simply have experience in that area.  They aren’t always spirits who have completed their “lives”.  Some are still working on their own lives as well.  We work on ourselves in more than one way, by coming here to earth, by supporting those who are already here on earth and other ways that I’ll go into another day.  So, loved ones can guide you even if they haven’t completed what they need to complete.  And, also, spirit guides can guide people even if they are not “complete” with their tasks as well.

Taking this concept to the next level, consider this.  If your higher self is a large “ball of energy” and small chunks of it are put into human form to learn lessons while we are here on earth, then that means that the rest of your higher self is still up there.  Not to mess with your mind too much, but past lives are not necessarily linear.  While you are enjoying this life (hopefully), you might be having another life somewhere else with another “chunk” of your higher self in a different human body.  So, you can be living in New England, working and spending time with your grandchild, while another “you” is in Italy in 1842 working as a crewman at the same time.  Take away the concept of time and everything is happening at once.  Thus, your higher self  is more like a train depot and your lives are like trains.  The result of this theory?  It is your higher self that connects with other souls that are here on earth (and elsewhere) to work as a spirit guide.  It is your higher self that comforts and guides your loved ones after you have left the earth from that particular lifetime.  It would take pages to elaborate on this perspective, but to keep it simple, yes, you are always there for your loved ones.  We are all connected and would be lost without each other.  Far too few people realize how guided they really are by people who have previously been in their lives.  Our grandfathers, great grandmothers, the baker down the street, they are all there, cheering you on and, when it’s your time to be on the other side, you will do the same for the people you love!

A question has come across my table that I would love to answer. Read on… If we do reincarnate and our spirit experiences more than one life on earth, how does that jive with spirit guides who are family members? For example, if my grandmother might be a spirit guide of mine, though she passed in the 1950s or 60s, is she just waiting to experience another life on earth until she senses she is done guiding me?  Is there a choice to return?
I love questions about reincarnation because I have found it to be much more complicated than pop culture makes it out to be. First start with the idea that there is no such thing as time or space on the other side and then mix that up with the other concept that we can be in multiple places at once. Consider the image of your “higher self” (on the other side) as a large ball of energy. The idea of a single life on earth would be a trip that only a piece of your higher self would take leaving the rest of your higher energy behind. Imagine taking a chunk out of your “higher self ball of energy”, throwing it down to earth and having it land into a human body. This theory also explains why it is we don’t consciously remember everything about all of our past lives and all the knowledge we contain while we’re on the other side. We can tap into our higher self, we have access to all the knowledge, we just don’t set it up to be able to attain it easily. When that life is done on earth, the piece of energy that we call our spirit returns to the higher self ball of energy. So, in one way you could say that we have multiple spirits all connected to our higher spirit. The multiple spirits are the small pieces that have left the other side to venture on an exploration here on earth and possibly other planets as well. Another interesting idea to chew on is that we can be in more than one place at one time. A chunk of our higher selves could be here right now in New Hampshire while another chunk of our higher selves could be living out a life in France. Also, if you throw dimensions into it, it gets even more confusing. Right now you could have a piece of your higher self living out a life in 1750 in Africa! The timeline rules only apply to us in our individual life, they don’t apply to the other side. Clearly you can see that I could go on for quite a while with this. But, to stop here and answer the question. Your grandmother that was with you in this life and died in the 1960s is guiding you through her higher self. She may not be waiting for a chance to return, a piece of her may already be here. On the other side there are soul groups. Right now your grandmother from this lifetime has passed. Her higher self is a part of your soul group so in another life she may be your brother or the baker down the street that you confide in everyday. One way to look at it is that she is connected with you in a very particular way in the soul group in order to be able to help you in these multiple lives and that simply represents itself in multiple ways on earth… brother, grandmother, baker. It is difficult to put to words the intricacies of the other side, today this was one attempt by me.

Do you ever feel like you’re doing something you’ve done before? Maybe in a slightly different way? You’ve Been Here Before… and      so has this newly-revised, reincarnated book that was originally published by Random House in 1999.

Reincarnation and Your Past Life Memories offers you a guided        tour into and through your past life memories. You’re shown how to tune into your subconscious mind where all the memories are stored.

Every part of a past life journey is explored from beginning to end, including how to balance and heal your karma, how to recognize people from the past, and how to discover your purpose in this life. The book contains numerous anecdotes, showing how other people have opened their past life memories, as well as a plethora of exercises and meditations you can do to retrieve your memories. Read more…

If you reduce a circle to a single point there is no beginning or end. It’s all in the same place. This life is this life is it not? It extends in all directions (past, present, future). Do not dwell on lives long since past. Use their memories to guide you. The life is not for you alone, but for you and all whom you encounter.

It takes effort, and yet some assume when this life is over it’s all bliss or punishment depending on how we’ve lived our life. People want the quick answer and the quick way out. You have never left home. It’s been here all along. We are but drops in an ocean of understanding. Our lives are but drops in the bucket of memories of all that is.

Photo courtesy of Laura Musselman, via Stereogum

Between touring and working on the album following Fleet Foxes’ eponymous debut, Robin Pecknold, the band’s frontman, has been spending some of his minimal spare time working on various side projects.

According to a recent interview with Pitchfork,  these side projects include “fake” film scores, recorded with former Blood Brothers bassist (and current Past Lives keyboardist/guitarist) Morgan Henderson.  Pecknold said that these recordings were a relaxing departure from the format he’s been working in for the last couple of years.

“Some songs are harder to turn into finished songs than others, but when you’re just writing music and you’re just writing melodies, and some of it’s just rhythm stuff, that’s all it needs to be when you’re just writing to an image.”

Pecknold has also formed a band, Rainbow Fang, with his sister (and local music journalist) Aja. Pecknold said in his Pitchfork interview that he and some other friends are helping record and develop songs that Aja has been working on for a while.  They have six songs finished, and there may even be a 10″ released at some point.

Fleet Foxes are in the early stages of recording their new album.  It will possibly, tentatively be released in late 2010.

I was holding Boxer in my lap and thinking about how astral plane guides used dreams to communicate with those that looked after, when an idea occurred to me. I lifted Boxer and stared into his eyes (really my mother’s eyes since she was using Boxer to watch over me).

“You sent that classroom dream, didn’t you?” The enigmatic smile and the quiet mrow told me what I already knew. My mother had been trying to help me connect the clues by sending me that dream of the classroom with all the seemingly disparate objects on the desk.

“Sometimes I can be so slow,” I said, Boxer again sitting in my lap with my hand absently petting his smooth fur.

A deep meowr-rowr told me that Boxer (my mother) agreed. “So, am I on the right path now?” I asked the cat.

Boxer looked up, his amber eyes meeting mine, and another mrowr grumbled through his chest. I gave the cat a hug, and then carefully placed him in one of his boxes to lounge in the last slanting rays of the sun.

I still didn’t completely understand all of the clues from that classroom dream, but at least now I knew I was headed in the right direction—back to the radio station tomorrow. Tonight, though, I was headed back downstairs to fix dinner.

In the kitchen, I glanced at my watch and realized that Dave would be home any moment. I grabbed some stuff from the fridge and put together my version of a Cobb salad, then sliced some French bread and put it into the oven to warm. Dinner would be light tonight after our celebratory luncheon at Berghoff’s.

* * *

The next morning found me back on the train headed for Chicago. It wasn’t the same train as Dave, though. Since I wasn’t doing a show, I hadn’t needed to be at the radio station so early, so I was enjoying a second cup of coffee as the 8:00 express sped its way down to the Loop.

The morning walk to WKRV was brisk. I was glad I had worn my heavy wool pant suit, with the nubby, burnt-orange sweater underneath. The sun had not yet to found its way out from behind the gray-garbed clouds, and the wind, which whipped out at me from its hiding place behind the buildings, held a hint of winter.

When I entered the lobby for WKRV it was full of visitors, business types, and even a small mob of school kids who were waiting for a tour. I hung around the fringes for a few moments trying to identify any recognizable energy patterns, but the mix of people was too over powering. I couldn’t really identify any individual energies with the swirl of emotions and I didn’t feel any pings from anyone in the mess of people, so I moved around the edge of the lobby heading for the offices.

I paused at the doorways of the various offices. Some of the offices were unoccupied, so I passed them by. Other offices were occupied, but had the door closed, which made it a bit more difficult to reach out and “feel” the energies of anyone inside. Some of the occupied offices had several people inside, so it took several minutes of hanging around and trying to appear innocuous while I “felt” the energies of each person to see if they were the person I was looking for.

By the time I had wandered past nearly all of the offices, the lobby had quieted. A moment later, I saw that the receptionist was eyeing me in between her brief bursts of conversation with the package delivery man. She’s probably wondering what I am doing, I thought somewhat guiltily.

I put on my best smile and started toward her desk. As I watched the package delivery man put the stack of parcels and envelopes on her desk, I realized that the energy I had been looking for was hers.

I stopped halfway to her desk and, closing my eyes, I reached out with my energies and touched her aura. I focused on the pattern I had searched for from the email, and knew it was a match. As I thought about the nightmares and the person who had created them, I saw that it was also part of her energy pattern.

So, the pinging I had felt each time that I had left the radio station had been her. When I opened my eyes, she was staring at me.

“Are you all right? Do you need something—water, a chair?” she asked a worried frown on her face.

I blushed as I realized how odd I must look standing in the middle of the lobby with my eyes closed. I shook my head to her questions, and stammered, “Uhhh, no, I’m fine.”

I walked to her desk, and gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hi, what I need…”, I paused and searched the desk for her name plaque, “Rose…”. I stopped again. I could hardly blurt out that I had been looking for her, that I knew she was the emailer; the one who was worried about someone trying to take advantage of her father, or that she kept dragging me into her nightmares. Somehow, I was going to have to approach her with a little more finesse than that. So, I finished my sentence by saying, “…is to see the station manager for a moment. Tell him it’s Psychic Annya.”

I refreshed my smile, and showed her the agreement with my signature on it. She returned my smile, although I could feel her emotional energies wavering.

She’s probably wondering just how dangerous I am, I thought.

“Just a moment. I’ll see if he’s available.”

She picked up her phone and touched several numbers, then spoke briefly with the person at the other end. As she hung up the phone, she said, “He’ll be here in a moment.”

I nodded, and then walked toward the area where I knew the station manager’s office to be. A minute later he popped out and waved me back toward his office.

I showed him the notations that the lawyer had made; he signed the agreement, and then he made copies. As we shook hands and agreed on a start date, my mind kept wandering back to Rose McAndress, the receptionist. I had several ideas on how I could handle this situation, but I really wanted to speak to Katie first. Sometimes I think something is a good idea, but it takes talking it out for me to really see all the problems with it.

Katie was a great friend that way. She’d let me bounce any number of ideas off of her, and she had no qualms about telling me when she thought they were utterly stupid ideas. Nor did she have any qualms about telling me how stupid I would be to follow through on any of those dumb ideas.

Yep, I really needed to meet and talk with Katie.

I finished with the station manager, and then headed for the door. When I reached the lobby, Rose’s desk was completely surrounded again, and she didn’t even notice me leaving. Probably a good thing, I thought.

As I headed for the library to do my research, I called Katie. She agreed to meet me at a place near the train station about 4:30. So, I called and let Dave know that I would be home late (no, I didn’t know how late, but I was meeting Katie so that should give him an idea), and though unhappy at having to get his own dinner, he said he would survive. I smiled to myself, yeah, he would survive; he’d probably order something from Pizza Hut, knowing him.

The day was still gray and the wind was still cold, so instead of walking to the library, I decided to grab a cab.

your rhythm makes me dance in the language of the world – body beat connection penetrating to my core-earthquakes of energetic pulsations, an electric demonstration-finding elation within your skin. again and again and again and again- i gain… new understanding, new concepts…mathematical equations are solved in the geometric positions our bodies create. when you gave me that look, i knew it was too late and that this was our fate. exploration of thought in a parallel universe..past lives reunited, this feeling requited, and yes i tried to fight it but your rhythm is strong and i feel it when i walk. and it’s hitting hard, my innermost thoughts… i love the way your eyes drink me in. the fucking would be spiritual so it couldn’t be a sin. sexual healing like the marvin gaye song, so wake up/wake up/wake up/wake up, let’s go all night long, ride your rhythm into the blissful dawn. the frequency i vibrate on captivates. your swagger unparalleled. we resonate. my eyes change colors from golden blue to grey, depending on the reflections of the words you say. sometimes i wonder if your eyes say what you feel.. how deep are the lines between fantasy and what’s real? i put u under a microscope to better comprehend.. but despite the lenses and the light, there’s just no making sense. there’s something warm and familiar about you like my favorite shirt and i just wanna put you on… hold u close. know u deep. without remorse. sometimes with u it’s as if i don’t exist. like i’m way down our your list.  and the rain check may never come cause we’re in southern california where there’s always lots of sun. so i’m just gonna keep singing my song… and dancing to your rhythm. body beat connection penetrating to my core-earthquakes of energetic pulsations, an electric demonstration-finding elation within your skin. again and again and again and again…

Pitchfork
The web’s favorite e-zine talked with the Fleet Foxes frontman about working on a new Fleet Foxes album, keeping his creative energies up by forming a band with his sister and working on pretend film scores with Morgan Henderson of Past Lives (and formerly of Blood Brothers). For the full interview, follow the above link.

Featuring Casxio, Paulie Rhyme and The Futureheads.

Direct link to the show’s mp3 file

Subscribe to the podcast in iTunes  or the player of your choice 

00:01 Casxio – Seventeen
http://www.casxio.com/

03:21 The Raveonettes – Suicide
http://myspace.com/theraveonettes

06:19 Paulie Rhyme – Wandering (feat. Inkfat and Wreckelekt)

Paulie Rhyme
“Wandering (feat. Inkfat and Wreckelekt)” (mp3)
from “Less Than Zero”
(Browntown Wreckords)

Buy at BTW Download Store
Buy at iTunes Music Store
More On This Album

07:51 Past Lives – Hex Takes Hold
http://myspace.com/pastlivesmusic

11:32 The Futureheads – Struck Dumb
http://www.thefutureheads.com/

Until next time. . .

I had set a plan of action for tomorrow: I would go to the radio station and see if I could determine who there was pinging my energies since I was almost positive it was the same person who was dragging me into their nightmares on the transitional plane.

When I turned toward the stairs to the bedroom, I nearly fell over.

“Oh, Boxer,” I huffed, and bent down to pick up our gray, box-loving cat who had been twining himself around my legs.

As I petted him, his purrs filled the house. I went upstairs to the bedrom and plopped down in the rocking chair in our sitting room. (Dave had helped design our upstairs addition, which consisted of an oversized master bedroom, a master bathroom, and a sitting room/sunroom overlooking the views of the creek on the south side of our property.)

I held Boxer, who was hanging limply in my hands, so that we were face to face, and I started telling him about my day. When he blinked his big amber eyes, I realized it was no longer just Boxer in my hands.

“I see you’re back, Mom,” I said to the gray cat.

Boxer mrowed and seemed to smile at me.

“How did you know?” I questioned.

Of course, Boxer didn’t respond, but that enigmatic smile remained, as did the look of intelligence beyond that of a cat’s in Boxer’s eyes.

My mother, who had died two years earlier on Halloween, had always had an affinity for animals when she was alive, and now that she was deceased, I found that she still did. She had a habit of using the family pets to check up on her kids—oh, not that any of her kids besides me (and maybe my older a brother) really believed it.

She and I had shared more than just our unruly red curls, we also shared a gift for the paranormal. However, when she told me that she would be around, I thought she meant something more like a ghost. Of course, knowing her love for animals, I should have realized sooner what she really meant.

Soon after my mom died, I used to see her intelligence, her being, behind Boxer’s amber eyes all the time. Now, though, she only seemed to show up when I really needed someone to talk to—someone who really understood about the paranormal. Dave is great, and I don’t want you to think otherwise, but he’s never planed (in fact, he claims he never dreams), so sometimes it’s hard to explain to him just what exactly I’m going through, feeling, or thinking.

And lest you think that seeing my mother in my cat’s eyes is wishful thinking on my part, let me tell you, that my brother (a hard-headed, down-to-Earth, doesn’t-believe-in-anything-he-can’t-touch, see, or feel kind of guy) has mentioned several times that he thought his dog was acting oddly.

He described one instance when he was in the garage working on his motorcycle. He said the dog was lying half in the garage and half on the driveway, and seemed to be asleep, but when he reached for a cigarette the dog came running in and took the pack right out of his hand. The dog then shook the cigarettes out onto the garage floor and stomped and chewed all of them to pulp.

He says that when he grabbed the dog to stop him, it wasn’t the dog’s eyes he saw. He swears it was mom looking out at him. It made him feel so guilty (he had promised mom when she was dying that he would quit with the cigarettes) that he hasn’t smoked since.

As I said, she always had a thing for animals, so when I looked at Boxer and saw my mom looking back at me, I didn’t doubt for a second that she was keeping an eye on me, just as she had been watching out for my brother by using his dog Bruiser to keep him from smoking.

It’s not unheard of, or so I found out. Evidently some people want to maintain a contact with the physical plane so they project a piece of themselves into Earthly animals. According to my sources, doing this helps the discarnate person find closure, finish lessons, or fulfill tasks (such as acting as a guide or guardian to someone who is still incarnate).

That fit my mother all right—still trying to to guide her wayward kids, especially me. She knew how difficult my “job” of transitional guide was, how much trouble someone could get into on the transitional plane, and she had chosen to take the time between incarnations to help me (and my brothers) out.

That’s why I was never too surprised when she’d pop up inside of Boxer. She’d observe and listen, and then she’d give me insights through my dreams. Dreams are one of the easiest ways for the discarnate to communicate with the incarnate. That’s because when awake, the incarnate have all sorts of barriers that they put up. People don’t want the world to be any different than “normal”, whatever they have decided their personal “normal” is. So, if something happens that is outside of their “normal”, they either fit it in (somehow) or they refuse to acknowledge it. You might be surprised by how much goes on in the world that most people refuse to acknowledge.

For instance, there’s a man called Derek Browne who shows people over and again that they don’t perceive what they don’t expect. Of course, one of the things that most people don’t expect (so don’t perceive) is that beings without physical form or substance actually exist. Therefore, guides from the astral planes have a heckuva time getting people like us, people on the physical plane, to listen to them.

Now, artists of all venues—that includes not only the usual ones, such as writing, painting, sculpting, and music, but also some of the venues that other people wouldn’t think of as artistic, such as religion and science—are usually a little more flexible in how they perceive the world, and so they are (usually) more willing to acknowledge information gleaned from the not-so-usual sources.

Dreams are a common way that people can gain insights and information, although many folks will tell you that dreams are simply left overs from the day just past or worries of the day to come. But I know differently. Dreams carry all types of information. Some dreams come from yourself, sure, but a lot of dreams are actually communications from astral guides or other discarnate entities (like a mother who has died but still wants her children to know how much she loves them). And despite what some people say (like Dave, my husband), everyone dreams, whether they remember them after awakening or not.

Sometimes you’ll get a dream communication without even remembering it. It then percolates in the deep reaches of your mind until suddenly one day you have a stupendous idea, a virtual breakthrough on some issue, problem, or challenge that you’ve been working on.

Oh, that’s not to say that all inspirations come from someone outside of yourself, but some of them do, because we all look out for each other. We’re all connected, so what hurts one, hurts everyone, and a triumph for one is a triumph for everyone.

So, next time you wake up from a strange little dream, instead of ignoring it, maybe think about it, and see if maybe there are any answers to your life hidden inside. Some of the nicest surprises have come wrapped in dreams.

Seattle Weekly
Seattle acts confirmed so far for the nation’s largest convention of music, bbq, and free Red Stripe include The Intelligence, Ivan & Alyosha, Past Lives, Smoosh, Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter, Trespassers William. SXSW Music 2010 goes down on the streets of Austin, Texas March 17 through 22. The lineup already includes more than 200 bands who will undoubtedly be joined by more singers, songwriters, and complimentary taquitos than one can count.

You might think that I’m all about the money, seeing how excited I got at being paid for two radio appearances, and now with my excitement at making buku bucks just for doing one show per month, but that’s not true.

It’s just that Dave and I have plans, dreams, hopes of being independent in our chosen fields, but lately life has been putting some mighty big financial roadblocks in our way—the roof of the house started leaking, and we had to borrow from our 401Ks to get it patched (patched, not even replaced); the washer and dryer had died and so we had to replace them (I mean, c’mon, they were only 10 years old, what’s with that?); and the mechanic said that my car (which was only 9 years old) would cost more to repair than the it was worth, so now we had a car payment that we really couldn’t afford. So, when a chance to get ahead a little on the bills presents itself, well, we tended to get a bit happy and carried away.

I had gotten to Dave’s office with the radio’s offer and instead of trying to explain my elation, I simply handed him the document. As he read it, his eyes grew larger and the look of shock was soon replaced elation almost as great as mine. After some whoopying and hugging, which garnered quite a few stares from a number of co-workers, we escaped his office for a celebratory lunch at one of our favorite little restaurants, Berghoff’s on west Adams.

“So you think I should go ahead and take the deal, right?” I asked as the waiter took away our dirty dishes and left the bill.

“I think it looks good,” he said signing the bill and handing it back to the waiter. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have Bill check it over.”

I nodded. Bill, our neighbor and friend, was a lawyer. He handled primarily wills and probates, but I reasoned mentally, that a will was a type of contract, so he should be able to advise us on this.

Dave walked with me back to his office, and then he went upstairs to his round of meetings. Meanwhile, I continued walking to the train station. Using my cell phone, which I carry only for emergencies (such as when I get lost—and I get lost a LOT—and I need to call Dave so he can help me figure out where I am, and then get me where I’m trying to go), I called Bill. He agreed to see me, saying that he could squeeze me in between Mrs. Camden at 2:30 and Mr. Rowr at 3:30. Bill has an office in downtown St. Charles, so once I got off the train I would only have to walk a few blocks from the train station to get to his place.

The train got to the St. Charles stop a little after 2. Since I had some time before my meeting with Bill, I wandered around the town square park admiring all of the scarecrows that had been created for the annual scarecrow festival. Closer to 2:40, I went over to Bill’s office and let the receptionist know I was there.

The meeting with Bill was quick and relatively painless. He adjusted a couple of minor statements and had me sign the document with his receptionist and him as witnesses. We then agreed that Dave and I would host him and his wife to dinner at a restaurant of their choosing to pay him back for his service, and I was on my way back to the train station.

The first train, the commuter express, zipped past. Ten minutes later the next commuter train pulled in and I hustled on board as everyone else tried to get off. There were no seats available on the car I had gotten on to, so I stood in the aisle with one hand braced against the back of a train seat.

As I stood in the crowded train swaying with the movement, I wondered who at the radio station could be the person who was pinging my energies. There were a number of offices opening right off of the reception area, and several more off of the two hallways at the back of the reception area. Yet, both times I had been toward the front, so it had to be someone in one of those offices, or so I surmised.

I was trying to remember which of the offices had had lights on in them and so were probably occupied when I had arrived this morning, when a particularly tight corner caught me unawares and I overswayed. My hand knocked into the back of the head of the passenger in the seat and the woman turned to glare at me. I gave her an apologetic look as the conductor announced my stop.

I jostled, pushed, and finally shoved my way through the crowds and onto the train platform. I tend to get a bit rude when getting off the train, but then I’m always so afraid that the train is going to start up again while I’m still onboard and trying to get off. I know the conductors are watching and trying to make sure that everyone gets where they need to, but I also know that with the mobs of people on these commuter trains that the conductors can’t see everyone or everything. So, I always have this little panicky fear pushing me forward sometimes to the point that I’m standing at the door to the car two stops before I need to get off. Dave just laughs at me, but then he’s not as short as I am and no one is going to overlook him in a crowd.

Back at home, I was again looking at the deal from the radio station, when I decided I would go down there personally tomorrow. I could fax or mail the agreement to them, but if I went down there to deliver it in person I just might be able to find the person whose energies were pinging mine; the person who just might be responsible for pulling me into their nightmares.

And, just so Dave wouldn’t think I was wasting the entire day, I could go to the library and finish the research I needed to complete that article my editor had asked me to write. Having a plan of action made me feel better, and I turned toward the stairs for the bedroom and nearly fell over.

Reincarnation and Your Past Life Memories: You’ve Been Here Before… by Gloria Chadwick offers you a guided tour      into and through your past life memories. You’re shown how      to tune into your subconscious mind where all the memories are stored. Every part of a past life journey is explored from beginning to end, including how to balance and heal your karma. The book contains numerous anecdotes, showing     how other people have opened up their past life memories,      as well as a plethora of exercises and meditations you can       do to retrieve your memories. Read more…

It has been suggested that man has been born unto this world because it is God’s punishment for our disobedience. It is said that we were originally created as spirit to be companions for God, but were placed in this material world and born into flesh until we can find our way back to Him. It is also said that we will repeat this cycle of birth and rebirth until we have overcome our karma. The wicked shall be born into lower life forms and the righteous shall be rewarded with splendor?

To this I say, how can we call this a punishment? We are given companions in all forms of life. We are given the green Earth, the rolling hills, the majestic mountains and the enigmatic clouds. We are given the vast oceans and food in abundance. We are given the music of nature and the songs of thousands of birds and insects. We are given the warmth of the sun, and the changing seasons to remind us of all of the gifts that have been bestowed upon us. All these things we are given, and yet we call this a punishment.

Ungrateful are they who wish their life away. Ungrateful are they who turn their back on others. Ungrateful are they who waste and horde. Ungrateful are they who take advantage of the weak. Ungrateful are they who would enslave their brothers and sisters. Ungrateful are they who would call this a punishment.

Life is only a punishment if we make it a punishment. Life is only uncaring if we choose to be uncaring. Life is only cold if we choose to hate. Life is what we make it. So whether some choose to see this existence as a punishment or a blessing, I choose to see this life as an expression of God’s love for us all. For if God is God, surely He would have better things to do than to punish His own creation.

South by Southwest
The world renowned Austin festival just released their initial slate of bands which includes several local favorites. Announced Seattle bands include The Intelligence, Ivan & Alyosha, Past Lives, Smoosh, Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter, and Trespassers William. For a complete list of bands follow the above link.

This Thanksgiving, I am trotting off to Jersey as per usual in order to consume stuffing, deviled eggs, bread, and pie made by the Amish people who run the market where we get all our Thanksgiving stuff. Having one’s day catered by a bonnet-loving cult is truly a delight, because those people do NOT skimp on butter. They also wear fun outfits. They’re like the Christian Chasidim, except more rural.

I am also being shackled to a vehicle and forced by my overzealous best friend to attend my high school reunion. I fail to understand her enthusiasm for the gathering, since I was way more hyped on high school than she was, but in the intervening years our enthusiasm for the Hunterdon Central Regional High School experience seems to have switched, somehow. She will show people photographs of her extremely friendly toddler; I will consume tequila in some dark corner and wonder why I worked so hard at popularity during my adolescence.

Then I’m returning to the city to consume homemade Italian food with strangers who are allegedly very enjoyable and fun people. I am most excited by this prospect, as well. I intend to bring wine for the guests and the host, who is cooking for 11 people just because he feels like it.

I love my job–all of my entertaining and weird and fun jobs.

But.

It’s nice to have quite a few days off, right in a row.

I find I often focus on work to the exclusion of maintaining ties with friends, and while working brings me joy, I found myself occasionally struck by loneliness over the past year. That’s odd, considering I live in such a densely populated city and perform all over the place (just in the past year, I’ve performed in Germany, North Carolina, South Carolina, Texas, Massachusetts, Illinois, California, and New York. I’m headed to Norway in the spring!) I realize now more than ever that my dearest friends are scattered all over the country. It’s good to know that I can visit so many parts of the country and know I’ll have hospitality to abuse. And I feel really lucky to have a handful of tried-and-true, long-term friends. If you can count even one dear true friend in your life, you’re a fortunate kitten.

This is all just to say that I’m glad the holiday is upon us, and I’m filled with gratitude for a full, bountiful, intriguing, bittersweet, strange, wild, healthy, unpredictable, lovable, sad, happy year of growth and change. I don’t know to whom I should direct the gratitude, other than to the friends and family who helped make the year what it was. I’ll toss the rest in the general direction of the cosmos, and wish for blessings and good fortune for you and yours.

It doesn’t matter that you may have had past li(v)es, or many past lives. It does not matter that your aura shows that you are open to the Divine, that angels guide your way, or that you are wise and knowledgeable. It does not matter that you can heal the sick, or speak to the dead. It does not matter that you can see the thread that ties us all together. God talks to everyone. Some of us may see and experience all of these things and more, and others may see and experience none of it. Does that mean that a person or being is held with higher esteem with respect to God? Does it mean they are more special, or that they have been given a gift greater than any other has been given? Some say it does, but does it matter if all we do is try to show others how much better we are? Does it matter if all we do is talk about the glory of all that is good, without caring to share the love that has been bestowed upon us? What purpose is there in knowing if we cannot learn to live the life we speak about? We talk about being One and yet we live our lives as though we are afraid someone will outshine us. We talk about living as One and yet we trust no one. God talks to everyone and yet we are afraid to listen to anyone.