This poem came at a moment of transition in my life; the end of a marriage I had been hanging onto. My personal landscape was scoured, and this represents a turning point from tragedy to acceptance of a new world.

A soft rain is falling
falling around me
my clothes are soaked
I don’t care
the dampness on my face
feels good
feels good
come down rain
come down
touch my soul
run down my nose
down my chin
envelop me so that
I feel nothing but wetness
nothing but wetness
cold and warm and wet and
be my companion
my pores are thirsty
to breathe the mist
my body is water
my soul is water
my mind is at sea
obscured by sheets
of rain of rain
a fire burns in my
chest evaporating
the water cold
my skin is cold
my heart beating fast
like the hearth fire
fanned by a blast
from the open door
the door is open
and rain blows in
my house
threatening the fire
pooling on the floor
wrecking the carpet
I don’t care
let it all get wet
open all the windows
let the rain in
let the rain in
let it soak the bed
let it get on the books
let it ruin the lounge
let the wind blow over
everything so neatly arranged
so neatly arranged
let it make a mess
and the fire sputters
and complains
but it won’t go out
it just rages more valiantly
fanned by the wind
throwing itself around
in the hearth
no danger to the rain
and when the morning comes
and the mist is lifting
and its clear
the fire only a few coals
the house damp
then I walk outside
filled with the sweet morning air
then I walk outside
my heart wide open

I would like the fire to eliminate the shame I feel at being inadequate in all aspects of my life. When my daughter was diagnosed with autism, some loved ones had said hurtful things, and others simply stopped being there.

I would like the fire to burn the wishes I had for my life to be replaced and rooted in realistic expectations. I would like the fire to take away my need to be perfect; and the worry I feel at helping my daughter navigate life.

I would like fire to stir in me the ability to help others and to find ways to ameliorate suffering. I hope the fire stirs within me activism to help people, and a way to make this world a better place.

In these awe-filled days of fire and flood
We watch and wait and wonder
When that fierce hand
Might reach at last for us.

Those of us not yet touched by calamity
Quake, knowing in our bones
That though we may be spared
This time, time will level us all.

No magic amulets, no prayers,
Good deeds or good looks
Can promise protection
From our terminal condition.

And those who have watched a child
Swept forever from our arms
Or fled the flames that swallowed
Our hopes and our memories

Or hid from the bombs
Or the predator’s gaze
Know that nothing now will ever be the same -
As if anything ever were.

For all of us are falling
Like ashes, like rain,
Like petals or leaves;
But we all are falling together.

And if we knew, in truth,
There was nowhere to land,
Tell me: could we know the difference
Between falling and flying?

My Dad had courage to go against the norm. The story goes that he prepared the men to go to war. He loaded them on the ships in Brooklyn, Fort Hamilton Army base. Some were frightened and would jump ship.

He was suppose to shoot them as deserters. He dove in the water and pulled them out. gave them a shot of whiskey and put them back on the ship. He was written up as an outstanding Sergeant. The sketch of him from the newsletter was on our fireplace. He was a rescuer and I followed that lead. firstly as lifeguard. then nurse. and then trauma psychologist.

He would teach us to ride horses, put us on the ponies when we were little. His Father., my grandfather was a horse trainer for the Russian Aristocracy.. inherited a strong love of horses and animals.

These are a few but important inheritances. I do not conform to norms as I have inspiration to go beyond them for the sake of humanity. The full story related to this healing journey is in my 2003 book "Dance of Psyche: Rhythm of Consciousness."

How I came to Emulate Admirable Behaviors

At this time in my life, between 68 and 80 years, I spend time with my primary teacher every day. I met her 12 years ago, an unexpected surprise. I was resistant to making the kind of commitment that would be required, especially financially. I said yes.

During these years, and continuing every day, I have been presented with access to eight concepts or qualities which would make for a good life, but with which I had little familiarity.
1. End every encounter on a positive note
2. Lead with the Heart
3. Patience
4. If it isn’t working after three tries, do it differently
5. Always be authentic, your best self.
6. Be completely present, wherever you are
7. It’s not about power, but clear, honest communication
8. Ignore all of the above and you can easily get hurt

Trust has developed slowly, from the very start. From what I can see, she, too, has had experiences that betray trust. She calls out to me when she sees me coming, or hears my car approaching, but once I get there she’s quiet and seems content as we proceed.

She’s a big girl, and I could easily get hurt, but she would never hurt me intentionally. If something happened, it would be either carelessness on my part on not paying attention and honoring, her true nature.

Her name is Dakota, she weighs 1100 pounds, and she’s my Draft-mix/ mare.

When I was a young child, I thought my grandmother was God, so I called her Godie. And that name has stuck ever since that day, when her beautiful lullabies permeated the tiny bedroom where I slept.

Her parents emigrated from Abruzzo, Italy, a region know for its culture and history. When Godie's parents arrived in Ellis Island, they hoped to find a better life.

Godie took care of her five siblings when her mother became ill. As the oldest she made sure chores were done on time. She carried these sentiments on, when I argued with her one day years later, insisting that I would put the laundry away later. "Now, put the clothes away, NOW!" I didn't argue again. I also did not protest when it was time for dinner. She would say, "Munga," and our family knew to get to the dinner table NOW!

Godie inspired me with her love of gymnastics, education (she was valedictorian of her high school), love of reading and generosity. She'd visit during the week and wash laundry to help my mother and cook meals.

She could not go to college because only the men were educated in her family due to financial hardship, but always wanted to be an English teacher. Her grammar was impeccable.

She taught me and all of her family, to be strong, resilient and to value hard work and education. So, she ultimately was, the greatest of teachers.

There were six of us cousins who ran around my grandmother's yard with baby dolls and toy airplanes, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun. We saw each other over holidays and at birthday parties. We played baseball together and spend evenings catching lightening bugs and laughing.

Yet on one horrible day, I found my younger cousins crying, saying goodbye to me and pleading that I should not leave my grandmother's house. I was confused. Why were my cousins saying goodbye?

Because of a fight between our families we were separated. I was told to move on with my life and realize that my cousins were gone. If I had only done more to achieve peace between our families, my cousins would have still been in my life, I thought.

Years later, through social media, all the cousins found each other. We now communicate, see each others' families through photo sharing and are all on great terms. Though time passed, the bond that had been broken between us through a feud that we had not been a part of, but still suffered from, was reestablished through love and great care.

Most of us have experienced discrimination and/or racism in some way during our lifetime. I am no exception. I will describe one small snippet of time during my previous work career.

I worked as a substance use counselor and prevention specialist for a dual diagnosis treatment agency for a number of years. During these years I successfully created and ran a one-person program for this agency in a public middle school setting in a cooperative arrangement, with very little help. During these years I must have interacted with well over 1,500 young students going through a very difficult age -12-14 years old - and I was well liked by the students.

I am also a good student and test-taker. For a while, my supervisor asked me to help other agency employees who were struggling to pass the needed credentialing exams. I happily agreed to do this on my own time. I remember one gentleman who had taken and failed the written exam at least seven times before studying with me. I observed him taking practice test questions, and was able to pinpoint why he was failing the exam. After a few weeks of practice, he took the test and passed!

I came to find out that he was working in a position at about my level (or even lower), but he was getting paid considerably more money than I was.

Did I feel discriminated against? You betcha

Lesson learned: Change the things you can, don't worry about the rest, and don't compromise your integrity and self-love just because others demean you.

Age 6: I watched a black soldier standing on line at the black's movie theatre at Eglin Air force Base looking at me, on line, at the white’s only theatre. The fear and anger I saw in his soul burned a lifelong impression in my consciousness. I saw racism at its core.

Age 16: The President of my graduating class at Stuyvesant High School in Manhattan, was a black friend, Cuthbert Courtney Callendar. Later that year, as a freshman at the, University of Illinois,I was thrown out of a barber shop because my buddy, football great, Abe Woodson, was black. "Get that Nigger out of here!"

Age 18: Arrested, and thrown jail, by Urbana, Illinois police because my college coed girlfriend, the college's marvelous actress, Marguerite Davis, who was in my car, was black. "You can't drive in this town with a nigger girl."

Age 19: Assaulted by NYC police because my girlfriend, Linda Jackson, was black. They traumatized two teenagers by beating on the top of my Dad's car with their clubs yelling "nigger lover".

In the modern era, my marathon running training buddy, Wayne Greene, was stared down repeatedly because he was running with a white man.

Age 53: My black friend, Russ Ellis, Olympic athlete and vice chancellor of the University of California, Berkeley refrained from asking my neighbors directions to my new home in Tiburon "to avoid seeing the expressions on the people’s faces when they opened their door and saw a black man standing there

I struggle to remember that other people exist. Of course, I know that they do, in theory. In theory, they have hopes, dreams, fears, children, lovers, moments of both sublime joy and of abject humiliation and despair. It’s the basic human quandary and establishes just how narcissistic I am…every single, and many times a day. A major guru (shrink) of mine prescribes that I continually offer unconditional positive regard to all beings. But I’m spotty on that. I have exceptions: my ex, Mr. Trump, fellow motorists. Honestly, anyone can make the list at any time, as I fight to pull well-being and self-esteem from others’ actions and imagined motivations, instead of from…contact with God/spirit? My dead but lively mother? The correct regulation of sleep, diet, and exercise? The degree of love shining from my womanfriend’s eyes? Or from my son’s, or daughter’s?

I remember a signal moment from last year. I’d emerged from the local, downtown, used-bookseller’s shop into bright afternoon sunlight and was about to get into my car. As I opened the door, I was struck by a slow, warm, huge feeling of belonging and togetherness with everyone around, both everyone I could see there and could imagine in a circle ranging far out from those downtown blocks. It was pure joy.

How long did the feeling last? Not long. What preceded it? Several weeks' hard work on my guru’s prescription.

My daily moral dilemma: to be mindful what works and to choose it.

When I read the novel, "I know this much is True," by Wally Lamb I related to the characters because their circumstances were eerily like my own. The dilemma I have faced, and our family has faced, for years is how to help a precious family member who is mentally ill.

I cannot count how many times I've visited this member in and out of hospitals, or received late night phone calls.

Morally our family tries to be encouraging, but emotionally are exhausted. Years of extensive therapy and different medication changes have seemed to not be helpful.

The dilemma I face as an adult is will I take care of this family member, or will I have to say I cannot. There are no easy answers and even less hope for help at this point.

My mother often cries, as have I year after year, hoping for relief to suffering for this loved one.

The crossroads that I am at, strangely, occurred with the zero tolerance policy for immigrants under the Trump Administration, when children and parents were separated at the southern border of the United States. I was upset, horrified and outraged when I saw these happenings and still am. It is hard for me to justify my viewpoint that "America is a land made up of immigrants."

Many friends/family do not share my viewpoint and think that these means are justified to secure stability and security for our country. I feel that by remaining silent I have condoned this behavior, but feel powerless to help and offer assistance. I would like to look into ways to help people that are suffering from politically oppressive regimes, and work to support tolerance and understanding between all nationalities and citizens.

Long after you are gone,
I will still feel you in the morning
walking on my body,
pawing my face.

Long after you are gone,
I will sweep up a hair—
remains of lost love,
maybe even find a whisker.

Long after you are gone,
every pair of dark shoes
seen from the corner of my eye
will catch me off-guard
with a glimpse of you.

Oh, how I dreamt
if a cat came to my door
I would keep her.
Then you, abandoned in the field,
were brought to me by my neighbor.

All of seven weeks old,
you sat in the palm of my hand,
then on my modem,
then on my printer,
and every warm place you could find.

Playful, endearing,
your long brown hair and yellow eyes
rendered you beautiful.
Your skittish nature
kept you from others.
You were mine, all mine to enjoy,
and I did completely.

Now, I watch every breath,
every precious moment—
waiting for my heart to be torn
from my body,
reliving 18 years of joy.

Oh, my little girl, I bid you sweet farewell
as I brace myself for that last gasp of air,
the breaking of earthly bonds
that animals bring to the human soul,
the love that cannot be expressed,
only known.

Meet the President!

Dafka and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge

Dafka loves his dog walker!

Dafka is taking time out from playing soccer!

Dafka makes me laugh and is so comforting in this time of isolation. Please see my web site for his story.

When the world around and within me trembles, I bury my face in my cat’s bunny-soft orange and white fur and feel the everlasting goodness of God.

I have found hope by learning to listen to my inner child. She is the one who can still see beauty in the mundane. She is the one who sees the leaves turn brilliant orange against a cerulean sky, who loves the holiday lights, who wants to sit by the fire in a cold morning. She clings to the stories of good in the world and in the neighborhood. She reminds me of the long arc of history when I despair over the state of our society. Some days when I am busy with work and the news and appointments her voice is so quiet I don’t hear her reminders and the future looks bleak. Some days even the smallest task seems pointless and overwhelming. Stories of the worst of humanity are front and center and I wonder who raised these people? How do they sleep at night drunk with power and starved of compassion? Then she will point to a hawk soaring overhead and I remember there is hope, and it is within me.

I looked and looked for an answer to the question of what brings me hope and discovered hope was not something I had to beckon or find.

Hope revives me when my heart feels cold and it’s winter and I’m walking outside thinking about the divide in our country and a neighbor walks by and I look up and wave and clap and and encourage her to keep warm, and we laugh together as we pass.

Hope humbles me when I change my mind and turn my cart around in the grocery store to find the woman who scorned me for snatching the last three bags of cooking apples -- when I find her isles away, offer her one of the bags, and see forgiveness on her face as she lifts the bag of apples into her cart.

Hope sustains me when kings and kingdoms rise and fall.

Hope lives in my soul as a gift from God.

Owl glides through the night
Carrying hope on its wings
Into the sunrise.

was personally, nationally and globally a shithsorm (that's "shitstorm," spelled differently so as not to offend anyone). We were visited by serial viruses and were sicker than really bad jokes from January to mid-May. Then we were behind on everything for months. David's old truck "Truckles" tried to commit suicide by popping his emergency brake (!) and driving himself across the road and down a ravine. He was repairable until the tow truck hauled him up the canyon, dragging one whole side of him through a tree. Truckles got his wish. And did the tow company make good? HA! Then there were wildfires here. David was sandwiched between two that came way too close even for his comfort while I beat it to friends' refuge for five days. Separation in the face of danger...There was even a quick flood! Felling dead trees, David's trustiest favorite little chainsaw got creamed by a 500 lb. piece of runaway firewood. On a much larger level we had a President who made the worst possible look better than that. People of color were killed for no good reason by the ones who were supposed to protect them. And there is a pandemic that is no joke at all, with an unmasked leader in denial who took a lot of people with him into his insanity of allsorts. People are dying, others grieving. There is fear, anger, loneliness, isolation and the fallout is horrendous. But then…….

IN HINDSIGHT 2020

. . . was also tender, instructional, clarifying, beautiful, unifying, catalytic. Forest beings sang us awake every day. People shopped for us when we were sick. People fed us. We got well. Our home and our connection were unharmed in the fire. Friends gave me shelter. David watered our evacuated neighbors’ gardens. Some wonderful strangers sold us their used pickup, now our “Frosty,” the nicest truck David has ever had, and they made it easy to do. No one got hurt in the process of felling gigantic sudden oak death trees on our land. It was a year for me of realizing the importance of what I put into the air we breathe, coming to know that outrage and anger, even for just causes, are not the food that children and old ones and all the ones in between need to thrive, to be strong enough to stand up and fight when it is needed. We need love, steadfast and stalwart leadership and stewardship, hope and positive action. Some of us made progress in understanding the prejudices we didn’t know we had. Many of us learned to appreciate the sustaining power of a hug, the connection of a simple handshake, the privilege of sitting next to a loved one, the human need for touch, the medicine of seeing faces we love on a computer screen when that is all that’s safe. People disinfected my shopping carts. People greeted me at the entrance to stores, counting ins and outs to make shopping safer. We learned to wait in line six feet apart. People wore masks. For the first time in my lifetime people all around the world were united by a disease that could kill and no one was immune. And we were all one.

Here we are in the human soup. Since the time of man, there have been killer diseases that no one knew how to cure, terrible despotic, insane leaders who harmed and neglected their people, generations of families who have known nothing but war, financial crashes that brought ruin, homelessness and unemployment. 2020 was not the “worst ever year.” It was simply a year of the human condition and here we are. We are glad to be alive in the thick of life. And we are wishing you the same, all of it, the fullness of life for another year. May you be healthy, safe enough, whole and loved.

I didn't write nor send the letter
To you in the nursing home and now you are gone, though no longer suffering from COVID-19.

I can't forgive myself
For the fact that I didn't say goodbye, or even hello

It was your jovial face that greeted me
Each morning from the recliner
When i would visit my grandparents
And you, my grandfather's sister's husband
Would say hello, and then we'd sit in silence, watching sports. 

This time, as I write you the only
Letter I can, a poem
As tears cascade down my face
Knowing that life is short but missing you,
Longing for more than a memory
A distant star
You, dear star, gone.

1. Life will never return to how it was pre-pandemic. There is no "going back"

2. So many desperately cling to the idea that we are separate, oblivious to the reality that everything we do in some small way impacts the collective consciousness and collective experience.

3. Rather than become despondent, angry, or placing blame, the way forward is through compassion, and as is possible, practicing unconditional positive regard.