CHAPTER FIFTEEN: "Longing to Belong!"

One of the fears that has dominated my family is that you aren't "safe" if you stray too far away from...yes, the family -- la familigia! Italian American immigrants, like so many other immigrant groups, tended to cluster together, at least at first. My mom grew up in a small neighborhood populated by people she knew. So did my father.

When my father moved our family from the family hub in Bristol, Connecticut an hour and a half away into New York state, my brother and sister and I

felt a deep loss. I remember we moved the day before my 8th birthday.

On my birthday, I tried to run away. We had moved into a plain Cape Cod style house in a subdivision. Because my parents were financially strapped buying the house, the second floor wasn't finished off. The walls consisted of bare two by fours, and in between, long layers of pink insulation. It was spooky!

I remember leaving by the back door that led out from the garage. I don't remember where I went, or how long I was gone. Try as I might, I don't remember anything more about that day except that I was upset. Angry. Confused. Needless to say, though, I returned before evening. I learned to live in the new house. Eventually, my dad put up sheet rock and finished off the two bedrooms for me and my siblings.

I'm thinking about that sad day in November of 1960 today, as my husband and I prepare to move back to our house in Massachusetts. For the last three months, we have been living in Denver, near our son, Noah, as well as our daughter, Lindsay, her husband, Geoff, and their precious little boy, Monte.

We've had a great stay. I've had the chance to babysit for my grandson several times. We have loved the weather, and have taken lots of wonderful hikes in beautiful places. There have been many days when I thought "oh heck we should just move here."

Ah, but then, just as soon as I think that, I remember: we have beloved family in Boston, and elsewhere back east, including our daughter Jocelyn, her husband, Evan, and our darling grandchildren, Ronen and Dani.

I feel torn apart. My heart aches when I think about leaving Monte and my children next week.

I keep telling myself to grow up and accept reality. I keep telling myself, "you know exactly what you should do: focus on being grateful for all of your blessings. Live mindfully, staying in the moment, appreciating the myriad joys that happen all through the day."

But part of me refuses to buy into what I know I need to do! This recalcitrant -- childish -- part of me is a persistent voice but also, sometimes it feels like a bodily sensation. It's almost as if my ancestors are all lurking somewhere, deep inside my brain, or they are out there in the cosmos calling to me: they are the angels who keep whispering in my ears. The message from these ancestors -- "questi antenati" -- is crystal clear: when you return to your house in Massachusetts, you will have no family living near you! You will go back to that feeling you often have there, that you are lonely, that you don't belong there! You will feel like you don't belong anywhere!

Before I know it, hearing these messages rumbling around in my mind, I feel incredibly sad. This longing for family upends me completely and sometimes I find myself in tears!

And so it is that I am captive of a very old family script, one that says you aren't safe or happy or complete when you don't live next door to your loved ones.

Back when I was 8 years old, my parents and siblings and I drove from our house in New York State to Connecticut to see our grandparents. We did that almost every weekend! It never occurred to us not to! For one thing, my mom missed her mother and father. And we kids missed our grandparents.

By the time I went off to college, however, I was delighted to get away from home, escaping what felt like a stifling (and old-fashioned) family environment. Over the next few years, I traveled here, there and everywhere. I worked in Boston, then went to graduate school in Berkeley, California. Then I worked in Chicago, and after that, New York. At one point, my mother counted 21 different addresses for me.

Not too long after I married my husband Richard in 1978, we both decided that we wanted to move back East so that our (future) children would know their grandparents.

After some 15 years of moving here there and everywhere, I settled with my husband in an old farmhouse in rural Columbia County, New York -- ironically, it was only an hour away from my parents and the home where I grew up. Rich and I lived in that farmhouse,

and raised three children there, for the next 30 years!

As our children left for college and set up their own lives, one thing became clear: none of the kids intended to live close to our old farmhouse. All three of them eshewed the rural lifestyle in favor of city life.

Like so many families, we are spread out.

Do other people feel the way I do? Do they feel lonely, and like they don't belong anywhere? Or is it just me? Is it because of my ancestry that I feel so...disconnected?

My rational side keeps trying to convince me that there is only one solution: stay riveted in the present moment, no matter where you find yourself! Accept what is. And don't give into the longings that characterized your ancestors.

Yes, yes, I know all that. But now that I am a grandparent I want to live close to my grandchildren, just like my parents and grandparents did before me!

Curiously, my sister Holly and I were talking about our family situation recently. She lives in the same Massachusetts town as our sister Karen, Karen's husband Dale, as well as Karen's daughter, Lauren and her family (including two adorable little ones, Lily and Scarlett.)

Even though Holly lives close to these family members, she confided that she too often feels lonely. She finds herself asking "what am I doing here?"

We decided that the last time we didn't feel that loneliness was when our Mom and Dad were still alive, and they occupied their cozy brick house in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. We can't let go of our desire to gather at that house, the way we used to for all the holidays.

As I add this photo of Mom and me in her Pittsfield kitchen, Christmas of 2010, I can't hold back tears. Recently, I told someone in a condolence card that I don't think I will ever stop missing my mother.

*******

I stepped away from writing this piece a few minutes ago because Noah arrived; he was having dinner with us here in Denver, as he has several times since we arrived in January.

We eat fried fish, baked sweet potatoes and bok choy, and we watch part of a movie. Then Noah says it's time for him to leave.

"When will I see you again?" he asks, just before he drives off in his truck.

"Not sure," I say. I mumble something about maybe seeing him for his birthday in June. I'm feeling fine when I go to bed but the next morning, I find myself missing him. And feeling...lonely. Ugh.

That's when I hear my mom, who passed away in 2015, reminding me that for so many years, she and my dad were constantly looking forward to the next time that they would see us kids.

I didn't really get it in those days. I was busy with my work, my writing, the kids, and our lives separate from our parents.

"In those days, we missed you all the time," Mom is saying, "just the way you are missing your own kids. Now you see what your dad and I went through. You know the old saying, 'what goes around comes around!'"

*******

So what does all of this loneliness have to do with healing?

Everything. As medical anthropologist and modern shaman Alberto Villoldo says, "The mind can heal you or it can kill you."

The brain serves up stories of all kinds, some of them as old as time, like this story supplied by my ancestors -- the intense need/desire to live physically close to one another.

After my grandfather Claude, my mother's father, left Italy in 1896, at the age of 16, he never saw his mother again. He and his brothers settled in Connecticut, where I was born. Back in Italy, his mother, Domenica Rotondo, wailed continually about how she had been abandoned by her sons. Her daughter, Lauretta, who remained in Italy, visited her mother every Sunday; for years, Lauretta listened to her mother moan about her sons' leaving; Domenica earned the nickname "abandonada" for herself, abandonada meaning the "abandoned one."

Dr. Villoldo would say that this story of abandonment is one that has trickled down through the generations, landing in me. In therapy through the years I have repeatedly identified my own tendency to feel abandoned -- there was my mother who "abandoned" me at the age of four when she was too sick to take care of me.

There was the abandonment I suffered when two of my children moved to Colorado.

There is the feeling of abandonment I can feel whenever I say goodbye to my children.

Dr. Villoldo would say that this story of abandonment doesn't serve me. He would tell me that it is part of a limiting belief system, an old-fashioned world view all tied up with fear that is not at all useful or healty.

I need to tell a new story, he would say, one that will empower me spiritually and psychologically. One that will take me out of the worn out belief systems of my ancestors, one that can propel me confidently into the future.

Villoldo would say that in order to be happy and healthy, we must deal with all of the fear and anxiety we have. For me, it's accepting the reality that I can't possibly be in two places at once. I am bound to miss one set of children or grandchildren, no matter if I live in the East, or out here in the West.

We must accept the fact that things change; we get older and we lose loved ones.

And yet fear is exactly that: fear! It helps to visualize it as being a part of the ancient limbic brain, which Dr. Villoldo says is characterized by the four primitive F's: fear, fighting, feeding and fornication.

It helps too to think about what my spiritually-minded therapist Mary always used to say: you carry your loved ones in your heart all the time, including the ones who have passed on. To get in touch with them, all you need to do is close your eyes and feel the love you have for them, and the love they have for you! Concentrate on that love, and let the glow keep growing until it envelopes you completely.

Mary is a big believer in unconditional self-love, too. Whenever I would complain that I was missing my children or grandchildren, she would tell me that I needed to "love myself more," that is, I needed to immerse myself deeper in positive feelings towards myself. Part of that involves immersing myself in activities that bring joy and fulfillment to me as an individual. Don't give into feelings (or stories) of loss, scarcity or insecurity, she would say. In this way, she echoes Dr. Villoldo.

*********

There are on average 300 sunny

days a year in Denver. Combine that with the steady inspiration offered by the Colorado mountains and well, it feeds my soul. It feeds my painting muse as well.

No matter if there is a huge snowstorm one day. The next day, or the day after, all the ice and snow in the streets is GONE!

"It just keeps being sunny."

That'a the sentence that popped into my head just now. So often back East, the day begins bright and sunny but by afternoon, grey clouds move in.

Not here. It just keeps being sunny. All day. And that keeps me sunny too! Living here has been given me the strength and inspiration I need to challenge my ancestors' stories. It's as if a giant lamp has been turned on, illuminating my life fears.

Hiking and walking every day are part of the Denver equation too. The more I walk and hike, the more I want to walk and hike. I remember a time not too long ago when Rich would suggest we take a hike and often my reaction was, "oh, what, that again? You mean I have to huff and puff my way up another hill or mountain?"

But I don't have that reaction anymore.

I know that the more I walk, the better I feel.

*********

Ironically, the clouds have moved in this morning. I have to laugh -- it's almost as if I'm getting a taste of the weather I have to face next week.

Oh well. A couple hours ago, after meditating, I wrote down the word "ACCEPTANCE" in large letters in my journal. And then I wrote down the Italian translation: "Accettazione."

Enough. Time to grow up. And now, go for a walk.

p.s. OK, so I thought I was done. But as I was finishing writing this piece, feeling so sad, I asked my mom to send me a sign.

Well, I'm not sure Mom is responsible, but the next thing I know I am staring at this photo in my iphone: four generations of women!

Me on the left, 33 years old, (pregnant with daughter Lindsay), then Jocelyn, almost two, Grandma Michelina, age 85, and my Mom, age 60. We are sitting in Grandma Mish's living room, in front of a painting (done by my Aunt Marcella) of Grandma's ancestral village in Italy. This photo, almost 40 years old, is one of my all-time favorites. I will get a print out and add it to those I keep by my meditation space. And then this photo pops up on the iphone: Jocelyn's daughter, Dani, looking so much like her mom.

Looking at these photos, I'm smiling thinking, OK, so I belong here, in this cozy line of women. I see myself becoming...an ancestor!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: "HERE NOW THE MOST BASIC FEAR OF ALL: THE EVIL EYE!!!!!"

That last chapter was supposed to take care of fear. Ha! If only it were that easy.

Just as I finished writing Chapter Thirteen, I realized that I hadn't finished discussing fear. This morning it came back with a vengeance. Which is ironic, because after writing the last chapter, where I talked about all the ways that I take care of myself each day, I was feeling, well, quite good. And even, proud of myself.

Ah, but that's exactly when the guilt, and the fear flared up.

In my ancestral family script, which was laced with superstition, and low self-esteem, it wasn't safe or polite to talk about how good you feel or how happy or successful or healthy or attractive you are. Why?

On the surface, it's because nobody ever wanted to be accused of showing off.

But there are deeper explanations. By bragging, you tempt fate; who knows when your luck might run out, turning your otherwise happy life upside down. You might feel like you're on top of the world one day, but then you are almost certain to go into a slide. Then what? You end up so so embarrassed!

Superstitious thinking like this suggests that somehow you have to pay back for whatever good fortune you enjoy by facing a downslide.

But there is another explanation. You don't want to brag because you don't want to take the chance that you stir up jealousy in another person; if you do, you run the risk of invoking the "evil eye," known in Italian as "mal'occhio." In other words, someone seeing your bounty of success or riches might become so jealous they could intentionally OR unintentionally level a curse on you!

It's not like anyone sat me down and explained these "principles;" no one said to me, "Claudia you better be on guard for someone else's evil intentions."

But I am certainly the product of that miserably superstitious

(and paranoid) way of thinking. How often has my husband said to me that I should feel good about my achievements; that I should share my good feelings and do more to promote my accomplishments. When I do promote myself, I feel discomfort. I feel like I should apologize for feeling good about myself. And I do have anxiety that someone might be jealous of me. My instinct is to be apologetic, just to be on the safe side.

As I have been sitting here writing and thinking about mal'occhio, I have begun to feel fearful. So I decide to waste a little time by doing some internet "research." Specifically, I go to Google and call up "the evil eye," and lo and behold,

what I discover is that Italians are hardly the only ethnic group that grapples with fear of the evil eye.

According to an article in The Washington Post, "the evil eye symbol has been found through thousands of years of history across cultures, including in Latin America and parts of Asia. The symbol, most often depicted as four concentric circles in the shape of an eye, is used to ward off variations of evil intentions."

In Italy it's the "mal'occhio."

In Spain, it's called "el ojo maligno."

In Yiddish, people say "kinehora," which consists of the words “kein ayin hara,” -- that translates into "no evil eye."

In Greek, it's κακό μάτι or simply μάτι (mati), or "eye".

In Turkish and Arabic, it's "nazar," or sight.

In Chinese, the pictograph for the evil eye looks like this:

惡魔之眼

Wikipedia informs me that "The belief in the evil eye among humans has existed since prehistory, and amulets to protect against it have been found from dating to about 5,000 years ago."

Brittanica says: "Those most often accused of casting the evil eye include strangers, malformed individuals, childless women, and old women." Lovely.

And in another account I learn that the skill in being able to ward off the evil eye is one that is traditionally handed down from mother to daughter.

It's not entirely clear why the eye possesses so much power. But historically, even the Bible contains references to it: According to Luke 11:34, "Your eye is the lamp of your body. If your eye is healthy, your whole body is full of light; but if it is not healthy, your body is full of darkness."

OK, so now I am sitting here thinking, it's about time I write about this. It's about time I LEARN about this. Most important, it's time I figure out if I can FREE MYSELF FROM THIS FEAR!!!!! But how can I possibly expunge something from my psyche that has been embedded since ancient times?

Pardon me while I do some more reading.

**********

What most astonishes me is that I never realized how primal this belief system is/was. It is for all intents and purposes comparable to a Jungian archetype. I certainly saw evidence of this when we visited Greece, where the blue and white circular amulets that ostensibly protect you against the evil eye

appeared everywhere we went. And in southern Italy, the horn known as the "cornicello" -- it looks like a small chili -- hangs on a necklace around the necks of so many many Italians.

I pause now to write in Italian:

"Please help me not be afraid of the evil eye!"

"Per favore aiutami a non aver paura del malocchio!"

There are tests for the evil eye, and one of the most common involves olive oil. You fill a glass or a shallow dish with water. Then you place a drop of olive oil on the surface of the water.

If the oil floats, there is no evil eye. Ah but if the oil sinks, that constitutes evidence of the evil eye. Or, a variation: if you put two drops of oil on the water, and they remain separate, there is no evil eye. But if they merge, bam, bad luck is headed your way. Other rituals involve ordinary table salt.

When I write this down, the absolute silliness of it all hits me. Still, my mother used to tell me that her own mother, my Grandma Mish, subscribed to the superstition of mal'ochio. Apparently, Italians relied on the evil eye to explain all manner of bad fortune.

No one ever performed an evil eye test in my presence, and yet I do believe that the superstitions and fear have lived on in my family. And while there are superstitious rituals and prayers for removing the evil eye, I am not interested in any of them. I am interested in ridding myself of any lingering fear.

I turn to Google once more, asking, how do I release any fear I might have associated with the evil eye?

Wildly enough, I get a very good answer from Quora, which is a question and answer platform. Yes, the answer appears to come from a BOT!

Question: How can I live without fear of the evil eye?

"It's understandable to feel anxious about the possibility of others being jealous or wishing you harm, but it's important to remember that superstitions like the 'evil eye' have no scientific basis. It's unlikely that someone's negative thoughts or feelings can actually cause harm to you. If you find that you're still feeling anxious about this, there are some things you can do to help ease your worries. One thing you might try is focusing on positive affirmations and surrounding yourself with supportive people who genuinely want to see you succeed. It can also be helpful to practice mindfulness and meditation to help calm your mind and reduce stress. Ultimately, it's important to remember that you are in control of your own thoughts and feelings. Don't let superstitions or the actions of others dictate how you feel about your own successes and happiness."

Not bad for a bot. Not bad at all.

The bot offers more information and so, I accept. Here is what the bot -- called POE AI -- writes:

"Here are a few additional points to consider:

"Recognize the power of perception: Sometimes, our own beliefs and fears can influence how we interpret the actions of others. It's possible that what you perceive as jealousy or ill intentions may be a result of your own worries. Try to approach situations with a more balanced perspective and consider alternative explanations for people's behaviors.

"Focus on self-confidence: Building self-confidence and a strong sense of self-worth can help protect you from the opinions and actions of others. When you are secure in your own abilities and accomplishments, you are less likely to be affected by external negativity. Work on developing your skills, setting and achieving goals, and celebrating your own successes.

"Surround yourself with positivity: Surrounding yourself with supportive and positive people can make a significant difference in your overall well-being. Seek out friends, family members, or mentors who genuinely want to see you succeed and who can provide encouragement and constructive feedback. Positive influences can help counterbalance any negative energies you may encounter.

"Practice gratitude and mindfulness: Cultivating a practice of gratitude and mindfulness can help you stay grounded and focused on the present moment. By appreciating what you have and being mindful of your thoughts and emotions, you can reduce anxiety and worry about the opinions of others. Engaging in activities such as meditation, journaling, or deep breathing exercises can be beneficial.

"Protect your energy: Pay attention to your own energy levels and emotional well-being. If you feel drained or depleted after interactions with certain individuals, it may be helpful to set boundaries or distance yourself from them. Surround yourself with positivity and engage in activities that bring you joy and fulfillment.

"Remember, while it's natural to want the support and approval of others, it's important to prioritize your own happiness and well-being. By building your inner strength and focusing on positive aspects of your life, you can live without fear of the so-called "evil eye."

Hmmmm. POE makes good points. I guess after reading them, I feel less fearful about the "evil eye."

But I think I feel a little more fearful about the power of AI!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: "Fear, Fear, Here, There and [NO NO, NO, REBOOT] Not Everywhere!!"

This is the chapter that almost wasn't. This is the chapter where I focus/keep focusing on fear, a chapter which I was so afraid to write that I kept shutting myself down. I had myself convinced that I didn't have anything else to say about matters related to health and healing.

I am sitting on the sofa this morning, staring into the white sky following a spring snowstorm last night here in Denver.

It's 23 degrees outside -- ice and snow coat the streets. Only two days ago, it was sunny and in the mid-sixties. It was so warm that in the evening, we had an impromptu margarita party with some of our neighbors outdoors on the patio in our condo complex.

OK, so it's taken me a couple of weeks, and two important conversations, to understand why fear started to grip me last week, as tight as bark on a tree.

It has all to do with the fact that I made my reservation to return to Massachusetts in mid-April. It's not like I don't have a host of wonderful reasons to go back, including many friends and lots of family -- in particular, two adorable grandchildren in Boston.

But leaving here is difficult, because two children and my son-in-law and grandbaby Monte

are here. As are the mountains where we have been hiking non-stop. And new friends we are getting to know and enjoy in our condo complex and elsewhere. Oh, one other thing: there is almost continual sunshine in Denver.

So anyway, fear began percolating. And once the match had been lit, firing up my fear, then it spread through me like wild fires on a tinder dry chaparral.

OK so that's the bad news.

The good news is that I figured out how to turn the situation around! And that's what I want to talk about here: how I found a way out of the cloud of fear that was engulfing me.

It all started when I happened on a book by one of my heroes: psychologist and neuroscientist Dr. Richard Davidson, who has made a name for himself with pioneering experiments demonstrating that you can "train" your mind to change your brain in such a way that you improve both your mental and physical health.

I first encountered Davidson's

work more than a dozen years ago, when I began teaching a class called, "Reading and Writing the Happier Self." It was a class I designed with my students in mind, as many of them were plagued by depression. With the help of an experienced mindfulness teacher, I focused on ways that students could bring themselves more life satisfaction. Here is the way I described the goals of the class:

"This upper level seminar, based loosely on a very successful class at Harvard University, will use theoretical, literary and practical readings from a variety of disciplines to help students focus their critical thinking skills on the concept of happiness, and how to use cognitive skills to help achieve a more peaceful and fulfilling life. Reading and writing transform the way we think, and how we see ourselves in the world. Neurological research now shows that changing the way we think can produce positive physiological changes in the brain."

And a few sentences later, I wrote:

"In keeping with research by psychologist James Pennebaker and others who have demonstrated the value of expressive writing, students will engage in extensive journaling and other self-reflective writing assignments as they seek to define what it means, and what it takes, to find happiness."

By revisiting that book, I began to understand what I was feeling, and why I have felt so much fear swirling inside me the last couple of weeks.

That book reminded me of the very great irony of my teaching that class on happiness: with no warning, I became so depressed after the second term I taught it that I had to retire early from my teaching job at the University. The depression swamped me so badly that I ended up in a mental hospital for a couple weeks, and there I endured several rounds of ECT.

So here now is why fear has been crawling around inside me for the last couple of weeks. I realized that I am afraid that by leaving Colorado, where I have been having a ton of fun, I might find myself back East feeling...depressed. I know, that sounds a bit extreme. But when it comes to depression, I have a healthy dose of PTSD. Even when I'm feeling fine, I always have lurking inside me some level of concern that at some point down the line, I might find myself falling into a slump.

I suffer from PTSD despite the fact that I take anti-depressants daily, and have for many years. Medication has been extremely helpful, enabling me to respond more effectively to psychotherapy. But as important as medication has been, it hasn't erased the PTSD, nor does it prevent me from feeling fear and anxiety from time to time. I am still deeply susceptible to fearful and superstitious thinking surrounding my physical health, a holdover from the cancer. Whenever I come down with a chest cold, or any other illness for that matter, almost inevitably, I get scared that my cancer has returned!

It doesn't matter how preposterous the situation is. My husband is forever reminding me that the cancer left me, understandably, with PTSD and it is this PTSD that I have to deal with. He also reminds me to try to laugh at myself, if that's possible.

Not long ago, for example, I noticed a small bump on the palm of my left hand. This may sound ridiculous, but I said to my husband, "Oh my God, honey, I hope I don't have hand cancer." (I don't, as I saw my doctor for a checkup and she told me that bumps like these are a by-product of aging.)

Fear can also blanket me when I have to have routine blood work, or some other diagnostic testing. I start imagining the worst outcomes. That's not surprising when I consider how I was diagnosed with cancer back in June of 2002. It was almost literally overnight. One day I noticed I had a bump the size of a small egg on my collar bone. I wasn't particularly concerned; I thought maybe it was Lyme disease. But a visit to my doctor quickly led to a CT scan with contrast dye. And that led to the dreadful phone call from the doctor -- on a Friday evening as I was getting dressed for my son Noah's Bar Mitzvah.

I was half dressed, in my new navy blue skirt and high heels, when the call came. The doctor, trying to spare me bad news, suggested "we come in on Monday to talk about it." She didn't want to tell me what was going on, but I insisted. So she told me: I had lymphoma, and I would need chemotherapy and radiation.

That's not the kind of phone call you ever want to get. It turns your life inside out, and makes you perpetually afraid of going to the doctor. Any doctor!

Soon after I completed my treatment for cancer in 2003, I started to see a very caring and careful physician who believes in working with both conventional and alternative remedies. I trusted Dr. Ron Stram a lot, and so, when we were discussing lifestyle matters, I remember telling him that I was afraid that my tendency toward depression had brought about my cancer; did I need to worry about that?

In so many words, Ron told me, yes, illnesses like cancer can occur more readily in patients who suffer from depression.

So where am I going with all this?

Here: sometimes fear [feels/has felt/will feel] like an endless swamp of mud that is always on the horizon, threatening to move in to suffocate your life, top to bottom.

As a cancer survivor, and a person with a history of serious depression, I know that it is essential that I devote as much energy as possible each and every day to staying healthy and upbeat. It is also essential that I recognize when fear -- the emotion that has colored the last couple of weeks -- is threatening to pull the rug out from underneath me.

The operative word I live by these days is

REBOOT. As often as fear threatens, I know that I must try to stop the mental program(s) and narratives operating in the machine that is my brain, and start thinking in a more positive way. I must be prepared to "reboot" my thinking as often as necessary.

How do I do this? I rely on a multitude of regular activities:

1) I meditate a half hour each morning. This may be the most important thing I do. As Dr. Davidson has found in his research, long-term, regular meditation helps you identify narratives that don't serve you. It helps you change your self-talk too!

2) I journal before and sometimes after meditating, focusing as much as possible on keeping myself feeling positive. I concentrate on love, joy and gratitude.

3) I chant during meditation. There are four different chants I use; I chant a specific vocalization associated with each of my seven chakras. That chanting is supposed to keep the chakras clear of blockages that might lead to disease. 4) I try to walk at least three miles a day.

5) I do a half hour or more of yoga postures every day, really trying to use my breathing to stay centered.

6) I try to do things I enjoy as often as I can, like painting and hiking and seeing friends and family.

7) I spend time holding my dog. And sometimes, I turn on loud music and we dance together.

8) I stare at the sky, and lately, at the mountains.

9) When things happen that are sad, or disappointing or stressful, I try to slow my breathing down, and focus on acceptance. As my neighbor has begun to tell his four-year old son, "that's the way life is."

10) I try to live mindfully, savoring enjoyable moments, focusing on maintaining a positive outlook.

More often than not, this combination of things work. What's most important for me is reminding myself, over and over again, that I always have a choice. I can choose to change my mind, and my attitude. Interestingly, the word emotion derives from the Latin, "emovere," which translates into "move or move out." I can move myself into another emotion.

Back to that book by Dr. Richard Davidson I mentioned up top. It's called "The Emotional Life of Your Brain," and I highly recommend it. Davidson lays out the findings from many years of brain research using Magnetic Resonance Imaging machines (MRIs). What he's found is that emotional states can be traced to specific neuronal firings in the brain (these firings light up in MRIs.) He has identified six emotional "styles" that compose each one of us: resilience, outlook, social intuition, self-awareness, sensitivity to context, and attention. Each of us demonstrates our own emotional "fingerprint" depending on where on the continuum of each style we fall.

Davidson says he is driven by two central questions: “Why is it that certain people are more vulnerable to life’s slings and arrows, and others are more resilient? And how can you nudge people along whatever these continua are to promote more resilience and well-being?” No one ever managed to do the kind of detailed analysis of our emotional lives before; in fact, when Davidson, who did his graduate work at Harvard, began his research during the 1980s, the field of psychology wasn't inclined to see the point of studying the "fluff" of emotions.

Davidson's work is novel and ground-breaking for another reason: much of his work has involved the scientific study of the MRI scans of the brains of long-time meditators, i.e., Tibetan monks! Many of them have traveled all the way around the world to Davidson's lab at the University of Wisconsin, Madison, in order to get wired up for these brain studies! (The findings have been remarkable!)

Davidson is himself a long-time meditator, and he was moved to begin studying the positive effects of meditation after he was specifically asked to do so by no less than the Dali Lama himself.

Three decades later, Davidson is leading a small research empire at Wisconsin, which includes the Center for Healthy Minds, which has at its central mission to "cultivate well-being and relieve suffering through a scientific understanding of the mind."

"Our research, rooted in neuroscience," Davidson says, "comes down to one basic question: What constitutes a healthy mind?"

The notion that one can train your mind in such a way as to change your brain is for me, a terribly exciting concept. And one that helps assuage my fears because it reinforces the idea that I can exert some control when my emotional life gets bumpy. Davidson's work also confirms what I know to be true for my own well-being: that meditation (along with medication) have been of uppermost importance in keeping me healthy.

CHAPTER TWELVE: "'The Party's Over'" ...or is it?

No sooner had I finished writing that last chapter, "Springtime in the Rockies," when I heard my mother sing another song title into my ear: "The Party's Over."

That song, which first appeared in 1956 in the musical comedy, "Bells are Ringing," with Judy Holliday and Dean Martin, was later popularized by Shirley Bassey.

There is a YouTube video featuring Bassey singing the song on the Ed Sullivan show in November, 1960, when I turned eight years old.

I didn't need to write to my brother to confirm that Mom sang this song. I remember all too clearly how she would launch into the first line, and sing it over and over again. She sang it when Christmas vacation ended. And especially, when summer vacation came to a close around Labor Day. In both cases, we kids were going back to school, and we were finally "getting out of her hair," and so she was happy to see us go. But the summer's end (and the holidays' ending) were sad for us kids! Who wanted to say goodbye to warm temperatures and long lazy afternoons? Who wanted to say goodbye to Christmas?

I've written in great detail in Chapter Six how I felt growing up -- that my family didn't know how to have fun; I wrote too that I believe that my joyless childhood was a core issue in my depression growing up.

In my shamanic healing class,

Dr. Villoldo has been teaching us a core healing practise performed by ancient and modern shamans. It is called "illumination," and in principle, it is very simple. The shaman does not treat a specific disease; rather, the shaman opens the "wiracocha," the luminous energy field that surrounds each and every one of us, and s/he "erases" any toxic energies or negative imprints in that field. When the field is cleared, the body's natural immune functions can kick in and fight whatever disease is present.

I can't read about this idea that negative imprints in the luminous energy field can lead to disease without recalling what happened to me in August of 2003 when doctors were trying to decide if I needed more treatment for cancer. I've written about the miraculous blue tree, and how I believe that the healing ritual beneath the tree helped me to deal with the challenges of chemo, AND the beastly doctor at Sloan Kettering who insisted that I needed a stem cell transplant when I didn't actually need one. (For that, see Chapter Seven.)

But what is perhaps even more amazing is that on the very same day that I found out via a phone call from my wonderful doctor at Dana Farber that I did NOT need the stem cell transplant, I also learned something else, quite remarkably, from a psychic, a healer better known as a medical intuitive.

Her name was Karin N. and she lived in Stowe, Vermont. My sister-in-law Jo Kirsch told me to call Karin and when I asked why, Jo replied simply, "she will blow your mind."

And blow my mind she did. For the longer version of this story, I point you to a post I wrote years ago, called "My Medical Miracle," : which appeared on-line in NPR's "This I Believe."

Basically, the medical intuitive -- who knew absolutely nothing about me except my first name -- and who was 3,000 miles away from me when she did my reading (I was in California visiting my sister) was able to identify the one spot of cancer I had left to cure. No one except my doctors and my husband knew where that spot of cancer was. Nonetheless, Karin the psychic "saw" that the "one spot I had to cure" was located "on the left side of your chest, below your rib cage and above your diaphragm."

To say I was shocked doesn't begin to describe my reaction. But Karin went further. She asked me if my mother had had lung cancer. When I said no, she said, "Well did she have a serious lung disease?" and I said yes, she had asthma. And then Karin said, "Well that's the source of the cancer in your chest. It stems from the resentment you harbor toward your mother. You will need a little chemo and radiation to heal, but you must deal with the resentment you have against your mother."

I was speechless. This reading turned my world upside down. Never again would I look at health and disease in quite the same way.

As I was listening to Dr. Villoldo describe the way shamans can "see" the luminous energy field that surrounds us, and how they heal their clients by replacing dark patches of energy with light, I am finally beginning to understand what Karin was able to see, and what she was trying to say.

Dr. Villoldo says that the luminous energy field is "a matrix that contains information that you inherited from your family of origin regarding how you will live, how you will age, how you will suffer and how you will die." Morever, it contains "imprints" of all the negative experiences that you've ever had. In order to heal those dark imprints, the shaman performs an "illumination," replacing the dark energy with light.

Apparently, Karin the psychic could "read" the dark energy in me, specifically in my chest, and she could "feel" its connection to my mom and her asthma. Quite remarkable! As I contemplate this, I still find it a bit scary. I wonder, have I really cleared the resentment?

Am I bringing back the resentment by recalling the way she sang, "The party's over?"

I force myself to take a big breath in. I concentrate on calming myself. I remind myself that I have worked hard over the years to let go of my bad feelings towards Mom. I have tried to focus on the deep love I have for my mother.

And then I think about a question my poet friend Nancy posed last week after she read Chapter Eleven, "Springtime in the Rockies." Healing, she observed, "is a little like peeling an onion, isn't it?" Just as soon as you heal one "layer" you realize that there are deeper layers underneath that need healing.

As I said, for all intents and purposes, I have largely let go of the resentment I carried toward my mom. But here now, simultaneously, I am writing this post about the fact it still irks me that Mom seemed to enjoy being a "party pooper," as evidenced in her smiling while she sang the first line of Shirley Bassey's depressing song.

Is it possible that I'm kidding myself, that I really haven't entirely let go of my resentment? I wonder.

We kids grew up with an understanding that because of her illness, Mom was restricted from doing certain things. That's one reason why, for example, we didn't go camping. Or have any pets. But the reality was more complex: Mom as a rule did not like outdoor activities. And she didn't like animals.

In many ways, Mom did not know how to enjoy herself.

Is it any wonder why? She grew up having her fun squashed. She had a bicycle -- I think her uncle bought it for her -- until her brothers took it away and sold it so that they could buy themselves a radio. She had one pair of roller skates, too, until she outgrew them; that was it for the fun of roller skating.

I remember Mom telling me the story of an art class she had with the nuns when she was small. She painted a jar in bright yellow and black and the nun took one look at it and told her it was "ugly." Mom was crushed; many decades later she recalled that she had liked the colors because they reminded her of a bumble bee.

Mom learned early on that life wasn't something to enjoy. And that nun taught her in one swift comment that she had no artistic talent (Mom's myriad stained glass creations

later in life put that notion to rest.)

Her "script" was that of women through the ages: get married, have children and be a meticulous homemaker. Which she did, to perfection. When she was just 16, her aunt Gina died, leaving a husband and two children. Mom was called on to help out in her uncle's house a lot.

Whether because of my personality, or the fact that I came of age during the rebellious 1960's, I found myself rejecting my Mom and what she stood for. I wasn't going to have her limited life choices thrust on me. I don't recall how old I was when one morning at breakfast I announced, while Mom was spooning oatmeal from a pan into several bowls: "I'm never going to cook oatmeal for my family!" It's a memory that makes me sad, because I could be such an insulting pain in the butt growing up. It also makes me chuckle, because try as I might, I actually did end up becoming a mother who made oatmeal for her family.

But in those days of my youth, I felt completely compelled to reject the notion that I would not live a life of duty and sacrifice, devoted to serving kids.

When did I soften toward mom and what she represented?

I'm not exactly sure. I tell the following story to illustrate my point: at the age of 25, shortly after I had gotten married, and when I was working for a daily newspaper, and after I had announced that I wasn't having kids, I recall my dad taking me aside and saying, "you know honey, having children is a truly wonderful thing, you really ought to reconsider your decision not to have them."

The next thing I remember, I was 35 years old, and my dad took me aside once again, this time saying, "Honey, you have three kids now, you know, I really think that's enough!"

As I look back, it seems ironic that the medical intuitive reading, in which the psychic linked my cancer to my resentment toward Mom -- came when it did, when I was about 50; I had fully embraced the life of wife and mother.

Which leads me to my main point here: healing is a very complex and inexact process. When exactly are you healed? And how long does healing last? Just because you are healed one day, from one ailment, doesn't mean you're healed the next day or week or month or year, from something else. Like life itself, healing is a fluid process, and one, I believe, that we must work on day by day.

Also, as I write this, I am reminded that "time doesn't exist,"

at least according to some physicists. If time doesn't exist, can I still continue to heal from something that affected me two decades ago? Can I heal an ancestor who lived 150 years ago? All this seems so complicated sometimes!

I'm not sure when I fully let go of my resentment toward my mother. But I think traveling to southern Italy last fall and "falling in love" with myself and my Italian heritage while in the Piazza Plebiscito in Naples (and meandering throughout southern Italy) helped a lot to scour me of all my resentment. As a result of the writing in Italian I started doing four years ago, telling stories about my ancestors, I have come to see that Mom and Dad had their shortcomings and limitations in large part because of the limitations of their own parents.

Mom and Dad did not have the luxury to travel to Italy, or at least, they didn't have the wherewithal to make it happen. They missed out, big-time. But simultaneously, I realize how incredibly fortunate I have been to travel. For that, I am extremely grateful! That gratitude has led me to become far more generous and accepting of my mom and my dad and the choices they made, or had made for them, and how all those choices affected me.

So what about this song Mom has been whispering in my ear of late? She did indeed love to sing "The Party's Over." But from this vantage point, even as I can still hear her singing it, I am nonetheless able to hold mom in loving memory. At least as often as she was a killjoy, mom could also be an incredible tease (like her father, Claude, and like me, too.)

In her vernacular, Mom was a "scootch," someone who really loved poking fun at loved ones and others, but not in a malicious way. She liked to get your goat (as my other grandmother would say.) Italians have a way of teasing each other, often by making up funny nicknames for close family members and others living in their small villages. Humor, I think, helped them cope with life.

*******

I was wondering how to end this post -- the ending came to me quite suddenly when my husband and I went out for a hike this afternoon at one of our favorite spots: Red Rocks, a remarkable formation that sits about 20 minutes from Denver. The mammoth red stone towers overhead; it is threaded with yellows and pinks and tans. It is warm and sinuous and it bends and folds and is endlessly magnificent. It's a bit like the Grand Canyon in that you cannot begin to take it in!

At least 32 Native American tribes in the U.S. consider Red Rocks to be a sacred place. It is certainly sacred for me; no matter how often we go, I never tire of being near the rocks.

"It's a river of stone," my husband said today

as we set off down the dustry red trail with Poco in tow. Soon, the rhythm of the hike was beginning to relax me, as hiking always does. That's when I realized what I wanted to say to end this post. I've gone back and forth trying to answer the question, when do you know that you're healed? How can you be sure you've let go of all of your resentment toward a loved one?

The answers lie in the moment by moment awareness that is mindfulness. When I'm hiking,

all of my energy is moving me forward, step by step. I'm focused on the beauty of the trees and plants, the birds, the sky and the rocks. I'm breathing in clean air. Right then and there, as I am walking along, I feel an abundance of good health and well-being filling me up!

Of course I'm not always hiking. There are days when I don't feel up to par, and times that I start to feel swamped by negative thoughts. That's when I try to remind myself that I have a choice. I can choose to do something to change my point of view. I can go outdoors and take a walk, or I stay indoors, roll out my mat and do some yoga postures, or just stretch.

These activities give me health, moment by moment. They make me feel better. In the end, you only get the present moment, and it behooves all of us to to do whatever we can to make ourselves feel as healthy as possible as often as possible.

And so, writing this post was a choice I made, to explore some difficult memories about my mother. I'm glad I wrote it because it's left me feeling positive; I have put aside my resentment. I think about Mom right now,

in this moment, and I feel the glow of my love for her, and that makes me smile.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: "Springtime in the Rockies!"

A day or so ago, my mother -- who passed away in 2015 -- whispered something in my ear.

At first, I wasn’t sure I was hearing correctly.

What I thought I heard her say to me was:

“What do you think this is, 'Springtime in the Rockies?'”

But wait, was I imagining that she said this? Did she really used to pose this question to me when I was a child? I couldn't be sure.

It occurred to me that maybe Mom had heard this phrase somewhere. So I googled Springtime in the Rockies, and lo and behold, I found out that there was a musical released in 1942 by that name!

The movie is still on YouTube. And there was the song from the musical, sung by Gene Autry and others through the years.

Still, I wasn’t certain. Had Mom really said this to me? And why was I having this memory now?

The memory is this: I remember her saying it to me whenever I wanted to wear a T shirt or shorts or some other inappropriate clothing and she thought it was too cold outdoors.

I decided to email my older brother to ask him if he recalled Mom saying this. He confirmed it:

“I definitely recall mom saying that phrase on numerous occasions," Rich wrote back. "Makes sense as she was 16 years old when the movie came out...and most likely she saw the movie at the Cameo theater in Bristol!!!”

OK, but still, why was I thinking about this phrase now?

And this morning, it hit me. Obviously, it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been living in Colorado for the past two months. I love living here.

I told my husband a few days ago that I feel younger than I did a few years back. Living here has helped. Having so much sunshine (Denver has 300 sunny days a year, on average) has been exhilarating. And I have become addicted to hiking, especially in beautiful places. I'm also addicted to being outdoors. Just this past week, we went hiking three times.

Just saying "the Rockies" suggests great power, a place that figures large in our American imagination because of the whole pioneer experience. As the nation pushed West, the pioneers and explorers headed over flat terrain for at least 1500 miles. And then, all of a sudden, this gigantic mountain range rose up on the horizon, mammoth rocks soaring into the sky. It was gorgeous and frightening and awe-inspiring all at once. It is a magical place, too.

So mom was asking me: do you really think you're in the Rockies, a place that borders on being mythic? A place that is huge and faraway? A place where you seem to enjoy yourself so much?

There is another reason my mom's question came to me now: I have been taking a fascinating on-line class on shamanic healing, with medical anthropologist Dr. Alberto Villoldo. In this class, he emphasizes strongly that we need to revise the stories that we heard from our parents as we were growing up.

He talks repeatedly about the Luminous Energy Field,

which is called the "wiracocha" by the Andean shamans; the term means the “sacred source.”

Otherwise known as the soul, this energy field – which we can actually touch, as I described in Chapter Ten – “organizes the body’s health,” Dr. Villoldo says.

“Your Luminous Energy Field is a reservoir of living energy that is in constant flux and motion. It is who you were before you were born and who you will be after you die." It contains all of your stories and experiences, your good and bad genes and your diseases -- imprints which are then passed from one generation to the next. It is only by clearing the negative stories from your energy field that you can begin writing an original story for yourself.”

The shamans were able to see the wiracocha, and they can also use their consciousness to manipulate how the energy field affects the body, Villoldo says. When the energy field is marred by bad experiences, or negative stories, or anger or feelings of loss, hatred, betrayal or resentment, disease can occur. In our class, Villoldo challenges us to step out of time, into our wiracocha, to let go of negative emotions, and to revise the stories we grew up hearing.

OK, so now I am beginning to see the significance of that “story” my mother used to tell me! "What do you think this is, ‘Springtime in the Rockies?’" was a core message from my Mom. Remember how I had pneumonia three times before I was seven years old? Remember, too, how sick mom was with asthma?

Well, naturally, it would follow that Mom didn't want to risk her or me going outdoors without plenty of warm clothing!

But it goes beyond clothing. Implicit in the question she used to ask is whose authority was going to reign? In other words, who was going to be the boss? Was I going to challenge her authority? Moreover, the question raises the issue, who is going to decide when it's "springtime," i.e., when the weather has warmed enough for scanty clothing. Even thinking about wearing the scanty clothing was a challenge to my mom's worldview!

Further, mom asking me the question, "what do you think this is, "Springtime in the Rockies?" suggests that I was in danger of being too big for my britches! In my family, especially in my mother's family, it wasn't "good" or "right" to act in a way that was boastful or showy. By all means, it wasn't right to brag or to be, in her words, a "big shot!"

Like so many people in her situation, Mom was taught to feel ashamed of herself as she grew up, as if she really didn't count. The message that came through was that she wasn't good or deserving enough. And indeed, Mom always tended to be very meek when she was around other people. I recall her saying how friends of hers would often brag about their children. She knew full well that she too had plenty to brag about when it came to her own kids, but it just wasn't in her nature to do it. Nor was it in her mother's, my grandma Mish's, nature, nor my grandfather's, my grandpa Claude's, either.

If you were superstitious, which my ancestors tended to be, you were tempting fate if you were too boastful or too cocksure of yourself. In effect, you were asking for trouble. Like my mother, and her mother, and her mother’s mother, I was raised in a climate of constant fear and worry that something bad was going to happen.

It's understandable that my ancestors felt fearful.

The world that my immigrant ancestors lived in was in fact rather dangerous. Money was very scarce, and you had to toe the line, working hard and keeping your nose to the grindstone, to ensure that you would have security now and in the future.

From Villoldo's point of view, this fear is really just a leftover of our ancient mammalian (or limbic) brains. The limbic brain is the seat of the emotions, “developed in the time of the Neanderthals,” he says.

Trained as a brain scientist, Villoldo explains that the limbic brain is the brain of the four F’s: fear, feeding, fighting and fornication. It is also that section of the brain that leads us into the fight or flight emotions. It makes us feel anger and scarcity, and a host of other negative and “non-forgiving” feelings. From the point of view of Villoldo, who counts himself among the shamans,

these emotions are “outdated,” and we need to be rid of them in order to live happy and healthy lives, lives devoted to raising our consciousness.

I have been frequently a fearful person in the past. Like my mother, I grew up worrying, a lot! Unfortunately, I know I passed some of that fear along to my children.

Living here in the Rockies feels like it is challenging me to let go of some of the fears that I grew up with!

Have I gotten over worrying? In certain respects, yes. But it is definitely a work in progress.

This morning, March 3, 2024, we are days away from the spring equinox. It is 44 degrees and sunny out. What shall I wear????

Shall I put on my long grey winter coat? (I left my green parka back in Massachusetts!) Or shall I step outside in simply my thin yoga clothes and a vest?

I grab my husband's navy blue Patagonia fleece. And my running shoes. And the cap I bought at Red Rocks,

the breathtaking rock formation that sits only about 20 minutes from Denver where Rich and I live. We walk there as often as we can.

Maybe later, when I get back from my walk, I will write more about how living here – far away from the family hub back east – is helping me see how family fears have shaped and controlled me through the years.

Meanwhile, the nice thing about "Springtime in the Rockies" is that it has unlocked Mom in my heart. She is really here with me today, and because she is no longer an earthbound creature controlled by primitive fears and worries, she is saying exactly what I want to hear: "OK, Claudia, you wear whatever you want to wear -- you'll be fine!"

CHAPTER TEN: Time, Time, Time, No Time!

More than likely, you have put that crazy CHAPTER ONE out of your mind. I fully understand as I went a bit wild trying to stuff three different stories (Mine, Leah's and Gina's) into that one chapter, along with lessons in physics and calculus.

Hopefully, though, you will recall the lesson that Einstein taught us: there is no such thing as time. That great physicist thought that “the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

Everything, it seems, happens all at once in the eternal NOW!

I'm not going to take up Einstein's claim, or his scientific reasoning, at least not NOW. But I am going to tell you that for the past year and a half or so, just before I turned 70, I've started to believe what my very spiritual therapist Mary M kept telling me, all those years we spoke. Time, from Mary's perspective, collapses in on itself, folding in and around like a giant spiral.

Remember in the last chapter, how I asked you to keep an open mind? Well, so, please do, as I tell you this: I have myself experienced the malleability of time; I'm referring in part to my ability to be in my bis bis nonna Filomena's life way back in the mid-1800s. Some would say that it's just my imagination at work. Perhaps. But when I get very quiet and close my eyes, I feel her arise.

Or I sink into her life! I am so close to her that I see the pores in her face. I see exactly how her eyebrows are growing, a bit wildly at the center of her forehead. There is some very faint, but slightly darkened hair growing above her mouth.

I am staring now into a bowl of steaming cereal; I pick up a carved wooden spoon and lift a spoonful of the mush to my mouth. I feel it sliding down my throat. I reach for another bowl; the finish on the yellowed ceramic is lined with the thinnest cracks. I drink the thick dark coffee that has been boiled on the wood stove.

That of course is my imagination at work. But then, what exactly is the imagination? When we write fiction, we use our minds to bring a whole world alive, both for the writer and the reader. The mind is conjuring up something that feels real! I think about the fact that neuroscientists have shown in experiments that when a person plays the piano, certain brain circuits are activated in her mind. But when that same person simply imagines playing the piano, the very same brain circuits light

up!

In other words, we can actually create a physical reality by thinking what we think! The implications for this are enormous for our health.

Which is one reason why it's so important to me to try to focus on positive thoughts and feelings, whenever possible.

So now I will tell you about some ancient shamanic practices and what they tell us about stepping out of time into infinity!

*******

Recently, I started an on-line class with a well-known American medical anthropologist, Dr. Alberto Villoldo.

Several decades ago, Dr. Villoldo left a faculty research position at San Francisco State University, where he supervised a lab that was investigating how energy medicine could change brain chemistry. In his words, he "traded his laboratory for a pair of hiking boots and a ticket to the Amazon," where he began to learn shamanic healing. He has spent the last four decades learning to become a shaman himself.

Dr. Villoldo says that shamans are adept at "stepping out of time" by getting in touch with the Wiracocha, the luminous energy field that surrounds the body and connects us to the one great source of light.

Recall the fact, he says, that saints are often depicted with halos. Those rings of light are, in fact, part of the energy system that surrounds all of us humans (the saints are special in that they are more enlightened!) In this week's class, Dr. Villoldo invited us to experience the Wiracocha, which is the Incan people's word for that source of all that is sacred.

Saturday, February 24, 2024 Journaling, I write: This practice is coming at just the right moment today because I am feeling

homesick for the first time since we left Massachusetts on January 10th. I was feeling at loose ends today, not sure what to do with myself. So I decided to switch on Class 2 of the Shamanic Healing program. In the video, Dr. Villoldo is sitting cross-legged on a mat with what looks to be a jungle outside the window behind him. I begin to follow his directions, bringing my arms over my head to feel the source of light that connects me to the Universe.

By the time the exercise ends, I feel energized. Not only that, as I hold my hands about eight inches away from each other, I feel a warm pulsing glow between them. I bring my hands back and forth, closer and farther away and it is almost as if there is an accordion of light and energy expanding and contracting between my palms. And then I open arms and bring them overhead and surround myself in light. The exercise is surprisingly intense. And so very very calming!

Sunday, February 25, 2024k

8:45 a.m.

Sitting side by side with Rich, I switch on Dr. Villoldo's exercise again, the one that enables us for brief moments, to step out of ordinary time and into the infinity of the universe. In Dr. Villoldo's terminology, we are opening the Wiracocha, just as the shamans of the Andes do. "This practice envelops our physical body and allows us, for a few brief moments, to step outside of ordinary time," he says.

We begin. He instructs us to take a couple of deep breaths, and we do, and on the third breath, we slowly raise our arms over our head, to touch the light of our luminous energy field -- it exists in everyone. He calls it the eighth chakra.

Very slowly, we lower our arms to the sides. He tells us to feel the energy field around us. We raise our arms again, and then, twisting slightly, we slowly bring our arms down in front and in back of us.

Do you feel the energy? he asks. It is a giant bubble that surrounds you.

And honestly, I do feel a kind of warm sac. I see it in my mind as rays of sunshine enveloping me.

He asks us to feel the inside of the light bubble. "Are there places that are slightly weaker?" Can you feel those places that need attending to? Can you run your hands over those spaces, covering those weaknesses?

I have my eyes closed, but I have a real sense that I can feel my life force; it is so comforting. And so simple. Once I start running my hands over the inside of the bubble, I don't really want to stop.

Dr. Villoldo then leads us in an experience of our other seven chakras. First, he says, place your left hand on your heart and feel the giant drum. Then move your right hand to your pubic bone: feel the first chakra. After a few moments, move your right hand up to your abdomen, just below your navel. Here is your second chakra. Take your hand and make a circle around the chakra. Breathe into it very slowly.

Up now to the third chakra, the solar plexus. Once again, he says, make slow circles. "Feel the inside of your chakra with your finger, like the inside of a bowl."

Then we are back to the heart chakra, now with both hands covering our chest. We rest our arms there, feeling the great drum that keeps us going for decades and decades! How many times it pumps, in even one day! One hour!

Now we move to the throat chakra, covering it with both hands.

Then to the mythical third eye in the center of the forehead. And then to the seventh chakra, "your connection to the heavens," he says, at the top of the head.

Before we complete the exercise, he has us run our hands up and down the front of our bodies, where the life force meridians lie. And then, we run a hand up the center of the body.

As he finishes, we bring our arms back over our heads, closing the Wiracocha, the sacred space.

I understand now. How I might every day, at any given time, take myself out of ordinary time to experience moments of infinity, moments outside of the "arrow" of time. Dr. Villoldo says this is a key step in improving our health.

One thing is absolutely clear to me: I can really feel the luminous energy field he spends so much time describing. A few minutes after Rich and I finish listening to the video, I get up from the floor to do my regular morning exercises. I always begin my routine by raising one arm overhead, and reaching across to the opposite side. Then I do change sides and do the same thing with the other arm.

What I am not expecting on Sunday morning is that as I start to do my routine, I feel the energy field overhead. I pause the exercise and just stand there, holding my arms above my head, moving my hands slowly in every direction, enjoying the feeling of the warm energy against the palms of my hands.

It's so relaxing that I don't want to stop! It feels wonderful just to stand there being aware of this giant ball of light, feeling it above and all around me!

Rich says the shamanic ritual reminds him of a Navaho prayer that he has always loved:

"In beauty I walk

"With beauty before me I walk

"With beauty behind me I walk

"With beauty above me I walk

"With beauty all around me I walk"