A dream: Out of body inceptions

Around 6 am this morning, Minou – the cat of the house – came back from his hunt to finish the night with me. He jumped on the bed, stepped across my body and curled up in the space between my arm and my ribs. He then started kneeding me, with claws. I meant to move my arm to either get myself out of arm’s way or to make the cat go away, but realized I could not move my physical body at all. “I’m having Rigor Mortis – I actually meant Sleep Paralysis – that’s the first step in out of body experiences. I wonder if I’ll hear the buzzing too.” Sure enough, buzzing in my ears, almost immediately.

Then I was in an hotel room, laying on the bed in the same position except the cat was my friend Alan sitting at the foot of the bed. I sat up and we moved to the kitchen. His body was very old, but his spirit inside was still the 37 year old I know. I petted his head as though he were the cat. His skull was covered in aging spots and his hair was falling off in patches. I was still very fond of him. And I was also still very tired. I curled up on his knee and fell asleep, and he began petting my head. I was aware in my sleep (level 2) that something was not quite right, so I tried to wake myself out of it by modifying my breathing – I do that sometimes when I want to wake up; it usually works – but I couldn’t wake up and I still couldn’t move. I was paralyzed in level 2 as well.

Then I was in the same hotel room, except everything was very white and bright. The walls, ceiling and all the furniture in the room were white. Alan and I were dressed in white. But, still I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right – in fact, it was very wrong and my intuition told me I needed to get out of there, now! I once again modified my breathing to wake up out of level 3, and I almost succeeded. I was aware in level 3 of the hotel room in level 2, where Alan was still petting my head, but I couldn’t break back through all the way.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a while, but we need to get out of this room.” I told Alan in the white room. I said “Come on” and ran to the door, then through the door.

Alan and I were standing in the corridor and I was shocked. “I’m not physical! I can walk through matter here!!” I looked at my hands. “Look!” I swiped my hand through the wall and the door, and felt nothing. I turned to look around. The corridor was about a hundred feet long, ten feet wide and thirty feet high, completely white as well. White doors lined one side all the way to the end, where a white door closed off the corridor. The other side was all large glass windows. I figured we must have been pretty high up because all I could see was blue sky out of the window. There were massive elaborate chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, like mobiles made from thousands of suspended pieces of mirror about a square inch each. But, still, I felt something very wrong was going on. I was in danger. This was not a hotel, it was an institution and I was there against my will.

Then something moved behind the door at the end of the corridor, and I made a run for it to save myself. I ran straight at the window, but as I got closer time slowed down. I was running in slow motion and I could see Alan was as well. I jumped up into and across one of the chandeliers. Time slowed so much that I had time to think “I wonder if the windows are especially designed to contain non-physical entities? I wonder if I’ll crash against the window or simply pass through it? And if I pass through it, I wonder how high up I’ll be? And will I be able to fly? And what is below?” My shoulder finally reached the glass, which shattered in a million fragments. The action stopped. I was suspended in the blue sky surrounded by a million pieces of broken glass mixed in with the mirrors from the chandelier, all glittering in the sunlight. I had no thought, no sensation, no breath.

Then the action reengaged to full normal speed and I landed on my feet in a garden. The garden was at the foot of a massive square white building with two shattered windows far, far up. I knew Alan had made it to the garden, but I couldn’t see him yet.

The garden was a large field. In a rough oval shape were tiny plots of fenced land – about 6 by 3 feet in size – every ten feet of so. To each garden was a guardian. The guardians were slaves, tied to each plot and forced to grow food for the inmates of the hotel/institution. They could never leave. They slept in tiny shacks on the back side of each plot, too small to actually fit a human body at rest. Their cheeks were sunken; their clothes were tattered. Some were raising chickens, but most were responsible for a single crop of vegetables. I decided to visit each one in turn to see if I could figure out where I was and what was going on.

I knew I didn’t need to walk because I was not physical, so I could think myself in a different location and instantly be there. But, because I didn’t want to be caught, I thought myself a chicken in a different location, then I was a chicken in that location. The only problem was that I still had my PCT cape on, and I couldn’t think myself without it, so I appeared by each plot as a chicken with a cape – which was just as conspicuous as if I were to walk around as myself.

The main attendant was coming and suddenly all the gardeners had a flurry of activity. He walked over to the chicken plot for an inspection, so I thought myself in a place where I would be out of his sight, but could see him. I knew him. He was one of my former bosses, and not an easy one to work for. I could also see that Alan was walking straight towards him. Bad news.

I thought myself across the field, grabbed Alan’s hand and thought us both by the door of the building, then immediately in the reception hall, in front of the concierge’s desk. “Hi, we’d like a room please?” The concierge turned to grab one of the keys on the wall behind him. He seemed haughty and European. The entire hall had that feel, with big leather sofas under draped burgundy throws, a thick hunter green carpet and lingering smell of expensive cigars. I had no desire to stay there. I felt it was urgent and imperative that we hide in our room. I thought ourselves in the stairs of the hotel, and we were instantly there – a high floor.

Then it dawned on me that this is how I had gotten there in the first place. This was the beginning of the dream in level 2 I was living. I just had started out of sequence. But I knew we’d get into that hotel room, and I’d pet his head, and I’d fall asleep on his lap, and then the loop would start again. Unless I could get out. Right then, Minou, the cat in level 1 decided to leave my arm, walk across my leg and land on my foot. I tried to move to either make room for him or kick him off the bed – because I felt he might have been facilitating what was going on -, but still I couldn’t move. This time, I didn’t fight it, I went back in, and all was dark, and I was asleep.



That’s what happened.
Maybe I’ll write down the one from the night before when I have a chance. Much shorter, just as loopy!
No, I don’t do drugs.

How did you get so happy?

A few days ago, a dear friend of mine, who is going through some “stuff”, asked me how I got myself out of unhappiness. It’s hard to remember unhappiness when you are firmly grounded in happiness. I mean, true happiness, the one that lives inside and is not subject to circumstances. I sat on her question for a bit and tried to recall the exact steps that first led me to where I am. There is a myriad of small changes that happens when switching from unhappy-world-view to happy-world-view – entire libraries worth- but these were my first steps, in order:

0. Be miserable

I think that was my true first step. As long as life was hum-drum, comfortable or pleasant, I had no impetus for change. Because I had the strange ability to pep-talk myself with positive affirmations, I had to get pretty damn unhappy before real alchemy could occur. But, I did get there. A set of events and a relationship knocked me off my comfy ways. In the throes of a self-inflicted tragedy, I realized that the only element in the situation I could change was me. I then had to admit that I had no clue how. Smarts, strength or will power cannot clear misery. I had to become vulnerable and surrender to the misery rather then fight it with gimmicks, distractions or “composure”. I let my known world crumble away. Tabula raza. Back to knowing nothing. That’s where true change started. That part was the worst, and it felt endless, even though it really only lasted a few months.

1. Spy the monkey brain

Next, I identified the source of my misery. It wasn’t any situation or person or lacking in anything. No, it was my own thoughts. We have what Buddhists call a “monkey brain”: Incessant thoughts run through our minds every waking moment of the day, and with each an associated set of emotions. My next step was to notice my monkey brain. If I could notice it from an observer perspective, then clearly “I” was an entity outside of those thoughts. For a while, I just practiced watching my thoughts and the emotional reactions they triggered. I still felt victimized, miserable, sad, angry, outraged, etc. but I also saw the direct correlation between my thoughts and my emotions. If somebody did something “to me” when I was 7 and I was still feeling anger, resentment or hurt, the source of the pain I felt as a grown woman must have been in me, because that person, event and situation were since long gone.  Realizing it’s all an inside job helped me stay focused on myself rather than dissipate my energy in pointless blaming.

2. Drop the baggage, it’s not yours

The more I observed my thoughts, the more I began questioning them. “You’re difficult.”, “You don’t deserve it.”, “You can’t.”, “Your nose is too long.”, “You have to work hard to pay your bills.” Who was saying all this in my head??? What voice did those thoughts have? Where had I heard them before? As an observer, I discovered that most of my thoughts were actually not mine. They were thoughts I had borrowed from others – usually influential people like parents, teachers, partners, friends. Some were “common knowledge” in the society in which I grew up. This wasn’t about blaming others for my thoughts, but simply realizing they were not mine, and dropping them. This was a very unsettling part of the process for me. If I couldn’t trust anything in my own head, what could I trust? I was in limbo between worlds for a few months. But, whenever I wasn’t freaking  out with thoughts that I couldn’t trust my thoughts, I actually began to feel lighter.

3. Catch snowballs

Once I had my monkey brain under scrutiny for a while, I was able to zoom out from the individual internal dialogues/thoughts to the overarching themes/stories of my life. There are recurring themes in our thoughts. Any thought that start with “I am …”, ” I always …”, “I never …” are keys to the story we believe and tell about ourselves. I realized the story was composed of thoughts, and the thoughts were not to be trusted, so the story was just that – a story, not reality. The tricky part – and I learned this later, not when I was in the midst of getting my world dismantled – is that life has a feedback mechanism built in that validates whatever story we believe about ourselves, thereby making it look like reality. If I say “I always have bad luck.”, whether through selective perception, the law of attraction, manifestation or the will of a higher-power(the mechanism is the same regardless of our story for it) I will have bad luck, and therefore continue saying I have bad luck, which will bring more bad luck. So the trick is to see the snowball effect and stop feeding it.

4. Write your own definition

Getting out of my old story felt very freeing. I didn’t have to be any way I thought I was anymore, which really opened up opportunities. But, although I felt happier, I also felt rudderless. After everything I knew had been dismantled, I had no idea who I was, what I was doing, or if there was any point to anything. Rather than panicking, I wrote a new definition for myself. At the time, I was nowhere near feeling like I was that person, but that is who I really wished I could be. This is what I wrote:

I am grateful to have chosen to be a free-spirited woman,
a whole, complex, beautiful free-spirited woman,
driven by passions,
grounded in self-awareness and love of the Earth,
committed to the protection of said Earth,
its systems and wild places and creatures.

That’s it. I wrote it carefully, but I wrote it only once. I didn’t have to repeat it everyday like a positive affirmation. I just planted the seed and continued observing and questioning my thoughts, like pulling weeds in a garden.

Another aspect of scripting my own story was how I related to events in my life. I realized that events are just events. They are never personal. We weave stories and attach emotions to them. I began scripting stories with positive or at least compassionate twists for events in my daily life. In painful interpersonal interactions, I tried to imagine the other party’s story. It didn’t matter if their story didn’t match mine. Their reality was as real to them as mine was to me. If somebody was mean, I’d see their pain. If events were happy, I harnessed gratitude. If they weren’t, I still harnessed gratitude for the lessons given and the opportunity to grow.

This part of the process required a lot of mental discipline, and I remember being exhausted all the time. I felt there was no way I could keep it up indefinitely. But, eventually, it became second nature. Now I find silver linings before the negative emotions kick in, or very shortly after.

5. Keep at it

At some point, I realized that there was no end to this process. When I started, I figured I was “going through something”. I figured once I reached happiness on the other side, I’d be home free. And in a way, I am: I am free to continue growing. Whenever I feel like I’ve reached that buzz of happiness and all is well in the world, I find a way to trip myself and uncover a whole new layer of the growth onion. At first I was frustrated by this – I created stories about how I had come so far and learned so much and yet still wallowed in the same old painful places. Then I started over. I watched the thoughts, I found he source, I saw the story, I changed the story.

And so forth …

I’ve been at it for four years now, and it really only gets more fascinating with time. Now, I’m almost more interested in the process itself than in using the process to get out of sad/depressed/angry feelings. I understand that happiness IS our natural state. The goal is not to acquire happiness, but to clear the mud that hides it. Then eventually, the goal is not to clear the mud, but enjoy it for the experience it is, knowing that the happiness is still there, at the core, forever.

So, that’s how I started. I had lots of help on the way. I met teachers when I needed them, read books that influenced my thoughts (for the better), met others on similar paths. I pondered and questioned until my head hurt. I started down paths that just died out. I had to simplify my life, sort out friends, learn to trust my heart, follow my joy, surrender my fears, etc. Although on the outside it might seem that I have been traveling, playing, working and writing. The adventure of awakening/growing has actually been my primary activity since the first step. Everything else has been accessory –  like the stage for the play, not the play itself.

I am sure there are as many paths as there are people. I really enjoy mine, but I don’t claim it is better in any way. I can only tell my own story. If it helps others, that’s wonderful; If it doesn’t, well, I still like it.

May you find your own happiness.
XO – Roaming Bobcat.

P.S: There is a good book coming out soon on the topic. You should read it: Crazyfreebook.com 🙂

Path to happiness




Life without money – Lessons from the early days

… Previously, on the Roaming Bobcat:
The Bobcat, in a daring move of blind faith quits her job at Ragged Mountain. It is down to 4 yoga classes a week (averaging less than $10 a class) and one occasional nude modeling job ($50 for two hours, once a week, when available). The motivating ideas were that all needs are always covered by the Universe and that all one has to do to receive Its bountiful abundance is to follow the path of highest joy and greatest excitement.

Yep! The first week was rough, and the only real bounty was in the abundance of lessons.

First, I had to learn to watch my language. 

“I’ve quit my job so I’m pretty broke right now.” “I can’t afford it.” even “I’m broke now but I’m sure it’ll get better.” or “I’m waiting for opportunities with an open mind.” are dangerous statements.
The Universe only knows “yes”, so when I tell the story of my life this way, I’m creating more being broke, not-being-able-to-afford-it and waiting situations.

Once I realized I was attracting the wrong kind of story to myself, I switched to facts “I have left Ragged Mountain, and I currently have $26 in my account.” That’s a fact, a platonic observation; it creates nothing but more observation of a changing reality.

Even more efficient is this: “I love teaching yoga in this room. The people at the Local Grocer next door spoil me with free juices and day old scones. I love where I live and have the most awesome roommates.” All facts, but these are facts that fill my heart with gratitude, and therefore  attract more gratitude-inducing situations.

You may or may not believe in the law of attraction in the spiritual sense. But, I think you’ll agree that looking at silver linings does bring more light into one’s life than staring at the dark clouds.

Next, I learned about ego sabotage.

Our creative self (that part I call the Higher Self) is intrinsically fearless. It knows that all is well, always, exactly as it is, because everything that happens is for our greatest growth which is for the greatest good. But our experiential self (that part I call the ego), is a little bit blind down here in the earth trenches. In the Power of Now, Eckart Tolle describes the ego as a part of ourselves we need to transcend to truly live in the present now, which is the only space-time that actually exists. He’s probably right, but the trenches is where stories are born, and I loooove the stories. I don’t want to transcend my ego, she/he’s the part of me that gets to play and try and fall and learn. If I don’t transcend it, however, I have to appease it. The ego will sabotage a plan for which he/she was not consulted and with which he/she is not comfortable. She/he needs to be tamed and pacified. A business deal needs to be agreed upon.

“Look, I am going to quit my job, but don’t be scared, I have a backup plan.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ll borrow money from Shannon if my situation gets too dire.”
“You’ve got $26 left and your rent of $250 is due in a week. It’s dire now.”
“But, in a week I have time to earn/manifest the rest.”
“With what? Yoga? Modeling? Looking through trash cans?”
I had no answer, so I just shrugged and figured I’d show him/her that all is well, eventually.

The very next day, my truck shell was leaking so badly that I had to call someone about it. $100 for the repair, and if we pulled the bed liner out, then it’d be more. Well, I still had my last paycheck from Ragged Mountain to deposit for $119. When I got to the bank, I discovered I was not at $26, but red and under. A charge of $99 from Amazon Prime for an annual fee I knew nothing about, had no recollection of ever signing up for, and most certainly couldn’t afford had been charged, causing $60 in overdraft fees. Ego Sabotage! I had unconsciously created a reality to smack me back to “reason”.

Then, I relearned to believe in magic – again!

I left the bank with my mind in a swirl. I observed panic setting it. I had failed again. I couldn’t quit my job and simply follow my heart, see? There were consequences! Whether through what people call “real life events” or ego sabotage, I was down, smacked and under.
I drove home wide-eyed. Was I to find another job I didn’t love? Was I to hold my stance and say, “no, I will only follow my heart, damn it. I don’t care if I go broke!” Oh, but I did care. I had rent to pay, food to buy, and to add insult to injury, my fuel light came on right then.

Yes, I did notice that my odometer read 198,944 just then, and that the license plate in front of me read something-444 and that that morning I had woken up randomly at 4:44 am. I had seen so many in the past few days that I looked it up. “444 – Angels are all around you. Just ask and you shall receive.” “Where?” I said! “Where are these angels and how can they help? There is no money in angelic realm. They don’t pay rent. They don’t need food!”

I hereby raise my right hand and swear that the events I’m about to relate are true and non-exaggerated through the filter of grandiose storytelling:
I was still upset when I reached home. I immediately called the  Amazon Prime customer service number.
“Hi, my name is Angel. How can I help you today?”
“Your name is Angel!?”
“Yes, M’am, it is.”
I started crying “I need to speak with an Angel! I lost my job (okay, I lied to the angel), I had $26 left in my account (that was true), and this charge came in for $99 I don’t know for what and I was charged $60 in overdraft fees because of it and I don’t know how I am going to pay rent or buy groceries and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do! (all true, though I sounded pretty dramatic about it all – probably more than the situation warranted).
“It’s alright, don’t worry.” The Angel said gently, “I can reverse the charge. In fact I’ll do it right now … There, it’s all back in your account. You might have signed up for it on accident, but our system is not set up yet to send reminder warnings about the upcoming charge. I’m happy to reverse the charge for you. Does that help?”
“Yes, a little bit. But what about the overdraft fees?”
“I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do about those, unfortunately. You will have to speak to the bank about those, but I’m sure it will all work out.”
She really did sound like an angel. I thanked her for her kindness and patience and called the bank.
“Hi, this is Angela, how may I help you?” – seriously!!

Because I was in good standing, the overdraft fee could be canceled, but only partially. I took the part that could not be canceled as the fee for that lesson.
So, that brought my account to $6.00. At least, I was out of the red.

Then, I had to learn to receive gracefully.

Oh, this one was a potent, important lesson. I have been on the giving end so often that I had taken it for granted that this was my position in life. I had never considered how difficult it would be on the other end. I call the other end “receiving” now because I have grown, but a few weeks ago, I called it “taking”.

“You are okay taking money from people!!?” one of my ex-coworker said disapprovingly when I shared that my backup plan was to borrow money from a friend.

Society conditions us to believe that it is morally wrong to accept help. If you are not self-sufficient, you are a mooch, a burden, a lesser-being.

Even worse, if you are a happy person following your heart – i.e. having fun with life – then you are not deserving of help. We are raised with stories like the Aesop’s fable of the ant and the grasshopper.

IN a field one summer’s day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart’s content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest.

  “Why not come and chat with me,” said the Grasshopper, “instead of toiling and moiling in that way?”

“I am helping to lay up food for the winter,” said the Ant, “and recommend you to do the same.”

“Why bother about winter?” said the Grasshopper; “we have got plenty of food at present.” But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper had no food, and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing every day corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew:


Well, I say, Grasshoppers unite!! What kind of society only values toiling and moiling? Is there no benefit to the community in the songs and joy of a grasshopper?  I say toiling and moiling is the easy way out, but it takes guts to choose the path of joy.

Luckily, Shannon agreed with my views. Just when I was down and under, sunk by the self-sabotage of my frazzled ego, $300 magically appeared in my bank account. That sum came with a lecture, but the lecture was nothing like that of the ant or other real people I have known. Shannon’s lecture spoke of friendship, true friendship, the kind that picks you up when you are down and applauds your flight when you are up. “You can’t always be on the giving end.” She said, “If you want abundance to flow, you have to be able to receive gracefully, and give others the opportunity to experience giving.”

The next day, I found a man who could fix the leak in my shell for $30 – In fact he fixed my entire shell, windows, outside seals and rusted locks for $60. A friend gave me gas money in exchange for a ride. I gathered enough fresh organic veggies to last the week by working on a farm. Two of my yoga students tipped me in addition to the regular fees, and today, I won a whole stack of superfood powders with a raffle ticket (which I got for free). The more I receive gracefully, the more magic comes my way.

What an exciting incarnation! So much to learn down here in the delicious earth trenches. I leave you here, before this story gets too long. Next week, if I have time to write, I’ll tell you about abundance, and how I learned that it has nothing to do with money.


cornucopia thanksgiving cornu copiae or horn of plenty is a symbol of abundance


XO – Mel.
Thank you for visiting. 🙂




Dear Summer Santa …

Isn’t it strange how, if you think about it, we never wish for what we really want?

The point was driven home to me this morning in the shower. When I moved in, my roommates praised the virtues of the showers starting with “great pressure”. Well, that’s great if your primary purpose is to get scrubbed clean as quickly as possible, but that’s not why I take showers. My showers are like the exhale at the end of a long day. I love a gentle relaxing mist of warm water to envelop me and calm me. I don’t like being pummeled. But, I didn’t wish for a relaxing experience, or even for a different shower head. No, I wished for money: “I wish I had the money to get one of those adjustable shower head.”


“I wish I had the money to get a kayak” actually means “I wish I had a kayak”, which actually means “I wish I had the freedom to play on rivers and lakes at will.”

“I wish I had money to go see my friend Rich in Nantucket” means “I wish I could see Rich, which means “I wish I could feel the specific kind of companionship I once experienced with Rich and assume will still be there when I visit” which actually means “I wish for companionship, in general.”

“I wish I had the money to not work so that I would have all the time available to finish my book” –> “I wish I could finish my book” –> “I wish I could do with my time as I please, whether it is writing a book or not” and

“I wish I could finish my book” –> “I wish I could share my story”

“I wish I had money to pay rent, to buy food, to put fuel in my truck” –> “I wish I could stay in the house in the woods with my favorite roommates, eat well and take care of myself, and be free to roam as I please”


Our minds are so conditioned to think of wealth as that green stuff or that big number on our online statement. My big number right now is $11. But, I feel richer than I’ve felt in a long time.

I quit my job at Ragged Mountain this week. I liked working there, but I didn’t love it. What’s the point of being anywhere from which you wish to be elsewhere? I decided that I want to uphold the statement of purpose I wrote on my birthday to its fullest extent. I will only engage in activities that make my heart joyous and grateful and nothing less, regardless of financial consequences (for as long as I reasonably can). The old model is full of shoulds and musts in that respect. I’ve decided to not abide by any should or must, only to “oooooh – I want to do that!”

So far, so good. It’s been tight, but not dire.

Starting next week, I will teach two more yoga classes, for a total of 6 a week – I never wish to not be teaching yoga. I’ve also picked up a side gig as a nude model for a drawing class because it amuses me. It pays about what it cost in fuel to get there, to the mountains and back. With the spare time that has opened up, I have been roaming, hiking and kayaking in borrowed boats. Between all my activities, I earned enough for rent, not a dime more. I was fed meals, and invited in homes with soft misted showers. I charged a few groceries run on a credit card that still had a little bit of room until max, thanks to the money Rich gave me last month when I worked with him on Nantucket. I spoke with a man about working on an organic farm this week. I’ll be able to take home whatever organic vegetables I want for free. And I am sharing my story, right here and right now.

I have tried this lifestyle before, but it didn’t work because I couldn’t squelch the fear of running out. Within a few days, the discomfort was unbearable, and the Universe matched me. The more I worried about money, the more I had reasons to worry. Suddenly, my tires were delaminating, a large bill I didn’t expect came in, utilities were more than I expected, and my yoga classes were empty. Ugh.

I don’t know what shifted, but this time, the process seems more fluid, more organic. I see the gifts, every day, all the time, and I feel fully supported – maybe even a little spoiled. I don’t know how it will work itself out, but it’s not really for me to figure out. This isn’t a matter of the head, it’s a matter of the heart. Trust is all that’s required to pull it off. Whatever “it” is. Living fully? Living joyously? Checking out of the shoulds in the system? We’ll see …

I am open to my experiment failing. I am open to having to return to a job I don’t love in a pinch. I figured this is like learning to walk on your hands. Maybe this time I stay up for 30 seconds before I fall. It’s alright. Maybe next time, I’ll be up for a full minute. Eventually, I’ll be dancing on my hands, and it will feel effortless.


XOX – The Roaming Bobcat.


P.S: All images from Google Images. Thank you!


Did I even have a choice?

[warning – this is a long, esoteric one, but it’s got some good bits ;-)]

Do I even have a choice? 
A meditation on 4-dimensional manifestation 

The quandary: How long have I been coming to New Hampshire (NH) before actually getting here?

The Path

Inevitable path to New Hampshire?

In the physical realm – that comfy place we call home during incarnation -, I’d say I’ve been coming here since December 7th, 2013. That’s the day when I left Bellingham to drive 5,500 miles to NH. But, do you know that feeling you get before a vacation, that feeling that your head is already there even though your body hasn’t left yet? I always leave before I leave and linger longer than my return. My energy doesn’t actually stick to my physical envelop. I go places in my mind. When did I leave for NH in my mind? I’d say October 28th, the day when I worked through my resistance to a Fortune Teller’s prediction that I’d end up in NH, meet an equal partner there, grow roots and build a home (See  The Fortune Teller – Part I and part II). That is the day when I mentally made the decision to come here.

Ah, but, how did the Fortune Teller know I was going to NH? Well, she sees the future, you say? I don’t believe that’s what happens. I think psychics and other divinators are just really good energy readers. I saw Michele on October 27th. So, even though I mentally decided to move to NH on October 28th, I already had NH energy about me a day prior. I was already going to NH before I knew I was. So, when did that energy kick in?

I’m sure there were tiny incidents I overlooked, but let me back up to the previous potent one.

On June 12th, 2013, I left Sedona with the intention of driving north in search of mountains. My primary destination was Banff, but I didn’t know where I was ultimately going. I was looking for Home – since apparently Sedona wasn’t it. I had meant to drive to Denver in one shot, but I stopped too many times to celebrate my return to the mountains and was still several hours away by nightfall. I took a random exit to a small town in the Rockies, hoping to find a stealth place to park my truck for the night. On my way into town, I caught a glimpse of a pub’s enclosed backyard. There were people drinking, dancing and having fun. There was a young woman with a fiddle and a tall lad with a guitar. It looked like just the kind of scene I had craved in early-bedtime Sedona.

Going north to the mountains

Journey North, in search of mountains and Home.

No sooner had I grabbed a Kombucha from the cooler and sat myself to watch the band that a handsome young man started talking to me. Our Kombucha conversation quickly turned metaphysical. Never mind the man’s youth – he must have been no older than 22 – the down-to-the-butt dread-locks, the ragged looking clothes and the unabashedly red marijuana-eyes, he was the real deal. In one short conversation, sitting at a pub, surrounded by a full crowd of merry-makers, he elucidated some concepts with which I had struggled for years. He was writing a book under the guidance of a philosophy professor at Berkeley. The focus of the book was humans’ timelessness and multidimensionality – A discussion of our true nature, including a full description of each realm and how to make the mental leap to each subsequent dimension, although he himself could “only” conceive of 7 (most people are hopelessly stuck in 3D), and some empirical evidence for his claims. I was tickled pink with fascination! We had so much to talk about that we decided to leave the pub for a less public venue. We drove up some dirt road to a viewpoint he knew well, sat on the tailgate of my truck (where he proceeded to snort a line of coke while giving me a detailed description of the process for my own trivial pool of knowledge and in full respect of my choice to not partake), watched the moon and stars and talked until well past midnight. I don’t remember his name and I never saw him or heard from him again. He was just a one-time unusual yet profound teacher on my path.

Multidimensional timelessness - or something like it.

Multidimensional timelessness – or something like it.

But, he’s actually not the one I need for this story – sorry I digressed, but that bit was just too good not to share. Right before we left the pub, the dread-locked man’s best friend joined us briefly. Both of them oozed gentleness and friendliness, and I enjoyed talking to the friend just as much. He had his own marijuana farm, made a living from it exclusively, and also drank kombucha. He asked where I was going? And where was home? I told him that was a trick question, that I was on a journey north, looking for home. He took my hand between his two palms and said “oh, it looks like you’re going to New Hampshire. Do you have a connection with New Hampshire?” I didn’t at the time. NH was nowhere on my radar. I wasn’t opposed to NH, I just had not thought about it. So, that could explain where I got the NH energy that Michele read. But where did I get the NH energy that the dread-locked man’s best friend read?

Again, I’m sure there is a myriad of small incidents I didn’t register because I wasn’t aware I had “I’m going to NH energy”. There was an incident though, that I do remember well. It was December 2009. I led a very different life back then. I lived in a big house, I had a National Science Foundation Fellowship to study the active crater on Mt. Baker. I adored geology, my mountain, and the bright scientific future I could see straight ahead. This one day of my old life, in the bathroom, I read an article in the Alpinist Magazine. The woman who wrote the article was from New England. She had shown a talent for climbing in her younger years and had decided to move out west where the big mountains are. But, eventually, she missed her family, so she moved back east, to NH. In the article, she discussed how she found that she actually climbed a lot more here than in the west because of the accessibility. In NH, you can climb in the morning and go to work in the afternoon. You can have a lazy Saturday morning, climb something rad and epic, and still be home for dinner. That article stuck to me. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like, living in a place where you have ice so close that you can climb it on your way to work. I never did anything about it, but I did casually think about that article often.

Have I been going to NH since 2009? Have I been going to NH since I was born? Did I even have a choice in this? And, what happened to the bright future as a scientist I had in 2009? What about the future of finding a home in the western mountains back in June of last year? Was I going to NH all along and any other future I imagined was just a fantasy? The Universe must have had quite a kick out of me, if that’s the case. “Oh, look how cute? She thinks she’s going to be a geophysicist in Fairbanks. Let’s not tell her she’s bound for a retail job in Conway. She probably wouldn’t take well to it right now. She needs to grow into it slowly.” Or does the future change as we change? Does each moment, each small “Now”, hold its own future, an ephemeral inconsequential target?

An ephemeral future of one of my past Nows

A glimpse of an ephemeral future of one of my pasts

Well, get this …

Here I am, having just the kind of life the woman described in the article in 2009. Last weekend, I took a vertical ice climbing clinic for women. I got up, had tea, drove to a climb, felt epic on some scary vertical ice and was done by 3 pm – plenty of time for a shower and a relaxing evening at home. On the way back to the vehicles, the instructor, Majka Burhardt, asked me how I ended up in NH. I told her I wasn’t sure, but that it might have been on my mind for longer than I am aware, ever since that article I read back in 2009. I told her the story of the woman who had returned east to be with her family and found herself climbing more than on the big western mountains. She turned around and said “Are you messing with me right now?”. Huh, no, I most certainly wasn’t. “I wrote that article!” She said. I was flabbergasted. I’m still not quite over it yet. My instructor for the clinic was the same woman who wrote the article that led to my moving here, so I could take the clinic, five years later. Seriously!

Go East – Alpinist Mag # 29

That just seems like a lot of weird coincidences to me. I had actually forgotten about the men I met in the Rockies until I realized I might have been on my way to NH since 2009, after talking to Majka. I was remembering not only the best friend’s prediction, but also the dread locked man’s explanations of timelessness and multi-dimensionality.

If time isn’t linear, then this series of event makes a lot more sense. My love of being here would be a potent energetic imprint on the plot of my lifetime. Three-dimensional beings don’t have a lot of elbow room about what they can create – though we try! – but a 4 or 5 or -12 dimensional being would have access to all times simultaneously to create this Now.

Here is a quote from Liz Gilbert that touches on the same subject:

“My thoughts turn to something I read once, something the Zen Buddhists believe. They say that an oak tree is brought into creation by two forces at the same time. Obviously, there is the acorn from which it all begins, the seed which holds all the promise and potential, which grows into a tree. Everybody can see that. But only a few can recognize that there is another force operating here as well-the future tree itself, which wants so badly to exist that it pulls the acorn into being, drawing the seedling forth with longing out of the void, guiding the evolution from nothingness to maturity. In this respect, say the Zens, it is the oak tree that creates the very acorn from which it was born.”

Oak manifested

Oak, manifested

So the Melissa who is currently in NH is pulling the 2009 Glacier Girl and the 2013 Roaming Bobcat into her current existence because she is having such a great time that she really wants to exists. This would mean that each Now not only has its own ephemeral future, but also its own ephemeral past. The intent to be me now is placing strategic acorns in the ground at key moments in my linear past (which all exist simultaneously in a timeless realm) to create a consistent linear plot line. I’m right now dropping an acorn in 2009, here is that article by Majka, which I know will stick in my mind because I can add the energy of just meeting her as fertilizer. Here is the acorn that will make me choose the freeway exit to ensure I meet the two Coloradans. And one that leads me to the Fortune Teller …

Acorn Unmanifested

Acorn, unmanifested

Holy smokes!!! Am I the only one here whose mind is boggled by this? If with each Now we are simultaneously creating our past, our future and our current reality, the possibilities are endless.  I already have the LaSportiva Evo climbing boots. Poof! – somewhere three months ago, someone is buying boots that are going to be too small for them, so that she can put them on sale on ebay where I will find them (I did!). Why stop there? I’m already a successful published author in my linear future. Poof! I just dropped a bunch of acorns a few years ago to nudge just the right editors and publishers in my direction. I’m already in a healthy, harmonious, vibrant, loving relationship with a man I’m just about to meet. Poof! I just created a past where I went through the ringer with other relationships to clear obstacles for the one who’s already on his way, and I dropped an acorn in Michele’s tarot cards on October 27th of last year, as a teaser – and because I know it’ll make a good story, because I’ve already written it. Awesome!

Oh, the things I’ll create!!

You should too. Get to it!

P.S: I found Majka’s article. I haven’t reread it yet: Go East, by Majka Burhardt

View from home

View from home, NH, until the next Now kicks in.

“Hi, I’m The Bobcat, I’m here for the ice.”

I’ve waited to write this story to see if it stuck. Now going on week three, I feel it’s stuck long enough for me to tell you this little bit of magic …

One of the main reasons why I came to New England is for the ice. I live smack in the middle of an ice climbing Mecca. Banff, in Alberta or Cody in Wyoming might offer the sort of easy access to world-class ice climbing that North Conway offers, but I couldn’t work in Banff, because I am not Canadian, and Cody felt too transitory, a place to visit, but not a potential home. So, I drove 5,500 miles, I found the room, I found the roommates, I found the jobs, I found the ice, I found the town, I found the life I wanted. But, I could not find a climbing partner.

Several people said they would take me climbing, but the problem with living in a world-class ice climbing mecca is that world-class ice climbers don’t necessarily want to burden themselves with a rusty-WI 3 (Water Ice 3, meaning not all that hard) climber. I grew more restless each day. I could see the ice on my drive to work, and still, after two weeks, I had not gone climbing once.

Finally, one perfect climbing day when I was left to sit at home while all my potential partners were out playing on the ice, I sat down with myself and wrote my question in my journal:
“What is the resistance I feel from the ‘Universe’ to my climbing ?”
I wrote “Universe” in quotes because I don’t believe in outside causation. The Universe isn’t doing anything to me. The world, its people and all events I perceive and interpret are merely mirrors of my internal state. So, I knew the resistance was mine. But why would I resist what I wished for the most? This made no sense.

This is the answer I received:
“There is no resistance but your own. You are worried you will be inadequate, never good enough, a dead weight to a climbing partner or party. You fear being slow. As long as you believe yourself unworthy of being taken out climbing, no one will take you out climbing.”

As I wrote of my inadequacies, I knew I believed them, and I knew I had found the source of my resistance.
“Yes. I see that” I wrote, “This feels all true, I do feel I am too slow to climb with the boys. I do feel I am somewhat of a dead weight because I can’t lead yet. But I would not resist a truth, so this must be a mistaken belief. Is this a mistaken belief?”

The answer reminded me of many other conversations I have had in my journal:
“Any belief is a mistaken belief except for the 4 laws*. You can be as good of a climber as you wish to be. There are no age or scope restrictions except for those you place on yourself.”


“How? How do I become the climber I wish to be?” I asked.

A list appeared
[I added the comments to explain each concept as I understood them when I wrote them. ]
1. Impulse of desire.
[ A desire is never born in our heart without the means to achieve it. If we can dream it, we can have it. ]
2. Set your intent.
[ Ask and you shall receive always starts with ask. The act of asking enables us to clarify what it is that we are in fact asking. It cleans the clutter around our desire, exposes ego-based wants, and focuses our mind on our ideal. The focusing, I think, is what starts the process of creation. Where the mind goes, the energy flows. ]
3. Trust in the process.
[That’s it. We wish upon the star, and then we let it be. We don’t continuously pester the star about our wish, because it’s not polite and it interferes with the star’s magic creation process. ]
4. Be grateful and mindful of opening doors.
[Once an intent is set, the creation process is in motion, but often we fail to see new open doors because we are so focused on closed ones we assume or hope will open. Here we need to remember that the Universe has more imagination than we do, and be ready for unexpected twists in the plot. ]
5. There is nothing for you to “process”, just experience with awareness.
[This is one of the greatest pitfall for those of us on a spiritual path. We think we can solve resistance to intents by “working through” it, when in fact, we feed the resistance energy by focusing on it. We are here to play. That’s it, that’s everything, and that’s enough. ]

In my quest for climbing, I had nothing to lose, so I followed these instructions to see what would happen.

I already had the desire to go ice climbing, bad enough to drive all the way around the country and move here.

I wrote an intent in my journal. I found that, at first, I was murkier than I expected about what I was wishing for, but eventually I found the core of my wish. I asked to value myself and be valued by others as a climber, and to derive joy rather than feelings of inadequacies from climbing. I wished for a steady climbing partner with whom I could have fun and gain skills, a partner who would benefit equally from our association. I wished to climb biweekly on aesthetically pleasing lines. I then hesitated and decided to not ask for that climbing partner to be a romantic partner as well, in fact, I wrote that at this point, I’d prefer to not have to deal with that aspect quite yet.

I trusted the process. I had asked, now all I had to do was nothing. I just had to stay open to whatever happened, knowing that it probably would look nothing like what I could imagine.

As a token of faith in the process, I sharpened my tool and my crampons in anticipation that I would be using them shortly.

The next day was sunny, crisp and cold and I was off from work. I decided to go at least see the climbs. I laid my White Mountains map on the floor of my room and made a list of the best climbing venues within an hour from my house, then packed all my gear and drove to the first ice wall, a mere fifteen minutes away.

On the way to the first wall at Cathedral, I realized that I had already broken the resistance. Nobody was taking me climbing because I wouldn’t take myself climbing. The world is a mirror. Here I was, taking myself climbing, therefore, the world would take me climbing. I was pretty sure of it, but sometimes divine timing doesn’t make sense to our linear-time minds. It could be a while before a partner actually appeared. I was fine with that. I could solo tiny ice falls for practice. At least, I’d be climbing.

I didn’t solo tiny ice falls for very long. Less than half hour after I arrived at the wall, another solo climber walked up to ask if he could share the wall.

Alan likes to joke that our climbing partnership started with “Hi. I’m the Bobcat. I’m here for the ice. Do you have a rope?” It was something like that …  I hesitated at first. I assumed that if he was soloing ice, he must have been clear out of my climbing league. But on the other hand, he was playing on the same wall. I asked him if he needed a belay. He did. I asked him if he had a rope. He did.
“Are you here by yourself?” he asked.
“Yes, I was hoping this would happen.” I pointed at him.
“Can you climb on weekdays?”
“I can ONLY climb on weekdays?”
He smiled. “YOU are my new climbing partner.” he pointed at me.
We had not even learned each other’s names yet, but I knew magic had just unfolded.

I have been climbing with Alan for three weeks now, and I could not have imagined a better climbing partner for me. His systems are bullet-proof, his anchors look straight out of a climbing manual, and he can lead about exactly what I can second. His belays are tight and I feel safe on his rope. He climbs smoothly and is easy to belay. We both climb in the rain, we both climb all day. We are the first ones on the wall, the last ones to leave. We like fat beautiful waterfalls, which we often have to ourselves because we climb on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We both aspire to the same level of harder routes as a goal for the end of the ice season. And, I actually like him as a person. This is the perfect fun yet challenging, drama-free climbing experience I needed.  We climb several times a week, always mid-week. He climbs with his girlfriend on the weekend while I work. It is perfect. Absolutely perfect! Right before I met Alan, if I had been asked to describe the climbing partner I wanted, I probably would have described a driven, hard-climbing, ice climbing guide, instructor or god. Scratch that. I want exactly what I have. Thank you!

I had never before been so aware of the steps involved in the process of manifestation, the process of creation from desire to physical reality.  So, just in case it is useful to someone else, I have shared it here under the pretense of talking about ice climbing. 🙂


The Somewhat-stationary-Bobcat.


*four laws:
❖ Number 1: You exist.
❖ Number 2: The all is one, the one is all.
❖ Number 3: What you put out is what you get back (the mirror effect)
❖ Number 4: Change is the only constant, except for the first three laws which never change.
(The four laws of Creation by Bashar)

The fortune teller – part II

The flip side of the coin


Alright, deep breaths. Now that my knee-jerk reaction to the abominable news that I am likely to meet the love of my life on my next roaming adventure has subsided, let me put on my (spiritual) scientists goggles and take a look.

The death card is not an indication of imminent death. I just let you believe that it does for an added dramatic effect – I hope it worked! The death card actually represents drastic inner-transformations. I was not surprised to see it. Drastic inner-transformations are all I’ve been doing for the past two years. Don’t be fooled by the hikes, climbs, paddles and incessant changes in location. The inner-journey is the juicy center that makes all my adventures delicious.

So, how did Michele pull the death card and that tall, handsome King of Cups that’s going to make me want to grow roots and make a home? Well, I believe that psychic don’t foretell the future, they simply intuitively read the energy we emanate. In most cases, the energy we emanate dictates our future by “the law of attraction”. I have been testing the law of attraction over the past year or so, somewhat methodically. So far, I have found that, for me at least, it works. Basically, the Universe only knows “yes”. If you project anger, you will find yourself in situations that really piss you off. If you emanate love and gratitude, your life will continue to look like a golden dream. The problem most people have is that they are unaware of the energy they emanate, and as Carl Jung said,

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will guide your life and you will call it fate.”

I have observed that there seem to be a delay in the manifestation process. So, the energy I emanate today might take weeks, months or years to take form in the physical reality. Physicality is just really dense and hard to create. If a person is unaware of their energy, they are unlikely to change it, so whatever they emanate has time to produce (or attract) a physical reality. A skilled psychic can “read” this hidden energy and use their intuition and knowledge of the deck of card to find the cards that match it. This is just my hypothesis. Some people believe that psychics do not foretell the future, but instigate it by planting seeds of what path to follow in a client’s brain. This wouldn’t work with somebody as contrary as I am – Michele is the first one whom I have not received with rolled eyes.

One of the reasons why psychics don’t usually work for me is that I enjoy picking apart my own energy. I think that the body is constantly sending us clues about its energetic state in the form of emotions (fear, sadness, etc.). When we don’t listen, these can become aches and pains or worse. Have you seen the quote, “If you don’t listen to Life’s little whispers, it will get its message across to you with a 2X4?” I like to disarm them before I get the 2X4. Sometimes I don’t know why I feel a certain emotion. That’s alright. Just the fact of acknowledging it and accepting that it is there is enough. It says “oh good, she saw me. I don’t need to get drastic.”

alpine lakes wilderness

This is what I did today: I processed the whispers. At the physical level, I went on the most amazing hike through the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. Loved the backdrop! Loved loved loved it!! But while my body enjoyed good exercise, fresh air and sunshine, my mind turned to the post I wrote last night. Never mind what Michele or the cards said, the clue about what energy I’m emanating is in the reaction I had to the reading. Have you ever heard of somebody so upset upon hearing they are about to meet the love of their life? Right. So, I knew there was something there worth looking at for me.

– Warning: I’m about to share my personal processing. If this seems too much, stop reading here. Thank you for your visit. If you have a hint of voyeur in you, stay right here. I have no qualms about sharing (I’m writing a book, I’d better not).

First, I had to admit to myself that I do emanate both “I’m looking for a partner” and “I’m looking for home.” Although I can honestly claim to be perfectly happy on my own, I can just as honestly admit to secretly hoping somebody will sweep me off my feet and join me on joyous romps. Intimacy and co-creation of adventures are just so delicious. Maybe some people can lead full rich lives without them. I don’t think I’m one of them. I’d always feel I’m missing out. Then, under that, I discovered that I might actually only be blissful about my current single free-spirit lifestyle because I expect it to end. Think of your favorite ice cream in the whole wide world, and you were so lucky to get the last scoop of it, ever. Guaranteed, that scoop is going to taste better than if you had it every day for the rest of your life. I think you might even stop liking it if you had so much of it.


I have fantasized about living in my truck for the rest of my life. My truck is my home. Why would I want to have a stationary one when I can have a different view out of my bedroom window every day? Again, I had to admit to myself that instead, I am not so different from that little bird in Dr. Seuss’ “Are you my Mother?” I love roaming when I am actually on the move, but I have noticed that whenever I come into a town, I size it up. I go from town to town asking “Are you my home?” For a day or two, I look at houses that have “for sale” or “for rent” signs. I imagine having friends down the street who’d come visit. I’d befriend the cashier at the grocery store. I’d have my own rug on the floor and my sand collection on a shelf. Sigh … But, either I feel I don’t fit (Denver, Portland) or opportunities dry up and I am gently asked by the town to move on (Bellingham, Ashland) or something else shiny in the distance calls me away (Sedona, Livingston).

So what’s the big resistance? Michele basically said I get everything I now know I secretly want.

AhA! Fear! It always comes down to fear. I fear that being in a partnership will require compromises. Compromises always limit freedom. And, freedom is a requirement for my happiness. I also equate container with control. I see a container as something in which I will have to fit, which necessarily implies becoming less or smaller than the biggest ever-expanding version of myself I could be. So, for a partner to be suitable, as I see it, his presence would have to enhance my life from its already perfect place. And, instead of being a container for my energy, he would have to be a perch to which I can fly at will or an open-face display surface, with big lights. Yes, tall order. It will be a special one who can pull that off, if he even exists.


The same goes for home. Bellingham was my home. Although I have left seeking something else, something new, because my heart suggested I might grow from the experience, I was happy there. That is where Baker is, and my favorite coffee shop by the bay, and Yogoman Burning Band, and a plethora of memories in every corner. It is not home anymore. It always welcomes me as a cherished visitor, but do you know what happens when you sleep on a friend’s couch for too long? Same with Bellingham.

After following the rabbit down the hole amidst pristine blue alpine lakes, I finally stumbled upon it. Yep. I fear change. How is that? The roaming bobcat actually fears change. Woah.

Well, you know what? It’s alright. I’m looking at the fear straight in the eyes. I’m looking at it so much that I’ve spread it out in the sun for all to see. I’ll take it with me down south and throw a little bit of it in the Pecos, and the Mississippi, and the James River. By the time I get to New Hampshire – or wherever I end up -, it will be completely gone, and that King of Cups won’t have such a basket case on his hands.

Or, alternatively, maybe by looking at it, I’ll dissipate the fear, and therefore no longer have that energy signature, and therefore attract something completely different, in which case, all bets are off.

In which case, I’ll just return to following my heart blindly …

New Hampshire White Mountains

The fortune teller – part I

Death and Roaming


Oh misfortune! I saw a talented psychic tarot reader woman today. I know of her talent because I saw her last summer and the energies she sensed in my immediate future were eerily accurate. But, this time, she pulled the death card as my immediate future. Apparently, I have still a few months left to roam as a free spirit, following my heart’s every whim, then I get to New Hampshire, and BAM! I meet my equal partner and true love. It gets worse … That man will be grounded, a perfect container for me. He will inspire me to grow roots and make a home. There was even a card with a picture-perfect nuclear family on it. Aaaaaaaah! She said there will be some resistance on my part. Why, yes, I can see that there will be. But, that in the end, I will undergo a mental paradigm shift and see that this is what I need most as a soul for my next stage of evolution. She said I will look back on this time of my life, right now, with sweet nostalgia, but that, in the end, I will fall in love with this man, and there is nothing I can do about it.

What need would someone as committed as I am to following my heart’s guidance have to see a psychic tarot reader in the first place, you ask? Well, it all started with a quandary …


Since I started roaming full time, back in October 2011, my path has followed a general pattern of big loops. I have just finished a loop and have been on stand-by at my friend Ana’s awaiting instructions. The instructions always come from my heart. This is how it usually works: An idea of a destination suddenly appears in my mind, much like a craving. The destination can be an actual place or a conceptual need, such as “mountains” or “sunshine”, or merely a direction, such as “east”. Next, come the giggles. The recurring realization that I can go anywhere, anytime, with or without a reason still tickles me happy, every single time. Next, come the fear and mental judgment of just how unreasonable my lifestyle is. Usually, the fear revolves around money. I never know ahead of time if I will find work. My budget is often just what I need to get to a next destination and no further. The last time I landed in Denver, I had less than $30 in my bank account. It can be unnerving.

You would think that after having a hot-air balloon land on me in the desert and offer me work, I would have faith in the process. You would be wrong. I have to wrestle with my ingrained old-world views and choose to trust blindly that everything will work out, every single time. On a rare few occasions I know what awaits me. In Denver, for example, I can always find a warm place at Laura’s and a fun job restoring historical windows with David. In most cases though, I have to take the first step on pure faith. The Universe sets nothing in motion until it knows I’m committed to the path.

The first few miles of a loop are always exhilarating. It’s like skydiving. I fill up the truck and we go. It’s just the two of us (the truck and me), the open road, unlimited time, unlimited space, unlimited opportunities, including that of breaking down and becoming one of those beggars with a cardboard sign that says “Need $$ for fuel, trying to get home” – wherever that is. On those days, my heart seems to radiate so much joy that it presses outwards on my rib-cage and blocks my throat slightly. Sometimes if my throat gets too constricted, the pressure gets released as tears of gratitude. I’m a happy smiley emotional weirdo for those first few miles.

Once I get over the initial rush, I can come back down to earth and enjoy my trip from a more grounded perspective. Different music, different landscapes and different encounters influence the emotions that course through my body. I get visited by sadness, self-doubt, fear, loneliness. I try not to judge them. Sometimes, I observe them like exotic animals at the zoo. What does loneliness feel like? I mean, physically in your body. Do you know? Other times, I track them back to their source, see what triggered them, and if I can uncover a pattern in my natural responses to the environment. It’s all very scientific. I enjoy the detective work, and it puts all those miles to good inner-work use. I have observed that although the “heavy” emotions are varied and complex, the “light” ones aren’t. There isn’t much difference for me between joy, happiness, love and gratitude in their non-rib-pushing normal forms. I find the feeling of bliss to be much closer to quiet, peaceful contentment than to some ecstatic jump-around exuberance. This state of quiet, peaceful love and gratitude seem to be the state to which I return when I am not processing heavy emotions. It is my default state when I roam.

It is in that energetic state of love and gratitude that good things are drawn to me as if by magic. The right people appear. The right opportunities open. Invitations to housesit and potential work find me. All I have to do is be open to receive them.

This is how it usually works, but this week, I cheated. Instead of waiting for my heart’s tug, I placed a demand to the Universe. I used Facebook as a vision board and asked for a quiet place to write. I asked for it in the woods, near mountains, with nearby walking trails, with some ice climbing, ethnic restaurants, and a few other necessities. In a way, it worked. I received four different genuine offers, all of which concurring to my criteria. But, now I must come clean … For weeks, I have been hearing the call of Appalachia. It speaks of New Hampshire. It says “go there via the south – New Mexico, Texas, Georgia, Florida, North Carolina and Virginia.” What would I do in New Hampshire? I would ice climb and write all winter then, come spring, I would fly to Georgia and walk back to my truck on the Appalachian Trail. My heart is ambitious like that. I showed it my bank account. Riiiiight. Not going to happen.


I didn’t even get to the giggles with that plan. I said no, this time it is just not feasible. That’s $1500 just in fuel, and I’d have no time to write for weeks. The focus must be my book, or it’ll never get done. I want to stay home, right here in the Pacific Northwest. It would cost nothing in gas – I’m already here. I could go ice climbing a few times in B.C., and use the dreary weather as an incentive to write. When I posted to the Universe on Facebook, I worded my demands carefully to attract offers in the Pacific Northwest. But, the best offer I received was for a room with friends (ice climbers and hikers) right at the edge of the woods of the beautiful White Mountains of New Hampshire. That is why I went to see Michele. I hoped she would shed some light on the conflict between my heart and my brain. Instead, she threw a whole bottle of lighter fluid on the fire.

“If you feel no fear, the adventure is not epic enough.” (I’m paraphrasing)

This is just a crazy plan, and I would know. I’m the girl who quit a PhD to go become a yoga teacher in India by charging it on a credit card. I know when I’m about to do something insane by the standards of mainstream society. My heart is tugging, but the giggles and fear have hit at the same time. I not only fear for my financial safety, but for my life as I know it. If we assume Michele is right, this could be the death of the Roaming Bobcat. Grow roots, make a home … sounds a lot like gathering moss to me.

On the other hand, this is my chance … I always say that I wish my life was more epic. I envision this as climbing the hardest routes on the tallest mountains or kayaking solo across treacherous oceans, but it seems the Universe has a different kind of adventure in mind for me. “How blindly will you follow your heart?” it wants to know.

I don’t know myself. This is the post where I pose the quandary. Now we find out …


If the world was more like the playa.

If the world was more like the Playa

A list of 10 suggestions for world improvement

by the Roaming Bobcat a.k.a. Maya of the Playa
(I have many names)

  • 1. Welcome home

If the world was more like the playa, airports would be welcome centers rather than threat screening gantlets. In this world, there is no need for passports. Language-proficient agents in welcome booths greet visitors in whichever manner is the custom of the country. A guide of the history and customs of the country, along with basic guidelines and a map is provided. For American citizens entering the US, for example, the custom would be a sincere “welcome home. I hope you had a nice trip. We’re glad you’re back” and a big bear hug.

  • 2. Artful urbanization

If the world was more like the playa, art would be fully integrated into urban settings. In this world, there is no advertisement, billboards, or no suggestion that anybody should consume more or act differently. Instead, art is on display as a gift to the community. Larger art pieces are accessible and interactive. Artist are respected as craftspeople and appreciated for their contribution. Urban dwellings are diverse and highly personalized but generally aesthetically pleasing and non-intrusive. Cityscapes, from a distance, seem like colorful beautiful chaos.


  • 3. Radical inclusion

If the world was more like the playa, individuality and self-expression would be prized above all else. In this world, anything goes, and it goes well. Anyone can live naked or fully dressed, and any state in between as appeal to them, with no concern of offending others and no risk of negative judgment. Crowds are colorful cacophonies of tall boots, revealing underwear, tutus, bunny ears, leather, hats, and plain old jeans and tee-shirts. Straights and gays and polygamists and people quite content with being single have equal rights and respect. Non-conformity is encouraged, but conformity is just as well. For those who prefer expressing themselves through group association, themed parades and gatherings are available. No one is ever judged for participating, or not participating.

  • 4. Places of worship

If the world was more like the playa, temples and other places of worship would be designed for introspection and inner-exploration. In such places, all emotions are celebrated. Grief and joy are equally expressed freely and openly. Anyone can design his or her own rite of passage and ceremonies and perform them in public view and with public support. In this world, temples are haven of silence with dirt floors for earth grounding and skylights for easier cosmic connections. Hugs are available on demand; alone space is provided otherwise. Occasionally, a person with an exceptional voice gives the gift of a song in soft tones. The message is always uplifting, personal and intentional.

  • 5. Community support

If the world was more like the playa, no one would ever feel lonely, unless they actively chose to feel so for the value of the experience. In this world, love is a free-flowing commodity. Promiscuity is valued as long as boundaries are respected. Boundaries are never judged negatively. Innocuous gestures of appreciation, such as random hugs, acts of kindness and compliments, are common place. No one is ever considered a stranger, and the community supports each individual’s growth with care and compassion. The individual, in exchange, takes responsibility for their own growth and only depends on the community as is appropriate. Kissing and hugs booths are provided for entertainment only, affection is a normal mode of operation.

  • 6. Footprint awareness

If the world was more like the playa, bicycles and vehicles of mass transportation would prevail. In this world, each person is highly conscious of his or her own carbon footprint. Leave-no-trace is so ingrained that it is second nature. Streets are clean. Trash is minimal. Resources are conserved and recycled. Vehicles, motorized or not, are well decorated and an integral part of the urban art scene. Art cars, as vehicles of mass transportation are called, are free to ride, but their destination is usually unpredictable and time-tables are non-existent. This works well because no one has an agenda or destination beyond the experience of riding on the art car, meeting new people and exploring new grounds.


  • 7. Free and voluntary education

If the world was more like the playa, education would be free, voluntary and widely available. In this world, children are encouraged to discover and pursue their natural talents. Learning is achieved through world exploration and self-discovery, rather than codified lessons. Everybody is a teacher according to their area of expertise. Learning is a lifestyle, not a side activity, and can happen anywhere simply by asking. There are also learning centers, with bright airy dome-shaped rooms. There, students sit in a circle with the master for the lesson. All classrooms have an open-door policy, so students can join or leave as they see fit. There is no stigma on any topic. One dome might specialize in practical craftsmanship such as welding, wood working, etc, another might offer workshops in tantric sex, understanding the sacred masculine and feminine energies or offer practice in applied manifestation techniques.

  • 8. Gift-based economy

If the world was more like the playa, the economy would be based on gifts and self-sufficiency. In this world, there is no currency, no Federal Reserve, no taxes or fees of any kind. Because each person is engaged in activities he or she enjoys, nobody feels they have to work, and nobody is ever forced to share. People of this world, however, love to share their crafts and talents with the community. Everybody is completely self-reliant. Either as individuals or within smaller communities – called village -, food, water, shelter is the responsibility of each. In this world, I think that would even be true of coffee – so that is one up on the playa, where you can, actually, buy coffee and ice. Unappealing tasks are few through the application of leave-no-trace by everyone. Communal toilets are the responsibility of all, and cleaning them is a highly respected and praised service to the community (another one this world has on the playa).

  • 9. Natural integration

If the world was more like the playa, people would live in harmony with the natural world. In this world, the weather and terrain are integral part of each person’life. The planet’s natural rhythms are part of each person’s basic education. With this knowledge, the community aligns itself to the changing environment and flows within the natural cycles. Sand storms, might, for example, be appreciated for their exfoliating properties, for the opportunity to wear eccentric protection goggles and for the surreal dimension they add to large art pieces. Heat waves, might, for example, be taken as opportunities to slow down, find a hammock and practice the essential life-skill of “being” rather than “doing”.

  • 10. Purposeful ephemeral

If the world was more like the playa, structures and effigies would be burnt to prevent nascent idolatries. In this world, people value experiences above all material possessions. The ephemeral is celebrated, and each one is encouraged to modify his or her dwelling, outfits and other means of self-expression to reflect continuous growth. These burns are the great celebrations that punctuate life and give a semblance of organization to the natural chaos. Some burns are designed for the release of pent-up energies. These are wild occasions where everyone can push their self-expression to whichever degrees they chose, whether it be public copulation, naked dancing, or guttural howling – anyway by which to release strong emotions before they can fester and become malevolence. Other burns are designed to release what no longer serves, whether grief, fear, old loved ones, lost loved ones, detrimental self-images, etc. These are solemn, respectful events, during which the community finds its Oneness. And yet, other burns are just for the pleasure of burning stuff and stare into the flames for a while.


You may say I’m a dreamer … but there are at least 70,000 others out there
I hope someday you’ll join us.




The Bobcat – A statement of purpose.

The Bobcat

– A statement of purpose –

To follow my heart blindly in all decisions, and in all aspects of my life
impervious to judgments, internal or external

To approach all experiences with faith, trust and levity
and always remember that I am here to play

To hold a vision of the life and world pulling me forward with anticipatory gratitude
and keep that vision as my compass for the next steps