I have cancer.

I am starting to get used to that phrase, even though it has been not yet two weeks since I received the diagnosis. It doesn't shock me now the way it did at first. Cancer.

I’ve been turning my inner shock into an outward one by using the C-word to create a reaction in people, at least when not chanting "I have cancer" inwardly to myself with every step. CANCER! I shout, watching people’s faces slide off into their laps.

(You have to get your fun from wherever it is. And life IS funny. It’s also awesome.)

Back to cancer. I received the diagnosis on Day Eleven. Remember that one? (Yes, and I dare you to go back and read all the posts since then while holding the thought that I was writing – no, LIVING – all those posts while having cancer).

[Blog (Non-channeled) May 2010]

Most of us are familiar with a feeling, upon meeting someone for the first time, of having known that person for years, if not lifetimes. Years later we remark on that feeling, as if you had always known one another, and use it as a basis for a special relationship.

But what about the little moments? The glimpse of a face in a train window sliding past you as you wait at the signal in your car. Two harried eyes peering up at you from the Up escalator while you are headed Down. Indelible images that stay with you and populate your dreams.

Who are these people? Why do they stay with you? Is there meaning to such a brief moment?

[Blog (Non-channeled) May 2010]

I’ve mentioned before some of the places I meditate: walking in the forest; sitting out by the beach; up in what Matthew calls my Zen room; in the shower; in the bath; doing tai chi; or sometimes just lying on my bed, eyes open. My meditation isn’t limited to those places, but each of them contains a clear space to hearing my inner guidance.

Today it was the bathtub.

Sometimes I put on music in the bath – usually a deep chant or crystal singing bowls or something from Hemisync – but more often I lie in watery silence, feeling my breath. The warm water supports my body, listening. My heartbeat slows a little and my breaths come evenly. Thoughts meander through quiet places. There is an invitation.