For my birthday this year, I am asking for donations to the collective container that is our Universe. Donations can be any of/all of/not limited to the following:
​

• Be kind.
• Self-regulate and take responsibility for your triggers and behaviors.
• Make art and dance and sing. Do this a lot.
• Don’t judge.
• Love and take care of yourself so you can take care of others.
• Celebrate that every day is our birthday because every day is an opportunity to rebirth ourselves anew with intention and beauty and autonomy and kindness and love.
• * Rest. Repeat.

Happy birthday to me. And to all of you. 🩷
​

As I write this I am acutely aware that some will think, “well what of all the other babies? What of all the other babies that have been killed since October 7th, 2023. What about the children of Gaza that have died, too?”  And I will say,” yes.” And we mourn these children, too. And that is not what this writing is about. This writing is about these babies.  And writing about these babies does not negate the loss of other babies, too. Both can be true.
 
Do not turn away from the murder of these babies because you are mourning the loss of other babies, too.  Both can be true.
 
And today I am writing about these babies. About Ariel and Kfir Bibas (know their names).
 
These babies.
 
These babies were murdered. And now they are dead.
 
On Tuesday, February 18th, just last week, we learned that these babies are dead.  That Ariel and Kfir Bibas were murdered.  Their bodies were returned on this past Thursday. They were supposed to be returned with their mom. With their mom who was murdered. Her name is Shiri (know her name).  Their murdered mom was supposed to be returned home with her murdered babies.
 
She was not. Her murdered body was not returned with her murdered babies. A different body was sent, that was claimed to be her. A different body was sent home with her babies.
 
These babies.
 
We held such hope for these two boys.  They were a symbol, we hoped, in a way that broke some barriers. Because they are babies.
 
There is something about the innocent that often times will temper the tempers. There is something about babies that often will allow for perhaps a bit of compassion and kindness to seep in.
 
We hoped that.  We hoped that there would be some love shown for these babies.
 
That perhaps they were nurtured a bit. That perhaps their mom was cared for a bit so she could care for her babies. That perhaps they would come home.
 
But no…
 
They were murdered instead. 
 
On Tuesday, last week, we learned that the babies are dead. Their bodies came home to Israel on Thursday. With a body that was not their mother. And the murdered body of an 85-year-old peace activist.
 
I want to write how they came home. I want to share what this was, this procession of depravity.  That they came home by way of a procession of depravity. There are better words than mine to share this with you.  And I quote Ahmed Fouad Alkhatib--

"The depravity of armed men thinking it's courageous to parade the bodes of literal toddlers and their [mother] as some trophy for victory; the sickness, evil, and stupidity required to believe that marching with a locked coffin of an 85-year-old peace activist [his name is Oded Lipshitz, know his name], an 85-year-old peace activist who did so much for Gaza's is somehow good for the Palestinian cause. Instead of having a parade for a dead mother, her two babies, and an elderly man of peace, their bodies should have been handled by medical crews with no armed terrorists in sight. This could have been done differently."

This should have been done differently.

​...
 
What else should I share…
 
Should I share that when Hamas marched through the streets with a coffin the size of a baby, that there was cheering. That this was a parade. Will it matter if I share this.
 
What will it take to notice this. To take notice of this.
 
Should I share that the babies were murdered in just this past November. Should I share that they were murdered with bare hands. That forensic evidence shows that these terrorists did not shoot these small boys, they killed them with their bare hands.
 
Hamas says “no” we did not do this. 
 
Should I share that Hamas claimed they had mistakenly sent home the wrong body that was supposed to be the body of the mother of these murdered babies. “An honest mistake.” They said it was an honest mistake. “My bad,” they said. 
 
This was not a mistake. They do not make mistakes like this.  They kept this mother’s body of these murdered babies to continue to inflict pain on a family. On a community. On humanity.
 
They released her body a day later. A day later she came home. “My bad,” they said. And then they sent her murdered body home.
 
What will it take to take notice.
 
This photo that is included with this writing today, this is a painting, by Ilan Block, of the Bibas Family. The Bibas Family are asking that we share this. That we share images of this mother and her babies. That not only Jews all over the world take notice. That everyone share this.  That this is a human atrocity not a Jewish one. That this is a mark on our humanity. And we need to take notice.  
 
The babies are dead. We are in mourning for them. We are in mourning. The Jewish Community is mourning. Are you?
​

So I’m back onto Facebook after a little over a 6-week deactivation.  I thought it would last longer—three months, six, a year, forever—but then the fires broke out in Los Angeles and we had these “wind events” here in Ojai and, well... Facebook is truly the best information resource out there for this.  
 
Like, the Ojai Community pages and the fire pages and the communications from our town government and our Police Department and our Fire Department and each other…. If I want to know something, it’s here.  And if it’s not and I post a question, it’s answered. In a nano second.
 
So I signed back in. For the two days we had no electricity last week and while we moved our very small generator from place to place around our home.  The kitchen to make coffee and to cool down our fridge to the bedroom to plug in our internet to Garth’s office for a meeting and back again to our fridge.
 
When it ran out of juice we went to our daughter’s house to recharge (not all of Ojai was electrically down) and then back again to do it all again.  Till the lights went back on, on Thursday late morning.
 
And then I deactivated again.
 
Until another wind event and what did I need to know that I might not get anywhere else and back on it again I went.
 
I changed my background pic. To my dancing fifth position feet for a week until this writing right now. 
 
As now I’m on it. And in it. But just a bit. I hope.
 
Right now I sign in, I hope, once a day. To see if there is something I need to know about the fires and the wind and our safety in this Valley.  I sign back in, my thinking is, just until this fire season is over (is California fire season ever over anymore?).
 
And I don’t scroll. 
 
And I’ve gotta tell you, this is really hard. I want to go hunting. I am an investigator with my legal mind and busy thoughts and wondering. And this place, it makes me want to spend time here. As the creators of this intended. To waste time here.
 
So far I don’t. Waste time. I sign in to see if there is something I need to know for our safety in this Valley and then I sign back out again.
 
Except once. Once I signed in and looked around a bit.  Once. Well Twice.  Twice.
 
So far.

​

So last week I wrote about this instantaneous Aha moment that comes when the shift is fast and, whoa, ok, here I am now in this new thing.  
 
And today I want to talk about the opposite of this.  Because this, this happens too.  
 
The thought came to me while I was in my ballet class this last weekend. I was watching myself dance at the bar and was friggin’ blown away, because really, look at my body’s ability to retain the structure and movements, the grace and intention, the totality of this dance modality without my brain even having to think about it.
 
The essence of ballet and the structural manifestation that goes along with this is so deeply ingrained in my body that it is my nature.
 
I can go for years without taking a class, and when I step back into this studio space, everything drops in and shows up in alignment and in a beautiful, beautiful way. 
 
My heart truly sings along with the music and movement of this class.  Not just because of my body’s ability to remember so deeply, though this certainly is just a wondrous and fulfilling piece of this dance puzzle— 
 
But the joy that I feel to be able to take these movements, and to be able to fulfill this desire to dance in this beautiful and profound way… My eyes fill with tears as my arms move in unison with the combination of my feet.
 
And so I’m in this ballet class and moving in this way and feeling my heart soar along with my Grand Jeté across the floor, and this thought drops in about these deeply ingrained patterns we have that maybe don’t serve ourselves in this beautiful way. 
 
These deeply ingrained patterns we have that have layered into our muscle memory nervous system activation, as this dance practice is for me, and yet they no longer are supportive, but rather are constricting and limiting and perpetuating of a story that is old. And then what do we do?
 
I have this. 
 
Layers and layers that smell of old sweaters and feel so comfortable and so familiar on my body, even though they are now too worn to keep me nurtured and cocooned the way they used to.
 
These layers are hard to peel away. They are sticky. They are facia-like in their ability to hold tight to the bones that are my true being. And they are confusing.  Because some of these sweaters, oh god, I love them. 
 
How do I give them up?
 
I am in the practice these days of rewriting my stories. These narratives in my mind that play in the background and come front in a moment they think I need them.  
 
“Thank you,” I say, when they drop in. “Thank you for showing up and let me take a look at you.  Can I try you on for a sec before I let you dress me in this moment? Can I make sure that you still fit just right.”
 
And I ask, “Who is wearing you?” “Am I five, or eight. Ten, fifteen, twenty-eight, or forty-five?”
 
And then I wait for the answers to drop in.  
 

I love when the sun comes into our home. When the light move and the shadows and textures, the line and space, change. One moment the couch is really blue and you can see the tweed fabric from afar, and the next, the yellow sculpture on the coffee table turns to this off shade of green, a color that I am sure does not have a name.  There is movement in a moment. In an instant.
 
And I love this photo for this writing because I’ve been thinking about these moments that happen when this movement moves fast within us. 
 
When all of a sudden something that you once thought was one way, it shifts—and everything that you believed was true about it all, all of a sudden you see completely differently. And that this is a really weird moment because in an instant, “poof” and you are in a completely new paradigm. (I love this word)
 
And I am reminded of that beautiful moment in the play, The Miracle Worker, when Helen Keller is with Anne Sullivan and water is running over Helen Keller’s hand while Ann Sullivan is writing on her hand in sign the word for water and all of a sudden Helen Keller has this moment, this epiphany, this “wow, this is enormous. This is huge. Things have names. Things have meanings.”  And boom, everything became clear in like a nano second.  And boom, an immediate shift from darkness into light. Into understanding. Into connection with the world. 
 
Our spiritual growth is often like this. 
 
With Helen (can I call her by her first name?) there was no question that this was so. That what she was experiencing was in actuality happening.  It was tangible and solid and landing right there in her hand along with the cool flow of water running through her fingers. Boom. Words. Boom. Meaning. Connection.
 
But in this spiritual realm…
 
It’s a weird thing for me sometimes. Because I have this amazing ability to create meaning sometimes because it softens the reality of things. To create meaning that makes things more tolerable. Because, well, we all kinda want that, right?  Get me out of the discomfort in that spiritually bypassing kind of way.
 
I’ve written about spiritual by passing before. I wrote about it in that speaking to God and the Universe and sitting in my higher self and oh my goodness the veil is thin and the portal is so easily accessible. And it is nice here, being the being in human being. And dropping back down into being the human can often be pretty fucking painful but you know we gotta do it because we’re here living this human experience on this Planet Earth School of Survival… So while you can step through to the other side of the veil, you can’t just live there. Just not part of the deal. And…
 
I am aware of this. The habit sometimes. Of creating meaning.  And then having to differentiate my story with the Universe’s wisdom. And so when, boom, there really is this moment of whoa this means this now, not that anymore, I often have to sit in this and make sure it’s the Universe and not me.
 
Does this make sense?
 
So I’m thinking about this, these days.  And really making sure I am truly stepping into the paradigm shift, and not bypassing my experience of something by creating my story of the moment that keeps me away from the truth of the moment.
 
Most of the time.
 

So I am thinking about where I’m at on this almost New Year’s Day, day before New Year’s Eve, Monday Morning Writing.
 
Where I’m at and what I want for this New Year.  And what I want is sweetness. 
 
No pressure or resolutions. No agenda or expectation. 
 
Only a wish for a sweet and slow transition into 2025.  This last year went fast, it feels.  
 
I do have a word for this New Year 2025. My word is ease. Ease. Easeful. Not easy. It doesn’t have to be easy.  Just easeful—with comfort and peace.
 
Wishing you that which is best for you as you step into this New Year, as well.  
 
And thank you for your support of my writing this past year. And all the past years before this past one, too.  I am grateful that you are willing to join me on my writing journey.
 
So here are my dogs.  I mean really, could they be any sweeter.
 
I think they have pretty much the same shape face and body except that Moose is wearing a sweater and Pixie is not. 
 

A Happy, Happy New Year to you.   

I remember, I think it was my sophomore year of college. I decided that I was going to write a paper earlier than the last minute. And I remember doing research on it and writing an outline and preparing and doing this organized, structured, and responsible process and my paper sucked ass. It was probably the worst paper I wrote in college. I know I got like a really shitty grade. And I decided never again that I would do that. That I would go back to what I always did which was wing it at the last minute. And be creative and pull shit out of my ass and be great. And that’s what I did.
 
And then I pretty much ended up doing that for everything else I’ve ever done for the rest of my life. Which is why I like cold reads in the theater, because it’s just spontaneous and in the moment and why I would never prepare for an audition and why I don’t practice stuff often before I do it and all of that.
 
And then I had an audition last week for a play that I really really really wanted. And I prepared for it and I friggin memorized the monologue and rehearsed and worked with Teagan on it and made sure that I had it down. And I fucking sucked the audition like I sucked ass like I walked on the stage to do it in an outfit that matched the character and started in and I was nervous—my nervous system was completely deregulated—and I couldn’t remember a thing that I had done.
 
And I had to stop and start again and then I had to stop and start again, again. And then I had to hold the script and even holding the script I spoke too fast and I wasn’t in character and then I got to do it second time where I got a little bit better. And then I got to read for some of the other characters that I’d also somewhat prepared for, and I sucked ass at those also. And didn’t get a role.
 
Maybe I’m not supposed to be in this play because I am in this other performance in Santa Barbara that I’ve been wanting to do for many years now that Teagan has been in, and has been directing the last few years, and I’m actually performing in her piece.
 
And I couldn’t do both. 
 
For her piece—I fucking thought it was a dance piece, which is my sweet spot, and it’s actually a voice piece which is awful because it means I have to make sound. And lately in my internal self-reflection work I’m learning that I am really uncomfortable making sound. And I have stepped into a piece about making sound where I have to make sound. Fuck.
 
But anyway, not getting this role in this play that I so badly wanted to be in and that I’m so upset about letting myself down on because I sucked ass on my audition is maybe a blessing because I get to be at this other production that I really want to be and also, that is putting me into this container of discomfort around making sound which aligns with the fact that I’m doing work right now on that. 
 
I didn’t realize that I didn’t like making sound. Back when I was unaware, I made a lot of sound in terms of raising my voice and yelling and being angry and dropping into rage. Sound comes out very easily in those moments. 
 
And then I stepped into a triad during my somatic experiencing workshops that I’m training in and we had an exercise around sound, and I had to turn my camera off because I didn’t want anyone to see my face while I made sounds I needed to make because it was just so uncomfortable. And I’m like oh shit man I just don’t wanna do this. 
 
So what’s that about? 
 
And then I was rehearsing the monologue for the play that I really wanted to get that I just sucked ass at for this audition, and Teagan was doing some voice work with me to annunciate better and wanted me to make sounds and I started to cry. Because you know I don’t wanna do that because for some reason… Well I’m not even gonna try and figure this out… it will come to me when I’m ready.
 
Anyway, I didn’t get the part in the play and I’m never gonna prepare for an addition again. I’m just gonna go in and cold read and wing it and bring it and do it. And in the meantime, I get to be in a performance of sound. And stand in this for a while.
​

I collect quotes.
 
Quotes, statements, paragraphs packed with wisdom.  Memes. Often they are memes. The current Prophet’s current communication vehicle. 
 
Sometimes I am like, “woah, this fell into my lap/phone screen in such a profound way. I must really need to hear this.”
 
Other times, I am like, “fucking FB algorithms.”
 
I recently deactivated my FB. Not because of the fucking algorithms. Because of the brain suck. I literally could lose an hour(s) at a time scrolling.  Well aware that I am losing an hour at a time scrolling and giving that some thought while doing it.
 
I have an AD(h)D mind and so can multi-task within the confines of my brain.  Often the tasks are in conflict, as is (was) the case with scrolling for an hour at a time while working through the process of not scrolling and how that would feel during the hour at a time.
 
While thinking of needing to learn a monologue for an audition while thinking about an old friend or not and what is that email that I need to send as a recap for my work and where are my dogs. 
 
My AD(h)D mind doodles. It is a way to keep part of this mind of mine so busy so the rest of me can pay attention to the task at hand. 
 
I had a funny conversation with my husband the other day. Well not really a conversation, I asked him a question. In the midst of the conversation. I asked him a question and before he could get like two words of his answer out I asked a different one. They seemed related to me. We laughed.
 
He’s got to get quicker on the answer or my mind gets bored and it’s time to move on.
 
Did you know that you can’t be in anxiety if you’re in curiosity?
 
I didn’t ever (like ever) think I had AD(h)D.  I don’t think I have the “h” actually—hence the lower case “h.” Though I do understand that…    I forgot what I was going to say.
 
This is a great quote— “No person can step into the same river twice,” from the Greek philosopher, Heraclitus.
 
A great quote, right! 
 
That has nothing to do with anything else I’ve just talked about but hey…. Well maybe it does. I have to think about this.
 
Did you know that the nervous system is constantly trying to regulate itself?  It’s called pendulation. I’m taking a training for my Somatic Experiencing certification. I was in my Beginner, Level II training last week for four days, from 10-5:30 each day. I cannot sit still.  
 
And this is cool, I have an audition tonight and did a play reading just this past weekend.  Lots of creativity going on.  We flew to Massachusetts for like 36 hours. My husband and I, for me to do this reading of a play that a friend wrote.  I had reached out this past spring with a “would you write a play again” request. And what an amazing play that we got to read to a small audience for feedback and reaction. It was beautiful.
 
A quick trip. We saw our grandkids. God they are so friggin’ delicious.
 
Here’s a great quote from my SE training teacher: “It’s difficult when we want to be in connection with ourselves, when being in connection with ourselves was dangerous in the past.”
 
Oh, and I took a ballet class last week. My back said “what the fuck” and my soul was like “this is the best thing ever!”
 
~
 
An afterthought:
 
This photo, with this writing, is an attempt at a “pano” on my phone.  I use this panoramic photo option all the time and my panoramic photos come out great. So, not sure why this one came out like this, this time. But so friggin’ cool, right!? 
 
I wasn’t sure of the best photo for this writing.  And then I found this photo on my phone and thought this would be a good one. Not an AD(h)D one just an interesting one. But then, placed below my title of my writing I was like “is this my AD(h)D brain? It is not. It may look like that to you if, a) you have an ADHD brain that looks like this, or b) don’t have an ADHD brain. For me, my brain is not swirly. Chaotic, yes. Swirly, no.
 
And here's the thing that I think this photo is telling me. It’s saying that maybe when we try to see more than we are able to see, it gets misconstrued and out of whack and not quite right. Maybe we need to keep the camera, that is our eye, still. And the breadth of our vision will enlarge when we’re ready to have those outside our vision things come into view on their own time.
​

​1.
 
Do you remember when you were a little kid and you would be making like an art project or something? I don’t know, with glue and popsicle sticks or pipe cleaners or something, and you’re making this thing and it’s falling over or it’s not sticking and not quite working right and your mom or dad or a teacher come over and they say you know what maybe you should start from scratch.
 
Maybe you should start from scratch.
 
It’s not quitting. It’s not giving up. It’s recognizing that what you were making no matter how hard you try to fix it with extra glue or with tape, you know Band-Aid it together… It just isn’t gonna happen.
 
Our government is like that.
 
2.
 
But let’s talk about being a Jewish student on our College and University campuses these days. 
 
The following took place over FIVE DAYS, from November 18th - November 22nd.
 
So, near Ohio State, pitiful face-covered cowards—who truly believe their outfits are cool—marched down the street with Swastika emblazed flags. 
 
Wanted signs of Jewish faculty were plastered all over the walls at the University of Rochester.  Four students were arrested in connection with these posters, as this act is considered an act of antisemitic vandalism (it should be considered a hate crime), and they are each facing up to 7 years in prison. (Good, finally, there are consequences to your actions)
 
A subgroup of the Minneapolis Federation of Teachers called “Educators for Palestine” hosted a 3-hour event last Friday with speaker Taher Herzallah (He is affiliated with the University of Minnesota), titled “Being an Educator in a Time of War and Genocide."…..  This is his quote: “Anybody who has any relationship or any support or identifies themselves as a Jewish person or as a Christian Zionist, then we shall not be their friend. I will tell you that they are enemy number one and our community needs to recognize that as such.”
 
At UCLA, Students For Justice in Palestine are all in on GLORIFYING THE INTIFADA. They violated the UCLA code of conduct 3 times already this school year! The year started September 23rd.
 
At the University of Virginia, Jewish students are being threatened with guns. By their “activist” peers. In their dorms.
 
There was a pro-Hamas walk-out at the University of Cincinnati.  Pro-Hamas ??!!!??!!
 
At the University of Missouri, they host a weekly anti-Israel protest.  A university Professor, Rasha Abousalem, often participates along with students holding signs that read “Save Hamas.”  
 
Columbia had a campus wide lockdown because of how unsafe it is for Jewish students, as pro-Hamas (pro-Hamas??!!??) students chanted outside the School’s Hillel Chapter.  They are demanding that Hillel be shut down. They are literally protesting the existence of Jews on campus.
 
At the University of Michigan, masked pro-Hamas protestors disrupted a talk about Jewish involvement in the civil rights movement. Masked?!? Like, grow some balls and show your friggin’ faces if you feel so strongly about what you are doing.
 
UC Berkely had a pro-Hamas walk-out.  Pro-Hamas ??!?!!!  WTF.   Participants were heard shouting “we don't want no two states, we want all of '48."  This is a call for genocide of Israelis.
 
Two Jewish students at DePaul University were assaulted while showing support for Israel, by pro-Hamas activist chanting “from the river to the sea.”
 
Hamas supporters (how are these students Hamas supporters, don’t they know Hamas would literally kill them in an instant?) at Sarah Lawrence stormed and occupied the Administration Buildings on campus.  They literally took over the Sarah Lawrence campus. They scrawled graffiti with phrases like “Zionism will fall, revolution until victory.”
 
At Stony Brook, in NY, banners are hung with red handprints. Painted red hands symbolize the “craze to see blood,” signify the emasculation of Jews and the desire for a "bloody defeat.”
 
At Harvard, students continue to gather and chant “from the river to the sea,” in support of the ethnic cleansing of Israel.  Don’t forget… even Claudine Gay (remember Claudine Gay) admitted that the phrase “from the river to the sea” is antisemitic. When Claudine Gay says you’re acting like an antisemite, you’re an antisemite.
 
A Teacher Assistant at San Diego State called Israelis “murderers” and walks around campus, with her face covered (of course) and a bull horn, chanting “from the river to the sea.” 
 
At Cal State University in Sacramento, Students for Justice for Palestine (SJP) writes the following: The Judeo Terrorist Zionist have had 100 years of unfettered time, and over 76 years of the worlds sympathy because of the Holocaust to lay their sickly roots. Zionist are disgusting humans and monsters.
 
Oh, and there’s new organization in town, FJP—Faculty for Justice in Palestine. Schools with an FJP chapter have anti-Israel protest activity that lasted 2.5 times longer and 9.5 times more days those that didn’t have an FJP chapter. In schools with FJP chapters, encampments were likely to last 4.7 times more days. Schools with an FJP group were 7.3 times more likely to have incidents involving physical violence targeting Jews than schools without an FJP group and were also 3.4 times more likely to have incidents involving death threats or threats of physical harm targeting Jews.   Not the most conducive environment for learning when your professor targets you for being Jewish, is it?
 
At Pratt, in Brooklyn, they are calling for the end of Israel.
 
I can keep going…. 
 
Nice, huh.

​Everyone who knows me knows that getting this phone, this is a knife in a trauma wound experience for me. Because I have technology anxiety.
 
I also have form anxiety which anyone who has ever received a (barely) filled out form from me knows. Like, what are all these questions and little boxes and way too many places for check marks? And I have to write clearly?  And in a tiny space? Seriously… my email will not fit on that line. And who asks for a home phone number?  And every friggin’ thing that the form asks for I can just tell you in like thirty seconds. Um, no. Nope. No forms for me. 
 
So this technology anxiety. 
 
You can’t touch my phone. Or my computer. Even if you are doing it to help me. Help me from afar.
 
And don’t lose patience with me even though am a little (a bit, a lot) bitchy about this whole interaction in this helping me bucket we are in.
 
And move slowly.  Like S.L.O.W.L.Y.  Don’t bounce around my screen if I do let you near it. Which I likely won’t. But if I do, move like a snail. But don’t leave that sticky snail track. Don’t fuck up my phone screen.
 
And don’t move things around.  Or change something. You have to tell me EVERYTHING that you are doing before you do it.
 
Better, don’t touch my phone. Just tell me stuff.  And S.L.O.W.L.Y.   Like talk slowly. 
 
But don’t be condescending. And let me ask questions.  In fact, don’t tell me stuff. Just let me ask questions. Even if they don’t make sense to you. 
 
Better yet, just don’t help me. I’ll figure it out on my own. You’re overwhelming me.  This is your fault.
 
And thanks for helping me.