November 2nd, 2018
Streams of my father’s friends came into the funeral home to honor him and share their condolences. Many walked up to me and extended their hand and said, “Sorry for your troubles.” I couldn’t really understand at first what they were saying. As the line grew longer and longer, many folks told me how they met my father, shared a story, and ended with their condolences, “Sorry for your troubles.”
I was a bit overwhelmed by the number of people who came to my father’s wake and repeatedly hearing the words sorry for your troubles. I came to learn that the expression is used all over Ireland. As the poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama writes, “It comes directly from an Irish phrase, yet Irish has no word for ‘bereavement’ – the word used is ‘troiblóid’. So the phrase would be better translated ‘Sorry for your bereavements’.”
It was quite powerful seeing his wake filled with long-time friends and neighbors all sharing in our loss. Grief felt beyond expression – beyond words. Sorry for your troubles gave space to my inner experience of grief. The expression felt bigger than a condolence message. It felt like an acknowledgement of the enormity of losing a parent, especially someone like my father who was so loved and touched so many lives.
As the author, Liz Gilbert, says, “Grief is not an interruption of your life, but a braided-into-your soul aspect of it. We weep and we continue.” My experience of grief is that it brings me to my knees. It reminds me of how much I love and long for the connection that existed. And I am also reminded of how hard it can be for people to express their condolences or to know that grief lasts a lot longer than the days following a funeral. I know it can feel overwhelming to reach out to check in on grieving friends after time has passed after their loss. And it’s as overwhelming being the one experiencing grief.
Bearing the effects of losing a loved one takes more than weeks or months. It’s an everyday experience where sometimes grief feels heavy and other times grief inspires more love. The most important part is showing up, expressing your condolences (calls and cards are wonderful), sitting with those in grief; and if you don’t know what to say, you can always hold their hand, wipe their tears, and say, “Sorry for your troubles.”
This is dedicated to my beloved father, Ted Flanagan, who passed away on September 6, 2018.
Tags: Connection, Family, Grief, Irish, Liz Gilbert, Loss, Poetry
Posted in Letting Go | Toning the Om
October 13th, 2018
Thoughts swirl after grief. None of them seem real or capture the essence of loss. Sometimes I look for words from other people to help give language to the grief that lives inside my heart. One author who captures grief brilliantly is Joan Didion. In her books, The Year of Magical Thinking and Blue Nights, Didion writes about her experiences of grief and the echoes of aches it leaves behind. Each line feels like a deep meditation of the heart.
Was it only by dreaming or writing that I could find out what I thought?
In time of trouble, I had been trained since childhood, read, learn, work it up, go to the literature. Information was control. Given that grief remained the most general of afflictions its literature seemed remarkably spare.
That I was only beginning the process of mourning did not occur to me. Until now, I had only been able to grieve, not mourn. Grief was passive. Grief happened. Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention.
Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death.
You have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.
To my beloved dad—I miss you everyday.
Posted in Life | Toning the Om
August 7th, 2018
There was a time I was between here and there. Now I find myself between here and here.
I came across the above line in one of my journals and was reminded just how easy it is to move away from the present moment. I have released the notion of staying busy. I found the busier I was, the more exhausted I became. By making space for some quiet, I am able to find time for walking, watching sunsets, meditating, writing, and sitting. It’s amazing how busy we can convince ourselves to be!
As Thich Nhat Hanh says in his writing, I Have Arrived, I Am Home:
“I have arrived” is our practice. When we breathe in, we take refuge in our in-breath, and we say, “I have arrived.” When we take a step, we take refuge in our step, and we say, “I am home.” This is not a statement to yourself or another person. “I have arrived, I am home” means I have stopped running; I have arrived in the present moment contains life. When I breathe in and take refuge in my in-breath, I touch life deeply. When I take a step and I take refuge entirely in my step, I also touch life deeply, and by doing so I stop running.
Stop running is a very important practice. We have all been running all of our lives. We believe that peace, happiness, and success are present in some other place and time. We don’t know that everything—peace, happiness, and stability—should be looked for in the here and the now. This is the address of life—the intersection of here and now.
I have stopped running and I have arrived. For me, being here is being home.
Welcome home.
Posted in Meditation | Toning the Om
July 19th, 2018
As we become more aware of our thoughts, we can start to observe and listen deeply to the messages we give ourselves.
Take a moment and ask yourself:
Is this thought giving me joy or taking away my joy?
Spend 10 minutes each day observing your thoughts.
Watch where you mind goes and allow your breath to take you back to peace.
The calmer our mind, the more we can give and receive.
Give yourself 10 minutes each day to observe your thoughts.
Where will your thoughts take you today?
Breathe your way to peace.
Posted in Meditation | Toning the Om
May 29th, 2018
For many years, I would sit with my teacher and she would ask me to be mindful of my breathing. 
We would sit each week and take a few slow, gentle breaths in and out.
Often my homework assignment from my teacher would be an invitation to be mindful of my breathing throughout my day. I was to pause and take conscious breaths with each phone call, before each email, or meal.
My teacher would often say, “I want you to master your breathing. If you can master your breath, you can master anything.”
Want to join me in my daily practice of breathing with mindfulness throughout the day?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Let’s master our breathing – a breath at a time.
Posted in Meditation | Toning the Om
May 10th, 2018
This poem was submitted as part of National Poetry month. It is written by 15-year-old, George Ferguson. It fits into all that Toning the OM represents: mind and body meeting inner strength and possibility. I love how much George listened and learned from his own physical struggles and chose to rise up from them. His inner struggles led him to deep insights about himself. Congratulations George!
As a unique, young individual
with just the strangest issues,
physical abilities included,
from the incapability of using limbs
to being unable to keep my head screwed on my body,
led to classes,
led to lectures,
led to lessons;
bowling occurred first,
where my arms were twigs,
where they could snap at any moment,
while the ball flung from left gutter to the right,
going backwards at certain points,
and this was only part one of the project,
with my legs being the next step,
which strolled me to a path of dancing,
Irish step dancing,
where even though I had contained zero talent,
had no way of making my legs become pencils,
the people accepted me,
not only for my Irish roots,
but having a passion for wanting to become stronger than Ali,
wanting to become better than Flatley,
and that’s where the third step entered,
with my noggin latched into place,
different kinds of social issues on both ends on the spectrum,
where it became an incredible struggle,
that therapy landed right into my lap,
and even with the flaws,
the challenges,
the obstacles,
the maturity in me has risen,
and life has been a machine since the early days.
© This poem is the property of George Ferguson and permission to publish has been given by his family.
Tags: Inner strength, Poetry, Possibility, Teen Poem, Youth
Posted in Life | Toning the Om
April 17th, 2018
I spent four years as a cheerleader – from 5th grade through 8th grade. It gave me the
chance to use my big mouth and spend time with my best friend, Julie. We would have practices on Tuesday nights and then cheer the boy’s basketball games on Friday nights.
I wasn’t the most athletic or flexible. Some of the cheerleaders could do backflips all the way down the court. Others could flip from the top of our cheering pyramid. I was petite and strong. I loved learning the cheers and wearing my white saddle shoes. I wasn’t as crazy for the skirts and pigtails.
Given my height, I was usually found in the front of the cheering line. And keeping our lines straight and smiles on our face was an important part of being a cheerleader. We also entered tournaments, which included routines and loud cheers. Part of our routine was building a cheering pyramid. By creatively combining lifts, poses and dismounts, you end up with a sort of mega stunt that often impressed the judges. I was frequently at the bottom of the pyramid. I remember my hands and knees on the floor while another girl’s knee would lean into my back as we built a three-layer pyramid.
If anyone felt like they couldn’t hold the pyramid and needed help, they were to shout, “Falling.” During one tournament, as we started to build our pyramid, I felt uncomfortable. I could feel the pressure from another cheerleader’s knee digging into my back. I wanted to hold on and keep smiling. As we continued with building the pyramid, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I shouted, “Falling.” The other cheerleaders didn’t hear me. Perhaps my shout on the inside was a whisper on the outside. Suddenly, I went down bringing the pyramid with me. No one was hurt as everyone started to properly dismantle. I remember after the tournament the coach yelling at me for not shouting “falling” loud enough for our team to hear.
Looking back now, maybe I didn’t realize how much the cheerleaders were leaning on me (literally). Maybe I am still learning the lesson of leaning on people in my life. Maybe we all need a code word when we need support. Maybe when we feel ourselves collapsing, we can shout out, “Falling.”
Tags: Cheering, Falling, Support
Posted in Storytelling | Toning the Om
April 11th, 2018
Seven years ago, I began planning a week-long retreat that would take place on the Big Island of Hawaii. I wanted to spend a week exploring our wild cosmic heart. I had no idea that a week before the retreat a hurricane would sweep the East Coast. I had no idea that three weeks before the retreat I would have medical appointments and not feel well. I had no idea that my heart would feel so heavy and raw.
In November of 2012 as I prepared to leave for my flight, I thought of canceling – of staying home to help family and friends affected by the storm. I thought about how I would reschedule my medical appointments that were canceled due to the power outages from the hurricane. I thought about volunteering somewhere to help hurricane victims who lost everything.
When I asked friends if I should still lead the retreat, they all gave the same answer – YES. I listened and took an 11-hour flight to Hawaii. I arrived exhausted and anxious. When I arrived at my room, two large geckos were awaiting me. I barley slept my first night and, in the morning, I met with the Group Manager. She greeted me with a big hug and my eyes filled with tears.
As the week continued I knew I was in the right place (not only because it was Hawaii). I met so many people willing to explore their hearts. I met people who were open to being seen and heard. I met people who were willing to be vulnerable. As I sat and listened to the retreat participants, I became more in awe of the many people who live their life celebrating and tending to their wild cosmic heart.
I met Louise whose husband was dying of brain cancer. I met Yolanda who celebrated her 75th birthday with friends and a group of strangers. I watched Tina snorkel with joy as she swam in the warm ponds. I smiled as Angela took her first hula class. I listened to Francine remember that she can drum and sing. I took a picture of Susan sitting in her shamanic earth mandala, which she made in the roots of a huge tree. I laughed with Lisa in the water, like a teenager with the giggles.
Most of all, I remember that my heart felt open and grateful. I realized that when I open 
and invite others into my heart, the world expands. Many in the our sacred circle were longing for connection, community, and belonging. The Wild Cosmic Heart Retreats offers just that — deep connections through guided meditations, mindfulness walks around trees, shamanic journeying to the garden of the heart, and sacred play. In the midst of worry and responsibility, participants from around the world were willing to drop the armor around their heart.
I even befriended the Geckos, known to me as Heckle and Jeckle. The retreat was so powerful that I have taught it again and again. And this November, I will be facilitating the Wild Cosmic Heart Retreat at Kalani on the Big Island of Hawaii, November 4-10, 2018. Join us for a week of daily meditations, mindfulness walks in the luscious tropics, shamanic journeying, and homemade ice cream! What is your wild cosmic heart asking of you?
Tags: Big Island, Chakras, Connection, Drumming, Fire Ceremony, Hawaii, Kalani, Meditation, Mindfulness, OM, Retreat, Shaman, Shamanic Journey, Sound Healing, Toning the OM, Wild Cosmic Heart
Posted in Shamanism | Toning the Om
January 25th, 2018
Are you willing to listen to your most profound sound living in you and dream it into being?
Am launching a new shamanic teaching and journey program – the Drum and the Dream. It was time to birth new life into shamanic healing and teaching practices.
As I focused more on ways to nourish peace within myself, I meditated on nurturing a direct path to peace. This led me to my heart-center and connecting to my inner rhythm. Deep meditation and writing allowed me to relate to my personal rhythm and connect it to universal rhythms. This shamanic journey of the heart led to profound processes and my path into the Drum and the Dream.
Are you willing to expand the maximum capacity of your heart?
Perhaps by connecting to our own personal rhythm, we can relate to those around us in new ways. We can connect with our heart first and then our mind. We can connect on deeper levels, beyond the known and into the unknown and unseen world. We can meet each other with purpose. We can learn ways to release anger and open to patience acceptance. We can learn ways to relate to our own personal rhythms that live inside of us. We can step into the life we have been longing for.
Maybe it is time to embark on a deep personal healing journey.
We are all dreaming the world into being. It is not the sleeping dream we’re familiar with, but the waking dream we craft with our eyes open. When we awaken our power to dream, we can begin to create original dreams that allow us to embrace the ever-shifting landscape with equanimity and courage.
Welcome to the Drum and the Dream!
We will be offering the Drum and Dream shamanic teaching and journeys who will share more specifics of the processes and practices you will learn in the Rhythms of the East workshop/training starting in April 2018.
** Also, save the date: the Drum and the Dream Shamanic Retreat: Rhythms of the East will be held at Menla Retreat Center in the Catskills, September 28-30, 2018.
Posted in Shamanism | Toning the Om
January 16th, 2018
On a recent trip to Florida, I met up with my friend, Evonn. We walked around the beautiful Morikami Japanese Gardens. As we walked around the gardens, Evonn shared a story about slowing down. Evonn was helping her grandchildren get ready for school and wanted to be sure they caught their school bus on time. Her five year old grandson, Charlie, was in no rush as he wandered around the house at his own pace. Evonn was making sure his socks and shoes were on as they walked to the front door. Charlie came to a stop. He looked up at Evonn and said, “Tiny steps.” The pace slowed down and Evonn and Charlie walked to the door taking tiny steps. It was a lesson in being present and slowing down. In a time when everyone seems to be rushing around, a five year old child reminds us to stop and pay attention. Take tiny steps. Be present. Slow down. Be.
Evonn shared with Charlie over the holidays that she liked his “tiny steps.” Charlie responded, “Oh, I don’t do tiny steps anymore.” He had moved on into a new present movement. As my friend Evonn shared, “May we stay in the moment and move right on.”
We can learn a lot from taking tiny steps. And we can learn even more from a five year old.
Posted in Storytelling | Toning the Om
Streams of my father’s friends came into the funeral home to honor him and share their condolences. Many walked up to me and extended their hand and said, “Sorry for your troubles.” I couldn’t really understand at first what they were saying. As the line grew longer and longer, many folks told me how they met my father, shared a story, and ended with their condolences, “Sorry for your troubles.”
