It’s getting dark in this heart of mine. A darkness of peace. A darkness of quiet. A darkness that lets all my burdens drop by my side and wash away with the flood of memories that take them back to the sea. Looking at all my thoughts as drops of water and all my emotions as waves. Surfing those epic winter north shore sets, one after another. Body flooded with adrenaline and all my limbs spent from the paddle back out to ride yet another perfect wave to the shore.

Remind me not to wear my canary-yellow thong bikini for anything but sunning or beachcombing. Not swimming and definitely not surfing. Walking back to the house, alongside the narrow road, being so thankful that I had been able to keep hold of my bottoms on that last wave, them down around one ankle and my hand gripping them for dear life. Board in the other. Perhaps I really shouldn’t have even been out on these massive waves.

I couldn’t resist the buff surfer dude, who was a young marine guy, inviting me to join him. I could have played it safe and stayed back and cooked a breakfast for the guy, or been even more domestic and cleaned the house, but no, I had to prove that I was as brave as a man. Or was it just crazy stupid. Either way I survived to tell the story and to live another day.

My girlfriend, Patti, who is one of the few friends I have, that has been married 42 years, has always said that she lives vicariously through my adventures. It is amazing to me that two people could love each other through thick and thin and make it work for their entire lifetime and remain happy. I have a different core makeup that loves new, loves firsts, loves meeting and getting to know someone. I don’t do well with long lasting anything, except disciplined self-imposed behaviors, such as a daily routine like yoga, stretching, walking in the woods, drinking celery juice before anything else. I am a certified health nut.

I was told once, by a very wise elder and mentor of mine, Barbra, who has now passed, that I had a specific configuration in my Tibetan astrology chart, that meant I needed a three-ring circus in relationships. She understood it well, for she had the same in her chart. I would not be happy unless there was variety. That I’d have a different friend for each area, such as walking, movies, rock climbing, surfing, skydiving. You get the idea. I leave out the juiciest category. Let your imagination wander. Yes, I am addicted to the sensual, the physical body, exploring it and having new experiences with new people. I get bored with anything sexual that isn’t spontaneous as well as varied and creative. If a lover does the same thing time after time, I lose interest immediately. Strangely, I can find almost anyone sexy and intriguing, at least upon meeting and connecting the first time. It is the second and third time that is the key to my desire staying present with them. If they can’t bring the right key, the lock to my mind, body and emotions gets turned off, shut down, and locked up, and I wish them a kind ado.

She was sliding down, down into the deep blue sea of her mind.  It was a slippery slope with which she didn’t have any charts or tide tables to go off of.  She was a bold fisherwoman, a lover of scaly crustaceans and silver-bellied fish with their highly protrusible jaws and long based dorsal fins. She longed to swim amongst the brine shrimp, the slaters and sand hoppers.  She knew the dangers of wandering too far from the salty sea waters. She had heard tales of Lobster that perished from swimming too far upstream and the fresh water drown them. She reckoned that the same would happen to her one day.  She felt it in her bones, or rather her scales. 

 

She charted a course for the highest sea, the coldest of waters that still would allow a wooden-hulled boat to move thru its channels.  The ice formed on the bow. We tossed our nets into the still water, waiting for the schools of crayfish to gather and to sing their songs to the moon.  Their voices rose above the quaking of the icebergs. 

 

That night the sailors longed to be home in their own beds, far from the sea and in the arms of their lovers.  They could feel it as if they could sense the breath of their lover on the back of their neck as they drifted off to sleep.  The motion of the boat rocked them into a deep sleep, a coma from which only true love could awaken them.

 

Conner, the youngest of the men, who wasn’t in a relationship, was the only man who didn’t sleep that night.  He was awake to witness the bizarre happenings on that boat. The dance of the mermaids.  The merging of the winged, the webbed with the bipeds. The men, who were deep in a coma sleep where dreaming of being in their lovers embrace, but rather they were being animated by the movement and melding of all land and sea creatures into one multi-armed, winged and tentacled creature.  It was not unlike the rise of the Kraken.  It was something that Conner would never be able to wipe from his memory. 

 

He knew that he must remain awake and that he would somehow serve as a tether to this human world to which the men would return to, or he hoped they would.  He waited for a doorway to open through which he might be able to contact the men.  As he watched, he became mesmerized by the swirling, the rainbow colors that surrounded him and the dance that was pulling him deeper in.  He struggled to stay outside of the dream state trance that the others were immersed in.  He used up every ounce of his will power. He wanted to run, to hide, to jump ship and sink to the depths in the darkest point in the sea.  He thought he might escape this crazy dream.  Perhaps he was asleep and was, in fact, dreaming all of this.  He was afraid to let go and drift off and find out. 

 

He could taste the salt in the air, it let him know that he was, in fact, alive, awake and not dreaming.  When he dreams, he smells nothing.  He felt terror ripple through his body from the toes on his bare feet to the top of his head. He even felt the fear which made every hair on his head stand straight on end, reaching for the night sky.   He wanted to find a way out, a pathway that he could lead the men, one by one, to safety.  To live to see another sunrise as a crew that made it through this traumatic dance of demons from the underworld.  He felt the longing to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth.  He knew that even if it did, that nothing would be heard above the scream of the mermaid’s siren and immense wailing.

He reached deep into the silver bellied emotions that connected him with the other men and with the sea creatures that were all a part of this twisted and twirling dream.  He looked for a way out, or possibly even a way in, that would allow him access to break the ties that were strangling the men, holding them ransom in their sleep.   He had studied knot tying from the time he was a wee lad and could barely walk.  But he had never seen the likes of those knots.  They were other worldly, never seen by human eyes and certainly not to be undone by them easily.  Conner would have to dig deep, into his unconscious mind.  He would have to follow an inner guidance, one that was way out beyond his logical mind.  He set himself out to sea in a tiny dingy, thinking that he must distance himself from this madness to somehow be able to get clear enough to solve the whole mess. When he awoke, the sun was rising, the sea was calm, and he couldn’t recall why he was adrift alone in the tiny dingy. 

 

It is square and she is round.  He is too feminine and she masculine.  She has muscles and a six pack, and he is soft, with a beer belly and can’t see his own feet.  She looks desperately for a suitable mate.  Perhaps she needs to get another dog.  She watches Instagram videos of French bull dogs and now Bull terriers.  She is in love with them.  She knows that she has to take her time and go slowly.  Her Danny Boy, who will have been gone a year on Earth Day, which is coming up, was the perfect Mate.  He was unconditional in his love for her.  He had no bad habits and he swept her off her feet.  She has fallen into a heap.  Just now starting to walk upright again.  He was her anchor, the wind in her sail and the sun and stars in her sky.  He was her everything, no wonder she can’t find a guy! Who could top that Dan the Man. The peg doesn’t fit, she shouldn’t even try anymore?  Is love between a man and a woman even possible?

 

She thought about what was missing in her life.  It was different depending on the time of day she contemplated the question.  At night it always had undertones of sex and had to do with missing a connection with another human being.  If she thought about it first thing in the morning, then it usually had to do with needing more discipline in her life.  It had to do with a balancing act more so than a craving.  In the evening it was more of a primal craving that she really had little to no control over.

 

Her daytime self was into health, fitness and being on top of her own personal game.  She was conscious of how she showed up and how she moved thru her day and even how she balanced that with others or didn’t, which was more like it.  She didn’t want to connect with others during the daytime hours.

 

But then her nighttime self was all about connection with another, or more so, the lack of it.  There was a percolating and amplification of the darkest aspects of herself that occurred at night.  She started sipping teas that were laced with valerian, purple passion flowers, and tiny white chamomile flowers.   She craved connection.  She longed for someone to open up to her in a way that most people didn’t even know how to do.  She wanted someone who could be unconditional in their loving of her and their expression of themselves without filtering or self-monitoring.   Tapping into the deepest desires, accessing them and letting them run free with her. Dancing like two wild animals that romp in the wilderness without a care in the world.  Not monitoring or smothering the authentic voice.  Being honest and being vulnerable.

 

She wanted this more than she wanted to breathe.  She could make it thru the daytime hours, focused on balancing her time with writing, stretching, yoga, meditation and all sorts of inner and outer fitness.  She made it a full-time job just keeping on top of her energy levels.  But it was dangerous when the sun began to set. That was when she needed to amp up the self-monitoring and put her Higher Self on red alert.  She had to put the dampers on her desires and her cravings. Since she didn’t have what she wanted, she had to start the numbing down with the sleeping herbs.  She thought about finding something stronger that would narrow the Grand Canyon of a gap.  She contemplated what might fill the cracks in her longing.  She knew that really the only thing that would fulfill it was that divine connection.  She knew what was missing.  Sometimes she could self-medicate with raw chocolate, watching Netflix or even reading a really good book.

But somedays, like tonight when the full worm moon was upon us, it was hard to find that balance point, it was hard to smooth out the craving and put her mind at ease.  If the weather was better, she would hit the trails and walk under the moon and soaked up some of those lunar rays and see if it could dampen that constant craving. But she thought it might have the opposite effect.  Getting more in tune with the natural world around her could add to the intensity of her desires.

 

She needed to let her animal side run free.  She might find a way to do just that.  She is an Aardwolf. If you are unfamiliar with them, they are a type of Hyena.  Aardwolf means Earth Wolf.  She lives on termites, somewhere around 300,000 a night.  She is more cat than a dog.  She finds comfort in an abandoned burrow of a springhare or aardvark.  She is shy and forages alone.  She finds comfort in her 4 square kilometers of savannah and open grasslands.  She has 2 and a half months to get back to feeling herself.  The mating season begins in June.  She needs to be in her prime for that time of year.  She knows she will find that mate with who she can let her wild side out.  The silver moonlight will shine down on her as she raises her hackles and runs freely thru the night. He will recognize her spirit and they will romp, finding pleasure in being exactly what and who they are, wild, free animals.  They will wake up in their human form after a night of being Aardwolves and finding the common ground that connects them, soul to soul.  When meeting on the grounds of the Earth Wolf, they will remain open, vulnerable and forever honest to their core.  Next time you seek a partner, meet them in their animal spirit self in order to see their true nature.  There is no hiding when you aren’t in your human earth suit.  Humans love to hide behind the facades of their many layers of clothes like they hide from themselves and each other.  They long to connect and yet they run fast and furious from doing just that.

She was most well known for her ability to procrastinate.  She was considered a top-notch mentor in the field. If you needed to learn, she was the one you would turn to. She even had the nerve to charge for her services, since she was one of the best around.

She was manipulative but in the best sense of the word.  It was always when the manipulation was good for both or all the parties involved.

She was loved by all Jeff’s on the planet, or at least those that had had the opportunity to meet her.  We don’t know why, but every man that seemed to find her on dating sites was another Jeff.  One night, when she had this realization, she happened to be chatting with 3 different Jeff’s that all lived within an hour’s drive of each other in Central North Eastern Iowa.  It made her laugh out loud and say to herself “of course you are!” when the 3^rdguy that day, introduced himself as Jeff.   She didn’t have the nerve to tell any of them that her Dead Husband’s name was Jeff as well.  She thought it better to tell them face to face, so she didn’t freak them out and have them think her stranger than she already was.

 

She had a fast reputation for being extremely open-minded and this fascinated many of the men she met.  It was either that, or they ran in the opposite direction as fast as their little feet could take them.  This suited her to a tee.  She was only interested in those who were open-minded as well and had a quirky side and odd sense of humor.  She prided herself in being open to almost anything suggested by the opposite sex. She would try anything once.  I almost said as long as it was legal, but she really didn’t buy into the ways of the modern world with all its arbitrary rules and standards that seemed to her, to dumb people down and create a sheep mentality.  She loved wild and crazy suggestions, she would drive to the ends of the earth to meet someone who peaked her interests.  She would even travel to the other side of the pond.  She loved traveling alone so that she could meet new people.  She often scared men off from actually meeting face to face.  Many men could handle her when texting or even in video chats, but when it came to actually meet her, and it became up close and personal, many a man baled. They jumped ship and ran, tail tucked between their legs. She was alright with this as well, she didn’t want to waste her time and energy on guys that couldn’t stand both feet in the heat of her fire.

 

Her girlfriends liked to live vicariously thru her escapades.  She should have kept better track of her dating history.  It would have made a fascinating book or better yet a movie.  She would have been the first one to admit that she didn’t choose the best men to get into relationships with, at least in the first 50 years of her life.  She tended to bounce from a totally boring accountant or engineer types and usually stable to anything BUT that.  She would then choose a guy who was on the edge of insane and usually bipolar or schizophrenic or both. She was attracted to the artistic type who recited poetry, wrote music and liked to be on stage or at the very least, paid attention to every waking moment of his life.

After the death of her last Jeff, she decided to stay free and clear from being tied down.  Figuratively that is.  She decided that open was the new way to love.  She basically dated only her dog named Dan the Man for the 4 years after Jeff’s Death.  Danny Dog was the ideal partner.  He taught her unconditional loving.  They were inseparable, until his untimely death on Earth Day of 2018.  She realized that he had loved her so deeply and completely that he knew he must step out of her life in order for her to ever love another human being since instead, she poured her whole self into him.  She was on a mission for the remainder of her days to do just that.  She spent the second half or last 72 years of her life teaching others to free themselves from the constructs of their own limiting minds.  She led small groups of adventurous people who wanted to break free from societies norms and find their own unique happiness.  She saw herself as a beacon of light which focused only on revealing peoples deepest, most hidden desires to them thru experientially pushing them to face their fears and wake the fuck up.   This is what she will be remembered for from the select few who had the great opportunity to move into their personal power thru her strange and powerful processes.

 

For the rest of the people who knew her, they never knew exactly what the hell she did.  Many people thought she was a trust fund baby.  That was the furthest from the truth.  The only struggle she had was with her own family identity.  Her quest was constantly to stand out from her family. To not be called by the same last name. She shuttered when people introduced her by the family name. She resisted fortune and the family legacy with a passion.  Her passion ran deep and wide.  She would be remembered for her strange and unusual views on living a life of your own making.  In her case, of her own creation and vivid imagination.  She changed her first and last name when she was in her 30’s based on Tibetan Numerology.  She knew the secret that sound manifests form.  All of creation was sung into existence on some level and only a select few people over the ages understood this.  If you were lucky, she would have shown you how to create your own destiny by choosing your own name.  If not, then your fucked, she’s dead and gone!

She will be remembered for the quiet Magic that followed her. The flowers that seemed as if to sprout in her hair. She wasn’t the type of girl to go to the trouble to try to ‘look pretty’ or ‘be good’. She didn’t care what others thought about her. In the summer, she shaved her head, partly because she liked to shock people out of their sleepwalking ways, but mostly just to keep cool. Her hairdresser didn’t like to cut her hair like she asked, which was very much a guy cut. She had to negotiate each time for what she desired. Then she was reminded that she needed to wear some lipstick, which she agreed to, but then rarely did.

She will be remembered for the wings that unfurled from under her shoulder blades. Sometimes, when you sat behind her in a crowded room, you would see the fabric on her shirt shudder. There was often a quiet network of whispers and finger pointing from the back of the room.

She mostly kept to herself and she tried to blend in and not be noticed. She always moved through a room quickly, like the room was on fire. It was as if she might fuse to the earth if she wasn’t in constant motiog

Some folks swore that they saw her, either late in the evenings when the moon was full or very early in the mornings as the sun was beginning to rise and the sky was a deep shade of blue-grey…up high in the heavens – doing loop-de-loops with other smaller birds and dive bombing trees only to pull out before impact. The Ravens liked to chase and taunt her like they do a predatory Red Tail Hawk or Tawny Owl. It was all in a friendly play and enjoyable to watch if you happened to be awake at those hours. Most of the world was asleep in their boob tube watching habit that overtook them from sunset to sunrise, broken only by their passing out, to sleep as if to dream.

She always had a sideways smirk on her lips. Did she know something that we didn’t? Did she know some of the secrets of the Universe, like Being Present without expectations or regrets and being grateful for exactly what happened? She certainly knew how to have her glass filled to full and overflowing without feeling overwhelmed or drained in the slightest.

She will be remembered for her unusual way of listening intently and speaking only when there was utter silence. Her voice blended in and became one with the silence. Some words would float like a soap bubble and glisten with rainbow hues that enlivened our senses. But no one could ever hold onto her words, they flew right out the window and out of the memory cells. Somehow her words were more like music, to be heard and to inspire, but then let go and let them fly free. They weren’t meant for the human spectrum of hearing or knowing. They were catalysts for inner change and for starting uprisings of love.

Her motto was to ” Live Love Everyday” and she walked that from the moment her feet touched down on the old oak floorboards of her weathered turn of the century farmhouse…until she passed out again and her head hit her rather flat feather pillow. She had gathered fallen feathers on the forest floor from all the birds that lived there and she swore that it made her sleep without the need for companionship. She was a loner, agreed to never marry after the death of her third, or was it her fourth marriage. She counted it, 3 and a half. How is that? How do you have half a marriage?

She never put anything to paper. She said she was an open book, but how can you read something that has never and will never be written? She was to be forgotten. Her time was fleeting, her ways were odd and she might even be a tune you hum to yourself rather than someone you remember.

It was the Magic that surrounded her that you would be more likely to recall. The feeling that you got when you were in the same room. You just knew that there was a higher purpose, a grand scheme and that you and she were all a part of it. We all had roles to play and there was no doing it wrong, she made certain of this.

She will be remembered in the songs we sing and the stories we tell as we sit around the campfire. The flames rising higher and the heat almost melting faces like it melts our worries and tensions from the day, the smoke drifting gently off into space leaving a calm and contentment deep within.

To her Music was Magic. Anything with a great beat or a story to be told caught her attention. We all think she was here, but there is no proof of it. She was sort of like stories we tell small children of the Easter Bunny or Santa Clause that become real.

The oddest thing we will remember is that no one ever caught her on film. Her image somehow just wasn’t there. The air was thick and the sunlight glistened, but somehow she wasn’t captured. Perhaps she wasn’t here at all.

Yet the final proof of her is in the pudding, or in her case the Pies. She loved fruit pies. You could always win her over with a fresh baked Raspberry or Peach Pie. It was the best way to get her attention. They had to be sugar-free as well as grain free, crusts molded from crushed nuts and dates and the fresh fruit brimming over with juicy goodness. We might be able to conclude she was here simply by the volumes of pies that were consumed by her. Is something missing, proof of Existence?!

He draws near, giving off sparks in the darkness, like a flashlight, beaming straight into my vulnerable heart. Those eyes, those eyes, always drawing me in deeper. I slide down the slippery mud banks in the darkness and find myself surrounded by a prism of rainbow light that permeates me and warms my limbs, I fall asleep and dream of his piercing, loving gaze. We frolic in the tall grasses, they brush gently on my cheeks, we roll down the grassy green hillside and fall into a pile of ultraviolet feathers, fallen moonbeams, and mounds of golden-hued rose petals. We lounge there into the wee hours of the morning. I hear him whimpering as he dreams of chasing the golden squirrel from treetop to treetop. To leap as if to fly.

Ours was the truest love affair. From that moment I saw him in the Escondido Animal Shelter in that room filled with Pit Bulls and he stretched up to reach for me and told me he wanted to teach me to love deeper. I had no idea what was in store. I’ve literally followed him for the past 6 and a half years. He out in front and center. He has taken me thru storms, lost at sea, waves rocking my boat until it felt like there was no horizon left. Then we awaken to the sunrise, together, side by side, calm seas, warm glow of the sun kissing our bodies. We have weathered many storms together. I thought for sure he would outlive my father, who he loved deeply and completely. We learned to find joy in simple things together. Treats after pooping, or upon entering his grandparents’ house. All he had to do was stare and bark until he got what he wanted. Daily walks, my fair-weather friend, would peek out the doggie door to see if it was raining or snowing and decide to stay in until absolutely necessary, then to run on tippy toes and back inside to the warmth of the couch and blankets to snuggle with me even longer.

I will honor his memory by doing the downward dog, stretching like he did daily upon getting up from any seated or lying position. We would do this together. 4 feet on the ground and butts in the air. He was a natural, I a copycat.

I learned all I know about unconditional loving from him. Who was the master and who the pupil? I wasn’t a good dog owner if you think that requires discipline and being the alpha in command. I was in awe and reverence to this sacred soul in a little doggie suit. I would do anything to make his life more comfortable and enjoyable. When I traveled I would always bring him a new toy, and he treated each with respect and took such joy in each and every one. He never chewed up a stuffed animal like a normal dog. He loved them and liked to sleep with his favorite at the time under his head for a pillow. Lately, it has been a round giraffe. He liked teasing me with it, acting like I could actually have it, then withholding the prize from me.

I don’t think I can part with his toys. They will be a gentle reminder of his daily sweet nature and my love for him. Is it crazy that I want to give him the bunny and the moose that I kept out of his reach and called my toys? Is it crazy to want to send them to rest with him when I bury him out on the back 40? I know he’s in the spirit world and not the physical, but something about me letting go of them now gives me a sense of abundance and doing the right thing. Crazy, I know, call me crazy. Crazy in Love with a Dog named Dan. Who also answered to Sheridan, Dan the Man, Danny Dog, Danno the Manno, BoBo, BooBoo, Little Buddha Boy, Dan-zer, Dan-Dan, Pooh Bear, Lil’ Darlin, Danny Doodle, Bob, Bubba, and Daniel Boone.