The Stuff of Holidays: Magic, Tears and Blessings

Posted on December 8, 2013 by Baja Rock Pat

I’ve already shed a few sentimental tears this past week—at my cousin’s photo of her kids brandishing candy canes and big grins, all bundled up and piled in the car as they get ready to go cut their annual family Christmas tree; at the silly Christmas program on TV yesterday when Santa Claus made his entrance ho ho ho’ing as he passed out candy to those in attendance; at songs like “A Mother’s Christmas Wish” by Olivia Newton John (and I don’t ordinarily even like her music) and “Believe” by Josh Groban; and at movies I will always treasure, no matter how corny they seem to anyone else: “The Homecoming,” “Prancer,” “Christmas Vacation,” the cartoon version of “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” and the puppet versions of “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.”

It’s funny, isn’t it? How a holiday can have such a profound effect on a person.

You see, Christmas has always been my favorite time of year—a time of joy: the intoxicating smells of evergreen, baking cookies, roast turkey, hot cocoa, a fire in the fireplace, stockings hung by the chimney with care (as my dad used to say), colored lights and sparkles everywhere, the anticipation of the looks on my kids’ faces on Christmas morning, and the way my heart overflows with joy when making others happy. I get caught up in the rush of it all, yes, the chaotic craziness, fights with my husband because try as I may (and I really DO try), I always end up spending too much, but I do it because I want to make that one special day perfect for my family. My mother used to do the same, and those are memories I will never forget. They are the stuff that made me believe, and never stop believing—that dreams really do come true, and that real love never dies.

The older I get, the more memories I now associate with Christmas, and although all of them used to be good, that is no longer the case. My precious father died unexpectedly just days before Christmas in 2005, followed by my mother in early 2006. In deep shock and inexplicable horror, we were forced to bury Dad on a snowy and cold Christmas Eve that year. It’s hard enough to enjoy the holidays after you’ve lost a loved-one, but even harder when you lose someone during what to me had always been the happiest season of all.

But, such is the price of getting older, I guess.

My tears during the holidays now come with mixed emotions—joy for the family I still have, and the grandchildren who now grace my home with the laughter, excitement, and innocence my own children used to exhibit—and a longing for those whom I once adored but are no longer here in the flesh.

Each year though, they send me signs that they are still with me in spirit, signs that my husband would say are mere coincidence—like how my husband’s computer turned on all by itself the other night—the screen suddenly bursting with a bright, blue photo of the ocean, desktop icons along one side. I got up to turn it off, but since it’s a version of Windows I’m unfamiliar with, I couldn’t figure out how, so I simply turned off the monitor. The next day when I told him about it, my husband said that that was impossible; the monitor wasn’t even connected to the computer; it couldn’t have turned itself on or displayed that photo.

But it did.

And, when getting out of the car two weeks ago, I clearly smelled the scent of my dad’s pipe. Impossible.

Not impossible. For me, Christmas prompts me to treasure the blessings I have—a roof over my head, food in my belly, and all the other material things I have, but most of all, Christmas is a time to remember that real love never dies, and to treasure those whom have blessed my life in so many ways.

Thank you for blessing my life. (Written with a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat.)

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My Father’s Spirit’s Christmas Gift

Posted on December 19, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

This is coming from my heart. Unedited.

Six years ago today, I was stepping into my car, getting ready to go to work, when the phone in the garage rang. It was my brother, telling me that paramedics were working on Dad and it didn’t look good.

But it was too late; they couldn’t save him.

My precious father left this world just days before Christmas in 2005. We were a close family. Mom joined him 51 days later.

To me, Christmastime is family time. A time to relish the blessings I have in the form of my loved ones. And every year, I go overboard in spoiling them. I figure, what good are material things if not for sharing with others? According to my husband, I spend too much money on my family and friends at Christmas. I bake too many cookies and make too much candy; I have too many decorations and too many corny Christmas CDs. It’s true. I do. I can’t help it. It’s not because I think giving material things or causing people’s waistlines to expand are the most important aspects of the holidays, it’s because I use these things to honor those I love. Because to me, it wouldn’t be Christmas without the cooking, baking, gifts, and decorations, but mostly, it wouldn’t be Christmas without my friends and family.

And because of this, coupled with the fact that we lost Dad right before Christmas, I miss my parents more than ever during the holidays.

So last night, before I sat down to meditate, I was thinking about how much I missed my dad and I wrote in my journal about how badly I wished I could see him again—hug him, smell him, look into his eyes. And as I meditated, drifting to that place of serenity in my mind, I “saw” a black tunnel about twelve inches in diameter. The opening was small and it grew wider on the opposite end, like a funnel with the small end facing me. The inside of it was swirling and there were wisps of white stuff floating in it like threads of cotton candy. And suddenly within the tunnel, like the image from an unseen projector, was my dad. He was much smaller than in human form and he was walking toward me, calling me by the pet name he used to call me when I was a little girl.

Was all this just my imagination? I wondered.

Still maintaining the controlled breathing I use during meditation—slow, rhythmic, even, measured—I opened my eyes. And then I saw it—the outline of something moving and transparent like liquid egg whites. I could see primarily just the edges of it near the dresser in my bedroom. It was the shape of a human, but I didn’t recognize it as anyone in particular. And it was about eight inches shorter than an average adult.

A tingling sensation went down the back of my head and down my spine. Tears flowed from my eyes. I knew then, that the sensations I was getting, were my body’s way of telling me that this apparition was the spirit of my dear father.

I said out loud, “Is that you, Daddy?” as tears ran down my face and my nose began to run.

There were no verbal or intuitive messages from the spirit, so once again, my mind told me, “You’re just imagining all this because you want so desperately for it to be so,” but at the same time, a part of me knew. My body knew; the chills I felt were not imagined.

I told my father that I loved him. I told him how much I missed him. And the spirit lingered for a long time, as if it was working very hard to make itself more recognizable to me, but it never quite accomplished that.

Before I knew it, I laid down on the bed and fell asleep. I never sleep soundly, but last night I did. I slept like a rock.

Perhaps this sort of thing happens to other people on a regular basis, but it has never happened to me before, which was why my mind kept telling me it was just my imagination. But I’ve heard it said that imagination is the bridge to the world of spirit. I also believe that at Christmastime, there is a kind of magic in the air even more so than at other times of the year. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve believed this. And what we believe is more powerful than any amount of scientific justification, is it not?

I believe this was the greatest Christmas gift I could ever have received—the gift of love from beyond what I see with my eyes—the gift of love, which never dies.

Wishing you and yours the blessings of love and joy in the coming year.

–Baja Rock Pat

A Gift to the World

Posted on October 22, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

April 15, 2009

If you haven’t yet listened to Susan Boyle’s incredible performance, I urge you to do so. You are missing out on a source of profound magic.

And after you have listened, ask yourself how you felt when she sang. What emotions did it bring out in you?

Why do you think you felt that way?

What did you think when you first saw ther? Did you think this plain, middle-aged woman who had never been kissed, who lived with her cat, was a cliché for “loser?”

After her performance and she walked offstage, she was told that she’d been given the biggest “YES!” in the history of the show. Susan’s response was, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

What were you feeling then?

Picture yourself in that scene. Can you feel the pure elation?

Like the spectators in the video, I felt an initial skepticism by Susan’s outward appearance. However, when she began to sing, my opinion of her changed instantly.

Similarly when I listened to paraplegic triathlete Trish Downing talk about her accomplishments, I no longer noticed her wheelchair.

The same was true for my opinion of myself and my opinion of life when I had my mystical experience during Sammy Hagar’s concert. The moment my heart was opened, my life changed instantly. And like Susan’s beautiful voice and Trish’s beautiful spirit, I saw something beautiful in myself—things I’d never given myself credit for or permission for. I also saw clearly, the beauty in all of life.

Susan Boyle’s voice has enriched me. I don’t think she would have been such a sensation if she had been an attractive young girl in a designer dress. Her drab appearance was part of her charm. As she sang, it brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. If she hadn’t given herself permission to be herself, to get up onstage and share her remarkable talent, my life would be diminished. I wouldn’t even have realized that the light she’d had to share was missing.

We all have a talent like this. It is the key to self-realization. And it brings with it, the same joy Susan experienced that day. The same joy we felt when she sang.

We are awaiting your song.

Possibilities

Posted on September 26, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

December 31, 2009

Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I head upstairs to my computer to wrap up the final edits on DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD. But as I glance at the pages before me, my little notes scribbled in the margins, I pause. It’s almost done.

It’s also New Year’s Eve and a small voice in my heart is telling me that it’s more important to post on my blog than to work on my book, so here goes:

There’s something about the prospect of a new year that fills me with hope. Its possibilities are endless.

Lastnight I met with a friend I hadn’t seen in years. She asked me to explain what my book was about. I did my best to condense six years into a two-hour conversation. I thought I was simply recanting the story, but afterward, she hugged me. With a new light in her eyes, she told me that she was excited because my story had caused her to think about her own life. For years, she’d been feeling restless and couldn’t figure out why. She kept getting the idea that she was meant to do something important for the world, and yet, something kept stopping her.

After hearing about what had happened to me, she said that she now sees the importance of listening to her inner self and pursuing that which calls her, even though she still isn’t quite sure where it will take her. But now she is inspired to take that first step on her path! By my simply telling her what my book was about? I wondered. Wow.

To say I am humbled is a gross understatement.

She’s not the first to tell me this. After hearing about my experience, people have often told me the same thing, and I almost hate to say this out loud, but maybe this story is magic. It certainly has been for me.

I can’t wait to share it with the rest of you! Stay tuned; it won’t be long now. I have a strong feeling that 2010 will be the year.

In the meantime, keep believing in yourself. Use the new year, with its limitless scope of possibilities, to cultivate and nurture your dreams. You already have all the answers. You just need to give yourself permission to hear them within yourself.

Wishing you a blessed and happy 2010.

–Baja Rock Pat

Thunder in Our Hearts

Posted on September 24, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

May 12, 2010

We be shakin’ the walls, baby!

It was like an explosion roaring up from the center of the earth and flooding the hearts of everyone in the room. The drum journey was led by professional drummer Gayan Gregory Long and attended by Harley people, rock ‘n’ rollers, writers, homemakers, accountants—those from all walks of life. Wonderful!

Gayan and I became friends several years ago, when he taught the music portion of a grief workshop I attended after my parents died. The experience was magical to me and it showed me the role music played in my mystical transformation through Sammy Hagar’s concert in 2003. Since then, it has been my goal to help others find this magic for themselves.

Which is why I wrote my book. And also why Gayan and I wanted to present this workshop. There will be many more to come.

I wanted to give people an experience they might not normally have, invite them to step outside of their comfort zones, because you never know where your truths might be hiding. I had hoped that people might lose themselves and rediscover themselves through music like I did. I wanted to show them how sound can open our hearts and teach us new things about ourselves; because you see, I have learned that the avenues to self-awareness are as varied as the stars. So how do we know what’s right for us and what isn’t, if we don’t take the time to look in other directions? You just might discover a new star that no one has ever seen before. Even better, you just might discover that YOU are that new star.

I watched the faces of the participants as they entered the room and sat down behind their drums. Some looked intimidated; most looked bewildered. But the more they drummed, the more I saw their faces change as their spirits began to integrate some of the drum’s lessons into their hearts.

Then I witnessed smiles emerging, confidence building and warmth spreading throughout the group. Yes!

The experience was also personal. As I drummed, I felt myself becoming entranced in the beat—so authoritative, so strong, so real. When I quit worrying about whether I was supposed to be using my left hand or my right, or whether there were two bass slaps and one tone or two tone slaps and one bass, my body somehow knew exactly what to do. Apparently this is something I still need to work on—quit trying to be perfect and just be. The more I allowed the rhythm and the sound to take me, the more I recognized that I should be proud of my imperfections, because by struggling to be something I’m not (perfect) I’m not being true to Who I really Am.

I also realized that I’m already perfect in my imperfection, and I should celebrate that fact. I did—through the drum. It was like sending a prayer of gratitude through the vibration, up to heaven.

Gayan taught us simple beats and assigned everyone a job, to sing, shake bells or keep the rhythm. All of us somehow all melted into one hypnotic pulse. And when I became conscious of how good we actually sounded, my soul soared even higher.

During Gayan’s solo, I felt the vibration from his playing on the head of my drum in front of me. Isn’t this so like life? As human beings, we interact with one another and send vibrations between us. Only this time I could actually feel them with my hands, like tangible proof of feelings, as if to say, “Here I am, take me or not,” offered to anyone who needed to claim it without the duality of acceptance or non-acceptance.

Gayan talked about the sensation of holding the drum between our legs. I was surprised that he addressed this because the first time I held a drum in this manner, I thought something was wrong with me since it felt sort of sexual. I wrote about this in DANCE OF THE ELECTRIC HUMMINGBIRD. But it’s also symbolic. By holding the drum so close to our bodies, we acknowledge the fact that we are bringing it into a very personal space within us. Maybe that’s why it was so magical—its rhythm entered me in a way I’d never known before—just as it had done in the past.

These lessons continue to grow within me and the more I allow myself to go with the flow, the more I learn about life and myself. So I have to ask, “Am I playing music or is music playing me?”

If you fall far enough under its spell, you won’t be able to answer this question.

Christmas Mind

Posted on September 21, 2011 by Baja Rock Pat

December 18, 2010

As I look back on everything that has happened to me this past year, I try not to dwell on the negative because there is already too much negativity in the world. Instead of thinking about how my dear sister-in-law is no longer here to share in this happy time with us, or that I’ve lost my job, or that my body is getting saggier by the day, I choose to think about all the blessings I have, like my family and friends and how they’ve enriched my life.

I choose to think about how wonderful I feel when I listen to music or how I feel when I look at the colored lights on my Christmas tree: I’m immediately a kid again, a kid believing in a jolly fat man in a red suit who so unselfishly grants wishes to children all over the world in a single night.

I remember how I used to lie awake for hours in my bed on Christmas Eve, sweating under the covers because I was too nervous to move, afraid that if Santa heard me stir, he would be scared away before he left us anything.

Then in the wee hours, I’d wake up my little brother, tiptoe downstairs, peek around the corner, and gasp at what I saw. There stood our Christmas tree, shining with silver tinsel and colored ornaments, and beneath it were the gifts Santa had brought—things I wouldn’t have dared ask my parents for because they were too expensive—a cardboard corral and plastic horses, and a doll that raised her hand and turned her head when you pressed the button on her back. And right then, in my uncontrollable joy, I was absolutely certain that dreams really did come true.

I still am.

Some parents choose not to tell their kids about Santa Claus, maintaining that it’s all just a lie. But for me, that “lie” taught me to believe in the goodness of humanity and in the magic of spirit. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” by Francis Pharcellus Church. He wrote about how, even if we find a logical explanation for something, there remains an unseen world of magic that can only be reached through “faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance…” and that there is a boundless universe out there, the likes of which we are not capable of understanding through intellect alone.

I believe this with all my heart.

Appreciating the wonder of each moment as if it’s the first time we’ve encountered that experience, is something that comes naturally to children. In Zen, there is a similar concept known as “Beginner’s Mind.” As we mature, society tells us that certain things are impossible or strange or wrong. But every Christmas, Beginner’s Mind and the joy I felt as a child who believed in magic, is reinforced in me all over again. I’m going to hold onto it with even greater sincerity from now on.

That is my wish for you too.

In the coming year, let us strive to approach each moment with the wonder of a child and without judgment, wherein we may discover at last, the beauty, the magic and the truth that our hearts so desperately long for.

Clikc here for a wonderful video: The Polar Express

Believe in your dreams.

Baja Rock Pat