What's The Worst That Could Happen?

My mother used to ask me this quetion when I would be fretful with worry over something. When I was seven, this seemed to be a constant condition for me. We had moved many times by the time I was newly seven. We moved again, sometime after the school year had already started. I had grown fond of Mrs. Bennett, my second grade teacher at La Marina. I had survived the wetting-my-pants-at-school-on-a-rainy-day incident, the fire on the field at school where nobody did what we learned during fire drills. I even went unscathed by the incident of seeing one of my older sisters in the hall with a big dollop of bird poop on her shoulder. And, just like that, all that I had been through seemed like a day at the Fair compared to the way I felt at Pacific School on my first day, mid year. I was thrust into a classroom with kids I didn't know, forced to sit in the front, at a table instead of at a desk with the other kids, and told to copy the spelling words on the chart, by my new teacher, Mrs. Yez. Ohhhh, my stomach instinctually curls up into a nervous ball at the thought of that fateful day. Mrs Yez was cold, hard, very old and from my adult perspective, way way past the prime age of retirement. The woman was actually a hazard to the children she was hired to teach, and care for during their very formative years. I have come to see the age of seven as the magic age. The age when we become ourselves. We are all pretty much the same person we were at seven, with more experience more self control and perhaps a more worldly view of things. I was sensitive, quiet, introspective, secretly very funny, tall for my age, had a spark of confidence that would later ignite into the fire that now burns brightly within me. Oh, but I digress. Back to second grade. The first thing I did on that day was copy the wrong spelling words.



My memeory has edited much of this year from my grasp. I can tell you that I spent a lot of time in the school nurse's office with a tummy ache (yeah- my third chakra- gut feeling was telling me to do what ever I needed to do to keep away from Mrs. Yez!), I stayed home a lot with "illness". I even remember meeting with the school principal on a couple of occasions to discuss any "problems" I was having. Pretty simply, the only problem I had was that sticky black energy in front of the classroom that was trying her best to extinguish any light she saw. That year, I read lots of picture books with one foot crossed over my bent knee, lying on the nurse's table/bed. It was fine when I took care of myself. When I was forced to bear witness to Mrs. Yez's contained cruelty, I saw how she treated the boy who fell back in his chair (yes he was tipping it- he was, a boy, though- not doing anything abnormal or unexpected for such a gender) who had a smear of blood on his hand as it passed through his hair at the impact sight, I ached inside with grief. She would not even permit him to go to the nurses office. I had probably used up all the nurses passes by then. I am so sorry Peter.



The best thing that happened in second grade is that I met my first best friend, Lara. Lara had long, shining, wavy, thick hair and brown eyes. She was sweet and practical and my gut feeling told me she was a true friend. From my perspective at thirty nine, I can confirm that my insticts at seven were correct. Lara remains one of my closest friends and one of the most important people in my life.



Lara and I talk almost every day. We both contract with the same cellphone company and although I could attribute all of our conversations as simply convenient and fee-free, I have to believe there is a more profound connection here. Yesterday, I was talking to Lara about one of the concepts that has recently come to me in my new vibrational state of bliss. The idea is this: As long as you have your conciousness, you are free. You are free to exist in joy or pain, you are free to vibrate in love of be eaten alive by fear and sorrow. You are free from the bondage of everyone else's will but your own. Even if you are wrongfully imprisioned in Guantanomo Bay in a concrete isolation chamber with no light, you are free. Even if you are imprisioned in a body that has heen paralized from the nose down, you are free. Even if you have killed five hundred thousand innocent people because you were ordered to do so by your commanding officer, you are free. You have your conciousness, you have free will, you are free. Imagine a world filled with people who grasp this concept. There would be an easement of pain, there would be a lifting of sufferring, there would be an erasure of remorse, of self sabotage, of guilt, of revenge, of a need to attack before being attacked, a need to victimize before becoming a victim. There would be no victims. There would be no inflictors of pain. there would be only choice and free individuals who chose to put their weapons down, forgive themselves for atrocities/mistakes they have made, make amends to those they have harmed. There would be forgivenss, and motion in a forward direction.



Imagine the medical community being open to being wrong, being open to new ways, being open to learning from those they had shamed and compartmentalized as quacks, "alternative healers" and downright "dangerous". Imagine this concept in every situation where there is strife, struggle and pain. Imagine the difference it would make if you could never be a victim. If the threat of "rape" were no longer the worst thing that could happen to you. If death were not the worst thing that could happen to you. If loss, or a broken heart, or being wrong were not the worst things that could happen to you. Wrap your mind around it while I tell you a little story.



I met a woman at a hen party a couple of weeks ago. This was one of those tupperware-type parties where women get together in a home, food and wine are served, and something is offered for sale. In this case, it was my favorite line of clothing. The designer of this line is so attuned to the needs and wants of women today, especially me, that I will kneel down and place my forhead on her foot in thanks if ever I have the chance to meet her- which will probably totally freak her out, by the way, but I guess freaking people out is part of my destiny, after all. Back to the story.



A few of us were asked to model the spring line. We each had four or five outfits to strut around in so that other women could see how great the clothes looked on regular, normal people. One of my co-models was this five foot something (hard for me to judge a height this short, as I am six feet tall) beautiful babe with long, flowing blonde hair, perfect boy body and cute boobs. She looked particularly adorable in the khaki capris with the burgandy tissue T and platform espadrilles. She was a vision, and I told her so.



Later, this new BFF, Jill, and I were sipping wine and gobbling gourmet pizza, talking trash and I asked her, "what are your plans for Valentine's Day?" She said that she wanted to do something really hot for her husband of eighteen years. I started to offer up suggestions.



-"Get rid of the kids" - There were three- "Check!", she said.



- "Turn off all electric things, except perhaps music, and light the house with candles." - "oooh good! Keep going!", she said.

-"When he comes home, answer the door in sexy lingeree, or a slinky robe". This is where the conversation got interesting.

"I think I'll wear nothing but tassles on my nipples." she said, "these boobs are for him!"

"Oh, are they new?", I inquired.

"Yes." Jill said calmly, " I had breast cancer, these are new. I got them in December."

Then Jill went on to tell me her breast cancer story. She said, she got the diagnosis in September. That her old breasts were so flat, and saggy that the mammograophy technitian didn't even have to spread them out to have a good scan of them. "My kids sucked the life out of them. They nursed me to death!". Good, I thought, They served their purpose.

"When I found out I had breast cancer, I had a Bye Bye Boobies Party. We served margaritas and had m&ms made that said 'ta ta ta-tas' and 'bye bye boobies'. I got rip roaring drunk with my friends and sent my breasts off with flair!". "I fell in love with my husband during my cancer", Jill added, " We have been married eighteen years and he took two months off from work to do my job for me while I was recovering. One month in September and another full month in December. He did all the cooking, shopping, picking up and dropping off of the three kids, all that I do, he took over, showing me how much he respected me in my job as wife and mother." I was weeping a little by now. " Can I touch them?" I asked, of her perky new breasts. Because we were true friends, and Jill is that kind of person, she allowed me to feel her up. They were perfect. Not too big, not too hard. Perfect, and they matched her personality beautifully.

I gushed to Jill how I loved the way she saw the whole cancer experience. It seemed to me that she could have wallowed in woe and self pity, dying a little inside, shrivelling up as a woman, but had done the opposite instead. What a gift to herself, her husband, her family, friends and to me, who asked her if I could write her story into my book. You know she said "yes", because you are reading this. I told her I would call her story Zues and Juno Get a New Pair of Boobs, and so here you are. A real life example of joy in what could have been considered a tragedy.

There is a lot of pain these days. It is hard to make sense of it. It seems like people are dropping like flies, dying from cancer, suicide, homicide, school shootings. Even for an enlightened soul, it gets a bit confusing. What I can say is this: Death is not the worst thing that can happen. It is a transition. It can be a transformative transition, but either way, the energy of the soul remains intact with or without the body. If your loved one has passed, think of it as a free bus pass for that person/pet. They can now be with you at a moment's notice. They fly free all the time. They hear you and feel you, and though many souls get lost and need help passing into the light that reassures them with it's love-energy, there are ways to help them and they are very much still with us, sans body. So, let go of the thought that even this seeming finality is so horrible. It is not. And, by proxy, neither is any terminal or chronic illness. It is all just an opportunity to experience some aspect of life in human form. Make a party of it. Do it your way! Take a cue from Jill and make melons out of the lemons you were served. There are no rules or restrictions when you realize that if you have your concsiousness, you are free.