I was in a car accident when I was four. No, I wasn’t driving. My mom was driving. I was in the back seat, rattling around like a marble in a shoe box, because there were no seat belts in back seats at that time–there weren’t even many seat belts in front seats in 1968. […]
Music is Medicine. Oh, not the pharmaceutical kind where you pop a tune and it puts a band-aid over your symptoms but you gain 10 pounds and you have lots of dry mouth but no orgasms. Not that kind of medicine. It’s the kind of medicine that you get from a Shaman, who shakes a
I have a former step-nephew-in-law (gotta love these blended/extended families) who probably died this week, a victim of Hurricane Irma. His family was being evacuated, but he refused to go. He believed that the government had ordered him to defuse a bomb, so he fought evacuation assistance and ran. The family was given a choice:
I sing to my clients. I sing to call in guides and angels, or to connect with their higher selves. I sing because it seems more powerful to me than just speaking the words. And my clients tell me it makes what I do seem so mystic, so special, so magical, so holy. But when
I fell in love with the guitar when I was three years old. My parents let me stay up late to watch the Smothers Brothers one night, and the minute Tommy Smothers walked out with that big blonde Guild of his, I was hooked. “What is that?” “That’s a guitar, honey.” “Can I have one?”
Light is the First Step; Sound is the Giant Leap Read More »
