Summary: My neighbor's kid is brilliant. He's nine and because he's all-knowing and misses no opportunity to remind us of it, he tells his mom one day as she's taking a swig from her water bottle, Hey mom, did you know you're drinking dinosaur pee? When my neighbor relayed that story to me, I laughed, thinking her son was being cute and wanted to hold her attention by making her laugh – and maybe, think. I had a boyfriend once who professed during a moonlit stroll as he pointed toward the night sky: I come from the moon and the stars, you know. I should add here that he was five kinds of yummy and back then he could have told me he was Mork from Ork and I'd have grinned and pressed my hand deeper into his just to let him know how well I and only I understood him. Then I heard an interview with a respected researcher who echoed these previous sentiments of my friends: in many ways, we really are out of this world. The researcher went on to say that our water has come to us through the outer reaches of space and time – and is constantly being recycled throughout the universe. And when you throw in the fact that our bodies are composed mostly of water, it casts new light on the phrase heavenly creatures, doesn't it? When I considered these events coupled with my experience of having worked with hundreds of clients, it only underscores the irrefutable truth that we each carry within us the mystery and grandeur of the universe itself. Now that's deep. And I'm here to tell you, So are we. Every time I read for a client I'm filled with awe at the connections fostered and forged by spirit that allow me to relay information so rich and intimate that I ordinarily wouldn't know about a person I may never physically meet. And whenever they ask me how I'm able to do what I do, I tell them among other things that far from being a cool party trick or special gift bestowed upon a select few, what I’m doing constitutes an acknowledgment and evidence of a greater matrix that connects us all within its design and, outside of which, possibly nothing exists. So, I add, if ever you feel forgotten, unseen or misremembered by the world, rest assured that you come from something far greater, ancient, even, and that you're part of a magnificence that defies our very notion of space and time. And if that's not enough, you’re part dinosaur pee, so how about that? You see? Just look how awesome you are. And yet...this isn't the reality most folks live in, let alone believe. Trust me, I don't kid myself about that bleak detail, as a recent exchange with a well-intentioned friend illustrates. Mind you, the moment has long since passed and I've forgotten the context in which it was said, but what I do recall clearly is that it was a reprimand that went something like don't forget where you come from. Now let me interrupt this story here to tell you that wordsmithing and storytelling are among my many loves and, consequently, language is huge for me, despite my occasional inability get it right sometimes. Which accounts for my need to sit with what my friend said for awhile before I could articulate a response. When I put all my talk of spirits, moonbeams and prehistoric divinity aside, the matter of where I come from seems thin and pointless except that I can't resist pointing out that the phrase itself, ironically, contains within it the very seeds of change given its implication that I'm no longer where or who I once was. And if you’ve followed any of my previous posts, you already know that I know that change can be a real sonofagun to people around you – especially when you’re in the thick of it. Generally speaking, when someone tells me not to forget where I'm from, I take it as a statement that, on a good day, is drenched in low expectation and insecurity that goes way back and, usually has nothing to do with me. Now to my friend's thinking, I was perceived as uppity because I chose to live well,
