Our escapade continued up through the spectrum and into the redwood forest. I was raised in Northern California and some of my most vivid childhood memories are set in that landscape of towering trees and ferns. There is no place I have been that feels more primeval. The big trees are thousands of years old. For me, they are the elders of the planet, holders of sacred space. Perhaps it's the scale and silence, or the slanting shafts of chiaroscuro light that bring me to a place of reverence. The grand cathedrals in Europe fail evoke that feeling in me the way the redwoods do. My ego breaks down and I feel small. I take a vacation from myself and recall the essence of my being. I feel God in that space, forgiving me for getting carried away with distractions. It is like an anchor, where I can tether being and reel myself in from the chaos.
     The other place that has always been restorative to me is the beach. Sure, placid island beaches with white sand, azure water and gentle rolling surf are wonderful, but the real deal is more rugged. Powerful surf crashing onto rocks and sending foamy spray into the air is what I crave. The roar of breaking waves and thrum of receding water punctuated by drips and trickles finding their way back to the sea is my kind of music. Where the redwoods represent the enduring inner calm of the soul, a rugged coastline characterizes the pulse of corporeal being. Endless rhythmic struggle of elements against each other. Constant erosion and renewal of our planet and our bodies. It is a temple to impermanence. I make my marks upon the sand knowing they will be erased.
     I loved sharing these emotionally charged memories with Elsa. She was no stranger to the coast, but the redwoods were a novelty. The great thing about astral travel is instant communication. It isn't necessary to translate feeling into words and then hope that another can interpret your meaning. Thoughts are conveyed instantly.
     The difficulty of putting this experience into words and pictures hinges on interpretation. Symbols are charged with emotions and one never knows where all the land mines are buried.  I couldn't capture the effect of redwoods and waves on a 20 by 20-inch canvas. I also couldn't adequately describe my experience with words. I hoped to leave enough open space for readers to insert their own most treasured experiences. Perhaps some will reflect on what their trek through the colors would look like and which threads they would add to the tapestry.
      I like to believe that we are evolving toward a pure form of communication. I find it interesting that we use language as proof that we are the most evolved beings on this planet. I must disagree. For me, language sometimes feels like a barrier to good communication. I have heard that dolphins, whales and elephants have certain centers of the brain that are more developed than some of ours. They communicate over great distances without the benefit of a smart phone. Our language development feels like a step in a long journey and my hope is that we are evolving toward a purer form of conveyance.
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     There were many elements to this story that were hard to depict, but the ascension through the colors was the most challenging. I was tempted to do a separate piece for each color so that I could convey the feeling of being completely immersed in each one. On the journey, we took our time traveling through the colors and reminiscing about what was there.  
     I probably did that meditation 300 times, so there were a LOT of things to take in and it was all there. It really made her happy that I had sent these little gifts to her. It was a truly beautiful place to behold. It helped me to grasp the concept that we are creating reality with our thoughts. What we give our attention to is reinforced.
     Later, when I was in art school, my much younger cohorts were all about dystopian imagery. My art wasn't full of youthful angst and pain, so it was often dismissed as naïve. The amount of violence, betrayal and competition in popular entertainment is alarming to me. I believe it is unhealthy for us personally and as a collective to propagate vast quantities of negative thought. Fear is the antithesis of love. Love can never be diminished by fear, but it can become clouded over so that our attention is drawn to the smokescreen instead of reality.
     It was on my voyage through the colors that I first began to comprehend that love is the only real thing. That concept has been strengthened over the years as I studied A Course in Miracles and A Course of Love. It seems to be a precept for many great spiritual disciplines. If we want to truly live well and make good choices, we must overcome our fears to the point that we realize they were never real.
     It is an interesting exercise to imagine being at the end of this incarnation and having a life review. What if everything in your life that was based on fear just blew away like smoke and all that was left was the love? How much of what you thought was your life would disappear? What would be left? All kinds of things would be gone – grudges, anger, hurt, jealousy, competition, pride, victimhood.
     If only the time you spent extending love, being compassionate and forgiving were left, how long would your life be? Would you be amazed at the amount of time and energy that was put into things that either don't matter or sent you down a rabbit hole? I am shocked when I tally up all the time I have wasted feeling scared, angry, jealous, self-righteous… Not that anyone is keeping score, but it is a thought provoking experiment.
​     Thankfully, our good deeds aren't diminished by the resources we waste. Every day is an opportunity to make better decisions and get around to things that matter. Thank God for that.

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     For the record, I have always believed that life is eternal. Death has represented a transition from one way of living on this earthly plane to another kind of existence. I embrace the mystery of how we came to be here and what comes next. It feels like we come here for a short while and then return to our normal state, but I don't claim to have any special knowledge that would prove this to one who doesn't share this feeling.
     It seemed plausible to me that Elsa could find a way to communicate with me, so I just left myself open to receive her message. Sadly, I am not one who remembers dreams on a regular basis. Mostly I recall a few disjointed fragments, if anything. Usually there is no coherent plot present and seldom a person I can put a name to. On rare occasions, I awaken with a detailed memory of a dream that seemed more than a dream. It doesn't fade, it makes sense, it has meaning.
     This was one of those times. I woke up with a detailed, coherent memory and a peaceful heart. I absolutely knew that Elsa was well and happy. In the story, I said that Elsa came to me while I was sleeping. The word "dream" doesn't feel adequate to describe these rare occurrences. If I had to put a label on it, I would say "astral travel" defines my experience. 
     I know many people believe that consciousness arises from the brain, and is therefore, dependent on the physical body. I see consciousness as eternal and the brain as a receiver and processor that interfaces consciousness with the body. Just as a television or radio can interface with a signal and reproduce content, but the content is not dependent on the apparatus to exist. It seems reasonable to me that we can have astral travel experiences without taking our bodies along.
     Not knowing how my message from Elsa would be delivered, I was prepared for something along the lines of a sequence of "random events" that would remind me of her,
or a few words popping into my head. I was elated to get an actual visit with Elsa and it felt normal to go with her to a new place. I had no idea what was in store for me.
     Translating the story into static imagery was a challenge. For example, I have no recollection of what we were wearing. In order to create the images, I had to choose something for continuity in the story. I depicted our astral bodies with a white glow to differentiate them from the physical bodies. I found rayon fiber paper in gold and silver and decided to put us in flowing dresses. If felt a bit cliché, but sometimes it is necessary to take an artistic liberty and fill in the parts that are sketchy.
     My main goal was to tell the story and hope that the images would help the reader connect to the story.

​     My exploration into meditation opened my eyes to formerly hidden aspects of myself. I was shocked to discover how undisciplined my mind was. I started with focusing on the breath, using breathing patterns. I was hard on myself for not being able to keep the unwanted thoughts at bay. Although, I re-dedicated myself to making meditation a regular practice, my efforts were sporadic at best. With three small children, quiet time was rare and excuses abundant.
     With the move to Germany, came an awareness of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I rigged up a bank of full spectrum lights for my meditation nook. The lights were helpful and my practice became more regular. It also helped that my youngest children were attending kindergarten. My thoughts wandered, but I was learning to be kinder to myself and somewhat less judgmental. I was reading about unconditional love. It was humbling to acknowledge the assortment of conditions I had learned to attach to love.
     I remember reading Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life and doing the exercises. There was one where you were to stand in front of a mirror, look into your eyes and sincerely say “I love you.” I couldn’t do it. I just stood there and bawled. It took years for me to be able to do that, but I got there. Those, who claimed to know, asserted that I would never be able to truly experience love if I did not have self-love.
     That goes against the messages many women from my generation received. Our mostly unspoken indoctrination valued self-denial and earning love through service. I was still unreliable in my routine for my personal development, but when it came to Elsa - I was driven.
     She was physically out of reach in Virginia, so I took the metaphysical route. I am a visual person and color shows up large in my world. The meditation that was most effective for me was one that involved color. It began at the root chakra, with red, and ascended the spectrum through violet into white light at the crown chakra.  I did that meditation every day, dedicating it to Elsa.
     I believed that love could transcend space and time. It was my intention to fill the color frequencies with images and sensations that Elsa would love. Throughout the day, I took note of little things to include in the next meditation. It was a great way to practice gratitude and mindfulness. I envisioned her drawing strength and energy from my daily offerings. I drew her a picture and sent it in one of my letters.

       Elsa and I met in Vicenza, Italy in 1994 at a "Love and Logic" parenting class sponsored by Army Community Service. Her demeanor was warm and friendly with an irreverent sense of humor, and we found ourselves laughing at the same things. She was adjusting to many things - marriage, military life, co-parenting and American culture. Coming from Portugal, Italian culture was an easy fit. She had given up a career in psychiatric nursing to marry a US military officer and followed him to Vicenza. She missed her friends and colleagues, and as many military wives do, having control over her life. This new life seemed overly structured and she needed a friend with a divergent personality.
     I was grateful to be her friend. We moved often in those years. Vicenza was my fifth move (and seventh house) in five years. I was starting to tire of never being settled and starting all over every year. I fell into a dark depression and wonderful Elsa was a bright spot in my life. I felt guilty for having such a hard time and didn't feel entitled to register any complaint or be unhappy. There is enormous pressure on military spouses to fill a support role and maintain a façade of cheer and competence at all times. I bought into that and into the traditional marriage model – thinking that I should be able to meet ALL of my family’s needs without anyone knowing what my needs were. Least of all me!
     There is little I value more than a relationship that does not require facades. Elsa and I could be honest with each other about anything. Not just the challenges in our lives, but humorous and deeply meaningful experiences. She didn’t judge my depression. Her attitude was compassionate and empathetic. She felt that the regimented and subjugated roles we played were abnormal, and my reaction was simply human.
     We were in Vicenza less than a year before moving to Germany. Another house to settle, another school to enroll the kids in, another place filled with strangers. By this time, I was in full existential crisis mode. The “head of my household” had proclaimed counseling to be an unnecessary expense, so I educated myself on depression with books from the library.
     Numerous resources suggested that meditation was a good way to get the negative thought loop under control. In my experimentation with meditation techniques, I became aware of the observer. That revelation was the beginning of my realization that I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know why humanity existed, or the earth, or anything! It didn’t make sense that all this would exist simply for us to go through our lives chasing goals and striving to acquire more things. I wanted to know the “why” of it all, the purpose, the origins of how we came to be.
      I read all kinds books in those days, trying to get through my list of questions. During Elsa’s illness, I spent lots of time trying to understand the mind/body connection and the emotional roots of disease. Elsa had a more traditional way of processing. She was Catholic and trained in Western medicine. Her faith lay in external sources – God, Jesus, doctors and drug therapies.
     Everyone facing a crisis must choose a path they can truly put their faith in. Elsa made a choice and I supported her. I also made a choice to try something I could put my whole-hearted faith into. Meditation.

     The Yellow Dot story begins with getting the call from Elsa. We had met while we were both living in Italy. Both of our military husbands had been reassigned to Germany within a few months of each other. Elsa's family moved to Stuttgart and we went to Hockenheim, near Heidelberg. The hour-and-fifteen-minute journey was doable on occasion, but we talked often on the phone.
     I was getting work ready for my annual show in Italy and could hear the stress in her voice as she asked how the trip had gone. Then she tried to hang up when she heard that I was leaving in a few days. She knew she couldn't continue the conversation without spilling the terrible news. Always the caretaker, Elsa didn't want to spoil my trip.
     I couldn’t let her go without knowing the source of the stress. She had inflammatory breast cancer. I knew she had been to the doctor several times trying to resolve a lesion on her breast. The mammography didn’t indicate a tumor, so she was sent to dermatology…. and so on.  She finally gave up on the military medical system and went to a German specialist, who recognized what she had right away. The very next day, she was scheduled for a radical mastectomy!
     She was calling me post-surgery, and was already starting on chemo and radiation therapies. The news was like a punch in the stomach. I could hardly breathe when the call ended. There was absolute terror in her voice. She was a nurse, after all, and knew what lay ahead. I haven't followed the current prognosis of this disease, but twenty years ago, it was pretty much a death sentence.
     Inflammatory breast cancer is hard to diagnose, because breast cancer screenings are designed to detect tumors. This type of cancer doesn’t produce tumors. By the time patients get the correct diagnosis, it has often metastasized. To make matters worse, IBC is unusually aggressive.  
     Elsa was thirty-six and had an eight-year-old daughter. She was willing to try anything. At the time, I was learning about the mind-body connection from authors like Deepak Chopra and Andrew Weil. I had read Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life, and was coming around to the idea of emotional roots and physical illness. Elsa was firmly rooted in traditional Western medicine. She put her faith in the cancer specialists and any treatment they had to offer.
     This meant moving to Virginia, so that she could be treated at Walter Reed AMC. She also hoped to be accepted for trials at the Cancer Institute. That part didn’t pan out because the Cancer Institute’s programs were in high demand and they had a lottery system. Elsa didn't win that lottery.

Launch day for my Yellow Dot Kickstarter!
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I've been working on this project for two years. This is the third time I have attempted to capture the images. It wasn't possible for me to make an accurate representation of what I saw and experienced, so I settled on a stylized version. My hope is that the text and artwork, together, will convey the mystical nature of the story to the reader.

​Another concern I had with the publishing of this story, is the fear of readers thinking that I was trivializing my friend's death and suffering. If I could have my way, Elsa would still be here. Alas, I didn't get to choose that story line. I have reconciled her passing and eased my anxiety over her suffering, but I will always wish the whole cancer thing had never happened. 

​My plan for this blog is to post each of the 16 images for the book and give you a little extra insight into the meaning of each. I have chosen a square format for the book, so I am limited to eight and a half  inches for the text. I wanted the layout to have one page of text for each image. I know, I have created my own box...

​This is my first time writing a blog, and it would be great to get some feedback. I would love to hear stories from other people that relate to this topic.