My Great Alchemical Romance

Make no mistake. There is a great romance going on here.

But, it’s not with the man of my dreams.

It’s with the sound of the train passing outside the window of my hotel room.

The clickety clack of metal on metal while it rushes toward some destination I’m unaware of

The mystery of that unknown destination intrigues me.

It has always intrigued me. Paths that have no end. I dream of them all the time.

The haunting nature of a destiny I may or may not reach is more than I can take sometimes.

Isn’t that what great romance is all about?

A dance between what is and what could be

A push and pull between certainty and seduction

The liminal space that sits squarely between pleasure and pain

Knowing and not knowing at the same time is deliciously sweet

My romance has never taken the form of a dedicated lover who whispers into my ear their devotion to me

My romance has been quieter, subtler

I’ve laid on a freshly made bed of all white linens all day

The sun shining into my hotel window made the whiteness glow and feel…holy

It’s a Monday and the hotel is silent

I breathe deep as my eyes trace the blue sky outside my window and I wonder

I wonder why I’ve been given the path that I’m on

I wonder why I’ve had to do it alone

I suspect I will always do it alone

I suspect this is something the universe wants me to embrace

After I’ve worn myself out from wondering I realize the only thing I ever really understand is the moment I’m in

As the legendary poet Antonio Machado said, “Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again. Wanderer, there is no road– Only wakes upon the sea.”

I don’t truly know where my path is leading I only know I’m too intoxicated by the intrigue of that to not follow it

My footsteps are the road

The curvature of the arch of my feet like delicate bridges from the heaven that is me to the earth that calls to me

My toes wiggling in the Mediterranean

My brown eyes beholding the Bosphorous

Ahhhh. Make no mistake there is a great romance going on here

But, its sensuality hasn’t take the form of the man of my dreams

Its sensuality has been expressed in the moments of feeling the immense pleasure of a plane lifting off carrying me to foreign lands

The sweetness of it found in the melting morsels of alien gastronomy

Its savory flavor flirts with me in the spice bazaars as the scent of the herbs hint at the mouth watering delights to come

This is my romance

Being a perpetual stranger longing for place is a bittersweet torment all its own

Who am I? I am the epitome of romance. The conundrum of contrast. The settled wild woman.

This great romance has my soul sliding across entire continents as though they’re made of satin sheets

I feel deeply and that is romantic whether I feel with someone or alone

I have a romantic life even if it isn’t one that is shared or witnessed

It’s an unconventional romance but romantic nonetheless…

I find my exhilaration at the moment of lift off

Like a bird set free I stretch my wings until I’m exhausted and sore

My body spent from flying I snuggle against the warmth offered in unfamiliar settings once I land

I am in love with the earth and all the life forms that teem therein.

I am in love with the sound of hundreds of languages and accents

I weep in ecstatic, heart-pounding joy that makes the entirety of my body and being shake at the sight of humanity celebrating their festivals and feasts.

I am in love with humanity. I am in love with all the emotional and soulful intricacies that are you and your expression of life.

This is my great romance. You who are reading this post….it is you because humanity is…you.

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Visions And Dreams Of Turtles And Elephants: The Importance Of Your Voice Being Found

I remember the first vision I had. I was 21 years old and was attending a conference out of town. When I got into my bed for the night I was met with a disembodied set of eyes looking into my own eyes and then down…into my soul. I jumped and could hardly believe what had just transpired. This happened two more times, sequentially. The second set of eyes in front of my eyes looked smoldering and powerfully seductive. Again, I jumped! They just appeared from out of no where. Then again a 3rd set appeared in front of me. These eyes looked like cartoon eyes. This time I sat in the silence. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me but I knew it wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal. I finally was able to chill out from the experience enough to lay down and decided to go ahead and try to allow myself to fall asleep.

That was 23 years ago. Since then I’ve come to understand these are my visions. They are gifts to me. Given as tools of understanding. But, not just simple understanding. They’re very much like riddles. Exploring their meanings is truly a brain exercise for me that is helped along and aided by the supernatural realm. At first I wasn’t sure what to do with them and to be honest it’s only been in the last 4 or 5 years that I’ve really been diving deep and digging into them. What this process feels like for me? It feels like tiny but powerful nuggets of gold that are buried in the deepest part of the ocean and I am a woodpecker. I dive to the floor of the deep and peck into the sand until my beak feels the nuggets and then I begin to fish out what lies inside the gold. Ha! How’s that for a visual?? But, that’s what it feels like for me.

While I have a near endless list of visions and dreams and their interpretations I could share, I felt particularly called to write about my most recent visions of turtles and an elephant. I feel perhaps it could be like a timely message of sorts. We shall see.

About 3 weeks ago I began dreaming of turtles. Most of them were sea turtles, water turtles. I would wake up and the imagery of the turtles would linger in my mind. For instance, in one dream I was walking up a hill to what I would discover was a tall, muddy bank. Probably 15 or 20 ft high. It went straight down into a mud pit that had water in it. As I stood and looked into the water I could see dark images coming to the surface. The water was so muddy I truly couldn’t make out what it was that was actually surfacing until they broke the surface of the water. I was astounded and surprised to see in the seconds before the water was broken that it had been turtles I was watching and were coming up from the deep. After, I woke up, the words, “up from the deep” ran through my mind. Then immediately I went into a vision. In the vision there was a juvenile elephant with its back towards me. He was partially hidden in some trees. Then I heard the words, “hidden memories.” For a moment, I thought, “what do all of these scenes have to do with each other? Hidden memories??” Then one revelation came, “elephants are known for their memory capacity. It is said that, elephants never forget anything or anyone. Ever.” So the hiding elephant meant there are hidden memories and the turtles surfacing followed by the words, “up from the deep” tells me there are some internal things I need to both see (since they were “sea” turtles) and remember (since the notorious memorizer, the elephant was hiding from me.) See how that works? Just the process of interpretation alone….is fun. It is something I wish to lead others through because it is an amazing tool for shadow work! On that note, if you’d ever like to work with me doing this, please reach out! I would love to facilitate profound discoveries for your life and path.

Beyond the revelations, that I am certain will coincide with my practical research, there are some key takeaways that I wanted to present you from my studies about turtles. I think you will find these fast facts…deeply profound if you think through the implications of them.

  1. Turtles have existed for millions of years. They have studied…us…much longer than we have studied them. Therefore, in my mind, it’s not so much that humans are turtle experts (which those with the education or training certainly are) but more like turtles have a better read on us than we do on them because they’ve been here longer than you or me. Think about that. Some species of turtles can live upwards of 150 to 200 years. Animals are like sacred wisdom keepers of our earth, ocean, and air. They have their own technology, their own unique intuition, and sensing mechanisms. And, because they are animals and their senses are quite different than our own we as humanity, even the experts amongst us, have made the mistake to presume that the animals and their technologies, their sensing abilities aren’t as advanced as humans, in most cases. Did you know only in the past few years has it been discovered that turtles actually have “voices” and talk to each other? They talk to each other while they are even still in the egg…and they coordinate a simultaneous hatching for themselves because their natural born intuition tells them that there is strength in numbers and that they will be less vulnerable if they flee to the sea all at once, and together. In the egg they have this wisdom and ability to communicate and coordinate for their survival! Now, let’s talk about their voice….
  2. Turtles do indeed have voices. Thanks to the research of Dr. Peter Praschag and his center, Turtle Island in Austria, (https://turtle-island.at/en/about) the world, other scientists now have evidence of turtle communication. He has been able to decipher several meaningful conversations the turtles have with each other, for example, females will call to each other when its time to go ashore and lay eggs, turtles will call each other to dive deeper if there is a more abundant food source or if a storm is coming, males will communicate to each other & with females when they want to mate. So, how did we not know this until now? #1- Their communication isn’t audible to the human ear. They communicate in clicks and frequencies that have to be modified with special equipment in order to be heard by the human ear. As diligent as researchers and scientists around the world have been they long believed that these reptiles were both mute and deaf.
  3. Until we knew they had a voice…we were dooming them to failure, unknowingly. In the wild when baby turtles hatch they have their mother leading them into the ocean. They observe how she does it but more importantly…she communicates to them what they need to know for a successful and safe launch. Per Dr. Praschag, there were turtle conservation efforts for up to 40 years in Malaysia, where the eggs were separated from their mother & released into the ocean by conservation teams. And, the survival rate of these releases were consistently and devastatingly low and after 40 years did nothing to help the populations recover. You can see and hear about this here (around the 10 minute mark a bit before and at least 17 seconds after.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_4l950Tmis
  4. Because we didn’t know they had a voice we were contributing to their decimation. “Ignorance is the mother of destruction.” Is it not? Sit with this.

Now, this is just a snippet of all that I’ve taken away from these rich visions and dreams. I hope to share more later. But, here I wish to convey the facts you’ve read above into some bulleted food for thought for you….and myself.

  1. Mother wounds- what happens/what has happened to us when our mother’s voice was absent, misguided, manipulative? Just like the hatchlings…we lose our way and our launch isn’t as successful as it could have been.
  2. Lives on mute- simply because others do not believe us to even have a voice. Experts nonetheless! Authority figures. If they say it must be true, right?? Now, did the turtles EVER stop using their own unique voice because of the experts? No, they didn’t. But, because they weren’t being heard without intervention, the experts themselves lent to the crisis of their extinction. It is because of this, I think many of us, need to partner with others who have the medium, the technology, the platform, that it takes to ENSURE we are heard. We need each other. Because of one man’s compassionate heart and curious mind about his beloved turtles he has singlehandedly changed the game of biological research and not only has he GIVEN the turtles the platform for their voices to be confirmed as a factual existence, he can now turn around the extinction crisis. The salvation of these populations has come because their voices have been found, confirmed, validated. Think about that and what it means for you and maybe the voiceless populations you serve or the underdog family members, and friends you love and wish the whole world could hear them, their story, their voice and thereby preserve the deep treasures that lie….ONLY within them. Treasure that can only be catalyzed by being given a platform or medium through which they can work to raise and elevate their voice. To tell their story. My story. Your story. And thereby save the dying things in us and about us.

I want you to think on these two things my friends for they are profound and powerful and I truly believe are messages for such a time as this.

I would love to hear what you think about this and how it applies to you. I would love for you to share this far and wide if it resonates with you, encourages you, or someone you may know.

We are all in this together. And, if you have a voice, a platform or a medium through which you can elevate the “unheard” I encourage you to call in those voices, quiet as they are. Remember turtle voices are clicks and frequencies. Just because we don’t speak each other’s languages doesn’t mean it has to be a barrier that leads to the extinction of voices that may very well save not only themselves, but their listeners too. Be intentional about going after speakers who are not famous, who are not stage savvy and elevate their voice until the whole world can share in the medicine within them and thereby enrich this beautiful living planet.

More later.

Cozett Dunn

The Catalyst

The Poet

The turtle

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Why I Became A Travel Agent: My Spiritual Awakening Account In Istanbul Airport

THIS. This is why being a travel agent is so important and meaningful for me.

Travel literally changed my life’s trajectory in ONE trip. I left #chattanooga, #tennessee and when I landed in #istanbul#turkiye…I had a massive, highly visible spiritual awakening in the MIDDLE of Istanbul airport.

I left Chattanooga as a woman who has had over a 20 year struggle with panic disorder and when I got inside of Istanbul airport, on my way to #antalya, Turkiye….I missed my flight.

Now, if you suffer from mental health issues you likely understand how a missed flight is a huge trigger in and of itself. But, let me show you the implications of this missed flight for me and the profound change that took place in me that upgraded my life for the better.

#1. I didn’t speak Turkish and the English on the airport signs wasn’t quite clear. For example, in the restrooms there were signs about conserving trees by using electric hand dryers at the sinks. They encouraged us to limit our paper use saying, “it isn’t good for the nature.” So, it was English but it took some piecing together to fully grasp the message being conveyed. And, when you are overcome with panic your brain is fogged up from adrenaline.

#2. The airport is massive. Larger than the #atlanta#hartsfieldjackson airport. And, I’m overweight and have short legs. So getting through the airport meant I had to move super fast. But, I had no idea where the gates were because I couldn’t understand the signage. So not only was my heart rate rocketing from being in panic but from moving as quickly as I could with a heavy duffle bag that had no wheels, a CPAP machine across my shoulder, a back pack, and a fanny pack. So, here was another trigger.

#3. I had used EVERY PENNY to my name to pay for this trip. I literally had $200.00 in my bank account to last me for 10 days in Turkey. I was at an all-inclusive resort Miracle Resort Hotel so meals were included thankfully. But, can you imagine being a single woman, with panic disorder, in a foreign country where you can’t undesrtand people and they can’t understand you and you are ALONE. I was over 8,000 miles away and dialing 911 or calling a friend or family member to help me wasn’t an option.

#4. The EVIL EYE 🧿– Turkish people believe it is bad luck to show distress. They believe it only attracts more problems. I had NO idea about this. I was walking back and forth through this massive airport, crying my eyes out and asking airport employees and strangers for help. ALL of them ran from me like I had leprosy! I thought, “what is with these people?? Why won’t they talk to me?? What about customer service??” Customer service agents were dismissing me because they didn’t want any part of my panicked energy. Here’s another trigger!

#5. One missed flight change can easily cost $200.00 or MORE and that was all the money I had. No credit cards, nothing. My ticket change cost $180.00. So I had $20.00 in case of an emergency for the next 10 days. Trigger!

#6. Depending on when I could catch another flight I wondered how long it would be and if I would have to spend the night in the airport. I had my CPAP machine on me but had left my power convertors in my luggage and again, I didn’t have enough money to buy one at the airport. I have severe central and obstructive sleep apnea. I had already gone 36 hours with NO sleep and was facing possibly not sleeping in the airport because I couldn’t use my CPAP machine. Trigger!!

#7. Shady airport employee- Finally, an airport employee had had enough of me asking him for help and walking from one end of the airport to the other crying. He came up to me and in a stern voice said, “FOLLOW ME.” I was relieved!! But, that relief was going to be temporary! He took me into some hallways where there were no people, led me back and forth through the airport, and I am certain because of him my ticket change had a tacked on fee for him because he spoke to the ticketing agent for me. The ticketing agent kept looking at him like he was asking him to do something he shouldn’t. Every time I opened my phone to call someone he would snap at me, “CLOSE IT! CLOSE IT!!” I was trying to Whatsapp someone so they could see him in case I got into trouble with him. Trigger!!

#8. At a security line- He stopped and put his hand up at me and leaned into my face and said, “I help you. Now…you help me.” He rubbed his fingers and thumb together signaling he wanted cash. I had NONE! I had $20.00 in my bank account. So, I cried and said, “I am so sorry I don’t have any money. I don’t have it. If I had it I would give it to you. I am grateful for your help. Please. I am so sorry.” Who would believe I had no money. An American doing international travel with NO money at all?? I wouldn’t have believe me either. He then led me to a counter.

#9- My heart medication- He then took me to another counter. I have no idea to this day the purpose of this counter. A lady was giving me a tag for the bags I was carrying but then the airport employee demanded that I open my duffle bag to be searched. In that bag I carried my beta blocker, Atenolol. I used it for panic disorder, and whenever I had episodes of tachycardia. He threatened to seize my medication. The lady at the counter looked at him confused. I begged, “no, this is “kalp” (heart in Turkish)” and pointed to my chest.” He finally relented and again sternly said, “FOLLOW ME!”

#10- A fated intervention- There was a young man from Marmaris, Turkey who was fluent in English. He heard me speaking English and in distress with the airport employees and came over immediately and began interpreting and telling them that was my heart medication and that they shouldn’t be searching my bags or seizing my medication. He asked me where I was going, so I told him Antalya. He said, “I’m from Marmaris and I think my gate will be near yours. I can help you.” The lady gave me a ticket (with no gate number still) and I’m not sure how he knew where to go, but he grabbed my duffle bag and said, “c’mon your gate is beside mine but we need to go quick because your flight is about to leave.” So we hustled to the gate and found a spot to sit down together. I told him I was so thankful he intervened because the male airport employee was asking me for money. The young man became very upset. He said, “this gives Turkey a bad name! People like this man! He’s terrible! He shouldn’t have done this. Please don’t think bad of Turkey because of him.” His kindness was salvific. I made my flight and that trip ended up being one of the BEST vacations I’ve ever had!

In the middle of all of these fears, with less resources for help than I’d ever had, I had to dig deep into the healing process I had been practicing 3 years prior to this trip. I had to lean into the fact that I had been doing neural integration to optimize my nervous system and increase my bandwidth for pressure and stress. I had to prove to myself that I believed the empowering words of my doctor friends back home, the words of my therapist, the philosophies I’d taken on from my favorite personal growth gurus.

I HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO BELIEVE IN MY BODY and it’s ability to be strong and not die from a heart attack or end up in a foreign hospital with panic and a racing heart. I had to believe that I had the inward power to control my mind so that my previous mental health issues wouldn’t put me in danger or ruin my trip.

This moment taught me how to connect to my body, believe in the fortitude of my mind, and embody adventure in the midst of catastrophe. This is why travel is so important to me. This is why I want to empower others to travel. I’ve not had one panic episode since this trip almost 3 years ago. I am stronger, happier, and more centered than I’ve ever been. And, I am here to help you create that reality for yourself…via travel.

Your trusty travel agent,

Cozett Dunn

For travel deals, perks and insider information on travel and to sign up to my free newsletter visit: www.cozettdunn.inteletravel.com

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Rain Falling Forward

Times of refreshing rain falling on me falling forward

I turned to my inner sea and collapsed shoreward

Rising from the black sand beach of my subconscious

Walls closing in around me I must become dauntless

My time here has come to end. My time here is about to fall backward

May it collapse into the unconscious sea for it never was truly me

I learned something the other day while I was reading, “Flowers On The Path.” And that is the karma of living unaligned invites wrath.

I read this book by Sadhguru, my Indian mystic, the one I aspire to emulate.

It was the rain falling forward that knocked me from this path of wrath

It was the rain falling forward that was my footpath

Solar plexus has become my lexis

I’ve learned to trust my gut

My pivotal nexus gives assurance so I strut

From one country to the next all around the globe

In the soil of every country I become their microbe

Giving life to the foundation of all we are and need

My happiness demands I elude the greed

Hermetic aesthetic

My soul won’t fit in a corporate hole

Capitalism is apathetic

Because it deems the hermit pathetic

So narrow. Only preying it knows

But, I plan to take it down with the gift of my prose

The great whore who preys upon the people

The great whore who has made it’s home under the steeple

I will write until my writing becomes a freedom song

Liberating the inhabitants of the earth and making them strong

A mother to the nations I’m calling first the east, then the north

Before I venture to the south and call them all forth

I give up entirely on the west. It is from where I came

It’s way of life nearly made me lame. I will leave it to another creature

Or perhaps to the lukewarm church and its favorite hateful preacher

Were it not for the falling forward rain

My life would still be subject to drain

But, I am moving forward now in this beautiful falling forward rain

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Self-Inquiry And Justice: What Can It Mean?

During meditation I felt prompted to do some self-inquiry. But, I really couldn’t think of what to ask myself. I felt I should sit in stillness and allow a question to come to me. “What is the strongest thing inside me?”

I actually felt a bit startled because it came out of nowhere and hasn’t been a subject I’ve explored thus far.

I honestly felt a tiny tiny bit of nervousness and awkwardness at the thought of asking myself this question. Kind of afraid of the answer to be honest.

But, after a few moments…I did just that. I allowed myself to feel the nervousness while remaining courageously open to whatever answers came up in me.

And to my surprise? This was my answer:

“My sense of justice.”

I have just experienced so much personal growth and thought perhaps there would be a bit of a lull between this growth streak and the next…but I guess not.

I truly sense with ALL of my being…a MAJOR shift is happening for me. I’ve felt it coming for so long but now there’s this feeling of, “an arrival vibe.”

If I was going by sight or my current experience there is zero way I would allow myself to feel….the anticipation of something potentially great building.

Who knows. Maybe just daydreaming. But, in this moment I choose to go with my gut. This time I’m aligning with my own intuition rather than counting myself out or discounting myself.

I’m about to discover and uncover what this means in my life. It’s gonna be interesting because as of right now, off the top-of-my-head, I got nothing.

My sense of ⚖️ justice is about to receive a major awakening. I think I’m about to see some things differently or at least better.

What about you? Any new revelations or discoveries you’ve made about yourself recently? If so, how do you feel about it?

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Authentic…Unto Death

Sitting here in the dark, dimly lit bedroom I’ll soon never sleep in again. I’ve spent the last 20 minutes sitting with my chunky headphones on listening to, “Return to Innocence” by Enigma on repeat and watching Talia sleep.  I’m still processing the last 24 hours when she became suddenly blind.  If the past 3 years have taught me anything it is to slow down and spend prolonged time taking in the people, animals, and good memories made.

I stink, I’m sweaty and not even gonna shower before I fall asleep.  But, my Talia…she’s blind.  And, now I finally realize and regret my own blindness.  I’ve allowed everything and everyone to get in the way of me living my life in a more rooted way.  A more earthy way.  That’s all we really have you know?

A few years ago I read a web article about pet euthanasia.  The majority of pets who experience euthanasia do so in the company of the techs and vet and staff because it’s so hurtful to see your fur baby/child to transition in front of you.  And, that was absolutely my mindset.  But, a few techs and vets weighed in and offered an alternative perspective on pet euthanasia.   They all stated that while they completely understand why pet owners don’t want to be there to witness the event and that they will always respect people’s grief process,  they long to see more pet owners be present.  Pets have a very small circle of family and friends.  In the short span of their lives they will live in a home with family and friends who come and go.  So they may only know maybe 10 people give or take for their entire lives.  They never get a break from us, haha.  But, the thing is they never feel smothered and if it was possible they would stay within our shadow and by our sides every single second for a millenia.  Their love and devotion is bottomless, untiring, ever cheerful, ever patient, ever thrilled to hear our voice, see our face, smell our scent.  Whether it’s the first time they sniff you or the millionth time their enthusiasm never diminishes or fades, it only brings their hearts that much closer to ours.   They only ever love us more every day they’re alive.

When I read this a light went off.  Talia loves me with everything in her.  You can literally feel her love energy.  And while I am her #1 favorite human she’s like this about any human she’s ever met.  Instantly warm, curious, and gentle hoping for some affection and a new friendship.  She has never been scared of anything.  Loud sounds, thunder storms, shrieks of little ones playing or crying.

In fact when it thunderstorms sometimes she and I go out on the porch and I sit her in my lap and we watch the lightning and feel the rain spray in gently and coolly upon our bodies and faces.  When it lightnings I can see the spray on her fur and it looks like dew.

She intently looked up at the sky and followed the lightning streaks with her eyes.  Sniffing the wind occasionally for some wild scents.  Never flinching, squirming, or tense.  Relaxed, intrigued, longing to see what it would feel like up in the sky above her.  She is such a brave old girl.  Car rides?  She loves them.  Going for a walk on a leash?  Yes, please.

My constant companion whom has shown me much greater and deeper love than the majority of humans who have been in my life. 

Because of this I resolved that when the day comes if I am able to have any forewarning of her passing I will hold her in my arms and sing her her favorite lullabys.  I’ve reworded I don’t know how many songs to include her name and take her beautiful gentle life into adventure stories, sleepy time songs, and of course my doting love songs over my precious cat.  I will stay by her side just like she has mine.  My arms, hands, scent and voice, touch, body warmth and love….as much love as any human could ever possibly hold…my love for her will be the last experience she has here.  She never left my side and I’ll never leave hers either.  Ever.  I’ll be holding her and kissing her little knobby head and singing to her until she’s in the arms of the angels. 

Her gentleness is like her own cottony fur.  So tender and soft you can hardly even feel it touching your skin.  She’s so tiny.  At the time of this writing she weighs about 6 lbs.  She’s a bit underweight even though she’s small.   I’m not entirely sure what breeds she’s made from but she has a tortoise siamese colored coat and deep, dark blue eyes (that now look a bit purple in her blindness).  And she’s very short, low to the ground, haha.  And her little tail is short.  She’s built like a munchkin but has the coat and eyes of a Siamese.

Her little multi-colored paws look like they are ringed in caramel.  And she loves belly rubs.  And 99% of the time doesn’t attack my hand.  That 1% though….she’s got a streak.  I guess if she didn’t she wouldn’t have been able to put up with mine and Margo Holder s crap all these years, hahaha.  Margo often says that Talia is her spirit animal and believe me when I say, she is not wrong.

At any rate, beyond all of this the last 24 hours of her going suddenly completely blind has opened my eyes to something I’ve decided I want to do that will likely seem odd to more people than not.  But, that’s how I roll anyway.

I have deep regrets about not spending as much time with my family and friends as I’d like to.  I’ve allowed life to get in the way.  And if I allow life to be a stumbling block…what will that mean at death?

For many years now I’ve casually researched death doulas.  Most people don’t even know what a doula is much less a death doula.  Now, I’m not saying I want to be or am going to be a death doula by profession.  But, there are some facets of their work that I am going to implement where it’s appropriate and of course permissible.

I have decided that I want my heart to break wide open and hold my family and friends in my arms as they transition so that it is my hands, my arms, my energy, my truest and deepest love for them to be what they are enveloped in as they transition.

I’ve always been a lover.  A hugger…to the point of extreme and strange awkwardness. 

But,  how can I apologize for that?  And, for what reason should I reign it in?  Covid-19 wiped millions of people off this planet in the blink of an eye comparatively speaking.  And, not just Covid, but wars, disasters, political rhetoric that has risen to the point that brother is against brother.  I long for the day to see field upon field joined to pastures and woodlands filled with a great many more plowshares.  As it is, sheaths clamor and tremble longing for the bloodied blades to return again for fear of being found guilty before God as being accomplices.

Blood is crying out from the ground but we can’t hear it because the main stream has become the main scream and their volume has driven us to deafness.  Our ears dull and listening unskilled.  Our mouths boastful, arrogant and insisting on our own rights, or beliefs to be looked at as the pinnacle of truth even if it means the death of another human who doesn’t agree.

No.  This world isn’t for me.  So, from this point forward I’m going my own way.  I’m about to do everything in my life the weirdest and most unconventional way as possible. 

Life is valuable.  It is precious.  Sacred. Holy in its own right.  How could I betray it by living anything less than 1000% authentically to who I am, to what my level and intensity of love is like, to cleave to my own philosophies formed circumspectly and carefully?  How could I ever be ok with exchanging even the weirdest things about me in lieu of making myself more acceptable?   Life is too short for that.  It’s too brilliantly faceted for that.  I am committed to being my different self no matter what that looks like or who it may trouble.   Doing death differently…addressing the deeper, intangible components of dying and watching life transform as its vehicle weakens…is when you know you’re a catalyst and have just changed your own trajectory.  Forever.  I will never be the same after these last 3 years and it took my dear Talia’s blindness to open my eyes to the truth that it is in fact how life should be lived so that when we settle into the arms of death we will embrace it regretless and with the sense of an old dear friend who has come to pay a visit. 

I am different.  Unto death.

My desire is to be the most open, accepting, loving, heart-centered person you know.   And, if I can be that then don’t thank me or give me any accolades.  Thank Margo Holder, my mamaw, my nieces and nephews, my parents, my brothers, and my intimate friends.  Because it is them who have shaped me and shown me how weird love is, how unconditional it can feel, and the powerful relief it offers when you’re in the worst pain of your life.  We aren’t perfect.  None of us are.  And far be it from me to close my mind and heart to this human experience.

We are all walking miracles. Our pets included.

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Spiritual Teaching

“The spiritual teacher must know every inch of the way, every danger and pitfall, and not from books or maps or hearsay.  The teacher must have traveled it themself, from the foothills to the highest peaks.  And must have managed to get back down again, to be able to relate with students with humanity and compassion.  Not everyone who attains Self-realization can make a reliable guide.”. Eknath Easwaran

I feel like the experience that has been my life has been one of psychological and spiritual cartography.  Every detour felt like a travesty. But, there is no escaping blazing the trails where others haven’t yet trod.  And so, the feeling of travesty dissolves into its unmasked form… leadership.

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Teaching The Darkness: I Am The Cheeky Pantomime

Mirroring the black I’m like a cheeky pantomime. I bring the imagery to it’s knees with the precision of my rhyme.

Tell me darkness, what do you see? Do you feel lost in me?

Don’t you enjoy the mirrors of the fun house? There’s so much for you to behold.
As you scurry like a mouse a story will unfold

The first few reflections for you were a breeze. But, if you ever wish to exit I’ll be the one holding the keys.

My life is not a play thing. Nor my soul a charnel ground.
I’ll play your game across a 6 string. Will your salvation spring from my sound?

From illusion, to delusion, I’m coming round again. Yet another glance for you to see how much I win.

In your effort to swallow me you became obsessed.
You couldn’t help but follow me and now you are possessed.

Cat and mouse is best played out in cartoon. But, your relentless hunt of me has become for me a boon.

I can hear the horrors of your inner scream. Dear darkness, surely you know, this is all a dream.

You could simply will it all away. After all, you manifest every word you say.

How are you enjoying my mime? Have you found it worth your time? And, Dear darkness what about your reflection in my mirror? Now, are you able to see clearer?

I know this all must be very painful and perplexing for you. Your hunger to be free has yielded poison stew.

But, from it you must eat. Remember? This was what you served me as a treat.

I’m sure the light is just around the corner. Even if you lose hope you should still hang on. Like a good little mourner.

This whole path can feel so tricky and slippery am I right? I wonder if you ever felt pity when this journey was my plight?

That’s not the nature of the darkness. Nor is it the nature of the mirror. There was no mercy for my afflicted starkness. I stood silent like a lamb before the shearer.

Don’t misunderstand. This poem is not your threnody. As these words of mine land they’re simply an amenity.

I have no plans of wrapping things just now. As your mirroring mime I’ve taken a solemn vow. You won’t get through the maze unless I’m the one to show you how.

Cozett Contemplates justice against the darkness…

#cozettcontemplates #thedarkness

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My Confusion Has Become My Contusion

Capable, then incapable, free falling through the chasm. An observer of my fate I marvel at the chiasm.

Broken glass and sassafras I drink a chaotic toddy. Is there no remedy for my war torn body?

On the screen before me plays David Lynch’s, Rabbits. I seriously wonder if anyone else but me can understand their disjointed conversations. The door opens and closes and an invisible audience claps. Thunder claps. A rabbit is busy on the ironing board. And they all wonder at the rain.

My confusion has become my contusion. But, blue was my favorite hue. And, I wonder at the rain.

Resilience becomes a mockery when that’s all you can have. Every single day I’m bathing the bruises in a salve.

I beat my chest like a caged gorilla. There is no outlet for me. They want my poetry to smell like sage and vanilla. But, there’s more that they don’t see.

In my world everything is raw. Pretense and patriarchy are things I can’t afford. Every drop of water I drink I sip through the last straw

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Preamble to My Pain

Waffling between numb and horrified
I walk stupefied

Living in liminality and trapped by technicality I lie awake at night stunned at my reality

I feel like my body is an alien craft and a tiny, weird, and scared version of me is at the helm.  I live in overwhelm.

I languish in the labyrinth like a woman whose labor has stopped.  Dripping sweat and full of regret I wail at the walls.

I’m losing cognition in this latest rendition.

I feel like an animal experiment.  Torture is my accoutrement.

I can’t outpace what’s been running me down.  I can’t hide from being found.

I can’t get through to the world outside of my skin.  There is no safe space that is my place to decompress in.

Non-stop need and ravaged by greed I am disbursed like chum in bloody water

I write to right.  I think to talk.  I speak my dream. And all anyone does is balk.

I am lost upon the collective.  I am lost within the collective.  I silently drown while people notice I’m reflective.

Cozett Contemplates her poetry…

#cozettcontemplates #poetry #publishedauthor

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Non-dual Mother’s Day: My First Mother’s Day After Losing My Mother

An observation I’m having for this Mother’s Day since my mother passed away. I’m only now becoming able to put language to my feeling. My mother and I had a complicated relationship. A lot of my life she orbited while my grandmother raised me. And, while my mamaw will always be my true mother, there is a strange feeling that comes with not having my mother in the physical anymore.

Until her unexpected death, I didn’t realize that I had always felt an invisible tether to her. Growing up there would often be months that would go by where I wouldn’t hear from her or see her. But, even then her presence in the physical was still felt. I was still a daughter of a living mother. A mother I could argue with. A mother I could fault. A mother I couldn’t understand. A mother who I watched walk away from me time and again. A mother who played with me. A mother who made me laugh till my belly hurt. A mother who was wild and brave. A mother who was fearless. A mother who was the epitome of the feral feminine. A mother who attended the best rock concerts and took me to one. A mother who taught me how to dig for worms and fish. She taught me how to fall in love with the scent of dry soil after a rain. A mother who believed that going deep into the mountains was a cure for most everything. A mother who taught me to pause and behold the majesty and force that is female. She held to Boudica and Joan of Arc as her own personal role models.

When I got the call from my mamaw upon finding her dead I remember feeling a severing. And, it took my breath. As I processed the screams of my grandmother, and tried to think logically while trying to keep myself from spinning out of control I felt an unwinding happening and then a snap, like a break in fishing line when you lose a big fish.

That breaking feeling has left me longing to try to reconnect or problem solve my way for her to come back. To be alive again and guide her to do her life differently this time. A few months ago I had a dream about her. In my dream I was able to time travel back to when she was 17 years old. I met her in the hallway of a high school. She was wearing bell bottom blue jeans and had long flowing blonde hair with perfectly lined cat eyes. She was on the verge of life as an adult. I ran to her and cried, “mama! Mama! Oh my God, listen to me! Listen to me. I have a plan. You have to do things differently. You can avoid what you’re going to go through but you have to listen to me, ok??” She stared at me like I was a stranger. Which I would have been at that age. My mamaw came through in the dream and I was showing her that I had found a way to time travel back to her to when she was a teenager. I placed my hands on my mother’s shoulders and shook her because she kept looking at me like I was the strangest thing she’d ever seen and she didn’t understand why I was there. She was silent and smiling and I couldn’t get through to her. I felt such a desperation in that dream. Desperate to shake her into taking better paths than she did. Desperate to protect her. Desperate to help her be a better and present mother to me by redirecting her from the hard and tragic life she was about live for the next 40 plus years.

I woke up. The feeling of being untethered from her felt and still feels disorienting. I’m no longer the daughter of a living mother. I’m the daughter of a deceased mother. A woman who was before her time. And a mother who died before it was time. This day last year I was hurrying through a busy real estate work day (I was still able to work this day last year). This day last year I did not know that I had less than a month to feel her here and laugh with her. This day last year I was thinking about how long my work day was going to be and the fact that it would be late before I called her to wish her a Happy Mother’s Day. And, like every Mother’s Day I felt conflicted about calling her. Sometimes I questioned whether I should acknowledge her at all on mother’s day. It wasn’t until my mid-thirties that I began to integrate the trauma of being her daughter. But, integrate I did. And as I found myself approaching middle-age and experiencing the healing that comes with distance and time and shadow work I began to behold her more objectively and forgive her. I began to separate the horrors from the wonders without allowing either to cancel out the other. She was both horrible and wonderful. Destructive and instructive. Fun and traumatic. Healing and age brought me the ability to hold space for all the non-congruencies that she embodied. Allowing me to exist in a place of awe and disappointment at the same time without feeling the split of my psyche.

This was my mother. These are my observations. This is the non-dual space I hold for my experience.

Happy Mother’s Day mama. I love you and miss your laughter.

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Primordial Wisdom and Authenticity

When I think about the age of the earth, the soil, the water, the wind, magma….when I think about the Pando forest, where it looks like it’s a massive wood made up of many yet it’s all ONE tree because it shares ONE ROOT SYSTEM, and when I think about mycelium, and lichen….. ALL of these things communicate. They have language. They speak to each other, protect each other, heal each other AND provide for us, protect us, nourish us.

It’s said the earth is approximately 4.5 billion years old (https://education.nationalgeographic.org/…/resource…/)

And it’s always been able to communicate. These elements have sentience.

Something that archaic, that old would necessarily HAVE to dumb itself down if we are to understand it.

How arrogant of humanity to think that our recent language is superior to that of voices so primordial.

We truly need to learn how to hear AND listen differently. Collectively we need to become sensitized to listening to identify wisdom. The wisdom of ages lies beneath our feet. We walk about in arrogance while the voice of wisdom is lost upon us.

I learned years ago that each human is born with a certain capacity for intelligence. Some have greater capacity than others and yes the capacity can be stretched a bit. But we each have our own limits.

I grieve regularly about this. Because the truth is that ignorance is at least annoying and at its worst deadly. Especially amongst the militantly ignorant who demonstrate institutional education but little to no emotional intelligence.

I’m of the belief that these ancient elements. The earth, water, wind, etc. They are foremost emotionally intelligent in their communication because they themselves are, felt.

I want to be on the good side of history. I want to be in alignment with primordial wisdom. One with it. A purveyor of it. One of the few who can identify it’s language, understand it, and embody it. I need “it” to know I have the ability to be reciprocal with it.

When I say, “primordial wisdom” I don’t wish to connote things like savagery, or being brute. Those things do stem from primordial origins that are rooted in ego and survival based fear.

This is deep. It’s deep time. Deep talk. Deep feeling. Deep compassion. Deep wisdom.

I can’t get enough of it….because I feel there is an emotional depth in me that is soundless, bottomless.

The truth of the matter is, that when it comes to time, the further back we reach, regardless of the context from which we reach….every single human alive….can only reach into the roots of myth.

When you think about how authenticity is intrinsically tied to originality, origin stories, points of origin, there will always ever only be deeper layers still that find their root systems in myth, primordial, archetypal imagery and lore.

Cozett Contemplates primordial wisdom and authenticity

#cozettcontemplates#primordial#wisdom#blogger

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Death, Middle-Age, And A Rolled Up Sports Bra

The cultural cringe I’m experiencing is one that has been building since my 20’s. And middle-age is giving me the brass to talk about it. I feel like I’m peeling off hot, sticky, wet, shrunken, layers of social conditioning. I feel like I’m in a sauna dressed in tight jeans, knee socks, a sports bra, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. My hair is wringing wet. And all around me are people screaming, “you shouldn’t feel that way!”

You know that feeling of changing out of a wet swim suit into dry clothes? How the dry clothes get stuck and roll up? Maybe you’d have to be a fat woman to understand that I don’t know.

But, it’s crazy uncomfortable. And infuriating trying to unroll it and pull it down over skin that is still damp and has become sweaty after you’ve toweled off. Am I alone in this? Tell me I’m not alone in this.

Tomorrow will be my 45th birthday. It will be my first birthday without my mother being alive. I can’t believe she died at 64. It sucks. I always knew her death would be a complex issue for me. She was not at all maternal in the human sense. But, she was in the animal sense. She was a mother who operated in animal consciousness. Instinctual, sensual, survivalistic, dropping her young in the wild on it’s own after weaning. She was fiercely feminine, wondrously wild, awesomely amusing, and hauntingly hurtful.

While I am owning my healing I am finding that there are no resources to help me access perspectives about death that won’t leave me without the power to cope with it. My culture is largely characterized and defined and guided by American Christianity. So we’ve been conditioned to focus on the afterlife and how to meet all the rules that lead up to death so that you can go to heaven. Life gets plenty of study. The afterlife gets lots of attention. But, the liminal space of death has no press. How do I help my elderly grandmother cope with the fact that after a life of being exposed to constant trauma and disappointment that she was the one who found my mother dead? Why can I not accept her death? Why does death, even “untimely” death feel so abnormal when it is the standard of normal?? It has never not happened. But, we don’t talk about it. We only talk about how to be a good person and the streets of gold in heaven and family reunion that will happen once we get there. We are earthly! And heaven isn’t our final destination if you take the Bible literally. Heaven is a holding place for good people until the earth is destroyed and ready to be recreated at which time all the good people get released from heaven and somehow come back to the earth and exist as eternal humans where there is no more death and the earth will perpetually be the paradise that God wanted it to be.

Yeah, my cultural cringe is deepening. It feels like rage. It feels like an insult to my intelligence. It feels proudly ignorant. Militantly mindless. And, death is pleading with us all to better accept its existence.

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Inevitable Moments

There are these inevitable moments in life. Today I got word that a 3rd member of my family has died. My poor father is shaken with grief as this was his older brother. It seems there was a lot left unsaid. And, honestly I don’t blame that on either one of them. I blame it on life. This is the 3rd unexpected death in 9 months. To be perfectly honest, I began heavily medicating after the second one back in December. And, I don’t mean I’m staying high. I’m just taking a lot of prescriptions to hold me steady so I can still function mentally. I still haven’t regained my ability to walk more than about 1800 steps per day with lots of rest periods and that still carries a bit of repercussion with bouts of tachycardia at bed time when my body is trying so hard to recover from the strain of movement on top of the emotional trauma of the past year. My cat died, my mother died, I lost 2 vehicles, almost got evicted, had to move in with a relative because I can’t afford rent anywhere anymore due to soaring cost of living and I’m not able to work right now and won’t be able to for quite some while. I lost a younger cousin. The last surviving son of my elderly uncle. I can’t believe he lost both of his children and faces his elder years without them. I can’t believe me and my mamaw and brother have to face the future without my mother. There’s just so much. And, while I’ve said since 2017, “I can’t take anymore.” I do. I’m writing this because I’ve just taken so much more than I ever dreamed possible and still survive it. Granted, I have lost my mobility to emotional trauma and stress and I am heavily medicated and have packed on more weight than I thought I ever would. I have taken a toll. But, I’m here. Writing.

There are these moments in life that are inevitable. And it sucks when they all pile up together rather than being spaced out allowing time for recovery before the next crisis. But, here I am. Doing all the nervous system things, leaning on my friends, loving on my family, appreciative of the shelter, helping where and how I can. And, writing. Oh, I also made the Dean’s list at University and am about to publish my first book in about a week or so. All this during the hardest years of my adult life. And, I’m middle-aged and that sucks honestly. Because of the crisis I have not been afforded the opportunity to find the “finally don’t care” attitude that I hear women talk about when they get a certain age. I haven’t found the solidity women say they feel at my age because to walk in my world feels like the globe has been greased and I too have been oiled and walk on it slick and naked. Vulnerable and no balance. My world feels like a greased pole where the floor is lava.

There are these inevitable moments in life. And, when they come…you can’t pray them away, you can’t manifest them away, you can’t cuss them away, you can’t wish them away, you can’t science them away, you can’t psychology them away, you can’t religion them away, you can’t God them away, you can’t spell them away, you can’t gather an army of friends, family, or politicians to resist them or tell them to go away, you can’t write them away, you can’t therapy them away, you can’t spiritual them away, you can’t atheist them away, you can’t hide from them, you can’t run from them, you can’t deny them, you can’t sublimate them, you can’t pay them away, you can’t doctor them away, you can’t medicate them away, you can’t exercise them away, you can’t work them away, you can’t sleep them away, you can’t drink them away, you can’t starve them away, you can’t not see them.

But, you can allow your friends to love you through them, you can let your family hold you through them, you can let your cat or your dog lay on your chest and lick your tears as they fall. You can open your chest wide and accept that these moments are life too. You can acknowledge that your steps are in sync with the march of humanity and that your footfalls imprint the human continuum and whether it feels like it or not you are right where you’re supposed to be. You, me, we….are part of the marvel. The dynamic, diverse, prism that is humanity. One massive, non-congruent, yet deeply cohesive at the same time, collective unconscious, reflectively conscious, forging forth for a better day.

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Why?

Blindfold me for the battle so I can at least be authentically barbaric
The masses have always hurled in to peril the esoteric

Slipping through the cracks I’ll never look back
But, I will remember my blood dripping through the black

I’m drowning in their cognitive dissonance
While crowning myself the leader of dissidents

With raised fist I’m screaming in to the void
I am my id the cautionary tale by Freud

Primordial and parabolic
I’m a corporeal hydraulic

Telling the story of how modernity is primeval
My nervous system lunging and launching in upheaval

My voice exists on the other side of the veil
But my body is here going through hell

The observation of this peculiar disconnect
That my self-awareness longs to resurrect

Rhyming and timing my sanity like a metronome
Like a daft pendulum the swing is my home

Wisdom that inspires wonder is reputed to be of significance
But the collective seems to relish in the bliss of ignorance

A scathing indictment that leads to incitement
Where even the Socratic of the democratic find themselves affrightment

I’ve simplified my question to three letters, “why.”

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Soulmate Romance

As I think through my concept of a soulmate, the first thing I think of is the emphasis on the word “mate.” For me, mate, means match, alignment, similarities, and therefore comfort. The soul component is the deeper part of our humanity that the majority of other humans do not adequately or accurately perceive about us. A soulmate, for me, would be someone who does see that part of me with clarity and mirrors back to me the profundity of what they see because that person shares many of the same qualities and perspectives and emotions of my own soul. That person can see me because they have seen their own soul, deeply. It is the element and degree of depth of their own self-awareness that is one of the greatest qualifying factors for me to identify with that person as a romantic soulmate.

As I’ve gotten granular on the semantics of the word, “soulmate” it has occurred to me that I’ve been too willing to accept men who do not match or align with me on a soul level. And, to be perfectly honest, and as I’m told by those closest to me, I am likely too deep for most and therefore unrelatable to a great degree. So, where is love for me? I feel like my depth very much limits my options. Added to that, my “niceness” has always given the impression that I can be treated poorly or not have my relational needs met and they can still have priority and benefit from my love of them. 

I think this post serves mostly as a precursor to an impending perspective and behavioral change. I don’t know what that will look like but if I could describe the emotion of what is gathering in this regard it would be more confidence, less tolerance of bad behavior for the sake of being flexible and making it work, and self-belief. I would say “glow-up” but I feel that term has become banal and I’m growing to despise it for that reason. The next several months of this year feel like they will be an unearthing of the “why” and the “how” I need to change my understanding and behavior of who I am willing to accept as a romantic partner. I think ultimately it will be a massive contrast in how I’ve always I’ve seen things pertaining to being loved. And once that change is done it will likely seem to others that it was like an overnight explosion that completely changed my emotional landscape and personality aspects. But, I can intuitively tell that for as profound and impactful as it will be it will be a process of gentle erosion. One that my body can keep pace with and not one that will cause further non-congruence in my soul. Because it is those non-congruences I think, that are creating the disparity between who I desire and who I actually attract.

Cheers to self-discover, shadow work, and the romance of the soul.

Cozett Dunn

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