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PHOETICS-TOUCHSTONE TO THE AUTHENTIC SELF
Photographs are the reason I am living..
When I was a mother of two young daughters in my fortieth year, I yanked the brakes on my runaway life to a screeching halt. You could smell the psychic rubber fuming all the way from Orange County to LA.
Everything I had been doing and the way I had been doing it was coming to an end. It was as if the sands of my female hourglass were running out. I was forty. At a crossroads. No signposts. No maps. No tracts. No wise women. I was desperate. And for the first time in my life, I went against my mother’s dire warnings: "Never trust a woman. In fact, the only woman you can ever trust is your own mother."
I found my first female therapist. She was exactly my age and I sensed right away that this woman was a master surgeon when it came to bloodletting the toxins that had been in my psychic body for so long I never knew there was such a thing as 'normal.' I put myself into her good hands for the next two years. When I asked her why she thought I might have been abused, she was careful with her words and replied, “Well, if you had a list of fifteen red flags, I could check off every one of them.” I didn’t understand her, but I trusted her. She never pushed, just asked me to bring in my family photos, whatever I wanted.
"The Seeding of Phoetics..."
It was on one of those milder-than-mild early Southern California mornings when my Lady Santa Ana's softly ushered me off in a Great Mother sweep to Pat's modest two-story gray clapboard offices, sequestered beneath ancient eucalyptus trees off some anonymous, intimate back-road in Tustin. I got out of my black Jag, dutifully dragged from the trunk a dirty dusty weatherworn box crammed with photos from every era I had ever lived, psychically and physically and made my way up the shaky elevator. Little could I have guessed that day that this was the beginning of the rest of my life and what I would come to know as My Calling.