In my day to day life, however, I’m continually navigating dimensions. When I skim news headlines in what I call 3D, I allow myself to feel the overwhelming pain and sadness of what is playing out, but I no longer dwell in it. I cannot get sad enough to make another happy. I cannot get sick enough to make another well. I cannot get angry enough to make another feel at peace. What I can do, in each moment, is to navigate as best I can to the higher frequencies of joy, peace, love, and well-being. I can envision the world I want. When I bless my food, I ask that all beings be nourished. When I bless my water, I thank Gaia, and my wonderful water filter that removes all major contaminates, including fluoride and micro-plastics. I address the consciousness of the water itself expressing my gratitude and love. I ask that all beings have drinkable water.

I have come to understand that this is my purpose at this stage of my life, my part in this evolutionary unfolding. By living from the Heart, holding the Light, choosing these higher frequencies, new possibilities are put into the “field,” the quantum energy field, and who knows who might be looking for a new idea. And yet I sometimes find myself contemplating exactly what it means to live from the Heart, to hold the Light, especially when I’m dealing with the challenges of life in a body.

Many things have surfaced for me this month. I found myself deeply disturbed by the death of Diane Keaton. This is weird, but for decades I have identified with three consummate female actors who were all born, like I was, in 1946 — Diane Keaton, Sally Fields, and Cher. I felt a kindred affinity with them. Over the years I watched their remarkable films, observed how they were aging. I loved that both Diane and Sally publicly stated that they chose to age completely naturally. Cher, of course, was a different story.

Because of all the speculation about Diane Keaton’s death, details were plastered all over the media, too many of which I read. I’m the same age as Diane, 79, well I will be in December, and she had apparently suffered much decline and a devastating death. I thought a lot about death this month, about my own death, about suffering, about what it would be like to die at this age. I grieved Diane’s passing for days. I watched clips of insightful interviews with her. I identified with her commitment to authenticity. I read the honoring words written and spoken by so many who love her. I wondered what it would be like to be loved like that. I also, unfortunately, saw an awful thing a doctor posted stating that at an older age, even with perfect health, it was very easy to die from pneumonia. Not helpful.

When I had moved through the worst, I watched Something’s Gotta Give probably for the fourth time. In 2003, after seeing the film for the first time, I found myself, like Diane’s character, sitting at my own computer, an ever growing pile of soggy tissues on the desk, fiction about my own then nebulously departed lover spilling across the keyboard, the film’s soundtrack playing in the background. As soon as it becomes free on Prime Video in four days, I will watch Annie Hall.

And finding it difficult to write this month, I took refuge in reading. Because of certain eye issues, I mostly listen to audiobooks these days. I read all the new books by my favorite mystery authors. For anyone who might be interested in that genre, here’s what I read — The Killing Stones by Ann Cleaves, Marble Hall Murders by Anthony Horowitz; The Impossible Fortune by Richard Osman. Recently released and waiting to be read are The Black Wolf by Louise Penny, and A Slowly Dying Cause by Elizabeth George.

I also read various other fiction, including several amazing literary novels, all of which I highly recommend, each of which left me with much to contemplate — Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt; The Life Impossible by Matt Haig; The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong; and People Like Us by Jason Mott. I don’t know that I would have come across Jason Mott’s new novel had I not discovered that he had been one of the workshop facilitators this past summer at Wildacres Retreat where I had attended writing workshops for many years. I would have loved to be able to take a novel workshop with him when I had been writing fiction.

Each of these offerings left me with much to contemplate. Each took me on an inner journey that brought up a gamut of emotions, from joy, to laughter, to deep sadness. I hardly ever assess books I read from the stance of a reviewer. In the case of these extraordinary literary works, they already came to me with an abundance of accolades. What I do find myself coming away with after navigating such profound stories are more than a few revelations, and a larger, at times unexpected, perspective from which to integrate the feelings I experienced.

My intent here is not to go deeply into book talk, but I will give you an example. Take the idea of lovingkindness. I found myself in awe of how all of these disparate stories addressed, either through magic realism (one of my favorite literary genres to read and write), or actual storyline, the idea of lovingkindness. This is the kind of thing my mind finds itself noticing and contemplating after finishing a deeply engaging book.

The thread of lovingkindness, however, does not always make for an easy ending. Briefly, People Like Us still leaves us stuck in the reality of gun violence. The Emperor of Gladness leaves an ambiguous ending, which either way, for me, brought up unsettled feelings. The Life Impossible, through it’s quirky, captivating originality seemed to offer the perspective that there is a grander reality at play. Remarkably Bright Creatures, however, does end with some resolution that calms the heart.

In a few days we will be into November, and also back to regular non-daylight savings time. I haven’t slept well this whole month, and when I have slept, my dreams have often been disturbing. It’s also been difficult to start my day in the dark, with the sun not even beginning to rise until 7:30. Even though these time changes always throw me off for several weeks, I need early morning light streaming through my bedroom windows.

It’s starting to get chilly here in Colorado, but the sun has been shining almost every day. And the Big Sky I see from my patio with the most wonderous clouds, and the blazing sunsets over the mountains in the distance to the right continually remind me of the true majesty of Gaia and the promised evolution of this tiny blue planet we call Earth. I believe that we will come to remember the truth of who we are, the largeness of that truth, the innate abilities that will be restored by that truth, and the connection to a loving family of consciousness that spans the galaxy and beyond.