P O E T R Y

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I (Spy) Love is the 3rd in a series of poetry books.  It’s a Free Download on Amazon Kindle all week. Please read and share.   https://goo.gl/ZeLuXi   

life/dream-states/premonitions/totems/healings/passions/hates/loves/lovers/soul-speak/heart-mates/obsessions/family/lost-love/freedom.

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https://goo.gl/ZeLuXi

Free June 26-30 Amazon Kindle. Send it to someone you love.  Thankyou.

Broken Hearts & Naked Selfies

 

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I LOVE that scientists have been testing the theories I’ve known in my heart to be true! The article referenced below is a study done in the UK about the effects of sudden loss on the physical heart.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/06/18/time-does-not-mend-broken-heart-scientists-find-condition-causes/

But… LOVE can heal it. Let me tell you why. I am my own study or WIP. And have my own theories as to why a heart given six months to live in 2008 still functions, quite beautifully I might add, in 2017! One of the things I stress in LOVE The Beat Goes On, my book on healing from Idiopathic Dilated Cardiomyopathy, is LOVE.

 LOVE in all its forms can both damage and I believe heal a physical heart.

When I was guided to write my story in 2016, I wrote it out with trepidation. It’s sort of like taking a naked selfie and looking at all the flaws. The real deal is the photo is meant for someone who loves you and only sees your beauty. It turns out that my “story” has been received in the same way. Those who’ve read the book see it for it’s love and honesty and ignore the author’s naiveté.

I cover the journey, not just the diagnosis and healing, but how I think I became ill  in the first place. “Idiopathic” means the doctors have no idea “why” my heart was functioning at 28% EF—that means pumping blood at about half it’s normal rate… swollen…stressed to the max. Sometimes it’s childhood trauma, or alcoholism, or smoking, or whatever… But the doctors couldn’t find any specific cause.

I have a secret: I’d been walking around with a problem heart for years. I kind of knew it from an EKG in the nineties that showed an irregular heartbeat. I had an appointment with a specialist right after that EKG and he said I was in good shape “for a 70 year old” when I was under fifty! He made a follow up appointment for months later. I felt okay; and in Canada appointments with specialists can be months apart, and I was working, and, well, you know what happened. Until I literally had the heart attack in early 2008, I forgot about that EKG and never went back to see a heart doctor.

I believe your journey, or your “story” is often what triggers dramatic illnesses in the body.

I think that’s something that more and more of us, and even the medical profession, are beginning to understand. Your story might not necessarily entail the loss of a loved one. It can be anger you carry around against an ex or parent or abusive adult. It might be the loss of a marriage, a cheating spouse, a money issue, a bankruptcy, the loss of your career. All these things if you allow them to build up trigger emotional and often physical damage to your body. The scientists are doing studies and lending credibility to my theory; but if you wait for the science to do something about it, you could be dead.

 

 

LOVE The Beat Goes On     Lynda Filler

Amazon

 

AKA Honesty Can Be Brutal

VISION BOARD 2016

Honesty can be brutal. And it can be scary. But it can also save your life.

When I sat down to write LOVE, The Beat Goes On, many habits that helped me achieve my life goals came back to me. One was the vision board.

In the early nineties, I was living in Montreal, worried about the recession, my future and that of my family. I started thinking about what I wanted in my life. I had two photos on my wall in my office. One showed incredible majestic ski home in Vail. The other photo was the turquoise water of the tropics. I wanted that life. I’d forgotten about both those photos until this year.

When I decided it was time to write LOVE–actually it was Dr. Wayne Dyer who reminded me it was time–I started writing down the habits I’d developed the things that helped me heal from incurable heart disease. Envisioning was a big one. And I remembered those photos.

Have you ever made a vision board? If not, it’s a great way to gather your thoughts on what precisely you want out of your life. Over the years I’ve cut and pasted photos on my cork board, written lists and notes to self. Last year in the fall, I was feeling restless and my dreams were begging me to pay attention. I’ve always been in tune with my heart, so I knew I needed to make changes in my life. I used Canva—a free online website dedicated to graphics—downloaded photos from the Internet, and designed a composite poster of the life I really wanted for myself.

In January events transpired that I could say were out of my control. But, were they?

I envisioned a life that would leave no room for the emotionally draining work I did at that time. I had what I thought was the perfect timeline stretched out over two years. I assumed I was in control. Major changes would have to happen for this life to occur. And they did. Quickly.  And then I woke up one morning saying “Oh my God!” It was clear to me. I knew I had created/envisioned the life I was meant to live.

It’s been a very busy spring. Two months ago I published my first non-fiction, a memoir/healing book LOVE The Beat Goes On. Six weeks ago I began a daily Yoga practice. It has turned into a physical commitment to gratitude for the extraordinary health and life I’ve been blessed to live. I’m writing full time now although Oprah hasn’t yet discovered my book. I’m traveling to Paris this summer to visit family. And my current work of fiction features this amazing home on the water in the PNW. All of the above are on my vision board, the one I created last summer.

Never, ever underestimate the power of your mind.

And by the way, that amazing ski home in Vail, I custom built something even more spectacular in Whistler B.C. in the late nineties. After I sold it, I found that tropical getaway in a coastal town in Mexico.

What inspired this blog? I was standing having lunch in my kitchen looking out at the swaying palm trees and thinking about the newest Jet-Displaced book 4 I’m currently editing. I wondered about my grandbaby in Paris and hoped he was enjoying his first airplane trip to Italy. I’m so excited to be spending a month with them in August. I had the sudden realization that I was truly living The Life I Was Meant to Live.

If it’s to be, it will always be up to me.

Ask yourself the question: do you deserve to live your dreams?

 

 

 

When I Was Your Age

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I have a hazy recollection of playing doctor with a boy when I was six. I think my mother caught us. Or maybe I made it up. I really don’t know. Most people can chronicle episodes from early childhood. I can’t. What I do remember is my first job. I was eleven. And I made .25 cents an hour. No I’m not THAT old! Well, maybe I am.

Every week my mother went to the hairdressers. My dad was a military man. We lived in Ottawa in a basement apartment and we were four kids. I think we were poor but we didn’t really know it. Either way every week my momma went to the beauty salon.

I remember her hairdresser so well mainly because she gave me my first job. I got to wash hair on Saturdays for .25 cents an hour. At the end of the day I would take the used towels, wash them out by hand and hang them outside on a clothesline. It’s not that washer/dryers didn’t exist… I’m sure they did. But we didn’t have one at the salon. Can you magine hanging and taking down frozen towels, in minus 10 degrees, in the brutal Ottawa winter?

Momma would tell me stories about her sisters who were born with their amazing Irish curly reddish hair. She was so jealous. So every couple of months she would get what was called a “permanent.” She would sit with chemicals in her hair and rollers that were supposed to make her hair curly for a month or two at a time. I don’t know if that even exists today. And then, weekly, her hairdresser who had the most beautiful Amber Rose blond pixie cut hair would put Momma’s straight/sometimes chemically induced curls,  in metal rollers, and sit her under a huge bubble hairdryer to set. I never ever saw my mother wash her own hair.

Over the years I went to the hairdressers only for a cut or colors–yes I’ve always been a fan of multi-colors. I’ll blame that on my passion for fashion. Beauty parlors were never my thing—until last year. I went from a spiky short cut that had been my trademark for twenty years and let my hair grow shoulder length. And now, going to see Miriam (aka MY hairdresser) every week has become my “thing.” And every time I go, I remember my mother. And my aunt who had those luxurious curls that my momma loved so much.

This morning I sent this photo to my sister.

Momma would have loved my curls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Childhood trauma leads to lifelong chronic illness — so why isn’t the medical community helping patients?

I never experienced the same thing but this applies to my theory of LOVE The Beat Goes On. Dis-ease is NOT always about the physical manifestation. It often goes so much deeper.

ACEs Too High

ADonnaDadWhen I was twelve, I was coming home from swimming at my neighbor’s dock when I saw an ambulance’s flashing lights in our driveway. I still remember the asphalt burning my feet as I stood, paralyzed, and watched the paramedics take away my father. It was as if I knew those flashing lights were a harbinger that my childhood was over.

At the hospital, a surgeon performed “minor” elective bowel surgery on my young dad. The surgeon made an error, and instead of my father coming home to the “welcome home” banners we’d painted, he died.

The medical care system failed my father miserably. Then the medical care system began to fail me.

At fourteen, I started fainting. The doctors implied I was trying to garner attention. In college I began having full seizures. I kept them to myself, fearful of seeming a modern Camille. I’d awaken on the floor drenched…

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When Raven Comes to Visit

I’m a big believer in signs and messages. After all I was given 6 months to live and was guided to Sedona, Az. for healing.

For the past six years Sand Hawks have been my totem animal. I live near the beach in Mexico and they’re quite common. But until a major event occurred in my life, I never noticed them.

I had a close friend, a Navy SEAL, who once served as Secret Service on Obama’s pre-election team. I called him my Warrior Man. He’d done all the things SEAL men do; but his heart was in South Sudan with the orphans and the displaced people. In the summer of 2011 when he retired, he followed his heart and went to live and serve amongst the refugees in Africa.

I found out about his death at midnight, November 2011. Supposedly he was fighting an incurable disease and lost the battle. I believe there was more to the story but I’ll never know. I never heard from him again. He left me a bodyguard. And he left me his journals in his will. He wanted me to understand his life and write about it. After more than a year, my bodyguard, who was Warrior Man’s best friend, refused to release the journals to me. Too much dangerous information for those still alive, including myself.

But my SEAL sent me Sand Hawks. The morning after he died they swooped down in my parking lot to introduce themselves. From that day forward, whenever something major was going on in my life, decisions, trouble, pain, the Sand Hawks would swirl above me. I remember laughing out loud at their appearance! Of course a warrior would send me hawks to let me know his spirit would always be with me. He’s been gone six years now. I think about him often. And treasure all our letters, and still stare at his photos and wonder about his life.

I tend to immortalize my lovers in my books. And that brings me to another very interesting man I call my Cowboy and mention briefly in LOVE The Beat Goes On. One day I will write that story too. Tthe timing is definitely not now.

In 2015 I wrote a novella called JET-Exposed based on the series by Russell Blake. In this book Jet meets up with Luke Raven, a billionaire techy/inventor/geek/warrior. Is he modeled after someone I know? Possibly. I like to leave my readers guessing.

I have no idea why I named him Raven. I wrote two JET books in 2015 and one in 2016 then went on to complete three novels. I love my JET series and my fans do too, so recently I decided to write a 4th. It will be out in July: JET-Displaced. It must be the right thing because a raven came to visit. Yes, he parked himself on the ledge on my patio and started talking to me. I was taken aback by his sharp voice and his change in pitch. Surprised and delighted.

He came back again the next day. Up close and personal. He waited to make sure I received his message. The Sand Hawks had moved on, and the Raven was now in charge.

When this totem appears in your life, amazing magic is imminent.

This beautiful black totem also brings messages of transition, change and healing because of its ability to cast light into the darkness.

When this happens, make sure that you are well grounded and have faith in your journey.

Raven magic will guide you through.