Terry Cole-Whittiker

 

 Terry at home at Mt. Shasta.

 

One day in San Diego, California, I stood in our front yard and called out to the Great Spirit: "I want this to stop and I want it now."

I had privacy as our yard faced a canyon, and from my cry, you might surmise that my life was in turmoil.

The following Sunday, I went to Terry Cole-Whittiker's church, and I've been on a spiritual roll ever since.

Yesterday, July 27, I mentioned Terry on my blog, and after that, I checked to see if she had posted anything recently. She hadn't. And then, I found that she had passed away peacefully in her sleep on October 22, 2024.

At first, I didn't believe it, for when you look up people on the internet, many times they will say they have died. But I kept searching, and I guess it's true.

I had spoken with her, I thought, within the year. I had emailed her and thanked her once again for the workshop I took with her at Mt Shasta in 2023. She said she would call, and we could catch up. We spoke on the phone, and I found that she was living in a Tiny House in Washington State, I think in Olympia.

This powerhouse of a woman once began a ministry for Science of the Mind in La Jolla, CA. She moved to San Diego and started Terry Cole-Whittiker's ministry, where she grew her congregation from 50 in La Jolla to over 5,000 in a Sunday service in San Diego. She also spread her message further through a television program.

I was a Sunday regular. That was home, and from that I branched out into other teachings.

During one of Terry's classes, she asked all of us to stand up, grasp the back of the chair in front of us, and grip it. Hold on. Hold on," she kept telling us.

Finally, some of us let go.

"Why did you let go?' she asked.

A voice piped up, "Because we were tired of holding on."

"That's the reason we let go of things," she said.

One day, I volunteered at their offices to take telephone calls, listen to questions, and say a prayer for the person.

When I walked into the room, I told the person in charge that I didn't know what I was doing."

"You'll learn it by doing," she said, pointed to the phone, and turned me loose with no monitoring.

I was impressed with her attitude and happy that I didn't have someone looking over my shoulder. I took the calls and had a blast.

Finally, Terry said that the ministry was running her, not the other way around, so she stopped. She moved on, being her own person, writing books, setting up workshops in Hawaii, traveling to India, and ultimately moving into nature.

She settled in Mt. Shasta, Oregon.

A few years ago, I decided to drive from our town outside Eugene, Oregon, to Mt. Shasta for a weekend retreat with Terry.  It was over a July 4 weekend, and the workshop consisted of one other person besides me.

Terry cooked Vegetarian for us, and on the second day, drove us to an alpine Meadow on Mt Shasta. I had never visited an Alpine meadow, and I was awe stricken. Water prickled through the meadow, flowers were in blossom, it was open and green, and astoundingly beautiful. We walked into the forest and followed a trail to a lake where we could dip our feet in mountain water, and throughout the walk and the day, Terry taught the principles for which she has become known.

 And I have never felt more loved.

After we closed for the weekend, Hanna, my fellow participant, had taken this retreat before and was thus relatively quiet during the discussions, wanting me to have the experience, escorted me to the town of Mt. Shasta to see the "Headwaters" of Mt. Shasta.

At the City Park, there is a pond where 50-year-old, hand-numbingly cold-water rushes from the ground through moss-covered rocks into a clear pool called "Big Springs."

Every day, people come with jugs to collect the water.  According to a 2009 study commissioned by California Trout, water bubbling from Big Springs – from an aquifer of the same name – fell high on the slopes of Mt. Shasta more than 50 years ago.

This is the same aquifer that Crystal Geyser taps for its water from a manufacturing facility on Ski Village Drive. The company has private wells and water rights to water from Mt. Shasta.

Terry’s home was a farm house in an open countryside in a beautiful setting, surrounded by lush green pastures, and no houses close by. She ran around ran around barefoot, connected to the ground she adores, and took people on spiritual excursions.

From high stakes in San Diego, a darling of Hollywood, and once wearing designer suits and high heels, she bought clothing from the local Thrift store, walked barefoot through a mountain meadow, preaching as she had always done.

Terry was home.

"Thank you for Loving Me," a video of Terry Cole-Whittiker.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20VJdlMKG6g/

Love you girl.

Blessings on your journey. 

 

 Terry in her meadow.

Something is Stirring

For a long time, I've been interested in self-help books, seminars, workshops, Tony Robbins, Abraham, and bodywork. I've taken two six-month trainings in—now, so many years later, I don't know what to call those two full days a week for a year. They included rebirthing, spirituality, a sharing of feelings, and a process that leaders called a Breakthrough. From what to what? I used to think that if it wasn't painful, it wasn't working.

Well, that's a bunch of crap.

After all that, I'm glad I did it, now I am at a crossroads. Perhaps you feel that way too, feeling confused, angry, and physically tired in a way that lying down doesn't alleviate. We are seeing the collapse of many things we hold dear; things we thought would last forever.

Yet something is stirring. Do you feel it?

Something is happening.

Not the deportation of people, the threats of losing citizenship, the firing of comedians, the silencing of voices, of public media threatened, not all that.

It’s a rising up of people.

  

A new day is coming, a day filled with hope and joy, where we care for each other, the earth, the animals, plants, water, and even things we don't consider living.  

Consider this: even gangs and mobsters are loyal to their families. They have a shared belief, not necessarily a good one, but with it comes a need to belong—to love and be loved.

In moments of crisis, we rise to the occasion. We are good people. Some people would jump into ice-cold water to save a stranger or an animal in need. We talk people off bridges so they don't jump off. We care at a level we don't even know we have.

I hear voices crying in the wilderness. They are calling forth a new day. They are the hope of the future.

Can you hear them?

Can you feel them?

Notice how it feels when you walk into a room full of people.

Part of that feeling comes from your own anxiety, but you know when you feel safe and when you don't. You know when you are welcome and when you aren't.

 

I used to attend a Church in San Diego, California, whose minister was Terry Cole-Whitticker. The day I walked into that church, I felt at home. 

Terry's church rang, it sang, it danced. It was positive.  it sang, it danced. It was positive. Terry spoke while looking at the audience, she spoke of good things not bad. She told the choir to memorize their songs so they sang directly to the people. 

One day, at a service, a man gave me a flower, and that simple flower meant so much. How can we make it better? You give it to someone else. How much love can a single flower give? 

One day Terry said that if we brought a hurting person into that room all the love that was stirring would heal them. This energy level takes more than one person. 

But Terry was one person with a dream and determination, she brought people together, motivated them, and they synergistically raised the collective consciousness.

When you leave this blog my hope is, my determination is, that you will feel uplifted.

 

 

"We're the ones to make a brighter day, so let's start giving."

                         --written by Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie

"We're The Ones to Make A Brighter Day" is the largest-selling Charity single record In 1985 it raised more than $80 million (equivalent to $229 million in 2024) for the people of Africa impacted by the 1985 famine.

 

"It's in every one of us to be wise…"

—song by David Pomeranze

I'm singing that song today.

 

Forgive me but this made me laugh so hard I have to post it.

From Scotland:

I Ran Into God This Morning

This morning, the idea of writing something positive and unpolitical came tumbling down like a glass chandelier.

I ran into God.

He was standing right there, and I was dum de dum turning on my computer so I could write a blog for tomorrow when an announcement from a Facebook friend dinged at my side.

I turned, and that's when I ran into God. Or rather, it was someone on his site who had posted the link to a Steven Colbert show where he interviewed Congressman Adam Schiff.

When Colbert asked Schiff how this Presidential term was different from the first, Schiff answered.

Within six months, he has created a climate of fear.

(That wasn’t true the first time.)

This time, he has made everyone afraid: citizens, judges, law enforcers, immigrants, the media, CBS, ABC, Universities, Publishers, and even the Republicans. He's gone after Medicaid, threatens Medicare and Social Security, which people have paid into, and threatens to take away the citizenship of people born in this country who have opposed him.

And there are death threats. Schiff said that in 20 years as a congressman, if he received three threats in those 20 years, it was a lot; now people, even Republicans, are being threatened with harm to themselves, their wives, and their children.

And then Adam Schiff—the Congressman who ran the first impeachment process against our President, turned, faced the camera and said, "Donald, Piss Off."

He made my day.

The only trouble is a few days later Colbert received the news that he had been canceled by CBS for "financial reasons."

Financial reasons?

CBS is the Public Broadcasting Company, paid for by subscribers.

Oh, there’s more to the story:

"Earlier this month, Paramount Global—CBS's parent company—decided to settle with Donald Trump for $16 million over Trump's lawsuit over the editing of a 60 Minutes interview. The New York Times called it an "extraordinary concession to a sitting president by a major media organization."

Earlier this week, Colbert criticized the decision in his monologue, saying, "As someone who has always been a proud employee of this network, I am offended."

Hum.

(His dismissal doesn't take effect until May 2026. That gives pause—don’t you hate working for someone who doesn’t want you? But then consider the possibilities, he could go after whomever he chooses without fear of being fired—he already is. He has a sharp wit. They can't top him.)

In the meantime, His Majesty is spending enormous amounts of money on himself, taking Air Force One to golf tournaments and games—flying Air Force One costs $200,000 per hour, considering all the security necessary for the President of the United States.

I suppose His Majesty doesn't consider that if he eliminates all his opponents--the taxpayers who are filling the coffers--all that will be left are the rich, to whom he is giving tax breaks.

Humm.

Waste of the day: From the Guardian:

Force One, which costs $200,000 per hour to operate.

Topline: President Donald Trump has already visited his Mar-a-Lago resort and golf course six times since taking office in January. The trips have cost taxpayers roughly $6 million in travel costs and forced Palm Beach County to approve $45 million in security costs.

Key facts: The two-hour flight from Washington, D.C. to Mar-a-Lago costs roughly $1 million round trip, the Associated Press previously estimated. Most of the bill is from Air Force One, which costs $200,000 per hour to operate. An additional plane carrying the presidential motorcade adds to the cost. Trump also takes a helicopter from the White House to Joint Base Andrews, where Air Force One departs.

 

Link to The Steven Colbert Show with Adam Schiff:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E76-v7D7LPI

 You can bet that the Epstein files will not be released until they are expunged of an mention of you know who.

 

God blessed Jeff Daniels:

“Jeff Daniels has spoken the truth. He said Trump represents everything wrong with not just America, but with being a human being. He called out the loss of decency, civility, and respect for the rule of law. And he said what needed to be said: “we’re supposed to elect the best of us, not the worst.”

Bless him for using his voice while so many stay silent.

https://www.thegodpodcast.com/

   

I found this, and it somewhat lowered my blood pressure:

 

One definition of a friend: “We agree to grow together.”

I will be there for you. You will be there for me.

And this applies to communities and countries.

Distractions

 

 

I drove to the drive-up window of Dari Mart this morning for a half gallon of half and half creamer for my coffee (Not all in one cup). A drive-up window is so handy when you aren't presentable for a grocery store, you want your cup of Jo, and you used the last of the cream last night. (No fake creamer, it has to be half and half. Well, in a pinch, I'll use whipping cream.)

Long ago, when I worked for a dentist, 8 am to 1 pm Monday through Friday, a long morning, I would be starving around 10 o'clock, so I resorted to coffee and powdered creamer. One day, my boss filled my cup with a heap of dental plaster that was the same color as the creamer, stuck a tongue depressor in it with a sign attached: "Coffee gone bad."

I miss that guy.

Back to the drive-up window:  The servers at the window give out doggie treats, and on an auspicious day it might be a piece of bacon or a sausage link—those days renew hope for Sweetpea, as most windows give out dry, stick in the throat dog biscuits that she buries under her blanket.

I gave the lady a five-dollar bill, and she handed me one penny.

I stroked the penny with my thumb and forefinger, and thought of Marie Forleo, who said she always picks up a penny from the sidewalk—to honor money—so it won't be treated as something to throw away.

As I rolled the penny around, I thought, if every person who has clicked on my website paid a penny for it, I would have $10,000. Wish on white Horses hit one million page views last week. And I have all you guys to thank for that. Thank you, thank you for sticking with me.

Of course, that doesn't mean one million people have checked in; it means I have kept at it long enough to chalk up page views.  

No matter—I love my readers.

I try to give you something of worth—we'll see what happens today. 

 

I would like to know how you guys are faring out there. People are perking along, while off in the distance, I hear the sound of freedoms crashing against the sidewalks of the United States.

I want to go on with my life, to believe in the goodness of people, that we care about our fellow men and women ("Red and yellow black and white they are precious in His sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world. We used to sing that in Sunday School.)

The stalwart souls I'm talking about knew that people came to this country in search of a better life.  ("Send us your tired, your poor, your hungry masses yearning to breathe free"). Those stalwart souls fought hard to give Immigrants—yes we can use the word Immigrants, it isn't a bad word, the freedoms they wanted for themselves.

 I remember seeing an ad containing a picture of a beautiful little girl. The caption read: "A brain is a terrible thing to waste."

So, we fought for women's right to read, to be educated, to vote. We fought for Women's right to have equal pay for equal work. Lo and behold, we found that women made good doctors and other professionals. We fought for Birth control and the right of a female to own her own body when men were laughing and answering the question, "Do you have any children?" with a "I don't think so."

“Ha ha, boys will be boys.”

We knew that people came to this country so they could practice their preferred religion without incrimination. Some said, "There are many roads to God. You don't have to be a Christian to love God." Some said that the Almighty Spirit that give us breath is a loving God with no ego problem. He doesn't require adoration or sacrifice. Would He be offended if you didn't believe in Him? The same source that knows about atoms, and Quarks, and how to sling the stars in the sky.

We saw that some of our fellows were mistreated, so we marched, we lobbied, we formed a Civil Liberties Union, we kept on until we had an integrated society.

We had opposition all along, but we kept going. We saw that the immigrants were doing our hard labor, bringing food to our table, and we supported their cause.

We saw that there were Gays among us—as it has been since the dawn of humanity (read the Iliad), and we said, "Let them be how God made them."

We fought against wars we thought were unjust. We fought for animal rights, we fought against the slaughter of wild herds, and for humane animal handling.

We are good people.

And then we forgot.

 

P.S.

You see, how hard it is to go on when there is crashing and banging in the background?

Don't let them do that to you—Don't let them fill your brain with so much noise that you lose heart. And then you forget that there is joy in the world.

When that happens, they’ve got you.

I was going to talk about being an entrepreneur, doing what you want, and getting paid for it. We do need money to live after all.

That will have to wait for another day.

 

 

Why Do Writers Write?

 

Why do writers write?

To impart wisdom?

To stroke their ego?

Steven Pressfield says, "Nobody wants to read your shit."

His point is to keep after it up until it isn't shit.

Barbara Kingsolver's writing advice is: "Don't be afraid to write a bad book."

Her second piece of advice is "Keep revising it until it isn't a bad book."

What if people write as an invitation to share, to join forces?

Reading and sharing are opportunities for all of us to see that we're in this (soup of life) together. We are all unique in the way we are put together, with genes stirred into unique combinations. (As with us. Surprise — you have a red-haired child.) Plus, we have our conditioning, conscious heritage, and life experiences that help shape us.

So, here we are.

Yet, while we are unique, we have similarities.

We all know we're going to die.

We've all had a childhood, good, bad, or indifferent.

We all have dreams, ambitions, longings, and questions.

 

And then there comes a day when we realize it's up to us.

It's up to us to choose which spot on the political spectrum we stand. 

It's up to us to decide whether to follow a religious concept, or do we unthinkingly follow the one we were born into, or had forced upon us? 

It's up to us to make a living. 

It's up to us to find a mate and, before that, to decide if we want one for ourselves or are afraid to buck the social norm and go it alone. 

It's up to us to choose to have children, or if we get them by surprise, it's up to us to care for them.

And it's up to us to create the best life for ourselves we can.

Whoa, that's a lot of choices; no wonder we often feel frazzled.

And then some of us desire to express ourselves on paper. (Or screen.) Sometimes we don't know why. It's a compulsion, like the idea that if you don't cut your hair, it will all end up snarled inside your head until your brain doesn't have a chance to breathe. (Brains breathe?) You get my drift.

I like travel stories. If you had a wonderful trip, ate exceptional food (cuisine, if it was fancy), and had experiences that made your toes curl, I want to hear about them. You know, the idea is that the hero goes out into the world to gather knowledge and to bring it back to the tribe. (Or bring food for the feast.)  

Long ago, after our bellies were full, we sat around a campfire and listened intently as our warriors, hunters, shamans, or scouts told us about stalking the beast. They told of risking their lives, or of saving their brothers from quicksand.

Why do you think we love stories so much? 

They are shared experiences, knowledge, and entertainment. 

During our brief stint living on the Big Island of Hawaii, on several occasions, we took ourselves to lunch at "The Ponds Restaurant" in Hilo. We liked to go there because they had windows overlooking the pond; really, it was a small lake fed by ice melt off the mountain. From our seat by the bank of open windows that looked out over the pond, we could look down and see brilliant orange, gold, or spotted white and charcoal Koi fish, large as whisky barrels, anxiously looking up to see if any food was forthcoming.

My grandson was one year old, and the proprietor liked to give him food for the fishes. "But first," she said, "you must ring the gong three times."

We never tested the necessity for three rings, but the fish knew that the sound of the gong meant food.

So, my little grandson would ring the gong, then drop fish pellets over the window ledge, and watch the flurry of excitement as the fish ate their food. Then, we settled down to ours.

On one occasion, I read a sign on the restroom wall:

"Life wasn't meant to be well-ordered. It was meant to hold chocolate in one hand and wine in the other while yelling, "Whoopie, what a ride!"

So, I write that quote here, and you read it in China. A while later, you travel to the US, and while sitting at Point Loma Seafood in San Diego, you share the quote with a friend. She decides it's worth re-telling and writes it on her blog.

A million people read it.

You just had the opportunity to "change the quality of the day" ("the highest of the arts," so wrote Walt Whitman) for one million people.

And I didn't know what I was going to say when I began this blog and wrote that beginning sentence, “Why do writers write?”  That is the fun of writing; it helps us to remember.

From a fellow traveler on this adventure called life.