It’s been my great pleasure to meet some truly amazing women, especially in the last few years. Today I’d like to introduce you to one of my juiciest friends, Dr. Dana Reece. I feel so blessed to call this lady a friend! She has recently launched her own blog and website, and over the next few weeks I’m going to share her story with you since a primary topic of her blog so far has been about letting go of clutter.

Dana Reece has a 25 year career dedicated to personal transformation, teaching people to get clarity around and then manifest their goals through writing, sharing, journaling. She is also a certified Kundalini Yoga instructor and an Inner Space Technique Practitioner (think, psychoanalysis meets reiki) with nearly 20 years’ meditation practice.

Here is her offering for this week:

I. The Mind’s Destructive Games

I’d been on the table for half an hour before I started to cry. And even then, it wasn’t a sob or sound of any sort, neither something I welcomed nor attempted to suppress. It was just tears, streaming down the sides of my face. And I just let them. Why not feel sad? I had been at the Breast Center for nearly 2 hours, had endured the second mammogram my doctor said I needed, had waited here, had waited there, pink wristband with my name on it, pink robe. It was supposed to feel like a soothing place, but really, how could anyone feel soothed here?

By the time I was on the table, the energetic sadness of the place combined with my own, and there the tears were, as I lay there getting an ultrasound, watching the screen, seeing the lumps, not one, but several, one quite noticeable.

Only a couple of weeks before, I had been lying in savasana, feeling, for perhaps the first time, totally unafraid to die. My mind was reminding me of that now, reminding me also that I didn’t believe in coincidences, and stringing those two events together quite firmly and dramatically. “You have breast cancer. You are going to die. This is why you felt no fear. It’s time.”

And I still felt no fear.

But I did feel sadness. My children. My oldest, in college, just getting his life together in his own terms. How would this be for him? My youngest, very disabled. Who would care for him?

The technician pretended not to notice. I wondered what it would be like to have a job like hers. I wouldn’t want a job like that. She quietly said it wouldn’t be much longer. And when she was done, she said the doctor would be in to see me shortly.

So, I had to see the doctor.

Not a good sign, my mind assured me.

“He is going to tell you you have breast cancer,” my mind assured me; a professional sense of knowing, that mind of mine has. It was certain…. —–> Read the rest of the article here.

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