However, when we took a family road-trip to visit New Hampshire’s Castle in the Clouds, I stood before Thomas Plant’s tiny suit of armor and laughed at the knee-high knight, out loud.  My amusement at his stature, though, pointed one finger at his prized costume and 4 fingers back at me. I too felt small and scared in a big world, longing for protection. Would I soar or surrender in my battles? How small or great would I be?

Indeed, the warriors were waiting and I would be tested around this fragile age. During my first year of Catholic girls’ high school, while peaking in my power, I was bullied by several older classmates in a terrifying way. Death threats were put in my locker and worms hurled at me at lunchtime so even my closest friends dare not stay. I was a 14-year old chased through the hall with scissors by 17-year olds who wanted clip my mane. “Kill yourself or we will kill you”, their scribbled notes would say. As class president, I organized a fund-raising dance for the entire school but the sophomores, juniors and seniors boycotted it as a symbolic spit in my face. When a few of the Heather-like harassers heard I’d be attending with a hunky senior from the boys’ school, they attacked me outside the dance with skunk spray. They wrapped the bushes in toilet paper and vandalized the decorated gazebo windows with vulgar words of hate. They did everything in their power to torture and torment me let alone embarrass me in front of my date.  

Later that week, when my school uniform was stolen as I attended swim class, I kept my cool and pretended I was stronger than their threats.  However, decades later I realized that what we bury in adolescence can lead to a lifetime of post-traumatic stress.  I ultimately switched high schools, slid into a corner, dimmed my light and kept negative memories at bay. But my secret past was a ghost who sat silently in the chair behind me. I dared not stand out, speak out or shine in any way.

I recently was made aware of my own banished parable when I heard about the movie “Bully” and felt every second of the featured children’s pain. Though I was often the friend and defender of the bullied, MY oppressors were too many and I simply couldn’t be saved.  I share this tale not to cement my story but to show that “victim” is a role I no longer choose to play. It was ironically my strength and what I had going for me that made me a target. Have you ever been punished for your power, speared for your success or burned at the stake? Life taught me early on that the most treacherous path of all is the one where we aspire to be great.

Indeed, we start young, creating our armor, link by link, chain by chain. Meanwhile our REAL power is that vulnerability that links us to all humanity, where we are uniquely powerful and yet sweetly and softly the same. Most bullies are the fearful ones, who pose as powerful but lack self-esteem, so they tear down anyone who is unlike them and interesting, moving confidently toward a dream.  When the bully is finally banished and our heroic journeys are penned, we can rediscover our true essence. Behind the brick wall there is a neglected but beautiful flower garden protected by an iron fence.

Whether symbolized through a tiny piece of chain mail or a shrunken suit for a miniature magnate, sometimes shields are needed and the world is not safe. But as Gandhi said, “A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.” Passion for self, others, pursuits and principles is what is most needed now. It is our unbridled inner enthusiasts, not our cautious conformist selves that we must celebrate.

So, the challenge is to express ourselves truthfully in the face of fear and own all that we are and have the potential to be. Glorious and victorious is the unarmored knight who drops the sword, speaks his word and wears his heart and humanity on his sleeve.

The reason I wanted to comment on this wasn’t to repeat Steve Jobs’ life story or to hammer home the obvious rag to riches clichés. I just wanted to highlight a few sentences uttered by the visionary that make me shudder to this day. When speaking about his early life and being adopted, this is what he had to say: "I wasn't abandoned. I was chosen. I was special." His whole axis turned on this one childhood epiphany and his destiny was shaped.

What one little boy decided about himself changed millions of lives forever. There is no discounting the power of perception when it comes to self-esteem. We can choose to see ourselves as perpetual victims or we can use our circumstances to fuel our dreams. Indeed, his life was a winding path of outer uncertainties, but Steve Jobs pieced together a perfect puzzle with the glue of a compelling belief. Thankfully, the “chosen one” took everything that happened to him good or bad, and chose what it would mean.

As his deep Portuguese voice bellowed The “Our Father” and “Hail Mary”…time stood still as though anchored by João’s physical and spiritual weight. Our eyes closed en masse for only a few devotional seconds before he disappeared like a fleeting apparition. Could this be the same lumbering being who had taken so long to reach the stage? My friend, sitting beside me turned my direction and her expression mirrored my befuddled face. “Where did he go??” we whispered in unison. It was just the first of many mysteries to unfold in the hours that followed. João was no ordinary man and this was no average Monday.

As a student of mysticism, I am endlessly seeking answers but there are things I cannot explain. So, I search for symbolism and mine for meaning hoping I can teach others to do the same. I could share in detail about the unusual warmth and softness of “The Entity’s” hand, the electricity of his aura, and how on my second passing before him, João’s body transformed and his countenance changed. He reached into his pocket and handed me something invisible. Without a second thought, I extended my arm to take it and his assistants hurried me away. Buzzing from the inside, tears rolling down my cheeks, I wondered what I had been given. Was his physical gesture an effort to convince me I had received something from a higher plane? Despite my tendency to believe the Abadianian folklore, my thirst for tangible proof was probably printed on my forehead like a marquee on Broadway.

Awestruck and exhausted, I drove back to the city unable to even speak of the experience to my eager and investigative husband. The details seemed clouded over like the clover. What had I seen? What exactly had taken place? How could I share such a foreign and bizarre story with others? After all, I was cloaked in white, sitting in a swarm of spiritual soldiers. The words “Hale-Bopp” hung in my head and rolled off my tongue to the great amusement of my buddy. This was real and inexplicable but would others find me insane? Was I standing before divinity incarnate or was I participating in a Brazilian “Heaven’s Gate”?

Cynicism aside, it is reported that Medium João selflessly heals thousands and has done so for over half a century. His Casa in Brazil has no official website. There are no blatant commercial aspects. The humble man credits his gift to God and works tirelessly often without a break and always without pay. His very existence opens a portal of possibility. When we quiet the critic and humble our humanity, there is potential for profound faith.  Symbolically, I am left with that learning. What if we spent our lives forcing our will instead of leaving room for grace? What if belief was the bridge between the mundane and a miracle and 10 daily, quiet, meditative minutes was all it would take? What if everything was possible, even miraculous healing, if we were only willing to pray?

My epiphany was a beam of light that cut through the questions, like the sudden sun through the soggy tent on that unforgettable day. A-Ha! Moments were not meant to be prodded for proof or dissected like lab frogs. When we swap our complex certainties for spiritual simplicity, child-like curiosity cleans our skeptical slates.  If we had all the answers, what would be the purpose of hope or faith? Through that portal of possibility, there is opportunity for evolution. “What if?” is engraved on the door plate. We can live life as we have always known it or cross the threshold to a new one. A world of wonder is a world reframed.

Happily, power isn’t found in a passport; our minds can always travel to a new place. Our pockets are lined with unlimited airline vouchers; we can choose any mental destination and board any psychological plane. Reframing our current realities is more refreshing than constantly running away.  So, how does an engineered epiphany happen and how might we bridge the border between work and play? It starts by minding the gap between our fantasies and where we are today. “Minding the gap” is taking inventory of undervalued blessings; the people, places and things that make our lives great. The cozy bed we prefer to any hotel accommodation, the friendly neighbor, a peaceful ride home on the train...the child who leaps to the door to greet us and the bills that are thankfully paid. When we welcome in joy and gratitude, our disgruntled demons pack their bags and escape. When we saunter through life saying silent “thank you’s”, our wanderlust is kept at bay.  It is hard to long for "other" when our hearts no longer ache.

So, the key is to ask the question, “What is standing between me and “someday…”? Sometimes all it takes is to notice what IS there. Paradise is a matter of perspective...A shift is all it takes.

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Even in my darkest moments, I have known an empowered perspective was sitting next to me with hands folded, begging to be reclaimed. Yet, it takes persistent practice to free ourselves from routine reactions. It takes a labor of love to liberate our incarcerated brains. We need to lay fresh hopeful eyes on cemented certainties, and link our individual struggles to humanity’s collective chain. It is a gift of our evolution that we can now stand outside our circumstances with blessed objectivity. When we stay stubbornly stuck in our sad stories, we are dissing our dynamic DNA. Possibility is born when we own the power of perspective and realize that even our most obstinate opinions can change.

So, while I return to my words; my skeleton, fleshing out the one-dimensional page, please click on the photo to enjoy this 8-minute experiential journey. It is a compilation I created out of images to the song Three in One by Gerald Brunskill. It is titled, “A World Reframed”...

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I share this story as a reminder that perspective is everything. It took a fall to force me out of my comfort zone and a shattered world to find my wings. So, as you watch this video, consider your own journey…What pain could you prospect for passion and purpose? What defining moment could you create? What fear of change or limiting identity holds you back from realizing your highest fate?

Some people need a divorce, a death, or a disaster to awaken to their greater potential. For me, I needed to break my face. But life won’t push us down the stairs over and over again when we get the lesson the first time; use every event as an opportunity for evolution. When life feels like it is over, it might just be starting. The key is to reframe.

Conflicted, guilty and gluttonous, I instigate an internal debate. “Well, if we weren’t meant to eat shellfish why did God invent clarified butter and oyster crackers? Did Lucifer concoct the clambake?” I know that some reach nirvana doing wheatgrass shots or chanting mantras, but I’m hedonistically human. Sorry Buddha, surf and turf is heaven…I’ll take the lobster AND the steak.

The symbolism of the bridge may be tongue in cheek, but is a fitting one for me. The tale of the tail is an epic battle between two worlds; that of debauchery and divinity. When lust lures us to the dark side on a regular basis, just how holy can we be? So, we straddle the worlds of good and evil, forever scolding the child within, “Why can’t you be perfect? Be a vegetarian! Do yoga and drink Yerba Mate. Skip Happy Hour for Pete’s Sake! Live life without lobster and sin!”

I’m reminded of my beloved late priest, Father Anthony, who counseled me through some painful transitional times. This esteemed monsignor rode a Harley and hovered under a halo of cigarette smoke. As an Italian from Sicily, he loved hugs from beautiful women, decadent food and wine. “It’s ok to be human, Pam…that is what you were born to be!  Only saints and liars claim to have conquered their impulses. Only a rare few reach mastery.” Indeed, it is no wonder we feel imperfect when we see holy and hedonistic as the great divide. Like an impenetrable border, we need permission or a passport, “Welcome light-seekers and disciplined devotees...Langoustine lovers don’t dare cross the state line.” It is an all or nothing game, suit up in spirituality or sit it out in cynicism, pick a team, choose a side. But if we want to reframe our worlds and have a fresh perspective, we have to see ourselves through loving and patient eyes. As long as we are conscious and ever-striving for improvement, we are all in chaotic classroom together. No imperfectly perfect person, robed or titled, has a monopoly on the divine.

I always secretly wondered though, if I had an angel on my shoulder, a lucky star, or some sprite throwing lifelines to me. Whenever I was imprisoned by despair or shackled in sorrow, some benevolent being would swoop in and set me free. One thing I have learned in my search for meaning is that life is like a riveting novel or an ever-unfolding mystery. So, when I sat quietly in the back corner of a James Van Praagh workshop one April morning, imagine my intrigue when one of his trained psychics went to the stage and pointed directly at me.

“There is a tall, thin WWII soldier standing behind you with his hand on your back. He was on a ship, he shares the same name as your father, was married to Mary, he says the name "Paul" and tells me that your brother is a writer and he loves spending time with your fun family…he died in some type of attack…”

My heart started racing, my flesh became cold and tears came to my eyes as I listened like I had never listened to anyone before. “He is here with you and always with you…” and then, after a silence, she spoke some more. “He’s thrilled that you married a sailor. They share the passion for water and New York City.” As a hundred and fifty riveted eyes stared my direction, I just whispered to myself, “How does she know all of this? I’ve never met her before….How can this be!?”

As I emerged from the dark conference hall enlightened and shaken, my fingers trembling as I dialed my family, I had a flashback to the only other time I encountered a psychic, whom I had interviewed for a middle-school class project; she too saw a WWII soldier, an engine tender first-class, dressed in uniform, standing there…as tall and thin as a reed. Though my father was confused by this strange story back then, he confirmed it described my grandfather, indeed. Alas, my fragile youth found it so troubling to hear a “ghost” was in my presence, I processed the encounter as a dream.

To provide some background, my grandfather, Gilbert J. Doiron, died on The USS Reuben James when his ship was torpedoed; some survived but he didn’t escape. He once lived in NYC and his ship sailed The Hudson; waters that pass by my house today. His wife was named Mary, my father shares his name and while I was in the workshop, my writer-brother Paul had a book signing that same day. Gil was a young man with a passion for adventure and travel and had a daughter and son like I do, practically the same age. I would never “meet” my like-minded grandfather but still the thought of him dying in his prime, a father of two young children, always filled me with pain. However, I am serene now in the knowing that despite the most abrupt and violent of endings, his peaceful and permanent presence remains.

I share this story as I watch the military ships parading The Hudson, a NYC tradition before Memorial Day. With a photo of Grandpa Gil next to me, my camera ready, I have been pensive and pondering what I might say. I guess I am left with the realization that we may never know what around us is spiritually significant. We may never encounter a ghost, witness the rapture, or touch the divine…but we can keep our minds open to possibilities. It is only our skepticism that separates us from sacred symbolism. With my silent soldier beside me, all I can say is have faith and keep looking. Life’s mysteries will be unveiled as we trust the signs.

Recent news about Arnold Schwarzenegger’s infidelity had me doing a psychological double-take. Was I alone in “assuming” that I knew the type of person that would entice him to stray? Young, hot, thin, perhaps a supermodel or rising starlet…What kind of little minx cleaned his house and messed up his sheets? What buxom and beautiful bombshell took his breath and ethics away? When I saw the object of his lust…Holy housekeepers! What does one say? Real, flawed, but irresistible to The Governator; while obvious objects of envy like Christie Brinkley, Halle Berry and lovely Maria, end up betrayed.

So, here is my pondering and paradigm shift for the day…what belief are you SURE of? What ALWAYS happens a certain way? Now, hold that mental picture up to the light and check the watermark...What long-standing conviction might you revisit and replace?

So, if success hinges on a willingness to dance with the veiled unknown, it explains why the gym walls are lined. Why ask uncertainty to partner with you when you can boogie with your own predictable kind? I know this topic intimately, as I am heading into the future, leaving my temporary self behind. Once Doiron, then Dorian, I’m Doiron once again. I’ll re-instate my original self, whether or not you mind.

Truthfully, I adopted a stage name years ago when I started acting and modeling: a facile moniker to make life easier for everyone. I was tired of my name getting butchered daily in castings. So I gave up my French spelling, went LCD, and “Voila!” my new life had begun. But sometimes we make decisions that please others but take us to a haunted in-authentic place. If we were true to our core values, we wouldn’t need to poll our neighbors, gather opinions or alter our names. Like traveling to points of light in the distance, we inherently know who we must be and what we must do to reach that illuminated space. We must face risk and public scrutiny, and be willing to stare the veiled one in the face.

When we check in with ourselves, we will hear our wise voices guiding us the right way. As Zig Ziglar said, “Confidence is going after Moby Dick in a rowboat and taking the tartar sauce with you.” Whether we are chasing Moby or changing monikers, we must be fearless just the same.