I so appreciate you finding your way here. May our association help both of us dive deeper into the healing currents of love's presence.

Let's begin with two songs of mine, Teach Me How To Love, and It Takes Courage. They will get you in the mood....

1. http://ia700404.us.archive.org/10/items/TeachMeHowToLove_725/01TeachMeHowToLove.mp3

2. http://ia700400.us.archive.org/4/items/ItTakesCourage/08ItTakesCourage.mp3

(sample more at www.scottsongs.com)

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Your Name is Not Set in Stone

Apparently some people derive great pleasure pairing fine wine with the perfect cheese. I can relate. Today I found a song that is quite the culinary auditory fit for today’s article. A perfect match. I am deriving great pleasure from singing it. Wanna watch? Or sing along?

Here's my rendition of:  I’ve Got A Name, By Jim Croce

Loosened up from the song? Good! And now, here’s the article:

Your Name is Not Set in Stone... Nothing is!

By Scott Grace

One of my favorite emotional experiences on earth is when I realize I have a choice about something that I previously felt powerless about.

Like my name. I legally changed it in 2010 from Scott Kalechstein to Scott Grace. And I’ve been giddy about it ever since.

My name was something that I thought I could never change. That I should never change.

It wasn’t an expression of anger towards my parents, nor a need to rebel. It was just that Kalechstein was hard to pronounce, cumbersome to spell, and I wanted to travel light. I wanted to own my name,  to choose it wisely and playfully, and Grace was the perfect fit.

When it dawned on me that I wanted to be Scott Grace and that there was nothing stopping me, I had such a party in my head.

To this day, every single time people introduce me using my name, my inner child and I have a party. Or at least a tingle and some goose bumps. And when I say it? I feel cooler than Sean Connery saying Bond; James Bond!

Changing my name reminded me that I always have choice. It awakened my authority to create, and move forward with a clean slate not determined by my past. It put me in the drivers seat.

My daughter and I used to play a game. She would wear a certain hat that she called the Name Change Hat. When she wore it, she would become the Name Change Princess, and the hat gave her the power to change names. I brought stuffed animals and dolls to her feet as if she was royalty. I would pretend to be the stuffy, saying something like: "Oh, I am so excited to finally meet you. I heard you have the power to grant me the perfect new name. Might you? Folks call me Froggy, and I’m tired of it.”

The Name Change Princess would speak in a commanding tone of authority, as if all beings were under her rule: "You are no longer Froggy. Your new name is Groovy Green Thing!”

Then the frog would happily hop away, profusely sputtering out thanks, insanely thrilled about its new name. Then the next stuffy approached her throne. And the next. There seemed to be no end to the amusement this game brought us. At least two years worth.

And then two years of forgetting about it. Kids grow out of things so fast.

Last year I remembered. We were at my favorite hippie dippy health food restaurant in Santa Cruz called Dharmas. I surprised Aysia by taking out the hat. “Remember this, Aysia? Remember the name change hat?” “Of course, Daddy.” We played for a bit, and we both got nostalgic. When Aysia got up to use the bathroom I walked over to a lively couple sitting at a table near us and whispered, “Would you be willing to do something that would make my daughter’s day?” I explained what I had in mind, and they agreed.

About ten minutes went by, and then one of the women came over to us and said to Aysia, "Aren’t you the Name Change Princess? And isn’t that the Name Change Hat? Might you be willing to give me a new name? I’m so ready for a new name!”

Aysia put on the hat wielded her authority. She bestowed a name. I think it was Rainbow. Then her partner got in on the action. Both women poured on the excitement and gratitude as if the new names were new cars. I was so grateful for this couple. They were naturals at improvisation. They played it beautifully. Aysia had a huge smile on her face, and asked me if we could do more.

We did.

We traveled from table to table, inviting children and adults to take on new names. I explained that these would be temporary names, not legally binding, and could be discarded anytime. Almost everyone played along and had a ball. We left the restaurant filled up to the brim with joy.

A name is a temporary thing. We all discard them the moment we leave our bodies. Does yours still feel like a fit? Might you have grown out of it? Do you realize you have a choice?

What would you secretly like to be named? You don’t have to make it legal, but I’d love it if you secretly whisper (email) it to me.

I am Scott Grace, and I approved of this message.

I leave you in the hands of my daughter, Aysia Grace, who, in less than thirty seconds, will explain to you in a video: How Donald Trump Gets His Orange Glow.

In closing, I present to you once again  the perfect song that goes with today’s message: I’ve Got A Name, By Jim Croce

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Letting Joy Lead...

"Success is a wonderful thing and a terrible thing.  Just do what you love.”

-Gene Wilder

I do what I love. For a living. Full time. Have done so for twenty six years.

Lately I’ve had a few months in a row of practically no income, and Mr. Fix It (my mind) has stepped up to the plate with a very familiar solution, consisting of two steps:

A) Freak out.

B) Use the adrenaline gained from freaking out to make things happen.

Mr. Fix It has given me this advice my entire adult life. He has glimpsed the future, and assures me that it will suck unless I let a sense of urgency push me to do things that have worked in the past to generate income: Call churches where I’ve presented at. Put together a local concert. Do another webinar.  Offer a sale on my coaching. Remind people that song portraits are the best gift ever.

Sell, promote, sell!

All of these things have worked in the past. But I’m 53 years young, and freaking out about money is getting old.

I have another internal advisor, one that is dear to my heart but somewhat foreign to my nervous system. She whispers: You are safe, and so is your future. There is nothing to fix. CHILL OUT NOW.

Under her guidance, I've been building my to-do list based on the answers to the following question, “What do I really want to do?"

My three main action steps:

1) Sharing my journey through articles like this one. Creativity is an extended orgasm.  And I love it when it is good for you, too!

2) Going to public places with friends and holding up signs that say Free Hugs and Free Poems. These angelic interventions are putting huge smiles on faces, especially mine.

3). I've been singing and strumming popular songs from the 60’s and 70’ (Today it's Boogie on Reggae Woman, by Stevie Wonder.) Broadway musicals, rock, folk, even disco is fair game. Basically, I'm learning how to play and perform songs that touched me in my childhood. They touch me far more today.

So that's my business plan, Investing in futures by investing in today's joy.

On Monday nights I’ve been taking my guitar to the local health food store, which has an outside eating area with a fireplace. I’ve been joined by other musicians and singers. We’ve been doing the hit parade: The Beatles. Cat Stevens. The Bee Gees. Michael Jackson. Stevie Wonder. Even the Carpenters. (Why do birds suddenly appear?) People who don’t know the lyrics look them up on their smart phones and sing along. I’m making new friends, creating community, and going home on the top of the world. Monday nights have become my favorite night of the week.

On Sundays instead of my usual speaking and singing at churches, I’ve gone with friends to the Farmers Market to hold up signs that advertise Free Hugs. I also have been making up Free Poems, and last Sunday a young woman asked me to rap a free poem about the free hugs.

Here’s the quickie I came up with: Free Poem About Free Hugs

My daughter went with me last Sunday.

She wasn’t much into hugging people, but she sure enjoyed making colorful signs. Some people who were there to shop picked up signs and took up hugging. A tribe of huggers formed, at one point consisting of three women, four children, and a man in a wheelchair, all holding up signs and giving out free hugs. The children got more action than the adults, but we didn't mind. What a blast we had, dispensing fair trade human touch, tactile expresso without the jitters.

Lately I’m having some kind of awakening. My therapist says that I remind her of someone who has battled cancer, came close to death, and emerged from the experience with a a passionate commitment to letting joy lead.

Letting joy lead.

It’s not completely new territory. I’ve been doing what I love and watching the money follow since I give up my day job in 1990. I’ve learned a few things and demonstrated some faith.

But in the past when money got tight I got tight as well.

Motivated by fear of scarcity, I put on my business cap and took out my list of practical things to do to make things happen.

Nothing wrong with that. It helped me build my male side.

But now I’m in a new place. My feminine, receptive side is leading the way and giving me the business plan.

I call it a Faith Walk. I'm letting joy lead, doing what I love. The money may be following, but it hasn’t quite caught up to me yet. I’m walking into the Red Sea, trusting it will part. There's no turning back, just forward motion.

“Show me the money,” my mind screeches. “Then I'll relax and let you do this joy thing.”

But I have reached a point where I am no longer willing to be held hostage by fear, which demands ransom money in exchange for feeling safe, and procrastinates relaxing into the arms of an ever present love until its list of conditions are met.

Are they ever?

I was in a men’s group that included two millionaires. Sometime they would share their fears about keeping their wealth. Fear of loss and even a fear of poverty was a part of their lives. I took good notes: More money does not equal more happiness, nor a consistent sense of safety. Wow, what a lesson.

Meanwhile, I am continuing to strum my guitar and sing like a bird, taking my eyes and fears off my bank statements, and putting daily joy deposits into my mutual fun account.

Yesterday in Sausalito my friend Kani and I met up with tourists, greeting them with guitar, songs born in the moment, and, of course, free hugs and poems.

I made up songs on the spot for a Catholic Priest from Guatemala, a newlywed couple from Tel Aviv, and a family from Chicago. We took a short video of the family enjoying and participating in my spontaneous silliness.

By letting joy lead on a consistent basis, it is law that synchronicity, serendipity, love and money will find me attractive. What law? The law of attraction, of course. "Seek ye first the Kingdom of Joy, and all these things..."

I will keep you posted about my experiments in being a law abiding citizen of the universe, and walking into the Red Sea with a guitar.

NEWS FLASH! While I was writing this article, in the space of two days, someone emailed me for a coaching session, another person hired me to sing at her Montessori School, and yet another emailed me inquiring whether I was available to share my gifts at a retreat in the mountains near San Diego three weeks from now. He had stumbled upon my Spiritual Dr. Seuss videos on YouTube, and the theme of the upcoming retreat was the wisdom of Dr. Seuss. We worked out the logistics, agreed upon the finances, and away I go. Letting joy lead.

Monday, August 15, 2016

Owning My Inner Donald Trump (and Woody Allen)

Do we all have an inner Donald Trump? I know I do.

In my childhood my mother, in response to anything I said that resembled bragging, would utter the words, “Self-praise is no recommendation."

I am not sure what she meant by that, but I certainly was not encouraged to toot my own horn.

Ideally, I like it when others toot my horn for me. But I am an entrepreneur. I can’t escape completely. Self-promotion is part of what I signed up to learn. And teach.

Kids love to toot their horns. And we adults can love it as well, to celebrate who we are and what we are doing. Permission granted.

I’m insecure. I want people to like me. I feel better that way. Even more than that, I want to not care so much about what people think of me. I'm making progress with that. Yet, putting myself out there in the world, exposing myself to the endless variety of other people's opinions and projections, has never been a cake walk.

There was a time that I hid my insecurity successfully behind my ego’s Superman cape. I put myself out as a an enlightened singing guru, a healer that could and would CHANGE YOUR LIFE in one workshop, or session. I Donaled Trumped my way through the mine-fields of self-promotion. In my mind I was huge.

But underneath that….unworthiness in spades.

Self-hatred is always behind the scenes of an over the top  Donald Trumpyness.

One day someone whom I looked up to, John Robbins, author of Diet for a New America and other books, called me up. He was a fan of my music, and we were discussing what it might take to have me come sing at one of his retreats. He got my answering machine. On it I advertised a workshop I was going to be leading over the weekend. In a booming voice, I invited anyone and everyone to come to my Musical Healing Circle. I assured callers that it would CHANGE THEIR LIFE!

John asked me if I was open to some feedback about my voice message. I said yes.

He laid his honesty on the table, letting me know that my message sounded like hype, and that he did not trust a workshop leader who made such lofty claims at such high volume. He actually said I sounded more like a used car salesman than a healer.

Ouch. But I felt the truth in that. As the hot air went out of my ego, I began to drop into my inner Woody Allen, the insecurity and self doubt behind the Trumped up version of myself.

And I began to be shy and hesitant about putting myself out there.

Where is the balance between those extremes, Donald Trump and Woody Allen?

Here's where I'd like to be:

I am not the giant of my fantasies, nor the dwarf of my fears. I am human, self-employed, and seek to promote my services somewhere between hype and overdosing on humility, in between bragging and shrinking, and especially finding a happy place between my inner Donald and Woody.

I'm getting there, a work in progress.

Here's my latest toot. Tell me what you think, and I'll try not to care.

Scott Grace, described by authorities as a cross between John Denver, Robin Williams and Dr. Seuss, is wanted worldwide for creating the peace and using levity to defy gravity. 

Consider yourself warned that contact with Scott is likely to be hazardous to your misery, as he has provoked outbursts of giddiness in four out of five laboratory humans tested.

It is rumored that Scott’s work has so threatened to cut into the sales of anti-depressants that pharmaceutical companies have offered him millions to retire. 

To the shock and dismay of his inner critic, Scott published a book, called: Teach Me How To Love A True Story that Touches Hearts & Helps with the Laundry! Many have raved about it on Amazon, and rumor has it that the numerous five star reviews were put up by unsuspecting readers who were intoxicated while breathing in the spirits emanating from its pages.

Scott has been known to practice life coaching without a license, eluding the police by working over the phone, Skype, or FaceTime. He fancies himself an intuitive, and smuggles wisdom and guidance over the border from beings he calls spirit guides, who are also not licensed, and who have allegedly not filed a tax return in several lifetimes.

As a motivational speaker, Scott gives keynotes using a stolen identity, a.k.a. the Spiritual Dr. Seuss. His feel good viruses on YouTube have infected over 2.5 million people with just four of his  contagious Dr. Seuss-like videos.

As a front, Scott does do various legal, above the board activities. He has produced nine CD’s and a DVD of his original music and comedy. He shows up as a guest speaker and singer at churches, non-profits, schools, and corporate events. As a stand up comedian in the Bay Area, he has shared the stage with Dana Carvey and Robin Williams.

But don't be fooled. His rampage of Song Portraits, custom made personalized song-gifts that honor people for their birthdays, anniversaries, or for no reason at all, have been
killing people softly with their song since 1987.

The FBI would very much like your help in apprehending Scott. Try catching him on the web at www.scottsongs.com, or on YouTube at: http://www.youtube.com/user/skalechstein

Monday, August 8, 2016

How I Lost My Balls

What does is mean to be a man?

My entire life I have looked outside myself, from Dad to David Deida, to answer that.

When I was boy I was terribly afraid of being seen as a sissy. I became very competitive in sports partly so nobody would question my masculinity, least of all myself.

But underneath was the belief that I was not good enough, especially as a male.

As a pre-teen and teen, I was plagued by the fear that I was gay, or would be seen as being gay.

Lots of shame running the show.

But by the time I was well into my twenties it was all well buried by busyness and worldly success. I made money doing what I loved. I made CD’s. I had girlfriends. I was hot shit.

Then I spent ten years with a woman who wanted me to be more manly. My childlike qualities turned her off. My wardrobe needed a makeover. She was just more attracted to me when I wore I dark, plain, single-colored grown-up clothes.

Fair enough. I understood. I could use some growing up.

I gave away a lot of my fun, colorful clothes and let her be my image consultant. She helped me look more presentable in the eyes of the world. 

But I was using her eyes to see myself with. And thus giving her my balls. And then she broke up with me, and all the fear and shame I had been keeping at bay for years came to the surface.

For three years now I've been purging, getting to the bottom of it, and just recently coming up for air and enjoying a sense of rebirth and renewal.

Part of that rebirth is asking myself, not a woman or society, what I want to wear, and feeling a delicious freedom of choice about it all.

Recently I was strolling in my neighborhood and saw a colorful backpack left on the sidewalk as a give away. It was anything but masculine, and even looked a lot like my daughters backpack. But I liked it. I wanted it.

Inner voices screamed in my head, “Danger! Too childlike! Too feminine! You will be judged.”

“Shut up,” I said, and took that backpack home. I got rid of my plain dark one, and proceeded to have a  party within me, enjoying a surge of masculine energy as I danced with my pink backpack.

It seemed lining up with what turns me on and having solidarity about it within myself is more essential to my manhood than making sure my presentation fits cultural norms or pleases a particular woman.

Two weeks later on another morning stroll, a shirt caught my eye, also a give away. I had no idea if it was a women’s shirt or uni-sex. It seemed very feminine.

But I had to admit it, I liked it. I wanted it. I felt that knot of fear and tension form a knot in my belly as my shoulds began to try to assert themselves over my heart.

Again, I asserted some masculine medicine over my inner critic."Fuck it, this is my life"! I exclaimed, then picked up the shirt and put it on. I walked further, a bounce in my step, but still some hesitation about the shirt.

I was approaching a radiant woman with joy in her eyes, and I asked for a moment of her time. She took off her music headphones and twinkled her consent. She was attractive. I told her I just picked the shirt I was wearing up from a give-away, and had my doubts about whether it looked good on me. She was delighted to reassure me that it was indeed uni-sex,  and added that she thought I looked very good in it. There was a moment of mutual flirtation and attraction. I breathed that in, and we parted ways.

Something inside me let go, and I went from renting to owning my new shirt, along with a new sense of self.

That night I went to a music party with my new shirt and backpack, feeling more relaxed, playful, and masculine than I had ever felt.

I really don’t care anymore what it means to be a man. I do care about being happy. And if that looks or feels childlike or feminine sometimes, so be it.

I don’t know if David Deida would agree or not, nor do I care, but I think I’ve got my balls back.

Scott Grace has been accused of being a cross between Eckhart Tolle, Robin Williams, John Denver, and Dr. Seuss. He is wanted by authorities worldwide for disturbing the status quo, creating the peace, and defying the law of gravity with levity. The Surgeon General has determined that Scott’s songs, poetry, talks and workshops are hazardous to your misery. They have been known to produce out of control feelings of joy  in four out of five laboratory humans tested. The FBI would very much like your help in apprehending Scott. Please try catching him on the web at www.scottsongs.com, or on YouTube at: http://www.youtube.com/user/skalechstein

Scott has, without the permission of his inner critic, written a book called, Teach Me How To Love: A True Story That Touches Hearts & Helps With The Laundry!  Many have raved about it on Amazon, and rumor has it that Scott garnished his slew of positive reviews by threatening to tickle anyone who didn’t crow about it.

As a speaker, he has been known to give entire keynotes and talks as The Spiritual Dr. Seuss. Four of his Dr. Seuss-ish performances have had a combined 2.5 million hits on YouTube.

As a stand up comedian in the Bay Area, he has opened up for both Dana Carvey and Robin Williams.

A prolific singer/songwriter/recording artist,  he has created nine CD’s and a DVD of his music.

But what he is most at large for is his Song Portraits, custom made personalized songs that honor people on their birthdays, anniversaries, or for no reason at all.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

The Opposite of Terrorism: How to be an Emotional Philanthropist

Last week, a new friend of mine invited me over her house for an evening of bomb making.

You read that correctly.

When I arrived she had a big dining room table full of envelopes, construction paper, pens, crayons, glitter, stickers, scissors, and some delicious snacks as well. After some introductions and sharing of intentions, seven lighthearted change makers got to work. I provided the soundtrack, strumming and singing songs about the various notes that they were writing, decorating, and reading out loud.

She called it a Love Bomb Making Party. The idea was to hit the streets and be the opposite of terrorists, secretly planting the letter bombs in assorted locations (public bathrooms, the banana rack at supermarkets) for unsuspecting humans to pick up and get a detonated uplift while going about their busy lives.

The playfulness and colors on the envelopes made them look irresistible, and we held the intention that just the right person who needed the message would be the one to read it.

I myself got quite an energetic and emotional uplift from the evening. And I needed it.

Lately I had been participating in political conversations that have left me feeling like I’ve just eaten too much junk food for my emotional body.

I had been feeling sad about the latest waves of violence, especially the explosively violent divisive discourse my country is experiencing in its polarized presidential campaign.

The love bomb party reminded me of who I am, and what I campaign for.

I used to think I was a pacifist, but there is nothing passive about what I am about. I am an activist. A love activist, actively involved in the installation of a new planetary vibration of playful celebration that makes a sense of separation take a permanent vacation and installs the sexy sensation of emancipation from all sense of limitation.

You read that correctly.

What is the opposite of terrorism? A Course in Miracles says this: "The opposite of love is fear, but what is all encompassing can have no opposite.”  The word opposite implies an opposing force. There is no opposing, condemning, or fighting a war on terrorism without creating the next generation of terrorists.

What can be done, then? So much! We can go to areas of extreme poverty and distress and drop love bombs from drones and planes filled with food and love notes, hand written in the language of the people we are love bombing.  That’s just one idea. Our hearts are full of them.

Einstein said, "We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”

Mother Teresa said “I was once asked why I don't participate in anti-war demonstrations. I said that as soon as you have a pro-peace rally, I'll be there.”

Jesus said, "Resist not evil.”

Scott Grace said, "Enough said! Let’s drop some love bombs."

I love my friend Gwen for being a love activist who did not nurture a sense of frustration or powerlessness back when that wave of pain involving the murder of unarmed men and policeman hit our hearts a few weeks back.

Instead, she threw a party. And handed out crayons.

If you also feel moved to light a candle instead of cursing the darkness, and want to join with others in doing so, Gwen Gordon leads a growing group of mischief makers committing random acts of play (RAPs) for a more loving, peaceful planet. The Love Bombs was our first RAP. There will be others.

If you want to be informed and possibly join the movement, connect up with Gwen declaring your intention at  Connect with Gwen

Scott Grace is wanted by authorities in the United States and many countries abroad. He has been accused of creating the peace, disturbing the status quo, and breaking and entering people's hearts and minds with love and levity. His subversive website, www.scottsongs.com is where to catch him.

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Your President Donald Trump Survival Kit

By Scott Grace

It’s good to be prepared for things. If you, like me, live in California, you probably have an emergency earthquake kit with food and water and such.

When I did a Firewalk twenty years ago the instructor asked us to imagine the worst thing that could happen to us. He took us through a visualization where we saw ourselves having burns on our feet, even being treated at the hospital, and surviving just fine.

Then we spent a much longer amount of time visualizing a successful outcome. We were reminded that multitudes of people have walked on hot coals without injury, both at workshops in modern times and in olden days in native ceremonies and rituals all over the earth.

We got worked up into a state where we believed that anything is possible. No limits. Mind over matter.

We were frothing at the mouth to demonstrate it....

I walked across those coals mostly without pain, imagining and chanting, cool moss, cool moss. I was doing great until I neared the finish line. At that point my ego took over, broke the trance state, and screwed with the cool moss, silently chanting, “I am such hot shit. I can’t wait to brag about this to my friends!” At that point I started feeling the heat.

Ouch. My ego got burned, and I also ended up nursing a few blisters on my feet. No hospital, though.  All in all, it was a great experience of self-empowerment, and, yes, I bragged about it to my friends, and even used the story to seduce a few New Age women.

Speaking of bragging and seduction, Donald Trump. I like to think that he won’t be President. But I like to think a lot of things about the future that don’t end up the way I want them.

So, let’s get our Donald Trump Preparedness Kit in order.

How do we mentally prepare for such a possibility? What helpful ideas might be wise to pack in a survival kit?

May I suggest the following:

1. Firstly, if the earth begins to quake on election day and you think the country has landed on Donald’s Fault, do not run under your furniture or out of your house. Hug your children and stay put. Please don’t move to Canada. Let’s be change agents right here. Canada gets very cold, and Canadians are so polite, so apologetic. They are like the anti-Trump. Now, I understand why that can be very attractive at this point. So, go ahead, if you must, vacation in Canada, and then come back and help us walk over those orange coals.

2. Remember, in truth, you can't see the big picture, and you do not know what’s best for this country or for the world. The Lord moves in mysterious ways. Jesus asked us not to judge by appearances. Donald Trump, in spite of his appearances of being more primate than human, could be exactly what this world needs right now to speed up our evolution, perhaps like the way an alcoholic sometimes needs to go on a bender and hit a dramatic bottom before recovery can be committed to.

Perhaps we need a colossal ass help to us hit our collective bottom.

So, if Donald does become president, remember that only your ego, not your true self, can get burned, and instead of chanting cool moss, chant the following:

“I don’t know what this, or anything is for. I choose to trust that even Donald being president can serve the highest good for all concerned."

3. As revolting as you might find Mr. Trump, give thanks you don’t have to sleep with him.  He is not in your bed, and need not even be in your head. Own your power, no matter who is in power politically.  Voting for Donald is an anguished cry for help, a 911 call for love by masses of folks who are feeling powerless in their lives. Don’t be one of them.  You are powerful. Your life is your own creation, and Donald Trump or any other person, politician or not, has no power to impact your life but the power that you give him. Or her.

Politicians are reflections of mass consciousness. There is great change happening in the world. Many systems are crumpling and then changing for the better. Politics is the densest, slowest system in human consciousness to evolve and to reflect change. So let's not pin our hopes and dreams on what is slow and dense. You are the quickening. Be in your power.

4)  Donald feels threatened by Mexicans and Muslims. Please don’t continue that insanity by allowing yourself to feel threatened by Donald Trump. Feeling threatened is what egos habitually do… perceiving danger, projecting blame, building walls, etc. For many of us, Donald Trump running for President has become a great excuse for us to energize our fears. But hey, let’s admit it, if it wasn’t Donald it would be something or someone else. Until we stop identifying with our egos there will always be another threat to freak out about, something outside of ourselves that we are giving our power to and therefore feeling scared of: Trump, Hillary, the Zika virus, the global economy, cancer, etc. etc.

4. If Donald becomes president, you have a duty to take up drinking, to drink in copious amounts of Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Fallon, Trevor Noah, John Oliver, and other comedians who help us laugh at it all. Let those wonderful entertainers and satirists help you put things in perspective. The world is not going mad at this time in history: it has always been. It just might get a bit crazier before sanity begins to become attractive to the masses. So laugh it up. Get those endorphins going. It's a sane response.

Just as if he had tourette syndrome, Donald Trump blurts out the fearful, dark, shadow side of what remains of the old white men's club Republican party. There has always been greed, racism and narcissism there. It was just hidden well. Now it's exposed, in full view, uncensored. That's part of the healing process. Cameras are everywhere, revealing everything now. Darkness is being exposed by the light.  It's all good. It's just messy.

If we can get in a state where hot coals don’t hurt or scare us, we can certainly achieve an attitude where neither can Donald Trump. Here’s how: Call on the Department of Inner Peace and your inner Secretary of Defenselessness. Tell them you would rather be happy than right. Let your board of advisers be Trust, Laughter, and a Lighthearted Detachment from the insanity around you.

And, finally, run as an independent, and elect yourself:

President of the United States of Your Own Life

You’ll be huge, trust me.

Scott Grace
Author of Teach Me How To Love, A True Story That Touches Hearts & Helps With The Laundry!

The Big, Scary Black Man

I was in NYC recently with my daughter approaching a breakfast buffet at our hotel, and my eyes spotted a man with biceps the size of Rhode Island and New Hampshire, respectively. He was covered in tattoos, and his skin was black. Big and scary. Mean too, I thought. Wanting to protect my daughter, I sized him up as someone to steer clear of. That pre-judging (pre-judice) was instant, no hesitation or self-examination.

But fate would have it he wound up behind us in the buffet line, and I had a chance to either stay separate and uncomfortable or try something out of my comfort zone.

Being around my daughter sometimes inspires me to try new things, to choose adventure over the status quo. I turned around and smiled, asking: “So how many hours a week do you work out? He broke out into his own friendly smile. "Four to six hours, seven days a week. The gym is my second home", he said.

His eyes sparkled with pride, and I could see an innocent boy peering out through his macho frame.

Suddenly I saw discipline instead of threat when I looked at him. SuddenlyI was curious, he was harmless, and I battered him with questions, friendly firing away while he piled on the protein for breakfast.

It turned out that he was in NY for some kind of body building contest. I asked him what his hopes and goals were and he got even more enthusiastic and childlike. “If I win here I get to go to Vegas and compete in the nationals.”  “And then what?" I asked. “The prize for that one is ten thousand dollars.” “And then what?” I kept asking.

He was loving the attention, and shared his bigger dreams of helping out his family financially, moving more of his kin to the United States, and starting a foundation for underprivileged kids.

It seemed that the biggest muscle in this young man’s body was his heart.

And to think, I almost didn’t strike up a conversation. I was so close to business as usual, letting fear stifle my curiosity, building walls instead of bridges. So glad I chose differently. So glad my daughter was there, looking over my shoulder, taking it all in.

These last few weeks a number of innocent people, policeman and civilians, got shot and killed because of fear. Call it racism, prejudice, hate, ignorance, mental illness, apathy, whatever the labels, its all different variations and flavors of the same stuff: Fear.

It’s very tempting to feel powerless about it all.

But I like to think that every day you and I make a multitude of little decisions that contribute either to more prejudice on this planet, or to it’s eventual demise. Fear or love. Every moment. Always at choice, we are. Never powerless.

Either we’re helping Donald Trump build walls, or we are choosing something else.

Every day there are moments available like the conversation I had with the big, beautiful black man. They can happen ever day, these moments when we make the decision to be the change we wish to see in the world.

The children, whether any are biologically yours or not, are looking over your shoulder, waiting to see what your choice is. We are all creating their future.

With Love,

Scott Grace