Tag Archives: dying


credit Saatchi art

I am tired

Tied to death like this.

A lame pair

Roped in a three-legged race.

What a bother an April picnic is—

Spoon-feeding me desire.


But I’m no spring chicken.

Dashing off.


Frantic flapping,

Outstretched neck,



A shabby hen against the odds.

Imprudent, clawing toward the finish line.

And still,

The gravity of my situation only perpetuating my inevitable trajectory.

Every April, always dragging it out.

Tami Satterfield practices solution-oriented healing from a deep ecological perspective. Her specialities include hypnosis for anxiety, performance, and creativity. Sessions on-line or in Boulder, Colorado include cutting edge brain therapies that will change the way you think. Learn more at

Birthday poem 2019



We are all liars.  It sounds grim, I know, but it is true.  It starts with the lies we tell ourselves, and those begin about the time we learn the meaning of the word “no.”  

“What? This is an outrage!  What do you mean that I can’t have what I want?”  We drop to the ground, fists pounding the earth, feet kicking furiously against the injustice of it all.

What we are really objecting to is the realization that we are not singular, separate, or fixed.  The truth is that we exist experientially, and this causes us to resist the physical reality of that very situation.  Why?  Because if we admitted to ourselves that we were, in fact, not singular, separate, or fixed, it would mean that we are of the collective and therefore are dynamic.  And what does that mean to us?  It means that our limbic brain and our neocortex have conspired to convince us to lie to ourselves about the 100% truth of the greatest matter concerning our existence: WE ARE GOING TO DIE.  We are.  I am sorry if this is the first you are hearing this fact.

This could be a tough week to learn that we are going to die: with Neptune turning retrograde and increasing that mutable T-square; with Mars in Scorpio going for the jugular; and with Mercury, Gemini, and Saturn playing head games.  There is more, but do we really need to hear more?  Isn’t it enough to be confronted this week with the greatest lie of all, the one where we convince ourselves everyday that we are not going to die. 

This fundamental fact (I won’t say it again, but you know to which that I am referring) is balanced by our fundamental mind-skewing that allows our reptilian brains to let us go about living while we are able.  How else would we get out of bed?  

How do we do it?  How do we lie to ourselves?  Do we deaden our reality with mindaltering practices, the likes of more then just drugs, alcohol, and food?  Are we caught up in the distractions of how to measure the polarities of good and bad or right and wrong?  Or are we drinking some concoction that allows us to defend against the truth of our own mortality by projecting our own entitlement above all?  Ouch!  But if that sounds harsh, we might want to consider why it packs such a punch.  Just because we figured out how to get out of bed and rise above the truth of our own existence, that doesn’t mean that we are entitled.

Bottom line: the point of this week is not to wreak havoc on our life. The point of this week is to confront our perpetual ignorance.  Let Scorpio take us deep into it.  And this week let’s not just consider it, let’s let the warrior in Mars guide us to confront our own mortalities. This week, let’s fight for our lives for the sake of all goodness.  And then – yes I am a little fired up here – and then let’s decide, and I mean decide, for the sake of of it all decide, each of us decide, “What do we want to do about it?”  What do we want to do about the fact that we are alive on planet earth.  We are not singular; we are a part of a greater ecosystem.  We are not separate; we are a part of a greater ecosystem.  We are not fixed; we are dynamic in a dynamic ecosystem.  

So here it is. The truth of it all always eludes us. How could we possible know anything for certain? We are a part of something so big we can’t even fathom it. And if that doesn’t blow your mind – this stupendous thing we are a part of  – it is changing all the time. And at the same time that it is always changing –  we are always changing too.  Holy smokes, for sure!  

This week let’s drop the idealistic veil, stop distracting ourselves and get real.  Let’s prepare to die with honor, dignity, and love. Let’s stop stepping on ants and pretending that it doesn’t matter.  Let’s stop perpetuating small acts of self-hostility that lead to big shifts in the collective consciousness. Let’s live with honor, dignity and love.  After all, that is the only way to prepare to die a good death.

Okay, this is almost over.  I think I hear hubby coming down the hall.  He will help me up off the floor. Besides my fists are feeling a bit raw and I think I scuffed my pedicure.


In the midst of what you see as problematic, it can be difficult to recognize the opportunities. I can help you discover a new way of thinking that will assist you in managing and negotiating life’s obstacles. You will find that this new way of thinking provides you opportunities that you hadn’t previously noticed as well as affords you the confidence and desire to live your life in the driver’s seat.

Tami Satterfield, MSW, LCSW-C, NBCCH, HTP is a licensed psychotherapist who practices solution-oriented healing from a deep ecological perspective. Her specialities include hypnosis for anxiety, performance, and creativity. Sessions on-line or in Boulder, Colorado include cutting edge brain therapies that will change the way you think. Learn more at


We still have Mars, Venus, and Mercury situated to provide good stability for “making it happen” these next few weeks. Neptune and Saturn are creating a bit of nervous hesitation, or self-doubt, but don’t let them get in your way. Use that self-doubt to deepen your trust in yourself and in the world around you. Does it sound like I am asking for a pink pony or to have my cake and eat it too?  Why not?  After all, it is my birthday week. But if it is not your birthday, don’t let that stop you from taking your world by the tail and making friends with what you thought was destiny.

This week, but really in this moment, and remember it is always this moment. In this moment, this week, you go ahead into your head. Into the space in your own mind. Go ahead.  Discover what you want to do. Follow your desire as an expression of what you want in this moment. Leave your neediness aside. Let go. Mind the clinging. Mind the grasping.

You have the time and the space within your own mind to discover 3 things:

1. what are you hiding?
2. what are you fighting?
3. what are you afraid of?

Allow what you learn to be of service to you. Mind making it something with which you struggle or fight. Leave your neediness behind. Mind the grasping. Pull back the curtain and discover the inner workings of the machine, (in this moment) that is your mind (in this moment).

What am I hiding (in this moment)? My age. What am I fighting (in this moment)? Wrinkles. What am I afraid of (in this moment)? Dying.

Sound familiar? It turns out, that there is a great space outside of my mind where my doubt connects me. A place where I can feel connected and less singular – less alone.  A place where my doubt can actually help me heal, if I let it.  So I am going to let it.  I am going to go ahead and come out of my head and let me hair down.

Schedule with Tami Satterfield to awaken to the truth of who you are and begin living the life that is yours.

george_segal_woman_on_white_wicker_chair_d5624711hSculpture by George Segal

You sat me down then.
Back then, sat me down.
S a t m e d o w n.
Even now I feel myself resist,
Knees won’t bend
Knowing how much support I still need.

“What?” I said, then.
And you said,
Then you said,
“Sit down,
I want to tell you something.”

And a mother knows.
And I wanted to say, “No.”
“No, I am busy.”
“No, not now.”

“I want to tell you something.”
You said.
“And I don’t want you to say anything until I finish.”
Your voice, a case full of arrows, quivered.
Your face flushed feverishly as you took aim.
I saw that your hands were shaking with your shot across the bow.

And I sat in the chair on the deck in the sun,
Becoming the chair on the deck in the sun.
I was a chair on the deck in the sun when you told me.
My legs rigid with resistance,
My back stiff, inflexible.
As you spoke I became a soft, green cushion buttoned shut.

And when you said,
When you said,
And even now,
My heart is a deep, dark bruise burned into my chest,
Tender and throbbing, aching to be rubbed
Clean of the awful injury

That cut bone-sharp and deep,
Branding a hot hole in my life.
Looking into the red-hot raked-over coals,
I could finally see
The fire he set in you,
That set out to destroy you.

You told on him in measures, weighting my fortitude,
But still, I was losing ground,
Desperate to get around your careful telling,
Trying to look past what you were guarding against,
Trying to see where this was all going,
But even your slow telling of it was too fast for me.

My hands held tight to the chair on the deck in the sun.
My arms becoming white wicker. My hands claws, holding on.
The whole world was barreling down fast,
This freight train of a story,
A story, The Story, THE STORY.
It rounded a sharp corner and I was thrown hard.

You were kind and beautiful,
The last brave thing I saw before I was blown to bits.
Your grace, the only clean, white thread holding me together.
You spoke of forgiveness like a chaplain kneeling beside the dying.
And your deep-throated cry was like a church bell,
Something to hold on to at the screw in the twisted story.

Their fucking miserable story.
Their impudent, reckless, and dangerous behavior.
Their perversions of never accounting for anything
That finally accounted for how I became a chair on the deck in the sun
Made to watch them watching him hurting you.
The mendacious bastards.

And NOW, some time later,
My heart no longer broken,
But mended into a giant, ireful fist.
I am nothing but a hot piston firing relentlessly.
Pounding everything like a sledgehammer,
Hammering and hammering and hammering away.

A pick ax picking it out,
Chiseling away at all their haunts,
Until all their hiding places lay at my feet.
Their recumbent positions of doing too little exposed.
All their lies plain to see.
All their false Gods broken.

Liars, liars, liars,
Fucking liars,
You liars.

I will not be a chair on the deck in the sun.
I will not be a buttoned up soft, green cushion.
I will not.
I will not sit for this.
I will not stand for it.
I will not.

I am the mother of a daughter raped.
There, I’ve said it NOW, aloud and plain for hearing.
The veracity of us both strapped to a chair, trapped.
My close-knit and knotted family tying everyone in, everyone down.
Hollow, deviled monsters.
Malevolent molesters.

I am not a chair on the deck in the sun, now.
I am not a soft, green cushion buttoned shut, now.
My hips are flexible in consideration,
My knees pliant in self-forgiveness,
My arms compassionately wide open.
I am a supplicant healer, a besieger of my girl’s divine truth,

Traveling back in time, this time a sedulous nurse,
Singing careful songs,
Tucking her in safely.
Soothing my girl’s deep wounds,
Washing them right in the warm, salty waters of my abjectly regretted kin,
Stitching them closed with patient kisses.

I will sit down now, without exception,
Sit down with you, my girl. The good mother you deserve.
Forever leaning forward to hear you speak,
Knees easily bending beneath the chair,
My back, relaxed and strong for you,
Unarmed my hands endeared to you, lovingly extended for when you reach.

September 2013