Tbt… Rob’s Bull Elk close encounter story😳…
Back in the winter of 1986 I was selling Skiwear and travelled all throughout British Columbia, Alberta and Saskatchewan in my Toyota LE Van, sweet ride. One of my biggest customers and pals lived in Banff, so I was there a lot. Paula’s brother lived there as well, across the street from a small church. In front of the church was a small grassy yard with a low sturdy hedge. I was 22 and hyper, I rarely walked anywhere, always running, think Energizer Bunny. Btw, my Chinese Zodiac symbol is a rabbit 🐰, so it fits. Anyhoo, I was in town in the middle of winter and Banff is frigging freezing in winter. I had to get up early for a drive into Calgary. I got up around 4:30 am and left the house quickly to not wake anyone up. It was still dark, no moon, no stars and Misty. Romance was in the air. I crossed the street, walked arround to the passenger side of my Van, sweet ride. I was on the sidewalk inserting the key into the sliding side door to get my Ice Scraper, my back was to the church. The air was thick with frost, moist cold. Suddenly the moist air became warm on the back of my neck. It was almost soothing, then a sound entered my ears and the realization of something breathing heavy behind me entered my brain, like a whisper. The breathing continued, very calm and rhythmic, very relaxing if only my heart hadn’t begun to beat out of my chest.
I slowly, so slowly like the slowest Turtle, turned around, and there he was. I now call him Boris, the biggest Bull Elk on the planet. Our breathes were intermingling, our noses almost touching. As our eyes met, he had beautiful brown eyes, I noticed Boris had friends behind him. His lady friends, his Harem about 8 or 9 cows, laying in the grass looking at me and Boris with their beautiful brown eyes locked on me. Now Boris had a huge rack of antlers that seemed to reach to the heavens over my head, quite intimidating, my eyes came back to Boris’s beautiful brown Orbs. My face had begun to perspire, or it could have been the slow rhythmic moisture filled blasts from a pair of huge lungs caressing my freckled Ginger cheeks.
I decide to ease the tension, I slowly speak. ” Hey man” No response, more breathing. ” You are beautiful, I’m sorry to disturb you and your gals, but if you could just unpin me from your brown eyed death stare and let me drive on out of here, I’d really appreciate it” No response. Then all of a sudden a huge blast of hot giant pair of moisture filled lung air hit me right in the face. Bammm👊🏻
Boris almost smiled and winked as he slowly turned and walked away, like the coolest Mo Fo bull elk on the planet. I quickly jumped into the open side door. Locked the door and realized I had left my keys on the outside still in the lock. I was locked inside my frozen 1985 Toyota LE Van, sweet ride. 🤷‍♂️


I was born along a tiny beam of light. At some point the pull of the strand was too great to ignore. In a moment a long time ago I saw a door, so brief. The memory of that door and what it meant haunted me. I built up from that point, loss, a life with color in it. Clumsy, messy and as passionate as I was capable of. A life of Art or as Art.

At some point a decision, maybe not my own, was to go All In. Golden keys began to be handed out to me in Visions. Years later, I have pockets full of shiny keys of all sizes. Miraculously, instead of one door I am faced with many Colorful doors. Fear or Loss don’t seam to behind any of them. I’ve opened a few to see my future. It’s fucking Glorious

5 D Life

Living in a 5 D reality, no longer straddled between two worlds, no longer questioning or afraid of Celestial Visions and Revelations. Accepting. The ability to dance on Earth, sing, laugh and cry on Earth and the simultaneous voyaging among the Heavens among Heavenly friends and family members is my reality. Embracing this unusual, yet blessed gift, as mine. I treasure and sing out with a joy and a weary, yet confident acceptance of Birth…Amen and Onward




Wayne and what Wayne has to say…

Dr. Wayne Dyer died last August 29, 2015. I did not know him, I never read his books, but had seen bits of his PBS shows. The evening of his departure in meditation around 3 am I saw a tall man with a funny cap climbing stairs and entering a doorway and once through music started ” Heaven, I’m in Heaven” and the man began to dance, blissfully and wholeheartedly. I saw the next morning in the news that Dr. Wayne Dyer had passed during the night. I realized that the photograph of the man in the news was the man I saw crossing through that doorway and dancing.

For the next two months or so, for whatever reason this man was all around me. Talking to me from the spirit world. Smiling at me, sitting beside me in my car, unexplainable. He kept telling me I have three books waiting. I’m not ready or sure I want to go there I would reply. You will and when you are ready, I’ll help you find the words, he’d say. It all got to be a little weird, uncomfortable for me so I asked Wayne to leave. Give me a break. He did.

Then November 14, 2015 while I was napping on the couch he came in strong with these words ” You have never ventured far enough until you see God. At that point your life begins to have immeasurable meaning and purpose. The path opens to those that awaken their heart and are not afraid to touch the flame of God’s love. We must not stop in our quest, it is our sole purpose, our reason for being here.”

Alrighty Then…

November 15, 2015…He’s back…

“Let’s begin. There are three key elements to a spiritual life. Trust, Release and Anger. Let me explain, we get to the point where we begin to be angry as to where our life is going. we release the fear and begin to trust in the process of finding God. This process awakens the spirit and once alive, spiritually alive. The whole process accelerates.”

The next day November 16, 2015…

” Let’s talk about Life. Life is a full blown circus of the ridiculous and the grand conjunction of epic truths forcing us humans daily into submission until we arrive at the tipping point. Ah God, there you are! I see you there. With courage we push forward to resolve our differences with The Divine. Some circle back to the beginning afraid of what they see. Facing their own darkness. The few who keep going eventually squeeze through the birth canal and find what was lost so long ago. God is in everyone lie a present waiting to be opened.” He was busily pointing at me and saying these were my words. Who knows.

November 21, 2015…

“The Grace of God shines down on those that seek the narrow path free from hostilities, hatred and ager toward others. Grace leads us to and immaculate conception between the Soul of man to God. It is within this realm that outburst Soul position can be attained and maintained within us and it is all within reach for us on earth.”

I’m honestly not sure if these are Wayne’s words or if he came forward to kickstart my words and maybe my Life Going Forward with words. It and my gift of seeing the other side   still leaves me in Awe and a bit of confusion, but, I’m resolved to be more active in sharing what I see and hear in the hope that it helps, not just me but others.


Death and a Trip to Morocco

Im not a morbid person, but I think about Death. More these days than ever. Ive never feared it, but, I’ve experienced watching loved ones and family pets die, even died myself once, but that was more of an emotional death. My wife and son have always struggled with the concept of death, what if anything comes after. The fear that there will be nothing but all consuming emptyness. An Abyss.

I don’t see that at all. I believe  our souls have a lifespan longer than we may ever know. Travelers, epic travelers of the infinite realm. We visit the physical reality and grow into bodies like a traveller books into a hotel room on vacation. Sometimes we enjoy the stay and remain longer than on other visits. Meanwhile we are learning, making mistakes, encountering with loved ones old and new and collecting data or experience for the next trip.

Last evening during dinner my wife and I were talking about death and the process of dying. She felt that everything stops. I don’t argue much, but to make my point as clear as I could the word Morocco came into my thoughts and this concept emerged. Imagine in our human reality that our soul lives in Canada or America all of their lives. An opportunity to travel to Morocco presents itself. It could be a sudden departure or take months to prepare, but you can go to a completely foreign country, exotic, new sites sounds and smells completely foreign to your experience. You accept the invitation and blast off to Morocco.

“Now if you see Morocco I know you’ll go in style, I may not see Morocco for a little while. But, while you’re there I was hoping you might keep me in your mind. to save me just a taste of something fine.”   Something Fine by Jackson Browne

This is what I believe to be true, so fellow travelers, live it up, love as best as you can, take every possible drop of this life into your hearts and leave behind a taste of something fine in all your encounters.  Believe that if a loved one travelled to a place like Morocco all you have to do is close your eyes and trust that the lines of communication will remain open.


A World of Wonder

This is an old piece from 5 years ago…

I have lived in a World of Wonder.

I Wonder what that means?

I lift tubes of paint to canvasses bare and Wonder if I can do it again.

I Wonder when the dam will break, and I will be received. Golden haired and ready to take my place in the world of AArt.

I go out to Sea and look below me and wonder about the life I feel, but,  cannot see or share.

I roam along ancient Coast Salish Middens and Wonder what secrets and stories they hold. If I listen carefully in stillness I can hear them.

I voyage with eyes closed and Wonder if the visions and the stories told from “Other Lives” lived are mine.

I hold a place for my children to grow and Wonder who they will become.

I search the stars and Wonder at the enormity of it all.

I’ve got a book.

About 18 years ago I had voices in my head continually telling me to paint. It wasn’t until a perfect storm in my professional and personal life brought me to my knees and I actually began to paint. The process of creating, the colors and constantly having my clothes and hands splashed in paint brought me out of the darkness.

For the last three years the same voices, now with images have been telling me to write a book. I’ve been taking notes of my visions and experiences, putting them down on paper as best as I can. I’ve been writing my book everyday in my head.

Last month a great man left his body and became spirit. I never knew him in this life, but his spirit has been visiting me constantly since he passed. He keeps showing me a book with blank pages. Always grinning and smiling as he flips through the empty pages. I can smell the paper now and I’m getting tired of him poking me in the chest. He’s becoming more of a pest.

So, this morning I vow to begin to write it down. It may never get published, nobody may ever read it. But, I’m getting it done. Before I blast off into the heavens, I will leave behind a book to go along with the countless paintings I’ve made. So, it is written, so shall it be…


I have a friend…

Way back in 1998, I believe it was then, I was visiting extended family in Vermont. I had left my sales career and was just into year two of my Art life. Friends, family and former colleagues had not quite written me off, yet, but most definitely watched me with concern or looking for a good laugh. A concerned Uncle who I’m sure was hoping that a visit to the local eccentric Artiste would be just what I needed to hear how hard the life was,  to snap me back to reality, give up painting and go back to sales. He introduced me to Jerome Couelle.


Jerome was born in Aix en Provence, south of France. He lived most of his adult life in Toronto. Worked for The Hudson’s Bay Company and after a time later in life began to paint. By the time I met Jerome he was in his seventies, and was a full time painter. He spent his summers painting in a small barnyard red cabin about a mile from my old family cabin. The turning of the leaves and a change of season had him driving back to another winter in Toronto. When my Uncle and I pulled up to his cabin out popped this little man in a straw hat, a straw hat from a Van Gogh painting. he had smiling, mischievous eyes, I liked him already. introductions were made and Jerome was told how I had left my world of security and was painting. As per the possible pre scripted dialogue Jerome began to tell me how hard the life was and that very few Artists ever become successful, etc, etc…As he was explaining my upcoming doom I was quickly looking around the cabin, the scotch bottles above the cabinets, the dark aged pine panelling, the French Country Harvest table with a bowl of fruit in the center, the canoe leaning on it’s side on the front lawn, then we entered a sunroom off the kitchen, his studio. The first time I really felt a Soul’s sacred space. I had been in many successful men’s offices before and there was always the trappings of ego, but, rarely the energy of the Sacred. While Jerome was still talking about my difficult journey ahead. My eyes moved around the room to the small day bed under the window, to the multiple easels, the endless brushes, varnish, linseed oil, thinners, jars and countless tubes of paint, and the paintings, glorious crazy, whimsical paintings of humour and darkness wrapped into one. This guy was a wonderful glorious nut and I was in Love.


Once he had stopped talking he asked to see my work. I timidly pulled out a binder with slides samples of my first 18 months of work, I had done close to 400 paintings during that time. I’d like to remember exactly what he said to me on viewing my images, I know he liked the colors, I’m not sure what he said or thought, but, I saw his eyes and heard his voice of encouragement and kindness in his look as he handed me back my book, the voice I heard was in the Ethereal was “Poor Bastard, I know how you feel”. He knew, in that look as I type this now, he knew what this madness is about and he saw a younger version of himself. My first visit to Jerome was a vision of my future.

I wrote to Jerome a couple of times that winter and shared my progress. He was always kind and encouraging. I visited him again the next summer and our talks became more personal, a friendship was sprouting and I was honored. The next ten years I wrote to him and called him at least 6 times every year. The hard times and struggles he talked about were all true, it didn’t matter. I always felt buoyed and ready to keep going with every card or letter he wrote and after every phone call’s too brief end. In the summer of 2009 I visited him physically for the last time. He was the same except aging. He started to talk and joke about death then. “When I can no longer paint my plan, you see, is to load my Canoe with Fireworks and dynamite, paddle out to the middle of the Lake and Blast off” He always ended sentences with “you see”…

Jerome once told me that when he was a kid in the large stone family home in The South Of France his father had commissioned some workers to do a small remodel on their home. At the beginning of the project the tradesmen noticed something odd about the inner dimensions of the house, it didn’t match the outer. His Father agreed with this oddity and the workers were ordered to  smash through the living room wall, all brick and stone. They found another furnished room and in the corner of that room was a fully clothed skeleton of a giant. Jerome proudly told my daughter, my wife, my daughter’s friend Ali and me the story of a Couelle Family mystery. This love of and the acceptance of the bizarre and the hidden was at the heart of his Artwork.

The last time I spoke to Jerome was a couple of months ago and I knew from one soul to another as I hung up the phone that he was done with this world. “I want to explore other planets, you see, I’m tired of this one”. Well my friend passed on August 4th, 2015. I only found out the other day and since then he is with me and pestering me to paint. I’ve done three pieces now with his voice in my head telling me what to do…I hope he sticks around for a while. I don’t pretend to ever have been a best friend to this Great Artist. But, I’m comfortable in knowing that on a Soul level we were like minds. I am grateful for all his encouragement of my work in the physical world and I’m honored that he’s visiting me now for a while before he heads off to visit other planets…This is what he did, this is what his legacy is…www.jeromecouelleartist.com


I Love This…

Last week I drove down to Cannon Beach, Oregon. The gallery there that sells my work asked me to participate in The annual Plein Air festival. The timing was good,a break was needed. I packed up my art supplies, camping gear and hit the road.

I was unsure how it would all go, Artwise, as my style of painting is very different from what would be expected from a Plein Air festival. Dragonfire Gallery wanted me to paint right in the courtyard out front of the gallery. I was a little nervous as I set up the area to start painting that first morning. I asked for help “Please don’t make me look foolish” were the exact words I said to the heavens.

I had been painting for less that two hours and had set the colors on my first piece, an abstract, kind of, sort of, landscape. People had been stopping to watch, then moving on. From behind me a little voice starts to ask me a couple of simple questions. I looked back quickly, for a flash and barely notice a little girl shyly standing there. My eyes and concentration were back on the painting. A few moments later I hear her say ” I like paintings with depth”.  She had me now, I turn around and really saw her, this adorable girl of about seven years old standing there watching me paint wearing the same colors in her clothing as I had just put down on my canvas. “What’s your name?” I ask her in awe…”Eilee, my name is Eilee”. I grabbed a sharpie and my still wet painting. “How do you spell Eilee?” I ask….”E I L E E” I quickly wrote ” Sunset For Eilee” on the back of the painting. We both smiled and in our our own ways felt jubilant.


I painted like a house on fire for the rest of that day and the next. It was so much fun to talk to people and answer questions about my work. In the evenings I retreated to my campsite under the tall trees, lit a cooking fire, opened a bottle of wine and wearily thought about the work done, that day and all the days. Lots of work, thousands of hours, for about 18 years. I looked at the paint on my clothes, I looked at the paint still on my hands. Would I change anything? Did I have any regrets? Nope, I Love This…