the vault is unlocked...

inspired by the ocean

2012-07-16T11:24:00.001-05:00

like hermit crabs seek
shells in which to be themselves
travelers must go

don't forget to breathe

2012-03-09T13:30:00.004-06:00

We finally arrive at Stazione Termini. Seven time zones, multiple flights, two absurdly long lines of earthlings later. The sound of matches striking to create flame. The intoxicating rush of the smell of sulfur followed by the nearly nauseating stench of ubiquitous tar. The sound of relief and familiarity as people of all tribes and tongues engage their cellphones to connect with loved ones and relay good news of safe arrivals and meaningful, immediate travel plans, "I'm getting closer (to you)."

My feet instinctively launch across the street and the rest of me immediately dives backward to avoid getting hit. Rental cars, taxis, crotch rockets all remind me I am mortal. Two steps forward; two steps back... Rome on wheels careening at breakneck speed to their destinations. You know, this is Italia... live, love, enjoy... and really - don't live as if you will be held accountable. A cautious life is not worth living.

This town is everything. Love. Sex. Sensuality. History. Nostalgia. Politics. Mafia. People arriving for the first time. People leaving for the last time. Nothing in your past or future matters. Get caught up or get swept away. Just let it happen. Don't deny Roma what she wants from you. She can be a hateful bitch.

The Connection. When you arrive in Rome you search everyone's eyes. "Do you have what I came here for?" You are looking for the answers to the questions. The holy grail. I am here. The universe is with me.

From the moment I first landed here, over ten years ago, I had the distinct feeling I was being beckoned by a muse. A sensual, tantalizing force drawing me in, "follow me." she said... in a way that left nothing to question.

I remember this look. The way the little girl on the bus looks at me... she must be around ten. I was that little girl once. She wants to know my story. She speaks to her gypsy mother... knowing her future is uncertain and asking her mother what she thinks of me: what kind of life do I lead? do I have a dog or a cat or a dream or a family? . Knowing in fifteen years she could just as easily be a young woman on a bus in the U.S. looking at a 10-year-old girl thinking of this exact moment.

I remember Piazza Navona. New love, old love. Worn out artists. restaurants, servers, hustle, bustle, digital cameras everywhere... but mostly just creative souls begging you for $20 to give you something so invaluable you might sell your soul to keep it forever. If you were to be mummified, nothing would be closer to your corpse than this keepsake. Rome burns itself into you... branding you in a way that only means anything to you, specifically.

The magic of the city can only be realized when in complete, complex relation to its ancient wonder. Walking down a cobblestone street in high heels, past bookstores and families and gelaterias. Seeing natives and knowing that they aren't distracted by the vivid sensationalism of the lotus blossom that is Rome. So new (but not at all). Everchanging... yet steadfast. This town will always be here for me. and you... just give her a chance. She can be everything you need her to be. An old man clutches his chest as I walk by, "...Mam-ma Mia!" I have to give him a beaming smile and a piece of my heart.

The city that never sleeps... is that New York? Rome may sleep... but she dreams so loudly you can't help but fall down the rabbit hole. She is strong, sexy, alluring. She knows why you came here even if you don't.

Roma. Roma. Roma... this place has something nowhere else does. You will find alleys, hills, nooks, crannies and staircases all leading to places you will remember vividly from your deathbed. You will chase multiple versions of yourself in dizzying circles while your soul marinates in her pulsing radiance.

What kind of destination can be such a journey in and of itself that one never feels he or she ever truly arrived? I stayed there for three days... then six weeks... conversing with students, bus drivers, old widowed Swiss tourists - everyone so eager to connect. we all know she called us. from a dream. from a thought. from a past life. from a memory. she beckoned and we knew we couldn't say no. What kind of destination can be such a journey that one never feels he or she ever truly departed? Do i have enough soul to leave such a chunk of it with curvaceous, passionate, unquenchable Rome? Do I have a choice?

To ride the bus is to be a local for a moment. Smelling yesterday's work on today's clothes is just as intoxicating as the city itself. pure humanity, experience, sweat, lust, life... knowing what it smells like on the human body to create dinner, then breakfast, then lunch, time and again for those you love so fiercely your embraces leave bruises.

What is life? is it not the intensity of connection and passionate discourse? flirtation, jealousy and passion? Rome is not a melancholy lover... she is instense and demands much.

rome- there are meaningful coincidences to occur and alleys and bus rides with your eternal identity etched all over them.

stepping out of Stazione Termini, the smell of exhaust, tar and sulphur... i smell hope and anticipation. i feel experiences that i haven't had yet. I see dreamers, lovers, vendors and wanderers that can't help but be here. right here. right now. i am among them. i am human. we have everything in common.

"How was Italy?" you asked.

"it was Italy...." i respond... and for the next ten minutes, i do you no justice as a conversation partner. I am transported to a different time and place where random strangers can relate but you can't. i loved, they loved, Rome loved.... but it was a fickle, fleeting infatuation that would be gone just as quickly as it came. I will hold on to the smell of her hair, her perfume.... her city stench forever. knowing if i could get another chance i don't think i could leave.

my intense desire for rome
----

i hear a whisper in my ear, a spiritual giggle and my muse skips around the corner... for the first time i encounter the wind. face to face. fountains, wind, stone... and solitude. i think of whoever was commissioned to make this wind. his cheeks full of air, lips pursed, eyes playful and full of sparkle... threatening to nonchalantly blow your life wherever he pleases... because what can you do to stop him?

i cross the street to visit the next wind... he looks more fierce but still well-meaning... the water coming out of his mouth reminds me of what i used to love to do in the bath as a child. for some reason having bathwater in my mouth grosses me out now.... that really must change. i can't afford to be an elitist.

i walk miles and miles... thinking how familiar everything looks. I know i'm getting closer to the Tiber. i will never forget the tale of the river running red with blood when rome was conquered. when i cross the river i hold my breath and try to drown out the pleas of the dead... so rich and velvety are their souls and screams... the river is still macabre and bloody no matter what color it is now

across the tiber -- "trastevere" -- rome gives a sigh of relief... kicks off her high heels and relaxes. the real romans are here. you don't have to know a lick of English and people are engaging. it's just past dusk and there is a luminosity to the air that constantly has you reaching for your camera and then reconsidering. leave it. memorize every detail. it is written on your soul.

------

this time around i am back with my husband. i can't help but watch him take it all in. I am not agoraphobic in the slightest while in italy. i love blending. like a drop of water in a pond. the organic quality of the marketplace is so vibrant, individualistic and yet sharing... begging to trade, everyone yelling and screaming and things escalate... anger, lust, passion, not wanting to be ripped off, hoping you can rip somebody off... never knowing how much you will arrive or leave with. the difference is certainly that peter doesn't appreciate the crowds quite like i do. and to watch them from the outside you are almost afraid to join in. a mosh pit of pickpockets and body odor.. bad breath and people needing showers. fresh flowers, fresh fish, and homelessness.

its a beautiful picture. a crowded sidewalk. the spectrum of beauty is amazing. a young girl with a white, grecian tunic makes you think of those that are worshipped on mount olympus and why. its the kind of beauty you can't envy. you want to fiercely protect this girl and love her. worship her in her purity and innocence.

unknown

2012-01-24T15:18:00.002-06:00

i was a butterfly once

fragile but so strong, i knew how to dance

i had sewn my eyes shut so i couldn't see what i should ever be afraid of

couldn't fathom or anticipate my demise

without sight i could only feel joy

only smell life, only taste love

then someone whispered we are all decaying

all thriving in our moments but trading our fiery essence

we are burning into the night and into each day

how peculiar this made things

and then i knew the ripe smell of life was only because death approached

and the taste of love so beautiful because it was tinged with tears of mourning

the sensation of joy was outlined by vast emptiness that exaggerated pure happiness

i mourn for my innocence

give up myself

to the river of dreams

drift softly into the current

and weep for my chrysalis

Sustenance

2012-01-24T08:36:00.001-06:00

I died that day

When I didn’t think I could make it

I shifted gently from under my skin

And felt the relief of a cool stream on a hot day

Of a shady spot in the desert

Of a friend after years of loneliness

An embrace in a sea of inanimate objects

When they say the goal of life is “to die before you die”

I never knew what it meant

Until the one who promised me

To keep me away from siege

To hold off storms

Disappeared

When you are a metaphor - an original

2012-01-18T22:00:00.001-06:00

When you're a metaphor

Toy with the suggestion
The mere idea
Of what could be

The realm of possibility
Is endless
Breathe in and feel the magic

There is only so much
Future and memory
That can exist in this moment

Before it becomes hope
And delusion
Sad and contrived

My life exists in seasons
And fall is my own

When the garden can no longer be my home
Then thorns and briars remind me
What is real

A gentle guide that traces my path in the extreme boundaries of sensation

When flying and fighting
Are a gauge for living and breathing

Meet me at the edge

epiphany

2011-09-15T09:43:00.004-05:00

it finally dawned on me
the answer

and, like watching a film in reverse, it
made sense before
it ever happened...

and after it all
happened

we met... and we knew
(each other)

it couldn't work...
there was a reason
(there had to be)

but then you asked
and i answered

and we were
truly
(godammit)
tried to be

flying (we became a comet)

elated~

the taste - we had
both promised
this would happen...
and we did

deja vu
echoing
lives past

words words words
countless strings of seaweed
in our sea - i resent them
every day

games and twisted
tongues and lies
i hate them all

before words
we were

perfect

and we still are

and I hum in my
silence, my eyes
shining, a million
broken hearts

were my own

i mourned for
every lost
possibility of us
and now
looking back

i see

the seeker

2011-09-01T13:36:00.001-05:00

feeling my way in the dark

not afraid but

...apprehensive

senses heightened

hyper

aware

i feel a heartbeat

i hear tormented screams

from behind doors

far away

yet feel safe somehow

as long as

i follow

the drum of the heart

we are all made of stars

cosmic dust whirling

pulsing with life

i love sensing

chemical reactions

i smell sweat and

the heat is tangible

running my fingers along the walls

i realize they are alive and breathing

oh.. i giggle to myself and feel my surroundings tremble in reply

it seems i've fallen down another rabbit hole

fuego

2011-09-01T11:08:00.005-05:00

i was never able to resist

playing with fire

staring so deep

investigating oranges, yellows and blues

deeper and deeper

until you feel a disturbance in your whole field of view

you see back through time...

how fire kept man alive

something that commands respect

while it can warm you

it's relieving to know

i have no control

tie me up

throw me in

watch me burn

today, i am hurt

2011-08-29T16:17:00.000-05:00

my eyes have pounding pressure behind them
waves of tears threatening to tell all my secrets

i long for a pillow when i should turn and face the rain
embrace the hurt, lick the tears
feel their shape as they are birthed from my insides

i want to hear them forming droplets from my growing blue and throbbing heart
my body gives me away today

make eye contact, stare deep down, see what you see
what version of yourself is deep at my core?

what pain is roaring in your ears begging for your immediate distraction?

my ribs can't keep still, my chest heaves with alone, hollow echoing
alone, alone, alone

we live alone, we die alone, i owe it to myself to stay here now. who will be with me if i'm not?

this poor little girl has suffered too long behind a holographic wall of false strength.. there is beauty in weakness

just like the irises fall down after the rain, they often rise again, stronger, greener, and bursting with life in the morning

i promise to never desert me again, whatever that means

i aspire to be an amalgamation

2011-08-29T10:04:00.004-05:00

which characters have YOU fallen for - give me 1 or 10

mine:

Tom Sawyer - one word - mischief

Queen Elizabeth I - jailed, red-headed, victorious- sharp-tongued and beautiful -

Daisy in The Great Gatsby - a tragedy i saw coming from a million miles away but couldn't help but love her

Einstein - everything i've ever read about him, though he's not a fictional character, he's someone that I can't stop reading about -- and i love his silly side-- seemed like a guy who wasn't terrified of acting like a child in a beautiful way

...and a freebie (by the same token)

Frank Lloyd Wright - his autobiography, and Loving Frank, everything i've ever read about him has made me consider the way things fit together in his brain

-- i read SO MUCH historical fiction about these "characters" that i can't help but feel that they are just as real to me as any character in a book. how interesting that to read about someone makes me feel like i know them so much more than having studied them in school

my sharona: a haiku

2011-06-28T09:11:00.004-05:00

~*~*~*~

true quantum physics

she wrote the song before birth

so glad she's my first

~*~*~*~

what it's really like: therapy

2011-06-27T16:35:00.001-05:00

I've been to three appointments with a therapist... someone I would call an "existential therapist" if only because the reason I am there is because.... one coincidence after another, I found myself sitting in front of this man. I was terrified, rattled, and at the end of my rope. If only because I was THROUGH with starving. Starving spiritually, physically, emotionally. Knowing that if I didn't sit down in front of this person who I knew (because of how I came in contact with him) had a huge keyring and very real chance of unlocking some ridiculously fortified doors in my psyche, I would eventually ruin my own life subconsciously on purpose. Because ruining everything is a great way to start picking up the pieces.

I was scared. I knew this would mean flashing my naked, tender, raw, hurt, scarred underbelly to another human being. And then? Then... what was the worst thing that could happen? Could he reject me? Hate me? Use me? Ridicule me? Deceive me? Yes. Did I really think he would do any of those things? I didn't know and honestly, the fear of NOT FINDING OUT all of these things was a big part of what made me hurt. At some point, convincing people you are the happiest, healthiest person on the face of the planet gets tired. Played out. Worn like a pair of sneakers with your toes hanging out the front. MY LIFE, the longest play ever written, starring me, the most ridiculous actress ever. YES, life is great and funny and wonderful and YES, i am so very loved. But I'm through acting. I need to feel whatever shit I've been refusing to feel. So afraid to feel. So begins the next chapter of my blog: Dirty Laundry.

meaningless conversations worth having

2011-06-09T15:02:00.003-05:00

Me: what's more annoying... People Who Type Like This or people who write in all lowercase all the time no matter what

I'LL IGNORE THE ALL CAPS PEOPLE FOR OBVIOUS REASONS

P: idon'tknowwhatyouretalkingabout

Me: I Really Think This Is The Most Annoying Considering What Your Pinky Has To Go Thru
I'm A Bit Of A Socialist

P: inmyhumbleopinionthisisthemostannoyinghavingtoreadbutnotnecessarilytype

Me: yes but hashtags can be hilarious #dotcom

Arrival - an original

2011-05-31T14:58:00.003-05:00

Just around that corner

There is a magical bend

The light fragments

And a prism frays in unending splendor

Just over the horizon

A leprechaun child giggles

As he runs his fingers through the rainbow

And it tickles between his toes

Just before you looked back

A muse whispered in your ear

Threw faerie dust over your shoulder

And spoke an incantation

Just as you were created

The universe erupted in expectation

Knowing existence itself changed forever

I wonder what this divine light will look like

through the filter of a human body?

Ah yes—it was spoken

And the higher and lower earth have been waiting

The glory of this lifetime

Waiting for the first chance

To praise you for taking the dive

an original poem

2011-04-21T10:34:00.005-05:00

I felt a warm ocean breeze and

A hammock called out to me

It breathed the oceans melody

Tickled my neck as it beckoned me

I couldn't resist

The smell so loud

And the sound so delicious

As I approached

Ready to lay

And shift and absorb

And give this hammock form

I saw something

Upon each fiber

And it frightened me

The hammock was created

Entirely of time

Each particle and each string

Each knot and every twist

There was never a question

Before this beautiful life

Whether I would take this ride

exhale (an original)

2011-03-29T11:53:00.003-05:00

I feel my heart where my head used to be

My eyes are so full of caring I dare not blink

I can’t speak for fear of overflowing

Like I’m carrying a full jug of saltwater

Attached to every feeling I’ve ever felt

All of this love makes it hard to shuffle paper

All of this sentience permeating my skeleton like a dry washcloth

Dropped into a well

Holding my breath until at last the tears subside

And the feelings flush from within me – like a storm

Receding just before the dam bursts

Please let this inner cleansing happen soon

Denying my humanity is so much easier when not being forced to reckon with my body

Oh the human condition

So frustrating when I consider

The divine blanket of the cosmos

I want to wrap myself in love

Relax

And drift away

bitter:sweet

2011-01-28T11:17:00.002-06:00

my last blog, my recounting of Rome, was entitled with this song and lyrics in mind. i love the Gershwin-esque timelessness and desperation...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxhSidauFPU

Once upon a dream, I was dying for you
Tasting only sweet, drinking memories of you
Your hand touches my cheek as you whisper softly

Don't forget to breathe
Our love will be redeemed
And when you take my hand
You'll know exactly where I am

A toast to starry nghts, seeking comfort divine
Celebrating life, swimming circles in light
And I look to the sea and hear you calling softly

Don't forget to breathe
Our love will be redeemed
And when you take my hand
You'll know eactly where I am

I hear you calling to me
See you but you can't see me
We never said our goodbyes
So dark and lonely your eyes
You'll always be in my heart
There is no death to us part

Don't forget to breathe
Our love will be redeemed
And when you take my hand
You'll know exactly where I am
You'll know exactly where I am

don't forget to breathe....

2011-01-21T11:31:00.000-06:00

we finally arrive at Stazione Termini. seven time zones. two flights. two absurdly long lines of foreigners later. the sound of matches striking to create flame. the intoxicating rush of the smell of sulphur followed by the nearly nauseating stench of ubiquitous tar. the sound of relief and familiarity as people of all tribes and tongues engage their cellphones to connect with loved ones and relay good news of safe arrivals and meaningful, immediate travel plans, "I'm getting closer [to you]."

i launch out into the street and immediately dive backward. rental cars, mopeds, vespas all remind me that not only am i mortal, but they really don't give a shit whether i'm on the sidewalk or the street. two steps forward; two steps back... they careen at 60 mph regardless. you know, this is Italia... live, love, enjoy... and really -- don't live as if you will be held accountable. it's not worth it. this town is everything. love. sex. sensuality. history. nostalgia. politics. mafia. people arriving for the first time. people leaving for the last time. nothing matters. get caught up or get swept away. just let it happen. don't deny Roma what she wants from you. she can be a hateful bitch.

connection. when you arrive in rome you search everyone's eyes. "do you have what i came here for?" you are looking for the answers to the questions. the holy grail. i am here. the universe is with me.

from the moment i first landed in rome i had the distinct feeling i was being beckoned by a muse. a sensual, tantalizing force drawing me in, "follow me." she said... in a way that left nothing to question.

i remember the way the little girl on the bus looked at me. wanting to know my story. she spoke to her gypsy mother... knowing her future was uncertain. knowing she could just as easily be a girl on a bus in D.C. in fifteen years looking at a 10-year-old American girl thinking of this exact moment.

I remember Piazza Navona. new love, old love. worn out artists. restaurants, servers, hustle, bustle, cameras everywhere... but mostly just creative souls begging you for $20 to give you something so invaluable you might sell your soul to keep it forever. if you were to be mummified, nothing would be closer to your corpse than this keepsake. rome burns itself into you... branding you in a way that only means anything to you, specifically.

the magic of the city can only be realized when compared to its ancient wonder. walking down a cobblestone street in 3-inch heels, past bookstores and families and gelaterias. seeing natives and knowing that they have no idea the commodity of the lotus blossom that is rome. so new. everchanging... yet steadfast. this town will always be here for me. and you... just give her a chance. she can be everything you need her to be. an old man clutches his chest as i walk by, "...Mam-ma Mia!"

the city that never sleeps. is that new york? rome may sleep... but she dreams so loudly you can't help but fall down the rabbit hole. she is strong, sexy, alluring. she knows why you came here even if you don't.

roma. roma. roma... this place has something nowhere else does. you will find alleys, hills, nooks, crannies and staircases all leading to places you will remember vividly from your deathbed.

what kind of destination can be such a journey in and of itself that one never feels he or she ever truly arrived? i stayed there for three days... then six weeks... conversing with students, bus drivers, old, widowed Swiss tourists -- everyone so eager to connect. we all know she called us. from a dream. from a thought. from a past life. from a memory. she beckoned and we knew we couldn't say no. what kind of destination can be such a journey that one never feels he or she ever truly departed? do i have enough soul to leave such a chunk of it with curvaceous, passionate, unquenchable Rome? do i have a choice?

to ride the bus is to be a local for a moment. smelling yesterday's work on today's clothes is just as intoxicating as the city itself. pure humanity, experience, sweat, lust, life... knowing what it smells like on the human body to create dinner, then breakfast, then lunch, time and again for those you love so fiercely your embraces leave bruises.

what is life? is it not the intensity of connection and passionate discourse? flirtation, jealousy and passion? Rome is not a melancholy lover... she is instense and demands much.

rome- there are meaningful coincidences to occur and alleys and bus rides with your eternal identity etched all over them.

stepping out of Stazione Termini, the smell of exhaust, tar and sulphur... i smell hope and anticipation. i feel experiences that i haven't had yet. I see dreamers, lovers, vendors and wanderers that can't help but be here. right here. right now. i am among them. i am human. we have everything in common.

"How was Italy?" you asked.

"it was Italy...." i respond... and for the next ten minutes, i do you no justice as a conversation partner. I am transported to a different time and place where random strangers can relate but you can't. i loved, they loved, Rome loved.... but it was a fickle, fleeting infatuation that would be gone just as quickly as it came. I will hold on to the smell of her hair, her perfume.... her city stench forever. knowing if i could get another chance i don't think i could leave.

my intense desire for rome
----

i hear a whisper in my ear, a spiritual giggle and my muse skips around the corner... for the first time i encounter the wind. face to face. fountains, wind, stone... and solitude. i think of whoever was commissioned to make this wind. his cheeks full of air, lips pursed, eyes playful and full of sparkle... threatening to nonchalantly blow your life wherever he pleases... because what can you do to stop him?

i cross the street to visit the next wind... he looks more fierce but still well-meaning... the water coming out of his mouth reminds me of what i used to love to do in the bath as a child. for some reason having bathwater in my mouth grosses me out now.... that really must change. i can't afford to be an elitist.

i walk miles and miles... thinking how familiar everything looks. I know i'm getting closer to the Tiber. i will never forget the tale of the river running red with blood when rome was conquered. when i cross the river i hold my breath and try to drown out the pleas of the dead... so rich and velvety are their souls and screams... the river is still macabre and bloody no matter what color it is now

across the tiber -- "trastevere" -- rome gives a sigh of relief... kicks off her high heels and relaxes. the real romans are here. you don't have to know a lick of English and people are engaging. it's just past dusk and there is a luminosity to the air that constantly has you reaching for your camera and then reconsidering. leave it. memorize every detail. it is written on your soul.

------

this time around i am back with my husband. i can't help but watch him take it all in. I am not agoraphobic in the slightest while in italy. i love blending. like a drop of water in a pond. the organic quality of the marketplace is so vibrant, individualistic and yet sharing... begging to trade, everyone yelling and screaming and things escalate... anger, lust, passion, not wanting to be ripped off, hoping you can rip somebody off... never knowing how much you will arrive or leave with. the difference is certainly that peter doesn't appreciate the crowds quite like i do. and to watch them from the outside you are almost afraid to join in. a mosh pit of pickpockets and body odor.. bad breath and people needing showers. fresh flowers, fresh fish, and homelessness.

its a beautiful picture. a crowded sidewalk. the spectrum of beauty is amazing. a young girl with a white, grecian tunic makes you think of those that are worshipped on mount olympus and why. its the kind of beauty you can't envy. you want to fiercely protect this girl and love her. worship her in her purity and innocence.
___

oh oh oh it's magic

2011-01-21T10:49:00.000-06:00

After collecting all the candles in the house and getting his stool from the bathroom. Elek: "I need those sticks, mama. Those magic sticks that you move and then fire comes out. I can't find them anywhere!"

Wanna Be Startin' Something

2011-01-19T21:27:00.000-06:00

We were at El Toro Loco and the Hispanic server brought our check (la cuenta)...

Pedro: "Tip on $17?"

Me: "$4"

P: "Well... she's obviously not a veteran."

M: "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Racist."

P: "Well I thought it was pretty obvious... you saw her..."

M: "How do YOU know she's not a veteran? She's not an amputee or maimed... is it a holiday or something?"

P: "What are you talking about? I was saying she obviously hasn't been waiting tables very long."

brainsplitting love gobs

2011-01-19T14:18:00.000-06:00

if i told you my latest job you wouldn't believe me. it makes me giggle and roll my eyes and daydream and if i were someone else i would hate me. i'm working at the all-Spanish-all-day childcare center from 12-3 pm and i just have to relieve the teachers during naptime and touch each baby once every 15 minutes to make sure they are okay

seriously. and my first day was today. and i got off early. and babies smiled and laughed and cood at me.

i am not gloating; i swear. i am in complete disbelief.

day one is finished

boss wasn't there and all the babies were sleeping... so once all the babies were asleep i left

there is something about sitting in a dark room with sleeping babies and hispanic women you don't know that makes you think "hmmm... i'll come tomorrow in the morning so we don't have to whisper in the dark"

me: boss just put on a sticky which rooms for me to go to

Peter: oh ok

me: so the first room was amazing

the 6 wks to crawling room

Peter: awwww

me: and then every other room was passed out and the ladies were like what are you doing here

Peter: oh wow. nice.
"But I have this sticky..."

me: but i got to practice a lot of spanish with the first room and went back and hung out with the teachers/babies in the first room until they all passed out

and then boss still wasn't there and i was thumb-twiddling

1:39 PM so i told receptionist to have boss call me and i'll plan on coming in earlier tomorrow so i can watch/learn the lunchtime routine

Peter: gotcha

me: i just felt like if i hung out then i would really be in the way-- there is literally nothing to supervise except for sleeping babies...
and i met most of them and spoke Spanish to all of them so hopefully i have some cred

Peter: understandable!

me: they wouldn't dare leave me alone with the sleeping babies without instruction

it seemed strange to leave but like it would be even weirder if i stayed
and i think they are all discussing my presence, etc. today and i explained why i was hired and when i would be there so they know i'm a good addition to the crew

how do I get there?

2010-12-09T08:45:00.001-06:00

A recent tool I have been using in my thought life is talking to future me. Me five years from now. She's smart, fit, funny-- has a twinkle in her eye and a genuine smile on her face. This girl knows things. She knows more about me than I do and she is damn good at doing what she does. She knows how to make things happen.

She's not going to let me cheat though.... she'll show me the last few things she's done and I'm really impressed. But between here and there is a turning point. A huge "Aha!" moment... the funny thing is, she keeps assuring me I know what it is...

Do you ever get the feeling you are standing in the way of your destiny? How do you plan to stop?

If you are a dreamer, come in!

2010-07-10T14:58:00.000-05:00

No matter the skeptics, social media (like this) has things to offer that our 3-dimensional long-distance friendships does not. Few of you may be online right now, but you will see that I have posted something that was on my mind and we will connect at different times all across the country (even the Earth in some cases). I may be out and about, taking a shower, or feeding Elek, but we will share this nonetheless. Anyway, I find the following passage beautiful because it reminds me there is beauty in weakness.

The Dance

I have sent you my invitation, the note inscribed on the palm of my hand by the fire of living. Don't jump up and shout, "Yes, this is what I want! Let's do it!" Just stand up quietly and dance with me.

Show me how you follow your deepest desires, spiralling down into the ache within the ache. And I will show you how I reach inward and open outward to feel the kiss of the Mystery, sweet lips on my own, everyday.

Don't tell me you want to hold the whole world in your heart. Show me how you turn away from making another wrong without abandoning yourself when you are hurt and afraid of being unloved.

Tell me a story of who you are,
And see who I am in the stories I am living. And together we will remember that each of us always has a choice.

Don't tell me how wonderful things will be . . . some day. Show me you can risk being completely at peace, truly OK with the way things are right now in this moment, and again in the next and the next and the next. . .

I have heard enough warrior stories of heroic daring. Tell me how you crumble when you hit the wall, the place you cannot go beyond by the strength of your own will. What carries you to the other side of that wall, to the fragile beauty of your own humanness?

And after we have shown each other how we have set and kept the clear, healthy boundaries that help us live side by side with each other, let us risk remembering that we never stop silently loving those we once loved out loud.

Take me to the places on the earth that teach you how to dance, the places where you can risk letting the world break your heart. And I will take you to the places where the earth beneath my feet and the stars overhead make my heart whole again and again.

Show me how you take care of business without letting business determine who you are. When the children are fed but still the voices within and around us shout that soul's desires have too high a price, let us remind each other that it is never about the money.

Show me how you offer to your people and the world the stories and the songs you want our children's children to remember, and I will show you how I struggle not to change the world, but to love it.

Sit beside me in long moments of shared solitude, knowing both our absolute aloneness and our undeniable belonging. Dance with me in the silence and in the sound of small daily words, holding neither against me at the end of the day.

And when the sound of all the declarations of our sincerest intentions has died away on the wind, dance with me in the infinite pause before the next great inhale of the breath that is breathing us all into being, not filling the emptiness from the outside or from within.

Don't say, "Yes!"
Just take my hand and dance with me.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

"does everyone deserve to be happy?"

2010-07-09T15:59:00.000-05:00

happiness-contentment-love-joy

i find that the concept of happiness (in terms of contentment) has everything to do with your own perception and assimilation of your environmental surroundings and circumstances.

i think contentment is something that takes work. it is like having a great body-- it's available to 99% of people... you just have to work for it. every day. little decisions about this thing that just happened or the driver that cut you off.... each reaction compiles into our level of contentment.

happy happy. the super-emotional happy.... happy vs. sad vs. angry vs. embarrassed happy... now that is something that you truly can not and should not be all the time-- without balance and calm and peace there is just no way to sustain it-- like MDMA (Ecstasy)-- it's a forced chemical response that weakens your ability to feel pure joy and elation in the future

and then there's money/riches/stuff=happy -- i think this is the fuel of demons... the empty pit that preys on possessions of others in search of that artificial MDMA high.... just to keep it going... just to get a fix "if i could just..." that mentality keeps everyone from growing

so-- all of that being said... "does everyone deserve to be happy?" i think we each owe it to our selves to strive for contentment. to seek a pure, unadulterated love that we wrap ourselves around and it wraps itself around us... the kind of love that oozes out of you-- your happiness can be contagious-- the kind of love and warmth that truly drives out fear and negativity and greed.

i just focus on me and I find that I am drawn to those who are followers of love. not leeches of my energy or people who cloud my clear sky.

reaching

2010-07-08T15:56:00.001-05:00

I need pen and ink. Thick paper. Ambient sound.

Disconnected. FOCUS--

I need pen and ink.

Thick paper.

Ambient sound.

Rushing water.... the glimmer of my toes in another dimension.

The echo of love reverberating through my skeleton--- resounding with my soul-- a tuning fork pulling me back.... to the core of all that is real

I need the fuel of my inner light to come through my hands and create

I need the clay of a concept, the molding of an idea, the genesis of a world change

I need to be a tree... I want to feel my roots in the cool dark Earth and for my arms to sway in the cool evening breeze and bask in the warm, still heat of the Sun

I need to connect...

I am an artist and the pen and ink and the ambient sound. I am alive and I am the dirt and the tree and the Sun. I am connected and I am the tuning fork pulling you back to the core of all that is real... I am the glimmer of my toes and I am the clay of a concept, the molding of an idea, the genesis of a world change

4:01 pm - an original