Welcome to the Kinnaverse

Gods Know Where

2012-02-11T19:34:00.000-08:00

Here I am on top of a mountain, in the wilds of Southern Humboldt (and if you think "wilds" is an exaggeration, you have not been to Southern Humboldt). Okay- it’s a ridge, not a mountain, but for the sake of effect- because it sure feels like a mountain, I'm just gonna call it one.

It’s fantastic to be in the same place for more than....oh, 4 hours. 6 whole weeks of parkedness. I'm already feeling a little twitchy!

Nah- not really. Actually, part of me wishes this were my place. I'm envious and inspired and also pretty sad at times. That sounds weird until I tell you that I used to live on a mountain not far from here. I can see it across the river valley in fact. I did not leave it on good terms, hence the sad. But let’s not skip the middle parts....

This here homestead I'm sitting on is exactly the dream I had with my (ex)husband at one time. Yes, someone actually married me and got me to stay in one place and have sex with only them for 10 years or so. It’s hard to believe from where you’re sitting, but I was not always this freewheeling, party animal, nomadic, confirmed bachelor you see sitting before you today....

I lived on 10 acres in the forest, without phone, electicity, indoor plumbing and visible neighbors. Until then, I’d never lived anywhere longer than 2 years (I mean, in the same house; I'd live in the same city for decades at a time) and I’d never owned my own place. I’d never been married like that and I'd sure as hell never had a joint checking account.

It was another lifetime. Leave it to Beaver-meets-Grizzly Adams.

Looking Over at My Old Stomping Grounds

I was content- I was in love, I loved my business and was making decent money, the sex was good, he was my best friend, I finally could have dogs and I loved the quirky little community we’d landed in.

Then I got sick with Lyme and slowly but surely, everything fell apart. It was the most difficult time of my life as an adult. I had long known that by the time I was 40, a lot of things in my life would be in “order”. And I was right. I just didn't realize they would only be in “order” for a few years.

After health went, career went, performing career went, spouse wanted to not be married anymore, bankruptcy was filed, I finally had to leave my land and I had to find a new home for my dogs- no one, but NO ONE would rent to me with dogs (in many ways that was the most painful part). I was in hell of grief and betrayal combined with intense physical pain and profound exhaustion.

The community I'm now visiting in as a house sitter was not there for me. I know I didn't make it easy, but still- some of those people specialized in dealing with people on the edge, difficult, messed up, people in pain. I was one of the people that helped others in bad situations until I hit one of my own. Then suddenly no one was around. I was extremely hurt by that.

Meanwhile, I was going through some profound feelings of betrayal in general. I didn't realize it until later, but I was having a spiritual crisis. I'd gotten used to things working a certain way in my life, in my relationship with god and the circumstances I found myself in weren’t part of the deal. I was stunned. Angry. Bereft of everything, even my cool, laid back, buddy relationship with god.

I did a lot of crazy, destructive stuff in that space, including two attempted suicides and some compulsive gambling. It was not pretty.

There came a time, long after I finally left my little spot on the mountain across the way, that I realized I'd been settling and I didn't even know it. I was eventually grateful that I'd been “forced" off that mountain by circumstances seemingly beyond my control. There were things waiting for me that I could not have even imagined.

Here’s the thing- I almost always find that if I get everything on my list, just as I've laid it out, I would be selling myself short. The universe actually has much better things in store for me most of the time. But if I won't let go of my own plan, then it sometimes does me the favor of yanking the rug out from under those plans so that I'm open for the better road.

If only I could always be aware of that at the time I'm flying through the air to land painfully on my ass.

So here I am. I'm sad. And happy. I figure it’s a great opportunity to make peace with my history here. And in the meantime, I get to enjoy this brief time out on a gorgeous mountain top.

I was running laps around the driveway today (it’s a very looooooong, country driveway), looking out over the mountains. The pad this place is on is just about level with the surrounding mountain tops. I was imagining that I was running, bounding, leaping across them.

Then suddenly I was crying (and still running- the timer was on dude...). I asked god, why can't I have this??? and god said, not for you this time. I let that sink in (still crying, wiping the snot off my face with my sweatshirt sleeve, dodging puddles and rocks- running in the mountians, even on a driveway, is a whole other animal than flat land running). I was feeling the loss of that time around 40 when it seemed I had all the big questions answered, it felt like I’d arrived and life was good. Good enough anyway.

Then god said, not exactly like this anyway. You don't get to hide out up on mountaintops this lifetime. Sometimes, yeah- but I need you to be in the world.

I said- FUCK! *heavy sigh* The world is so awful right now. And people are HARD.

Yeah, god said. I know (if god had eyeballs, they would have been looking pointedly in my direction, cocked eyebrows and all).

I just smiled, sniffled and kept on runnin over mountaintops, going god knows where, but knowing, sad mad glad ‘n’ all, I'm heading in the right direction.

PS: fyi, my dogs ended up in an amazing place in the country, with a wonderful woman on some acres. That's right- they even got to stay together. I’ve had the chance to visit them, even house sit for her once and spend the whole weekend. It was really was the best outcome, other than having them with me forever of course. But that’s okay. I get to do a lot of cool traveling and non-dog-friendly stuff. I miss them all the time. This is how it is when we love people. Even dog people. In every hello is a goodbye and vice versa. I sometimes think I'm gonna escape it, but the only way to do that is never say hello. But then your life is just one giant empty goodbye with no hellos to make it worthwhile.

I'm stopping now or the postscript is gonna need it’s own blog post.

Fat Girl Running #3: Rolling with the Punches

2012-01-19T14:02:00.000-08:00

In Which I Share Why I Like Running and How it Feels to be Forbidden to Do It... *sigh*

Why I'm liking exercise, specifically running:

7) I can finally say, "I'm a runner" and mean something positive by it
6) It gets me outside for at least a half hour+ a day.
5) I'm learning lessons about focus and pushing through discomfort that are helping me in other areas of my life.
4) My mood improves all day after.
3) I love the high I get after 10 minutes or so of cardio.
2) I sleep better! (The value of this is not to be underestimated. To think there was a time I took a decent night sleep for granted.)

AND FINALLY (drum roll please....) the number 1 reason I like running:

1) I feel a great sense of accomplishment after I've done it.
In other words: It makes me feel like a WARRIOR BADASS.

My warrior badass self is a little grumpy these days. It has been grounded, cut off, forbidden to run. DAMNIT.

It started with a mild knee pain last Thursday. I say “knee pain”, but it’s the tendon below and to the left of my right knee (a diagragm here might be helpful, but hang in there with me). I think it’s my patellar ligament. I ran on Friday anyway, thinking it was maybe just a little soreness, but that made it worse. I went out of town Saturday, taking my running gear with me hoping to run in the city with a friend, but the pain was worse by the time I got there on Saturday.

“Okay, “ I thought gamely (pun completely intended), I’ll take a break for a day or two and get back on schedule.

But alas, 'twas not to be. It was so sore over the weekend that even sitting in place on a cushy bed hurt. Walking hurt. It was clear that running would not only be no damn fun, but...well... probably stupid, maybe even damaging.

I'd been putting arnica on it, icing it and my friend gave me something called “canabalm”- made with marijuana (good for inflamation) and lemon balm (which I'm sure has medicinal properties in a balm, but I don't care- the smell of lemon balm, especially on a winters night is *orgasmically heavenly*. I would roll in it if I had enough).

All to no obvious avail.

I had a doctor appt this morning. She prescribed physical therapy, exercises and a knee brace, told me to continue what I'm doing with the icing and such. And no running or hardwalking for now. Period.

These cows in particular- I KNOW
they miss me!
(I'll be back Lucy and Ethel! Don't worry!)

Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn ad nauseum.....

I'm surprised at how much I miss the rush. It’s only been six days off, but I miss it for all the reasons I've listed above and more. I'm quite sure the cows I greet every day that I run by are sad and wondering if I'm okay. I'm more tired, I'm certainly not as up beat, and I feel like a slug. My artist is getting more time, but my warrior badass self is pacing the perimeter of the room, grumbling about pussies and whiners, looking for something to punch. Which usually happens via my words. Shit.

So here I sit- grounded for the nonce. I'm only a little sore today, but I'm not pushing it. Floor exercises- Pfththtttt! But fine. Whatever. I need to come up with some that will work up a sweat, so I can get the warrior badass to take a nap.

The best laid plans... I've not given up by any means. I'm on the bench, but I'm not out of the game. I still have plenty of time to be ready for the Atalanta 5K Walk and Run in June.

'Scuse me while I got loll around on the floor, try to be in the moment and I look out the windows at the beautiful winter storm that has finally blown in.

Fat Girl Running #2: Resources (Unasked For Advice Does Not Qualify)

2012-01-11T16:22:00.000-08:00

In Which I Share the Schedule, the Website From Whence it Came,

and in Which I Digress, Repeatedly...

One of the reasons I'm writing about being a beginning runner (see “Fat Girl Running #1 for others) is because it's an interesting process. I imagine being an advance runner is too- we'll see when they get there. Running is analogous to lots of things we do in life that aren't easy, but have payoff. I'm learning a lot about myself. Like many worthwhile things, it's sometimes hard. I could use some caring witnesses, I could use some support.

An Egret Watches Me Trot By

I do not - I REPEAT- I do not need advice. I have great guidance and I'm being smart. I've already had enough of people telling me why "it's not a good idea". Thanks for your concern, or whatever it is, but please keep it to yourself.

(On a side note- I'm finding myself particularly sensitive to unasked for advice lately. I mean, really- if you’re going to offer advice, at least ask more questions first and find out if your advice is even applicable. If you just want to hear yourself talk about how much you know, then start your own damn blog.)
But I digress....again. I used to say “danger” is my middle name, but I'm recently thinking it should be “digression”.

Where was I.... oh, right....

There are several websites out there that will give you programs to follow based on where you're starting and where you want to get to. This is the one I'm using: http://running.about.com/

More information than I can possibly use, on everything from running schedules, when to eat, how to shop for shoes, where to run, posture, to how to lose weight at it. I like the options available in types of programs. They've got a lot of option in terms of running programs and you’re sure to find one that fits your needs. When I looked at the schedule for the “Perpare to Run Your First 5K” , I knew I wasn't ready. The website conveniently told me that the 3 weeks to a 30 Minute Running Habit” program would get me ready for the 5K. Sometimes downgrading is good!

When I had a question about the schedule, I emailed Christine Luff, the creator of said torture regimen, and she responded right away.

And this is all free. All I've spent so far was *mumbledymumble* for shoes and $5 for a kitchen cooking timer. Okay okay- I spent $16 for the shoes. That’s horrible I know- they’re terribly cheap shoes and my feet deserve better, yaddah yaddah, but seriously- the ones I was running with were HORRIBLE and these feel amaaaazing after those. They're mid-grade running shoes that I found an unbelievable deal on. Like I said somewhere else, I promised myself a much better pair of shoes if I stick with it.

I'm sure they make a timer that is just for these type of training programs, something you can program to change the times for you and keep track of your distance, etc. But the kitchen timer works just fine, even if it’s a little bit of a hassle to keep resetting it. If anyone has one of the fancier models that actually made for this, I would be thrilled to take it off your hands!

I could also use some CAKE for my IPod. Just sayin.

Here’s the schedule I'm currently running. For the folks who were concerned I was gonna walk out the door, try to run a marathon and drop dead in the street, you can see that I'm running gradually increasing increments of minutes at a time, alternating with walking. It’s easy cheezy. Really. An almost embarassingly gentle buildup. So you can relax with the permanent damage and death predictions.

My goal is to run a 5K this year. That’s a little over 3 miles and very doable. I used to run 5 miles a few times a week, so 5K? Pfthththtt! Give me a couple months and I’ll be able to do it in my sleep. Better chain me to my bed.

But that’s a whole other kind of training regimen.

Where was I?

Ah....

Here's the training schedule from About.Com. They email my daily assignment to me, but I can also go to the site and see the whole three weeks ahead:

3 Weeks to a 30 Minute Running Habit

Day 1: 1/1 x 10 (Run 1 minute, walk 1 minute, ten times, for a total of 20 minutes.)
Day 2: 1/1 x 10
Day 3: Rest
Day 4: 2/1 x5, then 1/1 x5
Day 5: 2/1 x5, then 1/1 x5
Day 6: Rest
Day 7: 2/1 x6
Day 8: 3/1 x4, then 1/1 x4
Day 9: 2/1 x 6
Day 10: Rest
Day 11: 3/1 x5
Day 12: 2/1 x8
Day 13: Rest
Day 14: 3/1 x5
Day 15: 4/1 x4
Day 16: 2/1 x8
Day 17: 5/1 x4
Day 18: Rest
Day 19: 4/1 x6
Day 20: 2/1 x5
Day 21: 5/1 x5

Today I did day 9. It was harder than yesterday, which makes no logical sense, since yesterday was longer and I did increments of 3 minutes. Today should’ve been easier. But it just wasn’t . Who knows why? I just woke up not-as-good-a-runner as I was yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up a track star. One of the things living with chronic pain has taught me is, “This is my body today. Now what do I want to do, what can I do, that feels reasonable and lifey given that this is what my body is telling me?” I may have to spend some running days in bed. I just don't know.

But not today. Today I ran my little 2/1 x 6’s and it was hard. But it still felt good to do it. A couple people waved at me today. Maybe they’re FB friends. I couldn't see through the sweat in my eyes. Or maybe they've been watching me do this almost-the-same-route for the past week + and we’re getting to be running buddies of a sort. I don't care really. It was just nice to get a smile and a wave.

Tomorrow, I get a day off. I’ll probably do some walking and stretching. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight I get to go see Phil Donahue and a screening of a documentary he co-produced and Eddie-my-Guru-Vedder did all original music for:

Body of War

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HZuQkITY64.

I <3 Phil. I saw my first polyamorous triad on Phil, a Marilyn Manson interview that changed my life, queers and lesbians galore and so much more. Phil's work changed my life for the better. This is one of the things my Mom got right- exposing me to Phil.

I wonder if Phil is a runner?

Fat Girl Running #1: Starting Somewhere

2012-01-10T21:04:00.000-08:00

In Which We Have Words About Words And

I Come Out as a Hardcore Beginner

Today was day 8 of my “running” program (I keep using the quotes, even when I'm talking on the phone, I can hear them in my voice, because to call what I'm doing “running” is something of a stretch. I'm definitely going faster than walking. Sorta... a little).

Obviously, I'm fighting the urge to qualify it, to minimize. I'm a beginning jogger. Not beginning in the mental sense, because I've done this before, but it’s been awhile and since I got sick with Lyme disease, not at all. So I know the head space, I have the information, but physically I'm a beginner again- I ain't got much stamina. So I'm taking it very, very, veeeeery easy- starting slow and working up gently.

Hence the qualifications: "I've started a, you know...kinda sorta running program". But I'm tired of downplaying it. An edge is an edge is an edge. I'm pushing my edges physically and that's challenging, whether you're going from not running at all to running at .01399 miles per hour for half a mile, or working up from 10 miles a day to 15. So I deserve some credit, even if I'm currently moving at the pace of a diseased, aged, 3 legged mole rat for only a few minutes at a time. From where I've been standing (sitting, laying, collapsing), that’s a lot! It’s relative. I'm gonna quit not taking myself seriously. I'm a hardcore beginner. Hear me roar.

I'm calling the posts on running “Fat Girl Running”. I know people get offended at the word “fat” and that’s why I'm using it- it’s just a word and I'm tired of all the bad press it’s gotten. Poor "fat"- layoff it already! It’s three little letters put together in a certain way and I don't mind saying “I'm fat”. I mind if I say it meanly. I mind if you say it meanly, but I don't mind it as a descriptive word any more than I mind: curvacious, chubby, plump, round, bodacious, lush... (lush is fun. I like "lush"). It’s time to reclaim “fat" as the benign descriptive word it is. We've all got it. We cannot, in fact, live without it. It's just fat. Relax already.

And “girl”- well, if we haven't yet had this discussion, there isn't a pronoun for what I feel like I am. So mostly, I make do with “girl” or “woman" because that’s what people see when they see D cups. I'm pretty much okay with that since there isn't a preferable alternative. And finally, overall I think “Fat Girl" has more punchy irreverence than “Fat Human”. Girls have definitely, in my opinion, gotten a helluva lot more heat for being fat than boys have, though I know fat boys haven't had an easy time of it either.

I'm sometimes a little self-conscious about being a fat girl running. I imagine people watching me jiggle down the road and laughing, thinking things like, “Good luck old lady” (not only am I fat, but I'm 48- double dork points) and “don't have a heart attack” and “looks like two pigs fighting under a blanket! Bwahahahaha.... “ (yes, I stole it from Steel Magnolias. I couldn't think of anything better. If you're gonna steal, steal from the masters). Even worse, sometimes I imagine them feeling pity for me, those young firm fit punks driving by in their muscle cars.

The reality is, there’s probably a little of that going on, but not nearly as much as I imagine. Experience has shown me that in my mind, the world is an infinitely crueler place than it is in reality. Thankfully. Most people don't think anything, could care less even. Experience has also shown me that at least a few of those people are thinking, “good for you! Dude, I've been thinking about it for awhile now.... if you can do it, what’s stopping me?” They notice my smile, the little swing in my hips as I run to “Go" by Pearl Jam, they look out at the beautiful day and they wanna be a part of all that. They feel inspired.

And I guarantee you, some older fat person is gonna feel like she has permission. Because I'm taking the leap and embarassing myself in public. And I'm surviving. That’s a wonderful thing to know, that me being willing to flash my humanness to the world can be inspiring. It's not why I'm doing it, but it certainly adds some spicy goodness.

That’s one of the reasons I'm writing about it here: because I'm hoping it might inspire some of you to do something you've been thinking about for awhile, something that lights you up or that at the very least you feel would be good for you to try. It might not be running- maybe it's dancing, swimming, painting, kissing, wearing slinky velvet pants, getting a mohawk (that’s another post for another day), whatever. I promise you that whatever you want to try, there are resources out there available to you to help you do it, there are other people doing it and they are happy to support you doing it. If you're worried about looking silly, well, decide how much you're gonna let other peoples opinions be bars on the windows of the house that is you. Seriously- that’s what it comes down to. There is no end to the amount of juicy privileges and joys that those fears will rob you of.

The new shoes. I promised myself if I stick with it, I'll spring
for a giant upgrade when it's time to get new ones.
(and yeah- they're silver space man shoes. :o})

How do you want to live, feel, love, be; what do you want to do with your one precious life and who's gonna decide how much permission you have? It’s not against the law to run down the street, all 200 pounds of me jigglin and wigglin to Godsmack, puffin and blowin, and causing the earth to tremble as I come (baBOOM ba BOOM). And besides, it makes me feel so. damn. good. to do it. No snarky little punk’s sneer, imagined or otherwise, is gonna keep me from it.

I make a big noise, but the truth is, I say these things because I need to hear them. Often.

Next time you wanna get out on the dance floor and shake your money maker, but your worried about how you’ll look, think about me heading down the back roads of the bottoms outside Arcata, looking like the Pillsbury Dough Girl in a tye dye shirt and a mohawk, with oh-so-sharp-and-comfy new space age joggin shoes, alternately grimacing and smiling like an idiot. Feel free to feel cooler-by-comparison. I don't mind. Just don't tell me about it.

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” ~ Howard Thurman

I was on my way to the Marsh to meet a friend after my run today and there, heading down a busy main street, were two adorable young fattish girls running together. They were absolutely beautiful. My heart sang out, "You GO GIRLS!" I was completely inspired. Again.

I am in a RUNNING program. Go ME!

Radical Gratitude

2011-09-05T18:29:00.000-07:00

Thankfulness brings you to the place where the Beloved lives. ~Rumi

I'm often surprised by how people are surprised by my level of gratitude. Even when the proverbial shit is hitting the fan, I'm usually experiencing and expressing some degree of gratitude. There was a time even I might have looked at me now and been surprised. But these days it's become such a part of my outlook, I'm often like: what? Big deal. Yeah I'm grateful AND I'm crushed, scared, unsure, angry, and lost. And grateful. All at once. Neato, huh?

I credit this to years of daily gratitude practice. One of my first teachers used to have me do this when I was feeling sorry for myself: open the refrigerator door, stand there and say, "Thank you for the mayonnaise. Thank you for the apples. Thank you for the eggs. Thank you for the soy sauce. Thank you for the bell pepper (but I'm allergic! Say it anyway...). Thank you for the moldy bread." Okay, maybe not the moldy bread. But then again, maybe. It's all in how you look at it. There was a time I was so hungry, I would've eaten that fuzzy semi-sentient mass in the corner (seriously- you don't even wanna know!). But now, I am blessed with such an abundance, I can just throw it on the compost pile and resolve to not let it get moldy next time.

Later, other pain in the ass teachers had me do things like make gratitude lists, thank people for teaching me through adversity, look for gifts in every wound, yadda yadda yadda. It's sometimes tedious when I'm just getting a good run of suffering going to toss some gratitude in the soup, but it always helps loosen things up a bit, balance things out some. After all, there's rarely ALL curses or ALL blessings happening at any given time.

This may sound like a lotta silly frilly nonsense, but it works. Go ahead, keep shying away because you're too cool. You can hang onto your victimhood as long as you like. If that mojo is still workin for you, keep at it. Me, I got tired.

And I tell you this- this kind of silly frilly shit has saved my life over and over again. The simple little magics that I thought were ridiculous and silly and way, waaaaay beneath me; these things have been my salvation. I was finally so tired that I didn't have the energy to be too cool for anything. I got smarter, way more foolish and a helluva lot more alive and okayish.

Ye Olde Gratitude Onion

These are the ways of radical trust and gratitude. This is the kind of gratitude practice that takes it far beyond Polly Anna style "everything's groovy and I'm gonna plaster a smile on my face". This is gratitude that coexists quite nicely next to terror, pain and full on raging rebellion. Yes, I will have it all, thank you very much.

The path I came to embrace (when I wasn't running screaming from it) is one of radical inclusion, radical living, radical showing up for every nuance of what's actually there, as much as possible. No pretending. Sometimes a little acting for the purpose of practice, but acting is not lying to oneself or anyone else- acting is conscious, honest playing. Not the same thing as faking with the intention of fooling.

So, here I am- In my worst moments, I'm grateful I have a heart to break, 'cause there was a time I could feel almost nothing and walked around in a daze of foggy numbed out survivitude wondering what the point was. I'm so so so grateful for a fully functioning emotional life, that I can feel a range of things on a daily basis and that I have language for those things and people who speak it with me.

I'm still living with this Lyme disease thing, in pain most days, exhausted almost every day and still grateful. I can be mad and whiny and hurting and still be grateful.In my worst moments, I'm grateful for the ability to walk, even though it hurts like hell- at least I'm off the couch and I still have this body to maneuver. We're in bodies such a short time. Even a hurting body is better than no body, which will come soon enough. Though honestly, at some of my worster times I have not thought a hurting body was better and I just wanted out, but that was while ago, and a rare and especially horrible time- a time for which I am now grateful. It taught me a lot, but mostly I'm just grateful not to be there right now. This pain is just a nuisance, but it's also a precious, if fierce, teacher.

There's more. Oh, so much more. I don't even know what I'm expressing gratitude TO. And it doesn't matter. The benefits are mine and undeniable. That's what counts in my world. Does it work? Meaning, does it bring me closer to where I want to be in terms of my living and feeling and being? Then I don't care how silly it may seem. If it helps me, I'm in.

Here's my gratitude list for today:

I have a bed to sleep in.
I have awesome new jeans and don't have to shop again for another six months. Woot!
I am fed and warm (but not too warm).
I have coffee and the means to make me some.
I have time to write and I'm using it.

I have things to say and I'm willing to be a fool and say them. Out loud. Where people can hear me.

I have so very very much love in my life. I'm grateful to be able to explore the many facets of those loves without having to consider the affects on someone else. For this reason and others, it's really amazingly wonderful to be single.

I'm grateful for the state of homelessness at this point in my life, as it affords me profound freedom.

I'm profoundly grateful for all the people that say, "don't leave", "stay as long as you like", "come back soon", when for years all I heard was "get. the. fuck. out." and "lose my number". I was a mess. Jeeze- I love that mess I was, but it's so wonderful to be cherished and fought over. There was a time I thought the day would never come and I'm still regularly stunned to be wanted in such a way. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

and dark in the light....

I am grateful for a heart that breaks, a body that aches, a soul that longs, dreams that are as long and deep as the ocean, that will never ever be fully satisfied in one lifetime. Boredom? Really?!?!

I'm grateful for brown eyes that make me forget what I was going to say when I look into them. I'm grateful that this can still amaze and humble me (I wonder if you will read this and I will be yet further humbled...).

I'm glad to be so easily amused, entertained, moved and awed. I see magic everywhere.

I'm grateful for the people who made me make silly gratitude lists, as a way to remind me to keep balanced in the midst of challenge. They taught me to see the whole truth, which isn't just about what's hard (or denying that), but also what's working, what's beautiful. They taught me that it's all lifey and that's what it's all about- showing up for the real. I'm grateful for my own willingness to do silly things, to be teachable.

There's a woman in a group I admin on Facebook who's regularly posting snippets of gratitude. It's been a beautiful reminder. Thank you Cari. I'm grateful for your new found friendship and the way your living ripples out and affects mine in such a beautiful way. You are the inspiration for this post.

The Daddy Shirt

Thank you for the peanut butter.
Thank you for my car and my sleeping bag.
Thank you for vitamins.
Thank you for puppy smell.
Thank you for the Daddy shirt that makes me smile.
Thank you for my son and his lovely love.

I'm grateful for all of you and this amazing connection we share. Thanks for being part of my universe and letting me co-create in yours. We pretty much rock.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost...

2011-05-31T20:12:00.000-07:00

Along the Alaska Canada Highway.

Nor are they necessarily found. Some of us are kinda lound...maybe a little fost.

One definition of wanderlust is a desire to travel, in order to understand one's very existence. Seems I'm about to undertake some further study in that regard. Maybe. I'm not sure, but possibly. Or not. That page of my instruction manual seems to be missing.

What's a trip without baggage?

When I ask my inner/higher/universal self what's next for me, it points at boxes to pack, meals to eat, meditation to... (do nothing with....?), I get the basic outline for the next few weeks or so. "But what about this summer? What about the rest of the year? Where is home? Where am I going to live? And what the hell is my life's work meant to be while we're at it????" And spirit says, "First eat this meal, wash this dish, pack this box, call so-and-so, do some writing and try not to worry so much. You're exhausting yourself...."

Fine. Fuck you. Then I eat the meal, wash the dish, and so on.

Drifting in the Fog- It's Not So Bad....
Til you run out of food. Or into an island.

Spirit is being stingy with the marching orders in the past few years. Since my life was upended, the rug pulled out from under and I wanted to die. Tried to actually, only to fail at that as well. At which point I demanded (righteously angry, and appropriately so!) that the Universe had a little 'splainin to do in regards to just what the hell I was kept around for. At that point the information started trickling in. And I do mean trickling. It's like I'm traveling through a fog. I can sense an expansive landscape around and ahead, I can hear things moving around out there, but I can't see any of it yet. I get glimpses occasionally, but it's like that parable about the people who can only see a foot of the elephant at a time: the person at the tail describes a snake, the person at the tusk describes a spear, the person at the flank describes a wizened old person. They're all right, but they're all profoundly mistaken in thinking they see the whole picture. The only difference between me and them is that I know I'm not seeing it all. I desperately want to, but I only get these little pieces of the puzzle handed to me from time to time. It's frustrating and exciting and sometimes I wonder if I'm just losing my mind.

I hear Adyashanti's voice telling me, "You're not going crazy. You're going sane."

Fine. But how does a person who's going-sane-but-not-quite-there-yet pay the rent in the meantime? And why is it taking so fucking long to see the game plan?

A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for. ~William Shedd

The sun rising over the Alaska-Canada highway on my
trip home last year. I was listening to "gold lions gonna
tell me where the light is...." on a cd that my niece made for
me as the sun rose. *magic*

I know that god knows exactly where I'm headed. Maybe not in detail, but in overall shape and feeling. God's just not sharing. The information is handed out on a strictly need-to-know basis, with god and I apparently unable to agree on the definition of "need" in this case. Sometimes I'm wicked frustrated. I suppose that's obvious.

Sometimes I long for a home in the sense of a specific place. Instead I keep learning that home is everywhere, bigger and more interesting than I ever imagined. Sometimes I want one love in my life, someone to focus on and around, to have sex with them and only them, to have and to hold, to know who exactly "my people" is. Instead, I keep learning that settling is a kind of spiritual death and that it's healthy to have a bottom line in terms of how I want to be treated. I keep learning that there is more love in the world than my heart could ever imagine and if I'm going to stay honest with myself and others, I can't hold that tightly anymore. Sometimes I want a gorram paycheck damnit. I think ART SUCKS as a profession and I just want a good ole office job I can clock in and out of again, wherein at the end of the week there is (did I mention this already?) A PAYCHECK. Instead I keep learning that living on less is a kind of freedom and that again, settling is a kind of death in terms of work too. I keep seeing that my body won't let me do that anymore. Bitch.

All the while, I can hear a song in the distance. It's faint sometimes, but it's like nothing I've ever heard and I want it more than all the security I used to long for (used to...ha). Sometimes it's hard to hear under the grumbling, the tears, the distractions and the white noise of confusion. But when I get quiet in the aftermath of a tantrum, there it is, hummin just beyond reach and something in me *knows*. Sometimes it's roaring like a waterfall and I'm flying along the current in utter blissful abandon. Those times help sustain me when I'm being battered by rapids, cursing the river only to realize that I'm battered because I'm hanging on to that branch as the current slams me into it again and again. Then I let go and trust. Again. And grab hold. Again. And let go. Again. and again and again and...

Long ago, I thought I would reach a state of utter trust and not doubt anymore. Ever. Hilarious!

What I know right now is that the fears, anxieties, stresses, desires don't go away, but my relationship to them has changed profoundly. I may rant and rave a bit (it's a great way to clear stress toxins out of the body), but I just can't take those doubts too seriously anymore. I've seen over and over what kind of magic happens when I'm willing to live with "I don't know" and just take the next indicated step. My trust muscles have gotten amazingly strong (relatively speaking) over the past few years. Sometimes I want it all to come faster. But bread takes as long to rise as it takes. Weather is weather. Every step is an integral part of the journey. And honestly, I am undoing and rebuilding some heavy shit here. It is deserving of more than a hack job.

Yukon Rainbow

The last time I was truly at a turning point and not sure what was next, I got a phone call from a dear one who was going to Alaska and invited me along. I stayed a year, made amazing friends, saw and did incredible things, was forever changed by it. I could not have done that if I'd plugged myself in somewhere just to be plugged in, not without a lot of painful unplugging anyway. I have several of those kinds of stories. I fully expect to have another one by the end of the year (my demands list to spirit's ear!).

In a few days I'll put what remains of my belongings into storage again, load up my car and take the next indicated step. I have a fair idea of what I'm doing through the end of June, after that- it's anybody's guess. There are longings pulling me in several directions and, so far, spirit is quiet on the matter. When I ask, "But what about the end of June??? I'LL BE HOMELESS FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!! What am I supposed to be doing?", spirit chucklehums and says, "Well, first of all you need to eat some food. Then you really ought to clear off the bed so you have somewhere to sleep tonight. After that, make a list of what you want to do tomorrow- you know that'll help you sleep. Then do the dishes and go to bed. Sleep sucker. You're gonna need it."

Alien. It's all a matter of where you're standing.

Fine. I can do that. And between now and the end of June, I'll be the one exploring, grumbling, dancing, bitching, quaking in my boots now and then, then laughing my ass off as I await further instructions and grope around the elephants ass.

Say a prayer for me. It would be a kindness.

Holy, Holey, Whole

2011-04-20T12:18:00.000-07:00

I'm a socialist at heart; if I have extra and you need some, it's yours. The problem I sometimes have is determining if I actually have extra. I end up passing out my own rations and going hungry. That's okay once in awhile, but if I keep doing it without you doing what it takes to bring in your own food, we're both gonna be hungry and at some point, I won't have what it takes to bring more food in anymore either. If that keeps up, eventually we're both starving, desperate husks, our desiccated fingers pointing and mummy lips snarling in each others general directions.

But that's what I learned of love growing up: we may be impaired, malnourished, suffering souls, but all we have is each other and we must stick together no matter what, giving whatever it takes to keep the other alive on meager resources. If we don't stick together in the pit, we just end up in the pit alone. The only thing worse than a crazy, filthy pit dweller is a lonely one, damnit.

Occasionally, one of us would try to crawl outta the hole and the other pit dwellers were quick to pull them down. We didn't do it consciously; we were unconsciously carrying on the chain of abuse, doing what had been done to us, what we'd learned to do. On a deeper level, we were afraid- afraid for the climber: it's dangerous out there, are you crazy? Stick with the tribe man. Besides we need you. Another part of us was terrified: what if they actually make it? What the hell will that mean for me? That means that the story starts to crumble and the earth under my own feet suddenly becomes questionable.

We can see this same dynamic at play in the culture around us all the time. "Who are you to be free? Get back down here bitch!" Sometimes it even looks like, "Damnit, I LOVE you!"; even, "I'm doing this FOR YOUR OWN GOOD."

So it can be freaky to watch someone get out, to watch someone even try to get out. As hole dwellers, we rarely have words for these feelings, especially if we're used to living in a daily state of low level panic, fear and anxiety. These were daily companions in my growing up home and are for many of us today. As kids we weren't capable of naming our feelings, much less identifying why we were snapping at someone's heels as they tried to exit. We may be adults on the outside now, but some of us are still kids-in-the-hole on the inside.

Some of us learn this kind of giving as a way to survive or at least keeping our companions-of-the-hole by our sides. As a kid, it was a survival thing imprinted on me early- keep her alive so she doesn't leave me, because the alternative was (literally) death. Many of us have our own versions of this in varying strengths and for a lot of us, it's now costing us our own life force if not outright killing us (literally).

So, if I'm really honest with myself, when I'm giving too much, my motives aren't all that pure anyway. There's at least a tinge of "if I take care of you, you won't die and leave me alone" involved. It isn't pretty, but there it is. It's left over from my days in El Mundo Malo, the Country of the Dead, where Queen Wasp ruled with an iron fist and I dashed myself bloody on her studded skirts in desperate bids for love and sustenance. There's rewiring to do yet. I'm on it. I can even see that the seed of "taking care of each other" is a healthy biological survival imperative that gets warped beyond reason by extreme situations. How do we know when help isn't healthy anymore?

There is no hard and fast rule for how much help is too much. Our best bet is guidance from our feelings, intuition, or a trusted source, inner or outer. I have trouble listening to that guidance sometimes. Especially when I love someone. The more I love them, the more bonded we are, then the more likely the code "keep giving no matter what" is to kick in, particularly when they're struggling. It's a challenge that still gets triggered in certain situations.

This is what I know as of right now:

Tho he didn't go joyfully...

1) Crawling in the hole with someone only means that now there are two people in the hole. Maybe they aren't as lonely anymore, but still- it's a hole. Holes can be nice sometimes, but do you wanna live your life in one? Even Smeagol got out eventually. Besides, there is lots and lots of company to be had outside the hole too. And trust me, some of them will be thrilled to hang out with you and it won't cost you a thing (Look ma, no blood price!)

2) Standing on the edge of a hole while someone in the hole pulls on you constantly will wear you out. If you expend too much energy trying to get them out of that hole, you will eventually fall back in yourself. This isn't the end of the world- you can get out again, but it's fucking exhausting. Or you could die on the edge of that hole with your arm hanging out of it's socket, having missed a lot of great concerts. And your buddy in the hole will still be in it. So, do both of you and the world a favor and make sure you do what it takes to stay out of the hole and out of tug-games at the edge of the hole. Remember, your own oxygen mask first!

3) If you're out of the hole, then you have an amazing gift to offer the hole dweller: You speak holey language and the person at the bottom of that pit is more likely to hear you, believe you more than one who hasn't done their time in the hole. This may be the most important thing you have to share with a person in a hole:

If you got out of the hole, anyone else can get out. Period. You may indeed have what look like superpowers, but you didn't have them when you were in the hole either. Like me, you probably worked super hard for those superpowers and so can they. But often they don't wanna hear that. I didn't want to hear it when I was stuck, starving and dying. The person in that hole is scared shitless. Remember that when they're cussing and cursing you for a cold hearted bitch as you smile at them from the outside or (the nerve of you) walk away. They're terrified. They might like nothing more from that vantage point than to pull you back in and say, "See? There really is no 'out of the hole'. I knew it. Let's just stay down here and eat each other."

They might try the falling apart, heart wrenching sobbing, don't-leave-me bit too. There's no blame in it. It's a tried and true tactic among hole dwellers, system approved- you remember. Of course they're sad. Pits can be sad, wretched places. The question is, what are they going to do about it? Not, what are YOU going to do about it. Their hole = their climb.

Don't fall for these or any other "grappling" tactics. Stick to what you know. The perspective of an ex-hole dweller is especially valuable to the still holey one, not just because you've been there, but because now you're not. What good are you to them if you move back into Holeville? From outside, you can describe the scenery, the quality of the air, what it's like to run, sail, fly and see vast distances. You can tell them how you escaped. You can break trail, leave bread crumbs and come back to tell of your adventures. If they aren't really ready to climb out, but just want you to save them (translate: ease their pain by filling up their holes inside- black holes that can't really be filled anyway and will eat up your known universe like The Nothing. Dramatic? Hell yeah it's dramatic! Take this shit seriously. It's your life.)...... erm.....where was I....

If they just want to be rescued, they'll probably find your message irritating as hell- can't you just save them already and shut the fuck up? You may eventually have to walk away, having passed on what you have to share, and know that you will see them out in the big ole non-hole world sometime. Or not. Either way, sometimes you just have to let it go. After all....

4) The only one who can really save us is ourselves. Really. Of course we can help each other out along the way, but each of us has to make a decision, a commitment to our own freedom in order to get on the path. I can't do it for you, you can't do it for me. It's an inside job and though we don't have to do it alone, we do have to do it ourselves.

5) There are a plethora (secksy work alert!) of resources out there. I promise you, you are not the only one in the world that can help this particular hole dweller. If you honestly feel that it would be damaging to you or them in some way, SAY NO and point them in the direction of another resource. The world is full of resources, some sources are even more abundant and more appropriate than you. It's okay to say "no". Hear that? It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". Say it with me: It's okay to say "no". Say it LOUD, like you MEAN IT: IT'S OKAY TO SAY 'NO'! woot!!!

Does that make you cringe a little? No worries. Me too. Say it anyway, do it anyway. It gets easier and your self will thank you for it. And who knows, the hole dweller may one day also. Some of the biggest helps I got along the way came when people walked away. It was painful and I even hated them a little, but now I see how they helped me wake up. Not only is it okay to say "NO", it may even be better for the denyee too. It's healthy to have a bottom line.

But don't expect the hole dweller to agree with you. After all, they probably don't know this for themselves yet. How can they allow it for you?

6) I read this in The Wanderground by Sally Miller Gearhart an age of moons ago: That which I give that does not come from my overflow is poison (paraphrased). That means it's not good for anybody, including the hole dweller you're trying to rescue, for you to give, in a way that damages you. Make sure your own well is full before you go givin away all your water. That way, you and your horses live to ride another day, spreading the teachings of liberation and well diggin across the land. And you get to dance and eat sushi and be Whole. Dessicated husks in holes just get to be holey. Maybe that's your thing- just remember, you have choice. It's easy to forget that in a hole.

Sometimes people know there's more than life in a hole, but they don't want to do the difficult, amazing, sometimes tedious work of doing what it takes to get out of the hole. They want to latch onto you like a velcro monkey, pretend they're you and get carried into where you are in life, just like that, *presto bang*. But even if you manage to pull both of you back from the edge, it doesn't work that way. Because "No matter where you go, there you are" applies here too. They could step into your life, but they'll be walking dynamite in a terrain that they have no tools for, the tools you've developed through doing the work (and you know what dynamite makes when it blows, right? A new hole). It's like putting someone in the drivers seat of a plane without the hours of training it takes to be ready. Disaster is assured. It isn't their world yet, they have to grow into it themselves, in their own plodding, tortuous, miraculous way.

There are no shortcuts to saving your own life. Believe me, I tried them all and found them false. The only way out is through, for each of us. Not only is it bad for me to try to carry someone when I can barely carry myself some days, but it robs them of their own experience, the gifts that the struggles and discoveries bring. Sometimes I hate this- I want to be able to save them. If I was farther along, I'd stop putting energy where it does no good; I'd stop giving to the point that I'm exhausted and angry; or I'd be able to stand at the side of a hole, dribble some water on the hole dwellers eyes, say "arise and walk" and *poof*- that would be that- less hole people and more dancers in the moonlight. I would be an Un-Holey Saint. I'm not there yet and maybe I never should be, but it's an understandable wish.

It's not like the work stops once you're out of the hole anyway. In fact, the work/play/self-creation process is actually the whole point. Getting out of the hole is just the beginning. That's when you really start to get on with it. The good news is, it gets more and more fun as you go, in ways you can't even begin to imagine if you're still in the hole. Wanna find out? Here.... here's a life line and instructions. If you have questions holler~ loud! Help will come, but you've still gotta do your own climbing.

Happy Little Flow Chart

2011-04-09T19:32:00.000-07:00

I love this little flow chart. It reminds me of one of the simplest principles that's also one of the easiest to forget. It in no way stands as an endorsement by me of Happiness-as-the-optimal-choice. All choices are valid. Rare is it that we have a simple choice between something making us happy and not. Most times, the choices we make as grown ups make some parts of us happy and others, not so much so. I know too that "happy" and "unhappy" aren't the only possibilities there are in terms of our emotional state. Is a woman in transitional labor happy or not? Is someone happy who's apologizing sincerely for a mistake they made that caused someone grief?

Our culture seems to have an addiction to happiness, thinking that somehow if we just do the right things, we can get to a place where we've arrived at Happy Land and can coast the rest of the way on Happy Wings. This illusion and our do-anything-to-avoid-pain approach to life actually causes a lot of harm, even violence, emotional and physical. Sometimes doing the thing that makes us NOT happy (or comfortable or relaxed or carefree or...), sometimes that unhappy-making thing is exactly the right thing to do.

What I do mean to endorse is aware, conscious choice. We don't have to be victims of our lives, historical or otherwise. We can't always choose what happens to us, but we can choose our actions, attitudes, belief systems. We can control a lot more than most of us think we can. It may take some work to get past the blocks that keep us from availing ourselves of all the options that are open to us, but if we're willing to do the work, freedom is always there waiting for us. It's the sun that is no less there just because there are storm clouds between it and our rain drenched heads.

The more we own our power of choice and the consequences for those choices, the more we'll be able to create the kind of experience that we want to have in the world. There are consequences for every choice we make, including doing nothing, including standing still. We each have to decide what consequences we're willing to live with. Staying in a situation that makes us unhappy may be the better option for us at the moment. That's okay. No one can decide that but you. However, as long as we keep telling ourselves we're trapped, then we are, but only by our own beliefs. We're not trapped; we're choosing.

We almost always have choice in actions (unless we're handcuffed or the like and even then we do, within narrower parameters) and we always, always have choice of response. And therein lies our growth and our power.

Neither Hair Nor There

2011-04-07T10:00:00.000-07:00

Me n my mop.

I have a lotta hair. I get compliments on it, which is awkward because I don't do anything but leave it alone. I mean, I was born with it. So, eh... It's long mostly because I'm lazy, though I also like the feel of it on my nekkid back- it's a sensual treat. Getting it petted is fun too. Super short or super long, you're bound to get some pettin o' the head. Every once in awhile I'll go in and pay someone to trim it for me, just so I can get it brushed and toyed with. *ecstasy* Sometimes, there's just nothing like the touch of a professional. Heh.

This is not a photo of me~ by Olga Proana

I'm a natural redhead of the not-coppery variety. When I was a kid, that was totally not cool. It was one of the things that got me harassed a lot. Then as a teenager, not quite as much, but still- there was a lot of "redheads are trouble" with much knowing nods of the head (as if those 16 year olds had enough experience to even form an opinion). Other tags for reds were: slutty, passionate, temperamental and witchy. I still get some of that today, but less. Whatever. I always wanted to have straight glossy black hair. I don't know where that desire came from, but it was constant until I hit early early adult years.

Like many things in life, it remains a mystery.

When I was a young woman I did all kinds of things to my hair without changing the basic color, but eventually I got tired of messing with it. It was right around the time I was a single mom, going to school, working and playing in a band. I started to wonder at just how much time I spent everyday with makeup, shaving, styling my hair and squeezing into uncomfortable clothes. Why, when I could like... SLEEP an extra hour? So I saved the big ToDo for performances and special occasions and started going natural the rest of the time. I liked it. It had the unlooked for benefit of making me feel friendlier to my body over time too, like I kept giving myself the message over and over that how I looked was just fine without all the enhancements and manipulations. My self-image responded well. The big ToDo nights started to feel a little like doing drag and it was a lot more fun when it was an option instead of a daily requirement.

It was not a cool thing to do at that time and place. The area I grew up in was pretty conservative and women (men as well) were expected to apparel themselves a certain way. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Then I got my nose pierced- three times. I know that's not much now, but at the time I was one of three women I saw in a 5 year period that had it done even once. I had a wonderful conversation with a woman in her 50s that was working a boutique where I was shopping for nose jewelry. She told me with a smile, "You know, when I was a young woman, I was told that only sluts got their ears pierced. That didn't stop me. It's all fashion honey. Don't let 'em get to you."

I didn't. I kept growing my hair out, stopped shaving and wearing makeup. I eventually got visible tattoos and got more piercings. Whatever. It's my body.

For the past 10 years or so, red hair has gotten increasingly popular. After all the teasing I put up with as a kid, forgive me if I get a little snarky about it sometimes. Walking down the street some days, I can be heard quietly remarking to my companions: bottle, bottle, bottle, real, bottle... Hey, at least I don't yell it out... usually.

About 10 years ago, I buzzed my head. I'd been thinking about it for years and it was just... time. I was going through a breakup, I was starting to perform more of my own music. People were always going on about my hair like it was something personal I'd created or my best quality. I wanted to know what it would be like to be me without my hair. How would it be to happily, willingly rid myself of something that so many people identified with me that really had nothing to do with who I was? Something that is so clearly identified as a feminine characteristic- long hair? And most importantly, just what shape was my head under all that freakin hair?

This is not me either, but that's the same cut. Somewhere I have ONE photo of that buzz.
When I find it, I'm framing it. Dude, this makes me wanna do it again....

It was amazingly liberating! I felt exposed and open to the world and people in a way I never quite had. My head felt light and open, the skin so happy to feel sun and wind. It was cold though. I hadn't thought about the fact that it was fall and all that hair had been keeping my upper extremities warm for years. And thus began my collection of hats and scarves...

The most interesting thing to me was people's reactions. People seemed to either love or hate it. There wasn't a lot of neutral reaction. Which is fine. What was not fine is that so many seemed to feel they had the right to tell me what they thought. A lot of people that I barely knew, even strangers that only knew my face from performing or walking around town, would volunteer their fervent opinions: Whaddya wanna look like a freak for? Why would you want to look ugly? Oh your poor poor hair! I can hardly look at you. One instructor said, "I think it's more dignified when older women cut their hair short, don't you? Good for you. It's a sign of your acceptance of your mature status." What the fuck? I was like, 35 at the time. Arg. People just love to spray you with the fog of their own biases and opinions. Some people just stared in a stricken way, turned and walked away. I was shocked at how strongly people felt about hair that wasn't even their own. It was proprietary and weird.

The people I really enjoyed were the ones who asked me (imagine!) how I felt about it. Thank you, where ever you are....

Hair grows back, though slooooowly. I realized soon after I buzzed it that if I wanted to keep it short, I'd need to do upkeep every month or so and I didn't want to. So I started growing it back out again, which was tedious, but also symbolic for other things that were "growing back" in my life. Patience was the order of the day- persistence and patience.

I don't change mine that much anymore, basically because I'm lazy. I think about it now and then, but then I think about growing it back out again and it makes me leave it alone. People talk about how much work long hair is, but I don't know what they mean. It's so easy. I trim it every 4 months or so, I wash it 3 times a week. If it's bugging me, I pull it back; if it's cold out or I feel like hiding, I leave it down. I can do things with it, decorate my head to express a mood or attract someone's attention. In my experience, short hair takes a lot more maintenance.

Finally, a head that is mine. Gray is beautiful.

I haven't yet had the urge to cover the gray, though some of my friends that do keep telling me, "oh, you just wait. You'll hate it too!" I'm like, what the hell- are you cursing me? So what and what if I don't? Right now I like it. I'm willing a nice fat white streak along the front that starts at the peak and it's working. I've begun to wonder if I lose my "redhead status" when it goes all gray. A friend assures me not- he says being a redhead is in the DNA and that, no one and nothing can take away from me. I love him.

See? Some people don't even notice it.

The one thing I did start doing a few years ago was the black under layer- my childhood wish at last realized in part. I was nervous about it before hand, because there's actually an awful lot of hair under there that's black! But you can't tell. When it's down, the black just peeks out here and there, but I know it's there. And I quickly found out I LOVED it! It was a little like that first tattoo that I got in a place that stayed hidden, in case I didn't like it. I was so thrilled with it, that I was flashing my pubic bone at anyone who wanted to see. I wanted another tattoo, immediately. In a similar way, I loved the black so much that I immediately wanted more. It was fun and it's stayed fun. I can flash it more depending on how I wear my hair or keep it subtle when I'm in my Grandma's church. We win.

I just got the black redone finally after months of growing out. The person who did it for me offered to add another color if I wanted. Her hair is a lovely mottling of purple, blue, yellow, green and her natural medium brunette. "I've got a drawer full of colors left over..." Including a deep blue purple that I loved. SCORE!!!

So for the first time I have an "unnatural" color added to my locks. It's subtle- really only shows up in the sun and it's not as deep as I'd hoped, but I love it! Purple is my favorite color and this rocks with the red and black. I'm not sure if I want more yet, but maybe. I feel possibilities opening up that I hadn't considered before! I want more white at the front-they can do that, right? And maybe time to play with some sculpting gel or something. Maybe even shave a layer and do some tattoo work on my skull while it's bare. Seriously! It'll grow back in if I let it. Like everything in life, it's temporary only more obviously so. It's one of it's great advantages, that and its malleability. There's so little in life that we can change that fast, that easily. Why not? It's just hair.

47 and flying mah freak flag, high and proud! Don't let 'em get to you.

ps: Please feel free to express your opinion if you're compelled. Just don't expect me to care.

Tell me about your hair adventures and show me some pics!

Monster Love

2011-03-25T14:21:00.000-07:00

Can you spot the monster in this picture?

Monster love is kicking my ass lately. I mean, really? I went from months of no- or very little- romance or physical intimacy ( I guess I could've just said SEX), then a few months ago I kind of gently put it out to the universe that I was maybe ready to start dating again. Within 4 weeks I was seeing two new people and seeing relationships from afar deepen in ways I hadn't previously imagined. It's a little like being flushed down a toilet (and no, I am NOT being dramatic!!!) to a magical, alien world where little is familiar and even that is twisted just enough as to be unsettling. And effluvia- always with the effluvia! Sheese.

One of the most up-front-and-center things about the romantic relationships I'm currently engaged in is that uncertainty is blatantly, in-my-face built in, complete with flashing neon signs and fog horns. HERE BE MONSTERS- leave your silly, pointless armor at the door, go deep or go home. It's so obvious that it can't be ignored, I can't lie to myself, even a little teensy bit. There is sweetness, comfort, love songs and fantastic sex (oy!), but there are also communication snafus, disappointments, delayed gratification and the kind of letting go, over and over and over, that comes with everyone getting to take care of themselves in the best way they can; accepting gifts from each other, but not demanding or obligated. It's a trip. How the hell did I get here? Where's my map? aaack!

I Monster: beauty and beast divine.

And somehow every time I really stop and face the Monster, I end up looking into a mirror of such clarity that it aches and shimmers, moans and sings in the bell of my being. It often seems what I'm learning to love truly, is myself, through you. *sigh* Some days you're the monster, some days you're the bug(s bunny).

On an intellectual level, I'm well aware that uncertainty is built into everything. Everything but EVERYTHING is temporary; some things are just more temporary than others. But historically (from my 20s on, more or less) I would place myself in romantic situations where I could at least pretend or hope (usually hope was the gas that fueled my engine) that this could be a permanent thing, a thing I could count on come hell or high water, someone who would finally, once and for all and forever, have my back. In other words, I could hope I'd finally found the parent I never had and always wanted. Better yet, I had found GOD incarnate and god would be mind all mine. Oh yes. MINE. Forever. I would then proceed to direct a huge amount of energy towards making that person and relationship fit the bill. You can imagine where that got me. My poor partners! Anyway...

Love it and squeeze it and name it...MINE!

I got better at picking people who fit my "bill of certainty" a little more as the years went on, also better at boxing up, tamping down, hiding pieces of myself in exchange for their faithfulness. Which, let me say here, isn't what I'm doing now, but that doesn't mean it was a mistake then. Each of those relationships taught me an plethora (sexy word alert) of things about love, communication, myself and most importantly, why it wasn't worth it to box up, tamp down, hide pieces of myself in exchange for an all too brief dream of security. It never worked. When my marriage ended 3 years ago, I hit bottom with the security addiction. I had done ALL the "right" things damnit and it ended anyway, for no clear reason. When I saw that much of my rage and betrayed feeling was about how much "I have given up for this! How well I've behaved!"- well, the subconscious deal I'd been running with the Love Gods began to be exposed and unraveled. It was a very painful wake up call.

Since then I have been on a path of consciously experiencing love with less bullshit, less rules, less measuring of the certainty factor. My desire for assurances and specific outcomes have not gone away, but it's not the boss o' me no more. Most of the time. Every relationship ends in death or dissolution. So, what was I trading away my spark, my juice, my intensity, my living-out-loudness for? Why was I avoiding my polyamorous tendencies? Why was I settling for less than the sexiest, most passionate, intimate sex ever? Why was I hiding out in 'safe' relationships (and lifestyles) that weren't even really safe at all?

Silly Bunny

It's been an interesting 3 years. Now here I am, madly in love in three relationships that are not certain in ways that are too obvious to allow me to fool myself (and that's just the romantic loves. One of the deepest relationships in my life is a non-romantic, non-sexual one and she's moving away soon. *oooowieeeee*). There is a part of me that frequently wants to run, from all and sundry. It rants at me sometimes: are you FUCKING CRAZY!?!?! and I say, yes- that's quite likely. But the me that is the witness to all the ranting, panicking, gibbering terror, the witness that sees how really perfect this is for me, my path, and I trust, theirs too- that part keeps making the choice to lean in deeper, to open more, to see what's there when there are no guarantees, even of the obvious in the moment, "I will be there for you tomorrow" kind. The realest part of me knows that I am, in fact, going sane.

Some people ask me "Why? Why open more when you know it's likely you'll get hurt?" This reminds me of the 'keep it simple, marry a nice girl, get a good job with benefits, have a couple kids and settle down in the country' talk. I mean, if that's your shtick, then I support you. I have found, the more honest I get with myself, that it's not so much my thing. Parts of me wish it was. But my bent for adventure is an inherent source of aliveness for me. Even if I did settle down in anything that looked like the scenario above, look deeper and you would see me pushing the edges, dialoguing with the darkness, telling the hard truths over Sunday coffee in bed or after some lovely ass play or a flogging session; you would see me crying and laughing like a maniac at times, dancing nekkid under the moon and/or talking to god, who answers. Cuz that's just how I roll.

Gossamer goes metrosexual?

So I keep showing up because it feels right. When I question it myself (and I do, believe me) I get a steady, firm YES. I do it because my heart is stretching, bursting, I'm feeling more love from more directions that I ever thought possible. At times I lose track of specific sources and just feel, be, know LOVE. I suspect that herein lies the security I have always hungered for- in a universal experience of a tribal love that's SO huge, so powerful and so far beyond 'this person at this time in this way' that it will answer all the questions for, by and about love that I have ever had. It's a love so omniscient that it cannot be taken away, I cannot lose it because I AM it. And it is me. This is the tribe that always has my back- it's just bigger and less localized than I thought it was. This is the reality that cannot be undone by departure of a particular "one". This is the heart that cannot be broken, because, like the Dude, it abides.

These people are embodying it for me right now and I honor that, I'm attached to these bodies, but I know on a deeper level, that our embodiments will part someday in some fashion, but the love- the magic we're creating right now and here, the ways we're growing, singing each other bigger, breaking each other open and exposing our hurt, nasty bits, this love we make- this is ours forever and ever. That is how it's always been, no matter what story I've been telling myself about "contentedly-ever-after". This is the truth and I want it. I've known it forever, but I'm getting to experience it now through this dinged and scratched human lens. I have somehow grown the balls to actually LIVE it. I'm frequently terrified, often ecstatic, swept up in a libidinous frenzy I have never know, then peaceful and easy. Often in complete, utter awe of the process and our beauty as we do the dance together. I'm am in love. I'm beginning to know what that really means; just beginning. It's killing a lot of my old notions which makes lovely compost for what grows in the ashes.

I do it because it feels right, because it's making me a better person. I do it because these people I love are simply, stunningly amazing creatures that fascinate me endlessly and I can't seem to stay away from them even when fear wants me to. I do it because it's incredibly interesting. I do it because the sexiness is rich and moves me like nothing else I know. I do it because it brings me joy and life flows through its every channel. I do it because they want it, it makes them richer too, in ways I only begin to comprehend. I do it because it's part of what's propelling me to the next level of my evolution. Like any trip through a birth canal, it's uncomfortable, painful, exciting, powerful, inexorable and infused with mystery- I have no idea where it's taking me really. Really. No fucking idea. But I'm here for the journey and, when all is said and done, that's all there is.

It ain't too pretty or pop-song romantic. This is monster love- it's messy, honest, painful, thrilling, undefinable (though trying is fun!), unpredictable, and free; both devouring and creating. This is the void where anything and everything is possible. Mystery rules. Lean in... lean in... lean in....I'll see you inside....

(Thanks to Luke and Marc for inspiring the Gossamer additions. Such an innnnnteresting monster....)

Romeo, Romeo- to the Back of the Bus, Mister

2011-03-17T12:27:00.000-07:00

(photo "His Heart's On Fire" by Wesley Kirk)

Ready for another post about LOVE? In case you're just making my acquaintance for the first time, be assured there will be NO love songs, NO chirping bluebirds, NO hearts and roses, and absolutely NO sonnets concerning the ebony shade of my true loves heart...erm...hair. At least not today. I've got nothing against those things, in fact they happen to be a particularly sharp and pleasant torment of sorts right now, but I'm not about that bit at the moment. The romantic lover in me is, for a sec or two, moving to the 4th row back on the left, along with the hopelessly romantic teenager (who is still recovering somewhat in the self-esteem department) and the lust consumed perve who wants to write sonnets to the curve of my love's hip scoops. They'll have a great time back there, sighing and sweating and longing; ooooh, the longing....

Meanwhile, there's an fairly functional adult up here in the driver's seat for the moment. Sharing front row with me are the Artist and the Spiritual Warrior and, on my more responsible days, the Business Manager and the Housekeeper (but those two are taking a nap at the moment. Psychic rufies rule. They've had plenty of air time today and will get more, but I don't need them for this discussion and they'll just bog us down with side trips to do the dishes and check the bank balance). Where was I .....

Ah, love. Hmmm...o_O

So, I've moved beyond states of smittenness and infatuation. Maybe a deeper level of infatuation. Dunno. But more than smitten. There is definitely love here. There is love and lust and respect and curiosity and tons of like-like-like and a generous helping of romance. It's the romance I'm suspicious of. I'm not sure why romance gets to be the bad guy in this scenario, but it seems to have fallen out that way, at least today.

Perhaps it's not romance itself, but our tendency (my tendency) toward addiction to it. Romance can be a tricksy bugger- one part sweet, a little (ha!) obsessive, starry eyed, love-song-humming, generous and shiny shiny drug-high shiny; one part ravening beast, drunk on life force and self-centered as hell, growling "mine mine MINE"!, doing it's best to latch on to a good thing and hold on for dear life, no matter the cost to the rest of the team. Even if it means everyone drowns in the end. Tragic? Yes. But they drowned for LOVE damnit.

Romance dreams of the future: houses in the country, kittehs and dawgies, posies in the window, Princess in an apron (only) bringing me a cold beer while I tune up the farm truck, which leads invariably to sex in the garden. Romance wants to know what's gonna happen and likes to put things in boxes with lots and lots of preservatives. Cuz romance is on a crazy rollercoaster ride with two ways off: sailing off into the starry sky and an eternal bliss of happily happily or a fiery crash on a ground that only seemed to disappear for all those weeks and months of the honeymoon phase. One can't really fault romance for trying to stave off the crash at all costs; however ineffective (and sometimes self-fulfilling) it may be, it's understandable.

Romance. *sigh* We hate to love it, love it too much or love to hate it. It seems we all go through it at some point. Romance itself can be a fine thing- like everything else it's our creation. If it's flawed or dangerous, it's only because we make it so. And often we do. Dangerous because almost always for most of us, it's got a healthy helping of blind spots and dreams built on sand bars. It always hurts to lose illusions. Romance is dangerous because those illusions are built around and affect other real live human beings (in most cases, but I am again in danger of digression....)- beings with dreams, needs and illusions of their own. *crash* It ain't purdy.

It seems the problems happen when Romeo gets to drive the bus. If I can enjoy romance as an oh-so-tasty side dish on the plate of my life (maybe even a little hors d'oeuvre and dessert....and second dinner....), but keep the keys out of its hands, I'm usually doing okay- a little crazy, but a basically-sane person is basically in charge. Romantic feelings are powerful and tons of fun, maybe even useful in keeping us motivated in moving deeper when the FREAKED out control freak in us would otherwise say GET THE FUCK OUT, NOW. Romance may feed the bonding that becomes glue that helps us stick out tough times, which will surely come and make us want to RUN.

Romance is a rare delight. I'm not out to kill it. I like it. Just maybe too much.

Besides romance (see there? the problem child always gets more attention) there is a lot of love here. What's a lot exactly? Hell if I know. But it's intense. Love that doesn't give a shit about what's coming tomorrow. Love that knows a broken heart is the sign of having loved well and life well lived, that knows that despite my daydreams about walking away from the wreckage unscathed, it just ain't thatta way. Walking away unscathed is the sure sign of a bystander. Or a Saint. Don't wanna be one and ain't yet t'other. Love knows that getting good and scathed is one of the main points of it all. Scathing moves and marks us, it changes our landscape, inside and out. It makes room, cracks where the light can get in.

This recent slough of romantic, secksy love in my life has been a veritable bull-in-a-china-shop with all my carefully laid plans- plans for the day, the year, the next couple of life times. The things that go on in me these days- such a beautiful mess! But it feels right. When I get quiet and ask, something deep and calm in me says "yes". And I believe in that voice. It has never steered me wrong, even when it's steered me into crashes. Sometimes fiery wrecks and broken china is exactly what I need, whether I know it or not at the time.

So here I am, stumbling through acts of radical trust, even when I'm feeling, like.... like five years old and utterly stompable; there I go, choosing Love: monster love, messy-honest-growing-pain-warrior-love; Love-capitol-L with lots of room for silliness, sexy sex, brilliant creativity and yes, even Romeo. If only he would stop stealing my keys.

Heart Dreams

2011-01-18T08:24:00.000-08:00

I am walking out under a late afternoon sky when a blood-red, heart-shaped balloon catches my eye as it rises from somewhere nearby. It appears to flutter like a drowsy bird. I look up and see more~ heart-shaped balloons in every shade from deep maroon and ruby to palest rose, even clear. It's not a crowded sky, but everywhere as far as I can see to the horizon, they're swaying gently in the early evening breeze. They move with seeming intention on an invisible tide, a community of lovers. A bell rings deep in my heart and I'm suffused with a slow easy joy.

This is a snippet from the dream I had right before I woke up this morning. That slow and easy joy? Still wearing it in my cells like the sweetest hug....

For Love

2010-12-15T08:20:00.000-08:00

Yes lover, for you.

Yet more still- for Love

Unfettered,

On a scale larger

Than youth's dreams could ever hold.

They shatter-

I bleed terror and delight,

And expand beyond....

Unbound

From that small, lonely dock

I once pinned my heart on.

Swing, glide, rock n roll wild,

At sea on possibility.

Singing, sweet harmony-

And Love's echoes sing back from everywhere,

But most from the depths within.

Not IN it; I AM it.

I cannot be unmoored,

For this Love is my dock

And my ocean.

This Love is my boat

And my sail.

Love- the very soul alight within me!

I, this shard of god

That fell to earth.

The dream of exile,

I slowly rub from my mind's sleepy eye,

And awaken to the truth of ubiquitous power,

No prodigal to anything but my self,

I find I am abundantly home.

Say not my love or yours,

But only Love, miraculous and terrible.

This is my home.

This is my self.

Our selves-

Love.

We cannot lose what we are.

Or win it.

Only see true.

I weary of battles with mirror ghosts,

I Lay down arms,

Release-

Into the aweful beauty that is the only guarantee....

For now, love. For you.

But yet more,

And always,

For Love.

(I don't know who to credit for the photo. If you do, please tell me so I can add it!)

And Speaking of Turn Offs...

2010-11-18T21:38:00.000-08:00

Reading an article earlier from Cracked.com that talked about 6 of the things men do that turn women off and while it made some good points, there was (at least) one glaring omission that seems to be happening a lot in my world lately.

Conversation : (1) oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions, or ideas (2) : an instance of such exchange : talk

Please note the key word "exchange": (1) the act of giving or taking one thing in return for another : trade; (2) b : reciprocal giving and receiving

In the past 2 weeks alone, it has happened that 5 people (who all happened to be men) have expressed interest in getting to know me and then proceeded to completely dominate our conversations. Seriously, they spend the entire time talking about themselves. If it seems worth it, I may give them one more try. I mean, maybe they had too much coffee that morning, maybe they just get really nervous with someone new that they like, you know- like "that". Or maybe they're crack heads well into their 5th pipe of the morning. I think it's most likely that they're at one of the extremes of insecurity-narcissism, polarities that can actually look a lot similar from the outside.

It's baffling to me that this seems to carry on even when they've actually asked me a question about myself. Goes something like: So tell me about your time in Alaska- what was that like? Then before I can finish one sentence, they've started talking over me, telling me about their freaky bear encounter, how much they wish they could travel and how cold weather gives them hives. In every one of my recent encounters like this, it's been a challenge to even catch a break in the flow of talk so that I can excuse myself and end it. Sometimes being polite is a handicap. I'm working on it.

When I've managed a word or two here or there, I had to really fight for air time and frankly, I just don't have that kind of energy to spend. It's exhausting.

Later they'll tell me how great they think I am or how much they like me, without having asked me any questions or given me the chance to share anything about me. I mean, how would they know how great I am? From my profile page? From my photo, my wise cracks, my Vampire Wars level ups? That's a glimpse, but a personal conversation is a getting-to-know-one-another delivery device, right?

I know we all get nervous, especially if we're talking to a new person that we're somewhat attracted to. But it's a deal breaker for me. When I'm nervous, the default settings seem to be "babble" and "hush". I get it. But I'm a basically a big mouth myself, semi-recovered. I need at least equal time to feel like there's a conversation happening. I'm not interested in being a full time audience for someone else's lectures, life story, soliloquies (I just spelled checked it and can't believe I spelled that right- I know, total randomness). Why would I believe someone's interest if I feel invisible, if I'm sure that a cardboard cutout that murmurs "uh huh" and nods every so often would be enough to keep them going indefinitely?

Even if your brilliant, beautiful and highly entertaining, unless I bought a ticket to see your show or signed up for your class, I want a meeting of equals. Pause, listen, ask questions and wait for answers, look in someone's eyes. Exchange...conversation. We all have something to say, we all want to know that as well as being a good listener, that we're worth listening to.

Okay, your turn.

*note: This bit first appeared in Facebook notes, so if you think you've seen it before, you probably have. Or else a bunch of other women are writing about it too. Which wouldn't surprise me in the least. Here's the link for the original article that inspired this:
http://www.cracked.com/article_18440_6-things-men-do-to-get-laid-that-science-says-turn-women-off.html

Super Art Freak Saves the World! Erm....right?

2010-11-05T12:55:00.000-07:00

It seems like this world just gets crazier and crazier, right? Corruption, violence, poverty, disease, political shenanigans, animal and child abuse- the list goes on and on. I've had a personal moratorium on news for several months now. No newspapers, TV news, radio reports. It's something I need to do from time to time as it seems my psychic boundaries get so permeable that I have no decent shield against the horror of it all. If I let it come in indiscriminately, it overwhelms and shuts me down completely. I hear the highlights, no worries. It's not like I'm living in a cacoon of denial. I just won't open up for the whole shebang, every detail. There are times when begin fully informed is useful as part of acts of power, redemption, creativity, cycling mass pain, etc and there are times when it's absolutely counter productive to anything...well, productive.

It's always especially challenging to be present in a world gone mad, when we as individuals are working to be less defensive, brittle, protected. Some of us are working to open more fully, to be more permeable. One aspect of this as I see it, is that one source of humanity's current madness is our inability to face the difficult stuff in ourselves, our lives (and I'm speaking general here). To the degree we're unable or unwilling to meet, feel and love the things that make us uncomfortable about ourselves and our lives (self-abandonment is rampant), to this degree are we able, even eager to abandon, abuse and cause harm to others. In this sense, inner work is a radical, powerful act that ripples out from us to our families, friends, communities, the world. This I've known for some time.

In terms of activism, I've done my share of marching, petitioning, voting, letter writing, donations of time, money and talent. One thing that's been a strong consistent desire in my adult life is being of service. That started shifting years ago when I got sick. I just didn't have the energy to show up out in the world like I used to. My path took me inward, closer to home (which was one of the gifts of illness, as it turned out. I'm not sure what else could've gotten my attention in the same way) and, inevitably probably, to creative work, which has been a part of my life always.

(artwork: Picasso Wonder Woman by Mike Esparza)

This is the struggle now: Does making art serve the world? In particular, art that isn't explicitly revolutionary in any obvious sense. I know I'm not alone in having a pretty insistent inner critic that tells me, "Art is self-indulgent, ridiculous, and pointless. How can you waste time making silly things when so many are suffering, when things are falling apart around you? And beside, you're crap at it *sneer*". Why do we do it? Besides those of us that just have to and because it's sometimes actually fun, occasionally even satisfying. What's the point when Rome is burning around us? How is this process being in service?

What do you think and feel about it? Does it help anything, anywhere? Is art essential for a healthy world culture? I've read what some of the "experts" have to say. I want to hear from you. What do you know about it? Do you wonder about this and how do you answer that critic that says it's just another symptom of being spoiled, to spend time telling stories, painting, singing, sculpting, dancing....? How can we justify it in the face of so much social dis-ease?

What do you know? Even if you don't have answers, per se, is this something you can relate to and how do you work through it? If you do.

Excuse me, I have a critic to gag while I get some work done....

Grounded and Grounding

2010-11-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

I've decided I'm grounded for the Winter. That's all there is to it. I've had weeks, months of socializing and running around the state catching up with friends and family, dancing, raucous partying. That's right: raucous! I've been away awhile; it was necessary. I also had high hopes and loose plans for a road trip this Fall before the weather turns particularly nasty, as only Eastern Winters can. There are dear friends, old and new, "real life" and not-yet-met-in-the-flesh friends, that I'm eager to meet and are clamoring (yes, I said clamoring damnit!) to meet me.

But alas, what began as a little run-down feeling a few weeks back has escalated into intense fatigue, which I'm attributing to this chronic Lyme thing I got going (though this doesn't feel like a typical flare up, thank gods. It's not that bad). It feels like what I imagine it would feel like to wear a cement suit: everything, every limb, is heavy and hard to move. Making tea, doing the dishes, walking to the mailbox- eh, fuck it, the mail can wait 'til tomorrow- is an act of will that will require a goodly chunk of resting, maybe even napping afterward, on the couch or whatever piece of furniture I happen to land on when I can't get to the couch. It's not just that I'm tired or don't feel like going out or vacuuming my floor. It's hard to imagine this kind of fatigue, I know, and you probably can't, but take my word for it: if you're a basically healthy human, when you say tired and I say fatigue, we are not talking about the same thing. They don't even live in the same country.

On top of this fugue of fatigue, I've had an growing urge to nest combined with a looooong overdue upswell of creative energy and a deliciously ambiguous desire to focus on me, some things in my life that have been needing attention. Essentially, I've been neglecting my primary partner, me, for social outings, responsibilities, bad TV (okay, not ALL bad. Flashforward was pretty meaty), people in crisis that neeeed me and a wild flurry of falling in and out of love and lust online. I'm over it. It's time for me to come home, hang with my main girl and really, deeply listen to her for awhile, give her what she needs and wants. Nurture her. I'm ready to fall madly in love with me again, recommit to this unique, messy, interesting creature whose life I find myself living this time around.

It feels good, not forced, and it's convenient that it coincides with Fall, which always heralds a yummy urge to slow down and look inside, and this spell of exhaustion is almost handy, in a way. It’s making it easier to keep myself from sneaking out the window at night. If I was feeling bouncy and energy-rich, I'd continue to kid myself into thinking I can do it all. The trap there is that the introspection, meditation, journaling, self-massage (hell yes that's a euphamism!), etc. end up getting bumped when I don't have the energy after a night on the town and two hours on the phone with a friend in crisis who only calls when he's in crisis and then never, absolutely ever listens to a word I say. A friend who then proceeds to go back to doing exactly what he's been doing for years that got him into the crisis to begin with. Note: "Ever" practically applies in this case, because I've known him most of my life (If this is you and you're reading this, I love you. And you know it's true, dude. And I really do love you, sweetie. You just need to call someone else over the next few weeks or so, 'cause I'm pulling in my shingle for awhile).

I'm burnt out, I'm nearly broke and I'm enjoying spending time with my best girl (again, that would be moi) and getting mouthy in writing. I'm officially grounding myself until I can learn to have a little more discipline, get more rest, get better at saying "no", and get those last few boxes in the shed unpacked. For starters.

I was deeply disappointed when I first began to admit to myself that this was indeed the right thing to do. I want to take this trip, see my Dad, meet people, snuggle with my dear old friends, see New England in the Fall. And the small, clear voice inside me says, "I didn't say 'no', I just said 'not now'." And it's right, I know it's right. I'm getting over the disappointment, which is good, 'cause then I'll be better able to deal with the disappointment of others. But I know they'll ultimately understand, that after the groaning and questions are done, they'll support me in taking care of myself. ‘Cause my friends rock.

But I am going to the party this weekend. Just because I'm not up for driving across country doesn't mean I'm never leaving the house. I'm just cutting way, way, waaaaay back. It's all about priorities baby. I can handle it. I can do just one, I promise. I mean, I can totally quit anytime I want. I just don't want to. Yet.

Oh, I am soooo grounded.... \

*artwork by Mara Friedman "In Autumn's Womb"

Big Bang Beginnings

2010-11-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

Not really. It's just a blog. But I guess one person's "just a blog" is another person's "Big Bang", at least potentially. Maybe we should ask the bangee. Ermmm...nevermind. It's my universe.

This is a mission statement of sorts. The challenge (as is often the case in my case) is to find that point on the graph where accuracy and simplicity meet. There’s a lot going on here and I’m likely to write about any of it on any given day. I’m an adventurer- spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically (not so much of the bungee-jumping, sky-diving variety as the traveling, sexual exploration, playing with the pain/pleasure/insight boundaries). There’s an ebb and flow to everything, a natural rhythm and for the past few years I’ve been in an intense FLOW period with teensy, tinsy, much needed ebbs here and there. Lots and lots of edges are getting pushed in the tiny universe that is mine-for-now. So expect anything!

Though this is not a place for humans who are still legally children, kids of all ages over 18 are most welcome! I promise it’ll be personal, even graphic at times. There will be generous portions of foul language and tons of irreverence. I’m going to go deep. That’s what I do. You might be uncomfortable at times if you‘re hanging out with me. I am. Why not you? As a teacher told me many years ago: discomfort lets you know you’re in new territory. If growth is the aim, then we would do well to get more comfortable with discomfort. I tell you what- it’s never, ever boring, this growth thing Occasionally peaceful, relaxing and easeful, but boring- never.

Of course, we each have our limits with discomfort, how much, what kind, different tolerance on different days. Maybe this isn’t the place for you. There are other places to visit, other words to read, a myriad of voices all talking about the same thing in different ways. Find the song that touches your heart. If you decide to hang with me, my hope is that you will find something of yourself, for yourself- that bits of my experience will reflect some part of your own journey or process, of your own search, that we can help each other along the way. I invite you to share your reactions, relate similarities, disagree, suggest. I ask that you do so respectfully. So often it’s not what we say, but how we say it that determines how it’s received. Please keep that in mind and I will too.

Ultimately, what I’m talking about here is LOVE. Not the Harlequin Romance variety (though even that is not excluded *grin*), but the big god-flavored love that is both tender and merciless; love of the deep and wide kind that both holds and pushes, that wounds and feeds, sometimes simultaneously. Terrible, beautiful love that asks from us everything we have, everything we think we are in order that we might be more than we ever knew.

Everything is sacred, everything is god, everything is love: rainbows, music, dishes, mosquitoes, temples, dirty diapers, death, sex, pancakes and earthquakes. Everything.
There will be generous portions of irreverence for all.

So, everything we do is in some sense a step in our dance with this great reality. We move toward or away, we embrace or deny in some measure. As with all intimacies, often the process of embracing is more a process of dismantling what stands in the way- usually some form or fear or behaviors stemming from same. My intention is that my living be as conscious a dance as possible. So much of the first half of my life was a bumbling, knee-jerk, survival dance. I was resourceful and it got me here- I honor that time deeply, but now I know better. I began to wake up to myself and something larger that I’m a part of about 25 years ago and here I am, still bumbling along, but eyes wide open. I want to be as awake as I can be, be aware of my choices in how I’m relating to everything in each moment. Whatever I’m doing and whatever I’m writing about it at the moment, at it’s core it’s all about this- this rich, fascinating dance we’re in with life, love, each other, the gods, the force that informs the whole gorgeous mess- including our beautiful, bumbling selves.

This then, is another avenue for yet another discussion with god: in me, in you, in everything. Knowing there is really only one of us here, yet knowing too that while we’re in bodies we have a unique (and oh-so-brief!) opportunity to know our-self better through this illusion of separation and sharing what we see. Thanks for sharing this space with me. I'm excited to see what happens next…..