Morning Yearning ~ Mourning Yearing

I have so many things I want to cover in this post. First of all, I wanted to say THANK YOU to Ken and Tim and Cristian and Luciana who made my Thanksgiving particularly special. Being away from family (my extended family) is hard enough, but when I am forced to give up my son for holidays, it can be particularly sad. My friends helped me find the gratitude amidst the sorrow.

Then, onto tonight. A beautiful full moon. My first free night in many. I sat outside, underneath the Maiden/Mother/Crone moon and said a prayer. I reaffirmed my gratitude for my life and all my blessings. I asked to let go of the fear, doubt, insecurities, rejections, sorrow, and sadness I have tried to release over the last year. I sat with the utter stillness and knowing that everything is connected; the past and the present, the living and the dead, the lost and the found…. It’s all just one thing and I am one part of its brilliance. My light is just as important, just as brilliant, just as unique as any other in the infinite light of life.

I read from Pema Chodron’s book, When Things Fall Apart. She writes, “Although this is ordinary Buddhist thinking, …difficult to hear that what we reject out there is what we reject in ourselves, and what we reject in ourselves is what we are going to reject out there.” And she goes on to write of how we habitually erect a barrier of blame around us to keep us sheltered as we fortify it with judgments of who is “right” and who is “wrong”. Instead of holding on so tightly to what are our held beliefs in an effort to make things right or wrong in order to justify our very existence, she asks if we could try the middle way. “Could our minds and our hearts be big enough just to hang out in that space where we’re not entirely certain about who’s right and who’s wrong?” And I have sensed in my self a strong urge to hold onto the idea of who hurt who and who was in the wrong and what is the right way to be, in the last few months. I’ve struggled with my anger and my sorrow. Holding on tight because if I were to let go I wasn’t sure what would follow.

I sat there in the dark shadows amidst the moonlight in my backyard. Leaning over so that the spiders wouldn’t be able to crawl down my neck. Seeing it clearly in the illumination of the intuitive, compassionate Luna: the darkness is only the absence of the light. What I passed through, the hatred, the blaming, the judgment, the mourning for my loss, the abuse, etc., was nothing more than the opposite of what I am. I am, in short, the light.

So I sat and contemplated another awesome author, Mark Nepo and his Book of Awakening. On November 27’s entry, he begins to talk about the morning and how the small light of the beginning breaking through every day is of a wisdom so large and clear that we seldom see it. We go throughout lives and get all dirty and tired and sore. The day is a challenge and the night comes as only a respite for the weary. Sooner or later, he writes, “we each must sleep. We must surrender to the quieting of all intent and regret, so that the small light of beginning can rise in us, again and again. There is no escaping this profound simplicity: what happens covers us like dirt. It covers our hearts and minds, till at the shore we call exhaustion, we slip into the water of sleep in a daily sort of baptism, so we can begin again.”

And that made me think of Ben Harper’s “Morning Yearning” and we so often want to shut the curtains and keep it dark. We don’t want to face the Shadowy Bitch of our lives and face the realities and fears and things that seem right or wrong. We want to sleep through them. Dream them away. But they come, every day, with another day to get it right. And we are always still just learning. Every day. It’s a new day and there is all this space, from Earth to the Moon and back to hold all of our fears, sins, doubts, sorrow and anger. We can let it go and it becomes part of that darkness that only serves to show our truth: the light of who we are.

I had had this piece of artwork I had made that was, well, a collection of the emotions evoked when I thought of my past and all the pain. The main image was this scary shark with all these angry words surrounding the image. It was as if the shark would jump off the page and tear off my lower lip. I’ve held onto the artwork, waiting for the “right” time to burn it. I’ve held onto it, maybe subconsciously, as if I were holding onto my covers, over my head, shutting out the light of the morning. The Mourning.

And I quietly placed this on top of the fire. It quickly and easily disappeared into the nothingness. Ashes floating up to the heavens. Set free.

I promise to open the curtain of my fears and sorrow upon the light of my soul. It’s going to be a beautiful day.

　

Gratitude

Thanksgiving is approaching. It evokes fond memories of my family playing Jenga while waiting for the turkey to roast. Or, there were the late nights in front of the TV, rubbing full bellies, as the college team of choice vied for championship. And then, there are other memories. When I was in Tahoe, an “orphan” as I labeled it, we’d all gather, the rest of us who had no family to travel and see, to feast and drink and party together as one united disjointed family. We’d have fun, for sure, but in the end, I’d always think of what it would be like to “have a family” and have a REAL Thanksgiving.

I actually can’t remember the last Thanksgiving I had with Martin and Ziggy as a family. I know that we had just returned from a pretty tumultuous and devastatingly operatic trip from the East Coast; I can’t remember what we actually did to “give thanks” that year. Because, honestly, there wasn’t much to give thanks for.

I think we both realized that our world was crumbling around us. I think we both realized that we had different cultural ideals. We were, in short, breaking apart, in a time when most families are celebrating their togetherness.

I know things only got worse from mid October to about February when I finally did leave. I can’t really remember all the details, just sorted memories, fights, yelling, things that give me panic attacks to this day.

His mother is coming this week to visit. She still views me as the perpetrator and he as the victim. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. I get queasy just thinking of her in this hemisphere. I know Ziggy isn’t exactly fond of her, but he succumbs to his fatherly persuasions. At least, that is how I see it. But in the end, I don't have a way to keep them apart.  This is my life and I need to accept it. 

In the end, have I learned anything? Well, I can tell you whole-heartedly that I became significantly more aware of what gratitude really means; at least in the last year or so of my life. Today, one of our Practitioners was presenting at the front of Church and she was talking about having a Gratitude Journal and how it can impact your life. I don’t necessarily practice it regularly, as I liked to, but when I do, I find that naming the things you are grateful for only increases the amount of things to be grateful for. They may not be the exact things you are wishing for, i.e, more money or more things….. But should you find yourself open to what the Universe is willing to pass onto you, as you believe, you’d be amazed at the gifts bestowed.

So, for instance, I’ve focused on my abundance and financially security since leaving my ex-husband and there hasn’t been a day that I’ve dreaded being away from him. And I’ve been only focused on my health and well being, specifically focused on my on self image.   It has been a real issue for me most of my life.  And frankly, if I don’t feel like a Goddess now, I don’t know what is real!  I feel so good, without liposuction or tummy tucks! 

Life has a strange way of working out.

I read someplace recently that some people (the mean ones) were brought into your life to teach you the things you didn’t want to do or be the kind of person you didn’t want to be.  This makes me all the more comfortable in my life that I have led. I am grateful for my life, the goods and the bads. I don’t care that I don’t remember the last time I was thankful to be with Martin. I am just so grateful that I am no longer with Martin; and that it no longer matters.

Tour de Pink 2012

It can be a little overwhelming when you first show up. There are usually at least 20-50 people chatting vivaciously, reconnecting, laughing, speaking intently with one another. You can certainly feel like an outsider at first. But gradually, someone makes eye contact and you being to feel okay. And then, someone shares their story, and you begin to connect. Everyone here has a story.

Funny. In all of my lessons over the last year, and from what I’ve read over and over again, the path to freedom from suffering is to “let go of your story“. And yet, here, a story, sometimes, is all that connects you.

Why are you here? Are you a survivor? Where are you from? Do you know someone battling cancer? How many times have you done the Ride? Are you an avid cyclist? These are the questions that begin to make the ties that will soon bind us all together into one story by the end of three days.

I am, as I’ve said before, a survivor of a different kind. I have not had to battle cancer but I survived something different. For me, it was pretty darn traumatic in its own right. I am a survivor of domestic violence. And my scars are the days I am without my son. The memories burn my heart. The fear is what wakes me up at night in a cold sweat with my heart-pounding relentlessly. The deep, sorrowful pain that lingers has become my story.

I have been struggling with memories of someone telling me I was worthless, selfish, sick, fat, ugly, disgusting, ….. You name it. I’ve been struggling with the story of what was in a time when all I wanted was to be free from the story that had me so engulfed I was being swallowed alive.

For me, this ride has become a meditative healing process in which to bind the pain and learn to drop my story on the road and ride away from it, far, far away, fast as I can, leaving it atop some mountain to fly away, dropping it off the cliff into the sea, but never to carry it again with me when I return home. Prophetic, no?

Okay, enough with the sappy stuff. Check this out! The Tour de Pink ride is more than stories. It’s about cycling. Hot, fast, intense cycling!

Day One - Thousand Oaks, CA to Manhattan Beach, CA. Start at Giant Headquarters and ride down this amazing decent into the Oxnard plain towards Pacific Coast Hwy along the scenic California coastline. I got to the front quickly and rode the downhill all alone. At one point I was talking to myself aloud and the photographer yelled out that he could hear me. I was going deep, deep into the psyche of me and the pain of the memories. I was trying to figure out where the intense anger comes from. There was a smart, meandering section after Venice Beach leading into Manhattan Beach, and then, SMACK! A terse, 20% grade uphill into town, then back down again to the hotel. I was certainly angry with that surprise, but it didn’t envelop me as past events had. Why did the bike bring a certain patience to my demeanor, where, in every day life, anger seems to spill out of me like a leaking hose? That night held drinks with new friends. Stories melt into laughter and memories fade into the night. All you find at this point is the present moment. Pure. Sweet and Real.

Day Two - Manhattan Beach, CA to Dana Point, CA. The ride started out innocent enough, however, there is one slight detour: a 13% grade within a 4 mile climb. The total ride was about 80 miles with a total elevation gain of over 5,000 feet. Fair enough, but upon summiting that climb, I find a very deceptive and disingenuous downhill end to the turn around spot!!! WTF????…. And then, the story becomes, what do I have yet to give, not what has been taken from me….

Needless to say, I was worked at the end of this ride. Had it not been for the Oakley Women or my newest dear friend, James Gunn Wilkinson from Team MRI Masi, I would not have made it to the hotel. Glad I did, because I had a very fun-filled evening with a glamorous cast of characters. More stories spilled out on to the table, free for the taking, unloading and releasing. Stories have a way of unraveling the best in us.

And that night in particular, one survivor said that she too learned to focus on what life gives versus on what it had taken away. This statement alone would bring me back to my purpose, my very remembrance for what made me sign up for the TdP back in February of 2011. My story needed a new direction then. TdP helped me find it.

Day Three - Dana Point, CA to Foothill Ranch, CA. An unassuming climb into the canyon towards Oakley Headquarters. I had an early lead-out with Eric from Giant. We rode fast and strong to the turnoff at Newport Center Drive. But at this point, the climbs were wearing down on me. I had had too much to drink the night before and now, facing the hot, dry, lonely canyon all alone, I was, frankly, sad and discouraged. But I persevered. I have overcome worse scenarios in my own life. Riders came and went along the climb, asking me to grab a wheel. I tried, but could not. In the end, I knew the ride was my own to finish alone. The trauma for climbing this unrelenting hill of hell seemed a drop in the bucket compared to the pain and suffering I survived in the last year. The tears that fell seemed only to fall out of freedom from being released, not from the need to escape something angry within.

Finally, upon arriving, I celebrated the end, the “arrivée au sommet” I was finally able to let down the story of who I had been to become the woman I am: strong, sweaty, present and happy. And so it is.

Authentically ME!!

I nervously rose towards the front of the sanctuary to give my class performance tonight. I was dead last. I purposely put myself last on the list, hoping that I wouldn’t have to present at all. And normally, I don’t have fears associated with public speaking. But, tonight, in particular, the students’ performances were stunning and vibrant and they pulled at my heart strings and I cried, a lot. I didn’t want to follow any of them. Charlee with her brilliant 3 minute standup on pirates or Marian’s heartfelt piece on NIA. There was Martha, with the gut-wrenching performance of that song and then, of course Liana’s amazing solo. And Deana’s touching and vulnerable moment, which lead to Vicki’s beautiful rendition of the reluctant teacher. I hadn’t prepared. I hadn’t put the “effort in” and I was afraid of how I’d appear to the rest of the class.

Appearance for me is a huge issue. If you haven’t noticed, please read my blog and you will soon discover, that how I am perceived by the world and how I see myself in the world is a huge and misleading source of discomfort and consternation for me.

Who am I to show up and feel it’s ok to take stage without a scripted piece? Who am I to think that what I have to say will matter? Have substance? Make meaning for others?

Well, who am I not to be? I am, after all, me. And that is probably all that I need to be. Spiritually speaking.

One of my last blog entries, Sweaty Bicycle Mama, ended with a bit about being pretty and put together and how that is an aspect of beauty. How, being pure of heart and authentic is certainly another equally important aspect of beauty. And how, if you manage both, I find that to be unattainably, miraculously, competently wonderful.. Sure, beauty is a wondrous thing.

But, in the end, the thing that I am striving for is acceptance. And, as I looked out on the audience of my peers, I knew instinctively, that I was unconditionally accepted and loved for who I am, just as I am. Sweaty, bunched up panties, unprepared speech and all, they love me. I think the instructor said that I was adorable or charming or something like that….and it’s funny, because, this is exactly what I strive to be: adorable.

It’s something I’ve longed for since I was a little girl. I don’t know if is something I didn’t get enough of as a child or something that is inherent within me from a past life, but the thought of being adored and loved, just as I am is something that makes me well up with tears and seriously fall to pieces over.

And the instructor asked me what was my purpose with my piece. What goal did I have in mind. And honestly, I stared down at my feet and sort of dragged my shoe across the ground like a timid teenager. I had not plan. I had no idea of what I wanted to accomplish, other than acceptance by my peers. Wasn’t that enough, I thought to myself. After everything I’ve been through, can’t simply being accepted be an adequate goal? I think he has higher expectations of me than I have of myself. And that is unique.

I friend recently told me that they feel “lost”. And, after trying to surmise a valid response worthy of this person’s caliber and character, I reverted to a quote from Thoreau: When we find we are totally lost, it is then when we truly discover and understand who we are. Telling him this was an act of healing for myself. I hadn’t considered how utterly lost I can become in the self-deprecating, self-censoring, apologetic-manner-for-my-very-presence mode of behavior in which I live.

Tonight, these people, my peers, truly accepted me for who I was, without script or special flair. The truth is, that I showed up, raw, authentic and unapologetically as myself and that, in it’s own way is the performance of a lifetime.

Friendship

My whole life I have sort of trudged ahead, relentless, in pursuit of the 'next goal' and 'that which I presumed would bring me recognition and respect from others' in a shallow hope of finding peace with myself. I've sought to please others as a means of validating my own presence. I've gone above and beyond what is a very basic representation of respect in order to secure some kind of favor and/or commitment from my intended target of affection or devotion. I've given much more of myself than I've ever received. In platonic, professional, personal relationships, I've essentially sold my soul for the price of admission and acceptance into the other person's Ego Faire. The result of friendship is often one where I feel left out, desperate and inauthentic.

I looked up friendship online and the result was this: true friends consistently demonstrate the following (Wikipedia definition of friendship):
1. Empathy: The tendency to desire what is best for the other;
2. Honesty: even in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak then truth, being honest regardless of fears;
3. Mutual Understanding: enjoyment of each other's company or ability to express one's feelings and make mistakes without fear of judgment.
4. Compassion: ability to go to each other for emotional support;
5.Reciprocity: equal give-and-take between the two parties; ability to be oneself.

All of these, coincidently, I did not have with my ex-husband. How did I ever expect to retain a functional relationship with this person should we not have these very basic tenets between us?
I have a rare set of friends and family for which most of these tenants are part of the relationship. Gosh, I wonder, do I create this environment for my son?

Is it possible that the degree of implement-ability may indicate the depth and strength of the friendship?

In different cultures, the word "friend" means different things. For instance, I know from experience the nuance of using the term "Amigo or Amiga" in Spanish to refer to someone you know. Because in Spanish, you must differentiate the sex or gender of the person, whereas in English, you can simply refer to someone as a "friend" not indicating in any measure for which one could extrapolate if there was a romantic connection or not.

Not that opposite sexes cannot be friends. But let me just say, that from my experience, I've not met many guys who have wanted to be friends with me without also wanting something more, and for me likewise. It's when you truly find someone who is willing to trump empathy, honestly, trust and reciprocity in favor of sexual pleasure that you begin to embark on a winning platonic relationship.
Now, can friends become lovers? And, more interestingly, what is the success rate? According to several online sources on Google, friends becoming lovers is a rather popular topic. The keyword search for "can friends become lovers" gets over 85 million hits. There are numerous articles and blog sites expounding on the topic.

There is research that suggests this can be quite possible, and that, the stronger the bonds of trust are between two people in a relationship, the greater chance of survival. And, ultimately, bonds are developed over time, through trials and experiences that test the level of supportiveness and responsiveness of partners are to one another. Friendships are great testing grounds for such pilot projects of love.

If I could find a person who said to me, “let’s try and build a friendship first and see if an intimate relationship makes sense” I guess I would be at first confused and then secondly, I’d be quite attracted to the idea of learning how to be with someone prior to actually committing to being with someone forever.

And where does this leave the BFF? I've had many a good BFF throughout my years. Women who stood by me, regardless of my mistakes, women who held me when I fell apart and women who helped build me up to who I really am. And where do they fit into this discussion?

Do BFF's usurp our bonds with family? Can a friend take the place of a family member? Is the friendly exchange and humorous banter something that can survive months of authenticity? Years? Decades? How many people can I say I've been friends with for over a decade? One, maybe three at most. How do I compare to our cave-dwelling ancestors? Just curious.

I try and imagine what life was like for the average cave-girl. Did she visit her BFF's family cave and check out the latest kill? Did they spend endless hours pouring over the latest in wolf's skin clothing? And, as one developed, both mentally and physically, were they supportive of each other or were they competitive? Because, as we know, survival was more important than connection at that time in our history as a human race. Or at least, we presume.

In the end, I can say that friendships have been one of the richest and most rewarding part of my experience in life. Not to say that my family relationships are not as meaningful, but I guess, that, to a certain extent, I give my family a lot more in terms of empathy and understanding, whereas, with those I am not physically related, I expect a bit more in terms of their overall demonstration of character before I divulge my deepest, darkest secrets.

Sweaty Bicycle Mama

I commute most places via bicycle.  I have a child seat on back, where my 3.75 year-old son rides co-pilot, snacking on dried fruit and juice.  In front, there is a huge basket,which is often heavy-laden with bags and totes filled with daily necessities.  Many days, I arrive at meetings, to work, or special events and even social gatherings sweaty and worn out yet proud.  My makeup is melting.  My panties are all bunched up.  I can barely exit my bike without toppling over.  It is in this moment that I quietly summon courage and strength to smile graciously. 

I’ve seen the fairly put-together; high-maintenance women stare at me in wonder.  I’ve seen the well-groomed and playful metro-sexual men raise an eyebrow then casually make steadfast to the previously-mentioned put-together woman standing attactively across the way.  Some people respect it.  Some people are envious.  Some people are curious.  Some people simply don’t get me.  And yet, I wonder.  How does a professional, educated, self-aware single-mother in her late 30’s continue to ride a bicycle like she’s a teenager riding home from soccer practice?    

And the truth is that I don’t know why I do it.  I could choose to drive my car instead.  It’s comfortable, convenient, efficient and considerably more professional.  I could try and be more organized; for example, pack my make-up, clean clothes and heels to change into later.  But I don’t. I am often late and frankly I am disinterested in being “organized”.

Recently, a man commented on my appearance in general, saying, that, when I put effort into how I look, I look good.  Otherwise, he said, I am sort of plain and unappealing.  He’s obviously been crossed the list of “possible suitors” and yet, he has something for which makes me ponder.  How much of whom I am is embedded in what I look like?  How much of whom I am rests on my outward appearance? Part of me indignantly barks out that it shouldn’t matter what I look like in any moment.  My old favorite quote was “to know me is to love me”. But, with age, and as I spend more of my life single than coupled, I start to wonder; maybe I should re-think this indignant stance on beauty.  What is beauty?  The old saying, beauty is more than skin deep makes me think of the story of The Ugly Duckling or Shrek.  Aristotle said beauty is a gift from God and I think Ernest Holmes would agree.  Beauty is a “God Quality” that we, in Science of Mind, attest is something inherent in our very being.    

So, being put-together and pretty in appearance is one aspect of beauty for sure.  Being pure in heart and completely authentic in oneself is equally as beautiful. Being both is extraordinarily competent and impressive.  Being okay with yourself, just as you are, and being surrounded by others who accept you unconditionally, is exactly where I want to be. 

Something's Gotta Give

September 5, 2012

I immersed myself in my past these last few days. Thinking about the “what if’s and what for’s”. I try to believe that I have no regrets. I see my son half of the time he is alive and that is a blessing. When I see him, it is as if he has grown a year in one week. He’s thoughtful, amazingly creative, funny and very, very sweet. His voice, his kisses, the way he opens up to strangers and friends….. I am so blessed to have the life I have.   I am glad that he is happy and healthy.

And yet….

I am so sad for the lost time away from him. I feel, somehow, like a failure, a wretched, selfish, loser who has no right to be his mother. I feel like I am losing time with him.  Time that is irreplaceable; forever lost. I feel weak and unable to fight back.

I recently watched a movie I hadn’t seen in years. “Something’s Gotta Give” with Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson.  When I saw it years ago, to me, it was trivial and unrelated to my life. Today, it spoke to me.   Amazing how a few years can add on perspective, eh?

For those of you who have not seen the movie, the basic plot is that there is this womanizing man in his mid-sixties who hooks up with a girl in her pre-thirties and they drive out to the family summer house where, unfortunately, her mother shows up unexpectedly.  Things happen, and he has a heart attack and has to stay at the house for an extended period of time. Hence, the ensuing romance between the like-aged main characters. They fall for each other but life, alas, always draws them apart into conflict, therein continues the plot for the movie. She was tense and unhappy. He was blissful yet, lonely. In the end, however, with much romantic fanfare, they come back together and it is, after all, how Hollywood has ingrained in us since birth,  we all will live“happily ever after”.

At one point in the movie he says more or less, that he has found that he arrived at being himself from hearing the same story over and over again. It was in this way, he says that “my life begins to add up”.  To me, it seems he is trying to say that it was other's opininons that shaped who he became. 

We live our lives, at most times affected without intention or understanding as to what or how or to whom things happen the way they happen. A lot of times we live in judgment and fear with our explanations held tight around us like security blankets. Many times, we avoid reconciling the events which displace us, in an attempt to ‘move past’ that which makes us sad or feel vulnerable. We live embroiled in the pain and forget to reflect on the bigger picture.

As a single parent, attempting to co-parent with my son’s father, at times, unsuccessfully, I see this idea of our human stories as preeminent in our development as individuals. How often I want to hold onto the story that “he just doesn’t understand” or “he’s selfish and impetuous”. But the truth is that, I live this tragic story daily out need for consistency so that I can remain the comfortable space of who I have become. That feeling is most often based upon what my misguided ego perceives as my true self.   But my true self does not rest in stories and in egoistic visions of my past. It is always lives unteathed in the Now. 

What an amazing invention to have at our very own fingertips. The power to reinvent yourself at this very second. Your thoughts create your reality. Choose another thought and your reality shifts.

My son is in the hands of someone who loves him unconditionally. And I am at peace knowing that there is only good in this world for him. I choose NOT to focus on the old stories. I know that, for happiness to prevail, something’s gotta give.

The Line Drawn in the Sand

As I learn more about setting good boundaries, I realize that it is less like drawing a line in the sand as if to say, "don't cross this line", but rather it seems more appropriate to see boundaries at the waters edge, where ocean meets the land. Here, the line is more fluid, dynamic & present. And if one can imagine that the whole ocean is like our universal source of Spirit then, perhaps we can also imagine that the place where water meets the land is a Spiritual place, a sacred place, just as we are Spiritual, sacred beings.

The more rigid and defined my boundaries are, the less likely they are to be adhered to or respected. The more fluid they are, the more I find them to be less offensive and more accepted.

It can be with my son, my ex, a co-worker or a friend, and the spiritual truth I discover is one of understanding & playfulness when my boundaries are like waves on the shore. I find it can be a spiritual feeding ground for the wildlife of my life. Rich with nutrients and vitality, littered with toxic baggage, and and generally a place of commerce for my spiritual vendors and shoppers.

Why do I resist this fluidity and grace in my decision making? Why do I resist the feeling of letting go and letting God?

I have an intense urge to control outcomes, I have high expectations and I am fearful of losing something I have. But, now I ask myself, "am I really ever in control? Do these high expectations serve me well? Do I ever really 'have' anything that I can lose?". If I can lose it, is it really mine in the first place?

Floating aimlessly in the sea of Spirit, or waiting shyly from the shore of Ego we can misplace a lifetime. A rigid line does no more good than no line at all. And that can be the most creative tool to employ: defining the line moment by moment, means creating a life lived fully in the Now. Whereas, that rigid line set one moment in time has long since lost its precedence the moment it has been drawn.

The older I get, the more I see that life is less about delineation of territories and more about busting down boundaries. Letting in the litter of life, the wildlife, the waves, the strangeness and the new, enlivens us, enriches us and most importantly expresses the Universal Oneness, Beauty, Truth, and Power that we are, as we are.

Bitch

 

Even though I had a great week, I had a hard day. I almost hate the world today. I feel like a Bitch when I say that.

Tonight I cried. I was a little relieved to do so. I am so confused. On one hand I am livid and on the other I am hurt like a child. I guess I'm a little bit of everything all mixed up.  Raw.  I am sure that life is moving on without me and that is infuriating. Why isn’t everyone else paying attention to me and what I want or need?

I looked up Meredith Brooks’ lyrics for her song, “Bitch” because right now, I feel like it fully explains how I feel.

The chorus goes: “I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, and I do not feel ashamed. I'm your hell, I'm your dream, I'm nothing in between. You know you wouldn't want it any other way.”

I spoke of the Coyote the last blog. Funny how we can immediately manifest our worst nightmares. So, it already happened. The feelings of unworthiness, falling for the same fucking trap, and then the self deprecation afterwards. Am I always destined to be the Coyote? Can I meditate myself into a new totem animal? If I go to a sweat lodge will things be different? If I do a 3 day fast on the mountain will my soul switch over from consistently insecure to somehow miraculously centered? Do I have to learn to live with what I have?

Meredith sings, “So take me as I am. This may mean you'll have to be a stronger man. Rest assured that when I start to make you nervous, And I'm going to extremes: Tomorrow I will change, And today won't mean a thing. Just when you think you've got me figured out, The season's already changing. I think it's cool you do what you do And don't try to save me.” Way to go girlfriend.

I want to say these things and believe it but the truth is that I am still a hurt, jealous, insecure, little girl deep down inside. When the shit-storm rains down, I am out there, crying, without an umbrella.

And today it hit me. I so wanted to play the victim. I wanted to blame the other person for how I felt. And then I realized, that it was my own reaction to what was happening that was really the only thing under my control. I am the one that feels hurts, less-than and unlovable. And I ask myself, “is this 100% true?” and the answer is quite honestly, “NO! Maybe even HELL NO!”

As much as my Ego wants to beat me up these days, my true self has been showing up and kicking some serious psychological butt! I am proud to report, that even though I fell for the same old bull shit that Wild E Coyote always falls for, I realized it upon entering the trap and went in anyways just out of curiosity. And frankly, the hurt isn’t as bad as I thought it might be. I am learning to handle the little disappointments a lot better. Things are no longer as dramatic as they once were.

Lesson learned: just freaking chill out. Shit happens and sometimes it hurts but that by no means that you are less than or somehow fucked up. Always, Always, Always remember WHO YOU ARE. Because you are amazing just as you are. And so it is. 

　

Roadrunner, Coyote and Peanut Butter

So after a year and a half of weekly counseling and countless hours participating in spiritual development classes at my church, I came to the realization the other day, that, if hit with something big, like, say, a relationship, I’d F_#k it up all over again. Why do I say this? Because the truth is, that no matter how much I practice mindfulness and no matter how many times I correct myself when I say hateful, hurtful things to my inner child, I am still ruled by the Ego and my Ego really doesn’t like me at all. It’s like my Ego is a Fashionista and wants to judge me for my outfit even though, the outfit is my skin and that isn’t really something I can crawl out of…

It was a brilliant conversation. One about how far I’ve come; how good I feel. Life was going so good. And I made an innocent comment about how there was this person I am interested in romantically.   And then I incoherently hemmed and hawed about how I wouldn’t pursue it because…. I’d be rejected or eventually we’d fall into the trap of unhappiness and control I see so typical of other people’s relationships, or because he was too this and I was too that.   I was already planning the breakup and I hadn’t even gotten to know if the person likes peanut butter or preferred cashew butter instead.

It got me to thinking about just how often I do close the door to possibility based on my fears. How often do I let my Ego’s Jackal intimidate me, distract me, and otherwise lead me astray?

So, what is the deal with my Ego anyway? What beef does she have with me?

Well, first off, she’s confused, big time. If things are NOT chaotic and sort of unnerving, she doesn’t really know what to do. She WANTS to create drama and exert stress. And as far as I can see it’s only to remain in the comfortable nature for which has become the norm for her. Since birth I’ve been left with the understanding that I am not good enough to just be. I was always left to assume what I was up because no one actually was present enough with me to guide me in a greater truth.  And it is certainly not their fault! Everyone else, in short, was being directed by their own Ego Jackals.

When I look up “low self esteem” or “inferiority complex” on Google, one definition catches my attention on Wikipedia.

An inferiority complex, often used to mean low self-esteem, is a feeling of intense insecurity, inferiority or of not measuring up. An inferiority complex can be seen in the negative or "useless" reactions to problems in life. These reactions are useless because they do not solve the problem at hand, but only serve to guard one's self-esteem by avoiding the task or by placing the blame for the failure outside of the individual's control. Although the inferiority complex may be seen as comparing individuals or groups as one being superior to another, it more closely describes how one deals with a fear of failure.

My mother the other day said to me, “Jill, you are so gorgeous. Have you been working out?” and I explained that I had been and that I do, in fact, feel amazing right now. The sadness and fear associated with last year has clearly made way for brighter days. She then said, “well, don’t F_#k it up! Jesus! This is precisely the point where you make a major mistake.” And she is right. I am not hurt by what she said.

A while ago, I researched animal totems. And the Coyote seemed to call to me because, while smart and cunning, the Coyote falls easily for the same gig over and over again. Think Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote. Yes, I am imaginative and resourceful but man, the freakin’ bird gets me every time. If you think about it, the entire premise for the cartoon was that regardless of what contraption Coyote could configure, he wasn’t self aware enough to see the simplicity of the Roadrunner’s solution to every gig he threw at him. And of course, we were left to believe that somehow, it was Roadrunner’s fault, perhaps in a devious and malicious way for which Coyote always ended up under a pile of rubble in the bottom of a canyon. But the truth is Wile E. Coyote was certainly a product of his own Ego, forced by his inferiority complex, he routinely put himself into challenging, drama-prone situations, to remain in his comfort zone. The problem solver. But, if he would just take one step back and look, perhaps he’d figure out that he was the problem-maker.

So, as my dear friend Pamela once told me, to sit in the uncomfortable silence of what is, I wiggle and struggle with it like a toddler in a Sunday best suit. If I could just rip it all off and run naked through the green grass I’d feel so free but it sticks with me like peanut butter on the roof of a dog’s mouth. That darn Ego Jackal is my Coyote Animal Totem and I’ve not quite figured out the buttons yet. There’s got to be a way to shed this suit for something with less of a complex.

Is it really as guileless if you stop to engage and simply just be with what is? It wouldn’t be much of a story….the Roadrunner and Coyote cartoon would it?  If, instead of trying to outwit each other they, instead sat down and just talked, would it be as fun to watch?  But, maybe the story isn’t the dramatic part. Or at least, for our own sanity, maybe the boring stuff is worth savoring. It’s like Russell from the kid’s movie UP said, “sometimes it’s the boring stuff that I remember most”.

My Ego Jackal is as afraid of becoming as irrelevant to me as I am afraid of being rejected by some cute boy. So, maybe, I could simply say hi and see where it goes? What do you think? The image just came to me of the dog licking the peanut butter. How in the present dogs are. They don’t worry about whether or not they slobber. They just lick and lick and lick until it’s all gone.

　
　
　

Juan Marcos - the Hippie Bee-Keeper

So, there I was, stranded, more or less. I had ridden some 100 km into the bowels of Mendoza and made a wrong turn. I was in the middle of nowhere and had broken a spoke. I was carrying about 25 lbs and I didn't have any tools that would fix my current situation.

I did find a little restaurant and hotel at the end of deserted highway, which literally ended in a few km because I guess a few years back they built a dique or dam and the road just stops.  That is typical in Argentina.  There was a fancy resort just up the road, but as I looked down upon it from my highway vestige, I could tell we’d not make a good fit; me with my sweaty riding clothes, broken bike and my seriously drowned spirit. No, down at the resort, they seemed to be having the time of their life.

So, as I pondered my situation later that evening sitting at my make-shift campground in the lawn along side the restaurant, I saw, much to my surprise, a cyclist riding up the road. He was in full cycling gear, an obvious sign of being “authentic” and I almost stuttered as he passed by me…. I yelled, “Hey, Che!!!” and he stopped. He turned around and well, all I can say, is the rest is Argentinean history….

Juan Marcos Guevara. A student of “sistemas y administacion” he was also an avid cyclist and bee-keeper. We made immediate friends. He offered to assist me, should I make it back to his town of Godoy, which was only about 50 km from where I was now.

He took off that evening for home and I went to sleep that night with a renewed sense of purpose and joy for my ever-expanding experience in Argentina.

The next day, I rode the 50 km into town. I found his home, a small, cinder-block structure, not unlike the others in the neighborhood.  He took me to a local bike shop and we purchased the necessary supplies. He fixed my bike. We spent the evening hanging out in Mendoza cafes and bars. It was awesome. I slept in his sister’s bed. His home was littered with dead bees. Odd, but somehow endearing. His mother?? Divina!!! She seemed rather elderly to have a son's Marcos' age; but she was very kind and had a youthful spark in her eyes.  I do not remember what was the deal with his father...

We rode to the top of Parque San Martin, which allowed us a view of the whole valley.  We picnicked among the trees. We laughed and drank copious amounts of this amazing wine, Santa Ana…. I’ve yet to find anything like it anywhere else.

The next morning we went to the Mercado where I purchased supplies for the next two days because he was taking me to his cabin in the mountains nearby. We headed to Valle de Upspallata in the Argentinean Andean foothills.

His cabin was more like a tiny house set in the most picturesque countryside. Here, there were wildflowers, bees and butterflies everywhere. We rode around town and he took me to his bee boxes which he had strategically placed all over the countryside. He introduced me to all kinds of interesting friends that I would have NEVER met had I stayed on the regular tourist route. I can’t even put into words the experience because it was so much like a movie that it still does not seem real to me. 

I find the comparison between the two cultures fascinating.  Here, in the US, we stuff our homes, garages, storage units, back porches and basements with stuff!  We have RV's, ATVs, VCRs, DVD players and more and more stuff than we possibly use in a lifetime.  There, in Argentina, they have less 'stuff' and maybe someone might label them as "poor" but to own a small house in the magnificent place is something even the "middle class" can afford.  Maybe it is because they understand that time spent with family and friends is more rewarding than a garage filled with stuff. 

From the moment we met, there wasn’t even a seconds hesitation that we were connected in spirit. But for some reason, however, the first night we spent together in the cabin, there was a little bit of tension upon deciding where to sleep. There were probably ten beds in the cabin. I insisted upon sleeping in the bed upstairs, alone. He honored my boundary with the utmost gentleman-like manner.  He was eternally sweet and trustworthy.

The next morning we went for a hike to the top of Cerro de la Plata.  Just a few km below of and with a spectacular view of the highest peak in South America, Aconcagua.  We celebrated our achievements, shared our deepest secrets, solved world problems and vowed to remain friends forever. 

We dined alfresco that afternoon in the courtyard of his little cabin.

It’s amazing to think that I was given such an insiders view, such a local’s perspective of such an impressive and illustrious and yet undiscovered and pristine region.

Marcos had climbed Aconcagua once before and was in the process of preparing to do it again. He’d later send me the pictures. I was quite jealous when I received them.

When I left Mendoza, I felt an odd mix of satisfaction and joy that I had not felt in years. I was torn by my obvious love for Marcos, but yet, strange aversion to him, as if he were like a brother to me…. I mean, how could we of had that kind of experience, that deep connection and not fallen in love?

The last night we spent together in the cabin, we wrote love letters to each other. I have not pulled mine out of my journal in several years. I know that it was sweet and heartfelt. But we left it there.  To be honest, this post makes me sort of want to dig it out.  I never saw Marcos again.

It’s sad to me that we’ve lost touch with each other. We remained in contact for a year or two after I left Mendoza via email. He kept saying he’d come visit me in Buenos Aires but it’s expensive to travel if you are not a foreigner. I understood. I left without saying goodbye.

I contacted him again when all of my shit hit the fan last year, seeking, I guess some kind of validation that I was acceptable to some Argentineans at least. He was gracious, as expected.   I miss him terribly. I can’t get near a bee without thinking about him. I wish him the best. He was one of the most inspiring, humble, generous, kind, humorous people I have ever met in my life. I wish him well. To Marcos, the Hippie Bee-Keeper!!!

　

　

　



　

　

　

So, Am I creating this, or is it really happening??

Perfect question for Science of Mind newbie. What is the answer? Well, I don’t know and I’ve asked a lot of my fellow SOM practitioners and yet I know what the response will be…. Hmmm…..perplexing.

So, instinctively, I’d jump to say that, well,  I may need to meditate on this thought a while longer until the truth emerges, I don’t have that kind of time. Nor do you.  Let's get on with it!!!

The SOM philosophy will say that your thoughts create your reality. But what if, you are not really thinking a thought, but rather, really surmising the reaction of a situation? What if someone says or does something for which you are simply attempting to define? What if that which they say is nothing more than a tactic to get a rise out of you?

Well, then, diving deeper, I guess I’d have to admit that we are all no more than mirrors to oneself and if someone said or did something that made you feel a certain way, then there is a huge chance that it is actually less about them and more about you.

So, let’s say for instance, that I feel I am in competition with someone, not because I particularly love to compete (because, honestly I do not) but because I feel a sense of pressure to “perform” from them. Well, if I don’t really like to compete, then where is the pressure to perform coming from?

Me! So, I am, in short, creating the need to compete because what this person says or does makes me feel somehow inferior, less than, in need of proving my worth.

If I go back to the principles of SOM, I will remember (ah! Remembering who I AM) that I am actually pretty darn okay without anyone else’s opinion of me. I am whole, perfect and complete, just as I AM.

So, why do I feel the pressure to perform? Why do I suddenly feel less sure of myself? What did they do or say to knock me off balance? And furthermore, more importantly, why did it affect me so much?

Maybe it has a lot to do with our own need to feel validated and loved? Perhaps we had some kind of unfulfilled need as a child that continues to rear it’s jealous head when someone (acting from their own child’s truth) says or does something that catches us off guard and reminds us of our pain. We try so darn hard to forget the pain. But it is always there. It is actually part of who we are, as this whole, perfect and complete person. Pain does not signify less than perfect. It actually only represents awareness of the truth of who we are.

I mean, if you are anything like me, you are seriously trying to stuff all of that childhood trauma, rejection, abandonment and dysfunction that was so real and present in probably, what, come on, realistically, 99.5% of all of our childhood experiences???

The more I share my winnings and losing’s with my SOM community, I find that I am actually somewhere right in the middle of all of the goodness and the shit. We are all pretty much going through the same darn terrifyingly, annoyingly obvious fact of living as a human beings.

I jokingly told my SOM teacher that I strived to become a Practitioner of SOM mostly because I saw her and the Practitioners as somehow living in this land of Milk and Honey and I so wanted to be there, minus my pain and suffering. Somehow, I wanted to be let into the Club!!!  She laughed, obviously. 

It doesn’t make it easier to say, “well, I guess those that suffer are at least as bad off as me, so therefore I am okay with that”. It makes me sort of melancholy that we all have to suffer so much.

 I know, I know, the Dalai Lama would tell us that we don’t need to suffer; that, in fact, it is our choice to suffer as we do. But, honestly, how many of us will achieve the enlightenment of his Holiness in our lifetime?

We have jobs, and children and bosses who don’t appreciate us, and crazy drivers, and grocery clerks, and thoughts of Armageddon! It’s all freaking’ crazy to think that we could actually be Zen about life when all of this shit is happening!!!!

And yet, science is increasingly pointing towards meditation as a tool for recouping some of our societal ills. Scientists have discovered that meditation can actually help one shift brain waves from the stress-prone right frontal cortex and move them to the calmer left frontal cortex where more stress reduction, more enlighten and more calm self-reflection can occur.

New iPod apps can actually help you with reminders on a daily, even minute to minute basis to stop, breathe, think positive thoughts and smile.

As we, as a society, grow increasingly taxed in our lives, technology may be one tool to help us remain somewhat civil and aware of our tendencies towards utter social distortion. But, we cannot rely on technology to save us. Real, truthful and authentic relationships will be, in the end, my humble opinion, that which saves humanity.

As a blogger, I realize how paradoxical this sounds. But the truth is, that no matter how many words I pour onto this digital paper, the end result is dependent upon the quantity of connections I’ve made. Real or digital, we are all really only just one click away from being totally alone. And that makes competition seem all the more selfish and vulnerable. Those who chose to perpetuate competition for a means of validating their own self worth will soon someday realize that it’s not about the win but about the game (of life) and how it’s played.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Feeling Sorry for Oneself

So, this last week I've been a little blue. It kind of hit me that perhaps I am a little, just a smidge, kinda, sorta, self absorbed. OMG!? Really?? Who here has ever felt a little self-absorbed in the past? Ah, yes. So, it’s kind of normal, right? Someone I appreciate recently validated some feelings I was having by saying, “yes, many people feel like that at one time or another” and I was like, “really? You mean I am not the only one?” Because, quite honestly, and I am just being totally honest with you, but at times, I feel like I AM THE ONLY ONE.

Yeah, I know that I am supposed to realize otherwise, but at times, even some of the minor, not-so-huge times, I feel quite alone. I feel like I am the only one who feels the way I do and that no one else could possibly understand. Then I go to get my nails done or I stop by a local coffee shop or maybe I overhear a conversation at the laundry mat and I then it hits me: SMACK! I am not the only one who has hard days.

Even my son, of a whole 3.5 years can admit when he’s reached his limit. Although, most times, it’s not a pleasant experience, we often make due with patience, breathing and lot’s and lot’s of choices.

It kind of hit me today; as invariably most of my posts do, that I, in fact, do not try to plan out my self-care scenarios. Today, I had a woman from the City come and evaluate my ergonomic situation at my desk. Most of what she recommended was common sense, but things I do not take the time to apply. Things like: take a break, meditate, breathe, move your body every 30 minutes, try moving your mouse to your opposite hand, etc…things that, really, we all should probably be doing on an hourly basis, but we don’t.

We don’t because we’d much rather stress that our Facebook page wasn’t viewed or commented upon. We worry that our timecard doesn’t reflect the work we’ve actually been doing. We wonder what our bank account balance is and when it will ever be higher. We look at web pages and pictures of prettier people than ourselves and think that we’ve somehow missed the mark or that we are not enough.

So then I stared to think about what it means to be self absorbed. Because, now, as a SOM practitioner, I am kind of confused. Online dictionaries would define it as being preoccupied with one’s own affairs, or one who’s limited to caring for one’s own needs. So, weird. Self absorbed doesn’t sound as bad as it did when I was 12 years old. Maybe for me, it’s like, because I was never overly self absorbed, but more often self deprecating, this definition seems a bit arrogant to me. But, for someone who has spent a lot of time pursuing and pushing their own agenda, this definition seems a bit dull and unassuming.

And think about it, either way, you are relatively alone in either case. Is that where any of us really wants to be?

When I feel alone, truly alone, these days, instead of fretting that I’ve become some kind of crusader for my own personal existence, I breathe and appreciate that very fact; then I open my eyes and try and find one positive thing in my view. Then I realize, that if I am seeing something good, that I am no longer alone, but that we are all part of that goodness. I try and see that good thing in my life and when I do, I realize that I, in fact, am not separate and alone but rather ONE and CONNECTED. How odd, that by feeling totally centered into my own being, I am actually connected to EVERYTHING ELSE!

It makes life a lot easier to live.

If others did this too, well then, why we’d have a veritable revolution!!! Imagine the idea of entering a grocery store where everyone was thinking that they were connected to one another. Or when you file your IRS taxes documents that the person on the receiving end is actually connected to you in spirit!

It’s not easy to do. Just today, I received a compliment and an invitation to hang out and instead of graciously accepting because I knew that it was ALL GOOD, I let my mind wander on the what if’s and how not’s and the whole thing turning out painfully disappointing.

It takes mental perseverance to achieve mindfulness. I used to think it took freedom from…whatever it was that kept you from being mindful. But now, I do see that mindfulness is really about SELF-ABSORBTION. Without total self awareness and acceptance you cannot and will never ever become the person you wish to become. Without surrender to who you are (absorbing the truth of what is) you will never be able to move into another reality.

　

　

　

I AM

Looking back at my year plus of blog entries I realize that I have used the phrase "I AM" quite a bit.

This blog has been, for me, a personal revelation of what I AM remembering about my life & what has shaped me to become who I AM, to that which I recognize & relate.

But today I sort of thought of how I spend more time thinking about who I AM NOT rather than enjoying what I AM.

When someone compliments me, saying that I am a good writer, I say to myself, I am not a great writer. When someone says I am a good mother, I will say that I am not a great mother.

Today a friend said to me, "Jill, I hear you always talk about what you are not, are you gonna live the rest of your life that way? Can you see what your are, that which is good?"

I struggled with this, I tried to justify what I was saying, I stammered at the moment she looked at me, feeling as though she expected me to say something about what I am. I just broke down into tears.

I find it so easy to say what I AM NOT but I struggle so much with admitting the good stuff.

So, for lack of anything better to believe, here we go....

I AM kind, nurturing, caring, smart, creative, mature, loving, beautiful, sexy, strong and financially stable. I AM a good mother, a survivor, a reliable employee, a trusted friend, an inspiring woman, powerful athlete and a forgiving soul. I AM that and so much more.

Today, I am going to start believing in myself from a place of wholeness, rather than living and reacting from a place of fear.

Why me?

As a newbie to Science of Mind I dove into philosophies of we are all One and nothing and no one is against me, but rather my experiences are all for me to learn, live and love the God qualities available from the Infinite Source of All that Is.

Today, I am asking "why me?". It is hard to be positive and open when things go wrong. So it is.

When you get blind-sided and suddenly realize that you've gotten yourself into a place that isn't where you want to be, how you get yourself out and how you treat yourself after is the most significant struggle; at least it is for me.

I mean, once I realize I'm in a challenging spot, there is the matter-of-fact set of things I need to do to be in a safe place. Leave, call a friend, call the cops...

Then it seems, my biggest lesson to learn shows up. Don't blame myself, don't beat myself up, don't judge or run to my old story.

Not easy to do.

I just read this Rumi poem that I can't remember exactly how it goes but it said something like love is treacherous and violent. It rips through you like a saw through new wood. Searing the membranes, tearing flesh and leaving bits of the whole body behind. That last part, actually is mine.

And maybe, as I write this blog and ask the question, "why me?" it becomes clear. Because I Am.

All I really want...

So funny.  I had a really fun day with my best buddy, Coco.  We went to the Ojai Wine Festival.  And it's been a long time since my mind has been thus clear.  And it's like when I begin to write, I think it is all so clear as to where I will go, but then as I sit down and the whole world opens up to me and I don't exactly know which direction I should go.  

As I write to you about my feelings and fear I realize that sometimes you are listening to me and sometimes you don't really pay attention to what I write.  And sometimes I am given good will and yet sometimes I don't receive any feedback.  I just keep chasing my dreams of being a "writer"; and only you (the reader) can make it real.  I pour my heart out every blog, yet, do you know how I really feel?  That is taken from Edwin McCain, 3 AM song that I hope you will check out and download. 

Steve Earle talked about the Wolftown Bridge where he wrote a song called "Halo 'round the Moon" and he lovingly talks about how the river has been trying to push "Gallway River into Gallway Bay for the last 100 years and Gallway Bay isn't cooperating.   And then he sings, "there's a halo around the moon, so I know it ain't to blame and I knew what love could do yet I loved her anyway, and I let her slip away and I'm all alone and blue and there's a halo around the moon."

 And that so much reminds me of much of the losses of love I've faced in my own life.   And how I so often approach new love or any new endeavor; from a bridge, across a wild river, with hopes of conquering something and yet realizing later that the river had no intention of slowing down in the first place.

So where does this leave us?  Well, my sneaking suspicion is that we are lost and left to the reality that surrounds us. 

I can tell you that it is not that easy to figure out.  I certainly like watching the waves bust upon the shore and the fog roll onto the hills and think love is on my side.  I see the homeless person beg for dimes at the main street intersection and wonder how he got there.  I love that the city manager shows up at community events to lift trash out of the riverbed.  And the train whistle blows and shakes my windows as it passes by.   Life is: quite simply: amazing.  And as, Widespread Panic so amply conveyed in the 90's.  Life is Grand. 

Watching people roll by and wondering where they are going.  And what 's your job and what do you know??

The truth of it all is that in the very moment that we belive we've got it all figured out it becomes evident that there is a whole other world of possibilities.  As soon as you think you know it all the world blows your mind.  What a magnificent gift to experience. 

And I know that it isn't always magical and perfect.  Blind Melon wished for someone to stay with them while it rained.  And truthfully, it's all we can hope for; someone who only wants to spend time with us even when the weather is foul; because the truth is that the weather changes all the time. 

My dear friend told me she wants to 'move on' to some place else that has "more for her" and I can't help but think of my gurus, Blind Melon, Widespread Panic, Steve Earl and dear ol' Edwin McCain.  I would, if I had the guts to ask her to her face, "do you think my my point of view is not sain"?  I'd share with her that there is no shelter from the storm.  And I tell her that love would hold no charm if it were not for the pain. 

It's 3 am and I am my heart is still dreaming.  Outside I hear the souls screaming, dear Edwin sang.  I think the truth is that no matter where you go, you will find that after all the moving and all the new shit that comes, you are nothing more than you, there where you are and that is the biggest shit you need to deal with.  Not your locale, not your boss, not your boyfriend, not your best friend, but you. And yes, it's kind of like how that dam river is trying to push itself into the bay; it's not exactly graceful.  But it's real.   

And whatever she decides, I know that I will love her.  I will miss her when she is gone but love her for lingering on. 

One Year Anniversary...

Happy Anniversary to me!  And what a special occasion this represents for me: a relationship with me!  For the first time in my life I can honestly say without looking down at the ground and shrugging my shoulders that I love myself!  I believe I am worthy of the love I desire!  Nothing and no one is against me; yet rather, the whole Universe is here for me to express and experience the mysterious gifts of Infinite Spirit (or God, Buddha, Earth Mother, or whomever you want to relate to...)

So, this last year, in my relationship with myself I've gleaned a few pieces of wisdom that I will carry forward with me... eh-he, now I'd like to share some of my thoughts with you and the method behind my madness.... I am not sure if many of you realize just how this post gets written?  It is, I confess, quite unabashedly, from a concoction of good music and cheap libations.  Often inspired by some random off-put experience throughout the week that summons a memory from my crazy life. 

Here is a starter: In the words of the great Bobbie Ferrin, "Don't worry, be happy".  And, from the Master, Michael Franti, "Everybody deserves love".  Both James Blunt and Nelly Furtado said, "You're Beautiful" and I agreed, finally.  And from Des'ree, "You gotta be bad, bold you gotta be wiser... all I know is love will save the day".

In the last year I created a home, grew a community of friends, gotten a raise and promotion at work, released a whole shit-load of my old stories that were doing nothing more than weighing me down and holding me back, attended weekly counseling, attended monthly personal development classes, improved and mended damaged relationships, maintained a healthy weight and more importantly a healthy body image, and continued to raise a pretty darn cool kid. 

I find myself asking difficult questions at times, like "was it all worth it?" or "would I go back if he changed?"  And to tell you the truth, I think I am pretty happy how things have worked themselves out.  I believe that, should I enter into another relationship, this time I honestly feel like my boundaries will become more relevant messages in daily conversation.  Not because I am selfish, but because I am worth it. 

Ziggy is a tremendous gauge for me on whether or not we did the right thing.  Maybe we could have done it differently, but the end result has done nothing but good for that little boy.  The fighting and the sadness was working on his poor little heart.  And at such and early age to have that kind of trauma!  Poor little dude.  Now, however, he is rather content and certainly adjusted to the changes.  He is, in fact, quite normal.  What a blessing. 

As I move into this next 7 year cycle of my life I am sort of deliberately focusing on some of my goals and wants and things I'd like to manifest.  The last 15 years I never really consciously focused on much of what I was doing with my life.  I think, however, the next 7 -1 5 will be very different for me.  Who knows what's in store for me?  Love?  Fame?  Financial Freedom?  All of it?  Let it so be! 

Just a quick shout-out to EVERYONE who helped me survive the last year.  You know who you are.  Much love and giggles I send your way! 

El Bondi

While living in Buenos Aires I discovered the joys of public transit. The Porteños lovingly refer to their local buses as "bondis" and more formally "collectivos". Knowing and feeling confident to ride the bondi's in Buenos Aires took some effort and memorizing the little map guide, however, gave this somewhat tentative, yet surely intrepid new resident a new found sense of independence.

It was before I had decided to "live" in Buenos Aires actually.  I remember the day I decided to "get lost" on the buses in an effort to truly learn the system.  Andres, the Hostel employee and new friend, suggested that I purchase a guide.  This wasn't as easy as one would think.  I went to several new stands looking for one without much luck and then realized that I had to purchase one from a local street kid on the bus or subway for $3 pesos. 


Once in hand, it was as if the entire city was there at my finger tips.  I can only imagine the first iPhone app for travellers to be developed (actually, Omnilineas sort of has), but for now, the old fashioned way seems to work marvelously.  If you  haven't used a map in a while, it might be a bit intimidating.  I know many of my younger friends who rely all too frequently on their smart phones might find it a bit awkward. 

I remember vividly, if you took the 152 line, you'd be taken over to La Boca where you could check out the historic old neighborhoods famous for Tango and futbol.  Or the 64 line was a quick one from where I lived in Palermo Hollywood into downtown, near Retiro.  I could take the 124 to Corrientes for a day of bargain shopping.  Or, if I had recently gotten paid, I'd prefer to head to Puyerredon, an upscale, leafy, tree-lined shopping district on foot.  Or, to visit one of my girlfriends and perhaps indulge in a little Argentinean-style bowling, I'd take the 166 to Villa Crespa. 



The truth is, I really and fully immersed myself in the lifestyle, culture and essence which is Buenos Aires.  In 6 short months, I easily managed the city via bondi, subte, by foot and even by bicycle.  It feels like a lifetime ago.   What I wouldn't give to be back there again...anything except Ziggy, of course. 

I AM, the movie

No, I don't have illogical aspirations of being in a movie.  I recently saw a documentary directed by Tom Shadyac (The Nutty Professor, Ace Ventura, among others) called I AM.  After suffering a brain injury and recovering he decided to go out and ask some of our global thinkers, leaders, philosophers, writers, etc. two questions: What's wrong with our world and how can we change it.  The film, inspiring, and at times a little campy, ends with the conclusion that by asking what was wrong with the world, they discovered, through insightful conversations and applied science, that, in fact, there is a lot quite RIGHT with the world, starting with me, or you or that concept of I AM. 

I AM is a major tenet in Science of Mind philosophy.  So, I, quite obviously was enthusiastic about the film.  It reminds me a lot of "What the Bleep We Don't Know" and even a little of "The Secret".  All three films have a scientific/mystical slant in which the ideas we humans have taken for granted as the basis for science, politics, governance, societal functionality are essentially blown apart and laid out before the viewer as if to say, "what do you see?" 


From this site.

When things are blown apart, the parts are scattered around, pieces shredded and things are left unrecognizable.  I mean, I have never been in war and I don't think I've ever, specifically seen things "blown apart".  Only images on television and movies, come to mind.  But I do have a pretty good idea of what it's like for shit to fall apart.  Science of Mind would assert that it is in this devastation and deconstruction that truth emerges. 

From my own personal experience, I would agree. 

Much of the music I listen to, many of the books I read, plenty of the people I speak with all reaffirm this basic truth: Love is All There Really Is.  When love is missing from the equation, it often means something is amiss.  Someone has run afoul; something has run amok; somewhere has become the reality of now. 

In the documentary, a scientist is filmed asserting science-based research data that shows that our heart outweighs and out-performs our brain in decision-making, reacting to different environmental factors and in the end, living our lives.  In fact, they conducted study after study in which hearts were able to predict outcomes with accuracy based on "feelings" put off by our hearts.  Our heart knows the simple, animalistic fact of nature that we are all united, connected and universally one.  Nothing and no one is against us. 

When things go wrong, and they will most certainly do so, it's not our responsibility to control the course of events to follow our perceived path of choice, but rather be like the leaf on the tree that flits and flutters in the wind of change.   Affixed but flexible, alive and connected but with destiny for other roles and functions.  And what's so darn impressive is that "fixed and determined" nature of Nature at present is the Absolute Truth that the only thing we can count on is CHANGE. 

So, in this influx of permeability, there is an under-riding truth of inconsistency.

Craxy Drunk Po$t

I have had situations where I regretted what I said or did. I, even most recently, have had my "late night blog posts" where I regretted posting what I posted the morning after.  My brother, with whom I seek the utmost respect and approval, has often expressed disapproval for my blog because he feels that personal emotions and feelings should not necessarily be placed out "there" for the total public to read, debate and discuss.   He thinks it's not really my "right to share" this information with the general public because they may find it offending. 

I can see his point of view. But then, my addiction for blogging takes over.  There is something magical for me when writing....  I feel totally connected and alive.  I feel whole and unique.  And I like that. 

Since I’ve started blogging, I've only had positive responses to what I write.   Maybe only supporters are reading my blog. Or maybe I’ve not mass-marketed it enough to receive true, unadulterated criticism. To be honest, I am not really concerned about it. 

In general, I am happy blogging. It serves some kind of need within my soul, whether it be connection internally or a connection to my higher source. Blogging seems to feed some need I have to validate my own experiences.

So, recently I was in a class for Self Mastery.  As a group we were tasked with surrounding one another and giving each other "love bombs" of compliments. 

As I let go and fell into the experience, my classmates seemed to become enchanted and began softly whispering various compliments. They said things like, “you are beautiful, you are an awesome mother, you are sexy and strong, I like your hair, your smile, your eyes, you seem intelligent, practical, etc…”

At first, it was very uncomfortable. In fact, I had a physical reaction where I began experiencing a throbbing sensation in my neck. Then, I noticed that my shoulders sort of curled forward all on their own and my hands were shoved into my pockets.   I felt nauseous.  I had a physical reaction to their comments.   I felt like I was twelve years old.


In a recent relationship class, we were asked to bring a picture of ourselves as children to share.  This simple activity opened up a new insight for me in terms of how I see others and more importantly how I see myself.  We are all still those cute, innocent, perfectly content children in the pictures of our past.  Yet, we all too often forget this when we behave like children as adults.

I've been in other situations in my life where, let's say, someone else has experienced some kind of totally embarrassing situation.  Instead of finding fault with that person, or taking advantage of their vulnerability, I often feel tremendous compassion and empathy for them.  I don't know if they can sense it.  I do it anyway. 

The truth is that we are all beautiful, innocent, smart, sexy, talented, inspiring, loyal and necessary. Without this truth, we’d be nothing more than the dust and rocks that scatter the Earth. We are, after all, human beings as Infinite Spirit incarnate.   We really are as pure in heart as a two year old but we forget it.  The Indigo Girls have this one song in which they say (and I am paraphrasing) "we are sculpted from youth, the chipping away makes me weary". 

We put limits, rules, judgements and expectations on things that need no embellishment.  Only openness and acceptance.  

And that is when I realize that the idea of ‘right to share’ has little to do with actual validity, but more with ego’s limitation of who one thinks they may be.    Ego can limit when there is nothing for which to limit.  I am not saying my brother has an ego problem for which he is limited in his mind and spirit.  I am saying, that for me, personally, sharing my gift, which is me, unabashedly here is all that I have.  

I am therefore, so grateful for the understanding that I am more than what my ego has defined me to be.   I realize I take on certain risks with this affirmation, but, quite frankly, I am open to the Universal Law of YES!  Just as an innocent child says YES! to pretty much everything, I am willing to say YES to life as I experience it.