A skirt's chaotic revelation of reality

I guess Christian Bale is quoted as saying that he learned that there's a certain character that can be built from embarrassing yourself endlessly.  He rationalized, that, if you are okay with that, then there isn’t much else that can bother you.  I agree.

The other day, I was headed to church, as usual, on my bike, in a skirt.  It is normal for me to ride to church all dressed up but abnormal to “do it” under general population’s definition of “going to church”.  Yet I do, each week, arriving in some kind of fashionable arrangement of dress, heels and bicycle that for me, makes absolute sense, since parking is an issue and I like the health benefits of riding a bicycle whenever I can.  But to others, I know, it seems odd.  And, well, last week, I had one of those moments that verifies the “other’s” perspective.

Here I was, innocently riding along to church in my skit; long, red, new, pretty.  I am usually able to stuff the length up underneath my seat to sufficiently arrive at church unscathed.  But this day, for some reason, the skirt, unknowingly to me, fell and suddenly I was stopped short, abruptly with basically 2/3 of my skirt now devoured within the rear brakes and wheel of my bicycle.

First, I looked around me to make sure no one had seen the “incident”.  Then, I tried to loosen the skirt from the unwavering grasps of the brakes.  No luck.  My skirt began to tear.  So, I slowly peeled my leg off of the bike, onto the street, so that I am now facing the bike, two feet on one side, skirt tightly and securely fastened within the rear brakes and wheel.

I bend over and release the “quick-release” (Oh Thank God for Quick Release Wheels!!!) and remove the rear wheel, thereby relieving the pressure on my ass and the skirt.  It was free from the rear brakes, but not from grease stains and small tears; essentially ruined.    And what was I gonna do?  Go to church as such?

The thing is, I am not so afraid to admit defeat in such matters.  Shit happens.  And, in fact, when one is pushing the bounds of society’s accepted norms of behavior, so be it!  Allow the chaos to ensue!!  And I will graciously deal with it.  Actually, I almost say, bring it on!!

But it brings about a thought about chaos in general.  I simply do not accept it in my life.  I retreat, retaliate, relinquish, and seek to relieve myself in every instance where chaos appears from outside sources.  Yet, when it comes from a pure and honest circumstance of my being me, I fully accept it.  Does that mean I am selfish?  Does it mean I am weak?

Henry Miller said that chaos is the score upon which reality is written.  And I love that so much because we all talk about what’s REAL for ourselves but, in my humble opinion, there really is only one TRUTH.  And in light of laws and love in this Universe, we are but mere specs upon the windshield, snowflakes in the blizzard, drops of water in the ocean…. Give chaos a name and place in your life and sure, it becomes alive, big, and dominate.  Believe that it is simply a part of the greater whole, then you minimize your damage.  You remain in stillness.  You go with the flow.  You are, in short, as Christian Bale said, in bliss, because you don’t really know anything else.

Wine from Orange Juice??

One day, after meditating, I was struck by a certain “truth” that seem inescapable:  Ego’s health makes or breaks my opinion of myself.  Further, my opinion of myself is either something I know intuitively about myself (healthy view) or is influenced by outside sources (imbalanced view). After conducting a bit of research online and in various texts, I have come to believe that one’s sense of self lies on a continuum, where healthy self-respect and inner self knowing can slowly erode toward self-insecurity and  vulnerability, eventually, if left unchecked will evolve into a self-absorbed, abusive condition that is fully suspicious of, yet dependent upon others and outside influences.

I've had a few recent experiences in which I  was witness to this phenomenon.

Wayne Dyer explains it this way: You can only give others what you have inside of yourself.  Therefore, to give love away to others, you must cultivate love for yourself FIRST. Dyer uses the metaphor of  squeezing an orange – asking you what comes out when you squeeze it. Most people answer, “orange juice” comes out. Why? Because that is what is inside. When humans are squeezed, what comes out of them is what they harbor inside of themselves. Harbor love, acceptance, joy, confidence, peace and harmony towards yourself so that you can radiate it towards others. You can only extend to another that which you are in truth.

And then, while in mediation, I realized the truth about light.  The speed of light, actually.  In physics, the speed of light is expressed as c  and is valued at 299,792,458 meters per second, precisely.  It is, essentially, the fasted element known to humans and is considered instantaneous.  Matter slows down the speed of light.

And in Neil Donald Walsh’s children’s book, Little Soul, he explains that light is all that we are.  Ok; bear with me now.  This is a spiritual concept.  But I think it has some merit.  I recently saw a documentary where a very hot and sexy English guy was traveling the US to find out what made us American and he was talking about religion and he said basically that if you think about it, cultures were formed separated from one another, with vast distances between each other.  They developed on their own, in their own way, but remarkably they all have similar tenets and basic fundamental ideologies.  So, we must have come from one thing… but distance made us think we were different or separate.

In Little Soul, one soul wants to practice forgiveness and another friendly soul steps forward to come into their next life to do “something” that would require forgiveness.  The friendly soul explains that in order to do this “not so nice thing” it would have to become dense and dark and slow down it’s light energy in order to perform such a heinous task.  Hmmmm…. Light, dense, darkness….

I think that everyone on this planet was given a ’friendly angel’ to come into their life and help them learn a lesson.  Maybe a few.

I know that mine has been one of jealous and fear of losing something dear to me.  Until I realize, on a very spiritual level that there is only one thing and that thing is me, and that thing is this idea of “God” acting through me, I won’t really be free from the constraints of humanity.  And this is ok with me, for the most part.  Because, right here and now, as a human, I get to be a mother of a wonderful child.  I am friends with amazing people.  I have the most spectacular family members.  I have been blessed with great love.  I have traveled and I have been challenged.  As an angel, what is there for me but chess while you await your next assignment?  Haaha

I have had a lot of people make me the butt of their jokes, use me to prop themselves up, walk over me, violate me for their own satisfaction, treat me as though I did not matter… but in the end, they could not take away from me what I truly know as my very own spiritual truth: I am that I AM.   Dude!  I am here!  Nothing can change that fact.  And while I am here, I might as well seek to find a way to enjoy it as much as possible.

Shallow relationships mean nothing to me.  Material possessions?  HA!  Status?  I don‘t think so.    But talk to me, look me in the eye, tell me your biggest fears and share with me what you believe to be the truth of who you are and now we are talking.  I seek not your approval but your soul.  It’s like the orange… I am not squeezing you hoping to get wine.  (although I do like red wine a lot) I am squeezing you to find out what you are made of.  I am interested in what comes out of you.  Not what you want to take from me.  Jealousy no longer has a power over me because I realize that there is nothing anyone can take from me that I am not willing to part with, and quite simply, there really isn’t much to me, expect light.  I dare you try and steal that.

One Night Only

This may be an X-rated post.  I would feel morally responsible for damaging the vision of any  Cinderella-esque fantasies.

In my whole life I have had a few of the so-called fairy-book romances.  Not one ever worked out just as I had always dreamed.  I often wonder what that must feel like for the ones for whom it “had been fulfilled“. Does that relationship exist?  God bless them if so.  I know that  I have had a long, strange trip, as the Dead would say.  And all the better for it.

If I could sit down with a young woman today and share with her the trials and triumphs of love, I’d likely share the following series of lessons.  Much more.  But here’s a start.

Lesson #1: Ford Tempos.  Intercourse in the front seat of a Ford Tempo (or any car)  is uncomfortable under any circumstances.  In the case the antagonist tries to assert himself, affirm your boundaries and request that he relocate to a more appropriate venue, like a coffee shop, where you can discuss, freely, under florescent lights, the reasons why sex is not an immediate need.  In this light, things become much clearer.

Lesson #2: Intoxication.  Young men under the influence tend to not make the best decisions when it comes to carnal relations.  It is best to regard their advances with general benevolence, but it is best to affirm a virtuous boundary that without the long-term promise there is no penetration.

Lesson #3: Crushes.  The guy that you’ve had the crush on for two years and finally decides to acknowledge you means less about him discovering you and more about him running out of prospects.  Hold tight to your lessons 1 & 2.

Lesson #4: Big Brother’s Best Friend.  Don’t ever, under any circumstances date your big brother’s best friend.  Even if he approves,  he will always butt-in and try to manipulate the outcomes.  It’s best to remain the “one who got away”.

Lesson #5: Traveling.  When traveling in foreign countries remember that foreign men prey upon foreign women.  When they say things like, “you are the most beautiful” or that “they have never felt this way” it’s really simply a cultural difference that we, in America, have yet to experience because most men have never really explored feelings beyond the penis.

Lesson 5 a: While in France, remember that they drink A LOT.  Their forward advances are nothing more than an indication of their intoxication; not about your beauty.  Look around you!   You are not all that amazing when compared to the millions of women around the world.  We are all beautiful.  

Lesson 5 b: When in Croatia, remember that, due to the economic conditions,  the many expatiates seems to think they can own, redistribute and confiscate all and any foreign properties at will.
Lesson 5 c: When in Austria, remember that studious hostel workers are really as sincere as they look.  Please do not damage their innocence.  Go to the cafe until the urge passes you.
Lesson 5 d: In Slovenia, all young men are generally interested in learning more about the language, but they are also interested in practicing sexual exploration at all costs.  Again, cafes are great places to explore your emotions.  I think that is why European cafes are always bustling.
Lesson 5 e: Argentinean men prefer the made-up, sophisticated, alluring women.  A lot of independent, strong American women do not succumb to their standard.  But if you were to express yourself successfully and then they want to marry you, be careful.  Mammitis may displays her ugly head. And she can be a challenge.

Lesson #6: Final Lessons.  As you age, learn to focus more on yourself and less on what you think “he” or “she” wants from you.  YOU are the only person in your life.  Even as a devoted mother I can say this.  As painful as it is to admit, my son’s life is HIS life, not something I have any control over.  All I can do is allow life to unfold as it may and trust that it was always be a blessing.  Curses only happen to shift us from the unreal to the real.

All the loves of my life have done nothing more than give me a better insight into my own light.  And without those loves, I’d not have discovered the beauty of my light.  And they do not create my light; it’s mine.  Yet, it is so often how we associated that feeling of love with the creation of light.  Yet, it’s always only our light that ever shines.  Even the love I feel between me and my son.  Our lights are our own lights; even as much as I wanted to control it and be the source of his light, I know that his light shines with or without me.  He is a beacon of his own volition.  How scary and yet how beautiful that is.

What lessons would I share with him?

“Your soul once sat on an easel on my knee.
For ages I have been sketching you
With myriad shapes of sounds and light;

Now awake, dear pilgrim,
With your thousand swaying arms
That need to caress the sky.”

~~Hafiz

All I can say for myself now is that I have had the privilege of love and the opportunity to test my theories.  I am grateful to all the past loves to have allowed me to come into their lives and experience the exhilarating ecstasy of love at its purest form.  And most of all, I am so grateful for the opportunity to love this child, Ziggy Finn Santos for all that he is now and know that all he is to become.

I will never forget the one night in which he came to me.  Long, laborious, painful and beautiful night of confusion and trust.  And then he appeared, so peaceful and beautiful.  He is the LOVE OF MY LIFE and likely will always be such.  One night; how it changes your life.

I am a Change Agent

When I was a young girl I would go to church with my mother, who was an organist and choir director.  As she practiced the hymns for the service, I’d wander around the pews and read passages from the bible.  My older brother had been teaching me new tricks.  One, was how to catch things in my mouth.  So I practiced with my Sunday school offering, a quarter.  I would toss it up and try and catch it in my mouth.  Most of the time it would fall to the floor and I would have to clamber under the pews to find it.  But once, it slipped right into my mouth, down the back of the throat and, slurp!  It was gone!  I swallowed it! 

I was sitting quietly as my mother played the last hymn that alerted the children to leave service and head downstairs to Sunday school.  She looked back at me and asked, “where is your offering?” meaning the quarter, which I had swallowed about 15 minutes earlier.  “I swallowed it” I said.  She looked at me and then her face went white with panic.  She stood up and called to the Minister.  Service was stopped and she called the Catholic Church, where my father and brother were in their own Sunday service and apparently, a lay-person had to interrupt the Priest in the middle of his sermon to ask him to notify my father that there was a family emergency and to meet his wife at the Lutheran Church immediately. 

All the while, I felt fine.  I wasn’t quite sure what all the panic was for.  My brother smirked at me when they arrived to the church.  My father was impatient and annoyed that my mother interrupted service so this minor offense.  “She’ll just shit it out!” my father sighed. 

Nonetheless, we drove the 15 miles to the hospital; I was admitted to the emergency room.   Our family doctor happened to be on call and appeared from behind the curtain, ear to ear with a grin that noted his pure delight in this latest catastrophe I’d gotten myself into.  Earlier that year I had fallen on my bicycle and well, I required stitches in a rather conspicuous place. 

“What seems to be the kerfuffle this time?” he asked.   “She swallowed a quarter.  Her Sunday school offering.” my mother pressed.  He looked me over, took my pulse, my temperature, and looked into my eyes.  “Well, there’s not much we can do.  I can take an X-ray to make sure it’s not stuck anywhere.  Likely, we’ll just have to wait until she, ah, discards of it naturally” the doctor said. 

Xrays were taken.  You could see Washington’s head and the date on the face.  My brother took them to show-and-tell at his school.  For a few days, my mother would examine the contents of my bowel movements.   My father told her that this was her project and he’d have nothing to do with it.  She gave up after a few times.  “Yuck!” she'd scream as she was riffling through my poo. 

We never did find the quarter.  The inside family joke is that I made change: two dimes and a nickel.  I guess we just never saw them come out.  And that is why now believe it was my destiny to be a "change agent".  

Shoes

I was recently awakened to the idea that the shoes you wear may quite certainly make the impression about you.  And, for a fact, I know that the shoes that you wear are important to the activity you are embarking. 

Take for instance my recent foray into 14 miles of back country where I wore a study, yet light weight cross-training shoe carrying almost 30 lbs of gear and within 5 miles my arches were not just barking but SCREAMING at the intensity of pain they felt with each step.  Later in the hike, a through-hiker on the PCT acknowledged that my choice, while admiral, was illusory given my load.

I remember years ago when I was a recent devotee to backpacking that I arrived at the trail head without the shoes required.  I simply forgot!  I had to buy new ones at the last outpost town and hope that they worked out.

When I was 12 or so I remember being ridiculed by a teacher because I wore cowgirl boots to school.  She belittled me in front of everyone saying, "what? you think you are going to clean the horse stalls?" and told me to sit in the back of the room for the class because she didn't want my stench to interrupt her.  

Every time I see a pair of sexy boots that I'd just die for I hear her cackling in the back of my mind and I move on to more sensible shoes for the urban set.

Yet, I often go outside my bubble and I see women, clearly not clearing out horse stalls wearing boots and other quite undignified footwear in the setting of choice and they seem quite sexy.  What gave them the godly right to walk around like that??  And why don't I feel the same about my shoes?

And then, it became apparent in the last year how my work colleagues began to comment upon my footwear.  It was often with surprise and impressionable glee that they commented on my latest pumps, high heels and sleek ballerinas.  It signaled, for me, a shift in my career from, doer to overseer. I used to lug these heavy Rubbermaid tubs of educational items from school to school as a Coordinator.  But now, as a Specialist, I get to marvelously sit in my office whist a staffer does the schlepping.  Has the change in authority and priority really changed who I am?

I have this one friend who wears ridiculously high high heels.  Well, actually there are a few of them in the office.  They all seem to balance effortlessly as they push buttons on the copier and fax documents. I've often fantasized myself walking into the office sensually with everyone looking at me as I pass and sort of acknowledging that I've got my game on.  It's yet to happen.  When I do wear the fancy heels, I am often barefoot by mid day.

Then there was the recent long distant trip on I-5 where I saw surreptitiously strewn evidence of a suitcase's entire contents.  And what caught my eye, more than anything else was the tiny little girls' sandals that were tossed along the cement embankment between the swift lanes of the interstate highway signaling much more than their presence as outrageous.  I saw, in that flash of a second the loss of innocence.  I saw the fleetingness of youth. The preciousness of the very seconds we have, when we, as adults, so unrelenting force our children into our schedules, that we hurriedly shove their tiny feet into shoes with abruptness and frustration.  And all they are doing is being young.

When I was 20 I bought my first pair of Birkenstock sandals because it symbolized a movement in my life.  It re-identified me from one identity to another.  I wore those sandals for years before they wore out their soles with defiance that I'd ever be anything other than that rambunctious 20-something who bought them with her daddy's money.

And daily, I find myself, shoving my son's feet into much too small shoes in an effort to be on time and quite frankly because I can't afford to buy new ones.  And he smiles at me knowingly as I shyly admit failure.
Sometimes the pain of motherhood isn't something you can walk away from.  

And shoot, here I was, 14 miles into the back-county in the Sierras with shoes that were not sufficient for me and I had only 14 miles to hike out.  What was I gonna do?

Walk out.  Just like I walked in.  The pain, yes, indescribable.  But that didn't make it into the Facebook posts.  No.  What was important was that I DID IT.  And even more, I did it regardless of the gear lacking, the companion lacking, the time lacking, the son, who was with his father, yet to be ready to do such a hike, was lacking.  The shoe choice, that I spent too much money one, was lacking.... I did it.

You know, it was funny because I walked all around the campsite, the hot springs without shoes, in the grass, among sage, rose thorns and stinging nettle without any issue.  I felt free.

Today I dared wear high heels to work and wow! the pain I felt as my yet-to-heal arches gave me warning that such shoes are not for the kind of girl I've become.  I smiled to myself as I walked comfortably between offices and copy machines barefoot knowing in my heart that I was never the kind of girl to wear them in the first place.

Shoes.  We talk of Jesus and the shoes he wore.  Or how it's a sacred practice of removing shoes before entering temples.  How the sick are washed at the feet of synagogue by healers.  I remember the first time I put shoes on my son.  It was a major transition between being completely helpless and dependent upon me and finally realizing his own potential as a human.  We walk upright.  That's what humans do.

"Stand upright, speak thy thoughts, declare The truth thou hast, that all may share; Be bold, proclaim it everywhere: They only live who dare."- Voltaire.  

Does walking have anything to do with being authentic?  Just wondering.  And how do shoes define that?

Indigo Girls' Deconstruction - Really... You need to read this!!

We talked up all night and came to no conclusion
We started a fight that ended in silent confusion
And as we sat stuck you could hear the trash truck
Making its way through the neighborhood
Picking up the thrown outs
Different from house to house
We get to decide what we think is no good
We're sculpted from youth
The chipping away makes me weary
And as for the truth it seems like we just pick a theory
The one that justifies our daily lives
And backs us with quiver and arrows
To protect openings
Cause when the warring begins
How quickly the wide open narrows
Into the smallness of our deconstruction of love
We thought it was changing, but it never was
It's just the same as it ever was
A family of foxes came to my yard and dug in
I looked in a book to see what this could possibly mean
Cause there is fate in the breeze and signs in the trees
Possible tragic events
When forces collide with the damage strewn wide
And holes blasted straight through the fence
The sky starts to crash the rain on the roof starts to drumming
And laid out like cash your take on my list of shortcomings
The show starts to close, I know how this goes
The plot a predictable showing
And though it seems grand it's just one speck of sand
And back to the hourglass we're going
Back to the smallness of our deconstruction of love
We thought it was changing, but it never was
Our deconstruction of love

Lonely, Alone with Me.

The other day I was fixing something on our bike.  I say our bike, because Ziggy and I ride this sort of tandem bike; where a little tyke bike is attached to my big person bike.  As I was turning this screw, I negligently pinched my pinky finger and it hurt real bad.  I screamed (amazingly enough I refrained from explicative’s) and I ran into the house moaning.  Ziggy followed me, all concerned and as I was applying ice and cool water I began to cry.  Sob really.  And without really thinking I cried out, “this is why I want a partner!!  I am so tired of doing this all by myself!  I want help!!!”   The tears streamed down my face and this sort of deep sorrow welled up from inside.  And I looked at Ziggy, startled and I realized that no one was coming to save me.  No one was going to help me.  It was just me.  And him.  It was us.  And that is the way that it is.  How long it will be like this, I don’t know.  But it is this way now and there isn’t anything I can do to magically to change it.  I must accept this reality.  And it was then that I realized just how desperately I’ve been seeking a partner.  I haven’t been seeing my real reality at all.

I mean for a long while there I thought that if I did my hair a certain way, or if I dressed a certain way or if I lost weight or if I did just this or just that, that I’d meet him.  The “guy”.  And I know that there isn’t really any “guy” at all.  I mean, sure, of course, I’ve got to remain positive and believe that he exists some place out there in some other plane, some extended version of my truth.  But he isn’t HERE.  NOW.  I am alone.  Siddhartha (one of my favorite books, thank you Johnny) explained that when someone seeks, it often happens that his eye only sees the thing that he seeks.  He sees nothing and takes in nothing because he sees only what he seeks.  Seeking means having a goal.  But finding means being free.  Huh... find???

I walked to the beach last night.  I’ve been sort of sad lately as this realization has been sinking in.  As I walked, I cried and I thought about my life.  Am I having a mid-life crisis, really?  I mean, am I really doing that thing that 40-somethings supposedly do when they realize that close to half of their life is nearly over? Am I assessing my life for value and substance?  Scrutinizing my friends and acquaintances with a bit of spicy envy?  Comparing myself to others?  Judging my experience based upon the latest Comso or People Magazine spotlight on every day lives of the rich and famous?  Am I really doing this?  Really?

Yes I am.

You see, I am not like most people.  And sure, I know you are saying, well, we all are unique in our own way.  But seriously, when I look around at others in my immediate circle I see people with family living relatively nearby.  I see extended families who go out of their way to help each other.  I see best friends from high school arranging play dates for their children.  I see college sweethearts, heck, high school sweethearts pawing each other in the grocery store.  I see good friends who’ve known each other for a long time.  I don’t have any of that around me.  I am completely alone.  And to no fault of anyone but myself.  I created this reality.  Through a series of calculated and innocent acts of defiance I have virtually made myself completely isolated.  The only exception is Ziggy and well, he's not even with me full time.  

I have memories of me, being awakened in the middle of the night, sobbing in the corner of my dormitory hallway by some floor mate frustrated with the incessant noise.  What was I doing?  Crying because I was lonely.  What about the time I skinny dipped by moonlight at Moon Dunes Beach in Lake Tahoe, alone?  Or the time I camped out in a thunderous hail storm in the Sierras, again alone.  No, that time I was with a friends dog, Allagash.  Maybe it was my 30th birthday when I camped out in the woods near Lake Tahoe and burnt all my old journals.  Or the time I went to Eastern Europe, alone. Or the summer I spent on a survey crew in West Virginia where we lived in an old farmhouse with no running water or electricity and during the day I’d be totally alone for hours under the ancient wild cherry trees of Otter Creek Wilderness, high as a kite wondering what in God's name was the name of our crew leader.  Or in Argentina, a city of 13 million, again, alone.  Maybe it was the time I took a road trip across 10 western states, alone.  Or when I’d go to music festivals, with a bunch of people, but they’d find me, hours later, tripping out, dancing, alone.

Are we seeing a pattern here?  I have learned that patterns are inherent realities of nature.  They cannot be altered from their organic state, but they can be modified or disturbed in tendency and form.  Their substance remains intact.  Am I product of my patterns of behavior or am I a pattern in and of itself?  Was I sent here to learn the life of living in such a disturbing pattern or was I here to disturb this pattern that was set in motion?

And you know the worst part?  People have tried to befriend me, members of the church invite me to all kinds of events and parties and even just to hang out and what do I do?  I defer, I delay, or I discount the invitation as bullshit.  Why?  I will let you answer that because I think I am too ashamed to write down what I really feel.

The truth is I am 40 now and I am realizing that I have made choices and gone down certain roads in my life that have led me to these consequences.  I see that I have traveled far from my path of origin and those experiences, certainly have made me who I am today, but have left me far from my home.  I am uncertain how I will ever find my way back again.

Again, Siddhartha said, “we are not going in circles, we are going upwards.   The path is a spiral and we have climbed many steps.”

So, for those of you who read my blog and then actually see me in person, please don’t mention this blog.  Don’t apologetically invite me over for tea.  Don’t try and take me in like a lost stray cat.  I hate cats.  This is a cathartic experience.  Putting it all on paper and then releasing it off into the Universe.  For me, writing is sacred.  Just let me be.  Let me sit with this for a spell.  Let’s see what I find.