My a$$ is beat.
(feels good.)
I walked along University Avenue this morning,
and felt into the jeans I was wearing. Wrapped around the contours of
my lower torso, I recalled how, over the course of the past five years, I lost twenty pounds of mass and then gained it back again. My body once more mimicking the curves of my twenties that I once found so hard to accept. And, I remembered.. these were Carson's jeans - back before she became he, when her and I were roommates on Alabama Street.
Now, the story about my eyebrows is on-going. Back then, Mario used the line "I like your eyebrows," just to get my attention. "I figured, if you keep 'em, then it must mean you like them" he said, as he told me about how he planned his pick-up moves on that Julian spring day. Four years later...
I've now got systems and procedures and ways for handling money holding the chaotic upswing of my divine feminine in its palm. It feels good, as I learn the nuts and bolts of a ma & pop's bookstore. Yesterday, I inwardly chuckled at how a couple I had shown Tibetan singing bowls to opted, instead, for a Steampunk Opera gun statue. I asked if they knew of SD's local favorite, Steam Powered Giraffe. While selling a man an Orgone Merkaba pendant, I told him about how Merkaba was, right that very night, playing at the Museum of the Living Artist in Balboa Park, which was where I found myself later on...
Maya was whipping out phenomenal sketches of a live, nude model, along with Antonio and Eleura, whom I hadn't seen since my birthday. Soon, we four found ourselves moving, shuffling, dancing and grooving, to the ethereal, other-worldly trances of Jesus Gonzalez on guitar, joined by Daniel on the sax, a cutie on the piano, Jon on the guitar, Margy on backup, and and many other singers, shakers and performers. As we all floated in that melodic and fluid spacetime together, Antonio hovered around my Queen Bee. His reflection was potent. Still hiding in the shadow of his brilliance, he fumes at what he perceives he "is not," all the while HE IS a Living Artist. Perhaps, it is as simple as this - MAKE YOUR LIFE AN ART. make your life art. your life is art. and, a work in progress... (though, that ol' adage has kind of gotten old.)
And, there's girlfriends, and walks along the beach, where a crush is talking on his phone, visiting artists who generously share their Souls work, and great food, beautiful people and amazing dancing. There's also taking breaks while sitting on a bench out front United Records where, the other day, I sat feeling how I've avoided putting myself here and the sadness for how I've caused self imposed suffering. (Ouchhh, that again... Breathe out. It's okay, deep compassion. ""I love you. You're doing great. Now, let's embody this lesson.")
So, who is my Highest Self? Well, she is definitely the One swinging her hair like a mad woman on a dance floor because she has to get it all out. And, maybe, she's also the quiet One who puts her head down and does the minimum waged labor, while focusing on the tasks at hand as the thoughts dart across her mind. Though, with a boss recently accusing her of being 'more depressed than normal' this probably is not her highest Self. "Depressed?" "Still?" "Or, is it really because I am a statue, like Victoria Beckham outwardly, and thus it is why I rail so hard against humans being like robots and zombies?" Yes, I see that there's a pattern here.....and I'm breaking it.
Because
I want to LIVE JUICY IN THE FLUID.
(Like Soul Sistah Nancy does.)
