"Do you feel stressed?" he asked me yesterday,
as he sat across from me while lovingly looking at my face.
"I don't really feel it," I honestly acknowledged,
"the anxiety and tension has just beecome a 'normal' way of bee-ing."
"I know it all shows up in my face, though.
In my jaw, and more," I say, sheepishly looking away from him,
a little embarrassed by his clarity at seeing me. It's uncomfortable,
this level of vulnerability and rigorous honesty. "I don't want to bee seen this way,"
I wave a hand in front of my face. "I want to wave a magic wand and just
pretend that it's great."
"You have to allow yourself to feel it all," he says,
repeating an epitaph that I have spent the past few years diving into.
It's a slow skin to shed, these masks of pretense: of light and happiness because
"I am this (white western woman who took advantage of an unsustainable monetary system that allowed her to travel, eat, shelter and educate herself)
and my life looks like this (fed, clothed, sheltered, educated, etc)
when it could look like that (rummaging across a great trash dump in urban India; living in the favellas in Brazil, or South African, or Haiti; etc)
so who am I to whine or complain or bee truly honest?"
"You have to acknowledge how shitty it really is before it can get any better," he advises. And I see a woman from a few years back, the weekend after I was told the Prosperity Hive was no more, saying, "It's okay for it not to be alright, Cara."
"There's this little voice here telling me that I don't deserve to admit how bad it is because then I am just 'feeding the negative vibration on the planet;' that I have to put on this visage of gratitude rather than bee forthright in saying,
"LIFE FU$KING SUCKS!"
Beecause it does -
sometimes.
Oh, New Age'ism - what a pitfall you can bee!
The thing is though - the suckiness can bee experienced as an inherent part of life.
And life on planet Earth is painful! There is death and pain here -
gravity sees to it. However, life does not have to bee experienced as long-term, self-imposed
suffering. This is always "the choice."
"If we're just consciousness reflecting itself," I said yesterday,
"then who is the "I" choosing here?"
He laughed in response, "Now, I feel like I'm on drugs."
"Yeah, me too," I chirped, seeing the fluidity of time, rippling in my eyes.
JUST BEE CONSCIOUSNESS.
Rolling with the claps of thunder,
crashing with the waves,
rising and falling,
tumbling onto shorelines,
eroding coastlines and shifting continents,
floating on the breeze, steaming from the core,
bubbling and oozing,
sinking and dying,
withering and graying,
puncturing and penetrating,
absorbing and receiving.
MEETING IN THE MIDDLE
of whatever is to come,
whatever is to come.
