Extreme Gratitude

preface:
Christine Stevens has been sharing her most recent mantra with me as we work in her Leucadia home where an Ananda Temple (constructed in Bali, with faux-gold lotus flowers forever unfolding on the ceiling, and then de-constructed and shipped here to southern California) sits in the backyard. "We're practicing extreme gratitude," she says.  So, I try to remember this and I attempt to integrate it into my day-to-day.  Yet, living is a messy, dirty process and, sometimes, anger and pain are a necessary woe.  Please bear with me as I learn to treat my fingertips more gently, as I continue to dive into space around me and as I, in my human-animal ways, seek to capture, shoot and catch these fleeting, ephemeral moments...

Now, back to that extreme gratitude.
Thank you.

For reminding me of the animal in my sexuality.
Thank you.
For illuminating my trapped animus.
For mirroring my own destructive forces and
strong opinions.

Thank you

for embodying

assertiveness, control and thoughtful rationality.

Thank you for the

compassionate strength you inspired in me.

I am awed.

I experienced

love

I tasted its sweet fruit

and I brushed against its sticky scent.

Compassion.

Compassion.

Compassion.

Thank you.

Thank you for your

masked sensitivity.
(It's written all over your bed.)

Thank you
for claiming what was ripe and yours for the taking.
Thank you
for diving into my primal, liquid waters.
It was instinctual.
It was pure.
It was a meeting in the middle.
Thank you.

Gracias para
todo.
Gracias para tu.
Gracias.
Gratzi.
Merci.
Danke.
Arrigato.
Salamat.
xièxiè.
Shukran.
Shukran.
Shukran.


It was what I want and have
needed
for almost half a lifetime
half of me rendered obsolete
now
my positive anima
reawakened
and a sweet kiss delivered
I can have this
animal desire
deep intimacy
honest communication
an authentic unfolding
trust
in whatever life brings
and a quiet knowing that
not only does the universe answer
prayers
i can and i do
manifest.
Thank you....

Sacred Sexuality and the Holy Whore

"Sexuality becomes sacred when the Goddess residing in every woman is honored. "
--diana rose hartmann

one week
seven days
one hundred sixty eight hours
was how long it lasted
my desire to explore
the sacred prostitute

one of the many archetypes
of divine, feminine essence
i gave myself permission
to forgo society's taunting calls
of slut, whore and sleaze
and to walk willingly into the fire
the burning inferno
of primal lust and passion
into dante's hell that yields
greek tragedies and spins them into
yarns of gold.

i was eager and willing
until
the sage insight dawned
i was already playing the role
my sexual love for this weak and feeble man
could be a path to spiritual evolution
toward the re-illumination of his energy, light, and expansive creative force.
i thought i could be
the mary magdalene to his jesus christ.

but time passes, lust fades and the ego nips
at my heels 
at my courage and my resolve
at 33
i have no desire to 
give give give give and give some more
to a grown man
who does not yet know how to love
who does not yet think beyond
his dick his self
his me me me
i i i 
 
i am not a tantrika
i am just a regular ol' human
a slight woman
looking to get by
on her faith and love alone
so, men, do yourselves a favor
DO US A FAVOR
go, figure out how to connect
your root chakra to your heart chakra
all of your chakras
back into one supple and strong spine
and then come back to us
come back and be
the magnanimous you
the God to our Goddess
the belly to our Buddha
the light to our dark
and the wisdom to our creativity.


Be.



 
 

hOMe

"Make sure the love you offer up, does not fall on barren soil."  --Dead Can Dance

I had been seeking someone to puncture my ego.
His non-chalant words and unreciprocated feelings did exactly that.
It wasn't as though his selfishness came out of left field and blindsided me.
The fact of the matter is
I knew.
I knew he couldn't really meet me.
I knew he didn't really have any desire to.
I knew the ultimate outcome of this dance.

A dizzying flourish here.
A steep dive there.
A grand embrace.
And a sweet caress.
Brief moments in time that would never endure.
There was no sustainability to be discovered in the 
lilting refrains and the shrill calls of pure, primal desire.
It hurt, nonetheless.

A week prior, I ran away to the mountains in an attempt to free my soul.
Already, I was suffering.
"Why was I planting seeds in barren soil?" was the lyric
I kept coming back to. 
"Farewell now my sister," he sings,
"Up ahead there lies your road
And your conscience walks beside you
It's the best friend you will ever know
And the past is now your future
It bears witness to your soul."

Amidst the pain and the tumult the aching questions
that I have spent half a lifetime running from
appeared clear as day.
What seeds am I hoping to cultivate
if I am continually planting and placing them
in rock-hard, barren soil?
What is it that I ultimately want to grow?
"For the wind cries of late
In the whispering grass.
Our way of life is held
In the spinning wheels of chance.
I believe in the ways of an older law
When we used to dance to a different drum
And we are changing our ways
Yes we are taking on different roads
Tell me more about the forest
That you once called home."

Home
at my core
and in my center
my immediate response
is to shout, yell and scream
Love
I want to grow Love
lovelovelovelovelovelovelove
so why then plant where only turbulence blooms?
Home
at my core
and in my center
my immediate reminder
is to cry, bite and shake
in fear and fury
I know not
feeling good
I only know
pain, sadness and discontent
its shadows are etched into my bones
its laconic lull pulls at my cellular memory
its putrid stench drowns my be-ing.

"Father teach your children
To treat our mother well
If we give her back her diamonds
She will offer up her pearl.
But I'm not bitter no I'm surviving
To face the world, to raise the future.
So why don't you tell me, come on and tell me
About the world you left behind.
Come on and tell me."

So I'm surviving to face another day
and I'm hoping to educate and meet
the fathers
who will uphold their end of the bargain
who will once again reclaim the wholeness
of be-ing that is theirs
ours
yours
and mine.
And I'm looking to get back those diamonds
because I want to offer up my pearl.

Ong na mo
guru dev na mo.

Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....







 

On Analytical & Meditative Thinking

It is what got him in the end. 
The same brilliant mind that kept his feet moving underneath him as he traversed airport tarmacs across the country, leaving rental cars at departure gates whenever he was running late for a plane that would take him back to his beloved and waiting family.  That very brain that encouraged wise, commercial estate investments, as well as created an abundance of material wealth in his own life.
In the end, he couldn't shut off the endless pursuit of economic possibility.
In the end, the "What if's?" and the "Why not's?" became mountains of insurmountable uncertainty. 
In the end, there was no reprieve to be discovered in the midst of Pandora's box.
In the end, only the gnawing, achingly-empty tinkering of endless thought pattern remained.
In the end, death became the way - the only way to quiet and to peace.

He had waltzed into my life only eight months before.
I did not recognize the great extent to which we were kindred spirits until I heard his best friends eulogizing him at his memorial service.  While overlooking a seaswept vista, they spoke of his boundless energy, and of his intellectual as well as human curiosity that drove him to both ask questions as well as stick around long enough to hear answers.  They attested to his honest caring for each human being who graced his path and of his deep connection to the wider expanse of world found around him - from mountains to stars and from sea to his family and friends.  He was adventurous and spontaneous.  He was fervently loved - by hundreds in that room alone. 
He was me.  And I am him. 
He is you.  And you are me.
And his fucking mind killed him.  It ripped him from us and from the pleasures of this world.  We can no longer revel in shared, sweet embraces.  His grandchildren will not know their grandfather's touch and his children will forever miss his generous spirit.  There are no more vistas to be spied for Al.  No more mountains to climb and no more excruciating beauty to mull over and to, once again, exclaim over, "Isn't this Beautiful?!"  No more glances of unconditionality between Al and his wife of forty years.  "She was his anchor," they said.  "And, he was her freedom."  No more weight, no more mass, no more fighting against one's nature just to try to stay afloat.  He's gone......
We're still here, however. 

And, at some point, it becomes a choice ~
what do you choose?
To die sooner,
or to live a long life of aching misery?

How about, instead, looking for a middle ground?
What about cultivating a dark, quiet, silent, still place
inside where all the excess drops off like melted butter and
all that remains is the pure, unadulterated you?
me?
us?
this
moment
now.
nothing more
nothing less.

You can do it.
I believe in you....


 

Daddy....

Friday, July 30th, 2010

"Dear, sweet Allan is gone," the note read.  "He took his life on Tuesday." 

The words leaped off of the computer screen and sucker-punched me right in the gut.  Dumbstruck, I dialed the number of the man who had introduced me to Al back in January.
Together, we sat in stunned silence

....................................................................................................................................................................
 
How could we not know?  He came to my classes.  He showed up in the dance.  He worked countless volunteer hours at the farm and he attended a meeting, or two.  Yes, he had said that he wanted to be more involved.  Yet, his jovial, hearty demeanor belied the simple fact that we had been facing a life or death situation, for months - and we never knew it. 
A devoted husband, father, and grandfather, he was also a successful businessman and a wealthy American who seemingly had it all - a grand home perched above the wild La Jolla coast and a life lived right to the 'T.'
In his note, he wrote that only a mad man could do what he had done - for his had truly been the most amazing family....





Thursday, August 5th, 2010

He found me. 
Inspired to move by the countless throngs of obese American children, he is impassioned to work towards shifting current cultural norms, from a material-based value system to a health-wealth ecosystem based on biological necessity [for touch, community, culture and natural resources].  My phonetic, last name had caught his attention while he was perusing lists and locations that detail some of the local food movement's comings and goings, who-done-its and where-was-its.  Over hot coffee on a glistening, late morning in Little Italy, we connected at the heart level.  Together, we vibrated on an interweaving future of communion, food, art, music, dance and culture.  Our shared mirage was a vibrant tapestry that carried all of us upon its back of an "economics of love."  We dreamed of a people-focused middle ground where relationship - to Self, to others, to planet and to sky - is the way. 

(Even as Daniel Quinn's voice echoes in the distance, "But, there is no one way, Cara." 
"Shhhhh..." I quietly respond.)

In banal discourse, he also shared one of his many skills ~  identifying talent when he sees it.  His eyes shone like sparking jewels as the words danced out of his mouth.  Instantaneously, I knew that the brilliance I was witnessing was merely a reflection.  Later on, in the flow of conversation, he cemented this knowing by addressing his young daughter and as to how she is a precious jewel who he wants to help teach how to shimmer and shine without guilt, remorse or fear.  

 "Thank you, Daddy," her and I whisper in our girl dreams.


Sunday, August 8th
(Happy seventy-seventh, Dad!)
Uptight and unable to let go, I judge others. Erect in their company, I do not seek their counsel, communion or smiles.  Instead, I create and hold on to storylines in my head.  I create unspoken expectations and reasons for why not's and how come's. I strategically plan countermoves and moves. I stake out some imaginary game. I look around to see who else is playing along and no one is playing along...
I wake up
on Monday morning,

August 9th
There is pain in the center of my chest.  My heart chakra hurts. Tension and fear have seemingly become trapped in the space in front of and above my sternum.  I'm suffering.
I try to present myself back into an environment that no longer feels supportive or good.  This time around though, instead of fighting, I take flight.  I seek solace in the enlivening arms of a local healer.  With touch, massage, hot water, heat and physical exertion, he wrestles the blocked energy from my legs, thighs, arms and shoulders.  In my left quadricep, he unravels the stored e-motion of Allan's passing.   I heave.  I want to release the torrent of unbridled sadness but I
don't
quite
let
it
go.
Nonetheless, I immediately recognize the gift that Al was - a reminder that, sometimes, one has to let go of the container, especially when continued pain ensues. 
I can do this.

(Thank you, Daddy.)

Gifts from me to you and you to me and me to me and on and on...

Are coincidences really an accident? Or, is there such a thing as divine law?  Is some invisible hand continually guiding our fates as we traverse along this road called life?  If so, could it be our own?
I don't know. 
And, I'm certainly not here to debate science or religion. 
Rather, what I have been doing is really, finally trying to listen.  "What am I saying?  And, what intentions am I putting out into the world?" was where I chose to begin.
Back in early June, I overheard myself saying two things.  The first was about how I wanted "summer loving."  Initially, I was only halfheartedly implying it to both my friends and myself.  Then, on a Friday night, my lovely friend Chris stroked the right side of my body as I lay fully extended on a dance studio floor.  My dormant sexual desires enlivened at his touch as my senses tingled and glistened.  It was in that precise moment, when the voice of my bodymindspirit spoke directly to my heart: "You deserve sexual healing and touch, Cara."
Right.
Yes, I do. 
Thus, I began to truly honor this intention of mine.  "I want summer loving," was the mantra.  The following week, while pulling off of University Avenue and onto 28th Street in order to park my car, I had a premonition that the tall, dark and handsome man (who has been saying that he will come to my class for the past two months), would be in attendance.  Rather, it was another tall, dark and handsome man who showed up, expressing that he was there to "learn and grow."  (How sexy is that?!)  Having known him for the past year, I took advantage of the trust that had already grown between us as I kept pulling him up and into contact, teaching him a few moves here and there.  Together, we simply enjoyed the early summer evening.  By its very nature, Contact Dance is inherently sensual.  As a result, this younger man pressed for more after the clock had struck midnight.  Instead, we agreed upon a shared dinner for that Sunday.
The second statement that I had recently overheard myself lamenting about was as to how "very few people actually invite me in (to their homes and their lives) in an attempt at getting to know me."  On that Sunday, while strolling in between the residential streets of downtown Encinitas during the interim between dance church and my Sunday evening dinner date, a community member drove by.  He rolled his box-like vehicle to a stop, and called me over to the driver side window.  "I just came from Seaside Market.  Wanna come over for a bite?" he inquired.  Initially, I looked the gift horse right in the mouth.  "No, thanks," I replied.  Instead, I was choosing to do what I always do ~ spend good, quality time alone and in the company of myself.  "Wait!" my bodymindspirit screamed.  "What were you just saying the other day?" I inquired.  So, instead of following my same comfortable and reliable path, I took a risk and walked over to his nearby home.  "I changed my mind," I sweetly cooed as I walked into his frontyard garden.
Although my first intention was not made manifest in these moments or with either of these gentleman, what was manifested was my ability to speak, listen to and honor my intentions (no matter how superfluous or, even, superficial they may seem) as well as to respond in the moment(s) when the universe was seemingly collaborating, offering and answering these intentions. 
Since then, I have been working at continuing to hone these abilities and, I must confess, my knack for recognizing synchronicity when it is happening, right now, has become spot on.  I've gotta say that my timing, of late, is red hot! 
YESSSssssssssssssssssss....

Oh yeah, and I did receive some of that summer loving that I was asking for.
Good thing summer isn't over yet.  ; )

I hope you're getting some, too.

The Party

For years, I was tightly wound and unable to let go and just dance.  Like a caged tiger, I felt trapped within this bodyMIND of mine.  My spirit withered as it was seemingly held down by flesh and bone.  My expansive energy contracted as I felt suffocatingly contained by cells and tissue.  With my lifeforce parched and nearly decimated, I perceived life as simply a brutal game of suffering and spite.  I saw no reprieve, no way out - other than the vanquishing of this flame and the release from this human container back into Great Spirit.  The thought of death was a solace, of sorts.  I wasn't suicidal, by any means.  But I certainly was not happy, content or fulfilled.  In fact, I felt very little.  And, it is this numb, void-like experience that, I think, characterizes depression.

Deeply fearful of loving and of being loved and hugely afraid of being rejected and denied, I refused to take those necessary emotional risks that define all of our lives.  Those high-stake gambles that might lead to lessons learned, experiences accrued, painful falls or my simply looking like the fool.  Day after day and week after week, I chose to stay in.  I refrained from moving forward into the great expanse of the unknown.  As a result, I suffered greatly.  Not even the convenience of technology could save me from my own self-imposed misery.

For years, I languished in this state.  My own personal crisis did not hit until I, finally, allowed myself to feel.  It was only when I tried to plunge head first into LOVE that this great well of repressed emotion cracked.  A tidal wave that, for years, had been gaining momentum and mass was unleashed.  It broke me open - tearing, pushing, pulling, clawing its way through the havoc of my weary soul.  And yet, regardless of the tumult and turmoil that ensued, regardless of the food that I could not eat, the time that I could not enjoy, and the tears that copiously fell from my eyes, I was grateful.  For I was, once again, feeling, sensing, experiencing and tasting what it means to be human and fully present to the messy dirtiness of process.  Although the tunnel was certainly dark, I most definitely perceived a light at the end of it.  For, finally, I had broken on through.  It was only a matter of time before I reached that proverbial other side.

Now, this phase of my existence is but a distant memory.  I no longer know that Cara.  She is gone, receded to the far corners of my highest good.  Nonetheless, I remain diligent.  Like a cat prowling in the shadows, this beast of burden lurks awaiting for an opportunity to once again seize my fallible humanity.  As recourse, I hone an ability to keep coming back to my own center, regardless of what life throws at me along the way.  I must sow the seeds of a heart-centered practice that both feeds and sustains me, even in times of great desperation and fervent hunger.  My very life depends on it.

Years ago, a classmate chastised me.  "You are not trapped, Cara," Ros quipped.  "This is the party."  Pffff... I had no fucking clue what she was talking about.  Certainly, she must have been the mad one.  And, yet, here I am this Cara, a woman who now understands what Ros was getting at.  For this time, now, this being human, is how and when we get to hold each other and taste each others sweet kisses.  It is when we can embrace the glory of a sunrise and gaze upon the voluptuousness of the moon.  It is when we smell the wafting aroma of a fresh baked apple pie and when we sense the coming joy of a baby's new arrival.  This time, now, is when we FEEL.  Yes, sometimes these feelings are deeply painful and cut through us like the sharpest of swords.  Yes, sometimes we fall, get tripped up, are blatantly stopped and told "No."  Sometimes, this being humans hurts - deeply, profoundly.  And yet, without this bitterness, without the remorse and the loss, would we know the sweetness of joy and this ecstasy of Be-ing?