What the events of that tumultuous Thursday reminded me of was that the play I engage in, every Friday and Tuesday night as well as every Sunday morning, is not just for trivial pursuit. It is work, as well as play. It is honing instinct and refining basic survival skills. It is remembering to breathe - in this moment, now - so that I am as fully attuned as to what may happen in the next instant as I possibly can be.
It is about practicing feeling, and sensing - going with my own potent flow yet, ever ready just in case someone pulls in front of me and proceeds to endanger his or her own life. It is about intuiting the moment so that I do not find myself caught up in harm's way, unable to make the quick decisions I need to make in order to, quite possibly, save my own life. Yes, it is about survival.
Granted, I am simply referring to Darwinian thought. As his theory tells it, we are all here to ensure that our species survives. Therefore, we come with an innate ability to both protect ourselves as well as find a means to continue existing. Yes, and we live in a culture and a society where, I would argue, these basic, biological skills are being bred out of us. For decades now, our parents, their parents, and even us, have been buying into the idea that it is through the consumption of things outside of ourselves - cars, weapons, education, pharmaceuticals, "God," et al - that we will be "saved."
We have been led to believe that the voices of others - doctors, teachers, politicians, pastors, etc - are far more knowledgeable about us than we ourselves are. And this, my friends, is how capitalism flourishes. For, if we truly honored the fact that we each harbor the deep, embodied intelligence of how to nourish and thrive now then we wouldn't need to keep consuming more. More pain relievers, "safer" vehicles (is there such a thing?), more yoga classes, a bigger home, more borders, fences, and gates, more space and distance, more between you and me and more between us and this Earth.
More separation between.
This is what our civilization sells us, on a moment-by-moment basis. The false notion that we are each separate and distinct and that the only way to maintain this divide is by purchasing the same clothing (Ed Hardy, anyone?), the same media (Where's your iPhone?) and the exact same identity - a 21st century global consumer - as your friends, neighbors and fellow citizens. We are buying ourselves into a disembodied grave.
So, I decided to teach, "Listening and Responding," in class this past Tuesday night. After all, in some moments, it will not matter how deep your extension is, how graceful your turn, how gorgeous your body or how smooth you execute your routine. All that will matter is that you were listening, and that you responded quickly. The intelligence of your response will dictate what comes next - be that, imminent death; drawn out torture; a painful existence; a nasty bump; a deep bruise; soulful living; or ecstatic celebration. The choice is up to you.
Listen, my friends ~
What does the heart of your bodymindspirit say?
Come, practice this sacred art ~ of listening and responding.
Refine your skills and hone your instincts.
Remember what it is that makes you human, and rejoice!
For, time is now of the essence.
(As I assume that you, too, have been feeling the Earth shaking under your feet?
The shift is here.
Be prepared.)
Showing posts with label embodiment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label embodiment. Show all posts
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
test response 2
I, however, always like to investigate and probe
deeper
further.
I like to look
for meaning.
(why not? how else do we have to spend our time?)
I was a writer before I was a reader.
At ten years of age, I was already working on my first novel -
some fictional, coming-of-age story about a prepubescent girl
whose life was way more intriguing than my own mid-class,
suburban lifestyle. "Nikki's Life," was comprised of a few chapters and
copious pages of notes before it was shelved, forever to remain a
captive member on my bookshelf.
It was only in high school when I developed my thirst for reading.
Truth be told, it was Danielle Steel novels, tales of romance on the high seas and
unrequited love in distant lands, that captured my attention
and had me seeking out more
stories, more tales, more travel,
more adventure, more more more...
At twenty-three years of age and on the dawn of the new century,
I was to be found in the epic and lush New Zealand backcountry.
Relishing in the western opportunity to feed some of my desires,
I hitchhiked, backpacked and camped my way across the land.
At the beginning of this journey, I carried a beat up copy of Paolo Coehlo's
The Alchemist with me.
Paolo's typed words echoed deeply within my short frame.
At the time, I didn't know what any of it meant.
All I knew was that this story, this book, this collective myth being told
resonated.................................
Coehlo's timeless tale told of one human being's searching for and manifesting of
his own personal legend - that is, what a person has always wanted to accomplish
in his or her own life.
"Everyone, when they are young, knows what their Personal Legend is.
At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible.
They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything
they would like to see happen to them in their lives.
But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will
be impossible for them to realize their Personal Legend."
Coelho's protagonist follows his path, toward the greatness he has always
dreamed for himself and is initially greeted with very little resistance.
"Every search begins with beginner's luck," Coelho's philosopher espouses.
"And, every search ends with the victor being severely tested."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
deeper
further.
I like to look
for meaning.
(why not? how else do we have to spend our time?)
I was a writer before I was a reader.
At ten years of age, I was already working on my first novel -
some fictional, coming-of-age story about a prepubescent girl
whose life was way more intriguing than my own mid-class,
suburban lifestyle. "Nikki's Life," was comprised of a few chapters and
copious pages of notes before it was shelved, forever to remain a
captive member on my bookshelf.
It was only in high school when I developed my thirst for reading.
Truth be told, it was Danielle Steel novels, tales of romance on the high seas and
unrequited love in distant lands, that captured my attention
and had me seeking out more
stories, more tales, more travel,
more adventure, more more more...
At twenty-three years of age and on the dawn of the new century,
I was to be found in the epic and lush New Zealand backcountry.
Relishing in the western opportunity to feed some of my desires,
I hitchhiked, backpacked and camped my way across the land.
At the beginning of this journey, I carried a beat up copy of Paolo Coehlo's
The Alchemist with me.
Paolo's typed words echoed deeply within my short frame.
At the time, I didn't know what any of it meant.
All I knew was that this story, this book, this collective myth being told
resonated.................................
Coehlo's timeless tale told of one human being's searching for and manifesting of
his own personal legend - that is, what a person has always wanted to accomplish
in his or her own life.
"Everyone, when they are young, knows what their Personal Legend is.
At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible.
They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything
they would like to see happen to them in their lives.
But, as time passes, a mysterious force begins to convince them that it will
be impossible for them to realize their Personal Legend."
Coelho's protagonist follows his path, toward the greatness he has always
dreamed for himself and is initially greeted with very little resistance.
"Every search begins with beginner's luck," Coelho's philosopher espouses.
"And, every search ends with the victor being severely tested."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
test response 1
Colleen laughs off my philosophic inquiry with her big sister chagrin.
"There is no message, Cara," she heartily chuckles.
"It's just life."
Yes, indeed - life in the fast lane...
It's scary, turbulent and you never know what is going to come your way.
Best we can do, I figure, is try to listen and respond,
with lightning quick reflexes,
to both the miracles and the tragedies of an unfolding nature.
.........................................................................................................................................
"There is no message, Cara," she heartily chuckles.
"It's just life."
Yes, indeed - life in the fast lane...
It's scary, turbulent and you never know what is going to come your way.
Best we can do, I figure, is try to listen and respond,
with lightning quick reflexes,
to both the miracles and the tragedies of an unfolding nature.
.........................................................................................................................................
Testing, Testing 1, 2, 3
YESTERDAY, Thursday, June 17th, 2010
1.) I had arrived.
It was 11:30am on the clock and I was almost en route, with my mentor and friend Mel Lions, to sign a ~5 acre lease on the Roots@Suzie's Educational Farm Center - an exciting business opportunity for our 501(c)3 non-profit organization. After rolling with the punches of turbulent change that both the past winter and spring brought with them, the day's arrival of a major goal collectively accomplished loomed big and bright on the horizon.
Mel and I greeted one another with our usual, familiar hug outside the front door of his 100-year old University Heights home. Then, an unfamiliar North County number rang my cell phone.
"Hello, Cara," the woman's voice on the other end said.
"Your mother has been admitted to the ER at Tri City Hospital."
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
this is me
flat lining eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
1.5.) I have never handled my parents impending mortality well. In high school, my older father suffered chest pains at home and had to be transported to the hospital via an ambulance. Instead of tending to him beside my nurse mother, I lost all control of my emotions and had to remove myself from the scene. Years ago, while visiting family and friends in NYC, my mother took a tumble down a narrow staircase in the old brownstone hotel we were staying in. Fortunately, my aunt was present to tend to her sister as I was of no help. Once again, I was overcome with emotion, nausea and panic. True to form, I behaved as the baby of the family that I am.
2.) Yesterday, as I made the half-hour commute back the way I had come, my stomach was in my throat and my mind was racing as fast as the rush-hour traffic surrounding me on the Interstate 5. Thoughts of guilt and shame, for not being a good enough daughter and for causing my mother undue stress, rocked my innards while I tried to remind myself: "This isn't about you, Cara." I haphazardly dialed the warm voices of friends. Unfortunately, little can soothe the rush of an all-consuming wild fire.
Carol Ann was conscious and not critical but very sick. She was purging from every end, breaking out in a cold sweat and rocking in pain. My father and I spent all afternoon there in the ER with her. Frequently, my mother was rolled out of her cubicle on a gurney, pushed back and forth between a barrage of tests and invasive procedures. A cyst was discovered in each ovary, her stomach and the lymph nodes running up the center of her chest were inflamed.
2.5) In my moments of panic, I also dialed my ex-boyfriend of four years. He loves my mother and I knew that she would enjoy a visit from him there in the ER. There is much laughter between them and he credits my mother with having given him new life when he was physically suffering from his own self-induced misery. He was provided a lift to the hospital by an employee of his, which meant that I had to provide him with the ride back home later on.
3.) After waiting around the hospital for the day, moving back and forth between the waiting room, the outdoor patio area and the ER, it was time to once again head south. During the drive, my ex-boyfriend behaved as he usually does - high strung, unable to relax and words dripping, on and on in an endless barrage, from his mouth. Usually, his spoken thoughts leave me feeling worse than I already do. This occasion was no different as he was speaking of the "gorgeous dancer" who he has a crush on, how he'll make her fall in love with him and how we would quit his bad behaviors upon her commands. (Insert grossly annoyed face with tongue sticking out of mouth here.)
Instead of driving toward the Vietnamese dinner that he requested, I made a beeline for his Clairemont home - the same one I had shared with him for two years and just moved out of last summer. "I can't be your friend," I said. "Thank you for coming to visit my mother. I really appreciate it, but being in your company right now is only making me feel worse." True to his patterns, he began reaching out and trying to touch me, attempting to beg his way into my staying. Unlike my typical habits, I remained true to my resolve - I deserve better than this. So, I dropped him off, said a brief "Hello" to our dogs and left. Nonetheless, yet another experience for this day was extracting a high price on my bodymindspirit.
3.5) Emotionally I felt extremely taxed and very near a familiar breaking point. Conversations with friends could not quite alleviate my upheaval. However, unlike my typical patterning, I chose to focus on my work and on the plethora of writing that I must complete (I am working on my first major body of work). Yes, I questioned if this choice of mine was selfish but what there to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs? Instead, I focused my swirling and dissipated energy and, damn, what a remedy it was! "My work" grounded and centered me. It was truly that simply.
Around 10pm, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. It was time to head home and straight into bed. Again, I was driving north on the I-5. I was in the fast lane, doing maybe 75mph when a black, Mercedes sedan with tinted windows sped past me in the carpool lane to the left pushing 90mph, if not more. The mystery vehicle was barely two full car lengths ahead of me when it somehow lost control, swerved into my lane and completed at least eight full revolutions, or doughnuts, there on my side of the freeway. For one brief second, I was speeding into a head-on collision. In quick response, I violently swerved the car I was driving into the three lanes to my right. Fortunately, there was no one driving around or near me at this point. There was, however, a white vehicle at least four car lengths behind me that slowed down and put on its high beams when it noticed my erratic behavior. For at least one full minute in time, I watched as the speeding Mercedes careened and spun out of control, headed in god know's what direction, as I remained calm, cool and collected behind the driving wheel. The smell of burning rubber and metal filled my nostrils while plumes of its thick smoke danced inside the car with me.
I pulled over, off of the Via de la Valle exit. My whole body was shaking violently, I screamed my fears out and I acknowledged the fact that I almost ended up right where I had spent most of the day - in the ER.
holy
fucking
shit.
So, there's a message here, right?!?!!!?!
1.) I had arrived.
It was 11:30am on the clock and I was almost en route, with my mentor and friend Mel Lions, to sign a ~5 acre lease on the Roots@Suzie's Educational Farm Center - an exciting business opportunity for our 501(c)3 non-profit organization. After rolling with the punches of turbulent change that both the past winter and spring brought with them, the day's arrival of a major goal collectively accomplished loomed big and bright on the horizon.
Mel and I greeted one another with our usual, familiar hug outside the front door of his 100-year old University Heights home. Then, an unfamiliar North County number rang my cell phone.
"Hello, Cara," the woman's voice on the other end said.
"Your mother has been admitted to the ER at Tri City Hospital."
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
this is me
flat lining eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
1.5.) I have never handled my parents impending mortality well. In high school, my older father suffered chest pains at home and had to be transported to the hospital via an ambulance. Instead of tending to him beside my nurse mother, I lost all control of my emotions and had to remove myself from the scene. Years ago, while visiting family and friends in NYC, my mother took a tumble down a narrow staircase in the old brownstone hotel we were staying in. Fortunately, my aunt was present to tend to her sister as I was of no help. Once again, I was overcome with emotion, nausea and panic. True to form, I behaved as the baby of the family that I am.
2.) Yesterday, as I made the half-hour commute back the way I had come, my stomach was in my throat and my mind was racing as fast as the rush-hour traffic surrounding me on the Interstate 5. Thoughts of guilt and shame, for not being a good enough daughter and for causing my mother undue stress, rocked my innards while I tried to remind myself: "This isn't about you, Cara." I haphazardly dialed the warm voices of friends. Unfortunately, little can soothe the rush of an all-consuming wild fire.
Carol Ann was conscious and not critical but very sick. She was purging from every end, breaking out in a cold sweat and rocking in pain. My father and I spent all afternoon there in the ER with her. Frequently, my mother was rolled out of her cubicle on a gurney, pushed back and forth between a barrage of tests and invasive procedures. A cyst was discovered in each ovary, her stomach and the lymph nodes running up the center of her chest were inflamed.
2.5) In my moments of panic, I also dialed my ex-boyfriend of four years. He loves my mother and I knew that she would enjoy a visit from him there in the ER. There is much laughter between them and he credits my mother with having given him new life when he was physically suffering from his own self-induced misery. He was provided a lift to the hospital by an employee of his, which meant that I had to provide him with the ride back home later on.
3.) After waiting around the hospital for the day, moving back and forth between the waiting room, the outdoor patio area and the ER, it was time to once again head south. During the drive, my ex-boyfriend behaved as he usually does - high strung, unable to relax and words dripping, on and on in an endless barrage, from his mouth. Usually, his spoken thoughts leave me feeling worse than I already do. This occasion was no different as he was speaking of the "gorgeous dancer" who he has a crush on, how he'll make her fall in love with him and how we would quit his bad behaviors upon her commands. (Insert grossly annoyed face with tongue sticking out of mouth here.)
Instead of driving toward the Vietnamese dinner that he requested, I made a beeline for his Clairemont home - the same one I had shared with him for two years and just moved out of last summer. "I can't be your friend," I said. "Thank you for coming to visit my mother. I really appreciate it, but being in your company right now is only making me feel worse." True to his patterns, he began reaching out and trying to touch me, attempting to beg his way into my staying. Unlike my typical habits, I remained true to my resolve - I deserve better than this. So, I dropped him off, said a brief "Hello" to our dogs and left. Nonetheless, yet another experience for this day was extracting a high price on my bodymindspirit.
3.5) Emotionally I felt extremely taxed and very near a familiar breaking point. Conversations with friends could not quite alleviate my upheaval. However, unlike my typical patterning, I chose to focus on my work and on the plethora of writing that I must complete (I am working on my first major body of work). Yes, I questioned if this choice of mine was selfish but what there to do? Sit around and twiddle my thumbs? Instead, I focused my swirling and dissipated energy and, damn, what a remedy it was! "My work" grounded and centered me. It was truly that simply.
Around 10pm, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. It was time to head home and straight into bed. Again, I was driving north on the I-5. I was in the fast lane, doing maybe 75mph when a black, Mercedes sedan with tinted windows sped past me in the carpool lane to the left pushing 90mph, if not more. The mystery vehicle was barely two full car lengths ahead of me when it somehow lost control, swerved into my lane and completed at least eight full revolutions, or doughnuts, there on my side of the freeway. For one brief second, I was speeding into a head-on collision. In quick response, I violently swerved the car I was driving into the three lanes to my right. Fortunately, there was no one driving around or near me at this point. There was, however, a white vehicle at least four car lengths behind me that slowed down and put on its high beams when it noticed my erratic behavior. For at least one full minute in time, I watched as the speeding Mercedes careened and spun out of control, headed in god know's what direction, as I remained calm, cool and collected behind the driving wheel. The smell of burning rubber and metal filled my nostrils while plumes of its thick smoke danced inside the car with me.
I pulled over, off of the Via de la Valle exit. My whole body was shaking violently, I screamed my fears out and I acknowledged the fact that I almost ended up right where I had spent most of the day - in the ER.
holy
fucking
shit.
So, there's a message here, right?!?!!!?!
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
A Requiem on Pain, in Three Parts
- Last Night, While Dreaming
The man singled me out of the crowd. "You," he pointed with the shake of his extended, right arm. In his hand a long sword; sharp and painstakingly polished, its handle gold and carved with a slithering serpent whose eyes of brilliant blue gemstones brought the precious metal to life. Like a virgin on an altar, he commanded that I lay down before him. He wanted my existence - and nothing less. Fearfully, I cringed. I submitted and rolled over into a fetal position, all the while begging and pleading to be spared. This e-motion of mine, however, triggered an idea; "I could try another tactic," I thought. "I don't have to be afraid," I told myself. So, I rolled back toward him, looked up into his piercing, black eyes and offered myself. "Here," I flatly stated. Courageously resolved, I turned my head to the left, closed my eyes and awaited the journey that would take me away, onto another plane, somewhere.
Tick
tock
tick
tock
tick...
Moments passed, and I remained. I opened my eyes and turned back toward my perpetrator.
"Come on," he ordered. "Let's go." Dutifully, I rose to my feet and snaked my way around a gathered crowd. What I recall from here on out is blurry now, but what I do remember is panicked moments and tension filled minutes of running away, escaping, hiding, getting caught, being found, a game of cat and mouse, and palpable fear noxiously stuck in my throat and my gut.
There wasn't any resolve. I simply tossed and turned into consciousness, arriving back into the safe confines of my bed. Upon waking this morning, however, the remnants of this dream still courses through my veins.
-- Last Friday
"You are a soul mate," he said. I inhaled on a deep breath in, "Hmmmm." I gazed at him, standing there across from me on the dirt parking lot grounds, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the smudged side of his working van. I looked into his bird-like eyes and responded,
"I love you, too, and I feel so much pain - here between us, in this gulf that we have never been able to cross. It hurts to feel this and to simultaneously still love -- you."
Insight hit me, like a ton of bricks.
"Ah," I inhaled again, sharply this time.
Then, I gasped, "Ah, it's mine!"
For the pain I was seeing wasn't his, and it didn't come from him. Rather, it was mine, it was all mine - it was a simple mirror reflection of my own creation. The prickly thorns of truth pierced another layer of my hardened heart. "Love isn't pain, Cara," chirped a gentle voice of infinite compassion located deep within my being. The steady stream of a story that doesn't serve me, and of life contracts written before the dawn of this time, took their marching orders and headed on out of town.
-- Last Night, While Dancing
I felt fear. It was during a moment of our engagement. He had control and he was communicating his pulse, his desires and his wishes, through the steady application of pressure through our open, touching palms, as well as through his strong arms, connected chest and driven core. I hesitated - in confusion and questioning. I wasn't intuiting this moment. Rather, it was just him, taking me on a journey and directing our paths into unfamiliar territory. Fear tickled my edges and I felt its manic pulse through my bloodstream. I stopped the flow and brought myself back into an upright position, posture erect, standing side-by-side next to him.
"That scared me," I shared.
"Why?" he wanted to know.
How to translate the embodied feeling of deep sensations, cellular memory and habitual patterning into clearly and succinctly spoken words?
"I don't know," I replied.
"I just don't know."
The man singled me out of the crowd. "You," he pointed with the shake of his extended, right arm. In his hand a long sword; sharp and painstakingly polished, its handle gold and carved with a slithering serpent whose eyes of brilliant blue gemstones brought the precious metal to life. Like a virgin on an altar, he commanded that I lay down before him. He wanted my existence - and nothing less. Fearfully, I cringed. I submitted and rolled over into a fetal position, all the while begging and pleading to be spared. This e-motion of mine, however, triggered an idea; "I could try another tactic," I thought. "I don't have to be afraid," I told myself. So, I rolled back toward him, looked up into his piercing, black eyes and offered myself. "Here," I flatly stated. Courageously resolved, I turned my head to the left, closed my eyes and awaited the journey that would take me away, onto another plane, somewhere.
Tick
tock
tick
tock
tick...
Moments passed, and I remained. I opened my eyes and turned back toward my perpetrator.
"Come on," he ordered. "Let's go." Dutifully, I rose to my feet and snaked my way around a gathered crowd. What I recall from here on out is blurry now, but what I do remember is panicked moments and tension filled minutes of running away, escaping, hiding, getting caught, being found, a game of cat and mouse, and palpable fear noxiously stuck in my throat and my gut.
There wasn't any resolve. I simply tossed and turned into consciousness, arriving back into the safe confines of my bed. Upon waking this morning, however, the remnants of this dream still courses through my veins.
-- Last Friday
"You are a soul mate," he said. I inhaled on a deep breath in, "Hmmmm." I gazed at him, standing there across from me on the dirt parking lot grounds, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the smudged side of his working van. I looked into his bird-like eyes and responded,
"I love you, too, and I feel so much pain - here between us, in this gulf that we have never been able to cross. It hurts to feel this and to simultaneously still love -- you."
Insight hit me, like a ton of bricks.
"Ah," I inhaled again, sharply this time.
Then, I gasped, "Ah, it's mine!"
For the pain I was seeing wasn't his, and it didn't come from him. Rather, it was mine, it was all mine - it was a simple mirror reflection of my own creation. The prickly thorns of truth pierced another layer of my hardened heart. "Love isn't pain, Cara," chirped a gentle voice of infinite compassion located deep within my being. The steady stream of a story that doesn't serve me, and of life contracts written before the dawn of this time, took their marching orders and headed on out of town.
-- Last Night, While Dancing
I felt fear. It was during a moment of our engagement. He had control and he was communicating his pulse, his desires and his wishes, through the steady application of pressure through our open, touching palms, as well as through his strong arms, connected chest and driven core. I hesitated - in confusion and questioning. I wasn't intuiting this moment. Rather, it was just him, taking me on a journey and directing our paths into unfamiliar territory. Fear tickled my edges and I felt its manic pulse through my bloodstream. I stopped the flow and brought myself back into an upright position, posture erect, standing side-by-side next to him.
"That scared me," I shared.
"Why?" he wanted to know.
How to translate the embodied feeling of deep sensations, cellular memory and habitual patterning into clearly and succinctly spoken words?
"I don't know," I replied.
"I just don't know."
Saturday, May 29, 2010
(Or, uno más, por favor)...
Forward in Improvisation
Maniacal deities grasp
at the light
at the light
at the lightness
of being.
Maniacal deities hold
moments as precious metals
dripping, oozing
waxing, waning
Into fluid
into fluid
into fluidity
Of sound
movement
time and context
Breathy vibrations
pulsating rhythms
rhythmic soul
arrhythmic being
Giving thanks
giving honor
giving
giving
given
Gone.
Maniacal deities grasp
at the light
at the light
at the lightness
of being.
Maniacal deities hold
moments as precious metals
dripping, oozing
waxing, waning
Into fluid
into fluid
into fluidity
Of sound
movement
time and context
Breathy vibrations
pulsating rhythms
rhythmic soul
arrhythmic being
Giving thanks
giving honor
giving
giving
given
Gone.
(Or, also titled, "Because I have been negligent in posting to this here blog this month..")
Untitled
I am the grass on a cool, autumn day,
I am the sun, radiating warmth and heat,
I am the wind whispering in your ear,
And I am the cold chill shaking its finger in your face.
I am the tomboy, getting dirty outside,
I am the spoiled brat, spewing saliva and raging his fists,
I am the bald-headed anarchist, who fucks the police,
And I can be the yin to your yang.
I can be the glue that holds us together,
And I am the gum beneath your shoe.
I can be the baby, protected by fierce others,
I can be the little girl, moving in the mirror,
I can be the virgin, giving it up to a Joseph,
I can be the sign, and the one to just say "No!"
I can be the rock climber, setting routes around the world,
I can be the pro BMX'er, who takes a spill,
I can be the gold medalist to any Olympic judge,
and I am the promise you make to yourself.
I am the performer, taking center stage,
I am the van Gogh, cutting off my ear,
I am the sonnet of a time now past,
I can be the word, and I can be the page.
I am the smooth-skinned pin-up, taking space on your wall,
I am the superficial glance of a passing fancy,
I am the philosophy major, and the analytical bookworm,
I can be the tomorrow and I can be the hell.
I can be the Victorian explorer, experiencing dark passions abroad,
I can be the deep bronze of a southern California tan,
I can be the actor in any reality show,
I am the fashion icon, the mangy mutt and the sleek ride,
I am the commerce and I am the sell.
I am the tragic victim, the abused child and the neglected dog,
I am the everything, with all that I am,
and I am the nothing with all that I am not.
I can be me, on any given whim,
and I can be you, without having to be told to.
I am the one, giant beat,
I am the temporary now.
For I am the moment,
I am the kiss,
I am the "yes" falling from your lips.
I am the perfect
reflection.
I am the grass on a cool, autumn day,
I am the sun, radiating warmth and heat,
I am the wind whispering in your ear,
And I am the cold chill shaking its finger in your face.
I am the tomboy, getting dirty outside,
I am the spoiled brat, spewing saliva and raging his fists,
I am the bald-headed anarchist, who fucks the police,
And I can be the yin to your yang.
I can be the glue that holds us together,
And I am the gum beneath your shoe.
I can be the baby, protected by fierce others,
I can be the little girl, moving in the mirror,
I can be the virgin, giving it up to a Joseph,
I can be the sign, and the one to just say "No!"
I can be the rock climber, setting routes around the world,
I can be the pro BMX'er, who takes a spill,
I can be the gold medalist to any Olympic judge,
and I am the promise you make to yourself.
I am the performer, taking center stage,
I am the van Gogh, cutting off my ear,
I am the sonnet of a time now past,
I can be the word, and I can be the page.
I am the smooth-skinned pin-up, taking space on your wall,
I am the superficial glance of a passing fancy,
I am the philosophy major, and the analytical bookworm,
I can be the tomorrow and I can be the hell.
I can be the Victorian explorer, experiencing dark passions abroad,
I can be the deep bronze of a southern California tan,
I can be the actor in any reality show,
I am the fashion icon, the mangy mutt and the sleek ride,
I am the commerce and I am the sell.
I am the tragic victim, the abused child and the neglected dog,
I am the everything, with all that I am,
and I am the nothing with all that I am not.
I can be me, on any given whim,
and I can be you, without having to be told to.
I am the one, giant beat,
I am the temporary now.
For I am the moment,
I am the kiss,
I am the "yes" falling from your lips.
I am the perfect
reflection.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
A Re-Posting from last August that, today, feels quite synchronous ~ enjoy, in joy...
5 Instant Tips To Be Happier Now
Yes, I admit it. CNN is one of the news sources that I look to, for the latest, breaking news, online. Thus it is how I came across the fine establishment's posting, of almost the same name, yesterday. Yet, for some reason or other, I could not relate to the author's suggestions. Suffice it to type, I thought I would write 5 tips (instead of 10, because less is best), and then provide what CNN, & Gretchen Rubin, posted in their article [in brackets.]
As you may have noticed, I have not posted to this here blog in months. The short of it is that I have been living through a period of tumultuous transition, and this most recent phase was not initially comfortable. In fact, it was quite the opposite - uncomfortable and awkward. Thankfully, I have since broken on through to the other side. What's more is that this breaking through has been years in the coming.
My story comes complete with a full mental break down that included a large dose of anxiety followed by a hollow depression. It also includes moments in time when I was, literally, stalking the man I was dating. I'm not proud, I'm just telling it like it was. There is much more that I could tell but I will refrain from overloading your senses with my story. I simply mention these things to let you know that this new place in which I have now arrived feels so damn good. It is a site from where I now move through the world with a confidence that I had been sorely missing for most of my adult years. And, it is a location that I have actively sought to create by implementing the 5 tips that I will impart below into my daily life.
So, in other words, I am resolutely credentialed and professionally licensed to impart such advice as to "5 Instant Tips for You to Be Happier Now." Now, on to the list:
1.) Sit Down. Breathe. Actively Un-Do.
Relax Into the Quietude, and the Silence. Find Stillness.
I'm serious, people. We live in a technocratic society and an information culture that encourages passivity and distraction, overworking and over thinking. We are not encouraged or inspired to sit down, to actively breathe, relax, and take honest stock of where we are in space, and time.
"Where are you? How do you feel?"
Do it, now. As you sit here, reading the words on this screen. Breathe in, through your nose, a deep inhalation. In in in in in in in in in in. Now, breathe out. A deep exhalation, out through your nose. Out out out out out out out out out out.
Now, do it again. And, again. Keep doing it. C'mon, two more minutes.
See? You already feel better, lighter, & happier, now.
Do this again, tonight, before you go to sleep. Sure, you can do it in bed. Then, tomorrow, discipline yourself to get up 10, 15, 30 minutes early, before the spouse and the children come a calling and before the morning coffee needs to be brewed. Begin slow, and easy. Look at the clock, say "It is _am, and I am going to sit here, on this comfortable chair, with my spine erect and my feet in full contact with the floor below me, and I am going to breathe for the next 10 minutes." Listen to the sound of the molecules and gases as they accumulate and pass in through your nostrils, down the back of your throat, filling up and expanding your lungs, ribcage, and even your belly. With your breath, your goal is to aim for a longer and longer inhalation and exhalation. Just like your mission is to gradually extend the amount of time that you dedicate, daily, to this practice.
By honing and honoring this place of silence within you, which is the dark soil of nutrients from where everything in your life springs forth, you will become acutely attuned to what it is that feeds you, and you will be more readily able to move on to tip #2.
[Don't start with profundities.]
As you may have noticed, I have not posted to this here blog in months. The short of it is that I have been living through a period of tumultuous transition, and this most recent phase was not initially comfortable. In fact, it was quite the opposite - uncomfortable and awkward. Thankfully, I have since broken on through to the other side. What's more is that this breaking through has been years in the coming.
My story comes complete with a full mental break down that included a large dose of anxiety followed by a hollow depression. It also includes moments in time when I was, literally, stalking the man I was dating. I'm not proud, I'm just telling it like it was. There is much more that I could tell but I will refrain from overloading your senses with my story. I simply mention these things to let you know that this new place in which I have now arrived feels so damn good. It is a site from where I now move through the world with a confidence that I had been sorely missing for most of my adult years. And, it is a location that I have actively sought to create by implementing the 5 tips that I will impart below into my daily life.
So, in other words, I am resolutely credentialed and professionally licensed to impart such advice as to "5 Instant Tips for You to Be Happier Now." Now, on to the list:
1.) Sit Down. Breathe. Actively Un-Do.
Relax Into the Quietude, and the Silence. Find Stillness.
I'm serious, people. We live in a technocratic society and an information culture that encourages passivity and distraction, overworking and over thinking. We are not encouraged or inspired to sit down, to actively breathe, relax, and take honest stock of where we are in space, and time.
"Where are you? How do you feel?"
Do it, now. As you sit here, reading the words on this screen. Breathe in, through your nose, a deep inhalation. In in in in in in in in in in. Now, breathe out. A deep exhalation, out through your nose. Out out out out out out out out out out.
Now, do it again. And, again. Keep doing it. C'mon, two more minutes.
See? You already feel better, lighter, & happier, now.
Do this again, tonight, before you go to sleep. Sure, you can do it in bed. Then, tomorrow, discipline yourself to get up 10, 15, 30 minutes early, before the spouse and the children come a calling and before the morning coffee needs to be brewed. Begin slow, and easy. Look at the clock, say "It is _am, and I am going to sit here, on this comfortable chair, with my spine erect and my feet in full contact with the floor below me, and I am going to breathe for the next 10 minutes." Listen to the sound of the molecules and gases as they accumulate and pass in through your nostrils, down the back of your throat, filling up and expanding your lungs, ribcage, and even your belly. With your breath, your goal is to aim for a longer and longer inhalation and exhalation. Just like your mission is to gradually extend the amount of time that you dedicate, daily, to this practice.
By honing and honoring this place of silence within you, which is the dark soil of nutrients from where everything in your life springs forth, you will become acutely attuned to what it is that feeds you, and you will be more readily able to move on to tip #2.
[Don't start with profundities.]
(What are profundities, anyway? And, who begins a top 10 list about happiness with a "Don't?")
2.) Do What You Love!!!!!!!!!
Although this sounds simple, it is actually quite difficult. Finding out what it is you love to do - which, more than likely, isn't just one thing, it is a whole laundry list - requires time, space, and dedicated energy. For me, it meant that I had to duck out of the social scene altogether (which wasn't feeding me on a deeper level) and spend time alone - on Friday and Saturday nights, no less.
When I granted myself permission to do my own thing, I paid attention to how I filled this time up - long, moonlit walks; doodling, drawing, and making art; singing; star gazing; you get the picture. I would also actively write, think, and wonder about my feelings, actions, and choices, and then I would document my experiences (usually through writing, though photography, or painting, work too).
Discovering what it is that feeds your soul and refills your spirit is an investment. Think of it as investing in your education, or even your house. Yes, you are worth every penny. Ultimately, this is the best model that we can provide for our children and for the generations that are to follow in our footsteps. Sometimes, in order to find out what it is we love to do we need to do step #3.
[Do let the sun go down on anger.] (This is sage advice. I will come back to it in tip #5.)
3.) Turn off the television, the radio, and even the computer. Cover up the mirrors. And ignore the billboards, magazines, and newspapers.
When I recall the time in my life when I was most at home in my own body, I remember living in close relationship to the land, eating meals outside everyday, living simply and simply living, and not being assaulted by media or my own image, daily. The comparisons that can plague my life - of how I am somehow not attractive because I do not look like the images of femininity that western media sells, for example - seemed to fade, and shift. A reverential sense for my own beauty began to grow as I witnessed myself: overcoming adversity (of not being accepted by my peers, in example), and rising to a challenge (of learning a new skill, such as Canadian canoeing). What I physically looked like began to take a back seat to how I responded to and moved through the world.
[Fake it till you feel it.]
2.) Do What You Love!!!!!!!!!
Although this sounds simple, it is actually quite difficult. Finding out what it is you love to do - which, more than likely, isn't just one thing, it is a whole laundry list - requires time, space, and dedicated energy. For me, it meant that I had to duck out of the social scene altogether (which wasn't feeding me on a deeper level) and spend time alone - on Friday and Saturday nights, no less.
When I granted myself permission to do my own thing, I paid attention to how I filled this time up - long, moonlit walks; doodling, drawing, and making art; singing; star gazing; you get the picture. I would also actively write, think, and wonder about my feelings, actions, and choices, and then I would document my experiences (usually through writing, though photography, or painting, work too).
Discovering what it is that feeds your soul and refills your spirit is an investment. Think of it as investing in your education, or even your house. Yes, you are worth every penny. Ultimately, this is the best model that we can provide for our children and for the generations that are to follow in our footsteps. Sometimes, in order to find out what it is we love to do we need to do step #3.
[Do let the sun go down on anger.] (This is sage advice. I will come back to it in tip #5.)
3.) Turn off the television, the radio, and even the computer. Cover up the mirrors. And ignore the billboards, magazines, and newspapers.
When I recall the time in my life when I was most at home in my own body, I remember living in close relationship to the land, eating meals outside everyday, living simply and simply living, and not being assaulted by media or my own image, daily. The comparisons that can plague my life - of how I am somehow not attractive because I do not look like the images of femininity that western media sells, for example - seemed to fade, and shift. A reverential sense for my own beauty began to grow as I witnessed myself: overcoming adversity (of not being accepted by my peers, in example), and rising to a challenge (of learning a new skill, such as Canadian canoeing). What I physically looked like began to take a back seat to how I responded to and moved through the world.
[Fake it till you feel it.]
(???????!!!!! Feel it. Feel it. Feel it. Life sucks, sometimes. It can be hard and painful. Cry your eyes out, and laugh your heart out. It is all we can do to survive.)
4.) Get your hands dirty.
Metaphorically, get involved. It may be with a local non-profit that shares a love of meditation with school-aged children. Or, perhaps it is in calling the cops on the domestic violence situation that has been on-going, for months now, in the apartment above you. Whatever it is, push yourself through your fears (of feeling awkward, new, unknowing, and uncomfortable) and into the realm of the unknown - you never know what you will discover.
Literally, take ownership of the land that you live upon even if you do not "own" it. Rake leaves, churn soil, prune trees, pull weeds - dig down deep into the Earth's rich crust. Maybe, you will even be inspired to plant your own garden and grow your own vegetables, herbs, and other edibles that you can prepare in the comfort of your own kitchen.
[Realize that anything worth doing is worth doing badly.]
4.) Get your hands dirty.
Metaphorically, get involved. It may be with a local non-profit that shares a love of meditation with school-aged children. Or, perhaps it is in calling the cops on the domestic violence situation that has been on-going, for months now, in the apartment above you. Whatever it is, push yourself through your fears (of feeling awkward, new, unknowing, and uncomfortable) and into the realm of the unknown - you never know what you will discover.
Literally, take ownership of the land that you live upon even if you do not "own" it. Rake leaves, churn soil, prune trees, pull weeds - dig down deep into the Earth's rich crust. Maybe, you will even be inspired to plant your own garden and grow your own vegetables, herbs, and other edibles that you can prepare in the comfort of your own kitchen.
[Realize that anything worth doing is worth doing badly.]
(A garden is worth doing, even if your green thumb ends up being more brown and the best you can do is to produce a local weed in great abundance - as is usually my case.)
5.) Lastly, let go of "the story."
By this I mean, all of the "he said, she said," as well as all of the hurts and mistakes that can grow up around our long-term relationships. Let go of what happened yesteryear. Let go of the fact that you were an unloved, and rejected child, and that your parents didn't give you all that you deserved. Let go of the societal expectations and pressures. For me, I have been working on letting go of my story of being woman and being objectified. (Please note that I wrote "working on" because all we can do in this life is to keep trying!!!)
Let go of your desire to be "successful." Let go of the need to prove yourself.
Let go, and breathe.
Come back to tip #1.
This is all you need to hold onto - this breath, this moment,
this small, uninterrupted you.
[Don't treat the blues with a "treat."]
5.) Lastly, let go of "the story."
By this I mean, all of the "he said, she said," as well as all of the hurts and mistakes that can grow up around our long-term relationships. Let go of what happened yesteryear. Let go of the fact that you were an unloved, and rejected child, and that your parents didn't give you all that you deserved. Let go of the societal expectations and pressures. For me, I have been working on letting go of my story of being woman and being objectified. (Please note that I wrote "working on" because all we can do in this life is to keep trying!!!)
Let go of your desire to be "successful." Let go of the need to prove yourself.
Let go, and breathe.
Come back to tip #1.
This is all you need to hold onto - this breath, this moment,
this small, uninterrupted you.
[Don't treat the blues with a "treat."]
(Treat everything with a treat (like ice cream ~ yummmm) and make your treat your breath!)
Yes, it is this simple. Of course, you still need to work to pay the bills, and take care of the minute details that fulfill all of the responsibilities that you have created in your life. These 5 simple tips require little and can be done, incrementally, throughout your day to day. In the long run, however, these tips will greatly benefit your overall sense of well being and health wealth (the purest wealth there is). Your family and friends will begin to notice a shift. They will be so grateful that you finally invested in you. And, you will discover the abundance that only the unique you has to give...
Just Do It.
Now.
Yes, it is this simple. Of course, you still need to work to pay the bills, and take care of the minute details that fulfill all of the responsibilities that you have created in your life. These 5 simple tips require little and can be done, incrementally, throughout your day to day. In the long run, however, these tips will greatly benefit your overall sense of well being and health wealth (the purest wealth there is). Your family and friends will begin to notice a shift. They will be so grateful that you finally invested in you. And, you will discover the abundance that only the unique you has to give...
Just Do It.
Now.
(i love you.)
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Inspiration
Today, yesterday, and tomorrow (I hope), I am blessed with daily, inspirational kisses that I metaphorically receive from the wider world around me. From new comrades to old friends, from mentors to family, from our planet to San Diego, from an expansive array of creatures and beings to ceramic plates filled with freshly grown produce, and from art as biological necessity to movement as activism, the muses spin around me, dancing diligently while sweetly tooting their horns of emerald, gold and ivory.
Inspire me. I dare ya...
Today, I can only hope that my words and deeds also provide ample sustenance for others to keep on keeping on as well as thought-provoking fodder for a deeper awareness as we all continue to move through this beautiful life.
Inshallah.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Entering the Movement, take II
I move.
You do, too.
Oh wait, every single thing on this planet moves - including a piece of trash blowing in the wind. What's that you say? All matter and energy is moving throughout the universe? And that our very human bodies, these lungs and this heart, emulate a universally rhythmic pattern ~ that of expansion outwards & contraction back in towards the center? (Centripetal and centrifugal motion?)
As for a particular style, well, let's see: I walk upright, on two legs, with my two eyes roving the environment found around me. You do, too? Okay, well then, that makes us human together, or homo sapiens sapiens, if you'd prefer. I sleep in a plush bed, in a room by myself, in a big house with three others, on a wide, residential street where there is little noise and where relatively few neighbors are seen out and about.
I drive in a petroleum powered vehicle to purchase the processed food that I nourish my body with, from grocery stores and other convenience-type facilities. I visit numerous communities throughout the region - from schools to banks, from cafes to studios, and from stores to friends' homes. I spend money and resources that aren't mine. I make up part of a 5% of people who consume over 25% of the Earth's precious resources. I take what I need and I throw back my waste ~ from paper products to food scraps, from cheap plastic to aluminum and from feces to saliva. I am a middle class, American.
Growing up free from the sounds of bombs falling, from the thick plumes of toxic ash assaulting my senses, and from the noxious taste of violence and drama, I spent a leisurely childhood exploring rolling coastal desert hills and nonchalantly diving below tumbling, Pacific waves. Intuitively, the spirit of the land called to me. Twinkling northern hemisphere stars would dance their nightly shimmer while whispering mysteries to great too fathom into my girl ears. Nature always beckoned...
Soon, however, my heart grew heavy with the sights of large swaths of native habitat disappearing underneath the weight of industrial machines and the barrage of cookie-cutter suburban divisions that grew up where marsh and lagoon once sat stewing. Activism, passionate principles and believing in something bigger than myself, were seeded early on.
But, so was pop culture and the din of its sound was too potent to ignore - from the longing refrains of a damsel in distress awaiting her knight in shining armor as she coos from a castle window and into a radio mic every single minute to a greedy, fat king asserting his birth right to the blood, sweat, tears and toil of peasants; from the dripping flags of red, white and blue to the hypnosis of the greenback; from the privatization of basic human rights, such as equal access to land, air, water and food to the inequal ability to buy class, privilege, power and corporatization. "Once you learn to discern the voice of Parent Culture humming in the background, telling the same story over and over again to the people of your culture, you'll never stop being conscious of it. Where ever you go, for the rest of your life, you'll be tempted to say to the people, "How can you listen to this stuff and not recognize it for what it is?" And, if you do this, people will look at you oddly and will wonder what the devil you are talking about. In other words, if you take this educational journey with me, you're going to find yourself alienated from the people around you - parents, friends, family, past associates and so on." (Ishmael)
You do, too.
Oh wait, every single thing on this planet moves - including a piece of trash blowing in the wind. What's that you say? All matter and energy is moving throughout the universe? And that our very human bodies, these lungs and this heart, emulate a universally rhythmic pattern ~ that of expansion outwards & contraction back in towards the center? (Centripetal and centrifugal motion?)
As for a particular style, well, let's see: I walk upright, on two legs, with my two eyes roving the environment found around me. You do, too? Okay, well then, that makes us human together, or homo sapiens sapiens, if you'd prefer. I sleep in a plush bed, in a room by myself, in a big house with three others, on a wide, residential street where there is little noise and where relatively few neighbors are seen out and about.
I drive in a petroleum powered vehicle to purchase the processed food that I nourish my body with, from grocery stores and other convenience-type facilities. I visit numerous communities throughout the region - from schools to banks, from cafes to studios, and from stores to friends' homes. I spend money and resources that aren't mine. I make up part of a 5% of people who consume over 25% of the Earth's precious resources. I take what I need and I throw back my waste ~ from paper products to food scraps, from cheap plastic to aluminum and from feces to saliva. I am a middle class, American.
Growing up free from the sounds of bombs falling, from the thick plumes of toxic ash assaulting my senses, and from the noxious taste of violence and drama, I spent a leisurely childhood exploring rolling coastal desert hills and nonchalantly diving below tumbling, Pacific waves. Intuitively, the spirit of the land called to me. Twinkling northern hemisphere stars would dance their nightly shimmer while whispering mysteries to great too fathom into my girl ears. Nature always beckoned...
Soon, however, my heart grew heavy with the sights of large swaths of native habitat disappearing underneath the weight of industrial machines and the barrage of cookie-cutter suburban divisions that grew up where marsh and lagoon once sat stewing. Activism, passionate principles and believing in something bigger than myself, were seeded early on.
But, so was pop culture and the din of its sound was too potent to ignore - from the longing refrains of a damsel in distress awaiting her knight in shining armor as she coos from a castle window and into a radio mic every single minute to a greedy, fat king asserting his birth right to the blood, sweat, tears and toil of peasants; from the dripping flags of red, white and blue to the hypnosis of the greenback; from the privatization of basic human rights, such as equal access to land, air, water and food to the inequal ability to buy class, privilege, power and corporatization. "Once you learn to discern the voice of Parent Culture humming in the background, telling the same story over and over again to the people of your culture, you'll never stop being conscious of it. Where ever you go, for the rest of your life, you'll be tempted to say to the people, "How can you listen to this stuff and not recognize it for what it is?" And, if you do this, people will look at you oddly and will wonder what the devil you are talking about. In other words, if you take this educational journey with me, you're going to find yourself alienated from the people around you - parents, friends, family, past associates and so on." (Ishmael)
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
On Synchronicity
Recently, a dear friend offered me a nick name. "Pee seu-a is what I will call you," he said. Immediately, the name took me back to my undergraduate days spent at Sonoma State where I conferred one of my dear mentors, a woman whom I continue to love and cherish to this day, with the nick name of pea soup.
Then, after this past weekend's "Ritual and the Pursuit of Meaning" workshop, Robert typed me to explain more about why he had bestowed me with this new title.
"Pee seu-a, in the Thai language, means Butterfly ~ for one who flits from person to person, function to function or project to project. Usually, it is used for a person with many loves.
Pee means brother/sister or kindred spirit."
Then, after this past weekend's "Ritual and the Pursuit of Meaning" workshop, Robert typed me to explain more about why he had bestowed me with this new title.
"Pee seu-a, in the Thai language, means Butterfly ~ for one who flits from person to person, function to function or project to project. Usually, it is used for a person with many loves.
Pee means brother/sister or kindred spirit."
Monday, April 19, 2010
Explorations from a Rooftop
Ritual and the Pursuit of Meaning,
a weekend workshop exploring animal totems, body painting,
movement ritual & mixed media,
April 17-18 at the fabulous San Diego Yoga Loft
swirling and twirling
madame butterfly takes to a san diego sky
light as air, soft as a feather,
she floats upon pacific breezes of exhaust & city noise
fluttering, from rooftop to rooftop her garden
an urban oasis
of reflections and smog, willingly
she is carried along, swiftly gently
her willowy wings caress
the quick agility of a slithering lizard
and the spidey prowess of a praying mantis
green face with forked tongue of niceties
they dance
to the great, rhythmic clock in the sky.
Join us for our second weekend workshop on
"Ritual and the Pursuit of Meaning: Moving with the Mask"
May 15-16, at Elder Palms Sanctuary in Vista
May 15 1-7pm $55
May 16 2-6pm $35
or $75 for both days
for more info:
livelovebreathe.chc@gmail.com
or call Cara 760 458 6887
Sunday, April 11, 2010
The Meaning of Metaphor
On April 6th, the Los Angeles Times reported that there has been more than five hundred aftershocks since last Sunday's 7.2 earthquake rocked Mexicali, San Diego and LA. Ironically, I have felt not even one of these physical tremors. Fortunately, this is not due to a lack of awareness. Rather, it has everything to do with the fact that my small world is being continuously rocked by meta-physical, earth-shaking on-goings in the many microcosms that ripple out around me. The tumult of the transformation that our civilization and human race is now deeply mired within is palpable. Change is here. It is rocking us, shaking our foundations, rattling us to the core and merely demonstrating what the near future has in store. The Chinese New Year of the Tiger was predicted to bring with it this global and personal turbulence. Yes, "the shift" is here and it is happening now, as we speak and as I type.
Along with Easter Sunday's earthquake, came the return of two very important relationships in my personal life. I was invited to spend time with Power and Sweet Pea, two black Labradors that my ex-boyfriend and I shared together, after I randomly ran into my ex while heading over to the Hillcrest Farmer's Market. Over the course of this past week, I have taken advantage of the opportunity to stop by his home and take our two dogs on a leashed walk around their Clairemont neighborhood. Initially, the dogs and I were ecstatic to see each other (which is why the three of us completely missed experiencing the 7.2 earthquake, for we were just stepping outside for a walk together) after a three-month absence.
It was a brief honeymoon phase in which negotiating and navigating around the suburban streets was relatively pain-free and easy. By this I simply mean that Power and Sweet Pea have enjoyed a very charmed life that has included almost daily, leash-free strolls at either OB's Dog Beach or at Fiesta Island. Power and Sweet Pea are two phenomenal creatures fiercely devoted to our pack. However, when it comes to the task of walking together, with the two of them (which, together, equals roughly 150 pounds!) on one end of a rope and I on the other, it can quickly become a frustrating stroll. Three thinking beings, all with minds of their own, attached by a string. (How would you manage?)
Granted, I will take responsibility for the fact that I have not had the discipline to train them, or myself, on how to walk and think as one organism together. Rather, I have always opted for the easy way out which was, and is, allowing everyone to do their own thing at accommodating locations. The drive to these locations, however, is not the most Earth-friendly and sustainable option. Hence, my move out of their abode was the motivating impetus I needed to learn how to walk with them, on the leash and around the neighborhood.
By Friday, though, the high of our reunion had worn off and the work of relating was rearing its head. I felt my frustration brewing along with the desire to yank on their chain when I was either being pulled in a direction that I did not want to go or when they were not understanding my English. I breathed in, felt the pangs of anger arising and, yet, I chose not to respond from it. Instead, I tried to both feel what I was feeling and not respond from this place but, rather, from a place of compassion. After all, I do not understand or speak 'Doglish.' I sincerely tried, and in my trying I realized a wonderful insight.
In pondering the significance of randomly running into my ex on Easter Sunday, I immediately recognized the significance ~ the renewal, rebirth & re-arising of relationships, as well as another opportunity to learn and grow. I chose to integrate the metaphor of Jesus Christ ('tis the season, after all) and some of the stories that are associated with this man into my day-to-day life over this past week. As the days progressed and as I was being challenged in regards to a number of other relationships in my life, I understood...
this is the cross that we all must bear.
This job of being human and of trying to move from a continued place of deep empathy and love.
This delicate dance of attempting to authentically and with an open heart respond from a place of compassion and peace. This trying, on-going negotiation of relating isn't easy. It is difficult and it is hard. It is uncomfortable and it requires much compromise.
An open palmed honesty can bring the thorny cuts of truth and a historical desire to crucify quickly rears its head. It is this place where all of the elements and the cardinal directions meet. It is where Mother Earth and Father Sky reach across the seemingly great divide of duality and copulate. It is at this place, at this CROSS, where the merge results in a breathing, heart beating entity known as human, as me, as you and as this great journey we call life.
May we all harness the graceful prowess, the steady fearlessness and the fierce loyalty that the Tiger reminds us of as we face what lies ahead, together.
Yours in this mystical, infinite dance...
Along with Easter Sunday's earthquake, came the return of two very important relationships in my personal life. I was invited to spend time with Power and Sweet Pea, two black Labradors that my ex-boyfriend and I shared together, after I randomly ran into my ex while heading over to the Hillcrest Farmer's Market. Over the course of this past week, I have taken advantage of the opportunity to stop by his home and take our two dogs on a leashed walk around their Clairemont neighborhood. Initially, the dogs and I were ecstatic to see each other (which is why the three of us completely missed experiencing the 7.2 earthquake, for we were just stepping outside for a walk together) after a three-month absence.
It was a brief honeymoon phase in which negotiating and navigating around the suburban streets was relatively pain-free and easy. By this I simply mean that Power and Sweet Pea have enjoyed a very charmed life that has included almost daily, leash-free strolls at either OB's Dog Beach or at Fiesta Island. Power and Sweet Pea are two phenomenal creatures fiercely devoted to our pack. However, when it comes to the task of walking together, with the two of them (which, together, equals roughly 150 pounds!) on one end of a rope and I on the other, it can quickly become a frustrating stroll. Three thinking beings, all with minds of their own, attached by a string. (How would you manage?)
Granted, I will take responsibility for the fact that I have not had the discipline to train them, or myself, on how to walk and think as one organism together. Rather, I have always opted for the easy way out which was, and is, allowing everyone to do their own thing at accommodating locations. The drive to these locations, however, is not the most Earth-friendly and sustainable option. Hence, my move out of their abode was the motivating impetus I needed to learn how to walk with them, on the leash and around the neighborhood.
By Friday, though, the high of our reunion had worn off and the work of relating was rearing its head. I felt my frustration brewing along with the desire to yank on their chain when I was either being pulled in a direction that I did not want to go or when they were not understanding my English. I breathed in, felt the pangs of anger arising and, yet, I chose not to respond from it. Instead, I tried to both feel what I was feeling and not respond from this place but, rather, from a place of compassion. After all, I do not understand or speak 'Doglish.' I sincerely tried, and in my trying I realized a wonderful insight.
In pondering the significance of randomly running into my ex on Easter Sunday, I immediately recognized the significance ~ the renewal, rebirth & re-arising of relationships, as well as another opportunity to learn and grow. I chose to integrate the metaphor of Jesus Christ ('tis the season, after all) and some of the stories that are associated with this man into my day-to-day life over this past week. As the days progressed and as I was being challenged in regards to a number of other relationships in my life, I understood...
this is the cross that we all must bear.
This job of being human and of trying to move from a continued place of deep empathy and love.
This delicate dance of attempting to authentically and with an open heart respond from a place of compassion and peace. This trying, on-going negotiation of relating isn't easy. It is difficult and it is hard. It is uncomfortable and it requires much compromise.
An open palmed honesty can bring the thorny cuts of truth and a historical desire to crucify quickly rears its head. It is this place where all of the elements and the cardinal directions meet. It is where Mother Earth and Father Sky reach across the seemingly great divide of duality and copulate. It is at this place, at this CROSS, where the merge results in a breathing, heart beating entity known as human, as me, as you and as this great journey we call life.
May we all harness the graceful prowess, the steady fearlessness and the fierce loyalty that the Tiger reminds us of as we face what lies ahead, together.
Yours in this mystical, infinite dance...
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
On the Symbolism of Feces
Naturally, there are many ways of interpreting our dreams.
I chose the following from Kelly Sullivan Walden's I Had the Strangest Dream...The Dreamer's Dictionary for the 21st Century for obvious reasons.
"On Feces Dreams of feces signifies that you are releasing and letting of what is in the way of your being fully in your power. You are purifying, healing, and cleansing your body, mind and spirit and are entering into a powerful time in your life." (page 138)
YES!!!!!!
I chose the following from Kelly Sullivan Walden's I Had the Strangest Dream...The Dreamer's Dictionary for the 21st Century for obvious reasons.
"On Feces Dreams of feces signifies that you are releasing and letting of what is in the way of your being fully in your power. You are purifying, healing, and cleansing your body, mind and spirit and are entering into a powerful time in your life." (page 138)
YES!!!!!!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Great Purging
It began in February.
I had spent the weekend working the Body, Mind and Spirit Expo (where the Body was conspicuously missing. Though, I've come to now believe that the body has to be absent in order for capitalism to flourish. Otherwise, our intuitive senses would guide us away from spending our hard-earned dollars on things we simply don't need. But, that's a topic for another time). It was a lot of psychics, angel talkers, aura readers and other meta-physical ballyhoo'ers that, for the life of me, just do not appeal to my grounded, pragmatic self. However, on Sunday, there were also two dark and handsome men who attended and who, unlike the paid professionals in the main ballroom, have the uncanny ability of raising my feet up off of the ground.
One of these men lured me, with his foreign tongue and thick afro, into stopping by his house the following week for an Alpha Biotics treatment. Essentially, what he did was help to release the stress that is held in the space between my brain and spine by performing what looks like a chiropractic adjustment to my neck. Usually, I would not have agreed so readily to such a procedure but, obviously, I was motivated by other factors. I arrived into his artfully decorated home lethargic and energetically drained from an afternoon spent in the office. After the ten minute treatment, I was immediately rejuvenated and reinvigorated. I thought nothing of spending Saturday night out with the girls, consuming a copious amount of wine and drawing attention to our comfortable nook with our obnoxious laughter.
Come Sunday, I was praying to a porcelain Goddess. My vomiting did not let up, even as I thoroughly emptied the contents of my stomach lining into the brown rimmed bowls of numerous toilets. I purged. And purged. And purged. I had not realized just how toxic I was. It was not merely the alcohol coupled with the treatment. It was the food I had spent months, and years, consuming - the highly processed breads, crackers and cookies, the addiction to sugar and caffeine, the added tannins in the wine, and the list goes on. It was the old, fake food that has graced my palate, even as I subconsciously stuffed it down my gullet.
Physically spent, I was reeling come Monday's all-day Small Farms Conference held at a Del Mar Hotel (another walking contradiction, just like me. But, yet again, I digress into a story meant for another time). However, I was also excited, for it was just as the attractive man had initially stated when he was attempting to sell his services - I was given a reset button on my system. From here on out, I declared, I would pay more conscious attention to what I was putting into my body.
As the week progressed, and as I diligently refrained from the coffee and a handful of M&M's (among other things, of course), I thought deeper about the metaphor that I was physically experiencing. Days passed and I noticed thoughts that spoke of a lack of self-worth, deeply held for years, arise and release. I discovered absolve, and it felt like nothing more than a great cleanse. I continued to probe deeper by investigating the way I was spending my time, and with whom. "What is best for my well-being?" and "What serves my highest good?" were questions that I continued to ruminate upon. Intuitively, I began to slowly withdraw from anyone and anything that seemingly fed and added to the toxicity that I had only recently come to let go of. It was both satisfying, and painful. For there I was, back where I had begun, alone and with no girlfriends to spend a night on the piss with, playing wing-woman so that one of us could have our sexual needs met, at least temporarily.
I spent a quiet week in rest and solitude. Then, life picked up where it had left off and I allowed myself to be open to what miracles the universe offered. Of course, more women friends were pointed in my direction and I once again enjoyed my time spent in feminine company (among other things, of course). The ultimate release, however, came in a subconscious state. While sleeping, only last week, I awoke fresh from a vivid dream: I had been sentenced to die. God knows for what yet, strangely enough, I actually believed I DESERVED such a sentence. I faced my fate, brave and without fear. I was dropped, head first, into a vat of cement SHIT. Still, I thought that I deserved no less.
The shit was slow to constrict and as I awaited my death, fear began to creep in. "I don't want to die," my inner dialogue began to scream. So, instead, I crawled out of the pit and wandered around a village, where life continued just as it always does, covered in thick, brown feces and looking for a shower with which to once again absolve myself.
I had spent the weekend working the Body, Mind and Spirit Expo (where the Body was conspicuously missing. Though, I've come to now believe that the body has to be absent in order for capitalism to flourish. Otherwise, our intuitive senses would guide us away from spending our hard-earned dollars on things we simply don't need. But, that's a topic for another time). It was a lot of psychics, angel talkers, aura readers and other meta-physical ballyhoo'ers that, for the life of me, just do not appeal to my grounded, pragmatic self. However, on Sunday, there were also two dark and handsome men who attended and who, unlike the paid professionals in the main ballroom, have the uncanny ability of raising my feet up off of the ground.
One of these men lured me, with his foreign tongue and thick afro, into stopping by his house the following week for an Alpha Biotics treatment. Essentially, what he did was help to release the stress that is held in the space between my brain and spine by performing what looks like a chiropractic adjustment to my neck. Usually, I would not have agreed so readily to such a procedure but, obviously, I was motivated by other factors. I arrived into his artfully decorated home lethargic and energetically drained from an afternoon spent in the office. After the ten minute treatment, I was immediately rejuvenated and reinvigorated. I thought nothing of spending Saturday night out with the girls, consuming a copious amount of wine and drawing attention to our comfortable nook with our obnoxious laughter.
Come Sunday, I was praying to a porcelain Goddess. My vomiting did not let up, even as I thoroughly emptied the contents of my stomach lining into the brown rimmed bowls of numerous toilets. I purged. And purged. And purged. I had not realized just how toxic I was. It was not merely the alcohol coupled with the treatment. It was the food I had spent months, and years, consuming - the highly processed breads, crackers and cookies, the addiction to sugar and caffeine, the added tannins in the wine, and the list goes on. It was the old, fake food that has graced my palate, even as I subconsciously stuffed it down my gullet.
Physically spent, I was reeling come Monday's all-day Small Farms Conference held at a Del Mar Hotel (another walking contradiction, just like me. But, yet again, I digress into a story meant for another time). However, I was also excited, for it was just as the attractive man had initially stated when he was attempting to sell his services - I was given a reset button on my system. From here on out, I declared, I would pay more conscious attention to what I was putting into my body.
As the week progressed, and as I diligently refrained from the coffee and a handful of M&M's (among other things, of course), I thought deeper about the metaphor that I was physically experiencing. Days passed and I noticed thoughts that spoke of a lack of self-worth, deeply held for years, arise and release. I discovered absolve, and it felt like nothing more than a great cleanse. I continued to probe deeper by investigating the way I was spending my time, and with whom. "What is best for my well-being?" and "What serves my highest good?" were questions that I continued to ruminate upon. Intuitively, I began to slowly withdraw from anyone and anything that seemingly fed and added to the toxicity that I had only recently come to let go of. It was both satisfying, and painful. For there I was, back where I had begun, alone and with no girlfriends to spend a night on the piss with, playing wing-woman so that one of us could have our sexual needs met, at least temporarily.
I spent a quiet week in rest and solitude. Then, life picked up where it had left off and I allowed myself to be open to what miracles the universe offered. Of course, more women friends were pointed in my direction and I once again enjoyed my time spent in feminine company (among other things, of course). The ultimate release, however, came in a subconscious state. While sleeping, only last week, I awoke fresh from a vivid dream: I had been sentenced to die. God knows for what yet, strangely enough, I actually believed I DESERVED such a sentence. I faced my fate, brave and without fear. I was dropped, head first, into a vat of cement SHIT. Still, I thought that I deserved no less.
The shit was slow to constrict and as I awaited my death, fear began to creep in. "I don't want to die," my inner dialogue began to scream. So, instead, I crawled out of the pit and wandered around a village, where life continued just as it always does, covered in thick, brown feces and looking for a shower with which to once again absolve myself.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A True Cinderella Story
I arrived late. The sun had long set and I was nervous. Prior to my arrival, I knew not where a light source was located, how to close the cylindrical roof or, even, if I would startle anyone with my appearance. Nonetheless, I pressed on.
A cool southern wind blew off of the Pacific and caressed my milky shoulders. A crescent moon peaked its partially hidden face out from behind the shifting clouds. Night sounds of chirping crickets and croaking frogs filled the air. The scents of a damp Earth, pregnant and full, filled my nostrils.
I breathed in ~~~~ deeply.
While fantastically admiring my surroundings, I approached my abode for the night and my soul sang out in deep harmony. A round yurt, twenty feet across and twenty feet high, sat before me, it's double french doors awaiting my arrival. My heart burst open as I ceremoniously danced and spun on the wood chip laden ground. I savored each moment of this ~~~ now.
I relished in my arrival ~~~ home.
It did not matter that I froze in the queen-sized bed that sleepless night only to wake and realize that I had neglected to close the roof dome. It did not bother me to have to wander about in the quarter-lit night while attempting to brush my teeth and empty my bowels.
It was pure, sweet delight.
It was as I have always dreamed.
It was my fantasy, reawakened.
It was my reminder ~~~ Yes, you can have this, Cara.
In the light of an early dawn, a pair of bright green converse greeted me from their perch on the linseed-oil floor. I wandered up to them. "Try me," their tongues chirped. They slid on my size 8 feet like a glove and I meandered out into the almost spring day, elated.
It is as they say, "If the shoe fits..."
A cool southern wind blew off of the Pacific and caressed my milky shoulders. A crescent moon peaked its partially hidden face out from behind the shifting clouds. Night sounds of chirping crickets and croaking frogs filled the air. The scents of a damp Earth, pregnant and full, filled my nostrils.
I breathed in ~~~~ deeply.
While fantastically admiring my surroundings, I approached my abode for the night and my soul sang out in deep harmony. A round yurt, twenty feet across and twenty feet high, sat before me, it's double french doors awaiting my arrival. My heart burst open as I ceremoniously danced and spun on the wood chip laden ground. I savored each moment of this ~~~ now.
I relished in my arrival ~~~ home.
It did not matter that I froze in the queen-sized bed that sleepless night only to wake and realize that I had neglected to close the roof dome. It did not bother me to have to wander about in the quarter-lit night while attempting to brush my teeth and empty my bowels.
It was pure, sweet delight.
It was as I have always dreamed.
It was my fantasy, reawakened.
It was my reminder ~~~ Yes, you can have this, Cara.
In the light of an early dawn, a pair of bright green converse greeted me from their perch on the linseed-oil floor. I wandered up to them. "Try me," their tongues chirped. They slid on my size 8 feet like a glove and I meandered out into the almost spring day, elated.
It is as they say, "If the shoe fits..."
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Rite of Spring
| BE(e) | |
 | |
Fertility and the Honey of Life, Accomplishing the Impossible Bees are the symbol of fertility and sexuality. Its honeycomb, a hexagon, is the symbol of the heart and represents the sweetness of life found within our own heart. It is also the symbol of the sun and all its energies.The bee reminds us to extract the honey of life and to make our lives fertile (productive) while the sun shines. No matter how great the dream is, there is the promise of fulfillment if we pursue our dreams. If a Bee has shown up in your life, examine your own productivity. Are you doing all you can to make your life more fertile? Are you busy enough? Are you making time to savor the honey of life and not becoming a workaholic? The Bee is the symbol of accomplishing the impossible. Aerodynamically, its body is too large for its wings and, thus, it should not be able to fly. Although we now understand how it does fly (it has a high rate of wing movement), the Bee remains a symbol of accomplishing anything you put your mind to. In Hinduism, the Bee relates to Vishnu, Krishna or Kama, the God of Love. In Egypt, the Bee symbolized royalty. In Greece, it was the symbol of the Eleusinian Mysteries. The Celts associated the Bee with hidden wisdom. On this spring equinox, a day when the sun passes the equator and our day is as equally long as our night, May your life BE full with the same promise and potential as our totem friend and animal insect the Bee. | |
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
........
You
call out my name
"Come"
you whisper
"Slide
on my body
in my depths
into my warmth
my blankets of security
allow me to envelop and hold
you
in my arms of satin, of lace
of whichever you prefer
wrapped tight within
my confines
my bosom
my abode
me
when two can truly become
one."
And, I call that an
"Ode to My Bed"
call out my name
"Come"
you whisper
"Slide
on my body
in my depths
into my warmth
my blankets of security
allow me to envelop and hold
you
in my arms of satin, of lace
of whichever you prefer
wrapped tight within
my confines
my bosom
my abode
me
when two can truly become
one."
And, I call that an
"Ode to My Bed"
Thursday, March 4, 2010
To E~volve, We must become IN~volved...
Kristen is a Jivamukti yoga teacher who lives, teaches and practices sharing her compassionate light
with locals in Encinitas, and beyond. Recently, Kristen enlisted my help in drawing up a flier for her Goddess Yoga Retreat to be held at the Glen Ivy Spiritual Center in May. Naturally, I was only too eager to lend a hand. Fresh from my recent excursions of having been in front of the camera, I inquired if we could do a photo shoot down at Swami's.
these past few weeks, and months, have felt especially rocky.
The ground is shaking - and not just in Haiti and Chile. Little earthquakes have been taking place all around us, rattling some foundations while bringing other unstable structures crashing down. Although I am gratefully referring to a metaphor here, I nonetheless wonder if these minor tremors are a mere taste of what the impending future has in store.
In the past, I have often ran away when the going got tough. It was simply and usually too hot in the kitchen, so I always got out. Now, I am finding myself called to bring my services forth and to offer what aid I can. Now, I am challenging myself to not only stay but to dig my feet in deeper, like a rooted tree, and to sway, rock and roll with the breezes as well as the colliding tectonic plates.
Now ~ for this is all there is.
I don't know what this new epoch has in store and though I sometimes feel fearful about the dominant myths that pervade our collective consciousness, I have chosen to believe in and work towards an alternative vision. Reveling in our vulnerable humanity, with Kristen on these Pacific shores as well as with the many others who grace my path, is one way in which I am continuing to root down, down, down. Listening, hearing, and truly embodying sage words of wisdom, such as "In order to evolve, we must become involved," is another.
So, become In~volved, my friends - in your children's imaginations; in the place in you where the child still remains; in our elder's hearts and minds; in this planet's tall grasses; in whatever calls you forth to offer your shining brilliance and your divine soul be-ing. Let us E~volve, together...
As we enter into this next phase of our biological evolution, what intentions are you setting for our human species and this earthly planet??
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Presence ~ In Lieu of Presents
As Dave Henson, Executive Director of the Occidental Arts and Ecology Center in Sonoma County would say: "I am broke, not poor."
The money I have, I prefer to spend on food - on the life-affirming medicine that our edible planet sprouts forth.
I harbor few possessions, for the mall lost its appeal around the same time that I surpassed my girlish figure.
I can count on one hand the things I own, such as a '90 Volvo, purchased from a dear friend only three years ago, a few plates, bowls, and cups, and an assembled desk of oak purchased on the cheap from Ikea.
Mainly, I am a keeper of trinkets & mementos - of books filled to the brim with pages scrawled by both my hand and that of others as well as with the photographs of a life well lived.
What I treasure most is what cannot be taken away - the hard won experiences that have accompanied time, travels, education, and relationships.
I don't buy things ...
I prefer to spend quality time and to give of my presence.
Truly, this is a gift that can never be given away - the precious moments that we enjoy in each others' company, giving our ears & our hearts. The passionate beating, the tick tock of the here and now, is palpably felt and the memory is sealed - forever kept in the unique container that is this human body.
Presence.
(My friend Ben would say that this is all there is.)
Presents.
(Capitalism would have us believe that this is all there is.
Yet, as Frances Moore Lappe wrote in her book, Hope's Edge: The Next Diet for a Small Planet,
"The desire to consume is, fundamentally, an anti-social value.")
So, what does it mean to give of my presence?
When I am whole-heartedly listening - when my entire be-ing is attuned to this moment, now, to you and to whatever may unfold and give way. Presence is when I am choosing to ignore my very real and very human desire to plan ahead, to think about what I am going to say and how I am going to respond. Presence is when I respond less from a place of needing to protect myself (out of fear that I may get hurt and out of desire to control an outcome) and more from a willingness to expand, reach beyond, and grow into something far greater than I myself could have ever fathomed.
This is presence.
This is intimacy.
This is improvisation in action.
This is a living democracy.
This is relationship and this is dance.
Won't you join me???
The money I have, I prefer to spend on food - on the life-affirming medicine that our edible planet sprouts forth.
I harbor few possessions, for the mall lost its appeal around the same time that I surpassed my girlish figure.
I can count on one hand the things I own, such as a '90 Volvo, purchased from a dear friend only three years ago, a few plates, bowls, and cups, and an assembled desk of oak purchased on the cheap from Ikea.
Mainly, I am a keeper of trinkets & mementos - of books filled to the brim with pages scrawled by both my hand and that of others as well as with the photographs of a life well lived.
What I treasure most is what cannot be taken away - the hard won experiences that have accompanied time, travels, education, and relationships.
I don't buy things ...
I prefer to spend quality time and to give of my presence.
Truly, this is a gift that can never be given away - the precious moments that we enjoy in each others' company, giving our ears & our hearts. The passionate beating, the tick tock of the here and now, is palpably felt and the memory is sealed - forever kept in the unique container that is this human body.
Presence.
(My friend Ben would say that this is all there is.)
Presents.
(Capitalism would have us believe that this is all there is.
Yet, as Frances Moore Lappe wrote in her book, Hope's Edge: The Next Diet for a Small Planet,
"The desire to consume is, fundamentally, an anti-social value.")
So, what does it mean to give of my presence?
When I am whole-heartedly listening - when my entire be-ing is attuned to this moment, now, to you and to whatever may unfold and give way. Presence is when I am choosing to ignore my very real and very human desire to plan ahead, to think about what I am going to say and how I am going to respond. Presence is when I respond less from a place of needing to protect myself (out of fear that I may get hurt and out of desire to control an outcome) and more from a willingness to expand, reach beyond, and grow into something far greater than I myself could have ever fathomed.
This is presence.
This is intimacy.
This is improvisation in action.
This is a living democracy.
This is relationship and this is dance.
Won't you join me???
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