November 15th, 2008

Today is the autumn day that would give an autumn day a run for its money.  Hell, it’s an autumn day that would give Muhumud Ali a wild ride.  It’s the exact kind of day when Mary Poppins rode into town, way back in the day.  In fact, if I’d have kept my gaze trained skyward, I’m sure I would’ve seen many a token governesses arriving to work their via their magic umbrella.

When Mykael and I first met, I told him with stalwart conviction that I did NOT like the wind.  He said he loved it.  Hence we began a tally of the top ten ways we are different.  But as I was out, merged with the blustery, dry morning, stirring with nature’s fire-colored confetti of death and decomposition, my ipod spewing hard, pumping beats pounding at the invisible reaches of my awareness, reminiscent of tribal meat pounding rituals, I gave myself quite a sobering surprise to realize that I might not BE who I was yesterday.  I might actually be enjoying the wind today.  Seven twenty AM, another crystalline day on the rise, and the gentle violence of the wind was only seducing me to fall apart.  To let go and be redistributed in the random, whimsical perfection of nature.  This dragon-esque wind, indeed rearranged my weather preferences.  I wonder what ELSE she displaced, shuffled.

I have to change the subject, for but a moment… will I ever get published with impulsive writing behaviors like this?  Is there any appetite for a writer with a mind so disorganized and free?  I know, I know, I can hear you, hand on hip, furrowed brow, “Duh, Athena, what do you think EDITORS are for???”  …I guess I have a desire for there to be a calling, an appetite for this kind of sincere randomness.  But what I was needing to “get off my chest”, was the great stress I feel when I pack myself a nut butter and jelly-jam sandwich, and inevitably, HALF of the good stuff, especially the nut splooge, insists on squirting out the sides, lost to the foily oblivion, from which I do my best to resurrect it upon completion of my journey into the mind-bending world of the sandwich.  Would somebody please invent an alarm system, so that the oozing, nutty goodness would think at least twice before slipping with sensual rebellion out the sides of its bready boundary?

Thank you for letting me get that off my chest.  Now, Athena, is there more to say about autumn wind?  Well, I wonder what ELSE I might have IDEAS about that are not truly accurate reflections of my inner state.  God, I’m afraid that’d be most things.  “Inner state”.  That’s a treacherous precipice to climb.  Or a slippery sandwich to endeavor to ingest.  What is my inner state, anyway?  Is it the ecstatic birth right of peace and bliss that enlightened masters adamantly insist dwells somewhere in me, where the sun don’t shine?  Funk that.  For the sake of argument, let’s just say that it’s my immediate feeling/preference, opinion in any given moment.

Relationship.  Let’s revisit that seventy nine headed beast, shall we?  Today I see relationship as an invitation to continuously step into being the best.  There is some really intense energy happening right now.  Gawd.  I am at the Arete Experience.  Taking a break.  I feel afraid.  Maybe part of it is just not being outside all day.  Florescent lights~ they are NOT my friends.  Relationship.  Why bother?  To be deeply known and held.  Fuck.  I don’t know where I am, right now, but it is not on the page.  Maybe I don’t want to talk about relationship.

I want to talk about what I have at stake in serving on production here.  What’s at stake for me is letting go.  Letting go of old ways of being/relating to work, to my value, to serving, to time.  I need to get my fucking act together.  Ahhh.  There.  I am feeling myself land NOW, tears, rage and all.  My home is at stake, too.  I have been asked to leave my house, and have been continuously paralyzed since.  What have I done to forward myself, propel myself into the next scene?  Well, I’ve started taking 5HTP.  So I haven’t been fixating on wishing I was dead.  I actually feel hope.  I actually believe that I can do it.  Writing has been life saving.  Although THIS particular writing feels awful.  I am writing, thinking I will NEVER get published if THIS is all that’s coming out of me.  But I’m gonna take the stance that this needs to come out to make room for the next wave of poetic brilliance.  Every time I press “control s”, I cringe, like “this sludge should NOT be saved… I’ll just have to go back in and throw it out later.  What a waste.  Okay, I am totally in an unproductive loop.

But when I see people in their processes, I realize how far I have come.  How much space I DO give myself to BE.  But what about in regards to work?  How much space do I have there?  God, I am so fucking stumbly and fumbly and human.  And ANGRY.  Ahhh, there’s the anger again.  Good.  I think that’s the entry point to my success.  The next step.  I have been so resigned.  So collapsed.  I want to harness this fire, and let it be the bow for my arrow.  I have really been into the bow and arrow metaphor these days.  It’s the sharp, penetrating precision.  Focus.  My context for this weekend is “fierce, focused Lover”.  And that’s about the quintessence of who and how I want to be in my life.  I want to be an unapologetic heavy weight.  (different than a fat person, okay, so don’t get any ideas…)  I want to be someone that will occasionally intimidate others with my bold, unapologetic intensity and depth.  And I want to not only be a-ight with that, I want to SAVOR it.  Ewwwe.  I hate being in this little claustrophobic room, with no natural light.  And will I EVER be enough?  And I’ve been fucking sitting on my god fearing ass all fiddle-stickin day.  I want to kick and punch and dance.  This is not a novel.

Okay, can I just get all of this out of my system?  Here are all the reasons why I will NEVER succeed~  Ahhhh, I’m so ANGRY.  I will never succeed because I am constipated… which means that I am holding too much in.  I don’t feel powerful or beautiful.  I actually feel immense discomfort in my belly.  I don’t want to be seen or felt.  I feel repulsive.  That’s the essence of it for me.  So I feel that sensation of fullness, of stagnant, bloated despair, and I don’t want to just BE with it, so I go into this frenetic reactive space around it.  Try to figure out all these tactics to survive this discomfort.  (God, this music is so beautiful.  It is the Lee Combs DJ set from Burning Man, 2007.  There are so many fucking layers to it and the base line is so hard.  Perfect for me right now~ that HARD fuck.  Not only do I want to receive the hard fucks, I want to BE the hard fucker.  But then, on top of all this rough, gritty penetration, there are various lighter, less dense textures of sound that seduce and suck off.)

FUCK.  I am so fucking PISSED.  Ahhhh.  Is it just being at the course that’s bringing all of this up for me?  God, I renounced you last week, but then I realized that that was inauthentic bullshit.  I am feeling like such an emotional tangle.

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