Dumping Diamonds Down the Well and Let’s Cut Jesus Some Holy Slack

As I rode my bike through the driving rain to get to café 504, I marveled at the lengths I will go to for that which I love.  Coffee and writing.  Two of my most favorite parts of being a human being named Athena Grace.  Any other mission or chore could be so easily swept beneath the rug of endless excuses on a blustery day like today.  But I would walk a gazillion miles through a blizzard to arrive in the paradise that is writing and cappuccino.  Hallelujah!!!

Speaking of Hallelujah, I’m gonna dive right in and say what’s on my mind about everybody’s favorite lord and savoir, Jesus H. Christ.  (Where does the H come from anyway???)  Now that I am an official blogger, I’ve been doing a little research, testing the waters of the blogging world.  What are people saying?  What’s the linguistic climate “out there”?  So I searched wordpress on my favorite subject, GOD!  And I found this guy who was talking Styrofoam trash about my buddy Jesus.  Apparently this dude was raised catholic, which rumor has it can be a pretty damaging experience… but now he’s out there cleaning toilets in a catholic church and writing satirically hateful letters to the holy savior, J-ditty.  Reading it made my heart ache.  Thanks to organized religion, Jesus is so wickedly misunderstood!  The masses seem to think that he was this holier than thou, elitist condemning judge whose farts smelled like lilacs and jasmine.  WRONG.

Now this is my version of faith= I have faith in my unwavering intuition as to who this man really was.  First off, yes, Jesus was a man as much as you are a man or a woman.  Jesus was just like you and me. Only He happened to have an unquenchable thirst for truth, driving him to spend copious amounts of time in the Great Silence.  And ANYONE who makes the effort to spend time cultivating intimacy with the silence inside is guaranteed to find what he found.  And once you find it, you inevitably dedicate your life to helping others find this, because nothing compares to bathing in the holy light that is the truth of who we are.  None of our ego ambitions could ever DARE to stand up to the light inside.  I just know.

Jesus was a yogi.  He practiced meditation, followed the path of Self Mastery.  This is nothing outrageous, only inspiring.  So why are so many wars fought in his name?  Why are so many condemned in his name?  Unfortunately, many churches use God Realization as a hollow pretense, when their true agenda is gaining power and control of the masses.  This has very little to do with Jesus.  When I am president, I shall forbid any religious observance that condemns another.  There is no excuse for that.  If spiritual teachings and practice are not founded on the truth and celebration of our Oneness, then we have outgrown them by now.  Please people, no more infantile ideas about this beyond marvelous truth of the All Pervading Light.  Haven’t we suffered enough?

Am I trying to twist your arm off until you accept Jesus as our Lord and savior?  No way, Jose.  I could care less where, what, whom your source of inspiration is.  All that concerns me is that you have a source of inspiration that connects you with “the Highest”.  The highest meaning your heart.  The heart of the world.  Your own, personal oasis of joy and peace.  The simpler it is, the better.  Maybe it’s your dog, your Sweetie, your children, the ocean, the song of birds.  For me, it is all this and more.  It is the common denominator in all that, that moves me.  You could call it All Pervading Light.  The light dwells at the core of all that we love.  And all that we will come to love (everything!) as we open to the realization of what we are truly made of.

I know this is not the most poetic writing… I love being poetic.  Today I feel more like a preacher… but only hear these words as words of expansion, liberation.  I mean really, if I was stuck on a desert island, and I could only bring one spiritual teaching, do you know what it would BE?!

THE GOLDEN RULE.

Simple.  Do un to others as you would have others do un to you.  In modern speak, treat people the way you want to be treated.  Now, I suppose that would be pretty easy on a desert island, since traditionally, the hypothetical world of desert islands do not include the concurrent luxury and burden of other people.  But I could practice with the furry little animals, the large, iridescent, tropical bugs and the birds whose voices are portals to heaven, whose wings covertly remind us of our own, long forgotten.  Anyway, I guess now is a good time to digress… Please consider that Jesus is not out to get you or your people.  Consider that Jesus is a dude who had the unrelenting conviction to see beyond the divisions and limits born of this world of illusion… and consider that it is your Destiny to do the same… but your unfolding is a gentle, patient one.  You are blooming in your own sweet rhythm.  And regardless of the imaginary constraints of time and space, we are all the same, and just beneath the dream we simultaneously come from and remerge with the same unbounded, wholly holy enchanting placeless place.

Thank you for considering this expansive view.  And now for an orgasm report.  But first, a word from our sponsor~ the rain.  My sight keeps being seduced out the window to the saturated sidewalk.  I let my gaze soften and drink in the concentric circles doing their temporal dance about the wet pavement.  They rise and then disappear so quickly, it’s hard to believe that any single one ever existed.  Is that what a human life is?  Just a drop of ocean water, splashing on a temporary surface of individuation, only to lose its bound little self back into the universal wetness that is creation its self?  It sure seems that way.  It’s Wednesday…  Wasn’t it just Wednesday?  Wednesdays come and go quicker than each fleeting circular expression born of a single spring rainstorm.  I am thirty.  I do not know how long I will live.  I do not know when I will be blessed with Holy Sight.  I want to do my BEST at Loving.  Loving feels so challenging sometimes.

Now back to our previously programmed presentation.  Orgasm.  I feel sad to announce that it was a very anticlimactic occurrence.  Mykael and I chose to take some mushrooms in the early evening.  If I had it all to do over again, I would not have done that.  I would rather have just snuggled and bonded and made love all afternoon and into the evening.  We didn’t take enough to come unhinged from the confines of linear reality… just enough to feel sorta introspective and weird.  We both wanted to make love, but we were mildly preoccupied with the haunted whispers of non-ordinary reality.  Frown.  Plus he was experiencing some familiar though frightening aches and pains and fears (ohmy!)… so he had a lot of attention on himself.  All that said, we managed to have pretty sweet communion.  And when he finally came, it was just like I imagined.  I was totally surrendered and received his energetic offering as pure grace.  I felt like a sacred well, filled with holy water… A well of infinite depths.  When he came, it was like he poured a bucket sized chalice of diamonds into my well.  I felt them plummet through my crystalline depths, whistling with soft ecstasy as they fell into me.  But they fell up.  Imagine an upside down well, whose mouth is on earth and its bejeweled bottom could be construed as heaven.

When the diamonds rose up beyond my heart, merging with my voice, I opened my throat and sang a pure, ecstatic tone.  I didn’t sing it, it sang me.  I’m not kidding.  It was like a tsunami.  And after the maha wave broke, smaller waves lapped rapturously at my insides.  Holy fullness.  But then it was over.  And I was just me again.  And then what?  Then I took my electric, insatiable self to bed and masturbated again, because my tunnel of love was open for some serious business last night.  Hmmm, I guess it was a pretty decent night of release… but the journey of yearning far outshone the petty destination of fulfillment.

Making Love to My Edges

Why is it when the coffee kicks in, I suddenly have so much more to say?  The coffee.  Small double latte from Gaylord’s.  I was civilizedly sipping it and I realized the espresso drinks they serve here are neither fabulous nor shitty. (Strictly flavor wise… they redeem themselves with beautiful, creamy artwork in the foam!)  They are absolutely average.  What a sorry lot in life.  I think I’d prefer to be shitty over average.  Then at least I’m memorable and I generate some kind of experience in ye who imbibes me.  Obviously though, I’d prefer to be fabulous.  Speaking of fabulous, I am going to try listening to Pet Shop Boys radio on Pandora.  Because otherwise, today is just a day.  “Some times you’re better off dead.  There’s a gun in your hand and it’s pointed at your head.”  That’s from the song, West End Girls, I’m not being morbid… I am being clumsy though.  I feel myself stumbling, digging inside to find today’s weighty message.  Writing is like mining for diamonds.  It’s treacherous and dark and lonely, but the promise of finding something magical, transparent and maybe even dangerous, keeps me coming back, day after day after day.  What diamonds will I unearth today?

Today is Mykael and my two year anniversary.  Anniversary of meeting.  But we also consider it our anniversary of being partners.  Now that I write that, I suppose it’s mildly odd.  How many people consider themselves a couple from the moment they meet?  Honestly, tell me.  I’m curious.  Have YOU ever done something so… impulsive?  Intuitive?  Liberated?  Risky?  I don’t even know which adjectives to use.  All I know is that two years ago today, I was at an all night dance party, fawning over a man whom I never missed an opportunity to fawn over, getting lost in his ample, squishy body, his molten heart, his rich, nocturnal chocolate eyes… and suddenly another man appeared to my left.  He sat so still, just observing my outpouring of adoration for this aforementioned man.  I thought it strange… his deep, unwavering presence.  Unlike most people, he didn’t have a need to participate in order to get attention or take anything for himself from the passionately charged moments as they poured forth into the marvelous tangibility of time and space.  (As I write this, the Erasure song, “A Little Respect” came on.  Synchronistically, I put this song on the CD I made for Mykael for his birthday, three weeks after we met.  I love feeling heard by the Universe!  It’s such a comforting feeling.  Maybe APL really is my Friend!)

Hmmm, I don’t want to talk about that anymore.  I know that I could simply erase it and start over… but I don’t believe in erasing… At least not as a way of life.  I step onto the page, and I bring with me the vulnerability of my imperfection.  I do this because life is imperfect and I want to CELEBRATE this, rather than try to present a false sense of pristine organization and flawlessness.  I am learning to love and cherish the imperfections as miraculous expressions of a creative and twisted God.  (Twisted in the best way, of course…) I am going away for a few days, starting tomorrow (to Harbin Hot Springs) and I was teasing Mykael about how none of the vegetables would be missing from their bins in our fridge.  All of the dozen eggs would be gone and the whole loaf of bread… oh, and the cheese.  I have been having such a difficult time loving this part of Mykael.  The part that doesn’t eat vegetables.  To me that is just WRONG and GROSS.  For almost two years, I have fed him obsessively, because I want him to eat balanced meals with lots of veggies and whole grains.  But then suddenly, I got sick of this.  I felt resentment and repulsion and now when I am gone at meal time and he has to fend for himself, I just don’t ask.  I can’t bear to know what he puts in his body, left to his own devices.  But I sear in my own curiosity, too… It takes a great deal of self discipline not to ask what he ate for dinner.  This topic has been the cause of many arguments, resentments and hurt feelings.  We were snuggling in bed this morning (decadent!) and he suggested that I simply love this part of him.  And in being wholly accepted, it will then have the space and blessing to evolve.  A light bulb flashed on over my head.  Can I really just love that part of him?  Like not even just plain old, garden variety acceptance, but full throttle LOVE!??!!!  God, that would be so weird.  I like the challenge of it though.  I love a good challenge.

I’ve been wanting to have a baby again recently.  (Don’t worry, I won’t… I’m not ready…) But I’ve been inquiring into what is underneath this outrageous desire. What am I really wanting when I feel this urge to hostess a helpless human being?  I think what it is, is that I want to grow.  I want to take on an impossible task and through its incessant rigor, I want to know my own strength, touch something dormant and miraculous inside me.  Glad I bothered to check in, because I can attain this experience sans invoking the presence of another life on over populated, lopsided planet earth.

Examples?  Rock climbing for one… I have been climbing for just over a year now… when I first got started, I was on the precipice of accepting rock climbing as my lord and savoir.  To me it was what yoga was supposed to be.  When I was on the wall, I was ON THE WALL.  Nowhere else.  This is the UNION that is the goal and essence of any yoga practice.  But when I practice yoga asana, I am the starry eyed dreamer in the outfield, marveling at butterflies and crushing on imaginary boys.  On the wall, I am holding on for my life.  I am determined, focused and confronting my edges.  To me this is heaven.  But then I shifted out of that phase.  I improved just enough to get lazy.

Climbing has also served as such a potent mirror for my mind.  My self imposed limitations.  When it’s just me and the wall, I can hear the voices in my head, loud and clear.  Especially the one whose mantra is, “I CAN’T.”  Lame.  But eye opening.  While climbing, I discovered this familiar edge where I would fail and become so angry at myself for failing and all the while, the mantra lullaby singing inside my head would be, “I can’t, I suck, I can’t I suck I can’t I suck.”  Oh and don’t forget the volcanic, reactive, “FUCK THIS” verse of the lullaby.  I call myself the John Macenroe of climbing.  Sometimes I feel so much rage on the wall.  I can’t hold it in.  I have had some pretty pathetic tantrums in the gym.  So I stopped doing challenging climbs for like six months.  I did not want to navigate those feelings.  Until recently.  It was during the time of my recent urges to break up with Mykael.  My current evolution is softly demanding that I encounter these demons inside me.  It is time for me to use my anger as power, rather than use it to flog and punish myself, keeping my in a crippled paralysis.  Even if I don’t make it all the way up the wall, I am learning to feel successful anyway.  Honestly… one can only effortlessly clamber up walls, reaching the top without batting an eye for so long before it is just straight up BORING. Zzzzzzz… Watching myself transform, loving myself as I do my best and fail and struggle with my edges.  Fuck it’s beautiful!  So beautiful.

Another example is writing.  I want to take being a writer as far as possible. I want to awaken and inspire EVERYONE! I want to earn a living doing what I am passionate squared, no passionate CUBED about!  Or at least die trying.  I will give it everything I’ve got and no matter WHAT happens, at least I will feel used up in the holiest way.  Sacredly, dharmically spent and bottomlessly happy.

Shoot, I had a few things to say about Jesus… And a report on the second round of relationship silence… but the word count is already over thirteen hundred… and the beat goes on… God, please grace me with tomorrow.  Another blessed day to spill my mystical mind’s guts and my eager heart out upon the page.  And God?  Please bless all whose eyes dance across this page.  May they find something of themselves here.  Something healing, soothing and true.  Amen.

Sex Confessions Live From the Cracker Barrel

Meet Saint Theresa, my holy inspiration!

Another day on planet earth.  Please consider that it is weird here.  It always boggles my mind that my fellow humans are not constantly trippin balls about the bizarre nature of… ALL THIS… Life is a cracker barrel… so now what?  I think I spent all my enthusiasm in one place yesterday.  Next time, remind me to restrain myself so that I’ll have something to say the next day.  I guess I have plenty to say… but I miss that unbridled ecstasy feeling that lit down upon innocent Missus Me yesterday.  Today I am all bridles and bits and reigns.  I think I’ll just sit here in this less than comfortable chair and suck on my little ginger mints, waiting for the right thing to say to plunk down from the heavens into my scull.

I have plenty to say… I just feel kinda lethargic.  At least I have this pretty tin full of spicy sugar discs.  Count your blessings, ladies and gentlemen!  I guess I’ll tell you that my month is up tomorrow.  Tomorrow I can cum my brains out if I fancy. (I guess I could today too, but that would entail raining on my own commitment parade built for one…) Honestly, I am not even that excited about it.  I actually prefer not cuming.  Because then LIFE its self turns to one big blushing, revelatory orgasm.  Truth be told, what I am most excited about is my predatorial womb slurping up Mykael’s cum!  It feels edgy to share this with you… But I’m gonna do it anyway, because there is nothing wrong with talking about sex.  It’s just that organized religion would have us believe that.

When Mykael comes in me, I love to practice totally letting go.  I used to try to cum at the same time he did… but then I one time I simply received his energy and it was wholely holy.  It was like a seed of secret bliss being planted somewhere deep inside me… and then feeling that seed slowly sprout and grow and rise up through my body, flooding me with wave after wave of orgasmic bliss.  Through each chakra, starting of course at my root and eventually blasting through my heart so that I become a sea of involuntary scream and ecstasy.  I don’t think the wave has ever made it all the way out the top of my head and back out into the cosmos from whence it sprung.  That’s what I’ll shoot for tomorrow.  I’m not gonna be the one shooting, but you dig what I mean, right?  Surrender for president.  I always imagine Saint Theresa being stabbed by the angel’s divine arrow of Rapture as I am being penetrated.  To me, she is the epitome of divine surrender. (I’m gonna try to attach my favorite image of her to this post)

The other day I wrote about my experience of becoming a woman.  I want to add to that… that a huge piece of my becoming has been exploring, healing and savoring my sexuality.  Somehow, my experience of my sexuality seems to be directly linked to my power.  Getting comfortable feeling so deeply… running so much energy through my body.  Inviting this potent healing energy up… up into my heart, and even all the way through my crown… I’m not an expert at this, but I do know that a little intention goes a long way.  It would make sense then that “the powers that be”, (you know, the ones who for what ever reason want to maintain control of our collective consciousness) would be invested in suppressing the sexuality of women.  I still don’t even have a clear picture of what it looks like, feels like to live in a world where women are fully empowered.  It seems to me like we are slowly waking up and shimmeying free of the lopsided patriarchal paradigm…

BUT… yes, there is still a big butt… But until we are ALL inhabiting our bodies in peace, joy, ecstasy and sisterhood… UNTIL we all remember that there is ENOUGH love, enough room for each of us to shine in the glorious truth of our innate radiance… Come on, women~ don’t tell me that you have not felt that pang of envy upon witnessing a sister who is thriving.  We are so programmed to believe that one woman’s success and happiness is somehow a threat to our own havingness.  Sure, that is a generalization… there ARE a few well adjusted among us, shining like beacons, leading the way for the rest of us.(I’m pretty sure that our arrival in this place of truth is inevitable) But for the most part we are still under the thick, intoxicating spell of scarcity and competition.  God, I want us all to be free of that.  Dear All Pervading Light, please help the women of this world remember and embody the truth of the abundance of love.  Amen.

That reminds me of the lesson in A Course In Miracles from a few days ago.  It said that what we call “gifts” are not truly gifts, because when a true gift is given, it does not take anything away from any other.  In the giving of a true gift, the gift is made available to the giver as well as the receiver, because the only things that can be given are that which are Eternal and of Love.  Peace, Joy, Blessings… Generosity, Kindness…  Sumptuous stuff like that…  It makes sense to me.  The act of giving a true gift is an affirmation of divine abundance.  And in affirming that, we also receive access to that which we affirm thru giving it away.

So WOMEN~ Remember this:  Everything that we see in our sisters also belongs to us.  It is who we are.  Period.  We are worthy, whole and wildly gifted.  What about men?  This probably applies to you too.  Grrrrr… I don’t feel as articulate on this topic as I want to be.  Because I feel passionate about it.  It feels crucial and I want to be heard.  I want these words to burrow through the layers of your very bedrock and into the core of the heart of the soul of you because I want to live in a world where we are free.  I want to live in a world where we are all awake to the truth of Love’s boundlessness.  Why?  Just to see what it’s like, I guess…

But for now, I’ll just jump back to the topic of sex.  I am a MUCH HAPPIER, more well adjusted woman when I am being fucked well.  Period.  God I am so full of periods today.  But really, Mykael was making love to me last night and I realized that our sexual compatibility is a huge factor in why I keep choosing him.  It’s really awesome to have someone in the next bedroom (yes, we have separate bedrooms…Connected by a bathroom.  Isn’t that cute?) who you know can bone you immaculate.  Boned Immaculate.  Far superior to being stoned immaculate in my opinion.  Though being stone and boned immaculate at the same time is pretty awesome!  Someone who not only do I want to invite as deep into my body as possible, but also my heart, my soul, my everything.  (I haven’t been consistently feeling that during our recent tumult… but when I do… I REALLY DO, and that’s what counts.)  After he fucks me so well, every cell of me reverberates with awakened yearning and tremulous ecstasy and for hours (or sometimes even days) afterward, which causes me to shudder and gasp and explode just being near him.

That is the pro side of the coin.  Have you heard the news?  The news that all men are retarded assholes and all women are crazy bitches… (According to David Deida) When I heard this, I felt immense relief.  Like, “Oh!  So I didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere.  I need not search any further for the man who is NOT a retarded asshole.  You are ALL a fellowship, a vast brat pack of retarded assholes.  The only question is WHICH RETARDED ASSHOLE DO I CHOOSE TO BIND MY LIFE TO?  To surrender to and share LIFE with…  And not only that, but I am not broken for being a crazy bitch, after all!  Yeah, I’m in FANTASTIC company as it turns out (yes, I’m referring to YOU!).  But Mykael’s particular strain of retarded asshole sure does get on my nerves.  I think there might be a direct correlation between a man’s masculinity, sex appeal and his retarded assholeness.  I am very attracted to the MAN that Mykael is… but the shadow of that is his intrinsic ass-holy retardation.  Sigh… if life was all sweet and no bitter, I’d’ve gotten bored to tears a long time ago, I suppose.  I think that’s why I’m taking my sweet time, dreamily shuffling along the path on my quest to find God’s luminous peace inside me.

Life as a Holy Pilgrimage

Man, I really oughtn’t be drinking a latte right now.  I was already so hyper this morning.  But I couldn’t resist.  Kurt (a follower of this blog), I fell deeper in love with you when you made the effort to clink metaphorical glasses to my stance that cappuccinos are indeed spiritual!  Cappuccinos are one of the most revelatory facets of my existence.  Except right now.  Right now it feels like the devil’s wicked poison, making me manically ecstatic.  My heart is probably beating faster than a hummingbird’s!  And on top of this, it’s a BEAUTIFUL, warm, lucid spring morning.  Well, I’ll do my best to remain poised and heavenly.

I missed writing to You yesterday.  I missed it so much that I had to play hooky from church just to be here with you now.  My day is pretty full, so it was either church or write.  Duh, writing IS my church, when push comes to shove.  And yesterday was my church too.  Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?  The Church of Revelatory Yesterday!  I’m gonna start it!  How deliciously ironical that would be, since the essence of most spiritual teachings are about the “here and now”.  But we are all yesterday junkies… so I bet it would have a relieving appeal.  I will stand up and preach about the perpetual, noble struggle to cling to yesterday in the face of a present moment that keeps trying to distract us and seduce us into the sacrilege of immediacy!  This is brilliant.

I was desperate to write today because my mind is simply overflowing with resplendence.  You know… inspired thoughts.  I want to slosh them gratuitously about the page… and I dare you not to open.  I dare you not to get turned on, inspired, enlivened.  (l LOVE slurping my warm beverages from a spoon!)  So yesterday, Mykael and I hiked from Tennessee Valley to Muir Beach.  For those of you who are not bay area natives, my condolences.  Just kidding.  But it’s a pretty hefty hike.  At least four miles each way.  But tons of steep ups and downs.  Like a metaphoric portrayal of a challenging period of life.  Parts of it wind right along cliffs that drop off to the churning, sullen turquoiser than thou body we know as the Pacific Ocean.  The first half of the hike, from Tennessee Valley to Muir, my mind was agitated.  Mykael was being moody, which made it harder for me to just rest in my own sphere of peace.  Also, I was expecting the temperature to be a lot warmer.  When we got to the beach, it was cold and windy and late.  Frown.  But the way back was worth it all!  We smoked a little pot, and prayed to for physical endurance and plenty of peace and happiness to sustain us the duration of the walk.  As we stood at the edge of the world, a prayin’ and a tokin’, the horizon began to blush like a modest though oversexed bride.  The sky was the softest blue.  A few sleek, patient clouds hovered here and there~ think bashfully melting marshmallows.  We continued to walk.  Smoking dropped me deeper into my body and I fell in love with the hard packed dirt and the heavy, rooted feeling I experienced each time I stepped.  Meanwhile, back in the sky, it began to look like APL (All Pervading Light) spilled Her psychedelic palate.  What a HOLY MESS.  It was all vibrancy.  The sun was a neon orange hole in the sky.  A hole through which the truth of existence as Light could be sneak previewed.  Slowly it oozed down toward the salivating, dramatic horizon of smooth, green, silhouetted cliffs and deepening ocean.  The pale blue of the sky made the whole scene look so gentle, approachable.  And if your eyes were brave enough to meander through the innocent canopy of blue softness, they would have stumbled right over an almost imperceptible sliver of crescent moon!

Every single moment there on the edge of the world was unique.  Every moment was revelation.  I stood, consumed by awe and PRAYED.  I prayed that I could widen myself, allow all this beauty to flood my being so that I could give it away.  I thought of the Rumi quote, “Let the beauty we love be what we do,” and I finally understood it.  Those moments of witnessing such pure grace… they were so WHOLE and COMPLETE.  There was no striving, nothing to figure out.  It was simply the beauty I love.  That is ALL there was to do.  Except, of course busy myself with trying to cram it all into a divine doggy bag, so that I could bring it home to feed to YOU.  And I don’t mean just with these petty words.  I mean with the generosity of my heart.  I mean EVERY WAY.  The thoughts I invite into my mind.  The purity of my actions… the trail of sweet nectar that floods in the wake of my footsteps upon this earth.

Once upon a summer afternoon, E* and I were hiking at Lake Tahoe and it was stunning!  The water was crystalline turquoise.  The sky vast, deep blue.  The air was clean and hot and held the sweet scent of pine and mountain dirt.  The immense granite boulders stood still in perpetual twinkle.  It was another one of those moments that is devastatingly uncontainable.  So we stood at on the tender precipice where past fucks the future wide open in the space called now… and we folded the vivid image.  Then we folded it again.  Then again, and again and once more… till it was small enough to fit in the palm of a standard sized hand… and we both tucked it away in the luxurious, divine privacy of our own souls, so that we could keep it forever.  I still have mine.  I nibble and sip on it every so often.  I would bet you tons of gold and jewels that if you asked E*, he’d indubitably admit to having his nestled in the breast pocket of his own heart to this day.

I didn’t fold up the sunset last night…  But I widened myself and begged for it to become me, me to become it.  And then I walked on, bathing in the blessing that was too big to wrap my head around.  And as I walked, the sky continued to darken, which only vivified the high hanging, dainty slice of moon.  I told you before that every moon is different.  Well the beams that danced off of this one were reminiscent of honeyed jasmine.  Don’t ask me why.  I could almost smell jasmine as I thirstily lapped up the fuzzy, luminous moon breath.  Slowly, shyly, stars began to come out of hiding.  But the BEST part was happening upon a view of San Francisco.  (I just danced in the bathroom again.  I am a good dancer.  I wish I felt like doing it in public… I bet it would be really healthy and fun.  Any day now…)
”San Francisco twinkled

as a sudden spray of effervescent gold,

cast by a hand so large

and Loving.”

That’s what I wrote last night as I marveled at the glimmering, gold lights that logic would have called “San Francisco”.  But REALLY… Was it SF?  For all I know, it really could have been an accidental spill of magic, flaming dust by some drunken, horny angels… Who am I to say?  All I know is the enchantment it sucked to my surface.

And then more walking.  And walking and walking.  Despite all this beauty, my mind threatened to suffer with thoughts of exhaustion and “when are we going to BE THERE?”  I begged it not to.  In order to quiet it, I reminded myself that I had walked all the way across Spain with a heavy backpack on.  (with E*)  We averaged fifteen miles a day.  One day we walked twenty six miles.  Marathon distance.  It was the pilgrimage route, the Camino De Santiago. It took us a month. Then I realized that I could perceive this walk, too, as a pilgrimage.  In that context, walking toward Revelation, toward awakening to the truth of our saturation in LOVE, suddenly I was willing to walk Forever.  I realized that LIFE is but a holy pilgrimage. Which means that every single person is a fellow pilgrim.

I dunno if you’ve ever walked a pilgrimage before… but there is a special comradery among pilgrims.  There is an unspoken bond we all have, sharing a sacred goal.  We have an understanding of what it takes to walk and walk and walk and walk, in the name of touching something holy within ourselves.  Walking through our own fears, limitations, aches and pains, hopes and dreams.  What a beautiful and accurate way to perceive humanity.  We ARE all pilgrims and the road is long and arduous and beautiful.  But it is sweeter when we share our water and our joy along the way.

Almost As Immaculately As Jesus

I don’t like to think about my parents having sex, but as the story goes, I was conceived ( almost as Immaculately as Jesus, I reckon) on this day thirty one years ago.  Every year on April 16th, I think of this and feel like it should be a bigger deal than people make it out to be.  I think kings and queens who rule over heavenly realms should greet me in bed with kisses and cupcakes and champagne.  Their skin is cool, Krishna-blue and softer than silk.  They ooze a fragrance that teases me with the dancing promise of the long awaited blossoming of the lotuses arduously growing in my inner mud.

That’s what this blog is really about.  I’ve been contemplating what I am up to, here on the page… and if I had to boil it down, which of course I don’t… But if I did… (which I DON’T), I would say that this blog is an expression of the lotus growing from within me. (And too, inside of YOU)  It is not just exalting the pinacle of the pretty-assed, electric blue and lavender bloom, but it is the celebratory savoring of the nutrient rich mud.  The fascination with the ridiculously thick, smooth stalk.  The lotus stalk is just like a bean stalk.  Maybe you can climb it all the way to a holy land above golden clouds where spiritual giants and their miraculous accessories and side kicks kick it old skool.  Okay, I got a little excited and worked up.  Lotuses do this to me… But yeah, I offer my words to this page as an acknowledgement of the perfection and beauty of the incessant process of Divine Becoming.  I am sick of constraining my mind with all these concepts of “When I become Enlightened”… When I am spiritually awake.  All these needless divisions imposed by a mind bred to divide and hide the intrinsic miracle of BEING.  Enlightenment is a spiral staircase, Baby!  Hop aboard!

Still, I don’t think my lotus has bloomed yet, but who cares?  It will in APL’s sweet transcendent time.  I have been realizing that patience and perseverance are my spiritual path right now.  I laugh as I write that, because again, my words divide and conquer.  As if life were created to be boiled down to garden variety, mundane sentences.  What does all of this mean???  It means that I LOVE.  It means that every single word that spills from me like a wilderness of spring raindrops is imbued with heart.  I can feel my heart bleeding like a sun, pouring hot rays of love’s language out my finger tips and onto this page in the spirit of freedom.  I guess I’m glad my parents knocked boots.  I like it here.  I don’t always.  How often I have yearned to die!  But NOW, in love, I feel like a lighthouse throwing out wicked bright beams of praise, guiding lost ships back to the sacred place that has never left any of us.

More on relationships!  Yesterday Mykael and I were having sex and I was not feeling my heart.  It felt like going through the motions and honestly, sometimes, when I’m horny enough, I don’t mind that.  But yesterday I minded.  I was in my head trying to figure out what the source of the disconnect was… Finally I said something to the effect of that I was not feeling my heart… or his… or something and I wanted to feel more connected.  Interestingly, Mykael filtered my communication through all the nuts and bolts and gears in his human head and spit out the interpretation that he was being attacked and the situation required defense on his part.  Then Miss Athena suddenly began to feel hurt because she didn’t feel heard and her desire for deeper connection had turned to battle.  Let the games BEGIN!!!  She fought to be heard.  He fought to be good enough, a good enough lover, a good enough man.  Soon enough we were in the all too familiar cesspool of exhausting attack and defense.  Capricorns and Tauruses are supposed to be a match made in heaven… But where’s the accounting for two extremely stubborn being coming together?  Two cloven hoofed beasts in a slow, arduous earthen battle.

Capricorns are far superior anyway…  (GRIN)  When we fight and he slips into that embodiment of extra dense dude, I feel like I’ve gotta sling some seriously long, dangerously sharp arrows in order to penetrate his bedrock thick skin.  I get mean.  He gets hurt.  I don’t know how else to get through to him.  The scene:  Us naked.  Him inside me, losing his hard on by the defensive second.  The intensity and the volume raising.  Me pushing him off me.  More exacerbated, desperate, frivolous communication.  Him finally storming out and slamming the door behind him.  (To hear him tell it, he was never a door slammer before I habituated him to that highly indulgent, asinine behavior.  Personally, I’m proud to be the initiator of door slam-dom.  He claims he is NOT a fan of the practice.)  Sure, I was mad… I’d much rather express my desire and have my man reply, “Why YES, Beloved Goddess, surely you are right, let’s enter deeper into our hearts, each other’s hearts, god’s heart!  Right now!!!  On your marks get set GO!!!!”

NO.  I would NOT rather relate like that.  How boring, pathetic milk toast would that be?!!  No challenge.  NO friction.  NO FUN.  If this same scene had occurred last week, I would have made it mean more evidence that we should not be together.  I would have felt so justified in leaving him.  But not this week.  As Grace would have it, I was standing in my love for him.  Miraculously, I stood at the very mouth of the deep well of patience.  That’s a good place to find yourself standing when you are feeling triggered by your partner, eh?!  HERE IS THE BEST PART!!~ I opened the previously slammed bathroom door.  His bathrobe was still jammed in the door from the prior dramatic demonstration!  The look on his face when I entered his chamber was PRICELESS!  Holy GOD!  I can’t explain why it opened me the way it did… but I’ll die trying… Just for YOU.  He was fiddling around on his Iphone… and his face was contorted in the most exaggerated, though entirely sincere teenage-strife-pout-face!  Honestly, it was so over the top, it looked like a face a bad amateur actor would make if he was trying out for the role of a silver spoon, thirteen year old from the alabaster and caviar side of the tracks!  I wanted to keep a straight face, but not a chance.  I cracked up.  Woops.  (In my world I lose points for not being able to keep a straight face in a “serious moment”.  It’s like falling out of character on set of a movie and you have to re-shoot the scene.)

Apparently, during our spat, I said something that made him think I was threatening to leave him again.  This terrified him.  Not once during the fight did my mind even stumble into that prickly possibility.  So when he divulged that he was tangled in that reality again, I wanted to draw him to my breast and pet his frightened head.  Women.  We change our minds a lot… Love us or… Shrug… In that moment, I realized the impact of all my recent talk of break-up.  It erodes the container.  I am not making myself wrong at all for going there. I did.  That’s all.  And I probably will again.  I’m just saying, that I can see that the impact is creating a partner who flinches on some level, waiting for the door’s final slam in his face.  Ouch.

I managed to stay rooted in curiosity throughout this whole ordeal.  It was revelatory for me.  Let me tell you why.  Because I saw this possibility shine like rich, honeyed sunbeams pressing their way free of the thick, steely gray clouds~ The possibility of engaging in relationship from a place of genuine curiosity and incessant exploration, rather than all of these stupid, cardboard expectations, unexamined social programs.  Some part of me has been constantly preoccupied by hopes of marriage and financial security, children and owning our own home.  All the soulless endeavors agreed upon by a sleeping world.  Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind having all those things.  But not at the expense of thriving in the MYSTERY.  Not at the expense of truly SEEING.  Not at the expense of feeling fully alive in a state of wonder of self and other.  Not at the expense of striving so hard that one day you wake up and you are DEAD!

Yesterday’s experience helped me realize that that is truly what I want in relationship.  I want to be continuously curious and surprised.  I want to cultivate patience and acceptance to the point of MASTERY.  I want to love the process more than some blah-zay, hollow result.  And I want to laugh my ass off at the pouty teenager who is all too alive and well in my partner! (and yes, CERTAINLY in myself, too…)

I Have A Crush On Depak Chopra!

I wonder what it would be like to be married to Depak Chopra.  Seriously.  I watched some of the movie, “ONE” last night… that movie made by three dudes without any film experience who just got a bug up their collective butt to go on a cinematic pilgrimage asking fellow humans their thoughts on the meaning of la-la-LIFE!  I highly recommend it.  (at least the first thirty minutes…Since that’s all I’ve seen so far…)  I loved how they emphasized that the reason that this movie came together with such profound ease and global participation, was that the underlying, driving force was the service of la-la-Love, and that anything is possible when one steps onto a path in the spirit of the Highest first.  One of the guys admitted that if they had have realized the magnitude of this project at the start, they never would have taken it on.  That reminds me of a quote I read on my visit to Glide on Sunday.  It said something like, “Faith is taking the first step, even if you can not see the top of the staircase.”  You know who said it?  Martin Luther King Jr. (a fellow Capricorn!)  Quite different than my Nigerian friend’s idea of faith equating to being force fed dogmatic cardboard concepts such as the Immaculate Conception in the name of Immaculate Manipulation, eh?

But back to Depak Chopra.  Man, I sure got a crush on him.  In my opinion, he is a wonderful speaker.  He presents himself so professionally.  He is clear, articulate and intelligent as hell.  I wonder if I could get away with ANY of my wily feminine games with him.  He seems so on top of his game… seem, seem, seem, I’m bursting at the seems!!!  I sure can’t imagine what it would really be like to be his wife.  I totally creamed my pants when he said, “We are the only species who is aware of our mortality. If you are not totally amazed and bewildered and mystified by your self… then you’re still not fully human.”  For some reason that was a relief for me to hear.  I sit here day after day, turning over stones inside my mind, my heart, my shadowy cracks (and cracky shadows!) and it is endless.  Somehow my fascination feels validated now.  And I know that I am in resplendent company here with all of YOU!!!  I know that as I sit here excavating and musing, I AM doing it for the team.  Another great thing he said was, “Our dualistic thinking leads to ignorance.  Sometimes we institutionalize this ignorance and call it “religion”, and then we go to war over it.”  You know what I love about that quote?  Its succinctness.  It strikes me as a highly profound truth, but he spits it out with a wham, bam, thank you ma’am PUNCH.  Sha-zaam!  Unlike some wordsmiths I know, who are so in love with words that they spread them on the page thicker than Mykael spreads jam on his morning feast of open faced almond butter and jam sammies.  Honestly, it took me months to let go of my judgment and repulsion in regards to his gratuitous jam usage.  It’s a sugar swamp. He needs thigh high rubber boots to wade through it.  This morning, I was feeling especially nuts.  I grabbed mykael’s wrist while he was poised to spread the jam.  (He has to turn the jar sideways, and coax it with a butter knife, so that it pours upon his bread slices like thick, cooling lava.) I started talking in my manic, wacky child’s voice and took raucous, erratic control over operation strawberry jam spillage, laughing all the way, of course.  Don’t ask why, but participating in this sacrilegious rite was somehow healing for me.  Mykael was only a sliver of a fraction of a slice of delight as tickled by my antics as I was.  But he felt my joy and allowed me to playfully dominate his breakfast preparation. (Thank you, Benevolent Sir)  You wouldn’t believe how engaged and at one I was!  I doubt Depak Chopra would allow me to spread his great wall of jam this way…  Another reason to stay committed to Mykael.  (Plus, I bet Mister Chopra is a conservative lover… but I’m not trying to start any rumors.  Maybe he’s all unbridled passion… but he just “SEEMS” so moderate in his lifestyle and behaviors…)

God, I am so grateful to be feeling the freedom of the flow again.  The last couple of days I have felt so linguistically constipated.  Now, I feel like I am at a sleep over with my best friend and we are so excited to be together, that we plan to stay up ALL NIGHT talking about EVERYTHING!!!  Pretend with me, won’t you?  Let’s love every moment!  Let’s make messes and freely reveal our hearts and our overflowing inanity!!!  Thank you for this freedom… whoever you are…

Speaking of best friends and sleepovers, you know I spent some time with one of my Besties, Amrita yesterday.  It was profound as always.  Thank All Pervading Light for those beings who grace our paths, and no matter how much time goes by, the meeting place is always the same deep, eternal knowing place!  We shared about our current vantage points in our relationships… and I was left with an expanded perspective on my current standing.  It was nothing specific that she said, or that we even discussed.  It was more like the involuntary impression that was burned into my mind’s eye during our time together.  (Two women at a nearby table are speaking Spain Spanish.  It turns me on.  My dad’s wife is from Barcelona, and because of all the time we’ve shared, my ears have come to appreciate the dignified angular music of the language.) (A man across from me is nursing a generous glass of red wine, accompanying his bagel and cream cheese!  Ladies and Gents, eleven am, and this party is officially STARTED!!!)  Anyway, the impression that burned into my inner vision was an intangible understanding of…

Hard to say.  But I feel it and I know it.  It is a place where the masculine and the feminine quintessentially clash.  It is a place where human beings are quintessentially imperfect. Inevitably every relationship bears this blessed curse.  Cursed blessing… or “ISness”, if you prefer the less dramatic portrayal… Made me think of the story of Sita and Ram, as portrayed in the movie, “Sita Sings the Blues”.  I was astounded at what a bonified DICK Ram acts like most of the time.  And in the face of that, Sita is steadfast in her devotion to her beloved husband.  I grappled with that one for months after I saw the movie.  I was struck by Sita’s potent, uncompromising devotion to Ram.  But I did not see much evidence that Ram deserved it.  He didn’t trust her and he seemed to be a pretty ego centric King.  Last night it occurred to me that she was merely practicing unconditional love.

Unconditional Love.  The term has been beaten to death by our modern, new agey, popular culture… but at it’s essence, it is simple~ Love without conditions.  Lately, I have been painfully aware of my bottomless “font” of conditions in relationship with Mykael.  I see that my default habit is to be entirely self serving.  So far, the result is much disappointment.  It seemed at first glance like Sita got the shorter than sin end of the stick, while Ram had more stick then even a renowned king knew what to do with.  But really… I say Sita got a stick that stretched clear to heaven.  Because the one who chooses Love is free.  The one who chooses love, chooses intimacy with the very binding agent of the Universe!  I am considering the angle that one [profound] purpose of long term, committed relationship is to practice, purify and strengthen one’s capacity to LOVE without condition. Like really, truly without condition… not just when its fashionable and convenient. Why bother binding to one single other?  Because the commitment is a container that allows for the perpetual deepening, the profound alchemy intrinsic in practicing Love.  In the face of this other’s inevitable imperfections, you commit to seeing, serving and loving the eternal light in them.  It is like a dress rehearsal for loving, serving, seeing humanity this way, and ultimately widening your heart so much that the illusion of duality is decimated and the truth of Oneness reclaims reign in the forefront of your mind and being.  Real Love once again takes the wheel of your existence.  All of humanity is elevated and awakened by looking into the clear, still mirror of your perfected Self!!!!

Amen.

Cedar Waxwings, Ducks and More Carrots, Of Course!

I could have sworn that today was going to be an auspicious one.  First, when I was doing my kicking laps in the outdoor pool this morning, I heard a chorus of holy voices.  Immediately I knew the source of the song~ cedar waxwings, my most favorite bird.  (But let me set the record straight, I don’t use the term “favorite” as an absolute term, but only to serve as a vehicle conveying passion, enthusiasm, joy… that whole strain of shimmering feelings.)  Have you ever seen a cedar waxwing?  They always travel in flocks.  Big flocks.  They are not big birds, they are not especially small birds.  They are compact and sleek.  When I gaze upon them, I always feel like I am looking through a soft filtered lens~ you know, the kind they use in the movies when they want to illustrate that someone is falling in love?  The object of affection shows up so softened and glowing.  Cedar waxwings look like that without even needing the aid of Hollywood special effects!  Their feathers are modest shade of tawny earth.  On their cheeks they have a soft, circular spray of red, downy feathers, so that they are in perpetual blush!  They wear black feathered masks around their eyes like sexy, angelic love bandits.  They feast on berry bushes, while singing the praises of Heaven.  I don’t see them very often (though I do hear them pretty frequently.  Their voices are what birds would sound like if they purred!), so when I do, I know I am blessed.

Then, as I was getting out of the pool, a mallard couple landed gracefully on the surface of the warm, crystalline, chlorinated water.  I heard their slick landing as I walked, through the frigid, yawning air to the locker room.  Then I heard their goofy voices (Duck voices.  Is there anything sweeter???) announcing the presence of Love and I turned to prick posterity’s bubble, not believing what I heard.  Yes indeed, they paddled their beautiful, buoyant bodies along the lap lines and my heart tickled so bad it cracked open multiple times, like a whole nest full of duck eggs.  I heard myself shriek and squeal.

But now I feel lonely.  The ducks were a pair.  The cedar waxwings were a flock.  Athena is alone.  Café 504 is busy.  How do I know that I am lonely?  It’s this feeling in my heart.  A black hole comes to mind when I focus on the sensation.  This insatiable hole, from which sadness could ooze like an endless honey stream if I let it.  But maybe if I just allow it to be… maybe if I create a new story to surround the sensation.  Maybe it is a sensation of sacred vulnerability.  Maybe.  Maybe it is love.  Maybe it is not meant to be filled.  This must be what the banks of a raging river feel like.  I can just let this feeling pour through my shyly awakening heart.  It feels like raw desire.  Desire~ the reason that we keep casting our rods out into the future, hoping that a particular delicious, gracious, winged carrot will swim up and bite our line… and then this feeling of outrageous yearning will be quelled and real life will begin.

Real.

Life.

Will.

Begin.

I know I talk about this a lot, this illusion of future happiness… but I am determined to break on through to the other side.  I am determined to claim my home right here, right now, make my nest, stake my claim, own my throne.  Here.  Now.  Even with this ache in my heart and this auspicious, wishful fishing pole, perpetually on the hunt for carrots that swim with fishes.  Isn’t that a pretty image?  Inside my mind is a viscous substance, the offspring of the torrid affair between love and water.  Aqua-golden and warm as moonbeam jelly.  In it swim schools of slender, flaming orange carrots with iridescent scales and exotic, twinkling eyes.  Long, flowing fins that flow like silk scarves blowing in tropical breezes.  Who wouldn’t want to fish for carrots as beautiful as that?!?!  I bet when I finally find the heaven inside, I’ll see Jesus, Krishna and Saint Theresa chillin’ with forties (peeping out from crumpled brown paper sacs) on the end of a pier, dippin their holy poles into the viscous sea of love potion, waiting for a sacred carrot to bite their golden lines.

I have been setting the alarm on my phone to go off every hour, so that I can affirm today’s course in miracles lesson and sit in sacred silence for five minutes, inviting effulgence into the cracks between my habitual bondage thoughts.  While I was sitting in sacred invitation, my phone chimed with the revelatory news of a text message.  After five minutes of affirmation that “God, being Love, is also Happiness”, I saw that one of my most stellar (and long lost) friends, Amrita had texted me, informing me that she was in town for the day and would I like to meet up later!  I haven’t seen her in over a year.  So the cedar waxwings and the ducks did NOT lie after all!  Athena too shall be graced with auspicious company today!!!  When I am with Amrita, I feel like a shooting star.  Or maybe the ticklish blackness giggling uncontrollably as light whizzes anonymously through Her endless body of spacious something.

I said that I would tell you more about Glide Church.  But honestly, going to church is no more or less spiritual than any other experience that I have.  It is confounding to me how spirituality has become this compartmentalized, teensy patch within our glistening existence.  Or how bout those people who ardently declare, “I am not a spiritual person”?!?!  As if there is anything else to be!  I suppose this is another ingenious tactic used to bind our minds to illusion.  I am guilty.  I seem to be stuck to the concept that finding the light inside will be something that “happens to me… SOMEDAY”.  The quintessential Mother of all carrots!  How can it possibly be here now?  How can it be here now as I sit in this  moderately comfortable chair, my butt becoming flattened and stiff, my heart an empty frame hosting a vast, black hole and my mind relentlessly clawing for an understanding that saves my small fearful life, if even for a split second.

Don’t ask me how, but the Light is here, now.  Don’t ask me how, but this is IT.  There is nothing more.  No, wait, ask me.  Ask me how!!! Come on, ASK ME!!!  LOVE is how.  Mostly I hate when people tell me that.  Like my friend Dan.  He’s all bent on Love.  Like a holy obsession.  (As far as obsessions go, that one gets the thumbs up from nine point four out of ten angels… but only two out of eighty seven Popes, believe it or not)  And when love lives like an elusive concept far from available to me in any given steaming slice of Now, I feel desperate and frustrated.  LOVE?  Where?  All I feel is X, Y, Z…. What’s love got to do with THAT?  But I can feel it right now.  This feeling of brimming appreciation for all these divine dream creatures, blind as worms, wriggling about in our outrageous fantasy of separation.  Is it enough to just say YES to this feeling of reverence, this outpouring of sweetness?

Spiritual.  It does not have to be such a serious word.  Spiritual.  It is spiritual to breathe.  It is spiritual to ache.  It is spiritual to laugh, to cry, to yearn, to eat, and CERTAINLY to drink high quality cappuccinos(!!!) to pee and poop, to be a couch potato.  Ewwwe, I cringed as I wrote that last one.  I am not a fan of couch potatoes.  But you know what?  Who cares?  What I am fond of does not equate to what is spiritual.  Even the couch potatoes will eventually re-member this MAGNIFICENT light.

AMEN.

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries