Life Is But A Dreamy Poem

Today is my 108th posting!!!!  Supposedly the significance of one hundred eight is infinitely deep and auspicious as hell… but I don’t know why.  All I know is that there are 108 beads on my mala and when it is 1:08 o’clock, my bones tickle like stimulated wind chimes.

Now on to the revelatory news!  Yesterday, poetry saved my life!  Am I talking literally, figuratively or something in between?  I breathe into this question, as the answer is an ambiguous, spectral reflection, messily smearing all possibilities. Here’s what I DO know… I have been unintentionally poisoning myself by withholding love from Mykael (and others too of course, but Mykael is right up in my face, so it’s harder to feign denial).  I have been choking to death on judgments, disappointment, uncertainty and confusion.  All the while putting off loving him until I feel assured of his worthiness (my worthiness in reality, I suppose, but it’s easier to evade responsibility and point dirty, wretched fingers at the overt guilt latent in others…)  Yesterday morning he wanted to pleasure me and I wasn’t having it.  There was too much shit on my mirror and I had no desire to open myself to him.  Actually, I DID have desire… but there was too much in the way.  It was one of those pivotal moments where the choice between love and fear was screaming from within me, demanding that I step clearly to one side of the imaginary though very real line or the other.  I wanted to be enlightened.  I wanted to be great and free and alive for Love… And yet I DIDN’T.  I refused to share myself with him, and instead I cried long, hard, dramatic sobs…

… and punched myself repeatedly in the heart.  I do that every twice in a blue moon.  I’m sort of embarrassed about it… but more curious and fascinated. I mostly would’ve thought I’d be “above” that kind of self effacement.  I do it when my emotional pain becomes so thick and unbearable.  Somehow, feeling the physical sensations in my chest is a step up from this ambiguous, excruciating ache that occasionally lits down upon me.  So yesterday, just when I was sure there was no escape from myself… I tripped over a poem I had banged out on my typewriter some time ago.  I picked it up off the floor and read it.  It went like this:

Light and shadow

light and shadow smeared lovingly

Paint made to look

like wildness and danger

made to look

like lives made

made of fur and fangs.

another line, another typo

another potato chip

as I wait for Grace to slip

into these abandoned cracks

in a garden variety mind…

or is it?

ahem.  Wolves.

wolvesWolves sloshed in

thick paint

wandering frozen

not forever

but for a long time.

and my chips are



Ladies and Gentlemen:  this free-wheeling, rambling parable will return after a short-winded word from our sponsor…

Sneezing:  Witnessing a sneeze is a lofty, covert blessing from All Pervading OMgasm.  When someone near you sneezes, it is God saying, “Yo, so-and-so, wicky-wake-UP!  Your sole (soul) function here on earth is to Bless and be Blessed.  Through my All Pervading Grace, I am offering you an opportunity to bless this unique and wholly holy facet of Love!”   What could be better?!  Next time someone sneezes, revel in the divine opportunity to Bless and therefore be Blessed!  And now back to our previously programmed offertory.

I read this poem… and something moved inside me.  Not because it was a particularly phenomenal poem… What was it?  I got plugged back in to a state of remembrance.  Remembrance that Life is but a poem.  I often get caught up in this slippery mind fuck of a “perfection” that is other than what simply IS in any given steaming slice of present moment pie.  I can be one lofty bitch.  My Sainthood is as green and sour as any new born apple at times.  And instead of loving that, and resting into the seat of ever-present peace and infinite patience for the holy ride (which is a bajillion lifetimes long and simultaneously over a blink before it begins), I become intolerant of my shadows and my weakness.  Reading this poem, I remembered that Life truly IS but a dreamy poem.  And the best poetry twists and dips, thrills and spills on a regular basis, spanning all possible chasms, like any respectable rollercoaster ride.

Magic!  Literally in the space between the snap of two average fingers I was free again and in love with this mystic and bound hallucination of Me-ness!  I woke up to the purpose of my gift.  Weaving Being and Life and clumsy selfhood into poetry is healing.  Freeing.  Revealing.  Reminiscent of the princess in Rumplestitskin who spun mundane-assed STRAW into Holy GOLD.   Now I bring my typewriter everywhere, because you never know when God will send me One in need of sacred linguistic weaving of life and soul, irreverence and remembrance.

Now let’s double back to the calamity of me withholding my Love.  I believe that the withholding of Love is the only true cause of fatal diseases such as cancer, and heart attacks and all those shadow and fear stricken myths of brutal demise.  I can’t stand it.  I don’t honestly know if I’ll marry Mykael and have his baby and walk by his side until we die…but that’s no reason not to see the potentially blinding All Pervading Light in this Holy Man who sleeps in the bedroom next to mine.  Withholding Love is a fate worse than death.  It is a slow, cruel torture in the same vein as solitary confinement or being burned alive.  My dear friend Dara has been a very potent and useful mirror and reminder for me of the urgent call to return time and again to the hallowed G word.

Gratitude.  So this morning, I woke up still searing on the grill of my own closure and I prayed to All Pervading Wonder Woman.  I prayed She help me see things differently.  Then I opened my Divine Intuition book to read the next chapter.  Guess what it was about?  Yup, gratitude!  I realized as difficult as it might be to penetrate the seal on my psycho-emotional habits, I must return to gratitude, again and again and again and again and…  So I made a list of all that I am grateful to Mykael for.  Immediately, I found a ton of stuff.  Before too long, my heart was an oceanic frenzy of epic waves of Love and free-wheeling sea foam.  Writing it, it sounds too good to be true… I hear my inner Scrooge crossing his saggy arms and saying “Bah humbug, Athena.  You must be smokin’ some fine crack over there in your phone booth sized cubical.”  Nope.  I’m not.  I’m actually quite sober, and I’m here to tell you that it’s easier to return to Love than the frumpy, clumsy, jagged ego would have you believe.  I was so inspired after I made my gratitude list, that I flung myself out of bed and packed him a nourishing Tupperware full of lunch for his big day at “obligation” (that’s his newly coined term for work).  Then, instead of anonymously tiptoeing out the door, I smothered him with kisses first.

My life may feel like a colossal milk spill right now, worthy of at least as many spilled tears… but I’m choosing to see the kinks as blessed moment to moment invitations to return to Love.  Always.  All ways.


All I Can Do is Pray Today

Athena Grace, pull your self together.  Come on woman.  It’s five fifty three am and I am tongue tied.  I think it’s because what’s on my mind and in my heart are things that I don’t want to write about.  Like all the judgments of Mykael that I’m drowning in.  Like the perpetual frustration that I don’t feel capable of being close with my twenty year old brother, Daniel who seems to be perpetually and *needlessly* suffering.  Like that I’m seeing Eric this morning and I can feel how closed his heart is to me and it stings to feel the heart of someone you love shut tight.  Which is the way my heart feels toward Mykael mostly, so I know how it feels on BOTH ends and trust me, it SUCKS.

Maybe I’ll just pray really hard this morning.  REALLY HARD.

Dear God,

Please help me relinquish all my ego-inspired desires, so that I am standing naked and free in the light of the Truth.  Help me to polish my mirror, sanctify the prism of Self, so that only unconditional LOVE pours through.  God, let me not believe in or even entertain the myriad of white lies (and black lies and seductively prismatic lies) cast upon this world by my fearful, divided mind.  God please help me to forgive and return to Love even (and ESPECIALLY) when it is most difficult and I just don’t wanna.  Please, may I feel you within me, through me and EVERYWHERE, now and forever more.  May I allow this Ocean of Love we are immersed in to be the only thing that is Real, the only thing that matters.  May I have the courage to lean into the weighty, divine silence and be purified by the softly droning OM of creation.  God, I forgive this twisted dreamy nightmare of separation from You.  I do.  I forgive this dream once and for all.  I forgive this dream and wish only to Love through the confusion, the chaos, the suffering.  Please, let my life be a Light.  I know my strength lies in you.  In prostration, I offer myself at the All Pervading Holy Feet of Creation.  Use me.  Purify me such that my only will is Thy Will.  And let me remember and embrace the truth of my infinite patience for the process.  Let my life be one long garland of prayer, praise and celebration of the One who laughs the world into existence.  GodGodGodGodGodGodGodGodGodGodGodGodGodGod

Please erase all scarcity imprints from my mind.  May my mind be still and luminous.  GOD!  I know you know my heart.  I know you know my every thought.  I know you hear my prayer, and it is your greatest joy to lend your All Pervading Hand and guide me back to my SELF.

And God???  Please help me pay the rent on time.

And God?  Thank you for blessing me with so much love in my life.  With so many beautiful, inspiring friends.  Thank you for helping me heal my relations with my family.  Thank you for singing me awake from within all things in all moments.  God!  Thank you for giving me such resplendent gifts to offer the world.  Thank you for carrying me across this desert of forgetfulness and returning me better than you found me (figure of speech… there is no comparison in the wholeness of Love’s breath) to Love’s own All Pervading Heart.

May I have the courage to feel and allow the Love that we are all swimming in.  Now.  And Forever.

God, please be my best Friend, my Eternal Lover.  Thank You God.  Thank you with Everything that I Am.

In Devotion, Ache and Sincerity,

Athena Grace LMNOP

To Simply Be Here

Guess WHAT???  I could write ANYthing right now!  How wild is that?!  I mean an infinite well of possibility is at my disposal in this very moment… and yet… I will pare down infinity to something very specific and hopefully beautiful, inspiring and/or thought provoking.  What a divine responsibility!  And we share it, you silly earthling!  Every moment that we open our mouths and let our thoughts fly free as supercharged sonic vibrations, we alter the entire cosmos.  Don’t ask me… that’s just the way it is.  But I sure don’t see us humans living in a state of reverence for this weighty gift.  Nobody taught us to.  We learn to speak and soon our mouths flap and pop and click like there’s no tomorrow, painting the world with careless, linguistic barf.  Makes me think of the hallowed Buckminster Fuller, inventor of cool shit like the geodesic dome.  He shut the fuck up for literally years, because he didn’t want to speak until he was truly moved to.  And when he finally did, you can bet your fancy-assed britches that he spoke as an ambassador of the All Pervading Holy Headmistress.  (Listen, we are ALL ambassadors of the All Pervasive Exclamation Point… We just don’t act like it often enough.)

I am at Pizzaiolo today.  It’s been like a week… I’m sorta glad to be back.  Though writing in bed is pretty sweet compared to this hard, wooden bench.  But the best thing about being here is that on Monday mornings, the flower arranger is here designing her signature over-the-top bouquets of creative genius.  I just gave her a good, long look.  She shines like a true artist in the biblical sense.  I can see the creative impulse smoldering in her gorgeous face.  Her arrangements are more like little ingeniously flowering trees!  Today’s arrangements are being fashioned from immense tree branches that reach the ceiling.  But she takes hours to complete her works of art, so who knows what kind of magic will burst from these trees as they ripen into the gradual fullness of their expression… All I know is that they will defy traditional “flower arranging” for the betterment of [wonder] woman kind.

Speaking of Wonder Woman, sheeesh did I want to have a drink or a smoke or a SOMETHING yesterday.  I did NOT want to feel what I was feeling.  What was I feeling that was so undesirable?  Hmmm… well, if I had to name it… I guess it was the kind of bereft loneliness that seeps right beneath your clothes, through even your skin, bones, and straight into the soul of your soul.  Shrug.  I guess that kind of loneliness is “good”.  I mean it puts hair on the chest.  Spiritual hair.  The kind of hair that’s like God’s badge of honor. (Not to mention, a crucial source of warmth.)  I can’t help but think I was feeling beyond myself and clear into the heart of the world, on behalf of the Team.  When my emotions are so immense and indefinable… it only makes sense.  Especially given the vast numbers of people who are NOT willing to feel all that stuff… it’s gotta go somewhere, right?

I’ve said it before, but this phase of the spiritual path is fuckin’ tough.  It’s the phase where I realize that noting of this world can truly fulfill me, and yet I’m still digging through my wickedly massive, larger than life sized purse to find my all access, VIP pass to the Here and Now version of Heaven.  I know I’ve talked about this before, because I remember having the epiphany that this state is actually purgatory in the biblical-est sense.  But as I sit here in wait, I know that my ascent to Heaven is inevitable… it’s just a matter of WHEN.  And hell is but a very compelling figment of our twisty, collective imagination of a world divided and stripped of Love.

In the past, I would have slugged a glass of wine and been fine enough.  I would’ve hit the pipe and been feeling right in no time.  Or at least had a sweet, creamy treat and then distracted myself by riding the Ferris wheel of guilt, self judgment and spot hitting temporary relief.  But… I’m done with that.  At least for now.  As my spirit guides shouted to me through Amy, THERE ARE NO SHORTCUTS TO LOVE!!!!  There aren’t.  They are right.  And I am so over pretending otherwise.  So instead I dragged my teary ass out into the perfectly warm evening for a wander through the Piedmont Cemetery.

For those of you who don’t know, the cemetery is one of the most magical places I know.  I have unicorn sightings there on a semi-regular basis.  It is an immense world, much like what I imagine many people’s rendition of Eternity actually does look like.  Green rolling hills that reach increasingly higher, until they spill out into a view of the entire bay area.  The diversity of trees is mind boggling.  Seriously, I bet every single tree that can grow in the state of California (which encompasses most tress) is planted in this enchanted land.  And the tomb stones are so wicky-wicky artistic, ranging from the most basic granite lumps, to ornate mausoleums, to beautifully tortured, pensive stone angels.  Stone angels.  Honestly, what could be more poetic?

The gates were locked early yesterday, so I hoped the stone wall.  A man in a bright orange shirt saw me and was inspired to follow suit.  I wandered along the path, secretly hoping he was behind me.  I felt compelled to talk to him.  Shrug.  Couldn’t tell you why… I turned around.  He was there.  We struck up a conversation.   I told him that I was feeling the sorrow of the entire world and I was choosing not to self medicate.  He expressed his own strain of soulful loneliness.  We walked and talked in the most straight, unabashed fashion.  And then we parted ways.  He sat on the edge of the hill and drank in the warm, spacious world.  I climbed higher up the hill, wondering where I was headed.  Until, that is, I spotted the perfect tree, who literally beckoned me.  I sat underneath her and opened wide to the quietly breathing soft chaos of the Bay Area.  Lucid blues, humming greens and a whispering sea of liquid gold, kissed by otherworldly mist.

Then I shut my eyes on all of this resplendent, over the top beauty, knowing that I am on an unstoppable mission to discover the very Mother of all this visually accessible beauty.  A beauty that can only be discovered “the hard way”… you know, by being willing to dive deep beneath the seen, tasted, smelled, heard, felt world of the senses.  A beauty that lives in the heart of the heart of the heart of the All Pervading Heart.  Yeah.  I meditated until the sun was just about to hide its flaming face for the night.  In awe, I watched it sink into oblivion, decimated by modest, silhouetted mountain peaks.   I almost tasted peace… perched alone at the top of the world, straddling that grandiose paradox of utter aloneness and implicit connection to all life.  I remember being lulled by the heavy whispering swish of a raven’s wings on the air.  I remember being stung by the profundity of One set of footsteps, attesting a blessed yes to their very existence.  I remember the silent demand from some-invisible-where to be willing to simply be here.  To simply be here.


My New Vocation!

Staring at the blank page.  Five thirty am.  Wondering where I left my soul juice.  Not enough sleep.  But my restless mind won’t let me fall back and hit the rest and release anymore.  So here I am, blinking like an over cooked vegetable at the bright screen screaming at my eyes.  Strange days.  Sometimes when my spirit is ablaze in the infernos of transformation, my body has a hard time resting, fully letting go into sleep’s tender palm.  But I’m gonna pick myself up by the bathrobe straps and fake it till I make it because I have so much to tell you!

I brought my typewriter to the Lake Merit farmer’s market yesterday and sold poetry!  Was I a scardy cat?  Naturally.  But I am getting better at not thinking life to death, and instead just living it.  I think this is one of the benefits of meditation and a commitment to being a Divine Servant.  I have been begging God pretty relentlessly to move me about this life according to the highest will.  Please God, let my life be an offering to the Holy Whole.  Let me continue to heal so that I can be a source of healing for others.  And God said, “That’s right bitch, now I’ve got you just where I want you.  Listen up…”  And then God tossed me my typewriter and drop kicked me down the hill to spin the hearts and souls of others into beautiful garlands of words.  The experience yesterday FAR EXCEEDED any expectations I had (Expectations.  I know they blow anyway… but I can’t seem to stop them…)

Since I’m new at this spontaneous poetry game, I still don’t quite have my “protocol” down… (I reckon protocols are overrated anyway, but…)  I just had a vague idea that when someone asked for a poem I’d gaze upon them lovingly sincere and ask what is in their heart these days, then wait while they stumbled and fumbled for some semblance of a response to this unabashedly deep cutting inquiry.  But yesterday, I barely had to ask.  The majority of customers (about seven) came to me, opened themselves in full trust and emptied their hearts upon the invisible altar between us.  I was pleasantly stunned by this!  (Hold on, I’m gonna go Q-tip.  Be right back!)  Alright where was I?  Oh yeah, so my first customer was a man who said he was getting married next week and he wanted a poem for his wife to be.  He was with a sweet little boy (his fiance’s son) who happened to be devouring one of the delicious smelling artisan waffles sold nearby.  He had an avalanche of powdered sugar all over his face and front, which struck up the choir of instant joy inside me.  I took a deeper than thou breath and lovingly banged out the poem for him.  He loved it and said he would read it to her either at the wedding or the reception.  I was astounded.  Then, spilling with gratitude he handed me a twenty dollar bill.

Somehow it seems sacrilegious to talk about the money I earn.  Like sexuality, another taboo.  Well screw your taboos, you who fear the truths of this mundane play.  As far as Athena Grace LMNOP is concerned, anything goes here on the page.  Especially if it is an accurate, well rounded portrait of her life here on planet earth.  Just had to name that.  But twenty bucks is a far cry from the two dollars and fifty cents I made LAST weekend, eh?  It’s interesting to me to see the monetary values people place on something as non-linear and seemingly “frivolous” as poetry.  It says a lot about the person… I think… It is time for poetry to reclaim its place in the health and wellbeing of our collective psyche.

Then next customer was actually standing under a tree, WAITING (patiently) for her turn as I pounded out the wedding poem!  Who knew that poetry was important enough to “wait in line” for?!?!  Now you know.  You heard it here first!  This sincere and tender hearted woman approached me, set down her groceries and immediately launched into a revelatory outpouring of fondness for her best friend.  She portrayed her friend in a light strictly reserved for the Goddess.  This dear friend, great nonjudgmental listener, earth mama, compassionate, loving mother of twins, home maker, generous, creative inspiring creature lives in LA… and my customer misses her to bits.  The poem slid effortlessly out of me, lubed by the flood of overt adoration between soul sisters.  Shazam!

Then along came an old man wearing a yellow shirt and a Polaroid camera around his neck.  He offered me a photo.  Naturally I said yes.  I offered him a poem in exchange.  I did ask HIM what was in his heart.  He said he was just glad to be here on this beautiful day full of beautiful people and beautiful food… Sometimes the most simple is the utterly profound, right?  I read him his poem, he snapped another Polaroid shot of me “for my boyfriend” and was off to bathe in his fresh picked day.

Another old man.  He was adorable.  Eighty one years old.  Full of wisdom, insight and a peace that you could touch, taste and frolic in.  Initially he just came over to poke around and investigate my typewriter (as quite a number of folks did throughout the course of the day)… but I kept inviting him into a poem.  I used my favorite expression to lure him in, “Come on… You only live once!” (I love this expression since I don’t ultimately believe it to be true!  But that only makes it POP with an endless twist of dimensions.  The dimension that there is ONLY this moment… set against the infinite slog that is living life.  And every nuanced shade of silver in between.)  To this he replied, every moment I live anew.  That opened a door for him and he shared the heavy wisdom that his eighty one years has unearthed in his tender and pure heart.  I was so moved by his wise soul and refined relationship with Love.

In fact, when he left, I was a radiant fountain of AWE.  And this man, who had been lurking in the distant shadows approached me.  “How are you doing?” he asked.  “AMAZING!” I exclaimed.  And then he announced that he was the manager of the market and I was not allowed to be there.  Frown.  But I could feel that his heart was conflicted.  He was doing his job.  I’m sure he could feel the flamboyant love gurshing from within me.  So eventually he suggested a “grey area” location that I could move to.  Sigh… it was not nearly as utopic sitting on the sidewalk under the large palm tree across the street from the market.  Shrug…

But I did have three more customers over there.  A woman who soon spilled over with tears as she requested a poem about change.  She said she was moving to the east coast on July first… And she had an apartment, a car, a family, a job and a horse waiting for her there!!!!!  If that full spectrum cast of assets doesn’t make you smile out loud, I don’t know what would!  I cherished her tears!  I am so happy to be a space for people to feel and authentically express!  I invited her to let it flow.  She was a spark for sure.  The poem that came out for her was a playful portrait of the implicit beauty in all the textures of the human experience.  Offering it to her, I felt it to be an ally, a talisman for her journey.

Was it because the moon was full and had just eclipsed???  The people who showed up were amazing, vulnerable, generous, divine!  I made fifty eight dollars!  I’ve always been afraid that I’ve been too idealistic to think that I could make a living doing EXACTLY what I want to do.  But I’m starting to think that I can and that rattles my bones with ecstasy.


One Clumsy Knot at a Time

Oh dear.  I think I spent too much time cruisin’ the seedy, streetless world of facebook.  Now my soul is sufficiently sucked and I am at a loss.  I guess I could tell you that I am not acting or feeling like a hopeless co-dependent anymore.  Yay me!  This is a time of Xtreme Death!!!!  Dunno if you noticed, but about a week or two ago, I stopped writing about Mykael and our relationship in this blog.  Mostly that was because I was really feeling a strong inclination to break up with him, but I didn’t necessarily want him to be abreast of this.  You see if anything my tongue lives on the looser side of the expression fence and I have had a proclivity to gratuitously gush my emotionally charged thoughts way too often.  This includes threatening to break up enough times to really do some damage.  Mykael tells me that every time I say that it weakens his trust in me and dilapidates the relationship.  So… I wasn’t quite ready to go spouting off these weighty inclinations to the masses (even from the oh-so-innocent local of my fluffy sleeping bag in the mind’s ear of my very best friend)

Holding onto this slippery tongue of mine and living under the weight of this possibility all alone has been excruciating.  Specifically inside my heart.  The gravity was bone crushing.  In the face of this epic, strategic holding on and holding in, I withdrew a massive piece of me from the relationship.  I began focusing on nurturing my friendships with the amazing, beautiful, wise, sexy women in my life.  I have been spending more time meditating and tinkering around on my harmonium.  I have been building the vision and execution of a women’s writing circle.  I quit smoking pot and drinking wine.  Basically, I began to do the things that would have been ultimately healthy for me to do all along.  I feel new born.  Almost.  More accurately, I feel like I am dissolved in a cocoon.  The butterfly has yet to emerge.  But I DO know that I am no longer who I was and for this I give thanks.  I have known for a long time (years) that I needed to let go of some stifling tendencies… but the thought of actually LETTING GO wracked me with terror.

God’s time.  Life’s time.  In my experience, it is not to be forced or woman-handled.  PATIENCE is the word written in gargantuan, neon letters inside my soul.  Raise your hand if you’ve ever tried to force a rose to bloom by ripping the petals open with your dirty little fingers.  Yeah, didn’t think so…

In a way, Mykael and I have broken up.  Because the people that we WERE have left the building.  (Paradoxically, they are still here too… but… this is an advanced concept, only for the upperclassmen of the School of Mostly Soft Knocks…)  Honestly, I have no idea if we will stay together or break up on the other side of this strange, lucid purgatory.  That is not important.  What is important is each of us doing the work that we are called to do as individuals right now.  (In service and partnership with the One, naturally.)

You know that saying, “You can not solve a problem with the same consciousness that created it?” (I guess it was Einstein who said it…)  Well that about sums it up in terms of my restlessly spinning quandary about the relationship.  Every time my mind starts to anxiously loop on whether or not I “should” stay with Mykael, I only feel exhausted and drained as a result.  So instead, the instant I become aware of myself, I just throw myself at All Pervading Celestial Music’s blue lotus feet and beg to REMEMBER.  You know, Remember.  Remember the truth of the All Pervading Light that I am, that You are, that Everything IS.  If you ask me, that is the ONLY consciousness worth solving any problems from.

This leg of the journey has brought to the surface of my awareness a strange relationship to Love that I enact.  Like just because I am not living in some safe, fluffy, bullshit construct of a fairy tale future with Mykael, I have been withholding my love from him.  As though he is only worthy of my luminous love if he is going to marry me, create a child with me, take care of me forever like a proper prince charming and live happily the fuck after with me.  This sucks.  The crystalline true me yearns to love him for loves sake, NOW, without condition (That’s real Love anyway.  The other stuff is imitation at best).  I was exploring this with him yesterday and I realized that I was afraid that if I freed my heart and let love rain down upon the moment, that he might mistake that for commitment and I’d feel like a sleazy liar.  But the beauty of becoming self aware, of illuminating what has been previously hidden in the endless folds of the psyche, is that one can then make a new, conscious choice.  It’s weird how strangled and butchered Love has become in our wounded twist of a collective consciousness.  But not if Athena Grace LMNOP can help it.  I am doing my BEST, people.  Doing my best to untangle from the mess that fear has made of my mental patterns, habits of closure and recklessly bound heart.  One clumsy knot at a time.  One breath at a time.  In the name of Liberation for ALL.


Hummingbirds, Wishing Wells and Clowns

Five fifty am, still pretty dim, and the hummingbirds are already juicin’ up on nectar outside my window.  (Mykael hung a hummingbird feeder there because I love them so!)  Even if I am not looking, I can hear the otherworldly hum of their light speed wings.  This is one of the more enchanting facets of my mundane existence.  I swear, no matter how many hummingbirds come for a sip, I feel newly thrilled and captivated each time.  Now I just need a wishing well in the front yard and I will be complete.  I mean it.  I think this world sorely needs more wishing wells, don’t you?

In my creative writing program here in the school of mostly soft knocks, they taught me that as a writer, it’s important to have a target audience, to know who it is you are speaking to.  Even before I began to share my writing via this hallowed blog, I always spoke to a very specific “someone”… in a voice that is very intimate and deliberately loving.  But it wasn’t until recently that I consciously realized how I relate to You.  I think I was riding my bike when it struck me.  I realized that when I share with You, I often feel like I am a kid sleeping over at my best friend’s house.  I’m all nestled into my sleeping bag, so delighted to feel free and in such good company.  I just want to stay up all night and share my heart with you, tell you EVERYthing.  Shrug.  Funny how You, an entirely innocent bystander got cast in that special role… Says a lot about the school of mostly soft knocks… as a student, I give it eighty seven thumbs up… just incase you’re looking to continue your education.  The only down side is that it takes WAY more than four years to graduate.  I often wonder if I’ll EVER get my diploma…

I just got up out of bed and Q-tipped.  Yeah, I got this burning impulse to do so.  I am addicted to Q-tipping… I mean just once a day… but I am committed.  My friend John calls it “ear sex”.  I never quite realized before he said that, but it is SO orgasmic.  I know, I know, it’s not so good to Q-tip every day… you don’t have to lecture me.  But in a world where thrills are sometimes cheap and far between, this girl’s gotta choose her frivolous battles.  Yeah, surprise!  I haven’t been writing at cafes for the last few days.  I just got sick of them.  If I don’t change my sceneries and rhythms, I go berserk.  (I like the word berserk!)  So now I just fling myself out of bed in the morning, make tea and fling myself right back into bed and get down and dirty!  The up sides of this new groove are~

#1~ I don’t have to put up with other peoples less than tasteful music choices.  (I am so finicky these days that mostly all I like is kirtan chanting… with a side of Shimshai (God, do I revere Shimshai!) and a once upon a mattress, a sprinkle of Sweet Honey in the Rock.  But I am also a hard core fan of bird song… and wind making love to trees.

#2~ I can write in my snuggly bath robe, in BED no less!

#3~ It’s free!

#4~ I have the rest of the day at my disposal (which is kinda bitter sweet, since that is more time for me to structure.  But I think I’ll take up painting again soon… It’s been like two years since I painted.  When I don’t paint for a while, I can start to literally FEEL the paintings welling up inside me and pressing aggressively against my insides in a noble effort to free themselves.

#5~ I can burn sage and incense in my bedroom.

#6~ First thing in the morning is my freshest time.

#7~ I LOVE making lists.

#8~ There is the cutest little squirrel who must live in the palm tree out my window, because he is always there acting all innocent and adorable.

Hmmm, I guess I’ll stay poetically lubed up and stab at another poem.  Y’all didn’t toss me any topics (frown!), so I’m forced to ask the Iron Fisted Man Upstairs, Himself.  (Ewwww, CRINGE… I hated making such a nauseating reference to God… but I felt compelled to, because the truth IS that so many people in this world really do view All Pervading Font of Joy this way.  It’s a playful though barfalicious reality check.)  So, Lady God God, what shall I write a poem about?  (And then Athena proceeded to close her eyes and take some deep breaths, opening her mind’s ears extra wide.)


Some wear smiles

And some wear frowns.

Some come out of your closet

At night

On stilts and tip toes

Laughing like psychos.

Frozen in terror

You hope it’s but a dream

Gone sour as the cream long forgotten

Tucked in your refrigerator door.

Curdled and thick.

Do you mean the cream?

…Or the curdled bloody scream

streaming from a terror strangled throat

as the clowns dance down

upon the sweaty town

between your sheets.

Phat circus music trip hop beats

Bumpin’ from the psychedelic

Big top

In your tainted mind.

Wake up!

WAKE UP please…

Rip the disease of fear

And false idols gone sour

From your mind

Like a blinding band-aid.

In Heaven the only clowns

Wear sheer flowing gowns

And wings that fill

The entire sky.

It’s time.

Wake up.

Wow, I’m kind of embarrassed to admit that that’s what came out of me this morning.  Oh well.  What can I do?  The only rule to the poetry on the fly game is to say yes and let it pour forth.  Shrug.  Now what?  I guess I’ll go meditate.


Do You Believe Yet?

One of the best compliments I have ever received was years ago when a friend told me that being with me was an experience of what he called, “sensatia”…(which of course I just looked up on dictionary dot com, to no avail…but just groove with it anyway, okay?)  According to him, sensatia is the experience of a “cross pollination”, a merging of the senses.  For example a sonic experience turning to a vibrational dance of colors or the sound of the rain, pounding the tin roof, miraculously transforming inside you, to the tangible taste of watermelon.  Strange.  But I can totally get that about me.  I have a tendency to be kind of a psychedelically twisty chick.  I thought of it this morning because it is still not quite light outside and the bird songs are so thick and feverish that inside I am having an experience of being in a rain storm.  Their multiplistic voices are reminiscent of looking into a hall of mirrors.  They are falling in me like soft though forcefully driving rain.

I was hoping that first paragraph would unfold into a previously hidden river valley full of lush, inspired thoughts… but it didn’t, so I will dive right into a poem.  One wild minded, ripe-hearted citizen of the universe indulged my invitation for poem topics yesterday… so here you go Liz (aka “nana nana poo poo”):

Red hot cinnamon skin

I know I must glow

In the dark and in the light

I am ignited like

A soulfully smoldering coal.

A single goopy splooge

Of mystery cream

Slathered lovingly into my

tender thighs

and I

wouldn’t be screaming this

tortured song wafting

in infrared tongues.

But now I am among

The sun stung wonders,

Body throbbing like

Neon lights

But I will not fight this heat.

I will make my bed of ice

And slide between

Frozen sheets, sleep

Please wake me when I’m done


Hmmm, I must confess that I allowed myself more time than I’d’ve liked to write that.  The idea is to let it pour out like a renegade stream of [grade B] maple syrup onto steaming griddle cakes.  But I wanted to do it so perfect.  It was kind of a constipated one… You should have seen my face as I squeezed it out.  Glad you didn’t.  Practice.  Come on people.  Toss me another topic…PLEASE.

Actually tonight for “date night” instead of going and stuffing our faces with artisan pizza and intoxicating burgundy elixirs, Mykael and I are going to go to Lake Merit.  He will bring his “podium” and carve his latest stony masterpiece and I will bring my typewriter and serve as the poetic muse to the vast cross section of humanity, magnetically drawn to the spacious, man made lake plunked smack dab in the heart of magnificent Oakland.  We will share our passions with the masses.  You see, it took me getting so repulsed by the shriveled Mykael, the fearful me and the suffocating relationship that I had been holding hostage in an airtight match box… This blue lipped, oxygenless entity we once upon a time named, “Mythena”.  For the last week or so, I have removed myself completely from the relationship… asking virtually NOTHING of it.  Instead focusing on ME.  On what I want, who I am, what my contribution to the world is… I have been knocking persistently at the door of my very own heart, begging God to open me from the inside and reveal the light of who I truly am.

And I’ll tell you what!?!?!  Something HAS released in me.  I feel whispers of the truth.  For the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I have tasted a mouthwatering drop of the true nature of Love unbounded.  It’s hard to wrap in language.  In anusara yoga, the place we always start, and return to often is “set the foundation and open to Grace”.   If one lives in the conceptual realm of this principal it can seem to be but fluffy jargon in some moments.  But as we discussed in a recent blog entry, Grace is the artist formerly known as the Infinite Oceanic Love of the All Pervading BFF.  (“Best Friend Forever”)

Something has come over me.  I suppose it was a blessed shedding.  Souldipping Amy’s sudden auspicious presence in my world ( and the reading she gave me via my spirit guides recently was a very crucial participant in this opening.  Also, that whole entire sea of tears I shed over the past few weeks has truly washed away ancient internal rubble.  I sense I was releasing so much old stuff.  You know, wounding, false beliefs…  Karmic weight that my soul can’t afford to carry anymore if I am to fulfill my purpose here on the earth this time around.  (Not that I’ve “made it” and I’m done.  Sheesh, far from it, my friends.  Our ship has set sail for the end of time and human suffering!)  There is now a new sense of space and quiet, softly wafting in perfumed tunes of Love, from this poetic heart.  It is the beginning of the end of our coma of forgetfulness.  Witnessing and participating the changes inside me, I am now an unabashed believer in the impending shift in consciousness.  Something AMAZING is on its way.  Be patient.  Breathe.  Trust.  Allow. Lean into the Silence.  I promise you, you will NOT be disappointed.


Ice Cream, Second Chances and First Impressions

The last couple of blogs I’ve written have earned me some extra positive strokes… which I’ve interpreted were a result of being “deep” and “profound”… two words I love to be associated with.  But this morning, I’m noticing that I have piled some pressure on myself to keep it up.  I LOVE getting comments.  They make me feel HEARD (which is a big one for me), valued, connected.  (Thank you all who have shared your thoughtful and inspired depths here!  And those of you who haven’t…I would LOVE to hear your voice!  Please share your magnificent heart and mind with the class.)  Alas… Sometimes “digging” for the profundity can pull the wool over authenticity’s googly eyes.  I strive always to free my mind.  And therefore to free Our mind.  Even if that means talking about ice cream.

When I wrote poetry at the farmer’s market the other day, one of my modest handful of customers was a young boy-man, accompanied by his silent, exotic, deep seeing girlfriend.  He handed me a stack of four quarters and I asked him what was in his heart in the moment.  He mused effortlessly for but a moment and then said, “I’m gonna eat ice cream when I get home and I’m really excited about that.”  His manner was the dictionary definition of matter of fact.  It knocked me sideways, since I am the queen of the deep… Ice cream?!?  What in God’s frozen decadent name do I have to say about ICE CREAM???

But I tried to ignore the fear voices and give myself over to the endlessly gurgling font of the muse.  I banged out a very short poem about ice cream.  I kept rereading it, wanting to add something… wanting to plump it up, pimp it out.  But it was stubborn as fuck.  It dug its inky heals into the ground and refused to move.  I shrugged inwardly and pulled the shameful paper from the archaic, indifferent machine.  Sweeping my embarrassment under the expertly woven rug of my ego, I read it to him and his enchanting consort.  I couldn’t tell much what he thought.  They stood up and thanked me and then confessed that they were both writers.  Oh no!!!!  I made a fool of myself in front of other writers!  (Remember that character from the early 80s version of Sesame Street… The piano playing puppet who was always screwing up his songs and getting ensnared in the hellish twists of self depreciation… and banging his head violently on the piano keys?  That was me.  Inside, I was banging my head on the typewriter keys, pounding out miles of linguistic gibberish.) (Note to reader= I am exaggerating.  Please do not identify me entirely as an exacerbated ego maniac.  Sure, I have that voice in me… and in the interest of this story, I have turned up the volume on it… but it is just one facet of my sweet, gleaming rock of a self.  Thanks.)

Sigh.  Poor Athena… lost her chance to dazzle.  Frowny faces and  Poopy diapers abound!  But this blog is a crystal ship setting sail to the land of second chances!!!  So I am going to take this opportunity to stab the topic of ice cream again.  And the beauty of the blog is that this is MY space, and nobody can storm upon me and put a stop to the frenzied sling shot bus stop cabaret of words.  Except me…

And now for a sock knockingly profound poem about ice cream!!!!!

A he and a she

Once upon a Sunday pounded

The corridors of gluttonous Infinitude



their respective under garments

with the abandon of phantom

children.  Dreaming.

Dreaming of frozen jagged alps,

Melting in their eager mouths.

Sweeter than the nectar

Of a mother’s supple, dripping



And over-paid.

They waded through

The endless slew

Of the thirty two flavors

That never quit.

Thirty two flavors of banana


Hardball hitting home run

Sunday night fevers

In a dish.

In a cone.

Home?  Oh Lover, this is it!

Phew!  I feel much better… Now I can die complete.  But I don’t want to die yet.  It was just figure of speech.  Okay God?  Make me live a long, long, arduous, growthful, uphill, sweat inducing human haul, okay?  (Making fun of my default orientation to Life…)

Hey, I need to practice poeticizing on the fly… so please toss me a topic (in the comment format), and I will knock it out of the park of my mind and back into the “out there” “great unknown soup”, back to you.  BRING IT ON!!!! Amen.

Small Things in a Great Way

Five thirty am.  The birds are starting to get drunk on light.  I know because the ecstasy in their voices is rising like an omen.  Don’t ask why I am awake at this entirely godly hour, or why I have already been awake for an hour.  Sometimes four thirty am beckons me from sleep like an impatient prophet.  S’okay… I love the soft potency of early morning.  And while we’re at it, don’t ask how I made it to age thirty without ever reporting for jury duty…

But this morning, as I stumbled slumberly into the kitchen, I was lovingly greeted by a jury summons letter.  And please DO ask me how I felt about this.  Innitially, my heart sunk like a rebellious teenager with bloody hands standing in a blinding floodlight.  But then… that habitual reaction washed away and into the bay of my consciousness flooded a fresh surge of curiosity.  Come on, Athena Grace, this infinitely curious human gets to go on an enlightening field trip to the court house and represent the All Pervading Non-Judgmental Judge!  I remembered that everywhere I go I have the right, privilege and cosmic duty of bringing my heart and soul!  Everywhere I go is a chance to beam love.  (Is there ANYone out there who used to watch the Care Bears?  They used to do this thing called the “Care Bear Stare”.  They would all stand in a straight line and aim their bellies at the “bad guy”…the antagonist in the story… and say, “Care Bears STARE!!!”  Then each one of their bellies would emanate a strong beam of light that would extend to the negative force before them.  This Care Bear brand luminosity would disable the bad guy and usually turn him/her toward the Light… Sometimes I like to raise my voice on high and call out, “Care Bear Stare!!!” as I imagine a similar beam of light shooting from my heart.  Man (Wonder Woman) I’m gonna stare down that court room!!!  …Or at least have some fun drinking in all the characters and fictionally strange human behaviors.)

I’m not political in the least.  I don’t even know ANY of the details of this recent oil spill, to tell the embarrassingish truth.  I rarely partake in news.  Some people think I’m a poor citizen…  Maybe… but I also believe that the most sincere offering I can make is to refine myself spiritually.  Find the light inside.  Make frequent Love with the Infinite.  Be a kind, generous neighbor, friend, fellow human being.  Listen to and encourage children.  Fall in Love on a daily basis.  Remember to breathe.  Sing from my heart.  Create beauty.  Honor, revere and adore the checkers at the grocery store, the attendants at the gas station, the toll takers on the bridge (my favorite!), waiters and waitresses, etc.

Speaking of waiters and waitresses, that reminds me of a very luminous man named Rajen, who owns the Taste of the Himalayas Restaurant in North Berkeley.  He is truly a mahatma (great soul) (You know what I just realized classifies someone in the rank of “God or Goddess”…is simply one who is able to recognize God in All.)  Every time I go to eat there, he is a fountain of wisdom, kindness and the inarticulatory light of the One.  “Small things in a great way,” he often reminds us.  Not only through his words does he remind, but also through his actions and being.  He and his family all run the restaurant.  They are Nepalese.  He started a school in Nepal for children in the lower caste, who would otherwise not get education.  He uses a percentage of profits (I almost wrote “prophets”) to fund the school, and augments that with fundraisers.  His heart truly contains all of humanity.  On the front of the menu, there is a short blurb declaring the philosophy of the restaurant which is that they see everyone they serve as God.   It shows.  I am always greeted with a warm “namaste”, by a server with their hands joined in front of their heart.  They serve the BEST palak paneer (saag paneer, spinach with cheese cubes… my F-ing favorite EVER!) in the universe.  No, make that the MULTIverse.  The artwork is of Tibetan deities, the music is soft and the ambiance exudes peace.  When Rajen is in, he makes his rounds to the divine diners and spreads the Love.  The other servers too, though not as gregarious and outgoing are clearly standing in selfless, loving service.  Go there.

Small things in a great way.  That is how I will step into jury duty.  With a surprising and generous amount of love and compassion in my heart.  And of course fascination.  Being a writer makes ANY and EVERY life situation worthwhile.  Stepping into life as a writer is my saving grace.  When I am afraid, when I am hesitant… I remind myself that I can write about it later and suddenly my life is resurrected.  Restored from a blasé tread mill to a technicolor free-for-all-consciousness spill.  THAT’S IT!!!  Sometimes I lament this world.  Like of ALL the divine possibilities, how did we end up in this haphazard mess?  I think it’s analogous to an oil spill.  We were given a gift of incarnation by All Pervading Ahhhhh (soft A), and we misused it and fashioned a collective dream tapestry woven with too much selfishness, greed, separation and fear… and now we are reaping the sew of this, as the oil of our diseased minds leaks carelessly about and boy-girl-boy do we have our work cut out for us now!

Just remember, breathe… and do Small Things in a Great Way.  Amen.

What IS Grace?

You know what confuses and frustrates the pants off me?  All I *really* want is to realize God.  I mean fully realize the truth of me and you and Everything… but I have all these mental behaviors that seem to dictate otherwise.  You’d think that if I wanted to truly attain Self realization, I’d be single minded in that pursuit.  Why am I not?  I guess I will be someday… and in the mean time, I’ll just flounder around with the best of us, half-assedly loving, serving and Being.  Grrrrr.  Breathe Athena.

I got this totally bitchin’ reading from souldipper (Amy) ( Amy is the blogger who channels information from her spirit guides.  In her readings, her spirit guides connect with yours and they can give you very nutritive information regarding your path and life purpose, addressing specific questions.  I feel so blessed to have found Amy, and to have had a reading.  Since the reading, I have felt much more connected to the unseen world in a way that has me feel held, safe, protected, guided, blessed and connected to Universal Love.  My guides reminded me that I am whole and complete NOW, that I need to do/be nothing more.   Wonky how I find this astonishing.  I guess that’s because life is so dynamic and one must keep swimming, or sink… there is always MORE to do, more to be, more to learn.  More to open.  More to release, more to heal.  And paradoxically, we are already full and whole in God’s All Pervading Love and when we are ready, we will beautifully fall from the illusion of time and space.  Shrug.  So now what?

So now, I give great thanks for Amy.  It makes me want to cry how loved I feel.  I mean, I was just plugging along, writing my blog and one day, POOF!, she showed up… made a generous comment on my blog… and since then, her heart and mine have been singing in mild, rapturous harmonies that improve the quality of the universe.  She has helped me realize how far generosity and positavity really do ripple.  She is on the other side of the USA, but… also is she right here in my heart.  If you desire clarity and deeper understanding of yourself and your path at this time, contact her for a reading.  You won’t be sorry.

And not like Amy is the Maha source of Love… I use her as an example of a single flower in the magnificent bouquet of All Pervading Grace.  Grace.  Recently Mykael and my mom and I were all musing on what exactly Grace is.  There was a time when I really thought I knew.  (Dangerous… to portend knowing of anything so vast and all pervading)  I realized that I don’t fully know what Grace is.  I am interested in hearing how YOU perceive Grace.  Please leave a comment and share your ideas on this divine musing.  I just looked it up on dictionary dot com (God bless it) and of the MULTITUDE of definitions they served up, the one that is the closest fit for the meaning that I am driving at is= the FREELY GIVEN, unmerited favor and love of God.  Yup.  That sums it up.  Freely given.  From what I have learned about Grace, that’s what makes it Grace.  You don’t earn it.  There is no question of worth involved.  It is an unabashed ISness that is freely offered to all of us.  Basically, I imagine it to be the Invisible Ocean in which we exist.  The thing that my mom added, which really rang true is that our perception and recognition of Grace influences it, changes it.  You see, those of us who choose to remember Grace are much more receptive to it in the moment to moment life experience.

I want to be Best Friends with Grace.  BFF forever.

Please tell us YOUR thoughts on Grace.

Yesterday, I FINALLY found the guts (God, I LOVE that word, GUTS.  Guts!  Guts!!!!!  I’m laughing out loud as I say over and over, “GUTS!”) to march myself to the farmer’s market with my type writer and serve as the Muse of Poetry, sell poetry to the masses.  This has been a dream of mine for years.  Years.  But I have imagined myself to have a shortage of guts… until yesterday.  Wanna know how much money I made?  TWO FIFTY!  That’s two dollars and fifty cents.  It almost afforded me my artisan green tea this morning!  But that’s not the Point.

What is the Point, Athena Grace?  (Oooh, I think that will be the title of my next book!  “What IS the Point, Athena Grace?”) (Have you ever seen that movie, “The Point”?  I used to LOVE it!)  Anyway, the point is that I LOVE humanity.  I am such a curious human.  I love connecting and allowing people the space to share their hearts, be revealed.  So I asked them “what is in your heart these days?”  And based on their answer, I would write them a poem.

The BEST “client” was a little boy, Emmett, who must have been like… seven???  OMG.  I am gonna cry again.  He was hovering around me and my typewriter with a fascination that weighted at least a million pounds.  His fascination was a portal into authenticity, profundity and a very fresh flush of Love.  He asked me what I was doing.  I told him selling poems.  He asked my name.  I said, Athena.  His jaw plummeted.  “Athena????  That’s a GOD’S name!” was his stunned reply.  I could only smile HARD.  Then he proceeded to rack his brain to remember what she was the “god” of.  After a thoughtful moment, he reported, “She’s the god of… wisdom and… strategic battle.”  Touche, little boy!  I swear his eyes turned to stars and shot to the earth.  I asked him if he wanted a poem.  He said no, he didn’t have any money.  I said I would give him one.  He refused.  I insisted, because it was apparent that he really did want one.  I told him sometimes I just like to give people things… I said if I give him a poem then soon Life will give him an opportunity to give something to someone and he will remember how good it feels and be inspired to make a gracious, liberated offering.  His eyes twinkled in recognition and he said “You really ARE a GOD!”  I was melting all over the place.  I lifted my heart to All Pervading Fuck Yes and typed away for Beloved Emmett.  Meanwhile he kept bantering his astonishment to his small, silent tho’ luminous younger brother (or friend?)  Then I read him the poem and he exploded with wonder and gratitude.  He said “How did your parents know to name you that?”  I told him that my dad saw it on my face.  My heart has not stopped singing since I was blessed by this holy encounter with the forgetful God, Emmett.


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