The Travesty of Stick Throwing

First things first.  I must clear Mykael’s name.  He told me that the blog I wrote recently about our fight in the car portrayed him as a bona fide jerk-off with a head hopelessly lodged you know where.  (‘Member… when his fuse expired after driving around the parking lot for forty minutes while I was working poetic miracles at the farmers market?)  The truth is that he and I are about tied when it comes to the topic of enlightenment… AND endarkenment.  We are a tag team act, constantly passing the bodhisattvic baton back and forth and back and forth as though it were a hopelessly flaming potato.  When one of us acts like a withered ignoramus, like magic, it calls the other of us into our highest.  Sometimes… Though come to think of it, all too often we both get lost in our brambly, chaotic, egoic underbrush… and trust me, it ba-LOWS.  But conversely, we have also been known to partake in prolonged rendezvouses, levitating together in lotus position and sipping the superlative nectar of ageless wisdom from impressively tiny heirloom tea cups (with matching saucers, naturally).

I guess I’m basically describing any relationship with another human being… or am I?  I guess some people manage to glaze and graze the surface as a way of life.  I guess… I can’t imagine.  I generally steer away from those people because if I’m not careful, I start to shrivel and fall into a dire state of catatonic boredom around such blasphemously mainstream characters… So you see I oft forget they even exist.  Maybe they don’t.  Maybe I’m just having a bad trip.  Maybe everyone is interesting.  It sure seems that way.

I first discovered that everybody is an undercover celebrity or a mythological heavy-weight a few years ago after the lion at the San Francisco Zoo killed those dudes on Christmas day (because they were provoking him and treating him like cheap Christmas trash).  Soon after that, I discovered that the guy I danced next to every Sunday at hip hop dance class was the lion (and tiger) (but not bears-oh-my) trainer!  I remember my flamboyant, eccentric dance teacher exclaiming that you never know who’s dancing next to you.  And it’s true.  If I could leave you with ONE potent nugget for the day, my friends, it would be that YOU NEVER KNOW WHO’S DANCING NEXT TO YOU.  The thing I love about people is that we are absolute wizards of paradox.  We so innately span that chasm between being the most utterly mundane little flesh lumps and also being wholly holy and recklessly profound, gifted fallen angels.

But anyway, back to Mykael… he did a pretty good job of getting over himself and letting go of his scummy emotions.  And I’m pretty grateful, because it was good practice for me.  I want to become adept at being able to simply BE in the face of any body sensations.  It was really challenging for me to feel all of that intense, heavy negativity that was filling up the whole car like the Blob.  To just feel it.  Without having to change it, without leaving my body, without getting lost in the woman-eating folds of fear.  Honestly, I am committed to realizing wholeheartedly that nobody can take anything that is Real from me.  I yearn to free myself from the bondage of the incessant ego game of attack and defend.  I am innocent.  You are innocent.  Always.  Though the ego has an impressively endless barrage of tricks to convince us otherwise.  And we can be adorably gullible.  Except it’s not adorable, really.  It’s sort of a shame.  Because here we are, a gifted posse of earth angels, dancing together in a very special, poetic strain of Heaven… and we mostly act like snot nosed victims begging for a few measly crumbs tumbled from a mouthwatering slice of sumptuously iced Love cake nestled on the plate of an over-sized, white bearded and fair-weathered, blood-shot eyed God who abides behind locked golden gates just beyond the sky.

But we’re gonna get it.  This is why I’m putting in overtime these days.  For the team.  Sheee-it, I will bleed and sweat until I can see only God in Mykael.  Only God in those among us who choose to live in the shallow end of the pool of Life.  Only God in rapists, murderers and people who eat at McDonalds.  Oh and while I’m at it, I guess I’ll stop throwing sticks at my own heart too… Why not, ya only live once!

Speaking of the travesty of stick throwing… I had a date at the Berkeley Farmer’s Market with my dear friend this afternoon and she had stumbled into a deep, dark and all too familiar shadowy crack in her mind.  The kind swarming with massive hairy tarantulas and hissing opossums inflicted with mange and rabies.  She kept saying things like how stupid and unworthy and repulsive she was… Being with her, feeling the impact of that kind of barbaric, stick throwing violence felt like casual crucifixion.  I am very grateful for the mirror she held up to me.  My nose would grow three feet in an instant if I told you that I have never spoken to myself this way.  Both aloud and silently.  But to witness it and feel it from the outside, I see that this is the quintessence of cruel and unusual punishment.  It is NOT okay.  Let me lay down my nun chucks and prostrate before my very own sacred, weather-beaten feet, kissing them with reverence and gratitude for the infinitude of miles they have carried me along this sacred, confounding path back into the rapturous arms of the Beloved, which somehow I have never even left in the first place.  Let me use my word ONLY as the word of the Highest, to bless, reveal and praise.

Oh All Pervading Fountain of Gurgling Liquid Bliss~ May my forgiveness of myself and others spread like ravenous, unruly flames all about our collective consciousness, burning away all but the ever-smiling Truth nestled patiently at the core of Everything.  Amen.

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. dan
    Aug 04, 2010 @ 12:00:29

    Amen from Jaco, Costa Rica…
    And love from ALL of us that read your inspirational words.


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