Live From the Jungle Inside

Well… (That reminds me~ I used to have this stuffed monkey named “Montgomery Monkey” when I was a kid.  He said a handful of various things when you pressed on him in specific regions.  One of his tired antics was to tell a joke.  It went like this~ “Have you heard about the three holes in the ground?  …Well, well, well.”  Hahaha.  Not.)  Well… I’m back from Yosemite.  And Jesus H. Xmas (for some reason saying “Xmas” instead of “Christmas” really sets my funny bone a-ticklin’.  Either you’ll totally get it, or you totally won’t…) Jesus H. Xmas, was it a potent excursion.  There is SO much I want to tell you about it!  I don’t know HOW I could ever manage to cram it into a thousand words.  But rumor has it that “they” crammed the Lord ’s Prayer onto a single grain of rice… I think that’s one of the exhibits in Ripley’s Believe It Or Not.  Strange the superfluous tidbits that lodge themselves discreetly in fresh, young minds.  I’ve been carrying that one around for at least twenty years, without hardly noticing it once… and then in the swimming pool this morning, I was scheming about my blog and that just sprung to the surface of my consciousness like a buoyant old friend.  You know what I want?  I’m gonna start a whole collection of rice grains etched with bucking, snorting, divinely effervescent prayers… and then you know what I’m gonna DO with them?  I’m gonna cook them and serve them for dinner with some delicious coconut curry like I made tonight!  And YOU’RE invited!

Gosh, I guess I got your appetite all wet and drizzly for a taste of my savorier than thou escapades in Yosemite… as told on the modest yet evocative little body of our beloved olde pal, the rice grain…  But Jesus Xmas, I am the one snorting and bucking under the weight of all that pressure.  I don’t know if you know this about me… but I love to write from an emotional, energetically charged space.  These blogs are actually pilgrimages into the very center of my being and the ensuing spray of artifacts I trip over along the desolate way.  Desolate?  Athena Grace!  Dare you call your path and process “desolate”?  Yeah, I guess that’s pretty much text book blasphemy.  My path is more reminiscent of a jungle, I’d say.

Which reminds me~ on our way home from Yosemite, my soul sister Dara read me an email from a friend of hers who is on a very overt magical mystery tour right now.  She’s an older woman with grown children who had a deep soul calling to go to the jungles of umm… Ecuador?  And there she met her soul mate, a beautiful native shaman.  Her email was so rich, reverent and sensual.  It should be published and read by many.  Dara read it to me as the horizon exploded psychedelic orange with periwinkle and Venus aftermath.  The words bled in rivers of femininity.  Vulnerable power.  She told us how her lover greeted each day by walking out onto the deck, opening his arms wide to the raw jungle and making a full circle, honoring all of the life that miraculously unfurled and wove upon its self everywhere.  She told of his incessant worshiping of the divine in every fond touch of leaf, dirt, stream and creature as he moved through the thick, wet, forested world.  He spoke only Spanish.  She, only English… so much of their relationship exists in rich, non-verbal communication and sacred silence.  I felt pangs of longing and awe… She emblazened such crisp pictures of the jungle inside me~ the occasional thud of ripe fruits falling to the smooth hard dirt of the jungle floor.  Fireflies dancing in the thick, moist black of the night.

Why do I bring this up?  Because her words spread a profuse bed of seeds inside me and given my own fertile inner climate, they are already springing up into a jungle of their own, right here inside.  Hearing her story, I remember the mythology that each of us IS.  Every single One of us is on a hero’s (or heroine’s as the case may be) journey and everything that we live and breathe and taste is a retelling, an unfolding, an embellishment of the mythology of the World.  God’s journey through an elaborate, prismatic dream scape.  I am no more and no less of an epic Athena than the one who sprung out of Zeus’s head back in the good ole days.  And you, with your treasure trove of an inner world stand right along side Shiva, Lakshmi, Hanuman, Persephone and Thor!

We are each a sacred, mythical epic poem being inscribed on a single grain of rice in a vast ocean of rice, which someday will inevitably (and maybe anticlimactically) be cooked and devoured by All Pervading _________. (Fill in the blank… just be sure that the Pervasive One is only alive AS Love.)  Amen.

3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Rosy Moon
    Aug 19, 2010 @ 19:16:12

    Oh Goddess, you amaze and delight me, thank goddesses everywhere that you’re back!!
    Seriously, what you do with words is…..I’m lost for words, but trust me, I’ll come up with a metaphor that will knock your socks off with recognition and a fountain of unabashed self acknowledgment.


  2. Sumitra
    Aug 20, 2010 @ 05:42:57

    I live in a spiritual community in the foothills of the Sierras in Northern California. Around me is an abundance of nature, singing, meditation…and yes, drama. It seemed pretty complete, until I had to live withouthout Athenagrace’s blog for a few days. I missed the coffee houses, courtrooms, Greyhound buses, farmers markets and occasional trips to the inner dimensions of grains of rice, Ecuador?, centers of souls and beyond. I missed comments from the faithful readers who share my enthusiasm for these delightful, thought-provoking, soul-aware blogs. I hope you write this blog every day I get to “the other side”, where I hope to continue reading in spite of the lack of a physical body. Again, you’re the best!


  3. souldipper
    Aug 20, 2010 @ 07:37:47

    Phew! My Soul can now stop sitting up, waiting and listening. My favourite Love Chord is back. You know Athena Grace, it seemed as though the Universe was missing that one voice for perfect harmony.


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