Too Bad It’s Not Yesterday Anymore

Guess what, People?  Too bad it’s not yesterday anymore!  I’m starting to see a pattern~ one day I feel strong and clear, the next day I feel zonkered, overwhelmed and shy.  Yeah… today is the later.  Shrug.  But zzzzzzzzz.  Boring.  I’m sitting here at the outdoor café in Princeville at a table with Brad and a woman photographer who Brad is meeting with to get the deed to a car.  Brad is telling her how it came about that he is a shaman.  Fascinating.  I wish I had such a clear cut and dazzling way to identify myself AND make a living.  The story of how Athena Grace became a… writer, of course!  (As told by Athena herself, to an eager journalist who is lapping up every word like a glutinous puppy as they doublefistedly sip on sunset and cocktail, perched on Athena’s artful balcony overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.) (Yep, I used to watch my share of lifestyles of the rich and famous and I do indeed have my share of champagne wishes and caviar dreams.)

Please!  Let me swaddle myself in a nice cozy label and then I’ll feel Heaven’s stellar promise kissing my parted lips.  It’s hard to concentrate because now Brad is telling the photographer a story about one of his first conscious past life memories.  He had just stepped into teaching healing here on Kauai and he was walking down the street, when suddenly he felt this gripping pain around his ankles.  “Literally, like a ball and chain,” he just said.  So he stopped and prayed deeply… And that’s when he had a vision of a past life where he acquired that “ball and chain” which was preventing him from stepping in to life and fully giving his gifts.

My wires feel crossed sitting at a table that is immersed in conversation while I am trying to write… but I have been thirsty for company so I thought general nearness would be helpful and nourishing.  Plus Mykael used to often encourage me to bring Hanuman (my computer) to friends’ houses and blog right in the middle of their respective domestic chaos.  I always resisted his encouragement, because I like to be in my own pristine, sacred sphere while I write.  Now I see why.  My mind feels spliced and agitated as I fight to stay connected to my voice and follow my flow (Cringe.  Why does the word “flow” make me cringe?  I suspected I would be forced to flooooohhh on Kauai…).

And another reason why everything is wrong right now is that I was unsure where I wanted to go to write today… I had a pipedream of really flinging myself out into the world at large by thumbing a ride to Kapa’a, (east shore) (I live on the southern end of the north shore) and seeing what unfolded along the way.  I was feeling exasperated already by treading the same sandy paths since I’ve been here.  Well… the first two or three days were full of newness, connections, glittering possibilities… but then… my house mates, who were generously coaxing me along dove back into their respective rivers of existence and I was left to mine… which currently is moving at an exasperating trickle.  Oh… but I was telling you that chillin’ in Princeville blows.  It’s basically a tiny town devoted to the sweaty plastic world of tourism.  As far as soul is concerned, I suppose it has one… it has just been steam rolled and flattened neatly onto oblivion’s perpetually grimacing face.

I am sitting in a little courtyard carved out in a complex of sterile, overpriced shops full of generic memorabilia, stuffy, suffocating art, vacation rental and real estate brokers.  The only other people sitting here besides us, are a young boy-man eating a massive plate of cheap Mexican food and another two guys also stuffing their dorky faces full of tostadas and nachos and the lardy, Mexican third cousins thereof.  Brad just got a plate of chips and guacamole.  He zealously indicated to the little plastic cup of sour cream on the side upon his return to the table.  You see, chance (or fate if you prefer) would have it that he read yesterday’s blog where I spun out on a little indulgent field trip recounting some of what I found to be his more curious and noteworthy attributes and habits…. Including his sour cream and chip consumption.  He didn’t seem to mind… but he did profess that he normally eats oatmeal for breakfast, NOT a handful of eggs and a skillet of bacon.  He had just taken advantage of a rare special at the grocery store where he redeemed a coupon for a free two dozen eggs laid by de-beaked, tortured, caged chickens and a pack of bacon made from sorry deranged pigs crying retarded, mutant tears, whose flesh is full of preservatives, chemicals and other miscellaneous dancing sculls and crossbones.

But there is grace even in this highly agitating, imperfect moment.  The day is cool.  I like that.  My gaze just got snared by something to my left.  It landed on the distant, verdant, jagged mountains.  A couple of sharp, dark peaks are visible, but the others have been swallowed by wet, gray clouds.  I feel grace as I merge with that distant vista.  Maybe because I too feel swallowed by wet grey clouds.  I feel grace in the cool whispers of the air this afternoon.  Wait.  It’s five forty… would that be considered afternoon or evening?  Personally, I would lean toward evening.  I feel grace in the rich, seductive scents of cooking meat, wafting from the little Mexican restaurant, mingling with an occasional whiff of Brads heap of guacamole and chips.  (I can’t smell the sour cream.)

Gosh, I’ve been wanting to write about my experience of being single for the first time in seven years… but I forgot, because I couldn’t hear myself think for a while due to my compulsion for company.  I guess I’ll dive into that topic tomorrow. Right now I just feel haunted and exhausted and spaced out.  In fact I’m just gonna sign off now before I bore you completely to tears.  Sorry if I bored you today.  But this is me.  Flailing in the state of recalibration, uncertainty and my perpetual longing to reclaim my place in Heaven once and for all.  Do you know what I mean when I say “reclaim my place in Heaven”?  It’s important that you do.  I mean waking up and remembering my divinity once and for all.  Living entirely for Love, free from the slobbering, diseased jaws of fear and delusion.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. souldipper
    Sep 16, 2010 @ 09:32:59

    Thank you for introducing me to “Secrets of the Talking Jaguar”. I’ve just started it and do not plan to plow through it quickly. I want to savour this little literary honey. And I am right smack in the middle of his bare bones, soul exposing, glorious aloneness.

    Coincidence? You know that does not exist.

    Companionship, hope and comfort may lie within those early page, you Divine little Chick Pea.

    I love you to bits and know that you are right where you are meant to be. (Don’t you hate being reminded of that when it feels like your size 8 feet are in size 6 shoes? But then those old slippers do not have the support you need either. Thank the Goddess that her lap always fits when we need a good rocking.)


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