Drenched in Blessings

My new sign!

You know, I wasn’t kidding in my last blog when I said I was untangling a mess of yarn.  No, it wasn’t just a mildly obtuse metaphor.  I have been knitting… and my yarn is as conveniently tangled as my heart is these days.  I find it incredibly soothing as well as mildly frustrating to become divinely absorbed in the mundane task of resurrecting my yarn to a knittable state.  Ahhhhh…the simple pleasures indulged by a not so simple woman in an even less simple world.

I’m pretty well spent today, but I wanted to swing by the page and inform you that I am still alive and kickin’ after that last pretty extreme entry.  I did indeed cry myself to sleep last night.  I cried at least as hard as it rained this morning.  It was definitely a tropical storm of a cry.  Yes indeed.  Like a soul splitting cry that could have ended a drought in a modest gnome village.  And then came sleep. And then came today, with a morning who spewed rain down from heaven.  It’s so amazing being in a place where rain is a daily occurrence.  But today’s rain was especially prolific and thankfully it washed me clean enough to proceed.

Although I still felt raw and so hard on myself.  So much came up for me upon publishing that blog where I expressed that I didn’t miss Mykael as much as the things he did for me.  It evoked an intense sensation of feeling out of control.  And publishing that follow-up blog only exacerbated the feeling.  I felt like such a splayed open, vulnerable mess of a human being… which is what made me feel out of control.  But you know what?  I’m glad to feel out of control.  Because being in control is overrated.  I was so afraid of how you’d see me, how you’d perceive me.  Terrified that I might not look good.  “Look good,” she sneered, upper lip curled in distain.  Sigh.  There’s more to life than looking good.

I can’t quite explain it into a neat little package… but allofa sudden, everything that is unfolding AS my life is undoing me in a strange and glorious and mildly terrifying way.

The smell of decomposing vegetation is burned into my nose.  It smells wet and fresh, slightly oniony and reminiscent of beautiful death.  Renewal.  The smell lurks everywhere on this island.

With a still aching heart, I forced myself out of the house in the late morning, typewriter in hand (adorned with a new born sign I made last night in the throes of grief).  God, I thank you for giving me the strength and courage to continue my poetic crusade.  I was afraid that I had permanently lost my confidence and courage… but I think all the crying and excruciating myopicism catapulted me back out to the front lines where life salivates at the endless slew of opportunities to be lived in the spirit of enchantment and chance and surging, fluid blessing.

I wish I had the bandwidth to tell you EVERYTHING that unfolded today… but I’m tired and I want to pour over A Course in Miracles before I am lost to the land of a sandy man for approximately eight hours.  What I will tell you… is that God sent me a whole slew of angels today, one after another.  And I will tell you that I had a very organic experience of existing in time today.  It was not choppy and clunky and hacked by the ego’s gleaming cleaver of agenda.  Time shone like an awe inspiring garland of luminous eyes, souls wandering and frolicking and blending their light with mine.  Time rose and fell as the waves that rocked, caressed and purified my holy vessel.  Time was music woven with good fortune and a splash of chance.

I gave my gifts.  I received the gifts of others.  I felt connected and so profoundly cradled in God’s Grace.  This island almost seems like utopia.  People are so generous and kind.  It is not like other places.  I keep noticing that people are extra beautiful here.  I think it is because this land is so raw and giving and sensual.  It is easier to find simple joy and fulfillment here.  Everyone glows.  I’m not just saying that.  I find myself continuously enchanted by the beauty of the embodied souls swimming in sister currents along my sacred wander.

As I typed poems, I felt Mykael rooting me on (And I ached at the physical distance between us.  God, I am so ridiculously, fluidly feminine.  I am movement.  I am God’s light, dancing, refracting, seducing, inspiring, teasing.).  And I felt reverberations of grief for having anything other than gratitude for the empowering alliance he has been on my path.  Honestly, I would not even be typing poems, if it was not for his relentless encouragement, his unwavering belief in me.  And even across the vast, undulating body of the Pacific Ocean, I felt him with me, adding to my strength as I poured myself out in reverent, playful, linguistic service to the One, clumsily yet lovingly.  I bow to that holy man, who held my hand and walked with me to this auspicious crossing.

Once upon a time, I dreamed there was another, saner way to live… and I’m starting to believe…

There IS.


4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. souldipper
    Sep 19, 2010 @ 19:50:45

    She writes. She lives. She loves. Thanks be.


  2. Naomi Colb
    Sep 21, 2010 @ 05:10:35

    Athena, Your prose is downright educational!!!! It gives my inner world a role model for Sel-expression!!!!


  3. Naomi Colb
    Sep 21, 2010 @ 05:11:27

    Athena, Your prose is downright educational!!!! It gives my inner world a role model for Self-expression!!!!


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