Another Reading On My Holy Dipstick

I’m writing at the desk in my bedroom this evening.  As I sit in the solitude composed of way too many solid rectangles, I feel myself squirming like a chocolate smeared preschooler.  Today I have a thirst for stimulation, adventure, newness.  And this bare-bones bedroom satiates none of those.  But you know what?!?!  It really doesn’t matter where I am, does it?  Yeah, let’s unabashedly plunge right into the fermenting, over-ripe cliché… Where ever I go… HERE I AM!  It’s really just a simple matter of downshifting.  And invoking the elite, unsurpassable company of my very best friend, God.  Come on… if you’re drunk on God, what in the heck does it matter if you are in your monastic bedroom, Amsterdam’s Red Light District, at the base of a incessantly spilling, orgiastic waterfall, or sailing through space in the quaint basket of a hot air balloon?  That’s right, it don’t make no nevermind.

But then again, I’m not quite drunk yet.  I’m just riding a mild buzz.  Though if a deputy angel pulled me over and made me take the line test, the winged peace officer would set me loose once again to dance along Life’s treacherous highway, citation free… though maybe with a winking warning.

If life was merely God splurging on an indulgent binge trip to the movies, then I believe I have been seeing some bitchin’ coming attractions rolling like dreamily grinning clouds through my current existence.  Nice prose, Athena!  Go Team All Pervasive!!!  (Pardon me while I slap God a high five!)  And now for what I meant by that, in plain English:  I have been glimpsing some extended sneak peeks and succulent tastes of the kind of joy and peace that the scriptures condone.  You know… the deep seated, unconditional kind.  (Speaking of which, it just started raining.  The view out my window is mostly clear… But apparently there’s a gaggle of clouds shedding copious droves of tears of joy right above my house.  Even though I am inside my first world shelter, I still feel washed clean as the rain sings down.  I see it out the window.  It makes my vision look pixilated like a cheap TV set.  And the air has become thirty six percent more sensual under the influence of falling water.  Wow.  If I wasn’t drunk before…) What was I saying?  Oh yeah, peace and love…

Yesterday, I had my second surf lesson!  And you know that rhapsodious old adage, “first is the worst, second is the best?”  Well, there must be something to it, because my second surfing lesson WAS the best… and the first was the worst, Athena Grace LMNOP exclaimed, wrinkling her nose emphatically.  Yes, I’m exaggerating, but the waves were much gentler my second day out, and as a result, I found myself to be substantially more courageous.  Like… I actually got on the board!  Grin.  (Ahhhhhhh… the dogs are barking non stop and it’s about as irritating as accidentally rubbing your eye after slicing up a HOT chili pepper.)  So there I was, straddling my long board, being rocked ever so gen-tl-y in the turquoise belly of Hanalei Bay, waiting for a wave exuberant enough to thrust myself into.  But not *really* waiting… Just looking around in awe.  Marveling at how the sky is like a big blue bowl full of jumbo sized, very freshly popped corn.  I know I said that the other day… I must be craving the good old fashioned cinematic snack sensation.  I love stuffing my mouth full of popcorn like a depraved little piggy in homo sapien disguise.

But I digress… Because I wasn’t pigging out on popcorn, I was bearing wondrous witness to life from the best seat in the house.  I watched a benevolent wave carry Brad towards the palm tree lined, golden sanded shore.  I watched Brad pop out of the churning surf moments later, looking like an ecstatic rat, near drowned in the All Pervading Ocean of Holy You Know What… And I thought to myself, “Brad must really LOVE me, to demand that I learn to surf.”  That thought was followed by flood of beautiful feeling, like a dam of warm honey bursting inside me.  Then the camera panned out and it was no longer just Brad loving me.  It was also the ocean, the sky, the popcorn clouds, the jagged, breathing, furry, green mountains, the warm satin air passively pressing its way into my lungs and animating this strange flick we know as Life.

I think I met my maker, Folks!!!!!  Never before in my conscious memory have I felt so Loved by All That Is.  FELT… Like in my guts, on my skin, in my mind (Ahem, YES, I say that one CAN feel in their mind…)… I felt like all of Creation was keeping me company.  (A gecko just chirped.  They sound like little nocturnal birds.  I think it was God saying, “Finally, we got through to dense old Athena Grace!  This calls for a champagne toast!!!)

That generous helping of a holy moment in Hanalei Bay is one example of the trailers of coming attractions.  I have been waking up in many moments and feeling profound levels of contentment, trust, fullness and a general wafting perfume of universal love.  And do you want to know my professional assessment of this matter?

Well… according to my sentient-poetical-metaphysic dipstick, humanity has REALLY been going through the ringer as of late.  Come on, you totally know what I’m talking about.  I believe I’ve said this before, but I’m pretty certain they are birthing pains.  I believe that soon the collective oil will be hot enough and we will start to POP in rapid succession!  Yes, we will pop out into a whole new dimensional kaleidoscopic orientation of Self and World, in which Love radically remembers its Self through each of us… and each of us remembers its One Beloved Self.

I’m just sayin’… Shrug.  It’s entirely possible based on what I have had the blessed, divine privilege of nibbling and sipping recently.  And based on an extrapolatory model of the trajectory of energies and events unfurling ont this spinning rock in this whirling galaxy to date.  The oil is getting *very* hot!


Behind the Scenes of my Creative Process

Mykael, I heard your voice today… coaxing me to just take my typewriter along… I walked to the local bakery to write my blog… and I heard you encouraging me.

I parked at the table that I have claimed as “mine”.  (Every time I land here at the bakery, I scope out all the possible perches available to me… feel into sitting at each one of them.  And infalliably, this same table beckons me.  The same chair whispers a covert come hither to my modest and soft bottom.)  Golly gee whiz, did I feel shy to pull out the old faithful, vintage blessing machine just now.  There were so many people around, nibbling and sipping and engaging in the sensual slow lane of existence.  One of the reasons that I love writing so much is that it provides the perfect space for both my exuberant exhibitionist and my shy, sensitive hermit to harmoniously coexist.  (Most of the time)  But busting out the Smith Corona is like flashing a neon sign that says LOOK AT ME!

Eeeeeek.  But also not.  Immediately this radiant woman at the table next to me took interest in my archaic treasure.  I told her that I was offering poems by donation.  Without hesitation she said she wanted one for her sister who was turning sixty next month!  Yahoo!  I LOVE sixty year olds!  I’m serious.  I DO.  Both my mama and my papa turned sixty recent-ish-ly… and since that pivotal rite of passage, my relationship with each of them has flowered, fruited and flourished!  I find them both to be abounding with wisdom and a ripened rendition of surrender to who they are and their respective places in this earthy sphere of the cosmos…

All that to say that I eagerly chomped at my bit to be set free to honor this Goddess Sister of my freshly harvested radiant customer… whose name was Satya (Which means truth in ummm… Sanskrit, is it?).  Satya was clearly adept at sharing from her heart.  She dove right in and spoke of her sister’s unique beauty and divine specialness.  And she told me that above all else, she wished peace of mind and peace of heart for her beloved kin.  I didn’t have to work or dig at all to get to the meaty, essential heart of the matter.  (Though, truth be told, I am just as happy to dig… I’ll meet people where they are… Still it’s refreshing when another soul is adept at the art of spilling open.)

I have to laugh at my creative process.  I really try to get out of the way.  To be a humble servant.  To refrain from judgment and simply take good notes as the All Pervading Poet spews loving words and decadent metaphors into my mind.  But I must admit that my cumbersome, frightened and sometimes rusty hinged mind oft does not surrender without a good fight.  During the conception of some poems, nearly every line I flush with the poison of self criticism and doubt.  But so what!?  I will not be stopped by the pathetic, yapping Chihuahua that is my small self.  I have All Pervading Fish to fry.  Then, when a poem is done… I have a moment of simultaneous relief and panic… When I read it aloud to the recipient, will the glory of God pour prismatically from between the letters and lines? …Or will the rotten tomatoes fly?

Mostly I read them and relax into the satisfaction of a job well done.  It’s kind of like baking the queen’s wedding cake… I may be an excellent baker… but there’s always that chance that the oven temperature could be off… or goblins could sneak into the kitchen while it’s cooling and stomp their terrible feet frivolously about in the pink, spongy expression of childhood heaven… Ya dig?  What I’m getting at is that even in the face of the highest Grace, life is still but an unpredictable and wondrous ocean, and sometimes that means mess and death and rotten poems.  But the important thing, of course, is NOT THE FRUIT… is it Shri Krishna?  Nope, says our favorite flute playing, chariot driving, cow herding blue man… It’s all in the spirit of the offering.  I only intend to amplify the LOVE that sings me into Holy Existence.

And that’s the truth.  Pbthhhht.


Am I Dreaming?!

To Whom It May Concern:

It’s seven forty six pm.  I am well spent and I don’t really feel like writing… But I’m gonna do it anyway.  Because writing is my Beloved.  This blog is a relationship and I am devoted even when it my lips are chapped and my breasts are sandy and I’d rather be geeking out with my Course in Miracles text or knitting.

Hey!  I just realized that I love my own company!  I was really afraid I didn’t for a while there… because I can be so prone to loneliness.  But I’ll tell you what!?  Get ready, because this is precious, meaty wisdom of the ages…

Loneliness and self-containment, self-satisfaction… what ever kind of self-y-ness you want to call it… ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE.  In the wicked world of black-and-white-either-or-dom, you might think that they were… but straight from the book of First-Handed Certainties… I can vouch that they are NOT.  Especially not on the island of Kauai.  I mean think about it… Today I did my sadhana, cooked amazing soup (made with carrot tops, chard, coconut meat, ginger, fresh turmeric root, onion, garlic… all blended together, sensuously smooth and thick.  Yum cubed!), read the BEST book in the world~ Secrets of the Talking Jaguar (which is the PERFECT book for me to be reading at this time of massive transition, because it is a memoir about a man answering a deep soul call and being radically led by Spirit(s).  Honestly, if I thought my journey was epic… His is at least a gazillion times more intense, courageous, authentic and unbelievably woven and ordained by Grace, Herself.), took a walk AND had my first introduction to surfing!!!

Wow, Athena!  Surfing?  How WAS it???

Terrifying.  Talk about feeling out of control!  OUT OF CONTROL…  Today was the first day of big swells.  The ocean has been pretty mild all summer.  For the week and a half that I have been here, Hanalei bay has just passively lapped at the soft sand of Her steadfast shore.  But not today!  The weather is changing, autumn is rolling in and so are the waves, baby!  Waves.  Sitting on the shore, watching the waves, I realized quickly that I have very little intimate relationship with them.  I don’t know how they behave and how that behavior impacts my body.  So trying shackle a long board to my ankle and add THAT unwieldy element into the equation seemed wildly unreasonable.  Needless to say, I hardly touched the board today.  I did a lot of mere BEING in the waves, developing fluency and comfort in their throes.  I also did a lot of observing of more fluent surfers.  And yes, I got up on the board a couple of times… But holy Jehosaphat!  Surfing is a whole different language.  Beyond that, it is a whole different WORLD.

I’m gonna go back tomorrow.

Have you ever swum in Hanalei Bay?  If not, I will say this much~ Puff is one tasteful dragon, boy!  Every time I am there, I feel like I am immersed in the most decadent and magnificent lucid dream… except in this dream, unlike my few prior lucid dreams, I don’t get so excited upon realizing that I am fully conscious in the dream state, that I wake myself up and find myself back in the disappointing [metaphorical] mud puddle that is my waking life, my plain old bed in the plain old dark.  Nope.  This time, when I realize that I am drenched in the most magnificent dream scene humanly possible, I just keep right on sitting there (or swimming…), surrounded by the lushest, greenest, breathing mountains, under a wide, unabashed sky whose sparse clouds look like humungous kernels of freshly popped corn, and the bay its self, streaming like a grandiose vat of crashing liquid silver.  Oh and often some purple fog haunts the tops of the jagged, green peaks in the not so distant distance.

I might stay here forever.  Wouldn’t you?  I guess island life is not for EVERYONE… but it certainly is for people who find deep fulfillment in such activities as writing, knitting, yoga, meditation, cooking fresh, simple food, reading great books, wandering through lush jungles, maybe making love again some day, frolicking in the surf and reminiscing about the good olde days when I had a luminous iridescent fish tail… For those types of people, Kauai is a highly suitable and savory Home.  I feel embraced by everything here.  Even when I am floundering around in my shit… The sensuous air swaddles me tenderly.  This is the perfect place to find myself as a whole, single woman… because the sacred land reaches to me, meets me like a Lover.  The sky breathes sweetness down my neck and up my skirt.  The warm, fertile earth gently gives beneath each step.  The birds sing me saucy, tropical love songs.  The flowers surf hidden currents that splash upon the shores of my awareness, leaving me dizzy and gasping.  Can this be real?  Strangely… yes.

Is it too good to be true?  Strangely…no.

I hitchhiked home from Hanalei (because I didn’t want to pay money to eat out with Brad and his enchanting girlfriend Chancey.).  A strong, dark, handsome surfer picked me up in his pick-up truck with monster wheels.  His two little children rode with him in the cab, so I rode in the back, fully submerged in the bliss of jungle dusk.  I hadn’t ridden in the back of a truck since childhood when my best friend’s dad used to give her and I recreational thrill rides around the block.  I sipped the soft sweet wind, gulped the glutinous colors and marveled at how excruciatingly good God is treating me.  I thought of You, my readers, wishing you were there with me… So I snapped a photo.  Welcome to my world, formerly known as “too good to be true”!


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.



It’s eight fifty six pm.

I’m alone in my bedroom.

I have spent a good part of my friday night untangling

a mess of yarn.  The knots are endless.

But I needed to follow up the post I just put out earlier.

I shouldn’t have published it.

I can’t believe I said that I don’t miss Mykael.

All night, I have had an overwhelming crushing feeling

in my chest,

as if I have broken my own heart.

I guess the truth is that I DO miss him.

A lot.

I guess there was just some hurt and disappointment barricading the missing.  And now the missing is expressing its self as deep grief.  People said Kauai amplifies everything.  Now I believe them.  The ache inside, the mess I’ve made, the gaping aloneness I feel… God… GOD!  Please be here with me in this Holy discomfort.

A few minutes ago, I discovered and reread  a letter that Mykael wrote to me in our epic beginning.  He wrote me the best letters.  So sexy and deep, evocative and revealing, poetic and intelligent.  Why did I write such irreversible and gouging words today.  I swear to god, I feel like I just stabbed myself in the heart.  I feel so naive.  Looks like a cry myself to sleep night for sure.

Mykael… I am SO sorry.

God, help me find a way out of this prison of an ego.  PLEASE.


An Ugly Confession & A Brief History of My Sexual Evolution

Yup.  I’m right on schedule!  Today’s another broken open day.  It was tricky though… and crept up on me when I wasn’t looking.  I’m at the Kilauea Bakery, sitting outside (so that the breeze can caress me as it likes) staring into space trying to retrace the moment that my world pitched on its head.  I think it was while I was on the internet this morning, trying to figure out flights to Maui in preparation for my impending yoga therapy training.  Doing stuff online is a pretty surefire way to douse my parade, monsoon-fire hose style.  Besides email and blogging, I find all things cyber an unwieldy pain in the butt.  It takes me so much time and energy to navigate websites and all that type of junk.  I miss having a man to do that stuff for me while I dance around and express my flowing femininity.  My housemate Heidi said she encountered that issue when she broke up with her fiancé and moved here less than a year ago… and she thought it was awesome and liberating to claim her independence.

But you know what I have to say to THAT?  No thank you.  I don’t have anything to prove to anyone by over developing my masculine side.  That’s why God invented masculine types… to handle masculine shit.  I am NOT from the school of heavy-handed women’s lib… I don’t need to prove myself by learning to use a screwdriver.  (Although I DID hack open my coconut with Brad’s rusty, dull machete yesterday.  And it WAS a pretty cathartic experience.  I think it could even be considered cardiovascular activity… But I sure did make a mess of my coconut in the process of hacking and hacking and hacking… Tons of hairy pulp got into the meat and it was an arduous mess to sort out in the end.  Though it was a savory enough experience, I would have been just as happy to have my hairy, musk-scented, muscle-bound champion split it with one determined, samurai slice… and then I would swoon over him and make him feel like the most useful, necessary and sexy speck of fleshy space dust.)

Sigh… Life without a man.  I hate to admit this… but I have to… because my blog is a place where I strive to tell the truth.  This truth hurts.  Yesterday Mykael texted me that he missed me so much, his spirit felt numb.  I cried when I read it.  I even want to cry now as I think about that.  It just sounds so painful… and somehow I feel responsible for his crippling numbness.  But truth be told, I am more present to missing the things he did for me (like giving me snuggs at night, handling computer issues, fixing ANYthing, loving my cat so well, letting me use his car…), than HIM.  God, I hope he doesn’t read this!  I am going to tell him not to.  I feel SO ashamed to admit that. But this is something that has been blowing through my mind lately as I take stock and regroup and shift gears… and I’m trying to understand WHY I feel this way.  What I’ve come up with, is that I often felt disappointed by him… so a lot of my experience of the relationship was stained with that disappointment and frustration.  And when I expressed my disappointment and my needs, it often times led to a fight.  Which got exhausting fast.  Plus, we didn’t really do tons of stuff together… just rock climbing (Which I am SOOOO thankful for.  Rock climbing changed me.  It has helped me become intimate with my strength and power.  And Mykael is an amazing teacher.)… everything else I loved, I did alone.  He was like a boot camp trainer for my impending life as a single woman.  Now I am a professional at going to church alone, going to the farmer’s market alone, cooking alone…

I wonder if disappointment is in my blood… inevitable, inescapable… Would I experience it with ANY man?  Am I just condemned to searing myself in the pain of perpetually seeing what is missing?  Gulp.  I hope not.  But for now it doesn’t matter, because I am single.  And just for the record, I am committed to being single for a whole YEAR.  A whole epic, bleeding, heroic year.  Sigh.

Does that mean no sex?  I wonder… I’m not sure.  For now it does.  This terrified me at first… Because my sexuality, I have come to realize, is not something that I fully trust.  Lemme tell you what I mean by that…

My sexual, sensual self has been of the late blooming variety.  (Like the rest of me, I guess…)  I was always a very sensual being.  But it’s not a topic that my mom ever addressed with me.  (No hard feelings, mom, I promise.)  I imagine that’s because HER mom was never open with her.  It was a topic that always felt SECRETIVE and shameful on some level.  But I was always very curious. (In fact DIG THIS~ two of my childhood friends had The Joy of Sex on their parents’ book shelf at home.  And I convinced *both* of them to sneak and read it when we were home alone… AND BOTH TIMES we were caught in the act and then the forbidden text not so mysteriously disappeared off the shelf and I was cast back into sexual darkness and ignorance.  Can you believe THAT?!?!?) Oh, and throw into the mix that as a teenager, I had horrible acne and a proclivity to binge on food.  My body was NOT a heavenly oasis.  It was a source of pain and shame.  Needless to say, I let way too many men into my Secret Garden who did not disserve to be there.  And I was frustratingly numb and unfulfilled.

(I know this is intimate information… but you know WHAT?!  Fuck secrecy.  I am a REAL woman and this is the path I have walked.  And there is strength and power in the truth.  This is why I share myself.  Because we all have stories, journeys, evolutions.  And sharing them illuminates the Whole.  May you find a piece of your blessed self in my vulnerable sharing.  There is no use hiding out in the shadowy swamps of shame.  Or is there?  Should I just slink back into my groaning, smelly corner before it’s too late?  Oh, Love, I think the clock struck too late long ago… So speak on, Sister Divine…)

I certainly didn’t feel like an embodiment of the Goddess as I stumbled clumsily through my twenties.  No, I felt more imprisoned, condemned by the cruel trap of embodiment.  I slept with a lot of men… searching for something.  Something beautiful and good and real.  Then along came Eric when I was twenty three.  I found *much* that was beautiful and good and real in him, in our USness… but not my sexually awakened self… which is one of the reasons I left him.  I was terrified to get married to someone that didn’t bone me immaculate.  Did that mean I would NEVER get boned immaculate in my whole ass dragging life???  No thank you.

I left Eric for Mykael when I was twenty eight.  And blessed BE, we had a good share of hot, satisfying love making… and I found part of the Something that I was yearning for.  Part of it… But something I noticed during my time with Mykael… is that I was afraid of not having sex for more than a few days.  Afraid that my turn-on would just pick up and fly far away when I had my head turned.  This precious, fledgling facet of my womanhood.  I did not know how to trust it…After all, it had been gone for so long.  When I am turned on, I feel powerful.  I feel ALIVE.  I feel God.  I feel dangerous and beautiful.  I don’t want that to go away.
But nor do I want to be ruled by it.  I thought that if I was turned on, it meant that I HAD to have sex!  Quick!  Hurry!  Before it goes away again…  Not so healthy.  It doesn’t leave much room for my partner’s desires and needs to exist… Now, as a single woman… I am embarking on a new leg of my sexual journey.  It involves surrender.  Surrender to the cycles of my desire.  Surrender to my turn-on and my yearning.  It is time to practice just being with what is… without a need to DO anything.  Frown.  Sounds boring.  Hahahah.  I just laughed out loud!  What a welcome relief to this heavy-hearted goddess.  But it kinda does sound boring.  I’ll at least abstain for a couple of months… and then petition the universe for a tantric research partner.  Oh, that Athena Grace, LMNOP!  She’s a woman with a PLAN.  Wish me luck.

Wow.  I feel naked right now.  Eeeeek.  So vulnerable.  But I wouldn’t have it any other way.


Blissfully Blending the Agony and Ecstasy

It’s another “good” day… Seems like my scientific extrapolation of the pattern of one up day, then a down day, then an up day… up, down, up, down, up, down… is accurate so far.  Not that I’m condemning myself to a heavy heart trudging through the mud day tomorrow… but just incase it does play out that way, I’m gonna be sure and thoroughly luxuriate in the cool effulgence that today is raining on me.

I woke up so gloriously alone on the thin foam that serves as my bed right now.  (It’s basically like a barely glorified version of sleeping on the floor.  I feel SO f-ing yogic.  Honestly, I don’t mind.  I am loving simplicity right now.  I was relieved to move out of my overly spacious house in Oakland.  Ask me how often I went into the living room… Once in a psychedelically persuaded moon.  (Oooh, a psychedelically persuaded moon… I’d sure love to MEET Her, fully illumined face to face!  Definitely puttin’ that on my bucket list…) And the dining room too.  Dead space.  I yearned to have a simple, humble existence.  And crafty manifestress I am, I yearned it right into existence.)  I woke up to the requisite rooster squabble and abrasive parrot music.  I asked God to inform me of the vibe of my day and then I pulled a tarot card from the goddess deck on my iPhone.  I got the ten of cups.  It had a picture of a majestically arching rainbow with a full moon above (whose face, unfortunately was not psychedelically persuaded… but maybe if she let that blazing rainbow have his way with her on life’s heaving dance floor, that would change…).  Oh and the rainbow was reflected upside down, over the broken, glistening body of the ocean!  The drawing could have easily been inspired by the very island on which I am blessedly perched.  It was about abundance.  An abundance which naturally spills out into the world.

All of the cards I have been drawing lately speak of abundance.  Yesterday I drew the Sun.  As I move through all these current waves of hope and fear, loneliness and rapture, contraction and surrender, it is requiring deep trust to release myself into the undeniably auspicious promise of the oracle.  (Before I landed on Kauai, believe it or not, all the cards I drew told me that I was at the end of a challenging time and success, peace, joy, prosperity were on their way, immaculate wings poised to spread.)

Day three of my morning sadhana practice.  So far it has been a solo journey (Though originally it was a vision shared with my housemates… ). I can not tell you how delicious it is to begin the day that way.  Bathing in breath and the waning sounds of an awakening jungle.  Feeling the vitality and strength of my body.  I only wish that I could TRULY dedicate my practice entirely to God.  I still feel all these straggling egoic motivations for my practice… to stay in shape, to avoid the suffering of dirty, stagnant mind, to achieve unity with the All Pervading Bigger, Better, MORE… Ahhh, human motivations are interwoven so intricately with threads of Purity.  It’s hard to decipher them all in the end, and meanwhile, the tapestry is pretty striking, isn’t it?

But the Course in Miracles lesson for today is “Let me remember that my goal is God.”  So I came to asana practice with a sincere inquiry of how to practice in a way that reflects only the remembrance of and communion with God.  Remember Athena, lotuses unfold in God’s time, by God’s Grace.  Just keep showing up with that magnificent, curious and sincere heart, and some day… you will taste the All Pervading Honey.  You will find the light switch.

I WANT SO DEEPLY TO FIND THE LIGHT SWITCH.  Here’s me, groping clumsily about in deep, black, breathing infinity within and infinity without… my hand sweeping the wall-less worlds in search of a switch smaller than a single grain of rice.  (But certainly inscribed with the Lord’s Prayer… and every single other prayer ever uttered by the lips of hearts who wish… who wish in so many flailing words to find that teensy, taunting, slippery switch.)

After my morning practice, I was graced with an email notification of acceptance to the yoga therapy training taught by John Friend (the father of anusara yoga) on Maui in the beginning of October!!!!!!  Ten of Cups, BABY!  I really wanted to do it… and I had put it in God’s hands, trusting that if I belonged there, I would be accepted… and if the Destiny calling out to me from within my very own self was another… that was perfect too.  Because my goal… IS GOD.  Still, I am delighted that God’s plan for me includes this training, because it will enable me to facilitate deep healing of bodies, which of course are reflections of the mind which are reflections of the One.  There’s a bump on the log in the hole in the middle of the All Pervading Sea!

Speaking of the Sea… Ask me if I got in the Ocean today….

I did.  My rhythm is revealing its self, thank Goddess!  I find that merging with the lucid turquoise waters in the late morning, after breakfast and a few misc. chores feels great.  It purifies me and supercharges my day.  Today, as I stood alone, ankle deep in the cool, softly lapping body of the Mother Ocean, I wondered heavily if I was dreaming.  Signs would point to yes.  “Too good to be true”… my mind tries to convince me.  But apparently it’s not.  Apparently I am immersed a Blessing that I have, by the Grace of God, swum my way right into.  Thank you!

In my book “Secrets of the Talking Jaguar”, I just read the part where the author, Martin Prechtel had a near death experience, which was wild.  (The whole book is dense with poetry and profound, earthy wisdom.  I swear, I want to share like every other sentence with you!)  As he emerged back into life, into the excruciating pain of his body (he had fallen off a cliff and cracked some ribs) he was filled with a knowing that, “Suffering was not the price of living but part of the gift of being alive.  Not a big deal, but part of the deal.”  Obviously this spoke to me… because I feel life so deeply and sometimes… that makes for a very bumpy, achy, metaphorically bloody ride.  But sometimes even in the thick of my suffering, a deep part of me knows this.  Knows that the agony and the ecstasy are one.

Speaking of which, last night, as a cap to my rainy parade of a day, I was making myself some dinner.  I was delighted to throw some olive oily, garlicy eggplant on the grill… only to find out that the grill was out of propane.  Stove top city, Sweetheart.  Brad, the fanged, shamanic carnivore was of course cooking chicken on the burner to my right.  In a flash of inspiration, I asked him if I could pour some of his blissfully scalding chicken fat over my eggplant, quinoa and greens.  He gave me the go ahead!  And the next thing I knew, I had not only poured scalding chicken fat on my dinner, but also all over my arm!  Brad was shocked.  I didn’t feel anything.  Until I did.  And what I felt was more than a burning arm, but a deep upsurge of grief.  I fell apart in a pool of deep sobs in the kitchen.  Talk about the gift of being alive!  Thankfully our front yard is full of aloe vera plants.  Shrug.  It’s just a stinkin’ burn.  And a beautifully poetic end to an aching day.

Yes to ALL of it!  Let me remember that my goal is GOD!!!


This is my view from my bedroom window as I blog…
My impressive, poetic burn!

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