Kauai Man Report And Some Amazing Grace

Oh lord have mercy!  I dunno if I can do this… I am SO tired.  Something is telling me to let go… not to write tonight.  Just to marinate in the quiet of all hallows eve.  This auspicious time when the veil between the worlds is at it’s thinnest.  But I can’t resist just stepping onto the page and clicking the silvery keys.  If for no other purpose than to hear the technologically persuaded staccato music this act produces.  Why am I so zonkered at seven o’clock?  Why did I almost pass out on my Hanalei Bay jog this morning?  God says don’t ask why.  God says listen.  Rest.  Relax.  Be.

 

Listen.  Rest.  Relax.  Be.  Listen.  Rest.  Relax.  Be.

 

Okay.  But God?  Lemme just tell them ONE thing, okay?  Yes, Athena Grace… Knock your beautiful, inspiring self OUT.

 

I realized that I have not encountered ANY masculine men on this island.  I’ve encountered men who are dormantly masculine… But the energy of this island is SO feminine, that the men flow like seaweed at high tide.  It drives me crazy.  I am dying to have my hair pulled and my face slapped right about now.  I want to be grabbed, wrestled to the ground, bitten and made to blissfully surrender.  But I realize that it’s actually a damn good thing that there aren’t any masculine men… because it is keeping me honest.  I am committed to being single for a year, ‘member?  Well… only ten months now… But who’s counting?  Honestly, I’m really NOT counting.  I am relishing (artisan sweet pickle relish) being single… and I could see one year turning into two… and even… dare I say three?  Nah, that’s ridiculous.  I don’t even know who I’ll be when I wake up tomorrow, I am transforming so fast (I bet I could outrun light… and kick it’s ass at ping pong!)… But the POINT is… that it is bittersweet that this island is masculinity repellant.  Because I’m a sucker for a man who is soulfully masculine, and I don’t fully trust myself to abstain in the face of such sumptuous temptation.  But thankfully all the men here are high on plumeria flowers, coconut water and the incessant, swishy flow of salty, waving heaven.  Thank GOD!

 

One more thing!  This is my last night in my sublet.  I don’t even know where I’m going tomorrow.  And I am totally at peace.  Can you believe it?  Something so amazing is emerging from within me, and in the face of that, it’s hard to sincerely care about such petty details.  I am going to Maui to do some intensive work with a tantric priestess named Amrita Grace.  I found her on facebook a couple years ago.  She was a friend of a friend and I requested to be her friend sheerly because we almost had the same name.  I soon found out that she lived on Maui and did deep work with sacred sexuality.  I tucked that away in a slumbering file in my brain.  Remember how I have been saying that I am acutely aware that I thirst for more (like EVERYTHING to be specific.  “GOD”, to give it a controversial label…) from my sexuality, sexual experiences?  Well… that’s initially why I contacted her.  But upon connecting, I realize that it runs much deeper than that.  She will help me open the space inside myself that is required in order for me to do the intensive work that I am on this planet to do this time around.

 

The channel between us has been wide open since I reached out to her last week.  And if that wasn’t enough, the plot got way thick, way fast.  I wrote a poem for this Australian goddess about a month ago… who was visiting Kauai with a man she had been communicating with online for about a year… he flew her to Kauai so that they could be together.  And this man had been seeing Amrita Grace in sacred preparation to finally meet his beloved.  He shared the poem I wrote for the aforementioned Aussie goddess with Amrita Grace on skype weeks before I even reached out to her!

 

Amrita Grace realized I was the author of the poem upon reading my blog, which I sent her the link to so that she could have a better idea of this creature named Athena Grace with whom she’d soon be intimately working.  When Amrita Grace discovered this screaming synchronicity, it got her attention.  She realized we have a weighty date with Destiny.  She had her fiancé, Appolo Grace look up my astrological chart to discover more details of the enchanted dance we are entering into.  It was clear that our convergence has been preordained from within the lusty womb of the Great Beyond.  She is a crucial guide in the Sacred Becoming of Athena Grace.  I am preparing to move mountains in the name of LOVE, my Friends.  I have been waiting for this all my life and probably many more lives beyond what I can remember in this current, laughable state of holy amnesia.

 

So much for not wanting to write.  I just wanted to keep you all abreast.  (Because come ON, breasts are the best…)  November seventh.  That is when Amrita and Athena Grace shall enter into the sacred container that will violently rattle the windows of the multiverse.  But don’t be afraid.  Though it might be a spicy shock, verdant flowers will spring up from moaning deserts and melancholy graves inside the aching cage of your ribs.  Butterflies will explode like psychedelic confetti from the folds in your grey matter.  Hearts will torch like lanterns lodged in the bellies of chanting mountains… as I scream and shriek and sing out in the ecstasy and relief of embracing passionate Divine Service.

 

In case there was any remaining doubt:  We truly ARE the ones we’ve been waiting for!!!

 

Amen.

 

PS~ I have to laugh at myself in my flailing creative process…  Little miss I’m just gonna listen and rest and whatever the hell else I pretended my destiny du jour to be…  I love me.  Seriously, it’s turning out to be fun in here after all, praise the Lord!

Kiss Life As You Knew It Goodbye…

“Live each present moment and the future will take care of its self.  Fully enjoy the wonder and beauty of each instant.”                  ~Paramahansa Yogananda

 

This is my mission right now.  It’s working out very well.  I recommend it.

 

This is just a quick post tonight.  I have a commissioned poem to write… and then bed early so that I can have more astral hot air balloon rides with Souldipper!!! ( that’s what I dreamt last night!)  But because You are so deep in my heart and love is welling up in me and I have so much to share, I am compelled to toss you a few god-drenched words, that you may taste, feel and bathe in this goodness that is rising in me like a winter time river.

 

I want to acknowledge that today and these last few days have been *very* pivotal and cosmically loaded days.  As a collective body, we, Humanity are going through some MASSIVE transformations.  Please, TRUST THE PROCESS.  There is nothing to hold on to.  Our Becoming is such a blessed one.  This time, this place on this magnificent planet… is a total wet dream that has been in the making for so long!  Let us all celebrate this auspicious time of Remembering.

 

And please know you are NOT alone.  Everyone is falling apart, undergoing massive transformations.  Nothing to hold on to, tra-la-la.  Nothing to hold on to, tra-LAAAA.  Just breathe and be kind and generous to yourself and others.

 

I made breakfast for Richard Diamond this morning.  We ate my favorite fermented lentil and rice pancakes (with bananas, ginger and cacao nibs) on the beach.  The hugest rainbow came out as we were saying Grace.  Then it began to rain.  Talk about lucid.  Talk about Spirit.  Talk about Celebration.  Blessings.  Awe.   Check out a picture of the rainbow…

 

And give yourselves a bloody round of applause as you kiss life as you knew it goodbye!

 

Blessed BE, my stellar Friends!!!!

 

Amen.

Sloppy God-Drunk Tonight!

Nobody told me that surrender would lead to the harder stuff!  Jesus.  For the last couple of days, I’ve felt quite compelled to let go of agendas… and just see what the unfiltered, unrefined, unadulterated present moment has to offer.  It’s been pretty nifty.  But now in my candlelit bedroom, I just want to flop around and act like a stoned teenager.  You know, paint my nails (metaphorically, not literally…), flip through teen magazines, drool and dream about losing my virginity to the stars of Beverly Hills 90210 (you should have heard the way I laughed at THAT one.  Sheeezzz.  I’m really enjoying deepening my friendship with Athena Grace lately!!!  She’s a hoot!)… God… the grown-up version of unstructured bedroom time would probably be knitting and watching Divine Nectar, the female ejaculation movie… or flipping through spiritual books, taking gluttinous notes in my recycled spiral notebook and watching the candle light dance my walls to the end of love.  Or even…actually WRITE poetry… I mean like in a notebook made of paper with an inky stick writing device.  I think they call ‘em “pens”…

 

MORE!!!  Give me MORE!!!  This moment is NOT enough… I want to feel MORE fulfilled.  More BLISSFUL, more happy and peaceful and in LOVE.  Oh God!  Saying all that is making my heart cackle, squeal and screach.  A dam of relief has burst inside my chest because those sentiments have gone unspoken for too long.  I mean, honestly, those deep seated longings are the root of most of the bullshit in my consciousness.  As if there is anything truly BETTER than right f-ing NOW!  (What could I say instead of F-ing?  Right Sigmund Freudian NOW.  As if there’s anything truly better than this epic relic of angelic songstress conferencing on the all pervading tip of God’s tongue…)

 

Shoot.  Landing here on the page, it is apparent that droves of unicorns are thundering recklessly about my inner planes and trampling my rhyme, reason and ability to color inside the figurative lines.  This blog is turning out to be an irreverent scribble all over the inner walls.  And you know what???  It’s turning me ON!  The next thing you know, the screen of your computer is gonna split like the seat of too tight pants and I’m gonna burst through and do a vivacious, random dance for you as I fling prismatic vegetable confetti everywhere.

 

ONCE AND FOR ALL… What is the stinkin’ meaning of life?  Please!  Can we all just stop trying to be so damn “good” when we answer this question?  Honestly.  Let’s make the meaning of life TO BE FULLY, unapologetically OURSELVES tonight… Screw all this good Samaritan bull-og-na.  Just at least for tonight.  Let’s let our hair down, rip our shirts off, hurl darts and radically miss the board on PURPOSE and sing operatic versions of our favorite songs of all times!!!  Let’s dump bags of flaming Cheetos all over the ballroom floor and STOMP ON THEM, savoring the sound and sensation as they crush beneath our holy feet.  Let’s put on our finest pearls and then RIP them from each other’s necks and watch them scatter chaotic elegance about the roomy halls of Infinity!   I’m not kidding, people.  I think I am drunk.  The moral of the story?  Be careful what you name your church (says “Our Lady of God-Drunk Grace”)… Hahahahah… I am absolutely cracking myself UP tonight!  This would be too good to be true… if it wasn’t true right now.  But as far as I can tell, this 3D experience, involving breathing and laying on my belly on my foam pad of a bed listening to enigma as candle light flickers on the enlightened faces of my guru posse is about as real as it gets.  Not that I’m asserting its realness… No.  I’m just saying… this is about as real as I can fathom right now.

 

This morning when I was jogging Hanalei Bay, from a distance, I saw this dude taking pictures of himself.  What a narcissist, I thought… but I was tickled.  As I got closer, I saw that he was photographing himself in front of a beautiful peace sign made of vibrant orchid petals!  Though I hate to stop in the middle of a work-out (and let my heart rate drop), I HAD TO this time… For YOU.  Because I want to share my world with you.  Because it is so beautiful, so often… And you might think I’m making it all up if I don’t cough up some evidence once in a rainbow moon (someone told me today that the moon does sport a rainbow halo around here now and again!).  So this “stranger” of a man with God pouring from his smiling brown eyes, he and I photographed each other with this auspicious random, anonymous act of beauty.  It was such intimacy we shared.  And then we parted ways.  Maybe forever…  I have included the photo.

 

Now I’m gonna sign off and swan dive into my bubble gum, adolescent fantasies, dark worlds of uncharted soul secrets and the ever-arduous task of resisting the bliss of being.

 

Dear God… Please, oh PLEASE… Leap through the screen of every single reader… dive into their open eyes, make a huge, ecstatic splash in their heart, so that they feel the drunken joy of Love’s holy, eternal presence.  God!  I’m counting on you!  Please bless them all by igniting their passions and breathing infinite space into their wells of peace.  Thanks you bitchin’ All Pervader!  I love you!

 

Amen!

Moonbeams As Reflected By Irridescent Mermaid Scales

This just IN~ there IS a God, after all!!!!  For *real*…

 

Just as I sat and hunkered down to blog, the song “waterfall” by Jes poured on me [like a waterfall].  Yes, I’m playing my new favorite Pandora station~ B-Tribe. (OMG, it is so sensual and groovy.  I dare you to imbibe…) “Yeah?  So?”, I hear you wondering… Well, I began my day at Kilauea Falls this morning.  It was my first trip to a waterfall since I’ve been on the island(eight weeks today).  Strange how so many things in this life can be taken for granted when in essence, they are drop dead miraculous.  Being at the waterfall was one of these undercover miracles.

 

Mid morning.  I was alone in this lush, jungle basin, captivated by the wide, short falls.  I striped naked, said a prayer for forgiveness and the grace to remove all barriers to Love and slid into the cool, rippling pool of liquid purification and shimmering light.

 

Well, how bout this?!  I just took a languid and succulent yoga break… and when I returned to the page, I was met by a picket line!  A whole host of gnomes in drag protesting linear thinking!!!  Now, normally, I am not one to be deterred by these charming little men in pointy hats… but these angsty queens were a force to be reckoned with!  Through their mirrored, berry crush lips, they demanded that I knock off the play by play recounting of my fever-charmed existence.  Though their impressive stiletto heals are needle sharp and could take my life with one false dance step, I must confess that they *are* indeed on to something.

 

The hippopotamus-bottom line?  I feel to be a treasure trove of beauty.  Thirty years of deep sea diving, and I finally found the trunk I have been dreaming of and drooling over for millennia.  Kauai is helping me shed interminable amounts of weighty soul-stain that I picked up along my sloggish skip through eternity.

 

I have worked so long to remember.  And now I am remembering!!!!  And the song, “I Remember” is now playing on Pandora… of course.  I am remembering that I am made of Love and All is Love and I want to serve and uplift the world.  (I am also remembering that I’m pretty over beans these days.  I ate some black beans for dinner…like three hours ago… and I just got up and danced to this song because its so sexy and alive… and when I sat back down, I burped like black beans and what this means is that they are just too heavy for me.  Which is weird because I used to eat them for like every meal.  But now all I want is carrots and avocados and papayas and vitamineral green powder.  AND yerba mate with half and half and an immodest spoon of honey.  That’s the BEST ever.

 

Sure, the waterfall was a miracle.  I climbed beneath it and let it pound on me.  I thought of my blood family and I cried.  I sat on the far bank, wet and empty and watched the white water slide ceaselessly into gravity’s wide open mouth.  Sure.  And as I hiked back up the hill, I marveled at what an altered state I was in.  Felt so light and lost in dimensions they sure as hell didn’t teach me about in public school.  Yes, I have heaps of reverence for everything.  Yes.  Today was as good as I dreamed it would be last night.

 

You know what the *best* thing about all of this is?!?!  I don’t know where I’m gonna live cum November…(that’s all of three days from now) and I am fully at peace with this.  I trust in my All Pervading BFF in a way that simultaneously baffles and thrills me.  Alls I gotsta say is HOLY POPCORN!  I owe a lot of this to my diurnal attendance of Our Lady of God-Drunk Grace!  I am pouring a decadent, lucid stream of Truth with a capital T on my mind… and I am finally GETTING that it sho’ don’t matter about the external circumstances of life.  But mostly about the choice to open to Love NOW.  And now and now and now…  I know that I am on this earth to serve Love.  To Forgive.  And to raise all of my fellow travelers up with me.  Come on!  Let’s dance!  That’s what really matters.  (Although, I must say that the external surroundings here on Kauai DO help… I dunno if I’d feel this much like a rockstar if I was in dingy Tijuana or Nazi Germany… But I’ll gladly accept the alliance of tropical paradise while I can.  Sheee-it…

 

And some other-other good news is that while I was on yoga break, I wandered out to use the bathroom, and knocked over a yogurt container full of fresh flowers, which I soon learned were from WP!  In them was nestled a note that said, “Would you like to still be my writing partner?  Yes.  No.  (circle one)”  AWE!  I was afraid he’d never want to talk to me (real, anyway), let alone be my WP… Of course I still want to be your writing partner, WP!!!!  And thank you for the flowers!

 

So you see, God exists, and I feel like a swirling pool of moonbeams as reflected by irridescent mermaid scales, elegant strands of black pearls resting sexy-artistic on collarbones dressed in soft, sun kissed flesh, rapturous heavenly bodies making love on satin sheets in sensuous, nocturnal tropical heat…  I feel like breath moving with the ease of spring rivers pouring down lush, crisp mountain sides, strong, masculine hands squeezing supple squish of tender inner thighs.

 

God?  Thank you for escorting me thus far.  Please make me pure, empty and overflowing, that I may spill your Grace upon this world.  Please God!!  Thank you God!

 

Amen.

The Oracle Speaks

Why on earth has Athena Grace LMNOP been finding marbles on the ground, picking them up and carrying them around in her backpack since she arrived on Kauai???

 

To find out the answer to this and other of Life’s perplexing questions, read on…

 

But first, RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU LOVE ROMANCE!!!  Mine shot up, that’s for sure.  God, I can’t get enough of the stuff… not that I’ve ever tried.  Not that I even have remote plans of such nonsense.  I’m so excited that night is falling from outer space upon me again.  You know what THAT means?  Darkness!  You know what THAT means?  Candle light!  And music that you can SEE and feel and rub up against.  Ahhhh… life is good!  If only I had someone to skin brush me right now.  But I did eat organic bacon for dinner… so all is not lost.

 

Now back to our story.  I don’t even know which one to tell, honestly… It’s been one of those days.  I’ve been getting some pretty strong impulses to let go.  Let go of my need for *rigid* structure, routines, “certainty”.  My sublet is up at the end of the month… and I’m trying to tune in to what to do next.  I am not gonna “muscle” through it from a place of fear and disconnect.  Nope.  God is gonna lead me to the precise place that I need to be in order to best Serve.  But this is a weird concept… even for this crunchy, new-age bitch.  Yes.  I called myself a bitch.  And it felt good.  Really good.  Shrug.  What can I say?

 

Surrender.  Trust.  There comes a time in a crunchy new-age bitch’s life when those words crack their calcified shells of concept and become actual warm, fluffy, sweet-peeping actualities with heart beats of their very own!  I can no longer deny that God has plans for me.  That I am on a dizzy, blindfolded walk along Destiny’s very own smooth, voluptuous body!

 

I was sitting on the veranda of Java Kai with my Personal Wizard this new born afternoon, eating a freshly avocado from the neighboring tree (salted, on the half shell)… when the café owner suddenly pointed to me and said, “I think she’s right here.  You’re the one who offers poems by donation, right?”

 

BLINK.  Blink.  “Yes.”  Blink.

 

She spoke to a man who sat at the adjacent table, in the very seat I had moved out of minutes before.  I let my eyes wander about him.  An older man.  White hair.  Angel soft blue eyes.  Dressed all in black, his t-shirt impressed with a generous helping of sweat.  A half eaten piece of berry pie with a dollop of homemade whipped cream bled seductively on the table before him.  I excused myself from Mister Wizard, curious, and pulled up the chair opposite him at his table.  He told me that he had seen me weeks ago, at the picnic tables on the lawn and been intrigued, but I had been inundated with customers… And he didn’t have the luxury of waiting his turn.  But ever since then, he had been asking around, seeking me out.  Sound familiar?  Think glass slippers and clocks that strike pumpkin.

 

He informed me that he was making a movie about cranio-sacral water massage and he wanted to include some poetry.

 

This is weird.  As I am trying to recall the details of the story, it feels so vague.  Truthfully, he was a pretty vague man.  In a good way.  I am left with a sense that most of our communication happened on a whole other plane anyway.  He spoke slowly and his mind was slippery-slimey like a big, iridescent rainbow fish on qualudes.  But speaking of all things rainbow… Marbles.  He mentioned that he had wandered the streets of Greece, once upon a time, carrying marbles in his pockets to play with the kids.  And that’s when I realized that I had two freshly excavated marbles nesting in the side pouch of my backpack, (happened upon in two unrelated, random moments) which I instantaneously retrieved.  He instructed me to roll them around in my palm.  He said that’s what the contemplative Greeks do.  I informed him my name is Athena.  It was all so weird.

 

Then he started telling me about his qi gong practice and invited me to attend class.  I have known for years, literally, that I am supposed to do qi gong… but I’ve been procrastinating taking the plunge.  He offered me some of his berry pie.  I refused.  He spoke at length of his passion for grappa.  I continued to feel the waves of his being as I followed the languidly meandering loop-dy-loops of his mind, rolling the inexplicable rainbow marbles in my palm all the while.

 

Poetry.  He finally circled back and touched down on the original entry point.  He said he wanted an oracle.  Was I familiar with the Greek Oracle?  He wanted me to enter a cave and emerge with subconscious streams of pure, prophetic wisdom.  He told me to google Oracle and see what I found.  “Lorenzo,” he spoke his name to me.

 

These moments we shared, I felt to be riding on the slippery, strong back of an orca through the waters of Destiny.  The thing that trips me out is that I have not been in the mood to lug my typewriter around lately and offer poetry.  And yet… the poetry is stalking ME.

 

Another example~ earlier in the day today, I looked at a room for rent in Hanalei.  When I got there, they informed me it was already rented… but the woman in charge of the lease happened to be a woman I wrote a poem for during the first week I landed here.  The young, soulful rockstar, Rosy.  She was surprised when I appeared in the threshold of her bedroom.  She showed me the poem I wrote for her tacked lovingly on her tasteful, artsy bulletin board.  She said she was ready for another one.  This one will grace the back of her next album cover, over an artistic photo of her.  Neato.

 

And the last weird thing… The guy who I hitched in to Hanalei with this am had given me a ride once before.  A young electrician who was smoking a Marlboro red.  I had squinched my face and almost turned down the ride, due to the cab full of curly, looming tendrils of carcinogen.  But he extinguished it on my behalf and I hopped in after all.  Today I informed him that I was going to look at a room for rent.  He reminded me that that is what I had been doing the last time I climbed into the cold, cancerous cab of his truck!  I searched my files for the affirmative.  Ah-ha!  It is true what the man says.  I have looked at a total of TWO rooms for rent in Hanalei.  He drove me to both of them! What does it mean?!  Nothing.  Shrug.  But it’s cool.

 

I asked this young, freckled, burnt out on bananas, Marlboro smoking, father of a ten year old, electrician for the *filth* rich contingency of Kauai if there was anything I could do to enhance his experience of being alive as we drove.  He wasn’t too thrilled by this offer… but he said sing him a song.  Yikes.  Why IS it that as soon as someone requests a song, my mind severely blanks???  I swear, I forgot every single one of the bajillion songs I had known a mere two seconds before… But I wrassled my demons and forced one out anyway.  Shri Krishna Govinda hare murare.  I give myself a B.  No plus or minus.  And certainly an A for penetrating my fear.  But in retrospect, I wish I had’ve made him a custom song.  I am going to.  And next time he gives me a ride (to look at a home in Hanalei), I will sing it for him.  It will be about smoking Marlboro reds and eating dehydrated banana chips that are mostly crispy, but a little chewy in the middle, and not liking rich people… and cinnamon gum wrappers strewn like Hawaiian snowflakes about the floor of his truck.

 

Life just keeps getting cooler and more amazing.  There’s a rumor going around that there’s even this thing called “tomorrow” that might happen if I go to sleep!  I’m so excited about this!!!

 

Amen.

Meeting Today At Hanalei Bay

Unapologetic gray

engulfed the smirking turquoise bay,

stained my spirit

with imaginary shadows

as my knowing feet

sank deep

into the wet sand,

traversing the slithering line,

boundary defining land

and sea.

Chaos and questions flickering,

relentless

across the surface of my mind

while my eyes swam

entranced,

about the slow dancing face

of the tame, spacious bay.

Striving to find peace

in this mischievous play

of restrained, prismatic light.

as I fight my habits

of fear.

I hear a clear, soundless whisper rise

from Inside,

“I am nearer than you know,

Oh lady of Grace.

The Sea who is me,

who is You,

who is We

runs beyond deep.”

And then my feet taste

the cold sweet song of River

as she reaches the beach

pouring forth her lucidly streaming body

into the warm, holy Ocean’s mouth

where I too

and even You, Beloved

will soon outpour once more.

But until then

I surrender to this gray day,

to this heart who sinks

with each arduous step.

To these blessed feet

wet with communion between

River and Ocean.

 

Amen.

 

 

A Wander Through My Mind

Who AM I today?  I don’t have a flood of words pressing at me from the inside tonight.  I feel like I could let my mind wander off in any direction and stumble on something cool.  So that’s what I’m gonna do.  Like taking a walk with no destination… just being open to the sheer exploration of it.  I have really been feeling my life as my artistry these days.  I believe this is the truest definition of being an artist~ one who meets moment to moment to moment to moment life in the spirit of exploration, with an intention to engage beauty, sacredness, chaos, mystery…even pain with a playful, curious, creativity and zeal.  Simple moments, fully tasted, chewed, sucked and spit back out as a mosaic fountain of aliveness.  Oooh, I dig the image of a mosaic fountain!  I bet Picasso has one at his “shmansion” (shorthand for shmansy mansion) in the sky with diamonds.  Liquid, solid, multidimensional images, colors, geometries, flowing and gurgling in incessant, dreamy merriment from a sacred center.

 

I’ve really been enjoying Brad lately.  Member how I told you that sometimes I feel like I’m at the zoo living with him and getting to observe all his mannerisms up close and personal?  Well… the beat goes on.  I dunno exactly what it is about him… Maybe that he’s such a vast chasm of paradox.  On one hand, he’s about as far out as they COME.  A shaman who wanders some pretty desolate, galactic scapes.  His fluency in other planes of existence is sharp and dangerous.  And yet… he’s such a masculine ape.  He loves to fix things.  He’s often out tooling with his diesel Mercedes.  Honestly, I think he manifests minor “problems” with them, just so he can get lost in the sobering, deep engagement of solving the puzzle.  I imagine it’s a relief for one who is so esoterically inclined to have a place in his existence that is purely logical, mathematical, physical.  A couple weeks ago, he created a major issue with the lawn mower and then rolled up his burly blue sleeves and became lost in the world mechanical technicalities and integris parts for hours upon hours.

 

Tonight he ate an entire pint of hagen daas chocolate chocolate chip ice cream as he was cooking his dinner.  And the best part was that every once in a while he would breathe in my face.  I surfed cold, creamy waves of rich, chocolate heaven.  The cool, heavy scent made me instantly orgasmic.  Or was the best part the sound of the tiny, frozen chocolate chips crunching between his brutish molars like fossilized raindrops?

 

Something I LOVE about Brad is that because of his intuitive gifts, his hands have an uncanny way of knowing with horrific precision where my tickle spots are.  They don’t dick around.  It’s magnetic.  And I infallibly scream.  This is good for me.  I miss being manhandled.  I am some one who requires semi frequent biting, slapping, hair pulling and general roughhousing.  I might even be considered dangerous… with all this unexpressed wrassle in me.  But less so with an occasional kamikaze tickle warfare from my beloved shaman-monger.

 

You know who else I totally adore?  My wizard friend Jack.  His love for me is so devotional… it’s kind of astounding.  But in its purity, it raises me up.  It feels like his sacred seeing of me revives my crumpled wings.  He reminds me of my holiness.  The way he loves me makes me feel like a fallen angel who is being tenderly cradled and spoon fed holy broth so that I am ready to fly once again and go kick some etheric ASS on the front lines of this illusory holy war.  I know from the depths of my soul that he has been awaiting my arrival on Kauai… As a galactic activation check point.  I am not kidding.  I realize that my words might come across as hokey or mythologically fluffy… but I am so serious.  He massages me and I feel felt to the core.  I melt and ooze and bloom.  And he delights in the blessing of my surrendered pleasure.  He reminds me to be vigilant in tending the garden of my thoughts and dreams.  He reminds me that every day is new and fresh and ripe.  Eager to be milked.  A crystal flute full of bubbly, finely distilled awe and bliss.

 

Sneer.  Speaking of bliss, I just got a text message from a “waaaaay detached third party”.  He informed me that just for the record, my blog entry about WP DID in fact read as though HE was a bad lover.  Well… let’s just say, hypothetically, that this anonymous texter represents a portion of the populous here in Athena Graceland… just say… Allow me to clarify once and for all~ WP IS NOT A BAD LOVER.

 

Athena Grace is a “bad lover”, if anybody is.  But I am not a bad lover either.  I am just wanting something more from my sexual encounters, that I don’t exactly know how to ask for, seek, embody… it’s a radical vulnerability.  It’s a total loss of control.  It’s an opening so far beyond ego identification.  An opening to embodied bliss and sacred union.  It is wholeness and total freedom from the past.  And I am going to find it.  Inside.  I was kinda hoping that your basic, average, garden variety man would sweep me up on his bareback steed and take me there… while I was just soaking up frivolous and unnecessary beauty sleep and pigging out on warm, streaming rivers of fudge and frosting.  But as it turns out, I am the *only* one able and ordained do the work.  And then I will attract partners who joyfully meet me there.  Surprise.  I am a priestess and I have much healing and initiation ahead of me.

 

Dear God… Dear God… You are the Sun.  And I am walking into you.  All of me.  Merging with your brilliant light.  I joyously invite you burn away the illusion that I dreamed I was.  Your light is purifying me, restoring my ever perfect holiness.  I am ready to shine on this world.  My life is in service of All Pervading Beauty.  Let me be a vessel for the Miraculous.  Use me, God.  Help me be courageous and relinquish the illusions that I once believed to be truth.  Let me die so that I can truly know Life.

 

Amen.

What Am I Standing For? (And Why?)

I was going to write another orgasmic spill of today’s cornucopia of revelatory blessings.  Jesus.  There have been a whole slew… again… I am constantly amazed at how much I love myself, respect myself and fall to my knees in reverence of this sacred mystery that is life.  Mundane old life.  The day to day, moment to moment, miracle to miracle ISness.  I just had an image of my life being lived in a giant aquarium… these other strange, mystical beings just keeping us all as trendy pets in this elaborate aquarium in the corner of their posh Chinese restaurant.  How cool would THAT be… if this whole serious life that we imagine we are living was just chic living artwork in a trendy asian fusion restaurant frequented by uber stylish great gods?!  That would put a whole other spin on our “problems”… wouldn’t it?  Nothing more than the sea horse taking bullyish bites out of the angel fish…

 

Problems.  Is it a problem that I just read my blog, “It’s the Full Moon Talkin’” to my WP and afterwards he told me that he felt exploited?  Yep.  That could be construed as a problem.  I was at his house.  The beautiful little open-air in-law unit that seems to breathe.  But he asked me to leave.  Just like that.  I requested that we dive deep and really share so that we can stay connected and get clear.  I stood tall and courageous, softening my body and my mind, coaching myself to embody openness (as opposed to the exhausting lose-lose cycle of defend and attack).  I felt the strength of all the work that Mykael and I did together~ relating and getting to the bottom of it… and his constant stand for me to stick with it in the face of discomfort… and though I felt plenty uncomfortable and it would have been easy to jet, I knew I was strong enough to stay in the fire and restore love, reach greater heights of understanding.  But WP refused to step forward and meet me.  He wanted only to be alone.  So I left.

 

He offered to give me a ride.  I said no thanks.  I gathered my full to bursting backpack and stepped out into the overt sensuality of four o’clock on a Sunday in Laughing Haena.  Boy did I feel confused.  So what did I do?  I dialed Mykael.  Interesting how HE is the one I have been choosing to go for clarity and strength in my moments of challenge, ache and confusion.  And I have not been disappointed.  I marvel at this.  We have been “broken up” for just under two months now… and already, the space between us feels so clean, clear and strong.  I realize that this makes us part of a miniscule percentage of the population.  Break-ups are “supposed to” be dramatic, punishing, intense.  Sure, we have visited all of those places.  But we did not stake our claim in any of them.

 

I share this with you, because I want to inspire you.  I want the masses to know that there is another way.  That your beloved can be an ally, a friend, someone who really KNOWS you.  Someone who is on your team.  You can raise each other up, even after you part ways.  I pray for all the world to know that this is an option… and to heavily consider choosing it.  It feels great.

 

He was the perfect person to call, after all… because HE of all people knows what it feels like to be written about by Athena Grace… he helped me explore this current “gristle” from many different angles, not just one fixed one.

 

Papaya break.  God the cold, coral colored flesh is so unapologetically erotic and sumptuous.  My back itches.  When I am rich and famous, I’m gonna hire someone to stand on call and scratch my back with my skin brush when it itches… which tends to be often.  This papaya went down like an “erster” (oyster).  So slippery and molten.  And the color was so deep.  Neither pink nor orange by any stretch of the imagi-Nation.  Nope.  The color was its own integris state.  And while I’m on this papaya break, I just HAVE to tell you about the woman who gave me a ride from Hanalei to Laughing Haena earlier today.  She was blasting the Metalica black album.  I LOVE that album.  (It reminds me of junior high and smoking pot for the first time with my tough head-banger friend Leah.  Her dad’s name was Vance.  He was a hell’s angel.)  I offered Patricia (she introduced herself immediately) a sip of my chai flavored yerba matte.  She said she was already high.  On what, I asked.  Church.  She replied.  Talk about an unexpected response.  FINALLY!!!! Someone to bond with about our passion for CHURCH.  And while singing along to “Enter Sandman” no less.  Life!  It makes me want to cry and cum and scream and laugh and die just so I can be reborn again.  Holy Popcorn.

 

Now back to our feature presentation.  (I just found a piece of chocolate stuck to my desk.  How in the heck did THAT get there???  I haven’t eaten any chocolate since I’ve been here.  Except on my date with the motorcycle man a couple weeks ago.  Weird.)  So my heart was aching and I was confused.  My actions had created this situation of WP feeling “exploited” and asking me to leave his home.  I do NOT want my writing to have this effect.  I want my writing to heal and elevate.  Don’t I?  I want my writing to REVEAL.  The shadows as well as the light.  Because I don’t believe we need to be afraid of our shadows… but instead be curious, fascinated, forgiving.  He had given me permission to write about him… as long as I didn’t use his name.  Did he feel embarrassed?  Did I portray him as a bad lover?  He’s not.  Having unsatisfying sexual encounters is a plenty familiar experience for me.  WP~ I take full responsibility for my dissatisfaction.  And I can live with the reality that not everyone digs cumming on a woman.  Probably there are even women who think bodily fluids are gross…?  Cheerleaders, maybe?  God.  It’s so hard for me to stay serious for more than a paragraph or two…

 

AHEM.  I guess there’s no point in my trying to GUESS what is going on for WP.  He’s a big boy.  He can tell me when he’s ready.  But in the meantime… I am looking deeply at myself.  Riding that razor edge between radical responsibility and not taking on other people’s trips.  This is a sloppy whopper for me.  A whopper with mayonnaise and mustard and ketchup and slimy tomato seeds dripping out the sides.  (I just watched the big gecko suctioned to the outside of my window stalk and snap up a bug!  Nice.  When he got it, I felt a win for the team!)  Where is my learning in this?  How do I maintain my commitment to transparency without negatively impacting others?  Is it inevitable that I will rub others the “wrong” way from time to time?  I remember when Nicole Daedone was coaching me she said something that hit me hard.  “People LIKE you… It’s easy to like you… because you’re not standing for anything.  When you DO stand for something, you’re going to have to accept that some people are not going to like you.”

 

Yes.  That’s true.  And this situation is evoking the question in me, of WHAT exactly AM I standing for?  And is it WORTH standing for?  Is it worth risking others feeling “exploited” (“to use selfishly for ones own ends”, according to dictionary dot com… Yikes. That’s harsh.)  These are good questions to ask.  I guess I’ll sleep on them.  In the mean time, I forgive.  I forgive myself for causing perceived pain in another.  I forgive my ignorance.  I forgive WP.  I forgive the illusion.  And I give thanks to the sensuous afternoon for embracing me as I walked out onto the jungle highway alone.  The air was heavy and soft, salty and saturated with the fiestily dancing ocean.  The sun’s light and warmth was subdued yet substantial.  And though my heart ached, I felt so held, wrapped in the dense beauty and goodness of everything.  Thank you All Pervading Beloved.

 

Amen.

Our Lady of God Drunk Grace

“Today I rest in confidence that I am Divinely Guided!  Always in the right place at the right time, wide open to the fruition of my heart’s desires and my deepest life purpose in service to Love!”

 

This was the intention that I wrote in my journal in my Church built for One (in my bed) this morning.  Maybe that explains how I found myself sitting on a lava rock in the middle of a cool song of stream under a tall canapé of sturdy leaved trees laced with shy, beaming whispers of brilliant sunlight reaching adoringly into me.

 

After Church (Church… it’s not just on Sundays anymore…In Athena Graceland, it’s seven days a week, BABY!!!), I packed up and headed to Hanalei Bay for a jog and swim.  As always, this rocked my world so hard, I’m sure you could feel the aftershocks all the way over there in Whosville!  Holy Popcorn!  Who knew it was possible to feel so continuously, epically rapturous before nine am?!  And then I marched my rapturous ass over to Java Kai to kick some serious booty on the page.  I was all dressed in purple (including mascara) and rockin’ out to the danceable grooves as I ordered my tea~ one bag of yerba matte, one bag of rooibos!  Good golly is it a smokin’ combo!  I almost need a helmet to enjoy it!  Then I turn around and this young man creature is openly adoring me, which is not much of a surprise, really, because my effulgence is off the charts in this moment.  But nonetheless (the world’s stupidest word), I still feel flustered as I meet his wide open gaze.  But I have fun with the endearing tremors rippling through me. I squirm and giggle and lap up his nutritives attention.  Spencer is his name.  We share a hug and I melt.  Honestly, what’s better than a person who *really* knows how to hug?!?!  Nuttin.

 

Turns out Spencer is tight buds with Kam, the young light warrior, rock star who drove me to Laughing Haena last week and gifted me the green, dancing nymphs and the mother goddess.  Surprise, surprise.  Well, onwards and upwards, I get on with my writing, because I am a woman on a mission.  A mission to love herself, God and therefore the World through every single holographic word that spills out of her.  (Yes, even the clumsy, frightened, naïve, confused words… alchemy, baby!)  But I text Spencer and tell him I’m in love with him and can’t wait to see him again.  He invites me to the spring…???  What’s the spring, I ask…

 

It’s a fresh water spring, pouring out of the lush, rocky hillside near the end of the jungle strewn road on the Northern most shore.  Will he please grant me another half an hour of writing?  Yes, he says!  So I kick ass and feel satisfied as an accomplished writer and then he whisks me away to a series of the most epically beautiful, divinely infused little pockets of the entire universe. (and because I have already fulfilled my purpose as a devoted, disciplined writer, I am able to fully release myself to the “frivolous” gallivant at hand.)  Honestly, I don’t get out much.  Shrug.  I’m pretty content traversing the same well worn paths, even here on Kauai.  As long as I’m writing, swimming, getting my yoga groove on and eating clean, fresh, simple beautiful meals, I don’t seem to care about sucking up every single drop of island beauty through a God-sized straw… or DO I?

 

I guess I do… because I had the best day ever.  First he took me to the Blue Room~ this giant cave with a pool in it.  At a certain time each day, sunlight tip-toes into the cave and illuminates the water just so that the whole scene turns crystalline BLUE (not while we were there…but no complaints here…).  He primed me for the experience by telling me it would be a baptism.  So I stood inside the cool, dark, wide mouth of this epic, resplendent cave… bikini clad, eyes closed, summoning my prayer.  It poured straight into my wide open crown, dousing my mind immediately and then filtering down into the rest of me.  I prayed to release the guilt that has recently bubbled up to the surface of my heart.  I prayed to forgive EVERYTHING.  I prayed to release all barriers to Love.  And then I dove into the purifying liquid darkness.  Woosh!  Lucidity surged into every single cell of me.  Distant chanting wafted through the cave like incense smoke.  I glided through the water, opening myself wide to the holy fruition of my prayers.

 

As we climbed back up the steep embankment, reborn, I told Spencer about my personal pan Church.  He asked me what it was called.  I realized it had remained nameless thus far.  Blush!  How unlike me… I searched my mind for the name~ Our Lady of God Drunk… what?

 

“Grace!” He offered.  Duh.  Yup.  Our Lady of God Drunk Grace!  That’s the name of the Church I attend in bed each dawn.  How cool is that?

 

Then he took me to the aforementioned stream.  It was the quintessence of cathedral.  He asked if I’d mind if he wandered upstream and meditated for like fifteen minutes.  Dude… Men?  If you really want to turn me on… take me to places surging with sacredness and then go sit on a rock and meditate!  I followed his lead.  I selected the perfect pitted lava rock, nestled in mid-rushing stream, sat erect, closed my eyes and let the moment have me fully.  And it sure DID.  Vivid.  Sorry… there are NO words to describe the experience.  Clean?  Lucid.  PURE.  Pure comes pretty close.  Raw nature in full throttle ecstasy, unfolding my insides as one sacred, flowing center. Yup.  That almost touches it…

 

Next was the spring.  Yeah, totally dreamy… but don’t feel like regurgitating tons of details about it.  For Jesus’s sake… you must have been to a blasted spring before… and they’re nifty, indeed, right?  All I know is that as I take this holy water into my body, it is with the knowing that it is rinsing me clean and pure from the inside.

 

Then we went to Lumahai beach.  I’d never been there either.  Being in the water there was being in a vibrant, undulating, electric turquoise womb.  We jumped off a large, warm, black lava rock fifteen feet into the water.  Eeek.  I feel all these fresh sacred experiences saturating ever drop of me right now.  My skin is glowing with smiling sunlight and fresh squeezed peace.

 

We feasted on avocados who had plunged from their perches in the great tree eager kamikaze pilots and thumped climactically to the earth outside of Java Kai earlier in the day entirely in the name of our nourishment!  (I saw this cute little Japanese lady eyeing them and I gave her one.  She was SO delighted.  She said she LOVED avocados… but they cost like seven dollars each in Japan.  Simple joy.  It’s contagious.)

 

As if this is not enough bliss, I then met up with my delightful wizard friend, Jack who was dying to massage me and I laid in the grass in downtown Hanalei and melted under the startling expertise of his loving touch for like an hour as the evening sun smeared my lustful skin with unconditional warmth.  The warmth of the sun is about as God as it gets.

 

And the frosting on this All Pervading Cake of a day, was talking with my mom this evening.  I feel SO blessed to have a mom who is so… so what?  Such a joy to share life with.  Playful, sincere, appreciative, loving, creative, warm, silly, interesting, wise, caring, kind, devoted to her spiritual path… I think I’ll celebrate by posting a recentish photo of us from my june visit to her ashram!  Hazah!

 

All I know is that I am BLESSED.  And all else I know is that I want to pour myself out as honey all over this world, so that EVERYONE is hopelessly drenched in golden sweetness.  And so it IS!

 

Amen.

It’s The Full Moon Talking…

October twenty-second is Beat Heavily Around the Bush Day… were you aware?  Yeah.  Well, now you are!  I’m sitting here at my desk and unabashedly scratching my mosquito bites with my skin brush, realizing that I should probably put on some perfume, considering changing out of my new neon orange sporty bra and pumpkin colored panties and thinking I could EAT before I dive into this uncharted pool of linguistic mystery.  Athena Grace.  “Ya better LOVE her, because ya sure can’t LEAVE her,” I say to myself.  And then floods in a massive inhale, followed by an exhale that literally DID launch a thousand ships.  A thousand little microscopic fairy ships.  My bedroom is an etheric sea teaming with teensy fairy pirates.  The intricate ships would impress the pants right off you… if only you could see them with the naked eye.  But thankfully you can’t, so your pants get to stay on tonight!

 

Ahhh, being sillier than thou got my motor revved, distracted me from the seductive tug of my erotically screaming mosquito bites and my other way less than erotic impulses to do the aforementioned gazillion other overtly important things.  I notice that I am a fiend when it comes to using the words that end in LY.  What are those called?  Adverbs?  I have a trashy fear that this makes me a less good writer.  But when I grapple with another way to say it, I can’t find one and I like the LYs… so… Sigh… my writing might take a blow but at least I can continue to drown your ass in cheapLY dripping descriptions!  Will you please forgive me?  Will you still LOVE me????  God.  I have to laugh at myself.  I have been hyper aware of how desperate I can be to be loved by those around me.  It’s kind of exhausting sometimes.  This is when I can just drop back into my body and relax my guts.  (GUTS!)  Relax my brain matter and my lips.  The muscles around my heart.  God, come on IN!  Make yourself at home in me.  I am fully willing to feel the revelatory epicness of your embrace in every single shred of my personal pan ISness.  (Inspired by personal pan pizzas at Round Table?  Or was it Pizza Hut?  I always got pineapple on mine, you better believe!  Gosh, personal pan pizzas were such a large scale thrill for me.  Maybe because it gave me some childhood autonomy…)

 

(I just took a break and meandered to the kitchen to make some kale salad to eat… and I SWEAR, I wrote like TEN blogs in my head while I compiled the vibrant veggie mess.  Now I can’t remember ANY of it!)

 

There comes a moment in every well intending exhibitionist blogger’s journey where she encounters someone who wishes to remain anonymous.  “And THEN what??”, she finds herself wondering… Especially when this other happens to be one she is quite enmeshed with… her writing partner, say… And now I am grappling with how to continue to peel off the layers of my ego’s designer wardrobe and continue to get naked for you, while respecting his wishes of his privacy.  God, for having so much essential stuff in common, he and I are SO different.  I mean for ONE thing, he told me that he doesn’t even like to cum on a woman’s face or tits.  I think that’s maybe the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard!  (Should I have more discretion?  Maybe… but I wouldn’t enjoy myself nearly as much… and if I wasn’t enjoying myself as much it would be a lot harder to keep stepping back onto the page and servin’ it up, day after day, after glorious day!!!)

 

Anyway, he told me not to use his name, but I AM allowed to call him “my writing partner”… Very generous of him.  Well, he and I have been having a pretty dynamic exchange these days:  heavy writing, deep conversations, quiet space sharing… and yes… we even knocked some sweaty boots the other day.  I cringe at so fully disclosing my personal life like this… but… this is where the energy is for me… and I can only spend so much time skirting around such charged subjects.

 

The charge runs in a few directions.  One being that our connection created some drama and mess with my housemate… ‘member?  Well, since then, she and I have worked to restore the love… but I still feel dangerousLY tenuous on the subject of spending time with my WP (writing partner).  It feels so much BETTER to be in Love and good standing with my housemate than to be in discord with her.  So I tend to avoid the subject of HIM altogether… but then it just throbs inside me like the sorest thumb in the world.  I feel GUILTY.

 

I hate feeling guilty.  It seems.  But then again, maybe I like it… because I seem to create it enough in my life.  Maybe it gives my light in the loafers heart some coveted gravity.  But if this is the price of gravity, it sure is expensive.  I think I’m gonna return it.  I hope I still have the receipt around here somewhere.  Lately I have been hyper aware of the gaping chasm between my authentic self, my integrity, which perpetually aches to be unabashedly transparent… and this other self, who doesn’t want to upset others or “lose love”.  I have created the perfect circumstances to be pressed right up against this scraping metal on metal edge inside myself.  Coming clean in my blog is the first step to reclaiming the purity born of unbridled honesty.

 

Here is another avenue of charge~ you know how turned on I’ve been lately.  It’s been so challenging to just BE with it… Meanwhile, the sexual tension has slowly been building between my WP and I.  But… where do I currently stand on the topic of sex?  I’m committed to a year of no relationship… but… where does that leave my radically conflagrating pussy and my fevered, tropical flesh?  What does it *mean* to just have sex with someone?  Besides, don’t I thirst for so much MORE than just a casual, garden variety fuck?  But all these questions and considerations find themselves suddenly stone cold chillin’ on the back burner… while the FRONT burner torches up like it naturally does when gas has been seeping out for weeks before it finally gets lit.  POOOOF!!!!

 

So after coolLY, bashfulLY, matureLY skirting the topic for weeks… we finally go for it.

 

And shrug… honestly… the anticipation was much hotter than the actual genital rubbing.  God.  Leave it to sex to bring up all kinds of my edges.  I want to *seem* so powerful and confident and skillful as a lover… and often that stands like a pink, wooly mammoth in the way of me actually having what I want, being connected, authentic, vulnerable, communicative.  Admitting this to you is both terrifying and relieving.  But when kiss comes to suck, I think it’s a pretty powerful thing to share with you… because there *must* be at LEAST one of you who can relate to some of this… but would never dare admit it… and now you never have to, because Athena Grace has done the dirty work.  How bitchin’ is THAT?!?!

 

Ever since we “did it” (Grin), I’ve been deeply contemplating what I want, sexually.  Because I want SOMETHING… for sure… and I haven’t quite put my finger on it.  But reading Nicole Daedone’s blog~ nicoledaedone.com has shed some light on the subject.  She is the leader of a sex community in San Francisco.  And she also happens to be one of the most lucid, powerful, raw, authentic, courageous, bold women I’ve ever met.  I saw her as a coach about five years ago and the time we shared… well… it impacted me to my rattling bones and their own great beyond.  She didn’t coach me about sex, mind you… just about BEING.

 

At One Taste, they practice “OM”, orgasmic meditation.  This is focused on the woman as the receiver.  Shit, this blog is getting to be too long.  And since this topic is a never-ending one… I’m gonna toss out a glittering “to be continued” sign and get on with my evening of full moon worship.  (God… the moon here on Kauai is SO bright, it almost blinded me last night.  My WP and I walked to the beach.  The sky was strewn with hunks of massive, cottony cloud which amplified the moonlight and created a surreal atmosphere that was so bright that it resembled neither day nor night.  Like being inside a haunting black and white photograph.)

 

ATHENA!  Stop writing now!  Just cut yourself off.  Come on…  Okay… Well, check out Nicole Daedone’s blog, if you want to research some of my most recent inspirations on the sex front.

 

Amen (in the moon).

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