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.




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!



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).

Stalked by Destiny

Seven thirty seven pm over here on my little sacred would-be NeverNeverLand isle of Kauai.  Just for the record, I’m having that ecstatic feeling, like there’s nothing in the entire multiverse that I’d rather be doing right now than spilling myself out on the page for you!  I even put my hair in pretty little jeweled butterfly clips and splashed my soft, tropical skin with perfume oil.  After some weighty consideration, I chose vanilla coconut scent.  It wafts off of my body heat in sweet waves of tastiness.  I am my own dessert tonight!


It’s one of those blogging days when I have a thousand paths extending out from my center and I can’t decide which one to step out onto.  But there comes a time when kiss comes to suck and I must simply choose or get off the pot altogether, which I’ll NEVER do.  Nope.  Me and the pot are in for the long haul!


So I’ll just start by telling you that today my soul plot just got immensely, rapturously thicker!!!  Mom, don’t be jealous… but I have a soul mom too!  I had an inverse visit from the stork this morning!  And who should spill from this auspicious, heaven sent bundle but our very own beloved Souldipper, my devoted blogging buddy!  You MUST know of her by now… she leaves substantial, thoughtful, insightful comments up the wazoo, and every now and again I mention her in my blog.  I mention her because my heart feels like it’s in the BEST church ever invented when she and I communicate.  My heart feels like an Olympic opera singer when we virtually commune.  It’s been a bit mystifying for me to witness the delicious, transcendent flavor of Love that she evokes in me… but I’m not one to “look a friggin gift horse in the oral cavity”, for God’s sake… so I just bask in the grace and warmth of the love that is stirred in me.  But apparently there is MORE to the story.  Read it here~ http://souldipper.wordpress.com/2010/10/20/solo-soulful-a-blessed-blog-buddy/


Next order of stuffy business~ Please don’t take me literally.  This is anything but stuffy.  I just have an aversion to garden variety business… Anyway, I have been slackin’ at my poetry muse duties lately… mostly due to having a full plate (between my two writing projects, my daily devotion to the ocean, yoga, refueling, some requisite social stimulation… it’s a full time job staying in balance leading the life of my dreams…) So lugging around my heavy, archaic, linguistic magic machine is not such a savory option.  Plus, I haven’t found such a terrific place to perch with it here on Kauai… (though my soul sister, Magic Penny who is an EXPERT at making home-hitting, creatively brilliant suggestions as to how her near and dears could live our lives more artfully, soulfully and in radical alignment with our essential selves… told me today on the phone that I “should” rent myself out for weddings, parties, special events as the Poetry Muse.  You know, like charge a flat rate and then let God pour through me for anyone and everyone at the party.  Smart cookie, she IS!  I just might do that…)


I have felt a nagging tug at my heart in the absence of this sacred practice structured into my week to week existence.  And the story continues its wily meander~ last week, I wandered barefoot down the road I live on, brushing my teeth with my pink, recycled plastic toothbrush which when retired from the trenches of my warm, smarmy mouth will join forces with its friends and become a beautiful, plastic, marbled rainbow park bench… and I encounter an older gentleman, helmet clad and paused in mid-bike ride.  We strike up a conversation.  He shares that he is a retired chemist from Virginia, here visiting his son who lives just down the road from me.  I tell him I am a writer.  He asks of what.  A blog and sacred poems by donation, I say.  He says that he’d like a poem because his book club will be sharing poetry next time and he’d like to bring his custom poem from one illustrious, living, breathing Muse of Poetry!  Hark!


Does that tickle you?  I mean for goddess sake, I’m out wandering aimless and barefoot, scrubbing my teeth and I get called to duty!  I just can’t hide from Destiny for too long, can I?!  So this afternoon, I made my way to their house so that sweet Bill could splash me with his authentic heart and I could then get neatly out of the way and let God go to work on our holy findings.


I was coming from a full rock star morning in Hanalei (jogging, swimming, bonding with Jack the Love Wizard and writing) and I was quite hungry.  As Grace would have it, Bill and his wife of fifty-nine years, Mary Jane, offered to share their lunch of tortilla soup with me.  I can be pretty neurotic and finicky about what I ingest into my sacred temple of a body… but in the spirit of communion and adventure, I chose to throw caution to the [currently raging]S mother ocean and accept their hallowed generosity.  I told myself that I would receive whatever they laid down before me in the spirit of Prasad (divine offering), allowing it to enter me as an expression of the highest love.  Good thing.  Because it was mostly from cans. AND THEY HEATED IT IN THE MICROWAVE!  (I hate to say this, because Bill subscribed to my blog and there’s a good chance he’ll read it… But Bill, please understand that I am only divulging my own neurosis.  It is NOT, I repeat NOT personal.  I just have a commitment to transparency here in Athena Graceland… and at the end of the day, this comes before making an effort to rub everyone the right way.  And trust me, the soup certainly tasted like pure love…)  Oh, and let me not leave out the Tostitos brand corn chips, adorably shaped like little tostada bowls, which we crushed up on top.


At first, Mary Jane seemed reticent of me.  Guarded.  But soon enough, sitting across the round dining table in their cush little guest house, her eyes melted and within them was plainly revealed a very pure, immediate and enduring shade of love.  They invited ME to say grace!  Whoop-whoop!!!  Naturally I accepted.


Over our sacred soup, we spoke of peace, god, family, adventure and death.  I yearned to see only the faces of the Beloved as I beheld them.  But I found myself forgivably tangled in fears of being misunderstood by these two others who had so many years on me.  (He was 83, she was 80!)  You know… just because they’re from a way more… uhhh… conservative generation.  I cringed, imagining Bill reading all my blogs about my sexuality and unconventional freedom and wild self expression.  So I allowed myself squirm in the resulting discomfort, breathing through it, and reminding myself of the truth, that they are but Love manifest… and on a more practical level, Bill HAD read my blogs and yet still invited me into his world, prepared to open himself to me in the name of becoming humbly poeticized.  Inhale.  Exxxxxhale…


It was a first for me to write one poem for TWO people.  Bill and Mary Jane both opened themselves to me, and after spending fifty-nine years, thirteen children, twenty seven grand children and one great grandchild on the way (!!!!) they were beautifully and hopelessly entwined in resplendent double helix of communion.


I left with a belly full of soup, a heart full of gratitude and a mind full of all sorts of potential material for the poem.  I promised to deliver it later in the evening while they were out for their finale dinner.  Like I often do, I doubted myself and my capacity to spin anything intelligent (emotionally, spiritually, creatively) out of what I had absorbed.  And like always, I was humbled and wonder struck by what came through.  God?  Thank you for speaking through me even in the face of my doubt.  Thank you for the Grace that it is to be able to serve You in this playful, creative and sincere way!


Just before I started blogging tonight, I wandered through the darkness toward their son’s house, lit only by generous moonbeams, sacred poem in hand, seduced by my own sleek, sexy shadow as she slunk through the night, feeling so clear and strong and holy.  The scent of rotting fruit dripped from the warm night air.  Every single tree and plant spoke to me silently as I wandered lucidly past, toward Bill and Mary Jane’s door where I lovingly nestled the poem, feeling like a well meaning tropical elf.  I gazed one final time upon this sweet, heartfelt relic born from the heart and mind of one divine Athena Grace, and felt truly blessed to BE, then turned away, filled and fulfilled, into the dark sea of moonbeams, and nocturnality.



Relentless Magic As Told By A Drunken Muse

The only time the magic seems to give me a rest here on Kauai is when I cloister in my bedroom (which I’ve been known to do).  I can’t seem to leave the house without stirring up major synchronicities and miracles… sheesh.  I am a firm believer in the divine power of speech… and lately I have all too often been hearing myself utter words such as “I can’t believe this!” and “this is too good to be true.”  Except the thing is… I CAN believe it.  And I aspire to live in a world where NOTHING is too good to be true, because it is God’s world and the power of Love is limitless by nature.  So when I catch myself uttering those archaic, learned phrases, I am making a practice of rerouting my mind and saying things like “I am so delighted by this!” “Life is AMAZING!”  “Thank you God, I accept this blessing!”


Honestly, I’ve been feeling pretty stunned at how great life can be.  Especially after wanting OFF this human ride all the way from my early teens to my late twenties.  Holy Popcorn, have I paid my stinkin’ dues.  And here, now… I am ready as an adrenalized, champion racehorse at the starting gate to have a great life.  I am ready to officiate the holy matrimony of my passions and my service to this world.  For so long, I thought service was something that I “should” do.  That it would make me a “good”person.  And too, I believed that passions were frivolous and masturbatory.  But… the good news IS, You Holy Team Mates, the good news IS… That our passions ARE our service to the world AFTER ALL!!!  At least mine are.  HA!  That cracked me up!  I’m finding my sense of humor again!  FINALLY!  I LOVE LAUGHING.  Ahem… and what I meant when I said “at least mine are” is that it is all a matter of belief (as all of reality is)… And there is a whole mutantly oversized cornucopia of belief systems that do not play host to the radically liberated viewpoint that says that passion and service are in fact two sides to the same shiny golden coin which pours from the Lakshmi’s own sacred palm.  But I invite you to try it on…


So back to the magic.  This morning I hitched a ride up to Hanalei to jog the bay, which allegedly is four miles long, but it sure doesn’t feel like jogging four miles… maybe because I’m barefoot and bikini clad, breathing purified ocean air, mesmerized by the play of light on the water and the happy smash of waves splaying frothily onto thirsty sand… and that just seems… “too good to be true”… see!!!!!! There it IS!  Citizens arrest!  And then Athena Grace LMNOP pulled out her figurative, linguistic handcuffs and proceeded to put this ragged, worn-out phrase behind bars to be occasionally butt fucked and fed tasteless gruel for the rest of Eternity.  LEWD!  Athena!!!  You should not be having this much fun… I am here in my bedroom cracking up!!!  You would not believe the wellspring of inappropriateness that gurgles and squirts from inside of me!  Oh Lord…  Have mercy on… THEM!  Teee-heee.


Oh, this is quite a mood!  Um… So I hitched a ride.  I considered texting the guy who got me connected on the radio to see if he would be passing through, since he commutes this way to work every day… Did I tell you that I got on the radio as a result of hitching with a soulful man named Steven, who also has a show on Kauai Community Radio and suggested that I connect with this specific host who loves to read Rumi and Hafiz poems and he’d probably be stoked to put me on?  Well that’s how it happened.  And Steven also told me it’s pretty easy for one to get their own slot… It just requires a few volunteer hours and some light training.  So I’ve been mulling this over~ what would Athena Grace’s show be about?  And is she indeed called to this specific date with Destiny?  Well…


I didn’t end up texting or calling Steven… but guess who picked me up?!?!?!  Yes.  Steven. (who confessed that he was running unusually late this morning) And no, I suppose that is NOT too good to be true, either.  But in a former life, it would have been.  In my new fangled, hopelessly Grace stained existence, it is JUST GOOD ENOUGH to be true. Just God enough to be true!  And I’m pretty sure this MEANS (all hail MEANING!) that Destiny wants me to have a show.  And YOU ALL can listen to it, because it streams online!  Probably it will be on Sunday… because that’s when all the spiritual shows are on.  I have been lamenting the weak-assed church scene on this island.  But like the prophets oft say, “If it ain’t at the party, BRING it, Bitch!”  Yeah!  I’ll be a minister when I grow up in about fifteen minutes or three weeks!  Is this the holiest news or WHAT?


Do YOU have any suggestions about what you’d like to hear on my show?  After all, it is for YOU that I will be broadcasting.  I want to make your life more celebratory and fun and creative and lucid and illuminated and inspired.  Passion and Service, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!  First comes love then comes marriage, then comes Athena Grace’s Radio Show in the baby carriage!


Life is so beautiful.  I accept.  I accept that I am God.  I accept that You are God.  I accept that I am enveloped by so much Love, it could make and break worlds with the single wink of the [All Pervading] Eye that Truly Sees.  Wash us clean, Beloved!  Oh wash us clean, now and forever more, that we may recognize the magnificent, effulgence from which we are continuously sculpting this miraculous dream of the Infinite.   Sweet dreams, oh Sisters and Brothers of the Infinite.  Please let your dreams be sweet this day! (Or else… You’ll be the next one I citizens arrest!!!! ;-O)


InLOVE and Amenning all the way,

Athena Grace LMNOP

High and Wild

There is a parade of wild animal sounds welling up inside me much like a gigantic uncried tear on the verge of exploding from a dead bolted tear duct.   But please don’t misinterpret… I am not addressing sorrow via my internal jungle song.  No… it’s one of those wilderness-wrought days.  I’m not quite sure why.  That’s a dorky thing to say… The more I live, the more the question “why” becomes obsolete.  But can you help me?  I LIKE the way I feel… and I want to duplicate it.  And yes, I have an addictive personality.  But thankfully God also bestowed upon me the appropriate figurative weaponry to combat this slippery compulsion.


My wizard friend, Jack, whom I must confess I openly adore, loaned me his copy of The Science of Mind!  That’s Ernest Holmse’s book, which is the cornerstone of the Church of Religious Science.  I declare this to be overtly bitchin, since I oft ache about being so far from my beloved church.  Now, thanks to Jack Almighty, I have a sunrise church built for one in my bed every morning!!!!  White, billowing curtains, a chorus of haphazard cock squabble, a tangle of shrill mina bird voices, a steaming mug of sweet, creamy yerba matte and another steaming mug of hot water with lime, a splayed open notebook, eagerly thrusting her orderly, lined emptiness up to meet my suckling waves of inspiration.  Religion has extrapolated such theatrical, ostentatious yet stale portraits of heaven… but new born morning is without a doubt one of my fave-rave faces of this utmost holiness.


This morning, the words on the page were so tasty, not only did I devour them, but I licked the actual page clean!!!  Literally.  And now these potent words of Truth with a capital T are lovingly stuck to my boney ribs.


God.  What’s up with today?  I’ve been diving pretty deep into A Course in Miracles… and one of the main pillars of the teachings state that personal agendas are hollow, obsolete shells devoid of the warm, living body of true salvation… that the only *real* salvation comes from surrendering into the peace of God in which we are already always steeping but we mostly don’t realize it, because our minds are crusted over with the thick, scabby residues of the past.  Hence the invitation to forgive and forgive and forgive some more.  Hence the invitation to quit your day job and take up the holy pickaxe of forgiveness and hack away until time ceases once and for all and we are revealed as the light of the world!


I am so excited about the day when this happens!   And too, I am excited about all the days before this happens.  Life is a riveting treasure hunt… and we are each guaranteed to reach the X and unearth the sacred booty!  But ahem… please allow me to backpedal about a paragraph… I posed the question, what’s up with today?  You see, I have been trying to come to terms with this idea of fully surrendering my agendas and splaying myself wide open to the moment.  Making myself fully available to that which God lovingly slops onto my plate.


But then… how will I ever get any writing done?!?!?!?!  Must I relinquish my attachment to being a writer?  Ha!  Because that’s not gonna happen any time soon.  I love writing way too much.  But if I’m always haphazardly consumed with the relentless and noble practice of being here now… when will I have time to write.  In my guts, I know God wants me to write… I know it.  But I haven’t quite come to terms with constructing a hospitable belief system to house both this holy ambition AND this savory state of surrendered grace.  But I’m pretty sure that I’ll get it one of these holy instants… I’ve got my posse of angels working on it even now, as I plunk out this hit parade strand of clunky soundless sounds… well, they would be sounds if you read it out loud… but if you hear it in your head, they are soundless.  Or are they?  Do thoughts make sound?  Possibly… just sounds that your naked ears can’t hear.


I thumbed a ride into Hanalei this morning.  Hot damn was I pleased when a shiny, powder blue Cadillac rolled up to the side of the road.  Reggie, an oldish black man dressed in cover-alls and a long sleeved shirt was my Sunday morning pilot.


Goddess Almighty!  Come to think of it, this blog is my the perfect practice grounds for letting go of agenda.  Sometimes I have a very clear idea about where I’m gonna drive you… I hop behind the wheel of my pimped out tour bus, thinking that just because I’m in the driver’s seat that I know where we’re going… but then… the road rolls out like a slowly unfurling red sea of carpet and even I am surprised by the vistas that pour forth.


I meant to tell you about Reggie, the Cadillac driving rasta man natural foods chef who, once we were cruising along casually announced that he was gonna stop and deliver some mangoes to friends in Princeville… and then proceeded to make THREE stops… The first being to the home of a Chinese woman whose light shot like a shooting star, blazing through broad day light, and her plump, genuine twenty two year old daughter whose grounded maturity was ageless.  Yes, this Chinese woman is emblazoned in my mind.  Her name was Theresa.


But then Coldplay is currently playing on my Pandora station… and whenever I hear Coldplay, I think about the night that Mykael went out for beers with his buddy Austin… and Austin got pretty wasted… and then they walked the labyrinth while Austin unabashedly belted out the song Yellow by Coldplay.  I think he was wading through some intense relationship challenge at the time… When Mykael recounted this scene to me for some reason it really hit my tickle spot!  I think because Austin is usually a pretty mellow, reserved guy.  (After the labyrinth, they rode bikes to Austin’s house, where he proceeded to puke his guts out on the porch!)


Sorry.  I know that has nothing to do with anything.  I have a feeling it could be a severe case of “you had to be there”… but sometimes it’s inevitable that a “you had to be there” will jump out and fling its self in front of you like a leprechaun on acid.


And speaking of leprechauns on acid, the beautiful young man who served as my charioteer on the second leg of my journey to the northern most tip of the North shore, Haena (I call it “Laughing Haena”) gifted me with three green, dancing sprites as we parted ways!  AND as if that’s not generous enough… he ALSO gave me an oceanic mother goddess who will embrace and guide me.  I am dead serious.  And even deader and seriouser when I tell you that I BELIVE HIM.  Though his eyes were doey brown, they bled with light cooler and sweeter than melt in your mouth moons!  Talk about a light warrior!  He told me that his inner voice told him to pick up the hitchhiker before he even saw me… This is how he lives his life.  Just letting life unfold one single nectarous drip at a time.  Just like A Course in Miracles is trying to coax this little agendalicious cookie named Athena Grace to do.


This blog is my brain on drugs.  Figurative drugs, naturally.  This blog is my brain trying to take the line test while I’m juggling swords and cups and pentacles.  Beware and enter at your own risk.  Ooops, I guess it’s better to give that advice at the beginning.  Grin.



Bleeding With Bliss

Ahh, quiet Friday… Three forty nine in the afternoon.  I’m sitting outside the Kilauea Bakery.  It’s just me and the birds.  And the breeze.  Inside the bakery, Abba is playing~ Dancing Queen.  The song wafts softly into me, mingling well with the mild shhhh of hearty tropical foliage.  My mood feels so somber.  I find myself wondering why it’s so easy to mistake peace for boredom… Habit?  I just had the thought that I’d like to go out with a pack of wild girls tonight, looking sexy and dangerous.  Drink wine, laugh, scream and turn taboos upside down and shake them out all over the unsuspecting place.  Then when we’re good and sauced, we’ll gallop to the moon and starlit water’s frothy edge, tear off our scanty clothing and let the rawness of nighttime ravage our soft, naked bodies as we shriek and sing and spit as we please.


But I’ll probably just have *another* quiet night at home, bathing in the succulent solitude of my darkened bedroom.  In the dark, the music pops out into 3 and 4 and 5D, so that I can actually suck it, chew it, swallow it!  It shapes me as it presses into me from all sides.


Holy God!  I feel better already!  I was feeling so resistant to writing… and just two paragraphs in, I am suddenly flying high.  Folks, this is a miracle.  Signs point to that I am following my bliss!  This actually moves me to tears, because it took me SO long to find it.  To be able to FEEL at the core of my being, ignited, merged and ripped open to the God that lives right here, nestled sweetly inside of me!  I could sit here and cry about how blessed and grateful I am… But I think I’ll keep writing.
I want to take you into my nocturnal bedroom with me. Come on.  It is one of the holiest places on earth.  Wrapped up in soft, tropical darkness, I feel whole and safe and peaceful.  Sometimes I fancy to be seduced and caressed by music, other times, I float dreamily on the sonic subtleties that drift in from my perpetually wide open window.  Last night cow moos wafted in, bleeding together with the high, shrill purr of crickets.  And let’s be sure and celebrate my friends the chirping geckos!  In the dark, sounds gain weight and frivolous meaning.  When the riotous dogs pipe in, I am practicing actively seeking out and affirming the place of peace in me that remains eternally unscathed by even the most abrasive rackets.


I roll out my dingy blue yoga mat… the one that has escorted me on my travels all over the map, creating an instant home for my body and soul, no matter where I am.  Maybe I dance because I’m feeling beautiful blended with All Pervading Rapture.  I breathe and move and feel myself.  Here.  Now.  In this sacred vessel that is my body.  I feel and breathe into my edges where sacred tension defines my embodied self.  I find new freedom behind my closed bedroom door in the mellow lit darkness.  I write.  I swim through the psychedelia of my mind.  Freely churn, spelunk, excavate my soul.  Sometimes the words and worlds come easy.  Sometimes I struggle and fight for them.  But either way, I am living my truth, milking my self discipline, my discipleship to my craft through storms and clear internal skies alike… and this makes my soul unravel and purr and imbibe the unsayable.


My body feels like heaven right now.  Writing turned boredom right back into peace and beyond peace into bliss.  I wish these words could blast you with a direct transmission of this sacred gift that is flowing through my body right now.  I wish you could feel this with me.  God is making love to me.  Just goes to show, you never know when Grace is gonna sneak up and accost you from the innermost reaches of your being.  Nice!  Sexual energy purrs in me like rapturous light rising up from my pussy through my core.  My heart feels relaxed and fully accepting of this moment.  My mind… is slow… for fucking ONCE… Jesus.  And on the outside, my mostly exposed, tan skin is being petted by Heaven’s breath.


Goddess, I sure have been beating around the bush.  I have big news for you!  Okay, out with it then!!!!  I swam with the dolphins today!!!  Yes.  I mean no, I’m NOT kidding!  I was at one of my favorite beaches, Kalihiwai (the w is pronounced like a v… “Kah-lee-hee-veye”) I thought I saw them way far out.  Spinner dolphins.  They occasionally leap up out of the water and twirl ecstatically, landing with a sassy splash back in their oceanic playground.  Ooooh, as I revisit the sacred scene in my mind, my heart floods and my eyes well up with tears.  I think their blessing has something to do with my current state of quietude and peace.  Now I’m crying.  I feel so humbled and blessed.


Brad told me to relinquish attachment when it came to swimming with the dolphins, because THEY are in charge and when it’s meant to be, it will be… but if you try to force it, you end up swimming your ass off only to find yourself alone and so far from shore.  So I happily merged with the mellow surf, praying yet again to be washed clean.  (One can NEVER be washed too clean this dirty day in age… Wink.)  But destiny lured me further and further out into the little bay.  I was not trying or thinking.  Merely feeling the poetry, the privilege of moving through these sacred waters.  I felt so vulnerable.  So far out, so small and at the effect of something entirely unfathomable as I glided through the cool, buoyant blue.


I heard them before I saw them.  With my head under the water, flying like a submerged water-skeeter… I heard their high pitched sonar squeals.  It was shocking.  The deepest part of me knew… and yet my mortality trembled, feeling to be held in the gaping mouth of the Unknown.  I scanned the dancing surface of the water around me… and there they WERE, a whole big pod, dorsal fins slicing the yielding surface of the water.  I felt my heart blossom and gush.  Warm tears slid from my eyes and blended gracefully with the sea.  At first I thought I had to chase them… but soon I realized that we were dancing together.  I felt them include me in their joyous play.


Spinner dolphins are a small, slender variety.  So shiny and slippery looking.  They would surface, blowing air out of their blow holes in a mass “psssshhhh” and then disappear for some moments.  But I could hear them squealing and singing when I submerged myself in the water.  My mind disappeared.  I entered another realm.  They occasionally leapt and twirled, reminding me of whirling dervishes of the ocean.  We journeyed together, just simply BEING in the ocean for about twenty minutes?  I guess… time didn’t exist… but it was long enough to get entirely filled up by the experience.  Then I had a feeling that I was ready to swim back to shore… and precisely then, they disappeared into the oceanic wilderness.


I swam the long distance back to shore savoring the sensuous holiness of every stroke.  I walked all the way home filled with a deep, resonant reverence.  I was barefoot, and after being in the water for over an hour, each footstep felt profound as my body touched down again on warm, solid earth.  My mind was all space and silence.  Gosh… now that I think about it… I realize I have just… how do I put this?  …I have just had an intimate interlude with the Sacred which has impacted me deeper than I even realize and changed me forever.


HALLELUJAH!!!!!  Blessed BE!




PS~ It was brought to my attention that my last post came up blank… so I have re-posted it… check it out, if you fancy…

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