Potent Reflections by a Heavyweight Goddess

By now you must be aware that smoking pot leads to “harder stuff”… Well, it naturally follows that the same is true for head shaving.  Yes.  Later this morning, Athena-the-Saucy will have one of her precious teeth extracted.   Heck, why not lighten my load?  Anybody want a kidney?  This heart is pretty awesome too….

This is my stab at making light of something that I honestly feel pretty sucky about.  And yet, there IS truth in that letting go of my hair did serve as a useful “warm-up” for this more permanent and tragic exercise in non-attachment.  Naturally, as I type this, my mind leaps to the box of dust nestled in the carved wooden chest in the corner, formerly known as “my Ma”.  The few gaping blackheads on her cheek that used to seduce and taunt me (I wish I had’ve asked her to squeeze them!)…. The hand(s) that poured forth the most perfect handwriting ever and clutched the steering wheel of her little red Mazda Protege, as she sped around The Village…. Dust.

And here’s little Athena Grace, breaking a sweat over a single, paltry tooth.  But teeth are so meaningful.  For most of my life, I have had recurring dreams (or shall I call them “nightmares”, because I certainly wake up with a pounding heart…) of losing my adult teeth…. and now they are real.  Let’s just cut to the heart of it.  I’m afraid I will be less lovable, lacking a tooth.  Less attractive.  Less….

But perhaps this is a secret recipe for Liberation with a capital L.  Because if you possess any intelligence at all, you know those fears are exactly that.  My body parts (or lack thereof) do not determine my worth.  Deeeep breath.  I’m honestly jazzed to finally not have a pus volcano living in my mouth anymore.  (Plus, it’s on the bottom… so not quite as screaming as it would be if it was on the top.)  I gave my best effort to healing the infection naturally:  changing my diet, taking massive doses of vitamin c, taking a cocktail of the badass, fat soluble vitamin trio– A, D, K2, acupuncture and chinese herbs… But the damn tooth just wanted to come the fuck out.  And seriously, releasing my hair was a gateway.  I let it go, and I realized that I am still the same potent, regal essence of indestructible love that I always have been and always will be…. so take my fuckin tooth, bitches!!!  In your face!!!!

Just don’t take anymore, ok?…… I’m only thirty seven years old for goddess sake.  Let a woman enjoy her goddamn body parts for a while, willya???

Do you think I’d be a better writer if I didn’t allow myself to jump from topic to topic, like a strung out monkey in a bouncy house?  But if I did exercise such discipline, I wouldn’t have gotten to birth that awesome sentence….  And I think this world is already saturated with tidy, well-behaved, modestly contained essays, anyway.  I’m here with you now, so I might as well make the best use of your illustrious and intoxicating attention.

As I was *devotionally* making my coffee this morning, my mind skidded gracefully into the groove of the pervasive patriarchal paradigm…. Explicitly, how most women take on their husbands’ last name.  Often without even a question of like “why does this practice smell like dead, rotting fish?”….

Names are divinity, powerfully called into form.  Women!?!?  Why do you allow yourselves (and even aspire) to be called into form as your husband’s property?  It’s a subtle relinquishment of your sovereignty, in the name of feeling secure, chosen, loved.  Yes, I recognize that was a totally brash statement to make.  But come ON.  Let’s be done beating around the damn burning bush already!  We are queens, selling ourselves into slavery!!!!  But I suppose we are born into the chains of our fathers’ names, to begin with… so it seems like a welcome relief to flee to the initially erotic clutches of our husbands’ lineage.

It’s super fun to be so extreme and opinionated.  Liberating, even.  Being an empath, I used to try not to rub anyone too wrong…. because I took responsibility for their experience and feelings and I wanted everyone to like me.  But I’m learning to have a damn backbone.  I gave my energetically sensitive friend Chandra a mantra, recently.  It goes, “That’s YOUR shit, bitch!”  Haha, it’s totally funny BECAUSE it’s real.  But as a writer, it’s a little different.  I aim to say stuff that’s profoundly relevant to your journey…  But I know this is relevant.  I’ve gotta trust myself on this.  My deep calling is to gloriously inhabit Woman in service to ALL WOMEN and this gorgeous, generous planet, Herself.

So just think about it.  Why do you choose to become a limp rag doll who wears your man’s lineage… inadvertently abandoning your own?  And when I say, “your own”, I’m not talking about your daddy’s.  I mean your lineage as a Goddess.  A Priestess.  A magical, winged, enchantress, ever-rooted in the rhythmic, pulsing, oceanic infinity of LOVE.

I always felt burdened carrying my dad’s name.  “Horwitz”.  It never felt like the truth of me.  More like an anvil I was tethered to.  It took a goddess rooting in my womb to thrust me into the willingness to break a sweat and leap through the sprawling chain of bureaucratic hoops, and officially cut myself loose from that burdensome weight.  Now, she and I are full fledged founding mothers of the Matriarchal Society of Graceland!!!!  I feel great about that.  Like I stood for my Self.  And please spare me the arguement that my “True Self” is beyond name and form… and all that spiritually enlightened mumbo jumbo.  Like, yeah, DUH.  But I am here to inhabit this body and this world as the divine fullness that I AM.  I am here to play the Game in Love’s name, and WIN.  For the Team.  That means mastering this rigorous curriculum of career and money and relationships and all the shit that spiritually inclined types are tempted to bypass.  I’ve spent enough lives, enlightened on mountaintops.  This is the championship round.

And I own this fucker.

Yo Lord, throw down a little bitta sweet lovin’…

Thank GOD shit has lightened up over here.  OMG.  That was far from the most “knock it out of the park” opening sentence ever written, but I had to go with it, because it was honest.  I bet Hemingway is cheering me on from his scrappy, desolate log cabin above the clouds.  But yeah, after my last entry, my throngs of fans were all like “I feel your pain.”  Haha, my Ma used to say that to me occasionally, as I marinated in flames of self-inflicted, luxury vacations to hell.  She’d first say, “As Bill Clinton used to say…”  This always tickled me just right in too-serious moments.

Well thanks for feeling my pain.  I remember Matt Kahn testifying that success feels way more surreal than the struggle ever did.  That really struck me.  Deep down, I know that I will get to experience this firsthand some day.  In the mean time… what is it that I want you to feel with me today?

My longing.  Inhale.  Exhale.  My longing to be touched beautifully.  Physically, emotionally, mentally and heck let’s just toss “spiritually” into the mix, even though who the fuck knows what that actually means!  It just makes my desire sound more massive and unwieldy! (which it certainly feels from INside…)  But if we were gonna roll up our sleeves and get nitty-gritty, I’d say that “spiritually” can encompass (and transcend) all realms, dimensions and facets.  Like how at the end of the day, you can’t pick Love apart, because it’s the binding agent of the entire multiverse and Beyond.  Or as wise, old KenPie says, “The ground of all Being”.

I just paused and did this delicious stretch, which made a heavy shower of starlight drizzle through me.  I smelled my armpit along the way.  It was mild and sweet.  I am so healthy.  My armpits never stink.  But my shit does.  For whatever that’s worth.  (This was a totally superfluous paragraph, and I considered deleting it.  But I decided to leave it in… because it embarrasses me to do so.  And I figure in some strange way, that makes it valuable.  An editor would probably disagree, but eat your heart out all you tamed writers who do what your editors say, just so that you can make a buck… and feel like somebody cuz your words are immortalized in the minds of the masses…  As long as I’m an impoverished hussla, at least I get to call the shots!!!

Anyway, it’s almost comical how man-starved I am at this point!  Since my last post, Ed and I have been taking space with no communication.  Which feels sooooo niiiiice.  I’m not wasting my energy caring about the perplexing choices he’s making “over there” in his out of reach life… or breaking a sweat to get him to have deep, meaningful conversations with me.  Talk about a “luxury vacation”!  But maaaaaan…. I’m so in the mood for lovin!

I guess I have been for months now, really.  Back in the very late winter, I fell in love with the soulful young man at the local (enchanted) podunk grocery store….  I mustered the ovaries to invite him to the River… only to learn he is gay.  (I still love him!)  But I am cracking up at the slim pickins around here.  It’s totally comical.  Like, do you ever play that game where you run out of food and you try to make a bitchin, gourmet meal out of the five random, bizarre ingredients left in your fridge?  Pickles, ketchup, some dried black-eyed peas, the heal of a loaf of sprouted raisin bread and an over-ripe apricot?  Can somebody say avant garde sloppy joes?!?!

Just kidding, I would never make that.  But it perfectly illustrated my point!  And gave me a huge, satisfying bang.  Which is really why I write.  Just to ring my own bells.  Oh, my exotic choir of heavenly chimes!!!  What riveting and revelatory music they add to this world!

So yeah, there’s like three single men at Ananda… and I’m over here goin like, “what can I possibly do with these guys that would make them… palateble… or perhaps even… TASTY?

Then another part of me is clutching at the emergency break.  Because I’m scared of getting distracted and drained.  I don’t have energy to squander at this time.  It all goes to my girl, and to my burgeoning CAREER.  Yup, you heard me– when I grow up, I’m going to be hella IMPORTANT!!!!  Tee-hee.  I giggled out loud.  Because I have this fierce appetite to make something of myself.  And while it is totally real and valid and probably even inevitable, it is also hilarious… because I think most of us thirst to be “important”.  As if our worldly accomplishments will make us worthy, lovable, whole people.

But back to my comical quest for satisfying male companionship…. I’m asking myself, “do I want to divulge the intimate specifics of WHO and HOW?”  I mostly pride myself on standing naked in the floodlight…. But I’m gonna refrain at this point… because I feel shy and wimpy.  Plus, I feel like wrapping this confessional up soon, so I can get in some sumptuous yoga before mama duty broadsides and devours me….  What feels utterly relevant to report, is I’m scared that if I DID open myself to one of these impromptu, avante garde sloppy joe men, that I would probably get sucked down a love tunnel with him, because that’s my nature…. and I might lose my focus, get even less precious rest, leak my emotional energy.  Honestly, I don’t even think the Universe would allow such nonsense at this point… which is why ain’t nobody showin’ up.  Praise the Lord.

That said… another part of me burns to explore loving outside The Box… opening myself to casual, yet soulful and satisfying male companionship… Someone to occasionally entwine bodies with (clothes ON sounds like more than enough at this point) and have intimate, stimulating conversations…. and maybe when the the world I’m in gets dark and cold and hopelessly wet again (I’m sooooo not looking forward to another cruel and cloistered winter….) we can share warm, beautiful food and snuggle up and watch a movies!  Maaaaaybe even make out.  Am I capable of keeping it light?  I guess I’ve been a bit of a “serial monogamist” in my life…. more or less…. But I want to try something new.  I’m done with the codependent, self-sacrificing prison cell model of Relationship.  Hella high priestess Mary Magdalene as my witness,  I CHOOSE MYSELF.  And… still I must feed my need for touch and romance, seduction and intimacy.  I’m thinkin’ even some hot, clothes-on energy sex would totally hit the spot….

Stay tuned.

Everyone Dies. And a Funny Ending…

God, I haven’t felt the temptation to exit this earth drama for ages.  But yesterday I did.  Totally self-indulgent, I know.  No way would I leave my baby alone in this cock-eyed, drunken love circus.  But I felt like my seams were all busted and my stuffing ripped out, and no one was here to lovingly pack and patch me back together.  I felt hopeless.

I have never died like this before.  Or maybe I have… but not dared to be entirely sober and in my body?  But listen– I’m like *really* dying, while alive.  This paragraph goes out to all of you who have been there, or are here now… but have never had the words to articulate the experience.  I have watched myself kick and buck and struggle against this dissolution for a while…. rather than simply slipping in and relaxing every muscle, as though this sacred undoing were a hot, fragrant petal-laden bath.  I’ve fought to maintain a crusty, crumbling sense of who and what I have known myself to be.  For example, before surrendered to the Voice inside and cut off my hair, I desperately clutched at this husk of socially acceptable beauty, femininity, sexiness.  Finally I became too weary to fight.  I gave in to my inner impulse and became free.  Gloriously empty and true.  Now I want even more hair off.  I want it buzzed down to like a half or quarter inch.  As it is, it still feels like too much of a style, a persona, another thing to manage.  I want to simply be this exposed face.  These deep seeing eyes.  This naked heart.

Recently, I’ve been feeling waves of pain that rattle the core of my being.  Ed (Serena’s dad) is choosing to stay married to his wife.  Just because she is holding on tight.  From what he shares with me, it “seems” (though who really knows what worlds and truths lurk beneath all the gleaming seemings of life….) there is no intimacy between them, and hasn’t been for years.  I wonder if that can be restored…?  It’s not that I want to be with him in the conventional sense….  But being locked into that family constellation, consumes him, so that he is not able to show up for Serena (his daughter) or me, much at all.  And we are faaaar from welcome over there.  This situation aches my soul, deep, deep down.  Betrayal.  Abandonment.  A sprawling chain of crushing disappointments.  I often wish I’d never met Ed. (And… I love him so deep.  Sometimes it’s just hard to feel beneath the consuming pain.)  But then I look at Serena’s perfectly gorgeous face… And I can’t imagine her being made of any other cells and DNA.  She’s essential and right and exquisite.

Life is the weirdest.

Another quintessential element of my oh-so-dark mood of late, is that I have been beyond tired.  I bled with the new moon last week, and it really sapped me.  So I took a nap with Serena yesterday.  I went deep enough to have a dream flash that I saw my Ma, walking up the dusty driveway to my house!  My mind fritzed, because I was like, wait… how can this be???  This surge of confusion struck me awake.  I was crushed, because she was coming toward me, and I felt so much joy and relief to see her and then in a flash, she vanished.  I lay in bed, still exhausted, and began to quietly cry.  I know she was coming to be with me in a time of need…. I know she is so close.  Even now… but I’m damn frustrated that I can’t get still enough to experience satisfying communion with her.  But even that fleeting mOMent was gold.

Gold…

I’m feeling a deep affinity for gold these days.  I yearn to bathe and melt and merge in warm streams of golden light.  In a flash, the “still, small voice” inside informed me that I actually AM being showered in this Mighty, healing light, as I come undone.  Shazam!!!  A lightning (my Ma told schooled me on how to spell “lightning”, after I wrote a blog about the black “lightening” bolt earrings she bought me in town last summer!  Thank GOD she set me straight before she ditched me.) flash struck me when I got up to pee just now.  I realized that dying is really not bad at all.  What it IS, is that our crippled, capitalist society has not designated space and value for this holy and wholly essential and inevitable dimension of Life.  It is a deep, dark, fertile space of rebirth and cultivation of wisdom.  But instead we are prescribed pharmaceutical drugs and collectively pressured to hold it together and pretend that everything is……………………. FINE.

Haha!!!!!  Fine.  Why does that tickle me so?  “How are you?”…….. “Fine.”  It’s just such a flaccid thing we say to each other and ourselves.  Fine…..

Suddenly I’m all lit up inside about this matter of dying.  Like it’s my activism to give a publicity plug for dying.  While I was stirring my hot rice cereal just now, I though bout writing a children’s book, akin to the classic, “Everyone Poops”.  Entitled, naturally, “Everyone Dies”.  It will talk about how we all die many times over as we navigate this life thing.  And of course there’s the “grand finale”, when we leave these cute little meat suits, too.  And while not necessarily comfortable, all of it can be graceful and maaaaaybe… even a little bit fabulous.  Gosh, I want to master the ART of dying.  I want to get really good at it and inspire you to lean into your deaths, and trust the rightness and necessity of these dark and barren passages.  I want to stop digging my desperate, dirty nails into the walls of the pit, and just let it swallow me whole, and TRUST that I will certainly rise when the time is ripe.    

I’m exhausted from trying to fast-forward this goddamn movie and be in a scene other than the one I am in.  I want to play my role so fully and beautifully that it liberates all hearts, purifies the waters and heals the planet.

What if I entirely trusted that my career aspirations and deepest, soul-full desires were inevitable….  and I didn’t have to fight the current to fulfill my Destiny?  What if this delicious undoing was ESSENTIAL to my being and doing and offering all that I am here to share?

By the Light vested in me, I declare this to be SO.

Three cheers for getting swept up by a linguistic river of impassioned conviction….

Oh!  I remembered something crucial that I need to tell you.  In the face of wanting to die yesterday, the only natural thing to do was go to the River.  Like duh.

Being there… the miracle that I AM, gazing through these eyes beheld the satiny, musical rush of wet, crystalline aqua, dappled with dancing diamond light… a precise half moon, smiling unconditionally amidst deep, blue space. I flooded my lungs with the incense-esque scent wafting softly from the heated, piney earth.  I hafta laugh, because I know that even this linguistically gifted mystic could never find words to touch the epic divinity of the world quietly gushing alive before my very blessed eyes.

But here’s the funniest part EVER:  It was a clothing optional beach, and Serena, who has been clambering around at the water’s edge, notices two naked men standing near.  Her eyes are fixed on one of the dudes’ You Know What… Good Lord… Is she?…  Reaching for it???  Yes.  And repeating a word that at first, I can’t make out.  Then it clicks in my brain.  “Candle”.   I repeat it… “candle?”  Nodding affirmative, gaze fixed, she continues to speak this random man’s shlong into enchanted, interpretive existence.  I look at the two men, to get a deeper read on the situation.  Their eyes are soft and friendly… yet I feel contracted in a wave of embarrassment.  I relax, and realize that it’s all okay.  My daughter’s precious innocence is not something to take personally, manage (in this case), or be ashamed of.  Relaxing open, I crack up.  Hard.  They laugh too.  Serena keeps repeating her mantra.  I guess she hasn’t been exposed to too many “candles”….

I HAD to tell someone.  It’s a classic case of “If the Pope shits in the woods, and there’s no one there to hear it….”  So thanks for allowing that gorgeous mOMent of pure and perfect innocence to take root and fully LIVE.

Here’s to fully living

and fully dying.

With inspiring grace.

Total faith.

And as much love

as One can muster

from amidst the flames

and purging pain.

xoxo,

Athena Grace