I can feel my fingertips throwing off mad sparks. Colors that don’t even exist in this humdrum dimension. Ohhhh it feels sooooo good to type. It’s the best sex. I was gonna say better than sex, but that would be unnecessarily divisive.
Giordano took the kids to visit his mama up the hill and I’m ALONE. My five favorite letters, in that specific combination, I want to climb inside them and writhe around inappropriately. I know, I know, it’s not the letters, it’s their meaning. But I love letters and words and strings of words so much. I love the potential power they possess. Maybe they are empty unto themselves? Or maybe not. Maybe it is the electric charge that shoots through me and plumps them up with holy value.
Fuck, I don’t want to waste my sizable crumbs of ALONE ness pontificating on the alphabet! Although a crumb of a crumb was fun. Onwards and upwards.
There’s too much to say. I’m afraid I’m going to tear as it exits me. Relax and breathe, Athena.
Lately I have been having recurring flashes of the vision quest I did when I was like 28. It was four days on the hill, inside a little rectangle marked by mugwort. No food, no water.
Have you ever thristed?
I mean like REALLY thirsted….
It’s the most excruciating sensation. Probably some kind of dying. Which apparently I suck at, because I came down off the hill after two days and just chilled at basecamp. Like a little native american style vacay.
I guess I keep flashing on that memory because I AM THIRSTING again. Except this time it’s not for literal water, and there is no hill to climb down, and no water at the base.
I can not get my head around why in fuck’s hella holy name I would choose such a crushing path. In my stronger moments, I believe in a higher purpose for all this suffering. When I’m in it, I wrastle the damn thing like a gator and lose every time. I am imagining that you don’t understand, because in a few ways my life looks quite privileged. Like having healthy, rad children and a devoted husband and exquisite land. AND A DREAM WRITING JOB, which I am aiming to tell you about, but who knows where this wild current will take me.
But maaaaaan. I’m starving for so many nutrients. Let it be written that it is ANYTHING BUT NATURAL to raise children via the exhausted old nuclear way. It’s the devil incarnate. So barren. Where are my witches? Where are my bitches???
Yes, it’s NOT just a cliche, it DOES take a village to raise a child. And NO, relationships with men are NOT satisfying to the soul. Well… at least not with my man. But I hear so many women complain that their men are… ummm… idiots? Hahaha. Well… let’s just say, “not able to meet them at full capacity”. Men have their place. But it’s a the bar. Haha. I crack myself up. And if you don’t get it, too bad, cuz I only have a few hallowed minutes, not enough time to explain my subtle and complex wit.
But yeah, I think suicidal thoughts a butt ton these days. And then I quickly realize that I’m waaaay too spiritual to take my precious life and I would never abandon my adorable kids even though I often hate them these days. Yeah. That’s not the kind of shit you say out loud. Unless you’re Athena Grace. Unless you are condemned to a brutal prison sentence which involves NEVER HAVING ANY PERSONAL SPACE except right now. Then you would hate your kids too. All their whining and demands and unrelenting neediness.
But I will love them when they come home, because I am immersing in a heavenly realm, banging, yes BANGING these words out upon this screen, incense drifting in sweet swirls as I lay on my belly on my bed, engulfed in a sea of pale pink ALONE ness. The window is wide open and it’s cold for June thirteenth. Storm clouds are gathering, preparing to dump violent showers upon us. Acacia leaves whisper elite secrets and the birds testify affirmative.
So basically, what I need you to know is that I DID NOT KNOW WHAT I WAS GETTING MYSELF INTO WHEN I MADE A BABY WITH A MARRIED MAN. I’m sure I’ve told you this part before, but when I told my Ma I was pregnant, she didn’t speak to me for like three days and now I know why.
This path is crushing. And what was I thinking when I married the volatile italian man and concurrently made a baby with him??? I must be a quintessential idiot. I have kicked myself too many times for this string of questionable choices that has put me in an inescapable death grip life.
Just for the record, Giordano is doing great. Except when he flies off the handle. But I decided to love him in spite of his “spells”… rather than waiting for them to stop. Because they might not. Shrug. He’s really refining beautifully. To his credit. And. He works all the time, and eats his food like a starving hound, and doesn’t have the best capacity for presence.
But his face looks lighter. And I love the way it lights up when he smiles, and the little dances he does and then looks slightly embarrassed. I love his sharp, musky smell and falling asleep in his arms. (I joke that sleeping is the best part of our relationship. And sadly, it often feels that way.) I love his love of nature and his deathly charming broken english. I can’t get enough of that.
So anyway, lemme tell you about my new writing gig. I had a session with an energy healer a couple months ago, and I asked about work. Writing. She said a bunch of stuff, but most of it’s none of your business. Wink. No, just kidding, I only want to tell you that which will forward my riveting story. Which is that she said it looked like writing about PARENTING would be in alignment for me. I practically puked. I’m already so sick of that topic. I can’t imagine flushing my creative time down the toilet in such a manner.
Maybe I’m being dramatic. But I did feel an aversion and I told her so. Inside, I thought, I want to write about SEX.
Too bad I’m not having any. Haha. How can I write about something that’s not even alive for me? Actually, in the name of accuracy, we have sex about once every two weeks. It’s usually hard to get started, due to how many withholds and complex shadow emotions I feel in relation to Giordano. How frustrated and disappointed I often am. How much MORE I want from him. Especially in the way of raw, full throttled, unadulterated, penetrating PRESENCE.
I digress. Once I get into it, it feels AMAZING and I feel so glad that I married someone I love having sex with, even if it’s so hard to get there due to everything. I also need you to know that I bought a day planner for 2020 and my friend Dara was like why do you need a day planner, you aren’t up to anything. But I had lofty aspirations pre new year. And now, the only thing I pencil in is a detailed account of my rare (and precious) sexual occasions! I had to tell you because it’s one of those needless details that gives life it’s poetically evocative depth of field.
Anyway, I always keep my finger on Nicole Daedone’s pulse. She was the founder of OneTaste, mother of OM (Orgasmic meditation, which I swear by, and practice as often as humanly possible. Which unfortunately isn’t the 4x a day that I wish it was.) People project a whole array of shit onto Nicole. From Angel to Demon. But in my Seeing, she is on a potent and admirable Path of Mastery, and I always keep her close, because I am too. In my own way. And I like to stay attuned to those who remind me what I’m made of.
She was showing up in my dreams a bunch. Intuitive dreams, from which I awake deeply impressed. One thing led to another, but I don’t have time or desire for a play by play. One day, she reached out to me and basically offered me a job editing a series of her old blogs. Flattening the 3D elements and making them into magical, timeless prayers.
I get to climb inside her mind and transcendent erotic encounters… while Forest sleeps and suckles my breast. And unfortunately Serena watches too many cartoons in the living room. I hate that. But she likes it.
Anyway how do you like THAT??? I wanted to write about sex even though I am in a period of forced abstinence and I could NEVER source material as potent as Nicole’s anyway. She is of another realm. But by the Grace of a hella awesome God, I do have the sublimedivine gift to do her words some serious justice. Ahhhh the moments that I spend “working”… are the truest moments in my soul. It is Union in the classical sense. I am so absorbed, I disappear. Fully engaged. Used. Challenged. Turned on. This is what I’m made for.
Noteworthy that I am so wholly satisfied doing writing work that is not “mine”. I don’t crave the recognition that I thought I did. I love writing my own life… and yet, these days, it is so dry and brittle and rugged. I would sicken myself to write it all down. I love disappearing into Nicole’s bold, illuminated genius. It’s the quintessential journey that IS the destination. I never want it to end.
It probably will.
And I guess this blog should too, because it’s time to make sweet potato fries and hamburger patties and garden fresh salad.
I hope that I have provided you everything from illumination to liberation to amusement.
I love you.
Athena Graceland 