Simmering in the juices of longing

Dear Yoniverse, why is it SO hard to write these days?  I am closed in my bedroom.  It’s seven-oh-five am.  I hear Foresty crying on the other side of the wall.  But I can’t resist the fierce gravity of the sanctum of the written word.  I can’t stay away even if the chinese doctor said my pulse was thin and my vital energy was at an ebb… Writers write until their very last breath.  Like my Dan, who used his final  drops of consciousness to scribble in the sand for me, “Live A”… Nine years ago.

I AM LIVING DAN!!!!!  Look at me go!!!!

God I could say sooooo much.  I have lived lifetimes since my last blog.  Lifetimes.  I’m not being dramatic.  I’m not the most sensitive new age chick that ever lived, but I almost feel like this is actually, literally, the first day of my life.  Some kind of major overhaul is underway and it feels so refreshing.  I am a surfer and the sets are hella gnarly these days.  

Forest isn’t crying anymore.  

I am settling into myself.

I want to tell you about this feeling of panic I’ve been noticing arise lately as I settle into the reality that even though I wear a wedding ring, I do not have a partner.  This feeling of OHMYGOD I’m going to lose something I can’t live without.  Touch.  Sex.  Merging.  Feeling wanted.  (by someone other than my kids!  haha.)

But with even just a dash of introspection, it doesn’t really make too much sense to seek intimacy with someone that I don’t trust.  Like DUH, Athena.  I remember sitting on the couch with Giordano just mere weeks ago, fighting under the loving though perhaps slightly flustered gaze of our counselor, my body filled with rage and desire.  Desire for HIM.  I left that meeting after exclaiming a brazen “fuck you” and then walking out.  But honestly, if he had’ve seized my wrists and pushed me up against the wall like he did that day before I left….

But it’s waning.  And I’m not “doing” anything.  It’s as if once our magnets were polarized, and now they repel.  We, the ecstatic marionettes, bobbing sleepily upon our gossamer strings.  

I know that Life is asking me to move with Her… let go… into an intentional aloneness that heals.  The kind of honest aloneness that few are willing to allow because the price of admission involves a profound willingness to sit in the slimy, groaning, sulphur depths of The Dark Night.  Without panicking and doing all those Things.   You know the ones.  Well… if you’re LUCKY you do… If you know, then you are in the alchemical cauldron and when your time is ripe, you will be released with a sense of palpable, tremulous wonderment…. Because the One who sees, feels, lives through you has been reborn in the Way of Love.

Anyway, it took a slice down the middle, a colostomy, lung metastasis, domestic violence and community intervention for me to even get to this place of half-baked redemption.

To my Self.

Yeah folks, I’m going for the Grail.  The Grail that is intimacy with my own gooey center of divine I AM.  

But back to the terror.  It’s not easy.  I feel the one in me who does not want to let go.  It’s as if the past is being sucked up by a giant vacuum in the sky and there are fresh eyes opening through me.  And the identity dies hard.  So even though the truth is that I feel that I am being remade but I’m not yet fully formed, I still notice my mind grasping for familiar thought patterns and images… but they just don’t fit like they used to.  

Sorry for that last sentence.  It was a bit of a twisty road… It made me laugh because it reminded me of reading Matt Kahn’s books.  He often starts his sentences with phrases that condemn the poor things to being hopelessly long winded and cryptic.  But I love him.  And I unpack the plentiful goodies in his words and…

Ahem.  I’m noticing how confronting it is to just let go into being alone.  Without a man.  His coarse face and earthy scent.  But in case you have not noticed, I… uh…. have some healing to do.  Yes… we can laugh about it.  It’s absolutely amazing to me how Life always provides us a mirror to reveal our hidden inner conditions.  And it really IS a path of Mastery to approach it this way.  And course-correct accordingly.  WITH LOVE.

Ohhh, can I just tell you how gooood it feels to be pouring forth?  It feels like oneness.  Merging with… me.  But a vast, profound and liberated iteration of “me”   I feel this warm oozing ribbon of bright intelligence pouring through me and moving my fingertips and my eyes are seeing it, so it must be “me”…. Right?

Okay tripper.  I wonder if my philosophocality is a conditioned response to trauma…. A way of avoiding being in my body.  Is it possible to be philosophical and embodied at once???  Well????  Go on, TRY IT!!!  

So in some moments I feel like I’m wrastling a gator.  This lithe and lethal beast of Desire.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those yogis who shunns Desire, desperately seeking refuge in a high mountain cave for the zillionth life time in a row… But… I sense this is a moment of my life when my Desire will reunite with my innocence.  And provide deep healing of my sexuality, creativity and sense of authorship of Life.  It all feels so damn juicy.  

Like for example THIS moment.  Forest is singing “gioia gioia gioia” (joy joy joy in english), sitting at his kiddie table eating quinoa with a little spoon and watching elmo’s world, so that I can ACTUALLY.  FINISH.  A.  PIECE.  OF.  WRITING.  

I think overall, I’m a brilliant writer, but I would like to sculpt my muscle of focus.  I really want you to understand that I’m inhabiting this very raw and fresh space where apparently I feel safe enough to heal, because so much old shit is coming up and I am surrounded by Teachers.  Perhaps They have been here for ages, but I have not had the eyes to see them.  Yeah, as it turns out, all those “extras” in your movie who you just imagined were garden variety annoyances actually turn out to be the Chosen Ones sent to help you navigate your deepest, darkest crevices and make a triumphant return to the Light of Wholeness.  

I feel like a baby again.  Learning how to live in this body.  How to care for it and move with gentleness and passion, abundance and connection upon the earth. 

Oh!  I just paused and stared into space to try to find the deeper cut.  Here’s what came- without a man desiring me, I feel a tinge of disappointment to admit that I don’t feel very beautiful in this moment; with my stitches unraveling, stuffing spilling out and one of my button eyes hanging off.  But actually this is great news… because I am remembering how to observe this feeling and let it pass.  Sit still in the dim underbelly and let it change me.  

Maybe you’re not stoned like me… but I bet you feel it- a rapid collective transformation beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.  

Woo hoo.