Feeling for a new alignment

I lust to be a famous writer.  I do!!! But in reality, my drive to write is deeper than outcome.  I show up here because the fire Inside gives me no other option.  Without putting my heart, mind and BEing into words, life feels like racing tigers, melting into butter, sliding through my stupefied fingers.  And I can’t live with that.

I’m pregnant.  Sorry if I haven’t told you personally.  It’s really friggin early to go around singing it from the mountain tops.  I only conceived twenty three days ago. If I had any “sense”, I’d be quiet about it for a while, and just let my poppy seed-sized fetus gestate in blissful anonymity.  But gosh… then what would I write about? I have a burning need to cut to the heart of It All… And right now, this is the heart.

Was this a conscious choice?

Yes!  And… I was still broadsided by “The Call”.  (The soul whispered loud in me.)  My ego had other plans. Like always… Back in September, during our trip to the seaside, I was overtaken by deep and sudden urge to bring this strangely familiar, yet concealed by the veil, BEing into the world.  This strong feeling left me blinking and seeing neon, dancing stars. I was just getting “my life back”. Serena would start school in a matter of weeks. I would start a solid exercise routine.  And write my utterly fabulous memoir. Getting knocked up would be the Setback of the Century!

But my soul’s drive to create family body-slammed my career ambitions.  I guess that’s how the human race has made it this far… Imagining Serena as a big sister, I felt this to be essential for her.  Strange, because not too long ago, I couldn’t even fathom loving another human being as much as I love her. It didn’t compute. But by the Grace of God… now it does.  I was just minding my business… and suddenly my heart expanded. Neat!

Giordano and I both had “trauma” (Haha that word is so popular these days….) around bringing in our first child.  He separated with baby mama during her pregnancy, and she didn’t even tell him when she gave birth. He found out three days later.  This aches his heart… not to have been able to love his sun into the world. And now, the boy is mostly raised by the mama and her boyfriend.  Who have completely different lifestyle and values than Giordano does. Which is often painful for him….

For me, I can’t even believe I survived the heartache I went through during my pregnancy with Serena.  Her dad consciously impregnated me…. But then when she took root in my womb, he freaked and asked me if I was sure I wanted to keep her.  (Like, “Duh, Stupid!”) Then he had one foot out the door for the whole pregnancy. I barely saw him. I loved being pregnant. It was the most magical and beautiful nine months of my entire life perhaps.  Still, my heart bled profusely on a daily basis. Ed showed up for the birth. He held and exquisite masculine space for me. But then at 6am, he left us alone in the hospital, like a party that was over. It was just me and her.  For nearly three years.

I consider this a great blessing… mostly.  What fortune to have such an INTIMATE experience with a soul who is so cosmically dear to me.  Talk about some deeep karma. And it was hard as fuck. To be the breadwinner, the one always holding.  Rarely held. I still remember the epic-sized teardrops that spilled from my eyes in the first weeks after she was born.  Seriously. They were straight from a monsoon.

I’m digesting this painful life material at a deeper level as I enter this new pregnancy.  It sucks to carry it in my heart. I just want it all to burn off like sweet rose petals falling into the sun.  

When I shared with Giordano my sudden desire to conceive our child, he was an unwavering yes.  Like me, he had surface concerns and questions… but those paled in the light of raw desire and soul-knowing inside him.  And when we conceived, his joy was pure and naked as a child’s. This in itself was deeply healing for me.

So now, here I am, in my hella greeeeen pasture…. And still I ache!  Oh, blessed hormones. They are profound. And gorgeous in some way.  My bodhichitta heart is throbbing, full tilt. Anything and everything moves me to the core.  

I feel lonely a lot.  Except now… I’m never lonely when I write, because I love hanging out with myself in such a deep, intimate space. Communicating is orgasmic!  But just existing day to day… Gosh, it gets old not to have people around me physically, who feel like hOMe (Thank GOD for my smart-assed phone… My connection to some of the most exquisite people on the planet!).  But this has been the story of my life since I gave birth… I guess my soul is practicing some sort of potent, rigorous austerity. Like Saint Francis. I think about him, when I’m out walking sometimes… The mountains and bright, fluffy hillsides of Umbria have such a majestic Presence.  Which teases my majestic Presence to the surface. They speak. I feel awed to silence and riveted stillness.

Mamas out there?  I have a question for you… How do you integrate motherhood with all your other Selves, Dreams, Desires?   I see so many women “doing it all”… with such grace and mastery. Over here it looks like such a daunting journey.  To be and hold ALL OF IT. I don’t know what elements of my Self and Life to hold onto, fight for… and what to release into the honeyed sky of pure BEing.  Not that this inquiry is anything new for me. Haha. It just gets louder as I stand at the precipice of early motherhood once more.

I want to be so much more than just a Mom.  I want to be a Source of inspiration and endless faith in Love, for all the world.  I want to be a role model of courageous, unbridled authenticity. I want to dream new dreams and build new systems, informed by Unity Consciousness to evolve and transform this World.  I guess a huge part of my Desire can live through how I raise and educate my children (and how I hold and care for myself, as their mother). I feel fierce to hold space for them to develop and blossom in alignment with their essence and purpose, rather than sleeping at the wheel while society mashes and grinds them in confining boxes, just because I’m too lazy to take initiative.  This calling lives as a daunting responsibility in me. What I need to feel empowered in this domain is to be in conversation and co-creation with other parents who share this mission. The Lone Wolf archetype is a total ball krusher!

Anyway, I’m here inside myself, feeling for a new alignment.  And longing for masculine holding. And wondering if it’s just my lot in life to learn how to hold my own damn self.  Couldn’t hurt I guess.

But I’m happy.

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Premarital Bliss.

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Gosh, I was so scared to publish my last blog.  Though I poured my heart out in a comprehensive fashion, ONE single facet stuck me like a poison dart: The confession that I probably wouldn’t marry Giordano if I had money.  I felt so vulnerable offering that shard of my inner life up.

 

Then came the near-erotic thrill, the loss of control that is clicking “publish”.  Then Giordano’s eyes imbibing said confession.  He made his way deeper into this heart when he replied, smirking,  “So you’re marrying me for money?… I don’t have money!  Just one house from my family, who crush the ball every day.”

 

We both had a good laugh.

 

It’s true… If I was marrying a man “for money”, I made the worst possible choice.  Money has been so scarce lately, since Giordano has started engaging in the all-consuming task of picking olives.  It wasn’t until a few days ago that he found the time and money to purchase a cheap silver wedding band.  My adventures at the grocery store have been to the tune of “how much nutrient dense juice can I squeeze out of a twenty euro bill?”….

 

I am marveling at the power of raw, unfiltered honesty.  Saying the stuff that I am most scared to say… and POOF!, I am free. (Sometimes.  Other times I just get myself into relational trouble…)  It no longer festers inside me.  Like a thick fog, it silently screams as it sucks, hopeless, into the blazing Source of light.  I swear, after I posted my last blog, I softened deeper in love with Giordano.

 

Listen to this!….

 

I actually feel delighted to be marrying him.  Marriage feels like an unprecedented adventure.  One of those passages that must be lived through, fully felt and tasted.  Not just read about in a book, or heard tell of around a campfire.  (Or sipping coffee in mismatched reclining chairs with my Ma, as she recounted snippets of her two emotionally unsatisfying marriages, during what I didn’t realize then was the tail-end of her life…)

 

Am I just hella in love with him because I barely see him these days?… I have so much time to miss him..  And then he comes home like a sunkissed war hero, smelling of utterly tantalizing incense.  Seriously.  He’s the most deliciously scented creature I’ve ever encountered.  From the heat of his strong, active body, wafts a hypnotic synthesis of pheromones, pine and earth, fire and pristine alpine spring water, spilling from the heart of creation.

 

It always tickles when he says, “I can’t wait to hug in the bed.”  An american man would never say anything so charming.  It’s totally not an innuendo.  He just cherishes the simple pleasure of our warm, naked bodies entwined at bedtime.  I don’t think I’ll ever tire of his adorable italian translations.  Nor his innocent relishing of fundamental existence.

 

Giordano’s unwavering, rarefied, devotional love is healing me.  I didn’t realize how war-ravaged I was, after a five year affair with a married man, to whom I gave my whole self… and had a child with. (Three cheers for raw, unfiltered Life Experience!) The trauma of settling for Ed’s pathetic crumbs became a normalized experience in me.  Which of course stemmed from the glories of a having an emotionally immature father who prioritized world travel and eventually another family, over precious little me.  I am still discovering forsaken and shy territories of my heart I boarded shut in order to endure the pain of it all.  Slowly, they melt open in the sunlight of Giordano’s wildly imperfect, though incredibly sincere and miraculously steady love.

 

I’m also becoming a whiz at navigating his wounded little boy, (It is still hard work though!!!) which would indicate that I am loving myself pretty well…. Plus, learning/practicing emotional restraint.  I still go up in flames on the inside when he goes off the deep end emotionally, over what occurs for me as the pettiest shit.  I’m learning to breathe more and speak less.  And attune to his deeper needs and more subtle communication.  Hooray for me.  Seriously.  Though it will be heavenly when he graduates to the level of being able to advocate for himself with maturity and consciousness…. The fuckin Italians…. So damn emotional… and not a lot of personal growth courses over here….

 

One of Giordano’s strengths is bringing humor and lightness to otherwise suffocatingly dense moments.  My work is to soften into his invitation to laugh and let go.  Of course I reserve the right to hold on, punish and drive my point home when I feel like he hasn’t gotten the message or the medicine…. But mostly this hurts me more than him.  We ARE pretty comical in our heated moments.  Two giant babies flailing our fat little arms and stomping our squishy little feet.  Utterly riveted by our emotions and points of view.

 

Yeah, I’m really jazzed to be married!  I wanna see what this wife business is all about.

 

“GETTING” married on the other hand…. This is not such a thrilling facet of the jewel for me.  The Big Event goes down in three days.  I don’t have a dress.  I might just pull some halfway decent garment from my closet.  Giordano’s story is the same.  It’s supposed to rain.  We haven’t had the luxury of time to synch up and create meaningful vows together.  99.999% of my friends are far, far away.  I mean I managed to shake loose from the fever dream of my perfect fairytale wedding years ago… but THIS… my wedding day is shaping up to be the polar opposite.  Hopefully the event will make for a good story.  This is what matters most to me deep down.

 

I dedicated that last paragraph to self-pity!  It felt awesome.  But I DO want you to know that of ALL people in my world, my Cosmic Dad will be in attendance.  He will “give me away”.  An insatiable Sagittarius type, he just happened to be traveling through Europe, and swung our way to imbibe in the Hella Holy Matrimony. So I guess in reality, my glass is actually half full.  The man who has seen me through the course of my entire “adulthood” will be with me for this substantial rite of passage.  Whoopie.

 

I can’t wait to report back to you and divulge the dirty deets of my hella special day.  May it be an ecstatic, messy, perfectly imperfect Unfolding, colored by outrageous characters, intriguing nuance and mind-blowing realness.  Yee-haw!

 

Hella Holy Matrimony

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On moonday morning, Giordano, Serena and I drove into the Italian-er-than-Thou little town down the hill from our home, to submit our paperwork, in hopes of being awarded a date for marriage.  Legions of butterflies messed about inside me for myriad reasons. Reading bureaucratically persuaded websites is *not* my forte, so I wondered if we had all the documents required. One thing they HAD clarified at the US Consulate in Rome, when we visited a couple weeks ago (to obtain my sworn statement of single status), was that we must marry before my visa expires.  Which happens at the end of this month. Zoiks!

 

Our pilgrimage to the Wizard of Holy Matrimony required Giordano to miss a morning of work.  These days he is in hot and heavy preparation for a massive olive harvest. His head is nowhere above water in the way of tasks he must accomplish.  Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered someone with so many dangling, disperate obligations. My mom at the end of her life, perhaps…

 

But the point is, the unwieldy pile of my Husband-To-Be’s searing tasks sure brings out some brassy notes in the man.  He already tends toward the anxious shades of the rainbow. As I drove our little white Fiat, “Penis Ray-Ray” along the twisty, one way streets into the center of the village, he spit aggressive, critical directions at me.   I don’t have much tolerance for this facet of him. As an empath, I too quickly get inflamed and agitated, and perfectly awesome moments are spoiled by excessive heat and unkindness.

 

We parked down a hill from the “Common”, and I held Serena’s hand as she made her way up the steep, cobblestone road.  Apparently we were not fast enough for Giordano and in his broken five year old fashion, he let us know (nagging, crabby mumbling, slicing insults).  In my world, we had plenty of time, as it wasn’t even nine o’clock (when the office opened). I was jazzed that Serena wanted to walk alone, as she often prefers, like a lazy, cumbrous Pygmy Queen, to be carried.

 

I have a lot to say still, so I’m gonna pick up the pace.  But what you must know, is that by the time we arrived in the stale-cigarette-scented foyer outside the matrimonial office, Giordano and I were not on speaking terms.  When the disarmingly kind and casual italian lady opened her pearly gate for us, we were like two repelled magnets. I wouldn’t even look at him.

 

We shelled out our paperwork and I was half surprised, half relieved, half mortified to discover that we had all we needed, and would be able to secure a wedding day.  Whoa. We asked for October 28th. Two days before my visa expires. According to my astrologically savvy friend Anitra, that is the smoothest, most palatable day available to us, given our restricted timeline.  They were reticent to work on a Sunday. But a hundred euros and a relaxed sphincter later, they agreed.

 

We stepped back out onto the street transformed.  

 

That sentence gets to be its own paragraph, because it definitely stands alone.  I am not quite sure of the “behind the scenes” energetics of the matter…. But it was a palpable shift to have a wedding date and time.  Thankfully, we were both softened. We stepped into an adjacent bar, and Giordano ordered us cappuccinos. I can’t get right with the culture of drinking such heavenliness standing up, in less that three seconds.  I savored spoonfuls of thick, decadent foam, while Giordano teased me for taking my time.

 

And for my next splendid, death-defying act, ladies and gentlemen, I shall bare my messy insides for you all to gawk at and secretly relate to.  

 

I never imagined that getting married would be strewn with such a wild swizzle of unruly emotions.  Repulsion, excitement, love, powerlessness, curiosity, fear, turn-on…

 

From my insider’s view, I can clearly see how much collective meaning “We” place on marriage.  It means “forever”. It means “so in love”. “Happily ever after”. “The One”.

 

It means none of that for me.  It’s more like, I am just doing what needs to be done to move forward on my cryptic Path through the billowing fields of Enlightenment.  I have been groping to come to terms with it all.

 

Would I marry Giordano if I was financially free?  Probably not. I am marrying him as a single mom who needs help, and he is the flawed Angel that God sent me.  I feel a primal fear in telling it so straight. But as a writer, slicing straight into unflattering truths is the verdant river valley of good writing.  

 

And honestly, no matter how flawed my Angel is, my bottom line is that he supports me in showing up on the page and singing out the unfiltered mess of my Existence.  Which is what I live for. And I guess that’s the heart of the matter for me. My soon-to-be-Husband understands and supports my dharma. Even if it means that he occasionally gets chewed up and spit out on the page.  He may act like a wounded little boy too often. But holding space for me to be my fullest expression as a writer, even at his occasional “expense”, is a powerful stand to take.

 

The density of my Life Material these days often feels unbearable.  Okaaay, that was dramatic. I have it great, in so many ways. But as a woman who aspires to sovereignty and full-throttle empowerment, this is a very confronting life to be living.  I struggle to find a powerful place to stand. I feel small in so many ways these days. Living in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language… Having few friends to commune with.  Marrying a man who I am constantly having to teach and train and tolerate.

 

I can never say that last bit without following it up by how loving he is.  Giordano is so genuinely invested in my (and Serena’s) happiness, delight and wellbeing.  For example, he went way the fuck out of his way yesterday to ask his Baby Mama if we could stay in her rental apartment in Assisi next weekend, so that I could partake in a yoga festival happening right across the street.  While he sweats and bleeds and cries, picking thousands of olives to press into oil…

 

I guess the moral of this story is that on the INside, it occurs like all I can do is surrender to my Path.  I have written recently about my perceived lack of choice in the matter of my life. Like I’m just stepping into what splays open before me, with as much dignity, joy and willingness as I can muster.  Squeeze as much Trust out of my nearly-empty toothpaste tube as humanly possible.

 

Trusting that all this is right.  Trusting that this is all Grace. Trusting that this is exactly what I need to evolve.  Trusting that these are the perfect conditions for me to blossom open AS LOVE and embody the Master that I AM.  Living in said trust is a tall order, as my life is NOT unfolding as I imagined it would. Not that I ever fully imagined my unfolding… But life as I know it has bled way outside the lines of Collective Conditioning.  It’s not the stuff that “Happily Ever After” is made of.

 

Thankfully, I AM the stuff that Happily Ever After is made of… If only I allow myself to relax into this unassailable ISness.  I suppose this is the hidden cheese, wrapped in the bitter pill of my life. Haha!

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On HAVING (all over the place!)

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Lately, my life has been about robust goodbyes.  Leaving for Italy with one-way tickets really underscores the nature of impermanence in which we are always swimming in this stunning, infinity pool of Life.  

 

Suzanne’s parting words to me were so potent, they knocked me backwards, “You’ve been wanting for a long time.  Now HAVE.”

 

They rained upon my ears five days ago, and they are still going to work on me.  

 

Who would I BE if I relaxed into my Life and allowed myself to HAVE?  

 

It *seems* that I am wired to want.  And of course this orientation to Life reaches much farther back than the crushing, five plus year relationship with my married baby daddy….

 

When I was engaged to my fiance (twelve years ago), I sat in an unbearable fire of lusty want for someone else.  Another married someone else. (Who, for the record, I eventually HAD in many ways and it was often wonderful…) But still… Looking backward, this quality of excruciating want is a prevalent ingredient in the soupy swirl of my inner landscape.

 

I recently wrote a piece on the father wound.  And the gaping, oozing want for HIM to choose me.  To make me feel like THE essential treasure of his heart.  

 

So now what?  

 

I am again engaged.  To a wildly passionate italian man, who leaves me with no trace of doubt that he chooses me (and Serena).  A man who was ready and willing to leave his country, move across the world from his family, change his Life completely to be with me.  A man who I kicked out of my house (he slept in a leaky tent in the rain), stopped speaking to… returning two times over, to the unavailable-but-all-too-familiar arms of my baby daddy.

 

Oh the unwieldy odyssey of Athena Grace.  (I’ve GOT to write the damn book already!)

 

People must think Giordano and I are CRAY-ZAY for giving it a third go.  But I trust that third time IS a charm. Listen, when you live Life right, it changes you.  

 

Whoa, I started to get sucked down a wayward rabbit hole… but I am here to talk about HAVING.  I don’t know that I have answers. I guess I’ve gotta pull a Rilke, and LIVE the answers. And the questions.  

 

How do I change my wiring?… Give myself wet, juicy, overflowing, RADICAL PERMISSION to HAVE….!!!  

 

I guess part of this luscious inner shift, is to embrace my lust for wanting.  I don’t have to “get rid” of wanting in order to have. Just widen. And savor.  And love.

 

It really does come around to self-love, doesn’t it?  And self-worth. I reckon these are siamese twins, self-love and self-worth…. or the serpent eating its own tantalizing tail….

 

Another noteworthy piece to share with you, is that in this same “robust goodbye” visit, I shared a delicious dinner with two long-time women friends.  Women whom I deeply love and respect. And we each had a womb-wrenching story of a recent relationship where we gave ourselves away… ground ourselves down in the mill of self-negating compromise and sacrifice.  And I could name at least another half dozen women in my immediate circles who are riding the same exhausted crucible carousel.

 

WHAT THE FUCK????

 

Sisters, what are we DOING????

 

The time has come to live into a new and utterly vivifying myth.

 

And now, bitches and fuckers (Being “ladies and gentlemen” is definitely part of the problem, NOT the solution.  Embrace it. Haha.), Athena Grace is going to go MACRO.

 

Women~ this same tolerance for mediocrity (and less) in our relationships, is part of the root system of destruction of the PLANET.  Resigning ourselves to crumbs, silencing our powerful voices, suppressing our OCEANIC Desire.

 

WE ARE NOT VICTIMS.  

 

Unless we want to be.

 

But come on.  Victimhood is so 2016.

 

This is our mOMent to join hands and hearts and RISE THE FUCK UP as the Luminaries of Succulent HAVING.  

 

How do we DO this?

 

We’ll make it up as we go.  But first is the full throttle commitment to ourselves, to our worth, to our sisters, to the Earth.  

 

When a sister mounts her dead, bleeding unicorn and kicks it in the sides, attempting to ride a few centimeters (backwards)… Call her out!  (and *demand* she do the same for YOU.) Let’s generate NEW CONVERSATIONS.

 

Conversations woven with the silken threads of pleasure, ecstasy, joy, celebration, success, plenty, satiation, vision, turn-on, YES.  

 

HAVING.

 

I, Athena Grace, give myself Radical Permission to HAVE all over the place.  And I dedicate my having to YOU. May my infinitely expanding capacity to HAVE inspire and reSource ALL.  May my HAVING always be aligned with Infinite Divine Love. May my HAVING always generate wellbeing, balance and peace.  

 

Amen.

 

A River, a Boulder and Sex.

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“Art is why I get up in the morning, but my definition ends there….”

 

Honestly, I think I’ve begun an Athena Graceland blog with that quote by Ani Difranco before… but it is endlessly relevant.  

 

There are mornings, like this morning… when Goddess straddles the dripping, luminous full moon and gallops into the secret folds of my dreams.  She rouses me too early and sweetly tugs at the enchanted threads of chaos and curiosity that weave the tapestry of my consciousness…. Images, questions, longing… all screaming up from inside me to be metabolized through the miraculous beauty of my Inner Voice.

 

My animal body feels heavy, begging for extended stillness and intimacy with soft, cotton sheets.  But the ferocity of my drive to create presses heavy from Inside. Mizz Difranco’s words rise like steam from the coffee that is about to be brewed and like fire, I leap from bed, eager to at once wrap and unwrap myself in the magical threads of language.

 

Oh poetic, philosophical words…. With samurai precision, I slash my sword and they fall to my feet.  I emerge as the naked and raw center.

 

Previously in Graceland, I was aflame as I awaited Giordano’s arrival.  Now, nearly a full moon later, he sits beside me on this depressingly distasteful and cheap brown couch, reading Slow Sex, a book written by my lifelong Beacon of Sexually Liberated Sanity, Nicole Daedone.  I am crushed by the too-much-ness of what there is to say.

 

It has been two week since he arrived.  We decided to do a weeklong trial to see if we could *joyously* tolerate coexisting in my modest, artistically persuaded little box… Until yesterday, it was way easier than either of us anticipated.  (It took me almost the full two weeks to set my farts free…. But I’m up to about a sixty nine percent liberated rip-rate.)

 

Oh there’s too much to say.  I must call upon the Wilderness of Infinity Within, in order to perform the Impossible feat of threading Infinity through the Eye of the Needle.  

 

Where do I begin?

 

SEX.  Naturally.  My favorite subject.  If you’ve followed me since the infancy of Athena Graceland, you know I used to romp there way more. (That was before I was sent by a snickering God to live amongst the Renunciates.)  But I always felt terrified because my Mom was my number one fan…. And inspired, liberated sexuality was not an area of overlap for us. I felt the need to hide my libidinous priestess side from her.  Said priestess was actually quite relieved as Dear Sumitra lay dying… because She imagined that She’d finally be free…. On our last day together, I told my Ma, “Now I can write anything I want!” She flashed a smile of compassionate recognition.  

 

For the first year without her, I wondered when I’d get to it…. “It” being revealing the repressed backlog of wet, racy, outrageous expression within me.  But I guess being an under-fucked single mom was not exactly fertile ground for such writing.

 

Hallelujah the dawn doth cometh!  This morning I am delighted to announce that I no longer classify as underfucked.  Phew. I found my way to the scantily clad, orgiastic desert oasis. Everywhere I turn, water is singing, dripping, gushing, quenching.  

 

I pity the fool who says sex is not spiritual.  I feel a bazillion percent more alive, joyful, energized.  I feel like I finally have the inner resource to Rule The World.  

 

I never believed in “penis envy”…. But when I see Giordano’s perfectly huge, artistically dangerous, hard cock in the morning…. I think that Freudian construct might be laced into the cocktail of feelings that swirl inside me.

 

I’ve been flying high on oxytocin for the past two weeks.  It’s like being drunk on sunlight. I dare you to argue with the quintessential rightness of such purity.

 

But of course, life is dynamic and fuckin messy.

 

And sharing my tiny house with a man is bound to arouse conflict and rub raw, ancient wounds.  Yesterday we got in our first real…. Dare I call it a “fight”? I would call it me asking to Talk… and sharing all the withholds that were eating away at me.  Him feeling attacked and bristling in defense. Both of us flooding with fight or flight chemicals and becoming crippled five year olds. How’s THAT for sexy?!!

 

The moon is nearly full.  We are both very sensitive.  Energy needed to burst and gush.  We never really came to articulated resolution.  We walked through the woods, me tense and silent, him spitting inflamed, linguistic daggers wrapped in his profoundly charming italian accent.  Then we took some space…. And naturally tapped our respective wells of compassion, patience and love.

 

I just wish I hadn’t told him I was ALL IN so quickly.  Initially, we agreed to let it ride for an entire moon cycle before we came to any conclusions.  But the damn oxytocin got me all gushy and I professed that I didn’t need to wait. I flung myself into the treacherous deep end, with beaming abandon.

 

Hello, my name is Athena and I am emotionally impulsive.  

 

Seriously.  It’s a weakness in me that I am working on.

 

I don’t know if I’m scared of intimacy… or not fashioned for a conventional, nuclear paradigm relationship… or if Giordano simply isn’t the One for me….  But….. ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

 

I started missing Ed.  Ed has a way stronger masculine essence.  Giordano was named after the River Jordan.  And he truly IS water. Ed was named after a massive granite boulder.  Haha I’m sooo funny! But I ask myself if I can fully give myself to a man who is so flowing.  This makes me more masculine. But….

 

Giordano is a beautiful being who loves and supports me.  He is honest and caring, creative and adventurous. Plus, his italian accent and adorably wonky sentence structuring is an endless source of tickle for me.  And who says it must be a stifling case of “either or”?

 

A while back, Ed sneered at me, in a moment of pain, and said, “You think you can have it ALL, but you CAN’T.”  His words knocked me bass-ackwards.

 

The fuck I can’t.  I’m ATHENA GRACE, high and holy Priestess of Heaven.  Recently, Ed stopped talking to me for what seemed like a year.  It was actually about three days. But now he’s back. And I am quenched by his steady, masculine love.  

 

Fuck the stiff, moldy paradigm that says I must choose.  But through the unintelligible grace of endarkenment, it still lives inside me.  When I fall asleep at the wheel for even a second, I melt into that ancestrally embedded, default, operational groove.  Why can’t I widen myself and imbibe the love and complementary nutrients that both men have to offer to my heart and life?

 

I can.  I give myself Radical Permission to be nourished by a spectral panoply of lovers.  I give myself Radical Permission to be free from the need to define my relationships according to archaic, expired patriarchal constructs.  I give myself Radical Permission to feel and speak my raw, naked truth in The Moment, and set appropriate boundaries accordingly. I give myself Radical Permission to live in the Present, and release the need to define my intimacy with others through elusive future constructs.  

 

Most importantly, I give myself Radical Permission to love and to be loved.  And to BE LOVE.

 

Messy, imperfect, ever-evolving, embodied love.

Desire Bursts Free in Graceland

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My body is a Rumi poem.  Aflame as lusty divine longing.  Blazing, sleepless passion.  I did my best to suppress my Desire…. and I hate to admit how successful I was.  For a while.  Sigh… As women of this skewed patriarchal culture, we have become adept at suppressing the raging white water shakti force within us.  Certainly not an accomplishment worth celebrating.

And here’s what I don’t get…. After my sacred feminine flow of universally intelligent life force energy has been pinched off for so long… when I finally release myself to it’s mysterious sacred intelligence, it squirts all over the place and makes profoundly unwieldy messes.  And it scares me.  Because it wrecks the nice tidy topiaries of my ego-informed existence.  And it takes a crap load of self love to stay open and stand in the aftermath of my intellectually perplexing, Desire-led navigation of Life.

And now, shall we ground all this glittering, esoteric conceptuality into the flesh and bones, blood and guts framework of my current slice of Life Story?  Gosh, my belly is so squishy with all this inconvenient winter weather and forced hibernation.  Will my Italian Lover still desire me?  I hate that I get possessed by such insecurities… I’d love to graduate from that superficial bullshit once and for all.  (And.  I’d like to be able to exercise more.)

Story.  So in my last trounce through Graceland, I sang from my blissful mountain top perch about how Ed was fully IN, and Serena and I were going to go live with him in the Bay Area, as soon as we found a suitable nest.  We were going to be a happily ever after nuclear unit!  Then came the eclipses.  And unsettling disconnect.  Breakdowns in communication.  Financial freak out.  (On Ed’s part… Gosh, I really feel for men who by the bonds of lineage, enslave themselves to this idiotic patriarchal construct we have fashioned.  They often exist in a perpetual rubble pile of pressure and financial stress to handle it all.  Alone.  Not exactly what I’d call “Life Affirming”.)  But anyway, as I stood in the aftermath of said influences and occurrences, I felt to be back in the exact same place (Just the other day, my wise priestess friend Quynh said “you cannot stand in the same River twice”, which is ultimately true.  And yet….)  But there I was, trying to coach Ed through his next action steps, as though my life depended on it… Longingly peering into the frosted candy shoppe window at the Life Together that seemed perpetually out of reach.  Desperate, frustrated, hopeless.

And in a flash, I realized I was done.

Meanwhile I was participating in a fourteen day sex magic initiation, guided by a skillful, inspiring, sovereign priestess sister…. and as my orgasmic energy awoke, my deep vagina and the stream of whispering, intelligent soul song that flows from within this feminine well called out, “Giordano”, with lucid articulation.

Now I suppose it’s debatable…. if the messages of my body are trustable and worthy of giving one’s self over to…. But I’d like to think that my body of recycled stars is a radio tower to the Cosmos.  Ever since my Italian Lover entered my Life and Body, sex with Ed has not been the same.  An empty husk.  Yet I have tried a few too many frustrated times to fuck us backward in time.  Because I love him.  And he is the father of my daughter.  And my mind said it was the “right thing to do”.

I came way too close to locking my Desire in a damp, subterranean cell and tossing the vintage skeleton key into the primordial sea.  But my soul said FUCK THAT.  My Priestess Path will not allow me to veer too far off course.  I am not designed to be possessed.  That would be harm and foul to humanity and the planet.  And more important than those idealistic aquarian constructs– to MY SELF.

You should know that I was terrified to commit these words to the page… because the space between me and Ed feels so fragile right now.  He is crushed.  In his world he was working as fast as he could to get free from thirty five years of marital tangle and come to me and Serena.  Me losing interest and moving on is NOT what his shallow self was banking on.  And being an empath, his pain and confusion crush me too.  (Lately, I often feel sharp, energetic stabbing sensations in the center of my heart…) I have a deep fear of being abandoned by him.  This fear, plus a profound need for Daddy’s holding has kept me holding on as long as I possibly could… abandoning my Self instead.

I know I’m not the only one who is willing to abandon myself in exchange for some semblance of external safety, belonging, support…  And I take delicious pride in exposing these unsightly dimensions of my existence in hopes that it will illuminate your own inner tangle and set you free.

Or maybe it’s not about you at all.  Maybe it’s just a fuckin wild and bizarre story, and if I don’t tell it, it will die along with this heavenly body, and I could not live with such a burden.

Giordano is flying back to me in two weeks.  To “see what can be” between us.  I am amazed he has held on this long.  When I told him I was stepping fully into Ed and closing the door on romantic possibilities between us, he cried for four days straight.  And sporadically after that.  He said the pain cleansed his soul.  He said I live inside him.  Inside every breath.  I know it is true, because deep down, I feel it too.  Even though, as stated in the intro to this blog, I am masterful and the suppression of my Desire, beneath the logic and reason… He is there.  He tells me he is not attached to an outcome.  Loving me is enough.  For who I actually AM.  And yet he feels to come here…. to see what can be.

My body is on fire.  And I wonder…. about the lost mystic wisdom of the Divine Feminine.  Perhaps what has for so long been dismissed as mere “lust” and “desire”, is actually the sensitive instrument of the body translating the voice of the soul, which is intended to be our luminous Holy Navigation System through the dark terrain of this physical plane.

I wonder…..

And give myself over….

To the God that dances…

As Life.

Romance dawns in Graceland!

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It’s four forty one am.  The refrigerator is singing a resounding rendition of the sacred syllable OM, and my nervous system feels like a potato chip.  (Not the thick, ridged, crinkle cut ones… the thin, irregular, bubbly ones that are translucent with grease.)  I am a refugee, mud-streaked, bleeding and disheveled, stealthily fighting my way back into the honey-dripping throes of Graceland.  I was stollen away and locked in a solitary tower, without my faithful laptop, or even a toilet paper roll, ink and a feather to write my Life into honest, lucid, artistic existence.

Actually, I fell in…. Love?  Lust?  Or have I risen into the aforementioned dynamic duo of L words?  I’d like to think I have risen.  But being so perpetually sleep deprived, unfortunately, it feels more like a fall to the gritty, indifferent ground.  Ohhhhh YES!!!… I am loving being dramatic right now.  But I felt a pang of sadness, talking about the ground that way…. because the ground is Mother Earth’s own sumptuous* body, and she is anything but indifferent.  Indifference is not in any healthy mother’s instinctual palate.

*I just looked up the word “sumptuous”, because I wasn’t certain of it’s precise meaning… and I was surprised to discover that it implies expensiveness!  “Expensive” is not how I would describe this marvelous place we are blessed to call hOMe for now… But I still like the word… Sumptuous.  The sound, the feeling of my mouth and breath forming the word– Feminine.  Round.  Sensual.  Mrs. Earth is definitely all that.

Are you still with me?  Or are you like, “Athena, stop masturbatorily pontificating, and TELL US who in God’s hella holy name you have risen/fallen into this wild and unruly state with!!!”

Yeah, you’re right.  Life is but a flash in the pan, and I really oughta roll up my sleeves and get to it!  But wait!!!  May I please share something frivolous with you first?!  When I wrote the word “oughta” just now, I had a flashback to my hella glamorous childhood… Back in the tragically dull, concrete-heavy, gridded neighborhood in San Leandro.  I must have been a budding pubescent, with a few dwindling, tenuous shreds of innocence still in tact.  My mom drove the fuck out of a silver Dodge Caravan minivan.  Stick shift.  (Actually, I learned to drive on this beast.  The clutch was a total bitch, and the car had a proclivity for lurching forward at the slightest mishandling…)  My Ma had a job delivering phone books!  All the fuck over the vast expanse of the East Bay.  I mean, seriously, sometimes she’d have to drive more than an hour, with said van weighted with phonebooks to get to her route du jour.  Rush Limbaugh was her abiding co-pilot.  Even though I didn’t share her smolderingly impassioned political views, I did find him mildly amusing… Actually, I am still impressed by his marked (though misplaced) intellectual capacity, which enabled him to throw his outrageously opinionated and substantial weight around in a compelling fashion.  Ahhh the good olde days!  Are you scratching your head right about now, and wondering how in the heck I fell into this tangential cul de sac of memory lane?  Well DUH!!  Because his book was entitled, “The Way Things OUGHTA Be”….. Grin.

Ok.  Get this– his name is Giordano, and he shot like an Italian comet, straight into my DRIVEWAY.  I oft wondered how I would ever find a lover while cloistered in the thick, wooded folds of a spiritual community who collectively strives toward sexual renunciation…. Improbable, right?  Well, I flew home from Costa Rica, and this beautiful man was… just here…. My landlord imported him from Italy to….”help him” .  When Ryan introduced me to his quiet Italian buddy, the man didn’t even make eye contact, so naturally, I inadvertently dismissed any possibility of… anything.

The next day, he was loitering in the driveway, as Serena and I were heading out on some mundane mission or another.  Giordano just watched us… the way a child watches.  With passive, unadulterated curiosity.  A couple days later, Ryan told me I should invite him to the River.  This caught me off guard.  “But he didn’t even make eye contact,” I replied.  “Is he capable of connecting?  Is he just shy??”  Ryan assured me he was “just shy”.  Hmmm….

Since it was the rapidly dwindling end of River Season, I didn’t have time to dick around.  I either invited him, or forever held my peace.  So the next morning, when I saw Giordano pacing the gravel driveway, I invited him.  He said yes.

God, why do I endeavor to write my life down on the page in thousand word installments???  It just doesn’t make sense…  I’d be better off writing enchanted, sprawling epic poems that unabashedly draped about Infinity.  But here I am again… aspiring to contain my existence in a meager thousand words.  I guess I dig the challenge.  Akin to how The Lord delights in smashing His archaic prayer onto a measly grain of rice.  Besides, I can always come back for round two.  And three and four and affinity….

Well, our first date was sweet.  His english was decent enough to sort of understand each other… and sparse enough for the experience to feel like the set-up of a cheesy romance novel!  I was struck by his sweet sensitivity.  And his innate proclivity to connect with Serena.  He seemed a little embarrassed when he stripped down to his black, cotton briefs, confessing that he didn’t have more appropriate swimwear.  We laid on a flat, smooth slab of granite and marinated in gentle, delicious, autumnally slanted morning sunlight.  I tried to speak slowly, and with simple, latin based words that might transcend the language barrier.

During the following week, I felt a soft, potent longing to see him… but we were both consumed by work and Life.  He did timidly hover around my front gate a few times… Each time I eagerly sucked him into my music and sunlight drenched lair.  It was comical… the way he loitered awkwardly as I cooked and tended to the masterfully flirtatious Serena.  Our mutual desire was obvious… yet neither of us sure what to do or say.  Is that like SO romance novel, or what?!  One time, as he was preparing to leave, I got super bold and asked, “Would you like a hug?”  I forgot to mention that he flies back to Italy on November 3rd… so we really don’t have time to dick around.  It’s a classic case of shit or get off the pot.  Anyway, naturally his answer was YES.  We moved into an embrace…. And…..

OhMyFuckingGod.  Talk about clothes-on-energy-sex….. Luminous, gushing rivers flowing between us, birthing entire new ecstatically persuaded galaxies.  Neither of us wanted to let go.  Just melt and bleed into differentiated unity and bliss.  Then he departed.

But he left trail of reverberating, energizing lust that fueled me for days.  Jesus. The next weekend, I invited him back to the River.  This time to a nude beach.  I was tickled that he opted to keep his underwear on, regardless!  Not Athena Grace.   Lordy, this story’s end is nowhere in sight… yet I must draw this entry to a close.  More to come.  Literally.  I’ll just say that we had a beauty-full time together that day amidst the sunlight, clear, rushing water, smooth stones and earthen, perfumed air.  Serena loved him from the get-go.  And he, Serena.  Which naturally gets me hot.  If this was not the case, I don’t even think I would bother.

What I am bursting to unpack next, beyond the linear sequence of our hella romantic unfolding… is the deeper cut.  Witnessing the cacophonous choir of selves within me… how they all seem to have disparate motivations and longings… and how I am navigating these deep and murky and compelling waters.  And what about Ed?  So much more to tell!!!

Talk to you soon.

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