Groping For Love In the Dark

I’m almost too scared to write today.  But I’m here.  I am here.  I am here to heal myself.  I am here to return to love.  I am here to remember.  My dear friend Amrita shared a beautiful video of Amma through facebook which kicked off my day.  I want to share it with YOU.

Thank GOD it reminded me of the only thing that is REAL, which of course is Love.  I must say, I believe it to be true with all my heart, but when it comes to practical application, I feel like queen of the dopes.  Living in this world, contending with crunchy karmic relationships and survival issues… please tell me where and how love fits in to all of that.  I was extra intolerant of Mykael this morning because he was recoiled in his safe, familiar shit hole where fear and scarcity are his demigods.  He was telling me all the things he had to DO… I thought what is the good of DOING DOING DOING if all you have is fear in your heart?  What is the point?  I know we must DO, that is the nature of this world.  That’s what Krishna told Arjuna.  He was like, “Dude, you’ve gotta go to battle.  Kill those blessed cousins of yours.  It’s what is being asked of you by Life.  But remember… always the Highest first.”  (The “cousins” being a symbol of his attachments and habits governed by his small self, BTW)

The problem with me telling Mykael ANYTHING is that I am no champion of loving.  I can be self indulgent as fuck.  So what right do I have to tell anyone anything?  All I can do is live by example.  But how do I best love Mykael in this case?  I guess in my IDEAL world, I would just keep bringing my awareness back to my heart… imagining it wafting a sweet perfume more beautiful than all the beauty in the world added together and then multiplied by its self.  I would imagine that epically sweet perfume filling ME, so that I become wondrously drunk and shimmering, and then I watch this sweetness extend outward to Mykael.  Then beyond Mykael to… everyone.  One person at a time.

Like especially the woman whom I approached to ask if I could share her table a minute ago.  Pizziaolo is packed this morning like an Indian elevator, so I had no choice but to share a table.  She was on the phone, so I just mouthed the words, “can I share your table,” and indicated to the seat that I perceived had my name on it.  I was expecting her to gesture a “go right ahead” gesture, along with a warm smile… WRONG.  She dramatized this really irritated look, plugged her non phone ear with her fat little finger and looked away from me.  Guess how I felt as a result?

Angry… and hurt.  (I believe that hurt always precedes the anger, but sometimes and certainly in this case, the anger flared up so fast, I didn’t even have time to recognize the hurt piece.)  Flooded with negative emotion, I felt compelled to say and do mean things so that she would feel what I was feeling.  Thankfully I didn’t.  I caught myself and beseeched forgiveness (of, from, to, for, through myself).  Forgiveness.  Forgivenss.  I am sitting here on the edge of tears.  But what’s the use?  Do tears really heal?  Yes, I believe they do.  But I’m just not used to having so many daily occasions to cry.  If I give in to the tears will I cry a wider hole in my heart where more of this omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent totality of beauty squared perfume can waft through?

You know what is eating me away lately?  The confusion of what is other people’s shit and what is truly mine.  I can’t even get into it right now.  I wish I could just walk quietly, peacefully into the sea and drown myself.  My “friend” Dan loves to tell me that I am the most self absorbed person he knows.  Allofasudden I feel inhibited expressing all my feelings here, because I am afraid that the world at large will just slap a label on me called “self absorbed” and cast me into the gutters of collective consciousness.  Like I should just keep it to myself that I want to offer my life to the ocean.  But, I do what I must do.  And that is express myself.  Does Dan perceive ME as self absorbed because I AM self absorbed, or is that what he is choosing to focus on in the mirror that I am for him?  Do you see what I mean?  Duality gets so messy and confusing.  But when I notice myself getting tangled, snared, drowned in the sea of cocky wompus mirrors, what better to do than return to Love and Forgiveness.  I’ll tell you what~ I can’t wait to be a wise old lady, who’s burned off many layers of ego needs and desires.

My friend Karen told me that she is having Eric over for Shabbat dinner tonight.  My heart sunk because Eric and I used to go to her house for Shabbat dinner “left and right”.  In my memory that lives as a simple time, connected with friends, feeling safe, feeling love.  My heart breaks at the thought that that no longer is.  I killed it.  Everything ends.  Everything dies.  Except what is REAL.  Except what is eternal.  That’s what Amma said in that video I recommended to you.  She said that “devotion is actually discrimination between the eternal and the transitory”… Wow, I thought devotion was something a whole lot fluffier than that.  Shows what I know.  “The actions that we perform with awareness of  what is everlasting and what is perishable is devotion”.   Touche.  I can groove to that.  “You should pray with Love and Devotion.  Your hearts should melt as you pray.”  Okay!!!!!   I will.  “Your prayer to God should be ‘make me Love You and let me forget everything else.’”  “Purify your heart.  See God in everything and Love all beings.  You don’t have to do anything else.”  “Those who perform actions with their mind surrendered to the Supreme do not need to fear.”


“Children, go directly to the source of Love and drink to your heart’s content from that Ocean.”

I should have just started with all of those quotes from Amma.  Why did I need to mouth off about all my dillusional confusion?  I forgive myself for being confused and for not unceasingly thinking of God.  I will keep striving to improve.  AMEN.

Menstrual Blood and Sacred Sylables at Three AM

And Athena Grace LMNOP said, “Let there be hella books!”  And guess what?  There WERE hella books!  I am surrounded by titled spines and it is as if I can feel all the minds and eyes that have traversed the papery fields of words over years and days and moments.  Can you guess where I am?  If you guessed the library, you WIN!  I am a woman who requires fresh stimulation on a regular basis; otherwise I stagnate and start to gnaw at my own fleshy bondage.  It gets ugly.  So I thought I’d give the library a try.

I adore books.  But not in the biblical sense. (Grin)  I have been a reader lately, but I have had many literary droughts throughout my life.  You see, I’m kinda ADD, so it takes a lot for me to hunker down and FOCUS.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s totally worth it.  But the amusing thing to me is that even when I’m not in a reading phase, I still get off on books.  I take them off my shelf and set them on my nightstand with the best intentions… until my nightstand becomes a mountainous stack of ocularly untouched wonders which eventually becomes unbearably tall and unruly and I am compelled to reorganize them lovingly upon the book shelf.  When I travel, my backpack is HEAVY with books, because who knows what I will be in the mood for… Fiction?  Spirituality?  Poetry?  Journal?

Books.  They’re not just for reading, you know… I believe they have osmotic powers.  Like even just being near them is enough to slurp up their stimulating, rich, creative vibrations.  That said, it’s a little overwhelming being surrounded by them on all sides right now.  In the best way.  Libraries might SOUND ungodly quiet, but that’s only if you can’t hear each and every book silently screaming its entire story all in an instant, from its patient place on the shelf.

Last night I was awakened at 3am by a deluge of menstrual blood splashing out from my womb.  Time out.  I want to say that I realize that menstrual blood is one of those taboo topics, which befuddles me, since it is one of the most natural and UNIVERSAL experiences of woman.  Culturally, women are conditioned to feel shame about this powerful expression of our femininity, our capacity to create life and attune to the cycles of nature, namely our one and only holy missus moon.  My mom never told me much about bleeding.  I knew she bled…  I knew I would some day… but that’s about it.  I didn’t ask, since I felt intuitively that it was a source of embarrassment.  Over the years, I have formed a new relationship with my moon time, my blood.  I find it beautiful and fascinating and powerful in a way that I can not even fully grasp.  I like to let it be messy.  I don’t just shove an endless barrage of tampons up my pussy. (No offense to tampons… they’re plenty useful given the right circumstances.)  No.  I like to FEEL the flow, see it, smell it even.  Sometimes I make a sacred blood offering to my beloved plants.

Time in.  So I wasn’t wearing a tampon or a pad at night.  (My flow is mild.  It stops and starts, has a life of its own, independent of convenience or predictability… it’s certainly not a bloody version of Niagara Falls or anything.  But last night it woke me up and I made a beautiful, bloody mess of my sheets and a dribbly trail to the bathroom.  (I am telling you this with the intention of creating a new relationship to blood for all women, as well as men.  It is not something to hide or be ashamed of.  It’s just not.)  I laid a towel down beneath me and climbed back into bed… but shoot, now I was wide awake.  I started to panic.  (mildly)  And then I realized it was a perfect time to say my mantra.

My mantra~ I received it from the Holy Mother, herself, Amma!  While I swam through viscous, aqua heaven this morning, I was remembering the weighty moment when Amma spoke it in my ear.  It’s a moment that I wish I had kept in a teensy bottle, like people do with ancient pirate ships, loaded with treasure.  I would wear it around my neck, and whenever I needed to (at least once a day), I would pop off the cork and peer inside with a squinted eye and an open ear so that I could become drunk on that holy moment laden with divine nectar; sustainable, sober ecstasy.  Her voice!  All at once husky, durable, sturdy and soft and loving as celestial kittens.  And of course rounded and burbling like a stream flowing from Heaven, to Heaven, through Heaven.

When I first received the mantra, I said it with such devotion and care.  But over time, my mind became skillful at thinking about whatever it fancied while also mindlessly repeating the divine syllables.  So I stopped saying it for a while.  I decided to go grass roots with my meditations and simply sit in silence.  But since seeing Amma recently, I have been filled with a fierce yearning for her.  I miss her already and the best way I have to connect with her omnipresent heart is to chant the mantra she spoke in my ear that hallowed night, three-ish years ago.  (I can’t tell you what the mantra is, because I promised to keep it to myself.  A sacred secret between me and the Holy Mother of the Universe!)

Saying it in bed is different than at my altar, one hundred and eight times.  Instead of whizzing through it so that I can get up and go eat breakfast, (not the most spiritually inspired, eh?) I let each word take up space in my mind.  Every word landed on the surface of my mind with a substantial plop, like a pebble cast into a lake.  I felt into each syllable, letting it resonate in concentric circles through the layers of my mind and body.  I relinquished my attachment to sleep, fully present in the life of the sacred mantra.  Soon enough I was back to sleep.  But instead of calling it “insomnia”, I call it “quality time with the Divine”.   Amen.

The Meaning of Life

I won’t beat around the bush.  I am here on the page this morning to save my own life.  My heart hurts.  But not just casual, poetic heart ache… no, the kind that makes me want to swaddle myself in isolation and respond to the world in a dead end game of attack and defense.  Is that why my spacebar is acting up again????  How will I ever get my blog written when I have to press the spacebar like 200 times between every word?? (okay, more like 2 or 3 times…but still, it blows and I especially needed to express today.)  Okay, screw getting upset.  If I were gonna imbue this situation with a hearty moral lesson, it would be choosing patience and peace over poopy diaper whining.

The new moon is coming this Saturday.  I have caught wind that this particular moon is about the world that is currently dying and the new world that is rising up from beneath and within.  Those of us who are awake

Oh, bah humbug.  I don’t want to be deep and organized and scholastic.  I just want to talk about that which tickles and pleasures me.  I was trying to write something on the topic of midwifing the emerging world for the SpiralMuse website (, but all I really want to do is sooth myself with decadent, uplifting thoughts…like…I went to see the Holy Mother, Mata Amritanandamayi yesterday.  While she was hugging the people right before me, she conversed with one of her uh…attendants… for a long time while she held a couple in the folds of her oh-so-cosmic bosom.  I delighted in listening to her speak.  What IS that south Indian language?  I sure don’t know, but listening to it is like being drenched in soft, linguistic bubbles.  The sounds are unearthly round and smooth.  You know what it’s like?  It’s like the Hella Holy Ghost submerged me in a sacred strain of champagne.  Amma’s voice is the bubbles and the intoxicating, golden liquid was the privilege of merely bathing in her presence.  Really.  Just being physically near to her fills my body with tangible sweet sensations.  Imagine diving into a pool of whipped cream.  Please believe me.  My heart softens and spreads outward like melting butter is pouring through me, from me, to me and all about.

I had to stop writing earlier because my spacebar’s attitude was more than I could handle.  So I went and got my haircut instead.  What a treat!  It had been like four months and I had hair more straw-like than our very own hero of popular culture, the Scarecrow (and not just ANY scarecrow, I mean THE Scarecrow!).  I always thought scarecrows were called “ScareAcrows”.  How embarrassing was that fateful day when I made a tangible fool of myself and was publicly shamed for the mispronunciatory correction.  I like getting my haircut.  For a while I didn’t have a bitchin’ stylist and I got a good few haircuts that missed the mark by numerous crucial notches.  But then, by accident, I found Noah.  I had my doubts, because what does a MAN know about cutting a WOMAN’S hair?!?! I mean a straight man, for Buddha’s sake!  I expressed this to him, because generally I like to say what’s on my mind.  His perspective was convincing~ that as a [straight] man, he knows what kind of hair style he finds attractive on a woman.  Not a shabby argument.  Is he hot?  Nah…he’s extra doughy…(I imagine he likes to get stoned and munch on stony snax when he’s not on the job) but SOMEthing about him I find attractive.  He has some good depth and substance to him.  And his eyes are dark like night skies reflected on the surface of wishing wells.  And who could pass up two night skies reflected on the surface of wishing wells, really?

Disclaimer!  I’m gonna jump all over the place today.  Because none of my thoughts seem to be jointed to other thoughts.  And I am bounding about after my joy and healing, like a golden retriever chasing a duck through an old timey marsh. (An aside= I LOVE the sound of duck voices.  God, hearing them infallibly breaks me open!)  Yeah, I’ve had a day.  I think my blood will spill tomorrow.  So I’ve been vacationing on the land mine ridden border territory of Saturated Sorrow and Latin Wrath.  Today was the first time I broke down sobbing while ON the climbing wall (it was a hard climb).  Then, in the sauna, I was feeling suicidal and had a thought that went like this~ “Screw discovering and living my ‘life purpose’… I think just making it to the end of my years and dying of natural causes should get me some kind of prestigious award!”  Because in the moment, that seemed like a near impossible feat.

I used to be suicidal all the time, but since I believe in reincarnation, I figured I would only be the worse for taking my own life, so I just keep slogging along in this mess.  Now when my emotions get so unbearable and my mind gets so ridden with negativity, I don’t take it all that seriously… but… I can’t help but wonder what the point of all of this is.  You know?  There’s this whole bullshit construct that we’re all here to LEARN and GROW… Like life is some goddamn school… And that in the end, when we earn are arduouser than thou stinkin’ degrees, then we get to merge back into the Oneness of our bitchin’ Creator…or else decide to stick around and hold the lantern for all the other gods and goddesses whose heads are still lodged way up where the sun don’t shine… but like WHY would the Creator BOTHER pulling its Self apart into such a suffering ridden grab bag of multiplicity, just so we could merge back again???  Just for shits and hoots, I suppose… But I don’t hear us all shittin’ and hootin’ down here in this heavenly inferno.  Well… sometimes I do… actually more than I care to admit… But Jesus!  I’m not having enough fun.

Is that true?  In THIS very moment, I am really enjoying writing about all the senseless madness.  And is there anything else?  That’s debatable.  I just want to heal my disease ridden mind.  My mind that is so convinced that it’s right all the time and it creates so many concepts built on the false foundations of fear and scarcity.

Ask me what I’m gonna be when I grow up… Go on, ask me!

I’m gonna be a Self Realized Master!  I dunno how I’ll get there, but God’s gonna lead my way.  And for now, I’ll just settle for this marvelous opportunity to pound out my thoughts and feelings on a computer with a spacebar that WORKS!!!!!