Stalked by Destiny

Seven thirty seven pm over here on my little sacred would-be NeverNeverLand isle of Kauai.  Just for the record, I’m having that ecstatic feeling, like there’s nothing in the entire multiverse that I’d rather be doing right now than spilling myself out on the page for you!  I even put my hair in pretty little jeweled butterfly clips and splashed my soft, tropical skin with perfume oil.  After some weighty consideration, I chose vanilla coconut scent.  It wafts off of my body heat in sweet waves of tastiness.  I am my own dessert tonight!


It’s one of those blogging days when I have a thousand paths extending out from my center and I can’t decide which one to step out onto.  But there comes a time when kiss comes to suck and I must simply choose or get off the pot altogether, which I’ll NEVER do.  Nope.  Me and the pot are in for the long haul!


So I’ll just start by telling you that today my soul plot just got immensely, rapturously thicker!!!  Mom, don’t be jealous… but I have a soul mom too!  I had an inverse visit from the stork this morning!  And who should spill from this auspicious, heaven sent bundle but our very own beloved Souldipper, my devoted blogging buddy!  You MUST know of her by now… she leaves substantial, thoughtful, insightful comments up the wazoo, and every now and again I mention her in my blog.  I mention her because my heart feels like it’s in the BEST church ever invented when she and I communicate.  My heart feels like an Olympic opera singer when we virtually commune.  It’s been a bit mystifying for me to witness the delicious, transcendent flavor of Love that she evokes in me… but I’m not one to “look a friggin gift horse in the oral cavity”, for God’s sake… so I just bask in the grace and warmth of the love that is stirred in me.  But apparently there is MORE to the story.  Read it here~


Next order of stuffy business~ Please don’t take me literally.  This is anything but stuffy.  I just have an aversion to garden variety business… Anyway, I have been slackin’ at my poetry muse duties lately… mostly due to having a full plate (between my two writing projects, my daily devotion to the ocean, yoga, refueling, some requisite social stimulation… it’s a full time job staying in balance leading the life of my dreams…) So lugging around my heavy, archaic, linguistic magic machine is not such a savory option.  Plus, I haven’t found such a terrific place to perch with it here on Kauai… (though my soul sister, Magic Penny who is an EXPERT at making home-hitting, creatively brilliant suggestions as to how her near and dears could live our lives more artfully, soulfully and in radical alignment with our essential selves… told me today on the phone that I “should” rent myself out for weddings, parties, special events as the Poetry Muse.  You know, like charge a flat rate and then let God pour through me for anyone and everyone at the party.  Smart cookie, she IS!  I just might do that…)


I have felt a nagging tug at my heart in the absence of this sacred practice structured into my week to week existence.  And the story continues its wily meander~ last week, I wandered barefoot down the road I live on, brushing my teeth with my pink, recycled plastic toothbrush which when retired from the trenches of my warm, smarmy mouth will join forces with its friends and become a beautiful, plastic, marbled rainbow park bench… and I encounter an older gentleman, helmet clad and paused in mid-bike ride.  We strike up a conversation.  He shares that he is a retired chemist from Virginia, here visiting his son who lives just down the road from me.  I tell him I am a writer.  He asks of what.  A blog and sacred poems by donation, I say.  He says that he’d like a poem because his book club will be sharing poetry next time and he’d like to bring his custom poem from one illustrious, living, breathing Muse of Poetry!  Hark!


Does that tickle you?  I mean for goddess sake, I’m out wandering aimless and barefoot, scrubbing my teeth and I get called to duty!  I just can’t hide from Destiny for too long, can I?!  So this afternoon, I made my way to their house so that sweet Bill could splash me with his authentic heart and I could then get neatly out of the way and let God go to work on our holy findings.


I was coming from a full rock star morning in Hanalei (jogging, swimming, bonding with Jack the Love Wizard and writing) and I was quite hungry.  As Grace would have it, Bill and his wife of fifty-nine years, Mary Jane, offered to share their lunch of tortilla soup with me.  I can be pretty neurotic and finicky about what I ingest into my sacred temple of a body… but in the spirit of communion and adventure, I chose to throw caution to the [currently raging]S mother ocean and accept their hallowed generosity.  I told myself that I would receive whatever they laid down before me in the spirit of Prasad (divine offering), allowing it to enter me as an expression of the highest love.  Good thing.  Because it was mostly from cans. AND THEY HEATED IT IN THE MICROWAVE!  (I hate to say this, because Bill subscribed to my blog and there’s a good chance he’ll read it… But Bill, please understand that I am only divulging my own neurosis.  It is NOT, I repeat NOT personal.  I just have a commitment to transparency here in Athena Graceland… and at the end of the day, this comes before making an effort to rub everyone the right way.  And trust me, the soup certainly tasted like pure love…)  Oh, and let me not leave out the Tostitos brand corn chips, adorably shaped like little tostada bowls, which we crushed up on top.


At first, Mary Jane seemed reticent of me.  Guarded.  But soon enough, sitting across the round dining table in their cush little guest house, her eyes melted and within them was plainly revealed a very pure, immediate and enduring shade of love.  They invited ME to say grace!  Whoop-whoop!!!  Naturally I accepted.


Over our sacred soup, we spoke of peace, god, family, adventure and death.  I yearned to see only the faces of the Beloved as I beheld them.  But I found myself forgivably tangled in fears of being misunderstood by these two others who had so many years on me.  (He was 83, she was 80!)  You know… just because they’re from a way more… uhhh… conservative generation.  I cringed, imagining Bill reading all my blogs about my sexuality and unconventional freedom and wild self expression.  So I allowed myself squirm in the resulting discomfort, breathing through it, and reminding myself of the truth, that they are but Love manifest… and on a more practical level, Bill HAD read my blogs and yet still invited me into his world, prepared to open himself to me in the name of becoming humbly poeticized.  Inhale.  Exxxxxhale…


It was a first for me to write one poem for TWO people.  Bill and Mary Jane both opened themselves to me, and after spending fifty-nine years, thirteen children, twenty seven grand children and one great grandchild on the way (!!!!) they were beautifully and hopelessly entwined in resplendent double helix of communion.


I left with a belly full of soup, a heart full of gratitude and a mind full of all sorts of potential material for the poem.  I promised to deliver it later in the evening while they were out for their finale dinner.  Like I often do, I doubted myself and my capacity to spin anything intelligent (emotionally, spiritually, creatively) out of what I had absorbed.  And like always, I was humbled and wonder struck by what came through.  God?  Thank you for speaking through me even in the face of my doubt.  Thank you for the Grace that it is to be able to serve You in this playful, creative and sincere way!


Just before I started blogging tonight, I wandered through the darkness toward their son’s house, lit only by generous moonbeams, sacred poem in hand, seduced by my own sleek, sexy shadow as she slunk through the night, feeling so clear and strong and holy.  The scent of rotting fruit dripped from the warm night air.  Every single tree and plant spoke to me silently as I wandered lucidly past, toward Bill and Mary Jane’s door where I lovingly nestled the poem, feeling like a well meaning tropical elf.  I gazed one final time upon this sweet, heartfelt relic born from the heart and mind of one divine Athena Grace, and felt truly blessed to BE, then turned away, filled and fulfilled, into the dark sea of moonbeams, and nocturnality.



God Answered My Prayer!!!

Guess what everybody?!?!  God heard my prayer last night!  God really heard my prayer last night!!!  I guess God hears every prayer… but the one I spewed out last night was so drenched in feeling, which is way more powerful than some petty strands of half hearted, clunky words.  First of all, I love writing after all… and more importantly, I have been recognizing all the Love I feel for everyone as the sacred nectar of God’s Love.  (AND this is a total non sequitur, but I just successfully gave my cat her de-worming pill, which I have been terrified to do and hence put off for about six months now… But I finally mustered the courage.  I was cleaning out the refrigerator [for the second time in the year that I’ve lived here] and stumbled upon this almost full jar of mayonnaise.  The classical light bulb winked jubilantly above my head.  I marched into Mykael’s bedroom to see if Anjali dug on mayonnaise.  Yup.  So I said a prayer, dipped the pill in salty, white slime and crammed it into her mouth.  She wriggled and fought, but when the smoke cleared, the pill was missing in action!!!!  My heart ached for torturing her.  I mean it REALLY ached.  I apologized to her profusely.  She hid behind a chair and licked her dainty chops like there was no tomorrow.  Hasta la vista, you gross little wormy creatures.)

Now back to God’s Love.  It all started this morning.  No, it started last night.  I read Souldipper’s comment and an email she wrote me, right as I was falling asleep.  Folks, lemme tell you a little something about Souldipper~ this woman sure knows something of Love.  And I’m talking about the All Pervading strain… Every time I receive words from her, they are heavily marinated in some potent universal Love.  They sing inside me and broaden my divine inner vistas with the naturalness of breath.  I am always amazed!  I laid in bed after a rough day and felt as if God was cradling me.  Cha-ching!!!  Thank you Missus Dipper!

But then on the bittersweet side of the coin, I had a date with Eric (my beloved ex-fiancé) to go to my church (east bay church of religious science) this morning and he canceled and said he needed to meet later.  This devastated me.  I had been so excited to share one of the most nourishing facets of my existence with him.  When he broke the tainted news to me via text, my heart curdled and withered like a gross old bowl of jello that has been sitting in the fridge since the beginning of time.  My time has been so precious to me lately as I prepare to move house, see dear friends one last time, exercise, earn money… phew, I’m sweating just thinking about it.  So I felt disrespected by his frivolous postponement.  (So much so that I woke up at 3:45am and gave it about an hour of good, hard thought!)  In the morning as I sipped my yerba matte in bed, I decided to email Souldipper first… because I knew that would put me right where I belonged~ in my heart.  Then I would express my “yuckies” to Eric when I was feeling open, clear and centered.

I wrote to him and shared what was true for me, including that I expressed with the intention of releasing it and keeping our channel of communication and intimacy clear.  Then I leapt on my Black Beauty (my bike) and pedaled to church.  In meditation, I thought about Eric.  Yes, I KNOW I’m not supposed to think in meditation.  But sometimes this flawed goddess does… what can I say?  I felt afraid that expressing negative emotions would push him further away, when really I wanted more closeness.  But as I sat feeling the tangle of emotions in my heart, I realized they were really just Love!  I only felt hurt and disappointed because I loved him and wanted to share with him.  And I spoke my truth to him for the same reason.  As this awareness bloomed in me, so did my heart bloom.  I released the stories and focused on the pure sensations in my heart, choosing to recognize them as Love.

Then after meditation, I checked my email (on my Iphone)… I know that’s a tacky thing to do in church, but I did it and God doesn’t even care.  I am not a sinner.  I do not have to repent for this.  God actually cheered me on.  I saw an email from Eric and he told me that he had not realized that this church meant so much to me.  He also shared some vulnerable stuff that was in his heart.  My intention came true and I felt free again.  Plus, I had the epiphany about disappointment and resentment being nothing more than unexpressed Love.  That is huge.  I believe that any time we feel shadowy, “negative” emotions, that’s all they really are.

As the day ripened and spread open before me, my heart swirled with gratitude and love.  I realized that everyone I am blessed to Love is me Loving God.  It’s all the same.  Every expression of Love is borrowed from the same oceanic bank.  And this bank is Unlimited.  I can “fall” in Love with every single person, every single moment.  And today, I did.  Because God heard my prayer last night.  Today, everywhere I looked, I saw the ecstasy of Love illuminating my vision.  I sat under my favorite eucalyptus tree at the farmer’s market and ate delicious, nourishing lunch that I packed for myself.  The sun was out and the creek was running.  Children LOVE when the water flows!  They flock to it and become totally absorbed in joyful, playful presence.  Most parents let their kids have at it… except for the handful of moms and dads with poopy diapers who forbid their little ones from the primal indulgence for fear of “germs” or getting dirty.  I sure pity those kids.  But I sat alone under the tree eating the best food ever and bathing in the delight of children drawn to the flowing water like cherubs to the exploding center of Haven.  Then Eric arrived and we nibbled on time and space and the communion of two who will always be One at heart.

God, thank you for answering my prayer.  Thank you!!! Amen.

P.S.~ I just read this blog aloud to Mykael as I proof-read it.  He lamented, “I wasn’t in there.”  So I said, “P.S., I Love Mykael.”  Friends, I wish you were here to see his face… it lit up like a new born sun when I said that… which naturally tickled me and made my own heart blaze.  So…PS, I Love Mykael.  Yes, I do.  Once a Beloved, always a Beloved, if you ask Athena Grace LMNOP!

Scattering Seeds of Peace and Happiness in the Soil of an Aching Heart

For a lightening second, I thought I didn’t have anything to say this morning.  But then I realized it wasn’t that… it’s just that I feel very depressed and I feel ashamed to admit it on the page.  You know how human beings get… we always want to appear like we have it together and all that junk.  Why is that?  So others will love us?  I think what it is, at least my version… I have a deep seated belief that if people witnessed me in a state of need, desperation, helplessness, lonliness, they would all feel deeply repulsed and leave me wildly, ridiculously alone.  Which, of course I don’t want…

I’ve been left alone like that.  Not because I exhibited any of the aforementioned undesirable qualities, just cuz that’s how it worked out… but still, a two year old mind doesn’t quite comprehend that.  So it’s taken me about a quarter century to unfurl enough to once again find access to the ability to open my valve of “less attractive emotions”, such as sorrow, anger, loneliness, etc.  But now that it’s open, Jesus, it doesn’t seem to want to close.  Yes, that’s a bit of an exaggeration… but not a vast, chasmatic one.  Lately, it seems, I am on the verge of tears every single day.  Why did I bother putting on eye make-up this morning?  Maybe just for the dramatics of letting it run wild down my face in black and copper rivers?

Anyway, I feel the dull ache of tragedy perched like a weighty, rabid elephant in the center of my chest.  What’s a seniorita to do?  The divine message from A Course in Miracles invited me this morning to pray to God, asking for happiness and peace this day.  I thought to myself, “Heck, why not?!  You only live once… I’ll give it a shot.”  So I did.  And here I am, at ten oh eight on a sunny morning, aching, turning life over and over and over in my mind, examining it from a [limited] multiplicity of angles and I can’t say that I’m not happy and peaceful… but it’s not the down home, stereo typical happiness and peace they teach you about in Hollywood movies, woman’s magazines, or even in public school.  It’s a happiness born of honesty, humility and acceptance.  It also helps that it’s a sunny day, and I had a good bike ride to Hudson Bay Café.

Last night was date night.  Usually, on Thursday mornings, I ooze enthusiam about impending date night.  I wake up feeling like a kid whose destiny is to visit Disney Land on this very day.  (Time out, because Karen just texted me and asked me if I fancied having lunch with her, since she’s in Oakland… That’s music to my heart.  I guess there IS a God, and this God character truly DOES support my happiness and peace.  Not that happiness and peace are contingent upon external circumstances… but the company of good friends is some sort of soothing balm, any way you slice it.)

Time in.  I am always excited about date night in the morning… but by the time it arrives, around six pm, I am usually short on inspiration and wishing that we could spend ma-ma-money, $$$, cha-ching!  It was my turn to choose last night.  Earlier in the week, I had been sincerely thrilled and inspired by this.  I imagined us spending the evening working on the huge, joint painting we started near the beginning of our relationship and haven’t touched in at least a year and a half.  I imagined giving attention to our long forgotten relationship altar on the hearth, sharing a luxurious, extended love making session, maybe going outside and drawing on our sidewalk in chalk pastels, riding bikes to the cemetery in time to soak up the sunset…

But six o’clock rolled around and we were two mildly pathetic messes.  I could hardly move, but I suggested trying out this seductive looking taqueria on Grand Avenue, across the street from Lake Merrit.  Mykael seemed pretty enthused about this.  Personally, the thought of getting on my bike and pedaling through the clear early evening seemed almost impossible.  But what’s that saying from Alice in Wonderland?  Do six impossible things before breakfast?  Well, if breakfast comes and goes, you can still do one or two impossible things before dinner.  Hey, don’t knock it, it’s better than doing ZERO impossible things before you hit the hay…

I just changed seats here at the cafe.  I traded my autonomous little table for a big, uncomfortable chair with a concaved back.  But now I am sitting next to a priest.  He’s pouring over his bible.  I bet he’s writing a sermon!  I find that thrilling.  Even if he’s gonna preach bullshit, I don’t care. I’d bet my own mixed bag of a life that he has at least a single, sincere bone in his body… if not twelve or a hundred… Because something in his heart is tickled by the Holy Spirit.  Tickled enough that he’s giving himself over to the feeling and offering it back out to like-minded, hungry souls.  Even if he’s clogged with dogma, he’s doing his best to reach inside and find that which is greater than himself and give it away!  I want to do this.  Oops, now my eyes sting.  Prepare for the impending black and copper rivers…

Anyway, the bike ride to the taqueria was way less impossible than I imagined it would be.  We flew downhill the whole way, and I got drunk off my ass on cool, spring air.  Unfortunately, the food blew.  But I was such a good sport about it, which is far from something I can count on about myself.  Hooray for me!  The highlight of the journey was seeing a grown man sucking on a dum-dum lollypop and reading the paper while he waited for his take-out order.  What is it about adults licking lollypops in public?  It just seems so… so… so overtly sexual.  So telling and vulnerable and innocent.  Plus, his existence looked wicked simple, something I wish I felt more often.  (I wonder what the priest next to me is thinking about.  I keep trying to peek over his shoulder and read the scrawl of notes he is jotting down on his white legal pad.  Yeah, a priest would NEVER use a YELLOW legal pad for Mother Mary’s Holy Sake… only virginal white…)

Another highlight was a very ROUND, fierce, punk rock woman in skin tight black leggings, tattooed arms and stiletto heals!  Yeah, the taqueria was getting tons of traffic.  Every time I pass it, it seems to be buzzing with happy face stuffers.  Usually that’s a sure fire way to know if a place is good… But I have to say that though eclectic and highly interesting, the contingency of Oakland folk who walked through the door in enthusiastic pursuit of dinner have very LOW standards and poor taste.  Surprise!  But I tried to be nourished by the fascinating company more than the stupid, flavor and soul-less veggie tacos I inflicted upon myself.

Mykael ordered two fish tacos, rice and refried beans.  Is it just me who is turned off by his lack of interest in making veggies an integral part of his meals?  He ordered and I flooded with disapproval.  But I’m sick of making a stink about his choices, so I shut the hell up.  He was disgusted by the fishiness of his deep fried tacos, but he devoured them, regardless. (Though he drowned them in ketchup to try and disguise the raunchy flavor.  God, I feel like barfing just thinking about it.)  Then at home, he confessed that he felt uncomfortably full and wanted my sympathy.  Really?  How on earth did he expect me to muster sympathy?!  What the hell did he expect???  I am the totally wrong person to offer sympathy for overeating garbage and feeling bad about it.  If you don’t want to feel that way, don’t eat a pile of heavy crap.  Being someone who has a history of overeating, I now execute much self discipline and inspired mindfulness around my eating habits and I expect others to do the same… but they don’t.  As far as I’m concerned, his choices suck and I feel agony about it, not sympathy.

Especially because again he had no interest in sex.  I guess I wasn’t that inviting either… But I feel so heartbroken about this.  The more he doesn’t want to have sex, the more rejected and disappointed I feel, which compels me to close and brood, which creates less invitation for intimacy.  It’s a vicious cycle.  How can I be happy without being well fucked?

I know, I know I can… but… I still feel like crying about it.

Woops, let me end this on a note of happiness and peace… A Course in Miracles teaches that in extending blessings to others, we make them available to ourselves.  That ain’t really so far fetched… So I wish YOU the kind of happiness and peace unbounded by the craggy circumstances of this world.  The kind of happiness and peace that are carried like tiny, hopeful seeds on a divine breeze that wafts right into your heart, right this instant!  There they land and take root, drawing nourishment from the goodness and beauty that lives in you.  And before you know it, they are flowering, fruiting trees, stretching their leafy arms all about your holy consciousness providing sweet shade and juicy fruits to the masses.  Amen.