Wandering About My Springtime Mind

POW!!!  Whooooosh!  Shimmer.  Sizzle.  Hussshhh…

 

It’s springtime.  And it’s moonday.  The air is a perfectly warm, spacious embrace, and its only nine forty eight am.  Today’s one of those days I could write to the end of affinity about the frivolous nuances of the present moment.  I guess my heart must be relatively untroubled today, hallelujah praise the lord!  I’m gonna lean into THIS.  I mean GOD, it’s been a while since I was genuinely excited about such sweet nothings as the man behind the counter with his bare arms plunged into a huge plastic bucket of loose, sloppy dough, kneading his heart out, or even the flies whizzing gracefully about the glowing atmosphere of Pizzaiolo.

 

Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my beloved Dan’s death.  The day came and went… and honestly, it felt just like every other day.  Ever since his passing, every time I feel the urge to make any kinda fuss about him, I can totally hear him telling me to get over it, already.  Dan was a true minister of The Moment.  The steady song streaming from his heart, if not his delicious lips, was BE HERE NOW. BE HERE NOW.  BE HERE NOW.  It used to drive me cray-zay.  Oh how often we sat in languid mutual delight, sipping red wine, our minds fully erect and ready to pounce on any and every compelling topic… Inevitably, his gospel would swell and break upon me, “All we have is THE MOMENT.”  And I’d reflect on the stark diversity of moments that make up the weave of my life.  Some of them so rich and full and satisfying… others, pathetically empty, limping and nutritionally void.  Really, I’d wonder aloud?  Is that IT??  And if we are ALWAYS fully given to this self-contained, multi-dimensional, tepid toaster pastry we know as NOW, then how will we ever birth and foster any substantial dreams or visions?

 

Moving from moment to moment like a tragically hip, freewheeling buddha seems cool and all… but… WHO DOES THAT?  Really, Dan, this is the “real world” (which honestly, I’m not sure HOW REAL it really IS… But it’s the realest thing on the menu at this point…), and in the “real world”, one must bust one’s butt in the hamster wheel of survival and perhaps even thrival, should karma and the stars be smiling upon one…  But Dan, buddha though he was/is, and freewheeling, too, lived one of the richest, most serviceful and adventure-laden lives I’ve ever been privileged to witness.  He sailed around the world, started an organization assisting people with disabilities who need help living in this world designed for fully functional people, ran a hundred miles through the forests and shores of northern marin, had sex with over two hundred women (damn!), took care of his elderly mother, even though as a full-fledged alcoholic, she had never really taken care of him, wrote endless seas of poetry… God, when it comes to the rich nuanced adventures of Dan’s life, I could really go on forever.  I swear.   But that’s not even what I meant to blog about.  The bottom line, is that Dan was accomplished on every level.  If I were a judging, condemning God (wink), guarding the pearly gates, and Dan came a-knockin and handed me a sprawling scroll on which was written the complete resume of his most recent incarnation, I would take off my hat and bow in disarmed humility at the blue lotus feet of this profoundly accomplished and heart-full soul.

 

Remember, right before he died, he wrote, LIVE A in the dirt on the river’s shore… God, how many times in this past year have I reflected on that… as I stood before the judging and condemning pseudo god who smites from within me (just being honest)… and tried to add it all up… my existence, I mean… Wondering, “IS THIS LIVING???”

 

I wanted friday to be over so bad.  I just couldn’t find anything authentically compelling to give myself over to.  I was sure that saturday would be my salvation.  Saturday came.  And granted, it was better than friday.  At least it started off that way… but like a one hit wonder popstar, it quickly became a fat, ugly junkie, too pathetic to even make the tabloids.  And what of sunday?  Well, naturally, I dragged my hope-eroded ass to the early church service at East Bay Church of Religious Science, before Ecstatic Dance, hoping to soak up some gossamer gospel like stale bread soaks up the sweet eggy cinnamon goop on it’s way to reincarnating as succulent and life-affirming french toast.

 

I don’t even EAT french toast.  No way.  But how cute is it that my magnificent Ma had it for DINNER one night, last time I was “shramming”.  I perched on the spacious, wooden counter top, munching left over salad and dangerously salty olives as she soaked her toast in the wiggly batter of salvation, snuggled it in the hot, buttered “castie”, and left it to sear in the alchemy of destiny.  I admire a woman who is liberated enough to eat french toast for dinner, if that happens to be her fancy.  Ruth, the eighty-something year old woman who habitates in the room next door to my ma, laughed when she caught wind of my ma’s fine dining selection.  Neither of us were certain why… so we collectively mulled it over as she fried and buttered her dinner and I munched mine like a fierce herbivore dinosaur.

 

What’s the point of ANY of this?  There really IS NONE.  Honestly, I have no idea how I got to this eighth paragraph of modern day Athena Graceland.  I wanted to talk all about how the roses are bursting into unabashed bloom, and how good it felt to be in the pool this morning…and how at church, Reverend E once again preached on her impassioned stance that couples today must *fight* to stay together in a speeding modern world that practically shuns such classical steadfastness.  Reverend E is eighty something… and gracefully manages to pull of an ingenious synthesis of old skool values anchored sustainably in present time.  She’s like the thousand year old oak tree, whom the entire village takes refuge within and beneath.  She is the roots who embrace the time-transcendent, nutrient dense darkness of the soil, the lush, leafy branches who embrace the purity of space we call the sky, and point the way to heaven.  She is the sturdy trunk who has elegantly weathered a thousand and eight storms, and is now a living example of patience and strength.

 

I even wanted to throw down a gigglish honorable mention to the radiant older woman perched in the corner, nibbling upon delicious nothings as she pours over a clipboard, because she is sporting a backwards visor.  Kinda like a backward cap meets a sweatband… but like what’s the point?  It’s not “fashionable”, by any stretch.  I mean really- visors are strictly functional.  They keep the sun from scorching innocent eyeballs.  But clearly, she’s marching to the beat of her own drum.  I applaud her loving adherence to that eccentric inner drum beat.

 

So now is the part when I soften my inner gaze and let the full contents of this writing session soak in… so that I can add it all up and then divide it by Dan’s entire life times my unborn dreams and spit out something resembling a non-dogmatic “moral”.

 

Not.  In summing up, the best I can say, is that this is me saying YES to my mind.  Sorta like a pap smear, just a random swiping of cells to be sent to the lab and examined in a petri dish.  And on a gorgeous day like this, THAT’S MORE THAN ENOUGH.  Oh yeah… so I hated friday and saturnday… and sunday shone with some weighty though tarnished redemption…. But I must say, so far, Moonday is one of those garlands of NowNess that sticks to the ribs of my inner life.  Yeah, yeah, this too shall pass… but I hope it lasts a while before it evades the gentle, spacious grasp of my insatiable appetite for sweet illusions.

 

Live,

A

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The Tale of the Born-Again-Indigenous-Boogie-World

Elegantly gliding through time and space toward the bus stop this morning, my face painted with a faint smile because I was headed to a strain of heaven named hip hop dance class.  My glorious city, The Land of Oaks, shrouded in soft fog.  All of the pavement felt like a hard, crusty shell, firmly embracing a hidden and tender world.  So much motion, this urban existence.  Incessant going.  And coming.  Oh this world…

 

As my eyes fall awake to the light that lives as all forms, I often well up with such a great love as I did as I breathed in the cold moisture of the said moment, drinking it deep into my lungs.  Wonder Woman, was that a beautiful moment.  But so is this one, now that I mention it… and anyway, go-go-gadget masculine directionality of this blog.  Athena Grace, striding in brisk ecstasy and welling up with unsayable love for this world.  This love whose only longing is to extend itself.  Always.  And then the recurring dream of a dance church slid into my mind, as though it were boldly stealing home.  (Hey, that would make a great book title~ “Boldly Stealing Home”!)

 

Yes, this vision has been paying me regular visits for over a decade.  It really wants to be born!  But god, it’s a daunting vision… trying to nut and bolt out the practicalities and realities of creating a sanctuary where everyone is equal in the diverse embodied immediacy of hallelujah in motion.  This church is a place where humanity comes together and actively practices seeing and being seen with and through the generous and ever-forgiving eyes of Love.  Awe!  Grin.  Just as I typed that, the church bells outside began to siiiiiiiiiiiiing!

 

Anyway, back to the sidewalk and the fog and the striking woman bubbling over with a compelling cocktail of child-like hope, pragmatism and conveniently feigned uncertainty… It was then that I realized that I could at least WRITE this vision into existence. As I often love to assert, Athena Graceland IS MY WORLD!  I am a glorious and benevolent and whimsical ruler of this page.  I can bend and twist and straight-up defy the over-starched rules of logic, linearity and even– gasp– SCIENCE!  I see this world!  It is fresh and tender.  Yet, strong enough to be cracking through the sheath of concrete and “progress” we call home.

 

I thought to jot down this inspiration of a blog topic, but instead I just hustled to the bus stop in front of the ornate, antique Grand Lake Theater and sat upon the green, sheltered bench.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited and my bus was a whopping thirteen minutes late!  But I’ll tell you this much- the more I live, the more I am able to recognize a truly infinite intelligence at work within, through and beyond all things.  So rather than holding my breath and knitting my brow about it all, I silently asked my Self what It wished of me this miraculous, white-washed morning.  And it said WRITE*.  (*As well did it say to first get a few essential groceries at Trader Joe’s, and then stop at the pull-up bar and get my pump on and meet this buff brother with a beautiful and starving heart who would lap up the love flowing through me like a purring kitten… but that’s another story.)

 

So here I am, obeying the Small, Silent Voice.  Here I am, appointing myself High Priestess of the Land of Oaks as seen through the portal that is Athena Graceland.  You wanna hear something WEIRD???  I’ve NEVER had a yoga boyfriend!  I’d like to try it some day… I know that was off topic, but it lept, panther-style into my head… and it just seems a little wrong.  But not that wrong…

 

And now back to our previously programmed special edition of Athena Graceland- Sneak Preview of the New World!  We will become “born-again indigenous people”!  Ha!  That’s brilliant!  I mean, I am not any sort of real expert on indigenous people… but in my mind, live some abstract etchings of tribally-woven communities who exist in a paradigm of harmony with, and reverence for the earth and one another; where every person in the village takes active, devotional responsibility for the balance and thrival of the whole.  As my heart wakes up, this seems so obvious… Like DUH, we are NOT separate, and I love you as I love me, and I love me as I love you because we are the Same.  (with a capital S that rhymes with bless that stands for Oneness!) I mean that’s all Jesus was saying… and somehow we managed to invent this whole neurotic religion out of such fundamental purity.  But that’s in the past.  And from the present shines a nobly gruesome, entirely forgivable, dying world.  But shhhhhh.  Listen…

 

 

 

 

Hear the concrete cracking.  Hear the guttural, rumbling whispers of a glorious new world, reaching up from deep within the belly of the earth, like an infinity-winged angel hatching from a massive egg, spinning like an anonymous whirling dervish through a star-washed sea of vast, deep space.  See us all dancing together.  All sexes, all races, all ages and walks of life.  We gather in presence, in the spirit of play and faith and healing and CELEBRATION… We lay down our rancid and calcified stories of being small, separate and afraid, like arms in a world that has never dreamed the dream of war… simply because they bore us and we’d rather boogie!  And so we boogie!  And suddenly, we are no longer deaf to the heavenly music of our own eternal souls!   So we boogie some more, because the music is so smokin’ and it feels so good to move!

 

And in this Born Again Indigenous Boogie World, we are planting gardens EVERYWHERE!  Gardens and orchards… communities are overflowing with an abundance of fresh, nourishing, organic food.  And no one is hungry.  And no one is left to suffer alone.  Who tends the gardens, you ask?  We all do.  Not because we have to, or we’re sposta… just cuz we care.  We all genuinely care.

 

WE ALL GENUINELY CARE.

 

I truly believe that much.  In fact, I’d bet my sweet life on it.  True, we don’t all ACT like we care.  Because we’ve gone to sleep, or built stone walls around our tender, tremulous and holy hearts…. but deep down, and in that endless, beginningless place we all contain, WE SURE DO CARE.  Trust me.  The more you *want* to see that care winking from within every single brother and sister, the more you WILL see it.  I speak from experience.  We always see what we want to see.

 

What do you want to see?

 

Live,

A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Across The Bridge And Thru The Woulds

And NOW for today’s epic shimmy through the eye of the needle.  Ya know what I mean?  …Or must I spell it out?  Well, I suppose if you already knew everything I was gonna say, I wouldn’t need to spell out a single word.  I would just be a bus driver, or a garbage collector and be done with it.  Wow, I’d make such a luscious garbage collector… in shiny red stilettos… Ahem.  So what I mean is– that the world inside me has more facets and dimensions than the the immensest diamond in the mind of God.  And this blank page of potential is the eye of the needle.  Reaching inside and feeling for what is most electric and raw and ripe…  that’s the job of the writer, proclaims Athena Grace, as a smile spreads her face wide with glow.

 

Inhale.  Exxxxxhale.  I feel dull today.  Dull and introverted.  I sorta wonder why.  I think it has something to do with my recent visit to Reno to visit my dad.  I often forget about the nuanced depths of the unconscious mind… I guess I get easily seduced into the captivating dazzle of all that I see out my eyes and feel in my body NOW… the overt weave of dreams and fears and ignited, soulful aspirations… I forget that the lotus thrives because its root sucks secret nutrients from the dark, unknowable, rich ness of slimy, muddy depths.  Slimy, muddy depths.  I think they got stirred in Reno.  And now I’m not a prismatic, holier than thou vessel of seeming purity.  I’m a glass of baffled mud.  Shrug.  Not much I can do about it, except BE HERE.  So I’m being here.  It’s sunday.  Usually on sunday mornings I dance myself inside out… unless I’m out of town or dead.  But today I showed up to dance… and nothing could make me move.   Everything inside lovingly hissed, “fuck this”.  So I left.  And went home and sat in like a perplexed, oversized potato on my bed.  Now it’s hours later and I’m still a baffled potato.  But I figured I’d at least open the pearlescent gates of my mind and allow strategic letters of the alphabet to scamper single file out of me in hopes of stumbling upon something of myself previously unseen.  Awe, that sounds so deep.  But maybe I don’t want to be deep.

 

Well first order of business is that my mom oft makes fun of me for using the wrong spelling of a word here in Athena Graceland… for example saying, “I want to go live in a log cabin in the woulds”!  Ha!  That’s funny.  No wonder it cracks my mom up.  She says “awe” is the wrong kind of aww.  Hahaha.  I’m tickling myself.  Trying to language this topic is like sumo wrestling the FAT-ASSED externalized authority that is mostly held hostage in a sexy stone tower somewhere in the enchanted northern hemisphere of my brain.  But I’m up for it!  And besides, if you had the choice of spelling “aww”, A-W-W or A-W-E, which one would YOU chose?  Awe, right?  Hands down!  Because awe= an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc., produced by that which is grand, sublime, extremely powerful, or the like: in awe of God… what’s NOT to love about reaching in your magic hat and seizing a fist full of THAT?!  Except for the fear piece… I didn’t know that awe could be an overwhelming feeling of fear.  In fact, screw that.  I’m gonna flat out disagree.

 

And now, ladies and gentle men, for the TURNING POINT of this blog, where all of my words become psycho-emotionally caloric and super-charged with meaning!

 

Shards of rainbow are wobbling languidly about the interior of my domestic slab of existence.  It’s nearly four pm and the indian summer light… wow… speaking of caloric!  I feel like I’m a seahorse sized mermaid in a rectangular aquarium filled with an exquisite strain of liquid light.  You might imagine me to be but a girl crying wolf as I profess to be rolling up my sleeves and driving at some sort of weighty essential core of this blog… but the fact that I really am a miniature mermaid habitating in a human sized tank of light and rainbows is the perfect prelude to my impending assertion that it is FULL ON, as we prance collectively into the final, waning moments of twenty twelve.  And I live how everyone is so casual about it!  We’re acting like it’s always been this way, and it’s hella normal. Which, in a way, it IS… But mostly it’s totally NOT!  Listen, I’ve always been the token mouth puker-inner, when someone signs their email, “love and light”… Because COME ON– it’s SO repulsively new-agey.  You might have mistakenly put me in the “new agey” box… but “your bad”… cuz I’m not.  Just cuz I happen to have a delicious glow of contemporary Jesus-i-ness, does NOT make me new agey.

 

BUT WHO CARES ABOUT ME, what I’m driving at, is that the dawn has COME and the technicolor rising of love and light on the horizon of our collective consciousness is so striking and overt at this point that one must call a spade a spade.  Wow.  Not only was that a robustly poetic and dazzling thesis statement, but Wonder Woman, was it SO TRUE.  Something IS dawning inside of us now.  I feel it surging like a broken damn through the bloody birth canal of my own being… and as well, I see it, smell it, feel it, taste it EVERYWHERE.  I can’t leave the house without spotting someone sporting a “LOVE” t-shirt.  And I don’t just mean one of my fellow new-age-freak-holes. I mean even the most unsuspecting ghetto-bootied oakland chick, chillin on her twilight picnic blanket, daintily lifting mc donald’s fries to her drippingly glossy mouth with fingers donned in neon acrylic nails longer than london bridge.

 

And just log on to my Facebook page– everyone is saying the most enlightened things… incessant exclamations of gratitude and love and deep care for this world and all of its inhabitants.  You’d think we were all the second coming of Buddha or something.  Oh wait, we ARE.  But we finally are realizing it.  And it’s cool how natural it seems.  Nobody seems to be making a big deal of it… Like “of course were God”.  Grin.  Like how night melts into day so smoothly that suddenly the darkness is nowhere to be found and the sun is blinding you and it ain’t no thang.  That’s the magic of dawn.  That’s the grace imbued in nature and time and cycles.

 

Oh crap, I’m ready to end this blog, and I don’t feel like groping around in the uncharted reaches of my asshole in search of the most fluid, intelligent exit.  My departure feels reminiscent of attempting to leap off of a speeding train.  Well I’m gonna leap!  And land in a soft, benevolent wash of love and light (wink).  Here I goooooo…. But I shall leave you with this entirely true declaration–

 

Reading these words, you have crossed a bridge.  By the Sacred Power vested in me, I now pronounce you WIDE AWAKE and eternally blessed as an innocent and perfect child of God.  I’m serious.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Playing With Life

Silence.  I just turned off Amma bhajans, opting to instead dissolve in the subtle sounds of the present moment, au naturelle.  Seven forty pm and it’s dark as yo mama outside.  The wind is barbaric.  Sigh.  Oh… I guess first things first, (as we say in my country) you are probably wondering WHERE I am sleeping these days… For this week, I am sleeping in the Temple behind the house I was subletting a room in.  Sometimes guests are welcomed in here for a week at a time.  I’ll tell ya WHAT?!  I am happy as a clam’s perverted oyster ex-husband in here!  Happier, maybe.

 

Did you know that as the synchronicity symphony would play it, my [beloved] leprechaun friend, Jack built this house AND the ensuing Temple?  Yes.  And he’s not even like a prevalent builder on the island or anything.  He’s a plain old man (as “plain old” as a leprechaun can BE for goddess sake), who just happened to build one single house with his bare hands, and I happened to land here AND become instantaneously thick as whale skin with Jack.  Life is the weirdest… I don’t care what you say.  It is tripadelicus maximus.  Yeah, Jack the leprechaun has followed a Buddhistically persuaded path.  His main teacher (who is heavily affiliated with Pema Osil Ling, a retreat center in the santa cruz mountains in California, where I did a life altering women’s weekend three years ago…) came and helped him invoke the sacred space where this Temple was to be built.  They chanted and prayed and buried crystals in the ground.  This was many years ago.  And now I am here, nestled in the tender alcove, lovingly folded into the darkness… blogging.  And I couldn’t be happier.  I swear, this place is enchanted.

 

Well, I suppose I could be a LITTLE happier.  I just went in the kitchen to make an avocado and homemade kraut nori roll… and Brad was in an intense, emotionally tattered state.  I on the other hand was whistling and snorting, high on yoga, health food and a general sense of holy rapture.   But I guess I was a little insensitive… JUST A LITTLE… And I’m afraid my energy was off-putting to B-ditty.  I’m so sensitive.  So allofa sudden, I felt myself clam up.  Shhhllluuup.  (Deep breath.)  It’s weird how it can feel almost criminal to be joyful in the presence of one who is suffering.  It seems like there is so much more permissive agreement in the modern world amongst those who are suffering… SEEMS.  Seeming can be dangerous… I am open to existing in a reality other than that.  A reality, say, where the joy, peace and gratitude of those around me is contagious and exponential!  But it sure didn’t feel that way in the kitchen.  I felt guilty for feeling and embodying the simplicity of God blowing through my being like a sweet, evening breeze, heavy with the scent of ripe peaches, exotic oolong tea and lusting skin.  Forgive, Athena.  Yup.  I forgive myself for my joy, my guilt, my self judgment… I forgive Brad for “seeming” to be negatively impacted by my presence.  I know, I know, I’m so hyper sensitive… Love me or leave me.  (I’d prefer if you loved me… just for the record.)

 

Kai, the dude whose room I was subletting, just came into the temple to do some yoga.  We talked for a coupla minutes and I lost my train of thought.  He asked me how blogging was going and I said it was bitchin because blogging is my favorite thing in the whole wide world, because I feel so free.  I am the Creator.  I get to say anything I want.  I get to exist exactly as I am, whole, complete, tangled, forgetful, unbridled, nutty, perverse…  And I live in the exhilarating perpetual challenge of offering it with as much beauty and eloquence as humanly possible.  When I blog, I feel deeply purposeful and fulfilled.

 

Kai.  He’s twenty five.  I’m kind of an ageist… I guess just because personally, I hated my twenties.  It was grueling to be this ridiculously wise, old soul in such an arduously young body.  A body carrying a crap load of crunchy, unprocessed baggage, a horrible case of amnesia and diddly squat when it came to life experience.  But now… I’m almost somebody!!!!  (Cracking myself up again…)  I can smell Kai’s sweet, musky deodorant rising in an invisible current of body heat from here as he rolls around on the dark temple floor on his stiff foam roller.  My turn-on just spiked by forty seven percent.  The first time I saw him yesterday, I was pleasantly surprised by how attractive he was.  I wasn’t expecting it.  I wasn’t expecting such a thick, broad chest… or such wide, sparkly blue eyes rimmed with amazing lashes.

 

“Wow, you’re… so attractive…” Those were the very first words that tumbled out of Athena Grace’s mouth upon introduction.  It was moment of child-like purity… followed by some major self consciousness.  I got super self critical… First impressions, ya know?  I mean… he could have all too easily misconstrued my (Another waft of deodorant! Yum!) loose liberation, since he had zero frame of reference for it.  He didn’t really seem to know what to make of me.  Woops.  That’ll teach me to be so flabby around the verbiage.

 

Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was deep in the throes of “operation forgive myself and move on”.  But thankfully I’m getting better at that game.

 

Enough about Kai.  I need to tell you that I have a boyfriend for the next six minutes.  Till midnight HIS time.  Guess who?!  Mykael!  WHAT???  Athena…

 

Yeah.  He reached out to me today and expressed that he was finally grieving the loss of my skin, my daily presence in his life.  You see, he’s been consumed with the task of passing his nursing exams… AND HE PASSED!!!!!  So now his spirit is free to unfurl and actually FEEL something.  And me?  I am a fountain of love, strength and clarity, joyous to receive his authentic, heart-drenched expression.  I’ve been LOVING our communications lately.  So open, honest and rich.  This morning, after a long, deep conversation, I felt him swimming in my oceanic heart and it was very pleasant, so I texted him and invited him to be my boyfriend for the day.  He said yes!  I got to practice being in my first *very* polyamorous relationship.  A relationship where I am whole and independent…

 

Am I making ANY sense?  Yes, it was a playful game.  But with some deep notes of truth to it.  (Awe, shucks… his clock struck midnight… he’s not my boyfriend anymore… Grin.  I love playing with life…) It’s just felt pleasant and refreshing to enter into that sacred space of the love we share… a deeply familiar space… in the face of everything else in the world being so radically new, different, profound.  So… I asked him if he’d be my long distance, polyamorous Man with a capital M, once a week!  Thursdays… He said YES!  So we’ll just give it a whirling dervish of a test drive for a week or two.  Relationships don’t have to fit in all the binding boxes we mostly try to jam them in, you know…

 

Ahhhh, LIFE!  Well, my Beloveds… I hope you have found this blog to be illuminating, thought provoking, titillating, entertaining, or otherwise savory.  And I pray that some of the beautiful love in my heart has evoked the beautiful love in Your heart.  Tell me it has…

 

With an ecstatic Amen,

Athena Grace LMNOP

Kauai Man Report And Some Amazing Grace

Oh lord have mercy!  I dunno if I can do this… I am SO tired.  Something is telling me to let go… not to write tonight.  Just to marinate in the quiet of all hallows eve.  This auspicious time when the veil between the worlds is at it’s thinnest.  But I can’t resist just stepping onto the page and clicking the silvery keys.  If for no other purpose than to hear the technologically persuaded staccato music this act produces.  Why am I so zonkered at seven o’clock?  Why did I almost pass out on my Hanalei Bay jog this morning?  God says don’t ask why.  God says listen.  Rest.  Relax.  Be.

 

Listen.  Rest.  Relax.  Be.  Listen.  Rest.  Relax.  Be.

 

Okay.  But God?  Lemme just tell them ONE thing, okay?  Yes, Athena Grace… Knock your beautiful, inspiring self OUT.

 

I realized that I have not encountered ANY masculine men on this island.  I’ve encountered men who are dormantly masculine… But the energy of this island is SO feminine, that the men flow like seaweed at high tide.  It drives me crazy.  I am dying to have my hair pulled and my face slapped right about now.  I want to be grabbed, wrestled to the ground, bitten and made to blissfully surrender.  But I realize that it’s actually a damn good thing that there aren’t any masculine men… because it is keeping me honest.  I am committed to being single for a year, ‘member?  Well… only ten months now… But who’s counting?  Honestly, I’m really NOT counting.  I am relishing (artisan sweet pickle relish) being single… and I could see one year turning into two… and even… dare I say three?  Nah, that’s ridiculous.  I don’t even know who I’ll be when I wake up tomorrow, I am transforming so fast (I bet I could outrun light… and kick it’s ass at ping pong!)… But the POINT is… that it is bittersweet that this island is masculinity repellant.  Because I’m a sucker for a man who is soulfully masculine, and I don’t fully trust myself to abstain in the face of such sumptuous temptation.  But thankfully all the men here are high on plumeria flowers, coconut water and the incessant, swishy flow of salty, waving heaven.  Thank GOD!

 

One more thing!  This is my last night in my sublet.  I don’t even know where I’m going tomorrow.  And I am totally at peace.  Can you believe it?  Something so amazing is emerging from within me, and in the face of that, it’s hard to sincerely care about such petty details.  I am going to Maui to do some intensive work with a tantric priestess named Amrita Grace.  I found her on facebook a couple years ago.  She was a friend of a friend and I requested to be her friend sheerly because we almost had the same name.  I soon found out that she lived on Maui and did deep work with sacred sexuality.  I tucked that away in a slumbering file in my brain.  Remember how I have been saying that I am acutely aware that I thirst for more (like EVERYTHING to be specific.  “GOD”, to give it a controversial label…) from my sexuality, sexual experiences?  Well… that’s initially why I contacted her.  But upon connecting, I realize that it runs much deeper than that.  She will help me open the space inside myself that is required in order for me to do the intensive work that I am on this planet to do this time around.

 

The channel between us has been wide open since I reached out to her last week.  And if that wasn’t enough, the plot got way thick, way fast.  I wrote a poem for this Australian goddess about a month ago… who was visiting Kauai with a man she had been communicating with online for about a year… he flew her to Kauai so that they could be together.  And this man had been seeing Amrita Grace in sacred preparation to finally meet his beloved.  He shared the poem I wrote for the aforementioned Aussie goddess with Amrita Grace on skype weeks before I even reached out to her!

 

Amrita Grace realized I was the author of the poem upon reading my blog, which I sent her the link to so that she could have a better idea of this creature named Athena Grace with whom she’d soon be intimately working.  When Amrita Grace discovered this screaming synchronicity, it got her attention.  She realized we have a weighty date with Destiny.  She had her fiancé, Appolo Grace look up my astrological chart to discover more details of the enchanted dance we are entering into.  It was clear that our convergence has been preordained from within the lusty womb of the Great Beyond.  She is a crucial guide in the Sacred Becoming of Athena Grace.  I am preparing to move mountains in the name of LOVE, my Friends.  I have been waiting for this all my life and probably many more lives beyond what I can remember in this current, laughable state of holy amnesia.

 

So much for not wanting to write.  I just wanted to keep you all abreast.  (Because come ON, breasts are the best…)  November seventh.  That is when Amrita and Athena Grace shall enter into the sacred container that will violently rattle the windows of the multiverse.  But don’t be afraid.  Though it might be a spicy shock, verdant flowers will spring up from moaning deserts and melancholy graves inside the aching cage of your ribs.  Butterflies will explode like psychedelic confetti from the folds in your grey matter.  Hearts will torch like lanterns lodged in the bellies of chanting mountains… as I scream and shriek and sing out in the ecstasy and relief of embracing passionate Divine Service.

 

In case there was any remaining doubt:  We truly ARE the ones we’ve been waiting for!!!

 

Amen.

 

PS~ I have to laugh at myself in my flailing creative process…  Little miss I’m just gonna listen and rest and whatever the hell else I pretended my destiny du jour to be…  I love me.  Seriously, it’s turning out to be fun in here after all, praise the Lord!

Kiss Life As You Knew It Goodbye…

“Live each present moment and the future will take care of its self.  Fully enjoy the wonder and beauty of each instant.”                  ~Paramahansa Yogananda

 

This is my mission right now.  It’s working out very well.  I recommend it.

 

This is just a quick post tonight.  I have a commissioned poem to write… and then bed early so that I can have more astral hot air balloon rides with Souldipper!!! ( that’s what I dreamt last night!)  But because You are so deep in my heart and love is welling up in me and I have so much to share, I am compelled to toss you a few god-drenched words, that you may taste, feel and bathe in this goodness that is rising in me like a winter time river.

 

I want to acknowledge that today and these last few days have been *very* pivotal and cosmically loaded days.  As a collective body, we, Humanity are going through some MASSIVE transformations.  Please, TRUST THE PROCESS.  There is nothing to hold on to.  Our Becoming is such a blessed one.  This time, this place on this magnificent planet… is a total wet dream that has been in the making for so long!  Let us all celebrate this auspicious time of Remembering.

 

And please know you are NOT alone.  Everyone is falling apart, undergoing massive transformations.  Nothing to hold on to, tra-la-la.  Nothing to hold on to, tra-LAAAA.  Just breathe and be kind and generous to yourself and others.

 

I made breakfast for Richard Diamond this morning.  We ate my favorite fermented lentil and rice pancakes (with bananas, ginger and cacao nibs) on the beach.  The hugest rainbow came out as we were saying Grace.  Then it began to rain.  Talk about lucid.  Talk about Spirit.  Talk about Celebration.  Blessings.  Awe.   Check out a picture of the rainbow…

 

And give yourselves a bloody round of applause as you kiss life as you knew it goodbye!

 

Blessed BE, my stellar Friends!!!!

 

Amen.

The Oracle Speaks

Why on earth has Athena Grace LMNOP been finding marbles on the ground, picking them up and carrying them around in her backpack since she arrived on Kauai???

 

To find out the answer to this and other of Life’s perplexing questions, read on…

 

But first, RAISE YOUR HAND IF YOU LOVE ROMANCE!!!  Mine shot up, that’s for sure.  God, I can’t get enough of the stuff… not that I’ve ever tried.  Not that I even have remote plans of such nonsense.  I’m so excited that night is falling from outer space upon me again.  You know what THAT means?  Darkness!  You know what THAT means?  Candle light!  And music that you can SEE and feel and rub up against.  Ahhhh… life is good!  If only I had someone to skin brush me right now.  But I did eat organic bacon for dinner… so all is not lost.

 

Now back to our story.  I don’t even know which one to tell, honestly… It’s been one of those days.  I’ve been getting some pretty strong impulses to let go.  Let go of my need for *rigid* structure, routines, “certainty”.  My sublet is up at the end of the month… and I’m trying to tune in to what to do next.  I am not gonna “muscle” through it from a place of fear and disconnect.  Nope.  God is gonna lead me to the precise place that I need to be in order to best Serve.  But this is a weird concept… even for this crunchy, new-age bitch.  Yes.  I called myself a bitch.  And it felt good.  Really good.  Shrug.  What can I say?

 

Surrender.  Trust.  There comes a time in a crunchy new-age bitch’s life when those words crack their calcified shells of concept and become actual warm, fluffy, sweet-peeping actualities with heart beats of their very own!  I can no longer deny that God has plans for me.  That I am on a dizzy, blindfolded walk along Destiny’s very own smooth, voluptuous body!

 

I was sitting on the veranda of Java Kai with my Personal Wizard this new born afternoon, eating a freshly avocado from the neighboring tree (salted, on the half shell)… when the café owner suddenly pointed to me and said, “I think she’s right here.  You’re the one who offers poems by donation, right?”

 

BLINK.  Blink.  “Yes.”  Blink.

 

She spoke to a man who sat at the adjacent table, in the very seat I had moved out of minutes before.  I let my eyes wander about him.  An older man.  White hair.  Angel soft blue eyes.  Dressed all in black, his t-shirt impressed with a generous helping of sweat.  A half eaten piece of berry pie with a dollop of homemade whipped cream bled seductively on the table before him.  I excused myself from Mister Wizard, curious, and pulled up the chair opposite him at his table.  He told me that he had seen me weeks ago, at the picnic tables on the lawn and been intrigued, but I had been inundated with customers… And he didn’t have the luxury of waiting his turn.  But ever since then, he had been asking around, seeking me out.  Sound familiar?  Think glass slippers and clocks that strike pumpkin.

 

He informed me that he was making a movie about cranio-sacral water massage and he wanted to include some poetry.

 

This is weird.  As I am trying to recall the details of the story, it feels so vague.  Truthfully, he was a pretty vague man.  In a good way.  I am left with a sense that most of our communication happened on a whole other plane anyway.  He spoke slowly and his mind was slippery-slimey like a big, iridescent rainbow fish on qualudes.  But speaking of all things rainbow… Marbles.  He mentioned that he had wandered the streets of Greece, once upon a time, carrying marbles in his pockets to play with the kids.  And that’s when I realized that I had two freshly excavated marbles nesting in the side pouch of my backpack, (happened upon in two unrelated, random moments) which I instantaneously retrieved.  He instructed me to roll them around in my palm.  He said that’s what the contemplative Greeks do.  I informed him my name is Athena.  It was all so weird.

 

Then he started telling me about his qi gong practice and invited me to attend class.  I have known for years, literally, that I am supposed to do qi gong… but I’ve been procrastinating taking the plunge.  He offered me some of his berry pie.  I refused.  He spoke at length of his passion for grappa.  I continued to feel the waves of his being as I followed the languidly meandering loop-dy-loops of his mind, rolling the inexplicable rainbow marbles in my palm all the while.

 

Poetry.  He finally circled back and touched down on the original entry point.  He said he wanted an oracle.  Was I familiar with the Greek Oracle?  He wanted me to enter a cave and emerge with subconscious streams of pure, prophetic wisdom.  He told me to google Oracle and see what I found.  “Lorenzo,” he spoke his name to me.

 

These moments we shared, I felt to be riding on the slippery, strong back of an orca through the waters of Destiny.  The thing that trips me out is that I have not been in the mood to lug my typewriter around lately and offer poetry.  And yet… the poetry is stalking ME.

 

Another example~ earlier in the day today, I looked at a room for rent in Hanalei.  When I got there, they informed me it was already rented… but the woman in charge of the lease happened to be a woman I wrote a poem for during the first week I landed here.  The young, soulful rockstar, Rosy.  She was surprised when I appeared in the threshold of her bedroom.  She showed me the poem I wrote for her tacked lovingly on her tasteful, artsy bulletin board.  She said she was ready for another one.  This one will grace the back of her next album cover, over an artistic photo of her.  Neato.

 

And the last weird thing… The guy who I hitched in to Hanalei with this am had given me a ride once before.  A young electrician who was smoking a Marlboro red.  I had squinched my face and almost turned down the ride, due to the cab full of curly, looming tendrils of carcinogen.  But he extinguished it on my behalf and I hopped in after all.  Today I informed him that I was going to look at a room for rent.  He reminded me that that is what I had been doing the last time I climbed into the cold, cancerous cab of his truck!  I searched my files for the affirmative.  Ah-ha!  It is true what the man says.  I have looked at a total of TWO rooms for rent in Hanalei.  He drove me to both of them! What does it mean?!  Nothing.  Shrug.  But it’s cool.

 

I asked this young, freckled, burnt out on bananas, Marlboro smoking, father of a ten year old, electrician for the *filth* rich contingency of Kauai if there was anything I could do to enhance his experience of being alive as we drove.  He wasn’t too thrilled by this offer… but he said sing him a song.  Yikes.  Why IS it that as soon as someone requests a song, my mind severely blanks???  I swear, I forgot every single one of the bajillion songs I had known a mere two seconds before… But I wrassled my demons and forced one out anyway.  Shri Krishna Govinda hare murare.  I give myself a B.  No plus or minus.  And certainly an A for penetrating my fear.  But in retrospect, I wish I had’ve made him a custom song.  I am going to.  And next time he gives me a ride (to look at a home in Hanalei), I will sing it for him.  It will be about smoking Marlboro reds and eating dehydrated banana chips that are mostly crispy, but a little chewy in the middle, and not liking rich people… and cinnamon gum wrappers strewn like Hawaiian snowflakes about the floor of his truck.

 

Life just keeps getting cooler and more amazing.  There’s a rumor going around that there’s even this thing called “tomorrow” that might happen if I go to sleep!  I’m so excited about this!!!

 

Amen.

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