Someday VS. Now- A Bloody “Dual”

4-up on 3-26-16 at 10.13 AM

Committing words to this glowing slab of emptiness feels torturous as when I was nine and my mom would make me to clean my [atrociously messy] room.  But it’s been so long… and if I don’t give myself the opportunity to open up pour out the golden-chained codes of my Existence, they will tarnish and atrophy in the dungeons of my self-negating Silence.  So I push myself out from behind the curtain, shy and blinking in the bright spotlight.  I reach In.

Maybe the resistance is because my life feels so Saturnian these days.  Tethered.  Stable. Predictable, even.  As it should with a seven and a half month alive baby.  But the hallowed “secret” of being a writer with a poet’s heart (different than being a straight-up “poet”… because I don’t love to write “poetry” these days.  I like to LIVE poetry, and then write long-winded prose about it!!!  Haha, that’s hilarious….) is that when you take the time and care to give ANYTHING your full attention, its Divinity gently blooms.  And actually, this phenomena makes writing as essential as breathing… because it is no longer tolerable for the  Divinity of the World to remain clenched and trembling, as we all desperately limp toward our own illusory finish line.

My personal illusory finish line and I have been in quite a bloody tussle of late.  God, it’s so hard to relax into the implicit enoughness of this chapter of my Holy Existence.  Dissatisfaction is a smelly disease.  But the world who shimmers and taunts my drooling inner vision is masterfully seductive.  And I bet in actuality, it is just a benign and even “friendly” preview of coming attractions.  If only I would just relax and be the poster child of patience and satiation….

In this parallel dimension of my life, I am a Teacher and a Leader and a Writer, whose audience is broad.  I am THRIVING financially for the Gifts she offers.  I am boldly assured as Babe Ruth…. I step up to the plate; a gloriously empty conduit of the Universe, point to the exact address of Oblivion, where I intend to SMACK that small, hard ball.  I am a seamless ballerina, dancing to, with, AS the orchestra of Infinity.

SEE???  This is why I write!  Because just when I thought my existence was all tumbleweeds and endless, sandy cracks…. I take flight on invisible wings, and fill the sky with humming, neon shades of grace-full, booty-shakin grooves that would give Michael Jackson a run for his money.  (Yeah right, Athena…. MJ is Untouchable!…)(Well… so am I in my own right… Which is what I was saying, before I wandered off into the enchanted land of flashy, vivid metaphors.  I was saying that I keep getting seduced by a dazzling mirage of my Becoming, and it makes this slice of life pie that I’m currently breathing and bleeding and sweating and loving in seem insufficient.  And I know that’s bogus.

The frustrating thing is I can’t quite see how to get from “here” to “there”… other than to LOVE HERE.  To fully inhabit here.  To give my Holy ALL to here.  And while that’s actually more than enough…. it’s still cryptic to a slobbering, desperate ego.  I want to trust God with every fiber of my being.  Once and for all.  Wouldn’t that be so cool?  To be entirely relaxed and peaceful… Forever…?!  Now THAT’S a glamorous aspiration.

Someday I will be Great.  I am already Great.  Now on with the softly whispering song of my Real Life….

I finally hung my two hummingbird feeders yesterday.  Ed made me a gallon of magical, red elixir to feed them, and he put hooks in the overhang outside my kitchen window… months ago.  So it was a monumental occasion to finally get them up.  When the first hummingbird arrived, my life became more complete, and Heaven on Earth burst from her incognito confines, like an unopened can of bubbly beverage, shaken and released in sudden wet explosion.

A tiny frog has taken up residence in the corner of my toilet room…. which has a door that leads to my teensy, caterpillar-ransacked garden/tragically concrete “patio”.  I oft leave this door cracked in the name of sunlight and fresh air… and darling Mrs. Froggie seems to love this safe, cool, bug-laden corner of my hOMe.  I just peed, and noticed that she climbed the wall, and is now snuggled in the angular crevice, two feet above the floor!!!  I love her.  I really love her.

According to the Medicine Cards, frog represents the water element, and cleansing.  Replenishing.  Frog is the bringer of rain.  Yes, it’s true that my life feels dried out… doing the same things every day.  Frog is a reminder to take time for one’s self…. to replenish.  But how on earth do I do that, when I am single-handedly caring for a Tiny Goddess?  I can count the hours I’ve had help with Serena so that I could give to myself on one hand… (and still have two fingers left over!!)  I guess these quiet morning hours count for something.  I guess diving into my heart and filtering it through my mystical mind is worth at least a million Graceland-Bucks…. AND I am open to more.  More help.  More support.  AND I am so happy to spend my life caring for such a Radiant Goddess.  Serena becomes brighter by the second.  Everything captures her attention and seduces her fierce curiosity.

In other news, I went to the dentist a week and a half ago and they told me that I had TWELVE cavities, and a tooth that needs extraction.  As you can imagine, this news wrecked me.  So I gave up sugar and grains, and am consuming nutrient dense foods to heal my teeth.  We are suckas to believe in the legend that teeth can not heal.  They are just like bones.  We just need to support our bodies’ capacity to heal via diet.  I *never* thought I could give up sugar.  But faced with the reality of losing my teeth, the choice was suddenly a no-brainer.  Pretty awesome.  As an added bonus, I am beginning to feel like pure Light.  Sugar tastes good… But being an embodied superheroine tastes even better.  As does grass-fed butter, which is one of the primary recommended foods to consume for healing teeth!!!!!

I’m proud of myself.

And the last thing I’ll share, is that I finally washed Serena’s cloth diapers for the first time in a week and a half.  I WAS washing them every two-three days… but she’s mostly potty trained now!  At seven and a half months.  OmMyGod, you should see her sitting on her little pink potty.  She looks so tiny and precious… it would destroy you.  It destroys me every time.  She loves to look at books as she perches there.  Little cardboard books with pictures of animals in them.  Seeing puppies and polar “boozles”, she squeaks with refined delight and smiles the smile that I’m sure God smiled to create the World.  Pure, electric effulgence.

Not long before Serena landed in my womb, I declared on Facebook that I aspired to be a “HouseWife”.  Many of the Housewives out there chortled at my dream, informing me that it was grueling, unglamorous work, for which you rarely get acknowledged.  I didn’t care.  It called me forth.  Now, here I am, inhabiting this profoundly mundane, though somehow alluring vocation from the Inside.  And it’s true.  It’s really not glamorous.  But it is rudimentarily satisfying… simmering bone broth on the stove for twenty-four hours, sweeping and vacuuming the incessantly dirty floors, scrubbing the toilet with baking soda, vinegar and essential oils, devotionally making baby food from scratch, and being married to washing dishes.

I guess it’s inevitable that that which calls me forth will dawn in it’s perfectly divine time.  This is the nature Life.  This is the Play of God.

And this is the Queen of Graceland pouring love on your exquisite heart….

Talk to you soon Beloved.

The Evolution of My Desire

I have been marveling lately at how dramatically my dreams are morphing.  Two entries ago, I was pining for a hOMe, and motherhood and the ideal partnership… And today, I am remarkably content with the current ISness of my existence.  I am back at Ananda Village, living with my Ma, teaching yoga here, facilitating a women’s video circle, and continuing to ROCK my inner world as I shed hereditary darkness and allow the light to pour through.  Layers of delusion keep sloughing off, and I realize that I am becoming lighter and happier by the second.

At the epicenter of this transformation, is the remembrance that I am alive for humanity.  And for LOVE…  When I imagined that I was alive to satisfy my ego, I felt mostly fucked in the ass by my very existence.  Like it was never enough.  I was perpetually empty.  But now purifying my heart and opening myself to be a Source of Love is the place that I return throughout my day.  And it just makes sense.  Am I proclaiming to be all holier than Thou, like I’m some damn Master?  No!  Because the REAL activism is loving myself for who and how I am now, today… The one who aspires from the depths of her being.  The one who sometimes *seems* to fall short.  The one who keeps going.  The one who boldly declares her love to the world… perhaps imperfectly… but also with courage and boldness.

Yeah!  I’m here to wrap those stifling spiritual ISMs and dogmas and nutritionally void protocols in a dingy though grand olde flag, and send them down the wild, swollen river, once and for all.  If you’re still using spirituality to find fault in yourself as you ARE, to imagine a grand chasm between yourself and God, I’m here to tell you that is a dead paradigm!  It’s time to live what you know in your heart, to own that God is not a big, stern man who lives beyond the sky… but the miraculous Allness, experiencing itself as YOU and me and everyone and everything right NOW.  And this is whole, complete and perfect, and is a cause to love like there ain’t no tomorrow!!!!

So what do I desire, from this place of radical completeness?  My biggest desire at this time, is to completely embody the light of spirit.  To obliterate shame and conditioning and the inherited wounds of my ancestors… and let the light of the Infinite Blaze through every cell and pore and fiber of my magnificent Heavenly Body!!!  It seems like the dominant paradigm has been a body and spirit split… like we’ve collectively been through so much shit.  So much pain and suffering, that we’ve imagined the body to be an unsafe hOMe, wrought with land mines of stored trauma, preferring instead to live in the intrepid sprawling landscapes of the mind, where we can fabricate fever dreams of our own “safety” without having to feel through the sensations that we once upon a time, associated with unbearable pain and terror.

I want to inhabit my body as I have never inhabited it before.  I want to inhabit my sexuality free from shame, as nothing short of a glorious portal straight into the heart of Heaven.  This is not an indulgent want, but an essential reclaiming of the truth of who I AM.  I know that being a living embodiment of pure truth and light is the epicenter of all other dreams and desires that sing through me.  If my desires are a multi tiered fountain, this radical return of infinite spirit into my body is the WATER.  It will naturally pour forth and nourish all the slumbering seeds of my destiny with ease and grace.  No more inner wars and parental punishment to manipulate myself into PRODUCING content that will desperately imbue my life and my very being with a false sense of worth that will temporarily convince me I am “okay”, in the face of the constant low-level dread that I’m NOT.  Ever.

Love will make this so.  Every day, every breath, I return to love.  I fill my own heart with the grace of the infinite.  I breathe all the way to the bottom of my belly, into my yoni, and feeeeel all there is to feel.  I allow myself to relax.  To soften.  And from this place of unrelenting care, attention, and embodied surrender,  I will continue to shed and reveal and attract the perfect people and situations and opportunities to facilitate this profound resurrection of the radiant light of my spirit into the sacred temple of my body.  (Which naturally will blaze out into the world and raise YOU up in the light of embodied Truth…)

Seek ye first the Queendom of Heaven….

Athena Graceland is morphing into new dimensions of HALLELUJAH!!!
Yeah, I’m in love with video now.  My intention is to raise YOU up!!!!!

Are you ready to explore new frontiers of ecstasy, delight, gratitude and wonder?

If so, you have come to the right place!!!

Let the SHRI resound through your sweet slice of infinity within!!

 

P is for Philosophicality

Lord have mercy there are SO many disparate topics bursting from my “seems” this morning, my pants might just split down the seat!!!  How in Krishna’s name will I choose which thread to follow?  It’s not even like a paltry fork in my mind’s road… it’s like a whole prismatic collision.  Hmmm… Maybe that’s what  I AM- a prismatic collision.  Just like a star…

 

I want to say it ALL.  And I want to say it all beautifully.  Tall order.  But just now, as I was slogging through the swamp of my pre-blogging anxiety, a question sparkled upon the surface of my mind:  What would I say if I truly knew that I was already complete, whole, perfect and divine, with nothing to prove and nowhere to get to?  God, that’s a question I want to crawl inside of and make a happy and lasting home, such that informs every single moment of my life.

 

Well, I am back on the lawn, outside Master’s Market, at Ananda (aka “the Momshram”).  I will be returning to the Land of Oaks this afternoon.  And even though this visit has been a day shorter than most, “on paper”, in practice, it has been timeless.  And I am *not* just saying that to be poetic or philosophical.  I’m serious.  I have not been existing in time.  Only in the motion of perpetual presence.  But not the usual, unrelenting suck of time and space.

 

I think one of the byproducts of daily meditation is attunement to the more subtle expressions of being alive.  In our modern world, we are bombarded by so much noise and stimulus, that many of us become addicted to cheap, rough, empty and continuous “strokes”, in order to feel that we actually exist.

 

I’m certainly not declaring myself exempt from this concealed, contemporary plight of the human soul… but I will testify, that the more I practice sitting in quiet, and bypassing the continuous, shallow roar of my mind, the more I am able to recognize the song of peace that is always singing oh so softly from within everything.

 

Yesterday my Ma and I went to sunday service together.  The talk addressed the subject of living in a state deep calmness.  Honestly, hearing radiant Anandi speak about it felt startling and revolutionary.  She said that when we let go and let God be the doer, this is the smooth, rolling continuum on which our lives unfurl, like a red carpet rolling its way to the exalted feet of Ultimacy.  I want that.  And in truth, I don’t quite “get it”.  Like, how would this peaceful and connected surf across waving time and space be any different than who I am, here and now?

 

Well… it wouldn’t.  And yet…

 

Is GOD the author of this spree through Athena Graceland?  Or is it but a cheap, ego fever dream imitation?  The lines are smeary, you see?  And then, there’s a heavy-handed chance we’ll wake up and realize none of this really even happened.

 

Was God the doer when my heart tumbled through dilapidated floorboards and fell into a room of love and like and live and lust with our beloved, married friend Edward?  That’s a controversial topic.  Because on one hand, what ISN’T God in this life?  I’m inclined to cast my vote as NOTHING.  And yet… on the yogic path, there is such a thing as “right action”.  And I don’t think that includes getting involved with a married man.

 

I’m gonna pause and breathe here.  Here.  In THIS moment.  Because I started to feel tense, considering that I did something WRONG.  Really, I don’t even believe in “right” and “wrong”… But I do believe that every action sends ripples throughout all creation.

 

After I wrote about my ex-fiance Eric a couple of blogs ago, I got an email from his wife, kindly reminding me that I had left out the crucial piece about how Eric’s current state of extreme closure to me is a result of the WAY that I left him: for another man.  Sigh.  Yes, Mrs. Eric… it’s true.  And now I’m in another situation where the bridge of love and respect *seems* hopelessly burned.  I often feel Ed’s wife in my heart.  I consider her heart, and what she must be going through… And I wish I could be a friend to her.  A sister.  I wish I could be a space for her to speak her raw, unfiltered experience and feelings… and invite her into inspired realms of possibility and desire.  Like okay sister, now that your drab, wilted marriage is waning, WHAT DO YOU REALLY WANT TO CREATE??  Like not from security and familiarity… but from tender, vibrant desire, inspiration and passion…

 

I’m not sure that she has someone in her life who is inviting her into that juice-laden inquiry.  God I want that for her.  And I know… ultimately, I must remember that it’s not my job to pull the levers and cranks and push the big, glowing buttons that operate the multiverse.  But I can’t help but want her to be happy and turned on and tapped in.  What a contradiction… that my actions have played a leading role in the undoing of the safe, insulated world she has built… which could be construed as careless and inconsiderate… And yet I really do care.  But the truth is, it will be PURE GENEROSITY and GRACE if she ever opens her arms and her heart to me… sigh.

 

I often wonder… do we REALLY have a choice in the unfolding continuum of our lives?… or has the sprawling garland of moments been strung well before we even squeezed through that hot narrow slit between our mother’s legs?  I know it’s very popular these days to believe in “free will”… but from all that I have lived thus far, and intimately observed in the lives of those near to me, I can’t help but feel that the irresistible, gravitational suck toward the whos and whats, wheres, whens and hows that fashion and shape the scopes of our lives are so much stronger than anything we could muster with the paltry muscles of our isolated, half-baked imaginations.  Please don’t misunderstand… I’m not bashing the sublime masterpiece that is your imagination and creative force… I’m merely suggesting that the tapestry is FAR TOO INTRICATE and COMPLEX to think that we, alone, are in charge.

 

And in the long run, this is totally cool.  Because, just like at the deli, we are each clutching a paper number that we pulled out of the red, plastic dispenser, and when our number is called, it will be our turn to go HOME.  That is, to remember the unbounded miracle, the LOVE we always were and always will be.  And perhaps when we “arrive” (awaken to that which we always have been), time will collapse, and we will have an epic laugh because like any other dream, we will realize none of this really happened… but it was somehow fun to pretend it WAS, for a frivolous, infinite sprinkle…

 

But I digress.  I want to exist in a state of perpetual calmness and soul peace as I navigate this perplexing jungle of relationships, circumstances and the mundane, mythological underbrush of human existence.

 

LIVE,

A

 

Life Is But A _______.

Some people say that the meaning of life is to LIVE it.  Others say that being on earth is a school… and everything is a lesson.  Some people just try their best to enjoy themselves.  God, there are so many ideologies to subscribe to.  Me?  Hmmm… what DO I believe, anyway?  I believe life is a dream.  And it’s not even really happening in the first place.  I believe that Totality wanted to experience itself, so it invoked duality, so that it could cop a feel on its own ness.  But golly, lately that seems like a lot more trouble than it’s worth.  “Lately”, Athena?  Oh, okay, you got me… More like in general…

 

But I spose if I knew in my bones and my guts, that I was always held secure in the loving arms of Grace, for REALZ, I’d probably have a consistently better attitude than I do this morning.  I know, WTF, right?  Why should I have anything but reverence and gratitude for the opportunity to be here at Monkey Forest Road (a cafe in my hood), indulgently self-reflecting and streaking my computer screen with my innermost thoughts and feelings?

 

The sun just broke through this morning’s dark sprawl of storm clouds and cracked asphalt is glowing silver.  Quivering bamboo leaves now glow like nature’s own stained glass.  Every time we were together, Dan reminded me that life is only THE MOMENT.  And this basically undeniable isness used to wash me with strife, because my ego doesn’t like the idea of facing obliteration.  And Dan!!… If life is just this moment, then how do I ever GET ANYWHERE?  Not that I necessarily DO want to get anywhere… but say I changed my mind, and realized that I wanted to “make something of my life”… Then I’d hafta like plan for the future and stuff…

 

Ed just texted me and said he hoped that the words are “just flowing onto the screen”, which made me pause and reflect… Are these words just flowing onto the screen?  Hmmmm… Sort of.  But the bitch is the way I’m feeling right now.  Like a wine connoisseur, (what’s the word for a wine expert? … I forgot…) I’m sipping from the cup of my current inner climate, sliding my mind’s fingers about the  textures of my inner landscape so that I can give it a life in language.  It’s elusive.  But I might have to go with angry.  Though it’s not classical, textbook anger.  It’s more of a damp and subtle experience, that could easily be mislabeled or construed as depressed or sad.  But there is a lurking feeling, like a lithe panther, crouched in dusky jungle shadows, poised to pounce; or a stretched rubber band that may just snap.

 

Today’s Course in Miracles lesson is “I do not perceive my best interests”.  God, it’s so true.  What that means, is that all of my desires and grasping at future outcomes are founded in a steaming heap of bullshit.  You know, the dream that we are dreaming that ain’t even real.  Gosh, how do I convey this so that it makes sense to one who has not been thumpin the Course, year in and year out?   Well, it breaks down like this~ there’s God’s mind, which is the oneness of love, which obviously is where our best interests abide… and then there’s a belief that we are separate, and when we live from this insanity, it’s like wandering through a dim, endless maze of smoke and mirrors, hoping that maybe we’ll get lucky and actually stumble on something of value, something that truly brings us happiness.

 

Ya know, like if Ed left his wife and married me.  For example.  Or at least was able to spend the night with me a couple times a week.

 

But I digress.  It’s maddening to sit in this awkward place of realizing that I honestly won’t be any happier or more peaceful once I’m in a “real” relationship with Ed.  For example.  Or once I figure out what to do with my life, or earn more money or have a baby or live in Paris and become completely fluent in french, or… Ugh.  You see???  I know that everything I’m grasping for is hollow at best.  And yet I don’t want to stop grasping.  Jesus, what gives?  If only I could quiet my mind enough to hear Love’s incessant whispers in my ear.

 

Last night I dreamt that I was sneaking around with Ed at his house and his wife came home.  I didn’t want to look at her.  Not head on.  I averted my eyes and just took little calculating peeks.  I guess I knew that I was violating her by being in her space.  She looked old and homely.  Like life had sucked the radiance out of her like a dead sea sponge.  Then I woke up to the sound of running water and I was like, WHY IS THE BATHTUB RUNNING?  But then I realized it was actually a rainstorm!

 

I wonder if I should stop seeing (let alone communicating with) Ed until it’s from a free and clear place… We’ve been entertaining this possibility for a little while now… but neither one of us wants to leggo.  Over the past year, we have become essential fixtures in one another’s daily movement through time and space.  It really seems like letting go would suck.

 

But then, what about my illustrious ally, the Golden Rule?   I often tell people that if I were stranded on a desert island, and I could only bring ONE spiritual teaching with me, it would be that one- Do unto others as you would have others do unto you… I mean really- what more do you need than that?  Well, if the roles were reversed, would I want some hot goddess getting all up in my husband while I quietly slow-simmered myself in denial stew?  NO WAY JOSE.  In my heart of hearts, I believe in honesty.  Integrity.  Full and open communication.  But here I am, being a conspirator in a situation that is everything BUT that.  I guess I can’t expect anything more from others.  Will my husband cheat on ME someday?  Just so that I can feel the inverse textures of this scenario?  I wouldn’t be wildly surprised.

 

What’s more important to me, feeling good in the moment… or standing up and being the very best me I can be?  I wish it was a no-brainer.  But… I like the way Ed and I play and love and meet.  I like sitting in his lap before my altar and chanting mantra together.  I love the feeling of utter perfection that washes through me when I’m wrapped in his arms, nestled into his big, broad chest.  Little moments of fleeting fulfillment… is that as good as it gets?  Maybe.  But those little moments are EVERYWHERE….

 

Like riding to Emily’s bday party the other night, and nestling myself in the center console between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat, between Gabe and Brandon and feeling a cocktail wash of connection, naughtiness (I didn’t ask permission before I slid in!) and contentment.  Or this morning, when John, my crazy and entirely lovable building manager, came over to unclog my sinks, (a job he LOATHES) and he discovered the perverse magnetic poetry on my fridge and suddenly came to life… I was folding laundry and flushed with a stiff shot of embarrassment as he read my words aloud, riveted.  He wanted to change “slow hard fuck” to “quivering hard fuck”.  At first I was like NO WAY… but then… I considered it… and I realized that his word choice was actually superior to mine.  So I let him.  Which delighted him for a single moment before he began bargaining with me to convert his inch into a mile, by making more alterations, and I was like no way, buddy, be glad I let you edit my poem AT ALL.

 

Life.  It’s a meditation.  A waterfall of ever-new being.  A sleepy stumble through darkness which appears to be lit.  I am reaching deep inside to find “IT”.  Yet I’m simultaneously terrified of finding IT… because then none of this will be compelling anymore.  Ugh.  This calls for a deep breath.

 

Live,

A

Do Not Be Attached To The Tomatoes Of Your Actions

I love being inundated with images of Paramahansa Yogananda!  Everywhere I look, he is there, smiling back at me with such heartfelt peace and acceptance.  His expressions all speak that he recognizes the highest in me, the Eternal Truth… AND he loves me unconditionally even as I flounder about in my perverse dreams of death, scarcity and separateness.  God, I wish I could be like him.  I guess someday I will be… If I meditated more, would I get there faster?  Faster… Oh, Athena… Who are you racing against, anyway?  Shrug.  I really want to understand what it is in me that would renounce who and how I am right now and grasp for some “better”, “higher” state.  I guess I’m just fed up with trying to manipulate and control life all the time.  I think I could really get behind the shift into an existence that was comprised only of playfully dancing, luminous perfection.  What stands in the way of that?  I have all these ego based solutions for the pursuit of happiness, peace, fulfillment.  I strive to prove that I am worthy and enough.  I don’t MEAN to… But why else would I get so attached to stupid outcomes?  (A doe just strutted by outside the window.  Talk about peace.  She is in the zone.  Moving slow… just putting one hoof in front of the other.  Then stopping at the gurgling pond for a cool drink.)

(My mom is in the kitchen organizing the CSA vegetables that she just picked up.  She hums as she works.  Did I mention her humming before?  She is a wound up little human music box.  I must have told you this before, but I have to tell you again, because it tickles me so.  I can always hear her approaching before I can see her.  She produces soft hums, like inadvertently giggling water or the occasional swish of breeze-kissed treetops.  I am so thankful to get to be here with her, listening to her own strain of nature song.  I will miss her when she sheds her physicality and dissolves into the Unseen for a while.)

Speaking of attachments and agendas and such ridiculousness… This morning upon waking, my mom reported that she woke up at two am and made herself some toast… and in the kitchen, she noticed that not only had one of her ashram mates picked all the tomatoes that SHE had spent the entire summer nursing and loving, but someone ELSE had used them ALL to make tomato soup last night!  She was horrified.  Her ego plan for salvation (as A Course in Miracles would word it) was to harvest them little by little, savoring them at a modest and consistent pace.  SHE had been the one caring for them, pouring herself out into their blushing, juicy, miraculous little lives.  And now they were obliterated in a sorry-assed soup, never to be whole and free and open for business again.  She sat in the darkness with her toast, gazing at a picture of Yoganada as her ego flushed her with its requisite poisons.  Yogananda told her that they were just tomatoes… and her life is not about tomatoes… her life is about God.  She found some solace and came back to bed.

When she told me this, I immediately thought of the Bhagavad Gita.  Krishna tells Arjuna, “to your actions alone be attached, but not to the tomatoes of your actions.” (He actually says “fruits”, not tomatoes… but as the old adage goes, “if the fruit fits…”)  I love the Bhagavad Gita!  It is such a short, sweet book… but if one takes the essence and lessons to heart… that one will be pretty spiritually buff and unstoppable.  Ahhh, to engage with life purely as an offering to the All Pervading Tomato Consumer!  Please God… help me release all my ego’s silly plans for salvation.  I want only the salvation that comes from choosing Peace… Now and now and NOW.

Even as I write this entry, the critic is standing over my shoulder trying to convince me that my writing is not good enough.  That my readers will be bored, turned off and I will be left alone and unloved to rot in a heap of shame.  Fruits, fruits, I must stuff my greedy imaginary face with sweet fruits… letting them drip down my chin, stain my shirt, engorge my belly.  PLEASE!  TELL ME HOW TALENTED I AM!!!!  Tell me how deeply impacted you are by my wisdom and wit and eloquence.  Sigh.

“A true yogi feels the throb of her heart in all hearts, her mind in all minds, her presence in all motion.”  This is part of a poetic meditation that Yogananda wrote.  Ten years ago, I went through a phase where I read it every single day.  That little sliver of it rose to the surface of my mind as my mom relayed her tomato tragedy to me this morning.  If only she could truly recognize that this localized chattery voice in her head was not truly who she is.  Ahhh… just imagine how beautiful the world would be if we all dared to see ourselves in everyone we met!  In the very earth we treaded upon.  Imagine if she grew those tomatoes with a heart yearning to offer them up to all of her beloveds, because she already felt so FULL in God’s All Pervading Glory, that there was nothing in this world that she could possibly have, take or consume that could compare to the inner fullness that not only dwells inside of her, but also concurrently bursts forth from every single pore of Creation at once and always.

She is me.  And I will settle for nothing less than to live in this Truth.  I surrender.  (Cringe… uh-oh… I bet God’s wondering if I really meant that… Beware of falling tests…)

Amen.

A Rigorous Day In Saint Training

It’s a rigorous day over here in Saint training.  I really wanted to use the f word in that sentence.  An f-ing rigorous day (don’t think of a pink elephant…).  But lemme see… how ‘bout a DANGEROUSLY rigorous day.  Or a poisonously rigorous day.  Or this day slithered across the hardwood floor of my all too familiar bedroom, glaring at me like a hooded cobra snake, venomous and unpredictable.  This is the first time in SEVEN years that I have been without the support of a devoted boyfriend.  Support?  Yeah, like emotional support.  I know I touched on this subject yesterday… but I am utterly broken open and lost in hell today.  I didn’t think I was going to write because I was feeling ashamed of and repulsed by myself.  And that’s not very Saintly.  Or is it?

Besides, today is different from yesterday, because Mykael is actually, physically around… yet we are continents apart… which makes the reality of our separation so much more painful.  To be near one who was once my refuge from the storm… and suddenly, I am in the midst of a downpour and he stands there preoccupied by a million shades of a hidden world, watching my bones get soaked and chilled by torrential gusts of inner turmoil and reckless need.

Today was one of those tigress listlessly pacing her teensy cage days.  I lost my will somewhere in the greasy folds of all this transformative soul discomfort.  God did I just want to get pleasantly drunk or stoned.  Or at least go out into the world and frivolously spend money on the comforting distractions of food and ambiance.  But I’ve done that enough.  All of it.  And today was designed specifically by the All Pervading Maliciousness… oh, that felt like a horrible thing to write… sorry God, it’s just that my heart stings so… this alchemy is so HOT, I can barely stand it.  But that’s alchemy for ya.  Do you even have any idea what I’m talking about?  I wonder… I wonder if I’m just an anomaly to make myself sit here and feel my way through such an uncomfortable experience.  Most “normal” people would just pick up a book and have a read or call up a friend and get together for a walk or dinner.  Or maybe fill the hole by shopping.  I hear that’s a popular one for women.  Or eating… I used to do that.  Doesn’t feel so great.  Neither does drinking margaritas.  Mykael and I used to do that like three times a week, back in the glory days.  I would pick him up from work and we’d go to our favorite restaurant, Fonda.  Usually we’d get in a fight on the way (another good distraction tactic) (am I a feeling junkie?) and then get to the restaurant and order our usual~ margaritas, the best chips in the world~ long, thick, salty *CRUNCHY* strips that make me feel orgasmic just in the telling, guacamole, refried black beans and broccoli.  What a hit-parade of oral sensations!  All played to the smeary tune of mild inebriation.  But was that enough?  No… then it was time to slur and shuffle home to smoke some pot and knock boots.  God I love smoking pot and having sex… Sigh… someday… maybe…

Come to think of it, this frustrated, pacing tigress feeling is not such a new innovation.  Come to think of it, she is an old friend.  But suddenly I refuse to medicate her.  I will let her get so intolerant and fierce that she will find a way out of her diminutive cage no matter WHAT it takes.  There may be bloodshed, friends.  I am trying to listen to this listlessness.  Instead of running from it.  There is nowhere to run.  I can’t even pretend to be interested in DOING anything to tune it out.  All I am moved to do is sit amidst the flames and watch myself disintegrate.  Trust me, it burns.  But there comes a time in the life of every tigress clad in fleshy disguise… when she is destined to break free.  My number must’ve come up because I see no other option.  I want nothing of this world of illusion.

Or do I?  I ached all day in my bed, dreaming of being taken out on the town.  Dreaming dreams of heavily lashed eyelids, swishing like steaming, enchanted forests as I sophisticatedly sip intoxicating elixir, the blood of elated grapes, raped and sequestered to dark, woody barrels and then resurrected solely for these lusty moments of seduction and blind consumption.  Sitting across the table from a date who makes me burn with curiosity and yearning.  I probe this exquisite face of the mystery, wishing I could wrap myself around it’s boundlessness in such a way that I may taste satiation, however brief.  I dreamed of being tossed and twirled about a heaving, breathing dance floor, the sweet music unapologetically devouring my mind, simmering me down to the most essential ingredient of existence~ pure bliss in motion.

Duality.  Sigh.  How will I EVER find my way out of this maze?  My bedroom has once again become my cocoon.  But soon, I will burst forth with new, striking wings.  They will be bent and folded clumsily and I will wonder if I actually know how to fly.  Until I find myself soaring free at the whim of some unseen, loving current, over the thrashing turquoise body of the sea.  And in that liberated instant, I will remember something that I forgot I have Always known.

But in the mean time… I sobbed in bed today, squeezed by the binding pain of this meticulous, ordained transformation.  I wiped clear snot on my pale blue sheet.  The prism hanging in my window was indifferent to this display of human despair and spat gratuitous rainbows all about my prison walls.  My consciousness took refuge in the intricate spray of vibrant spectral shades. I studied them until we merged.  I was taken by the fluid, graceful transitions from one color to the next.  I took the electrified colors into me like food, letting them fortify my aching mind.  And the bouquet of dahlias on my nightstand… We have a new level of intimacy now.  My vision desperately probed their mandalic folds.  I found a sacred piece of myself in the deep, weighty shade of magenta, so saturated, it was nearly devoured by a vibrant darkness.

So you see… it’s been a rigorous day in Saint training.

Amen.

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