Humbled, Stunned and Life Continues

This morning, I’m writing to you from the Graceland fallout shelter.  Snuggled amidst rubble, I nurse a large mason jar of bulletproof coffee.  My favorite handmade (by me) lotus flower mug smashed on Giordano’s tile floor upon my return from my walkabout through the scapes of self-inflicted hell.  

 

The next morning, I sliced through my ring finger with a dull knife during an agitated attempt to seed an avocado.  It has been like this.

 

OMG.  I took myself and my community on such a wild ride, post new moon, partial solar eclipse.  Flames stoked by the alchemy of my choices, my shadow and the current astrological forecast raged and danced Shiva’s seemingly cruel, but ultimately loving dance inside and I couldn’t take it sitting still.  Instead I wriggled and squirmed and cried out “ABUSE” of facebook, begging for money to return to California.

 

My desperate wish was granted with stunning abundance.  

 

Then, as you saw in my last entry, the Master Puppeteer otherwise known as God Almighty, pulled some curious strings, and orchestrated another meeting between Giordano and I.  Despite the sizable mess, there was still so much love.

 

I continued to stay at the archangel Dhuti’s house throughout our emotionally charged ReUnion.  Despite the depth of love between him and I, the fire was still growling and throwing off occasional, dangerous sparks.  Staying in her tiny, peaceful oasis was a luxury refugee vacation.

 

I’m proud to share that Giordano ultimately chose love, and blessed my choice to leave.  I needed this.

On our final day, as mischievously giggling Destiny would have it, was the meditation and breathing workshop of Manuela Forte.  This had been scheduled for months, and Giordano helped organize it. I really wanted to meet Manuela, as she is a very pure channel of Light; an angel who has been holding and blessing Giordano and me (and Serena) and our collective healing journey.

 

We sat outside atop a great hill, beneath a regal and beneficent oak tree.  Giordano’s mother was among the few attendees. As an aside, I am really struck by her.  My life MUST be an epic novel… or God certainly would not people it with such stunningly vivid washes of color and depth of field.  Raphaella is a strikingly small woman. But strong. The sort of strong fashioned by a life of hard knocks and victorious summits. Thin, wiry frame, slightly hunched back, adorned in consistently vivid colors.  Thick, shoulder-length hair, strawberry blond from a bottle, but it seems an utterly natural expression of her profoundly creative essence. I imagine she has fought many battles alone (with God) and won a good few.  Her love is fiery and unmistakable.

 

Upon completion of the workshop, my emotions were calmed.  My heart soft. From this space, it was clear that I must stay in Italy.  Manuela held me in a close embrace and spoke into the Beyond within my eyes as she reflected that she saw a young couple deeply in love.  A family… And that this LAND has medicine for me. I know this is true. I feel a softly synergistic helix, elegantly twisting upward from my feet, through my crown as I walk upon Her soft, giving body.  The dramatic, puffy clouds astound me, constantly. The humidity caresses me.

 

Maaaaaan.  Chronology kills me.  Consistently. What am I really here to say?

 

After the said post-eclipse “fallout”, a few people reflected to me that I really ought to take a pause on writing.  Because I was obsessively pouring forth so much DRAMA into the virtual sphere of facebook. There was a deranged imbalance in my output.  A compulsive quality. Perhaps it was time for me to retreat to a benevolent corner and just breathe.

 

I’m taking time out from facebook for a bit.  But I’ll NEVER stop writing. Taking in Life and pouring out words is what I’m made for.  

 

Joan told me to “take a fucking no bullshit look at what I’m actually committed to”… and I saw that using my writing gift to garner the riveting and cheap thrill of attention from friends on social media was at the top of the list.  For this, I felt ashamed. For a flash, I was tempted to abandon my post as an astounded teller of the Story of my Life.

 

But here I am again.  Telling with abandon. Passion gushing from my fingertips and saturating your own intimate cracks.  That’s what I am for.

 

So here I am, wondering.  Wondering what Life is asking of me now…. This frenzy of heavily carbonated, shaken energy that ‘sploded through me… has left me quite dismantled.  Somewhat humbled. Too much “good advice” was flung my way. But Suzanne’s words stuck with me. She said get off the social media ferris wheel, which is a dead end road, keeping me semi-entertained and stuck.  Work harder than I’ve ever worked before, to create stability, especially for my daughter.

 

Yes.

 

And.

 

Life keeps Life-ing…. And I’m not sure what to do.  Into which groove do I pour myself? Do I humble myself once more and clean toilets, vacuum dirty floors and make mostly delicious soup as I did in Nevada City with a baby fixed to my hip?  I imagined and hoped it was time to spread my wings and FLY. To write something worthwhile. To generate my online women’s circles. To boldly claim my genius. But now I’m back on my knees in the muddy rubble born of emotionally impulsive choices.

 

Obviously the FIRST order of business is to spend more time with God.  Silence. Stillness. Breath. Humble Receptivity.

 

Feels like I was violently KO’d in a fight with my own self.  A needless, masturbatory fight. I am still seeing birdies and stars.  And even the world’s biggest swig of gatorade is not setting me straight.  

 

Honestly, I believed sex would be my salvation.  Maybe you don’t understand this… Many priestess types who serve to reconnect women with their sexual power say the same thing… that when we are connected with our Sex, we are connected with our Self.  

 

Giordano and I have been OMing (orgasmic meditation) every day.  I am starting to feel what Nicole Daedone means when she speaks of being “full”… And I am still confused.

 

What is my DESIRE?  

 

I want to create a safe, calm, expansive, happy life for Serena.

I want to write a book.

I want to lead Sourced Circles.

www.sourcedcircles.com

I want to build deep, replenishing relationships here in Italy.

I want to pour copious love on all my shadowed nooks and deep carved crannies and TRULY heal= return to love.

 

Romantic love is so misrepresented.  Committing to Partnership is rigorous, grueling work.  To show up every day and choose to let go again. Forgive (and laugh) even when you want to kill.  Choose to be loved, when it seems way too compelling to close and punish.

 

The attraction pulls me hopelessly IN.  And then the Work begins.

 

God.  Help me.  Seriously.

 

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Desire Bursts Free in Graceland

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

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

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

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

And in a flash, I realized I was done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wonder…..

And give myself over….

To the God that dances…

As Life.

The Fight to Write.

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The unicorn is galloping across sprawling, poofy, marshmallow cloudscapes, and still…. I am gonna thrust myself up on the bitch.  Yes.  I’m talking about my writing life… which has slithered like whispering water through my slender fingers as I incessantly pour into my life as a single mother.  Actually, I feel some relief in the X-treme scarcity of Time.  Because before Serena, there was too much of the stuff.  I damn near drowned in the strange ocean of excruciatingly slow, linear, third dimensional existence.  I guess Time is a beast that I came here to wrastle (and K the fuck O).  What better way to restructure said relationship, than to dream forth a demanding little goddess who hoards every precious second, formerly known as “mine”.

I hear a mouse gnawing at the inside of my bathroom wall.

Is it legal to write a one sentence paragraph?  I remember in high school, when “they” taught me about the “essential” components of a paragraph– An opening sentence with a main idea.  Then a few supporting sentences.  And finally a conclusion.  I like considering the possibility that ONE single sentence can contain ALL OF IT.  Like the universe in a grain of rice.  Like how much blessed meaning can you squeeze out of one modest strand of words.  What worlds secretly breathe and pulsate therein?  It’s like those pivotal moments following the news that your mother “wishes to be made comfortable” (apparently code for “is about to die”)… and suddenly the slow drip of the kitchen faucet becomes the heartbeat of Creation.  Your mind sprinting through stiff, sludgy oatmeal.

Ah, yes, it’s wonderful to be back in Athena Graceland.  Fuck.  Serena just called out to me from the bedroom, her voice a sharp arrow.  It’s only 5:49am.  Girl, go back to sleep.  God!!!!!!  Throw down some freakin’ mercy.  Let a bitch express some damn philosophical frivolity (and an impending deeper cut) to the privileged few amongst the masses, who have, by your Grace, stumbled upon the treasure-laden, zany worlds that stream from within me.  Silence again…. And a slow breath, pregnant with Hope with a hella capital H.

Ok, better get to the excruciatingly sharp POINT.  Life.  That is always the point, I think.  Telling the raw, naked truth about Life. So watch me bust out a “Hemingway Simple” topic sentence on this urgent subject…

In so many mOMents lately, I find myself threadbare and just celebrating the rudimentary fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.  She’s crying again and I can’t muster much explosive intelligence and cleverness as I endure her increasingly desperate call.  I was hoping she’d self soothe and sink back into slumber.  Dream on Athena.  Well there you have it.  Athena Grace, squeezing a goddamn drop of creative juice out of a huge ugly rock, imperviously lodged in a cruel and hard place.  Bye.   

It’s a new day.  My body thirsts to practice yoga.  But an invisible force inside me demands that I finish this piece of writing.  This is my Life now… Squeezing single glistening drops of “me time” out of huge boulders of obligation and duty as I trudge through a panoramic mOMent of humble service and profound ordinariness.  But that makes mothering sound like a chore… It is.  And it’s not.  It’s actually the best thing I’ve ever done…. And one of the hidden gifts of its fierce rigor is that being in twenty-four-seven service to Little Missiz Grace stokes the fuck out of the fire of my longing to be, do, have, and fully LIVE the other facets of my intricate, dynamic Self.  Which is good.  Because back in that other life, (now a microscopic speck in my figurative rearview mirror) the unwieldy ocean of perceived time drowned out my fire to engage and create.

Now that I have experienced conception, pregnancy, birth and sustenance of the object of my all-consuming Desire, I have a felt-sense of this sacred, feminine territory.  And I can feel a new life gestating in my womb.  It is my work in the world.  A hunger is welling up inside me to play huge.  And WIN.  Which of course encompasses plenty of glorious failures along the way…. But winning looks like staying in the game.  No matter what.  Full contact.  No holds barred.  Stretching into domains of creative actualization and impassioned service beyond my wildest dreams.  (And beyond the crippling social programming of my fore-mothers.)

In 2011, I did a two hundred hour yoga teacher training with Psalm Isodora, the renowned tantra yoga teacher who recently took her own resplendent and gritty life.  Her training felt like flushing a couple thousand dollars down the toilet.  In my experience, the bitch did not have it together.  (But I give her goddess props for not letting that stop her.  To live into huge vision, it’s mandatory to fuck up and make messes along the way.)  The one gold nugget that emerged, gleaming from the sludgy chaos and bullshit, was the moment she said to me, “If you want something, you have to become obsessed with it.”   

It’s true.  I felt this all-consuming obsession with creating a child.  And now it is building a soul-satisfying career that inspires, ignites and liberates the hearts of the masses.

FUCK.  The mother fucking dog barked and woke Serena up.  I could kill him.  It’s only six twenty and I was sure I was gonna finish this goddamn thing today.  FUCK EVERYTHING.

And now for the ultimate zen koan.  It’s wild how victory feels simultaneously impossible and inevitable.  Life is grinding me down.  S L O W .  So that in God’s Time, the spacious nothing that I am will ripen, rise and conquer.  I really do want to take over the world.  But not for my own gain.  For the benefit of ALL.  I yearn to be a vast, consuming source of neon spectrum, God-drunk, turned-the-fuck-ON liberation that doesn’t quit.

Life feels grueling.  Wrought with unsayably deep, emotional complexity.  It is requiring EVERYTHING.  I am watching myself break the fuck down.  I am starving for touch and deep, sexual loving.  I have to bust out some serious kung fu just to claim a few moments to paint my damn nails.  Yet… I feel a silken ribbon of holy whisper inside.  And it assures me that I am Destiny’s bitch, whether I like it or not.  And She IS this unquenchable, creative thirsting, bursting, swollen River ever gushing from within me.

PS–  I finished this blog with my “Big Girl” suckling my breast.  Whatever it fucking takes….

Someday VS. Now- A Bloody “Dual”

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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

 

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