A jog at the bottom of the sea

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Last night, to celebrate the full moon, we had a fire outside.  Like the citizens of Jerusalem at the time of Jesus, Giordano heisted “massive boulders” he found down the hill from our house and fashioned an impressive fire pit in our yard.  I gathered my crystals from around the house and brought them outside to soak up the lucid lunar rays.

 

I’m wild about men with primal skillz.  When the apocalypse is upon us, like who cares if dude can install the latest version of iPhoto on my computer.  (Though I SORELY need some help with that NOW… haha.) But Giordano is one of those men who can build and fix anything.  He made a mean fire.

 

Sharp autumn wind gusted in dramatic spirals, taunting and provoking our fire, sending its smoke and flames every which way.  At one point, the force of the wind was so fierce and constant, the fire growled like a blowtorch, and blazed florescent yellow like a newborn sun.  This was the moment that I poured my grief, confusion and heartache into the purifying flames. I had much to offer up.

 

This is why I have pilgrimaged to Athena Graceland on my hands and knees this morning… To write myself back into a state of wholeness and peace.  A feeling of deep discomfort has been taking increasingly articulated form and contour for the past week, as the moon has swollen.

 

I hope it’s a spiritual boon to break down like this… rather than a mild crisis.  Before leaving Ananda, I felt like I was going Somewhere: Building a business leading women’s circles, gestating an extraordinary podcast… and then I transported my and Serena’s life to a foreign land, where I can’t even indulge in the simple ecstasy of intimate, philosophically persuaded small talk with “strangers”…  or leave the house to go for a leisurely walk (The road outside is narrow, trafficy and dangerous to walk on. Plus, I left Serena’s fabulous, all-terrain stroller in California.) I feel like a Grimms Brother Princess, locked away in a tower.

 

Obviously, writing a book is my only salvation.  

 

As I move closer to the Realization of this extremely relevant and meaningful dream, I watch it turn to vapor and slip through my long, slender fingers.  I am perplexed as I search inside for a cohesive vision that equals a Book. I imagine this confusion is a form of self sabotage. A genius strategy for the unhealed dimensions of me to stay hidden and SAFE.  

 

Bah-humbug.  Seriously. Like whatever happened to the version of reality where I could simply merge with my computer, gush forth and pound out the inspired and integral streams of my Existence.  This is what I do. And have always done.

 

My “block” is the departure from simply “writing”, to developing a STRUCTURE, and then using my profound literary talent to fill it with FORM.  

 

In the words of the beloved little Engine That Could, “I think I can, I think I can, I THINK I CAN.”  

 

(OMG, I totally have to get that book for Serena…  An aside: It’s so depressing to have only a handful of books for my book-devouring Serena.  We left her collection in Cali. Frown. Plus there ain’t no libraries in these parts with books in english to imbibe…  If any of you are inspired, you could bless us with a rad children’s book by way of Amazon!…)

 

Did I adequately portray my existential angst to you?  I don’t think I did. But it’s been thick and filmy and arduous to endure.  Like going for a jog at the bottom of the sea.

 

At least things are improving with Giordano.  He still triggers the shit out of me pretty regularly… but it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.  We both bounce back from our fiery disputes impressively quick… and when we do, there is a deep love awaiting our return.  I imagine if I had other people around to meet my deep need for Quality Time (my primary Love Language), I probably wouldn’t get so swept away in the masturbatory eddies of hating his guts.  

 

Yesterday morning at the zenith of my suffering, I took Serena outside to forage nettles and red clover.  Misha the cat graciously tagged along. Like good old fashioned magic, the grief vanished. I dissolved in Presence, delighting in the aliveness of Nature all around.  Note to self~ when the discomfort becomes unbearable, (maybe even BEFORE), GO OUTSIDE. Go outside A LOT. Revel in the majesty of the sky. Sink into the soothing, rooted ISness of the earth.  Ugh. Except our harsh and cruel friend, Winter doth approacheth. BLAH. I never wanted to see Her color-drained face again. Jesus deliver me to the tropics.

 

Inside I feel a call to surrender my Life.  My dreams. My need to be “Somebody”… Be sincerely cool with the notion of stripping down to a state of unadulterated BEingNess.  This is subtly terrifying for me. Like if I relax my tremulous body in the uncharted waters of “Nobodyness”, I will die invisible and untethered from the execution of my Dharma.  This could be my deepest fear. One that ebs and breaks like a familiar wave on the sea of my Life Journey.

 

This surrender is not resignation.  It is a surrender woven with golden threads of faith.  Faith that it is impossible to outrun my Destiny. She is hunting me, and will inevitably devour me.  This achingly slow, no-woman’s-land is somehow essential preparation for my Glorious Becoming….

 

Life always moves along Her own mysterious and perfect spirals of Time.

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Chisel Thou My Life

It’s a good thing I’ve been doing so much spiritual practice for the past three months (not to mention the last ten years), otherwise I’d’ve shot myself by now. Being back in the Bay Area has been brutal. Of course I’m wielding my poetic license pretty viciously right now… But I’m having volatile feelings. I could work to be “even-minded and cheerful”, as the Ananda (Momshram) contingency aspire to be all the time… but I’m gonna let off some steam and tell you all about the colors and textures of hell… and THEN I’ll be even-minded and cheerful.

Athena? Is this the energy you want to extend into the world? Remember, where attention goes, energy flows… No! I don’t want to dump negative energy all over the page. But I am writing to digest my current experience. Which is very challenging. I want to share it honestly, gracefully, eloquently. Tears. Already. Ahhhhhh….

Well, here’s a brief report on me- (it might end up being not-so-brief… I honestly have no idea what’s gonna pour out of me tonight.) For the month of October, I’m staying in Albany (a little swatch of sleepy, urban life, just north of west berkeley) I’m staying with my friend D, her fourteen and sixteen year old sons, and her slovenly ex-husband. I have my own room. It’s tiny. Mostly all it fits is my double bed. Yup. Not even a place to put my clothes, so they’re tossed in a scraggly pile under my bed. Sigh. The room is south-facing, and gets lots of light, despite being snuggled in, on the ground floor. There are french doors that open out to a small, though lovely garden with a fruit-laden apple tree. It is spider season. Oh, and the best part, is that there’s no door!! Ed took me to our favorite sweat shop mecca, Target, and got me a curtain rod and a curtain though, bless his massive mushy (we call his heart a “mushy” because it’s like the mushy persimmons that grow on the tree in his Mama’s back yard). Or is the best part, sharing a wall with the bathroom and hearing the dude take farty shits at all hours of the day and night? Hmmm… debatable.

The rest of the house tends to be a total stye. Especially since D went away for the weekend, and it was just the three dudes and me. The T.V. was on most of the time. Actually BOTH of them were. Wait, WHY am I even writing this? It’s not making me feel good. I was gonna go on to talk about the rotten, crusty dishes that became a not so distant, daunting mountain over the weekend… and then tell you that Ed is tied up eating corned beef and “potatoes athena” with his family right now as my broken heart sings out through my elegant, agile finger tips. How much longer must I tolerate giving him over to his other life, in which there is no space for Athena Grace? A year? Three years? Seems ridiculous to you I bet… but just wait until you love someone like I love him… THEN be the judge. Actually, don’t bother being the judge at all. Just live your best life, and leave mine to me.

I’m writing this, because this is MY JOURNEY. It might be messy and tragic and limping… but it is mine. And I must love it. The bitch of it all, is that I know in my bones that I am a powerful woman, and I can create whatever I want… but… I just can’t seem to find the core of my desire. Like REALLY- WHAT MATTERS??? What is worth giving my whole self to???? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW. And in the mean time, I’m here in my bedroom, listening to Jai Uttal, and typing this pathetic blog, as I plummet into intermittent fits of sob. Shrug. Wise and compassionate types love to say that everyone in the whole world is doing their best. I tend to agree. I guess this is my best right now. Just to meet myself. In naked honesty. And give myself room to deeply feel and inhabit my experience. Heck, that’s really not so bad.

Ed and I went to yoga together on friday. That was fabulous. If only that was more of a commonplace occurrence THEN I’D BE HAPPY. Haha. My poor ego-washed mind. God! Help me be awake!!! Anyway, the teacher, Kimber was talking about saying YES to our dreams, and being TENACIOUS. I loved looking over and sneaking peaks at Ed in his cute athletic shorts and baby blue t-shirt… and I loved bearing witness to Kimber’s playful, heart-full, multi-dimensionally intelligent leadership… But when it came to harnessing and embracing MY DREAM… I came up short. Is everyone supposed to have a dream? It seems like we all “should”.

I guess if I was vivaciously honest about this, I’d hafta say that my dream is to be a spiritual leader. That’s what I see with my inner-vision. But that’s not exactly a dream that I can just pluck off the tree, and chomp down on. Nor a dream that can entice me away from this stream of tears that’s rushing from my cracked heart and burning eyeballs right now. I dream of Christ Consciousness. I dream of living in a state of awakened unity and deep peace. I dream of midwifing a world shaped by love, compassion, peace and soul-joy. I dream of clean water and kindness and harmony.

So what do I DO with all that? I guess I must endure this sublimely awkward phase… And keep my heart lifted up to God. Keep doing my practices. Keep Loving all my sisters and brothers as best I can, even as my world appears dim and constricting. Keep calling on the light. Even just a good old fashioned deep breath is a fantastic start. Maybe I’ll paint my nails silver. Maybe I’ll read the stories of Hanuman, the hindu monkey god, and quintessential sacred servant. Maybe I’ll play harmonium.

Well… there’s a little slice of my wobbly life.

That reminds me of this spiritual talk I’ve been listening to a lot lately, by one of Yogananda’s oldest living disciples (I THINK he’s still alive…), Brother Anandamoy. He talks about this one dude in their God-posse, who was in charge of leading the prayer at their weekly meeting. Every week, he’d offer the same prayer, “God, chisel Thou my life, according to Thy desire.” Brother Anandamoy thought this dude was asking for trouble… Because once God start’s chiseling, pieces of our identity start to crumble off… and most of us freak out, let go of God, and scramble for the worthless, broken pieces, when REALLY we should let the stupid pieces go, and HOLD ON TO GOD.

Well, gosh… I suppose God knows what HeSheIt’s doing… So I’m just gonna let them fly. Because ya know what? My heart prays that prayer often. And today is the day that I get right with the clumsy process. (Again.)

Ahhhh… I’m glad we had this talk.

Om. Peace. Amen.