Success in the Rubble of the Patriarchy

Recently, I googled “why are Italians so intense”, but I was disappointed by the lack of illumination provided to me by the omniscience of the world wide web.

 

This morning my BFF Anitra sent me an audio message which spoke to this burning curiosity in me.  She said she saw a time-tested latin quote posted somewhere that basically said “go fuck yourself” and mused on how this spoke to the ongoing culture of brutality that is Roman Civilization.  A sprawling history of dominance, beheading, crucifixion, thirst for “power” (as opposed to the real shit, which of coure is L-O-V-E).  Yup.  This feels true inside me.

 

I wonder what sorts of wars and festivals, rites and relations have happened on this very slab of earth, beneath the concrete mass that is now a tragically generic grocery store (at which we frequently shop), massive, double-decker parking lot and cafe (abounding with pretty, seductive morsels fashioned from white flower and white sugar) at which I sit splashing my musings upon the face of a benevolently glowing screen…  I guess the answer to this question could reveal a compelling story no matter which piece of earth one occupies.  Dense paper mache layers of history.  Past, present and FUTURE.  Maybe someday, this little piece of earth will be covered in flowers, gurgling streams and cute, furry animals.   Hopefully it won’t become a nuclear wasteland….

 

That triple paragraph musing didn’t really lead anywhere, as it would have in my “ideal world”… but I DO want it to be recorded in the annals of Herstory that in 2019, Athena Grace struggled (daily) to make amends with an environment which has endured a heavy-handed dose of Patriarchal influence.  A land where she never ceases to be amused and depending on her mood, also repulsed by the dirt-common practice of communication that lives like people shouting at each other.

 

My poor husband… perpetually perplexed by his utterly ordinary way of speaking often making his wife bristle, cower, cry.

 

I reckon no one is exempt from navigating the pitted inner and outer wastelands of Patriarchal damage at this point.  We are so steeped in it, we often don’t even recognize how warped we are.

 

Lately I’ve become too pregnant to “make anything of myself”, careerwise.  I was really giving it a valiant crack.  I intended to get my online women’s circles reignited and pumpin with shakti-sauce.  I feel sad writing that, because I SO want to.  But the reality is, I’m anywhere from tired to exhausted most of the time.  I have a three year old who needs so much of me.  My mom is dead.  My friends and family are an ocean and landmass away.  My husband works all the time.

 

I could suffer about all this… or just lay down my sword and shield and embrace the current weather system of ISness.  Or as Rosymoon perfectly summed it up once upon a time, “Yesness to the ISness is my Business.”  Damn straight Sisterhood.

 

Once again, I watch my deepest dreams and soul-full longings elude me; turn to sacred vapor in my pulsing palm.  To be a famous writer.  To be an inspiring leader of Women, trailblazer of global sanity, unapologetic, fluorescent luminary of Unity Consciousness.

 

But many of the sane and brilliant women whom I surround myself with have been echoing a similar message to me recently… they speak of their own inquiry into the notions of “success” and “fulfillment”.  Is our incessant striving for BIGGER-BETTER-MORE merely the deep scarring of a perverted, collective thought system?

 

It feels so true inside me that I want to BE SOMEBODY.  DO SOMETHING.  Create and generate from the raw passion that I AM.  But… is it not monumental to grow a human with my own body?  And not just ANY old human…. But an awake soul who embodies the potential to guide the world back into sacred balance?  My children will pick up where I left off.  And I have made a lot of progress in the Way of Love and Truth.  In the Way of purging Collective bullshit.  And I will do my BEST not to jam them in constricting boxes.  (God HELP ME forgive myself for all the little ways I fuck up every day… and affirm and reaffirm and celebrate the modest though cumulative successes we accrue.)

 

Is it not legendarily stupendous that my heart has opened to my husband?… Haha, after ten months and a nearly ripe baby…

 

I DO!  I finally love him!  Pop the chorus of champagne corks…  Ohhh… I miss that obsolete version of me…. Who wore flashy tights and short mini skirts and boots, and launched champagne corks to the moon before swigging the bubbly with (sweetly controlled) abandon.  Not that I ever want to be any manner of drunk again…. Well, yes, I DO.  I want to be GOD-DRUNK.  “Our Lady of God-Drunk Grace”, to be precise (this is the title I have my amazon orders addressed to actually…).  I want to feel less serious.  I want to cut loose and dance around and play about everything, with the gaily gurgling spirit of an Eternal Child.  But Lord Have Mercy, it sure is hard to “get it up”, when you’re trudging pregnant through a parched, scorching desert.  Cue up the fucking violins….

 

But while the violins moan and croon, I will sing to you of how I found love for Giordano….

 

Last week, the density of my Life crushed me again.  And I came damn fucking close to leaving this harsh land of Roman fall-out.  This time, it was not in reaction to cruel, barbaric behavior on the part of my “ball and chain”.  It was simply… EVERYTHING.  Some days I just hate my life.  I miss having friends.  I miss not being able to talk to “strangers”.  It feels so desolate and barren.  And often I feel just as lonely when I’m with Giordano… to no fault of his.  We just don’t jive.  He lives mostly in his intricate, self-proclaimed-genius (perhaps he really is one…) mind.  But in terms of emotional/relational intelligence, he often sucks ass.  But then sometimes he doesn’t.

 

On the heels of weeks melting into months of drowning depression, I told him I was considering going back to California.  He got scared.   And hence mean.  Like a cobra snake puffing up in defense of his precious little serpentine body.  But at some level I was glad, because his meanness justified my intended exit.  My dad told me he’d give me the money to fly home, if I truly felt this was the right choice.

 

But third time IS a charm.  Instead of taking impulsive action, I told Daddy Dearest that I have fucked up ENOUGH times making emotionally impulsive decisions… I needed some time to sit with the offer.  That night I didn’t sleep.  At 3:30am I came back to bed and Giordano awoke.  He asked me what was going on and I started to cry from the immense pressure and ache inside.  He embraced me with his raw, unguarded heart.  I realized this unconditional, saturated holding was my deepest desire.

 

He said he understood me.  He spoke of his played-the-fuck-out pattern to leave before he is abandoned.   He confessed the part of him that has been tempted to walk away before I do.  But he knows that territory better than his own… dick (Which I refer to as his “Best Friend”) and he’s ready to do something new.  Fucking Courageous.

 

I found respect for him that night.  And the entry point into the possibility of Trust.  We acknowledged that we have struggled to trust one another.  And that we both deeply desire to trust.

 

Since then, everything has felt different.  Something crumbled and fell away.  My heart feels soft and open.  Even when I don’t like him….

 

This MUST be “success”.

 

But life still often feels lonely and frustrating (believe me, I AM making concerted effort to count my blessings and savor the little mOMents of grace…).  This must be what if feels like for an ego to unravel.  Uncomfortable and confusing.  But maybe something good is happening….

 

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I Can Do Anything For ONE Day…

Today I have accepted my role in “God’s plan for salvation”, as a course in miracles fondly phrases it.  Yikes.  They invited me for this ONE single day to relinquish all my lofty, flavorless carrots and instead, rest.  Rest into the peace that is always nestled sweetly in the core of me.  I can leggo of all the shallow pursuits of future happiness and peace… just for ONE day, right?  I mean there’s always tomorrow for me to fixate on whether or not I want to choose Mykael to grow old with.  There’s always tomorrow to sear myself into the grill of regret around breaking up with E*.  And tomorrow too, I can neurotically ruffle my own feathers to a bloody pulp over financial concerns!  But for one day, I can totally recognize the implicit perfection in this strange and beautiful slant in which I have somehow, strangely come to believe myself to exist.  Just for today I can relax my belly, rest my guts and simply BE.  It won’t kill me…

Or maybe it will.  God’s plan for salvation does include ego death.  Oh well, shhhhhhh… don’t mention that part to my fearsome little sheath of illusory identity.  Maybe she won’t notice till it’s too late.

The thing is, I don’t know what to say as one dedicated only to full surrender.  I wonder if I was truly surrendered, if the “Holy Slave Driver” (I’m teasing.  It’s a way to poke fun and call God names.  We have that kind of relationship.  The kind where we give each other noogies and serve as the divine butt of each other’s jokes… Don’t worry, it’s all in fun!)  But ahem, because would the Holy Slave Driver even have me here, indulgently plinking away on the keys?  I hope so.  Because here I am, and it feels non-negotiable.  Besides, there is so much to discuss.

I might as well tell you… wait… God?  Is it okay if I talk about you know what with them???  Well, I just dropped into deep meditation for a sec, and God said YES!!!!  Would you prefer that I refer to God as “All Pervading Light” today?  Does that make you feel more comfortable and at peace?  APL… that’s what I’ll call God today.  Just for the sake of setting your skeptical mind at ease.  Semantics, man… Who cares?  The heart of the matter is that there’s something good about all of this existence as we know it business…  Shoot!  All that effort to take care of your frightened mind and I forgot what I was gonna tell you!  I think three threads wish to be expressed through me today.  1) An update on my relationship to my Relationship.  2) Rock climbing as a perfect mirror.  3) The first scratch on the surface of the topic of women’s body image  4) The Guru who lives in my back yard.  Will I be able to knock out the whole baker’s quarter of a dozen?  Maybe not… but thankfully, I am still a subscriber to the concept of time and space and that means that there is such an ingenious invention of a thing called “tomorrow”, not to mention “the day after tomorrow”!!!  As I see it, in relation to writing, this is a great thing, because I LOVE writing SO MUCH.  I sit here in prostration to my keyboard, to my glowing screen, music pumping into my ears, the angry scraping groan of the coffee grinder pressing its way into my ears too, and my heart folds open like a fast motion video of a lotus in bloom.   This is the meaning of life for me. (APL, is it okay that I said that?  Does it groove with my role in your plan for salvation???? SAY YES, damn it.  Please say yes!!!)  (I bet that my open heart is a stellar indicator that APL is saying yes… Don’t you think?)

So last night was “date night”.  Mykael and I have recently started the practice of taking turns planning it.  You see, week after week we were finding ourselves in this lackadaisical place of “what do you wanna do?”  “I dunno… what do YOU wanna do?”  Which inevitably meant the most mundane evening in which I cook dinner, as I do every single night of my APL given life, and then we smoke a little pot and watch a movie and maybe have sex.  Honestly, I love these activities.  Especially in the dark, cold breath of winter.  But now that spring has sprung, we are both ferociously wanting to come unstuck.  So.  It was my turn.  The days leading up to date night, I was flooding with sweet inspirations like sitting outside on the patio at Caesar, sipping wine and sketching each other.  Wandering to the top of the hill in the cemetery and watching the sun set, splurging on a hot tub at piedmont springs, practicing orgasmic meditation on each other… But then the day came and I was over tired and also feeling all my doubts about the relationship and suddenly, my inspiration was nowhere to be found.  Shoot.  Blast it!  I just wanted to be taken out to dinner.  I was beat and didn’t want to generate.  Just to be treated like a purring princess, sitting in the waning evening sun, sipping red wine, nibbling on crunch, salty things, squishing and chomping on sweeter more enchanting tidbits.

I have been judging myself for this, and trying to pretend it’s not so, but last night, I just let myself be honest.  I want a man who takes me out on the town.  I want a man who wines and dines me, takes me to the ballet, the theater…  Mykael ain’t makin’ much money right now, nor has he been for the two year duration of our relationship (let alone ever)… so if I want to be wined and dined in his company, it is ME who’s footing the bill.  If I’m footing the bill, to me, that equates to less money that I have to buy myself simple things like RENT.  Like work clothes, a second hoodie (since I wear the SAME one every day), blah, blah, this is the scarcity based monkey chatter that I subscribe to on most days.  But not today!  Because today I accept my roll in APL’s plan for salvation, yo!  Tomorrow, though, I might just sink back into the pit of my dreams of scarcity and fear.

So anyway, I felt so full of resentment that if I wanted to go out for a frivolous night on the towne, it was on my dimes and nickels (and bears oh my!).  So I shut down, became pouty and punishing and then date night got canceled.  I felt simultaneously devastated and relieved.  Mykael I would venture to guess felt PISSED and HURT, since I heard a symphony of doors and drawers slamming from his room shortly thereafter.  Then he went into the kitchen to make himself pasta (which I refuse to eat 99% of the time) with asparagus.  I was starving too, since we ate an early lunch and then worked out and now it was seven pm… But I was too devastated and disappointed to forage through our scanty pickins in the fridge.  Oh, no, wait, I did end up standing, blinded by the light of the open fridge a few separate times, closing the door in a state of rigid overwhelm and pacing back to my bedroom… where I turned in restless circles before flopping down in a dramatic heap of anguish on my bed.

I don’t understand how his reserve tanks always seem to have SOMETHING in them, but Mykael eventually came in and flopped down on top of me and told me that I really needed to eat something.  THIS GENEROSITY IN THE FACE OF MY WRATH AND CONDEMNATION????   Where on earth does he come up with it?  I was humbled.  Even still it was difficult for me to give it up and open.  But I knew the alternative sucked ass… because I’d been living it for the last half an hour.  So I gave it up and proposed dinner at the Boot and Shoe service, down the hill from us.  Incase you don’t know, they make hella gourmet, bomb-ass pizzas in a cute, infernal wood oven.  The ambiance is A#1.  Dim, moody, bustling.  All the wait staff is young and hot and friendly as hell.

TO BE CONTINUED.