All We Can Really Do Is Live It…

com·pel [kuhthinsp.pngthinsp.pngm-pel]

verb (used with object)


to force or drive, especially to a course of action: His disregard of the rules compels us to dismiss him.


to secure or bring about by force.


to force to submit; subdue.


to overpower.


Archaic. to drive together; unite by force; herd.

verb (used without object)


to use force.


to have a powerful and irresistible effect, influence, etc.


Just before I began this blog, I was compelled to pull up youtube and have a listen to Beck’s song, Loser.  That was random!  Haven’t heard that song since high school.  But the video showed the words on the screen, and I sang along all angsty and had a good laugh about it!  But that’s not really why I included the definition of compel here in Mrs. Graceland…


Listen, I have tons of really brambly, nutrient dense, karmic stew to digest here on the page… but first I’ve gotta get some cheap, silly shit off my chest.  Namely that in the bathtub this am, I realized how amazing it would be if somebody did a remake of the 80s movie, The Goonies… that was “The Ghetto Goonies”, or “Goonies in the Hood”… Right?!?!  I know this dates me, and if you’re all old and out of touch (wink), then you’ll just have to take my word for it… because I am the Goddess of Wisdom and Strategic War… and I know some shizz about some shizz… It would be a primarily black cast… and they’d say shit like…. Dang!  I forgot what I was hearing in my  head in the tub… and I just spent like an hour trying to figure out some hella clever line to remix, gansta style, but it didn’t come.  And it’s giving my brain a cramp and kinking my stream of conscious ness to try and whip one out.  But trust me when I say it’s a hands down brilliant idea.


And now back to the land of compulsion… I can’t remember exactly what I told you about the relational climate between Ed and I, in the previous installment of the Graceland Chronicles…  Oh yeah!  I gave him the ultimatum to GROW WITH ME or get lost, and he said he needed space to think about that.  And meanwhile he was slinging a bunch of blame my way for “cheating on him”!!!!  Hahahaha.  You might not think that’s funny… because you  might believe that being in a relationship where your married boyfriend is slinging blame at you is “unhealthy”… and heck, you might even be RIGHT about that!  But I think it’s funny, because it’s clearly not about ME at all.  The poor man is wrestling his own zillion-fanged, reptilian predator of a shadow!  I didn’t cheat or betray.  I’ve been honest all along.


But anyway, I am choosing not to make his acting out from insecurity and fear the most important thing.  (Hey wait!  I’ve gotta pause and celebrate, because from my towering third story window, I can see a shirtless man on a distant rooftop, sitting in a chair, reading a book!  Mostly I only see people on other roofs briefly appear to smoke a cigarette.  But he’s stone-cold chillin, sipping words and worlds, as he imbibes his daily dose of vitamin D.  Like.  And PS~ it’s eleven am, and the sun is just beginning to burn through the fog.  For the last few days, we have had Mists of Avalon mornings here in the Land of Oaks.  Thick, liquid cotton candy, swaddling the city in mystery… and every day I await the revelation of a hidden and enchanted land.  If not “outside”, certainly WITHIN… and now back to our previously scheduled program:)


So yeah, I’m not taking Ed’s shadow boxing match personally.  And it is never difficult to recognize his Great Ness.  Except when it is… but that’s an inevitability when loving any human being.  We see their best, their shimmering, show-stopping divine potential… and yet we love them for who they ARE, all warty and self-limiting.  Well… at least we have that option.  And in my thirty three trips (plus about a bajillion other incarnations) around our blazing gas ball, this is the best way I have found to love other human beings.


So there I was, burning in the threat of Ed’s sudden absence from my daily and hourly existence… praying to God non-stop for some sort of grace to make me strong enough to let go… and for a minute I thought I could do it.  But then I asked him to come over yesterday, to say mantra (something we do together regularly, before my altar, me, nestled in his lap, yab yum style…) hold each other and talk/listen.  Because GET REAL– even if we decide to stop seeing each other, it must come from a place of love and blessing, not from pain and disconnect.  No way!  I NEVER want to part ways with anyone in that fashion.  Then what happens if they DIE, or I die and we regret that we didn’t just love and forgive.


At first, he was hard and guarded.  But again, I didn’t take it personally.  I felt joy that he chose to step into me and connect!  And I let myself smile and love like my heart MUST.  Awe, I know, I know, cut to the chase, Athena.  This is a blog, not a million mile, medieval linguistic dead sea scroll…


I’m COMPELLED to say, that it felt SO GOOD to connect, hold each other, share, chant.  God that man turns me on on so many levels.  He had to leave before we were hella complete.  I didn’t want to let him go.  As soon as he walked out the door, I burst into tears in Venus’s arms.  I sobbed on and off for the rest of the afternoon… And I realized that I’M NOT READY TO LET GO OF HIM.


Fuck ultimatums and happily ever afters and perfect pictures.  The truth is, we’re probably NOT life partners.  The truth is, we do come from really different paradigms and subscribe to different world views.  The truth is that we love and know each other SO DEEPLY.  And I feel that we still have more to share.  At first I hated to admit that my truth is that regardless of the fact that he’s probably not ever gonna be my ONE, my husband, my baby daddy, my life-long partner, I don’t want to let go.  But after unsuccessfully trying to tame the snarling, fire-breathing beast of my desire, I found freedom in admitting what was true in my heart.  True, it didn’t measure up to the new-agey, holier than thou image I often delight in super-imposing myself into… But it was real.


And inside this COMPELLING desire to continue loving with Ed, I am asking myself questions like, AM I WILLING TO CHOOSE MONOGAMY with a married man?  God, I typed that sentence out and washed with sassy shame!  Shame at how it must sound from the outside.  Pathetic.  But I’ll tell you WHAT- suddenly all of the old Billie Holliday songs make tons of sense.  “My man he isn’t true, he beats me too… what can I do?  Cuz I love him…”  Hahaha.  You should hear me laughing out loud at myself.  Because I can hardly believe I’m saying this shit.  I know myself to be a Goddess.  And a strong-assed Wonder Woman type.  Well I’m here to tell you that life ain’t black and white.  Uh-uh.  It’s affinity shades of PINK!!!!!  Tee-hee!


God, I love myself for being so willing to be in the Game.  And continue to love myself as best I can, be raw and honest and laugh at all of it… when I’m not crying.  Although last night when my Friend (with a capital F), Basin kept capturing my tears in the little tear collection vial he wore around his neck, my sobs turned to unbridled peals of laughter on a very hot dime.   That’s what I call LIVING!  (Love you Basin!)


So am I willing to be “monogamous” with my married boyfriend?  The answer is yes, for now.  I am very satiated by all that we share… and am willing to hear more about what sort of boundaries he needs in order to feel safe to keep opening deeply with me (and as well share my needs and wants).  And then, we can try it out for say, a month.  Listen people, NOTHING in this life is as permanent as we WISH it was… So let’s just play and explore.  Make up new games and see what happens…


Anyway, that’s were I’m at.


And I feel so joyous to be engaged in the messy process of life without attachment to the FUTURE.  Process oriented living, man…  I’m tellin ya… it’s the new Beethoven.  Some day, maybe I’ll give myself over to the starchy, black and white heaven of ultimatums and happily ever afters.  Really.  And it could be as soon as this afternoon.  But for NOW, I am so happy to simply be me.  Unfiltered, imperfect, naked and exploratory.  What I DO know about myself, is that I learn from EVERYTHING I live.  I take it deep inside me and through the alchemical Grace of God, it becomes the coins and jewels of divine wisdom that I am able to generously sprinkle upon the differentiated sea of otherness; all who must navigate similar labyrinths of the heart and soul.  Life… I hear myself smilingly say, as I inhale deep and full… All we can do, really, is LIVE IT.




If Only I Could Be Other Than Me

My latest hobby has become avoiding writing.  I’m a natural, what can I say… But today, there is SO much inside me.  And I have been blogging in my head for hours now and saying all sortsa brilliant and embarrassing stuff.  Of course now that I’ve entered the pearly gates of Athena Graceland, I recall none of it…


But what I really feel like doing here on the page, is unapologetically unleashing the unsightly facets of my humanity.  Honestly… I’m sick of striving for such rigid strains of perfection and consciousness.  It makes my butt hole ache.  Wink.  I also want to give you a report on the amazing urban spring time music that is pouring through my wide open windows.  I have a low tolerance for “real” music these days.  Mostly, I find it overstimulating and agitating.  So I’ve taken to really listening to the music of the world.  It’s often brilliant, actually.  A cornucopia of various species of horny birds sprinkle the lucid, sunny evening with lyrical joy.  And a shhhhhushhh of traffic smooths the sonic space like a soft, frictional continuum.  Add in an occasional train whistle to penetrate all the passive feminine whisper tones.  The distant, imperceptible voice of a child inscribes the moment with innocence.  A car horn adds a jolting top note of sharp immediacy.  Sirens smear across the soundscapes like spicy finger paint.  All of this washes over me so subtly, I’d miss it if I didn’t listen.


Dan always preached that life is THIS MOMENT.  The moment is all that we truly have, all that is real.  I’m sitting indian style on my bed.  My back is slightly hunched.  The sun is waning and the tulips and daffodils in the vase at my bedside have become withered, but they still have charm.  In my heart, a dull ache croons.  Like a wide suck.  Like a painfully dense gravitational field.  I shared an intimate encounter with a man on saturday afternoon, and when I told Ed about it, he had a deep, intense reaction.  Ya know, hurt, fear… that stuff.  My commitment to myself has been to fully reveal myself every step of the way in our relationship, regardless of the impact.  Because what is the use of misrepresenting myself; acting like I’m someone I’m NOT, someone I imagine HE wants me to be… just so I can get his love.  The cost of that is self love and self respect.  Expensive…


I knew he would be upset.  And I was so tempted to contort the truth so that I would not face the fatal possibility of losing his love.  His love is a potent, life-vivifying, heart-amplifying drug.  I want to clutch it with knuckles whiter than snow or blow.  But that’s not the game  I really want to play, so I shared with him.  He sucked in on himself and burst into quiet flames of pain.


And just for the record, I want YOU to know that in MY world, even as I shared sweet, sensual, loving moments of life with this other guy, Ed was emblazoned in my heart and I conducted the encounter in a way that I felt honored what Ed and I share.  In MY world.  But not it Ed’s world.


It was my fever dreamy hope that sharing all of this with Ed would bring us closer.  Because we’d get to expose ourselves.  Our desires, fears, vulnerabilities.  And from there, fashion a stronger, deeper container for the sacredness we share. But alas, it seems to have set us further apart, placed a wedge between our hearts.  I know, I know, he’s MARRIED.  And even though we were both ACTING like we were in a Relationship… we are not.  We never made any commitments, boundaries, agreements or any such structures that would serve as a sacred container to grow our love.  How could we?  His life is an intricately tangled ball of yarn.  I guess in reality, all we really have are the moments we share.  And the moments we share are sublime.  But god, I wish I could order a deluxe subscription to Forever with him…


But maybe this expansive, educational and certainly salacious affair has run it’s course.  Frown.   Because he’s too jealous of my way of sharing myself with other men.  I can be quite flirtatious and sensual, melting open just by virtue of my nature.  And this causes him to feel like his guts are being ripped out.  I guess we’re not right for each other.


YES.  It’s true that I have been living in fantasy land.  Hoping that “some day” we would be together for real.  He’d come home from his late night shift on the police force (!!!!) and crawl into bed with ME, and spoon me to the end of love.  In the morning, he’d make me tea and kiss me all over and send me off into the subtle waves of self-disciplinary bliss that is my sadhana.  And blah blah blah insert every nuance of saccharine happily ever afterdom imaginable here: _____________________. (Be sure to include giving me a baby…)


Yes, I am so aware that all of this might sound like the words of a wounded, dysfunctional, fevered soldier.  Totally.  But fuck trying to present myself as all perfect and smoother than thou, like a porcelain collectable.  I’m a flawed and flailing specimen of a divine human being just like you.  Except I’m ME.  And now for the really sick and awesome part!!!


I told Ed that my bottom line was that if we’re gonna continue our devotional and profoundly intimate soul spelunking together, he would have to be willing to grow with me, and build a relationship founded in Love and abundance, rather than fear, scarcity, attachment to the past and socio-familial programming.  He said he wasn’t sure if he wanted that or not and he’d have to think about it.  He said he’d reach out to me when he had an answer.  Up until now, we haven’t gone more than three hours without talking… in many months.  Except when we’re sleeping.  When he told me this, MY guts ripped out.  My heart, my belly, my pussy.  Everything sucked out of me, in a reckless instant of invisibly gory death.  So I prayed.  All I can do is keep praying.  Because God knows best.  It’s just excruciating to lose my best friend and lover.  He was the centerpiece of my life.


In an ideal world, I’d have SOMETHING… Some compelling purpose… besides love and relationship… that occupied the limelight of my life.  I guess.  But the truth is, from inside out, I am most compelled by love, sex and intimacy.  Love me or leave me.


And the laughably sick part, is that I feel so disgustingly tempted to throw myself at his feet and through waves of sob and orgasmic gasp, promise that I will CHANGE.  Promise that I am only HIS, to possess and contain, forever and forever.  Yes, Ed, strangle me and suffocate me with your huge, fear-stained love!!!!!  Or maybe I’ll beg HIM to change!  Beg him to be who I want him to be.  Someone who is willing to kiss his security and comfort and socially acceptable image goodbye and dive with me into the deep and seductive waters of the Unknown and trust our amazing love to be strong enough to keep us together, so that we may dig a wishing well of devotion and intimacy SO DEEP that we reach china, and keep digging, far into the vast black expanse of the star-strewn and awe-drenched multiverse.  PLEASE CHANGE ED!!!! Please want to grow with me.


If only we fit the perfect shapes of each other’s expectations… Sigh… At the core, before conditioning and habits and belief systems, our souls fit together like Cinderella’s foot slid into the glass slipper at the hand of her dashing prince.  But then comes all of the dense, sedimentary layers of physical reality…  and the perfection is smashed like a crystal bird whose jagged shards flash and flutter about the expansive marble dance floor.


And really… I want to be someone who trusts and loves God more than any finite form.  I feel the cold, gnawing devastation of this perceived loss of Ed in my life… and I imagine myself being thrust into involuntary, premature sainthood.  Fuck the perpetual imperfection of loving men.  Take me straight to God, where I may rest and bless for all of infinity.  Show me the real world. Inside.


If only I could let go…


I don’t fucking want to let go.





Playing With Life

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


With an ecstatic Amen,

Athena Grace LMNOP

Sloppy God-Drunk Tonight!

Nobody told me that surrender would lead to the harder stuff!  Jesus.  For the last couple of days, I’ve felt quite compelled to let go of agendas… and just see what the unfiltered, unrefined, unadulterated present moment has to offer.  It’s been pretty nifty.  But now in my candlelit bedroom, I just want to flop around and act like a stoned teenager.  You know, paint my nails (metaphorically, not literally…), flip through teen magazines, drool and dream about losing my virginity to the stars of Beverly Hills 90210 (you should have heard the way I laughed at THAT one.  Sheeezzz.  I’m really enjoying deepening my friendship with Athena Grace lately!!!  She’s a hoot!)… God… the grown-up version of unstructured bedroom time would probably be knitting and watching Divine Nectar, the female ejaculation movie… or flipping through spiritual books, taking gluttinous notes in my recycled spiral notebook and watching the candle light dance my walls to the end of love.  Or even…actually WRITE poetry… I mean like in a notebook made of paper with an inky stick writing device.  I think they call ‘em “pens”…


MORE!!!  Give me MORE!!!  This moment is NOT enough… I want to feel MORE fulfilled.  More BLISSFUL, more happy and peaceful and in LOVE.  Oh God!  Saying all that is making my heart cackle, squeal and screach.  A dam of relief has burst inside my chest because those sentiments have gone unspoken for too long.  I mean, honestly, those deep seated longings are the root of most of the bullshit in my consciousness.  As if there is anything truly BETTER than right f-ing NOW!  (What could I say instead of F-ing?  Right Sigmund Freudian NOW.  As if there’s anything truly better than this epic relic of angelic songstress conferencing on the all pervading tip of God’s tongue…)


Shoot.  Landing here on the page, it is apparent that droves of unicorns are thundering recklessly about my inner planes and trampling my rhyme, reason and ability to color inside the figurative lines.  This blog is turning out to be an irreverent scribble all over the inner walls.  And you know what???  It’s turning me ON!  The next thing you know, the screen of your computer is gonna split like the seat of too tight pants and I’m gonna burst through and do a vivacious, random dance for you as I fling prismatic vegetable confetti everywhere.


ONCE AND FOR ALL… What is the stinkin’ meaning of life?  Please!  Can we all just stop trying to be so damn “good” when we answer this question?  Honestly.  Let’s make the meaning of life TO BE FULLY, unapologetically OURSELVES tonight… Screw all this good Samaritan bull-og-na.  Just at least for tonight.  Let’s let our hair down, rip our shirts off, hurl darts and radically miss the board on PURPOSE and sing operatic versions of our favorite songs of all times!!!  Let’s dump bags of flaming Cheetos all over the ballroom floor and STOMP ON THEM, savoring the sound and sensation as they crush beneath our holy feet.  Let’s put on our finest pearls and then RIP them from each other’s necks and watch them scatter chaotic elegance about the roomy halls of Infinity!   I’m not kidding, people.  I think I am drunk.  The moral of the story?  Be careful what you name your church (says “Our Lady of God-Drunk Grace”)… Hahahahah… I am absolutely cracking myself UP tonight!  This would be too good to be true… if it wasn’t true right now.  But as far as I can tell, this 3D experience, involving breathing and laying on my belly on my foam pad of a bed listening to enigma as candle light flickers on the enlightened faces of my guru posse is about as real as it gets.  Not that I’m asserting its realness… No.  I’m just saying… this is about as real as I can fathom right now.


This morning when I was jogging Hanalei Bay, from a distance, I saw this dude taking pictures of himself.  What a narcissist, I thought… but I was tickled.  As I got closer, I saw that he was photographing himself in front of a beautiful peace sign made of vibrant orchid petals!  Though I hate to stop in the middle of a work-out (and let my heart rate drop), I HAD TO this time… For YOU.  Because I want to share my world with you.  Because it is so beautiful, so often… And you might think I’m making it all up if I don’t cough up some evidence once in a rainbow moon (someone told me today that the moon does sport a rainbow halo around here now and again!).  So this “stranger” of a man with God pouring from his smiling brown eyes, he and I photographed each other with this auspicious random, anonymous act of beauty.  It was such intimacy we shared.  And then we parted ways.  Maybe forever…  I have included the photo.


Now I’m gonna sign off and swan dive into my bubble gum, adolescent fantasies, dark worlds of uncharted soul secrets and the ever-arduous task of resisting the bliss of being.


Dear God… Please, oh PLEASE… Leap through the screen of every single reader… dive into their open eyes, make a huge, ecstatic splash in their heart, so that they feel the drunken joy of Love’s holy, eternal presence.  God!  I’m counting on you!  Please bless them all by igniting their passions and breathing infinite space into their wells of peace.  Thanks you bitchin’ All Pervader!  I love you!



Moonbeams As Reflected By Irridescent Mermaid Scales

This just IN~ there IS a God, after all!!!!  For *real*…


Just as I sat and hunkered down to blog, the song “waterfall” by Jes poured on me [like a waterfall].  Yes, I’m playing my new favorite Pandora station~ B-Tribe. (OMG, it is so sensual and groovy.  I dare you to imbibe…) “Yeah?  So?”, I hear you wondering… Well, I began my day at Kilauea Falls this morning.  It was my first trip to a waterfall since I’ve been on the island(eight weeks today).  Strange how so many things in this life can be taken for granted when in essence, they are drop dead miraculous.  Being at the waterfall was one of these undercover miracles.


Mid morning.  I was alone in this lush, jungle basin, captivated by the wide, short falls.  I striped naked, said a prayer for forgiveness and the grace to remove all barriers to Love and slid into the cool, rippling pool of liquid purification and shimmering light.


Well, how bout this?!  I just took a languid and succulent yoga break… and when I returned to the page, I was met by a picket line!  A whole host of gnomes in drag protesting linear thinking!!!  Now, normally, I am not one to be deterred by these charming little men in pointy hats… but these angsty queens were a force to be reckoned with!  Through their mirrored, berry crush lips, they demanded that I knock off the play by play recounting of my fever-charmed existence.  Though their impressive stiletto heals are needle sharp and could take my life with one false dance step, I must confess that they *are* indeed on to something.


The hippopotamus-bottom line?  I feel to be a treasure trove of beauty.  Thirty years of deep sea diving, and I finally found the trunk I have been dreaming of and drooling over for millennia.  Kauai is helping me shed interminable amounts of weighty soul-stain that I picked up along my sloggish skip through eternity.


I have worked so long to remember.  And now I am remembering!!!!  And the song, “I Remember” is now playing on Pandora… of course.  I am remembering that I am made of Love and All is Love and I want to serve and uplift the world.  (I am also remembering that I’m pretty over beans these days.  I ate some black beans for dinner…like three hours ago… and I just got up and danced to this song because its so sexy and alive… and when I sat back down, I burped like black beans and what this means is that they are just too heavy for me.  Which is weird because I used to eat them for like every meal.  But now all I want is carrots and avocados and papayas and vitamineral green powder.  AND yerba mate with half and half and an immodest spoon of honey.  That’s the BEST ever.


Sure, the waterfall was a miracle.  I climbed beneath it and let it pound on me.  I thought of my blood family and I cried.  I sat on the far bank, wet and empty and watched the white water slide ceaselessly into gravity’s wide open mouth.  Sure.  And as I hiked back up the hill, I marveled at what an altered state I was in.  Felt so light and lost in dimensions they sure as hell didn’t teach me about in public school.  Yes, I have heaps of reverence for everything.  Yes.  Today was as good as I dreamed it would be last night.


You know what the *best* thing about all of this is?!?!  I don’t know where I’m gonna live cum November…(that’s all of three days from now) and I am fully at peace with this.  I trust in my All Pervading BFF in a way that simultaneously baffles and thrills me.  Alls I gotsta say is HOLY POPCORN!  I owe a lot of this to my diurnal attendance of Our Lady of God-Drunk Grace!  I am pouring a decadent, lucid stream of Truth with a capital T on my mind… and I am finally GETTING that it sho’ don’t matter about the external circumstances of life.  But mostly about the choice to open to Love NOW.  And now and now and now…  I know that I am on this earth to serve Love.  To Forgive.  And to raise all of my fellow travelers up with me.  Come on!  Let’s dance!  That’s what really matters.  (Although, I must say that the external surroundings here on Kauai DO help… I dunno if I’d feel this much like a rockstar if I was in dingy Tijuana or Nazi Germany… But I’ll gladly accept the alliance of tropical paradise while I can.  Sheee-it…


And some other-other good news is that while I was on yoga break, I wandered out to use the bathroom, and knocked over a yogurt container full of fresh flowers, which I soon learned were from WP!  In them was nestled a note that said, “Would you like to still be my writing partner?  Yes.  No.  (circle one)”  AWE!  I was afraid he’d never want to talk to me (real, anyway), let alone be my WP… Of course I still want to be your writing partner, WP!!!!  And thank you for the flowers!


So you see, God exists, and I feel like a swirling pool of moonbeams as reflected by irridescent mermaid scales, elegant strands of black pearls resting sexy-artistic on collarbones dressed in soft, sun kissed flesh, rapturous heavenly bodies making love on satin sheets in sensuous, nocturnal tropical heat…  I feel like breath moving with the ease of spring rivers pouring down lush, crisp mountain sides, strong, masculine hands squeezing supple squish of tender inner thighs.


God?  Thank you for escorting me thus far.  Please make me pure, empty and overflowing, that I may spill your Grace upon this world.  Please God!!  Thank you God!



Cloud Theater and Holy Reverence

I’m looking at clouds out my bedroom window.  I swear to Jesus H, the clouds here on Kauai are a constant source of entertainment for me!  They put Hollywood cinema to s-h-a-m-e.  (You have to spell it out…)  Remember as a kid when you used to allow yourself to become mesmerized and dissolved in the overt images that called to your awakened, imaginative spirit?  Well, if you were here with me, you too would become a kid again!  I’m sure of it.  I just saw a swan swim over the mountain and now she has become a hooded cobra snake!  Of course I also see a galloping silver unicorn, which is extra special, because most of the unicorns I see are plain old white!


I am SO happy to be here with You (yes, YOU) in Athena Graceland!  Can you tell?  It’s our refugee camp.  I was feeling premenstrual and fragmented and swirling with unruly emotions… but now that I have arrived safely on the page I am home free.  It’s like playing tag and making it to base safely without getting tagged.  Or swimming through a lake full of piranhas and getting to shore without being a pulpy mess of blood and mangled flesh.  This calls for a celebration!  Crack open the bubbly, strike up the band, rip off your clothes and dance with me!


Oh, okay, I’ll come clean… I also just drank two cups of sweet, creamy yerba matte in a row because my butt was filled with ever single marble that existed in nineteen fifty and because of this, it was d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g behind me and really slowing me down.  But not no mo’!  Now my mind is a jack rabbit tearing down the highway and my poor little fingers are doing their darnedest to keep up, bless their ten little bony hearts.  Ahhh!  I just took a sweet deep breath!  Now the clouds have become a flame-breathing Santa Clause head!  See what I mean?  Why would I ever need to go to the movies again?  Maybe just for the greasy, five dollar popcorn…


Today is one of those days where I want to tell you everything at once.  I know!  How ‘bout I just rip the top of my head off and let you wade around in the spacious, soupy cosmos in here?!?  I promise you a whale of a time, or your money back, guranteed…


First I want to tell you that I have a phobia of studying English, literature and writing in some sort of credible institution… I’m afraid of all the stuffy, self-important rules that I imagine perverted grandpa academia would try to cram down my freewheeling throat.  I love writing exactly how I want to, not how I’m “supposed to”, in order to be erudite and sophisticated and respectable.  Two corners of the mouth down on THAT one… My voice is a tender chick, which I guard with my life, unwilling for her fragile, fluffy body to be shattered and her guts burst all about the careless, calloused world at large.  Shrug… So I guess that rules out college for me.  I’ll just stick to my already rigorous enrollment in the School of Mostly Soft Knocks.


Next order of business, I am invited to be on local radio tomorrow morning!  There’s this show from ten till noon, hosted by a man named Kamran.  He carves out his two hours to be a sacred space, a place of unconventional worship.  He often reads from the works of my homeboys, Rumi and Hafiz weaving them in with groovy music and amazing, enlightened guests such as YT (my new shorthand for “yours truly”…)  We just spoke on the phone and I felt his heart immediately.  Even the moment that occurs just BEFORE immediately.  I wish we had a word for that in clumsy old English… Maybe that’s what a “heart-blink” is… (Eh Dan?)  Ahem, so Kamran asked me to reach inside and harvest some gratitude saturated, love stained, God drunk words, offered straight to this resplendent, generous, heaven of an island and all of her blessed inhabitants.  I feel like I just won the lottery, because I have SO much appreciation for this verdant, copious, loving embrace named Kauai.  (Now the clouds look like a big long poop, slowly drifting above the mountains…)


I’ve always wanted to be on the radio!  I want to be Hanuman the monkey god tomorrow morning.  You know how he unabashedly rips his chest open to reveal Sita and Ram, the female and male principals of God, who are nestled eternally in his heart?  He eternally burns with a drive to pour himself out in service to them.  Yes, I pray that I can rip my heart open and bleed contagious, celebratory devotion upon all who listen to the show… which of course will then continue to rush like a river and drench everyone THEY know and love and even those they don’t know they love!


Can you imagine feeling love for every single One you meet?  Try it.  It’s possible.  Isn’t that amazing?  That is why I keep returning to the Rivers, Streams, Ocean of God and washing my mind, cleansing my heart… because with a divinely cleansed Self, not only are miracles, possible, they are INEVITABLE as breathing.


I just closed my eyes and asked God what else to say to you this afternoon.  In the darkness behind my eyes, a doorway opened into the world of sound.  I tuned into the high pitched, rolling purr of some sort of crickety insects.  It’s an evocative song.  It seduces my mind to reach its boundless fingers straight into the heavens and caress the soft cheeked face of Grace.  And Holy Popcorn!, is her cheek soft!  If you don’t believe me, reach up and see for yourself!  You’ll be pleasantly astonished.


God, I offer myself as your Holy Instrument!  Please, let my life be a source of inspired beauty and contagious peace.  Help me to forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive and… until I am as wide open as… er… ummmm… the WIDEST OPENING in all the multiverse.  (And may I continue to lovingly laugh at myself as I stumble along the way.)  And God, may this prayer inspire and remind ALL who read it of their unique, glory stained holiness, and their miraculous and ESSENTIAL place in the All Pervading Choir!  And God?  You ROCK!




P.S.~ Now the clouds have turned to Snoopy!

An Ugly Confession & A Brief History of My Sexual Evolution

Yup.  I’m right on schedule!  Today’s another broken open day.  It was tricky though… and crept up on me when I wasn’t looking.  I’m at the Kilauea Bakery, sitting outside (so that the breeze can caress me as it likes) staring into space trying to retrace the moment that my world pitched on its head.  I think it was while I was on the internet this morning, trying to figure out flights to Maui in preparation for my impending yoga therapy training.  Doing stuff online is a pretty surefire way to douse my parade, monsoon-fire hose style.  Besides email and blogging, I find all things cyber an unwieldy pain in the butt.  It takes me so much time and energy to navigate websites and all that type of junk.  I miss having a man to do that stuff for me while I dance around and express my flowing femininity.  My housemate Heidi said she encountered that issue when she broke up with her fiancé and moved here less than a year ago… and she thought it was awesome and liberating to claim her independence.

But you know what I have to say to THAT?  No thank you.  I don’t have anything to prove to anyone by over developing my masculine side.  That’s why God invented masculine types… to handle masculine shit.  I am NOT from the school of heavy-handed women’s lib… I don’t need to prove myself by learning to use a screwdriver.  (Although I DID hack open my coconut with Brad’s rusty, dull machete yesterday.  And it WAS a pretty cathartic experience.  I think it could even be considered cardiovascular activity… But I sure did make a mess of my coconut in the process of hacking and hacking and hacking… Tons of hairy pulp got into the meat and it was an arduous mess to sort out in the end.  Though it was a savory enough experience, I would have been just as happy to have my hairy, musk-scented, muscle-bound champion split it with one determined, samurai slice… and then I would swoon over him and make him feel like the most useful, necessary and sexy speck of fleshy space dust.)

Sigh… Life without a man.  I hate to admit this… but I have to… because my blog is a place where I strive to tell the truth.  This truth hurts.  Yesterday Mykael texted me that he missed me so much, his spirit felt numb.  I cried when I read it.  I even want to cry now as I think about that.  It just sounds so painful… and somehow I feel responsible for his crippling numbness.  But truth be told, I am more present to missing the things he did for me (like giving me snuggs at night, handling computer issues, fixing ANYthing, loving my cat so well, letting me use his car…), than HIM.  God, I hope he doesn’t read this!  I am going to tell him not to.  I feel SO ashamed to admit that. But this is something that has been blowing through my mind lately as I take stock and regroup and shift gears… and I’m trying to understand WHY I feel this way.  What I’ve come up with, is that I often felt disappointed by him… so a lot of my experience of the relationship was stained with that disappointment and frustration.  And when I expressed my disappointment and my needs, it often times led to a fight.  Which got exhausting fast.  Plus, we didn’t really do tons of stuff together… just rock climbing (Which I am SOOOO thankful for.  Rock climbing changed me.  It has helped me become intimate with my strength and power.  And Mykael is an amazing teacher.)… everything else I loved, I did alone.  He was like a boot camp trainer for my impending life as a single woman.  Now I am a professional at going to church alone, going to the farmer’s market alone, cooking alone…

I wonder if disappointment is in my blood… inevitable, inescapable… Would I experience it with ANY man?  Am I just condemned to searing myself in the pain of perpetually seeing what is missing?  Gulp.  I hope not.  But for now it doesn’t matter, because I am single.  And just for the record, I am committed to being single for a whole YEAR.  A whole epic, bleeding, heroic year.  Sigh.

Does that mean no sex?  I wonder… I’m not sure.  For now it does.  This terrified me at first… Because my sexuality, I have come to realize, is not something that I fully trust.  Lemme tell you what I mean by that…

My sexual, sensual self has been of the late blooming variety.  (Like the rest of me, I guess…)  I was always a very sensual being.  But it’s not a topic that my mom ever addressed with me.  (No hard feelings, mom, I promise.)  I imagine that’s because HER mom was never open with her.  It was a topic that always felt SECRETIVE and shameful on some level.  But I was always very curious. (In fact DIG THIS~ two of my childhood friends had The Joy of Sex on their parents’ book shelf at home.  And I convinced *both* of them to sneak and read it when we were home alone… AND BOTH TIMES we were caught in the act and then the forbidden text not so mysteriously disappeared off the shelf and I was cast back into sexual darkness and ignorance.  Can you believe THAT?!?!?) Oh, and throw into the mix that as a teenager, I had horrible acne and a proclivity to binge on food.  My body was NOT a heavenly oasis.  It was a source of pain and shame.  Needless to say, I let way too many men into my Secret Garden who did not disserve to be there.  And I was frustratingly numb and unfulfilled.

(I know this is intimate information… but you know WHAT?!  Fuck secrecy.  I am a REAL woman and this is the path I have walked.  And there is strength and power in the truth.  This is why I share myself.  Because we all have stories, journeys, evolutions.  And sharing them illuminates the Whole.  May you find a piece of your blessed self in my vulnerable sharing.  There is no use hiding out in the shadowy swamps of shame.  Or is there?  Should I just slink back into my groaning, smelly corner before it’s too late?  Oh, Love, I think the clock struck too late long ago… So speak on, Sister Divine…)

I certainly didn’t feel like an embodiment of the Goddess as I stumbled clumsily through my twenties.  No, I felt more imprisoned, condemned by the cruel trap of embodiment.  I slept with a lot of men… searching for something.  Something beautiful and good and real.  Then along came Eric when I was twenty three.  I found *much* that was beautiful and good and real in him, in our USness… but not my sexually awakened self… which is one of the reasons I left him.  I was terrified to get married to someone that didn’t bone me immaculate.  Did that mean I would NEVER get boned immaculate in my whole ass dragging life???  No thank you.

I left Eric for Mykael when I was twenty eight.  And blessed BE, we had a good share of hot, satisfying love making… and I found part of the Something that I was yearning for.  Part of it… But something I noticed during my time with Mykael… is that I was afraid of not having sex for more than a few days.  Afraid that my turn-on would just pick up and fly far away when I had my head turned.  This precious, fledgling facet of my womanhood.  I did not know how to trust it…After all, it had been gone for so long.  When I am turned on, I feel powerful.  I feel ALIVE.  I feel God.  I feel dangerous and beautiful.  I don’t want that to go away.
But nor do I want to be ruled by it.  I thought that if I was turned on, it meant that I HAD to have sex!  Quick!  Hurry!  Before it goes away again…  Not so healthy.  It doesn’t leave much room for my partner’s desires and needs to exist… Now, as a single woman… I am embarking on a new leg of my sexual journey.  It involves surrender.  Surrender to the cycles of my desire.  Surrender to my turn-on and my yearning.  It is time to practice just being with what is… without a need to DO anything.  Frown.  Sounds boring.  Hahahah.  I just laughed out loud!  What a welcome relief to this heavy-hearted goddess.  But it kinda does sound boring.  I’ll at least abstain for a couple of months… and then petition the universe for a tantric research partner.  Oh, that Athena Grace, LMNOP!  She’s a woman with a PLAN.  Wish me luck.

Wow.  I feel naked right now.  Eeeeek.  So vulnerable.  But I wouldn’t have it any other way.


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