Frolicking With My Wizard Friend

I’m not sure if I’m capable of blogging on the beach… Because I am being inundated by excruciating beauty from all sides.  But I’m gonna give it my all.  My wizard friend, Jack took me to one of his favorite places on the south side of the island today, Maha`u`lepu.  I was skeptical, because the south shore is known for being more of a spoiled tourist mecca.  But come on, what did I have to lose?  Plus, Jack’s enthusiasm alone was worth our pilgrim’s slog.  Turns out, the magic here is thick enough to spread on toast!!!  I just tried to take a couple of pictures for you… but I don’t think they do much justice to the transcendent exquisiteness that I am marinating in right now.

 

Even just the fresh sea air alone is worth writing an entire opera about.  It’s a steady, determined breeze that forces its soft, salty, satin way into my lungs and under my fluttering clothes. I’m sitting on a mat in the sand, shaded by these native Australian trees.  Jack says the aborigines called them “talking trees”, because of the self assured tongues they speak in when the wind plays in them.  They’re tall, slender, scraggly evergreens.  But of course I’m saving the best for last.  The water!  It is like an immense, undulating patchwork colored jewel. (Jack called it “sea bling” as diamond light shimmies about the surface.) Towards the shore, it is pale, lucid aquamarine.  So pale, you can see to the sandy floor.  As it sprawls out, the aqua becomes emeralds, turquoise and jade.  Beyond that, it dances into a classical oceanic indigo.  Oh, and let’s not leave out the creamy, white froth that spontaneously leaps into existence like feisty punctuation.

 

This wet, swelling bejeweled body has stolen my heart.  And I say, Mama, it’s YOURS, take it!!!  Her tides have lured my heart into a state of fevered devotion.  I want to be by her side forever.  If I am too dense and human to remember the All Pervading Ocean, at least I can remember this vast though finite earthbound version of the Infinite with which my heart thirsts to be merged once more.  (And yes, I know that once merged, always merged.  I know that I have never left the Ocean, and neither have You, Blessed Friend… But it’s this silly game of duality.  Bites us on the butt every time!)  A seal just swam up to the beach for a little resy-poo.  Auspiciousness!  I love watching her blubber jiggle as she shimmies along the golden sand.

 

Now that I’ve set the scene, I want to tell you about Jack.  We met a month ago tomorrow.  He was my forth poem customer on the island.  I told you before that sometimes I have an immediate knowing that certain people are going to approach me for a poem.  I recognized Jack the moment my eyes fell on him.  Actually, I mistook him for my dear friend, Phoenix (who originally brought me “Home” to Kauai seven years ago)… from the back.  I thought, “Phee would have told me if he was coming to Kauai, wouldn’t he?”  But then I saw Jack’s pale, lucid blue eyes, which happen to be portals into an etheric, mystical dimension of which I am still not entirely acquainted… But I do know it’s a heavily enchanted land of wizards and other such wonders.

 

“Welcome home,” he told me a month ago… and something in me knew without a doubt that he *really* was welcoming me home.  He’s singing a song right now.  He is often singing a song.  He lives in a tent on an orchard in Moloa`a and spends his time slurping the copious island beauty through a straw and spitting it back out into sketches, paintings, poems, songs and a general [aloha] spirit of reverent, wizardish merriment.  He adores me.  When we’re together, I feel like a queen… but not the stuffy Queen of England variety.  NO!  The queen of enchanted nooks and crannies.  The queen of the inner space formerly know as “outer space”.  He is ever zealous to share everything wonderful and overflowing with me.  He’s enthusiastic like an unspoiled, awe-struck child, yet wise like a man who has lived a long, full life in a School of Knocks of Diversified Intensities.  I am very discerning about the company I keep… and Jack is top notch.

 

But if I was all caught up in appearances, bound by rigid expectations about the form in which my true friends would appear, I would certainly have missed him altogether.  I mean golly, he’s a short, balding fifty four year old man with a mutton choppy beard and a vibrant slew of button down Hawaiian shirts.  I’m glad my head is not SO far up my ass that I would miss him… and all of the other Beloveds whom God has delivered in such a clever diversity of packages.  Though I must say, I have a proclivity toward older men.  The quality, heart-FULL ones make stellar company.  Maybe because I’m not all preoccupied with having sex with them… I suppose they probably are of me… but they’re well behaved and seasoned enough to appreciate me in my fullness and they blossom in my vivacious company.

 

Jack told me today, “I wrote in my journal the other night that you have the sexiest mind of anyone I’ve ever met.”  I had to laugh, because Dan, another one of my all time favorite Beloveds (a sixty two year old piece of Holy Artistry) used to tell me the same thing often… Sexy mind…  Okay, I’ll try that on!  It’s one thing to be incessantly tangled in this “sexy” mind of mine… and entirely another to see it all neat and tidy from the outside.  Next time I’m running myself in mental dervish circles, I’ll have to remember that it’s actually sharp and SEXY, in addition to being chaotic, crazy and SO beyond unruly!

 

My tantric philosophy teacher, Douglas Brooks loves to remind his students, “You are the company you keep, so KEEP GOOD COMPANY!”  When I’m with Jack, I am fully alive, passionate, unlimited, inspired, grateful, regal, appreciative, magical, generous, compassionate, useful and wide awake!  I like me this way.

 

I guess I’ll keep him…

 

Amen.

 

PS~ It worked out okay… blogging in wind whipped paradise.  God?  Slip me some skin, All Pervading Pal!

 

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Everything’s Turning To Jesus!

The blank page glares at me expectantly.  I gaze back at it, paralyzed by possibility and not wanting to settle for anything less than God’s will.  God?  What would you have me say tonight?  You see, All Pervading One has been SO good to little Athena Grace… all I want to do is pour myself out as a font of reverence and gratitude.  I bring my awareness to my heart.  It tingles like sweet Hawaiian limes and I say yes and invite the tart flush to spread all the way down my arms and hands and out of my ignited, buzzing finger tips (as well as through the entire core of my body).  Finally, life is great!  Sheesh, I had to trudge through the wastelands of forgetfulness and pain for so long… But I like to work for things in life… it makes them taste way better.  I can only imagine how much divine nourishment I will be able to assimilate from life at age forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, a hundred and twenty!!!  Yes, folks, I plan to live to be a hundred and twenty.  Depak Chopra said that’s the ball park life expectancy for luminous creatures such as yours truly.

God?  Is that what you wanted me to say?  How do I know?  I don’t, so I’ll just fake till I make it, which will probably be any minute now.  Where DO these words come from?  They sure come from SOMEwhere… Might as well be the All Pervading Alphabet Soup.  Alphabet soup… remember how thrilling alphabet soup was?!  At least for me it was… Though I never was able to spell anything very interesting, like I do in this blog.  I think if I could witness/participate in one chosen miracle, it would be for my bowl of alphabet soup to reveal the secrets of the universe to me.  Nah, then it would probably just be ONE single spoonful that said, “LOVE”.  Instead, God will talk to me through my alphabet soup and tell me exactly what to say in my blog.  Can you imagine, if my blog was “brought to you by” my bowl of alphabet soup?!  Then would you BELIEVE?!

Goddess Bless America!  Holy Popcorn!  There is so much I could tell you… and yet nothing is burning brighter in my mind’s eye than anything else.  And when I ask God what to say, HeSheIt just smiles at me from the heaven that explodes from everywhere at once, which is cool and all, but at the end of the day, I still have to pull something out of the hat to throw out to you hungry cyber dogs.  I guess I’ll tell you that about a week ago, I got a random email from a woman who found my blog through a search for “Caroline Myss”.  This woman recently wrote a book called, Walking Through Illusion, which she said was about how it’s not our beliefs we take with us when we pass, but the LOVE we found through having them, and she asked, if she sent me a copy, would I be willing to read it and then review it on my blog…  Shrug.  Random, right?  But I was intrigued… because I’m tired of trying to force and control my life.  It’s much more relaxing and fulfilling when I (hear this next part in an Indian accent) simply let go and let God.

So the book showed a coupla days ago up and it was very clear that God sent it to me.  No coincidence.  In her forward, the author, Betsy Otter Thompson says that in the writing of her book, she merges with Jesus’s energy.  She opens her heart, receives a feeling and lets that feeling express.  Sounds familiar… but translated feelings sure are more of a dastardly mish-mash.  When I first got the email from her, I was not cognizant of serving a divine instrument being ecstatically played as an essential part of God’s drunken symphony… I thought I was separate and finite and that it was a fluke, a dice who rolled off of someone else’s crap table (I put that in for my dad, since he deals craps… I recently invited him to read this blog, after months of skirting around the topic… I yearned to share this passionate expression of my soul with him… and yet I felt terrified of being judged and misunderstood by DADDY.  Honestly, that’s the arch angel of all stings.  But I finally got over myself and invited him deeper into my world by giving him the web address.  I don’t think he’s reading it though…But someday he will.  And maybe my craps reference will energetically seduce him to his computer, inexplicably, in the middle of the night…) and accidentally bounced into my playpen.

But when I cracked Walking Through Illusions open this morning and licked the preliminary pages with my eyeballs, it was clear that this was obviously the expert execution of one Lord and Savoir on High!  Yup.  That’d be our very own Jesus H.  In some of my past blogs, I’ve expressed my fondness for the holy dude… and defended him from the travesty of kinked up, pursed lipped, frivolously condemning Christianity.  So I guess he just thought he’d return the favor by dropping a book full of potent healing capacity in my lap.  Thanks J-daddy!  (Oh-la-la!  Here comes the rain!  Time to hop aboard the romance train and ride wildly into sexy tides of late night living liquid poetry!)  I feel to run out to Brad’s old blue diesel Mercedes, sleeping in the driveway and lay into the horn!  Because I LOVE Jesus!  And sometimes the best thing once can do is HONK about it!

Speaking of Jesus, like eighty percent of the men here on Kauai remind me of Jesus.  I swear… I have Jesus sightings everywhere I go… including out to the kitchen to make dinner!  Tonight’s Jesus du jour was Joshua.  He’s a twenty two year old Jesus who currently lives on the beach and follows the Tao.  I don’t think he ever wears a shirt.  Last week, when I met him for the first time, I immediately reduced him to left over coleslaw and packed him in a tiny box to wither and spoil.  The box was entitled, “Hippy-Dippy-Ultra-Feminine-Boy-Who’s-Too-Young-To-Really-Know-Much”.  Then I proceeded to act nice and open to him… Am I sick or what?  It’s my loss… because his heart is about as pure as expensive crystle.  Tonight he told me that all he’s really been doing with himself these days is a whole lot of watching the ocean and chanting of mantras.  When I feel into him, his energy is so clean, sweet and innocent.  He’s all kindness.  And he looks like Jesus.

I am totally out of money these days, waiting for a check that has been delayed for almost TWO WEEKS, and in the mean time, living “poem to poem” and “grace to grace” as I recently confided in you… Tonight as I was making dinner, I had the blessed opportunity to share food with this holy Jesus Pup.  At first, I felt tight, stingy and afraid, as though if I gave “mine” away, I would starve.  But then I reflected on the plethora of generosity that the universe has been spilling out on me these days… and I realized how ridiculous it would be to hoard.  Food, money, opportunities, love, kindness… they have ALL been literally falling from the sky and landing all around me.  It would be absurd not to pour back out as the very universe, Herself!  I am gonna run outside and honk Brad’s horn in revelatory gratitude for the opportunity to share my ridiculous abundance.  In gratitude for the opportunity to see my frivolous, indignant judgments of such a holy creature and toss them in the voracious flames of Truth for purification.

Dang, it’s past my bedtime!  Off I go.  If you hear someone honking, don’t fret, it’s just me, praising the Lord…

Amen!

Kauai Sure Loves Me!

Sunrise over Hanalei Bay this morning as I jogged along the shore, BAREFOOT!

You know what’s AWESOME about Kauai?  I can leave the house in my panties and nobody thinks twice.  For real!  I did it today… It’s a very warm day (notice that I didn’t say “hot”, though… it’s not sweltering… just… very warm.) and I was wearing my little orange boy short style panties around the house when I was suddenly swept by the call of the wild and decided to hop on one of the bikes on the side of the house and pedal to the bakery to write my blog.  You see, like I said, the day is as perfectly sweet and tart and all liquid sunshine as a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.  So naturally I wanted to splash around in this vitamin-packed blessing of contained time and space.  On my first day on the island, I saw a woman pumping gas at the Shell Station in her skimpy bikini.  She left a big impression on me.  “Oh, so that’s how we roll here in paradise,” I mused.

Well, my undies are far more conciliatory than her little stringy number was, (I am exaggerating when I say far more… but remember, I poses the proper [poetic] licensing.) so I skipped out of the house and rode into the benevolently embracing folds of the Mystery.  Holy Jesus, you need to understand that this day smiles on my skin with a pristine perfection that hasn’t been seen since the Goldy Locks and the Baby Bear’s porridge incident.

It was the first time I’ve been on a bike since I’ve been here and the experience somehow turned to Bliss in the span of a split banana.  My thoughts were weighty and profound as I petaled to the bakery.  I felt so free in my orange undies and tank top as I sat down, preparing to write my blog.  But GOD, was I fiending for a kombucha.  They cost five dollars and five cents here on the island.  Yep, an expensive (yet highly worthwhile) habit.  With only three dollars left to my name, how could this crafty child of God go about scratching my fermentation itch?  Soon a light bulb appeared above my head and unabashedly flashed ON!  I might have enough money in my bank account to buy one at the adorable, overpriced health food store, the “Healthy Hut”, across the street… I checked my wayward, mainland account from my iPhone.  Yup!  Ten twenty-five!  (I could afford TWO!)  So I marched over and picked the fizziest one in the fridge, a “cosmic cranberry”.  I pulled out my wallet, poised to throw down some holy plastic… SOS!  Sinking heart, call the lifeguard, stat!  I had taken it out of my wallet on account of that there are no Chase banks on the island.  Booooo.  I asked the girl behind the counter if they’d let me pay later.  She said no.

A wilted deprived junkie, I rode back to the bakery.  As I was parking my bike, a wild, tattooed “gentleman” (that was meant to be ironic, he was no gentleman…) exuberantly called to me, “YOU’RE BACK!!!  Will you write me a poem?!”

I tried to get my bearings and catch up to this explosion of a moment.  How did HE know?  I walked over and introduced myself and learned that one of the two women he was sitting with had seen me selling poems at the farmer’s market a while back and suggested that he request a poem.  I “splained” to them that I had only left in heated persuit of a kombucha, which I was denied in the end, and now I was intending to write my blog.  The same instigator of a woman (who for the record was otherworldly gorgeous) suggested that he buy me a kombucha in exchange for a poem.  He oozed with the essence of yes.  So I extended my invisible feelers into him in preparation to give birth to his poem.

But Holy Popcorn! (My new exclamation, thanks to RosyMoon’s recent comment!), was he a slippery, jittery squid of a man.  Apparently, he *really* likes coffee. I mean REALLY.  Yeah, he was flying HIGH.  He refused to share anything of substance about himself.  Instead he orchestrated the entire opperation.  He told me to simply write, without asking any questions, and furthermore, he demanded that I entitle the poem, “the boy who bought me a kombucha”.  Shrug.  Okay.  When push comes to shove, I can follow orders.  Whatever’s clever, Spaceman.  And off he flailed on his sacred liquid mission.

His female companions were clearly fallen stars.  Their light danced playfully about, mixing swimmingly with my own.  They invited me to a full moon women’s circle tonight on Secrets Beach.  Too bad I’m already going to a birthday party on Hanalei Bay… (The outrageous thing about birthday parties on this island is that they are most always on the beach… and EVERYone is invited.  At least that’s how it seems to be… so tonight I will pilgrimage to “Eve’s” birthday party, whom I have never met.  Shrug.  I’m looking forward to it.  And bringing home made black bean dip, since it’s a potluck!)

My erratic, zealous, unruly customer came back with my holy grail full of heavily fizzy wonder juice and I swigged it with a vengeance before diving into the first hand written poem I’ve ever sold.  “The boy who bought me a kombucha” told epic, rambling tales about his existence the whole time.  Meanwhile an amazing poem unfurled through me.  It was vivid, twisty and sobering.  In the end it was in invocation of a deeper layer of his true self, beneath the incessant jester’s dance.  He liked it.  As I read it, I felt like the main character in the movie Dangerous Beauty.

Then it was time for me to head down the street to the farmer’s market and spend my last three dollars on papayas.  Prices really vary, so I sniffed around to find the papayas that were a dollar each, so I could have THREE tender, coral-fleshed little miracles.  The little Pilipino woman told me I could have SIX for five dollars.  “I wish,” I told her… “but I’m down to my very last three dollars.”

And suddenly, three more dollars floated from the very pores of existence.  I swear.  A lady standing next to me said, “Here, now you can get MORE papayas!  …Or get whatever you want… You can’t be down to your last three dollars!”  Her energy was so clean and decisive.  Her giving was joyous and unconditional.  “WOW!  Money is falling from the SKY!” I said through an astonished, wide smile.

Then out came the cucumbers!  They were sleek and big as billy clubs.   “Are those JAPANESE cucumbers???” I asked, mesmerized.  “Yes,” the little hearty Pilipino woman confirmed.  Have you ever had a Japanese cucumber?  They are the crunchiest, coolest, freshest creatures ever to *not* walk the earth.  I paused, heavily considering putting two papayas back.  But before I could say “ticki-ticki-tembo-no-so-rembo-cukey-spooky-goofy-yippee-skippy”, my generous benefactor thrust another two bills at me.  I blinked in astonishment.  She nodded and said, “Don’t worry about it, I have plenty of money.  You stood next to the right woman.”

I told her I usually offer poems by donation.  She said she’d love to have one some day… She comes to the market weekly…

I rode home radiating holy wonder.  It must have been spilling out all over the place, because everyone I passed on my ride home flashed me a beaming smile.  So you see, when I told you that Kauai has splayed herself wide and dripping before me… I was not just blowing gratuitous, self indulgent smoke from slap happy cracks in me.

Thank You… All Pervading Patron In The Sky With Diamonds!!!  I accept your mysterious, loving care!

Amen.

Am I Dreaming?!

To Whom It May Concern:

It’s seven forty six pm.  I am well spent and I don’t really feel like writing… But I’m gonna do it anyway.  Because writing is my Beloved.  This blog is a relationship and I am devoted even when it my lips are chapped and my breasts are sandy and I’d rather be geeking out with my Course in Miracles text or knitting.

Hey!  I just realized that I love my own company!  I was really afraid I didn’t for a while there… because I can be so prone to loneliness.  But I’ll tell you what!?  Get ready, because this is precious, meaty wisdom of the ages…

Loneliness and self-containment, self-satisfaction… what ever kind of self-y-ness you want to call it… ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE.  In the wicked world of black-and-white-either-or-dom, you might think that they were… but straight from the book of First-Handed Certainties… I can vouch that they are NOT.  Especially not on the island of Kauai.  I mean think about it… Today I did my sadhana, cooked amazing soup (made with carrot tops, chard, coconut meat, ginger, fresh turmeric root, onion, garlic… all blended together, sensuously smooth and thick.  Yum cubed!), read the BEST book in the world~ Secrets of the Talking Jaguar (which is the PERFECT book for me to be reading at this time of massive transition, because it is a memoir about a man answering a deep soul call and being radically led by Spirit(s).  Honestly, if I thought my journey was epic… His is at least a gazillion times more intense, courageous, authentic and unbelievably woven and ordained by Grace, Herself.), took a walk AND had my first introduction to surfing!!!

Wow, Athena!  Surfing?  How WAS it???

Terrifying.  Talk about feeling out of control!  OUT OF CONTROL…  Today was the first day of big swells.  The ocean has been pretty mild all summer.  For the week and a half that I have been here, Hanalei bay has just passively lapped at the soft sand of Her steadfast shore.  But not today!  The weather is changing, autumn is rolling in and so are the waves, baby!  Waves.  Sitting on the shore, watching the waves, I realized quickly that I have very little intimate relationship with them.  I don’t know how they behave and how that behavior impacts my body.  So trying shackle a long board to my ankle and add THAT unwieldy element into the equation seemed wildly unreasonable.  Needless to say, I hardly touched the board today.  I did a lot of mere BEING in the waves, developing fluency and comfort in their throes.  I also did a lot of observing of more fluent surfers.  And yes, I got up on the board a couple of times… But holy Jehosaphat!  Surfing is a whole different language.  Beyond that, it is a whole different WORLD.

I’m gonna go back tomorrow.

Have you ever swum in Hanalei Bay?  If not, I will say this much~ Puff is one tasteful dragon, boy!  Every time I am there, I feel like I am immersed in the most decadent and magnificent lucid dream… except in this dream, unlike my few prior lucid dreams, I don’t get so excited upon realizing that I am fully conscious in the dream state, that I wake myself up and find myself back in the disappointing [metaphorical] mud puddle that is my waking life, my plain old bed in the plain old dark.  Nope.  This time, when I realize that I am drenched in the most magnificent dream scene humanly possible, I just keep right on sitting there (or swimming…), surrounded by the lushest, greenest, breathing mountains, under a wide, unabashed sky whose sparse clouds look like humungous kernels of freshly popped corn, and the bay its self, streaming like a grandiose vat of crashing liquid silver.  Oh and often some purple fog haunts the tops of the jagged, green peaks in the not so distant distance.

I might stay here forever.  Wouldn’t you?  I guess island life is not for EVERYONE… but it certainly is for people who find deep fulfillment in such activities as writing, knitting, yoga, meditation, cooking fresh, simple food, reading great books, wandering through lush jungles, maybe making love again some day, frolicking in the surf and reminiscing about the good olde days when I had a luminous iridescent fish tail… For those types of people, Kauai is a highly suitable and savory Home.  I feel embraced by everything here.  Even when I am floundering around in my shit… The sensuous air swaddles me tenderly.  This is the perfect place to find myself as a whole, single woman… because the sacred land reaches to me, meets me like a Lover.  The sky breathes sweetness down my neck and up my skirt.  The warm, fertile earth gently gives beneath each step.  The birds sing me saucy, tropical love songs.  The flowers surf hidden currents that splash upon the shores of my awareness, leaving me dizzy and gasping.  Can this be real?  Strangely… yes.

Is it too good to be true?  Strangely…no.

I hitchhiked home from Hanalei (because I didn’t want to pay money to eat out with Brad and his enchanting girlfriend Chancey.).  A strong, dark, handsome surfer picked me up in his pick-up truck with monster wheels.  His two little children rode with him in the cab, so I rode in the back, fully submerged in the bliss of jungle dusk.  I hadn’t ridden in the back of a truck since childhood when my best friend’s dad used to give her and I recreational thrill rides around the block.  I sipped the soft sweet wind, gulped the glutinous colors and marveled at how excruciatingly good God is treating me.  I thought of You, my readers, wishing you were there with me… So I snapped a photo.  Welcome to my world, formerly known as “too good to be true”!

Amen.

God Answered My Prayer!!!

Guess what everybody?!?!  God heard my prayer last night!  God really heard my prayer last night!!!  I guess God hears every prayer… but the one I spewed out last night was so drenched in feeling, which is way more powerful than some petty strands of half hearted, clunky words.  First of all, I love writing after all… and more importantly, I have been recognizing all the Love I feel for everyone as the sacred nectar of God’s Love.  (AND this is a total non sequitur, but I just successfully gave my cat her de-worming pill, which I have been terrified to do and hence put off for about six months now… But I finally mustered the courage.  I was cleaning out the refrigerator [for the second time in the year that I’ve lived here] and stumbled upon this almost full jar of mayonnaise.  The classical light bulb winked jubilantly above my head.  I marched into Mykael’s bedroom to see if Anjali dug on mayonnaise.  Yup.  So I said a prayer, dipped the pill in salty, white slime and crammed it into her mouth.  She wriggled and fought, but when the smoke cleared, the pill was missing in action!!!!  My heart ached for torturing her.  I mean it REALLY ached.  I apologized to her profusely.  She hid behind a chair and licked her dainty chops like there was no tomorrow.  Hasta la vista, you gross little wormy creatures.)

Now back to God’s Love.  It all started this morning.  No, it started last night.  I read Souldipper’s comment and an email she wrote me, right as I was falling asleep.  Folks, lemme tell you a little something about Souldipper~ this woman sure knows something of Love.  And I’m talking about the All Pervading strain… Every time I receive words from her, they are heavily marinated in some potent universal Love.  They sing inside me and broaden my divine inner vistas with the naturalness of breath.  I am always amazed!  I laid in bed after a rough day and felt as if God was cradling me.  Cha-ching!!!  Thank you Missus Dipper!

But then on the bittersweet side of the coin, I had a date with Eric (my beloved ex-fiancé) to go to my church (east bay church of religious science) this morning and he canceled and said he needed to meet later.  This devastated me.  I had been so excited to share one of the most nourishing facets of my existence with him.  When he broke the tainted news to me via text, my heart curdled and withered like a gross old bowl of jello that has been sitting in the fridge since the beginning of time.  My time has been so precious to me lately as I prepare to move house, see dear friends one last time, exercise, earn money… phew, I’m sweating just thinking about it.  So I felt disrespected by his frivolous postponement.  (So much so that I woke up at 3:45am and gave it about an hour of good, hard thought!)  In the morning as I sipped my yerba matte in bed, I decided to email Souldipper first… because I knew that would put me right where I belonged~ in my heart.  Then I would express my “yuckies” to Eric when I was feeling open, clear and centered.

I wrote to him and shared what was true for me, including that I expressed with the intention of releasing it and keeping our channel of communication and intimacy clear.  Then I leapt on my Black Beauty (my bike) and pedaled to church.  In meditation, I thought about Eric.  Yes, I KNOW I’m not supposed to think in meditation.  But sometimes this flawed goddess does… what can I say?  I felt afraid that expressing negative emotions would push him further away, when really I wanted more closeness.  But as I sat feeling the tangle of emotions in my heart, I realized they were really just Love!  I only felt hurt and disappointed because I loved him and wanted to share with him.  And I spoke my truth to him for the same reason.  As this awareness bloomed in me, so did my heart bloom.  I released the stories and focused on the pure sensations in my heart, choosing to recognize them as Love.

Then after meditation, I checked my email (on my Iphone)… I know that’s a tacky thing to do in church, but I did it and God doesn’t even care.  I am not a sinner.  I do not have to repent for this.  God actually cheered me on.  I saw an email from Eric and he told me that he had not realized that this church meant so much to me.  He also shared some vulnerable stuff that was in his heart.  My intention came true and I felt free again.  Plus, I had the epiphany about disappointment and resentment being nothing more than unexpressed Love.  That is huge.  I believe that any time we feel shadowy, “negative” emotions, that’s all they really are.

As the day ripened and spread open before me, my heart swirled with gratitude and love.  I realized that everyone I am blessed to Love is me Loving God.  It’s all the same.  Every expression of Love is borrowed from the same oceanic bank.  And this bank is Unlimited.  I can “fall” in Love with every single person, every single moment.  And today, I did.  Because God heard my prayer last night.  Today, everywhere I looked, I saw the ecstasy of Love illuminating my vision.  I sat under my favorite eucalyptus tree at the farmer’s market and ate delicious, nourishing lunch that I packed for myself.  The sun was out and the creek was running.  Children LOVE when the water flows!  They flock to it and become totally absorbed in joyful, playful presence.  Most parents let their kids have at it… except for the handful of moms and dads with poopy diapers who forbid their little ones from the primal indulgence for fear of “germs” or getting dirty.  I sure pity those kids.  But I sat alone under the tree eating the best food ever and bathing in the delight of children drawn to the flowing water like cherubs to the exploding center of Haven.  Then Eric arrived and we nibbled on time and space and the communion of two who will always be One at heart.

God, thank you for answering my prayer.  Thank you!!! Amen.

P.S.~ I just read this blog aloud to Mykael as I proof-read it.  He lamented, “I wasn’t in there.”  So I said, “P.S., I Love Mykael.”  Friends, I wish you were here to see his face… it lit up like a new born sun when I said that… which naturally tickled me and made my own heart blaze.  So…PS, I Love Mykael.  Yes, I do.  Once a Beloved, always a Beloved, if you ask Athena Grace LMNOP!

Q: What Did The Chickpea Say To the Pacific Ocean?

A: Warning. This is a test. This is ONLY a test. If this were a real blog… ummm… I wouldn’t tell you it was only a test. But otherwise it would be about the same. Rest assured, though, it is just a test. My bedroom is sweltering and stuffy. I feel like I’m swimming in a big pot of Boeuf Bourguignon*. (I just watched the movie “Julia and Julie” about the woman who cooks every single recipe in Julia Child’s cookbook in the span of a year and blogs about it! I loved it! I’d even go so far as to say I was swept off my feet, the way I have been yearning for Hollywood to sweep me recently! Thank GOD!) The Now feels thick, sticky and… stick-to-your-ribs-y. It was a scorcher today. (At least for us pansy-assed Bay Areans. For you who live in “normal” summer conditions, (as opposed to existing in a sea of fog that might burn of for a few hours in the afternoon and give way to a half-assed afternoon of sixty-something degree sunshine before it rolls back in to haunt the evening once again) you’d probably look at me cross-eyed as you languidly popped the top of your Mexican Coke and swigged it hard, fast and unappologetic. Well I’m hot. And sunburned. And freshly bleeding. And feeling pretty depressed as I watch my life as I knew it disintegrate before my innocent, blinking peepers. Yesir, every day more stuff disappears from the brown shingle structure formerly known as my “home”. I came “home” from Stinson Beach (!!!!!!!) this afternoon to discover all of Mykael’s kitchen stuff~ mugs, plates, bowls, etc. had migrated from their roosts in the cupboard to litter the counter top. My heart sunk. Again. Lately practically every moment seems to be laden with a fresh opportunity to choose happiness or despair. Sure, you could argue that that is no different than every single moment of life. But trust me, it is different. It’s like getting naked and laying on a glacier and saying to your self, “I can either choose to suffer or just merely experience these extreme sensations.” I keep finding myself sad, lonely, afraid, overwhelmed… and then just trying to remember to pray. To feel the sensations in my body. To lift my mind up in gratitude (thank you Souldipper!!!! Your reminder is worth its exponential weight in Love!). To see this friendly mayhem as an expression of the Great Love. Trust me, this is a new way for me and I feel clumsy. See, this is why I didn’t want to write. I was feeling blah… but the more I write, the more tears are welling and spilling, welling and spilling, welling and spilling. Time out. I’m gonna go take a cold shower. We’ll see if that will snap me out of this despair. Time in. Shazam! That was… er… bracing. Cold shower, then a generous full body slathering of coconut oil. Then I burned some cedar. That sloughed off the top layer of despair. But there’s still more layers underneath. Though fresh, newborn despair is far superior to that scaly, worn-out stuff. It’s right up there with sacrificial virgins, waking up to a shimmering coat of new-fallen snow, the sweet, human scent of baby head, a steaming, buttered slice of fresh baked bread. Despair. Actually I read an excerpt of a Rumi poem in the forward of the book I just started (Secrets of the Talking Jaguar by Martin Prechtel) about a chickpea crying out from the stew, “Why are you doing this to me?” and Rumi’s reply is: Don’t you try to jump out. You think I’m torturing you I’m giving you flavor, So you can mix with spices and rice And be the lovely vitality of a human being. If that is the context for the discomfort that I feel as I shed, shape shift, transform and become, then BRING IT ON, GOD!!! Open the sky inside me and let it RIP! I want to be flavorful! And more so, do I yearn to be the lovely vitality of Humanity. But wait… I already have been the lovely vitality of so many others in so many dissolved Now Moments of the past… but have I let these simple, fleeting moments, these sincere offerings of Love slide right through the imaginary cracks in me, so that I have remained empty, because I have imagined there to be more to life than the simplicity of kindness, generosity and connection. “So it goes”, as Kurt Vonegut would say… Ambition. First I must become a famous writer. First I must make a steady income and act like all the proper adults [covertly flailing in confusion] all around me. First I must get married. First I must have a baby. FIRST I MUST FIRST I MUST FIRST I MUST. And then this distinguished graduate of the School of Mostly Soft Knocks took a greedy swig of water. Then a greedy swig of air. Here I am… again. All striving aside… here I am. It’s a hot night in the end of august. My skin is pouring off radiant heat. I recall laying on the beach all afternoon, cooking under a relentless, beaming sun. Then striding right into the glittering, icy surf, reaching deep inside me for a prayer that would arouse the sleeping courage in me to wake and upon finding it, letting the endlessly vast body of the Pacific Ocean devour my flesh and bones and of course my inconspicuous *guts* so that for a single ecstatic moment of union I was One. Tingling, vibrant, elated, satiated ONE. Prayerfully dipping in frigid ocean… Is that what it will be like when God finally comes to pick me up from my long, hard, seemingly endless day at the School of Mostly Soft Knocks, once and for all? God will say, “How was school, Athena?” And all breath, ecstasy and gratitude, I will exclaim, “Amazing!” Amen.

Dealing With Mortality and Department Stores

Oh the bitter sweetness!  Oh LIFE!  God, this life is such the Ultimate Poem!!!  Do I need to explain, or do you just GET it???  Well… I will explain…

A couple of months ago, I was on the phone with my dad and I was feeling frustrated about being in this [all too familiar] survival loop where I was just barely making it.  (My M.O.)  You know, that feeling of perpetual survival mode.  I started to express how uninspired I was every time I went to get dressed and I started to cry.  Shrug.  What can I say?  It sounds shallow… but it builds up and every once in a while the frustration of not feeling capable of creating abundance bursts like an undercover dam in me.  Here’s something I learned in the moments that followed.  I honestly did not realize this before, but daddies hate for their daughters to cry.  Is that true?  At least MOST daddies with even half a heart.  I didn’t know because I had rarely allowed myself to be that open with my dad in the past.  It was a new technology in my scope of emotional expression!

So what did he do, he bought me a gift card at his FAVORITE store!!!!  Kohl’s…

Yeah, that cheapo central, where everything is made in China by precious, tender humans all under the age of ten.  The store where Britney Spears is one of the main junior department models and Paris Hilton has her own perfume!  And the BEST part is that he explicitly directed me to shop on the SALE racks!  Now please understand, I AM entirely poking fun at this situation, AND… and I feel SO loved by my dad and appreciative of his generosity.  Come on, given his reference points and orientation to life, he offered me a gift from his heart.  His miserly jewish father’s heart, the heart that deals craps in Reno, Nevada (and has been for like forty years) and supports a family including a wife and twin eleven year olds.  It tickled me to get this intimate glimpse into his universe, where the sale racks at Kohl’s reign supreme and line his family’s closets with cheaply made junk turned regal robes.

I hate shopping.  And worse, I hate shopping under fluorescent lights with noisy pop music blaring in my head and air conditioning freezing me out of my own skin bag.  But there comes a time in every American woman’s life when she must face this Beast.  Maybe.  At least the majority of us.  Thank God, Mykael accompanied me.  Can we have a round of applause for the man?  No seriously.  Give him a round of applause.

Thank you.  I mean how many men do you know who not only accompany their girlfriends shopping, but also are PROACTIVE participants.  I don’t know none. (That grammar would make my dad turn in his grave, if he HAD one…)  Yeah, Mykey even picks stuff out that he thinks would look hot on me and gives me very useful feedback, which I need, because my brain turns to mush inside these treacherous, soulless realms otherwise known as department stores.  I’m pretty sure they’re designed that way… by… who?  Ummm, the Powers that Be, I guess.  The ones that want to manage and restrict the human vibration so that we can more easily be manipulated and controlled and kept in a holding pattern, unaware of our true power, potential and infinite creative potential.  Really.  I am NOT a conspiracy theorist, but I know this to be true.  I know because I FELT the life get sucked out of me in a matter of minutes.

My saving grace though?  I felt my father loving me as I shopped.  And that is a beautiful feeling.  I worked so hard to remain peaceful as I shopped… and I did a great job.  The worst of it was a moment in the dressing room when Mykael started talking like Kevin, from my *favorite* (and only) TV show, The Office.  Kevin’s the big, fat, sorta slow and highly adorable character.  The Office.  Wonder Woman!  That show has seriously carried me through some dark times.  A few years ago, I spent an entire winter in bed, so bereft by this confusing thing called life… watching the entire first two seasons of The Office.  And no matter how dark it got inside me… no matter how dark… The Office managed to make me laugh, bring me joy.  It’s strange.  I never thought TV would be medicine for me… but it was the only thing that seemed to help me cope with the thick, engulfing darkness.

It is summer time now, so there are no new episodes.  Generally I don’t even think about it… since I’m rarely in the watch TV via the internet mode.  But hearing Kevin come so clearly through Mykael as I zipped up a scandalously teensy pair of denim shorts, I felt a wave of longing.  That’s when Mykael broke the horrifying news that Steve Carell (who plays the Michael Scott character, the boss/mother hen of the office) is resigning from the show!  THIS IS NOT OKAY.  I repeat, THIS IS NOT OKAY.  I repeat… oh, okay, I will spare you… but…

THE OFFICE IS NOTHING WITHOUT STEVE CARELL.  He is the epicenter, the heart and soul of the show.  Even in such a rigid, corporate environment as a paper company in Scranton, Pennsylvania, he transcends all odds through his child-like spirit and makes the work environment a sweeping act of beauty.  He generates a family.  He erects a playground where any other would see merely desks and chairs and computers.  You could NEVER plug up the holes where vibrant life gushes from him, because they are infinite as the pores of the universe, Itself.

And now he’s leaving.

And someday I will die.

And I just supported child labor in China.

But at least my daddy loves me!

Amen.

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