Revelation of Wholeness

Wholeness. It’s a concept I have rarely entertained or bestowed with much thrust. Until about two weeks ago. Daiva, the man behind the curtain here, (that is to say, the one at the top of the Ananda Portland/Laurelwood totem pole… though I have a feeling he would be quick to assert that he’s *not* indeed behind a curtain… but for some reason, imagining him as a larger-than-life notion; a massive projection of a head with a booming voice emerging from darkness and flames, tickles my funny bone, and there’s *something* right about it…) Anyway where was I, before I extended the mischievous courtesy of bringing you up to speed on one of the key characters in my current waking dream? Oh yeah, so I think “wholeness” might be Daiva’s official linguistic mascot, and deepest aspiration.

Wholeness. Naturally, the notion has started to gnaw at my consciousness too, insisting on becoming more than a mere word, but an experiential boon. I just looked it up on dictionary dot com. And two aspects of the definition that struck me as pertinent are “complete” and “undivided”.

Allow me to interrupt myself for a moment, before I commence to flail and dig with fervor to convey to you, that which is deeply meaningful to me. I must announce that it is five forty-five am. Still dark. And HARK, the shy orchestra of raindrops is striking up outside my modestly cracked window! This is bound to be a great blog… wink. (BTW, remember, I’m in Oregon, NOT California… and the rain here flows like coffee in Portland. Which is to say with luxurious abandon. But when it goes away for a day or three, I miss the romance, the music and the decadent wetness of the air.)

And now back to our previously scheduled, impending revelation. I don’t want to spend too much time wrestling with the conceptual implications of this potentially weighty word. Doing so is giving me unsightly wrinkles in my forehead. Instead I will dive into the crystalline pool of practical application, and share with you my recent experiential illumination. And you can connect the dots, or color outside the lines, or solve the puzzle as you wish.

If I remember correctly, in my last blog, I touched on the recent strain of suffering I’ve been experiencing in my relentlessly compelling soul tango with Ed. To say it plain, I had been living inside the fierce, continuous immediacy of heart ache for at least a week, in this last round. Yes, think of it like a heavy-weight boxing championship. And see me taking blow after blow, yet not going down for the count… Instead continuing to inhabit the treasure and skeleton-laden sunken pirate ship that was my heart. You can imagine that this made me a very unpleasant girlfriend. Dull. Aloof. Defensive. Critical. Overly sensitive. To name a few.

I was doing my best, I swear. But just feeling pinned and crushed beneath the weight of circumstance, and unable to free myself. Wanting to be with him. Wanting to build our nest and invite Alexandria into my womb. And floundering helplessly in the cold steal reality of impossibility to have what I yearn for. And you might be like, “Well then leave, Athena. Go find a man who is available, and get to making your soft, glittery disco nest!” But it’s not like that. It’s just not.

Have you ever lived for an extended period of time with a bleeding heart? I don’t recommend it. Unless you want to seriously ignite your quest for liberation. So I think it must have been the afternoon after my last blog entry, two days ago… I was on the phone with Ed, and the climate of my heart was still storming, but the clouds were losing their density, and beneficent, golden swirls of sunlight were gently pressing their way through the wet, grey ache. And if lightbulbs really DO flash over peoples heads in moments of epiphany, one screamed on, above me for sure!

I saw/felt/heard this renegade invitation to consider the possibility that the pain that had taken up semi-permanent residence in my heart (more like a persistent squatter), might actually have NOTHING to do with Ed. I know, this is a radical notion. But it really felt like the quintessential wound of my forgetful existence; the pain of being born into a world where I am dreaming I am separate from Source. What could hurt more than that? These might just sound like words to you… unless you’ve ever been willing to really FEEL IT. But imagine Infinity. Imagine an Ocean of Love, so deep and wide and all pervading, that it has no end and no beginning. Imagine being engulfed in that perfection, completely merged with that quintessential WHOLENESS…. and then imagine being squeezed through your mom’s vagina (or sliced out of her abdomen, as was my case) and some sterile dude with a mask on grabbing you and abruptly severing your source of oxygen and nourishment and you GASP and shriek and cry as you’re suddenly immersed in this ominous sense of separation, vulnerability and perpetual threat. Shit. It’s an ugly picture. And that’s how most of us are born into this world. (Except for all of the rad water births I’ve been watching on youtube, but that’s another blog!)

I’ve read and heard a bajillion times that the deepest opportunity of Intimate Relationship (letting someone into your heart and soul as deep as is humanly possible) is to make contact with our core wounds, feel them and heal them. And I’ve always believed it. But I’ve never been ready to get so close to the core as I did two days ago. Suddenly, I found myself considering out lout (Ed as my witness) that maybe the pain I was in had NOTHING to do with ANYTHING outside myself! Maybe everything “outside” was merely a catalyst to touch the center of my deepest being, integrate that which I had at some point renounced, “lost” …and return to a state of implicit wholeness. (A part of me hated to admit this. Because one the ego blows its cover, there’s really no going back into hiding…)

Are you following me? Honestly, I’m not sure if this is sounding way too radical, or completely obvious, like “Duh, Athena…” Strange, huh? In my world, the quest for Truth is the centerpiece, the heavenly body around which all other aspects and nuances of the human dream revolve. I recognize that peeling the onion and living ever-deepening cuts of Truth is not everyone’s cuppa. But walking the yogic path, and studying A Course in Miracles for four years now, I am realizing at continuously deeper levels that happiness really can NOT be found outside. It’s such a gnarly pill to swallow. But in the end, it does not matter what man I’m with, or whether I’m pregnant or not (still fervently bound to those desires though!!!) or…

The TRUTH is that I am WHOLE, perfect and complete. Always. Now. Life is but a dream. And dreams inevitably fade, while Truth eternally remains. There IS another way to live: surrendered to an intelligence and a love far greater than “my own”. God (LOVE), being One, can see the whole picture. I can see but a modest shard, probably smaller than a human sperm; relatively imperceptible to the naked eye. I really do *not* know what my best interests are. Except that all that I am living is exactly what I need to be living… in service of my highest growth. And I have the perpetual option to welcome it all with gratitude and faith and perfect peace. This, of course requires me to let go of my own, slighted agendas. That is the WORK. I am working HARD. I want to want only Truth, only the ever-new joy of God…. but delusion is so thick and persistent. Breath by breath. Moment by moment. Day by day.

How do you encourage a child to let go of her vice grip on that sticky candy she stole from the jar? You can’t rip it out of her hand!!! No way. She will scream and cry and clutch it even harder. Distract her with immense, wiggly, iridescent bubbles! Meaning, I can’t use brute force to tear my delusions from the grip of my sick mind. I must keep luring myself deeper into love’s gentle reality by lifting my gaze into it’s refined spheres of seductive, luminous beauty… and the layers of bullshit will naturally slough off like dead skin.

Om. Peace. Amen.

Chisel Thou My Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahhhh… I’m glad we had this talk.

Om. Peace. Amen.

Purgatory: It’s Not Just For Catholics Anymore!

I think the catholics gave purgatory a bad name. It’s actually kind of a sweet place. Not that I recommend it. Not that I’m even enjoying it. But I’m inhabiting it. And now that I am aware that this is where I am, I am opening myself to the possibility of falling in love with it. Purgatory. It’s that no-woman’s-land between heaven and hell. Like hanging out in a broken elevator that plays jazz so smooth, if you hooked it up to an EKG machine, the line would be reminiscent of a horizon slicing across a sky and sea so vast, it could be misconstrued as infinity.

But don’t let the elevator music fool you. It is anything but bland inside ME, as I mill about in this forsaken somewhere inside me, like a cow preparing to birth a handful of wet, spindly calves. My heart feels mostly broken. Sigh. I guess that’s how the light shines through. Sometimes…

And now, my beloved Devis and Devas, Athena Grace LMNOP shall explain what she means when she says she is in purgatory. Well… Yesterday I realized that I don’t know where I “belong”. Spending nine weeks in an ashram in the woods, I have become hyper-sensitized to all of the noise and energy and excessive, senseless motion of the urban environment. “Well, then,” you say, “why don’t you just move your sensitive little butt to Ananda, Mrs. Grace, and live with the God-loving yogis?” Well… maybe I will. But when I imagine being here full time… I panic in anticipation of all this incessant calmness. See? I’m in an unsolvable awkward phase. All I can really do is endure. And keep taking the step that reveals itself from this disorienting dark.

I’m feeling sorry for myself right now, can you tell? Someone PLEASE slap me. I am not here to be self indulgent. So be raw, yes. To be naked, yes. To share… but not to wallow. It’s just that not only do I feel like a cow being swatted along toward the slaughterhouse, as I prepare to return to the Bay Area and fumble into some new chapter of reality, but I also saw a picture of my ex-fiance snuggled under warm covers, holding his three day old son to his chest… and it shattered me. My heart erupted like a volcano of so many contradictory emotions: my own profound LONGING to be a mother, and devastation that it seems SO FUCKING FAR AWAY FOR ME, sadness that he chooses not to include me in his life (yes, I own that I broke his heart when I left him for another man…), joy for him, because I feel him to be truly happy and having what he wants in his life and plus, he’ll be the best dad ever, shame for feeling anything but happy for him and his wife, pure awe for the deep, open love that was transmitted through the photo… I fell to my knees and sobbed for a while. Shrug. Such is life. And so I type these words with a raw and bleeding heart. I just told Ed in a text that I would kill myself right now, if I believed it would solve anything. But I know it won’t. So I march on. He told me to remember God… and I was like “Oh yeah…” (Holding onto the awareness of God seems like clutching at a slippery soap with wet hands!) See, that’s why I keep him around. Because he is a pro at feeding me back my own medicine at just the right moments.

God… Please envelope my slashed, aching heart in your miraculous, healing love now….

I realized this morning that I can’t remember the last time I felt really, purely “happy”… Not that I haven’t… I’ve just been so busy transforming. And I’m thinking that maybe my definition of happiness is transforming with me. It’s like… well… more of a subtle, sober quietness, than a bone-rattling, skin-ripping high. But then… it’s not like I’m perpetually streaming with zen mellowness. I’m still managing to cry all the time. And yet, I feel that there is a deepening experience of myself taking root. Like more of a consistent contentment in the quiet spaces. I can’t say for sure… because I’m still dissolving. But I know that beneath the struggle, something beautiful is emerging.

Wow. I just stained the page with a big spill from the chalice of my heart. And then I took the world’s deepest, slowest inhale, and I was transported to heaven for a split second. Now I’m back… to this glorious purgatorial sphere of perception. And I’m contemplating how to sum it all up… I just keep looking at life “out there”, and measuring it against life “in here”… and all I feel is “bepuzzlement”. How do I unite these two faces of my one self? I guess this inquiry is the beginning of the next leg of the journey Home. Sigh. It seems to be such an arduous trek. I want to take the express elevator up the Mountain. But I guess if I did that, I would surely be blinded by the intensity of the Infinite Light at the top. I believe the strength and endurance we gain along the climb prepares us for the inevitable, all-consuming rapture. Or maybe we just go on foot for the sheer fun of it…


As I Am

Welcome to the land of barking dogs, freshly set suns and dark, moons. I feel wriggly in my own skin right now. I am yearning to be held by my lover. Not any lover in particular… it’s just that feeling like there’s way too much empty space around me and I want to be in the sexy, musky arms, pressed against the delicious masculinity of one who knows me as well as one can know another. How well is that, anyway? Personally, I still feel like I have a LOT to learn in that regard. Looking back on the major intimacies of my life, I see that I have been quite wrapped up in who I want them to be for MEEEEEE. Immature, I know. Shrug. I’m learning. Someday I pray to ripen into the kind of lover who delights in the CONTINUOUS, generous discovery and unselfish support of my beloved’s perpetual becoming. I guess that’s part of the reason why I’ve condemned myself to sitting here tonight at my ghetto-funky black particle board desk alone and feeling all of this. So that I can be sliced deep by this aloneness. Sliced deep and bleeding with yearning. I can almost feel those masculine arms, wrapping around me. I can almost smell his skin, feel his body’s heat and my own body’s molten, rapturous response.

But tonight, I will settle for nothing less than God. Shane told me that he believes that it is possible to fall in love with God as tangibly, completely and passionately as one can fall in love with a person… only better, of course, cuz c’mon, it’s GOD after all. Sigh… I want that. I guess I believe it too… I’d just forgotten for a slew of moments. But Yoganada was madly in love with God. It’s obvious in so much of his prayerful poetry and writings. Oh and of course the Sufi Mystic posse… You KNOW they were a particularly God drunk bunch. (Ha! The God Drunk Bunch! That would make a good title for something…) Saint Theresa is another one of my roll models of the human capacity to drown in divine love.

I sorta wish an angel would materialize before me right now and bludgeon my hungry thirsty naïve heart with one of his divine, ecstatic arrows. Though Saint Theresa didn’t seem to really enjoy the experience. It was ecstasy to the point of pain and it wasn’t just no “holy instant”… it kept right on stinging and singing a song of sobering, shattered immediacy. Do I really want that????

Probably not… but I want something. It’s the new moon today, and I’ve felt especially internal and introspective. I yearn to come into a deep, unwavering, overt alignment with my Almighty BFF. In fact, I feel frustrated, because it pains me to watch all these cacophonous shards of little me clanging and shrieking around in here. Vying for their turn to steer the ship that is my life, my speech, my thoughts, actions, choices, dreams.

The lessons in A Course in Miracles recently have been encouraging me to listen so deeply and let the voice of God beam on this world through the vessel that is me. I want that. I want that so bad… just not bad enough to come to a complete, silent halt and wait until I am moved. Not enough to withstand boredom and confront head on, the fear of being “nobody”. So I keep pushing ahead. Trying every day to “be somebody”. Somebody lovable and worthy and entertained. And the most repulsive of all, somebody “spiritual”. Adyashanti, one of my fave-rave spiritual teachers (, talks about what a joke all the pretense of being a “spiritual person” is. Think about the popular bullshit consensus most of us buy into in terms of what makes a person “spiritual”… blagllgghhek. Being a “spiritual person” is as trendy as body piercing, having a therapist, Peet’s Coffee or diesel jeans.

I guess the closest I can come to God at this point on my path is to have great compassion and forgiveness for all of these disparate, unconscious, needy, unflattering, selfish parts of myself. Here I am again, treading the illusory road of all or nothing. Imagine that… And that’s just not an accurate representation of what’s here now. Here and now, there is a baby gecko suctioned to the outside of my window. He’s about two inches long. One inch of body and one inch of tail. So cute. I imagine I’ll never tire of geckos. I find myself perpetually swooning in adoration of the tiny mystical creatures. I love their chirping songs too. I find it deeply, strangely comforting. Yes. Geckos are excellent company.

So, here I am tonight. Showing up on the page just as I am, imperfect, honest and yearning. Self critical too, I suppose. And that’s just gonna have to be enough for now.

I want to address the topic of sexuality again. Because every time I share my sexuality here in Athena Graceland, I have a split experience of it. On one hand, I feel strong and beautiful, because I am being true to myself by sharing the parts of me that rise to my surface with the most energy, weight and eagerness. I am deeply fascinated and enchanted with my sexuality… and I feel that there is so much that wants to be healed by moving from the condemnation of secrecy, taboo and shame into the light of authenticity, exploration, forgiveness, and [gasp] play! And yet, every time I write on this topic, afterwards, I second guess my transparency. I feel afraid that you will think I am somehow cheapening myself by talking so freely about a very intimate subject that most “respectable women” keep to themselves. But even as I write that, the rebel in me is spitting and snorting. I will not hide myself in order to make you feel more comfortable. Sometimes the truth makes you squirm. That’s just the way it is.

And I’m turned on. And I’m trying to figure out how to live in this beautiful, intense and wholly holy state. What does it mean to be so turned on? What do I do with it? It is raw creative energy. It is embodied divine yearning. It is feminine power. And it is raging inside of me, demanding to be voiced, embraced, revered and channeled. Ahhhh, I feel much better… I needed to get untangled from that one. Though I still could use a good old fashioned holy fuck. Grin. (A grin complete with gleaming tooth…) But… in this sexual initiation I am walking through, old fashioned holy fucks are not on the menu right now… I am to ignite and burn alive, dedicating my yearning to the All Pervading Holy Fucker. (Wow, I am really going for it tonight. Either you’ll LOVE me or LEAVE me for sure!!!)


PS~ Just for the record, I totally love, accept and forgive myself for being so perfectly imperfect. For being here, in this amnesiac, in between land on this ever quirky human journey.

Grieving, Flipping Nickels and a Trip to the Clouds

Whelp… should I talk about my current incarnation of heart ache in relation to Mykael… or the clouds?  The age old question…  I suppose I’ll put off that weighty choice for a few moments by telling you that I usually can’t tolerate any music while I’m writing and opt for sssssilence, but today I fancy the Frederick Chopin station on Pandora.  It’s all classical piano music.  It fits like a sexy, satin, over the elbow glove with the rain soaked dusk.  I am sitting at my modest little nun’s desk in my bedroom, facing the window, witnessing the darkness suck the light out of this  day as rapid and unapologetically as I have been known to suck the life affirming waters from the center of fresh, heavy, green coconuts.  As the light and form soften and dissolve into vague gray scales, the piano keys strike inside me with increasing vividness.  Oh, and let me not forget the perfect harmony of dog voices.  That was sarcastic.  The dogs who live just over the fence still make my nervous system clench and shudder.

Okay, we’re gonna flip a worn out nickle, you and me… to see whether I go light or heavy tonight.  Heads is Mykael, because he HAS a head.  And tales is the clouds, because that monument on the back resembles a cloud that has been smashed into an open rectangular box.  Ready?  Here goes!…

Yahoo!!!!  It’s heads!  I’m so glad, because I need to talk this over with SOMEbody… it might as well be you, since you are the best listener in the whole entire galaxy.  You never interrupt me or act like a know-it-all-buffoon or zone out.  (The outside world is almost completely dissolved into darkness now.  There is only a cottony, silvering strip of diehard white clouds.) (And just for the record, my new buddy Jack invited me to the movies tonight at the last minute to see this movie about dolphins.  I wanted to go, but not at the expense of neglecting my beloved blog.  When I returned to Athena GraceLand yesterday after missing two days, I flooded with a renewed sense of meaning and the weight of a defending champion.  On facebook today, Shane asked his plethora of friends how they would like to die.  I don’t often dick around on facebook… because honestly, that can easily become a full time occupation… but I think this question was one of my all time favies.  I said some’m dumb… I was way too deep and “spiritual” and literal.  If I had it to do all over again, I’d’ve written that I want to die blogging!  I certainly don’t want to die at the movies… even if it IS a movie about dolphins…)

So today I finally changed my relationship status on facebook from “in a relationship with Mykael Lazzeri” to single.  I have been wanting to do it for a while… but hesitant, because it feels tender.  So though I have been officially single for three honkin’ weeks now, I finally cut another chord with him today.  I felt guilty, like I was stealing the crown jewels from the museum at night or something.  My heart twisted and trembled.  I wondered if Mykael would know… and how he would feel.

But I didn’t have to wonder for more than a few hours, because he texted me tonight and expressed hurt feelings.  He said he wished I would have consulted him first, so we could have done it together.  Honestly, I was surprised to hear that he was interested in having that much communication with me, since mostly my experience is that when I reach out, he doesn’t give much back and seems energetically insulated these days.  I felt defensive.  Which is a perfect holographic slice of our relationship dynamic.  When either one of us expressed hurt, it was pretty common for the other to hop on the defense in the lickety splitting of a wink of Michael Jackson’s deceased pop star eye.  I suppose that’s a pretty human way to play, but I think the two of us had (have) a knack for pumping up the volume on this particular game.  Which can be exhausting, you see.  But tonight, I am the one at “fault”.  I am the one who instead of softening, opening, merely listening to his vulnerable truth… I am the one who chose to feel attacked.

But thankfully this is my blog, so I can glutinously defend myself and nobody can object.  I just want it to be written that since he hasn’t been very keen on returning my texts or sharing too much at all these days, it seemed out of context that I would go to him right now to consult an inevitable choice.  In his text he told me that I “mean that much to him at least”…???  How much is that?  A flipping nickel’s worth?

All I know is that our relationship frustrates my pants down… and in my heart ache and his perceived heart ache today, for some insane reason, I just want to run back to him and merge in the demented ecstasy of our aching communion.  Tonight I find myself wishing I could have done things differently and made the relationship only beautiful and nourishing.  Tonight I wish I was in his arms, deeply inhaling the sexy musk of his armpits, stroking the fiery copper hair sprouted from his perfectly masculine chest, feeling his strong arms pulling me close.  I know, this is indulgent.  I’m sure it is stupid to look backwards for too long, become too gratuitously lost in fantasy… But welcome to the grieving process, Miss Athena.  It is as unpredictable and powerful as the ocean.  Some days my heart is placid and calm, a perfect reflection of the sky rolling by.  Other days, it thrashes and froths upon its self, threatening death and destruction every few heartbeats.

Strange how I am missing him as a result of feeling blamed by him and hurting.  I s’pose it’s the fresh pulling apart and flailing in new space.  Fuck space, fill me up!  Even if it means jamming me into a relationship that didn’t quite fit.  Life is a fucking barrel of plastic wizards, ain’t it?  Yeah, it’s a fuck kinda night tonight.  I’m drunk on heart ache, chain smoking regrets.  Just call me Athena Bukowski.

Mykael… I miss you.

And by the way, while I was squatting on the pavement at the farmer’s market this afternoon, waiting for my ride, Shane to finish his conversation with the slippery, Piscean hottie at the veggie stand, I swear to God, I climbed the sky and wandered through the bulging contours of heaven.  I marveled at how profoundly empty I felt as my earthly eyes folded into the epic yet subtle depths of the kingdom of gargantuan clouds.  I might have dissolved for a stack of split seconds… or even an entire holy intermission’s worth.  Imagine the whitest white and the most foreboding, steely purple… and every subtle shade in between.  Imagine feeling an inexplicable peace and relief somehow as you dissolve into the soft, continuous merging therein, strangely touching a home inside that you didn’t even realize was there.  Souldipper told me that my guides were still trying to pound it into me that I am never alone… and that it is entirely unnecessary at this point for me to even entertain that notion.  As I became these immense clouds, I knew without a shred of doubt that this is true.  And then they opened and drenched the earth with liquid poetry and wet songs of fertility and purification.


An Enchanted Day in Purgatory

Maybe it’s time I stopped making such a big to-do about heart ache… I have a habit of acting as if it were the most important occurrence in the whole wide multiverse.  But maybe it’s as common and snooze-worthy as pooping or rain.  (Not that rain and pooping are snooze-worthy… Actually, come to think of it I find both of those rather colossal.  Breathing too.  Hmmm, I guess everything is pretty wondrous when really examined.  Oh well…)

I leave for Kauai tomorrow.  In the mean time, I’m just a whipering feather carried along on the Sky’s breath.  I guess in essence, this is a beautiful thing.  But in practice, I feel anxious and lost.  It was weird coming home from Mama’s ashram and having nowhere to land that was “mine”.  (I suppose “mine” is a debatable concept… but I don’t want to debate it, because I love having a little sliver of this physical world that is my VIP lounge, and mine alone.  Though I must admit that my soul sister, Dara did provide an incredibly soft landing for me back in Oakland.  She was bursting with effulgent devotion for me and I always feel so welcome in her gorgeous, light, spacious “VIP lounge”.  Plus the afternoon was flooded with sunshine and amiable warmth.  She cooked us this exquisite Peruvian corn soup, grilled chicken and veggies and we dined outside in the saucy, gold-stained evening in the silent, towering company of three blooming sunflowers.  I am so grateful for Dara’s generosity.  I was having anxiety about making the transition from the warm, perpetually smiling, forested utopia of the ashram back to the fast, abrasive chaos of the Bay Area.  But landing at Dara’s house was like landing in an enormous bushel of feathers.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!

Then as “bedtime” approached, she drove me to Mykael’s new “tool shed”, the Nirvana Inn.  Again, I was surrounded by beloved friends and felt completely loved and held.  When I left for the ashram, the Nirvana Inn was overflowing with unpacked boxes, the poster child of disarray.  My jaw fell on the Sky’s floor when I walked in last night and found the Nirvana Inn to be a modest little nugget of paradise.  Mykael had poured himself into the task of creating such intelligent beauty back there.  As soon as I entered, it was clear that I was in Nirvana.  The lighting was soft, warm and sexy.  His sacred art tastefully adorned the walls.  Exotic fabrics softened the doorways and plants breathed life into manmade space.  I wanted to cancel my trip to Kauai and spend Eternity in Nirvana’s Richmond annex with my friends instead!

I also felt pangs of alienation upon discovering Mykael’s new sanctuary.  Less than a week ago, I intimately knew Mykael’s life and home.  It was my life and home too.  And now… I was a stranger in a strange land.  I had had no part in the creation of this heaven… except that this new nest had been fashioned from many of “my” things: curtains, fabrics, futon, pillows, etc. (Not to mention my cat…)  It was like falling through a fractal into a parallel universe.  And Mykael too… he was the same guy that I knew and loved… yet he was not.  His heart seemed like a foreign country.

*This is the pivotal moment when I could either break down and sob or just keep writing through it.  We Capricorns are like chocolates with cream filled centers.  We are as beautifully gooey and delicate as the best of ‘em… but we know how to put on our thick, bittersweet armor and step onto the battle field of life when there is shit to do.  Honestly, I can’t be bothered to fall apart right now.  Besides, I prefer to close myself in the VIP lounge that I don’t have right now and let go in the privacy of my own modest sliver of bounded space.  Sobbing on OPC (Other People’s Couches) just generally isn’t my cuppa tea.

Not only is my physical life boiled down to nothing, but my construct of the meaning of life is pretty well in holy shambles too.  I can feel my paradigm cracking open and preparing to give birth to something astounding.  I can no longer convince myself that this life is about striving, achieving, consuming… A Course in Miracles teaches that my only function is the one God gave me, and that is to forgive, forgive and forgive some more.  Ultimately, I am here to embody Love.  Suffering comes from denying this.  Get, get, get, get… I watch myself flail in old habits of existing.  A skewed and limping vantage point that says there is not enough, there is a limited amount of everything that I could possibly want and need, so I must hoard, hold on, deny, deprive, manipulate… in order to get my tight-fisted, white knuckled needs met.  It just ain’t so.  And yet it’s hard to let go and fly.  Come to think of it, that was the message of Spirit2go’s last blog post… letting go and flying… and come to think of it squared, Souldipper’s most recent post was about the True Self flourishin in the act of selfless giving.

Selfless service.  It’s the only thing I can conceive that really matters in this twisted life.  I pray for my life force to be a purified, unbridled expression of God’s.  That I am but a vessel built to extend God’s Resplendent Love into this forgetful world.  But this yearning is not a maze that I can think my way out of.  Trust me, I have been trying… and lately all that comes to me is a great, big, Holy Shhhhhh from an imperceptible someplace inside me.  Something is gently telling me to relax and stop working so hard to “get a handle on it”.  I am being moved to a place I have never been before (nor have I ever left).  I keep flip-flopping between fear, relief and excitement.

Gasp!  I just looked up into the gloomy, blustery sky and LO!  A message addressed to yours truly in smoke~ Surrender Athena Grace LMNOP!!!!  Wow!  Miracles are REAL!!!