My 840,000 Euro Revelation

I had a million dollar revelation delivered with this recent virgo new moon.  Unfortunately, one million dollars only translates to 840,000 euros.  But that’s still a hefty chunk.  And actually, here in this depressed economy where you can rent a house for 300 a month or buy a liter of the world’s finest olive oil for twelve euros, eight hundred and forty thou can go damn far.  

Athena!  Stay the course babe… Your intention in diving right into the meat and blood of your revelation was to hook people straight away, suck them into the enticing land of expensive “ah-ha”s…  


Yeah, but then I needed to tickle myself because translating dollars to euros is the story of my damn life and that is funny to me.  

I am dazzled by the syphonic, harmonic nature of circumstances and personalities and timing.  So many factors contributed to my revelation- conversations with friends, sessions with Carolyn- a gifted energy healer, coaching with “Maha” David Schlussel, reading Pussy, by Mama Gena, Giordano’s behavior, my own extended stay in Dark Night…

Goddess, it has been a dark night.  Suicidal thoughts, sticky self-hatred, extreme frustration, desperation and rage… really rough inner terrain to navigate.  But I think the grace of diving all the way to the fucking BOTTOM is that there is something to push off of when it’s time to resurface.  

Giordano disappeared for a couple of days.  Not completely.  But staying out after a long day of work and coming home after me and the kids were already asleep (Though it should be known that as the light wanes, I have been retiring before nine, so I can wake at four and write my heart out because if I DON’T, I am a miserable person and my kids shamelessly take all.) For some reason, Giordano opted to sleep on the couch.  Maybe because he drank beer and he didn’t want to be subject to my debilitating disapproval?  Yeah, smelling his boozy breath triggers the shit out of me.  It’s not like he’s a damn “alcoholist” (as he calls it!) or anything.  But my fantasy dream husband does not turn to alcohol when life gets unruly and uncomfortable.  No, my Fantasy Man kicks it with Shiva.  Life’s jarring “cinematic thrills” draw him deeper into the heart of his inner stillness.  He takes a long, cold shower and retreats to his cave to regain clarity and alignment.  Sigh.  I know that my standards are steep.  Cut the Brotha a break, right?  

So he slept on the couch for two nights and I barely saw him and my deep carved abandonment wound flared up like a hemorrhoid.  When this happens I feel to have carte blanche to be cruel.  Maha David suggested making KINDNESS my spiritual practice.  I know that sounds like an obvious choice… but when you’re left to care for the kids mostly completely alone day in and day out, kindness often seems like a dim option that it’s damn easy to miss.  

Another relevant piece of this pie otherwise known as my current Existence is that I have been in a deep inquiry of victim consciousness and how it plays out in my psyche and life.  Reread the last paragraph and you will see that it actually reeks of victim.  But this way of perceiving has been so native to me, that I haven’t even been able to identify it until recently.  (Side note- I’m hypothesizing that this is one factor in why my entries in Athena Graceland have tapered off…. I have grown tired of enslaving my fingers to the voice of the poor, whiny victim who insists on using me for her own self-indulgent agendas.  I want so much more for my writings and my LIFE.)

I’ve been DEVOURING Pussy.  Haha, the BOOK, silly.  So here I am, heavy with pain and disdain for my husband’s disappearance, wondering how in the fuck to find my light and power…. And I come to the chapter on “Rupture”.  Basically, Mama Gena defines Rupture as those life experiences that “break us open”.  She says that this is essential for a woman who is committed to living from her Desire, because it strips her of fantasies, pretense, smallness.  And if she’s willing to give herself over to the Rupture and allow her body to lead the way through the underworld of grieving, it will take her clear to the bottom.  The Original Wound.  The one that keeps playing her life like a skipping record.  Grief will clean her out, deliver her from victim to AUTHOR.  Initiate her from the little girl who runs into the arms of another in moments of coming undone, to the woman who fully surrenders to the wisdom of her own body and knows that she need not seek outside of herself.

Talk about Divine Timing.  My heart throbbed, literally feeling broken in two.  And as if amidst a vision quest in the safety and comfort of my very own pink bedroom, I saw the responsibility I have given to every single one of my partners… to hold and care for this broken-assed heart.  The heart of the tiny girl whose daddy left when she was two; whose mama left her alone at home sometimes when she had to work and couldn’t find a babysitter.  This desperate little person, wielding her weighty goddess power in the name of being delivered from the bleeding epicenter from her very own devastating break from Source.  Yes, I am way more powerful than I give myself credit for, and I have been misusing said power in the way of punishment… to manipulate my men into saving me from myself.  And I have attracted a blazing squad of nearly competent saviors!

The cost of this?  My sovereignty.  My Authorship.  My self-respect.  

I have hated myself for this repetitive choice.  And projected that hatred onto my men.  My relationships become suffocating and I panic and get the fuck OUT… imagining that the liberation and satisfaction and embodied spiritual immensity is waiting for me in the holy land of single-ness.  But I haven’t found it there.  And if I ran toward it now, I’d do so as a single mother of two (which is hardly “Single”… it’s more like “Triple”).  Being a single mother to Serena was not such a bad scene.  We were a team… but Forest???  He has a different agenda- running his male energy like Niagra Falls.  (Though he always stops to smell the flowers…)  

From the mountain top, the Path looks so obvious and clear- I wrap my broken-hearted little girl up in my arms and hold her while she sobbs and wails, I’m unconditionally kind to Giordano, and I reclaim the driver’s seat of my Life, become a rich and famous author and wash my soiled hands of this whole nasty victim thing.  BAM.  

But unfortunately life doesn’t happen from the top of the mountain.  It’s an off road trek through vines and brambles and crumbling earth.  And let’s not forget to mention the slobbering, woman eating beasts lurking in the bushes.  I feel so justified being mean to Giordano!  He’s so imperfect and irritating!  And it takes so much effort to create new habits and ways of being.  To be the capable woman who asks for what she wants and then allows herself to HAVE it.  To be the woman who is the Source of her own fulfillment.  To be the woman who has the courage to embody the depths of her darkness AND live with her Light ON.  

It probably won’t be the all or nothing construct that I love to fabricate and use to sabotage my step by step trek to greater expanses of success, fulfillment, happiness and turn-on… But… I’ve SEEN what was previously hidden from my view.  My map has become more refined and comprehensive.  As much as I thirst to pull a Babe Ruth and step up to the plate, point out beyond center field and smash the shit out of the fucking galaxy… I recognize that consistent baby steps are enough to take me where I want to go.  More hitting pillows and howling at the moon with my Sisters and ASKING FOR WHAT I FUCKING WANT and less punishing and criticizing my well-meaning and golden-hearted tho fallible husband.  

I’ve been doin this life for forty years now… and I finally found a way that looks enticing, worthwhile and fabulous.  Watch me crush it.

With the most immense and delicious Love,

Athena Grace

PS- What I am discovering inside is Deliverance from the spell of slumber that all women have given ourselves to (Yes, GIVEN.  We are not victims, nor have we ever been.  We are too powerful for that.).  We are waking up together to our power, love and creative capacity.  In doing so, we naturally restore the balance and wellbeing of Mother Earth and Humanity.  This is my part.  May it inspire you and yours.  

Destiny’s Harsh Hand…

It’s been a month since I’ve decanted myself here in Athena Graceland.  It’s five fourteen am. I feel afraid to write because an impressive posse of shadows are running amuck inside me, and I feel like barfing all over this pristine white space.  I feel extra vulnerable lately, like I’ve lost my skin. I’m not in the mood to be judged, or offered your shiny three cents… I almost hid out in my journal instead…

 

But then I realized that this chapter in my unfolding consciousness is essential, and if I don’t publish it here, the story of my Life will contain an insurmountable, irreconcilable gap.  I can’t live with that.

 

Writing and Orgasm.  I can see how they are two faces of the same wild goddess.  Both are eating away at my insides these days as I wander the dark labyrinth of early motherhood in a foreign country with a husband who I only see in the thick witching hours.  With both of these essential expressions of my innermost self imprisoned within me, I am jagged and dangerous. Tiny, winged demons proliferate within the folds of my calloused heart and tense body.  They wait on my tongue to leap out and attack when I speak.  

 

I shouldn’t write that!  So BAD to use my sacred gift of language to declare such warped nonsense.  Sigh. Maybe I should allow my crackling fingers to invoke purity and elevated consciousness.  But then my honesty will be suffocated by the blanket of contrived positivity… and for what? I trust myself to find my way out of this dark maze, through the power of literary alchemy.  One honest though artistically persuaded word at a time. Follow the electric rainbow brick road…

 

Actually, allow me to take a moment and announce a fantastic and certain revelation:

 

It WILL still be there when I get back!!!  Ohhhhh yesss….. 

 

Upon deeper contemplation, I have mined the inevitablity of this.  I AM that I AM. I might be walking a strange and haunted road… a road that I do not understand, and am having difficulty metabolizing… A road that requires layer upon layer of compassion and forgiveness and surrender.  But the psychedelic flame in me will never extinguish. This flame… is the “IT” that I cherish.  

 

Whoa, I just had a flash of a dream from before I awoke.  My home was not really mine… somebody moved in, and brought all their stuff, including a little dog.  I felt angry and resentful. I went into my living room and it was FULL of christmas trees and other holy-day decor.  Someone had slipped in when I was not home, and adorned it. It was lovely… and yet I felt violated. Somehow all this makes complete sense inside me…

 

Yesterday was the first sunny day in… some semblance of forever.  The greyness has been stroking my soul in washes of dull hopelessness.  Serena awoke with fever. But there was no way I could stay inside with this seductive lucidity beaming just beyond my dirty, aged windows… 

 

So I resurrected the stroller that has been folded up and aslumber in front of our house since late spring, when my belly was big and it became too difficult to breathe as I climbed the sort of busy country road beyond my driveway.  When I opened the stroller, it was a teeming jungle of bugs, spiders and even a colony of maggoty looking creatures. But I was unstoppable. I shooed them all away, fastened Serena in, Forest in the ergo, and pushed my impressive load up the broken, mildly trafficy road.  

 

I said “buon giorno” to all the yappy dogs on the route with a high-pitched, chipper, sweet voice.  This quieted them quickly. I realized that dogs, like people, have strange ways of asking for love sometimes.

 

Serena was unusually quiet, which was nice, because mostly when we take walks, she demands that I tell her the same stories over and over again… For the longest time it was the Three Little Pigs.  But these days it is a melange of Finding Nemo, Annie and most recently Moana. (I just bought her the dvd of Moana, because as far as Disney movies go, it is the only one I can tolerate watching too many times to count.)

 

Once I got off the main road, my thoughts softened and ran lightly about the distant, colour-stained rolling hills, leapt about in crisp piles of earthed autumn leaves.  I drank the cool, clean air, became impregnated with bright empty space.

 

It’s always a challenge for me to make friends with Autumn… even though she is a knock-out.  She rouses my unconscious fear of death… Yet her evocative, poetic majesty is undeniable. Breath-giving.  Massive oak trees brushing their brown and yellow leafy crowns against a pristine wash of blue infinity. The Voice Inside whispered to attune to the formless space between…  I breathed it deep, asking for guidance.

 

Why does it mostly seem so difficult to see… this Path that is never not right before my eyes and in my very bones…?  Doors that won’t open, no matter how hard I hurl my desperate body against them… and meanwhile I’m slowish-quick slip-sliding up a twisty hill that could be construed as a goddamn mountain.

 

But I want different.  I am aching for a break from this Italy life.  This married life. Married to a sincere, caring man, from whom I am unable to receive the sustaining nutrients of intimacy.  After sixteen months, the relational deficiencies are starting to weaken me. I need to tap out long enough to replenish. Wrap this tremulous, sweating body of chiseled spiritual muscles in sensuous silk and sip electric pink gatorade held to my lips by a proud, encouraging coach.  Let the heaving in my chest subside as electrolytes whizz and sing through my stillness.  


California…. Give me your elusive, mythic hand.  Pull me close to your ocean, desert, forested, urban, mountainous body.  Let me luxuriate in your free libraries, abounding with BOOKS IN ENGLISH, let me drink from your endless stream of effervescent kombucha, feed me sumptuous nibbles of your raw chocolate laced with maca and reishi mushrooms… Drench me in friendship, deep, soulful conversations, quality time and support.  

 

If me and Serena had visas, and Forest a passport, I would be on a plane yesterday.  But life has filled my pants with boulders and it is hard to move, which I know is part of the Divine Plan… but still I want to spit on it.  I am weary and worn.

 

Giordano is growing.  I don’t need to leave him.  And yet, I am starving. I need to feed myself.  Loving him is like living on spaghetti and pizza.  After a while, this body needs some damn vegetables.  

 

There is so much more to say… the dawning sky is grey… but the wild rainbow flame within blazes now that I have poured myself forth upon the page.  May it light my way through this dark, craggy wilderness which Destiny’s harsh hand is leading me.