Oh Duh, We Really ARE God!

“You will never get any closer to God than you are right now,” Reverend Elouise informed us at church last Sunday.  Her saying that was the straw that broke my wild camel.  I hate to admit it, but I guess on some level, I really thought God DID live just north of the sky.  When I prayed, I always wondered if my desperate words would EVER find their way to that esoteric sanctuary tucked away in the idyllic heart of Sacred Somewhere.  Ask me how many desperate letters I’ve written to this wily, absentee God character over the course of my life, each time feeling hopeless that they had any chance of being discovered by His and Her Holiness, the One.

Even when Kiesha Crowther, (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK5OOfEmut4) (incase you missed this link the first time around!!!) the Little Grandmother oh-so-casually announced that each of us is God-Goddess, the Great I Am, something still didn’t click.  I mean, intellectually it did.  But not in the depths of my knowing.  Not in my bone’s boots.  Even in meditation, I always waited for something to “happen”.  Like maybe God would throw a lightening bolt spear down on me and burst my bubble of ignorance (which would be nice).  And Rumi’s poem about knocking from the inside… BFD.  Still my holy head remained up my holy butt hole.

Until Reverend Elouise’s simple reminder popped open to my Self.  God is typing these words.  God is reading these words.  There is ONLY God.  Only All Pervading Gracious Light.  That’s it.  There’s nothing more and nothing less.  There is nothing to CHASE.

Yesterday I was meditating in the Rose Garden two blocks from my house (how SWEET is that?!) and instead of trying to have some experience other than the one I was having, I just relaxed knowing, this is God meditating.  Even with a distractible mind, I AM the Great I Am.  There’s nothing to debate or haggle or postpone.  I am That.  And so are YOU.  And YOU.  You don’t have to figure anything out beyond this very moment.  You don’t have to suffer or struggle or prove yourself in order to be that which you ARE.

I think what fostered my shift in consciousness is taking Little Grandmother’s words to heart and practicing getting my energy from nature rather than people.  When I am feeling drained, I walk to the rose garden and BREATHE.  It works!  This is how I was able to let go of caffeine relatively easily after being ADDICTED for fifteen years.  I found and claimed my true Source.  I have been breathing a lot more and deeper since I let go of my former devilish vice.

I guess that’s all I have to say today.  Now that I’m not flying high on caffeine, I feel less compelled to keep poetically rambling.  I am in the midst of a dissolution, like a caterpillar dissolving in her cocoon.  I am not yet a butterfly (or am I?) (I believe I am and I’m not, because time is not real… so even in the midst of massive transformations we are inevitably all stages of the cycle in a single, eternal instant.) But for the purpose of expressing myself in this now moment, I assert that I am not yet a butterfly and I am not feeling the same as I used to about stepping onto the page and recklessly dumping myself out.  That’s why I didn’t write yesterday.  (Instead I got hella domestic and made some bitchin’ pesto sauce with cilantro, parsley, dandelion greens, a tiny bit of kale… walnuts, garlic, olive oil, lemon juice and salt.  It was the tastiest fucking thing!  Try it.  Just blend all that in a food processor or blender.  It’s so nourishing.  Just think of all the vitamins and minerals in it!)

Oh, one last thing… My mom told me that she thinks I should not say “fuck” in my blogs.  When she told me this, I did not get defensive, revert to teenage rebellion and stand firm in my conviction to use the f word.  I got more curious.  I mean from my vantage point, it is a “both and” game.   I don’t use the word fuck because my vocabulary is too crippled to support any other form of expression.  I use it sparingly and with indulgent reverence.  But I am not so attached to it.  I just want to be free on the page to host the entire spectrum of linguistic expression.  And I wish to make a powerful impact with my words.  So I told her that I’d ask all of YOU, my readers for your valuable opinions.  Fuck or no fuck?  That is the question.  Please leave a comment with your thoughts on this matter, oh hallowed Divine One!

May you be awake to your Divine Origin, now and forever more!  So much LOVE to you!!!


Bowing To My Twenties

Epiphanies at six am?  Unthinkable?  That’s what YOU thought.  But think again, because I just had one!  Clambering around in the kitchen, putting on water for tea and I realized that I have been zealously telling this story called, “I HATED MY TWENTIES!” as though it was the gospel truth.  But guess what?  It’s actually not.  Sure, my twenties were not a drunken collegiate joy ride down a ten year long slip and slide… They were arduous and confusing as fuck.  But… This morning I was appreciating how blessed I was to have studied yoga all through my twenties.  And not just asana, but many facets of yoga.  Philosophy, ayurveda and nutrition, meditation, karma yoga (selfless service)… I love that now I can roll out my mat anywhere and guide myself through a deep, nourishing practice any day of the rainbow, any place under the sky.  I spent so much quality time sucking up spiritual sustenance through an impressively wide straw in my twenties.

And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you of my enchanted yoga mat.  Someone gave it to me (used) back in ’02 or ’03.  It’s particularly long and light blue, stained brown where my dirty bare feet have over eight years impressed all the dirt they wandered through.  My mat has traveled with me all over this earth.  It saved my life in Cuba.  I remember doing asana amidst billowing laundry hanging to dry in the warm breath of evening on the concrete in the back yard of the modest casa where Eric and I stayed for a few days.  A tiny home that contained FOUR generations of women, from age 9 to age eighty-something.  (Never in my life had I experienced tight knit family like that!)  The mother (as opposed to the grandma or the great grandma) was very curious as she watched me practice… so I showed her some things and when we left their home, we offered her the sivananda yoga book we had been traveling with.  She was delighted.  I wonder if she is practicing now…

My yoga mat has made love with much playa dust on the Nevada desert floor at Burning Man over the years.  (I was mostly the dorky anomaly who went to bed early and woke up early, zealously threading my way to center camp before sunrise to drink coffee, write and then dive into a long, slow, nourishing asana practice.  My yoga mat, which come to think of it, is more like a magic carpet, has flown me to the beloved city of lights, Paris, twice!  I have ritualistically unwound myself in the green grass beneath the Eiffel Tour many times.  And in the south of France, I have rolled it out along the wide sidewalks stretching on, parallel to the turquoise sea, as well as next to ornate, gushing fountains in elaborate jardins.  (Yoga is not a very common place phenomenon in France.  At least it wasn’t when I was there in ’05 and ’06… So mostly I got strange looks and inquisitive queries as I practiced.)  Throughout all my travels, yoga was my portable home.  A resting place that returns me to the infinite space inside where I ever belong.

My yoga mat has been my sanity on otherwise stressful visits with the ex-in-laws in New York and Colorado.  My yoga mat went to Taos, New Mexico to study with Natalie Goldberg once upon a blessed time.  Camping at Lake Tahoe and Mount Shasta.  Not to mention all the times it’s been rolled out and stepped on in mundane old San Francisco, Berkeley and Oakland.  Even last night in my “Temple”, (my sacred, beautiful massage and yoga and meditation room) I rolled out my mat and drank deep, sweet sips of a practice that delivered me back safely on the doorstep of the mansion of All Pervading Peace!  Yoga saved my life last night, as my “house” (my life, my sense of self) was burning down.  It still is… but when I come back to yoga, I don’t even mind.  Let me burn!  Purify me once and for all, you Holy All Pervading Fire Breather!!!

Also in my twenties, I spent five beautiful years with Eric.  Yes, it’s true, I was pacing my cage and stringing my days into a longer than sin garland of existential crisis… but still… Eric and I shared so much joy.  SO MUCH LAUGHTER.  We played like blissed out, dissolved children and lived like Life yearns for all Her children to live.  Try to make the world black or white and you will miss all the twisty, prismatic refractions playfully slapping your face and pulling your tangly mane.

In my twenties I immersed myself in the culture of transformational courses.  I did inner work.  I witnessed others bounce between the walls of cultish dogma and true revelation.  (Grin.)  I circled with women, searching thirstily for the woman buried inside of me.  Learning and drinking from so many sacred wells.  I forged friendships that I imagine will stretch on for the rest of this life and beyond (backwards and forward).

My twenties were certainly an uphill climb.  But that’s par for the course for a quadruple Capricorn.  (Sun, moon, rising and mercury… at least according to western astrology…)  I will be climbing mountains for the rest of my God given life.  I’m pretty sure of that.  But just because climbing mountains is strenuous, doesn’t mean you oughtn’t keep trudging upward with your eyes on the prize~ that feeling of expansive mastery, of weighty accomplishment as you let the expansive, lucid view inundate you, your chest heaving and suckling on precious sips of decadent breath.  People climb mountains just for fun all the time.

So did I “hate” my twenties?  No, that is impossible, because hatred is in the eye of the beholder, and this beholder has abolished hatred from her sacred mansion.  This beholder is cleansing her memories with the holy water of gratitude and peace.


To Simply Be Here

Guess WHAT???  I could write ANYthing right now!  How wild is that?!  I mean an infinite well of possibility is at my disposal in this very moment… and yet… I will pare down infinity to something very specific and hopefully beautiful, inspiring and/or thought provoking.  What a divine responsibility!  And we share it, you silly earthling!  Every moment that we open our mouths and let our thoughts fly free as supercharged sonic vibrations, we alter the entire cosmos.  Don’t ask me… that’s just the way it is.  But I sure don’t see us humans living in a state of reverence for this weighty gift.  Nobody taught us to.  We learn to speak and soon our mouths flap and pop and click like there’s no tomorrow, painting the world with careless, linguistic barf.  Makes me think of the hallowed Buckminster Fuller, inventor of cool shit like the geodesic dome.  He shut the fuck up for literally years, because he didn’t want to speak until he was truly moved to.  And when he finally did, you can bet your fancy-assed britches that he spoke as an ambassador of the All Pervading Holy Headmistress.  (Listen, we are ALL ambassadors of the All Pervasive Exclamation Point… We just don’t act like it often enough.)

I am at Pizzaiolo today.  It’s been like a week… I’m sorta glad to be back.  Though writing in bed is pretty sweet compared to this hard, wooden bench.  But the best thing about being here is that on Monday mornings, the flower arranger is here designing her signature over-the-top bouquets of creative genius.  I just gave her a good, long look.  She shines like a true artist in the biblical sense.  I can see the creative impulse smoldering in her gorgeous face.  Her arrangements are more like little ingeniously flowering trees!  Today’s arrangements are being fashioned from immense tree branches that reach the ceiling.  But she takes hours to complete her works of art, so who knows what kind of magic will burst from these trees as they ripen into the gradual fullness of their expression… All I know is that they will defy traditional “flower arranging” for the betterment of [wonder] woman kind.

Speaking of Wonder Woman, sheeesh did I want to have a drink or a smoke or a SOMETHING yesterday.  I did NOT want to feel what I was feeling.  What was I feeling that was so undesirable?  Hmmm… well, if I had to name it… I guess it was the kind of bereft loneliness that seeps right beneath your clothes, through even your skin, bones, and straight into the soul of your soul.  Shrug.  I guess that kind of loneliness is “good”.  I mean it puts hair on the chest.  Spiritual hair.  The kind of hair that’s like God’s badge of honor. (Not to mention, a crucial source of warmth.)  I can’t help but think I was feeling beyond myself and clear into the heart of the world, on behalf of the Team.  When my emotions are so immense and indefinable… it only makes sense.  Especially given the vast numbers of people who are NOT willing to feel all that stuff… it’s gotta go somewhere, right?

I’ve said it before, but this phase of the spiritual path is fuckin’ tough.  It’s the phase where I realize that noting of this world can truly fulfill me, and yet I’m still digging through my wickedly massive, larger than life sized purse to find my all access, VIP pass to the Here and Now version of Heaven.  I know I’ve talked about this before, because I remember having the epiphany that this state is actually purgatory in the biblical-est sense.  But as I sit here in wait, I know that my ascent to Heaven is inevitable… it’s just a matter of WHEN.  And hell is but a very compelling figment of our twisty, collective imagination of a world divided and stripped of Love.

In the past, I would have slugged a glass of wine and been fine enough.  I would’ve hit the pipe and been feeling right in no time.  Or at least had a sweet, creamy treat and then distracted myself by riding the Ferris wheel of guilt, self judgment and spot hitting temporary relief.  But… I’m done with that.  At least for now.  As my spirit guides shouted to me through Amy, THERE ARE NO SHORTCUTS TO LOVE!!!!  There aren’t.  They are right.  And I am so over pretending otherwise.  So instead I dragged my teary ass out into the perfectly warm evening for a wander through the Piedmont Cemetery.

For those of you who don’t know, the cemetery is one of the most magical places I know.  I have unicorn sightings there on a semi-regular basis.  It is an immense world, much like what I imagine many people’s rendition of Eternity actually does look like.  Green rolling hills that reach increasingly higher, until they spill out into a view of the entire bay area.  The diversity of trees is mind boggling.  Seriously, I bet every single tree that can grow in the state of California (which encompasses most tress) is planted in this enchanted land.  And the tomb stones are so wicky-wicky artistic, ranging from the most basic granite lumps, to ornate mausoleums, to beautifully tortured, pensive stone angels.  Stone angels.  Honestly, what could be more poetic?

The gates were locked early yesterday, so I hoped the stone wall.  A man in a bright orange shirt saw me and was inspired to follow suit.  I wandered along the path, secretly hoping he was behind me.  I felt compelled to talk to him.  Shrug.  Couldn’t tell you why… I turned around.  He was there.  We struck up a conversation.   I told him that I was feeling the sorrow of the entire world and I was choosing not to self medicate.  He expressed his own strain of soulful loneliness.  We walked and talked in the most straight, unabashed fashion.  And then we parted ways.  He sat on the edge of the hill and drank in the warm, spacious world.  I climbed higher up the hill, wondering where I was headed.  Until, that is, I spotted the perfect tree, who literally beckoned me.  I sat underneath her and opened wide to the quietly breathing soft chaos of the Bay Area.  Lucid blues, humming greens and a whispering sea of liquid gold, kissed by otherworldly mist.

Then I shut my eyes on all of this resplendent, over the top beauty, knowing that I am on an unstoppable mission to discover the very Mother of all this visually accessible beauty.  A beauty that can only be discovered “the hard way”… you know, by being willing to dive deep beneath the seen, tasted, smelled, heard, felt world of the senses.  A beauty that lives in the heart of the heart of the heart of the All Pervading Heart.  Yeah.  I meditated until the sun was just about to hide its flaming face for the night.  In awe, I watched it sink into oblivion, decimated by modest, silhouetted mountain peaks.   I almost tasted peace… perched alone at the top of the world, straddling that grandiose paradox of utter aloneness and implicit connection to all life.  I remember being lulled by the heavy whispering swish of a raven’s wings on the air.  I remember being stung by the profundity of One set of footsteps, attesting a blessed yes to their very existence.  I remember the silent demand from some-invisible-where to be willing to simply be here.  To simply be here.


I Believe In Peace Bitch

Thirteen days without a single rapturous release.  Ladies, don’t try this at home.  Honestly.  It sucks.  I feel like an angrier, more brooding, less patient version of myself.  (For those of you new to my blog, I have taken on the self imposed challenge of not cumming for an entire month.)  Yesterday I thought, “Oh fuck this, it isn’t worth it, I’m just gonna cum.”  But then I thought, “No, I gave my word, not only to myself, but to You… and I am going to keep it.   Anyway, this is an experiment, an exploration… and I am a bold, courageous adventurer who takes all of this illusory drama with a grain of… something tiny but menacing… maybe a rebellious grain of renegade sand in my otherwise smooth pile of spinach (sautéed of course in olive oil, garlic and a dash of salt).”

Who knows… maybe it is just a coincidence that I’ve been feeling extra tangled in my shadow.  So that’s the report from orgasm central.  In other news, our modern day hero, Jesus Christ is scheduled to rise tomorrow!  Or is it just the Easter Bunny who’s gonna come and scatter a rainbow of cookies in my tulip patch?  Smirk.  Honestly, I am just beating around the bush, because I really feel tired and lonely and scared today.  I would venture to guess that a lot of it has to do with

I was gonna say my relationship… but then before I could get that typed out with a straight inner face, another, hella truer explanation swept down upon me.  It goes some’m like this~ FEELING SEPARATE FROM GOD.  In A Course In Miracles, it is said that the ONLY problem is the problem of SEPARATION, and it is already solved, because in truth, we are NOT separate in the first place, and could never be.  All other problems are delusional.  Like fever induced nightmares.  We have all been struck by a violent strain of Forgetful Fever, which causes us to fall into a comatose sleep, where we drift through seeming lifetimes, perpetual forevers, tossing and turning and imagining a whole host of “problems” and their glamorous carrot consorts (solutions), which we are more that SURE will bring us happiness and peace, SOMEDAY (hopefully sooner than later!).

Raise your hand if your peace and happiness are just around the corner.  As soon as you find the One.  As soon you own your own home.  Finish your thesis.  Make a hundred thousand dollars a year.  Me?  Oh yeah, I’ll certainly be happy once I figure out my relationship.  Once I sort out whether the “right” answer is to lean into the ugly pockets and imbue them with unconditional love, or to realize that I am done and that it is time to explore Athena sans another.  Oh, and CERTAINLY as soon as I figure out this whole getting paid a comfy living wage to write riddle…  Right answers.  Curse all these glistening answers that seduce me to scrutinize my circumstances ever fruitlessly… The only right answer is in me and I have a feeling It could give a monkey’s uncle’s ass about the temporal, swirling dream of my petty circumstances.  Love is not conditional or bounded.  Peace is not contingent upon anything.  Forgiveness is always an option.

I think this might be the most depressing leg of the journey Home.  My eyes sting.  I say depressing because I know that I don’t know, but I can’t seem to free myself from the treacherous, toothy tangles of my habitual, false perceptions.  Oh!  Here is the perfect metaphor!  Have you ever gotten snagged by a black berry bush, and the more you try to free yourself from it, the more committed its grip becomes?  Maybe it just has your clothes at first.  But then it latches on to skin in cold desperation.  Ouch!  And you become adrenylized and flustered.  Then you realize that you can just take a deep breath and patiently free yourself one angry thorn at a time.  But you soon realize that is not the solution because you untangle three thorns and are now stuck by seventeen more!  The only other solution you can see is to sacrifice your clothes and your precious skin, and RIP free.

This is how my ego clings.  Clings to what?  Clings to its self? (????)   I tell myself that only love is real, only peace is real.  Only connection is real.  But then I feel my body, and it aches here.  My heart aches.  My body constantly craves.  Food.  Sex.  Caffeine.  Touch.  Stimulation.  My mind craves understanding, reasons, stories, dramas, PLANS, futures.

Meditation.  I let go.  I breathe.  I affirm my freedom.  I ask for God’s help.  And then before I can receive the omnipotent blessings of the Light, I am off on another fear-inspired meander through illusion’s ghettos.  I feel so sad about this.  I am so close.  I am.  So.  Close.  If I am so close, why do I feel so lonely and afraid?  Is that just my ego, reacting to its own terror of annihilation?   I guess so.  But now what?  Vigilance.  And the requisite tears and sweat that that requires.

I want nothing less than to see you only in your truth.  Only as the light you are.  I am not interested in relating to your false beliefs about yourself and this twisted world.  I know, I know, that is a radical thing to declare and it doesn’t really fit with this model of “reality” in which we have invested so much… but at this point, I don’t care.  I will look inside until I find something dangerously real, and revelatorily pure and true.  And then when you stand and face yourself in my still, silent reflection, you will be stunned and relieved by what you recognize Within.  This is a promise.

As I wrote that, tears began to spill at a rather rapid and frivolous clip.  Then I got up to pee and behind the locked bathroom door, the sadness flooded in and I thought it might be time to build another arc. (But would that be appropriate to glorify Noah so close to Jesus’s special day?  I oughtn’t steal this friendly Messiah’s thunder like that…)  I sat on the toilet with my head in my hands, trying to keep my sobs silent and appropriate for this public arena. (Café 504, of course)  But it sure felt good to give myself over to this earnest ache.  Then I stood up, looked in the mirror (to assess the “damage”) and realized that I am wearing my baseball shirt that says, “I believe in peace bitch”.  I got it at the Tori Amos concert that E* won tickets to on KFOG.  I had to laugh, because it is a very apropos statement to accompany today’s internal climate.

Like I said, I will find the light inside me and stop believing in fear and darkness.  I just hope I do it sooner than later.  Jesus Christ is scheduled to rise tomorrow, but I’m afraid that He’ll pass me over, just because I am more interested in what I’m gonna eat for breakfast than I am in SEEING.  Because I can’t seem to open heart to Mykael for more than a spilt second at a time these days, before it’s big, leaden door swings shut in his face, which I fear is just a mirror of all the parts of myself that I find repulsive, worthless and unlovable.  Help!  Someone please get this harsh, condemning judge OUT of me! (It’s kinda like when you are picnicking and a greedy wasp gets all up in your shit, and you can’t seem to get rid of it and the more you try, the angrier and more aggressive it becomes and you are sure that it will not let you alone without getting a good sting or two in…)  Now can you see what I have to cry about?  But the tears will wash me clean, I hope.

Like I said, I am SO close…

All I Really Have Is My Truth

I dunno if I’m gonna publish this one… although I want to… but I really need the freedom to say whatever I want to say about my relationship with M without feeling [too] guilty.  Guilt. GUILT!!!  I can see why people get cancer.  Carrying around all this guilt is toxic.  Most of my thoughts lately are about letting go of him.  Last week or the week before I expressed them and all it did was create this big, emotionally volatile mess… The pain I felt seemed like too much to bear, so I decided to try holding all my feelings in.  Honestly, it’s a little more bearable, but far from sustainable.  He keeps telling me how much he loves me… and talking about our future together.  Like for example, this morning he said that when the weather gets warmer, we should try drinking Chardonnay, because it tasted surprisingly good to him last night at dinner with his parents (I stayed home)… And I thought, yeah right… when the weather gets warmer, Mythena (the name of our relationship) will be dead and buried.  But hmmmm… Chardonnay, Athena!  Might be worth sticking it out until summer time…

I don’t know what else to say about it.  Why don’t I want to be with him?  One day I just woke up and the inspiration was gone.  All of these little things, chipping away at my commitment and devotion.  Honestly, comparing him to E was a huge catalyst.  Aside from the sex, life with E was way better.  Ladies, I recommend the tall, skinny scientistic outdoorsman!  He is loyal, fun loving, fucking funny, generous, easy going, sharp as fuck, and his heart is peaceful and sweet through and through.(oh and great oral skills if you ask me…)  Snap him up!!!  Ahem.  So for a while I was pretty sure that I just wanted to get back together with E and that’s what this was about.  But then I woke the fuck up and realized that I am a crazy bitch for sure, and this is not about finding the “perfect relationship”… This is about healing myself.  Which I suppose IS finding the perfect relationship.  INSIDE.  I know, I know, I can almost hear you~ “Can’t you find that while you’re IN relationship?”… and the answer is of course… probably.  But the other answer is I don’t want to.  I can hear judgment voices screaming away in my head… telling me that I quit everything and that I will NEVER be enough until I commit myself to something.  And I am so tempted to believe them.  That’s right fuckers~ you are getting to me… are you happy now?  Are you satisfied??? You are getting the best of me.  NOW WHAT???

Well, the most auspicious and beautiful news is that in addition to that worn thin self critical voice, I am hearing another, more gentle voice.  It is telling me that my path is perfect, and my learning is right on schedule.  It tells me that my compass isn’t broken after all (!!!), and that God is the quintessential relationship, the ONE to invest in a lifetime subscription to…  Now you might want to argue that one cannot possibly separate the Divine Relationship from human relationships.  You might have a very intimidating and convincing soap box that is demanding that human relationships are potent access points to that way more esoteric divine relationship.  Hmmm…  Yes… I can’t deny that.  I won’t deny that.  But I’ll also say that for a thirty year old woman who has been in one very clingy, co-dependant relationship or another (two, back to back, to be precise) since she was twenty three, that it’s beyond fuckin’ healthy for her to find HER edges, independent of another…

Oh dear, this writing is getting so blasted heavy.  It’s freesia season!  They are bursting from the thawing ground (just being poetic, the ground in Oakland does not thaw…) EVERYWHERE!!!  I thought of it because there is a copious, ostentatious bouquet of them here at 504.  Are they yellow?  Orange?  Gold?  They seem to defy all labels, save VIBRANT.  They are as vibrant as Christ himself.  Christ.  That’s a welcome subject change.  Jesus Christ.  Have you ever heard of this thing called “Christ consciousness”?  Well, supposedly there is this light that lives inside us, and we can reach it within our own minds.  Every single one of us.  Zero exceptions.  It is here, now and the only reason we haven’t noticed is because we’re way too interested in all the hoopla that our egos generate in our minds.  But omnipresent, it rests, eternally.  IN ME.  IN YOU.  And chances are that “you” and “me” don’t even exist in this psychedelic sphere of luminous realization.  And this frustrates the FUCK out of me, because I am so close, yet so far away.  I sit down to meditate every day… and my mind won’t shut the fuck up about what I want to eat for stupid breakfast.  As if stupid breakfast is more important than bathing in love’s eternal light.  Fuck and a half.  But I keep trying.  And one day, the miracle will accost my tired olde ego out of nowhere.  And I will remember what I have always known.  And this will happen to you too.  Even if you think meditation is stupid, or boring or for only for “those” types of people.  The miracle, the light, might swoop down upon you even if you’ve never meditated a lick in your whole life.  Even if you think meditation is only for people who subscribe to trendy “isms”, or have nothing better to do with themselves.  You never fucking know.  But what I do know is that the reality of oneness and light is way more true than all this illusion of division and multiplicity and never ending stream of problems…  Believe me…

Or don’t.  It doesn’t really matter WHAT you believe.  The light is indiscriminant and all pervasive… and IT wants YOU.  (Now imagine Uncle Sam pointing his dirty bone of a finger at your transient, illusory physical form…)

I’m so excited about lunch. Everybody in this café is indulging in sensory delights.  Cappuccinos and lattes made with rich, creamy and hella humane Strauss milk… and as if that’s not exciting enough… the dude sharing the table with me got two poached eggs (shaped like spring leaves!) with toasted baguette, jam and thick, darling orange slices… As I type this, he slathers his second half of bread with butter and strawberry jam and then the symphonic, sonic revelation as he crunches down into it’s tough crustiness!  Mastication.  As fulfilling and necessary as masturbation.  Honestly.  But both of those fulfilling necessities reinforce the deep seated and false belief that this existence is the be-all, end-all.  Which it’s not.  I realize that this might rub some of you the wrong way.  Tough.  Can you imagine if I made it my business to rub ALL OF YOU the right way, all the time?  I can… because I’ve spent a good deal of life trying to do that.  And trust me, it is exhausting and not nearly as rewarding as it’s cracked up to be.

So, in conclusion~ I am having a hard time letting go, I want to know myself as an independent single woman and most of all, I want GOD to be my BFF, but one of us has been too shy… Not sure if it’s me or God… But either way, there comes a time in a woman’s life when she has no choice to storm the… oh shoot, I forget the rest of the expression.  Storm the… Well, I guess punch lines and clichés are not my forte.  Win some, lose some.  Hey, that’s a cliché, isn’t it?!

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