Savoring my existential knots.

Fever-stricken girl

And dreaming cat beside me

As I ache and type

 

The blog I wrote on this day last year popped up as a facebook memory this morning.  Curious to recall my reality exactly one year ago, I read it. Ingeniously, it began with a “portrait of the moment” haiku.  It was fun to read, so I thought I’d give it another go.

 

Yeah, a shadow has swept across my inner scapes today.  Not unusual. I’ve been in a particularly bipolar experience these days.  One day, deep, dark despair, the next, a respite of inexplicable ecstasy, back to darkness, and then a few consecutive days of muted, lackluster peace.  I’m not bipolar, for the record. Just deeply sensitive. And in some sort of baffling growth period.

 

Serena is sleeping on the couch beside me.  She has a juicy fever. Her first in a long time.  The bug is rampant right now. My immune system is putting up a noble fight.  But I feel wiped out.

 

I didn’t come to the page with a burning agenda…. Other than to get naked and express myself.  Because it has been too long. It is a daily challenge to jam all my priorities and passions into a grain of rice and then thread it through the eye of a needle.  Lately, most mornings I give to toaist energy cultivation practices I am learning in an online course. Given the difficulty of my inner landscapes these days, I need to be reSourced.  Great medicine for me. I have also been meditating more.

 

I gave up meditation after a steady practice for about ten years… because I felt like I was approaching the practice from my spiritual ego, and not getting much out of it anymore.  I just felt hella cool to be a “meditator”. It was a relief to let go of that. Soon after, I got pregnant with Serena, and then I lost the luxury of lavish, lengthy sadhanas in the morning.  Meditation lurked in the shadows of exile. But lately, I can’t deny my need for frequent doses of stillness. Mini vacations from the riveting identification with the endless stream of personalities and circumstances and struggles otherwise known as Life.  Ahhhhh. Nutrient dense shit.

 

Speaking of personalities and circumstances and struggles (OH MY!), here is the current existential knot I am attempting to tease apart:  I have been living in an increasingly constricted state of closure, married to Giordano. I don’t feel emotionally safe to be open. He occurs for me as very inconsistent.  Emotionally unstable. He is living under an insurmountable pile of responsibilities and burdens, and struggles to manage his stress. (God bless him. Seriously.) I rarely feel heard or received by him when I share.  Being heard is a massive need for me and it feels terrible when, all too often, my thoughts and words, desires and feelings are sucked into a black hole. In order to not feel said terrible feeling over and over and over again, I just close up.  Blah.

 

Living in this state of closure sucks rotten ass.  It feels so foreign to me. I value openness and expansive, fluid self expression.  It’s so easy to justify my closure. It seems natural in the face of having a husband who struggles with Presence, listening and inner stability.  One who does not know how to interact such that another feels “gotten”, “received”, “heard”. (Poor guy… he was never given the grace of feeling gotten, received, heard as a child.  His parents were too busy fighting with one another. So it’s just not in his wiring. He’s trying. I admire that.)

 

I’m typing all this, and it sounds utterly ridiculous.  Like how in Fuck’s Holy Name did I wind up MARRIED to this dude???  Folks, now we are peering into the belly of the beast. The sheer and utter Mystery of Existence.  Giordano and I are strong magnets that have no choice but to smush together. I’ve never felt anything quite like it; so simultaneously essential and despicable. I can only imagine that this is the freshly sharpened knife of karma.  And I’m learning to stop trying to make “sense” of it… and just be humble and gracious as I live it out.

 

But I want to live OPEN.  I want to be unconditionally free in my heart.  And filled to overflowing with Heaven’s sumptuous love-light, so that I am a benevolent outpouring of it under any and all circumstances.  

 

I’m guessing that my wise and fearless soul set out to cultivate my own inner stability to such a degree, that NOTHING and no ONE on the outside could EVER threaten it.  So I found “Mister Right”- someone who cannot save me (though to his credit, he really WANTS to!), cannot hold me the way I yearn to be held. Someone perfectly flawed. And profusely devoted.  Someone who holds on so fucking tight, that it is impossible for me to pull my all-too-familiar knee-jerk bolt at the first sign of discomfort.

 

Anyway, part of this knot, it seems, is a fear in me of being so fully committed to.  Am I afraid of being deeply loved by a man? Because it’s foreign to my wiring?… Do I obsess over the small stuff as a protection mechanism?  A strategy to hold on to my small self?

 

Probably yes.

 

But it’s a knot, because the “small stuff” gets all smeared in with the “big stuff”, and the relationship becomes this imperceptible soupy blob.  I don’t know what is real, or when to give it the fuck up, and when to hold on as an act of self preservation. Probably better to err on the side of giving it the fuck up.  Like one of my life-long idols, the Landmark Wisdom Course leader, Joan Bordow once said, (when giving advice to a woman friend on the eve of her wedding) “The person who lets go of being right first, wins.”  Sounds so simple.

 

But it doesn’t feel like it from the inside.  Well… in certain, select moments it does… but overall… I feel to be in an unruly tangle.  I guess this is why people have therapists. We are all knotted up in our survival strategies, expectations, fears, projections, blah, blah, blah.  

 

I’m glad to be living inside this question.  And not in a rush to figure it out. Just looking deep within, making myself available to growth and revelation, and acknowledging my deep desire to live as Openness.

 

Ahhh, it feels so good to get this shit out on the page.  Blessed BE the sacred alchemy of the written word.

 

May you savor your tangles and twists like the finest wine….

 

Love,

Athena

Humbled, Stunned and Life Continues

This morning, I’m writing to you from the Graceland fallout shelter.  Snuggled amidst rubble, I nurse a large mason jar of bulletproof coffee.  My favorite handmade (by me) lotus flower mug smashed on Giordano’s tile floor upon my return from my walkabout through the scapes of self-inflicted hell.  

 

The next morning, I sliced through my ring finger with a dull knife during an agitated attempt to seed an avocado.  It has been like this.

 

OMG.  I took myself and my community on such a wild ride, post new moon, partial solar eclipse.  Flames stoked by the alchemy of my choices, my shadow and the current astrological forecast raged and danced Shiva’s seemingly cruel, but ultimately loving dance inside and I couldn’t take it sitting still.  Instead I wriggled and squirmed and cried out “ABUSE” of facebook, begging for money to return to California.

 

My desperate wish was granted with stunning abundance.  

 

Then, as you saw in my last entry, the Master Puppeteer otherwise known as God Almighty, pulled some curious strings, and orchestrated another meeting between Giordano and I.  Despite the sizable mess, there was still so much love.

 

I continued to stay at the archangel Dhuti’s house throughout our emotionally charged ReUnion.  Despite the depth of love between him and I, the fire was still growling and throwing off occasional, dangerous sparks.  Staying in her tiny, peaceful oasis was a luxury refugee vacation.

 

I’m proud to share that Giordano ultimately chose love, and blessed my choice to leave.  I needed this.

On our final day, as mischievously giggling Destiny would have it, was the meditation and breathing workshop of Manuela Forte.  This had been scheduled for months, and Giordano helped organize it. I really wanted to meet Manuela, as she is a very pure channel of Light; an angel who has been holding and blessing Giordano and me (and Serena) and our collective healing journey.

 

We sat outside atop a great hill, beneath a regal and beneficent oak tree.  Giordano’s mother was among the few attendees. As an aside, I am really struck by her.  My life MUST be an epic novel… or God certainly would not people it with such stunningly vivid washes of color and depth of field.  Raphaella is a strikingly small woman. But strong. The sort of strong fashioned by a life of hard knocks and victorious summits. Thin, wiry frame, slightly hunched back, adorned in consistently vivid colors.  Thick, shoulder-length hair, strawberry blond from a bottle, but it seems an utterly natural expression of her profoundly creative essence. I imagine she has fought many battles alone (with God) and won a good few.  Her love is fiery and unmistakable.

 

Upon completion of the workshop, my emotions were calmed.  My heart soft. From this space, it was clear that I must stay in Italy.  Manuela held me in a close embrace and spoke into the Beyond within my eyes as she reflected that she saw a young couple deeply in love.  A family… And that this LAND has medicine for me. I know this is true. I feel a softly synergistic helix, elegantly twisting upward from my feet, through my crown as I walk upon Her soft, giving body.  The dramatic, puffy clouds astound me, constantly. The humidity caresses me.

 

Maaaaaan.  Chronology kills me.  Consistently. What am I really here to say?

 

After the said post-eclipse “fallout”, a few people reflected to me that I really ought to take a pause on writing.  Because I was obsessively pouring forth so much DRAMA into the virtual sphere of facebook. There was a deranged imbalance in my output.  A compulsive quality. Perhaps it was time for me to retreat to a benevolent corner and just breathe.

 

I’m taking time out from facebook for a bit.  But I’ll NEVER stop writing. Taking in Life and pouring out words is what I’m made for.  

 

Joan told me to “take a fucking no bullshit look at what I’m actually committed to”… and I saw that using my writing gift to garner the riveting and cheap thrill of attention from friends on social media was at the top of the list.  For this, I felt ashamed. For a flash, I was tempted to abandon my post as an astounded teller of the Story of my Life.

 

But here I am again.  Telling with abandon. Passion gushing from my fingertips and saturating your own intimate cracks.  That’s what I am for.

 

So here I am, wondering.  Wondering what Life is asking of me now…. This frenzy of heavily carbonated, shaken energy that ‘sploded through me… has left me quite dismantled.  Somewhat humbled. Too much “good advice” was flung my way. But Suzanne’s words stuck with me. She said get off the social media ferris wheel, which is a dead end road, keeping me semi-entertained and stuck.  Work harder than I’ve ever worked before, to create stability, especially for my daughter.

 

Yes.

 

And.

 

Life keeps Life-ing…. And I’m not sure what to do.  Into which groove do I pour myself? Do I humble myself once more and clean toilets, vacuum dirty floors and make mostly delicious soup as I did in Nevada City with a baby fixed to my hip?  I imagined and hoped it was time to spread my wings and FLY. To write something worthwhile. To generate my online women’s circles. To boldly claim my genius. But now I’m back on my knees in the muddy rubble born of emotionally impulsive choices.

 

Obviously the FIRST order of business is to spend more time with God.  Silence. Stillness. Breath. Humble Receptivity.

 

Feels like I was violently KO’d in a fight with my own self.  A needless, masturbatory fight. I am still seeing birdies and stars.  And even the world’s biggest swig of gatorade is not setting me straight.  

 

Honestly, I believed sex would be my salvation.  Maybe you don’t understand this… Many priestess types who serve to reconnect women with their sexual power say the same thing… that when we are connected with our Sex, we are connected with our Self.  

 

Giordano and I have been OMing (orgasmic meditation) every day.  I am starting to feel what Nicole Daedone means when she speaks of being “full”… And I am still confused.

 

What is my DESIRE?  

 

I want to create a safe, calm, expansive, happy life for Serena.

I want to write a book.

I want to lead Sourced Circles.

www.sourcedcircles.com

I want to build deep, replenishing relationships here in Italy.

I want to pour copious love on all my shadowed nooks and deep carved crannies and TRULY heal= return to love.

 

Romantic love is so misrepresented.  Committing to Partnership is rigorous, grueling work.  To show up every day and choose to let go again. Forgive (and laugh) even when you want to kill.  Choose to be loved, when it seems way too compelling to close and punish.

 

The attraction pulls me hopelessly IN.  And then the Work begins.

 

God.  Help me.  Seriously.

 

What Am I Standing For? (And Why?)

I was going to write another orgasmic spill of today’s cornucopia of revelatory blessings.  Jesus.  There have been a whole slew… again… I am constantly amazed at how much I love myself, respect myself and fall to my knees in reverence of this sacred mystery that is life.  Mundane old life.  The day to day, moment to moment, miracle to miracle ISness.  I just had an image of my life being lived in a giant aquarium… these other strange, mystical beings just keeping us all as trendy pets in this elaborate aquarium in the corner of their posh Chinese restaurant.  How cool would THAT be… if this whole serious life that we imagine we are living was just chic living artwork in a trendy asian fusion restaurant frequented by uber stylish great gods?!  That would put a whole other spin on our “problems”… wouldn’t it?  Nothing more than the sea horse taking bullyish bites out of the angel fish…

 

Problems.  Is it a problem that I just read my blog, “It’s the Full Moon Talkin’” to my WP and afterwards he told me that he felt exploited?  Yep.  That could be construed as a problem.  I was at his house.  The beautiful little open-air in-law unit that seems to breathe.  But he asked me to leave.  Just like that.  I requested that we dive deep and really share so that we can stay connected and get clear.  I stood tall and courageous, softening my body and my mind, coaching myself to embody openness (as opposed to the exhausting lose-lose cycle of defend and attack).  I felt the strength of all the work that Mykael and I did together~ relating and getting to the bottom of it… and his constant stand for me to stick with it in the face of discomfort… and though I felt plenty uncomfortable and it would have been easy to jet, I knew I was strong enough to stay in the fire and restore love, reach greater heights of understanding.  But WP refused to step forward and meet me.  He wanted only to be alone.  So I left.

 

He offered to give me a ride.  I said no thanks.  I gathered my full to bursting backpack and stepped out into the overt sensuality of four o’clock on a Sunday in Laughing Haena.  Boy did I feel confused.  So what did I do?  I dialed Mykael.  Interesting how HE is the one I have been choosing to go for clarity and strength in my moments of challenge, ache and confusion.  And I have not been disappointed.  I marvel at this.  We have been “broken up” for just under two months now… and already, the space between us feels so clean, clear and strong.  I realize that this makes us part of a miniscule percentage of the population.  Break-ups are “supposed to” be dramatic, punishing, intense.  Sure, we have visited all of those places.  But we did not stake our claim in any of them.

 

I share this with you, because I want to inspire you.  I want the masses to know that there is another way.  That your beloved can be an ally, a friend, someone who really KNOWS you.  Someone who is on your team.  You can raise each other up, even after you part ways.  I pray for all the world to know that this is an option… and to heavily consider choosing it.  It feels great.

 

He was the perfect person to call, after all… because HE of all people knows what it feels like to be written about by Athena Grace… he helped me explore this current “gristle” from many different angles, not just one fixed one.

 

Papaya break.  God the cold, coral colored flesh is so unapologetically erotic and sumptuous.  My back itches.  When I am rich and famous, I’m gonna hire someone to stand on call and scratch my back with my skin brush when it itches… which tends to be often.  This papaya went down like an “erster” (oyster).  So slippery and molten.  And the color was so deep.  Neither pink nor orange by any stretch of the imagi-Nation.  Nope.  The color was its own integris state.  And while I’m on this papaya break, I just HAVE to tell you about the woman who gave me a ride from Hanalei to Laughing Haena earlier today.  She was blasting the Metalica black album.  I LOVE that album.  (It reminds me of junior high and smoking pot for the first time with my tough head-banger friend Leah.  Her dad’s name was Vance.  He was a hell’s angel.)  I offered Patricia (she introduced herself immediately) a sip of my chai flavored yerba matte.  She said she was already high.  On what, I asked.  Church.  She replied.  Talk about an unexpected response.  FINALLY!!!! Someone to bond with about our passion for CHURCH.  And while singing along to “Enter Sandman” no less.  Life!  It makes me want to cry and cum and scream and laugh and die just so I can be reborn again.  Holy Popcorn.

 

Now back to our feature presentation.  (I just found a piece of chocolate stuck to my desk.  How in the heck did THAT get there???  I haven’t eaten any chocolate since I’ve been here.  Except on my date with the motorcycle man a couple weeks ago.  Weird.)  So my heart was aching and I was confused.  My actions had created this situation of WP feeling “exploited” and asking me to leave his home.  I do NOT want my writing to have this effect.  I want my writing to heal and elevate.  Don’t I?  I want my writing to REVEAL.  The shadows as well as the light.  Because I don’t believe we need to be afraid of our shadows… but instead be curious, fascinated, forgiving.  He had given me permission to write about him… as long as I didn’t use his name.  Did he feel embarrassed?  Did I portray him as a bad lover?  He’s not.  Having unsatisfying sexual encounters is a plenty familiar experience for me.  WP~ I take full responsibility for my dissatisfaction.  And I can live with the reality that not everyone digs cumming on a woman.  Probably there are even women who think bodily fluids are gross…?  Cheerleaders, maybe?  God.  It’s so hard for me to stay serious for more than a paragraph or two…

 

AHEM.  I guess there’s no point in my trying to GUESS what is going on for WP.  He’s a big boy.  He can tell me when he’s ready.  But in the meantime… I am looking deeply at myself.  Riding that razor edge between radical responsibility and not taking on other people’s trips.  This is a sloppy whopper for me.  A whopper with mayonnaise and mustard and ketchup and slimy tomato seeds dripping out the sides.  (I just watched the big gecko suctioned to the outside of my window stalk and snap up a bug!  Nice.  When he got it, I felt a win for the team!)  Where is my learning in this?  How do I maintain my commitment to transparency without negatively impacting others?  Is it inevitable that I will rub others the “wrong” way from time to time?  I remember when Nicole Daedone was coaching me she said something that hit me hard.  “People LIKE you… It’s easy to like you… because you’re not standing for anything.  When you DO stand for something, you’re going to have to accept that some people are not going to like you.”

 

Yes.  That’s true.  And this situation is evoking the question in me, of WHAT exactly AM I standing for?  And is it WORTH standing for?  Is it worth risking others feeling “exploited” (“to use selfishly for ones own ends”, according to dictionary dot com… Yikes. That’s harsh.)  These are good questions to ask.  I guess I’ll sleep on them.  In the mean time, I forgive.  I forgive myself for causing perceived pain in another.  I forgive my ignorance.  I forgive WP.  I forgive the illusion.  And I give thanks to the sensuous afternoon for embracing me as I walked out onto the jungle highway alone.  The air was heavy and soft, salty and saturated with the fiestily dancing ocean.  The sun’s light and warmth was subdued yet substantial.  And though my heart ached, I felt so held, wrapped in the dense beauty and goodness of everything.  Thank you All Pervading Beloved.

 

Amen.