How Thick Can One Plot Get???

Sometimes Life gives you a whopper of a story- special sauce squirting all over you, wilted pickles pleasantly sour, mystery meat grease lingering on your tongue for weeks.  

Eleven days ago, I took a risk and chose to spend sunday with “The Family”, rather than indulging in the rare and exquisite delicacy of Aloneness.  If you have been following me for a while, maybe you cringed at the uncouth, kaleidoscopic possibilities that such an activity unearths.  I didn’t.  I was brave.  But still it hurt.  Many times over.  Early on, G and I got into a potentially benign tiff, which of course escalated, and then he threatened to leave with Forest and never come back and even though I know that’s a crock of colossal bullshit because he won’t even take our Sun for a damn overnight, it still affected my nervous system in a caustic way.  These little moments where the sky crashes down on me like corroded metal.  And I am declaring it Officially Unacceptable.  

Gently unacceptable.  You know, Gandhi style- stone cold chillin’ on the capitol steps, beaming starlight and broadcasting wellbeing for forty days and forty nights with no food and no water.  Only smiles, sincerely kind words and blessings or sacred-stained silence.

By the end of the day, my heart was RAW.  Do you know how to say “raw” in Italian?  Crudo!  Yeah, my heart was hella crudo.  And then my phone rings and it’s Dhuti, who’s house I am subletting.  (Love you Dhuti!) My nervous system has like one thread of synaptic sanity left… so I decline the call.  But the ringing flairs up again.  She is fierce to get me.  “Hi,” I say with flat, slightly agitated voice.

Long preamble…

But I know where it’s going.  The landlords asked me to leave.  

Yep, a single mama with two kids, healing cancer, left her husband after he was physically violent (let it be known that I kicked him under the covers in bed once!!!  Many times.  Until he wouldn’t talk to me anymore.  I was mad because he interruped me and showed zero interest in what I was sharing, which happened to matter deeply to me.), in a fucking foreign country.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not making myself a Victim Sundae with whipped cream, nuts and a cherry.  I’m just marveling at the plummeting drops and sprawling, panoramic expanses of this story as I ride it like an epic, gnarly wave to the shore on the other side of Life.

I am currently undergoing a process of undoing my default habits of mind and emotion.  So while I was tempted to crumble under the destabilized weight of the circumstances, instead I said to God, “Ok Lord, your hand is mighty obvious in this… so what would you have me do NOW?” 

–Let me just give you the abridged version of the “back story”, which is that a couple days before, the landlords (an old couple whose ancestors have probably tread this medieval  wonderland since Jesus and the dinosaurs roamed the earth) where here trimming trees in my yard and I asked them (in broken italian) if I could grow a garden here (there is a wonderful open space, begging to become a garden…).  The darling oldish lady told me that the house belonged to her, and back in “The Day”, her Zia (Auntie) used to have a garden there.  Hearing this warmed my heart, as I felt that I would be carrying on a legacy, an alliance between Earth and Woman.  

Fast forward ONE DAY… and… I am asked to leave.  ASAP.  

People, I’m forty one by now.  (and yes, the Yoniverse did NOT pass over my golden chance at a midlife crisis, as I imagined it would) (I thought this because my whole life has been sorta crisis-y… so I thought it would be like black on black.  But nope.  I have plenty to unravel!)  Having whipped around the sun a few times, I have had many-a-door fling open or slam in my face and I know this is by Intelligent Design.  I have felt Heaven dripping sweat upon my haloed crown as She works tripple time to direct The Flow from Above.  So instead of panicking, I calmly said to God, “Ok Dude, so what’ve you got in mind?”

And I was sure He said, “Thou shalt go back to Giordano’s house”, and so I did.  Well… I brought a huge duffle of clothes and some plants and vitamins and stuff….

But no sooner had I set foot on our familial soil… than my wise and benevolent gut said “Girlfriend, get the fuck out of here, ASAP.”  And I did.  And I did not look back.  But I laughed nervously with Rosa as I realized that if I had a thousand dollars for every time I had packed my massive, black duffle bag with a pounding heart, I would…. Have enough to put down on a ramshackle little house in the Italian Countryside to call my own.  (Which is something I am exploring….)

FEAR.  It was as if I was waking up from a thick sleep.  I know that you’ve heard that one a bazillion times…. But… that’s because it cuts to the heart of a very common human experience, which is along the lines of wash, rinse, repeat.  That of sleepwalking through Life, buried beneath a heavy pile of programs, which most of us are doing… and then suddenly being aware that we have not been aware.  In that moment, it simply was not ok to be spoken to with such cruelty.  Period.

So with as much certainty and quintessential rightness as I could  scoop up in my prayer-stained palms, as if riding a revolving door, I stuffed said bag full of my modest existence and drove back to my american refugee camp in the beautiful and “intimate” (a friendly mode of expressing the way everyone is up in each other’s business…) Morano Madonnuccia (the perfect name for the village called home by a woman who was once a girl who blushed and swooned and daydreamed of Madonna.)  Turns out it’s not legal to kick people out of their homes during covid.  Even if they are not on the lease.  

I will find another place as soon as I can… but in the meantime, I feel very blessed to call this hOMe.  And I completely trust.  Life has never dropped me.  (maybe I’m not hot enough???)  Especially not when I am living in fearless alignment with my values.  This act never goes unacknowledged by Life.  She eats that shit UP.  

Isn’t that a juicy plot twist?!?! At first I imagined that the “lesson” was to humble myself and choose family.  But I quickly realized that the lesson was to TRUST MYSELF and have no qualms about getting the fuck out of a toxic environment.  Choosing myself, choosing Life, choosing health and peace and wellbeing.

I’m still not perfect, because I can’t always remain cucumber cool and unresponsive when he says antagonizing shit… but I’m getting better.  Also getting better at not yelling at my kids.  Thanks Mama Cannabis.  (I will anchor this new habit into my system, so that I am not dependent on “help” to achieve a sprawling state of radical kindness.) 

I feel scared to admit that I’m done trying with G.  Truthfully, I have been feeling this for a while.  But I felt way too vulnerable to say it out loud.  In fact I still haven’t said it to G.  Does that  make me a shmuck to say it here first?  Yes.  Or maybe not.  But.  G has shown me that he’s not always capable of being “decent”, even when I am soft and unguarded.  No mi piace.  Right now I need decency.  I’m not enlightened to the point of being untouchable yet.  (I have a feeling that’s not tooooo far down the road at the rate I am traveling…)  I feel vulnerable. Being in a country that is not my own.   Caring for two kids.  I guess the good thing is that since I am not dependent on G for much at this point (except the car), I don’t have much to lose.  Actually that’s not true.  I have a child that I have become soooo attatched to… and some semblance of peace to maintain in my heart and home.  

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…