Yearning For the Earth

You know what I yearn for right now?  I yearn for the words that you see on this page have been funneled straight from Heaven.  I yearn for you to devour them as though they were your favorite food and they were so mouthwatering that you LICK the page clean.  And even when it’s clean, you lick it some more in a lofty hope that your mind’s tongue might stumble upon something that you missed the first time around.

Of course that’s a tall order… especially since I want to say frivolous things… like I am thoroughly enjoying the aftertaste of black tea in my mouth.  It’s so sweet, it must be angel’s breath.  Much better than janky old coffee breath.  It reminds me of this baby strawberry shortcake doll I used to have when I was a kid.  When you squeezed her around the middle, she would expel strawberry scented air from her permanently parted baby doll lips.  I couldn’t get enough of it.  Baby Strawberry shortcake withstood a lot of squeezing.

Do I want to say frivolous things?  No.  Today I have put too much pressure on myself to be impactful.  I was reading a blog by “Soul Dipper” ( souldipper.wordpress.com/)  I really admire her intentionality.  She uses her blog to channel information bestowed upon her cosmically connected mind by her spirit guides to those who are receptive to her timely and potent spiritual messages.  After reading a post or two of hers, I [naturally] started to compare myself to her.  I felt inadequate, because I merely say yes to the unruly, child-like meanderings of my wild mind, while SHE says hella spiritual things that fall into her mind from wiser and more omniscient planes of existence.  Listen, I know that comparing myself to others is only useful if it inspires me to be more fully myself, to more fully embody my destiny-stained role in the glorious unfolding of Life and Love.  I refuse to get stuck in the eddy of self denigration.

AND… I want to cultivate a deeper, more conscious relationship with my nonphysical guides.  I feel like I can almost hear them cheering and beating their wings against the eager vastness inside me.  It is possible they ache to be heard and received in fullness just as much as I do… What would they have me say right now?

I dunno, but I want to tell you how much I miss being on the farm.  Coming back to this urban web of chaos was comparable to going in for an extended visit to the dentist… (Truth be told, I actually LIKE going to the dentist, mostly… I mean it’s awesome to have someone taking such great care of me, supporting me in keeping my teeth forever.  And if pain is involved, it is an opportunity to meditate on the sensation.  I just used that as a metaphor because there is a general collective consensus that going to the dentist blows) But the essence of it is that my experience of the bay area is that of a large pool of extraneous psychic clutter.  I crave nature.  I crave simplicity.  I took unfathomable delight in just feeling the soft, country breeze, intermingled with ephemerally forceful heat from the sun. My skin is still tasting this delicious cocktail.  I didn’t used to be able to appreciate such simple gifts from god.  I thought revelation would certainly be more of an earth shattering, bone rattling, mind scattering main event (and I still reserve the right to experience it that way, “someday”).  But the more that I heal and remember how to savor being present, I realize that tasting grace can be so ordinary and simple that it can easily be missed if I’m always holding out for the second coming of the Big Bang.

My minds eye is ecstatically haunted by the image of vibrant green walnut leaves against a blazing blue sky.  The contrast of the colors not only lured me into the heart of that perfectly rapturous moment, but it also carried me away to a place of inexplicable soul that somehow transcends one single moment.  Ahhh, the vibrancy of color.  Flowers carry me there… on a daily basis.  Drinking the fluorescent vibration of flowers, I am at once swallowed by the seductive, hungry mouth of the Mystery and spit out in the silent core of Creation.  I rode my bike (whose name is Black Beauty, btw) past some outrageous rose-filled gardens on my way to Pizzaiolo this morning. Oooh-la-la!  And I’m embarrassed to admit this, but geraniums really whistle my kettle too.  I was raised to believe that geraniums were gaudy plants that only little old ladies dared entertain.  If I were to offer a simple equation expressing my conditioned response to this hearty, vibrant, wily creature, it would be~ CHEEP+TACKY+SMELLY= GERANIUM.  But who loses in the face of this narrow, binding, habitual dismissal of a perfectly marvelous face of God?  Athena.  But no longer!  I am going to plant some of these neon beauties and display them proudly in my front yard!

I remember doing tree pose during our yoga sessions in the hallowed walnut orchard, and feeling the decadent texture of the earth under my eager bare feet.  It was firm, yet squishy.  So moist and awake, like the body of my own lover.  It met my feet with an unmistakable tenderness and overt fertility.

On Sunday afternoon, when it came time for our yoga practice, I was zonkered.  I had to dig deep to summon the energy and will to move at all.  I guess we all must have felt that way… because beautiful, divine Kimber felt us and responded accordingly.  She guided us through a very gentle, nourishing, restorative practice, woven with many mini savasanas.  Then, during the final savasana, I had this miraculous experience of transcending the time-space continuum.  Did I fall asleep?  Sort of… but… when I came back from this formless place of peace and rest, I had this feeling that I could have been gone for eons, for eternity, for an entire incarnation of our beloved universe.  When I opened my eyes, I realized I had so many assumptions about the world that my eyes shone upon… and that none of those assumptions were necessarily accurate.  I suppose I traveled to the Great Beyond.  As it turns out, the other yogis shared this transcendent experience… at least on SOME level, because after we offered our closing OM, we all just remained still, stupefied, lulled by a great silence.  Normally we mostly can not get up fast enough, because after yoga comes FOOOOOD!!!!  Artful and lovingly prepared, farm fresh vegetarian meals.  But this time, literally NOBODY moved.  We all just sat on our mats, under a secret blanket of aqueous, exquisite peace.

It would be so easy to dismiss this experience through logical, masculine, literal means.  “Oh, we were all just tired from a day out in the raw elements.”  Yeah, what EVER.  My hypothesis is that we all embarked on a collective inner journey and came out on the other side, in a whole new dimension of existence.  Kimber served as our guide, our flight attendant, if you will, and she was a mere willing vessel of the Divine Mother, manifest as Missus Earth, Herself.  I know this much~ I am not the same woman as I was before this Great Sleep… and this is a mystic blessing, yet to be integrated and revealed.  Stay tuned.

Advertisements

Sorrow, Impermanence and Yearning

I’m still kinda disoriented from all the crying I did this morning.  I guess because I’m still not even quite sure exactly why I am so sad today.  There’s something so freeing about crying without such a concrete story about WHY.  And with that, Athena proceeded to launch into reasons… mostly in an attempt to find something previously unseen within herself.

It was Mykael’s birthday yesterday, remember?  Well, he spent the day with a broken heart (I guess mostly because he isn’t where he wants to be in his life).  The birthday boy had been dreaming of an afternoon mushroom trip at Tennessee Valley beach in Marin… but a large, unsightly monster began to nibble voraciously at the afternoon.  We planned to leave at two.  Two came and went.  Then three slipped inconspicuously through the cracks…  People often say that Mykael is the perfect man for me.  Sometimes I agree.  But sometimes I think it’s fucking nuts to be with a man who tends to be as emotionally volatile as me.  We both embody the quintessential artistic temperament.  It can be intense.  I often find myself wishing that one of us was more “normal”… you know, stable, balanced… in our next lives he can be an accountant and I’ll be the milkmaid!  HA!  Needless to say we drowned together in indecision and heart ache and ended up just going to Whole Foods for a loaf of bread, six cans of coconut milk, a jar of crunchy, unsalted almond butter, and Mykael got himself this cute little chocolate chip cookie sandwich with chocolate ganashe in the middle. (Why is sugar such a compelling substitute for love and happiness???)

By then it was four thirty pm… What in the heck to do?  Since we were close to the gym in down town Oakland, we decided to go for a quickie rock climb.  Life according to Athena= when in doubt, move your body.  Felt good.  At least in my world, the invisible, heavy weight became slightly less debilitating.  Then we went to dinner at our new favorite restaurant.  I’m gonna let you guess… That’s one way he and I are compatible~ We both have the creature of habit gene, and like to really get intimate with a certain place, the people, the food… we mostly order the exact same thing every time.  And strangely, we most always agree on what we fancy to put in our mouths.

When we landed at Boot and Shoe Service, our fragile psyches seemed to be spreading their wings, poised to take flight.  How could they not?  Even in the still vibrant six thirty pm light, the candles flickered, promising romance and enchantment.  The restaurant bustled with beautiful humans, both the servers and patrons.  At the time, I didn’t realize it, but the overflowing basket of fresh, shiny spring onions impressed themselves heavily upon my mind.  I can see them so clearly right now.  I’ve noticed this new trend in the super hip, shi-shi restaurants… you know, the ones that use local, organic ingredients… where the wealthy-ish, self proclaimed “foodies” go to get their munch on… I’ve noticed that the trend is to display the fruits and vegetables du jour in showy baskets and bowls right out on the counter that divides the cooking area from the dining area.  It’s like a little altar to the food.  I like it.  Boot and Shoe does it.  Brilliant idea to let people behold the innate artistry of the food they are about to consume!

Suddenly, I realized, uh-oh… we are about to eat pizza and drink wine (only a dinky glass, but still…) and then, since when it comes to eating, Mykael can be such a dog, he’ll eat whatever is in front of him… he’ll fill himself to the brim with carby, doughy ness.  Then we’ll get home and he’ll be an immobilized lump and be too comatosed to make love.  I tried to be tactful and gracious and even inviting as I expressed this concern.  I was delighted when he said I could delve out his portion of pizza!  Chicka-chicka-bowm-bow!  The night just got even better.  I was in the mood for lllllove!  Yeah!  But then came dessert.  Boooo.  We ordered the chocolate cake (come on, you can skip dessert any other night, but…) and then, since it was his bday, they gave us a bowl of Strauss vanilla soft serve with olive oil and sea salt on the hiz-ouse.  Damn, it was SO delicious!  Would you ever think of eating [vanilla] ice cream with olive oil and sea salt?!  You should, because it was heaven on a stick!  Anyway, I totally lost interest in the boring, dry cake as a result, so Mykael polished off the whole slice plus a bunch of ice cream and my heart winced and crinkled.  I thought if the pizza didn’t sink his ship, all this dessert sure would.  Enter pouty Athena, stage left.  The littlest thing can flip my switch.  I’m not quite proud of it, but more fascinated.

We walked home the scenic route through the rose garden. (Maybe we could burn a little of that excess sugar and make some room for sweet lovin’)  Exploding rainbow blossoms, recklessly full, patiently wide open as twilight began to lure their petaled innocence into her dark belly.  Birds sang a melancholy dirge to the inward folding of this day, which will never be lived again.  Already slipping back into the pit of disappointment, once home, I got an e-mail from E*.  He told me that he felt himself closing off to me.  That sitting down to write to me, he mostly found himself staring blankly at the glowing screen.  Reading this, my already heavy heart sunk below my inner horizon.  Then Mykael and I climbed into his bed and he confessed that he felt energized enough, but he felt all this pressure to perform, which sucked for him.  Yeah.  I can see how he would feel that.  And honestly, I’m sure that if I was feeling strong and generous and unattached, I probably could have opened my heart and my body and spilled gratuitous lusciousness all over him and inevitably gotten boned immaculate, like I yearned to be… but instead I opted to respond to his confession by remaining pouty and disapproving and distant.  Ladies, learn from my mistakes.  This behavior might feel satisfying in the short term, because you get to be indulgent, impulsive and gloriously RIGHT… but in the longer than seven seconds term, this addiction to pouting and punishing and staying closed SUCKS.

I fell into a downward spiraling trap, imagining that our sex drives are sorely mismatched and if we stay together forever, I am destined to a life of perpetual sexual unfulfillment.  Sure seems like it these days.  In the beginning of our relationship, he wanted to have so much more sex.  Now he mostly wants to cuddle.  I haven’t even hit my sexual peak yet.  This thought sent me to hell.  How on earth will that work?  I can’t stand feeling disappointed and sexually rejected so often.  It fucking blows.  But certainly not even remotely biblically… unfortunately.  Did they have such a thing as blow jobs back in biblical times?  The Christians would say no, but the pagans would put their hands in the air and say “whoop-whoop!”

Anyway, we fell asleep together in half baked openness, but with a thick, filmy residue of bummer.  I hate going to bed aching.  Because inevitably, I wake up aching.  I felt so sad that he was so disheartened on his birthday, and even more sad that I couldn’t just make myself, my desires, attachments, needs disappear for the day and just be for HIM only.  On top of that, I’m reading this book, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles, by Huraki Murakami, and he describes some very graphic world war II brutality in it, such as a man witnessing another man be skinned alive, and soldiers being ordered to kill all the carnivores in the zoo.  I read it first thing in the morning and I probably shouldn’t because I feel it all way too deeply, which only exacerbates all the other aching I partake in.  Woops.

It just seems like there is no way to reckon with the perpetual imperfection of human life.  No matter what, seasons keep sweeping us along.  Not just the biblical seasons, I mean life and death on every level, in every moment.  Impermanence.  Hope.  Tragedy.  Revelation.  Yearning.  Today in A Course in Miracles, the lesson instructs us to marinate in gratitude.  Sigh.  It’s a good day for that.  There is so much to love in this life.  ESPECIALLY in the face of such startling impermanence and imperfection.

Next Newer Entries