Tag Archives: Self Love

now that my tongue knows no blue

5 Feb

a salty song

around my shoulders

wraps me in a harmony

of thirds.

Love like the wind

needs no introduction,

no permission from my parents

to bow on a knee

with a ring.

I’m sniffing yellow

bursts of instant knowing.

I can be entered by the sun

in penetrating ways –

the passing through of each photon

registers on my richter spine

of sway – I offer my belly for a rub.

Hear this felt truth —  I know no bounds.

What enters me

is entered by me

as it passes on,

an exchange without end.

Ever echoes the fervored beat

I dance

eternity

for now

a textured shadow on my retina

curve

later thinning out on the curve

of expansion

among other all-

perceiving BEings

returning

to our agreed

upon spot

no one

need know

but love.

 

 

somewhere along the way

1 Feb

instead of keeping on

with the human interaction experiment,

I started saying no

and dropping out of the game.

It was so gradual,

I didn’t notice when self-care

turned into hiding.

Separate became a theme song,

playing on repeat

on the radio in my head.

Prone felt better than upright,

cozy felt better than cold,

alone felt better than awkward,

and predictable became a slow slide.

The blood began to thicken.

I told myself that I was refusing

to be food for the energy suckers.

What’s new?

I’m ankle deep at the surf’s edge

where

the water is cold,

the air is worse,

but the alternative is only for the bears,

and only in one season.

Spring seasons return,

and probably will again,

but I won’t wait

for it to come to me.

Motion is required

for the body,

but more so, for the mysterious heart,

which can’t be met

until I show up.

 

 

 

Backsliding into the Rave Party of Mercy

26 Jan

There were years of grace, so much so, that I couldn’t imagine that walking in the world without this flow was possible anymore. Grace seemed to begin flooding into my moments when I walked out of my old life with my daughters in tow, and set out to make life from scratch. While those years of trying to make ends meet, burning my fuels to EMPTY most days, scrambling to meet needs while every next remained uncertain were so challenging, there was a background air of abundance, love, and support in the unseen forces that exist just behind a veil of the material. I was gifted guides and loves some steps ahead who cheered me on and reminded me of the larger view. Through all these years, I longed to create more certainty and stability in the seen world, but while the scramble was on, grace and trust seemed to ease the way and light the path. Grace period!

Fast forward to the wider expanse of today, with kids launched for the most part, and financial burdens eased a bit, I have become aware that identification with the smaller self has crept back  – in hindsight – in small increments, so slowly as to be unnoticed. In the past month, I have been shown and I see the energetic dissonance that had taken hold. The other side of grace perhaps is the way reminders come in, incrementally as well, to say, “Hey, you! It is going to get stranger and more painful until you look up and see – you are back in Kansas again, playing out old stories. Wake up!”  I have been getting grace’s kicks in the pants 🙂

Thank you grace, who knows how to take us and shake us for our own good. I think that when the space that I had sought for years finally arrived, the oldest wounds and defenses, that finally had room for examination, arrived center stage. People do all sorts of things at this point, it seems, to avoid sitting, listening, really looking truthfully at the deepest rooted identification with the small, hopeless self. Have a baby, get a dog, jump into an ill-conceived romance, begin a time-consuming hobby – everything called to me, well mostly, but at least not a baby! BUT what is on the table instead, if I am brave,  is the uncomfortable re-boot of seeing, allowing space for clearing out old conditioning, patterns, protections, pretense. Grace gave me a taste of what’s possible, and slipping back gave me a whopping, and grace rolled up her sleeves to help me with the clean-out.

It strikes me that the most private and complex experiences that we have as humans occur with very few knowing anything about them at all. It isn’t pride or saving face, mostly, that keeps so much of the truest twists and turns of the human journey private. I think it is our inability to leave a trace at all of the subtlety of the way life goes down and grace arrives. Each tiny moment provides such voluminous information-feedback internally and externally-that writing, speaking, dancing, painting, singing- all our tools- do not have enough space for the real deal of every moment. Every story is watered-down and biased – and we can only reveal so much without yelling soliloquies from our cardboard houses in the alleys of main human thoroughfares to no one but rushers-by.

There can be no real bread crumb trail for how each soul goes from blindness and suffering to grace filled truthful awareness. The lightbulb goes off, the alarm, and the work ahead is clear. Grace enters. She fills the stage. There is no way to explain. Someone holds up a flower, another one smiles – and the transmission is complete, while someone else fumbles the ball and lets the whole team down, never able to explain what went wrong. Grace is here too, in the fumble and disgrace, from a later view, as it all plays out; failing was just right in order to see what was/is always real.

I assumed that when shifts occurred from the grace period on, conversations could be had. I assumed one could touch base, get feedback, check-in. But the mirrors are often perplexing when we are being guided to look at our blindspots, our conundrums, our hopeless-seeming patterns. Sometimes all we can reach is the heartbeat sound in our own ears from our own blood pumping and the gracious silence of distant, firm love.

It seems an important balance in the flow of grace that I learn again how to flip the switch on identification without any condemnation of the self that forgot. In an instant, the confusion can be seen and laughter is appropriate for the elephant wearing a tutu, crouched in the corner. The grace of self-love here is startling because it is watered with the salt of sorrow and purity of forgiveness. There is a certain inevitability, too, of the fall from grace. It was felt coming on for months, yet no strong-armed resistance could keep the shift away.

From here is remembered the years of largesse,  in-and-outward love. The pathway is marked, the memory beckons from the future, and the stepless steps appear in the deepest stopping, listening, shoulders down, breathing into the forgotten furnace within; astounding how the consistent, loving, and distant sun burns within each of us unseen until we are ready, again. Grace, the final executioner bearing our last meal, whistling down dark corridors to our self-created cells. Freedom, a whiff of salty water in the distance, then suddenly a flood. Let’s get to the dance party again as we allow ourselves to be washed back into the ocean rave, going on all of our nights and days. We’ve got the wristband to enter already!

Feeling So Groovy it Sucks :)

26 Oct

This writing feels didactic and I question why am I putting into words a philosophy of one? I don’t know. Maybe just a sticker on a map. Maybe a look in the mirror. For some reason, this morning, I’m covering myself in a humble patchwork quilt of pieces of practice\al philosophy gathered from one set of feet, one pair of eyes, marching through the time of a life in a body.

It’s okay – I’ll let it flow, for no good reason and then move on to the next thing…

Starting here: No matter how much circumstances seem contrary to okay, life is ultimately okay.

Okayness is true as seen from the small still point inside of me that is never not there.

This still point is within,  a radiant, patient sun inside the solar system of me around which everything in the show revolves. Remembering this point, learning to dwell from this point, gives me the stability of moving within the world with more spaciousness even in the moments that seem chaotic or in crisis. This space accepts me “back” to this point, no matter how long I’ve forgotten that I am dwelling here; thank goodness, it’s always accessible and open for business. We are always here, actually, but there is some aspect of taking on this life that allows us to forget. Mysterious this! 

Life is a ride, “a” not “THE” ride. Here, a clue in the articles – each one of us on a ride, the whole (of me and of us) ride is beyond my comprehension.

It used to seem like a long ride, but it is ever more clear that this ride is not very long at all.

The body has a mind of its own. It is best to recognize this and communicate with it (through it) by learning to dwell in the body’s awareness as much as possible. Wordless wisdom comes through the body suit – profound messages, information, and access to God (our spacious still point again) is through the body, not from somewhere else. Though it may feel like indigestion, a muscle cramp, dread in a seizing stomach, the body has a language all its own. I’ve been learning to inhabit this body garment and finally listen after so many years to the wordless words of a billion cells in symphony to make this ride of me.

I’ve been told I am loved, and I have enormous confirmations of this; however, some dynamic of this ride allows me to forget this, to feel so alone, and so vulnerable to harm, to hurt, to hopelessness.

The shifting of perspective – that’s it – changes what I think is happening. BUT hearing this idea might not help. This life is a 3d riddle, an optical illusion, a Escher painting lived.

What is real is difficult to determine, perhaps impossible to determine, with reason alone. Real is known within – when within is not obstructed by false thoughts which make real difficult to perceive. 

Breath centers.

Center knows truth because it is truth itself – our flame that can’t go out.

Until there is not breath, there is still  a chance one can clear obstruction to truth.

Other people and life circumstance (including leaky roofs, ahmmm) are a reflection of where I am and how I am perceiving. From the center point, I exist from a space from where, in interactions, I have a room that gives perspective in real time. I can see from this spot the deeper thread and zoomed out view at once more clearly  which gives me pause in micro-time before I move with words or action which provides more skill and ease and compassion. When I am not moving from this space, I can observe my tendency to rush or soothe or dismiss or avoid, as well, so all motion in the world is teaching at all times.

This is just some truth from this one spot along the way. Marking the map with “I am Here, Now” this morning, as it rains and shines and the temperature falls and rises – ever instructing our skin.  Blessings for us all, sisters and brothers.  Which version fits today?

a soft answer to the questioning of love

21 Nov

“Whatever we pay attention to, we care about.  It brings out our caring.  You discover the belonging that was there but hidden.  It is there with every living thing of this universe if we slowed down and we reached out.  Not only does it wake up our hearts, but it ripples out.”

out here

11 Apr

The crispy shells of the rice stalks

stir up

in the breeze,

murmuring as I pass by.

These tall brown ancestors of last year’s crop

stand by to guide the green shoots rising up –

I listen to the rustling

of a whole tribe  –

I am back and they remember me.

I am spending so much time alone

I am learning to hear

way down

for the way

that I am one

yet integral –

all alone, so far away,

yet never by myself,

except when I turn on

the radio of my thoughts

and forget even where I am.

The only togetherness

I long for is this oneness

and I wish to only be

near another

who is listening in this way

to the wind, the pattern in the crickets

as they turn on one by one at dusk.

It is enough to know the gift of aloneness;

it is enough to measure my days

in ways

that suit the sun

the wind

the needs

of no one –

so quietly

strutting

along

in the whole wide world

of me.

does love ever sleep?

12 Feb

“When love awakens in your life, in the night of your heart, it is like the dawn breaking within you. Where before there was anonymity, now there is intimacy; where before there was fear, now there is courage; where before in your life there was awkwardness, now there is a rhythm of grace and gracefulness; where before you used to be jagged, now you are elegant and in rhythm with your self. When love awakens in your life, it is like a rebirth, a new beginning.”
― John O’DonohueAnam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom

Love sleeps and love awakens, or love is there all the time while we sleep and awaken.  All love is the same love but sometimes love is in the form of a cat, a person, a place; love makes us grow beyond the perimeters of our skin cells into the extension of all seen and unseen, dense or light,  out beyond all ideas of this and that, as strong at its farthest edges as it is in the core.  Does it have any edges?

I am no expert on Astrology – but I like the larger scale clockiness of it.  I like the zooming out to measure time and seasons from the far out dials of the planets.  To the modern scientific mind, the whole thing is lunacy – superstition, poppycock.  But there is something in the rhythm and patterns that has always resonated at a deeper level within this girl, even when she belonged to the religion of her childhood that called this ancient pattern recognition a pseudo-science, and an evil one at that, yet I could not stop the patterns from clicking in my deeper awareness.  I could see the overlay of overt and subtle traits within everyone I knew, everyone I met.  The suns and moons of people I knew formed a pattern that I could recognize before I even studied a thing.  And there is a recurrent synch for me – probably because I put attention there, of overlapping birthdays in my life.    I could bore you with the details, but I won’t.  Just a few days ago, I discovered another of these overlaps – all they do is point for me – tell me to pay attention.

My interest in this area was my hidden vice for years as I saw it, but when Richard Tarnas was on the very “respectable” (wink wink) NPR show, Diane Rehm, I perked up.  The author of the most widely used Intro to Western Philosophy book used in colleges was on NPR talking about Astrology.  I bought his book, Cosmos and Psyche and came out of the closet.  The regular world did not catch on to this turning of the tides, so I felt a bit chagrined with my outing at times.

I inhabit another world entirely now, a world parallel yet invisible to mainstream concerns.   I am not one to share my interest or knowledge randomly in the world.  It is enough that something speaks to me.

This winding road is all just to mention – Venus went direct last week or gosh, more than that now.  From the later part of December to the end of January was a wonderful month plus for examining love, luxury, pleasure, as Venus appeared to go backwards in the sky.  A time for laying low and exploring what gives pleasure.

For a good while now, I’ve been asking, “What brings me joy down to my toes and up to my crown?”   Do I know the answer to this question?   I am in recovery from a swirling, vacant selflessness disorder.     In answering this question, I found myself creating a symbolic alter to recognize these discoveries and to relish and welcome what I would like to encounter more of in my life.  What fun I have had!

venus magic

This post will out me.  I guess I’m okay with that.

I’m having a sort of fun that takes me back to preschool – I pull up a chair to the play dough station; I get my hands dirty; I lose hours in creating without a thought of the end result.  Not art, but play.

I use my hands and scissors and rubber cement glue and and old box from the earth fare store to dream up my life anew.

Here is my alter to Venus, full of symbolic notations to my self along the way to honor the things that please me to no end.  There are rocks and feathers, symbols and mysteries, love notes and chopsticks, a peace sign and a world globe, rice and a battery, a surging heart and a sunrise, poetry and seeds, mandalas and  textured bark, a glimmering eye for humor, poetry, a screwdriver and a hammer, notes to remind me of who I am, and some silver coins.

The pretend worlds we created on the playground as children are closer to the true flow and power source of humans than the mature, mundane, mechanical march deemed adult and respectable.   If we dream it, it can come 🙂  I’m not dreaming of dead baseball players, though.  I am dreaming my own colorful version of life, moment by moment, while my now is perfect just the way it is.  I’m just left of the swings, watching the vortex above the spinning merry-go-round,  if you want to join me.

get over myself

29 Dec

machina_sn_oacute_w_may_by_frodok-d5yk3kv

even at the beginning

edge of memory,

she was here,

making absurd

through the observing:

siblings,

settings,

ill-fitting clothes of every era,

Polaroid snapshot gatherings,

grass and apple trees,

clubs and cliques and tube tops,

imagined crushes,

shameful invisibility.

Do you remember, she says, oh never mind,

we know together of

getting lost on purpose,

breaking down beside roads,

hating picnics for the trouble of it all,

or sucking the stuckness

of traffic jam hours –

inching inching inching

wanting to open the door and run away

leaving a car, a purse, a self behind?

Was she holding me in a

haze of ether,

as I was coming to and going out,

dreaming of awake,  awake and dreaming?

Here’s the gift of all these years –

freedom has always been mine.

The prison of duty was self made, by listening to the song:

do as we wish and good things will come to you…

I knew a song so much better than that –

Her hum was that song

remember – not to forget

in the comic book, flip-through life –

of confusion.

How else would I know to change except through discomfort?

How else would I come to know that me is

one instrument, learning to play itself,

except for the sullied

fingers across my keys – the discordant disymphony?

I feel the ivory for myself;

I may play one note for the next 10 years

who gives a goodgoddamn, ain’t nothing but my own composition

and never was anything else at all –

a sound wave disappearing from the ears

only

to become truly seen.

The face in the back becomes the face in the fore –

a journey to the laughter

that I AM.

stars are not alone in the sky

24 Dec

frodo-walking-under-starlight-drawingOn the couch, as I respond to a call from my daughter, which then requires some follow up calls, I watch the light fade in the sky through the windows.  Now the sky is dark.  Rain starts falling.

I am alone in my house.  I am alone and connected to everything.

I see my own creation of spaciousness flying toward me  now, a wonderful, old friend surprising me by its arrival.    I am  engulfed.   This is very good.  I make this happen.

In previous lives I have known, being alone through a holiday season full of expectations might have  looked a bit lonely, but  I imagine anyone who stops by here, you great life improvisors, would see a solitary holiday in a different light.  Of course,  “light has no mind for repetition…” according to John O’Donohue, as I am reminded of here  where Sister M is also the DJ at my private party tonight.

There is no such thing as lonely.

There could never be such a thing as lonely again.

I am in heaven here alone, while also…

I release heaven here on earth through my very being – which is so clear now that I have given myself the space to see that this is so.  I heard an interview with Mark Nepo on my long drive yesterday.     His voice and words flooded my chest with warm remembrance.

LITTLE BY LITTLE (Mark Nepo)

Some days I plod like an ant so focused on the grain above my head that the next step holds all of life, and I feel in the lineage of slaves pushing the next stone up an unfinished pyramid. Then, without reason, life opens and flows with an unearned ease that I can’t describe. When it leaves, like a breeze of Spirit, I feel renewed and certain that God is in both the moment of lift and the moment of ease. In the moment before pain and after. So I’ve given up wishing for ease and running from pain. Everything on Earth moves by this inching between ease and pain. It’s how we grow. And praising both, surrendering to both, accepting both is the work of love. Little by little, the way an ameba pulses under a microscope, the soul within a human being pulses like a faint star throbbing in place. Our spirit seems to emanate as our psychology constricts. The contrast makes us glow and shimmer. It’s useless to want to bypass this journey. For it’s only by inhabiting it that we chance to know Eternity, not as some far off place reserved for saints, but as the Numinous Delta in which the very marrow of life forms and reforms. To live in this unending dynamism, between being and becoming, is the path of transformation. More than finding Heaven on Earth, we are asked to release Heaven by living here on Earth.

(My choice for words in bold.)

In these days of spaciousness, I fall into the arms of Peace while also meeting Challenge dead in her fierce(ened) face.   I no longer feel quick sanded by the pain; there is more ease is in the flow even in the midst of challenge, knowing this is part of the pulsing of the star that I am. 🙂   I am up here twinkling in that very same sky, this holiday season, with an overhead look down upon you all –  you with family, with friends, active, and festive, or perhaps you are alone like me, spacious and beautiful remembering with me as we go through our Holy days.   Big Starshine love travels from me to you and from you to me as we hang here in the seasonless sky –

I know you to be well in our togetherness!   So so shiny are we! 

in love with love

5 Nov

Green_Tea_by_Green_Tea_Leaves

I eat my food with my eyes closed.  I feel the texture of the cracker on my tongue.  I taste the salty, taste the sweet.  I chew slowly while I see the experience in utter darkness – my tastebuds projected on an empty screen.

When I forget, I forgive myself immediately.  I laugh at my sudden panic and call myself sweetheart and precious.

I appreciate how soft the skin feels as I give my arms a gentle rub from shoulder to finger tips.  I let my hands talk of love.

I close my eyes in the shower and breath in the wonder of the steam; I feel each stream of water as it touches my head, my shoulders, my back.  I love  the legs that hold me upright here for such an experience as this.  I bow to the many who never once have had the sensuality of a hot shower, but instead bathe in streams, muddy puddles, out of buckets;  I envision them in comfort as well.  I stand in the knowledge of this privilege.  I stand and enjoy for them for now, without guilt but with pleasure and gratitude and awareness of the puzzling flow of fate and birth.   I send love to the four corners of us all in every walk.

When I go to bed, I rub my hand along the sheets.  Ah so wonderful to have clean bedding to cover a platform that cradles me so.   I love the solid soft that holds me here – I feel the spirit of the atoms coming together to make this bed to support my rest.

I fall into darkness that turns to places of teaching.  I allow the lessons and the visits.  I bring some strangeness  back that wishes to enhance my waking. I  remember the communion with the self with whom no language applies.  I thank her for creating the dreamscape which is so like the waking one, a holodeck built just for me.  I open to the gifting of strong feelings, though they may make me uncomfortable, for when I really feel them fearlessly, without blinking, I seem to learn faster.

I realize I dwarf this planet, yet here I am, shrunken, hilariously so, into a name, an identity, a zip code.

I accept messes my eyes see,  I clean them up gladly and share some tea from my grandmother’s pot.   I make the breakfast, pay the bills, close my eyes with every sip of morning.

In these ways i remember when I forget.

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