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.

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