Tag Archives: Self Love

in love with love

5 Nov


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.

goodness, gracious me

21 Jul

My small fractal self is a real thing.  I am here in the flesh, learning how to walk the path of marga.  and even if she is infinitely small in one sense, she is also infinitely large experiencing itself the only way it can through her – as she learns to say yes to her very own journey.


Ophanic Eyelash

more and more I find my choices are more in line with true self love rather than the version i had been employing for most of my life.  moving in the direction of joy or what feels good is so antithetical to the mistaken idea of goodness that many of us carry around.  corners of a square of dark chocolate with sea salt, a gentle nuzzling with the kitty who sits at our front door, grass and sand under my soft feet, watching a movie with chloe, napping when needed, tasting the irish breakfast tea in my cup, switching midstream from a plan to a more open flow.  it isn’t very complicated.

i love my daughters as naturally and openly as anything i’ve experienced thus far – my dividing cells that helped create them still ache deep inside me while inside them.  it aches in a spot I cannot touch to be a parent.  Yet i can see how their own lack of self love causes their suffering.  the tenderness i extend so naturally to them has been such a great teacher for the tenderness i so naturally can chose to extend to myself.

there are many places that i haven’t gone this summer so far that not long ago i would have made myself go.   the shoulds again, I repeat myself.  there are places we go for all sorts of reasons.  religious ceremonies that we do not wish to attend.  reunions, parties, visits to relatives.  each time these invites or offers came up, i sensed my knee-jerk impulse of should.  I should go.  I should be there.  I should allow my ex mother-in-law to stay at my house. Something made me stop and check in with myself.  do i feel like it?  i have a long history of pleasing – and finally – it is clear – i please myself.

i please myself.

this is good.

pleasing myself is good.

Slowing down to kindergarten language…why?  Because at first, stepping away from pleasing others feels wrong to some of us.  The things I have stepped away from in the past few years triggered my conditioning – my living a life in part, a big part, as an expression of the expectation of others.

I don’t mind saying this – this newbie admission – because it is so powerfully true – and can crop up over and over.

There are polar reactions to the statement I please myself.  Either, right on sister – pleasing you is what is good for you and the world.  Or a thought that I am on a path of pure selfishness.  The thought that thinks I am selfish thinks selflessness is virtuous.

What is selflessness?  Not doing what pleases me, reducing my joy.  My state of loss makes me feel small and cut off from the flow of all life.  Selflessness is me refusing to be here and live a life of my choosing where I am lost in a dream of my smallness.  The state of confusion and loss is infectious – the virus of resistance!

What is the wrongly perceived selfishness?  If I do what pleases me, I am in a state of joy.  My state of joy is larger and more open to the flow of all life.  I am here, as i chose to be, living a life of my choosing, and that is big beyond the self.  That state of joy is infectious – the virus of YES!

saying no to the long drive and awkward gathering with others with whom I am out of sync felt delicious.  Saying no to the house guest was generous.  Generous to me!   the outfall that came toward me from other people didn’t phase me a bit.  the guilt trip language of others has become so transparent.  without any guilt in me for doing my divinely given mission – pleasing myself – no guilt can stick.  hallelujah.

where does this lead?

to more good.

goodness, gracious me 🙂

little ghost

19 Jul


there is a dreamed up schism in the human being – until there is not.

In the illusion it seems to me, there are an infinite number of doors behind which hidden aspects of  personality wait, knocking all the while, years upon years, wanting their day in the sun of day to day life.  One of mine escaped recently, actually, I’m sure I let her out willingly.  She hasn’t seen the world in 25 years – you can imagine the unsettling feel of having her arrive at the party in my head.  Can take a while to  lead her down off of the table, back into her shoes, and sitting still for a good heart to heart.


no actually, first, awareness. Oh, hello there, you closeted self.  I see you.  I see your beauty and your pain.  Won’t you come down and let me give you a long and deep look into your eyes?  let me see your lovely reflection coming back at me. Let me love you whole and proper, the way you wanted all those years ago.  Let me see your talents and gifts, let me hold you without judgement and allow you to be here – accepted, embraced.  Even in writing these words, I feel her calming down, I feel her relaxing back into her skin.  She came with a message that she was not allowed to deliver and then she was squashed down among all the cast offs.  She needed a bit of release – so understandable.

No wonder we don’t like the quiet and wide open spaces.  We come to haunt ourselves in these times.  I give myself Courage to walk through the haunting with love – for all ghosts are just looking to the light of agape – knowing they do not have to settle for less.  This ghost house opens all its doors and the wisps of selves and secrets swirl in the corners in spirals leading up – until the roof blows off and the vortex pulls all to the light – We are part of the ultimate recycling of energy and matter – nothing is ever wasted – refuse is a misnomer – compost is divine.

never late

10 Jul


i aim to accept  all that is – as it is – all the time, but intigrating such a basic truth to the deepest flow is a seeping in process. One such truth of acceptance is that I am never late – ever.  I never again have to have that internal feeling of running late.  It just doesn’t exist.  Wherever I am, I am always right where I am supposed to be – and even if it looks to an outside observer that I am not on time, I actually am right on time.

When I believe my lateness to be true, my stomach churns, my heart rate increases, I am shaky.  Worse than the body is the mental constructing – imagining the reactions of those who are waiting, writing stories of excuses,  or indulging the worst case scenarios of the judgement from others.

That is helpful – body stress, mental stress, wigged out emotions!

I often have found myself with these physical symptoms of stress to varying degrees.  But gradually I began to see that the messages of the physical and mental body are showing me my thoughts about being late are incorrect.  I can release that stress immediately – there is no late.

This stress drop-kick is a bit like when one wakes up sick and clears her schedule – everything can be released just that easily.

Now, I do not think that, universally, I know anything.  What about thoughtless people who leave others hanging,  slackers who clear the decks to watch tv, what about societal expectations, jobs, commitments?    There is no late here either.  To me it seems that the natural consequences of the slackers’ untimeliness creates the perfect conditions for their experiences in their lives.  If they get fired, broken-up-with, dismissed, left out because of perceived inconsiderate use of time, they will get what is best for their learning – or perhaps they are giving lessons to others suffering with fixed and hurtful rigidity as well.

The new flow – as it comes in more and more – is playing with us in connection to the clock and flow of time.  Have you noticed?  I hit a time crunch vortex a few days ago where 11 am compressed in a tesseract wrinkle to 4 pm – making the 5 hours feel like 20 minutes.  I know the linear minded will say this is just the perception within me – and that is true – but perhaps these experiences creep in showing us about our believed entrapment within an imperceivably flexible force.

The clock is not a measuring tool for my worth, my perfection, my adherence to the rules; the clock is a guide to help me move from one thing to another, or to recognize and release things that do not flow with my natural rhythms and desire for the life I wish to create.  The clock actually helps me to recognize a crunch or discordancy with who I am flowing to be.

time warrior

cheap and easy high

24 May

carrot juice

I’m so full of juice, my palms are turning orange.

Daily Juice Rituals constitute a new spiritual practice.

Join me; we can change the world with the sacrifices of and indulgence in carrots, ginger, kale, apples…

There is the gathering of the veggies which are placed in the alter of  a large bowl.

Then there is the transmission Of sending them through the machine,

Then we  mindfully receive the juice, down it,  thanking the life force that contributes to health,

Then we lovingly wash the machine .

Finally, there is the high.  Not a joke – the zinging is for real.

I bought the juicer in a time of great anguish in my house.  While a certain soul cried and thrashed in the car,  I defiantly marched into the health food store, bought the juicer with holiday gifted money, loaded a bag full of organic veggies, and celebrated life through juice despite the dark time for my loved one.

My joys are so simple anymore.

I haven’t missed  a day in this practice since December.

I’m not trying to convert, just sharing my awareness today of the ritual aspect of this consumption.  Okay, maybe I do want to start a juicing cult.  We could gather on a hillside by the sea near the Yucatan Peninsula –

Whose in?

Peanut butter on rice cakes, butter on toast, wine with your dinner, a corner of a chocolate bar…anything can be a practice – everything is holy!

Yucatan 456


no traps or snares

13 Apr

Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Stephen Mitchell:

“…But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes 


nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation
to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively
from his own existence. For if we think of this existence of
the individual as a larger or smaller room, it appears evident 
that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, a
place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and 
down. Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous
insecurity is so much more human which drives the prisoners in 
Poe’s stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons
and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their abode. 

We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about
us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us.
We are set down in life as in the element to which we best 
correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of 
years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we 
hold still we are, through a happy mimicry,scarcely to be

distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason todragon_and_the_princess_by_cynnalia-d394vxw
mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors, 
they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abuses belong to us; 
are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we 
arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us
that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now 
still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust
and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those
ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into 
princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses
who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps 
everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless 
that wants help from us.”

There is room for all range of peace and suffering.

But Unhappy is more interesting to the mind.

What did Tolstoy see:  Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.    How many expressions of Joy can the suffering mind endure when it wants to cling to its suffering?

I spent many years wearing a groove in familiar areas of comfort, but still could not reduce the suffering.  I remember well that strip of floor by the window of my being.  It is still here with me, still contained in me, just now it can be dwarfed now by the immensity.  The dragons  from the past few years seem to have been revealed and now the princesses are all dressed up for the ball.  My being fills first my body, then the room, then the whole building.  Before you know it, I’m ocean sized and more.Try it; close your eyes and expand yourself out to your real size.

less than

4 Apr


Looking back I can see that for a long time, the math of my identity was this:

many things > me

This is an equation that was ever present yet hidden in plain sight.  i wouldn’t have admitted to doing this math constantly – comparing myself to others and always imagining I came up lacking.

When this basic equation sets the value of everything, other dynamics can enter, such as:

many things > me + (a+b+c+d…..)

A natural response to this equation is to add things to oneself to feel less less than, but the basic symbol will still stand in the middle, affecting all components of the equation.  You cannot add enough things to change the sign.

When you have incorrect math in your head, you are not relating to your experience with your true value.

Some people manage to flip it to be:  everything < me.

But most of us can see that this is just a reaction to feeling less than, too.

False equations are heavy and painful and incorrect.

Here is a helpful equation:

everything = me

when this is true, it is a short leap to:       all is me.

Seems I couldn’t change my equation until I was ready.  So when I see this incorrect math in the reflection of other people, I can love them and wait patiently for them from the other side of the equal sign, but I cannot solve the inequality in their heads.

When we  wake to see the real numbers and can remember the real worth of ourselves, we learn the value of everything!

when she goes

28 Feb












There used to be stories to tell till

the mind grew more still.

The I became she – and she

pulled out my new suitcase

and filled it with things not wanted anymore:

ferragamo heels and a lily pulitzer dress

and a tape from a soap opera i was in

on a forgotten cable channel.

She said she knew a place with a better address.

Still she comes to visit;

we sit with tea.

She is forever lacing our drinks with her

special sugars

that turn bitter

then poisonous.

When she leaves, I listen for the sound of her

clacking shoes to fade away,

and I am left with what she didn’t take:

cicada symphonies rising in crescendo with

the owl outside my window, and

my secret love affair with a tree

that bows to me in the heavy rain.

When I bow back, I am careful to be lower

than his crown,

muddying my lips on his roots.

The Nice Kind of Time Travel

19 Feb


Two kinds of time travel that I know of:   the nice kind and the not so nice kind.

My friend introduced me to the nice kind of time travel a couple of years ago.  Here is a link to her blog post about just a smidgen of the possibilities of experiencing ourselves and others in this nonlinear way:  http://seeingm.wordpress.com/2013/01/28/the-power-of-phoning-home/

Up until her pointing for me, the possibility for this sort of travel had never occurred in my awareness.  I also realized then that I had been a participant in the Not Nice Kind of Time Travel for a good deal of my life up to that point.

The not so nice kind involves imagining yourself as someone “better” in the future.   You visit upon that future self with the chores, jobs, obligations that you, yourself in the now, do not wish to do because you see that future self as someone who is together, with loads of time, and strong organization skills to pull it all together better than you.  This sort of time travel can occur when you procrastinate now –  forcing your later self to stress just in time for a deadline.  This kind of time travel can also occur at a sign up list with dates into the future.  You sign your future self up for an obligatory task for helping out in a way you, in the now, do not want to do.  Oh, you say to yourself, that later self will have plenty of time to be in charge of the class party, volunteer committee, bake a cake responsibility.  I’ll let myself in the now off the hook because that future self will have it all going on, by then, surely!

That future day used to come and then I found myself looking back at that time-traveling marga and shaking my fist at her.  You, I told her,  sign up for your own now, for what you are willing to do;  don’t sign up your future self in this way.  This is being your own worst enemy.

The nice kind of time travel my friend introduced me to is actually much more earth shaking than what I just described.  This type of trip  is a powerful tool and paradigm shifting way of viewing your life and your reach, stretching the hand of love across space and time to the worthy recipient of yourself.

Let me see if I can explain.  This travel is a back visit to your earlier self in  painful, scary, pivotal times when you truly wondered if you would survive.  And since you know that you do survive into this future self in the now, you can go back and visit yourself, bringing the love, support and knowledge you wished for in the painful moment, with the full assurity this future self can only give.

When I first experimented with this, I thought of just the times to visit, immediately, and even remembered feeling the inexplicable wash of love that had come over me sometimes in my past.

We often think of guides and spirits being with us, but how interesting it can be to realize we just may be visiting our own selves, as well.

And really, if you dwell creatively here for a moment, the realization hits, that this is just the very beginning of all sorts of traveling possibilities.

See you around the next curve:)

Everyday Chaos

5 Feb

rumpled bed

How easy but painful – living vicariously…No, please,




your own eyes, your own toes, your own breath

one step

one trip

one sleep

one sip

each at once and after, again.

Blind often

we are in each beat

to the perfection,

no matter how chaotic,

of a rumpled bed

a makeup filled counter

dirty dishes

writhing piles of laundry




Dust accumulates faster than can be cleared

fresh turns sour

mold grows

mascara smears.

Who can see the transcendence of dishevelment?

This morning:

a fine cup of tea in a deconstructing house.

Comparing my chaotic life with teens to my friend’s life expressions – she is a being who seems to manifest loveliness in every gesture – prompted this poem out of me this summer.

When I saw Ivon’s Post,  Imperfection, I wanted to reblog a reblog 🙂


Toasting you with my teacup, amid the mess of life, in our shared moments of surrender, embrace, and JOY!

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