Monday, August 19, 2013


I have been tending my own garden in a slightly different way, as of late. With Surrender has come a knowing calm. A Quiet that I am quite enjoying. A release of most of the anxiety that I experience daily. I am learning how to breathe anew, in different rhythms, body wide, and the pulse of that breath is rippling out touching those around me.
 I feel as though I am being breathed, the universe is breathing me, I am the rhythm, the pulse, the breath, the heartbeat. I'm both experiencing it, and also witnessing.

I have shed my "comfort zone" which really translates to, I am shedding the story lines that double as limitations. No more limits.

With the approach of Burningman I've been searching thrift stores, acquiring clothes that will be beautiful, playful, sexy, fun, comfortable, and practical for the heat, the dust, the atmosphere. Beautiful things that are nothing like what I normally wear. A fantasy life, of sorts. And yet, not the tribal fairy wear I love so much. Mostly because I wear those in my normal life, and I don't want to risk them on the playa. Some will go, but the majority will stay safe at home. If I had my way I'd be going flush with everything elvenleather- miniskirts, haltertops, bikini's, hats, respirators, goggles, and big feather earrings, but in the meantime, I've discovered an obsession with booty shorts, belly baring tops, bathing suits, and pirate boots with cowgirl hats. Yeah, all in the same outfit. It rocks. And White. Suddenly I cannot get enough white in my wardrobe. My whole life, white has been a color I avoid. I'm too messy, it gets stained and ruined, and dirty. It just totally doesn't work. And yet, I'm finding a white goddess rocker edge tunic creeped in, and then today, a white shirt that I am positive was made for me, off the shoulder, a style I also "do not do" that says: Breathe Deeply, Love Madly, Live Fully In huge letters down the front. Finally, a pair of tiny white denim shorts, an item that would normally be an emphatic no way, and I simply could not do without them. Had to have them. Had to wear them for the rest of the day, with the shirt, and the knee high pirate boots.

It's all very silly, yes, and yet, it's sooo not. Because it is indicative of a huge inner shift. An initiation, wiping clean the slate and starting anew. White. New beginnings. The initiate.

I am experiencing comfort, confidence, love, beauty, and appreciation in and for, my body. I am owning my own beauty, divinity, connectivity more each day. Because as a part of this surrender, I found the next level of connection with the universe, the divine, that we are completely one and the same, and there is no separation. So, by poisoning my divine vessel, by disrespecting this body, I am disrespecting Spirit, Divine, the Universe. If I am  truly  the Love, embodied, then that starts at home, with my own body, heart, soul, with complete love, appreciation, and worship of my own divinity, the entry portal to the Divine.

This is the Big Work. Quite possibly the biggest work, in some ways. At least for me. Overcoming a lifetime of conditioning, and a society full of messages to the contrary, and indeed, a society that frowns on strong, confident women who love themselves and take full ownership and enjoyment from their own bodies, and sexuality.  It's fucking true. We are sluts shamed, and subject to ugly witch hunts. disempowered, locked away, killed. So it's scary. I won't gloss over that. It's actually a little terrifying. And there's that little voice still, the one that says I will be shamed, I will be in danger, the one that tries to shush This One, the One who is emerging. And I am learning to quiet that voice... it's become back ground noise, rather than the foreground.

I watched a woman teach my daughter how to do push ups the other day. She wanted Mari to do "the girl push ups" first, from the knees, because, "no, that's the boy push up, I haven't taught you that one yet" Mari wanted nothing to do with the knee push up. And I said to this woman, you know, I'm really uncomfortable with you designating one as boy and one as girl, they are just fucking pushups, you really don't need to segregate that. She agreed with me, and proceeded to resegregate them, that the boy push up was the strong one. *HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS, WOMAN, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!!*   I face palmed and stepped away before I just tore her a new one, as she was clearly drunk or impaired and nothing I had to say was going to get through. And later, had a discussion with Mari that there are no fucking limitations, there are no "Boy" whatever the fuck it is that she is limited from due to being a woman. She can do it all, anything she wants, and then some. That being a woman is a gift of the highest order, and anyone who tries to limit her or place limitations on her abilities due to her status as woman should 1. be completely disregarded, and 2, should come talk to her mama. Like, right now, and we'll just get crystal fucking clear on that one.

I owe it to my daughter, to my mother, my ancestral lineage, to every woman alive, and most of all, to myself, to Love myself completely. To take full ownership, joy, pride, and exquisite care of my self, my body, my sensuality, my sexuality, my Woman ness. To be a beacon of light, and love, in the centuries of darkness. To step into my power as Woman, as a fully sexual being, as a being of beauty, and a Divine conduit. And so it is. I invite you to join me. I love you.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Single Parenting.

This is another one of those uncomfortable things to write about.
I'm a single mother, raising my daughter with no support from her father.
He sees her sporadically, as in, it was two months between the last visit, (and wasn't working) and he can't be bothered to call her in between visits. When he did see her again, for four hours, he fed her, plugged her into a movie with her brothers, and fell asleep on the floor. Which is pretty much what he does every time he sees her/them. I called him today and asked him to take her while i was at work, since she is miserably sick, and I literally could not afford to take more time off work, having missed half the week already due to being sick myself. I got excuses. Which is what I get every time I ask him for help. First he was in Oakland, then, halfway through the day, he was home, but tells me, "I have to take a nap, I need to make dinner later" (for himself). Yeah. I spent the day on and off sobbing at work today.

This is not a post to demonize my ex. However, much like Shadow work, I feel I do a great disservice to allow these things to remain buried in the dark where they fester- my work is in bringing the uncomfortable, the shadow, the unexamined bits to the light, where they can be transmuted.

 I have tremendous sympathy for him. So much so, that I am beginning to feel that my sympathy for him has blurred my boundaries a bit. I've always been there when he needs help of any sort. This is not a two way street. I make it as easy as I possibly can for him to see her, spend time with her, talk to her, and I don't ask for child support because I have seen how the constant battle over money causes resentment and sourness between parents who are no longer in partnership. I don't want that. And honestly, the pittance that would come out of his check, and the inconsistency, what with child support for the other three kids already coming out of his check, and bouncing from job to job, is so not even worth having that energetic. And I honestly want him to be able to support himself, so he can see his children regularly.

So here's the uncomfortable bit. There seems to be some sort of agreement, within our society, that spending any amount of time with a parent, no matter the quality or quantity of the time, is more healing/healthy than spending no time at all.

I'm fucking calling bullshit on that. Right. Now.

First of all, when did we, as a society, start rewarding bad parenting? Like, Hi, you totally suck at being any sort of adult presence in your child's life, but we are going to just continue to provide unfettered access to impressionable young psyches because *anything is better than nothing*. Uhhhh. No.

And second of all, What in the Actual Fuck is seeing her father actually teaching her? That she is not worthy of her father being in any way a stable regular presence in her life? That when she does actually see him, she doesn't merit any sort of actual presence or quality time, but, instead, can count on experiencing her brothers treat each other like mean drunk rednecks at a hazing, the entire time they are together, (complete with gay, sexist, and racist slurs of incredible ugliness) with no input from their dad, inappropriate media screen time, and awwww kids, don't forget the conventional food, and high fructose, food dye treats. Awesome. Oh, and let's not overlook the message that you can just fucking pop kids out, you don't actually have to be responsible for parenting them, or contributing to raising them in any way. Yeah. I don't think so.

See, I don't feel I am being a responsible, conscious parent, nor am I parenting with love, or from the heart, when I allow this to continue. I feel like I have a responsibility, to my daughter, to show her a better way. Sure. He's her father. He's the guy that donated his sperm to the cause. He has not earned the title of father. Pretty much every man in our lives is more of a consistent, positive presence and role model in her life than her father. Seriously. Every. Man. Like, the guys at work. The people in my community. My friends. The boys in their early 20s that I used to live with. The awesome gay guy who sells orchids at the farmers market. For real. These people see her, love her, spend more time with her, and are more present, available, and having quality interactions with her on a regular basis than her father does. (Well, Chris, the orchid guy doesn't get to see her as regularly now that we don't work the farmers market, and the boys either, since we moved on, but when they do see her it's a grand reunion)  And we have always had a cast of strong women friends who come through and love on her, on us. In this way we are incredibly lucky. I have such enormous gratitude for the people in our lives who offer love and support, in so many ways. It makes my heart blossom and grow. And honestly, there are days when I would just completely fall apart and lose it, and someone shows up, steps in, and offers that loving support. And I feel like the clouds clear and the sunshine gets back into my soul, warming it up again.

Do you know who came through and picked Mari up from work today? My housemate, Scott. The same man I witnessed sobbing last weekend over the unfairness that there are these men, who father children, and are then not regularly part of their lives, or contributing to raising their kids. While he would have loved to have had a child, and it just didn't happen in this lifetime. He's sobbing, and calling them pussies. walks out the door, and comes back in and apologized for calling them pussies, that they don't deserve that title, when there are strong good amazing single mothers like myself raising our children on our own - that using that term for these sad sacks of man flesh denigrates the term "Pussy"- (-that last bit was my words, not his-) He walks out the door again, and then I'm sobbing. Sometimes that's just how we roll, around here.

A Conundrum, yes? How to model healthy boundaries, parenting, and ensure that my child, my woman child, grows up feeling valued, respected, loved, and ::WORTHY:: by every one she chooses to have in her life, but most especially by the men or women she chooses to love, in relationship. How to model this when I feel like her father demonstrates everything I don't want for her. How do I protect her from that? Is it really healthy for her to be around *Any* of that? Or would it be better if I just severed the relationship? Is that more, or less damaging?

I sobbed all the way into work today after getting off the phone with him and his usual litany of excuses. Mari asked me what was wrong. I told her that I was sad because I wished that her dad was more a regular consistent part of her life, and was there to help when we needed him. And that the fact that he isn't makes me really really sad, and feels really unfair to me. But that I love her so much my heart breaks open a little more each day, and that I will always be here, whole heartedly, present, showing up, doing the work, and consistent, no matter what, forever.

And I have to believe that that is enough.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013


Sometimes all I can do is surrender. Surrender to Flow. Surrender to what is Not Flow. And just Releasssssse. Re-remember how to breathe. In a new way.
Sometimes Surrender looks like Accepting that I am human and that ingrained Self Destructive habits take time to break. Vices. Maybe we all have them. Maybe it's my own Scorpionic tendencies... I love my goddamn vices.  But I don't love them enough to continue living a half life, to continue killing myself in a slow painful fashion.

Today that means being gentle with myself. Wrapping myself in extra love and compassion. Taking a bath. Eating instead. Sometimes it means I don't get caught up on things I had intended, but I catch up with friends I haven't heard from in a while. Sometimes it looks like holing up in my bed Listening to Donna De Lory, Surrender for hours. I wish I could link the song here, but it eluded me in my searches. But here. I obsessed so hard that I transcribed the lyrics, as best i could. Do yourself a favor, and if you haven't heard her, look her up. She is Soul Balm.

That's about where I'm at right now. I am breathing a bit more now. So that's awesome. I scared myself with this one. I haven't had an asthma attack/infection this debilitating in a long while. Many years. I had to make actual choices about the timeline of my goddamn mortality. And while I'm still feeling really fragile, apparently, I'm not ready to check out just yet, so there's that.
I am, however, getting out of my own way, so that I may Serve.


I have no choice now but to just let go
Let it go me... now come to you.
You’ve been so patient with me all this time
You still loved me even when I couldn’t love you
All I want is to give this gift to you
The union of our Love
I surrender
Take my breath in your hands
Now it’s safe to come through
There’s only you
I give myself to you
I surrender
I want to give up all control to you
Feel my heart beating in the pulse of your great hands
The storm is over
Now I call your name
Like a flower rising up to meet the sun
To be where you are
All I want is to give this gift to you
The union of our Love
I surrender
Take my breath in your hands now its safe to come through 
There’s only you 
I give myself to you
I surrender
I was alone I was afraid
You wouldn’t love me
Here in my hiding place
My soul you discovered it
I want to give whatever it takes, whatever
To accept only your love
Only Your Love
Only your love
Your love is all I need 
All I want is to give this gift to you 
The union of our Love 
I surrender
Take my breath
In your hands
Every moment is made new
It’s all come true this dream I had of you
I surrender
And I give, And I give And I give And I give myself to you. Repeat times a million. With Angelic overtones: I Surrender. 

Tuesday, August 13, 2013


I have chronic Asthma and bronchitis.  Have since I was 4 or 5. Every time I get sick, and there is any mucus involved, at all- Bam. Lung infection. I've come to just know the signs and resign myself to getting antibiotics. Or, try to tough it out without antibiotics and suffer with shortness of breath and a wicked cough, for months on end until I finally lose it and give in and go get antibiotics. It really depends on how much self punishment I am doling out at the moment. I also get sick every year, the week or two before school starts, with terrible asthma and bronchitis, my chest feels like it's on fire, and I am completely operating out of shadow, cranky, irritable, intolerant, angry, snappish. It's like clockwork, I don't even have to check the calendar, I get this horrendous bout of debilitating wheezing and chest gunk, coughing, and And I know, school's right around the corner.

So, being that, I have spent my life, long periods of it, actually, deprived of oxygen, and that in many healing modalities the lungs are retained grief, I suppose I have reached that place in my life where I have to look at that. Both the huge, nameless grief that has taken up residence in my lungs, and the habitual ways in which I punish myself, every day.

I can see it in the pictures Mari took of me with Nimue the other day. I had already taken a prednisone, and countless hits of the inhaler, and nothing was helping. I could see in the flare of my nostrils, the way my mouth and chin were stretched, could see the grief etched in my lips, the struggle to breathe. 

So what is this about, this deep, nameless grief? 

Belonging. Deserving. Love. Worthiness. Loneliness. Safety. Lack. Self Punishment. Being "Broken" Not Enough. Or Too Much. Oh, and this long held belief that One has to Work Hard to make money, a living? If that isn't the biggest load of Hurdy Gurdy our society has handed to us, I don't know what is. Absolute bollocks. I'm sure there's more to the list, these just flutter to the top. 

My childhood was less than idyllic, and while there are many things I learned, and became, and transmuted because of the particular fire I was forged in, a sense of belonging was not one. I didn't feel a sense of belonging in my family of origin, unconditional love, safety, and certainly not a sense of worthiness or deserving, that shit was completely conditional, yo.  Nor indeed, within human society as I have experienced it to date, if anything, society instills a distinct lack in all of these arenas.

There have been glimpses, fleeting moments, more, since I have been on this particular wild woman path, spaces where I could breathe, and felt held, felt safe. But more often than not, I feel the weight of my other ness. The burden of my strength and fierce independence. The lack of safety net in being an outspoken wild woman. The very real Danger, from those who would like to muzzle, chain, stuff, quiet, tame, and otherwise diminish the flame of a wild woman. 

Most of the time these days I operate with a heaping dose of "and she wore whatever she wanted, had as much sex as she wanted, and not one fuck was given"  But some days, the reality is that I feel like I tread a narrow crumbling path between a sheer cliff looking up, and a drop into vast space with sharp jagged points far below. And I am so goddamn brittle, that the first good gust of wind, and I will just sail.... blasted into a million pieces. I am Still. All of these years later, Hyper Vigilant. And my Adrenals are giving out on me. I am exhausted. Completely and utterly, there is not enough sleep in the world, and literally, I don't even know what true joy looks like any more, fucking worn out, exhausted. I can't even bring myself to feed myself or care for myself properly half the time, though I make damn sure the child and animals and everyone else is fed. I looked at myself in a full length mirror under florescent lights today. I am watching myself continue to vanish before my own eyes. Wasting away into skeleton woman. I am stumbling through with the aid of crutches and patches and pretending. 

I don't know how to care for myself the way i want to be cared for. I feel like I was never taught that particular piece. Or maybe I just lost that bit with the rest of my memories of the past. What I do know is that there is a better way than this. This stumbling around in the dark with no fucking flashlight because I ran out of batteries and just keep bumping into shit. I am tired. Spending five days blue in the lips struggling for breath, struggling for sleep, struggling for life, leaves me just completely spent. And then, of course I started my moon flow today, just for added emotional depth.

And if I'm completely honest? I don't *want* to have to take care of myself. I want someone to do that for me. While I take care of all the other people and animals. But it doesn't happen like that, does it. heh. Or better yet, hold me while I break down and am completely soft, open, vulnerable, hold space for me to be fragile, so I can then pull it together and be strong again.

What all of this means is that I'm about to start walking away from shit if it's not serving. 

But here's the rub. There's all of that bullshit, right? And then there's the Divine, loving me up, and cheering me on, and sending me love notes and serendipity, and synchronicities, and all of these things that *mean something* to me. And I feel it, on a core level, and I believe it, and I own it, want it. So how do I release all of these shit blockages? How do I retrieve that little girl, love her, keep her safe, and help her belong. I'm fucking ready, yo. Because this old shit is OLD. And I am tired of being tired. I am ready to be healed, and whole, and happy, and vibrant, full of energy and vitality, joy, and love, I am ready to get down with my path and my purpose and get to fucking work, and most of all, I am ready to breathe freely, unimpeded by grief taking up all the space in my lungs. So. In the way that I do, transmuting the darkness into light, by bringing the shadow into the light, giving it voice, place, love, and acceptance, I am offering this up to the universe now. I am ready for healing. Thank you. I love you. 

Limping along

Man. This once a day thing is difficult for me. Limping along here, debating between throwing in the towel completely, as I've missed so many days/ "am so behind" or just carrying on, as best I can, from here. It's the typical debate I have with myself about anything academic and/or creative. I "fall behind" enough, and decide it's hopeless, I'll never catch up and be able to produce the caliber of work I expect from myself, and drop out altogether. It's also why I frequently don't start projects. Deadlines. Perfectionism. Not measuring up to my own expectations and visions.

So I drop out. I run away. And I stuff my creative ideas into messy drawers overflowing with ideas, possibilities, squares of gorgeous fabric, rough gemstone beads, feathers, and the promise of some day.
That Some day I will have space to work on these things. Some day I will have time. And hopefully, some day, I will have the patience with myself to allow myself to unfurl creatively with no fucking dead lines, no expectations. No guilt trips. No anxiety. Because frankly? I have enough shit on my plate without adding to it something that should be pleasurable, but becomes bitter due to my own inability to stop pressuring myself. So here we are. Day, whatever the fuck this one is standing in for. Whee!! Twelve, look at that, we've made it to 12!!

Thursday, August 8, 2013

The Offering.

I read something that cracked me open and made me cry with release just now. Needing grounding I seek my serpent Nimue. She is hiding deep within her dark cave, but I can see her face, at the front, peering at me. Snatched back into the darkness when I slide the glass that separates us. I gently pick her up, whispering to her. Recoiling her head and neck from my hand, repeatedly, she coils into a ball in my hand, determined to stuff her head under protective layers. So I place the entire ball of snake, under my shirt, directly on my heart, and feel her tasting, tongue flickering out, and within minutes she is stretched out exploring, flickering, testing every direction. She touches my belly button, soft, cool, tender, and moves over to my ribs, and under my breast. It’s warm here. She explores my collar bones at length with her tongue, hesitating, then under my other breast and down to my belly again. This is the language I speak. 

I don’t need to grasp you in a closed fist. I just need to know that it is safe to place you on my heart, and have you love me. To unfurl, explore, and taste of my essence, even when I am not there...It’s a practice, living with an open heart, connectedness, a paradigm shift in the way relationships are wrought. 

I  am precious, delicate, fragile, and a wee bit head shy. I have drunk deep of the bitter draught of disappointment, devastation, shattered hologram projections that I thought were my life.  Wrassled the deamons of depression, anxiety, what-ifs, and if I had only. 

Fuck. That. Noise. 
I  dance the firedance with fear, spiraling up into the air, ashes popping, threatening to catch leaves aflame before floating singsong down to earth.  Air fueling the burn, roar of the flames engulfing all. Clothed only in ashes as they find purchase on sweat drenched skin, trembling, primal scream, the pain, the loneliness, the doubt, the fear. The Fear. 

Fear does not get to come sit at my table unless he is willing to do the stomp scream fire dance. And afterwards fear will hand feed me tidbits, and sea salted caramel, paired with a berry rich pinot noir, overtones of vanilla, tobacco, and oak, long, slow, wet, fat finish. Because this is my fucking life, baby, and that is how I roll. I will not be hindered from beauty, ecstasy, connection, love, adventure, and full throttle sensory exploration of my amazing life by fear, or anyone. 

I can't promise you a life without hurt, heart ache, pain, or fear. But I can promise to love you completely. 
I come to you lush, fertile ground, a garden too long untended.  Bury yourself in my rich loamy soil, care for the tender, verdant plants. Drench us in moisture. “The Footsteps of the farmer are his best fertilizer” and the garden wilts without regular observation and attendance. Find a sit spot. Observe. Connect. It's Divine. With love and care this garden will flourish, blossoms ripen into fruit, and the fruit will blow your freaking mind.  Here I am:  Fierce, Wild, Open Hearted, Spirited, Abundant, Love. The Invitation and The Offering, in One. Be Brave, dear heart. Dare to explore the joy that is living, Open Hearted. I'm here, hand out stretched, waiting for you. I Love You. 

Wanna See my Snake? ;)

Monday, August 5, 2013

A love note.

It was a full moon when he met her. She was dressed to the nines, a wolf on the prowl, filling her soul up with the sexy wet release of dancing, undulating magic, letting the music carry her away and wash her senses into the trance of quiet that happens when she loses herself in the grind of the bass, heart and soul on fire, rainbow snake rising, hot, bursting through her crown, her fingertips.
She caught his eye from across the room, sauntered over to him,  big wolfy grin lighting up her face, took him by the hand, and drew him into her. They danced for the rest of the night, falling into each other's rhythms, scents, mannerisms, becoming re-familiar with each other, that feeling of belonging even though they had never spoken before.

She chose him because she had seen him at every dance event she had been to, of late, clearly they had the same taste in music. He was sophisticated, well dressed metropolitan man, not afraid to sport a colorful cocktail, with rhythm and style to boot. A new wave goth boy, all grown up, his style changed but the sensibilities the same, no wonder this once been goth girl loved him. He danced, but only when invited, polite, not pushy, a connoisseur of the delectable offerings at the club. He was good. And she needed good, then, more than ever. So she chose him. 

They were completely smitten. You could see it in the way they would look into each others eyes while dancing, goofy grins plastered across both of their faces. He took her away from the dirt, the over work, the squalor, the constant tug on her energy and attention by everyone who orbited around her. He fed her, which no one had bothered to do in so long, taking her to lovely small restaurants, with fresh simple ingredients that blossomed into mouth watering treats under the care of the chefs. They sampled the red wines, and compared notes on the food, the wine, soaking in how easy it was to be together, to enjoy each other. They would stay up most of the night, making love, fucking, talking, until the sun threatened to send them to separate quarters so they could sleep, and then, cheeks aching from laughing and smiling so much, they would sleep, wrapped in each other, until obligations dragged them from their warm tangled slumber. He would wake her with kisses, looking at her with such utter adoration, that she couldn't help but sigh, and draw him closer to her. He was only mildly intimidated by her, and loved her completely. 

He remembered everything she ever told him. Kept careful notes on her favorite things, and the things she didn't like. He surprised her with his observations, and the small, incredibly thoughtful gifts he would spring on her every time they saw each other. And she did the same for him. Two givers, refilling each other in the language they both understood. Her favorite were the pair of delicate metal earrings shaped like feathers in three tones of metal that he designed and made himself. They reminded him of her, he said, and he wanted to give her wings to fly. She adored him. He became the standard she would set for any future dates, that level of caring attentiveness, the thoughtful considerations, the way he filled her up, just by caring enough to make the effort. 

She was badly broken from the life she was living at the time, and it was far too harsh and alien for him. The farm was literally eating her alive, and she was angry, resentful, and used up, and still, she gave, she worked, she problem solved, mediated, and cared for all the animals and people who revolved around her. When he left her she drank herself into a frenzy of red wine and beer, burned every thing flammable that could possibly be tossed into the flames of redemption, stripped off her clothes and screamed. And then she danced. In the morning a phoenix, twelve feet by twelve feet was emblazoned in the grass. 

He helped her move shortly thereafter, and they remained friends. She hadn't realized until recently, how clearly he had seen the dynamic that was in play, how, his leaving her then was an act of mercy, on both of their hearts, as she was so overburdened that she couldn't invest, and frankly, her feral life frightened him.

Being with him still has the same effect on her, like a woman parched who is handed an endless source of cool water. Somehow, he makes it safe for her to go out dancing and be completely wild, knowing that at the end of the night, after she has danced with all the gorgeous girls she needs to, he will be there with a huge grin, and an outstretched hand to make the stumble weave trek back home, give her as many glasses of water as she needs, kiss her eyelids, and tuck her to sleep. In the morning he will get up, hand her an advil and a water, and bring her coffee in bed, until she can function. And they will talk until their cheeks hurt from all the smiling and the laughter. And for this gift, that of two givers, giving freely to each other, filling and refilling each other's wells, where every one else just drinks like it's a never ending source, she is grateful, and full of love. 

Being a Giver.

I am slowly but surely learning to do the things that make me feel good- not just some of the time, but most of the time, with the long term goal being allllll the time. Penny Livingston calls it Sustainable Hedonism- I'm totally into it. I spend most of my time giving to every one around me, cleaning up others messes, mediating their issues, and so forth, not just at home, but at work, and with my friends as well. And yet, very few people ever stop and just take care of me for a little while, and those that do, it literally makes me giddy like a little girl -to be fed, rubbed, considered, cared for the way I care for all of those around me.

I was able to spend time this weekend with one of my friends who is, at least with me, but I suspect all the time,  a giver, like I am. To be nourished, cared for, refilled, relaxed, and completely unwind. And goddamn. I don't do that often enough. Granted friday night I danced all of my tension away till I was jello and my toenails were bruised. heh. But still. 

I seriously need to start eliminating the drains on my energy field, and spend more time with those who refill and recharge me. Even if that means I spend every weekend away from the house. The ongoing leaking of energy is leaving me in a state of constant exhaustion and low level depression. And it's gotta stop. I keep thinking that hiding in my room will do the trick, but it looks like actually, getting away from here altogether seems to be the best remedy. So I'm committing to making choices that are refilling and recharging for me, and to continue in the quest for another place to live, and in the meantime, to spend time with those who nurture and nourish me, in a give and take, rather than those who are constantly just receiving from me. 

Friday, August 2, 2013

Lies and Intuition

Well holy shit, slap my ass and call me batman. I am up, and writing, in the morning. Not in the middle of the night, we'll just see how this goes, shall we? Like some sort of odd social experiment. Anyhooo kids, today we are going to talk about lying.

Don't lie to me. I'm serious. Ever. If you want to be in my life, and you want to love me, be my friend, my family, hang out, whatever, don't lie to me because that is the express train to marginalization and or full on expulsion in my world.

I can feel it when you are lying, your energy shifts, and it feels fucked up in my body. And I want to believe you, trust you, so badly, that I doubt my own responses, my ability to read the situation, my intuition, which throws me completely off balance and spirals into all sorts of other fucked up, unhealthy, imbalanced stuff. So you see, I can't do that any more.

There are people, in my life, who lie as a part of their habitual practice. Like, maybe they don't know how to operate without that? It seems to be a protective mechanism. I get it, and look, I love you, which is why we are still in each other's lives. But I am going to start eliminating these kinds of energies from my life as I move forward. Which means you have to trust me enough to start being completely honest with me. Please. I love you.

Working with Shadow

There are times, when the work I am called to do is completely and totally unappealing. And to the outside world, my choices may look fucked up. One of the things I am learning to do, and this is one of the hardest, is let go of self imposed guilt, and to let go of the fear of judgement from others. The problem with all of that is that when one is working with shadows, and edge, that brings up a shit ton of fear and anger in other people, and usually, the person they turn on, is the very person who is *actually doing the fucking work*  Witch hunt, anyone? So my fears are very real. I have experienced this time and time again, through the eons, and in this life.

Last year I had to work with some really dark shit. I took on some heavy medicine as a sister keeper, for a sister, and it made me really sick. Like, shattered my labradorite, killed my female dog, multiple goat babies, and also killed my familiar sort of sick. Sometimes it takes a brick over the head, i guess. sometimes, when you are stuck up in it, its hard to visualize a clear way out. The reality was that the situation was killing my sister. Killing her. i was watching her die a little more each day, retreat a little farther. And i simply could not allow that to happen. I was also "the Crazy Whisperer" there, for every one involved, which was all of us, at one point or another. When I finally walked away from that situation I weighed 117. By that time I had retreated completely into the wild, and was feeding some of the shaggiest, wildest, most hungry ghosts I have ever had the pleasure of sharing space with. They protected me fiercely, and I clung to their ferocity, their never ending hunger, the unbearable loneliness of eons unseen, unfed, ignored. I felt the same. I hooted with the owls, and howled with the coyotes and foxes who came to visit me every night, at the edge of the meadow, tempting me to run away with them. I have known how it feels to be feral. And I love it. Although, next time, I am totally running away with whoever is doing the howling. 

I have exactly One Friend. Who understands fully what went down there, and why, and saw the full extent of the medicine I was dealing with. And for being Seen, in that way, by this woman, I am eternally grateful, for she was my lifeline. I have been reeling from the repercussions of dealing with this shadow stuff for almost a year now. And in my head, just now, I hear another medicine keeper sister's voice, warning me that we needed a medicine woman to live there with us. She couldn't have been more right. It's only been since the entry of my familiar Nimue that I have started to recalibrate return to any sense of wholeness. 

My understanding us that the sister i was keeping is free and happy now. She looks amazing, successful, loved, and i cannot even begin to express how happy that makes me. We will likely never be friends again in this lifetime, but i have faith that we will again, perhaps in another, because that's how this whole soulmate thing works. I've pretty well cut out of my life anyone with any ties to any one having to do with my life during that period of time. Triggers, partly. And avoiding further witch hunts, mainly. I am terrified of putting this out there, honestly, but the only way to heal shadow, and to release the power it has, is to bring it into the light. I know i did the right things. i know i was true to path, to my gifts, and was working with the right intentions. transmuting the darkness into light. and frankly, that's  all that matters. So here I am. Offering this story to the light, and releasing it for good. 

Avoidance Strategies.

So I skipped a few days. I get to do that sometimes. I'll make it up in the end. I've had some intense interplanetary stuff going on and was processing some very dark shadow stuff, only part of which was mine, in addition to the whole, working single mom bit. I've been writing in my head, non stop, but it didn't somehow, transfer onto the page. I will master that skill yet.

So. Here we are. I really don't want to talk about this next bit. I'm alllllll squirmy uncomfortable. I'd rather get naked and go grocery shopping. Which, if you know me, is saying a tremendous bit, since I absolutely despise grocery shopping. I have like a 10 minute in the store limit. Anything that doesn't make it, has to hold off till I gird up my big girl panties and ride in for another attempt. See what I'm doing here? It's called avoidance. I could do this all night.

As an Edgewalker, I frequently find myself in territory that is not explored by most other people. And by frequently, I mean, mostly. My job in this lifetime is to transmute the darkness into light, the negative into positive. I have known this, forever, and I do this in a variety of ways. None of which I am going to go into here. I am extremely energetically sensitive, which is why my home life, and the people I surround myself with on a daily basis are so important. We'll just use my current living situation as an example.... There's a lot of sick shit going on here. And I feel all of it. All the unspoken shit, the shadow, the energetics, the lies, the energetic portals that have been opened here because of the interpersonal stuff, and the very angry spirits. My problem is learning how to transmute this, while not letting it take it's toll on me. That part I am still learning. What has happened here, is that I am unable to sleep much, and feel exhausted all of the time, and totally ungrounded.

They have started calling me "the Crazy Whisperer" As in, when the girl who lives here loses her shit and is screaming hysterically in the driveway, I get texts and messages to ET phone home, and the moment she hears my voice, she calms down.  It's not rocket science. I validate her feelings, I tell her how much I care about her and her feelings, I ask her to breathe, and try to hold it together until I can get home, and that I need to know she is safe while I am at work, but that isn't possible if she is screaming in the driveway. Often I cry. And I get super vulnerable. And it works, you know why? Because "Crazy" is what we in this society have started calling people who can't deal with the way things are. The status quo, the current program, and eventually, they lose their shit. It's the preferred way to marginalize the person who is acting out the symptoms of the illness.... which is all of ours. Society wide. We are Sick. Some more than others. Losing her shit, is how she feels heard. Because she is told that she is imagining stuff, that she is making shit up, that she is lying, that it's all in her head, she is isolated, and has control and manipulation games played with her every day. And that shit wears on a person. It makes them fucking crazy. Granted, there is far more to this little scenario than I am painting here, but what's important is the reason why hearing my voice works. It's because I love her, especially when she is "crazy" because that is when she needs it the most. And I HEAR her, I validate her, and I love her some more. I don't get big. Big and loud and aggressive is scary to wild things, I get really small, my voice gets really low, and really quiet, and I offer out a hand, and I let her come to me, because she wants in my arms where it is safe, and reassuring. It's the same method I use with terrified animals. Utter compassion, love, and vulnerability, works "miracles" every time.