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!!

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? ;)

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. 

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.