Gentle reverberations from bongos ease through my muscles and reach my marrow. The woman's pretty, pretty voice is lulling me. "Oooom naaamo." I sink deeper into softness. My thoughts travel to my friend, Morning Star who is spending her birthday in a sweat lodge 2000 miles away from me. I'd love to text her to respond to the e-mail she sent me thanking me for holding her, two years ago, in hot springs, as she breathed, meditated and opened herself to a new phase of her life. I want to text her now as back up to the e-mail I responded with which said "You're welcome. I love you." I want to text her to say "I'm with you now. I've got your back while you are in the lodge being carried father along your journey. "
I realize I can't text her because her phone number is not in my phone. (Deep exasperated sigh and a one handed eye and forehead rub.) I'll have to settle for the connection we have which is above and beyond technology. The connection which woke her to a remembrance of me holding her in the waters. The connection which spoke to me while Cindy Morning Star was feeling the memory and at the same time I was serving a cup of coffee to a cowboy and thinking "I've gotta' call Cindy and ask her advice on opening a healing center."
The woman with the pretty voice started the song by singing, "Let us free each other with our prayers, with our voice."
Tears roll down my checks as I feel the love we are all generating. I'm walking to the bathroom and let them roll. Maybe Julie will see me crying. She's passing back and forth, in and out of the house, as she prepares her healing room for the breathing circle she's leading tonight. If she sees my tears I'll just say "I've been talking to Cindy." I'll be a mile way from Julie's healing room while she's leading her circle. And I'll be in her healing room at the same time.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Green Dress and Emeralds
Journal 8-18-09
I'm washing my hands in my bathroom and as I'm reaching for a towel to dry them I glance out the small bit of window that is exposed above the shade. About 6 inches by 8 inches. The evening light is shining on the wall opposite the window and all I feel is the beauty of the light and the shadows made by the brown stucco.
Adobe…adobe…adobe repeats over and over in my head and the little bit of window is expanding, on its own, into a doorway looking through a courtyard with pink somewhere…on the right… I'm not sure where the pink is… in front? or is it in back? Maybe framing the doorway? And I feel like I want to capture it….but what is it? What is there to capture?
So I walk forward, toward the window. Maybe to try to sink further into whatever is being created for my imagination's entertainment…I assure you it's not me doing the work. It happens to me. It's what gets frustrating and causes me to shut down. These things I see and feel and that grow beyond me. I want to hang onto them, to keep them in some way, to make them real so I can share them…but it all happens so fast and then they are gone and I am left spinning.
So I stop looking. I stop seeing. I stop myself from feeling because when these things evanesce without a trace I feel like I've been neglectful. But what the fuck am I supposed to do about a dirty, mostly covered up window facing a semi attractive wall which are both turning into a gorgeous arched pink framed doorway leading to a courtyard with a fountain and flowering bushes rather than being the wall at the back of Julie's bedroom….What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I walk toward the window, maybe to try to see more of it…or maybe it's so I can stop it…Now I can see, across the top of the wall hangs the dusty gutter covered with cob webs. The doorway and courtyard are gone and I am left standing alone in the silent, cool bathroom.
Journal 8-22-09
What should I do with that? Here's an idea. Quit bitching about it and try something. Take action. Have gratitude that you have experiences like that. Figure it out.
I looked at the window today and all I saw was a window. I felt blank.
If James or Oscar or Malcolm or Liam or Elliott or any of your friend's kids were to tell you about something they had imagined what would you say? Would you say "Oh, by all means, get pissed off and frustrated and shut down now. Please, do yourself a favor and ignore that gift!" Or would you say "That's SUPA COOL! What fun! Let's draw it! Let's paint it! Let's outline it in the sand! Let's write a story about it! Let's make it with Lego's or Sculpy clay or mud and rocks, flour and water! Let's think about it before we fall asleep and dream about it! Was it a sunny day in the courtyard? What did it smell like? Was it the courtyard of a castle? May I be the Princess? May I wear one of those pointy hats with a scarf hanging off the tip? And a green, swishy dress? And lot's of emeralds? And flip flops?
I love my imagination.
Take action. "The passion devours the fear!" (Juliet Binoche)
I'm washing my hands in my bathroom and as I'm reaching for a towel to dry them I glance out the small bit of window that is exposed above the shade. About 6 inches by 8 inches. The evening light is shining on the wall opposite the window and all I feel is the beauty of the light and the shadows made by the brown stucco.
Adobe…adobe…adobe repeats over and over in my head and the little bit of window is expanding, on its own, into a doorway looking through a courtyard with pink somewhere…on the right… I'm not sure where the pink is… in front? or is it in back? Maybe framing the doorway? And I feel like I want to capture it….but what is it? What is there to capture?
So I walk forward, toward the window. Maybe to try to sink further into whatever is being created for my imagination's entertainment…I assure you it's not me doing the work. It happens to me. It's what gets frustrating and causes me to shut down. These things I see and feel and that grow beyond me. I want to hang onto them, to keep them in some way, to make them real so I can share them…but it all happens so fast and then they are gone and I am left spinning.
So I stop looking. I stop seeing. I stop myself from feeling because when these things evanesce without a trace I feel like I've been neglectful. But what the fuck am I supposed to do about a dirty, mostly covered up window facing a semi attractive wall which are both turning into a gorgeous arched pink framed doorway leading to a courtyard with a fountain and flowering bushes rather than being the wall at the back of Julie's bedroom….What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I walk toward the window, maybe to try to see more of it…or maybe it's so I can stop it…Now I can see, across the top of the wall hangs the dusty gutter covered with cob webs. The doorway and courtyard are gone and I am left standing alone in the silent, cool bathroom.
Journal 8-22-09
What should I do with that? Here's an idea. Quit bitching about it and try something. Take action. Have gratitude that you have experiences like that. Figure it out.
I looked at the window today and all I saw was a window. I felt blank.
If James or Oscar or Malcolm or Liam or Elliott or any of your friend's kids were to tell you about something they had imagined what would you say? Would you say "Oh, by all means, get pissed off and frustrated and shut down now. Please, do yourself a favor and ignore that gift!" Or would you say "That's SUPA COOL! What fun! Let's draw it! Let's paint it! Let's outline it in the sand! Let's write a story about it! Let's make it with Lego's or Sculpy clay or mud and rocks, flour and water! Let's think about it before we fall asleep and dream about it! Was it a sunny day in the courtyard? What did it smell like? Was it the courtyard of a castle? May I be the Princess? May I wear one of those pointy hats with a scarf hanging off the tip? And a green, swishy dress? And lot's of emeralds? And flip flops?
I love my imagination.
Take action. "The passion devours the fear!" (Juliet Binoche)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Opening to Love
My heart squeezed tight as I breathed into it. Squeezing tight is now the only reaction it knows to have at the threat of anything coming near it. Even Love. The battle my heart and I wage against the fear of enduring any more pain is my war with myself.
My disappointment at my heart squeezing tight during the simple act of breathing brought me to an anguished scream, a bit of a laugh at the futility of this ridiculous charade, and then tears. Frustrated tears.
My arms, belly and legs all became indefinable as my vibration rose. The separation I accept daily to be between my physical body and air became less acceptable. Just a wee taste of being free of this manifestation. Being free of this human suit designed for lesson learning. "Please, please, please help me be one with you." In that moment I was willing to do anything…sell my soul…in order to be, solely, Infinite Love.
When the meditation ended I opened my eyes. "Good God am I hungry!" 30 minutes later, driving home with a happy pork chop in my purse and a handle of Odwalla Superfood in my lap, I looked to my left at the sun setting behind the mountains. My chest was tight. Too tight. I saw the forests of pine trees as the car wound along the curves in the road. "It's good. This is good. The tightness will pass. It may take some time, but it will pass. I'm learning."
My disappointment at my heart squeezing tight during the simple act of breathing brought me to an anguished scream, a bit of a laugh at the futility of this ridiculous charade, and then tears. Frustrated tears.
My arms, belly and legs all became indefinable as my vibration rose. The separation I accept daily to be between my physical body and air became less acceptable. Just a wee taste of being free of this manifestation. Being free of this human suit designed for lesson learning. "Please, please, please help me be one with you." In that moment I was willing to do anything…sell my soul…in order to be, solely, Infinite Love.
When the meditation ended I opened my eyes. "Good God am I hungry!" 30 minutes later, driving home with a happy pork chop in my purse and a handle of Odwalla Superfood in my lap, I looked to my left at the sun setting behind the mountains. My chest was tight. Too tight. I saw the forests of pine trees as the car wound along the curves in the road. "It's good. This is good. The tightness will pass. It may take some time, but it will pass. I'm learning."
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