Knotted Shoelaces

she said:

Here is to untangling. Here is to making different choices. Here is to forgiving ourselves when we forget to do the work or simply don't know how to do it differently.


And those words reverberate through my soul. Untangling. Oh god, how I need to untangle. I've been so wrapped up, thought upon thought, always in motion, going, going, going, and when my body drops into sickness because it's exhausted from constant commotion, I pop a couple of Vitamin C's and continue to go some more.

Ever get a knot in your shoelaces when you were in a hurry to be somewhere? You tug and you struggle and you fight and you get very very frustrated. You might huff angrily. You might give up. You might throw that shoe against the wall in a fit of pique, choosing instead something that slips on.... but the simple fact is that the next time you want to wear those shoes (and you'll probably be in a hurry then TOO), they will still have that damn knot in them. And they will continue to have that knot, until you slow down long enough to untangle it.

I"ve had a knot in my shoelaces (and a twist in my knickers) since... well.. probably 2004. When I walked away from a partner, when I attempted to go back to school, when I sold my soul to the evil Mouse theatre people. And even though I see it, this mad obsessive urge to run full tilt, and I get the costs of those actions..... I still keep going. I'm running as if my life depended on it. And the irony is, I seem to be running FROM my life.

If the first step to healing the problem is really ADMITTING the problem, then let me be here to say.... I have a problem. I can't slow down. I'm ... I don't know... afraid. If I look really closely, the disappointment, the resignation, the anger, the lack of hope.... it will swallow me. No... not swallow. Consume, with a violent gnashing of teeth.

So I keep going, keep running. Can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man, in the best sprinting shoes Adidas or Nike can make. You know the ones, with the velcro strapps.... so i don't have to slow down and unknot those damn laces.

But in my pocket, there's a tiny piece of paper, which my fingers fiddle with, like the smooth surfaces of an over-used worry stone. And on that paper are the magic words.... "Here is to untangling. Here is to making different choices."

Sometimes My Tries are Outside the Lines

Picture me in a house with no lights on, soaking in salts blessed in ritual, doing what my friends call "the bathtub cry." A safe place when tears can sink into suds and no one knows the wiser. Looking at my life and wondering just how many mistakes one can cram in to 34 years of living.

Makes it a little hard to just get up and keep going the next morning, I tell ya.

And then on the ride in, I hear a song. Oh, I've heard it before....dozens of times. It's LA radio, they play the same 25 songs in constant rotation. However, today, I caught it right at the beginning, and it spoke to me, silly as it is....and as I pulled into the garage at work, I was singing along, rejuvinated (and just a little bit hopeful) once more.

"Unwritten"

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined

I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition,

sometimes my tries are outside the lines

We've been conditioned to not make mistakes,

but I can't live that way

(chorus)

The Falling of the Axe

So remember how I've referenced those anger issues? Specifically how there is one particular person in my life that I'm angry at, but had not yet figured out how to properly express it? Well, damn if that little problem hasn't been solved for me.

Sent at 2:39am today, is one of the most scathing hate-mails I have ever received in my life. Nearly unreadable in its rambling (not to mention large number of typos, lack of punctuation, capitalization or even an ATTEMPT at grammar), it accuses me of being ragingly immature and petty in my jealousies. It uses statements (told to him in confidence) as weapons, aimed back at me. It dredges up issues from last year that haven't been on the table since then, and tells me that clearly I am not over them yet. In short, it batters me with abusive language, slanders our friendship and then drops the executioner's blade without allowing me a moment's say in the decision.

Considering that I had already been tentatively contemplating ending the friendship due to the disrespect and mistreatment.... one might call this a moment of Ferocious Serendipity

All day I have vacillated between responding kindly ("I understand that you are going through a difficult time. I will be your friend should you wish to resume that at some point"), responding cruelly ("Clearly your observations of human nature are as vacuous as your grasp on literacy") and not responding at all. To return the serve is to swing my racket at yet another time-bomb, and I'm wounded already.

My anger stands in an awkward place, torn between defending my right to be treated well, and my compassion to reach out to some one so obviously in pain. However, the lesson that seems to be reoccurring at this time in my life is about caring and nurturing myself first and foremost. And as challenging as that is right now, it is what I have decided to do.

Good Bye Pup. I wish you healing on your journey. But I can't go another step along that path. No.... not "I can't".... I won't. I have healthier things to do with my time, my intentions and my affections.

Taking my Lumps

“The more time I spend in my body, the more difficult it is to lie.”

That’s the first line of a hand written journal entry I started last week. I only got down that first line before being distracted, so it is all that exists of that entry. However, last night, as I lay awake with wicked insomnia, it occurred to me again.

I am in the middle of a shift. A shift of body and mind and soul. A shift that is taking frustratingly long. I had a healing sometime last year, because I’d been feeling that “my skin doesn’t fit” itch. The healer spoke of angels and spirit guides, and said that they wanted to let me know that I was preparing for a shift (it was nice to have this verified, without asking about it or bringing it up at all). However, they wanted to let me know that said shift would occur in 3 – 6 years.

Now I know it’s not polite, but I believe I responded with “What the f’k?”

Throughout the healing, he would talk of all the work I’d done and how I was molding into this new soul form and each time, he would begin to hint that perhaps the shift would occur sooner, and then he’d stop mid sentence and say “3 – 6 years”. Eventually, he stopped mid-sentence and laughed and said “NO… they appreciate all the work you’re doing, and you need to keep doing it, but they want to make it very clear…. It’s 3 – 6 years. Stop pushing!”

Ever had your hand slapped by a spirit guide? I had to laugh.

That was a year ago, and the ever-crawling snail's pace of this shift is driving me bonkers. I’m doing some work, and I think the dancing is a large part of that. Dancing has always been a joy for me, but now it’s like life’s blood. I can’t do well without it. My sanity is becoming directly tied to my ability to be in my body and work it as a form of expression. However, this new level of personal intimacy has brought with it greater awareness and less tolerance for bullshit.

The last two weeks, I’ve had a series of health issues. Nothing drastic. A migraine, on top of food poisoning, last night’s insomnia, and now this morning, my throat is swollen so much I’m having trouble swallowing. Throat issues often relate to “not speaking one’s truth”. And that’s certainly the case here, as I am dealing with a great deal of anger towards someone very dear to me. Someone who needed a friend once and I was there, but now… they prefer a fan club, and when I don’t wish to be relegated to just another of the adoring masses, I get shut out.

Insomnia makes sense, as my soul is restless indeed. The anger has also stirred up my ideas on love, friendship, relationships, what it means to be self-sufficient versus self-involved.

...

And here the writing flow just dams up. Grrr. I guess that is to say, I don’t have words of resolution for this issues I am facing. And thus my body is turning on itself and growling and consuming itself. As much as I would like to run, avoid, or pretend that these ugly questions are not staring me in the face, my newly ‘tuned in’ body will not let that deception pass.

I find it fascinating and challenging that I cannot lie to myself- that the shift of living in what is real and what is now is REALLY beginning to manifest physically. Additionally, I would be VERY excited about it… if it weren’t kicking my ass up and down the block.

Two weeks pass

...and I feel there is nothing to show for it. A flurry of activity, always moving in this seemingly endless swirl. Like a dust cloud, all stirred up, but only shuffling around the discarded bits of trash and worry.

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. *sigh*

There's a lot of unresolved issues and angers floating around. Bubbling under the surface, not close enough to break like a wave, but certainly causing an undertow that is deceptively strong, pulling me under,when I thought I was having a lovely swim.

Meeting people's expectations. Having my own remain unmet (or sometimes worse, undefined). Even the articulation of a blog entry is just beyond my grasp.

And thus... you get left with a poem, cause that's all I have to give today.

Our love is like a dead squirrel

fallen too young from its nest

decaying beneath the tree that was once home.

There is no one to bury him

But as the seasons come,

the leaves will gently fall,

obscuring his corpse from sight.

Grandmother Oak, laying him to rest

Tree Dryads giving him a 21 acorn salute.

Through the turning of the wheel,

he will breakdown, feed bugs, disappear

under a foliage drop cloth.

Come spring, perhaps

some haphazard garderner

will rake clear the spot,

showing that he is gone.

Consumed by his Earthly Mother,

leaving a memory for no one,

and a fertile spot for something new to grow.

copyright yummyteece 02/19/06

Punk Stripes & a Pearl Necklace

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today and stopped.

Over the weekend, I put black stripes in my red hair. I'm enjoying the vitality of my little rebellion. It's increasing my 'sass' factor, and allowing me to have a little more swagger in my step. When I cross the road and feel the breeze, I notice I drop deeper into my hips, let my steps grow heavier, exuding from my skin some low-resonant hum that gives energy to the spaces around me, and tickles me into chuckling, even when there's no one around. I'm having an unexplained feeling of "freedom", and I'm not sure why.

Partnered with my punk hair and arrogant strut, I'm wearing the most girly pearl & crystal necklace. I've never owned jewelry like this before. However, it was created by a friend, and its sparkly lusciousness won me over (to the point of tears) the first time I put it on. It seemed to validate and compliment all that was feminine about me. It said it was ok to be pretty, or delicate, or vulnerable. It was an offering to the goddess within, and it was a glorious present to myself. And this morning, it sparkled from the dresser and asked to be put on.

However, the whole ensemble is dichotomous at best. It's like those teen movies where the cheerleader and the town bad boy show up for prom together, all dressed to the unusual nines, and then ride off into the night on his motorcycle. It's a conflict of interests embodied. It's odd, but not unpleasant.

It's rare that I can put together a look that totally feels like me... but today, I somehow managed it without trying at all.

Not a bad way to begin the week.