Participating as Requested

My friend over at God Is Patient, I am not has started an interesting conversation on her blog and asked me to participate, even though we come at our spirituality from very different directions. Therefore, at her request, I am posting my responses to her thought provoking questions. If you are not comfortable with alternative spiritualities, or not open to a little humor with your god discussions... this might not be the post for you.

Nor are my answers meant to be any sort of red flag that send the "convert you for your own good" bull into a rage. The Writer already knows this, so that warning is not for her. It is for any random passer-by who after reading this feels compelled to 'save the poor pagan girl'.

That said-- Here we go...

Last time I went to church:

Church? Eeek…um… Christmas Eve, whenever it was that I last went home to FL for Christmas. (I watch my mother sing in her choir at Midnight Mass) Ritual? Last Monday.

This many of my friends that I went to college with go to church :

Don’t know. When I was in college, I did a performance of “Godspell” with a church group. (the Director was my acting partner in my upper level class, and he needed a strong alto for “Sonia”) They were an eclectic church group, and they had a very understanding and open way of “being in the presence” and “praying” that made me feel very comfortable, even though our beliefs were not identical. I enjoyed my time (couple of months) that I spent with them. However, when the show was over, I didn’t attend further services. Currently in my life here, I can think of two people in my social structure who attend church with any sort of regularity. One is the person who created this questionnaire.

When I hear the phrase “Jesus”, I think:

I think he was a nice guy. I think he existed. I think he is a child of the creator and the universe, like we all are. I believe he was a powerful prophet and a very good soul. Do I think he “died for my sins”?.... Mmmmm, No. I like how Unity Church puts it about seeking “The Christ Consciousness” in each of us. To me that speaks about being at your highest and most loving self. My term for that is being “yummy”. Thus "YummyTeece" speaks to my spiritual quest to be my highest self.

When I hear the phrase “organized religion”, I think:

RUN! RUN!! Grab your bags, do not pass Go… Do not collect $200. Just sprint for your f**king life.

Three things I think organized religion (for lack of a better word) gets right:

-- Providing a space for a community of like minded individuals to come together to discuss what they need to discuss in a place of love.
-- Like communisim, the theory is good on paper.
-- Really? 3?…. I have to come up with 3?


Three things I think organized religion (for lack of a better word) gets wrong:

-- The Mob mentality, i.e. the more of us who band together, the more we can say that you are wrong and therefore going to hell.
-- Thou shalt not kill (Unless of course you are doing in the name of your god, in which case, it’s all good).
-- Everyone coming together, so focused on good intentions that they are blind to the long-term ramifications of their short-sighted actions. They are so busy curing or fixing the now, that they are not looking at the bigger picture. They focus on “WHAT” is “Wrong” and not “WHY” the situation occurred.


If I were God, I’d change these three things about the world, because I don’t understand why these things happen:

-- I would like to expand global awareness to recognize animals, plants and all creatures of this planet as fellow members in our large community (as opposed to secondary citizens whose rights are forfeit just because we feel like taking over their space or hunting them for fun.)

-- I would somehow design a genetic imperative in people that would not allow us to litter or further pollute the resources of our planet.

-- Hmmm.. and I'd make Tigers & Silverback Gorillas bigger and more deadly, so that they would be able to better defend themselves against poachers. If you poach wildlife, I think you totally and utterly deserve to be ripped limb from limb or eaten while still alive. Eeek. Did I really type that? Hmmmm… probably a good thing I’m not an all powerful deity.

If I were God, I’d change these three things about this one person (who shall remain nameless.)

Slight variation on this answer… I’m doing 1 thing for three people.

I would have Person#1 release his very rigid idea of what is “proper & appropriate” and instead, allow himself to really experience and enjoy passion as it occurs in the moment.

I would have Person#2 find peace around his grief and anger.

I would have Person#3 release his hold on this life and pass into the next, without further pain or illness.


If I were God I’d change these three things about me:

-- Greater Capacity to love and understand without “being attached to the way it looks” (to swipe a Landmark phrase)
-- Ease around Anger, finding expression for it that is not based in fear or jealousy… allowing myself to experience it without judgment or vindictive action.
-- Eternally Perky/gravity defying breasts and no cellulite my thighs or butt. *grin*


Worst thing I ever heard in church or from a religious person:

I had a friend who was gang raped when she was 13. Her family was extremely religions, and therefore, didn’t call the cops…they called Clergy. Her Clergyman came over and asked her to repent for whatever evil she had done that “made those boys sin like that.” I find that vile to the point of being physically nauseated the first time I heard this story.

Best thing I ever heard in church or from a religious person:

I can’t think of an exact phrase or story, but Reverend Brent at the West Valley Unity Church ALWAYS made me feel at home, at peace, and part of a loving community. He made me laugh, he helped me feel accepted, and even though I’m not “Christian”, his words, his teaching, and his personality are a large part of the reason that I was a semi-regular at that church the first several years that I lived in LA.

Sunday Scribblings: "The Books I would write..."

OH... the books I would write... would be full of romance and adventure. They would capture the sensuality of dance, in such a way you could reach out and touch it like a freshly-picked rose petal. They would have mysterious places, full of fascinating creatures and mythical monsters.

The books I would write would capitvate the reader's soul, ignite their passions and invigorate their imaginations.

The books I would write would have a soundtrack of deeply beating drums, and haunting bagpipes.

There would be misty lakes in long forgotten forests, and intense and powerful women with hidden pasts full of intrigue. The animals would talk, the trees would listen, and the very Mother Earth herself would open up her caves and let you descend down into the depths of her core, where she would nuture and teach you and hold you safe when all other things seemed uncertain.

The books i would write would always believe in true love, always champion the honest and faithful, always hold aloft the hard-working, well meaning hero who acts from integrity, even when he's spent his last nickel, drunk his last bit of water, and lost his last lucky marble.

The books I would write would come from my highest self, and exist in such a place, that even if No one else ever read them.... I would be able to take them off the shelf, and leaf through their pages on my darkest days, and remind myself that deep down inside, I am a courageous warrior for hope and a staunch believer in happy endings.

The books I would write would inspire, reach, rejuvinate and embrace the very best parts of me, and by doing so.... renew the spirit that allows me to share that piece of me with all the rest of the world.

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here!!

Light fare: The A - Z of Me

Hello lovies. Don't want to feel like I'm neglecting this blog, but the desk has beome a busy place these days. So here is something light and informative to entertain you, while I continue to process a few things before expressing them to you. May your week bring you joy.

Accent: Don't really have one, unless I'm way drunk or way tired.... and they you'll hear that Southern upbringing creep in.
Booze: I'll always love a good Cabernet or a quality Tequilla.
Chore I Hate: Filing
Dogs/Cats: Love Love Love the fluffies! (although as they said in "The Truth about Cats & Dogs.... "it's ok to love your pets. Just don't LOVE your pets."
Essential Electronics: Cell phone!
Favorite Perfume/Cologne: I wear oils mostly. A good amber, or a spicy vanilla
Gold/Silver: Sliver, possible white gold, Platnium is best!
Hometown: Brandon, FL (just outside of Tampa)
Insomnia: Ugh... last night, from 4am - 6am
Job Title: Several.... Exec assistant, Studio Tour Guide, Dance teacher in training
Kids: 3- all are small, furry and wake me to tiny kisses and meows
Living Arrangements: 2 bedroom near the park
Most Admired Trait: Public poll seems to agree, it's my ass.
Number of Sexual Partners: currently.... just the one
(but oh the days of the "Haitian Boat" are legendary.)
Overnight Hospital Stays: no.... actually. Out patienct surgery only
Phobia: Ich Nasty.... Spiders.... Ew!
Quote: "One runs the risk of weeping a little when one lets oneself be tamed." (translated from Antoine de Saint Exupery)
Religion: Spiritual practice, but no organized religion for me, thanks.
Siblings: nope
Time I usually wake up: after the snooze alarm has been hit at least 3 times
Unusual Talent: The abillity to end up in bizarre conversations at the most unlikely times, with complete strangers.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Tomatos (are those fruits?) and Mushrooms... ICK
Worst Habit: Tardiness
X-Rays: A few... a while ago tho..... back in college, i believe
Yummy Foods I Make: Stuffed Grape Leaves
Zodiac Sign: Sun: Sagittarius Rising:Cancer Moon: Scorpio

Swamped, Scattered yet Smiling

but also bouncing down the road... Things have taken an up. I spent one day last week finally rewarding myself (as i have planned to do since I moved to LA nearly 10 years ago) with a day at the San Diego zoo.

and I spent one evening talking to someone who it felt like I've known all my life.

Between the two enriching moments, I am renewed, and hoping to get things shifting back into forward motion.

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.

At the End of a Long Week

And so Friday has come to a close, with more of a whimper than a bang. Ahead of me is a weekend full of ‘to do’ lists, things that have been on hold while I played the game. And now that THAT chapter has come to a close, I can return to my regularly scheduled manic life.

So why do I feel a bit lost? Cast adrift with nothing to hold on to? I’m torn between taking a 3 day nap, and disappearing into the woods for a 3 day hike. Mardougrrl spoke of “Givens” and that is definitely what I’m feeling the weight of now. A barrage of “musts” and “needs to be dones” that stand between where I am now, and a true sense of “me”.

Instead, I would love take myself on a vacation alone. I need to meet me in a quiet bar and have a lovely long conversation with me. I need to read aloud passages from my favorite books, so I can hear what really pleases me. I need to discover the ticklish places on me, and touch them gently. I need to subtly find out my favorite flowers and buy them for me, as a surprise. I need to woo me.

It’s a delicious thought. And for a few brief moments, I'm going to close my eyes and imagine this joy. Because when I open them again, I will still be at the desk, will still have the day planner open in front of me, the taxes in an envelope labled "ORGANIZE!", and a friend to take to the airport ASS-EARLY tomorrow morning.

In pursuit of the game

One of the reasons that i have been oddly quiet is that i have filled my time with a new adventure.

Since March 13th, i have been an active participant in "Street Wars", an assassination game taking over the streets of Los Angeles. Played with waterguns, various active 'killers' pursue each other through the moments of our daily lives.

What started as only a game has been transformative and thought provoking.

See, my father and I often talked about playing a game like this. So when the opportunity finally appeared, i leapt at the chance to prove myself. However, the challenge has been more than i ever conceived.

It's all more time consuming than i ever imagined. Waking up at 5am to stalk before work. Keeping a change of clothes in the car at all times, in case you come across an evening when you can't go home. Hunting way past midnight on a school night. James Bond never had to report in to another day job. Assassins cannot give 40 hours to "the Man" AND still have 100% to give to the pursuit. These are all bits of 'intell' that have become readily apparent to me.

But more than that, I'm tormented by unresolved issues about being "good enough", and this frivolity has brought that home in spades.

My 'target' has been elusive, and my pursuits limited due to my other obligations (i.e. the job that pays my bills). Additionally, in my head is ever the thought... "How would my father behave in this situation? How would he handle this? would he wait in the rain? Would he have found another way to find and pursue this man?"

How did some 'extra-cirricular' activity become another way to fail my family? Why did an 'entertainment' become a tool for judgement and self-flagulation?

Look, I write this with some humor and the ability to see what it is I'm doing to myself. And in truth, this week, I am much better, much kinder than I was the first week of play. However, i still am amazed.... i took something that was supposed to be fun and frivolous, and i turned it into a metaphor for all i find i lack.

I always wanted to be 'killer'. A Femme-fatale. The pinnacle of sexy and dangerous. Mysterious and deadly. Instead, what i found myself to be is... ordinary. Not bad. Not hopeless or lousy or wretched.... Just boring. Just... normal. And that has disturbed me greatly.

Did you ever want to be a superhero, and find yourself merely human? Is this a common thing amongst people? Do we always hope for greatness? Are we always disappointed to find ourselves just "ok"?

She Makes Me Laugh

Quotable from a fabu girl chat last night:

"My pussy is like a Manhattan apartment.... and by that, I don't mean filthy and full of bugs. I mean tiny, exclusive and hard to get into."

Amen sister!

To Stir the Pot

So much of what I read on the blogs is about being true to oneself, being an artist, being alive. And as of late, I've found that I just haven't had much to put out there along these lines. I'm feeling stuck... Sold to a destiny that may not fit once I get there.

There is a general sense of this in the lives of those around me (both RL and online). Each one, in her own way, has tried to uncork the genie and get things moving once again. For many, the path to this release is writing. For some it's painting, or photography. For others it's cooking delectable foods, gardening with glorious floral audiences, or reading well written literature. All brilliant in their detail and their soul searching, I have soaked up these words and thoughts in hopes that they would dislodge the dammed up stream of things that want to be expressed. Rest assured.... you all do inspire me, enlighten me, and most importantly console me that I am not alone in this journey.

However, I realized that this communion of communication is just one of the paths to soul-speak... and for me, it's not always the most direct or most invigorating. Thus I was reminded of what does work best...

I'm off to dance class, folks. Stretch the body, stir the blood, awaken the goddess within. She hasn't come out to play in a while, and she's aching to shimmy.

"I don’t know what inspiration is, but if and when it comes, I hope it finds me working…”

-- Pablo Picasso

Simple inspiration

I like

my best friend's unfailing honesty

I wish

that I could achieve more; that I could accept better who I actually am; that the RCB would call me this week. *wink*

I play

"Big Kahuna Reef" on a nearly daily basis

I am

a little lost right now... but not out for the count.

what about you?
(thanks Jennifer for today's inspiration!!)

Violated

Last night, somewhere between 2pm – 6pm, someone broke into my car. Some minor damage was done to the door as well as the locking mechanism. 2 bags were stolen (full of clothes, make-up and dance shoes).

The bags were later recovered by security, abandoned and ransacked, but with the bulk of the contents accounted for. The door repairs will probably come out of pocket, because I doubt they’ll exceed my deductible. But long after the material goods are replaced or repaired, there will still be damage.

It’s going to take a bit more to get back that peace of mind.

It started with an eerie silence when I first approached my car, broken only by the quiet “What the fu…” that began to emerge from my mouth. Then came a wave of righteous indignation. First, at the people who would do this, and then again at the police who said that they “really don’t have the time to investigate this sort of thing every time it happens.” (my report was filed over the phone only, with an operator who had all the compassion of dry toast).

I’m not about to insinuate that my minor shake-up is anything like experiencing an illness or death of a loved one… however, I find myself going thru Kubler-Ross’s 5 stages.

In the 24 hours since my ugly discovery, I have worried, fretted, mourned, raged, hoped it wasn’t true, and wished I could turn back time (park a different place, not keep so much in the car). I even reached a point where I told the Universe “OK… I think I can be willing to let the material possessions go, if only Really Cute Boy will call me soon.” (At least my "bargining phase" still has a sense of humor.)

In the end, when all other things have been said and done, acceptance lingers in the empty space. Whether the police care or not, whether RCB calls or not, the simple fact is... my car, my safe space, that tiny piece of the world where I felt I had control...has broken edges, missing parts, and some one else’s smeary fingerprints on my mistreated window. And I have a lesson to learn, and the uncomfortable urge to not be alone.

Return of the Cute Boy

OK some of you may remember the cute boy at my work. *SighGiggleGrin* I missed him that day when i went to introduce myself,and I've pined (just a little) since then.

Sadly, he wasn’t new as I once speculated, but instead, had been around over a year. Why do I say “sadly”? Because I found all this out last Friday, just prior to his “exit interview” (or that thing you do at the end of the day on your last day at the job! Grrrr)

Friday afternoon, 5pm and I was frantically working on something, when who should appear at my desk? Really Cute Boy, looking for office number here in HR. Even though said office was some 8 feet away from my desk, I stood up and escorted him there.

He went in to say his last goodbye and I went into crisis flirt mode. His time here was limited. If I wanted even the slightest chance of crushing, giggling or snogging, I had to act fast.

Thankfully, I am a Sagittarius. “Bold” is my middle name (and “Tact” is right out the window), so with my acting business card in hand (ok, in my back pocket), I went about discovering where his last moments would be in the building, and how I could get back in his sights.

To achieve this, I carefully manipulated the “you must turn in your security badge before leaving” rule. Sure, at the time, he felt the militant crack of the HR whip, but once he got here, slightly dumfounded look on his face, wondering why he would be hunted so…. I charmingly explained that it was a “Drive-by flirting” , a mere ruse to see him one last time, so that I could pass on my number and let him know I was available for drinks and conversation should he be inclined.

20 min later…. I met him at the bar. Go Me!

Fuzzy Walking in Two Different Worlds

Sorry my dears. More than a week gone by without writing. The urge occurs to me first thing in the morning, sometimes even before the alarm has gone off, when my mind is awake but the body hasn’t gotten there yet. I rolled over the other morning, put pen to paper and came out with the first draft of a new poem. It’s called ‘Our love is like a dead squirrel’. *giggle* no…I’m serious. My point here is that not everything my brain spews out upon waking is worthy of electronic publishing.

Speaking of odd brain spew, last night's dreams were frought with strange. I was traveling somewhere, and on my way, I stopped by A's house. Only it wasn't the beautiful Long Beach condo that I know from reality. It was a strange house in a subdivision still being built.

You had to pass through one person's house, and into the back yard, where you then entered a white metal door, that led to a steel ladder down to what should have been a basement area, but after a short tunnel, opened up to the outside lower 'lot' of the subdivision.

The house that I passed through had several odd characters in it. An African woman who was dancing to 70's music, while making a 'hot cherry pie'. Additionally, there was an attractive younger man dressed like Elvis who would dance with her. He would stop and make eye contact with me each time I passed through.

There were many multi-colored bead curtins, which clicked when I would walk through. In fact between the music, the click of the beads, the multi colored posters, the odd outfits on the people, and the smell of cherry pie, the whole house was a sensory experience. One that should have been pleasant, only I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Once outside in the back yard, I could see the Statue of Liberty. I mean, REALLY close up, so that I could only see about the top 3/4 of her, and as I looked I thought to myself "I didn't know she wore a mask" (as she clearly had a mardi-gras-esqu 1/2 mask over her eyes). There were many powerlines and a tangible electronic buzz that added to my sense of un-ease.

The steel ladder down was un-nerving as well, and there was black spray-painted graffitti on the white walls. Even though the subdivision was just being built, there was an old abandoned feel about so much of it. Dirty and dingey and unsafe.

I tried to cut through the lower section of the subdivision, in an attempt to get back to my car, which I'd parked on the street in front of A's house. But one street would wind around and become another, and I wasn't so much lost as I realized that I was in some sort of capture loop, and the only way to get out would be to backtrack my steps, go back up the ladder, and return the way I came. At this point, it would be a very long walk, and I was running late for my next appointment.... but it was more assured to be successful than my endless wandering was.

So back I went. Through the abandoned streets, up the scary ladder, past the buzzing wires, and into the house. Somehow (as happens in dreams) this house with the dancing strangers and A's house had merged, and thus when I passed through, they asked me to stay for pie. I don't like pie (well, not fruit pies). But i wanted to be polite, and it gave me more time to play with the new kitten A had. He was pale grey tabby, with some peach colored patches, and very beady tiny eyes. His name was "Hilton" and I called him "Beady-eyed Hilton" (No relation to Paris), as I picked him up (smaller than one hand) and nuzzled his confused head.

I realized that between waiting for pie and cuddling the kitten, I was very late, and I still didn't feel safe or happy where i was, so I made my excuses and headed towards the door. That's when the Elvis gentleman stopped me. He held my hand, and asked where I lived (presumably to see if it was nearby, and to find out if we could see each other again). I explained that I live in Los Angeles, and his face fell as he realized that I was leaving never to return. He sadly repeated "Los Angeles?" and I said yes. Heartbroken, he sat stunned for a moment, until I, in an attempt to comfort him, kissed his forehead before saying good bye.

Then I woke up.

I have no idea what this means. I apologize that i have no underlying theme for this post. But i figure getting something out there.... just expressing the oddities of my brain... is better than keeping it all stuffed inside.

Happy weekend to you, my dears. May all your (good) dreams come true.

Self Portrait Tuesday

The last Tuesday of February, "All of Me" month. Well, no portrait of myself would be complete without my soul partner.

Isn't she beautiful?

For nearly 13 years, she's added to my life. NO... not just added to, she's absolutely kept me alive. In the ugliest darkest moments, as I sat in a room alone, implement of death in my hand, wondering how long it would take for them to find the body, she's appeared out of the shadows where she was napping to sit in my lap and quietly meow. She appears in my dreams and tells me secrets of where we've come from, and how strong I can be. She is my empress, my mentor, my child, my friend. When I feel most alone, she is there, keeping despair at bay just long enough for me to get back on my feet and remember why I came back again.

Friends, family and therapists have made me swear that before I decide to go willingly into that dark night, I will call and ask for help.... but honestly, it is my promise to her, to care for her all her days, that keeps me on the planet when all else is black and hopeless.

And this picture is so symbolic for while it captures our favorite mundane pasttime, napping in sunbeams, it actually shows how time and time again, she draws me into the light, for renewal of body and spirit.

She is my heart, walking around outside my body. She is my Muse. She is my Laughter. She is my Gaurdian, and she is my Ward. She is the one whom I truly can believe will be there till death does us part. She is magic.

She is "Nicnevin", and she is the best part of me.

Hard to do

I've not been jounalling really, here or anywhere these past few days. I've had a few abortive attempts, but nothing that produced any real release (or even made much sense for that matter.)

It's because I'm angry. Processing disappointment and betrayal. Trying not to turn it on myself, such that it become suicidal thoughts or self abuse. But that's hard, because it's been a pattern for me for so long.

Anger was never my jurisdiction. Emotions were regulated in my house. We each had one that specialized in. My Mother was "Happy".... ala "Nothing wrong here, don't look over here, nope, there's nothing wrong ... we're HAPPY." My Father was (is) a Vietnam Vet, so he was the "Angry" young man, deserted by his country, with a lot of dead friends to show for it. Angry with reason, no doubt, so he had the corner market on that part of the household

And me... I specialized in sad. Grief. Despair. Morose self-indulgent sadness. I still do it pretty well too. Not that I want to, but old habits die hard.

So trying to be angry is challenging for me. When I feel anger rising up in me, my body starts to quiver. I get hives across my chest. My heart hurts, and my breathing is labored, and then I have the uncontrollable urge to vomit. After which I begin to cry, and suddenly the anger is not anger, but morose self-indulgent sadness, disabilitating in its conuming grief.

I want to find some way for it just to be anger. Just angry. I'm looking for some places, classes, physical moments in which to let it out, as anger. Last night at dance class, I kicked some dancing ASS to a very hard rock song. When i finished, i lay bruised on the floor, breathing heavily but feeling so much lighter in spirit. The teacher asked "Wow... when did you last dance?" I said "Yesterday", and then laughed... because i got, she was asking "How long has that been in there, eating at you, needing release?" and the answer is that its been in there so long, it's like an imaginary friend I grew up with. I could dance every day and not run out, I've got such a collection of rages.

Anyway... I'm looking into things. Things that both distract me and provide me safe outlet. But until I manage to untie this knot of fury that's been sitting in my belly.... I might be intermittant with this blogging thing.

But I'm here 2 tell U, there's something else.....

I hit a snag in working on my "52 Figments" (the weekly project hosted by the inspirational Swirly Girl )

Week 6 asked "What Does Heaven Mean to You?" and Week 7 followed with "What does Hell Mean to You?" Being that I don't look at the afterlife in the traditional Christian definitions of those locations, this was a challenge to me.

For the first, I think about that damn question that James Lipton asks in his ending survey, "If Heaven is exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?" I've speculated this a dozen times, and I come back to this vision of place that is merely a way-station between go-rounds. A place to pause, reflect, and sign up again. And I've long said in this life time that I need a NAP. A Looooooooong nap, a real chance to reflect (of course, I have the feeling that my 'higher self' leaps out of each life like a pre-teen on a rollercoaster with a "WOW... canwedoitagain? Can we? Huh? Huh? Can we, pleeeeeeeeeese?")

I picture the Empowered Entity who caretakes this place as some sort of patient parental figure who understands the toll the 'emotional g-forces' can take, and thus says "Hold on.... take a minute... Rest." So when I look at that James Lipton question I think about God/dess greeting me at gate with a "Nice Job... now here's your milk and cookies, your bed is over there under that lovely oak tree. Rest."

Yep... a big celestial Nap Time (followed of course by a big celestial Recess, where I punch the other souls in the arm and then run away, cause that's how you flirt... and then we all climb a tree. Hmmmm.... apparently I think there are a lot of trees in heaven. )

And pets! Lots of pets too! !



Hell for some reason, was easier to put together thoughts on, although the "whole picture" is less tangible. It's a random assortment of conditions and concepts, which I have tried my best to capture... here....

And speaking of my own little piece of hell, I need to go look into some car repairs. Good Night to you all.

Hardly "R & R"

Sure, it was supposed to be a three day weekend.... but during the last 72 hours, I've:

• Gotten into a screaming fight in a roadway, trying to get the drunk angry man to calm down and get back in the car
• Tried to break up violent fight between drunk angry man and his equally angry brother (they are dealing with a family tragedy and both have a lot of emotions to process. I say that not to excuse their behavior, just to say that their rage is understandable.)
• Worked at least 5 hours, each day, at the dance studio
• Finally purchased some MUCH NEEDED new shoes (Goddess bless "BOGO"- 6 pairs for $60)
• Spent several phone calls comforting friends with a myriad of emotional breakdowns
• Hiked for a couple of hours in Griffith Park (hooray for outdoors! & hooray for a friend who listed with fascination at the tales of my life these last 3 months)
• 3 loads of laundry! (Hip Hip Hooray for clean jeans and undies!)
• And my FAVORITE- Got pulled over by LAPD. It's one of those times where as soon as you see the car, your intuition says "beware". I was on my best behavior, but within one block, they indicated I should pull over. What for? A crack in my windshield, and light tinting on my side windows.... both of which have been there for approximately 5 years since the car came here from FL (and both of which my LAPD next door neighbor has not commented on in the last 5 years of parking next to me in our shared garage.) Officer also threatened to write me up for speeding, but admitted that he couldn't prove it... he was just "willing to bet" I was going over the speed limit because he "felt" that I noticably slowed down when I noticed his car. Considering this was 2 blocks from my house, and he basically saw me shortly after pulling off my residental street, I have serious doubts that I'd had enough time to get my 98Honda up to 40 mph. Still, my good Southen upbringing taught me to be nothing but polite when dealing with law officers, so I nodded and smiled. While he wrote up my fix it ticket, his partner stood beside my car on the passenger side, one hand resting on the gun at his hip. Now, again I remind you that 2 30+ caucasian women are sitting in an older Honda, being perfectly polite while recieving a ticket in an upscale neighborhood. Officer #2's behavior seems, OH SLIGHTLY a bit dramatic. Particularly when he startled and looked as if he'd go for said gun when my passenger reached for her purse to slowly remove... her chapstick. I drove off with a warning and a "fix-it" for ALL the windows in my car. Ahhh, yes, what a way to celebrate the weekend.

And so here it is, late Monday night, and I'm at the computer at the studio, working on attendance and retail sales (and this blog), trying to make sure that all the I's have been dotted and the T's crossed, because in addition to holding down the office while Bossman is out of town on business for the next 2 days, I will also be seeking out car repairs.

On an up note, my cats continue to be a source of joy in my life, cuddling me en masse during these suddenly cold evenings.

Veto the Hallmark Holiday

Since Amandarin has already utilized my usual V-D graphic, I shall simply have to leave you with the message sprawled across my chest.

However you celebrate, whatever your plans, may your Tuesday not suck.

(HEY WAIT... this can also count as my self portrait for this week! Hooray!)

EDIT: Ok... after some thought, i figure i'd better put up a little more explanation behind the attitude.

People keep coming by and reading my shirt and asking me why I think “Valentine’s Day Stinks”

First of all, it is a fairly made up holiday, created to sell cards and candy.

Furthermore, it is a day that seems to belittle everyone it touches. If you are single, then you are deemed “unlucky” for the day. You are looked upon with sympathy, or worse, pity, and people chirp unrealistic, insincere quips such as “Maybe next year” and “You’ll find someone soon.”

If you are in a relationship, then there is pressure & comparisons that few can live up to. It becomes an endless stream of analysis: what did you get; what did you give; how does it compare (either to your last big gift, or to the Valentines gifts gotten by others in your acquaintance).

THEN, as if the analysis of this wasn’t demeaning enough, we must now look at “what does it mean for the future of your relationship.” One can’t go too big or too small, or the “love” is doomed. WHATEVER!!

Still.... despite the fact that I can sit here and logically look at all this, I found myself walking around the office, looking at the long stem roses on a co-worker’s desk (which I don’t even LIKE, by the way), and thinking “Oh that lucky girl…I wish I had someone who….”

"STOP… Stop right there," my brain thinks. I had someone who....

Once upon a time, I had the kind of man who would send flowers to the office. No... not even send. He hand delivered them, to let me know that he was waiting downstairs until I was off work, and then he whisked me away to a picnic.

You know what else he did?

He frequently grabbed me by the throat and cracked the back of my head up against a wall when he thought I wasn’t paying enough attention. He berated me for hours and hours for my “trust issues” (when I’d found the 8 page letter from his latest lover, specifically describing in language that Hustler wouldn’t print, the intimate details of their last encounter). He casually stuck his penis in any agreeable woman who would stand still long enough. He practiced his cruelties daily in one way or another.

Oh yes, I’ve had the “passionate and demonstrative man” and while I’m not saying that flowers on the desk indicate a philanderer or abuser, I’m saying that it is only one moment in time that does not tell a whole story. The behavior of any one day doesn’t tell the whole story! So why do so many make this one day life or death? The “be all/end all” statement of domestic bliss and heart contentment?

Give me a lover who after a year and half of waking up next to me, still smiles the moment he sees me. Give me someone who celebrates my individuality, instead of being embarrassed of the way I stick out in a crowd. Let me go home every night without the fear of finding evidence of another woman in my home and my bed. Let me express myself unedited and be loved and appreciated for the strength it takes to do so.

And if I can’t have that… then fuck it! I'm fine wearing my “Valentine’s Day Stinks” t-shirt with pride, going home and drinking a glass of wine with my cats. I’ll toast ME tonight, and every night. Sometimes I’ll laugh about it. Sometimes I’ll cry… but I’ll have a “whole story” that I can be proud of.

A Thought, Some Truth & a Thank You

Traipsing around the internet, one can find a number of sites to amuse, entertain, and inspire. I’ll be honest and say that I hope that at some point, I’ve fallen into each of those categories for some cyber-space explorer.

But this week, I’ve been remiss in much posting, because I am the one seeking.

February is not usually kind to me, for a number of reasons. I fight my own memories and demons and usually come out black & blue from the battle. So amid the noise and haste, I’m trying to find some daily bit of ‘uumph’ that continues to propel me forward.

Superhero started me down a path of thought with her inquiries regarding “the path of least resistance”. It’s a difficult concept for me to contemplate, because in my mind it equates with the idea that if you are on the ‘right path’ then doors glide open the moment you approach them, like some celestial grocery store, ripe for the pickings. And if you meet with constant and sometimes insurmountable resistance, it is a sign that God, like some judgmental parent, is offering up stumbling blocks as a way of telling you that he is patiently waiting for you to “outgrow this silly dream of being an artist” and settle down to a “reasonable” life.

The path of least resistance often leads me to the ergonomically-designed chair behind a desk, organizing schedules, arranging conference calls, and fixing the perfect cup of coffee for someone else.

Not to bad-mouth the life of an assistant. Truly we are the cogs that make the machine go forward, confidants to some of the greatest secrets of history… but nothing about this 40+ hour a week endeavor feeds my soul, and for some silly reason, I believe that a life well lived should include that.

I understand that however enlightened one may be, not every day will be sunshine and bunny rabbits. I’m not asking that it is. As much as I try to operate from a place of possibility and believe in the good of the Universe, I myself have days of petty anger and heart-wrenching disappointments that come from unfulfilled expectations. While I try to conduct myself as open and honest and honorable, I don’t always manage it, and I’ll be the first to tell you that. As I told an ex, “Some days I’m not going to be my highest self. I’m not going to want to be calm and think through it rationally. I’m going to be sad and angry and jealous and vengeful, and … fuck the fuck off if you can’t handle that.” (and clearly, he did).

Moments like that then cause me to pause and wonder if I’m doing this thing right at all. Perhaps it is about being a little less honest. Perhaps it is about being filtered and watered-down, such that you fit into the daily appearance of it all. Perhaps it is about being a leaf in the river, and just going where the path of no resistance takes you.

Then a voice in my brain (or maybe it’s my soul) cries out “That’s not what she said. That’s not what they are asking of you, and further more THAT’S NOT WHO YOU ARE.”

ME: Ok Little Soul Voice, then you answer it… Who are we?
LSV: Um… don’t know… Still working on it. But not that, we’re pretty sure.
ME: Pretty sure? PRETTY SURE? This is my life we screwing with. Can we please get something more than “Pretty Sure”?
LSV: I told you. We’re working on it. Now calm down and go read the internet.

And thus I did. Because Sulky Moody me can be passive aggressive, but can also be pretty good at taking suggestions. And I believe that sometimes we hear things at just the right time, in just the right way to make a miracle happen. Serendipity is a glorious thing.

And in my search for a muse, I came across Self Taught Girl, and this glorious quote:

“I am the first to say that refusing to settle and dealing with the pain that goes along with it is the hardest thing in the world, but I wish—WISH—there were some way to hold the hands of those who haven’t yet stepped off the precipice, and help them to believe that it can be done and it’s worth it.”

And when I stopped sniffling into the tissues that were muffling my tears from the office, I looked for some way to respond, to comment back “YES YES YES & Thank you, thank you, thank you.” For while I have stepped off the precipice in the past, I repeatedly find myself at the edge once again… wondering if I should stop the leaps of faith and just sit content (and bored) on the current ledge where I stand. And in one simple paragraph she said “Nah… that’s not who you are.”

So I thank SelfTaughtGirl & SuperHero, and the host of other muses today, who were examples of courage & honesty, love & integrity. For when one is cliff diving, and gravity is the path of least resistance, it’s very nice to not feel alone.

Joy in the smallest things

When all the night seems darkest and daily events have lost their meaning, sometimes the smallest thing will bring gales of giggles and the ability to keep moving forward.

Today, my soul's revival is due to this:











Seriously folks.... I saved it as my desktop wallpaper, and each time I close out a document, it appears once more as a pleasant surprise, and I must, in my "cute voice" say, "Ooooh... Bunny Tongue" and then collapse into giggles.

(This unbearably cute bunny brought to you by the great folks at CuteOverload, your home for all things adorable!)

The Urge to Express, the Desire to be Eloquent

.... grrr....

and the Inability to do either.

So many things rumbling around in my head that I find my nights dotted with short bouts of restless sleep and dreams that would disturb even the most calm of Buddhist monks.

However, at those moments when my trouble soul stirs me from my bed, I have no access to a computer, and any attempts at handwriting turn out to be largely illegible in the morning.

And so the angst eludes the exorcism that might come thru writing, and instead, slips back into the mired maze of my grey matter.

Constipated anger and confusion are clogging my mental pores, making it difficult to concentrate, or to give the appropriate amount of energy to any one task. Emotional meltdowns attack from behind the bushes; outraged outbursts explode forth before the ‘censor monkey’ can keep them from escaping my mouth. In general, I’m walking around akin to some ticking time-bomb, and each click of those hands, each moment of digital countdown resonates deep within me.

I feel myself aging quickly these days.





Many thanks to Luke Chueh for this fabulous piece "Eruption". It says so much more than I can right now.

Simple Math Problem

Shimmery Vanilla Lotion + Black Pants = Bad Idea/Sparkly Butt

Creatures of Great Consequence

Long ago, a friend turned me on to a book “When Elephants Weep”, and we began discussing the seemingly “human” traits that are found in our animal friends. Not only have elephants been seen emitting tears in time of “sadness”, but they also have documentable mourning rituals when one of their herd dies.

They form matriarchal family groups, wherein mothers, aunts, sisters and grandmothers share the physical care and handling of calves. When the herd grows too big for the surrounding resources to provide for, a younger female will take a portion of the herd and depart, starting a different branch of the family, within new territory. However, even years later, they have the ability to recognize those ‘related’ herds.

Like humans, they have a vast amount of brain growth from infancy to adulthood, meaning that they have a much increased capacity for learning, and many behaviors are conditioned, not instinctual.

In short, they are thinking, feeling, sentient creatures, with many similarities to our kind.

Thus it disturbs me when I hear that ‘elephant rage’ is significantly on the rise, because I cannot help but wonder if we have taught them how to hate, and in some way encouraged their urge to kill.

Elephant Rage is a growing phenomenon, which seems in some ways to mirror the 100th Monkey theory of collective unconsciousness. Herds that have previously lived in harmony with their surroundings are now stampeding villages and fields, killing at will, and stopping once there is a body count. Some scientists believe that this is due to years of human cruelty and greed, and that the animals are suffering from PTSD (the first time that mental disorder has been diagnosed in an animal other than a human).

Additionally, I found an article that says this:
”If an orphaned baby elephant or several orphaned young are left to fend for themselves, as they grow up, they have no older members to keep their hormones in check and to teach them how to be an elephant, so they gang up and act on their unrestrained aggressiveness.”

So can we then assume that we are inappropriate teachers & caretakers? Is it just genetic design that keeps us from providing what is needed? Or could it be that we set a bad example?


A herd of rogue elephants ran amok in India's northeastern state of Assam, trampling five people to death and destroying dozens of houses. Police believe the herd could have been upset by a train killing a baby elephant a few days ago.

Locals say the animals have developed a taste for locally-brewed rice beer and may have been drunk.


We’ve utilized this honorable beast for years, as pack animal, transportation, weapon of war, even as executioner. We hunt and butcher them for ivory. We invade their territories with our unrestrained and growing population. Could it be our blatant disregard for their (lack of a better word) humanity has led them to rebel, rage, and respond in ways we would otherwise associate with the negative side of ourselves?

Are we, the self-acclaimed dominant species of this planet not responsible for the care of all Earth’s other creatures? Certainly there are those that would call me overly-emotional and irresponsible to my own species because I sit here in defense of the elephants. In truth, this isn’t even to defend their actions, as much as it is for to think and wonder… with the increasing number of natural disasters, and more global news about monkey and elephant attacks, I can’t help but speculate that the sins of the fathers are coming back to haunt the children, and that our years of unrestrained abuse of the planet and her resources are now beginning to bite us in our collective ass.

IF everything happens in cycles, then perhaps this is all par for the course. I’ve been here such a relatively short time. Perhaps what seems to me a new and disturbing trend is really just a portion of some evolutionary bio-rhythm. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say it affects me, on a deeper level than I want it to. It creeps into dreams and whispers in my ear sad tales of dark times to come.

Is the “dawning of the age of Aquarius” really a step forward? Or will we plunge off the edge of our flat earth, discovering too late that when we thought ourselves enlightened, we were really only at that teenage “think you know everything” stage?

People

People who need people....

are NOT, in fact, the "luckiest people in the world"


They are, by definition, co-dependant.

Just Sayin...

Design Flaws

"Romeo & Juliet"
"Bonnie & Clyde"
"Love Story"
"Moulin Rouge"
"If Only"

Are you seeing the pattern here? Because I noticed it the other day, and it's bugging me.

According to Hollywood, people who fall in love... DIE.

Sometimes both..... but many times only one.... leaving the other to painfully carry on. And we, the viewing audience, sit with our tissues, weeping at the devastating beauty of it all. Moved, we claim once again that it is "better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all."

However, IN the mess.... it's an entirely different creature. Damaged or disappointed, broken-hearted or bitter, the gorgeous lush quality of loss is a celluloid lie, and you do not have the wardrobe or stylist that would make it look pretty on you.

Loss is just that. The agony of defeat, painfully real and not beautiful at all.

So why, generation after generation, do we still buy into that created world where absence makes the heart fonder? Where the sad tatterings of a shattered heart are a war wound one wears with pride, like a boy scout badge that says, "I once knew a desire beyond all this, for I once loved"??

What is the design of the human creature, such that we continually do this to ourselves?

And why, o WHY do I, as I type this lamentation about internal pain, keep getting distracted by the really cute boy who keeps crossing in front of my desk?

It can't just be some intrinsic genetic design to continue our species, can it? Are we really all such slaves to our groins?

ooop.. there he is again.... I think he's new. *grin* Pardon me while I go make introductions.

From Rob Brezney

"PRAYER OF GRATITUDE TO THE TRICKY GODDESS OF BENEVOLENT MISCHIEF

All hail the Tricky Goddess of Benevolent Mischief, also known as the Cosmic Instigator of Healing Trouble. Let us praise and ratify her ingenious plan to turn the status quo upside-down.

The vivid exposure of corruption and delusion among the top echelons of the American hierarchy is a blessing on all of humanity. We celebrate the increasingly transparent collusion of the media with government leaders to present propaganda disguised as information.

The eruption of fertile chaos is making it difficult to carry on with political business as usual, and we could not have received a more energizing gift.

A prayer:
Oh Wise Trickster Goddess, You Compassionate Conjurer of Relentless Change, You Righteous Rascal in Charge of Keeping a Steady Flow of Sacred Uproar Pouring into Our Lives: Please continue to influence the masters of wars and their media minions to be ever-more obvious as they spin out their perversions of your glorious creation, so that more and more of our sleeping tribe will wake up to the Open Secret.

Inspire the enforcers of mass hallucination to display their hypocrisy in an ever-escalating melodrama of spittle flecks and sour faces, as in a slapstick morality play from the Middle Ages, so that we, their captive audience, may convulse with purgative guffaws that shatter the mass hallucination.

And if you don't mind, Sweet Divine Rebel Goddess, please allow us to nurture a spark of hope that this breakdown in the Way Things Have Always Been Done will lead to fresh, hot, tidal-wave breakthroughs of beauty, truth, justice, equality and love everywhere we turn.

****
And now, in my capacity as Sacred Janitor of the the Invisible Government of Sweaty Meditation, I hereby declare the entire United States of America a Temporary Autonomous Zone.

As formulated by writer Hakim Bey, a Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ) is any festive event that liberates the imaginations of everyone present, thereby making it possible for life to be penetrated by the Marvelous.

Authority and dignity and routine have no place at a TAZ; an uninhibited quest for rabble-rousing conviviality must be the only guideline. (See Bey's website: http://www.hermetic.com/bey/)

Here are a few suggestions, mostly from Bey, to get you started in creating your own local celebration of TAZ. Feel free to dream up your own, and make sure to tell me about them.

Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence and spiritual beauty.

Burglarize houses, but instead of stealing, leave behind beautiful and confusing gifts.

Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience.

Take a few friends and a boombox to an all-night grocery store and dance like crazy saints in the aisles until you're thrown out.

Pick someone at random and convince them that they're the heir to an enormous, useless, and amazing fortune -- say, 5000 square miles of Antarctica, or an aging circus elephant, or an orphanage in Bombay, or a collection of alchemical manuscripts. Later they will come to realize that for a few moments they believed in something extraordinary, and will perhaps be driven as a result to seek some more intense mode of existence."

Scrawl the following poem by Hafiz (translated by Daniel Ladinsky) in courthouse lavatories, on playground walls, and through e-mail lists."

AT THIS PARTY

I don't want to be the only one here

Telling all the secrets --

Filling up all the bowls at this party,

Taking all the laughs.

I would like you

To start putting things on the table

That can also feed the soul

The way I do.

That way

We can invite

A hell of a lot moreFriends.

Figment 4- You just won an Oscar....

"Knowing millions of people around the world are watching you, who would you want to thank?"

My family- My dream shocked and challenged you, but when you finally began to believe in it, you did so very much to support it.

My first therapist, Toni - who taught me how you find what you need to find in order to do what you need to do. She also called me beautiful.

To DreamSchool & Critterlover, who slogged endless hours of holding me while I wept. And to all the strong women in my life who have blessed me with their ferocious love and friendship, including but not limited to LunaMoonSong, Shazam, Mandarin

To the Goddesses who have taught me to think, to read, to dance, & to empower and heal myself and other women. (Specifically Mrs Cross, Mrs. D’Angelo, Mrs. Lovelace, Ruth, Rosemary, Bellezza, Marisa & Dirt)

To the Universe, for supporting a dream, challenging my limitations, and allowing me to learn, to grow, and ultimately be a flawed but entirely loveable and perfect child.

To the producers, directors, & writers who invited me to share this creative vision with them.

To the agents who had faith in me, despite the fact that I am not the typical Hollywood Beauty, nor do I ever intend to be the typical Hollywood Size 2.

Lastly, to the lost loves, the fair-weather & fall-away friends, to the ones who have wished me harm or ill…. Your energies called me to be everything I could be, to reach down into the depth of my soul and pull up strength I could not before even IMAGINE was in me. The challenges and wounds that occurred because of my interaction with you have helped create the Damn Special and Totally Amazing person standing up here today. And have allowed me to be PROUD OF WHO I AM and what I stand for.

Tagged by Mandarin!

Really folks, this is not the blog where i normally do Meme type things... but I was tagged by a darling girl who keeps me sane, so I must play along.

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD:
1. Universal Tour Guide
2. Bartender, at Dux Discount Liquors & the Decoy Lounge (Yeee-fucking-Haw)
3. Actress
4. Choreographer

FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. Beastmaster!
2. Fools Rush In
3. Finding Nemo
4. The Muppet Movie

FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:
1. Tallhassee, FL
2. Jupiter, FL
3. Atlanta, GA
4. Los Angeles, CA

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1. Sex and the City
2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
3. CSI
4. Animal Planets Series "Growing Up _____" (the animal in the blank changes each episode)

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Edinburgh, Scotland
2. Paris, France
3. New Orleans, Louisiana
4. Honolulu, Hawaii

FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
1. LJ
2. Amandarin.net
3. myspace.com
4. hotmail.com

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1. Melting Pot's white chocolate/amaretto fondue
2. Chik-fil-a
3. Sushi
4. Gyros (or pretty much any other Greek food)... YUM.

FOUR PLACES I'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. At the Volcano National park on the Big Island
2. Edinburgh, Scotland
3. At a bar.... any bar will do, but i'd probably go for Blue Room
4. Curled up in front of a fire, in a cozy cabin built for 2, with the partner of my dreams

FOUR BLOGGERS I'M TAGGING:
Mandarin & Cinnamon Girl already did this, so i can't tag them.... Therefore i leave it up to the blogging community. If you read this and you want to play along, please do so (and leave a comment with a link so i can go see your answers!)

WK 2 Figment

If all expenses were paid, and your safety guaranteed, where in the world would you go?

No, NO, NO!

For the love of all that is holy people.... are you really going to make me put it in writing?

NO.
CELL PHONES.
IN.
THE.
BATHROOM.

I walk in, to the public restroom at my office, and there's a woman in there, just chattering on. Giving driver's license and social security number over the phone. (not smart, you don't know who I am and whether or not I'm writing this down)

What's more, I find myself trying to pee more quietly so that the person she's on the line with won't be disturbed.

At first, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps someone calling her had unfortunate timing, and she felt she had to answer. BUT NO..... when she finished with that call, she started dialing the next.

NO... RUDE... Don't do it!

When we send you in there to 'handle business', please handle your own buisness ONLY... no one else's. Ew!

Dangerous Trail Hiking

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
- Edward Abbey

Themes are an amazing thing. You speak them, and they come into being. So when I said that this year, I would be Ferocious.... boy did the Universe ask me to step up to that one. ( and that's the "serendipity"part)

So much of my life, I fought doing things the easy way. In fact, for someone who has almost no Earth in their astrological chart, I have a huge stubborn, bull-headed streak. If there's a way to complicate a matter, I'm the one charging straight for it.

My father once said that I like to shoot myself in the foot, and (a) complain about the pain and (b) show my wound to everyone and ask for sympathy. My father is ALSO a huge Edward Abbey fan.

Come to think of it, my father also tends to do things the difficult way. Sorry Dad, but it looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.... although I must say, if I'm going to be like someone, my Dad is a pretty fantastic choice. I've seen him go thru some pretty rough stuff, but he's discovered the joy of peaceful open place, and he honors his "inner wanderer" in wonderful ways. May I grow into that wisdom.

But I'm off track, I was going to speak to dangerous trails. The view is much more magnificent when you had to trudge a bit to get there. A road that challenges you beyond what you thought possible is the only way we get to experience our own growth. It blesses us with this opportunity to reach inside, and despite our doubts, pull something from within us, utilize some tool previously unknown, and conquer an adventure we would not have thought possible.

This seems to go hand in hand with this week's SwirlyGirl Figment, which asks us "if all expenses are paid and your safety is gauranteed, where in the world would you want to go?"

At first of course, my thoughts went to Scotland, the place that feels most like home. But I want to stay in Scotland, not just visit, so perhaps that is not the answer this week. I long to see the steps of Sacre Coeur in Paris again. The sun setting, turning the marble pink, as street musicians play is one of my happiest travel memories.

But then I thought, "Dream bigger... have anything."

I thought of OuterSpace. Watch the earth rise from the moon. See Jupiter close up. Swim thru the cosmic materials in the rings of Saturn. However, her question does ask where in "the world would I go, and so perhaps "space" might be outside the rules.

This turned my thoughts to the even greater unknown... The bottom of the ocean. It remains one of the undiscovered countries of our planet because of the physics of pressure and light. A human being simply can't exist down there, but OH, what wonders haven't we seen.

Safety gauranteed, I could swim with dolphins, killer whales, sharks, and creatures that haven't even been discovered. Would a see the mysterious Giant Squid? Could I, in some essence become a mermaid, and live as one of the beings of the sea?

Changing course again....what of my Big Cat love? Safari in Africa is another wild and wonderful choice. Not just a tourists' drive through the open plains, but a stay WITH the animals. Sleeping on the dry grass of the veldt and listening to the lions hunt. Wander with elephants as they search for water and food. View an endless sunrise and listen to the wild world waking up.

Or the most dangerous trail.... Mt. Everest. If I was fully funded and gauranteed to survive, could I... would I .... hike the tallest mountain on our planet? Surely the sights from up there are beyond imagining... top of the world, knowing you are there through your own strength, stubborness and determination.

Then again, isnt' part of the thrill of Everest that ever-lingering possiblity that you may die? So would safety gauranteed be a help, or a hinderance? If it's not all on the line, do you still have the same determination to push forward?

Do we sometimes hike the dangerous trails, simply for the fact that they are dangerous? Or is that line of thinking why I keep shooting myself in the foot?

Fragile situation, indelicate hands

Sometimes, we come to a point, where we must walk away, for our own good. And what we leave behind is an ever changing mystery that you can analyze to death and never have confirmation that anything you are thinking is correct.

I cannot pretend to know what he is experiencing regarding his family issues. As to his current situation here, I can remember what I felt when I was in the similar one, but that doesn't mean that I "know" how it feels for him.

Of my many words, the phrase "emotional lockdown" seemed to resonate with him, and I feel it best conveys what my experience is, over here on the other side of the conversation. He's living in this perpetual glossy 'nothing bothers me' shine, which is great, if it's true, but something about it rings in my gut like a cheaply made wall, thrown up in a hurry, and only getting thicker with constant inquisistion.

Where does the difference lie between 'detachment' and 'denial'? How can I practice one, without living in the other? Until I have answers to these questions, I'm best served by remaining a distance from the fray. Until I have the cool head of a battlefield surgeon, I shouldn't be dealing in bloody matters of life and death... lest i do further damage just trying to elicit some response.

Angels with silver wings
Shouldn't know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you

If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it's your eyes He's seeing through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I pray you learn to trust
Have faith in both of us
And keep room in your heart for two

- depeche mode

Some days... it's hard

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald.

If it were not for hopes, the heart would break.
-- Thomas Fuller.

Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good.
-- Unknown.

"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in."
Leonard Cohen


Now, please pardon me as i grab my magnifing glass and look for that fucking crack. Grrrr!

Swirly's 52 Fragments, Wk 1

2006- A year of:

I sound my Barbaric YAWP from the rooftops of 2006

So many women that I admire and find strong have talked about putting together a theme for 2006. [read any of these: Superhero journal, Amandarin, Adri or challenge yourself with Swirly Girl's 52 Fragments Assignment . Setting your theme is week 1. ]

I looked at “Courageous Passions” as a possible theme. That was my possibility that I created in Landmark’s Advanced Course years ago, and it still lights me up. However, it’s lacking newness and also… right now, it’s not capturing the intensely angry frustrated feelings I’m having regarding patterns in my life.

I considered “Release” as a theme…. Because my 30 day experiment in November, where I gave over to the Universe, really opened up doors and provided me with opportunities and love. However, it too sells short the churning intensity that I’ve been experiencing.

I thought of “The Year of Me”, because I need to learn to honor myself, to prioritize my needs and wants, and (OMG, in the middle of this entry, I’ve ended up on the phone with an amazing woman whom I honor and respect, and she’s telling me how her life has changed since she started honoring her self, her dreams and her needs. Talk about Universal confirmation. As she said “If stress is gonna kill ya, let it be our own stress, not everyone else’s.” She’s talking about the year of Miracles.... ooooh that sounds cool. But it’s still not capturing what I’m feeling.)

I thought about the year of “YES”, positive thought and action, permission. Then I thought about putting that together with “Year of ME” and having a year of “Me, YES, ME!” Fun, but now it’s beginning to sound like a cheer. I want more than a cheer, I want a battle cry.

I thought about my favorite Isadora Duncan quote, which scrolls across my monitor as my screensaver. “You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you.” So… the year of “Untamed…” but untamed… what?

The word “Serendipity” leapt to mind… Untamed Seredipity? Is that it? It’s two pretty words, put together well… but it was still lacking something. Fire. The right and ability to be angry if I need to be (one of my “101 in 1001” was to allow myself to feel and express anger). I need something more… Grrrrrrr… ya know?

And then it hits me…. I need something more ferocious. And just thinking the word, it clicks. I don’t need something “more ferocious” … I need “Ferocious”. Ferocious has forward movement, anger, passion untamed. Ferocious carries with her a full set of claws.

But I don’t want to force it. As I said before… the release and flow of the universe brought so many rewards last November. She has her plan for us, and she guides us down the river if we let her…. And the word for that is…. Serendipity. Things happening and unfolding as they are supposed to.

And suddenly it all falls into place. This year... I declare the theme of 2006 to be FEROCIOUS SERENDIPITY.

Now folks…. Whose gonna join me? What is YOUR theme for the upcoming year?

Mondo Beyondo

Andrea in Superhero Journal writes:

And finally, the whopper- the Mondo Beyondo list….This is the list of things that are outrageous, wild, and may not even happen for 5 or 10 years from now. This is the list of things that are SO JUICY and unlikely to happen that you are afraid to even write them down. This might be the most important list of all!

…If this list isn't really fun to make, you're not using your imagination. Think big! This is your mondo beyondo….

The great thing about these lists is that you don't need to believe they will happen as you write them. Simply the act of writing is a show of faith... even if you're thinking "yeah, right" as you jot them down. You will be amazed by your ability to manifest. You will astound yourself with what you can create by putting pen to paper.

Ok Andrea,
In a testament to your inspiration, and the need I have to lift my spirit in what has become a very challenging beginning to 2006, I herein offer up my Mondo Beyondo list:

• Travel to Rio Di Janeiro

• Return to acting, with a loud successful BANG

• Make/have the financial resources to have the bills paid on time, money in savings, start a retirement plan and STILL be able to travel.

• Find a true and lasting love. Someone who holds the space for me to be who I am while not losing sight of his own goals & needs. Someone who makes me laugh, holds me when I cry, and is truly overjoyed at the concept of spending a lifetime with me.

• Enhance my body & mind (thru nutrition, meditation and exercise) to the point that when I look in a mirror, I behold a gloriously sexy, outrageously beautiful, amazingly healthy happy me.

• Finally get my Bull Terrier puppy!

  

20/20 Hindsight

2005 was challenging, to say the least.... and 2006 has not proven itself a cakewalk either.... but drama aside, let us look at the lessons from last year, shall we?

-- Feed the right wolf

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between 2 wolves."

"One is Evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

-- In regards to matters of the heart, become a vegitarian

We desire
the way a twice-poisoned dog
eyes a
third piece of meat

Philip Milito
20th c American poet

-- Burned Bridges keep the village safe... Then again, ships in a harbor are safe.... but that's not what ships are for. So burn the bridges but sail the ships. Keep clear of storms when you can, and when you can't, fucking sack up enough to Captain your vessel appropriately. Body counts are sometimes unavoidable.

-- Laughlin is not my first choice for ideal vacation spot. Especially not in Summer.

-- The seed in the crack only needs the smallest amount of dirt to grow... and the largest amount of courage.

-- Even Muses need Muses.

-- I am a Big Cat. The veldt is beautiful, and dangerous. Hunt anyway.

-- People will fall out of your orbit. You will be better for it.

-- Friends who talk shit about you to other friends... aren't friends.

-- Snakes on a Plane. Says it all, doesn't it?

-- IN next life, do NOT come back as giant squid

Having such a big penis does have one drawback: it seems that co-ordinating eight legs, two feeding tentacles and a huge penis, whilst fending off an irate female, is a bit too much to ask, and one of the two males stranded on the Spanish coast had accidentally injected himself with sperm packages in the legs and body.

-- I have now outlived Jesus.

-- You can never have too much BOOTIE