a time capsule of yesterday….

yesterday was the superbowl and seattle won, as you know.  i don’t begrudge anybody their enjoyment of victory and pride for a winning team….but it means nothing to me.  i felt zilch.  many years ago when the seahawks made it to the superbowl i got into football.  that’s only cause my dear friend’s enthusiasm wore off on me, and he was my roommate and he has an infectious personality.  he made it fun.  i tried to get back in it this year since the hawks were on the up and up, but alas, i don’t care about sports, sport teams, and i have no desire to be woo-hooey about anything.  in fact, the woo-hoo emotion usually gets on my nerves.  i don’t like it under any circumstance.  after a good performance i would merely like to smile or perhaps cry, but never shout, and i applaud only out of politeness, to show the performer how much i was moved.  that’s just me.

phillip seymour hoffman died on the same day the seakhawks won.  i was fascinated by facebook.  all morning and early afternoon, every update was about him.  and once the superbowl started, every post was about the game.  what a contrast.  early death and long time coming winning.  seattle is in the lime-light and seymour is gone.  i enjoy how facebook is a cultural wonderland.  i like it.  i don’t find it frivolous or a time waster.  i don’t feel like it’s fake connecting either.  i feel truly connected to those who post and when i post i feel myself truly connecting.  i don’t need to be in one’s physical presence to feel connected, and i enjoy writing and pictures and stories.  i know many people feel the opposite of me, just like with the superbowl.  variety at its finest.

great artists get hooked on drugs because to be sensitive is to be creative, and any sensitive person is most likely going to feel a deep aversion to our harsh human world.  i get that.  i am surprised i am not a drug addict.  i used to be addicted to food.  but it’s been years since that was my reality.  i am uber sensitive and i do avoid though.  meditation and yoga have taught and are teaching me how to be present with discomfort.  yet i still find positive ways to escape.  i am an escape artist.  i light candles, incense, put on good music, light up my room with ambient lamps, have a glass of red wine, and cover my body in crystals.  bye bye society.  hello beauty.  i escape into books.   i escape into paintings.  i feed off of creativity…always starving for more.

i am sitting right now in the cafe that i wrote my first book in.  it was my office for two years.  it feels good to be back.  i am on the verge of starting my second book.  it feels like standing on a high dive on a cold day, shivering.  i want to dive in, i want to get over the initial fear.  in yoga today, our teacher gave us a quote about fear being excitement with no breath.  huh.  interesting.  she asked us what we would do if we were not afraid.  not too many things came to my mind, as i am not that adventurous.  i thought, “i would begin writing my next book and i would become a yoga teacher and i will keep expressing myself no matter who thinks what of me and my work.”

a lot of my fears are wacky from ancient ptsd.  i am watching those fears under my bodhi tree.

last night upon falling asleep i saw a vision of the reoccurring rash i have suddenly developed, cause i know it’s a manifestation of repressed feelings.  i saw a little girl, anime style, big eyes, cartoon-land, sitting in neon green fucked up liquid up to my knees far far far down a deep dark….volcano?  cave?  something like that.  fast moving slimy creatures are swimming around me, threatening to bite and strangle.  i am unsure how i got here.  i am stuck.  nobody hears me as i scream.  end scene.  it’s a good practice to put images to your ailments, and get in touch with the root cause, always stored in the emotional body. deep down i still feel terrified of this earth realm and being a body here.  there’s no need to analyze any further.  honoring the fear makes it vanish…

even if the vanishing is more like a slow erosion….patience will grow, as well as tenderness.

also, i am becoming a warrior.  i used to resent anything associated with fighting.  i am not a fighter i would say.  but it’s not about identity, being or not being something.  all that is being let go of.  we are fluid beings.  identities come and go through us, like passing clouds, storms…like weather.  i am embracing the spiritual warrior archetype as of late, and discovering how powerful i can be when i set my mind to accomplishing the transcendence of who i used to be, like a true devotee of the ever-present perception of being connected to oneness, and an expression of love….