steppenwolf in my heart…

reading hesse’s steppenwolf while listening to the rain tap my windowpanes, classical music playing, candles lit, sandalwood incense burning, violet light bulb radiating, under a red blanket alone on a saturday night…in awe of his words and how they reach my heart across oceans and a century. reading this book fulfills the part of me that fears loneliness and isolation. through the steppenwolf i meet my own inner wolf, philosopher, and solitude. i meet the expansive quiet, the hungry chaos, and the longing for connection. i meet my desire to write pages for hours, unhampered by the fastness of technology and the city. i long for darkness lit only by candles, like before there was electricity. i relate to the steppenwolf, living out a part of me that remains dormant except in dialogue with other philosophical and hermetic creatures, or when in deep winter solitude. i travelled into hesse’s world all night, until sleep took me. i realize how pleasurable it is to read as an activity at night. with this winter comes the craving for quiet, contemplation, and inner delving. the sun is out today, though. a welcomed balance to yesterdays cold and somewhat relentless rain. i forced myself to jog and drank ritualistic drinks to battle the blues. a coffee at 6, another coffee at 3, a porter at 5, and a tea at 7. for me, the key to seattle winter survival, is in the ritualistic drinking. each beverage, be it caffeine, alcohol, or herbal, is a sacred meeting with warmth and pleasure threading itself through the cold dark grey days. pleasure in the simple things. the scent of sandalwood and watching the incense smoke rise softly toward the dusty ceiling. the flicker of a candle flame casting shadows on the floor. i have cultivated the art of enjoying small pleasures over the years living alone. ambience is company. the light bulb, the book, the candle, the incense, the beverage, all companions in the darkness of winter. life leads us by the hand we keep open. i give my open hand to the moment. there is much i could write about concerning my heart, lately. the complexities of love. the need to honor the animal and her physical experience while also letting go of the mind that habitually clings to the past like honey on unlaundered socks. i am in love and unsure of where it will lead in terms of our mutual needs and wants. i remember breaking up with the only other man i felt close to this feeling with, because our values and needs were not aligned. at the time, neither of us were ready. in the end, it worked out. he is dear friend and the in love feeling passed away. love can transform. my guy believes one can fall in love with anyone and it is who you choose that makes it special. i hold a different belief, as falling in love is a rarity, for me. i mean, deep falling in love, not infatuation, lust, pedestals, projections, and that whole parade. i don’t mind that he and i hold different beliefs. i like differences and i realize just how lightly i hold beliefs compared to experience. as hesse speaks of, the mind’s concept of above and below is only in the mind and means nothing to the world itself.

stream of early morning…

woke up at 4:47 am even though i went to sleep at 11:30. popped out of bed like a corn kernel on a hot pan. listening to the rain tap the windowpanes. winter has arrived. a sinking in my stomach. the veil is thin. a left over cardboard sign that reads “no exit”. the karmic bind between she and this life. she and he. she and the faces that she meets. tasks to be accomplished each day toward an unknown end date that makes itself too clear in this decade of years when death is a constant taste on the lips. make each moment the most important thing. effulgent moment. ordinary moment. the little girl inside behind the eyes of the woman is seeking. tenderness. safety. security. spirit would not tell her this but mind on it’s golden throne wants to be all, “security is an illusion, get over it.” fuck that shit. where is the middle? i am walking toward it but not losing what is wrong and right as i travel. not losing the distinct difference between yes and no as i learn to say maybe so. focusing on the negative, fear, rigid, crusted, worn out ways of avoiding intimacy parade in support of the old kingdom….but fall into the sea and drown. the old kingdom sinks into the ocean while the new kingdom erects itself on the sandy shore wondering if it too, will be washed away. kind of like a baby turtle. a new government is in place. who is the ruler? love. who is the queen? the little girl behind the woman’s eyes…she is wise. hashtag wisechild. get out of the mind by climbing into the imagination, knowing the senses exceed five. love the sweet creature. a journey has begun with no preconceived last page. i pay attention to the needs like i am taking care of a rare breed. there there, broken little girl who wants to be made whole by my love. i am making you whole, count on it. what gets broken in relationship must be healed in relationship. lack of attunement early on made ambivalence birth from sensitive hearts. linguistic survival. too foreign or scary to think you could be heard without being cryptic or manipulative. you gotta love the sentences that string along (or pull the strings of) the one you love, leaving a trail so they are forever trying to find you because those sentences once protected you from a prevailing lack and scheduled attack. my ambivalence in my shadow beneath the light of my sureness, wants to evade having to mend a broken heart….again. we all play tricks on ourselves and each other. we are all animals with hearts pretending to be tough because of what we are taught. inclusion. the way dawn woke me up with tender fingers. the black sky not yet ready to host the sun. my deep undying love for everyone. keep going after it. possess the result. be uncomfortable because you cannot rely upon it while being comfortable in the good feeling that keeps on happening. then…when it feels bad, hold that little girl again. so easy to bring comfort to the fear with a little affection and a few words of direction. feels simple looking in the rear view mirror. it is only looking forward where a fuzzy landscape is unable to provide the clarity that could erase the quest and turn it into a predetermined outcome, free of mess. embrace the mess. sometimes she deluges. sometimes there are tests. don’t know till it happens. my intentions are best. not one sign post from the past exists in this love, except the one that says “be yourself” and trust. you got this. you know how to fall if you do and rising is the new that may blossom if you allow it to. love is a feeling deeper than emotions that pass through like weather. love installs itself as an archetype, a vision, a dream, and a home. there is no going back once it awakens…

monday mutterings…

dreamed last night that i kept forgetting my purse, keys, belongings and felt so tired everywhere i attempted to go, was confused, and experienced a loss of coherent reality. scary dream. this guy told me, in the dream, that he was dying of cancer, and then he kissed me. there were other happenings too. fear dream. dislocation. representing the fall of my ego off the throne into fated love. unsure and uncertain with no guarantee. a feeling of rightness. a risk. a leap. anything can happen at any moment to anyone.

to live with any other understanding is to build false castle walls. many negative castle walls were built to serve the old kingdom over the years. the mind scaffolding a hurting heart with an identity that identifies with the hurt. no more believing the negative stories of the mind. no more i can’t have it and i am not good enough. no more criticizing myself to avoid intimacy. no more negative romance, where bad endings and sad songs rule my heart. got to steep in that for many years and passing it along to the millennials to scoop up. giving them a turn. it’s good to let go of rigid character traits that petrified over time.  no more loyalty to a sadistic king who keeps me in a dungeon. no more looking up at the light because the shadows are my home. i have a shadow side and a light side. i am both. love permeates both.

happiness is not about never feeling sad. happiness is about growing without infringement. be it growing in a garden or through a cement crack. life gives us both. the opposite of happy is not sad, it is withering. sadness is a natural part of growing. withering is growth’s antithesis. i realized last week just how hungry i was for companionship when i said out loud how alone i was here in seattle, with what little family i have, far away. i am not lonely in my soul. when i go within, i feel closeness with spirit. i am lonely as an animal. i thrive in relationship. i want to domesticate and be part of a family, with him. the old me was a lone wolf bohemian thriving in an urban oasis. i always wanted partnership but i did not need it in the past, per se. i need it now and i am not afraid to admit that. animals have needs and people change. i want to see trees outside my window, or the water. i don’t want to see cement city blocks. i want to cook stew and write for hours. i want home. cravings and longings. a sense of passionate urgency grips my soul. why? i don’t know. i don’t need to know. we change, we let go to grow.

walking through discovery park was blissful. the salty shore crashing by our feet. silver sunlight on silver water. trotting through the forest. when we got to the duck oasis we were sucked into another realm completely. the duck realm where ducks are being ducks, all at once. he imitated the preening duck needing to show his bigness with wings and no hands. these animal ways we have about us often command how we behave. i am not against my animal ways. i am not against blood, puss, and shit. i am not against needing to domesticate or preen and be big. i think the human experience is a work of art. no need for a heaven or a nirvana to escape into when life gets hard. the right here part that will go fast and be over soon, is where i place my heart.

From a loud cafe playing Ozzie…

I’m writing this blog on my phone because it’s the only thing to pull me out of the exhausted haze I’m in. In a cafe to escape my apartment oven. It’s loud in here and I hate the noise. I don’t want to listen to Ozzie full blast among all the summer bodies, doors clanging, steem wafting…but I cannot escape. This is my life right here and now. Wailing Ozzie and the novel Steppenwolf that makes me sleepy when I attempt to read it, though I want to read it badly. It’s hard to focus in here and my mind hurts and I’m craving silence but outside feels sticky and hazy like my brain. Where am I? Come here, now. Now. Here. Humans with books, laptops, coffee, tea, beer, sandwiches, glasses and plates. Oh, moment, I’m sorry but I crave to be somewhere else. I don’t want this anymore. I want to be new and somewhere new. But I can appreciate this too. Air conditioning cools my balmy skin. Loud music sucks the sorrow out of me. I’m not up to my old stories again. The summer is dying. The old me is dying. My love is dying too. Old love, that is. The kind of love that hangs on to sand castles and travels like the wind. This heart that beats inside this skin is passionate and scarlet red. I couldn’t pretend to be anything less. Like the glowing neon R of the beer sign I see before me. Like the melting ice in the cold brew coffee I’m drinking. Wait. Melting ice is not passionate, not one bit. Melting ice is that other part of me speaking. I wish to melt away into nothingness. I am melting under Shiva’s fire. Ozzie is unconscious medicine. No edit on this one. Not even a read through. It is what is and I am see-through. 

death of the old narrative…

yesterday my parent’s thought their cat joey was dead or gone and mourned her in shock until the moment she sauntered out of the cabinet, hours later, as if nothing ever happened. there are so many metaphors to this experience. i thought my feelings for him had passed but they haven’t (can’t control the feelings). i have to be strong because i only will open my heart to the man who wants my heart and my true self. i am an emotionally available woman in search of an emotionally available man. how to live in grey areas? you must hold dual perspectives. you must also ditch the narrative that something is wrong. you must allow yourself to be messy and vulnerable. being strong means being tender. exploring the undefined because we share some mutual love, while at the same time, not allowing myself to create a false story. this is not wrong or right, good or bad. it is grey. the relationship i know i want is one in which two hearts find home in one another, are best friends, feel mutual attraction, share mutual values, where we both really like each other, and we are rooted in love. cement period. some things are certain. i am certain of what i want. i am uncertain how much i can dabble in what i do not want because of what feels good. i hold the dual perspectives of certainty and uncertainty, of light and dark, as i ditch the idea of wrong, careful to seek only availability. intimacy is scary and i welcome being scared with the man who wants to be scared with me. what hurts is not being wanted or chosen. what is challenging is to refrain from is, turning not being chosen into an “i am not good enough story”. what feels great is the mutual connecting. love is grey. i am living so many plan B’s right now. the grade A dreams are not manifesting but i keep discovering that plan B leads to a new version of plan A…as if life is telling me, “i know more about what you need than you do”.  i am learning to feel beauty in what manifests. even death, illness, loss, and confusion. the beauty of pain is in the rawness and vulnerability that awakens. i give but i contain. i am open and closed. i am making a pearl inside. earlier this week, shame for being me was sizzling through my nervous system. fear to be seen in the eyes of others was ablaze. embarrassment in every direction. kool-aid man busted through my wall and made me aware that i was being hard on myself. i realized it and then saw just how mean i was being to myself on many levels. the way i had been narrating my self was crappy. mean girl crappy. i stopped right away, allowing the mean narrative to slither back into the earth. i allowed shame to sizzle through my body, without giving it words or meaning, honoring the feeling. within hours, the shame dissipated, for i had discharged the energy of it by not giving it a story to cling to. there is another story that wants to emerge from deep inside. this story cannot come out if the shame story is in the way. i am devoting myself to this deeper story. basically, i am making room for new stories. new myth. the external world mirrors my internal world by being tenuous and strange, uncertain and surprising. no more heavily shellacked perceptions, except for the perception that love is all.

babbling about love and attraction on tuesday…

slept dodgy in the the yucky heat. restless legs. asmr videos on repeat. not much in the head. long nothing of a night in the soupy heat watching dumb crap on the internet. a night of nothingness. but i realized stuff earlier. new lessons rooted in balancing and adaptivity. seeing my mind try too hard to manage fear or forget to just sit and let the feelings breathe. how to live in such a high contrast black and white time when painful journeys weave into growth and joy? i don’t feel like writing about it. i don’t feel like writing. i am feeling drained from the mind to be honest. needing a break from all of the managing, fixing, understanding, analyzing. needing a yin break, dude. needing to let go of trying. needing to get on the mat again this morning. not really feeling the jogging. the night was intense but i don’t know why. when my alarm when off i was confused about time and place. one of those nights when i feel like my soul was taken away. gonna let the words topple out easier than i usually do and see what words come out when logic is not the glue. illusions crash. sexual attraction is dime a dozen. and it’s not about falling in love like a twenty something. it’s about two hearts that belong together. i know this but i don’t know whose heart i belong with. i am tired of all the old ways of going about it. i mean like, totally sick of it. i mean like, i don’t have it in me to see through the lens of the hungry animal. only through the soul. sometimes soul takes over. my soul it taking over. i was saying to them how some people are just super beautiful specimens, here to make everyone who sets eyes on them want them, have a crush, feel a spark, hope for a connection. it’s not special because they cause this feeling in eight of ten people who meet them and are sexually into their gender form. it’s as if they are the adonis or aphrodite archetype incarnate. i have some of these friends and have seen it in action. some people fall for it and think it is love. these people think love is about choosing somebody beautiful like a prize or possession. the hot ones get used the most. i do not want to be with a hot person. it would be too hard knowing my guy was making everyone want them instantly, by nature of their sex appeal. personally, i am a fan of imperfections and inner beauty that radiates into outward beauty, making the outward beauty something more unique. i have been often rejected for my body size by men and most of my friends would not choose to be with a person who carries extra weight. i think it’s too bad. i would choose it. carrying some extra weight means you know how to enjoy life. i want to be with the guy whose heart fits with my heart no matter what package his body comes in. if he turns out to be a totally hot thin man i will love him, even if i prefer a uniquely handsome guy with some extra weight on him, cause that is what i am. but i don’t need a twinsie. i just want real love, not somebody cute or powerful to possess, who makes me feel better about myself due to their image. sexual attraction, for me, has little to do with visuals. it has more to do with the heart and mind. a warm generous heart, wise soul, and intelligent mind with a good sense of humor will make me swoon much more than a beautiful shell. but the adonis shell can effect me too, if i need to be activated by one. i see them as humanitarians. sometimes you just need a little activation. these are my babbling rants. blah blah blah. the end…

ode to the practice and repetition…

tired pms morning after a restless night’s sleep and not ready for monday. a lot of hard news came to me in the past few days. news of death and illness from friends about them or loved ones in their life that i do not know. this heart is shadow and light all the way right now. glad i spent three days completely alone and working. needed it so badly. yesterday i ran into ruby at the book store and wound up joining her for part the half day retreat at vajra healing center. felt so fucking good to meditate with others in that peaceful space. afterward i came home and did an afternoon yoga practice, which i never do. meditation made me crave yoga. i realized i have finally passed into the stage where yoga feels as good as eating. it gives me a dopamine hit. meditation gave me a dopamine hit too. after delving into gabor mate’s in the realm of hungry ghosts i am thinking about (or feeling out) the hungry void in me that seeks replacements for the deep down childhood anguish. my addiction has always been food. even in my days of excessive drinking, it was never connected to the void of anguish inside. food was/is. food gives me the dopamine hit of love. anyhow, for yoga to make it into the same category of food is an accomplishment. it’s taken three and a half years for this to happen. or wait, four and a half? i don’t recall if i began my disciplined practice in 2013 or 2014? since then, i have only gone one month (recently) where i was down to only two days a week of yoga. otherwise, i have practiced 3 to 6 days a week, regularly. it is this regular practice that changed my entire life and continues to do so. i do yoga at home now cause i like it better. if i can add meditation to the discipline, completion. it is the daily work that makes all the difference, i have learned. i used to live in a dream world, unregulated, all over the place, uncentered, thrashing around, my will disconnected from my my heart, my mind disconnected from my body. yoga connected my will to my heart and my mind to my body and now i live centered and in reality. reality being what is here right now before me and what is within me, with me as true self awake in the center. the humbling part is if i stop doing yoga, this all goes away. no different than if i stop brushing my teeth they will turn yellow and get cavities. it is ALL about the practice. humbled by this. self love has taken years to feel but i can say that, although i still can be overly critical of myself and get trapped by the “not good enough” vow at times, self love is solid. how did that happen? i would also say it is the regular practice. repetition truly is magic…