Love is the Master Principle


Well fuck.

So it is.

“Get your ego out-of-the-way and let people help you,” he said to me over the phone today.

“Listen,” he continued, “figure out a number and let me help you.”

I have a person in my community who has offered to help me throw a fundraiser to get me through the month plus some days of not working.

“You have to think too,” he added, “about that first week back, you’ll be working, but you won’t have income coming in.”


True to all of it.

What I am afraid of, I asked myself as I sat in meditation.

“Do what you have to do, sit on it, pray, meditate, makes some calls, but text me a number, tonight or tomorrow morning, let me get things rolling,” he finished, “let people help you.”


I let the words sink in.

“What will people think of me,” I thought.


Well, if that isn’t ego,  don’t know what the fuck is.  What people think of me is none of my business and if I am not doing something or taking an action when directed to because I am in fear of others judgements, then, well, right there, I knew.

I knew he was right.

And I could be right or I could be happy.

I meditated some more.

I asked for guidance.

I prayed, yes, the purple haired, tattooed, Hello Kitty sporting lady, does do that.

You don’t have to believe in anything, prayer works, the act works and I have known that for a long time.

I also have a God in my life and if that makes you feel funny, that too, is not my business.

I had two thoughts come, I am not going to be given a vast amount of wealth for sitting on my ass, I will get what I am supposed to be given.

The other, that I knew exactly how much I needed.

I had done a spending plan for the month of June, I know to the penny what I spend, I know what’s in my bank account, I know what I am going to get from the families for the disability claim they are matching (55% of what I make with them, which is not my weekly take, not half of it either, as I work independent one day a week with another family and am not asking them for anything–although they offered to pre-pay me for an overnight), I know what I spend on groceries and rent, utilities, phone, the whole she-bang.

Plus, I will have to pay in more to my Healthy San Francisco next month too.

So, I pulled out my notebook with my numbers in their tidy little columns and took a photograph of it.

I sent the photograph and a text saying, $1500 will cover it.

And I let it go.

It’s out of my hands.

If nothing happens I still took a contrary action and yes, I felt some ego deflation.

Let the man help you, Martines, let him be of service.

Another day of resting with peas on my ankle and another day of being taken care of.

I also practiced taking another action.

I picked up my manuscript off the floor and placed it in my needs to be read pile, along with a library book that I realized I would need to finish reading before I head back to Wisconsin.

I kicked through about 100 pages of the book, having finished my 650 page novel last night before I fell asleep.

Then, I did something I haven’t done in a while.

I submitted a piece I wrote to a blog.

To the Burning Man blog specifically.

Which I have thought about doing on and off for quite sometime.

I have no idea if it’s a good fit, but the act of sending something out felt really good.

So to the editing of the piece.

I wrote it as a blog four years ago.

It’s not a bad piece, but it was rough and I saw how superfluous my writing was back then, and realized how much cleaner a writer I have become.

The unnecessary words that I was using, the adjectives that needn’t be there, the over usage of imagery where dialogue would work better.

In the past seeing these blogs overwhelmed me, the writing overwhelmed me, it seemed too daunting to clean it up, and for what ever reason, today, it wasn’t.

It was easy.

I went into my archives found the blog with the material I wanted, sifted through a few other pieces I had written around the same time, cut and pasted the blog into a Word doc and went to town.

The amazing thing?

I was there.

I was right in the action, I could see what was happening, it was as though the event was unfolding before my eyes and I could taste the dust and hear the noise and the revelry and the manic energy, I could smell the high feral smell of sweat and testosterone and tobacco smoke, whiskey, and the heat of the lights, the feel of being tugged into a suspension harness.

And I was once again in the Thunder Dome.

It awed me.

I don’t often get that kind of visceral right there in the moment feeling when I have edited a piece in the past.

I do when I am writing or describing, even now, in a weird mirror image sort of way, writing about the editing leaves me feeling a little like how I was earlier today, and the being there is again, well there.

I am back out on the playa in the dust.

I cut the piece from 2500 words to 2,000.

I cleaned it and read it out loud, tweaked a few things, got rid of some personal inflection that didn’t sit well with the narrative flow and I sent that bad boy out to the world.

I can’t describe how that felt.

But it was a kind of love.

Love for myself for taking a step forward with my creative side.

Love for giving back to the Universe.

Love for accepting that I am an artist and I am allowed to create, re-shape, and revise.

I sat and meditated twice today and the second time, after I had sent the essay away to the interwebs, I had some really compelling ideas about other creative projects.

Things just seem to drop into place in my head, or in reality, from my head down to my heart, where the best creation takes place.

My head holds up the artistic side too much, stopping myself from trying to even do anything bad, because why do it unless it’s perfect?

Put out there what you love and it will come back to you 1,000 times stronger.

Let the love out to accept the love coming in.

Give and receive.

I am lovable and worthy of love.

Love is the master principle.



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