Archive for the ‘Spritituality’ Category

Cherry Popped

June 14, 2017

I had my first client.

It went well.

That’s all I’m going to say.

That and holy shit.

I had my first client!

I did my first session of therapy with a client.

The client has rebooked for another session.

So it really begins.

As though it’s not been beginning for a very long time, all the time training and studying and reading and writing papers and working with my cohort.

All that.

Plus.

Years of other kinds of service, sitting and listening to another person check in, being honest, being accountable, showing up, doing the deal.

I mean.

Fuck.

I have been working hard for a god damn long time to get here.

I had my first client session.

I know I won’t ever forget it.

And I am grateful for it.

It was a good day.

A sunny day.

A lovely day.

I did a lot.

Showered and wrote and coffee and reading and making sure I had a back up outfit for work, just in case I get nannied in the line of duty.

Last week the baby spit up on both my arms.

Nothing says “let’s create a therapeutic alliance” more than smelling like regurgitated breast milk.

Ha.

So.

I have a back up outfit at work.

I actually have two.

I have one just for work, if I need to I can do a quick change out and being able to work the rest of whatever hours I have work and run my stuff through the wash.

And now.

I have a second outfit that is more appropriate to looking like a professional.

Oh.

I’m still pretty casual in my attire.

But.

I today I was was also softly polished.

Black leggings, long drop waist charcoal grey dress, baby blue cardigan, and my new Fluevogs.

I wanted to look nice, warm, inviting.

I also liked dressing for the part.

I love dress up.

I love clothes and shoes and I have secretly waited to arrive at the day when I can start to be a little more polished and professional.

It was really nice to transition from my nanny clogs to my therapist shoes.

It felt like I was putting on my superhero cloak.

Nanny by day, psychotherapist by night.

I’ll be seeing all my clients in the evenings after I get done with work.

I was talking to my own therapist this morning, I see her on Tuesdays before work, so it’s like my day is completely bookended with therapy, about how lucky I am that I have the job that I do and how much it fills me up.

My therapist and I talked a lot about how strong I am and how I don’t always know how to let myself recognize that, that I do the work.

I can logically see it, but sometimes when I have felt like I have had no other option, no one else to rely on, just me doing it on my own, how devastatingly lonely that can be and how hard.

It has taken getting pretty beaten down by a few accidents during the last twelve and a half years to help me see that asking for help is a valuable experience for me and when I am more vulnerable.

Well.

I am stronger.

There is such strength in vulnerability.

The more I can allow myself to be seen, to be vulnerable, the more I learn and the more I am able to use my own inner resources without having to feel like I’m justing working hard to work hard.

I am so grateful that wall has dropped.

It goes back up at times, but I find the more I can let it down the happier I am and the fuller my life become.

I am incorrigible in my aliveness and lust for living.

Absolutely defiant with my need to feel more happiness and joy and see more and go further and have as many experiences and have as much growth as I can.

Yeah.

I know that might be courting some painful things too, but there is growth where there is pain.

I do hope to reach a point in my life when I can make changes before I have to experience pain, a place of simple humility about what I can and can’t do, rather than a forced feeding of excoriation because I am simply unwilling to let go of some characteristic of myself that I think still serves me.

Not acknowledging my strength today in my therapy session would have been akin to that.

I acknowledged it.

And.

I also had to hold the fact that there’s an inner critic who still holds a lot of sway and likes to smack talk me quite a bit.

Not enough.

Not smart enough.

Not pretty enough.

Not lovable.

Not good enough.

But.

Those things are simply not true and they taste older and more and more faded and dusty and the cloth binding is falling apart.

Let me drop it to the floor, sweep it out the door and find something fresh and new and lovely.

There is so much loveliness for me.

I am sure of it.

“Your capacity for love is enormous,” my therapist said, “you have the biggest heart.”

Hearing a basic stranger, I mean, we’ve had, like what, eight sessions, tell me that my capacity for love was not just big, but enormous, I was floored.

I was validated.

That is what I hope to do for my clients.

To see them.

Honest in who they are with whatever they bring.

I know that I can do it and I am honored that I got to do that today.

And yes.

Log my first freaking hour of individual therapy.

It feels amazing to be logging hours.

I have a long way to go.

But I am on the path and that is all I need to be present for.

I don’t have to know where it ends.

I just need to continue moving forward.

One baby step at a time.

 

A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step

–Lao Tzu

You Look Radiant!

June 13, 2017

My neighbor said to me as I was parking my scooter and securing her for the night.

He’d just open the door to the fenced gate and perhaps it was the sunlight hitting my face, or the big smile on it, but it was sweet to be acknowledged and I smiled harder.

I’m happy.

I feel really good.

Today was a good day.

Most days are, let me be honest, but I had just secured a new person to work with this evening after work and I feel like she and I are going to be a really great fit and I was relieved and happy and felt like I was being carried and taken care of.

“God has not brought me this far to be dropped,” I told myself this past weekend when I was still processing all that had happened, the what’s and whereof’s and why’s of being let go when you have been told that you’re the perfect, well fill in the blank.

When someone tells you you’re doing it perfectly and then let’s you go, it stings a little.

Be that as it may.

I am not perfect.

I fuck up all the time.

I’m human.

I am a spiritual being having a human experience.

And humans are messy and silly and stupid and hard-headed and stubborn and crazy, at least this human is.

I’m grateful for all the messy and the learning, especially learning how to communicate and not to take myself too seriously.

I heard something amazing today.

AMAZING.

From my supervisor while we were in session.

Slight sidebar.

Nothing says starting a busy week at work and internship better than getting up extra early to go to school to get that one piece of paper that the supervisor has to sign so that I can be registered for another class this fall semester.

And I went back to school after meeting with my supervisor to make sure it was filed correctly before I went into work and did my full shift.

Yeah.

Like that.

Anyway.

We were talking about communication and how a client communicates with us and my supervisor quoted Lacan to me.

It just about fell off the couch.

My supervisor quoted, “every time we speak we communicate less than we want and more than we know.”

Holy shit.

Story of my life.

I had never heard that before and it resonated with me on a very deep level.

I am communicating all the time and most of the time I’m not saying what I want.

I have spent years, decades probably, trying to say what I want and so often I am not getting it all out.

I am afraid to say what I want for fear of not getting it, so I’m not going to ask.

That, however, presumes that the person whom I’m engaged with can read my mind and well, that maybe magical thinking, but it’s certainly not logical thinking.

No one can read my mind.

And yet.

There are clues.

There are clues in my voice, in my body, in the way I respond to someone.

It’s pretty obvious if I don’t like you and I want to say it’s very obvious if I do.

There are grey areas and I have found that when I don’t like someone it often times has to do with seeing some characteristic in the person which reminds me of something I don’t like about myself.

Which, I just realized, makes me realize what I do like about myself when I think about people in my life whom I do like, they must represent parts of me that I like.

I have smart, capable, hard-working, brilliant, funny, loving friends.

I must have some of those qualities myself or I wouldn’t be involved with such high-caliber people.

I just wouldn’t.

Like attracts like.

So I was happy, so happy, to get to hear this woman tonight who has what I want and is smart and busy and educated, grateful and full of solution.

I’ll take some of that please.

And then happily pass it on.

That’s what I do best.

Share my experience, strength and hope with another person so that they may do the same and the learning deepens and the love grows and my life expands and grows and it is extraordinary.

I have extraordinary people in my life.

I also have an awesome job.

It was so good to see the family I work for today, I missed them and was grateful that everyone was feeling much better.

I got lots and lots and lots of hugs and I got lots of compliments on the food I cooked and loads of snuggles and it just filled me right up.

So much love.

I am loved.

And I get to love right back.

It’s a pretty amazing job.

So.

Yeah.

Radiant.

Full of light.

Oft times full of bullshit too and perhaps a touch of crazy, but for the most part, I really do feel the grace rather than the drama.

Grace over drama is one of my favorite acronyms for God.

Great out doors is another.

And.

Good orderly direction.

There’s a few more, but those are my tops.

I feel grace.

I feel full of grace.

I feel graced.

And am.

I’ve not been dropped.

I have just been carried somewhere unexpected.

It’s so lovely I don’t always know what to do with it.

But.

I am happy.

And that, in the end, is all that matters.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Princess Tea

May 7, 2017

Fragments left on the floor for us to pick up.

See it and let it in.

At the vanguard of the moment.

The weight, burden, guilt of stars pressed

Into our bones, the enduring precocity.

Me thinkest thou dost protest too much.

Presume, defended I am, in my tea

Hat, rosebuds, faded pinks, blue corn flowers,

Yellowed enamel, princess plates, delicate sandwiches

With crusts cut off, in my role,

Childlike wonder(ing) in arenas of crystal

Sugar, so far I have to go

To be comfortable, because I am

Culpable.

Resource my self.

Infuriating to show you what you don’t want to see.

LOVE.

This is the thing that is

Happening.

Right.

Now.

The girl in the daffodil dress plays in the

Grass, spilling her crumpets, a shower of crumbs

So that the rabbits may feed under the fawning dusk

Undisturbed by the indelicacy of indelible love and the

Transparent violence of interruption

There of.

And so.

We wander.

Each to each in bowers of spring flowers.

In the trumpeted throat of the cala lily

I blow my heart out.

Breaking it.

That broke open.

It may hold more.

You, and you, and you,

My darlings.

My violets in the high grass

Of summer.

Get Your Sexy On

March 26, 2017

That’s what it felt like today.

When I wasn’t in tears.

I was in this interesting back and forth between working it and being worked over.

I went to yoga and had a really great class, my favorite teacher was teaching and he may start offering some more classes at the studio, at times I could make, so I don’t have to obsess about doing more yoga while I’m doing yoga.

I felt soft and strong in my body and I had a very open moment as I was finishing the class in the final meditation where I just felt some heart opening and some letting go of old, old, old wounds.

I think I moved through the world with that awareness today, both tender and beautiful, open and sore, alive, and sad, awed and in wonder.

I felt in my body and confident and sexy.

And I found out today that a man who I have always found drop dead sexy gorgeous has found me attractive too.

What?

And.

Of course he’s not really available to me at the moment, but fuck, it was really awesome information to get.

It means that my instincts are pretty spot on.

In fact, my instincts are so much better than I give myself credit for that I am really seeing that I am, in fact, my problem.

I was talking with a friend earlier about a coffee date I have tomorrow and how I wasn’t sure if the guy was really interested, and where’s the follow through, and…

“You know, I hear you say that a lot, like, the guy is interested, wants to hang out but doesn’t set a time, I hear this a lot, and…”

Ugh.

And yeah, I know, I have to say something, I have to be the confident one.

And confidence is sexy and God only knows how badly I want to be sexy.

Psst.

Hey lady.

I hate to break it to you, but you are sexy, just stop shooting yourself in the foot.

Don’t bother with vague, be assertive, if someone says “hey, let’s hang out,” or “we should hang out sometime,” nail them to a time.

I don’t have the patience or bandwidth to dilly dally around.

I will always be busy, that is the nature of who I am.

There will always be something in my life, because I don’t wait around to live, I go out and do things.

Except date, I’m not so great at that and it’s because I am in fear.

Fear of not getting what I want and fear of getting what I want.

So.

I am vague, I don’t say what I need, I dance around.

Fuck that.

I am confident.

Well.

Ha.

Obviously not always, but thinking or acting like I’m not a hot tamale is asinine.

I am gorgeous, I sound like an asshole, but I don’t often affirm my attractiveness as I have been classically trained like many women, to deny myself, my beauty, my authority as a sexy creature, as someone worthy of being pursued.

When I down play myself, I actually de-value my worth and I wall up and I get cold and then, well, fuck, who would want to ask me out?

I remember an ex-boyfriend telling me once that he was very surprised by my lack of self-confidence, “I feel like I am constantly having to ‘piss on my tree’ you are always being stared at, and you have absolutely no clue.”

Of course not, because I won’t be safe then.

But I’m not safe anymore in my bubble of self-dom, dancing alone in my room when I should be, could be, ought to be dancing in someone’s arms.

So.

Fuck it.

Fake it until I make it.

I’m not going to get back on dating apps or sites or any of that happy horse shit.

But.

I am going to get a hell of a lot clearer and more direct with men.

The next time a man says we should hang out, I’m going to ask when, give a time I’m available and say let’s make a plan.

Because this sexy beast is worth making a plan for.

I have had a lot of friends advocate for this sexiness and God forbid I waste it, I only have this life to live and I am not going to live it with regrets.

I have made many leaps of faith in my life.

Moving to Paris to turn 40.

Quitting a highly paid nanny job to go work in a bike shop.

Traveling by myself to London, Rome, New York.

Moving to San Francisco with a 2 month sublet, $2,000 in savings and no job.

Fuck.

The biggest leap of all.

Getting sober.

If I can do that, I can ask for what I want from a man and a date.

Yes, yes I can.

I have the power.

It’s not mine.

It’s Gods

And if you think that’s crazy, that’s ok.

God is a sexy beast too.

Like to like.

I always say.

My instincts are just fine.

How could they not be?

They are God-given.

Seriously.

Time to unleash myself from my own fear and shame shackles and get the fuck on with my life.

God did not mean for me to be alone and it’s my own fear that’s keeping me that way.

I’m over it.

Ready for the next phase of my development.

Bring it the fuck on.

This PSA, FYI, is not brought to you by my hormones.

Thank you very much.

Just my own personal reality check.

With a little help from my friends.

Thank you friends.

I couldn’t do this without you.

Thanks for having my back when I was too afraid to.

My heart is open.

My eyes are clear.

My sexy is definitely back.

Watch out.

 

 

When You Get The Package

January 10, 2017

But.

It’s not the package.

Grr.

I was super excited to get home and see that my new dress had arrived.

But.

Hmmm.

That seems like a smallish package.

Yeah.

Because it was.

No unboxing video coming out of the opening here.

Nope, maybe just a few profanities, and no body wants to hear me swear, it’s not pretty.

I was pissed though, I was planning on wearing the dress for a special occasion, an anniversary of mine that is coming up.

Oh well.

I understood the mistake too, the person doing the packing had put in my invoice, but the wrong item of clothing and it totally made sense, the person who should have gotten what I got lives in the neighborhood.

So what I’m hoping is that this girl got my dress.

I shot her an e-mail and fingers crossed she has my dress and I can just swap her sweater and we don’t have to deal with sending the stuff back to the company.

Because it’s in LONDON.

Actually, it shipped from Essex.

So yeah.

I’d love it if this lady gets back to me and says, yup, I got your dress.

I sent her my e-mail and I’ll see what comes of it.

I also e-mailed the company, because, well, I’m a little disappointed.

And if she didn’t get my dress or already returned it I want to know what to do.

I am not keeping the sweater, that’s for sure, I want my dress and the sweater though cute is the wrong size, so no matter what some action needs to be taken.

Mistakes happen.

Not the worst thing ever.

Nothing was the worst thing ever today, although sometimes the small things can get under my skin much more than the big things.

Oh!

I just got a message back from the girl, she said she got a notification that a package was delivered to her, she’s going to let me know when she gets back.

Ok.

That would be lovely.

Cut out the middle man and have myself a new frock to wear for the weekend.

I’m going to meet with a few friends and fellows on Sunday to celebrate my anniversary.

It feels so surreal and so amazing and I’m super pleased that so many of the people I asked to join me are going to be able to join me.

Sometimes letting in the love is the hardest thing and I hadn’t even thought about trying to get people together.

I hadn’t.

Not my idea at all.

I had made the decision that I would leave school a little early so that I can go to my spot that I like to go to on Fridays and share with the folks there, but nothing past that.

My person was like, um hello, come up on Sunday and pick up your chip and we’ll have dinner beforehand and I was like, oh my God.

Yes.

What a fucking fabulous idea.

I messaged some folks today

And some could make it and some can’t but.

Holy crap.

There’s eight of us going to dinner and ten I think hitting the spot afterward.

I was blown away by the responses I received.

You are the one thing in my way, you are the one thing in my way, you are the one thing in my way.

I am the only thing in my way.

There is so much love and though it is scary and hard to open up and receive it, I shall.

I am learning.

It is a job that seems to be the most important to me, the most healing and also, sometimes, oft-times, the most difficult.

To hold the doors of my heart open, to accept love.

To be told, “I would be honored to be there.”

To have someone message me that they were clearing their calendar to be there.

To be seen.

To be witnessed.

To be loved for who I am.

I don’t have to do a tummy tuck or make a million dollars or manipulate you through with holding my honest response.

I am just me and you like me?

No.

As it turns out.

You love me.

I feel so special.

Some of the folks I asked are girl friends from school.

Some are people who I walk the road of happy destiny with.

All of them responded with love and kindness and joy at my invitation, even those that aren’t able to come said they would be with me in spirit and I totally believed them.

It feels astounding and I am so grateful for this little outpouring of love.

It feels miraculous and I have to tell myself, gently, without negativity, that yes, they do love me and I’m lovable and worthy of love and it’s ok to accept them in.

I might get hurt.

Hell it’s bound to happen.

I’m human, I’ve hurt others, absolutely I have.

But it’s worth getting hurt.

Besides, when it comes right down to it no human can fulfill me completely, that kind of love comes from within, from a source deep with in, that still quiet voice that tells me with unequivocal truth that I am loved.

I was hurt when I was young and I developed ways to deal with that.

One of them was to disassociate and to not let you in.

It was too hard, those that I trusted hurt me.

So.

I built up some walls.

Bigger and bigger and harder and I blocked you the fuck out.

But in the end that defense stopped working.

I looked out over my towers and ramparts and I felt safe, but the longing I had for connection became so great it led me to leap.

I leapt.

I had faith.

I changed.

I opened my heart.

I let you in.

Oh.

Sometimes I built the walls back up.

I shut the door again.

I leaned against it, heavy and hurt and burdened by feelings.

I was abandoned and alone and lonely and sad and tired and it was just too much work to keep all the monsters at bay.

Until it wasn’t.

Until I felt the sun on my cheek, through the cracks in the wall and I opened the door again and stepped out into the sun.

You can’t fix me.

I’m not broken.

I just didn’t know that for a long time.

And when the love comes in I do have to take a moment and not run from it, to allow it in, to receive it, to let that love be a blazon and to shine it right back out.

I can’t give it away if I can’t accept it.

And I want to love you.

So fierce.

So deep.

With every fiber of my being.

I wish to love you with all that is bright and right and beautiful.

Love, like fireworks and eider-down, like peonies heavy-headed with dander in the grass at the edge of the garden, where the wild currants grow and the violets nod their sleepy heads, soft sheathed in the sweet, pale, green summer grass.

Love like cotton blossoms and the smell of wood smoke.

Love like light through amber and butterfly wings.

Love, warm, and soft and so, so, so strong.

For you.

All my love.

Love.

Always and forever.

Yes.

There.

Like.

That.

Just like that.

 

One of Those Weeks

June 24, 2016

And I just don’t care.

Things spill.

Pink hair dye in my purse.

Blueberries in my basket tonight, all over my liner bag on the back of my scooter, splashed blueberry juice all over my pink riding jacket.

Ugh.

Who cares?

I don’t.

I don’t give a fig.

I’m having a great fucking day.

Heh.

I just scored four tickets to Mike Doughty’s September 1st Living Room Tour here in San Francisco.

One night.

Someone’s living room.

27 people?

30 people?

Intimate like.

I messaged my three people who are Doughty fans and said, “save the date bitches.”

I don’t even give a fig that it’s the day before my first day of classes.

Fuck it.

I’ll be a little tired.

But I will be happy.

Oh so very happy.

Live music, getting to hear someone who I really like and respect, musically and from my own private personal view, we have a few things in common, a few friends, it feels special.

I’m really grateful and I didn’t blink at dropping the money on the tickets.

I love my people and I am super psyched to get to share the experience with them.

Now.

Not one of the bastards has responded to the wildly ecstatic message I just sent them, but I ain’t worried.

If, for some reason, any or all of them can’t go.

I am sure I will find three other Mike Doughty fans that would love to go.

I can actually think of a few that I should probably message and say, hey, there was 27 tickets available when I bought my four, which means 23 are left, and um, in San Francisco, that’s not going to last long.

I just had this pricking in my thumbs.

My blueberry stained thumbs.

To go check the website and see if the tickets were up.

And voila!

They were.

I whipped out the wallet.

Didn’t think twice.

The only thought I had was keeping it to myself until tomorrow when I see my ladybug at the cafe to do the deal, but I didn’t think I could keep it under my hat for that long.

I am not the best at keeping a surprise.

I mean.

I can.

I suppose I could have written this blog about how despite prepping for the poetry podcast yesterday and feeling really excited about it, that the recording was cancelled.

I suppose.

I mean.

That was what I was going to write about.

Also that I didn’t find myself all that wrapped up in that either.

I was like.

Cool.

God’s got better plans for my time that day.

Yoga.

Doing the deal.

Sex.

Heh.

Who knows.

All three.

Although not all three at the same time.

Ok.

Anyway.

That signals to me that I am in a good place in my life in general, that when something unexpected happens, getting this cancellation, I can look at it and say, well, something else is supposed to happen and here’s to knowing that what ever that thing is, it’s the thing that is supposed to happen.

Just like getting blueberry juice on everything, I mean, shit everywhere, I didn’t really get upset, just pulled the stuff that needed cleaning and tossed it into the wash.

Came inside my little studio.

Hopped on line.

And, ayup, bought tickets to see a small, intimate little show of one of my favorite artists.

Luckiest girl in the world.

And.

Tomorrow’s Friday.

Yes.

Plus.

I’m listening to the Cars greatest hits and that puts me in a good mood too.

I mean.

That synthesizer.

So good.

You’d think that I would want to listen to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel, but this is what called and when I feel a call, I got to go with it.

“What is this,” my lover asked (which one, wouldn’t you like to know).

“Wooden Heart, Listener,” I replied.

I love the album, but have found that nope, not everybody does.

In fact, the disdain for which someone says something about the music I’m wanting to listen to can be off putting.

“What is this shit?” An ex-boyfriend, “can you change this?”

I might.

But I might have to dump you first.

I was listening to a jazz mix which had some old Soul Coughing songs from Ruby Vroom on it.

You know that band Mike Doughty was the lead singer for, the band my long time boyfriend took me to see at the Eagle’s Ballroom, the album that gave me goosebumps when I first heard it and I resonated so hard to it that I still can tell you all the sense memories that I get stirred up even writing about it.

Yeah.

That relationship didn’t last long.

“Do you like this,” I asked my lover, the asker of the Wooden Heart album, “do you want to listen to something else?”

“Anything but this,” he replied.

Fucker.

So I put on Thomas Dolby’s The Golden Age of Wireless.

Take that.

Ah music.

How I love thee.

I remember when I first came out to San Francisco and was reading through an SF Weekly and all the music shows that were listed and I was just like a little gluttonous piggie in heaven.

I probably do not take advantage as much as I thought I would.

But.

I still love a live show and I was telling a date last weekend about a pen ultimate San Francisco night I had with a friend many years back where we went to see Tron at the Castro Theater, then hopped on his scooter and burned rubber to get to the Fillmore and we rocked out like maniacs to Gary Numan.

So close I could see how angry the lead guitarist was, and jaded.

So close I could see the black eyeliner on Numan blurring underneath his eyes.

Magic.

Goldfrapp that same year on her tour for Supernature.

God damn that was a good show.

I really must be on a synthesizer kick, now that I am thinking of it.

Heh.

And I still haven’t heard back from any of my friends.

Oh.

Ha!

I just remembered one of them is out of town camping, well, hopefully he’ll be happy when he returns from being off the grid to the knowledge of another good show that we get to go to.

As for me.

Whelp.

I got the weekend relatively free.

What’s happening my people?

Let’s.

Shake it up.

Shake it up/make a scene.

That’s right, I said
Dance all night
Go go go
Dance all night
Get real low
Go all night
Get real hot
Well, shake it up now, all you’ve got.
Shall we?

Self-Forgiveness Sunday

July 13, 2015

Starts with flowers.

Flowers seem to be my motif, tears and petals and beauty, oh the ache that makes everything so beautiful that it feels like I’ve been gut shot, but still have this ability to see truth and beauty everywhere.

I woke up this morning in tears again.

A text from a friend whistled me awake.

It was not the text from the friend I was hoping to hear from, but it was a text of love nonetheless and it was nice to see it and another from a friend who’d reached out.

I had a lot of folks reach out to me today.

And hours and hours and hours of not having the one person reach out to me that I wanted to hear from.

What a horrible and horrendous gift.

I have seen so much into the heart of myself and seen so much of what shapes my life and how I can isolate and self-sabotage when given the chance.

I chose today instead, after much shedding of tears, of not being able to look at myself in the mirror and do the exercise that was suggested to me so many years ago, of forgiving myself.

“I love you and I forgive you.”

Write it down on a post it note and slap it on the mirror and say it to yourself every morning before you go out into the world.

Every morning?

Every fucking morning.

It took me a while to get there.

To that spot in front of the mirror.

And it was not the first thing I did.

In fact, I had forgotten, heh, yeah, “I forgot” to do it this morning.

I was busy mashing myself with the I should have, if only I had, etc, etc, etc.

So I got down on my knees and did a long session.

I have never spent so much time asking for forgiveness and so much of that has to stem from within, from that small quiet space.

I had to make a lot of room for that small quiet space.

I wrote a lot.

Then I was kneeling a lot.

Then.

I made breakfast and ate it and drank my coffee and just kept telling myself to not text, don’t call, give my friend space, don’t call, don’t text, repeat, rinse, repeat.

I don’t know that I have ever in my life expended so much energy not taking an action.

“Don’t just do something! Sit there.”

Ugh.

I knew it was not an emergency, I knew that it was not my place to reach out, it was my place to trudge the discomfort on my own.

The point of making an amends is not to feel better myself, it is to change the behavior and hopefully repair a damaged relationship.

If I get to feel better, than huzzah.

There have been amends that I have not gotten relief from, again, it’s not the point and I knew the point would not get to be made on my dime, on my time, no,not on my time line at all.

So I kept busy and every time my head said, well, what if you just call or text or say this, or.

Stop.

I would do the next action in front of me.

Finish writing your morning pages.

Wash the breakfast dishes.

Put on your makeup.

Why bother?

I thought to myself as I swirled some shadow across my eyelids, I’ll probably wind up crying it off anyway.

But there is a comfort to the routine and I was looking for any comfort I could get.

I did not really look myself in the eye until later though.

I did not actually realize that I had “forgotten” my routine.

I was too busy feeling the gut shot feeling of pain that would assuage me without recourse and I would find that I could not listen to some music and would switch it off and turn my attention to the next thing in front of me.

I was able to get on my bicycle and ride down to the store and get some groceries.

I was able to not kill myself.

I was able to focus.

After one stupid move which snapped me out of it.

Get present.

Breathe in the air, see the sky, feel the sun warm on my back, lock the bike, walk into the store, pick up a basket and put those in it right now.

Those?

Yes.

I didn’t question the impulse, but I felt a bit better when I deposited the bouquet of shasta daisies and pink gerber daisies into my basket.

Who cares that I was on a bike and the flowers might get mashed up a little.

Buy them.

And the self-forgiveness was on its way.

I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

I went to another grocery store.

I did not ride my bicycle to my friend’s house who was just there, just a few blocks away, leave him alone.

Do your thing.

Get your groceries.

Bring them home.

Then.

Two blessed hours.

Two hours, back to back, without thought of myself.

Such freedom.

And all I had to do was show up, read some things and listen to two women, one after the other share with me and let go of their on misconceptions of who they are and get to share my experience of walking through fear and how it continues to deepen and yes, it’s painful.

But that pain.

The price of admission for the glory that comes thereafter.

It is worth it.

And as my second lady left and wandered off into the sunlight of the gods I felt lifted again and I walked into my bathroom and realized, oh!

I had forgotten.

I looked at myself.

I said the words.

I could see that they did not register.

I did not want them to register.

I said them again.

Come on.

Drop the shame.

Let it go.

It is not serving you.

I gripped the corners of the porcelain sink and I took a big, deep breath and I looked up, I looked up into eyes the color of my fathers and the shape of my mothers and I said it, “I love you and I forgive you,” and the shape of my eyes shifted and the color lightened to a soft caramel.

And my heart heard.

It traveled from my head to my heart.

And it went back to bad shortly thereafter.

But each time there was more room in the chamber of my heart for the forgiveness to continue.

And when I didn’t know what to do I called other people.

I texted a girl friend and told her that I was not reaching out, I called my people and left messages and was honest about how things felt and what I was doing and not doing.

I swept the god damn sidewalk in front of the house.

I kept moving.

Then I cooked some food for the week and when I was at my wit’s end, my lunch done, my food cooked for the week, the rest of the afternoon stretching ahead of me in that shatter of light that is high holy summer, the rare day of July heat and sunshine in the Outer Sunset, when the grasp and suck of sorrow shimmered about me, another friend called.

“What are you doing?”

I rattled off a litany of all the things that I had been doing and could barely squeak it out through the tears.

“Hang on I’m coming down.”

I got a visit.

We went to Trouble and I had a coffee way too late in the afternoon and did not give a damn.

We talked and I got perspective, some more peace and some sage suggestions about, yes, not reaching out.

To let my friend have his time and when or if, because I may not get to make the amends and it will never be on my time, my schedule, nothing ever is.

Which is a blessing.

A gift.

The not on my time line thing.

When I allow the space for God’s hand to do its work, my life is the better for it.

I can see that.

I could see the bright diamonds flare on the ocean as it roared down the avenue and into my heart, the sun settled across my face promising another round of brown freckles to bloom on my nose and cheeks and my heart full, sad, grieving, but grateful.

I let it all go.

Again.

It was good.

I am good.

Life continues a pace and I have learned this lesson.

It has gone from my head to my heart.

It doesn’t hurt that I was able to make the amends a few hours ago.

But I am not here to report on the conversation.

That is a not on the table.

Love is though.

And.

I remind myself, gently, in the breath between the drops of music spinning into the air and the rush of the waves flying up from the dark sea.

Love was never off the table.

Just because I pushed it out of my periphery does not mean it fell off.

It was all there.

And I can see again.

And my heart.

She beats asunder.

Love underpins it all.

Surrender.

I forgive you.

I love you.

I do.

I do.

Weird Wednesday

July 9, 2015

Like so weird.

I don’t know exactly where to start and I feel a bit off kilter.

Sad.

Annoyed.

Excited.

Anxious.

Happy.

So many feels.

Dude.

Ugh.

Starting in no particular order.

Blew a flat tire on Oak just as I finished navigating the Wiggle.

I had the oddest feeling that something was up with my bicycle too, and for a moment I thought, is it at all possible that she popped my tire.

I mean, it was the weirdest feeling, like someone had sabotaged my tire.

I know I sound paranoid, but I had just had a disconcerting run in with someone at a cafe and it was so odd how the entire interaction went that I wondered if she had.

But no.

That’s nuts.

No matter how uncomfortable I was, no one purposely popped my tire.

Every other Wednesday after work I meet my person, one of my people–it takes a village–at The Church Street Cafe before heading out to my usual Wednesday night thing.

I pulled up right on time to see a prime spot to park my bicycle and I headed inside to grab a cup of tea and see if he was there.

Nope.

But someone else was.

Someone who I wouldn’t have even noticed except that she waved at me.

I didn’t recognize her at first, except to recognize that it was someone I knew from around the way.

Oh.

Then I did see who it was.

My ex boyfriend’s friend.

“Hey you!” She said exuberantly, “it’s been a long time!”

I smiled, “it has, months.”

I was half way to the counter to order my tea, “nice to see you,” and I turned to place my order, but I was hijacked back into the conversation.

“OH!  Just so you know, I’m meeting ____________ here,” she said emphatically.

I stared at her in question, “um, ok,” I said with a half-smile, “that’s not really any of my business, but thanks.”

I turned.

“Well, I’d want to know,” she said to me, “if it was me, I’d want to know.”

I looked back at her as I headed to the counter, “that’s about you, not me.”

Then I ordered my tea.

Great.

My ex is on his way here.

What are the fucking odds?

Then I thought, who cares?

It’s well past, it’s well over and I’m meeting my person and it’s a public place.

The weird thing was the person who was relaying all the non-essential, none of my business information was someone my ex had told me he was no longer in contact with.

What the hell are they doing hanging out?

My brain wanted to go on an expedition.

NONE OF MY BUSINESS.

I reminded myself.

After which the thought came, where is my person?

Oh.

A voice mail, he was running late, but soon to arrive.

I got settled at an outside table.

There was nowhere else to sit and I figured, might as well get it over with, and be right out front and be seen.  I don’t need to hide, even if it was only last week that I got a horrendous load of text messages from my ex in regards to my apparent exorcism of him from my life.

Not my timing.

Not my schedule.

Then again, nothing is on my schedule.

Never has been.

Besides, I figured his friend was busy texting him to let him know I was a clear and present danger.

Ugh.

And right at that moment.

A dear girl friend I had not see in months walks down the street.

She joyfully greets me, I say nothing of the weirdness happening and focus on connecting with her and being present for her and her accomplishments, a new relationship, the news she can go to Burning Man, and her congratulations on my acceptance and scholarships to graduate school.

“Girl, you are just glowing, you are so beautiful, look at life just opening up for you,” she hugged me.

Well.

That was nice.

And it gloriously helped to pass the time until either my person was going to show up or the ex boyfriend was.

My person showed up first, so handsome, strolling down the street in pressed linen shorts and a gingham pink checked shirt with a cashmere sweater draped over his shoulders.

God.

I love my person.

I got a huge hug, my girlfriend got a hug, we had us a little love fest in front of the cafe.

My girlfriend left so we could get to doing the deal and just as my person was settling down in front of me, guess who decided to interject into our conversation?

Mmmhhmmm.

You don’t know this since you read my blog of a piece, but suffice to say, I just paused there, searching for the right word, a word that is not unkind, but perhaps indicative of the actions of the person and no, I can’t find a nice way to put it.

She interrupted us at the table mid conversation, not to say anything to me, but to talk to my person.

My person said hello, then turned to me and raised his eyebrow as she turned away from the table.

She ignored me, she stepped to the curb.

A silver car screeched around the corner and she sprinted across the street, hopped into the car and then it peeled out.

Screech.

Pause.

Big pause.

In the writing, I usually don’t stop, but I did there for a moment.

And.

Now.

Shifting gears.

Point of view totally changed.

Is there anything wrong, Carmen?

No.

I just had a really good talk with my friend who helped me put a lot of stuff into perspective.

In fact, I don’t even know why I was upset, expect that the old tropes, the old ideas, the old, “I’m not enough” or the old shames came back and really, that’s just an old fucking story I tell myself to feel bad about who I am or what I am and there is no need for that.

There is nothing wrong.

It’s all manufactured misery.

My life is amazing.

And I got to end my evening holding hands with someone who means the world to me and be myself.

Yeah.

My life.

It does not suck.

I am loved.

I am taken care of.

I am ok.

And the weirdness.

Well.

There isn’t any.

It’s all pretty much.

Wonderful.

Ah.

Perspective.

Thank you for rescuing me from the bad neighborhood I stumbled into.

My own head.


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