Posts Tagged ‘daisy’

Scheduling

October 27, 2017

And moving forward.

I spent a great deal of time talking with the mom today at work regarding the rest of the school year.

What the family needs.

What I need.

It’s been a little over ten months with them.

We are going to sit down and renegotiate the contract in December, make sure my health insurance needs are being met, talk about vacation times, and schedules moving forward past spring when I graduate in May.

I asked off for a little travel time in February.

And I asked off for May 18th.

Which is the day before I graduate, the day before the commencement ceremony.

I suspect that my mom is going to want to spend some time with me.

She has told me that she and her partner will come to San Francisco to see me walk, to see my graduate with my Master’s Degree.

I have some feelings around that and no little nervousness, I haven’t seen my mom in a while and there’s a sense of wanting to show her a different San Francisco than the last time she was here.

Oh.

I didn’t entirely disappoint, I think.

I took her to Hawthorne Lane for dinner.

I took her out to the bars.

I took her to Coit Tower.

I can’t remember if we did Twin Peaks.

I took her to Chow on Church Street.

Philz Coffee before it was hip and Phil flirted his ass off with her.

I got her quesadilla’s from El Farolito, super quesadilla suiza with carne asada.

I took her to Tartine.

I did pretty good

I also ditched her at some point to get absolutely shit faced obliterated.

I was just going to go out for a few drinks with a friend at Blondie’s in the Mission.

I had already been with my mom for a week, I had taken her to London, on my credit card which I was soon to max out, but it still had a few dollars on it, hung out with her, fed her, bought her smokes, and drinks, and tuk tuk rides around Buckingham palace, to the Wheel, to the National Gallery, to see a show, we saw Stomp, I took her to a fancy tea place where we got stinking tossed on fancy ass over the top expensive cocktails.

So.

I was ready for a little mom break.

I ran down to El Farolito and got her the quesadilla.

I called my friend and said, “I need a margarita, I need a break from my mom,” and she said, “I’ll see you at Blondie’s in a half hour.”

I got my mom situated in my apartment on the couch in the living room, my room-mate was out-of-town, thank God.

And I got dressed and fled into the night.

I had two double margarita’s on the rocks with extra salted rim and when my friend said “let’s have another!”¬† I got a little scared.

I could feel it coming on.

It was probably coming on before I even got off the plane at SFO.

I think I knew.

I could feel it in my body, I knew it in my conscious even if I wasn’t saying it out loud.

I was going to score.

I had all the reasons in the world to get fucked up.

I had been with my mom for a week in a hotel room in London, flown there and back with her, I deserved a fucking drink.

But I knew if I kept drinking, well, something else was going to get up in the mix.

I looked at my friend and said a bit under my breath, “if I drink more I’m going to want to do blow.”

I said this because this was the friend who had used to be sober who had done that AA thing and had said to me once while we were on a run that maybe I might have a problem because of how I didn’t like myself when I used.

I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about and was aghast.

I didn’t like myself?

Truth was I fucking hated myself, but I couldn’t let myself see it.

She had told me that all I had to do is let her know if I wanted to use and she would help me to not pick up.

What ever that meant.

So in that moment, two double margarita’s in, with the urge to call my dealer on my phone and arrange a little something, something for delivery, I said, to the best of my ability what I thought was a plea for help.

Her response?

“I could definitely do some blow!”

Fuck me.

I sighed.

I know I sighed.

I got my phone out of my purse and I dialed my dealer and arranged for him to meet us at Blondie’s.

I went across the street.

“Hey, where are you going,” the cute guy sitting next to me said.

I flippantly replied, “my friend wants to do some blow so I’m going to the ATM across the street to get some cash before my dealer shows up.”

“Holy shit!” He jumped up, “me too, can I get some too?”

And like that, I had a new friend.

I was so popular.

Ugh.

I will spare you the dirty details of the night.

It was so close to my bottom that it was a pretty intense scene.

And I remember all of it, oh yes I do.

Right down to getting back to the house, while my mom was still asleep in the living room, with a couple of grams of blow in my bra, what I hadn’t yet used, to chop and snort and cram as much in as I could before she woke up.

I was that kind of addict.

I did not fucking matter that my mom was in the front room, probably heard me come in, probably knew what I was doing, nope, didn’t matter.

Because once I started, the party was not over until every fucking last bit was gone.

Suffice to say my mom’s last day in town was a bit of a rough one.

I muggled through.

I guess what I’m getting around to is that maybe I’ll want to show her a nicer time than I did before.

We are both in different places, and I also hope to have some time to celebrate my graduating from graduate school.

A nice meal somewhere with friends, good coffee, laughter, connection, company.

A party.

I should throw myself a little party.

Ah, May, you’re a bit away.

But when my employer and I walked through the months and worked on getting my schedule lined up with theirs, well, there you were, a tiny bit bashful but a little smile on your face, a daisy tucked up behind your ear, saying here I am, let’s have some fun.

Yes.

Of course, my dear.

Let’s.

A Crow Will Smile

July 31, 2017

At your funeral.

Le petit mort.

Or.

Perhaps it is.

The death of self.

It, the crow–

Audacious trickster.

Sits on my open chest.

Eating my heart.

Dismembering it.

Pulling it out with its strong beak.

I can feel it, severing the connections.

The blood pulses and pools.

The crow, grabs it out and flies off.

Carrying my heart across the fields.

Over the desert.

To you.

Will you eat it?

Will it be a fricassee?

Will the fire of blood sate you?

But no.

The crow.

He is a messenger, a courier, a carrier of things.

All the things.

The bright and beautiful.

Magic and mysterious.

They catch his eye.

And he carries them back and forth.

A shuttler of bounty.

A lover who is masked with darkness and the slick oily flutter.

Of his wings.

He settles upon you, my heart in his ebony beak.

A daisy springs from it.

There.

See.

It flowers for you.

You in turn, hand the crow your heart.

Plucked from beneath the cage of your chest.

The crow hops down onto your raised arm and tucks the heart.

My heart.

Into the cavity there.

The blood and sinews collapse upon it and take it into your body.

I am within you.

The crow chortles in its throat.

A satisfied sound.

Then it grasps your heart in the lance of its bill.

And.

Flies back to me.

My chest bared, eyes wide open, laying flat on my back.

Tears spilling down my face.

Knowing that I have given you everything.

Not expecting.

Not once.

To have your heart placed inside my chest.

To have my blood pumping through its chambers.

And yet.

This.

This is exactly what happens.

The dark wings flutter.

The open mouth exhales.

The heart falls from the crows beak.

A rose sprouting from it.

And drops into my open chest.

I sigh.

Such.

Unexpected ecstasy.

Lacing my fingers over the wound which seals itself.

Heals itself.

I arise.

Flowering for you.

You now in me.

As I am.

Within you.

Love betwixt.

Apart.

Yet.

Always.

Together.

Re-set Button

April 18, 2016

Has been re-set.

Sleep.

Sunshine.

Yoga.

Walks on the beach.

With the god damn entire city of San Francisco.

Well.

I suspect the other part of the city was probably congregating at Dolores Park, but my god there were a lot of people out at the beach.

So many intoxicated little bikini clad, festival be-decked, floppy hatted young things sprawled all over the sand wasted and sunburnt.

“Jesus fuck,” I said on the phone, as I crested the dune heading down toward the beach.

“What was that?” My person asked surprised by the sudden segue in the conversation.

“There are so many people here, it’s, it’s I don’t know, really too much,” I ended.

There she was, the gorgeous blue Pacific, calling me forward, alluring and dappled in bright coins of sun, but between me and that ocean, so, so, so many people.

So much drinking, smoking, and silliness.

Not that I am upset about the imbibing, it’s just not my scene and my neighborhood has definitely become a scene, especially on the weekends and really especially when it is nice out.

God damn it was nice out today.

I got up and out early and off to yoga by 9 a.m.

I stripped the bed, threw the sheets in the laundry, made my bed, knelt down got some humble on and asked to have a good day, to have some fun, to show up for the women I was going to be working with, to show up for my recovery, to show up for the school work I needed to get done–really did it have to be so very nice when I need to do so very much reading?

I sipped some iced coffee and headed to Yoga Beach, just down the block, unfurled my yoga mat and left the outside world far, far, far behind.

For an hour and fifteen minutes I was nowhere else.

Except when I was startled by reverie during my practice.

I find that I get different things from different instructors, and this experience today had me overwhelmed with gratitude and light and joy and grief.

All in shades of grey.

Soft, cashmere, ombre, grey.

Fogged out.

Misted.

A tale of swathed heart beats, true North, meadows full of fireflies.

And.

A little girl in a white dress with bare feet and brown hair in braids, her face brown, the tops of her cheeks just sun kissed a dusty rose.

I recognized her.

She is me and I am her and I saw her a couple classes ago and wasn’t sure yet that I had wanted to write about her.

She beckons to a dazed innocence that I think, or wish, or  chose to bedevil and beguile myself with that I had at some point in my young life.

A naive and innocent joy and trust.

Then another woman.

Old, thin, the sharp line of her jaw still fierce, the bones in her face more prominent, but still a softening around the cheeks and long hair, again in braids, in a shift this time more grey than white ombre dipped black at the bottom.

And this is me and there I am, old, proud, soft, hard, braids, bright eyes, stretched hands, friends with sun in the sky, the moon in the meadow, the lark in the tree.

Finally.

The third woman.

The woman I am now or soon to be, joined in the circle, grey shift shimmering like pearls, floating about me, hair in braids, mouth lifted, smiling, cheeks sunburnt, heart full and open and I realized that I wanted her to be me and the feelings that were all there, the sadness and the grief and the shallow sorrow, a teaspoon of salt water in an ever expanding ocean of feelings.

I remembered an old image that I had before, years before, an old idea or photograph in my head, this picture of my heart, a map, an unfolding, hilled and steepled there and there, graded with arrows pointing up and down, flickering bulbs of light, smoked neon, the chasms and neighborhoods, the map pinned down on the board of my soul.

I had this perceptive feeling that my heart was always struggling to curl up in on itself, to protect itself, to not hurt or feel or grieve or say goodbye or lose or fall.

To be inert, to drift, to atrophy, rather than feel that pain.

That pain of being alive.

That beauty of being alive despite the pain and the glory of reveling in the beauty despite, nay because of that sorrow.

I avowed to myself that I would not let my heart curl up, I would not withdraw, I would not build up that wall and I would stake down my heart, keep it open, make it bigger, make it fuller, live it harder, bolder, fiercer, now, more than ever, I mean, bring it damn it.

Today.

Though.

The image, the map of my heart the ghosts of streets I didn’t go down, the choices I took and walked away from or ran away from, or huddled down, a small bunny tharn in the light throttling down the roadway, only to have it pass over me, a whirling wind, an engine screaming horror into the bloody dusk, I saw that mapped heart different.

I did not see a heart pinned down, I saw a heart anchored.

I felt it rooted there.

There were no pushpins or staples or nails.

No.

I saw flowers.

I saw daisies, white, sunny, innocent, strong, pure, roots intwined and laced, a border of light holding down my heart.

The dazzling circumference lit and rising toward the sun, unfurled, tender, delicate buttons of butter yellow surrounded by coronas of white petals and coarse green teethed leaves.

I know.

I know.

Yoga.

Sheesh.

But there again, in my meadow, dancing, in the circle, these three aspects of me, child, woman, crone.

I do not know what legacy I will leave.

I do not foresee where my life will go or who I will affect or who will affect me.

I do, however, know, this reconciliation of love and tenderness, these stars, fallen kisses from God, as they rise above the ocean, calling to me to feel it all, and continue forward.

To keep dancing to that spiritual bluegrass of burnt dragonfly wings and dandelion seed pods blown through and scattered, the worn out passport of my childhood still in my pocket.

I am the legacy of love to myself.

I will continue on.

Love, loving, a house on fire, burn me down.

I arise again, sparks flying toward the heavens.

I will meet the stars and they me and we will fly together.

Over the meadow.

Into my soul.

Into the laughing mouth of God.

Which is just love.

Love.

Always.

That.

Always there.

Love.

 

Say the word and I’ll take a hatchet to your heart too.

 

Fuck The Pain Away

March 25, 2016

I was sharing with a lady tonight all the methods of grieving.

And I can sustain that one for about a week, maybe.

Add a sexting or two in there and maybe only three days.

Sex is lovely.

Sex is great.

But I can’t fuck the pain away.

I just have to go up into it and through it.

I realized this as I had a grief bubble burst on me today.

I was not expecting it.

And I have to say the relief has been deep and profound since it happened.

And yes.

Ugh.

It was in yoga that it happened.

Yeah.

I know, I know.

I’ll start burning sage tomorrow, shh.

After the happy glow of last night I was a tired girl, but so pumped up and juiced on being alive, I had a hard time dropping off to sleep.

Plus the call of all that moonlight slanting in between the slits of the bamboo shade hanging over the glass door in my room, it was just a lot of being awake versus really sleeping the way I would have liked.

Granted.

I still got up and I did my morning routine and I put on my yoga clothes and got my bag out and the mat and my water bottle.

I had oatmeal and coffee and I wrote some stuff and said some stuff and knelt and got humble, not really, I am so not humble, but it helps to start my day from a position of humility.

Always that.

I may lose that during the day, but always I have to start from the lowering of ego and ask for the help I need to get through my day, whatever lies ahead, I cannot do it on my own.

Alone has never worked for me, even when I think, hey this could work, I could figure this out, I got this.

I ain’t ever got this.

Which is why the taking of suggestions is always so helpful.

I can see that there was a part of me that was suspicious of this yoga thing from all the protestation I have had in my head for the last few years since it has been calling to me, for a long, long, long stupid ass time.

I think I was afraid that I would have feelings.

And everyone knows how much I love feelings.

Insert irony here.

I was walloped, in a soft kind of surrendering way, with the feels today in class.

I was not expecting that.

In fact.

I was expecting to have more joyful, light filled, love filled, ease filled, serenity feelings.

Nope.

I got caught with my yoga pants down.

Figuratively, people, come on.

It was hard, and I knew it was going to be hard after not having gone for nearly two weeks, to get back into the flow of it, but I put myself out there and I also let the instructor know I’d been out with a pretty wicked, only in ¬†retrospective can I see how stupid sick I was, cold.

So.

Giving myself the permission right from the start to take it easy and just gently get back into it rather than break myself trying to do every pose.

I just did what I could and it was enough.

And I did slip into a sweet space, a relaxing into my body, even though it was challenging, rather than staying in my head.

At the beginning of the class the instructor suggested that we pack up those thoughts, people, work, nagging things, school, personal life, and lead them out the door and let them stay there.

Fuck.

I wanted away from my head like nobody’s business.

I had some strange dreams and a tiny little nag of heart sick that I didn’t even realize was there.

But yes.

It was there.

A little left over remanent of having run into the room mate of someone who I have not had contact with in a few months, I actually have lost track, it’s around three months now, I think, could be more or a little less, but there was a time a month or so ago when I knew to the day, the hour, the minute, the last time we had seen each other, the words exchanged.

I could tell you the contents of the last text.

I can’t anymore.

The texts were erased.

No need to go be a tourist in that land.

It hurts too much.

I have scrolled through some photos once or twice, but I can’t quite, I get sucked in and it hurts to see the landscape and the pain in my eyes even when I was laughing.

Laughing to save my life because otherwise I was just going to collapse with the pain.

I have seen this room mate before and been absolutely scrupulous to keep it all about him, about his stuff, no questions asked about his housemate, no mention, not my business, don’t go digging.

And.

Well fuck.

I slipped a little last night and asked him to give the cat a squish.

AW.

Fuck.

I knew better the minute it popped out of my mouth.

Not your fucking place and then, I was just like, hey, give yourself a break, you are human, it was a little mistake and hopefully he didn’t even notice it.

I remember turning with relief to the woman who was waiting to talk with me.

Oops.

Ha.

She didn’t check in today.

Hmm.

Good thing to remember, I’ll see if she calls tomorrow, I may or may not having an extra hour on Sunday now after all.

Anyway.

I think I woke up with a teensy little emotional hangover from the spiritual intoxication I was feeling yesterday and a little chagrin about mentioning the cat.

But.

I didn’t realize it.

Until.

That song.

That one song.

The one the yoga instructor has when we do this one pose, and ha, oh, I just realized this, fuck me man, it’s called a “heart opener,” of fucking course it is.

Ah.

God, you are funny.

The music has a catchy sweetness to it that I have had joyful visions to, the love and feeling of sun, the sound of bluegrass guitar picking, the blooming daisy from my heart, yeah, that guy, usually when I’m in this heart opening pose and I’m suddenly lit up with light and joy and damn.

It feels good.

Today.

I was in the pose and I recognized the song and I heard a part of the chords that I hadn’t caught before, a sort of sweet, sad, melancholic faint brush of regret, that hint that underneath the joy there was this little pool of sorrow–that I can see probably leads to movingly to that opening flower in me.

Pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth.

The flower blooms from a field of pain.

Which makes it that much more beautiful.

I did not hear the joy today, I heard the sorrow.

I did not consciously think these things.

I just noticed that instead of feeling uplifted I felt a bit moored and then I thought of a suggestion I had heard before to send a ball of light towards a person and fill it with love.

I thought of the man I had seen last night, my innocuous Burning Man crush and I was about to send it out to him, and then.

Oh.

I saw his face instead.

I held up that bubble of warm love and light and I pushed it out.

And it collapsed on me.

And I broke into tears.

Face scrunched up, eyes smashed shut.

My entire heart clutched up and instead of light I was drowned in sorrow and salt.

The bubble burst and I just cried.

I did so silently, but it felt like I was being buried under a tsunami sadness.

Then.

It was gone.

I was left, heart very open, thank you very fucking much, wet, face soaked with sweat and tears on the mat.

I sank into the final five minutes of resting pose.

I breathed cleanly.

I sat up.

I said thank you.

I rolled up my mat.

I walked out the door.

Into the sunlight.

Drenched in love.

Having let the final last lingering bomb of grief dissolve off my body.

I got home, took a hot shower and lifted my face with gratitude.

Graced.

All the love flowering in m heart.

Roots griped into the rich soil of sorrow and pain.

Watered with tears and growing toward the sun.

Raised in brightness, raised in brightness.

These are the days to write home about.

These are the days, simple and small and laden with the gifts of living a full life.

Shining out.

A beacon.

I am.

A rising sun.

Shining out in the rising sun.

Cleaned and new.

Bright with hope, promise, joy.

And.

As always.

Love.

Yes.

My love.

Always that.

Always.

Love.

 

 

You Smell Good

March 17, 2016

He said to me, drawing back from the warm hug.

“I try,” I said and smiled.

And I do.

It was nice to see him and when I was sitting a few minutes later in the darkened room listening to the words I have heard so many times before, it occurred to me that there was no charge there, nothing.

Just a sweetness and a gratitude.

It was nice to see my ex and know that I’ll be able to be friends with him.

Not that I’m planning on hanging out with him anytime soon, just that I won’t be scurrying across the street trying to avoid him.

I remember how blown apart I felt when I saw him unexpectedly about this time last year.

I felt like I had been knifed in the guts.

It felt hella bad.

Tonight, it wasn’t at all, he approached me, gave me a big sweet hug and we just shot the shit and caught up.

Ah.

Growing up.

It’s nice that this happens.

Gives me hope for all my relationships, dating and otherwise, that I can find a way through to a softness and openness with people I have been emotionally vulnerable with.

And really, he had no idea, there was so much that wasn’t said, so much that I did not reveal about myself.

Just because I got naked with the man did not mean I was emotionally naked with him.

I tried.

He tired too.

We both tried.

We just spoke a different language and we both had very different needs.

Perspective.

So nice to have it.

And so nice to be able to write my blog!

Oof.

Yesterday was tough.

I think it was good though, I’ve got my glasses situation taken care of and it was nice to have an excuse to go to bed early.

I really couldn’t do much and I felt rather blown out by the experience and more tired than I would have admitted under different circumstances.

I still have this tiny touch of a cold too.

Nothing to inhibit me from going out and doing things, but I let myself take the two things together, dilated eyes and slight throaty sickness and run with it.

I slept.

I really slept.

It was good.

I think I may have gotten caught up with the sleep I missed between the school weekend and Day Light Savings.

I may even go to yoga tomorrow morning before work.

I may not though.

I may give it one more day of rest and really let my body be fully rested.

I know that I am feeling better, at least much better than last night, as when I put on my music I did a little dance around my room and twirled in my dress.

“You look good,” he said.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

It’s nice to have acknowledgement and I have to say, I did feel well put together today.

“Do you have another date tonight?” She asked as we stood waiting for the key to arrive.

“Nope, not unless you count with myself,” I laughed, “I just felt like being dressed up.”

I wore one of my ModCloth Hell Bunny dresses.

The teal one with Day of Dead skulls on it and tattooed hearts.

It is hella cute.

A pair of black leggings, a black cardigan, and some Converse.

“If I was on a date with a guy I’d be in heels,” I said and did a little soft shoe shuffle in my Chuck Taylors.

“If I’m dressing for me, it’s almost always Converse,” I said.

This is true, but I have to say, having classes on the weekends where I’m doing so much sitting in desks has led me to up my shoe game.

At least weekends I have classes.

Hmm.

Maybe I have been a little sicker than I thought, I feel really full of energy right now.

Of course I had a great doing the deal experience tonight and that always puts a boost in my step.

But.

There’s something else.

I just feel sassy.

Happy.

Free.

I’m not going to try and figure it out.

Just enjoy it.

Go with it.

Flexible.

I am open to being flexible, having fun, living this amazing life of mine.

I have had these little revelations, this sense of change.

Change is coming.

I have had moments when I see daisies sprouting from my heart.

I have sunshine surrounding me.

I feel my feet skipping in happiness, a long white skirt flipping out in my hand, a pair of boots on my feet, a dance, a joyfulness, I see a meadow and mountains, a barn house, a blue grass band.

Sometimes there is an illusive quality, but there, with this one little set of chords being picked out on a guitar, I just feel uplifted and joyous and yeah, ha, I see flowers, big white daisies with golden butter eyes, sprouting from my heart.

Once in a while from the top of my head.

It’s a fantastic image and I have not idea where it is, just that the landscape is there, in my interior and it feels buoyant and delicious.

It feels like love.

It feels like being seen.

It feels like a jackrabbit in the long grass, a sudden startle, a uplifted face to the sun, then, a settling and knowing, that I am safe.

It is an exquisite feeling.

One of many that I get to have.

I am so grateful that I am allowed to hold more than one emotion at a time.

I knew, intellectually, that time would heal the space between my ex and I.

I didn’t expect the experience to be like it was and to not have any pull to go chase after anything.

There’s nothing to chase.

“Be the ball, Martines,” Shadrach said to me.

Oh yeah.

Being the ball.

The belle of the freaking ball.

I’ll be the pretty girl in the circle skirt.

Sunshine and flowers in her hair.

And a daisy sprouting from the crown of my head.

Raised in brightness.

Sitting in the grassy field waiting for you to take my hand.

Come on!

Let’s go play.

It’s sunny outside.

As.

Well.

As.

Inside.

I Need Some Arm Candy

February 23, 2016

I am all yours baby.

That is just the kind of message I need to hear on a Monday afternoon in between cooking three different things for the family, in preparation for the boys coming home from school and the grandparent visit.

Yeah.

I know.

They were just here.

And they are gone, as of probably about a half hour ago.

Only passing through San Francisco on the way to further destinations.

I actually have little gripe with the grandparents, the boys adore them and they keep them busy and it’s nice to see a lot of family interaction.

However.

It is more work for me.

More wrangling, more cooking, more errands, more, well, work.

Fortunately, I was fresh as a daisy this afternoon when I rolled up to work on my scooter.

Yes.

That’s right!

The SFMTA Child Care Permit is in affect.

I am now a scooter girl to work officially.

It was really nice.

And super faster than I thought it would be.

I had almost fifteen minutes to kill before I walked in the door at work today.

I had already had a super full and bright morning.

I wrote.

I read.

I ate a lovely breakfast and had lots of delicious coffee.

And.

Yes.

I did a yoga class.

Like that.

Because, you know, it’s a half block away.

I debated doing one tomorrow morning too, but really, four days in a row is cool, my body probably needs a little rest, though, truth be told, I feel more in my body than I have in quite some time.

And.

That shit is addicting.

“I could get hooked on this,” I thought this morning as my body just collapsed in a puddle.

I had some challenges with my new gear, new mat is slippery, but managed to get it together and do a lot of the poses and really try the ones that I wasn’t even going to attempt even yesterday.

I have had three different teachers at the studio and I have to say they all have great teaching skills and though different, I appreciate the things that each has brought to the classes.

And the floating out the door after an hour and fifteen minutes of studio time is phenomenal.

I mean.

I am feeling alive and energized.

And.

No.

I did not have a late coffee today.

Although I am listening to some Radio Soulwax and that is upbeat–I have gotten up three times now to have a dance party.

I am feeling the need for some dancing, outside of my own studio, soon.

I got happy feet.

I have a happy body.

I also have a happy heart.

It was really sweet to get the message from my new friend that he needed some arm candy this Thursday for an event at the SF Design Center.

I was like.

Um.

Yes.

I have some dresses.

Chuckle.

And some new Fluevogs too.

Heh.

Even though it’s a school night, I’m going.

I haven’t ever been at an event there and I adore my friend.

He’s super handsome, my Puerto Rican fairy god father, and tall, so heels are a must and I am just grateful to get to connect with a good heart and a fun heart and some one who is smart and sassy, just like me.

Ha.

I don’t even care that the mom asked me to come in early on Friday.

The boys don’t have school.

I was like.

Wait?

What?

Didn’t they just have a full week off from school last week?

Oh well.

I can handle it on a Friday and it’s nice to get out early on Fridays and get the weekend started a couple hours earlier than typical.

That’s work.

School’s going well.

I have my reading dialed in for this week and some how, not sure how, even with all the yoga, I’m staying on top of it.

Grateful for that routine that I have got going with it.

And.

I do think there’s less reading, either that or I’m just used to the style of writing now and I’m understanding the material better, I’m definitely kicking through it with less struggle than last semester.

So a little night on the town with Mister Fabulous is just what this lady needs.

I could use a date that’s not late, full of excuses, and desperately sending me text messages to see him again.

Um.

No thank you.

That being said.

I am open.

Available.

And ready for some fun.

Yes.

Yes I am.

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Snow moon.

I had this vision (yesterday’s the daisy sprouting from the crown of my head was pretty awesome, I tried to replicate it, but I wasn’t in the same space at the studio today when asked to set that intention) of a bubble of light.

A crystallized sugar ornament.

Spun like a glass bulb.

Glenda The Good Witch couldn’t have wished for a sweeter bubble of light and candied phosphorescence.

I imagined it full of light and I felt myself ensconced in the midst of it.

Floating.

A bubble.

A small light.

Luminous.

I am a luminary.

I illuminate from within.

Small parts die, burn away, and in the rebirth, the lightness ascends and I am swept up and warmly held, divinely held, swooning with softness and surrender.

Um.

Yeah.

Like that.

It was pretty nice.

And like I said, I could get addicted to that kind of feeling.

That spiritual high.

I accept that like every thing worth having, there is work, great deals of it, involved.

“Just show up to the mat,” I told myself today as I sat and tried to regain my composure after slipping on the mat more than once and feeling wildly out of my comfort zone.

That’s all I have to do.

Simple.

Just show up.

And there it was the light.

I walked out of the studio loose and fluid in my body.

I lifted my head toward the sun and felt it’s warm loving caress on the planes of my face.

I smiled.

“Thank you,” I said out loud.

To the Universe.

To myself.

To the sun in the sky.

To my heart for doing the work to pump the blood through my body, this imperfect, perfect vessel for infinite light.

And.

Love.

Not a bad way to start the week.

Happy Monday!

 

 

Hello Daisy

February 22, 2016

I had this profound experience in yoga class today.

Yeah.

I know.

I’m gonna be that bitch.

Don’t even ask me how much money I dropped on yoga clothes today.

But damn, I was not wearing the right stuff and nothing says distracting like needing to breathe through a ridiculous hard pose, for me, and inhaling my shirt.

Yuck.

I figure I made an investment, I’m going to have the clothes for a while, I will be using them, and hey, I haven’t invested in sports or athletic gear in years.

Not since I did the Aids LifeCylcle and suddenly every other day I felt like I was dropping bills on kits, shoes, socks, saddles, not to mention saddle sores, but that’s another kind of expense, protein powder, water bottles, lights, portable air pump, tires, levers, inner tubes.

I could increase that list if I thought a little harder.

You get the gist.

I just bought three pairs of leggings, three sports bras, and three tops.

I’m committing to three days of yoga a week.

I secretly may do more if I can squeeze it in.

Tomorrow will be day four in a row.

After that I won’t have the opportunity for a class until Thursday.

I debated a moment before signing up for the class, but pretty much knew, as I floated, I mean FLOATED out of the studio, that I would be going tomorrow.

Partially as Mondays will be a day that I have time to get to a class before I head into work.

I want to set the intention of going on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

I will probably also do Sundays.

That, of course, will not happen on weeks that I have school, and that’s ok.

School is a priority.

Work is a priority.

My recovery the biggest priority of it all.

And yoga is going to be a priority.

First, because it was heavily, I mean heavily suggested by my person that I start exercising three times a week, a safety valve to let off the steam of stress caused by full time work and full time school.

I can see now how right she was.

Not that I ever doubted she was right, I knew she was the entire time, I was raging over being right versus being happy, I was the person balking.

My disease, the nature of the malady, is such that anything that it thinks may bring me some sort of joy or love or lightness.

Well.

Fuck that.

No.

So I often take opposite indicated actions.

And even knowing that, I still balked at doing the yoga.

However.

I can report that I am really feeling better.

Yes.

I am sore.

But.

Not as bad as yesterday and I let myself get unattached to how I looked or held or not held a pose, I let myself topple, I let myself fall out of certain poses, I sunk into child’s pose a bit more, but I also tried.

I tried every pose.

I found I was more flexible in regards to a couple of poses that flummoxed me the first time they were introduced to me.

I found myself able to do a few things that I wasn’t able to do yesterday.

And.

My hips feel loose.

Oh my God.

They get so tight from riding my bike.

My knees haven’t hurt, my hips are loosened up, I can feel in my body a general lengthening and releasing of old energy, old thoughts, old ideas.

I love it.

I am so happy that I am letting myself do this.

I am so grateful for tax returns!

And student loans.

I can afford to do this and in all actuality, this is going to save my life, I can feel it.

I have been much more relaxed, more in my body, more present, more accountable.

And happy.

Not always.

I’m not saying I’m all high on yoga, but I am a little.

I caught that delicious feeling more than once of realizing that I had forgotten completely the outside world, the clock on the mantle, the life on the other side of the wood floor, school, work, chores, it was all gone.

I was just there.

In the moment.

So divine.

So needed.

The instructor was the same teacher as yesterday and it was a deepening of the dharma talk she gave yesterday.

It syncs well with my own, personal, Carmen based, spiritual practice.

Meaning I could get behind what she was saying even if I didn’t understand the names or words that she was saying, I got the point.

Non-attachment.

Intention setting.

Yesterday I meditated about love.

Today I set the intention for joy.

I felt light and full of love and joy and I held a person in my heart and sent that person that light and then.

Ha.

I had the vision in my mind of a daisy sprouting from the top of my head.

It was divine.

And silly.

And so apropos.

My favorite flowers are daisies.

In fact, after I went shopping for yoga clothes, thank you Sports Basement for the 10% discount! I went to the grocery store and picked up supplies for cooking and meals for the week at work, and I promised myself I would get myself some flowers.

I got a sweet little mix of pink Gerber daisies, tuber rose, lilies, and purple poms.

I felt happy.

Very happy.

It’s a small thing.

Flowers.

But so much too.

I love getting flowers and I don’t have to wait to be given them.

Buy your own damn flowers.

It’s been a good six days off.

A lot of heart work, thank you Valentines Day for your lessons in service and love.

Which were extrapolated out into my world all week long.

I saw dear friends, I had tea dates and walks on the beach, I saw a movie, I started doing yoga, I rode my scooter a lot, I did lots of doing the deal, I even, yes, I know, did homework–finished my reading for Multi-Cultural Counseling and the Family and got started on my reading for The Therapeutic Relationship–I sat outside in the sun, I went to ModCloth and got fitted (and I got the clothes on Friday!) and dressed up in my crinoline three times this week.

I had me a lovely, sweet, darling, “staycation.”

It was awesome.

I am ready to dive back into the fray.

Knowing.

Especially that I have a new tool in my box to help me be a stronger, healthier, more connected person.

Amazing.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Let me tell ya.

I am.

I am.


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