First One Down

I did it.

I got my first paper of the semester written and turned in.

It was a small guy, five pages.

I was a bit resentful of it for a few days.

First, fucking christ, the first weekend of classes was last weekend, give me a god damn minute to have some time off.

Second, I got a notification yesterday that it was due at 4p.m. today.

What the fuck?

Four p.m.

Listen.

I have a god damn life, I have things to do, and this day, this was my first day off in two weeks, two, and you’re giving me a hard limit of 4p.m.?

Fuck.

Ugh.

Yeah.

So that I found annoying.

But.

I told myself to shut the fuck up and do the fucking work.

I also let myself sleep in.

I was on the phone late last night with my best friend and my God, do we know how to talk, like two highschool girls on a school night dishing all the things, I could talk forever with my friend, it is always so hard to say goodbye, goodnight, until we talk again, it never feels like it is soon enough before we can talk again.

I was going to go to an early morning yoga class, but decided to just let myself sleep and maybe I would catch an afternoon yoga class after I had written the paper, or maybe nothing, fuck it, fuck yoga, fuck it all.

Except.

Well.

Ha.

My body had other ideas.

Sometimes my feet are smarter than my brain.

I did miss the early yoga class, but I woke up in plenty of time to hit the 10:30 a.m. class.

I still got up and out of bed thinking, telling myself that I wasn’t going to go, I would use the extra time to write my paper, or maybe doing my Morning Pages, God knows I have had plenty of fodder for writing.

Oh my god the amount of morning writing I have done while I have been going through my recent experiences, so much.

But I am grateful for the outlet, grateful for the pen on the paper, the feel of the pen moving across the lines, the words tumbling out, prayers and affirmations, gratitude lists, longings and dreams and desires, all of it, bumbled down on my Claire Fontaine notebook and then a little sweet sticker next to my entry, a way to mark my heart on the page, a mandala, a rose, a butterfly, a baby bunny, something small and sweet to tell me where my heart lies in between the words the dance of magic and poetry that I sense is still there just waiting for the right moment to spring forth again.

Like Athena from the mind of Zeus.

All the poesie and love and magic, the passion, the words, so many words of love and adoration I have.

So many.

Ah.

I digress.

See, I think of love and poetry and get lost.

Adrift in worlds of magic and sorcery and the poetics of my life, the romance.

My God.

The romance of it.

Sometimes, yes, it is a little dark, a lot emotional, a kind of deep swooning romance that is historic and deep and has an uncanny beauty writ large in the stars, the blue moon waxing full.

But it is so beautiful and I am so grateful for it, the gift of it.

Seared into me.

Pierced into me.

Literally.

As such, I was compelled to let myself write, but instead I found myself putting on my yoga clothes and then signing up for the 10:30 a.m. class.

My feet had better ideas than my head.

And I am so glad I went.

It was a terrific class, I got to do a lot of heart openings, as though my heart has not been opened enough of late, but it was good, and hard and painful and when I felt stuck, I just breathed through it harder and thought of the love I had and sent it out into the world.

I thought of wrapping my love around my love, a warm cloak, a blanket, I pictured the sun surrounding me and then held my love in my arms, buried my face in the back of his head and then smelled the nape of his neck and I started to cry in yoga.

Sigh.

Truth be told.

I did not mind.

It felt good, a washing of love, a rendering of myself in the moment, a supplication, a surrender to the feeling, to let it go as I lay prostrate on the mat.

And the sensory feeling of putting my arms around the love of my life and covering him with love was so relieving too, as though I could buffet his heart with my love.

It felt right and good even though it felt sad too, just to have another moment to hold him close to me, even if imagined, even in revery, felt so good and real and right.

So.

Yes.

Grateful I got out to yoga.

And then did all the other things.

Shower, breakfast, reading, writing, working with a new lady who came over to the house and we met and read things and talked about life and recovery and doing the deal and that was fantastic.

And when she left.

I got to it.

I pulled out my books and notebooks and syllabus and I got into the paper.

It flowed so well and smoothly and just dropped out of my head and onto the page, well, I was a little amazed.

It just came and I edited it and read it and tidied it up and had it sent off to my professor by 3:50p.m.

Ten minutes before it was due.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Grateful as hell that I know how to write a paper.

I also collaborated with my partner in another class and mapped out the work that needs to be done for a project in that class.

I have my writing calendared for the next week, mostly next Sunday, but also some writing will have to be done Saturday too, I suspect.

And.

I have all my readings prepped for the next weekend of classes.

I will bring my books with me and again sneak in the pages and chapters when I can, where I can, in between going to and from supervision, work, internship, doing the deal, and all the other things I am juggling.

I will have my books with me and when I can, well, I’ll be reading.

It’s my last semester of my Masters program!

Holy fuck.

I have my first assignment in and done.

One tiny step forward.

One tiny march of faith into the future.

I know not where I am going.

But.

I am assured.

That it will be bright and beautiful and full of love.

Love.

Always that.

Always.

Get Your Sexy On

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.

 

 

Foiled By The Holiday

I rode my scooter up to the gates of the church to realize they were barred shut.

No doing that deal tonight.

Oh well.

I came home and did some more school work.

I just finished my third posting for my Applied Spirituality class and I did the rest of the reading I needed to do for my Therapeutic Relationship class.

I got a lot done today despite not feeling like I got a lot done.

I slept in for one.

Although I did still make it to yoga class.

I just decided to do a later morning class than I would typically.

I knew I needed to rest.

It’s been two weeks since I manifest the cold I have had, it’s last hooks seem to be easing up and though there was a brief moment of coughing on my mat–not literally, hello–I feel like I’m finally through the damn thing.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to push myself unnecessarily when I didn’t need to.

I normally meet with a lady at a certain point in my day and that was cancelled for Easter egg hunts and bunnies in Marin.

Totally respect that.

So.

Sleeping in for me, a later yoga class, and a later start to my day.

Which feels like it has sort of passed in a blur of children’s laughter–there was an Easter egg hunt in the back yard this afternoon for my housemates daughter and friends in the neighborhood and soft soreness from my yoga exertions this morning.

Plus, all the reading I did, so much reading, I do feel a tiny bit fuzzy with it.

And a softening in myself for the work of it all.

Yoga is work.

School is work.

Recovery is definitely work.

But the payoffs.

So good.

So much God.

So much love.

I also know to balance that too and when I didn’t need to do extra to not do extra.

I had an idea that I might make an extra run to the grocery store, but I was pretty mellow in my home and habits today and the effort of the yoga class sort of took out my juju to do a lot more.

As though, let me acknowledge to myself, I didn’t do anything, because that’s not true either.

I did laundry and I went to the market up the street and I cooked all my food for the week and I ate really well–someone in the neighborhood left out a box of free Meyer lemons from their tree, hello homemade lemon hummus–and I put clean sheets on my bed, I did all sort of reading, aforementioned, for school, I showered and wrote my morning pages–three long hand in my last notebook from Paris, the one from the Palais de Tokyo (stopping briefly to accept the wash of light blue tinged sorrow that comes over me when I think of that trip, still the soft bereft girl in me lingers there, in the pages of the notebooks I bought and brought back), I gassed up my scooter for the week, and I also had a tech call with Apple Care.

Which did not actually fix the issue and I’m going to have to call back and reschedule some more help.

The guy got me half way there, and it was going to take some time to move all my photos, 10,810 of them, to the external hard drive.

But for some reason it did not seem to take and I am still stuck with a lap top that is constantly telling me that it is has a full disc drive.

So.

Back to the drawing board there.

But.

Really.

A full day.

A reflective day, a quiet day, a day not quite of repose, but one in which I spent most of it reading from my chaise lounge, watching the light change on the surface of the page as the day melted away down towards dusk and sunset.

The ticking clock in motion.

The melancholic moment of day end and the awareness of all things done.

And not done, but mostly done.

I thought I might get around to writing one of my papers for the next weekend of school, but after all the reading, I didn’t have the gumption in me.

I think I spent all my gumption at the yoga studio.

I also had a really interesting experience.

Aside from falling over when I tried to do a side plank and also, exhorting, “oh my god,” when we did a pose that was to help do an IT band stretch.

At least the instructor chuckled with me.

She also helped me understand something new about my person and my experience with myself and my intuition.

My third eye, specifically.

She kept exhorting the class to soften that space between the brows, to ease into the poses and sometimes I could, but mostly, the spot between my eyes was furrowed in concentration.

Later.

Well, hmm, later I began to speculate that perhaps it wasn’t furrowed because I was trying so hard to do something, but rather that I was trying so hard to not allow myself to see.

To, in effect, utilize my third eye.

I have a deep pool of intuition and love and inner clairvoyance that I have not ever really allowed or encouraged myself to see or use.

It is strong enough that it comes through often to me none the less, intuition, gut response, a pricking of the thumbs, etc.

However.

I had this image of a large dragon eye, opening and closing, then falling asleep.

Rather like Smaug in The Hobbit, he sleeps, but knows that there is a mischief about.

A thief.

Bilbo with the ring poking through the treasure.

But the eye is closed, glued shut, sticky with sleep crumbs and gluttonous logic.

How could there be anyone there?

No.

Slumber on, but with brow furrowed, eye closed against the whispers of something is up.

The instructor during our final resting pose came to me as I lie on my back, eyes closed, heart furrowed against further insights, I had just finished a strenuous pose and felt opened to more sorrow and tears were on my face, and sweat.

Goodness.

I broke a sweat today.

Anyway.

As I lay there she gently approached, squatted down and placed a small amount of ointment into the nook of my left shoulder and rubbed a tight knot of muscle there I did not even realize needed relief.

Then.

She dotted the space between my eyes and rubbed the spot until it relaxed and opened.

I felt like that sleepy dragon.

I felt that eye open and look about.

It feels dangerous.

And amazing.

Then I cried some more.

Good grief.

I did not know, thank God my person did, how much sadness and anger needed to be shed out of my body.

It feels amazing.

And tiring too.

It was a lot of work to show up on that mat today and I am grateful for the body that did the work and the mind that finally got the hell out of the way.

And for that opening eye.

I am nervous to see what visions it brings.

But enthralled with it too.

Life.

It keeps getting richer.

I just have to keep taking the suggestions.

Grateful I didn’t balk too long at the yoga one.

Grateful I show up.

Just grateful for it all.

Third eye open.

Blind.

No longer.