Posts Tagged ‘holding space’

Void In My Heart

August 11, 2017

Only you can fill it.


Fill it with love.

Fill it with joy.

Fill it with the smell of you entangled in my memories.

Fill it with the flush you bring to my face.

Fill it with flowers.

Nature abhors a vacuum.

So I have been told.

I am not empty without you, per se, but there is emptiness there.

Greater than I knew.

A spot, a space, a holding space if you will.

Patient it waits for you to step back in.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

If I grow any fonder I’ll die.

You indulge me.

You sustain me.

You light me up like a firefly on a hot summer night.

I think about that.



Hot summer nights.

I feel sixteen again.



Fraught with emotion.

Overfull with desire.

Wishing to abandon myself completely to you.

All the time.

You redeem me.

You rescue me.

When I did not know I needed rescuing.

When I am with you I am replete.


Ravished with happiness.

I am almost afraid to see your face.

Your eyes.

To touch you.

I will have to make sure you are real.

Not a dream.

Not wishful thinking.

But here.

In front of me.

Waiting for my touch.

Waiting for my kiss.


You have not left a void in me, but rather a space that is occupied.



Continuous with thoughts of you.

My heart overflows.

I find my face wet with tears for no reason.

I wake up and feel you in my body.

I close my eyes at night and see you there pressed against the backs of my lids.


I can almost feel you beside me.

I lift my hand and can sense the contours of your face.

My heart batters inside my chest.

The state of being away from your person.

Makes me want to hoard you when I have you.

Makes me greedy and childish.

Wanton and lustful.


I wish to stockpile you so that I don’t feel that awful loneliness without you.


Love is abundant.


This love has no end.

No beginning.

It shelters me from the nights rain.

It lulls me to sleep.

I am held.

I am seen.

And in that seeing and holding.

I can do the same for you.

I see you.

Let me hold you.

Let me press against you and fill you up.

Full to overflowing.








Not The Day Off

April 12, 2017

I had planned.


I hadn’t anything fixed in my plans.

I had some ideas.

And nary a one of them was met.


I am alright with that.

It was still a nice day off.

I had therapy in the morning.

I realized when I got there that I had left my phone charging on the table in my tiny kitchen.

I had even noticed it, and said to myself, self, don’t forget that phone, self, your phone is on table.




It was forgotten.

I took it to mean I should be electronically free for a little while.

It was interesting though.

Trying to get into the building where I go for therapy, it has a key code and I couldn’t remember it at first.

I had all the right numbers, as it turns out, I had just not tried them in the correct sequence.

I eventually got in, but it was sort of funny punching in the numbers and wondering how this was going to look to my new therapist.

We did chat a little about me forgetting my phone, happens sometimes when I get moving too fast or I am trying to do too many things, I was folding laundry because I didn’t want to come home to a basket of it and I was a little rushed.

I even remember thinking, really, are you going to be late to therapy because you’re folding leggings and socks?

Get going!

And of course.

I got.

And I forgot.

It was not the end of the world, but I can tell as the weeks just begin to build, that I am scared of what may come up, of the stuff getting unpacked, the things crawling out into the light of day, the raggedy dolly being pulled out from underneath the bed, that the therapeutic alliance is being created and if I trust this woman.


Shit might happen.

I was joking with a friend about emotions and naming them and he said, “yeah I know, when this thing happened (insert thing, I don’t remember) I felt like shit.”

I said to him, “shit is not a feeling.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, “I felt like crap.”

We both laughed.

Thing is.

As much as I might be afraid to address the stuff, I do want to shine some light on it, find the wounding, clean it out, heal it and let myself experience more living, more experiences, more joy, more laughter.

I feel like there’s a lot of things that I don’t appreciate enough because I still have these super old defensive mechanisms that kick into place sometimes and I am not always aware of them.

I want to shed them.

I want new tools for my life and experiences.

I want to grow.

I don’t want to stay stuck.

It’s a challenge.

And I’m aware that I may throw a monkey wrench into the process, but I can also see quite well that I am the only thing in my way of moving forward.


I had my session and I scootered back home.

I got my phone, 100% charged, ha.

I texted my friend who I was meeting for lunch and confirmed timing and headed right back out.

We hung out, shot the shit, talked about my trip to Paris.


I could talk about my trip to Paris a lot.

In case you were wondering.

I leave a month from today on May 11th.

One month away.

Four weeks of work.

Three papers.

One weekend of classes.

So close.

I can taste the baguette.

Not that I will be eating any.

Perhaps I should say, smell the baguette.

There is just such a delicious smell to bread in France, the butter they use for the croissants, oof, the smell is heady and rich and so much more nuanced than what I smell from a croissant here.

A few places do get it right.

Tartine has a croissant worth writing about.

Again, not that I have tried any recently, but it is still something magical to ride past the store front on 18th and Guerrero and smell the bread and the pastry being made.

I always reminds me of the smell in Paris on the blocks where there is a good boulangerie.

Grateful again and again that I booked this trip.

I will be missing my darling and pregnant friend with whom I was supposed to be taking  the trip with, however, I know myself, I know my abilities, and I know that I will have a grand time.

I am not afraid to travel on my own, although company is nice, it is not necessary.

I shall create the company I crave.

And that really is all that matters.

Being aware of what my needs are, being able to access them, and take care of them.

Like today.

I just needed to chill out on my friends couch and talk.

Sometimes that is the best thing I can do.

Not do a whole hell of a lot.

Have a nice lunch, hang out, talk, connect with another human being, share adventures in life and make more plans to have more adventures.

I promised myself I was not going to have anything to do with school today or yesterday and that was accomplished.

Perhaps the most important thing was that.

We did leave my friend’s house and have adventures out in the world, running some errands in the SOMA, having coffee at Wicked Grounds, which always amuses, there are few choices for coffee in the SOMA and who doesn’t want to go to a sex positive coffee-house in the leather district in San Francisco?


Their coffee is not the best, but when you don’t have a choice, it will work, and the crowd is always eclectic, and the scenery is fun to check out and it’s cheeky and cute.

We ended up giving up our table to a group that were coming in to run a rope bondage workshop.

I love San Francisco.

Then I headed back to the Castro, caught a quick bite and did the deal with my person.

It was a perfect.


Low key day off.


I even snuck in a little self-care session when I got home.


I am ready to go back to work tomorrow and I even have time to unwind with a video and some more hot tea before calling it a night.

Tomorrow the work and school grind is back on.

And that’s ok.

Because at the end of the tunnel.


The golden flares of brilliance off the edges of the Seine at sunset, the river smote with light, swans, and the Eiffel Tower in the distance, a dream, just there, smitten with the smell of baking bread, adrift in the dust motes of love scattered there on the waves.


I see you Paris.

Please do wait for me.

I will be there soon.

Je t’aime Paris.

Trop bisoux pour toi.

God Save Me From Unstructured

November 18, 2013



I am so bad with not having my day chock a block full that inadvertently, though I have been trying to hold certain days free, I blocked out a seven-day work week next week.

Damn Gina.

What are you trying to do to yourself?

Of course it was pointed out to me by my dear friend who was asking after possible surfing dates.

“Next Sunday?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

“Yes! Wait, uh, no, fuck, I said I would help some one out at the SF Craftsman Fair.”

He smiled and shook his head at me, “I thought you were holding Sundays free?”

I was.

I was!

However, I shan’t be cancelling on my friend, I want to help her out and I realized that despite wanting very much to go surfing with my other friend, that I do need to have some income to cover that six days off around Thanksgiving.

And, I have six days off.

So far I have only put down a lunch date with a girlfriend, who being a doctor, actually has a crazier schedule than I do, that Tuesday.

Otherwise, yes, so help me God, I am holding space.

I am holding space for you, I promise.

Even when it is so challenging.

The sun was out, I had just meditated and for the second time this morning I found myself in tears.

I had absolutely no idea where they came from, what they signified, or what caused them, although I have a theory to be explored short with, they just were there.

Sliding down my face, wet, salty.

Unlike the water I thought might be falling down my face this Sunday–I had tentatively made plans to go surfing with some girls down in Pacifica, but what ended up happening, classic miscommunication, is they assumed I had a car.


This lady only gets round by bicycle, the occasional MUNI ride, the once in a while motorcycle lift, and the ultra decadent cab ride.

Which being out in the Outer Sunset is a decidedly wicked treat.

One which I doubt I will be pulling out again.

The girls left for Pacifica, told me where they would be and see you soon.




The possible swimming did not happen, but the solidification of a lunch date with the aforementioned doctor shall.




Oh hell, I have nothing to do today.

Not true, I was meeting my dearest Joan in the Mission and we had a late dinner planned at SunFlower on Valencia and 16th.

Which was fabulous.

Hot and Sour Soup with veggies.

Pot of tea.

Divine company.


I had nothing to do during the early afternoon and that left me  wide open to the emotions of the week, the month, the year, fuck, who knows, my entire god damn life.

I wrote my morning pages, cried.

I did some laundry.


I paced around the studio, the sunlight shafting in through the open door, the seductive shush of the sea just underpinning all my spinning about the studio, the Adirondack chair beckoned.


I give up.

I will sit in the sun and meditate.



Nip of breeze every once in a while biting at my fingers with a delicious sharp chill breaking the warm sun that fell on my face and chest and legs, reminding me to stay anchored in my body.

My mind rambled about for a bit.

I breathed and pushed further back into the wood slats of the chair, muscles relaxing and then, again, tears.


It seems that when I give myself enough time I am going to have feelings, whether or not I want them.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I want feelings, I just have a preponderance toward the good ones.

Yet, I know, intrinsically that the sad has to come out and that it eases.

I just want the relief.




I know what to do when this happens and I picked up my phone that was on the chair arm and started making phone calls.

I got what I needed.

Perspective and suggestions.

Suggestions I promptly engaged in and within a few minutes my mood had shifted and I asked myself what I wanted to do.

Kale salad!


Hula hoop!

Hoop time

Sunday Afternoon



Walk in the ocean with my pants rolled up around my knees.

The fact is, that despite wanting to very much get into the water, oh the longing watching the surfers from the shore, it was likely for the best that I did not go swimming today or go surfing in Pacifica.

I have to go see the doctor tomorrow about my shoulder and I can imagine that it would have been some physical strain to exert myself in and out of the water.

I was reassured by that small, intuitive voice in myself that the ocean was not going anywhere and that for today, at least, the best I could do was work it out with the hoop.

I picked a spot on the beach, breathed in the air, sucked it down really, and felt the sadness pool around me, but not engulf me.

I am just having some feelings.

I don’t have to know why.

I forget that quickly.

The thing about sadness, too, is that it is ephemeral and passes through me when I let it, quite quickly.

Though there was a certain melancholic tinge to the afternoon, it was more from the gray skies then from any grey interior feelings.

Ocean Beach

Ocean Beach

The beach was lovely, the tide low, the sun shimmering beneath the clouds, the blue skies breaching behind me over Twin Peaks, the kites in the sky.

I hooped for a while then sat on the sand and ate my salad and the most glorious pear from Frog Hollow Orchard, courtesy of the BiRite, and my heart just opened and expanded and beat.

Not hard or painfully.

Just fully.



You are alive.

I felt vibrant.


And yes, still sweetly sad, but it was just the echoes of the earlier emotion and the salt of the tears that had fallen blended with the salt in the air and I felt washed out and clean and ready to move forward.

A train ride into the Castro.

A visit with my dear friend.

A conversation about surfing, schedules, and life, with another friend and my day bloomed open.

Funny that.

Hold those doors open, make that space, and love settles in.

Not pain.

Not self-pity.

The sadness washes clean the space for the love to settle in.

I walked back from the bowl of soup, called my other friend and let him know it was good to see him, and knew that I was blessed with my life.

I bought groceries and gratefully boarded the N-Judah back to the beach.

My house with its fresh made bed greeted me, my hula hoop–I even hooped a few more minutes while I waited for the kettle to boil–some music on the stereo, some candles lit perfuming the air, and just now, the words, the solace of my day, and the muffled roar of the ocean beaching onto the sand again and again.

Time for more unstructured time.


Holding Space

July 16, 2012

I have to give myself props.

I held my own this weekend.

It was hard.

Harder than I thought it would be and, easy, so easy, why have I not done this before?

I went to the Russian River for a three-day weekend.  The traffic coming and going was pretty fierce, it ended up feeling more like a two-day weekend with the travel time that was eaten up there and back, though.

I did not succeed at everything I set out to do.  My food was a little sloppy, I grazed a little more than I ever do.  But I did not have sugar or anything else that triggers my own special brand of crazy.  It was just freaking challenging to have a bowl of cherries or strawberries or slices of pineapple every where I went.

Or the ribs.

Good grief there was some meat at this house party.  In fact, when my people get together, they bring the food with.  There was funnel cake, there was German chocolate cake, carrot cake with cream cheese, ribs, peach stuffed sausages, fried egg sandwiches on toasted sourdough with sliced sweet one hundred cherry tomatoes and spicy arugula.

We had so many beverages I was in the bathroom every other minute it felt like.  I certainly got my sparkling water intake on, that’s for sure.

I also got my love on.

Self-love, self-care, and self-nurturing came for me first.  I got up at a pretty normal hour every day that I was there.  I ate a good breakfast each day–day one, kamut with cinnamon and nutmeg, sliced apple, and chopped walnuts accompanied by many cups of coffee.  Day two I had brown rice with warm banana and strawberries, almond milk and cinnamon.  Delicious.

I wrote each day I was there.

I blogged each day I was there.

Despite not having any internet connection, I still wrote my blog.  And I took loads of pictures, loads.

I also did my morning pages.

And I meditated.  I sat on the grassy hill above the house each morning and I gave myself twenty minutes to sit and be still in my body.

I went for walks.  I discovered an old tire swing in the woods.  I smelled the trees over head.  I listened to the birds chatter.  I saw deer, raccoon, vultures, hawks, wild turkeys, and Piglets.

Well, Ms. Piglet is not much of a wild animal, the sweetest pit bull ever, I got some nice snuggles with her, although she does snore a little.

I let myself go swimming.

I sat in the hot tub, not once, but twice.

I showered and did my make up.  Because even out in the country under the looming redwoods, I like my glitter.

There were times I could have gotten caught up in the deliberate manufacture of misery and instead, I breathed and kept to myself.

I shared about moving to Paris.

Sometimes I just sat quietly and watched.  It was fascinating to see how we all got along with one another.

I even got in the hammock.

Hammock Time

Hammock Time


Yes, I lay in that hammock and listened to the babble of the stream, not once, but twice.

I also danced and sang and hot tubbed and laughed my self silly.

My favorite moments were the quiet ones though.  Mary and I talking about Paris today sitting on the back patio enjoying the last moments of sunshine before packing it in.

Bonne and I standing together in the river holding hands.

Joan and I sitting in the hot tub the first night before any one else got to the house, out under the stars.

Getting to know Deke better.

Hugging Rick.

Talking to Byron about traveling.

Some times I got over whelmed and when that happened I walked off.  Not too far, just down the road a few minutes, up the path outside and above the house, or I sat with a glass of sparkling water and just observed.

I am so glad I went.

I am so glad I have such good friends.

I am also glad that I am at ease in my own skin, that I have follow through, the I showed up for myself and held to what is important to me.

Some one once questioned why I wasn’t making more money and when they asked if they could give me an honest assessment of my financial situation they said, “you know, from what I see, you just don’t have much follow through.”

That stung.

But after taking a moment to actually access what I did this weekend, I saw, and quite clearly at that, I do have follow through.

I held my space.

I took my time.

I gave what I could give.

I did damn good.

I am not always great at autonomy or saying what I need for myself, but my God, I have done a lot of work.  Getting to see how much I have matured and seeing how far I have come gave me a glow that I can attribute to more than just laying about in the sun.

Although, that certainly did not hurt, laying out by the beach.


Breaking out the swim suit


I took the time off from work and now I have a busy week, six days ahead of me.

But I can do it.

I have follow through.

And the honest assessment of having grown the fuck up, despite not having the bank account of an adult.

I have the habits of a mature woman.

I took the space I needed.

I gave myself the gift of being in my own skin, gave it time and silence, and then more, ultimately, wonderfully, was revealed.

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