Posts Tagged ‘love is the master principle’

Blessed, Supported, Loved

June 20, 2014

Taken care of.

I could increase the list ad infinitum.

I was blown away by the generosity of my friends, family, fellows, this past twenty-four hours.

So many sweet thoughts and gifts, it makes me want to crawl under my bed and hide.

The I don’t deserve this police are trying to knock down my door, but I keep telling them I’ve moved.

And I have.

Some place into a kind of humility.

A sweet place of grace where I can actually allow myself the afternoon to sit and bask in some sunshine as it comes through the back door of my studio.

To snuggle into my bed, a bed I made again today!

That is progress, making the bed.

To get into that made bed, unmake it a little, and put the soundtrack to Amelie of Montmartre on my laptop and drift off into daydreams of Paris and scenes in the Metro, to actually being asleep, cozy and cared for.

Now, I can also get antsy as fuck and I don’t know how many of these “idyllic” afternoons I can take without running around the house in a panic, but though I am slow to surrender, surrender I am.

The thoughts danced about this evening as I was listening to another share her experience with life and humility, getting right sized, and a small, very small, epiphany–how long I have taken care of others, from the ripe age of three, four, to two weeks ago when I left my last nanny shift since the accident.

Today marks two weeks since I have worked.

So much, and so little (moving), has happened in those two weeks, the GoFundMe (which is still surreal and I am glad I don’t have a hand in doing it or running it, it does freak me out a bit to ask for that level of care), the folks who have consistently picked me up and carted me around town, the new friends I am making, the old friends that I am getting to actually see, the number of people who have come over to my house to hang out, do work, or just sit in a chair and shoot the shit with me, it’s almost overwhelming.

As some one astutely put on my fund-raising platform,

Sit your ass down and heal. Your friends love you.

My God.

I am loved.

I feel a little Sally about it, “you really love me, you really do!”

But so taken care of.

So taken care of, I wonder, well, shoot, what do I have to worry about now?

Just that, sit your ass down and heal.

That is the directive.

Healing takes time and like the crazy person I am, I don’t have time for that, but I have heard, oh too many of them over the last two weeks, horror stories of folks trying to get back to sports, athletics, daily living, or what have you, work, before an injury has healed and done themselves worse and re-injured themselves.

I cannot afford to do that.

I will lose my mind.

So, yes, I will nap.

And yes, I will sit, sitting now, elevating, icing, compressing.

I will also cook soup.

Made a pinto bean and rice stew with purple and gold carrots, chicken, cauliflower, and yes, kale (if I sneak it in with all the tastiness I can’t tell it’s kale, I just feel good about getting some greenery in me), plus brown rice, today.

Made my bed today.

Well, it was made for a minute.

Worked on some data entry.

I will not be continuing forward with it once I have finished doing the service, not my thing, not.

I can do an hour, then my brain feels like it’s gotten a sprain.

Which is great information.

Should I be so inclined to not want to go back to being a nanny, which is not the case, mind you, I know that my career path is NOT data entry.

“Oh goodness,” I told her, on the way to the Inner Sunset, “I have tried so many things, and I am really glad that I have tried going after my crazy ideas, helped kill the fantasy, and get out of the obsession that something, a job, was going to fix me.”

Anyone remember when I was going to be an accountant?



So sorry, I actually have two very dear people in my life who are accountants, and they are amazing, but you know, it’s not the job for me.

Or retail.

I got offered a retail position yesterday.

“You’d be great!  And you don’t have to move around too much,” she said, “and if you need more time to heal, the shop would be willing to wait for you.”

Again, amazing how people are so kind, generous, helpful, but that’s not the fit either.

I do like to move around, which is why the nanny thing is a good fit too.

“Are you going to be ready for the great nanny share-off that week in July?”

One of my families sent me a message today to check in and remind me that I had agreed to do a three family share for the week of July 15th-18th.

I think I am.

As long as I am not trying to do jumping jacks before then.

I will also have had one week back at work, fingers crossed, and will be able to gauge it.

The ankle is healing.

I can tell it is, the swelling is slowly going down, I don’t look like I have fat sausage toes most of the time.

My foot doesn’t look like a dead thing hanging from my leg.


There have been a few times when I felt like I was carrying around a rotting dead part of my body.

I kept having these horrid flashbacks to when my family dog got hit by a car and instead of doing an amputation on the front leg, we attempted to try to keep it, but it didn’t heal.

In fact.

It started to rot.

That is a smell I can never, ever, erase from my memory.

Looking down at my foot a few times was like seeing that dead limb on my dog.

It doesn’t look like that today.

Thank God.

And if I follow directions, sit still, let my body heal, and love myself as much as I can, which really means having some humility and accepting the love that is being showered upon me instead of shying away from it, then I know I will come out of this with not only a healthy ankle, but an amazing community of friends, family, and fellows, with whom I get to continue sharing this crazy journey.

The best of both worlds.

Love is the master principle.


Love is the Master Principle

June 18, 2014

Well fuck.

So it is.

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

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

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

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


True to all of it.

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

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


I let the words sink in.

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


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

I knew he was right.

And I could be right or I could be happy.

I meditated some more.

I asked for guidance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I let it go.

It’s out of my hands.

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

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

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

I also practiced taking another action.

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

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

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

I submitted a piece I wrote to a blog.

To the Burning Man blog specifically.

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

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

So to the editing of the piece.

I wrote it as a blog four years ago.

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

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

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

It was easy.

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

The amazing thing?

I was there.

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

And I was once again in the Thunder Dome.

It awed me.

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

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

I am back out on the playa in the dust.

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

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

I can’t describe how that felt.

But it was a kind of love.

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

Love for giving back to the Universe.

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

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

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

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

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

Let the love out to accept the love coming in.

Give and receive.

I am lovable and worthy of love.

Love is the master principle.



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