Posts Tagged ‘moon rise’

Turn On The Heat

November 3, 2017

It’s cold out there.

The rains are coming.

It’s November.

Hello.

The chill in the air, with the almost full moon rising, was spooky and intense, bright and crisp, fall is here, winter is coming.

I hopefully will be getting a car soon, as I noted that there is rain in the near forecast.

I don’t have the time to do it before the rains start and I have some homework yet to do, but I’m pretty decided and as soon as I have the down time I will be getting my butt to a dealership in the East Bay.

Soon.

Not soon enough to save me from some more cold scooter rides home, or wet rides home.

I am still debating riding in to work tomorrow on my scooter, even though there is some rain in the forecast–it’s off and on and not 100% rain all day.

There are windows of time when it’s not raining and they both fall around when I would be going into work and when I’d be coming home.

I get to come home early tomorrow, both of my clients cancelled and instead of trying to squeeze in a consult, like I did tonight when my client cancelled, I decided to take the night off and just come home.

Take a hot shower.

Wash the week off of me.

Cook myself a nice dinner.

Be cozy.

Reflect on my life and the last six months.

My God.

The last six months.

So much love.

So much change.

Some quiet and private.

Some big and public.

Lots of internal change.

Loads.

And just extraordinary amounts of gratitude for where I am in my life and the people I get to spend time with.

I am so lucky.

If the rain stays away and the cloud cover is not to bad, it might be a great night to go down to the beach for the full moon.

It will be full at midnight tomorrow, but I suspect that it will look full when it rises, I thought it was full tonight as it was coming up.

I had to check online to see when it was complete.

Tomorrow.

Midnight.

The witching hour.

Magic.

Love.

The ocean.

Dancing on the beach.

Wrapping myself up in love.

The full moon reminding me of you.

Of promise.

Of joy.

Of laughter that falls from my mouth.

How sustained I am and how loved.

My life is extraordinary, even when I am tired, like I was today and a little bit in H.A.L.T.

Hungry.

Angry.

Lonely.

Tired.

I was hungry since I didn’t have the best lunch, not a bad lunch, no not at all, just not the lunch I’d planned, as the container that my chicken soup was in broke in my scooter basket and I had chicken soup all over my school books, shoes, and paperwork.

Sigh.

Tired.

As I went to bed late.

Not horribly late, just later than normal and up a little earlier to help the mom out at work by coming in a half hour early.

Lonely.

Well.

Sometimes a girl gets lonely.

I was listening to Coleman Hawkins today, late afternoon, at work, the mom had all the kids and I was at the house waiting for an important delivery and doing food prep and cleaning and household stuff.

The music moved me.

The view moved me.

I danced by myself.

Dreamy and slow, folding the laundry, looking out the window towards downtown San Francisco, dreaming of being in another’s arms.

Angry.

Well.

It passed.

But it was there for a little bit.

I got boonswoggled into a playdate/babysitting gig, without compensation.

I felt manipulated, annoyed, angry, pissed off, victimized and aware that, in the passive aggressive text, I had been played.

Or so it felt.

And I knew that I was tired and I knew that I was lonely and I knew that I was hungry, so I prayed and asked for it to be removed and I asked myself what my fear was, and I asked if I needed to manipulate through withholding my honest response, and I asked myself to see the situation with perspective and wait for clarification before getting more pissed off.

Which I’m very happy for.

I also had a snack.

Which fucking helped.

And I took some ibuprofen, too much carrying the baby this week in the carrier, which is how I started out my day, so I was a bit sore and tender all day too, which helped.

Then I had a talk with the mom and we divided and conquered and, yes, I will, in a way be baby sitting–I’m just going to call it an extended play date, but it is for a charge I have already had, who I love so dearly that I am more than happy to help and that the mom is taking two of her three kids, so that I will just have two to take care of, instead of the four I thought I was going to be saddled with, and it doesn’t happen til next Wednesday and fuck if I’m going to be upset about it and carry it forward.

Thank God for spot check inventory.

Also.

Thank God for getting home and making myself a nice hot meal, pan-fried Japanese sweet potato with garlic and pulled meat from a roasted chicken with melted butter.

That along with turning up the heat in my studio and realizing it’s Friday tomorrow and I have wonderful plans for it and I’ll get a paycheck and my health insurance stipend and really, there are no problems.

None.

Just love.

Abundance.

Perspective.

Joy.

And the nearly, almost, not quite, but soon to be.

Full moon.

Advertisements

It Was A Long Day

November 15, 2016

And now it’s done.

Thank God.

I was up at 6 a.m.

At work at 8 a.m.

Worked 9.5 hours.

Held screaming baby for 2.5 too many hours.

Then screaming baby fell asleep on me for too many hours.

And I got no homework done.

But.

I had warm, snuggling baby on my heart and that makes for happiness.

Then after work a long scooter ride over the city and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.

Wait.

What?

Sorry.

I know this is going to sound crazy.

But.

Yes.

I was signing Christmas carols earlier.

Shhh.

Not because I’m in some jolly good spirit or something.

No.

There’s a story book the baby likes, she’s not really a baby, she’s 20 months, but she likes it and it’s about seasons and in the winter season there is a picture of a group of old-fashioned carolers.

And one day a few weeks ago she said, “sing,” and pointed at the picture and I have no idea why, but I just started in on Deck The Halls and one thing led to another and there I am weeks before Halloween and I’m singing “Jingle Bells” and “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” and “White Christmas” and god only knows what else.

I know more Christmas carols than I knew.

Good gravy man.

So.

Yes, I sang some carols to get her to go back down to sleep.

She, the baby has been sick.

Me, the other baby, has been sick too.

Not so much that I needed to call off anything.

Not so much that I needed to cancel anything.

But I tell ya.

Riding over cross town to Amherst Street to hang out in a recreational room with a bunch of strangers and do the deal was not what I wanted to be doing after a long ass day with a sick tired baby, my brain, and another sick tired baby, my charge.

However.

That’s pretty much what happened.

And.

I have to say.

Grateful.

It was good.

I connected.

There was solution and I told parts of my story that I don’t always tell since it was a women’s only facility.

Good times.

And.

I saw the moon rise!

It was glorious.

I was way up in the Hills, Goat Rock Park, and turning towards Twin Peaks and I saw it through the trees and gasped.

I had to pull over.

I smacked myself on the head.

Why hadn’t I brought my new camera to work!?

Ugh.

But my new case is not here yet and I didn’t want it bouncing around in my scooter basket and oh well, but I took a picture with my heart.

It was big and orange like a persimmon.

It glowed like only the moon can and it rose slow, majestic, golden blood orange pumpkin ice cream, sherbert frosting sweet over the bay.

It took my breath away.

I was not the only person who had pulled over.

There was a little crowd of us on the edge of the sidewalk and the traffic leaving was a little kooky, but it was so worth the stop.

When I look at my life and what it could have been, where it was going, and then the sharp, amazing detour that it took, I am blessed beyond belief.

I will admit to being a bit grumpy.

A bit cranky.

A bit put out.

I really just wanted to come home after work, or go to my 6:30pm. doing the deal in the Inner Sunset, but that moon, that perspective, and then the gratitude I felt getting to leave the residential treatment on Amherst.

Fuck.

That was a good feeling.

I didn’t do rehab.

I didn’t do sober living.

I didn’t go to a hospital.

I detoxed in a church basement on Dolores and 19th.

I ate the cookies.

I bummed the cigarettes.

I drank a lot, A LOT, of really not so good coffee.

I was taken care of, I still am.

How could I not be grateful to do the service I did tonight?

Rehabs and treatment centers and homes freak me out a little, I have to say, they scare me, and I think I’m really freaking lucky that I got in the way I did and got to circumnavigate that experience.

And I know how much they help people.

I just can’t imagine having to do it.

I don’t know that I could have and I’m grateful I didn’t have to.

And yeah.

Life is good.

So I have a cold.

But I’m still going to go to yoga in the morning.

8:30 a.m. class.

I work at 1 pm-7pm so I’m hoping in between the shower and breakfast and coffee and morning pages writing after yoga I’ll be able to sneak in a little reading for work.

I’ll hie over to 7th and Geary after work and sit in another church basement tomorrow night.

I have a thing for church basements.

Heh.

I’ve got a full week.

I have a Covered California appointment downtown Thursday morning to fill out the application for health insurance through them, fingers crossed that all goes well.

Plus all the work this week, all the commitments.

And then school on Friday, Saturday, Sunday.

A speaking engagement Sunday night.

And right back to work at 8 a.m. on Monday.

Just like today.

Whew.

But.

Oh and this is a big but.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

I will only have a two-day work week next week!!

It’s Thanksgiving and my darling friend invited me to Nevada to hang out with her family and her sweet dogs and I’m gong to have a five-day weekend!

I am over the moon and I will be so ready for a break by that point.

I also have been saving my ducats so that the days off from work will be covered.

I’ll get paid for the holiday off but not for the other days.

It’s not going to matter.

I’m totally cool.

I worked extra last week and I’ve been frugal with my money this month.

I might be wanting to bring a few bucks with me for some holiday shopping with my friend or just splurging on coffees out and what not.

Oh.

I’m so excited.

Life.

So big.

So full.

So damn gorgeous.

Just like that splendid moon rise this evening.

I am.

Luckiest girl in the world!

Shake It Off

October 17, 2016

Dance it out.

Grind it out.

Jump around.

My blood is up.

Happens sometimes, sometimes when I least expect it and I am suddenly inundated with energy.

Might have something to do with writing a lot of pages today.

I got my Child Therapy assessment paper written.

Twelve pages, over 2,300 words.

It actually didn’t feel like it was that long, it wasn’t scintillating writing, it didn’t make me excited per se, although I did have some trouble falling asleep last night as I was thinking about the case assessment and the history I was making up to do the paper.

But.

Sleep I did.

And it didn’t hurt that I saw a lover last night and got the kinks worked out.

Not enough, to tell the truth.

Sometimes my blood runs high and I could well.

ER.

Ahem.

What was I writing about?

Oh yes.

Graduate school.

That.

That thing I do on weekends.

I didn’t do all that much reading, today it was mostly the writing.

Again I am rather shocked that I wrote twelve pages, that I am writing now, that there are still words to write, they just fall off the ends of my fingers and onto the page.

I have so much I want to write about.

And so much that I don’t.

Oh the stories I could tell.

The flirtations with life and narrative and the long lines of elongated tales tripping down my head, all the sexy words and heart navigations.

The flush on my face.

The small red bite mark on my collar bone, faded softly after a night pressed into a pillow case.

Were you here.

Mouth on my neck I would stand asunder at the thunderous applause of heat on my face.

I distract myself.

I look at the heap and stacks of books and the reading and the comprehending and I can get hooked onto fantasy.

Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with fantasy.

Especially since I don’t have a boyfriend.

I have pondered the mystery of it all so many times and I just don’t even know.

The ones that really want to be with me aren’t available for one reason or another and the ones I want to be with aren’t interested and then I’m just doing this dance.

The dance around my house by myself.

And.

That’s ok too.

It’s just life.

And it doesn’t always mean forever and when I’m honest.

I mean brutal in my honesty.

I have had more lovers than my due.

I have had more than my fair share and maybe your fair share too.

I haven’t always gotten what I want.

I have not had a long-term relationship in a while.

But I have had too many friends tell me how jealous they are of my single life.

Of my ability to choose or not choose how I spend my time.

“So why are you dating him if you want something else?” My friend asked me last night.

“Because no one else is interested in me,” I said flippantly.

Truth.

I don’t know how I responded, but my friend arched his eyebrow at me and said, “oh really?”

“No, it’s because I don’t think I’m good enough” I said, and delightfully, surprisingly, gently, I only teared up a little.

I have teared up a lot more prior to this.

And.

I actually have started to believe, fake it til you make it, yo, that I am good enough.

That I’m not irreparably damaged.

Yeah.

I’m a pervert.

Wouldn’t you like to know.

But I think that’s ok.

I’m a deviant.

So be it.

I can embrace it and love it just as much as everything else about me.

I’m interesting.

And deviant sounds, well, deviant.

But I am thinking that I’m just not of the norm and I think the norm is well.

Boring.

I am grateful I have gotten to explore who I am and allow for all of it to be there, all the good, the bad, “the bad” whatever, it’s all good, the nuances and shades and colors.

The sunset more glorious for the obfuscation of the clouds.

So much life there is to live.

It rained today, the smoke of evergreen pine needles in the air, the fog of sea salt water and the warmth of it, the humidity, the full moon in the eves of the morning when I woke up startled by a dream and fell back asleep pressed into the warm scent of roses on my pillow.

As though your hands were in my hair and tugged me back down into sleep and soft repose.

I wonder at myself, my heart, my desires, the awe with which I still find myself mesmerized with when I think about how lucky I am to live in this world.

When I can get my mind off of myself and into the moment.

When I can let the moon just be the moon in the sky.

Or an owl hovering over me is just hunting a snack in the dark dunes.

But.

I prefer the magic.

The mystification.

I heard him swallow the “I love you” as I hung up the phone, it was there and gone, a soft undertone of story that lines a narrative older than all my desires, old friend.

I love you too.

The romance of the unrequited longing for love.

It still dances next to my skin.

Here.

Then gone.

A ghost.

An imprint.

A kiss of sunshine through a butterfly wing.

A memory of sky blue outside the window of school bus rolling through the barren hills of late autumn, the cold hard frost on the ground belittling the eternal summer inside my heart.

I will continue to dance to French house music in my room, candles lit up around me, cheeks flushed, and even if I am alone.

I know that you see me.

And for that I am grateful.

To be seen.

To be acknowledged.

There is glory there.

Love.

Love.

It’s always.

Just.

There.

Fluttering across my face.

Sauntering in the smile on my lips.

Alive in and to this moment.

Graced.

Yes.

Graced.

And that is all.

For now.

Anyway.

 

I Saw Your Car

September 6, 2016

In the parking lot at the 7-Eleven on the corner.

It sounds like the start to a really bad country western song, doesn’t it?

I kept right on right on, moving on.

I did stop.

I did pause.

I did have a wave of something come over me.

I suspect that you were thinking of me, I had you sudden and random in my head as I switched out my glasses and put on the frames you liked to see me in before leaving my house this evening to walk up and do the deal at the place up the road.

I am tan and my hair is in braids.

Like you like.

Like that.

I conjured you to the parking lot, heir to Slurpees and candy bars, to hot dogs on a rolling tray, glistening under the heat lamps, oily and delicious, the crisp coated chicken wings, baking under another set of lights, waiting to be scooped up into thin white paper bags, that spot with grease upon contact.

God only knows the years people have lost consuming such junk.

Devious in it’s siren song.

Though not so delicious as the memory of the first time we kissed.

And then.

I realized.

What the fuck am I doing standing on this sidewalk?

Do I really need to replay that mess?

No.

I have had these odd moments.

Moments when I feel like I’m being given a chance to go back and repeat old behaviors.

Or.

Move forward.

I fished in my purse for my phone, as though I suddenly had some momentous phone call coming in and I had to answer it.

Why was I there, on the sidewalk, stopped in my tracks?

Skin a glow.

Warm.

Soft, skirt billowing about my knees.

Then.

I put the phone resolutely back in my bag, there was no incoming message, there was no sign from God.

Although, there was.

There it was.

Make the decision.

Stay and talk and get wrapped up in a man who is not available for me to get wrapped up in, fantasize about a nothingness that is there, scuttling like a Kit Kat wrapper discarded in the parking lot.

Or.

Jump the other direction.

I was reminded that I was not to chase.

Not to pursue.

To know what I want.

And to sit and wait for that.

That the desire to chase was going to come up and I could let it pass through me and let it go out the other way, run down to the beach, sink into the sand, softly paddle down to the waves lapping at the moon.

And disappear underneath that yellow buttercream frosted moon, a dusted crescent sugar cookie, a soft bitten kind of love sailing over the black velvet waves.

Buh bye.

Bye, my baby, good bye.

I walked up the sidewalk.

I thought about all ways that I took care of myself today.

From sleeping in, to washing my bed sheets and making a fresh bed.

The good food I cooked for myself.

The writing I did.

The quiet time I took.

The phone calls I made and the conversations I had.

The gift I gave myself of not leaving the neighborhood, not seeking to have an agenda, to do something, to make something happen.

No need.

There was no need.

No.

The need was to go slow.

To languish in the sun.

Languid, liquid, warm, soft, sluiced with the sunshine.

It was not foggy today.

It’s Indian Summer in San Francisco.

And thank God.

It finally came.

Granted I spent much of “Fogust” out of town, but the few days that I was here in August, it was surprisingly grey and foggy and cold.

To come back, to be out of the first weekend of my second year of grad school and to have a day where it was sunny, warm, and without fog, was a huge gift.

One that my brain was eager to sabotage by running around and “getting stuff done.”

I have no real idea what this stuff was that needed to get done.

I went grocery shopping yesterday and I really didn’t need to do anything.

I was directed to get my “mind of me” and to go outside, go to coffee, go walk on the beach, get out of myself.

So.

I did.

I took a few phones calls in the back yard, checked in with my people, then walked up to Trouble Coffee And Coconut Club and had a very hot, very wet, very expensive latte.

I sat out in the front parklet and watched the ocean from the wooden top beam of the fenced in space.

I let the sun splash down on me.

I tasted the espresso and milk and let it envelop me.

I went to The General Store and actually found a dress I just adored and even though it was much more expensive than I wanted to spend, I liked it too much to not get it.

I spent the majority of my clothing allowance on it and smiled with sweet happiness that I allowed myself the gift of getting it.

I’ll wear it tomorrow.

I thought about relationships and myself and friendships and remembered the admonishment to spend time with either myself or with girlfriends.

Guy friends I can get too wrapped up in and the fantasy of maybe they’re the guy I should be dating gets in the way of it.

I remembered what my friend said, let it happen, sit still, allow the work to take and don’t push it.

I walked down to the ocean and walked along the beach.

I watched dogs jump in and out of the surf.

I watched surfers drift in and out of the waves.

The sun shone.

The sand stuck to my toes and then washed off as the water lapped over my feet, surprising, cold, crisp, alerting my whole body to how alive I am.

I found a large drift wood log and sat.

I watched a game of frisbee.

I checked some messages and saw a man I had dated a few months back commented on something I posted on social media, I texted him, answered the question, but did not pursue it further.  I didn’t ask, hey, what are you doing?  Want to hang out?

That’s the hard part.

The not pursuing.

Yet.

As I sit with myself, leaning more and more into the strength there.

I know that I am worthy of love.

Of pursuit.

And I’m not too concerned about it.

The feelings come and go.

But I don’t have to treat them as though they are real or permanent.

Just a fleeting kiss of ghosted memory.

And gone.

Like my footsteps past the parking lot.

The neon glow of the sign behind me casting a shadow ahead of me.

Glimmers come shining off the dance floor that I chose to exit from.

Asphalt sparkles in the night.

And the caress of wood smoke hovering in the saline air.

Love.

Love.

Here.

There.

Everywhere.

God, in the details.

The swish of my skirt around my ankles.

The curl of hair, tucked behind my ear.

And.

The soothing whisper.

Soon.

Here.

At the still point of this Universe.

Love.

Will find me.

On the corner of 46th and Judah.

A whimpering croon, oh baby girl.

Just.

Come.

And.

Hold my hand.

And together.

We will walk.

Towards that unknown land.

Love.

Just there, over the dunes.

Under the cusp of the moon.

I am here.

I await.

Still.

And.

Strong.

For.

You.

Rejection Is God’s Protection

March 23, 2016

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Who knows.

But the date I was supposed to go on cancelled very last minute and it put an odd taste in my mouth.

Tinder fail number four.

Le sigh.

Full transparency.

I don’t need to be on Tinder.

I’m doing pretty good on my own.

In fact.

I turned off the app again.

My person was right.

There is nothing wrong with the app, but I also know when something doesn’t work for me and this is not working.  It was fun.  It was titillating.  It was and appears to really just to be about fantasy.

And.

Well.

This lady has had enough of fantasy.

I like the real deal.

The smash me into the man deal, the full on kiss, the I want you, you’re sexy.

I can have that.

I am aware of my needs and the TInder and the OkStupid, again, I come back to this again, haven’t cut the mustard with me.

It’s fun.

To a point.

Then it seems.

I don’t know futile.

I was actually a little relieved when he cancelled.

I have had plenty on my plate this week and I’m finally feeling like my cold is passing.

A little lingering cough in the morning.

I figure one more day of sleeping in and I will have the little fucker kicked to the curb.

I’m planning on hitting the yoga studio on Thursday and get back into the flow of that again.

I have missed it.

The being in my body, the stretching, the achey muscles.

Yeah.

Ha.

I’m ready for sore muscles.

Too funny.

Full moon.

Spotting this morning.

Ovulated yesterday.

But not the full on roaring hormonal monster that had me in its clutches last month.

Just a normal cycle.

The moon though.

Have you seen it?

Magic in the sky.

I imagine it descending over the ocean and how it will paint the sand dunes white and silver with its light.

Splendid and alive in the sky.

Or perhaps just in my imagination.

A luminous pearl in the velvet sky.

Yes.

I can feel that I am doing better.

My head feels clear.

My heart feels clear.

A touch sad now and again.

But I have that love of richness, that emotion, deep and true and yes occasionally indigo blue jean blue, but so sweet and tender and alive, that I don’t mind.

I have had so many feelings, tender and vulnerable, strong and flexible.

I do feel that I’m coming out of something.

A little darkness and mourning.

And by perfecting my heart truly/I got lost in the sounds.

The opening of the crocus pushing it’s way through the soil, dark, and at first impenetrable, then, the flower bud plunges up and out and unfurls and yes.

I am like that flower.

Fresh as a daisy.

Silly and sunny.

Sexy.

Back to myself.

Out of the dark.

Into the blue.

The sky blue.

The light of day.

It don’t hurt that the rain stopped falling.

A break in the rain.

A reprieve from the storm.

The orchid on my night stand table has bloomed again.

Five times now since I have been here, I bought it the first week I moved into the studio.

Not bad.

It always seems to bloom at an opportune time for me to self-reflect, to see the purity that comes from the gnarled and twisted roots and the glory that faces into the sun and blossoms there from the ungainly and the knots of green.

I remember to not force the blooms.

To not rip open the petals because I want the full beauty.

There is beauty in every stage of the development.

Just like there is with me, with dating, with romance, with love and loving myself and learning what works and what doesn’t.

And not judging myself when I don’t bloom out as fully as I expected.

Sometimes the flowers on the orchid are six, seven, eight blooms.

This time around there were only two.

Yet.

The simple divine flowers floating in the air are such tender white magical things that I cannot imagine that there needs to be anything more.

I don’t need anything more.

Look at all I have.

My simple life.

My sweet space down by the sea.

My dear friends.

My good job.

My school.

I get to live this life, I get to revel in it.

I get to roll around in it and not take it so seriously and lighten up and go out and put myself out on a limb and take chances and change.

Open the door and meet the welcome face there.

Be swept up into the moment and taken along for the duration of the song, carried away, caught for a moment in the in between moment.

The twixt and the tween and see that here too, is still another way to go.

A softening and letting go.

A sweetness and surrender.

Everything must come and go.

Yes.

That too.

So seize the moment, let the life in front of you be joyous, full, and alive.

Being awake is sometimes a tender place to be, but I’m no good checked out, and I’m not good when I am in fantasy.

I am good here.

In this reality.

With all my vulnerabilities and mistakes and terrors.

The fear it fades.

The sun it warms me as I walk towards it.

And the flowers bloom on their own with out me forcing them to open before their time.

There is no there there.

I am the party.

I am the girl.

No.

I am the woman.

And this is my life.

I’m going to keep having fun and dancing in the hallways and crying on the yoga mat.

I’m going to keep showing up.

Going where I must.

And letting go of thinking I know where it should go.

It’s all the same road anyhow.

Even if I often choose the one less taken.

I bet they all end in the same place.

I don’t need to know my destination.

I just know that I’m on the right path.

Free.

Silly.

Joyous.

Heart on my sleeve.

Happy.

 


%d bloggers like this: