I've Missed YOU (and by you, I mean ME)

In the everyday thrum of madness, school, work, child rearing, friendship, partnership, and basic family insanity, I forgot to honor the silence. Not the bone dead tired silence of falling into bed or the blacked out silence of having a few too many drinks, but just sitting in silence. Awake. Aware. Alone. Without pressure to DO. Ahhhh, that enormous laundry list of things to do. I sat tonight, under the stars, and wondered where my fire went. Did I burn it out doing too much or did I let it wane doing too little? At any rate, I feel unsatisfied. And lazy. I feel like my greatness has not been tapped. I have been idle this summer, post graduation. I let my body rest and grow soft. My son has grown into a little man and I have endured the strain of servitude in the public sphere. To be clear, I came here to bitch so please just look away if it bothers you. But I see my reaching into the dusty files and doing backflips for this lost blog's password as a kind of ignition. I LOVE to write. I LOVE to dance. I LOVE to make art. So this week I am making a stand to take it back. Steal it back from anxiety....the world makes me fearful...our government, the system, the upper-class, the disease in our animals and vegetables, our water, our soil, our air, the vaccine dilemma. I am going back to what works. There are no promises...it's raw, it's real, it's fraught with my true humanity uncloaked for the first time in a long time. Welcome back home, self. I saw my brother's girlfriend lose herself recently. The only reason it bothers me is because it resonates with me. She said, "I'm just here until your brother is done with me." I asked her what she was doing that night. Whaaaaaat??? My brother is an enigma all his own but whaaaaaat? GET A LIFE! Oh, all those fingers pointing back at me through the years. I spent so much time chasing affection that I ended up intolerant of the same quality. So I came to believe the only action that needs to be taken is from me. Get busy. So I took a tribal belly dancing class (awesome and terrifying) and met some wonderful women. I made a vow to paint again. I made a few steps in creating sacred spaces in my home. I am back, I am here, and I will be writing again. Much love!

she speaks

the quiet came down like a thick blanket, cool and heavy against the prickling of my skin. the fragrant flowers left traces in my clean, wet hair. i heard the eastern screech owl, who trilled a deep cooing sound not at all like her name belied. i couldn't sleep. it wasn't unusual, for since the time of my childhood i had become aroused after the final breath of day whooshed out, and night glided in on her indigo wings. i had no expectations of my family to understand, and through the years my peaking energy left friends and lovers alike completely confounded. they might sleep or struggle while i ran my feverish hands through colors, through pages of stories, poetry, or my own insatiable needs.

i asked my mother if i have always been this way. she responded slowly, trying not to damn me in the answer. but morning has always brought me suffering. the low grey lights bleeding to pinks and fiery salmon. the wisps of the nocturnal fairies receding to the days of duty and heat. she speaks to me, calling me to dance in her splendid twinkling robes and i cannot refuse her. it is when things are most effortless, somehow more poignant, and when my spirit calls out to the creatures in the forests and in the swamps. the gentle song floods me now, pulsing in small rhythms, thousand-fold symphonies of insects and amphibians alike calling the sacred name of the mother. our mother. my mother. my name.

The Passing of a Great Man

It's taken me some time to process his death. I felt almost like I was in shock, only it was no great surprise for Pop to die. After all, he lived a long life and was almost ninety-two. It made logical sense to me, because he had been suffering with Alzheimer's for almost a decade and had completely forgotten me about five years ago. Watching his memorial slideshow today has left me feeling so emotional, so sad, and so full of gratitude. I come from amazing stock and it was all the more evident as every photo morphed into the next. It's hard leaving the nest, moving across the country and telling your young self you can always turn back; you can always go home. Now I am finding how time passes and how entrenched in our own lives we become. I see how hard it is to go back, and sometimes when you get there they don't know who you are.

Pop and I never had a chance to really say goodbye. Our relatives reminded him of who I was when I'd come to visit every year, but after a few years he'd just smile and say, "Hello, Sweet Girl." Soon thereafter he went silent and began sleeping a lot, so in that way I felt his death even before the physical one. Looking back through the memories, I can honestly say I've been one of the most blessed individuals. Pop always took his time making wonderful things for us. I still have my dollhouses, my toy chest, my special lockbox, my cutting board, my bookshelves, and my Frank Lloyd Wright light. He showered all of his grandchildren with handmade wooden crafts, and it is really something to be appreciated. In a world full of plastic junk, I have something of value to pass to my children.

When I think about who Pop was there are a few immediate qualities that come to mind. He was a kind, thoughtful, gentle person. He was always impeccably groomed and extremely well educated. I remember how much he loved nature, taking walks, reading something interesting, singing, making things in his woodshop. He had a love of animals and children. He was a faithful and loyal husband and father. He made each grandchild feel like they were his favorite. He appreciated music and the arts and continued taking classes into his late years. Most of all I miss his subtle and genuinely happy presence. There is a certain loneliness I have for him and it will never be filled. Because of Pop I became someone who loves children and animals, loves to go on walks, make homemade goodies, craft things by hand, sing, and read interesting things. I hope I can follow his example of generosity of spirit and giving my full attention to the person I am spending time with. I hope I can support others and inspire them to achieve wildly romantic dreams like Pop has inspired me.

I don't know if I'll ever be half as classy or successful as my Pop, but he has left his mark on me and I feel so grateful for it.

There was a time where my world was my friends. Everything felt hinged on their opinion of me and I felt guided by my need to create a sort of "family". I remember feeling this way as an awkward teenager and I felt such certainty when I proclaimed to my father, "These girls are amazing. We will be friends for life!" I guess we all feel that way about friendship at one time or another. It's just impossible to see your life without that particular place to belong, the inside jokes, the secrets, the trials and make-ups that most friendships chalk up. My highschool crew was like that. They gave way to a new group in college. They gave way to a restaurant culture, which moved around as I moved around. Then I moved to California and started fresh, scared and lonely as shit. But I remember Papa saying this to me in my early teen years, when I was as close to being in love with my friends as I have ever allowed myself to be.

My father looked down at me and shook his head slowly. He said something I've never been able to believe and certainly never forgotten. "All these people will be strangers to you in less than five years. You'll be able to count your true friends on one hand by the time you are my age." I looked at him with disgust and couldn't imagine ever being so cynical. "Yeah, right."

Not long ago I reached the pivotal age of 30. This didn't seem like such a milestone until recently, when I discovered I no longer felt the same way about friendship. Now I have my own family, and it has eradicated this void I always searched to fill. Maybe I opened up too much or gave myself too passionatley to people that didn't really want to know or have that much. Or maybe the saying is true, you have friends for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. You never know how long someone will be in your life. I guess I just always wanted to belong somewhere, to be accepted and loved like a family member without all the DNA and messy history. In my little imaginary world, everyone got along without incident and had a great time. (Let's be real, family and friendships can be messy at times. We are humans after all.)

I have always defined myself through my relationships and felt almost like a puppet on a string, trying desperately to please each and every person. To be perfect, accepting, loving, funny, nurturing...TRY being the point. And I have failed miserably at some points, and succeeded at others. I look around and I see that it didn't take reaching 50 to have a handful of true friends, ones who have been there for half my life. I see the seasons, the reasons, the illusions I create around myself and people. For what?

I ask myself why I continue to suffer with attachment. Why do I feel this urge to be everyone's friend and to make everyone I meet like me? It feels gross just admitting it, but I feel like it was somehow bred into my very bones. The women in my family all do it, and suffer the consequences.

So now I am left with a new taste in my mouth. I feel the rise and fall of the ocean, the everchanging landscape of my life and feel almost at peace. I feel like I could pull up and move anywhere with my little family. I feel alright that I make mistakes or fuck up and friendships evolve. I see now that old saying is quite true, when one door closes another one opens. It feels surreal to even feel this way, but I see now that accepting change is the only way I can gracefully navigate through life.

Sets of Three

The single paned windows are rattling and the trees look like someone with their head out the car window. I'm drinking cream soda and eating pretzels, wondering just how much wind it would take to bust in the glass. It'd be nice to have a fire, but it's a fake fireplace with a ceramic log and the ignition seems to be broken. I've spent the day wondering where to go from here. I am not so much worried about the destination, but there seems to be a three pronged fork in the road. I am going to an open house tomorrow for a two year horticulture program focusing on enology and viticulture. I think making wine would be a marriage of so many things that I love. Spending time outdoors, moving to the country, getting my hands dirty, making liquid art. I've met a lot of winemakers over the years and most of them are drunks. This part is unappealing, as I am trying to remain in balance. I've thought about the spiritual psychology program up in Santa Monica too. A few of my favorite authors graduated from their master's program and I have a few friends currently enrolled there as well. I've always thought about writing fiction. I've wanted to be an author since fourth grade. I am inspired by break out authors like J.K. Rowling who almost topped Forbes list a few years back and started telling Harry Potter stories to her kids when they were homeless. I have been paralyzed by the magnitude of motherhood this past year. Now I feel rested enough and stable enough to DO something. I just can't decide what to do first. Then again, I can do all of it and more! One day I'll have my art on my wine labels, have a small vineyard with horses and a bed and breakfast/sex therapy retreat center. Ha! And I'll have a big garden with lots of cucumbers for making sweet pickles!

I'll tell you what, though. Being a mother is the single most challenging job I have ever had. It is the most thorough education on selflessness, sleeplessness, and taking the time for honoring yourself. I often feel tethered to the house and going back to school part time would be a wonderful outlet. We'll see what the openhouse reveals.

A few weeks ago I was watching a youtube vid on Burning Man last year. I want to go so badly, and started crying because I felt so far from that reality. I have a very tame life presently and I realized I have to be more active in the community-fire spinning, monkey chanting, yoga, volunteering, horseback riding, school, art shows. Winter is shaking her feathers and spring is just around the corner. I feel the green shoots pushing through my shell, springing toward the light! I know the path, it's patiently waiting inside my heart. I just have to follow what feels right.

the ugly truth

i have been wrong and acted out of fear.
i have been unkind and judgmental.
i often fail to follow through on things.
sometimes i seek the easy way, even if i know it won't get me to the right place.
i stumble and fall, finding it hard to get out of my own way.
i can be meanest of all to myself.

this year my intention is to be more honest about how i feel, let go of things that hurt, ask forgiveness for wrongs i've committed, focus on coming from a heart centered and conscious place, and find the magic i've been missing. the other night i was sleepless, tossing around on the fact that i'm not lost, i've just forced myself not to listen. i thought i could bury my heart and "get through" this part...but instead i have been stuck in a place that doesn't feel right. i went to "sleep" again, and laying in bed suddenly couldn't sleep. i know the vibrational toxicity that comes with red meat, alcohol, television, sedentary living, refined foods, cigarettes, sleeping friendships. i found a bracelet that says, "your life won't change until you change your life."

i agree.
so i choose to change.
my intention is to stay awake this time.
the "other way" doesn't work, and having explored that to every possible end, i feel ready to enter this new year, new decade, and new age with an open and kind heart.

Keeping My Name, Not circumcising my boy, and other thoughts from a strongly opinionated woman

I'm not ever changing my name, unless it's for witness protection. Don't worry folks, I am not close to being engaged so it's not really an issue. But I am a mother of an 8 month old boy. Glorious little gem of a human, born at home and unvaccinated by the western hands of fear and greed. I plan on fighting the system and anyone else who doesn't stop to educate themselves before making judgements and following blindly along the path. I'm no genius, but I do consider myself a smart woman and a strong one. Where are the rest of my ilk, I wonder? Where are the women who dare to change the standard and stand up to generations of men chopping off their sons' foreskins? It's considered criminal to do that to a woman, yet it is practiced all over Africa and the Middle East. I know we Americans do so much to remain hairless, odorless, and foreskinless...for what? To be cleaner? Closer to some judgey puritanical God? I took one look at my baby and knew he was created perfect and whole. I knew hurting him was not an option, even if my family and his own father fought me tooth and nail. I fight for the freedom to choose, the idea that we are wonderful creatures as nature intended.
I feel misplaced in time. I feel my religion is being present and taking care of the earth and her creatures. I am a juicy, sometimes musky and hairy, often curvaceous and wild sister, mother, daughter. I don't understand how so many Christians took a Jew, bleached him out, added a couple of Pagan holiday rituals from the Sun God, threw in a magical gift bearing Elf and flying reindeer, and condemned the very wine they drink in sacred communion on the wrong day. Candlemas became Christmas, and though I don't subscribe to either religion, it still makes me mad. I feel bad that the very land covered in cement used to breathe and be a part of the humans who lived with it, not killing and conquering it. OWNING IT. I will not take part in some ritualized agreement to Obey and give away my identity! I might sound angry to you, but it is really just venting my passion so that others may hear one voice not afraid to speak out. So many women died for me to have the right to vote, to wear pants, to own property! Who are these imitation women with plastic EVERYTHING shopping and consuming and trying to bust through glass ceilings without a nod to the past? Without the respect for our elders and women who died fighting for our rights to be educated, strong, free? I look around at the sleepwalking society, puppeteered by consumerism and a lack of identity and I VOW not to become one of them. I VOW to give my son a fighting chance to be a human being full of life, wonder, excitement, reverence for life and nature, and respect for himself and his mother.