on stillness

I found this writing on stillness within my journal notes from 2011. To think I’ve been on this train since then…

on stillness

Stillness is the ground of being from which all else emerges.
It is within and behind every breath, every thought, every action.
It is my starting point, my resting place, the home base to which I can return again, and again.

In stillness I notice how time and space disappear.
All there is is the present moment and my willingness to listen …
To allow the stillness to speak.

The stillness takes me into a realm of conscious awareness
that transcends my identity as body or mind.
Stillness offers an experience of being
and a recognition that my being …
my essence …
is a part of all Being, all Essence.

– Meditation and Rituals of Conscious Living
Nancy J. Napier & Carolyn Tricomi

holding

holding

I hold a cup of black tea in a Starbucks vintage mug; the tea is not their’s and tastes way better. There’s a chip on the cup. I should dispose of it but I chose not to.

I’m feeling a joyful glee in my heart cuz my partner returns home tomorrow. How four weeks has fast forward and slowed down all at once. I recall his warm soft lips and how they just fit mine.

I sit still as the sun beams down on my skin. It’s warm with a cool breeze reminding us winter is around the corner. The critical mind tells me to pull away (wrinkles, remember), but I don’t. Fly kisses from the sun reach the smile spreading across my cheeks.

I’m wondering if this is what they mean by “bliss”. This moment. On my own.
That hop-skip-and-a-jump feeling, that “skip to my lou my darling” pep to the step.
I try not to choke it; surrendering is a joy ride.

I sip.
Eyes closed.
Fly kisses to the sun and back.
Smiling.

october blood moon

october blood moon

October’s Moon is often referred to as the Full Hunter’s Moon, Blood Moon, or Sanguine Moon. Many moons ago, Native Americans named this bright moon for obvious reasons. The leaves are falling from trees, the deer are fattened, and it’s time to begin storing up meat for the long winter ahead. Because the fields were traditionally reaped in late September or early October, hunters could easily see fox and other animals that come out to glean from the fallen grains. Probably because of the threat of winter looming close, the Hunter’s Moon is generally accorded with special honor, historically serving as an important feast day in both Western Europe and among many Native American tribes.

Ok, full blood moon, here goes:

I let go of ignorance.

I let go of fear.

I let go of the separation.

I cultivate kindness amongst adversity.

I cultivate silence.

I cultivate Unity.

Your turn.
Liza Fernandez

Find Magdalena

FADE IN: two surfers.

“I found this note on my phone that I never wrote.”

“What do you mean?”

“A notepad-note-thingie that said, ‘Things are getting interesting.’ Like, what the fuck?”

“Ok…”

“I feel like I’m getting my identity stolen.”

“You would know if that was happening. You also get shit-faced a lot, so there’s that.”

“Yeah. There’s this guy in the music business who sent me an email with a legal document attached that said, ‘You better get yourself a good lawyer, see you in court.’ Like, what the fuck did I do? It haunted me. I got off Facebook, Twitter, everything.”

“Don’t let ass-fucks like that get in your way. Fuckin’ idiots, the lot of ’em.”

“I don’t know. There’s like, some darkness inside, you know.”

He rubs his chest.

And then: “Do you believe in Jesus?”

“As a religion?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Jesus seems like he was a cool dude. Not sure about his father. Look man, you might need to speak to someone.”

“Yeah. You think that’s stupid though?”

“Not in the least. I’m sure Jesus had someone to talk to, wasn’t it that Magdalena chick? Hot redhead at the table? She looks like she could’ve listened to some heavy shit.

“Yeah. I try to deal with it myself but sometimes it feels like surfing and running don’t cut it.”

“That’s cuz you’re running away.”

“Yeah. And it’s catching up to me.”

“Then find a Magdalena, dude.”

FADE OUT.

Done (pt 3)

POPS the club

I am crying
over things that shouldn’t cause so many tears.
I am clutching
to things that everyone else can let go of so easily.
I am ripping
away at my own brain
because the darkness only hurts me more.
I am pushing
because my whole life that’s what I’ve been good at.
I am killing
myself over people
who wouldn’t do the same for me.
I am holding
back from the things that should help me succeed.
I am wandering
through broken pieces
that I shouldn’t have to put together in the first place.
I am over
everything.
I am so
done.

___
Done by Iona Scott, Before There Were BarsPOPS The Club

what will you see?

I haven’t seen you in 15 years.
To think. I bet you look exactly the same.
I find myself slipping back into a daughter role, aching for her father’s attention and approval.

Oh, approval.
God, I wish I was… I was… so much more.
I want to impress you.
To be a statue, shining its significance into your daily brain.
Like a quality stamp not worth much but in a book.
Permanent (which nothing is), all powerful (we all know everything has cracks).

What will you see?
What will you say of me?
What will you want from me?
How will I be?

what do you see?

I feel shame.
Weird, why the fuck shame?
Shame and guilt?
If only I could be something more.
Socially powerful. Socially revered.

What will you see?
What will you say of me?
What will you want from me?
How will I be?

Stupid. He knows this takes time.
Well, not for her and him and her and him?
Things came nimbly, things came quick.
Stop it.
He gets it.

What will you see?
What will you say of me?
What will you want from me?
How will I be?