I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Mind spouting obscenities
How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?
It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
Get off –
Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”
1. I believe in Evolution, the process of upleveling.
2. I love to laugh and see, by first account, how humor unites us.
3. Yoga / meditation / a healthy lifestyle are my jams.
4. If it’s not a “Hell Yes!” I’m not doing it.
5. I want to cry when I start to sing.
6. I believe empathy is the secret sauce to healing and change.
7. Curiosity and Beginner’s Mind are the most frequented tools in my tool box.
8. “I Have Time” is my new religion.
9. My father’s death taught me how fleeting this life is.
10. Love is Love is Love is Love is Love.
When do I come first?
No, that’s a real question.
Is it after peeing and before taking my probiotics?
Is it after my tea brews and before I check email?
Is it once Jackie is walked, pissed, pooed and fed?
When do I show up for me?
After cleaning up the kitchen and before the clock hits 10am?
After taking out the trash and before the rest of my to-do list comes a-knockin’?
Am I worth the investment?
Time for me hits home the hardest when I see someone else doing it.
A “Wow”, a respect, an inspiration; sometimes an anger, a jealousy, an envy – all of those feelings come flying out of —
My heart? My soul? The little voice within?
I struggle with balance everyday. I know you do too.
Call mum (it’s been a while), connect with best friend, look boyfriend in the eyeballs when he shares a story, hold off the worry/panic/stress/concern/time racing. Leave that at the door. For now. This here. A moment.
You can start now.
“What are we trying to heal, anyway?
The athlete knows the day will never come when he wakes up pain-free. He has to play hurt.
Remember, the part of us that we imagine needs healing is not the part we create from; that part is far deeper and stronger.
The part we create from can’t be touched by anything our parents did, or society did. That part is unsullied, uncorrupted; soundproof, waterproof, and bulletproof.
In fact, the more troubles we’ve got, the better and richer that part becomes.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art
A remote tribe in the southern part of Africa was discovered to employ a unique tactic for righting a wrong:
When a person acts irresponsibly or unjustly, he is placed in the center of the village, alone and unfettered. All work ceases, while every man, woman, and child in the village gathers in a large circle around the accused individual.
Then, one at a time, each person in the tribe steps in front of the accused and recalls a positive deed the person in the circle has done in his lifetime. All of his positive attributes, good deeds, strengths, and kindnesses are recited carefully and at length. This ceremony can last for several days.
At the end, the circle is broken, a joyous celebration takes place, and the person is welcomed back into the good graces of the tribe.
A month since my birthday.
The birth of this body, this time, this heart, this mind.
A time to celebrate.
A time to reflect.
A time for silliness.
Fingers, toes, legs, arms, all in place.
Skin taut and elastic (for now).
Heart wide open.
Mind even more expansive than yesterday.
Curiosity killed the cat, not quite yet.
Here’s to failing.
And failing again.
And failing one more time.
Continue reading “a month since”
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.
Fly kisses to the sun and back.