Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Unpacking and Repacking

So peculiar.

It's after 11pm. In twelve hours, I am on a train to Portland, OR, to meet an aunt and an uncle and a cousin I have never met before.

I know I shouldn't really know how to feel, or try to imagine what someone else might be feeling and then be that. No, I should be authentic, and feel what it is I am feeling. Perhaps label it, or at least describe it in a gentle and objective tone. Truth is, I'm not sure what I am feeling right now. What I do know is that I've spent the day cleaning up for the girl who's coming over to watch the fuzzies. My house is practically clean, which is just shy of a miracle. My house is practically clean, and I have yet to pack a single thing. I just spent two hours in the bathtub, watching reruns of "The L Word". Being absorbed in someone's else's drama for a while.

This is the first Christmas I didn't go visit the family I already know. I recognized clearly in September what an emotional battleground it is for me to be with them. My defenses are always up, and I put up with some amount of degradation and obnoxiousness pretty regularly. I just wasn't up for it twice in one year. My mom understood, or at least took it amazingly well. I admit, I was shocked. But so, so, so grateful for her grace.

My choice to stay clear of the Schulers this year has now allowed me to accept an invite from the Devaney's. Well, from Bobby Devaney. He's my cousin, his mom is twin siblings with my biological father. I've met my biological father three times, for a grand total of two weeks. I haven't heard from him since the trip to Tahoe. The family reunion where I met Bobby. That was nine years ago. I was glad to meet Bobby then, and was even more glad to have kept in loose contact for almost a decade. A few weeks ago, he dropped me a line to say he was coming in town, and did I want to meet up? Of course I did, and while hanging out at his friend's graduation party, I talked him into letting me come visit him in the Las Vegas area. That's when he invited me down to Portland to meet the fam. Aunt Nancy and Uncle Robert (or Bob? who knows but me?) and my cousin ... damn I don't remember her name. She's got kids, though, two daughters I think. I don't know their names either.

So what I feel right now is some sadness, some grief. My mom and I were talking on Christmas about this trip and she said that it had been too long already. Meaning I guess that I should have met these people a long time ago, that I should have already developed relationships with this invisible family I've been toting around with me my whole life. A giant trunk full of mysterious heritage and genetics and traditions and infamous recipes and familial traits and stories ... there's a part of me that mourns the fact that I have been carting all of this around without having opened it yet. And I guess I have started opening it, back when I was fourteen and I asked my mom to help me find an address for my biological father, so that I could write him a letter.

But I think I'm also sad because it is this mystery that has defined me for so long, and, after tomorrow, that mystery is gone. More or less. It will no longer be Cecily, abandoned by her biological father. It will be Cecily, reunited with the other half of her birth family. In some way, my life as I know it will be over. It may still be some amazing story to outsiders, but it will mean something different because the ending will be different. It will no longer have that lusty sense of imagined neverhood... "perhaps I'll meet them....someday..." Instead, there will be a date and some time and descriptions and characteristics and actions and feelings. Very very very palpably real things.

I'm nervous they won't like me. More nervous that I won't like them. I'm getting sick of having family that I don't like. I've worked really really hard to like the family I know, with some moderate success. It's been some intense internal battles, and I have grown in incredible ways from having the family I have. But GOD, it's been a lot of work. And now...there is more family to meet. I guess I don't HAVE to keep in touch with them after this week. I mean, if we just really don't click, then we'll have that date and that time and those descriptions and characteristics and actions and feelings...and really we could just go on with our lives like nothing happened. It would be more like I was a boarder for a week, just passing through. There's no obligation to remember birthdays or to call or to track each other's lives. Because we've spent my whole life apart, they didn't even know I existed until a few years ago, so there's not like....god I don't know what this is like. I used to think that everyone's life is a bit fucked up and random like this, but I haven't seen this too often. There isn't a preforged path to read up on before I get on that train tomorrow. This is just me and my heart being brave and curious and ever so fucking hopeful that life is okay and that family is safe and loving and that I mean something to somebody. This is me feeling really frightened and awkward.

A few weeks ago, he dropped me a line to say he was coming in town, and did I want to meet up?

I have written this before. I have written this in a journal nearly a decade ago, when my biological father first called me on the phone. I wasn't home, and he left a message. I remember going numb. Stumbling into my bedroom and staring out at the pine tree outside the window of my Tallahassee apartment. I remember dropping back onto the bed, struggling to breathe. My heart was clutched with something warm and intense. It knew. It knew that This. Was. Huge. Huge and ultimately healing. It was excited to grow, regardless of whether it was into or past a relationship with this man, it was excited to grow out of the festering shithole of worthlessness it had been moping around in for 19 years. This man cared about me enough to pick up the phone and arrange a meeting. My God, did that just mean the entire world to me. I can't explain this incredible feeling of acceptance, of belonging, of beleiving, even for a second, that you're worth something to someone who is really important to you for reasons you can't explain and shouldn't have to.

I don't know what happened. I guess we just didn't click. I haven't heard from him in nine years.

But now there's Bobby. And Aunt Nancy. And Uncle Bob. And a girl cousin with her girl kids. And they are inherently different than my biological father and from each other. And I am willing to have no expectations of them. And I am willing to have this part of my life, the invisible family part with the victimology attached to it, die and fall away. I am willing to replace it with some memories of joy and surprise. I am willing to be whole, all on my own.

Ok. Now I am willing to pack for this adventure.

Monday, December 24, 2007


Hmmm. So I imagine the sugar coma is wearing off, or the excitement of the day. Something. Perhaps an inherent rebalancing of energies. Perhaps one can only feel so free in one day, so connected.

Bah. It's all the damn sugar.

Like standing on a beach, gawking, awestruck at the gorgeousness of it all. The sparkling sand, the motion of the sea, the joyful cries of the gulls, the wind pressing gently through the wispy fronds of palms...and then the swell rolls back and punches you square in the face and sends you crashing into the sopping wet grit, pinning you there breathless and terrified until it passes...

Yeah. It's the sugar.

It started with the pumpkin cheesecake and the Cougar Mountain cookies at the Puget Sound Blood Center this morning. Apparently decandently processed baked goods are a well-known therapeutic support for acute anemia and blood volume loss. Who knew?

Then there was the multiple samples of honey and jam as I meandered through Pike Place Market.

A few hours later, Tree presents me with a chocolate-coated sugar bomb known only as "the Zoka Bar". After I eat about half of it, she pulls it away from me and redirects me to an apple, claiming it only took her two bites of it before she felt sick. I kid you not, I felt myself just sort of flitter straight out of my mind for a good few hours, even after a full-on sushi dinner at Liberty. The waiter there had such a good sense of humor, allowing me to call him "Man-Cub" and beckon him multiple times. Hysterical giggling ensued. The trip to Walgreens' didn't help, especially since the first thing we saw was a gigantic (I mean, gigantic) remote control. But I did score some fantastic neon striped toe socks that you will have to ask very, VERY nicely if you wish to see me in them ( * Thanks Tree!!! * )

My consciousness began to fade into gray as Tree drove me home. As I sat numbly absorbed in reruns of "House" I nibbled a bit on the secret chocolate stash.

I don't really listen to myself when I tell myself "no".

So fucking help me when I get on a sugar binge.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Stuff I Write That Could Be Called ... Poetry

Here's some of my new favorites that I've written recently:


Leave of myself
only beauty
only time will leak
it out of me
only the presence
of others
will that beauty be seen
and heard
and felt

Right now my presence is with
and disgust
and malice
and ill thought

the knives of destruction
all pointing at me
their blades like starving
glistening teeth of
hungry wolverine demons
I grit my teeth
bound to my own resolve
I know this too shall pass
along with the slapping self knowledge
that I did this to myself

Perhaps I will remember next time the hedonist is tempted
Perhaps I will be stronger next time
or more centered
or more prepared
or more forgiving

Perhaps I will no longer echo the legacy of
not being enough
and instead
submit to love.

The flash of the knife quickly snaps me back to present
As the demons swirl and dance around me
drawing nearer
They are already inside
rallied awake by wine
and cheesecake
One of them licks my neck
tasting, admiring, yearning
and I give in
a whore to the archetype of the boundary-less victim

Bind me, drag your blade down my thigh
force my legs open wide
I am open
and cannot reach out for the security of your embrace
only the ropes will hold me

even to myself
I beg the blade deeper
for the tip to disappear underneath dermis
underneath layers of self loathing, but oh!
how deep the knife must go
to find that layer.

And I think of words like "Never" and "When"
and "Will I ever"
as the hateful blackness wraps its arms around me
holding me warmly to its breast
smelling of all of the comforts of

Rivers of woe pour down my chest
my body getting off on self loathing
Where is the flipswitch, the reset button,
I wonder.

I shovel pills into my mouth
Liver Enzymes
B Vitamins
in hopes of a better day

Nothing has changed much in ten years
still a pill for every problem
A lot has changed, though
Process of progress is simply shrouded now in darkness

I know it is there
waiting for my return
from my kinky bondage trip with self loathing
drugged by food and indulgence,
led on by sadness and dodging self care
pushing and pushing and pushing past the mirror
which has had nothing lovely to say as of late.

I long to love myself.

I am building this concept from scratch
I got some chicken wire
and a few branches off of an apple tree
a few squash seeds
and some straw bales
left over from haunted trails
a tea light
and a teddy bear
some no VOC paint
and a safety flare
a blanket I crocheted myself

and a mirror
that I'd rather break
Thirteen years bad luck is the least of my concern.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~



My question
to you is this:

Have you any purpose
other than to reintroduce myself
to the physical boundaires of
my self?

My feet long for wet cold river stones
sharp pressing into my soles
stoicly absorbing

making space for movement

Go slow now. Keep yourself.
Together with stillness and
silence, movement occurs.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

November 2007

What if

I wasn't needed

yet still adored?

What if

I wasn't adored

yet still missed?

What if

I wasn't missed

yet still remembered fondly?

Where do the butterflies go

when the flowers are gone

when the winter rains

soak the roots

and rot sinks in?

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


For all those sobbing empathics
and those stone-faced indwellers;

I've got a news flash.

It's okay to cry.
A lot.
Whenever you need to.
In whatever way feels safest.

You will not die from crying.

You will not melt.

You will not offend

It's okay to cry for seemingly no reason
for there is always reason a reasonable mind can't fathom

It's okay to misunderstand youself on a regular basis.

It's okay to grieve the loss of family
even as they surround you
gazing at you
glazing their view
making up facts and associations
to hang on you like the corpse of a Christmas tree
don't forget: you still have a heartbeat
and must make room to

Sometimes it is you grieving for them
so that they may remain blissfully ignorant
of their pain.

You get to choose what you grieve, you know.

Some things are worth crying for.

For example: Did you ever know how bad I wanted a dad?
Tall and strong
in mind and heart and soul and arms?
who gives solid hugs with his heart
and listens with consideration
and asks questions about me
and laughs from his belly
and ruffles my hair when he calls me kiddo
who is confidently authentically honest

what a tall bill for someone to fill

I can expect things from other people
all I want
but should I put my heart into it?

She still has a few cracks and crevices
left over from the last time she fell
and broke into a million pieces

There is still peace missing
There are still pieces missing
perhaps they fell under the bed
or rolled away under the dresser
It's all I can do to hold her together

she'd love to have her expectations met
she'd love to be loved and to love again
she'd love to be cradled and held and heard and adored and
swung around in circles
by her arms
by her dad
who is laughing
from his belly with her
out loud

It's okay to cry
to grieve the imaginings of a memory.

So if you start to get teary
in front of your family
who has mistaken you for
the Christmas tree
or a piece of furniture

Tell them you're taking care of business
Tell them you're takng care of them
and that there's only so much longer
that this will take place
Tell them they should start taking notes
on grieving
on what it is that you're doing
for them
So they'll have a clue of what to do
when you take off
the ornaments and the tinsel and the lights
and give them back
their grief.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


is another form of


that I have been known to cut myself upon

bleeding into myself, I reclaim my blood,
marvel at the open wounds, lick them and step

only by the grace of Spirit
in the form of a friend in a coyote mask
raven feathers dangling, smoking sage burning
melting sharp edges into
gentle streams of soothing laughter
tumbling along with the flow of the rattle


This is real, and unbelievable
because if I were to believe that this kind of "real"
were truly my life
my heart would surely break wide open from
inexplicable and tremendous joy

Could I dare to go there again?
I must.
If I wish to live, I must.

It is within the flow of community and connection
that I wish to live
So go there I must.
Armed with courage and faith and trust
that sometimes a broken heart can be a welcomed event.

A broken heart
A heart broken
wide open
by love
can be taught to receive love again
in that moment.

Mirrors for eyes
courage like a tree trunk
with roots in the heart
with branches in the arms
with leaves in the mouth


Impenetrably gentle.

Thank you teacher.
Thank you friend.

Friday, December 14, 2007

One thing I love about Seattle... that it's currently NOT under twelve inches of snow with more on the way.....or under sheets of ice, leaving humankind generally powerless.....or under the threat of multiple hurricanes.....unlike my family and the rest of the country.

Give me gray skies with a little spittle any day.

Here's praying for safety and warmth to all those who need it this winter season.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Answers and Expectations

I just realized this morning that my head is full of answers.

For the longest time, and still to this day, I have always asked questions. When I hear someone claim a phenomenon, my first impulse is to ask "Why?" of "What if?" When I was little, my mom even went so far as to limit the amount of "Why"'s I could ask before I had to ask another question. At some point, I must've realized that some questions "don't have answers" (which really means that the person I was asking didn't know the answer) and that some questions were not going to be answered anytime soon. Sometimes questions were answered with more questions.

I was, and still am, simply trying to make sense of this world. Seeking answers. Trying to convince myself that it was safe and worth it to stick around. Looking back on my life, I can see that my entire young adult life was spent seeking answers to the plethora of questions I had about the world I was seeing and what it was telling me about myself. So many questions about what was going on inside of me, inside of my head and my heart. From counseling and psychiatric hospitalizations in high school and college, to a degree in Neuroscience, to working in group homes, to becoming a naturopathic physician.

And the answer always depended on who I was asking.

If it was a psychiatrist, usually the answer was related to a idiopathic biochemical imbalance of neurotransmitters that is likely genetic in origin and can be regulated through the new latest and greatest expensive creation of mankind. This particular one helped me lose a lot of trust and faith in mankind, research, and modern-day society in general. That whole system, from my perspective, is based upon the patient giving up trust in themselves for trust in what's ultimately a higher power, yet its a higher power comprised of the same perfectly fallible human beings that the system's trying to treat. It implies a judgment and a power differential, one that says, "You're more crazy than I am" I say Horse Shit.

If it is a shamanic practitioner, the answer might be that I've lost multiple soul parts during the course of my life and the gaps were filled in by whatever resident spirit or energy was lurking about at the time. I may have also been invaded by other energies in a more forceful manner. Now my soul needs a clearing, some extraction work, and then the soul parts need to be called home and placed back in my body. Then I must parent them and reintegrate these parts into the soul, for they have been gone a long time and aren't familiar with the new older version of me. Again, there's the giving up of power, but it seems much more temporary. This time, there's more emphasis on the patient working towards health. The reintegration process encourages things like counseling, craniosacral and massage therapies, and basic attention and awareness paid to whatever came through for you in a soul retrieval.

If it's a Sacred Contracts counselor, perhaps then the answer is about introducing and integrating the twelve archetypes that agreed to accompany you throughout this lifetime as you carry out your life purpose.

If it's a mental health counselor, it's about tempering the moment into self-reflection, regardless of what happened in the past to whom by whom in whatever fashion.

Despite having all of the aforementioned treatments, I still have moments of tremendous anger, or grief, or giddyness. I still have days of foggy-headedness and irritability. I still can't seem to follow a healthy diet or exercise routine. I have the expectation that somehow I can be fixed; that when I achieve optimal health, these things won't be experienced. I have the expectation that I'm not an endless vat of sorrow, or mania, or unbridled emotion of any sort. I have the expectation that I can be explained.

SO.....what if:

I am not fixable.

I am not broken.

I am in optimal health.

I experience things like anger and grief and giddyness.

I am an endless vat of sorrow.

I am an endless vat of mania.

I am an endless vat of unbridled emotion.

I cannot be explained.

What if I broke these expectations, and loved myself anyway?

Sunday, December 9, 2007

What I need...

...I always get.

I have so much rolling around in my head, and I can't seem to smooth it out and make it linear and compact it into letters and words and sentences and stuff.

It seems that Spirit is speaking to me in a very loud and obvious voice sometimes, now more than ever, and yet the messages are still unclear. It's also confounded by the Voices of Self-Doubt. There's a part of me that is tellimg myself that I'm flat-out crazy, and only looney toons walk around spouting "Spirit says" quotes, and what kind of doc am I going to be with my head thoroughly stuck in the clouds and completely surrendered to the whims of the universe, etc.

And I am sad. Underneath sadness is some anger, and a bucketload of anxiety, with some frustration and exhaustion mixed in. This life is so much work, like all I came here to do this time was just fucking work on my shit: all the shit from the past 28 years, all the shit from the last life, and the ones prior to it. It just seems like all it is is work, and all I want to do is play and relax and actually enjoy life a little bit. I'm so worn-out and depleted, and very very grateful to have about a month off to recuperate, rethink, revive, relax, reeducate, realign, remember things like joy and deep breathing and things that work for me.

Things I plan on doing over break:
Reading at least two books, just for fun.
Creation, at least once a week.
Exercise, at least twice a week.
Staying horizontal for as long as I can.
Sitting quietly for as long as I can.
Clean out the spare room and make it into a Spirit Crash Pad.
Tie up someone cute and submissive, and do at least two mean things to them (with their permission, of course)

work, work, work.

I read something inspirational the other day, entitled Anonymity is for Pussies. I appreciated this man's standpoint. It is something I considered as I simultaneously enter both the medical professional and the kink community. And I realize that anonymity, while serving some purpose for those who choose it, doesn't sit well with me, and doesn't allow me to be fully authentic in each moment. So I'm a kinky medical student that can hopefully learn enough about both to eventually be of service to both. And that's only two of the many hats I wear. Shapeshifter, shapeshifter...

Off to see my beautiful Ryan sing in the Seattle Men's Chorus...oh what a treat! Likely I will recall that angels and miracles still exist tonight...Ryan has that effect on me.

Saturday, December 8, 2007



What are all the ddx's for a headache?

Toothgrinding. Too much coffee. Too much sugar. Not enough water. Not enought sunlight. Not enough protein. Allergic reaction. Nonallergic reaction. Pulled cervical muscle. Infection. Detoxing chemicals.

I had a craniosacral therapist tell me there was an adjustment to be had way deep inside my skull. I believe it. I had a habit for smashing my head into fireplaces as a kid.

I have wondered recently about such things. The small misalignments and maladjustments in our physical beings being amplified into disease states. How a misaligned bone in my skull may be the root to my deep mistrust of others, for example. Once the adjustment sets in, the emotional/mental quality shifts.

What do I know? I know that pain is a signal to the body that something is wrong. If someone is in pain, something is wrong. While I know a few people for whom pain is pleasurable, I know no one who finds chronic pain tolerable without the use of analgesics.

So what's wrong? Is it really worth sitting here, pondering the cause of the headache? I would think knowing the cause would facilitate the healing by directing the treatment plan, but there will be and have been times where one just doesn't know. And other times when the best treatment is time.

God, my whole face hurts.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Press On

There's this one very cool thing about "growing up" and that is being able to have your buttons pressed (or smashed) and have the wherewithal to just sit with it. Sit with the anger, the wrongdoing, the bruised ego, and simply marvel at the experience. Sit with the knowledge that you have let this experience into your consciousness somehow, for some reason or non-reason. Sit with the process of discerning the pathway in, the doorway through which it came, the locks and windows on the door, and deciding if that's a good place for a door, anyway.

I am really digging this "honoring-my-feelings" bit. I had a colleague step on my toes out of self-proclaimed overactive OCD, and for a good while, I really let myself BE ANGRY. I called her names, I flipped her off, I sang nasty songs to her, I plotted humiliating revenge tactics for her (all in the privacy of my own home, mind you)...and then I laughed. Out loud. A lot. Because this girl is my friend and her honesty combined with her desire to run a smooth-sailing ship is admirable and honorable and I really love and appreciate every single thing she brings to the table and I know I am very blessed and grateful to have her in my life. I laughed again. All of the anger fell away so easily after I was able to reply honestly, and witness it being received in an honest, open and nonjudgmental way.

It's really hard to be angry when your needs are being met.

Anger = Unmet Desire (thank you Char)

So now that I can sit with getting my buttons pushed, the next thing might be to become bold in saying what is so. In commanding the flow or a moment as opposed to subjecting myself to it. In disciplining myself into self-love and self-respect...or maybe it will be just to stop smoking...ah geez. When the lessons all have similar roots, it's hard to know where to let's start everywhere. Make small changes every day, and make every day worth learning about and worth living from.

*beaming bursts of loving ecstacy for you and me and everyone in between and out there somewhere*

Saturday, December 1, 2007

Spirit Talk I was outside for a nightly smoke, wondering which season of "House" to plug in and watch for the evening, when a westerly spirit came to visit. Her advice tonight was to write instead.

So I give this session up to that spirit, and Spirit in general,

Great winds of the West, bringing rain
bringing comfort
bringing clarity
and cleansing

what do we have here?
what do we as humans, have here
here, now, in this moment
in this rain?

we have drops on asphalt
we have a damp chill
that brings us into our bodies
that we draw into our lungs and our heart
that we may be reminded
of our one true precious gift
of breath
of life

the maple stands strong to the north of me
how many raindrops has she felt?
as many wild thoughts as I have felt?
as many deep impressions as we have collected
like the spiky seedlings scattered from her
with the wind?

asking questions
does more
answering them

i ache
as I break
old expectations
and resurface
only to find

is it unrealistic
to expect
lack of expectation?

and uneasiness
the usual state of
that I keep
in defiance
of the box of order

I keep
with me
only light
and memory
they complement one another
one would not be without the other

my heart speaks
in multiple tongues
as one
and yet
the message
is mangled
the message
is unclear
the thought
interferes with such gusto
as if it's life depended on
the wild thoughts
the deep impressions

like my mother
standing in the doorway
witness to my anguish
perhaps helpless
perhaps voiceless
longing to make things right
for me
when things were right
for me
all along

I signed up for this
as did you
I signed up for the experience
of helplessness
of anguish
of wild thoughts and deep impressions
knotted up with
the passion
to make things right

undo the knots
sink deeper
beyond wild thoughts
past deep impressions
into this body
into this life
it is our one precious gift
to breathe
into this body

Saturday, November 10, 2007

First off, I'm struck by the ever-present urgency to make this blog as funny or interesting as I can. That's kind of the point, right? I mean, who wants to read some insipid blatherings about the day-to-day? Not that I feel that my life is insipid or blathering, by any means; on the contrary it's quite colorful and exciting and beautiful. Alas, I haven't felt that my skill in humor or slapstick is that potent. I feel much wittier when I have someone else's energy physically present to play with. The computer, while not what I would consider entirely lifeless, is nonetheless of the non-interactive sort.

Anyway. On with the blatherings.

My most personal exciting thing that happened today what that I managed to clean the house for a solid five hours today. WHOA. First off, this is the first time I've really coordinated a full-scale cleaning event at my house, and second off, I actually pulled a lot of it off. This is, like, an incredible accomplishment for me, coming from someone who desires to be wealthy enough for afford maid service once a week. I am thoroughly impressed with myself, while simultaneously disgusted with the amount of dead trees and knickknacks I've managed to accumulate in only 7 months. I want to blame most of the paper nonsense on the grocery circulars and catalogs that I keep finding in my mailbox, but really, it's a bunch of schoolwork that has been lurking about, looking for a home.

Hmm...well I have more to say but not the interest in saying it, so I will call it off now before it's gets too ... something. Later.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

This is How I Roll 10.23.07

with my fists gripping tightly
to the mossy green of Mama
as I roll over her
she gasps and deepens
as I give her luscious mane a friendly tug
and I gasp and deepen
as she collects me for a hug

like a Japanese Maple in the height of
Autumnal October
I stand in bright bursting beauty
as I deepen into
as I breathe even
give a sigh
and let go

and what is it exactly
that leaves me then
Not that I need to know
the details of why and when
I think I need to care
my mind stops short and blinks
and that's when my heart
takes over and gives my brain a wink
then she takes in deep sips of sunshine
a breath of fresh air
and realigns the punchline
then she laughingly submits
this idiot to the divine

and I am held so precious
and when I stop this to think
patiently I am waited on
as I take another drink
of intoxicating logic
and addictive demands
occasionally I recall the option
of giving it up to better hands

in reverence and respect
I am decidedly allowed
to make this living thing
much harder than avowed
and when I shake my tiny fist
they simply shake their heads
and grin
Baby girl, you and your knack
for desparate situations
keeps us entertained, but
does it keep you satisfied?
I drop my head into my hands,
give a nod and a sigh

its easier to flip off resentment
and celebrate joyfulness
but I was reminded the other day
that they both have equal importance

so they roughhouse and tumble around
knocking shit down
inside of me
as I trip over my feet
'cuz I can barely see
'cuz I'm hardly here
when I'm distracted that way
'cuz I'm hardly here
when the archetypes are at play

and I roll on like thunder
in a sound-proof cave
it leaks out the opening
in the front of my face

and it's exquisitly beautiful
despite the funny looks
with a wink and nod
from my heart, I shook

up the planet each moment
one person at a time
I have humbly been
blessed as a bridge
of earth and divine

at least that what they told me
and why should I doubt?
I've run out of reasons for
seeking the backdoor out

I love you, I said
I love you, and I hope
you hear me
this time
with your deepest of hearts

I hope you can feel
deep as you can
You are Light
You are Love
It is with you
I stand

My sacred beloved
intimate kin
What a blessing to
have you in this
world I live in

Monday, October 15, 2007


I found this book the other day that I had started reading well over two years ago. It's called, "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime." It's written in first-person narrative by a fifteen-year-old boy who is highly functioning with autism. As a teacher of such fascinating folk in my past life, I am finding this read totally captivating and pretty insightful into the workings of an autistic mind.

However, the first intriguing thing about this book has nothing to do with the book at all. When I started reading it years ago, I had marked my place with a slip of paper, upon which this quote was written:

"This is the miracle of creation, which in every second is one thing:

life and death joined in the same eternal dance.

It would be a catastrophe to exclude death from the dance.

That would guarantee a universe with no chance for renewal."

- from a book entitled Life After Death, author unknown.

I found this quote seredipitously appropriate: appropriate for autumn and the shedding time of the cycle, appropriate for the book I am reading, appropriate for acknowledging the three deaths of fellow colleagues this year, appropriate to the dead squirrel I found my cat munching on outside my front stoop.

In every death, there is hope of new life. Renewal.

Friday, October 12, 2007

What I did with my Friday...

1) Continued to fall in love with Homeopathy.

2) Discovered that Belladonna is probably not my constitutional remedy. I dosed, and essentially proved Belladonna for the next three hours, complete with irrational rising rage, a right-sided headache, and sensitivity to the sun and the cold air on my head. I remedied myself with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie and a nap. At least I didn't bite anyone.

3) Went out in the forest with the 'Shrooms class and picked a fat wad of Shaggy Parasol Mushrooms. Sweet little Sofia snapped this pic of me just after I crawled out from under a Western Red Cedar.

4) Volunteer Organization meeting for the Washington Physicians for Social Responsibility (WPSR) Annual Dinner next week.

...and now, sitting up and waiting til 11pm to run over the the Capitol Hill Arts Center to get Manos to sign the forms I didn't have for him to sign when he played at school a few weeks ago.


It's all good, a little speedy and exhausting right now...perhaps the Belladonna hasn't worn off yet. I hope it actually will. Dr. Mann was saying that if you take a rememdy too often, it can graft its being onto you, and then you're essentially permanently fucked. Or poisoned. Or whatever. I'll just hope for the best.

But if I suddenly reach out and smack you, you'll know where it came from.

Thursday, October 11, 2007


Yes, this morning has been that surreal.

After waking at 2am for no apparent reason, I wrote out my birth story for Normal Maternity, made chili for breakfast and lunch, got my period a whopping 10 days early, puttered off to class nearly falling asleep the entire way there.

No sooner do I stumble into Phys/Clin than I decide I'd much rather do this 8am class thing with a steaming hot cup of chai. I wander back out of class and down to the caf for a pick-me-up. Back in class, Kelsey and I are sitting back there fucking off when out of nowhere, Dr. Anderson says that you'll get into trouble if you saddle up your patients and ride them off into health. He was talking about letting symptoms pidgeon-hole you into thinking a patient has a certain kind of disease when in fact they have something much more serious going on. But Kels and I share the same perverted kink brain, and totally burst into fits of hysterics. The giggles don't let up, especially when the Doc goes on to say that the zebras and the gazelles don't like getting saddled, and they start to buck and kick and bite if you try. (The zebras and gazelles, in this metaphor, refer to all the wierd cancers and blood diseases that docs have a 1 in 5000 chance of seeing, as opposed to the pyelonephritis horses that a doc will see at least once a week).

So, remember kids: Don't put a saddle on your patients, unless they ask you very very nicely.

...and, back to our regularly scheduled programming: Pleurotus!!!

Wednesday, October 10, 2007


Today is just too good.

I have spent most of the day getting rubbed, stretched, kneaded and loved from my colleagues all day. And all in the name of higher learning, from Manip class to a little lunchtime review to donating my time and body for an up-and-coming LMP to practice.

How can I complain? While I do get the chance to get out of head and relax into my body, it is also vital that one stays present enough to give feedback. You have to know what hurts, what's uncomfortable, what just isn't right...and then be able to tell your practitioner how it is without fear of judgment. Being part of this program has made me aware of my physical, emotional and spiritual boundaries (or lack thereof) as well as those of other people. I've also developed the responsibility to myself to protect myself: something I wasn't willing to do before I got here. Pretty awesome.

Stay tuned for a full report on the research report regarding the HIV reverse-transcriptase inhibition activity of Pleurotus ostreatus, aka the Oyster mushroom.

Until then...

Friday, October 5, 2007

The Enlightenment of Starbucks

There are two camps in Seattle when it comes to Starbucks. The first category is stereotyped as the latte-sipping yuppified hipster who can prattle off a good deal of coffee-related Franco-Italian lingo without ever taking a language class.

The second group are those who might post this on their car.

Me? Firmly planted in the second group.

My soapbox of Starbucks is mainly about the lack of fair-trade and equal exchange purchasing of their coffee beans, as well as the general nauseating addiction to twiddle the consumer's money-spot. Starbucks sells everything under the sun, from corny mugs to CDs to board games to toxic-doused stuffed animals, all majorly overpriced and made in China. To boot, they are probably the only coffee chain in the entire city of Seattle that doesn't carry rice milk. Didn't they get the memo that soy milk causes man-boobs?

But the one thing I can truly dig about Starbucks is their uncanny ability to inspire the masses by placing quotes on their 10%post-consumer recycled cups. Here's a few that I picked up today:

"In a world where celebrity equals talent, and where make-believe is called reality, it is most important to have real love, truth, and stability in your life." -- Bernie Brillstein

"Be the example; spread hope." -- Cat Cora

"In the end, we're all the same." -- Ben Kweller

I particularly dig the last one: it reminds me of a realization I made in the cadaver lab over the last two years. It's in the third quarter that we take the skin off the face and examine the facial muscles and nerves. And it was during these times, both as a student and as a teaching assistant, I traversed the lab and pondered the skinned faces of the bodies with a profound sense of awe and wonder.

Every body looks the same underneath the skin. Once the skin is off, you can no longer tell what the person's gender or ethnicity or race might have been. They become elegantly and satisfying human, linked to all humans, alive and deceased. We are all following the exact same developmental plan of life creation and death manifestation; we have the same blueprints and body layouts. We are one, and indeed, in the end, we are all the same.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Contemporary Violence

"There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which we most easily succumb:

Activism and Overwork.

The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is to succumb to violence.

More than that, it is cooperation in violence.

Our frenzy neutralizes our work for peace.

It destroys our own inner capacity for peace. It destroys the fruitfulness of our own work, because it kills the root of inner wisdom, which makes work fruitful."

~ Thomas Merton ~

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Roll With It

My teacher, Char, is having us do this meditation every morning. Today, mine went something like this:

"I was standing on a large jagged boulder on Crescent Beach on the Northern California coast. The tide was coming in with a ferocity, and the waves were hurling themselves into the beach and the rock upon which I stood. I was swept off the rock, but attempted to hold on as the rip shredded at my being with all its might. I heard a voice that I trusted say, 'Let go'. I did, and was swept off and beaten into the surf. When I felt the rip lighten, I leapt up and dove straight into the next wave before it could pummel me against the rocks. I swam hard into the ocean and then waited. Pegasus emerged from underneath me, lifting me out of the water onto its back and away we flew. The message from Pegasus: 'Roll with it'.


My big plan for the day was to check out Max's rope course, starting at 3pm.

So I get all dressed and bundled up, grab a nectarine and the New Bottoming Book, lock the door, and slip it shut...and I'm going nowhere. Keys are in the house, along with the cell phone. And the spare's in there, too, on the bookshelf where Mikey left it after cat-sitting a few weeks ago. Oh, and all the windows are shut nice and tight to insulate from the recent cold spell.


So. Since I always have everything I need, I do a quick pat-down, and decide to see if it really is as easy as it looks to jimmy a lock with a bobbypin (note: it's not). I seriously consider smashing a window. Instead, I head down the street and start knocking on my neighbor's doors. The third door reveals Mike and Kym, who graciously help me locate and call a locksmith. Half an hour later, there's a rather cute Israeli curly-topped young fellow drilling into my doorknob. I sit nearby reading the New Bottoming Book. It's taking a long time, and my body, which has been waiting in moderate agony for another rope session for almost two weeks, is extra antsy for this guy to finish up.

"So, what are you reading?"

Crap. I give a nervous laugh. I am reminded of Matisse's 9/26 encounter with the nosy bank teller. Well, he asked.

Me: "A book on Bottoming."

Him: "What's that? My English is not so good."

Me: "Uhm, BDSM. Do you know what BDSM is?"

Him: "BD-- what?"

Me: "Uhm...essentially it's people who like to get tied up and, you know, beat up and yelled at and stuff."

Him: "Oh, the Sado-Maso."

Me: "Yeah, yeah, the Sado-Maso."

Him: "Oh." {brief pause} "So, does the book teach you some new tricks?"

While I'm sensing this guy isn't quite into it, a creative tickle wakes up in the back of my head and makes a face at me.

Me: "No, it's more about how to do it right, so that everybody wins and has a good time. It's pretty amazing stuff if you're into it."

I get the subtle social nicety of a slight nod and grunt of agreement. I eventually change the subject, and find out this guy is looking for a good dance party. I give him some of the flyers I picked up at the United Souls/InnerFlight party last night. If you guys need your keyhole drilled, Remi is your man. He is expecting to be at the Damanhur Fundraiser next week.

Meanwhile, if anyone would like to donate to the Federally-Subsidized-Student-Spaceshots Fund, please contact me. That simple twist of the lock cost me $265 F*%#ing dollars, approximately the same amount I spend on TWO MONTHS WORTH OF GROCERIES.


I really wonder if it would have been cheaper to go ahead and break the window. More satisfying, certainly.

When this was all said and done, it was 4:20pm, and Max's class was well under way. After pouting for a good twenty minutes, I decided that this was nothing a Dagoba New Moon chocolate bar, a steaming bowl of lentils, a warm blanket, and a "House" marathon couldn't cure. So, without further ado or kvetching, on with the curing!

Saturday, September 29, 2007


"God, I love my life."

That's what I hollered at the moon last night. Repeatedly.

Ryan and I pulled off an incredible gathering for the student body in the backyard last night, complete with heaps of food, a keg of Red Menace, and the sweet sweet spins of DJ Manos. What a joy to see the young blossoming doctors of tomorrow whooping and swirling, gyrating and letting go, being in love with being completely human. Good medicine indeed.

Classes for the upcoming quarter:

The Official "How-to-be-a-Doctor" class (ie Physical/Clinical Diagnosis) - we learn to use all our doctor toys and take a history and do physical exams, etc.

Homeopathy - the bells, whistles, fireworks and gongs of serendipity totally went off for me during my first class. A total shocker: after what the last group had to say about it, I was all geared up to completely hate that class. But I listen up when serendipity chimes in...stay tuned.

Medicinal Mushrooms - We get to go tromping through the woods, pick mushrooms, nerd out and ID them, and then we get to eat them. How much more fun could that be?

Naturopathic Manipulation 2 - YAY Physical Medicine class! Anything that gets me back in my body, and teaches me how to assist others with the same is A-O-K with me. Plus, the teacher would make a nice....well, let me not finish that thought out loud.

Counseling - Did someone say Story-time? I dig. I dig very much.

Normal Maternity - This is a button-pusher for me. There's gotta be one every quarter. I am of the sheltered upbringing that pregnant women are scary, unpredictable, fragile, and possessed. That still doesn't keep me from kissing, cooing, and snuggling up to their baby bubbles every chance I get. I love to whisper to the new life inside that there is hope waiting for them out here. eh. Yet another tremendous opportunity to stretch and grow.

....AND that's it! A whopping 17 credits, my lightest load ever in two years. Now I have the time to stretch and delve into all those long-buried extra-curricular interests, such as political activism, good dance, and kink. A sober girl's got to find something to burn off some steam.

Ryan and I are off to get our groove on @ the UnitedSouls/InnerFlight shindig. Hopefully, TM and I can meet up this week. And the movement continues...

Wednesday, September 26, 2007


For all those poor saps who want to invite me over for dinner sometime, but can't ever remember what I choose and choose not to eat, here's the official list.

Things I NEVER EVER eat for fear of checking back into the looney bin:

* All SOY products, including tofu, tempeh, soy sauce, tamari, and edamame. Apparantly soy lecithin is okay, but I haven't seen it sold anywhere on its own.

* Spelt

* Eggs - like whole eggs. It doesn't seem like there's enough actual egg in baked goods to whack me good. Just keep me far far away from the omelets.

* Nightshades - this includes tomatoes, potatoes, peppers (hot and bell) and eggplants. Interestingly, it also includes tobacco. Good thing I'm not prone to eating my cigarette butts.

* Corn, and all hyper-processed derivatives thereof.

Things I generally try to AVOID, but will live if consumed in small conscious amounts:

* Dairy - butter, cheese, ice cream,'s been so long since I had a glass of milk. The thought of actually drinking a glass of milk makes my middle ear curdle and my chest close up.

* Wheat/Grains in general - the Doc's got me on this new grain-free diet for about a month. We'll see how that goes. I already blew it today when I got a chai with rice milk in it.

* Citrus - a tablespoon for flavoring here and there is doable.

HAH. At this point, some of you may be wondering what it is I actually eat day-to-day. Meat and veggies, legumes and squashes. And a generous helping of Amy's Raw Carrot Cake with Cashew Coconut Milk Icing. HOT DAMN!!!

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Testing, Testing...

I am in love.

With my bed.

And the fact that I don't have classes until noon on Tuesday. MMMmmmmm, that extra few hours this morning was entirely delicious.

In other fabulous news, I passed all of my Board Exams! WOOHOO!!! I am the shining rockstar. One massive flaming hurdle behind me. * sigh * I was on the phone with my mother when I got the envelope. I figured I'd open it then, in case I needed to ask her for a $500 loan to cover the cost of the make-up exam. I interrupted her ramblings with a deep-seeded long-winded whoop, and squealed incessantly as I Cabbage-Patched around the kitchen. My mom said she wasn't surprised that I passed all of them. Come ON, Mom. It's not like those tests were a walk in the park. Neither were the past two years of my life. It's one thing to be brilliant. It's a whole other thing to pull off the first two years of medical school and still be in one piece. I feel like I've been reborn or something.

I work every day to stay centered and happy within myself. It has been easier now that I have tools to use. Brad's class this summer provided infinite wisdom and insight into such matters. Additionally, my rope experience drew me straight into this sense of home within my body, a feeling I can't recall ever having before in my life. Combine these things with the significant shift of focus in the curriculum (more doctor training/therapeutics/clinical application and less undergrad-on-crack insanity), and a reduced course load, and the time to pursue other passions, and I've got a damn good recipe for the balance I have been seeking for myself for a long time. Exciting times, I'll tell you.

I already feel the jitters of the school year swarming around me, and they are easily brushed away for now. They aren't mine, and I can generally tell the difference. Thank God for Char and her class and for teaching me how to psychically protect myself from everyone else's hoohah.

This is a good day to be in love with myself. And my bed. As is everyday.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Country Road, Take Me Home.

Oh God, it is SO NICE to be home.

This place loves me, this I know.
The mountains and the water tell me so.

Time to go help the spiritual fam rebuild the sweat lodge, although I am totally bent that I'm missing the CSPC's rummage sale...maybe I could sneak by there ever so quickly beforehand. That's horseshit, of course, shopping is never done quickly, especially when it comes to novel kink fashion. WHHEEEE!!!!

Oh and can I tell you how much I love my cousins? In spite of this ridiculously traumatizing event that my whole biologically adopted family of origin has been dealing with over the past month, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard and so genuinely with Mike and Charlie. And I had so many beautiful talks with Christy Lee. That woman is an amazing blessing and we are damn lucky she's been willing to put up with this fam's antics for so long.

It was hard to leave. I was sitting there with Mike, knowing I should've been out the door ten minutes ago for the hour-long drive back to Chattanooga. I asked him, "What do you want me to say?" I figured he might be getting sick of all the "Stay strong"'s and "Be well"'s and "We're praying for you"'s, etc, so I thought I'd give him the option to hear something he'd really want. Bless his heart, he wrote to me, "Say you're staying." For the first time since this whole thing happened, my eyes flooded with tears. ~*sigh*~ Felt THAT love.

So, to Mike: There is always a part of me who is praying for you, watching over you, calling in every guide and ancestor and spiritwalker and angel that is willing to show up to support you and hold you safe. You blew prayers into my prayer beads on my wrist, and I have seen in the past those prayers coming true, so rest assured your prayers too will be answered. My love and support for you is eternal, and I am so blessed to have you all in my life. You're a rockstar and an angel. Thank you for LAUGHING and for your sense of humor: I have no doubt that, with your humor intact, you will heal completely. I love you so much.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Carolina on my mind

So, I'm out here in the sunny (read: hot) moist Smoky Mountains of western North Carolina with the fam. We've all been chipping in taking care of Mike and giving my uncle a break from all the care that needed at this time. Honestly, I think Mike's doing real awesome. He's definitely frustrated at times, and sad some other times, and uncomfortable still other other times. But the other day, my uncle and my mom took him out to WalMart, just to get out of the house. He really wanted to, and I don't blame him. It's got to feel good to reconnect with reality after being holed up in a hospital for a month.

Today, two nurses came by to clean him up and check him out. The service they work for donated four visits from them, which is sweet. And my uncle's getting the ball rolling for Medicaid to kick in. Hopefully it will be soon. Mike needs nursing care and my uncle needs some sleep, as well as getting back to work. That's been the harderst, I think. My uncle supports himself as a real estate agent, and he hasn't been out selling houses over the past month. So one of my many prayers involves a compassionate, supportive, qualified nurse who would like to volunteer some time with these guys.

I opened up the box that contained all my new medical equipment. The tools of my trade, the instruments I will use for the rest of my life in service to humanity. Mike was sitting with me, and I was describing them to him. He pointed at me, nodded, and pointed around his face. "You want me to fix your face for you?" He nodded yes. "Well, I will love it to pieces, that's for sure."

Mike is funny, man. He's really had us cracking up. His sense of humor is still intact. And, surprisingly, so is his voice. I can understand about half of what he says, which I hadn't expected at all. He's so sweet, too. When I walk him around the house, I'll put his hands on my shoulders, and he'll give me a little shoulder massage as we toodle around. He ruffled my hair and was surprised to find it so short. He wrote on the wipey board, "It's hot."

I can see him smile at me. I can see when he's crying, too, even though there aren't any tears.

I am getting used to his new face, his work in progress. I am forgetting the old face, because it is a face of the past. There will never be another face like it, and I won't see it again except for pictures. In this new face, there will only be one eye, and the nose and rest of the jaw will come later. But the sweetness is still there and the laughter, and I'm grateful for that.

I realized today that I brought with me my best medicine. It wasn't the homeopathy kit or the tinctures or my patchwork foundation of pharmaceuticals. It was me: my body, my hands, my cooking, my patience, my love. I took the time to give Mike a foot massage, and I realized that I would be getting to know my cousin even more intimately now than ever before. The layers of ego and guarding and false safety are silently stripping away, and now more than ever I am meeting my family with my fullest available force and honesty. It's still a bit lonely, but it is definitely me who is here.

I watched as he drifted into a peaceful nap, his one eye darting beneath his purple lid. I am grateful for him: his experience is teaching us all deep lessons about ourselves. For example, Christy Lee and I decided that Charlie should be a nurse or a physician's assistant or something. He's got a lot of confidence with the equipment and a friendly bedside manner. The other night, a woman brought all of us a huge homecooked meal, so everyone was at the table, eating, except for Charlie and I. We were back in the bedroom with Mike. We didn't want to leave him back there alone, especially while we all got to eat. Eating is something Mike won't be doing for a while. Anyway, Mike was insistant that we go out there and eat, and we were just as insistant back. Mike wrote, "The food's making fun of me." I told him we would stay with him, besides the Simpsons were on. Finally, Mike demanded we take him out to the dining room, so we could all be together as a family. We brought him out and got him comfy on the couch. After Charlie and I loaded our plates, Christy Lee's son, Bradley, wanted to say a prayer. He had really only wanted to say it for himself, but we all dropped and held hands. Even Mike was folding his hands from the couch. It was a unique and personally touching moment for me, to have my family gathered in prayer.

And me? I'm learning that I can't save anyone. I can only help me be the best me I can be, and allow others to reap the benefits of me being a whole person. And with the help of letting go of needing to know, without needing to know what kind of impact I'm making, I can coast through this life unattached and happy.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

You're not an Asshole if it's Funny!!!

My friend, Kevin, is a godsend.

We met at J.P. Licks in Jamaica Plain, Boston, MA. I started working there the day after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and Kevin was my boss. We spent the better part of a year laughing at each other, having ice cream fights with the kiddies, trading milkshakes for pizzas with the guys across the street, alternately playing punk-ska and GWAR in the back as we did the dishes, and generally chumming around. (There was no actual chum, persay: ie no fish guts or vomit: just friends).

A lot of my time there felt like something out of the movie "Cocktail" -- the bartending part, not the hot-sex-under-the-waterfall part.

One of our co-workers was this pretty cool buttery butch dyke tweaker. One time, after the place was closed, she played us this song called "Ass and Titties"...guess what it was about? Guess what the only two words in the whole damn song were? Call me sometime, I'll sing it to you.

So one day, she decided to leave JP Licks and head north to Cambridge (Somerville?) to work with some other butch dyke tweakers in their butch dyke tweaker ice cream shop. We were decidedly hurt by this, and vowed revenge (especially after the little cop-out didn't call us for a whole month afterwards -- bitch don't do that to two Leos). So Kevin and I and another cohort (Mara? Ethan?), after getting off of work late one night, grabbed some bandanas, some whipped cream and a bucket of cones and headed over the river. We stalked her outside of the shop, and once as they had closed up the place, Kevin ran up to her with the whipped cream, while I dumped the majority of the cones down her raver pants and added a smack for good measure. We took off hooting hysterically into the night.

Kevin and I recount this story through gasping laughter.

"I'm such an asshole, Kevin."

"Oh, no you're not. You're not an asshole if it's funny."

More aching belly laughter.

Afterwards, the conversation turned to the Boston Fetish Flea and and of course, Tentacle Porn.
AAAAHHHhhhhh...... there is nothing like an old friend calling you on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Nut and a Screw

That's all I needed. A nut and a screw. To fix my license plate, that is.

My license plate has been dangling from the front of my car all summer. I have barely noticed, save the light scraping sound from underneath my car when I go up hills. However, the countless observant pedestrians, homeless people and Good Samaritans of Seattle have noticed and boy, are they freaked out. A few days ago, as I was waiting to turn left onto Broadway, an older woman in a green Subaru rolled down her window as she was turning to YELL and emphatically pronounce the fact that my license plate is falling off. She almost rolled into a pedestrian who was also looking bemusedly at the front of my car. Today the panhandler on the median by UW stadium seemed exceptionally concerned. No amount of smiling, hand-waving, thumbs-up, or A-O-K symbols seemed to communicate to any of these people that I FRICKING GET IT!!! I AM AWARE OF MY CURRENT LICENSE PLATE SITUATION!!! When people see a parent smacking a kid around on a bus, they are quieter that mice. But when it's a license plate, well!!! That's just an entirely new level of concern.

The reason why I haven't fixed the thing yet was mainly because I didn't have a nut or a screw. And if I don't have hardware, that means a trip to Lowe's. I basically try to avoid Lowe's like the plague, because in my mind, it is the plague. I worked at Lowe's for an eight month spell in the paint department. My liver's still working on the detox.

But I was already out and about. After a really awesome yoga class (Note to self: new yoga mats off-gas: hang them outside for at least a week to avoid choking on fumes during child's pose) and a jaunt over to Ballard for some biodiesel, I decided to be pro-active in taking care of my stuff. The Lowe's parking lot is already filled to the brim and I park way at the end of the lot. No further that 50 feet away from the door, I begin to smell the nauseously familiar scent of dirty dirty chemicals. A glance over at the plants for sale tells me they are absolutely drenched in toxic sludge. Already disgusted, I outright choke on fumes of Miracle-Gro stacked in the foyer. Seriously, my eyes were watering. Damn. It's a miracle plants can grow in that shit.

Inside, first I walk to the back of the store to use the restrooms, which are housed in the next zip code. I keep peeking around all darty-like, because I totally expect my old ignorant, lameass boss, Gary (read: George W. Bush's retarded cousin) to bounce around the corner. After reconvincing myself that I'm not in Brockton anymore, I powerwalk over to the hardware section. After coming eye-to-eye with the rope selection and partially glazing over for a minute, I come across the bajillion little drawers that house all things small and metal. Now, I am partial to wingnuts: not the wingnuts that work at this gaia-forsaken dump, but actual wingnuts. They're functional, handy and cute as all hell. And in the eight or so drawers with pictures of wingnuts on them, guess how many I found....too easy, huh? That's right, zero.

The chemicals were starting to get to me, and the fractions and pictures, combined with the general disarray and mislocation of just about every item in said drawers, started swirling around and kicking the shit out of the space behind my right eye. If I weren't withering up and dying, I might have felt fiesty enough to ask the pimply adolescent Lowe's employee for a nut and a screw, but at this point, it wouldn't even be remotely amusing. I finally settled on a 1/2" Push-In Nylon Rivet. Up at the register, I received a receipt that was at least 8 inches long (WTF?), and nearly ran out of the store, sucking in breaths of wet air in gratitude.

I open up the package at the car, remove the duct tape from the plate (Note: duct tape does NOT cure everything: it worked on my plate for all of two minutes), and start swearing. The gauge on these Push-In Nylon Rivets is way too big, it won't even fit into the hole of the plate. Sighing, I head back into the store, this time holding my breath through the foyer, fish out a 1/4" Push-In Nylon Rivet from the drawer, and head back to the check-out line. In the past, I would've simply slipped it into my pocket, but then I went and witnessed a thing called Karma, and since I'm trying to start up a massage business, I thought I'd best stand in line and cough up another $1.04. This time my receipt was 14 inches long (Double WTF???). Not exactly the Karma I had in mind...

I get back out to the car, and this time the thing goes through. I push the little knob through, and sat back to examine my work. Exactly two seconds later, my moment of pride was popped with the sight of the plate swinging mockingly back down around its one good screw.

Fuck this.

I got back in the car and drove over to Seanix's house. In addition to actually having these items laying around, he would appreciate the "nut and screw" joke. After a cup of tea, a fistful of pecans, and a few rounds of Super Mario Brothers 3, my license platee is now horizontal. The people of Seattle may now collectively sigh in relief and get on with their latte-sipping.

Anyone need some handy Push-In Nylon Rivets?

Saturday, September 15, 2007


This is Mike. He's my cousin. About a month ago, he was accidentally shot in the face with a hunting rifle during an argument with his wife about taking care of the kids. They're putting his face back together now. First they sewed his lips back together. They reconstructed his tongue and put it back in his mouth. Next they built him two new eye sockets and two new cheekbones out of metal and grafted skin from his back to cover his face. He won't have a roof in his mouth or a nose for another few months at least. His feeding tube and stoma will suffice.

Mike and I got our first tattoos together. That one on his arm. It's like two shooting starts intercrossing, except that it's two moons. Two shooting moons, greeting each other, holding each other. Mine is some Chinese letters on the inside of my forearm, saying "Life is created in each moment"

I can't even begin to imagine what life purpose this will serve for him. Good thing I don't have to know. I haven't been asked for that information. I really just want to be a little numb to this for just a little while longer. I will see him on Tuesday. I will feel it then. I will want to feel it then.

Mike and his older brother, Charlie, practicing throwing knives at a watermelon in our Oma's kitchen.

Us having swimming races and Easter egg hunts.

The matching red scooters for Christmas one year.

Me slamming Mike's fingers in the door when he tried to walk in on me taking a bath once.

Mike holding his baby daughter this last Christmas. I had never seen him so caring or peaceful.

The pot we'd smoke. The stories we told each other of our dark sad lives. The goodness and peace we wished for ourselves and our future.

I will feel it then. For now, I exist in Seattle, in my bathrobe after a shower, a long mess of trust issues and medical blather and piles of paper and mounds of books and yarn and dishes and laundry and House DVD's and nerves and hopes and dreams.

Do people ever fully integrate all their multiple roles and egos and sides of themselves? Perhaps only the simple ones. But is life ever simple?

Puddle Jumping

I always wake up with these incredible relevations about my life.

This morning, first it was the connection between two of my archetypes, the "orphaned child" and the "hedonist". The connection is Abandon.

a·ban·don–verb (used with object)

1. to leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert: to abandon one's farm; to abandon a child; to abandon a sinking ship.
2. to give up; discontinue; withdraw from: to abandon a research project; to abandon hopes for a stage career.
3. to give up the control of: to abandon a city to an enemy army.
4. to yield (oneself) without restraint or moderation; give (oneself) over to natural impulses, usually without self-control: to abandon oneself to grief.
5. Law. to cast away, leave, or desert, as property or a child.

How it goes with me is that when the Hedonist is allowed to live with abandon, it seems she walks squarely away from the Orphaned Child, leaving him to feel abandoned. Hedonist is a sucker for all things denied to me for the sake of my mental health: breads, sweets, booze, drugs...dare I say, love and attention now replaced by those things. How intriguing. Now thatI am working on living a life conscious of the cycle between those indulgences and their unruly consequences, I now become even more clear on what I truly want: love and attention. Interim solution: to come up with indulgences that don't fuck with my system the way those other things do. More on that later.

The next revelation started with me getting an image of my emotional trip the past three days. Thursday was sheer Fire: it started with a quiet morning, then a PSM treatment that got things moving right quick. Afterwards I treated myself to a chocolate-dipped donut and a rice chai at Top Pot, while diving in to complete abandon during a e-conversation with, shall we say, a new friend. Utterly indulged, I wandered back home, and within mere moments, my friend Rosemary had shown up to drive us to the Bioneers volunteer meeting. The meeting turned out to be massively inspirational; the vibe in the room probably evolved us all a notch. After the meeting, Rosemary and I were literally squealling like little girls in her car out of sheer excitement. Apparently, we both have a kink for community, sustainability and solutions.
Friday, in stark contrast, was wretchedly empty. I felt like I was starving all day. Not hungry. Just starving. For affection. For attention. For security, adoration, love, embrace...some unnamed thing which at that moment I didn't have.

So the image I got this morning was that of a massive "cowabunga" wave. (Did people actually ever say that in reference to a wave? Or did the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles just make it up?) Thursday felt like the peak, the actual riding. Friday, the falling. Hooray, it's Saturday! I wonder what will happen today? I mean, there's such a variety of outcomes when you come down off that wave. You fall off the board, sucked in by some undertow, get cracked in the head with your board, or you simply work it and stay on and come out floating.

Which led me into thinking that "people" have the general sense of bipolar disorder as being that wave. What I have to say about it is this: it's not just the wave, but also the land underneath it. Those waves can be shallow for some, outrageous in others, that's life and fate and divine plans for you. But one trick is to have that foundation underneath you so when you do fall off, you have some orientation. You have some rocks to grab onto as the rip ferociously drags you backwards and under. You still know which way is up and what is solid. And you know that the wave will soon cease and that you can soon start fighting to stand up again.

Bipolar is a label for people standing in puddles to describe surfers.

I also had Five Element come up again in reference to these days. There was so much Fire on Thursday that it didn't leave enough to feed Earth, hence the starvation on Friday, and now it's Metal's turn feeding off of very little, will make due for some semblance of control today. I think it's working, Metal loves writing, and this has been cathartic. A relief to know that all those revelations aren't just disappearing into the gray matter.

I loves me some Five Element, apparently...perhaps yet another calling of mine.

The icing on the cake this morning was, after this slew of enlightenment, I rolled over and started fiddling with the baseboard heater at the head of my bed. I noticed this small object fall out of somewhere, and upon further inspection, realized it was a one-inch rose quartz rod, fixed to be hung as a necklace.

God, I love you, Spirit. You're a trip. Thanks for the gift.

Today's the first day of Second Year Shamanism with Char Sundust ( Metal, eat your heart out.


God, I'm really angry right now. For why I don't know. I could begin to list all the usual suspects, but that list makes me even more mad, because it is just coming back to all the things I can't do because I'm special (read: especially intolerant of a long list of things that make life fun). Where the fuck is the balance? Is it really all or nothing? One or the other? I just spent the last 28 years trying to dissolve the notion that things are simply black and white, and yet this is what life is showing me repeatedly.

I'm going to bed.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Thank God for Fire.

What. A. Day.

So much intensely vibrant motion of yesterday has taken with it the gusto of sustainability for today. Achingly tired, longing, saddened. Feeling loss, lack, deficit, starvation. So bizarre.

Rob Bresney's Free Will Astrology in The Stranger warned me about such things:

"Leo: Can you feel the moon tugging at the fluids in your body? Usually, you can't. Are you aware of how large-scale cultural influences affect your day-to-day rhythms? Again, that's typically beyond your capacity to sense in any immediate way. But this week, you just might be able to do both of those things. You're more attuned than usual to the subtle currents that are unfolding within you. You're also more alert to the impact that big cosmic energies and long-term historical trends are making on your unconscious mind. I advise you to take maximum advantage of this extra sensitivity. You could discover important clues about how to position yourself to thrive in the face of upcoming social transformations. (PS: Listen reverently to the secrets your body tells you.)

Personally I think this man is sheer genius. One hundred and one times out of a hundred so I pick up this column and either my jaw drops off my face or I just start laughing uncontrollably with utter amazement.

I also read Virgo, being the cuspy Leo that I am. This week, he talks about adopting the "chaotic/good" approach to the real-life D&D character that I play. I love it.

Scorpio moon today. Laying around on the bed in the middle of the day, disappearing into paper white blankness, to a place where sounds have color and very distinct shapes, and I think, "This is a form of death. In this moment, I have simply died and, I guess, also reborn. " Naps are a blessed thing.

Thank God for Fire.

Tonight at the fire I watched a log sit upon the glowing embers of its predecessors for a long time without catching flame. Smoke twisted and leaked out of it, the water shrieking to escape the rising pressure of its container. A metaphor came to me, one of Five Element Theory basis:

Water must escape Wood in order for Wood to enter Fire.

Emotions must escape Ego in order for Ego to enter Transformation.

We must let go of who we think we are in order to change into who we may want to become (or not become).


After that crazy death nap, I was voraciously moved to write about this abandoned shoe factory in Brockton where we'd all go to shoot pool and listen to the guys play their modern-day sob rock and drink and smoke 'til we choked.

It went something like this:

When the screams of the wild horses have ceased
When the glory of abundant moving progress
has fixed itself to the corpses of ancient things
cut down and made modern
and aged itself, chipping
slipping lead into our lungs.

The building stands
an erect and dying tomb
like an empty socket
of a skull

housing only memories
of blood and death
ripping skin and
crushing dreams
and howling, insane
are the only remaining
signs of life

and we, like mucoid slime fungus
seep in and grow yeasty
fermenting and rooting
we absorb its toxic love
like we can sustain upon death

Martyrs of Economic Madness

yeah....perhaps I've been reading too much Mary Oliver lately, but that wicked piece really wanted to come out. It's been hard to process Brockton. That was three years of never-ceasing bombardment of toxicity. So strange. My heart aches for the vacancy of life in those places.

On the way back from the fire, the flames still twisting about in my system, more came out:

The world is dreaming fervently
desparately seeking
to save her children.

This is not a mistake.

It is a consequence
of consciousness
that we are terrifyingly privy to.

Fate doesn't hate.

Breathing through constricted airways
raised by white sugar
and shiny objects

Our dreams thump about blindly in the dark
knocking into the nightstand
making us sit up from our slumber
in fright
we assure ourselves
"It was only a dream"
and unnervingly
slip back into sleep.

Tonight my prayer is for awakening. Awaken the hearts of all my relations into their deepest and truest dreams of their hearts.