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'.

ROLL WITH IT. Check.

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.

D.A.M.N.I.T.

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.

D.O.U.B.L.E.D.A.M.N.I.T.

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!

Movement

"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...

THE LIST

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, yogurt...it'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!!!

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.

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.

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.

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?

Perspective

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 (www.charsundust.com). Metal, eat your heart out.

Rant

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.

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).

Perspective.

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.