Wednesday, August 6, 2008

What is it about me
that doesn't seem to get
how to be with other people?

Or is it them
and their wounding
hurting themselves on me

my intention is pure
yet apparently deviates
from the standardized
of human interaction

This is dangerous territory
I feel like there's a lot at stake.

I feel like I have yet to learn
how to maintain safe boundaries for others
and maintain my sense of authenticity

I don't even know what happened yet
and I feel so sad that someone was hurt by my actions.

Monday, July 7, 2008

thoughts of July 7th and starting the clinic

i can't sleep

i can't be slowed

i haven't been quiet
in quite a long time

changes are afoot
spinning me quicker faster deeper
into myself

the attachment between
my head and the rest of my body
is killing me

doubt flares
the past shows up on my door
with flowers and wine
forgetting to acknowledge
that I got back on the wagon
clung to it for dear life

i'm moving
i'm becoming my own impossible dream
i'm gripped in fear and doubt and humility and honor and gratitude

it's time to pray
and pray hard

it's time to let go
of everything
I have faith in
and jump
or fall

it looks the same
from the ground floor

i am illuminating faith
i am solid underneath the soil
of compost
i just tend to forget sometimes
you know how kids are

Friday, June 27, 2008

100 Thing Challenge

Oh, yeah. It's on.

I was poking around the Web this evening and found this guy who is doing this challenge to only own 100 things for one whole year.,9171,1812048,00.html

So, given the unique opportunity I have to slowly, consciously and deliberately move items from one living space to another, I've decided to give this a go. Why not? I seem to always desire a challenge in my life. And I do have a desire to live as simply as possible, and this sounds like a reasonable however arbitrary place to start.

A lot of people seem to ask, "What counts as one thing?" A pair of shoes? Or the category of "Shoes" itself? I don't know what it means to me yet. It was recommended to simply start first by setting out an intention or a vision of what I would like my life to look like. Then as I go through the stuff, keep aligning myself with my vision of the way I want to live, and decide if that thing in my hand can support me in that.

I am hoping to find a way to incorporate the box of paper journals I have kept for years...I would like to type them up and get them published. I wonder if they'd be useful to anyone...well, hmm. Best I start with the vision, and go from there.

"What is the vision you have for the life you want?"

Simplicity. A simple life, that is uncomplicated.

Peaceful success. A space to come home to where I can unwind, work through my struggles and celebrate my acheivements and transformation into a physician, a healer, and a lover of life.

Space to breathe. Time to breathe. Space and time to enjoy space and time.

"What do I need for this space?"

Well I will start with the things I'm obviously attached to, and then try to talk my way out of attachment to them:

1) the car -- it gets me where I want to be, and slightly essential for a student who lives 14 miles from school and 8 miles from clinic. Although I am very hip to riding the bus, I am not quite ready to ditch the car.

2) the bedframe -- I'm a fan of this bedframe because it doubles as 6-drawer storage. No need for a dresser with this baby around.

3) the bed mattress -- Yay for comfy mattress.

4) pillow

5, 6, 7) stuffed animals from childhood -- nostalgia and the visceral sense of safety is a hard one to argue with.

8) Clothing -- oh hell. If each article of clothing counts as one item, then I'm basically fucked. Let's see if I can break it down a bit.
* hats
* t-shirts
* clinic clothes (what if I limit myself to a few outfits? say 5? or maybe a few cool combo things...)
* shoes
* the bathrobe
* flannel jammie bottoms ( I can get rid of all but one of these, I'm sure)
* scarves
* socks
* sweaters/ sweatshirts/ jackets
* topic

9) Books - it's almost unfair to make a medical student count each book as a separate item. One kind of doesn't know what kind of resources they'll need in a few years, a few months or a few hours.

10) the computer

11) the papasan chair

12) the desk

13, 14, 15, 16) bookshelves -- is this any hint of how many books I may have? no fair.

17) the medical bag and all of its contents -- this just has to count as its own one thing. there's kinda no way around needing the 20 or so items in there.

18) For a couch, I'd love to purchase one of these:

19, 20) coffee tables -- one for writing and eating and using the computer on, and the other as an altar in the bedroom.

21) my drum -- can all my shamanic stuff count as one thing? I can condense it...oh dear this is getting challenging, I can see.

Things that fall into the "I-may-need-it-someday-as-a-practitioner" category

9) Books -- see above

22) the massage table

23) the manip table

the other option was to give away one thing a day for an entire year...I wonder if I could do that instead...give up 365 things in one go. maybe I'll give that a shot. Perhaps I'll try doing both during this purging process, and hopefully my efforts will psh me through towards a new way of thinking about the stuff I keep in my life.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Why am I moving?

Why am I moving?

I have been asked that a lot recently. I have more positive reasons than negative ones, for sure. The positive reasons are neat: my friend will be next door, there is private garden space, the place is small and cozy, and I have the time to move in slowly, picking the things I really want to take and be very conscious of what I am taking and why. And very consciously releasing that which I am choosing to let go of.

The negative reasons are, well, negative. The foot traffic around the place frankly has me nervous: I feel generally uneasy about walking through my own neighborhood, and I hate that. I get hollered at when I work in the garden. I get ignored or glared at when I go to the dollar store. The car speakers rattle my windows. I have walked through police lines to get home. The cops are always circling the block. Hoodies like to collect on the other side of the street, dropping their wrappers down the sidewalk. I walk through the neighborhood, and feel the possession within the houses: there is some nasty shit that had been called up and is lurking throughout the houses in this neighborhood. It kind of hurts my heart to live here, because I don't feel strong or safe enough to protect myself as I become more and more of my authentic self.

I feel like I have failed this place. Like I was brought here to help heal this place, to clear it out, to help heal and beautify the neighborhood. Instead I just kinda dumped my stuff here: some of it is still in the boxes I packed up over a year ago. And then I wonder if that is my own sad delusion of grandeur and martyrdom. This is a sick neighborhood, one that is possessed and one that is at war with itself and with "progress". Me living here doesn't melt away injustice or poverty or prejudice. It doesn't erase sexism, classism, or racism. Especially if all I do is either be at school or be inside the house. Maybe that's why I came here. To readdress all of these feelings and expectations and senses. These are all familiar feelings I had growing up in Miami. And what I have learned is that I don't have to live anywhere when I don't feel comfortable. I know that often I don't feel comfortable and I blame my environment for it. I know one day I would really like to settle down and find a place that I totally am in love with and would stay there forever. I don't know when that is or will be. I guess I was kind of hoping it would be this place, and I wonder if I gave it enough of a chance.

This house is in transition as well, as is it's tenants and owner. Everything is changing.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

the beginning of the darkness

it is a new day dawning
outside my window

it is the first night
of the longest day of the year

from here on out
we plunge into darkness

it is the beginning
of the descent into darkness

it is a good morning
and I say so to the clouds
collecting luminously above my head
emanating gentle blue intensity
and purpose

the rose is opening
more and more each day
the gift of a gift
reveals itself deeper
each moment
as each day passes
the light sings grace
and night whispers faith

our hearts are being held beloved

after watching 14 consecutive episodes of "24" in one sitting...

contrived entertainment
that breeds hypervigilance
suddenly everything is important
even Facebook and open windows

is it silly to desire escape?
selfish to indulge?
manipulate my creative force
into whatever you would have
suck on it
my attention serves no purpose to you
it is all my own
and i give it over willingly
to you
the screen
the machine
convince me of your perception
of my naivety
rock me back to sleep
within unconscience
it serves you none
it is simply what you are
teach us to use responsibly
and with intention

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Creative Family Love

So it's time to write today. It's been an easier, gentler reminder since I've changed my homepage to the blogger site.

Today was a day of slowness. There was all the time in the world to be taken. I rushed for maybe half an hour when I thought I was going to miss a bus, and then I wound up being twenty minutes early for it. Lazily I crocheted a baby blanket on the fifty minute bus ride to Kirsten's house. We loafed around there, taking time for conversation and music. She and Will and I stopped for coffee and sweet treats on our way to Tamar and Sarah's baby shower. Our friends were there. My family. And there was sweetness and laughter and comfort and space and support and all kinds of yummy food and delightful children and so so much to be shared.

I do love a list. On a morbid note, I used to make lists of who would come to my funeral. Today, to honor the sincere joy I felt today in having remained alive to experience this day exactly as it was, I'd like to make a list of my "family", those who were present today that impressed upon me all the love and care and sweetness aforementioned.

Tamar Blau, Sarah Berrier, and Little Boy Blau-Berrier
Bill Walter, Margot Lovinger, and the fabulous Elliot Graham Walter
Kirsten and Will Schaeffer
Matt and Katie Carlson
Ryan and Melissa Campbell
Elias Kass
Wendy Hueners
Ryan Robbins
Akiko Kato and the little angel Kazuma
Phil and Rebecca and Xara

My brothers and sisters, I love you. You make my world safe and rich and my days worth living. You are a blessing to my life and a light in my heart. A light I carry close as I traverse the darkness. A light that guides me to a place I call home.

Monday, June 16, 2008


is this some kind of joke?

i identify with the tortured poet
the homeless wanderer
the dejected street punk
rebeling against all things community


there is room inside of me for all of these things
i can be anything
so who am i then?

anyone i want to be?

do i have to choose?

only for the sake of others
they confuse easily
these humans
who seek consistency
when there is none to be had

someone said

create nothing

if you do, it will stick to you
follow you around
bite you in the ass
as others lay waste to your dream
to your creative being
we are all so fragile and destructive
ignorant and asleep

what is this place I am in?
what is my role here?

who can connect in a place as violent as this?

I need help, spirit
i know you know this
i don't know what i am doing
aside from my fierce independence
rearing her ugly head
looking around for acceptance
and support

therein lies fear
if i am truly who i am
then i am by default

which fire shall i throw this one into?

what will it take
for me to fall in love
with myself?

i whisper sweet words of passion and joy
to myself
the words fall on
ears that doubt
and breasts that repulse
you do not know of which you speak
you have been mistaken
silly little ignorant schmuck
youre a clown
a fool
your mask is a pretty one
yet unimpressive



Poets of war
gather now
amidst the blood and smoke
pine for me
fawn over me
convince me to stay
for your party
serve sushi and chocolate
off my naked body
seduce me into believing
i am special
and especially for you

what would that mean
to you?
how do i serve you?
with my innocence
with my labial connections
perhaps i should start walking
and see you follow me
down the dark alleyway
everything is illuminated
in time
and time is its own
darkest secret

what hearts speak of
fairy tales
and connections beyond the trees
the same hearts that speak of love
and solidarity
and all things beautiful
what rubbish they spew
what deceit
what lies
who told them the truth
what is truth
but a commitment to a perception
there is no such thing
as truth

what hatred lies beneath the pinkness of my skin
what vile acidic treachery
who will i be when i truly step foot into
the toxicity of my perception
what is there to gain
by turning and embracing the shadow?

i am beginning to think
that it won't magically disappear
like they say in the fairy tales
yet here she is
present on my doorstep
wanting to come in and play

the place is already a mess
so why not?
I'm not interested in impressing her
more than id rather entertain her until she is tired
and requires rest
perhaps i can choke her in her sleep
violent even for me
i know i cant
i am too curious
in her inner process
wretched bitch that she is
she is here until she is ready
to show herself the door

the rapids are rising
and moving faster, so they say
we are to lose everything
whatever that means

what palpable doubt i experience
what clear perception
like the glass shards like rain upon me
in the crisp memory of a cold
blue day in Tulsa
looking up
feeling my lungs being ripped to shreds
and my intestines boiled alive
as i walked hand in hand
with my grandmother
around the swan lake

nothing seemed sacred ever again
it all changes
it all falls apart
what is dependable
is only independence
and chaos.

my lungs recoil at the memory
i thought we had been through this
why are we here yet again?
can't you get over yourself?
you don't want to be this person
i have never wanted to be this person
and yet here i am
this person
can it be ok now?

how about now?

a poet as a physician
a charlatan
spirit you are writing this through me
what are you saying
to the world?
why did i come first for you
and no one else?
oh is it true?
or just me interrupting your flow?

we can dance all night
you know you will win
i will tire
i will always tire
before you

i am exhausted and refuse sleep.
i am mourning the state of the world.
its blackness drips out of my heart.
i am a toxic product of this planet.

What was i thinking,
coming back here?
Did i really commit to so much agony?
What good is this doing
for you, Spirit?
what good is this doing for the planet?


i am begging you

get me the fuck out of the (your) way

i cant do this alone

i don't even know what I'm doing

its so clear that you are driving

and I am simply in the passenger seat

with no seat belt on

trying not to vomit

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Thoughts and Musings of June 15th

I just wanted to write.

I thought I'd continue using my recently neglacted online journal for a change. I type faster than I write, and it's more legible, too. Besides, my intention is to put just about everything I write onto a computer at some point anyway. My hand doesn't cramp or misalign. I can think and write simultaneously. I can read what I wrote. So many good reasons to type up thoughts onto an online journal.

But no. Not today. Today my computer wants me to delete temporary files and cookies instead. I've only go an hour to write. By default, I grab an old notebook and begin scribbling.

What I wanted to write about was moving.

I'm taking part in this ceremony called Wilderness Quest.

At one point, our teacher Sarah explicitly stated for us not to make any significant changes in our lives, such as breaking up with a partner or changing residences.

So, in response to that, I am moving. Moving out of my space into a new one. It's just up the street, really, only abot a mile away. There are more trees and space in between houses. More privacy, I guess, and more sunshine in the form of windows. A small private garden with an established trumpet vine and a bench and some patio chairs. Exposed beams.

The space I am in now is great as well. Mostly. I've never been 100% happy here, and I've wondered if I'll ever be 100% happy anywhere, really. The place I'm in now is so big. Almost too big for me. I can't seem to fill it. There's extra stuff in here, and not all of it belongs to me. Maybe I'd be happier if I had gotten the space cleared out, but oh well. It is full of unfinished projects that I would like to have the time and the space to do. There is also a lot of foot traffic outside my place. People lurking about, clearly up to one thing or another. Men gathering on street corners. I get hollered at when I work in the garden or walk down the street. The cops are constantly patrolling the block. It doesn't feel safe, and I've decided that I don't have to live in unsafety if I don't want to.

The place I am moving to is smaller than the space I am in now, which is encouraging to me. I wish to flush a bnch of stuff out of my life, and here's the perfect opportunity to practice letting go in a big way. To discover where and in what my loyalty lies. And my friend lives in the pther part of the house. She has an intention of creating communal artspace, and weekly arts and crafts days. A-ha. Time and space to create with people. Perfect.

This is what I wrote about it this morning:

giving up stability for a dream
uneasiness rests on either side
it seems not to matter
whether or not action is taken
there are always challenges
and discontent

there are always trials
and tribulations
no matter where you live
no matter what you do
no matter who you know

Damn, Life is annoying at times

And what should be the focus
within the annoyance?
What should I resort to
instead of apathetic dissonance?

Art? Love? Peace? Prayer?

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

A new era of healing begins...NOW!!! (Part 1)

So, in the midst of the insanity of last quarter, my friend and fellow NESH compatriot, Angie, took my case for a constitutional homeopathic remedy. I didn't take it right away, because I was already giving my body a ton of healing input: 5E acupuncture, a detox diet, sweat schedule, craniosacral, extraction work, etc etc etc. But now, after a make-shift deep evening movie night at the House of Home and Family (Ryan lives here too), and after coming through crisis relatively unscathed, Angie went ahead and gave me the remedy. She, being a good little homeopath, didn't tell me what it was. What I will do is journal about what I notice about myself over the next few weeks, and then report back to her.

The initial report: when she tossed the pills under my tongue, I got the distinct picture of tiny bright flashes of light. In my interpretation of felt-sense, brightness equals goodness, ie stuff I want inside of me, so that was a neat image to have acknowledged. I also got pretty thirsty right then, as well as a mild but sudden headache spanning the whole front of the forehead, and lasting only a few minutes. I was able to drive home just fine. I had a bowl of granola and some cranberry juice split with mineral water as a late-night snack, half-hour after taking the dose. I feel kinda sparkly, uplifted, enlivened, and bright right now, underneath the sleepiness. There's a sense of connection to Spirit, like I feel when I'm on the Big Island, something like really being in the flow, having let go of everything that binds. The sense is faint, but I felt it, just a glimmer of it, as I was getting into my car to come home. I just ate and I still feel hungry, although that's pretty normal for me. My left hand is really cold, and my right hand is really warm. Otherwise, I'm just good and tired, so off to bed I go.

Monday, March 24, 2008

This was not a wasted day

This was not a wasted day.

Three days prior, there was crisis. Drama. From seemingly out of nowhere. Yet upon reflection, the vague lines leading to probable contributing causes revealed themselves. The half-day of sugar indulgence. The practice of stripping away ego roles in class. The heightened blessing of perfection in a walk in the woods with a sweet being. The stepping out onto a limb, bearing a raw confession of love interest. The exposure of being authentic. The stepping into a physician's role, ever more realizing what it means and what it takes. The sudden disbandment, the loss of structure.


Gratitude and blessings to all who stepped in to check in on me. Ironically, they were all men. I think it was only men I called that night as well. Perhaps this is why:

I have been wanting to enter a relationship with a man (or men: as a theoretical polygamist, I am open to not counting) for some time now. Curious as to what needed to happen in order to manifest this, I did a reading on it this morning. The main message I got was to go easy with the analytical aspects, to continue healing the heart, and to focus on the family. I interpreted "family" to mean my inner family. Checking in with my inner man, I found him beyond exhaustion (poor guy). When asked what he wanted, he merely wanted to sleep. So, instead of packing up and schlepping off to volunteer at a homeless clinic today, I slept off and on for ost of the day. I didn't change out of my PJ's until 6pm and that was only to go to the grocery store (my inner woman was like, "Dude I know you're tired, but you also don't have anything to eat").

So I had to get over the notion that laying around in PJ's, doing Tarot readings, sitting in silence, and blogging are not wastes of time. I'd argue that is no such thing as wasted time. It's all a manifestation of one's priorities. Whatever you're doing, wherever you're putting your energy, those are your priorities. And I think today I showed myself that my priority to myself is still intact.

And now, a poem about relationship:

I am craving

I am craving that one

I am craving that one who is strong

I am craving that one who is strong enough

I am craving that one who is strong enough to hold me

I am craving that one who is strong enough to hold me to my word

Take me down,
back into my body
Take me home,
straight into my heart
Take me back,
when I have been brutal
Take me over,
when I have dissolved
Take me in,
when I am full
Take me up,
in your embrace
Take me and
give me back again.
And may I offer you
the same.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

For the Love of...

Thank God for punk-ska, public pillow fights, Remedy Tea, and the grace of Spirit in the presence of a friend.

Melting down in the face of Change.
You Mother Fucker.
You and your hundred and eight
different shades of reality.
You and your consistent
You and your bossy
forcing choice upon me.
forcing me into authenticity.
forcing me to sit with duplicity
and contrasting colors
I am nauseous and weak from the practice.
Where's the mercy?
I already fell in love with life
What good is it to put all the good things
on the same day?
Perhaps I should delve into
the rock-hard passion of
Your bindings and beatings
Learn to take it like
a bitch in heat to life
bent, sweaty, on all fours
There is passion beneath the pain
There is passion beneath the pain
Passion is pain, and painful
rubbing raw
now there's a wound to lick
to serve as a reminder
of the gift of manifestation
and patience
Delirious and exhilirated
Change forces me off my center
face-down into the mud
so that my heart may sprout roots
and begin communion with the Earth
amidst the change, oh yes, change
perhaps you can carry my trust
after all.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Sitting with Sadness

Sadness breaches the glassy stillness
like a humpback who has been traveling
for miles without a breath

again, you return
or is it only more
from where the last tsunami

from a different epicenter, perhaps
or maybe the same
does it matter?
it all seems to wear the same coat
of desperation, of pain that is indescribable
because of its depth and
lack of physicality

"I don't know how you do it" he says
in reference to the needles and the burning
and the ropes and the beatings
that I mention, I request, I crave.
I said I didn't know either
but on second thought, of course I do.

Where emotional pain can be made physical
there is relief in the knowledge
that all things physical can and will pass.
There is a palpable

Not the continuous breaching
of drowning whales.

There is grace in trusting the process of
emrging emotional pain into the physical.
Grace in trusting another with your body, your process, your pain.
Grace in trusting enough to be held, and
Grace in recollecting yourself when the container gives in under the pressure.
We are all only human, after all,
and some of us push harder than others.
Some of us go deeper than others.
Some of us expand greater than others.
Some of us are too loud, even for our own comfort.

It is grace that can hold us.
It is the ocean and the sky that can take it
that can hold us all.

Sadness enjoys the writing. It is learning to paint with words.
It is learning to leak gently out in small manageable breaths.

So on the surface, I may seem sadder longer.
But perhaps this time, you won't be frightened off by the explosion,
cowering in your own fears of inadequacy,
thinking "Shit, I can't hold THAT!"
Instead you can be quietly concerned in your own spare time,
stroking your ego into thinking that you may have something to offer.

Just to let you know,
I will take what is useful.
I take care of my own.

I trust myself.
I trust my process.
I trust that the label of "Crazy" exists for your benefit, not mine,
to make you comfortable and separate from what you long to ignore...

...but more on that, later.

Labeling makes Sadness even sadder.
It shows Sadness unacceptance.
It shows Sadness that you acknowledge her
as something incomprehensible, unacceptable, wild.
Boo on labeling, especially the label of Crazy.


Sadness, what else would you like to share with the world?
Yikes, fear? Brokenheartedness? I am so gentle and fierce
I am so many dualities, all crossing in the center.
I am seeking integration between grief and love.
I am confused, getting tripped up in the process,
when I stumble, and hit the ground, I cry out of frustration.
Seeking flow and grace and a peaceful heart.
I pray, I stand up, I keep moving.

My life is full
of processing.
The large, complicated doughnut that I am.

Please don't fret, Mom.
Please. Have faith in me and my process.
Sadness is not a death sentence, like it seemed to be a decade ago.
You have raised such a strong, committed, loving daughter.
I may do things with my life that you would never imagine or wish for me,
but it is mine to live, and I follow only the voice of Spirit
and our ancestors.

Sadness mingles with Love and Grace on occasion,
when she is well enough to receive visitors.
They share a laugh and a good cup of tea,
in light and peaceful laziness.

It is 11:11. Think happy thoughts.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Breaststroke Meditations

So I think I got a handle on the chest pain. At least for now.

I had another session with the fabulous acupuncturist today, and we came up with this: that the grief that was being released (gratefully) was simply overpowering my typical fiery joy. Perhaps the movement of grief was also pulling chi away from Earth, the deficiency resulting in the increased anxiety I had been feeling for the past three weeks. The deficiency carried through to the heart again, coupled with the grief release from the lung, causing the chest pain.

To be honest, I just took a wild stab at processing it all within a 5E model. I've got to let my acupuncturist off the hook. He actually told me to quit analyzing it and just tell him what was going on (which is exactly what he should've done).

I was having a hard time being present for the session today. There was a part of me fighting the treatment, leaving my body, wanting to leave the room, to not get better or move on.

I attribute a bit of that to the two Guinesses I drank last night at the bowling alley. That was the first time I have drank in well over two years, and it made me nervous that I was craving alcohol that way. I packed them both down, and barely felt it. It's been a day already and I'm still doing good. Sweet! I suppose that was helped along by the triple dose of NAC and B-vits I took upon coming home, along with the 5 glasses of water I downed that night. But the numbing effects of the alcohol carried over into today's session. At one point, I was getting needled essentially in my armpit, and it wasn't going and wasn't going and wasn't going, and then I realized that I was so far away from my body that the guy could've punctured my lung and I wouldn't have noticed. I had to catch myself and invite myself back into my body. As soon as I came back home, the needle tugged and the point released. But it all really came home when I got the needle in the middle of my inner wrist. Like sudden divine inspiration, all of the sudden EVERYTHING got clear and present and real again. It felt miraculous.

I went home and just sat in silence for about twenty minutes then crawled back into bed for a hour-long nap. It's a struggle to get up because once again I've let my place get all piled up and grubby. Grrrr. There just doesn't seem to be enough time or energy to get everything done.

Anyway, I made it over to the gym for some laps and sweating before class. God, I love swimming. Doing the breatstroke is like flying. It's like I'm an eagle soaring through a stiff breeze. No surprise that Eagle is the animal that has come forth to help carry me through this grief-relief process. Everytime, and I mean EVERY time I go to acupuncture, my practictioner and I always see a bald eagle soaring around outside. We've both been seeing them on occasion outside of treatment as well. It's great because we're both so giddy to see them.

So Water element, coming after Metal, is giving the grief somewhere to go, in my eyes. But that's not why I swim. I swim because I love it. It's quiet, meditative. My body is surrounded in secure, cradling pressure. I can push myself as hard or slack as I want, I can daydream, I can breathe deeply, I can process, I can pray. I did all of that today. As I pushed off the wall and soared through the water, grabbing it with my hands and shoving it past me, pushing myself through, feeling every part of my self, gliding to the surface for a breath, I felt a relief that I had been waiting for for three weeks. I couldn't believe how long it had been, how bad I had let it get. The self-disgust, the self-loathing, the insecurity, the abuse I suffered at my own hands. At what point did I forget that I am made of light? Where did I get stuck between the words "I am" and "a miracle"?

I'm so grateful for this healing, and the pain and process that led me to it, scary as it was. My perceptions of this lesson was that when the going gets tough, pray harder. And I got a new list of things to pray for.

A piece of poetry:

"Hopeful I raise my bow and release my heart into the night sky. I'm aiming for the stars, and maybe I'll hit one. More likely, I will find the dark matter, and be graced another opportunity to embrace the shadow of the universe. Either way, I am a better person because of my efforts."

PS: I adjusted my first neck all on my own tonight!!!! It was so amazing, because it came from a very instinctual place.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Talent/No Talent Show Spoken Word Pieces

I dedicate these two pieces to my teachers, which you all can meet in person the next time you look in a mirror.


A psychiatrist once asked me if I realized that I was singing out loud. She said that some people might think I'm strange for doing that.

I wonder if she was one of those people.

I wonder when singing out loud became pathological.

I find myself again
piled in a cowering heap
quivering from overexposure of a perception of reality.

Stigma has me tripping over my feet

Now Silence is what
my throat seems to be stuffed with.
No wonder it hurts to breathe
My body seems to be telling me
that it's time to wake up
and start yelling
or perhaps even try to sing again

Waking up is hard to do.

Harder than wandering through the halls
Pretending or possibly actually believing the walls
don't exist, yet feeling their tension
bind with my countertension

blending the imaginings of tomorrow with the perceptions of yesterday
into a fantastical hypnosis of what I think I know.
I wander off into the daydream of my mind.

Pushing and pushing and pushing past the mirror
which has had nothing lovely to say as of late
pushing past a mirror that I would rather break
because 13 years bad luck has been
the least of my concern since then
since my heart last regained its composure
she still has a few cracks and crevices leftover
from the last time she fell and broke into a million pieces
This is delicate territory. Beware.

I find my self again
shivering on the steps outside in the night rain
a cigarette resting between
my fingers
and the palpable breathing of
a presence much bigger than my own

As I begin to wake up. Again.

My body aches and shakes and erupts
as I uneasily find my way back into my skin.
It is ok to be here
It is ok to be here
Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure, at least I think I'm sure
I swear to you, to me, the only me there be
that it is ok to be here.
I want to promise me that I can make it safe in here
Even fun.
I want to promise safety to the Sand castle that I keep building in the tide line.
That one that houses my heart,
the one that gives in and collapses with each successive wave

breaking down breaking down
breaking through
convincing myself the effort was somehow worth it
breaking down breaking out breaking in
Broken so much so often
so I swear to God I will never do it again ... until ...
I recover...and
My revived invincibility complex orders yet another

As I wake up again,
the rain kisses me gently.
It soaks my grandmother's jacket
She no longer needs it.
She is the rain now.
She and the rain and the palpable breath of presence
comfort me and invite me into their home.

Hopeful I raise my bow
and release my heart into the night sky.
I'm aiming for a sand castle built of stardust
Yes, I'm aiming for the stars,
and maybe I'll hit one.
According to the odds, however, my heart will collide with dark matter
and be graced
yet another opportunity to embrace
the shadow of the universe.

Either way, I am a better person because of my efforts.

An African Ancestor met me in my dreams that night
as I leaned against the oldest tree in the world
he approaches from out of the sun
Blink he is closer
Blink he is closer still
Blink Blink he is standing right in front of me
He is watching me, looking at something I cannot see.
He pushes me back into the tree
back into my life
back into reality

He gives me a key with which to unlock my heart

He gives me a key entitled Redemption.

Redemption. Deliverance. Rescue. I have been saved from myself and allowed to carry on, free to build sand castles in places other than the surf. Free to build tree houses instead. Free to walk barefoot on the ceiling of the universe as I swing throughout the stars, creating pictures of dreams I only now remember having since before I was born, uplifted, into a stark realization of ... reality?

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

Could I dare go there again?
I must.
If I wish to live again
I must.
So go there I must
armed with courage
and faith
and trust
that sometimes even a broken heart
is a welcomed event.

On a Journey
to the end
of the war
within my heart

On a journey
of recollection

Recall that I am
somebody's seventh generation
I am somebody's hope and dream
I am a miracle in motion,

And I was confined once
I have the scars to prove it.
and underneath scars, though, there are drumbeats and music
memories swaying to song
like merry drunks aboard
a boat at sea
lovingly committed
only to the whims of Great Mystery
and the tides

beauty shocks depths
echoing deeper
beyond the realm of knowing
it reverberates
its coming back
a sickening crescendo
as I realize that
I am about to lose my shit
the shit that keeps me
stuck, smelly and repulsive
of self love

I am about to lose my shit
and replace it with
and mirrors
and expansive love
and graceful sunshine
and deep gratitude
and inexplicable and tremendous joy.

the password is change

Transition just might be my middle name, and I would wear it proudly.
If words could be music, then I would sing my life and my love loudly
Regardless of the diagnosis.

Rejoicing in the consistency of change.
and being startled to realize that my broken heart still beats
to the sound of its own drummer
and the song that ensues
ignites earthquakes
and thunder

so go ahead
break open, dear heart, so that I may love even more




May you find this life
incredibly rewarding
deeply moving
wondrously inspirational
majestically beautiful
warmly comforting
joyfully peaceful
stoicly charming



may you find the depths
of your life

without shame
without fear
without guilt

but with indulgent passion
and unfettered bravery
with exuberant exhiliration
and harmonizing gratitude

as you reach even deeper

retract and reflect

Be called

Chest Pain

Yeah man. Chest pain. For the past two weeks. Crushing, squeezing, electrical-volt-shooting, cramping, meandering, wandering chest pain. Over the heart, or maybe the upper lobe of the left lung. BP was up as well, hovering around 130/90 for the last two weeks. It's not my thyroid, or too much B6. It's not a heart attack or a displaced rib. Some trouble breathing. I tried a lot. What worked was some homeopathy (Lycopodium 30c relieved the third year pre-clinical inadequacy freakout) and craniosacral. So here's what I learned: my body is particularly and sensitively tuned to energy. And it knows I will listen to physical symptoms. My heart needed to speak, and I needed to listen. So during the cranio treatment, it showed me a volcano that was being suppressed. I was afraid of releasing bioling hot lava into my psyche. I gave in, though, and gave it permission to dribble. Now the pangs of anxiety, the wonky energy I pick up on in the hallway, and all else that is wierd and/or not mine goes flowing through the top of the volcano. Hey, beats a heart attack.

From a 5E standpoint, after recieving an (incredible) in-depth possession treatment by the (uber-talented and quite wonderful) student acupuncturist three weeks ago, I have removing a lot of grief from my system. Grief is the emotion relating to the Lung and the Metal element. Metal is controlled by Fire (the heart and joy), is fed by Earth (stomach/spleen and worry), and flows into Water (the Kidneys and fear). It ultimately looked to me like there was enough grief coming up to overcome the tedious amount of joy I was experiencing two weeks ago. The grief was also being fed by a substantial lump of worry or concern I was feeling about my place and my worth in the world. This stuff is so fascinating, and I am excited that I have acknowledged my interest in pursuing further studies in this field. For later, for later. For now, homeopathy! Soon to come: Craniosacral!!! Oh yeah, and getting into clinic as an ND. Wow. Holler!!

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Week In Review -- Deeper

Everyone has been saying that it's been a week from hell. I tend to find that sort of gossip comforting, since I observe a real quality relation between human experince and the alignment of the stars. But that comfort comes a week too late, and barely scratches the surface of the energy twist compacting heart fuck that has been my life this past week. It was nice, though, to end the week with that thought.

The start of the week began, let's say on Saturday. That coincides with the beginning of my cycle. I began bleeding that morning, just in time to drum for a soul retrieval. Apparently I needed the protection. After a *long* session, lasting almost six hours, the practitioner and I were winding down, sharing stories. Then she totally blows my mind (probably hers was blown as well) when she suddenly tells me to close my eyes, that she's got a gift for me. When I open my eyes, she's offering up her Owl wing to the four directions, Mother Earth, Father, Sky and Mystery before placing it in my hands.

It's times like this that I wish I could feel deeper, that I could allow myself to feel as moved as I "should" be. I wanted to be so moved in that moment that I cried. She was definitely crying; this was a wing she had done ceremony on herself and worked closely with for over two years. Instead I laughed. In some ways, laughing is like crying, I suppose. It's possibly just our social norms that deem laughter an inappropriate expression of whatever. So that's how Owl came into my life. The practitioner advised that I sleep with it nearby and let it teach me through my dreams. So that's what I did.

Sunday: I meet up with my aunt and uncle for breakfast. It's deper than that though. This particular aunt and uncle are the "long-lost" ones. The aunt is the twin sister of my biological father, with whom I've had a total of two weeks of personal contact in my whole life. I just met my aunt, uncle, and cousin a month ago. It's cool that they live relatively close; ironic that out of the whole big ass country, I unknowingly pick to move to the spot where 85% of the biological paternal lineage has resided for decades. With my aunt and uncle are two cousins that I have met only days ago, very briefly. My aunt, my cousin Joe and I all have the exact dame smile; a smile that streches from one corner of your face to another, and just kinda lights up your heart. We eat french toast and eggs benedict, then take a lap around Green Lake. We eat ice cream (it's two degrees above freezing, mind you) then head back to the house for some lounging. My aunt and uncle go off to do some shopping, and my cousins and I take another lap around Green Lake.

It's amazing what you learn about people when you walk with them. Like the movement of their body facilitates the movement of their soul. Like a violin string being rubbed by a rosined bow, the soul begins to vibrate and sing. I really like my cousins. We reverberate.

I leave. Back home. I have been reading up on the history of health care all week for a midterm in public health. I am surprisingly more interested in this subject than I predicted. That's always exciting.

Monday. I continue to read up on health care policy, and write up my midterm. I forgo the gym today, because I'm bleeding. Instead, I call my biological father. It's only been nine years. It sounded like it, too. I could've crank called some random person and had a conversation quite similar to the one I had with Jim. It's like we both sense that we should know more about each other, and possibly even be interested in the other person's life, but it's just not there. At least, I don't feel it. And I feel a lot of things, usually without trying.

Apparently, it's a snow day, and the school is closed. Thankfully I get this message via email as I'm sendong off my midterm, and I rejoice in getting to spend an entire day in my jammies. I celebrate by watching four episodes of the L word back to back (God bless Netflix). I go to bed at 2am.

Tuesday. School. A day at school is like three days of manual labor. Something about it is neverending, and strikes a deep chord of inadequacy and humility amidst the marinated tofu and relfection pond. People still tend to have fleeting moments of fun or freedom, but it's rare: the collective consciousness of the place can feel like a cross between a prison and a mental institution. This particular day at school, I learned that I hadn't performed well enough to receive advanced standing in a certification class I had been taking for months. The teacher said multiple times, not to take it personal, and I didn't. I mean, I wasn't mad at him. I was, however, furious with myself. God, if I were my domme, my sub would be black, blue, bleeding and broken, I'm that good at being ruthless with myself. Today I guess I couldn't take it that well. But boy did I shove it. Later I'm at Liberty, chomping on sushi and negotiating a bondage-and-blood scene with a marvelously sweet sexy kinky couple. The scene was to happen that night. In retrospect, I might have acknowledged that I was already feeling a little shitty, but I thought at the time that the scene would cheer me up. I wound up pretty deep in the headspace of my youth, unquestionably the darkest years of my life to date. Themes of shame and defiance bubbled up over the emergent property of the night: inadequacy. The couple assured me they had fun, and I've no choice but to believe them. I worry about being seen. About being seen, judged, and dismissed, like "Whoa! Don't want to go there again." But I know this couple can handle deep space, I'm confident in that. But what will convince me for certain is a return office call, so to speak. And this is how time builds trust in others.

Wednesday. I don't remember much about Wednesday, other than I went to the gym and swam until I pulled my scalenes on the left side.

Thursday. Whoa. All I wanted was needles in my wrist. Instead, I got to sit through seven hours of class, three of which were nearly the most frustrating in my career.

I can't remember when the chest pains started. I'm pretty sure I woke up with them on Thursday. I'm pretty sure they started before that, but since this is a recurring theme, I didn't start paying attention to them until they had me nearly doubling over. That was on Thursday. Shock waves. That's what it felt like. Shock waves shooting straight into my heart. I was having trouble breathing, and I was so agitated. I wondered if the adrenaline of Tuesday had caught up with me and I had become a junkie of sorts looking for a decent wallop of pain to make it through another day in the fiery pit of med school. Every moment was like sitting on wiggling red hot nails. I got to my preceptor and the concerned office manager had me take my blood pressure three times consecutively. Even I was floored when I averaged 130/90, unheard of for me. The doc said I was having an anxiety attack and suggested I either pop a Xanax or drink a beer. From past experience, I know there's no use in being either righteous or snotty with this guy, so I just laughed it off. He doesn't really know me anyway, that's clear. But who really knows anyone? The best we can hope for in this life is to know ourselves. Everyone else is their business. I leave the office with a bottle of Stress X and sit in an hour of traffic on the 520 bridge.

Friday. I wake up and cringe. I don't wanna. I am exhausted and the pain in my chest had gotten worse, so the exhaustion is quickly compounded by mild panic. It crosses my mind that I have tried just about every trick I know of to get me back to good: exercise, good diet, detox tea, gingko shot...what was I missing? I go to school, into Herbal Ways and lament my circumstances to my dear friend Rob. We make a tea that helps (Rose for the heart, Vervain for the throat, Motherwort for the heart and nervine properties, Fennel because Rob said so, and Cinnamon because I said so), and I also snag some Sticta to work the grief out of my lung while I'm at it. It works for maybe an hour, then the tension is back, along with the heart pain. I float off during homeopathy class and flip to remedy that has caught my eye recently. The mental-emotional keynote is inadequacy, after all, and today I just can't seem to think of another way to tackle this predicament. I wonder if Spirit was saying, Hey, if you are so into homeopathy, let's see how far you can trust yourself with it" or something. The remedy moved a lot: it felt like my head was a toilet that finally got flushed. It was a very forlorn feeling as I meandered the halls, looking for something or someone, guidance, direction, support, help. I finally sat down in the caf, and my friend Lisa joined me. The angel that she is, her message so clear: "Be gentle with yourself" The tears responded to that, as I recognized the part of me that felt like I deserved abuse, if not from anyone else, then certainly from myself.

We decided a walk to the lake was in order. As we slopped down the muddy hill, Lisa in her stockings and Mary Janes led me into the woods, back into my soul. The remedy was working, the chest pain fading, the tolerance to cold returning. Lisa fell square on her ass, and laughed out loud, bounced up again and kept on down the hill. We got to the edge of the lake, and I turned to her and confessed that I was always subject to this insatiable urge to jump in the lake every time I was down here. And this I why I love Lisa. Her face lit up and she said "Sure! Let's go!" So this is how Lisa and I celebrated a new month (that month being February) in the PNW with temps once again hovering around freezing. We stripped off our clothes and barreled into the water, screeching the entire way. "This is why I love you," she said. And this is why I love her too.

We walked back in the dark. We decided that the woods at night merely amplifies the internal state of the observer. If you're freaking yourself out with your demons and haunts, the woods will convince you that you will never leave it alive. Conversely, one who is at ease and in a state of inner peace moves through the woods at night like it's a warm bath.

That evening, and the following day, Saturday: Cell Salts with Louise Edwards. Great class, lots of info, less heart pressure, although still seeking out a one-drop remedy. How much time is alotted for healing? Til results come barreling in? How do you know when you're done? When it's time to just wait, or time to redose?

All of these fucking questions.

I ended Saturday with lots of chocolate cake, a Guiness, a cigarette, jamming on the djembe and spanking a beautiful sweet birthday girl.

It's 2am. That is just one week.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Song at Sunset -- Walt Whitman

Found this poem while hanging out at the Hawthorne Hostel in Portland, OR, during my first weekend at NESH at NCNM.

Song at Sunset -- Walt Whitman

Splendor of ended day floating and filling me,
Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past,
Inflating my throat, you divine average,
You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing.

Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness,
Eyes of my soul seeing perfection,
Natural life of me faithfully praising things,
Corroborating forever the triumph of things.

Illustrious every one!
Illustrious what we name space, sphere of unnumber'd spirits,
Illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings, even the tiniest insect,
Illustrious the attribute of speech, the senses, the body,
Illustrious the passing light--illustrious the pale reflection on the new moon in the western sky,
Illustrious whatever I see or hear or touch, to the last.

Good in all,
In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals,
In the annual return of the seasons,
In the hilarity of youth,
In the strength and flush of manhood,
In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age,
In the superb vistas of death.

Wonderful to depart!
Wonderful to be here!
The heart, to jet the all-alike and innocent blood!
To breathe the air, how delicious!
To speak--to walk--to seize something by the hand!
To prepare for sleep, for bed, to look on my rose-color'd flesh!
To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large!
To be this incredible God I am!
To have gone forth among other Gods, these men and women I love.

Wonderful how I celebrate you and myself!
How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles all around!
How the clouds pass silently overhead!
How the earth darts on and on! and how the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on!
How the water sports and sings! (surely it is alive!)
How the trees rise and stand up, with strong trunks, with branches and leaves!
(Surely there is something more in each of the trees, some living soul.)

O amazement of things--even the least particle!
O spirituality of things!
O strain musical flowing through ages and continents, now reaching me and America!
I take your strong chords, intersperse them, and cheerfully pass them forward.

I too carol the sun, usher'd or at noon, or as now, setting,
I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth and of all the growths of the earth,
I too have felt the resistless call of myself.

As I steam'd down the Mississippi,
As I wander'd over the prairies,
As I have lived, as I have look'd through my windows my eyes,
As I went forth in the morning, as I beheld the light breaking in the east,
As I bathed on the beach of the Eastern Sea, and again on the beach of the Western Sea,

As I roamed the streets of inland Chicago, whatever streets i have roamed,
Or cities or silent woods, or even amid the sights of war,
wherever I have been I have charged myself with contentment and triumph.

I sing to the last equalities modern or old,
I sing the endless finale's of things,
I say Nature continues, glory continues,
I praise with electric voice
For I do not see one imperfection in the universe,
And I do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the universe.

O setting sun! Though the time has come,
I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration.