I’m intrigued by the question, “Are you on vacation?”
From what? What springs to mind is the Bruce Cockburn song, Lovers in a Dangerous Time. To be a lover at this time seems to have its particular challenges.
It is a time of great poignancy. Perhaps I am confusing a natural sense of poignancy, of the mixing of the sweet and the sad, that comes with aging. But, I do consider it a fact that this time of my life coincides with the end of the Holocene period.
I’m sitting at a picnic table in the Florida Keys, looking at the Bahia Honda Channel bridge; looking to the west into a steady westerly breeze. That wind roared all night, and the noise of the traffic on the bridge is nearly unbearable. Nonetheless, people clamor to get in here and I leapt at a chance.
Being involved in research like this, finding the very best places to hide out during New England...
The only way I truly know if I'm making a 'yogic' choice is that I feel at peace with it. That it comes from a place of conscious intuition, instinct and that it feels right. This has become my foundation and center point in all my decisions, even if others don't like it.
My hand polishes the lines on your face, the ones that leave valleys by your eyes, valleys as storied and beautiful as the one in which I was born, and you lean into me. I see the freckles splayed like stars across your skin; I trace them into pictures of speckled sparrows taking flight in the sun. Tangled up in blankets and limbs and words not spoken, faces pressed together, we sleep.
I want chaos and serenity stitched together like lovers. I want to continue shifting weight until I find the centre of my becoming. I want days where the only thing that matters is we remembered to breathe. I want lonesome nights. I want the courage and fear to be revered for lessons they each impart.
I had a difficult time when my partner would look at other women and comment on their beauty, boobs, sexiness, etc. Being a modern woman, I would pretend to laugh at his comments as if they meant nothing to me. But deep down, I struggled with the feeling that I wasn't enough, wasn't sexy or busty or young enough.
When we spend Time around good people, or those who touch us deeply in some way, we have this uplifting feeling inside ourselves. This energy stored in our body that flows through us like a drug in our system, making everything around us seem brighter and more full of life.
Heaven was on earth, and my body was the vessel. From that moment on I started to listen to my body, really listen. It led me to each of the herbs that I use in my steams and teas. It led me to a complete change in diet and lifestyle. It led me to understand my body's natural cycles and how they coincide with the cycles in nature. It led me to a self-reliance and self-love that can be shaken but never taken away from me again.
I want the whole cake. That's right, I want the whole damn thing. I'm tired of the crumbs, and can no longer only allow myself to take small bites. So why is it that I keep gladly accepting the stale slices of love and affection when I know I deserve more?
I, like all addicts, desperately wanted to simply feel better -- to know peace and joy. My addictive behavior was born of an incredibly innocent and pure desire to sooth the torment within. My actions were a sick and twisted attempt at self-love.
Over time, our practice can help cultivate a deeper understanding about what we need and how we need to look after ourselves. When to move, when to be more passive. When to challenge ourselves, when to be more compassionate and gentle. What to put into the body, and what to put out.
A friend of mine died the other day,
but not really — I mean it wasn’t really
the other day. It just seems that way sometimes.
Sometimes the thirteen years seem a day
and I hold him in my arms again and watch
the warmth and gentleness and intelligence
fade slowly from his eyes while I tell him
everything will be okay, everything will be okay.
I was a writer even then, but none of the words I knew
could stop his blood from seeping through my shirt
to turn its olive drab a darker hue than red
or green — none of the important or subtle
or achingly beautiful words could grant another breath
or give me time to say the things I should have
or would have, but didn’t.
There was an accident the other day.
A car had left the road and a passenger was trapped,
held, the driver pleading in a soft, frightened...
Recently, I have begun introducing myself as a mermaid. While some people roll their eyes, others genuinely understand my deep desire for the clandestine world beneath the ocean, the way I connect with an inner temptress nature and how I pray that wild feminine forces will power my inner defiance.
I may be the only one on this but I want to meet real people with real people lips, I want to engage with someone who is different from me and I want to learn about them. I want to remember them for those glorious differences. I want people to remember they met me.
The Gypsy is back
and she is tired,
tired of giving herself away
for your love
Tired of fighting
for this future we have.
For this family we have.
For the comfort and safety
of the home we have.
I give up.
I fight back.
So tell me, how did you stay away? Tell me so I can, too. I need so desperately to fall out of love with you. I need to find the girl that you fell in love with. The strong and confident one that knew exactly what she wanted out of life but really knew nothing at all. I need her and her dreams.
Things break, darlin'. Daybreak. Waves break. Wind breaks. Break-ups. Breakdowns. Bones break. You can break a horse. A record. A promise. A home. A heart. It's what we do with the pieces that matters. This is what is beautiful. The mosaic is the masterpiece.
Reconnecting with the activities that light you up will fan the flames of your Spark and bring it back to life. Make a list of all those things you love to do, or used to do, or dreamed of doing. Do a collage in your journal or on a piece of watercolor paper of images and words that bring you joy.