The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.

From Essential Rumi
by Coleman Barks

It is so clear to me now that I am an empath and have always been. I don’t know about various types of empaths or what it all means. I just know I work that way. And that understanding gives a whole new context to the difficulties I’ve had in life, particularly in relationships. People don’t act from their feelings; they hide feelings. They don’t appreciate someone looking into their soul. It’s stupid because we all want to be loved and understood – until we are. Granted, I haven’t handled my talent very well in the past. I got angry when I couldn’t get my friends to pull these two halves – action and emotion – together. I thought it meant that they hated me. Why did they keep lying to me? But now I see it isn’t and never was personal. They really don’t know any better.

Most humans walking the face of the earth have *no* idea how they feel, including humans that I love. Except kids. Kids are awesome. Kids can talk about feelings and feel feeling and learn how to use emotional power and they are so generous in doing so. They have no fear of running out of what they are. So it makes me sick that socially we teach them that their feelings are horrid shameful things they need to control. We teach people to repress their emotions until they choke and die on them. Seriously, it takes awhile but that’s what it does.

The problem I have now is the way we support each other socially. It’s full of bullshit. And while I have always been able to feel others, I am acutely aware of it right now. The way people violate each other’s borders in work situations and project personal problems onto colleagues or fears about themselves on to others. A vicious gossip, for example, is usually just voicing all the things they are afraid someone is saying or going to say about them. I want to go up to them, hug them, and tell them no one is judging them even though they are the “problem.” Because I can feel how much pain and fear they are carrying around and they don’t need it. They aren’t going to be able to release it onto others. They only multiply it that way. And they are fine if only they would let themselves be.

At least now I know some grounding exercises and how to give myself the space I need to clear out my own emotional channels. Apparently, its normal to go through this stage where society is just not something you want to engage with. I mean, a customer in line who huffs at the clerk – I can feel what that person is really angry about and why they want to vent on a minimum wage employee who has to take it. I can feel both sides. I’m tired. But I know what is going on for the first time in my life.

Apparently, I am a healer too. Not sure how that works. Not going to worry about it. It will unfold naturally and it already is happening naturally. At a birthday part over the weekend, my daughter stepped on a tack. She was crying and I held her and I put my hand over the puncture mark. I could feel the pain and I took it.

That is what I have done at so many points in my life – felt the pain of others and took it as my own. That is not what I am trying to do any longer. Because being able to absorb pain is one thing; using that talent in awareness to heal people is another. I’m still growing my new layer of skin. The first step is always – heal yourself first.

Namaste.

So, I finally wrote my letter to the version of me who hadn’t done PN. Its strange to realize my life has a new context, even my past. Not that the context is at all new. Just that I am more aware of what always was. Oh, and apparently cursing is good for fire chi. Sweet.

Dear me,
My whole life I sensed I was kicked out of some mysterious tribe. I felt alienation and a vague sense of survivor’s guilt. Recently I had a woman I just met scream at me “bullshit, bullshit” and tell me I was “a fucking liar” when I answered her question “where are you from?” An anesthesiologist told me as I went under for surgery that it was an affectation, the way I spoke. My soul mate, when I told him that people kept asking me what country I was from said “I bet you enjoy that.” Here he was: my home. God, I missed him for so long. And he implies I enjoy the exile.

Bullshit. The whole above paragraph is crap, but I write it so you know that I know where you’re coming from. Why is it crap? Because it’s written from a perspective where someone else has the power to tell you you’ve arrived, that you belong, that you are you. How in the hell can anyone do that until you understand who you are and take the next step of just fucking being that? No one is ready and waiting to ax you for existing. Drop the story. When you are tired enough, you will drop the damned story.

I thought I needed a story to explain myself. I thought I should make up a country to say I’m from so I’d have an answer when people pester me about my origins. I thought I needed to rename myself. I always thought that, but especially after my divorce. Not take a name back, but make a new name for that alter-ego me. The real me. The rejected me. Sort out that accepted me. My lost tribe. But that’s all crap. The part of me I thought was unacceptable, the part I thought needed to be explained…what am I talking about…I don’t come in pieces.

Trust me, you self future, when I tell you that love is real and that the only way love has ever come to you is by coming to you. It isn’t a missing piece of you. It isn’t an attraction designed to push your buttons. You can push your own buttons when you’re up for it. No one is out to get you. You don’t need to save the world. You are not a problem to be fixed. No one is trying to make you pass a test. The only thing that anyone who ever loved you wanted from you was you. Your beingness. Yeah, that’s enough and more than you can dream so don’t huff it off as silly spiritual talk.

You have no idea what healthy borders are. I get the story as to why; the Mom and the Dad and the relationships and the hurt feelings of life. Sorry, but so what? You’re grown-up now and none of that stuff ever has to happen again. So stop replaying it in your head. You’re going to find someone who can teach you some practical ways to keep it in perspective. Its simple stuff and, yes, you are a bit of a genius, but try something new. Try not to be such a know-it-all on the subject of yourself.

Have a little faith. Have faith in all the things you don’t know about you. Because no one is going to step up and give you your place in the world. You’re already here. Set your borders. Respect the borders. And, by God, have some fun existing.

People have told me I’m from everywhere from Russia to Japan. You know what? I’m right here. Exactly where I belong. I don’t care what the story is. A story is a story. Being is a whole other state. PN teaches you the difference. So, get to work.

Good luck,
Me

Tomorrow is the third birthday party this week. I was thinking it won’t be long before my contemporaries migrate into needing three packs of candles to be purchased to light one cake. The two grown-ups this week were two packs minus a few. I bought the cakes for both. Me and my girl picked them out together. She pushed the candles in; licked them when she pulled them out; and assisted with the singing and blowing in between.

Tomorrow, my friend’s magical girl turns 7. She fills up the missing candles. She walked the creek with me. She wanted to walk to the ocean when she did it. Longest creek walk I’ve taken so far was under her direction.

I went to the creek just now. Its fuller from the storms. Fresh rocks in the stream. Cloudy. I wonder where the fish will appear next?

I sat and felt the core of my emotions. As I walked back home, I thought about my past year, about this journey, about how scared and confused I was when it started. And then I remembered my past life reading.

I got birth days and death days mixed up. No matter which,
happy birthday, Son of the Moon.

Humans. So, I’m sitting with myself trying to get to the bottom of things and I hit on this question “Why am I human at all?” I let the scenes well up in me; the want, love, lust, pain, brutality, hope, shame, desire, remorse. Some seem from other lives. I can’t sense my unique role. I am not separate from it. I take in a deep breath I let the sensation of witnessing swell in me. I sigh an exhale. On my next inhale, I see it all – all those scenes – swirling in my inhale like smoke in reverse. I can take it all back. It seems an almost-answer to my question.

I sit a bit longer and I think perhaps I could blow up the world with my psychic energy. I fix my eyes on the trees and hear the sounds of the singing night bugs and think how perfectly placed they are, how harmlessly natural. How serene. Belonging. The Universe says the same about me and explains “you can’t just extract the bits you like about life, human or not, and throw the rest away. Blow up the world, but you blow up everything you love with it.”

So I sit. I feel the love, hope, desire of creation. The shadowy aspect makes the direction of the light more clear.

I’m going through this PN course. I can’t really write about the process. It’s part of the process. And it’s been hard on the writer in me to let go of these beautiful transitions. To just let them happen, come and go, unrecorded. And it has been essential for me to not to record them. Words never do an experience justice and it wears the mind out trying. The thinking-mind is amazingly adaptable. It will make sense of anything that’s repeated enough. And it always discourages new experience. That’s why you have to keep it on a leash.

As for the dragons I fight, the story is always fear versus love. And I recognize myself as a moderator between these two extremes. My friend Brian Germain recently wrote a newsletter on the topic of fear and love. He explains how the depth of the fear reflects the depth of the love the fear is masking. I think he’s on to something. As Brian puts it “fear is not who we are, it is just a reflection of a role that is far smaller than we are.”

Whatever it is that you fear most; the may-happens of your nightmares. Study them. Expose them. Let them go. They’re heavy and boring.

Facing fear is work. But that’s what a life is for.

Namaste.

This is a good brain teaser “It is the teaching of love that has destroyed it. Hate is still pure. When you hate, your hate has authenticity. When you love, it is only hypocrisy.”

I had a powerful series of meditations last winter during which I asked the Universe to be a healer and the Universe told me to heal myself. I’ve been working on it and am sharing with you what I’ve learned so far.

The Mirror.

Everything someone sees in you is something they see in themselves. Re-read that; it’s important to understand. Very few people understand and practice this understanding. Understanding the mirror dynamic in all human relationships is one of the most powerful things you can do for yourself and the world.

It also means that anything you see in someone else (particularly when your perceptions carry an emotional charge) is something you see (or don’t want to acknowledge) about yourself.  There’s a bit of a paradox at work. Sometimes they put on you what they hate about themselves. Sometimes you hate about them something you love about yourself or vice versa. Don’t worry about it. Recognize and work with it. Because that puts the healing power in your hands. If you want to be a healer or just a force of good in the world, heal yourself first.

Understand, actions are actions. But the reasons, the stories, the excuses behind the actions – that’s all projection. This kind of projection occurs all along the scale of human existence. It happens in our intimate relationships as well as nation states.  Sometimes I think the  infamous veil is a mirror. Sometimes I think we – none of us – can be seen. We are the light shining. Polish your mirror.

Objectivity.

You do not need to understand your feelings to recognize and work with them. There is a meditation technique with a name I forget. I found it naturally as a course of doing yoga. The goal is sit with feelings, but to separate the word from the emotion. What this does is bring awareness to the physical sensation of feeling one way or another. Is it in your stomach? Is it hot or cold? The key is to be nonjudgmental about any sensations that come up. I mean, cry if you want to and watch yourself stop. How did the crying change your energy? Not as in “do I feel better or worse after crying” but as in “crying released tension in my throat.” Whatever you find, just look objectively. Objectively. You’ll notice the feelings come and go. Warning: that shit can be intense. Seriously.

This is something that you have to practice. When you do, you’ll find you can experience without projecting or responding to projections, all those old stored, dead energies. This is work. Because our mind, the organ of our brain, is designed to project. It requires daily practice to keep your energy system clean. Don’t sweat the slip ups. Notice them, and get back to work.

Projection.

When you enter a situation without projecting, you immediately activate the healing potential of the energies you interact with. In the case of people, this can be a crazy thing. Because often people will project even more onto you because they don’t understand what is being activated in them.

People will make stories about you. That you are doing or saying that because you’re lonely/unhappy/bored/vengeful. Whatever. IT DOESN’T MATTER. Understand? Because if you try to reason with a projection, you are actually giving force to that. You are building up what isn’t an accurate reflection. You’re scratching the mirror.

Projection is never where truth is – yours or theirs. Stay grounded. Repeatedly take time to ground yourself in exercise, meditation, nature walks, whatever works for you.

It’s strange. Culturally, we’ve gotten so used to feeling bad that it seems unconscionable to let the good/bad judgments and feelings go. If we’re not good/bad, what are we? Unfortunately, all this fear of not projecting creates a tension that prevents people from recognizing and experiencing how good they and other people naturally are. Go for joy.

Truth.

 How do you know if you’re following truth? The truth will come to you like a memory. A personal memory. Not connected to anything else. Not “I think I read that in a book once” or “I remember the time we…and I felt…” Rather, it comes with a spiritual sense of déjà vu. Release yourself to it.

Language fails truth. If you try to articulate it, you’ll find it always comes out as a paradox. You’ll say something that is/isn’t. But you will know it and sometimes be afraid of the duality inherent in it. It’s OK. True is true. There’s no taking sides. You’ll find the truth gets deeper and deeper but never changes. And in the well of truth you’ll find you. What does this mean? Maybe you’re a person who doesn’t love yourself and you’re the last person you want to meet? It’s a paradox, you see? Because in you is everything you’ve ever hoped/loved/dreamed. In you is every joy, goodness, and perceivable beauty. In you is the world and you are its beauty. If you love anyone; if you want good; be a beautiful world.

Namaste.

In divorce court today, I spotted my husband eying the docket screen and walked up to him and we gave each other a hug. That’s normal behavior, especially in Mediterranean culture: you hug hello. But that action made my neighbor, our witness, well up in tears.

She and I arrived at the courthouse early and grabbed a coffee. She talked about things. The things other people get or do. How wrong and undeserving they are. And I could see that she is in what I now call “the-old-way-of-thinking.” She loves, she gives, but puts herself in a disempowered position because she doesn’t know her own borders.

Husband had red eyes, clearly holding in (or attempting to be holding in) the tears the entire time we spent in court. “When he took of his glasses and wiped his eyes, I wanted to cry” she told me later. Through my eyes, I could see he was living that moment as if it was our wedding day. And I wasn’t having my wedding day. I was having my divorce. Giving attention to his ability to hold and intensify pain wouldn’t bring clarity to that situation. The situation is clear. But, with him, the beginning and the end go together, which is substantial part of why we never found happy together, despite our many many many successes.

I got custody. I got an order for child support that is generous and that I have no intention to collect. I have a parenting partner who I trust completely with the well being of our child. Can’t cash-in better than that.

There were so many points on the divorce path where we were each encouraged to fan the flames of conflict. We were getting a divorce, so clearly we should hate each other; people had a hard time accepting our continued respect for each other and constantly questioned it. We tested it ourselves, we talked it out, and we are the winners. Bonus: we continue to grow our love together in the form of a gift of a girl.

A girl who explained Daddy is still the boss of our family. A girl whose Daddy drove her to Mommy’s house so she could explain in her own words: “I listen to Daddy more than Mommy because I’m scared Daddy will move and get a new kid from the store.”

I held her close while she cried and told her “How scary!” I’m so glad you told us about this! Because that can never, never happen so you don’t have to worry about that. OK?” She’s with Daddy this weekend and next and I think that’s an awesome place for her to be.

The parent/child in me, days later, touched the lessons I held: that touch, as the child in me was taught, is only for punishment or shame. And the Universe told that child in me “its OK, we’ll take care of you.” The Universe touches me all the time and it is neither good nor bad.

It’s OK. We all learn; one way, one life or another. And it’s OK. Because, in the end, there is one reality and it/we goes/go on forever.

I haven’t written about hate in awhile.

I think about my soul mate a lot. I won’t write about soul mates. Steve Gunn’s website has the most accurate information I’ve found online about the experience. Basically, it’s a connection that pushes all your buttons really hard and rapidly. It forces you to work through your issues. Now.

Thinking about my soul mate is like meditating in a mirror. Whatever I see or think – the imagined traits or sensations I love or hate – are reflections of my personal inner world. Any discomfort it brings me is light shining on what I love or hate about myself. I’m grateful for the perspective it gives me. Because the mirror dynamic exists in all relationships, yet I never saw or experienced it so clearly, so intently before.

All this is to say that the people, the attitudes, the actions we hate offer us so much insight into how aligned we are with our own wants and needs. It’s easy to play out the dramas, to externalize the hate, to make it about someone else’s behavior, to make a hate to-do list full of righteous action items. But in hating we are only exercising the needs we are afraid to acknowledge in ourselves. Hatred is emotional junk food: temporarily satisfying without adding any value, leaving us feeling hungrier, more lost and confused, in the end.

Sometimes I feel what he hates about me. And I wonder if he realizes that he hates those things about himself. But that isn’t my problem. My problem is all the ways I’ve learned to hate myself. All the things I hated about him. Unearthing and loving those things. Coaxing my inner child, who is still afraid. She’s never known loving discipline and now, here I am, her parent. Thank God I have a girl who shows me how I’m doing, a mirror of the own parent in me.

The Universe gives me everything I need to discover my need. Another paradox.

So much of my life has been spent learning what beauty is not. And now I see the beauty in those not-things and I have to apologize to myself for denying myself access to my own humanity for so long. The soul mate connection may be the trigger, but the light and love in my daughter is a daily motivation. I will work through these issues now because I am her mirror, she sees love, and nature is the only wonder worth wondering about.

I’m mesmerized by the world inside me, but slowly I’m coming out, like a fresh observer, and watching myself. I don’t see anything worth hating.

Love and hate and flow. I find the stream is pushing me towards everything I’ve ever wanted. I just need to hold close all those things I hate. Each day I do, I find only love exists.

Things have been so psychologically strange this week. The way things intertwine. I can’t fracture my identity and manage it in pieces. People have always told me “why don’t you do that!?!” I don’t know. I’m always my whole self. And people who love me love me for that. Do I need to manage haters?

This whole site is a love letter.

I’d hate to write something that ever harmed anyone else. Not sure how to manage all the me online.

My bureaucrat tells me I need to decide if I’m a dom or a sub. The old perv is right.

When I was a senior in college, it was a big deal to learn how to code HTML. Now, the guys on the metro are talking about the professor that taught a class on twitter. Meanwhile, I just came from a meeting at [insert name here] and the information infrastructure is collapsing all around us.

All around, it’s the culture of authority that has to change. In government. In academia. In our own psyches. The culture that says there’s a gatekeeper.

The gatekeeper is gone. Everyone is waiting for someone to approve them. Like Rabia wrote: “How long will you keep pounding on an open door, Begging for someone to open it?”

Forget the tech. We need drum circle retreats. Everyone together. Farmers markets. Smelling the food you eat. Sensations that transcend generations from the cold war, Regan/Clinton/Bush years. Sensations that transcend all cultural difference. Up to now.  We need to communicate with each other like humans. We need to do what we love. Right now.

Obama did his job.Yes we can? Now we’re here. What the fuck do we want him to do?

I got an email from a guy on match. I don’t know him. Here is the dialogue:

Me: “I can’t remember if you sent me a message or not. My first week of match and I’m kind of lost. I see you favorited me so I thought I’d say hi.”

Him: “Thanks for reaching out. Nice profile and yes I did favorite you. Let me know if you want to chat some time. I find the extended email thing on this site isn’t very productive.”

I thought about writing back “That’s too bad. I’m a really great writer.” I could add “And I hate IM. Good luck finding what your searching for.” But I can’t keep track of my messages.

Are guys beating off to my photos?

We make the search up. We produce what we query. Trust me. I google like it’s a sport.

Now, which part of me should I edit out of this post?

Could *we* ever communicate about that?

We already are. A FB friend posted about the human cloud. April Fools but is that really such a joke?

Which (parts) of us exist/s?

Seems appropriate for a Monday…

I’m not trying to diet or anything, but my body suddenly hates carbs. I noticed it Monday when I ordered a colorful side of potatoes and bell peppers. It looked so good, but the potatoes made me gag. I tried eating a bowl of ice cream; I couldn’t finish it. I haven’t had a beer since I had two for breakfast on Sunday (sure, not a long time, but the feeling change in me is dramatic). Also, my coffee machine at home is broken. I threw it out and am waiting for a French press to ship, but I must admit I’ve been enjoying tea much more lately.

I wouldn’t think much of this. It is a dramatic change in feeling, but I would think perhaps it’s my renewed yoga practice doing its thing. And I’m sure yoga is a factor. It does put me much more in touch with what my body actually wants and needs.

But, what is odd to me is an article I read on Post Awakening Substance Intolerance. Not trying to interpret anything, but I think it’s an odd “fact” and that’s why I’m sharing it. Will I ever love ice cream again (got mint chocolate chip in the freezer)? Oh well. I can still smoke. Or can I?

We’ll see. No worries. I’ll enjoy all things I enjoy. Change can’t change that.

I watched a bit more of the PBS special with Joseph Campbell on the power of myth. He told a story of a ritual performed very literally. In Papau New Guinea, I believe.

A structure is built with a towering roof and large pillars of old trees. A female is decorated as a goddess and waits inside for six males who, one by one, have their turn losing their virginity to her. When the last man enters the hut and her, the pillars are knocked down and the structure collapses, crushing them both. The remains are lit on fire and the bodies of the two are roasted by the fire, removed from the ashes, and eaten by the tribe.

Barbaric, sure. It is a literal enactment of a very common ritual/myth. It is a paradox. Life must end so that life can continue. We are nourished by what we destroy. Sacrafice.

We aren’t removed from that process. Even if we aren’t cannibals, we can pretend. Who has ever eaten the body of Christ? As a young Catholic girl, I did that plenty of times. I’d stick him in wafer form to the roof of my mouth, savoring his slow dissolve. Sadly, I never drank his blood. I think in my church it was fruit juice not wine, but my Mom always had a thing about sipping from the same cup as anyone else. I guess Mom wasn’t convinced Jesus’ fruit-juice blood was powerful enough to kill all churchgoer cooties. No drinking blood for us.

When I heard the story of the Papau New Guinea ritual, I wondered. How did it feel for the two of them alone? Her and the last man. Him knowing that his first sexual experience with this used goddess woman would be his death. She knowing, after being taken by others, he would be the one who would stay with her forever. They would die together, by smashing or fire.

Was his arrival any sense of comfort to her? Could there be love between them in that moment of terror? Could there not?

Was there hate in their meeting? If so, hate for who?

And the feast that follows: are they served with salt? Does the tribe cry chewing on their charred flesh?

Who can judge the value of a life? Certainly not us. We’re busy eating.

I got a call from the husband and he sounded worried and worn down. He pulled up the divorce paperwork and got into a spin looking at the worksheets. He had the same reaction I did: what are we measuring out here? Which part of our lives together gets the dollar amount?

Today, he talked to a lawyer who told him we have to do this and that. I hate marriage law, because it treats all couples as the same: hostile. Husband’s just trying to be thorough about it. He is much more sentimental than I am. He didn’t want to sell our first car. I can tell he’s feeling rough over this numbers thing. Watching our 11 year marriage dissolve on a two page worksheet.

I told him don’t talk to the lawyers. Let’s do our taxes first. Once that’s done, we can go to the courthouse together. We’ll schedule an appointment with a mediator or clerk. We will fill out whatever numbers they need to get it past the judge.

Together. We will – lawyers or not – work out the rest of our lives, as parents and partners. We will have negotiations, problems, and shared holidays. We’ve got no handle on the future.

I mean – what are these numbers predicting for us, saying about us, protecting us from? Money doesn’t pay for lost time/opportunity in a marriage, no matter what the lawyers tell you. It was all a dream anyway.