It’s hard to believe a year has almost passed since Orion and I officially merged.  We went to dinner last night with some dear friends of his – friends we hadn’t seen for almost the same amount of time.  A full year.  With that acknowledgment, Orion looked at me and commented “Wow, we were barely just dating when last we saw them.”  There was a sense of relief in his voice, a humorous “look how far we’ve come” tone, and I felt much of the same.  For me, it’s in many ways a gigantic relief that a year has passed.  Our early days were incredibly intense and jarring, as a lot of endings had to transpire for our beginning to merge.  We had / have a lot on the line, having sacrificed a great deal.  Likewise, we’ve both submerged ourselves in the world of vulnerability – these are dynamic, promise-less spaces where anything can and does transpire.  So to have lasted a year – to have emerged from those wildly erratic and beautiful beginnings to land within the realms of a bona fide, rock-solid bond – yeah, that’s good stuff.  I’m wiping sweat from my brow now.  I remember that-me in those early days; I had such a bright-eyed wonder about what the hell we were doing.  If we’d make it a month, let alone a year.  If things were really what they seemed with us – so connected, so madly-in-love, so willing to play this game with integrity and depth.  And, of course, our verbalized handshake agreement that our spiritual paths were always, always first.  We didn’t know what that would mean for the relationship itself.  We still don’t, entirely.  It means we don’t know, in a nutshell.  And that’s been a difficult, fulfilling, frightening, insanely rewarding path thus far.

It’s not just relief I feel in marking our first official year.  In this current ego-driven yet observer-fueled space I’m in, there’s a definite dose of trepidation.  Passing the year mark is a magnificent hurdle, but it also can signify a whole lot of changes and challenges.  I know, of course, that those are all Big Fat Stories, that nothing is true unless I make it so in these relative spaces, so I suspect that’s what lured me here – to write this out and find the chosen path.  To let the heart speak louder than the fret-frantic head.

It’s been a bit of a wild week for Orion and myself.  Monday marked a day of serious ego-outbursts — something that is not our norm.  Sure, we were able to laugh (with gritted teeth) through the majority of the drama we sourced, but it left me, anyway, feeling rattled and exhausted.  I had had a great run – almost 2 months long – of a tremendous peace and acceptance of all that is.  Then, suddenly, I sensed some serious frustration / resistance in Orion, and this time around, I chose to let that hit me in an emotional manner.  We’ve been doing the hot/cold dance with one another, and it’s been sending me into a tailspin of sorts.  Only on the outside, though – and even now, that’s barely noticeable.  That is to say, I am more than OK will all of this, I’m just feeling my way through the space and trying to find the nuggets of lessons.

Anyway, there’s more static today.  We’re not on the same page, and that’s all good.  I recognize a pattern in the recent interactions that’s integral for me to address.  When Orion hits a wall that he needs to process, he normally prefers to do this solo.  I can certainly relate – there are many things I prefer to handle alone as well, and then share with him the results when appropriate.  The thing is, I usually do this in secrecy, without any outward appearance of static – it rather happens beneath the surface while other experiences are playing out.  When I’m *really* deep in an emotional process, I tend to want him along for the ride.  He offers wonderful clarity and support, and I normally am wise enough to utilize that, and pull myself out in a jiffy.  Orion, he’s more heart-on-his-sleeve with the egoic frustrations, and likes his space so he can find the roots.  When I’m crystal clear and solid, this is easy and reasonable.  This week, however, I’ve had some annoying attachment issues that have rendered a panicked rush when I felt Orion pulling away from me.  I know better – I do.  There is no “pulling away” – it’s not about me, it’s about his process and unfolding.  But somehow I keep allowing the ego to make it personal – to get my feelings hurt by the perceived distance.

What’s my business will be made my business by the people I love, and I’m normally aces about respecting space without hurt feelings.  I’ll be honest, it doesn’t feel fabulous to bookend the first year in a less than clear and strong space.  I’m a little miffed at these hurt feelings I’m swimming in, but still trying to hear the truth of them.  I am hardly a fear-free person, because I’m still very aware of this ego-who-thinks-she’s-real.  And she’s the one having a minor fit in here.  Wanting to know what’s really going on.  Confused by the connected/not-connected scenarios that are playing out this week.  Wanting it her way, I suppose – which is easy.  Free of conflict.

Part of the deal in this incredible bond of ours is that we don’t not choose the easy route.  We have a vision for taking on integrity and the things we’re hiding from ourselves in a way that is fabulously fun and oh-so-very-loving, but there’s a deep, deep understanding that playing the game the way we have chosen does not guarantee a peaceful path.  It doesn’t guarantee anything, actually.  We make zero promises about what the future brings – it’s all about the present moment.

Right now, that present moment is a many faceted-spectrum.  I am so overjoyed and grateful to still be connected to the glorious, luminous, perfect-for-me Orion.  I truly do fall more in love with him on a daily basis, and have no doubts that this is where I continue to be called to be.  But I’m also frustrated at all the push-pull I feel, the egoic flare-ups within, the lack of patience and trust I’m facing in my own self right now.  When I find an attachment, I generally scowl and protest as a first response.  I haven’t yet learned to be totally gentle with myself when things like this arise.  It’s rough when we’re both in muddled spaces.  I want so much to be clear and focused, to hold the space for Orion to feel free to do whatever he needs to, without repercussions on my end.  But I can’t always promise such things.  Today. . .today I’m a little teary, and a lot bummed, and definitely confused.  There is always gratefulness and an acceptance of what-is, but they are overshadowed.  The heart is a little bit hurty.  And ugh, that makes me feel like a freaking victim, with the knowledge that I’m bring all of this onto myself.  THAT is frustrating.  But I suppose rather than get all huffy about this turn, I should only look inward and ask – why is this serving me?  Right now, that answer is a mystery.

You know, I used to write poetry to work all this stuff out.  I’ve been really hard on myself for no longer acting like a poet, either.  But I suppose I’ve found a new (not so at this point, as it’s been years) outlet for these kinds of mind-twists.  Blogging is the new poetry.  Since I feel lighter and more spacious now, I’d say that’s a good thing.  Oh hell, it’s all good.

Orion, I love you.  Here’s to our momentous, transforming, connected year.  It’s been my best so far.  And while we don’t make any promises about what’s to come on our path, I will say this – I hope the next year has me blogging about the latest phase of our journey.  I love, love, love sharing mine with you.

Like many angst-ridden goth-wannabe teens, I had a viscous streak of suicidal ideation.  It started through an innocent fascination with death, and before I knew it, I had actually named my suicidal thoughts “consumption”, as they were truly becoming all-consuming.  I wrote poems and short stories, and invariably, the main character would off him/herself in some dramatic fashion.  I was insanely drawn to dark art, films, books, etc. – anything that brought me into the deep reaches of the lowest imaginable notes.  I loved the dark side and shunned the light, often in a literal fashion (I was known to actually put aluminum foil on my windows to keep out any shred of light, at all times.)  As I got older, into my early twenties, this became a full-on obsession.  And yes, I played the role of a happy-go-lucky college student, which was in part quite genuine, but I was far, far more fond of that tortured, pain-ridden artist.  Alienated and misunderstood.  Really freaking serious about finally taking the bull by the horns and seeing what this afterlife business was really all about.

I know now, and knew then, that I wasn’t really serious.  It was just a game, just a role that I happened to have a true affinity for.  I did trip up a time or two in my effort to make others believe the dance, and came close to actually doing the deed.  But grace wouldn’t allow a tragic mistake.  Either that, or I’m smarter than I thought I was.  Whatever the reason, I’m still here, and as time wore on, the role got old.  I transformed into someone more fond of the higher notes.  I recognized the immaturity of my dark world-view, and started adopting something I deemed far more authentic.  Ayahuasca, too, helped kick out the old dark obsessions.  She showed me tangible results of what indulgences in such so-called “negative” forces really does.  Yes, it’s all divine.  Yes, it’s all God.  But I don’t have to live my life in complete desolation and misery.  And as it turns out, it’s way, way more fun to giggle and frolic.

Yet there’s a constructive, wonderfully uplifting aspect to my suicidal past.  Now that my path is more clearly illuminated, I suspect there was way more at work back in those days of consumption.  On the surface, it would seem that I was simply a sad little teenager, falling prey to the self-pity trap, and indulging in a role I really wanted to be true.  By claiming myself the wanting-to-die goth-girl, I kept the world at a distance, and freed myself from vulnerability.  I never had to admit to what I truly felt, in any moment, because I was too busy playing the part of the wanting-to-die pixie.  That’s not to say that I didn’t want out – sometimes in the worst way – I just know I over emphasized my sincerity, because there really was none with regards to the actual finality.  I have always, always loved living.  This is why I gravitated to all that dark, gut-wrenching expression – it actually made me feel.  And in a very real sense, that was living to me back then.

Today, I am a profoundly joyful woman very consciously on the path to enlightenment.  And lo and behold, there’s a hell of a lot of talk about dying in this beautiful game.  Enlightenment, it is said, represents the chance to die before you die.  To allow the very possibility of death, so one can lay down the ego and actually experience the true nature of who we are.  How exciting, then, that I get to bring back the old role.  Only this time, it actually has to be genuine.  But I’m not out to kill myself, really — I’m out to transcend the story of myself.  This is WILD.  And WONDERFUL.  Full circle doesn’t even cut it.  I’d like to think that old me was really on to something.  That I was playing out this desire for liberation long before I ever knew what it was, and what was possible (not that I really know yet – the finger is just pointing ever closer to the moon.)

There’s even more delicious irony in all of this too.  All of my enlightened teachers caution that suicide is not a viable choice.  This puzzled me at first, because as I hear them speak it, once you self-realize, you recognize that this is all a dream-state game.  So why would one’s choice of an exit actually matter in the least?  I can’t say I know know, but this is starting to make sense.  The state that you are in when you finally do exit your body is integral to the experience you create when you reach the next state.  Whatever that will be.  I’ve heard others express this before and it has (and still does) confused me a bit.  That means to me that if I’m struck by a car tomorrow, out of the blue, and go out in a state of traumatic resistance, I’ll immediately be thrust into a similar repeat.  Seems a little unfair to punish the unaware, right?  Well, there’s the rub.  There is no such thing on the highest level.  In other words, if that is my fate tomorrow, I had that in the cards all along.  I, the higher self, the master of this manifested existence.  It may not be my time to “wake up” and become enlightened.  It may in fact be a life that I need to learn more lessons seeped in trauma.  Of course I hope this is not the case, but hope doesn’t amount to shit in this game

So where’s the moral of this story?  First of all, kudos to the old self for recognizing that the willingness to let it all go – to truly die – is actually a golden ticket.  And even more kudos for having the wisdom to not actually do the deed – to just cultivate that willingness, and continue the game of the dream-life.  Nowadays, I choose to nurture the willingness to detach and let grace lead me where she will.  Pranananda has said to me before – Your life is not your own.  That’s starting to make an amazing amount of sense.  It does not belong to the egoic self that wants to drive the boat.  My life is the divine.  It is not, and can never be, my way.  Because “my”, in that little ego-sense, doesn’t even exist.  And so I shall enter my Tantric meditation tonight, in full willingness to embody my divine-identity Kali, and drop the story of me in the most complete fashion available in this current energy realm I’m swimming in.  That is to say, I’m off to die.  Or at least to practice.

I am a poet who no longer writes poetry – that’s tragic on a literary level.  In an effort to remind myself of what used to be, for better or for worse, I feel compelled to post a small gaggle of word-songs from the way back.  There’s also a few of you angels out yonder who have requested as much – now you know these kind, selfless call-outs don’t go unheard.  Thank you for wanting such things, and for pulling out this piece of my storybook.  She wants to be real again – maybe this will be the spark that starts the poetic fires once more.  I’ve hesitated sharing these, because they all come from a long-gone voice.  I suspect that’s why I haven’t been writing verse lately – the entire way of speaking such truths has dramatically changed.  There won’t like be any more woe-is-me confessional outbursts, or tales of unrequited love.  The poet in me needs to be reborn if she is to write again.

But first, an acknowledgement of what was.  The path that took me to the current doorstep.  Yeah, I can do that.

Poem #1

Last words.  What they will be.  Or won’t be.

Famous Last Words

We all have a name that will

Be on our lips the final two moments of our

Living hours –

The syllables that spring forth as a last

Desperate sound, echoing the

Feelings we will take with us

Forever.  Some hope it will be their

Beloveds; soul mates in this lifetime that seem

Indelible and

Permanent.  Some believe it will be a child

Or two – the lifeblood, the extension of our own

Cells and screams; a natural inclination

As the peephole narrows.

I don’t believe it’s ever who we

Think it will be.  I don’t believe we can really

Know, until the air siphons inward like an

Angry vacuum, oxygen dissipating, heartbeats

Waning.

I know what won’t be said

As my energies falter –

I won’t be crying out Father,

I won’t be reaching for an ethereal maker, hoping for

Redemption, grasping for my Providence.

You might hear a whisper of

Relief

In the name that leaves my

Lips.  You might hear me scream my own.

11-26-04

Poem # 2

This one was penned in the aftermath of my first Ayahuasca experience, upon return from the Amazon.  Appropriate here, as it’s a voice-awakening moment.  Yay for those.

Now Hear This

Oh

Hell

YES.

Fuck the butterfly notion,

I am a shell-less, bloodless

Vampire, shooting up and through the

Darkness, casting scales and scabs and

Shadowed memories, to find this

Screaming core.

Oh hell YES

I have things to say, to spill and

Vomit, to point to and

Illuminate, to teach and tell and

Unravel, sometimes,

To splatter, and catapult,

Others –

But I have risen, I have

RISEN from those jungle depths

With a voice and rhythm and a body and a

Soul, ready to finally say

Yes, I claim my destiny.

Yes, I want a different

Way.  I no longer choose such

Mediocrity, such

Shackling day-to-days,

The restraints of a love unre-

Turned, the suffocation of a life

Unfull-

Filled.  Fearless? Not even close.

But I trust this

Transformation.  I trust that I can

Fucking fly, that I will have everything

Everything all that is Mine,

That I do deserve the mirrored reflection

Of everything I

Give.  Oh hell.

YES.

6-2-06

Written in a passionate spurt at the gates of LAX

Poem #3

This was written for the Navy JAG, an old boyfriend I spent a year or so madly adoring.  He did a tour in Baghdad during those days, and this poem expressed as best it could the long-distance love dance, riding to and from each other on those ever-moving staircases.  Anyone whose ever known a long distance bond definitely knows these motions.

Escalators

The world is full of

Moving stairs,

The infinite Escher loop,

Hailing and sailing the motionless

Travelers as we float
Unconsciously

To the other realms, the places and

Spaces that hold our answerless

Secrets.

Mine always lead to or from your

Silent salute, your

Olive-oil glances, sometimes full of

Radiant, overwhelming comfort,

Sometimes nothing but

Agony, the excruciating

Exits.

They bring us

Together

Like mutual

Landslides, like sky-

Divers looking for a

Hand-grab, and we hold on for dear

Life

Sucking in our breath,

Eyes squeezed shut yet still

Hopeful, thinking

This feels just like

Living.  Just like the danger-less

Fly-bys of

Dreams.

Other times, they are like an

Earthquake, with jagged faults

Jutting up to

Disconnect, and one carries you and

One carries me and it’s anything but

Unionized, anything but

Rhythmic, an asthmatic

Revolt, an omnipotent slingshot.

These are the metal-coated moments

Where I’m left clinging to the railings,

Waiting for the directions to

Reverse.

3-14-05

Poem #4

This is literally my first tangible memory – my sister giving me a bath.  I’m guessing I was around a 2 years old – maybe even less.  I can still call this into memory today, as vivid as it ever was.

First Memory

The tiny half-breath of

Moist, lavender scented air

Swept in with the tickling rush

Of bathwater, tiptoeing down

The inside of my newly formed

Cheek,

I laughed out loud,

My sister’s manicured hand lowering

Onto my chest, a little loving push,

And the water waves rise up in another

Greeting,

I see her smile and laugh once more,

My ears submerged and comforted,

Liquid ear muffs

Distorting the resonance, making the

Swoosh of the air sound

Distant and

Harmless,

Pushing the movement of the moths

Outside

Swiftly into slow

Motion,

And if I had the words then,

If I knew how to twist my mouth to form the sounds,

I would have said

That I felt fearless,

Protected,

Whole and complete –

It’s the moment I started

Living.

10-5-03

Poem #5

I read once that in the morgues in LA, they burn the unclaimed bodies collectively each December.  This. . .had an affect.

The Nameless Burn

Every December,

The unclaimed bodies at the morgue are burned,

Collectively,

Bone dust mingling with the dreamscapes,

Until you can’t tell the wet dreams from the death wishes.

The stench is like Auschwitz – heavy and bleak

Like rotted flesh mixed with cake flour and acid.

Jane and John Doe’s, lighting up the sky,

A final tapestry that streaks the horizon with

Knowningness – each hue a humble whisper –

I was here.

6/22/04

Lastly, a very sincere shout-out to Derrick C. Brown, a mind-blowing beat boy I recently crossed paths with.  His poem “A Finger, Two Dots and Me” has literally inspired me to write in this gorgeous format again, and that’s no small feat.  Click the poem’s title to go read it – he’s a pro, see – get the hankies ready before reading.

God.  Wow, what a powerful word.  It’s one of those word-bombs that almost always elicits some sort of response in folks.  Heart-stopping reverence.  Stomach-turning resistance.  Even God -apathy is stronger than an army tank.  Whatever emotion you have when you hear / speak the word, it’s likely to be potent.

I’ve run the gamut of responses to the G word.  Growing up, I was a devout, very sincere Catholic girl (no uniform, sorry).  I was confirmed in high school, and gladly drank my blood-of-Christ Catholic koolaid.  I was a eucharistic minister, altar girl, and overall Good Christian.  Until the hypocrisy as I saw it was revealed after a friend’s suicide in college.  I eventually found that Catholicism didn’t support who I came to be, so I exited stage left and never looked back.

After this stage, God became a dirty word.  I detested the reference, because with it came the baggage I had carried from the guilt of a failed Catholic.  That was my story back then, and it stuck for years and years.  In order to heal the anger / betrayal I carried from those early years (all made up in my mind, of course, but it felt real at the time), I had to make God a swear word – something I developed a figurative allergy too.

Yet the secret truth is, all this while, I prayed my little heart out.  I stayed very, very connected to “my” version of God – a less human, more altruistic, awareness-laden God.  Yet I didn’t call Him / Her by that three-lettered name, as it still represented an omnipotent, scary-strict, angry fellow who would cast me into hell for batting the wrong eyelash unless I asked someone wearing a collar for forgiveness.  So while I still held tight to my notion of a greater energy beyond my human frame, I didn’t have the heart to call it God back then.  The word I most adored during those days – The Universe.  It came to match a more story-less, warm + fuzzy vibe, and that worked for me.

Nowadays, The Universe is just too small a word, and I’m right back to loving it up with God.  Only He / She has morphed into something / someone more recognizable : me.  Not the small egoic me, but the “big” I, the one connected to the universal consciousness.  The part of me that is pure awareness, and not a conjured fairy tale.  The only piece that’s truly real.

How this happened is really magical.  It really started when I met ex-boyfriend Z.  He and I connected on MySpace, of all places, and it was just an insanely “right” union from the get-go; one of those clear moments that “higher” forces were at work.  That’s how it felt then – that my hands had come off the steering wheel and something really big had just been sparked.

Z introduced me to the concept of enlightenment, and I took to it like a manically hungry child.  Eventually, I got to meet Pranananda, an enlightened master who has dedicated His life to helping us all wake-up.  Pranananda absolutely enchanted me, and scared the bejeezus out of me too.  The Man carries an *incredibly* tangible energy, something that still makes me shake every time I’m around Him.  He’s the most “Godly” gentleman I had ever come across.  But there was one troubling aspect – He used the word God.  A LOT.  A bazillion times per sentence sometimes.  And it drove me a little batty.  How could this new beautiful paradigm of enlightened spirituality use the same word I once ran full speed away from?

Of course, Pranananda uses the term God regularly because He knows it pushes our collective buttons.  Just hearing the name uttered brings up the shit we’re trying to hide from, quite often, and P asks us to really look at what we’re feeling around this (and, really, every) matter.  What that did for me – well, I felt that pain of separation that I had created.  First, the idea that spirituality had ever done anything to hurt me – I had to cry that one out in a big way.  It was untrue, of course, but I held it to be so for a long, long time, so there was a big release that had to occur.  Secondly, I got the chance to redefine the word God.  To see / feel it in a different light.  And to realize there was no man in the sky ruling over our every move, or watching without compassion, or moving us around like chess pieces – whatever it is that we believe.  No, God was much, much closer than that.  He was deep inside me, radiating out of the eyes I peered through.  Hiding in those spaces I thought were empty – waiting for me to wake up to the reality that there was no separation from “me” and divinity.

The funny part of this awakening was that it did actually have its roots in my Catholic upbringing.  I remember the bible teaching me that God made men (and women) in his likeness.  I should have taken a clue right there to the Truth.  Of course He did, right?  There is nothing that is not God.  The bliss we feel when we’re connecting with love – that’s God, of course.  The hatred we hold for the bastard that broke our heart – also God.  The breath of newborn baby – that reeks of God.  But so does the gum wrapper someone just tossed on a railroad track.

As I came to own the divinity of all things, I had no choice but to finally look within.  It’s a scary thing for me, honestly – holding myself as that powerful and Godly.  It’s such a dramatic shift from the old way of being.  When you accept yourself as all-God, and nothing but, you don’t get to hold anything back.  There is no longer a spectrum of comparisons – in other words, my compassion = God, but my anger does not.  No, it’s all-encompassing.  And that’s very confusing for the traditionally programmed mind.  When I step back into the big view, however – wow does it ever make sense.  Every thought I’ve had, every move I’ve made, every tear I’ve cried. . .has brought me to this moment.  The realization of who I really am.

Peel back that pesky little ego – which is, of course, comprised only of the stories we choose to tell ourselves – and there we all are: God.  Not Gods and Goddesses – that’s an important distinction.  We aren’t our own brand of divinity – we are just IT.  From Hitler to Gandhi, and everything in between.  We are all here acting out our passion plays, playing our amazing life-games, so that we can wake up to what’s real.  What’s real is awareness, and awareness IS God.  It’s an absolutely gorgeous realization – and one that sometimes (still) terrifies me.  I am not fully realized, but these things I speak of I feel very, very deeply.

I do know there’s still a story or two inside me that tells me this isn’t true.  If they weren’t there, I would be enlightened.  I still play the separation game, maintaining that pieces of me are disconnected from the whole of divinity.  As much as I can intellectualize that this isn’t the case, my state of being proves that I haven’t surrendered to the truth just yet.  And there’s no guarantee I ever will.

Lately, I’ve noticed a bit more sleepiness in my way of being.  I have been more immersed in the Maya than in past days / weeks.  And that showed up today via chest pains and a general agitation from things that normally make me coo and melt – namely, the God-cat Mr. Boo.  So I allowed myself the luxury of a brief but deep meditation, and I found a piece lingering in there that still desired that old separation.  Why, I asked her?  Why hold tight to the notion that we are separate, alone, and not-so-divine?  Because, she answered – if I know wholly and completely that all I am is God, “I” will die.  I teared up and sent her an energetic hug.  I keep forgetting that there’s a piece of me that does need to die in order for this transcendence to occur.

So this was a good reminder, this light shone on the fear of death.  It’s an ego death, not a body death, but it feels like the real thing.  It really, really does.  And there’s nothing I can do about that but keep feeling the genuine love I have for myself, and keep going deeper into the ownership of the falseness of the ego.  The ego, too, is of course God as well, but she has to totally let go in order for grace to step in.  Maybe that’ll happen, maybe it won’t.  One thing I do know – I’ll die trying, one way or another.  All roads lead to God anyway, so I have nothing to lose.

What a word, that.  God.  I wonder what it will mean to me tomorrow.

Back on the eve of Christmas Eve, I found a rare quiet, completely solo night to myself, and felt it right to go deep with the plants again.  My previous Huachuma ceremony was my only to-date solo excursion with Grandfather Wisdom / San Pedro, and I felt like I learned volumes about the energies, especially when it came to me as conductor.  I was ready for round 2.

As always, I set intentions and created a sacred space for going in.  I felt it wise to keep intentions simple and direct this time, and asked the spirits to just show me truth – whatever that might be mean.  I had hit a big wall mentally as of late, and was bloody sick of my mind’s insistence that *she* knew the truth.  I wanted to consult with a higher source.  With that, I gulped down the vile concoction, lit my candles, laid out the mesa (display of sacred items that are used as powerful portals in-ceremony) and hunkered down for the reveal.

Right away, my head kicked into turbo mode.  She had a lot of input on this whole truth matter.  And all of it, out of the gate, was pretty freaking negative and constrictive.  She started making a laundry lists of all my blocks – the reasons I could not yet own the truth, and why it was only a dialogue in my head.  Observer-me disagreed.  We countered with a readiness, an openness, an insistence that no, higher self is ready to show herself.

Mind was having none of that.  She showed her muscle in full effect.

I kept trying to surpass the mind chatter, to dive deeper into the present moment.  But all my mind wanted to do was jerk me into the past or the future.  I curled up by the fireplace, eyes closed and contemplative, but internally, a bloody war bubbled up. Here was some sample chatter:

“The problem is you’re too damn lazy to advance past where you’re at, you hardly ever workout or meditate and besides that those things don’t work, it’s just banter from wanna-bes that masquerade as gurus, and you know better but even still you couldn’t be a guru, it’s not your time, there’s karma to pay for and the like, and you don’t even believe in karma, so good luck with that, because sheesh we are such posers, such a fake little role-player, even when you think you’re being real it’s just a game just a game just a game.”

To which another I within would respond “That’s not true!  SHOW ME TRUTH!”

We played this game for eons.  A few hours or more.  I had some poignant moments at the altar / mesa, but I started really illuminating the hamster in the wheel, spinning along in my humdrum head, trying to keep me from being present.  I felt that anchoring myself deep into the present moment would take me right into the heart of Huachuma’s power, and that I could find my real answers there.  So I scampered upstairs to the bedroom, turned off all the lights, slipped on a blindfold, and fell into sivassana – my favorite meditation pose.  Lying on my back, palms up to the skies, body relaxed and surrendered.

The games continued in my mind, even in this sincere effort to just relax and escape the brain banter.  Instead, she kicked it up another notch.  This time, she hit me with a challenge.

“I’ll show you what’s true.  I’ll show you I’m in control.  I’ll make your cell phone ring.”

“Bullshit you will, I turned my cell phone off when I came up here.”

On cue, the cell rang, and I about freaked out.  I didn’t pick it up, but stared intently at the unknown number.  Then I yelled my demand.

“Leave a message, and it better be TRUE!”

The voicemail bell chimed, and my heart freaked out.  I played the message and had to laugh at the irony.  

It was static.  Nothing but fuzz.  1 1/2 minutes of white noise.  At least we were getting closer – that felt more honest than the nonsense that had been stewing in the mind space all night, so I felt like progress had been made.

Back in meditation mode, things really got dicey.  I could not get around my mind.  She would lead me down a rabbit hole, baiting me with what felt like a real-time revelation, but before I knew it I’d be spelling out a grocery list, fretting about the upcoming Vipassana retreat, lamenting the lack of Orion’s naked body in the bed, on and on and on some more.  But as this volume exploded within, so did a few nuggets of wisdom.

“You can’t beat your mind at her game.  You’re using your mind to chase your mind – she’ll find darker and deeper holes to hide in, and you’ll never cease this game.  Don’t fight fire with fire.”

That, and:

“Use the tools you have in this illusion to *escape* the illusion.”

That one got me.  I had avoided calling on the spirits nestled in my objects of power, because I have come to own the true illusion of this maya-world.  But it struck me that these entities were no more or less real than, say, Orion.  Or Mac.  Or Pi.  And i”m aces at using them to help me out of the madness, so why not extend this to all the manifestations I have gifted myself with?

Yes, that was making serious sense.  And that simply meant I needed to take off the blindfold, go down to the mesa, and use Huachuma in the highest way possible.  With eyes and heart wide open.  Enough with the mind war.

I grabbed the book on my nightstand as I descended the stairs  - “Enlightenment for Beginners” by Chuck Hillig.   That seemed relevant.  I then turned on the Adyashanti recordings Orion had recently burned for me – tuned in to the “Direct Path” dialogue.  I had all guns a-blazin — tools to the hilt.

Truth was hitting me from all sides.  Adya talked about the blazing obsession with truth the most sincerest members of the spiritual path tend to uncover, and I resonated like a mad-woman.  He coupled that with the inevitable “aloneness” stage that hits fast and furiously, and I felt the tears flow as I knew that all too well.  Then I thumbed through Chuck’s book.  Holy cow did that do a number on my head.  It is a brilliant unfolding of – OMG – the truth of who we are!  The way we’ve projected every aspect of our worlds – the movie, the move screen, the projector, and the space between!  

And yet, eegawds, I was not satisfied.  Because it only felt like my mind was in the game – trying to insert herself into the “realness”, when in fact she was the ego-generated, and thus part of the illusion.  And so I didn’t *feel* this truth – it was only be intellectualized.  

But that would have to be enough.  I spent 8 hours in ceremony, tearing down the walls of illusion, and the end result was both profound and meaningless.  Yes, I owned into the core of my being that my mind does not hold the path to enlightenment – she will never share anything but relative truths.  And yes, I once again confirmed that I am – we all are – part of one masterful, God-head awareness.  And that I wasn’t any more or less enlightened than Jesus – I just wasn’t ready to step into that full realization.  I could feel him, and all the other masters, calling to me, whispering “wake up wake up wake up” into my ear, and yet – that block.  That ceiling.

I laughed it off and said thank you to my spirit friends for showing me all this and more.  I couldn’t force it – another priceless message.  My wanting truth wasn’t enough – I had to own my own integrity in every single moment, stay present and detached, and let grace do her thing – if, and when.

Tough lessons, but beautiful all the same.  I climbed back into bed exhausted, brow-beaten, but a little bit wiser in the heart-space.  And ready to get up the next morn and keep on keepin’ on.

“I run into your thought from across the room
Just another trick
Can I weather this
I’ve got a fever above my waist
You got a squeeze box on your knee
I know the truth is in between the 1st and 40th drink”

-Miss Tori A

Two very distinct and paradoxical reasons have kept me from blogging lately:

1) So bloody much has happened it’s daunting to try and cover all the ground in a genuine, detailed fasion

2) Much of what keeps transpiring is from the space where words cannot go, so how does the unreal ego / identity self truly convey what is?  She can’t, she won’t, and yet it’s so cute how she tries.

Here I am, trying.  Playing in the illusion of the word space.  *splishy splashy*

Shpongle is playing – “Botanical Dimensions”.  Appropriate and inspirational.  Here I go.

I will soon post a full report on the latest Huachuma adventure, #7.  I cannot dishonor the massive revelations by making them footnotes.  Likewise, I recently returned from a ridiculously profound 11 day silent meditation retreat, following the Vipassana technique.  That’s gotta be at least 2 big downloads.  For now, I’ll just speak what is, in this space, in this smattering of awareness.  

First, the “apparently” tangible spaces: big changes.  Huge.  Happy, scary-in-a-good-way, heart thumping cliff dives.  I left the current day job today – a space I’ve been truly joyful in, challenged, and appreciated for well over two years.  As far as office jobs go, this has been my favorite.  I have never had an office environment that allowed me to be who I am before, in complete freedom and acceptance.  That’s been huge, as it’s provided the space for me to go deep into the enlightenment game, and not make any apologies along the way.  Sure, they’ve labeled me a bit strange in these parts, but I can’t think of a place that wouldn’t be true.  Except in Sunday Sangha, the weekly spirit-family that talks nonsense and yet understands each other.  Yum.

But something found me literally out of the blue these last few days – an opportunity that felt so all-over right, I had to jump in.  I’m now VP of Production for an online children’s content group.  I’ll be working *remotely*, from my happy little home space, on beautiful, uplifting, feel-good projects for little people.  The team I’ve connected with (only via phone thus far) are absolutely stellar beings, and I’m overjoyed at the intense challenge, and the chance to do it all from my sacred space.  This will mean more face time with Orion and Hijo, and *that* is worth it’s weight in diamond dust.  The new occupational adventure begins.

The other big news – I’m finally diving headfirst into Tantra.  This is a path that has been on my radar since teenage-dom, truly, but it’s never called loud enough for me to go full-on.  I can’t even say I understand one iota of what I’m getting into, but like the job above, it just feels right.  Pi has kindly taken on the role of teacher for those of us interested in taking on the task, and I’m melting with gratitude for what I feel this means.  Getting closer to him, to Orion, to myself, to God.  All the same, all different – all just freaking awesome.

I know that Tantra will / is shaking up my paradigm of sexuality too.  I know that I will enter into energetic spaces that are powerful and vastly unfamiliar.  This is another step in the self-transformation – dropping the identity to become divine.  I finally have a partner that makes this feel real, safe, possible – in every way.  So why not, you know?  The energies are calling.  I know this will require surrender like I have never known – just what Ayahuasca has been preparing me for.  Integrity in the truest sense.  A willingness to go deep into the emotional spaces.  So in addition to the Jnana Yoga fun I embark on every week with the spirit-family, and almost every waking moment with Orion, I’ve got a new game to play.  One that requires me to use my body to transcend.  That’s the big daunting prospect, as we have only recently become friends.  I am finally in the place of feeling mad-comfortable without clothes.   I used to refuse to look at my naked body in the mirror, and now I look to her with fondness and love.  Shower her with compliments and acceptance.  That alone is a miracle, so what does Tantra have for me next?  Woof, I can’t imagine.  But all systems go anyway.  It’s really starting to get fun in these parts.

I did my first Tantric ceremony this weekend, solo, building a mini-temple in my bedroom and practicing new meditation methods and body affirmations.  Lots of time spent naked, laying in front of a mirror, being with what is instead of what I want to be, body-wise.  And finding such a peace, such a vast amount of gratefulness, for the image that is reflected.  I saw how it wasn’t “me” that I was looking at, just this lovely house that has agreed to carry this energy for a duration.  Knowing that my body is the only thing that is mortal, I’ve suddenly felt such a softness for her, such a need to take good care and spoil her while I can.  Enough with the horrendous thoughts about her imperfections – we had over 3 decades of that.  Time to play a different game.

There’s a rightness to all these big shifts, a sense that I’m a tiny piece of popcorn about to explode to the next fluffy level.  There can’t be any knowingness of what that actually means, but all senses are buzzing with approval.  I’m right where I need to be, following the intuitive guidance system, and feeling my heart open more and more.  Knowing there is no “I”, only a We.  All of us, one masterful God, pretending to play separate games, pretending that there is anything other than divinity in our midst.  Silly humans.  We do love a good acting shenanigan.  But my favorite part – unraveling that game.  Full exposure.  All naked and shivering, starring into the light of what is – and isn’t.  

As a woman in this Tantric dance, I get to be the darkness.  The room by which the energy enters.  Woman is the environment in the sexual act, the part of the duo that holds the space and allows the light to enter.  There is no light without darkness – darkness is always there, holding court, wrapping its arms around illumination, and everything in between.  The space where everything and nothing dwells.  What an honor to hold that capacity, to get to own that knowingness as Orion and I see each other as Divine.  Not just in our minds, but with all of our beings.  I can’t think of any greater adventure – to use our bodies in order to leave our bodies.  Oooh, tingles.  

*Flittering away*. . . .

“If heaven and hell decide / that they both are satisfied

Illuminate the “no’s” on the vacancy signs,

If there’s no one beside you / when your soul embarks,

I will follow you into the dark.”

- Death Cab

Just in time for the new year, there are numerous endings, beginnings, and transformations.  Mostly, I am staring down the truth of my divine creations – and acknowledging that the being beyond my false sense of self has everything under control.  Go, that-girl.  Go go go.

Backstory time – what’s a blog without the details?

Pi is a controversial but sacred soul.  He’s reached enlightenment (I rather dislike the “reached” descriptor, because it was gifted rather than attained, but whatever – he’s There.)  He’s new to those spaces, however, and because he doesn’t fit the mold from which most of us craft our completely false sense of true self-realization, he’s a button pusher like no other.  I met him early this year at one of Orion’s events.  He immediately had a very positive effect on me (how many peeps can say THAT, Pi?)  But our second conversation – that’s when the party really started.

It was February 13th, day of the divine romance (so dubbed by Guruji P), and Z plus the ashram crew had arrived for a big enlightenment event.  Lots of folks came, including the beautiful fiancee of the man I was about to fall madly in love with.  I, however, was still fully with Z, and realllly committed to making the evening a huge success for him.  This was his night, his chance to share his toe-touch in the other world, and he was mad nervous as public speaking made him waddle and sweat.  The evening went quite well, however, and everyone stayed to socialize after the big speeches commenced.

Pi had some rather animated discussions with various members – a trend I would realize in the coming weeks.  He’s just aces at exposing and dismantling belief structures, so he’s rather like a human bug zapper – people gravitate around him, protest and argue, then either surrender to his rightness, or storm off in a huff.  Usually the latter.  Anyway, several folks had  had their fill of Pi – including Healer, who was completely flummoxed by Pi’s insistence that A) he was in fact enlightened and B) he had no big-huge-godlike-divine-world-changing-purpose.  Since this did not fit with Healer’s current “enlightenment picture”, the conversation had been heated.  But suddenly, there we were – Pi and myself – eyelocked on the couch, and immediately engaged in the most unexpected conversation.  The room had also mysteriously cleared out as we began to speak – everyone scampered off to the kitchen, except us.  He said words to me that were clearly, clearly channeled from outside his mind, and they were so spot on targeted to my innermost self, I was pretty much flattened by the intimacy.   The topic: Tantra.  Something I held a deep affinity for, but next to no knowledge – and Pi said some pretty out-there, but perfect for me, goodies.  Once our chat ended, Pi took his exit, and I was left feeling completely and totally altered.  An attempt to traverse the room ended in a near flop-over.  I was giddy.

And later that night, through a completely unplanned and totally cosmic conversation with Z, our relationship ended.  I had no memory then (or now) of how that happened, or what was said.  But he heard something in my words that I didn’t consciously put there – it was rather like the channeling Pi had done for me.  Z said to me, about 4 AM, during our really heated exchange – “Do I hear you breaking up with me?” And tearfully, yet  stoically, I said – “Yes.”

That was the boulder, sent rolling down the hill.  And today, another boulder was pushed off to follow. 

In the months since, Pi and I forged a deep but short-lived bond, then mutually accepted significant distance so that other connections might neatly form.  Both of us, actually, created a beautiful connection with Orion.  Orion became the love of my life, and one of Pi’s closest friends.  I bowed out of the intimacy out of respect for both men and honoring what felt right, but I’ll admit – ever since then, in growing doses, I have missed that Pi-connection.  We see each other alllll the time, so it’s not a withdrawal in that sense, but I knew what a profound teacher / friend he was / is for me, and my egoic self felt really jealous at the relationship I saw with Orion and Pi.  I had a sense of loss there without really understanding why.  Finally, in the last week, I acknowledged this to Orion, and this morning, did the same to Pi.  Why?  Because it’s time to change the game.

It all began on a couch with a chat about Tantra.  And early next year, Pi is starting a Tantra meet-up group — a group I’m more excited to attend than any other.  Patience has paid off.  I just trust that this is a wonderful next step for all involved.  The rightness of the timing, integrity, and true intentions of all involved is just mind-numbingly beautiful.  It has already meant that I should be so lucky as to grow even closer to both Orion and Pi.  I’m seriously spilling over with gratitude.

And as this all transpires, an ending has landed at my feet as well.  One I’m both shocked by, and completely un-surprised over.  Yes, both.  Shaman and part of the affectionate Dynamic Duo – the team I’ve been working with on Aya this last year – well, that’s a donesville chapter.  There’s no dramatic story around the why’s – it’s just time.  My heart said so.  I’m closing a door so I may clear space for my next mentor – one I can go even deeper into this process with.  Here and now, I am called to own these shamanic energies I have been gifted access to – not unlike the way Pi owns his Tantra wisdom.  I was not feeling that unfolding with D1.  But this isn’t the easiest of door-closes.  I literally just gave up my easy access to Ayahuasca. My shaman who made house calls.  I will finish up a promise to connect a current wave of seekers to him, but I won’t be attending – which, I’ll admit, hasn’t fully hit me yet.  Or rather, hit the emotional side yet.  But make no mistake, this is hardly the end of my Aya chapter.  I have a conference / workshop in March that just found me (literally five minutes before the falling out with past-shaman), and if that doesn’t lead me to the next connection, something else will.  Ayahuasca is already working on this with me, I can feel that.  So instead of lamenting a loss, I’m excited for a beginning that hasn’t (tangibly) begun.  How’s that for abstract?

There’s so much more happening, but these are the current heart-stamps.  Orion and I will be ringing in the new year together tomorrow, and we’re 1 week away from the “I met you exactly one year ago” marker.  Amazing.  That same day, we’ll be motoring down the highway to our 12 day silent meditation retreat.  Oh, the places we go.  And the love that we know.

Click to Listen

I was recently featured on a local radio show, yapping away about shamanism, ayahuasca, huachuma / san pedro, and  liberation. Take a listen at MetaMysticRadio.com – choose the December 16th interview with Kitty.  I actually think it went super well – CJ is a great informal interviewer and we had a ball.

In other news. . .

Yay for holidaze – especially since Orion will likely actually be here, a rarity for an on-call pilot.  Sounds like I get serious family time, which makes me all a-flutter.  I still have such easy access to the childish bliss associated with presents and cookies and seeing other lovees glow.  I can’t wait to see Hijo open the presents I corralled for him – my first year to spoil a child, and I took full advantage.  

I can’t help but be nostalgic.  Not for what’s been lost in the last year, but what’s been found.  Love like no other, a gaggle of incredibly bonded and spiritually connected Vegas friends, and a *stepson* for crying out loud.  Who would have guessed?  Certainly not me.  But the treasures of the last year have taught me to let go of any “me” notions, and let the universe have her way.  My way would have meant a lack of vulnerability and certainly no mommy roles.  My way was clearly far too limited.

If I had to give the year a word, I’d call it Paradoxical.  I systematically dropped just about every known belief structure, chucking out the validity of everything from aliens to egos.  And then picked them all up again in all their glorious unreal-realism.  I’ve come to know the world as a dream, but one I have full manifested control over, yet can’t control at all.  How come both be true?  Because they are.  It just is, and I love it.  Welcome to duality.  But try on non-dualism while you’re at it.

I’m going to embark on a huachuma ceremony later today, with the intention to drop all notions of myself completely.  Huachuma is the ultimate illuminator – capable of lifting the veil of illusion and showing those who walk through his portal what really is.  ”I” will choke down a few mugs of this not-so-condensed putrid plant and welcome his wisdom so deep within, I become nothing.  And in that space, “I” will find . . .whatever is waiting.  The I within wants to know the highest way to work with him as well – how to best integrate his dream-like lessons in this dream-filled world.  And I think I’ll visit Jesus too, maybe bring him in a birthday card.  We can celebrate the un-ness of everything.  Oh, irony.

And that’s about the extent of my current profundity – not much more relevatory than a James Cameron film, I know.  This is stage one of today’s big clearing-out process.

“Love / Is watching / someone die”  - Death Cab

As we noodle down the treacherous and oft overwhelming path ala enlightenment, many of us pound our heads against spiky walls out of sheer paradoxical frustration.  It seems every luminous enlightenment being speaks a different language.  Sometimes it feels like no one is really pointing at the same moon – that this is all a crazy game with no real ending.  That there is no such thing as realization at all.

And yet, when dropping the logical constructs of the mind, there is more than just a something there, drawing me into its womb-like clutches.  What is it, really?  I don’t know.  But I’m learning one alarmingly simple yet devastatingly challenging way to get there.  I have a lot of wise teachers feeding me equal doses and beauty and bullshit, and in their cryptically direct banter, I’ve found one radiant consistency.  Mac said it this weekend, and I’ve heard Pi and Pranananda say pretty much the same thing – whatever (or whomever) you choose to get you there, it doesn’t matter.  Just surrender.  Completely.

Just.  Surrender.  Hah.  Just like I (think) I know what enlightenment is not, I’ve uncovered a million ways / reasons / opportunities to *not* surrender.  I have never fully surrendered to a lover.  I never surrendered to authority of any kind – parental, priestly, etc.  Ayahuasca, though she’s given me no reason not to, has never felt me hand it *all* over to her.  There’s always a shred or more held back – just in case.  To keep the illusion of control.  To have a tether into this world, into my mind, in case this is all just a load of baloney and I give away everything – thoughts, heart, breath, life – for a naive, selfish notion that there’s something more.

But here’s the rub.  I have been granted a whole gaggle of spiritual experiences.  Ayahuasca has shown me the primal energies from which I came from – the golden threads that lead all the way back to the beautiful nothingness.  Huachuma showed me my true God reflection in the face of a sacred stone in Peru.  I have *almost* dropped the “i” now on several occasions, becoming the all – and feeling what it is to be the movie, the projector, the observers and the space in between all three.  And no matter how strong my ego becomes, no matter how much that uncertainty wants to scream out her cautions – I don’t believe them.  I don’t believe much of anything anymore.  But I do know there’s more beyond what “I” know.  

I can’t stop what’s coming.  It’s inconceivable to me to go back to the unconscious self.  I’m not really in the state of seeking, but I sense with an insatiable magnetism that there is more to know.  I travel deep into my heart space an unequivocally realize there’s nothing else for me but this.  Not awakening itself, necessarily. but the walk to greet her.  The willingness to own my divinity.

Mac told us last week to stop calling this enlightenment – to hold it as liberation instead.  This facilitated a great shift in me later that week – I came to know in every cell that absolutely nothing about me has to change in order to awaken.  Nothing.  I don’t have to be less egoic or more pious and meditate 20 hours a day or eat raw vegetables with unsoiled hands.  There is nothing I have to do or be, because nothing about me dictates this liberation.  It was a massive relief, a huge opening that allowed me to feel whole and complete.  I could have hugged myself.  Instead, I stared at my reflection in Orion’s beautiful eyes and felt the truth.  This is who we are.  And it’s in those eyes that I found a key.

This game is all about surrender.  And while I understand it doesn’t matter what you surrender to, as long as you do it completely, I realize my mind isn’t going to accept just any authoritative illusion.  I intend to work on surrendering to everything and everyone in every moment, but in order to amp up the game, I’ve chosen two very specific targets.

One is obvious – ayahuasca.  I’ve danced with her almost 2 dozen times now, and I know we have more time to know each other.  I can conceive of a complete willingness to surrender to her chaotic yet nurturing strength.  But those opportunities are scarce – a few times a year or so.  Still, I feel in my heart she can take me there.  I know that *anything* can, it’s just that I feel I can convince my mind to give me one minute of freedom – to hold her breath, and that of my body, and surrender to death by the vine, in order to let light in.  Yes, we can do that.

The other is, in many ways, far more terrifying.  I’m in tears just feeling the very real willingness, and the very real fear – the former from heart, the latter from mind.  I will surrender to Orion.  Not him as a human, per se – as an unreal ego – but as my connection to Shiva.  I can’t remember a single time in the last (almost) year that I’ve known him where I’ve been able to see anything but his greatness.  I have never known a more pure and unconditional love.  I trust his intention, I trust his own connection to divinity – and so, I can’t shy away.  We’ve started practicing tantra together – a very respected yogic path to enlightenment – and I feel as though. . .well, we’re on to something.  It’s both thrilling and horrific.  Whee.

Kat – the name I have for my little egoic self – is so fucking scared of this.  But in a moment of incredible clarity this weekend, I was able to pacify her long enough to open a huge portal for us.  I gave him complete freedom to be who he is.  I dropped the restrictions previously agreed upon in our bond, with respect to sexuality, and asked him to just be.  Integrity is still integral, but rules no longer apply.  And although I shake at times when I realize what this could mean, I also know that this is part of my divine surrender.  I trust the universe (me) to manifest the best possible outcome for us both.  But if I tell God I want it my way only, there’s nothing else He / She / We can do but give it to way I demand.  I’m past that now.  In this relationship, I will not be ruled by fear.

So there I’ve done it – dropped all sense of security and yet, at the same time, promised to throw my all into surrendering to this, my partner and love – the God that he is, and the God that I can allow him to show me.  Kat is so fearful she’s barely uttered a protest.  It’s paralyzing and beautiful.  There’s such a rightness to this act that I feel a glow inside, way deeper than any perceived tremble.  

I want and deserve my pot of gold, should the universe see fit.  And I’m showing Her I’m willing to drop *all* attachments to awaken.  I guess that’s why they call it liberation.  Just the act of doing so makes me feel so much closer.

Calling for my soul / At the / Corners of the world – (Tori Amos)

Artwork by Kari Minnick

I’m in a perpetual “wha?” state as of late, more than a little flummoxed by the odd energies I’ve fallen into.  My chosen perspective in the highest sense is to embrace said-frustration, say yay to my mass confusion, and transcend the urge to, well, feel it.

That only feels like half the story, however – like I’m ignoring a chance to dance through the whole spectrum.  So allow me to indulge in the ambiguity.

Sheesh, it’s so ambiguous, in fact, that I hardly know where to begin.  I’ll go first to my feelings.  I am absolutely submerged in the duality of emotions.  There’s someone I feel rather threatened by – his energies / message feel harsh and egoic to me these days, if I’m speaking from one of my many perspectives.  On the other hand, I can see the self-projection of this reaction clear as day, own it as my own distortion, and cease to view him in any other light but that of divinity.  And when I ask myself – which one is true?  Is he full of shit and spouting mindless drivel?  Or is he a sage showing me wisdom and self-illumination?  Self answers – why yes, he is!  Both of these and neither of these!

To which I say – Grrrrr.

Conversations have been laden with miscommunications lately, and they’re not normally even my own.  I have watched over a dozen times this week as people interpret statements in multiple ways – none of which mirror how I see things.  I realize that’s always, always happening, and I’m simply casting a light on this revelation.  We humans, damn, we just don’t communicate well.  We pretend to, in all earnestness, but because our own little world view is so incredibly snowflake-unique, we just can’t see it any other way but our own.  So we walk around understanding on a higher level (although not always in tune with such things) and pretending to understand on the mind-level.  It’s a very interesting game.

Last night I had a dream involving Hubby (a best friend in LA who was always been my “gay husband” – in other words, my intimate other half that is repulsed by my plumbing).  We were talking about a major life decision I was trying to make – whether or not to accept a job at Disney (where we both first met – and BTW, this job offer is entirely fictional.  I am not poised to return to Mouse-hell). I surmised with Hubby whether or not accepting the job would give me a color on my rainbow-colored easel.  In my dream-world, everyone carried around a flat easel-like object covered in fabric that reminded me of the outside of a tennis ball.  When a decision was made that allowed for personal growth and transformation, one got a color on their easel.  That was my focus in the dream – I didn’t want to do anything that would be, in essence, colorless.

Hubby challenged this.  He mused that I cared only about gaining colors, not about living.  He stated he had no clue how many colors his easel had, as it wasn’t his concern.  He just wanted to be present, to live, to be happy and suck the marrow dry.  I got this perspective, and then started discussing the “game within a game” concept – that coloring in my easel was equal in meaning to not coloring in my easel – it’s all the same in the end, regardless.  The act of gaining colors was just a distraction for my mind, something for her to focus on, as real transcendence occurred.  Hubby stated I spent more time helping others get colors than filling in my own, anyway, and I challenged him there – stating there was no difference between a color on, say, Seeker’s easel (he also appeared in the dream – a very prominent ex-boyfriend) than one on mine – it was all mine, ultimately.  That whole oneness thing.

The dream really hammered into the heart of my confusion.  It’s as if all this effort, all these hopes and dreams and truth-tellings and heart-pours – they are all, in the highest sense, meaningless.  I will return to the source and achieve enlightenment whether or not I always tell the truth.  Choose to be a murdering freakfest or hug it out with one and all.  It’s all. . . the same.  I’m just looking for the right distractions that divert my attention long enough for the *real* truth to float on in with any sort of staying power.  But even then – hell, I’m not sure that works either.  

It’s all about intuition, at the end of the day, and I guess that’s where I’m lost.  I have a hard time deciphering between bona fide internal knowingness and the often uber-convincing egoic chatter.  Kat, my alter EGO, talks a *very* good game – she often masquerades as the enlightened one, as she so desperately wants to be in on the secret.  And can’t be.  So, until I get very, very clear on which Me is attempting to guide the proverbial bus, I suppose confusion is the delicious dish I must just feast on, with gratitude.

So, yay for the head-spinning WTF is happening outcries.  I’d like to see my mind get so worked up over the inexplicable little world I’ve now adopted that she just implodes already and lets the God-head take over.  I’ll keep being confused by what it is I’m actually trying to do.  I’ll keep feeling confused about what teachers are telling me, the games Orion is playing, and the various voices in my manic being.  

Down deep, I can admit – I get it.  Somehow, some way, it’s clear.  I don’t have the words – they can’t access this knowingness.  And so those words that do appear speak only of the small mind.  This I know.  Illumination doesn’t come through the mind, which is the source of all words – so just know that if you could sit across from me now, if we could see each other. . .we may echo our confusions, but a good old-fashioned eye-lock would reveal something vastly different.  We could hold each other as mirrors for just a moment, and see that we do, in fact, Know.

Now that’s a revelation.