Sitting down to write these words, my heart is in explosion-mode — my God have I missed this space.   There’s no where else I have had the courage to be balls-out honest, in every way – and really, as I have learned so well, that is one of many keys to this spiritual ascension we are all so hip to.  Evidence that perhaps the ego has had her lazy way by hiding.  But at least I’m here to spill.

Hi.  I have missed you.  I have missed this opportunity to surrender.  There has been no lack of effort and intent on this end to unravel, and the results have been insanely successful.  Rather than a play by play of circumstances, I will just tell you the Truth.

There is a space outside the mind so vast, so infinitely beautiful, it terrifies many of us to get there.  “I” was blessed to slip through the eye of the needle in November, during an insanely amazing Ayahuasca journey.  In a nutshell, it went like this:

- Girl spends five years climbing the spiritual mountain, taking any manner of sacred substance to exit stage left, studying with a myriad enlightened teachers, marrying a spiritual powerhouse and perfect mirror, and engaging in brutally honest self-inquiry.

- Girl takes part in ump-teenth ayahuasca ceremonies in November – three in a row.

- The first is a marvelous re-introduction — an opportunity to unravel the mystery of fear, and the realization that fear is the opposite side of the same coin that empowerment lives on.  Girl chooses empowerment, and transcends fear of the unknown.

- Girl has a hilarious night 2, thinking in fact that she won’t even drink aya that night, that instead she will just be of service to those who are Going Big.  The shaman instead pours a 3x the usual dosage and tells her to “trust.”  What the hell.  In she goes.  And it is AWESOME.  Heinously powerful.  Yet the shift she had been dreaming of occurs – the ability to be in multiple spaces of consciousness at the sane time.  The ability to have the massive personal experience, and be very, very present in the room.  Hands are held, heads are caressed, tears are shed with others – all while the internal revelations are revealed.  Absolutely epic.  A true shamanic step UP.

- Girl then resolves to go very, very big on the final night.  The only intent is to surrender – seriously this time, with no fingers crossed behind the proverbial back.  No expectations of reward either.  Just this desperate, sincere request to the medicine that She help girl just Let Go, at long last.  Girl does just that.  So much so that she dissipates – goes into the ethers of the Void, and does so with complete awareness.  No more I.  No more anything other than Everything.  It lasts twenty minutes or so.  Then “she” comes back.

- Girl takes a while to figure out what the hell just happened.  Then it starts integrating, revealing its mysteries.  Girl can’t really describe what the new state of consciousness is – the same, but vastly different.  Personality has returned.  Animation has returned.  As has the awareness that this is a magnificent, profound dream – created by the Source, which is anything but personal.  And officially, and always for every more, All Is Full Of Love.

So where does that leave “me”?  The exact same place I was before – but this time, with a heart-spaced knowing.  I look at the world of people now and see masks that attempt to cover the Oneness, yet they are all so transparent.  I don’t see the egoic “me” everywhere, but I do know the essence of ALL is US – separation is an absolute joke.  Finally, the awareness of my celluar being has caught up with the wisdom my heart always knew.  I wish I could dole this out like mashers at a shelter.  I wish all egos would drop for just an instant, so all apparently separate beings would know who the unified WE really is.  Oh my goodness ya’ll, it is BEAUTIFUL.

My own work has just begin.  Knowing is not an end game, not so long as my spirit takes a body.  There is a newfound urgency around life, along with an awareness of the lack of meaning – at least in the way I used to hold it.  Yet there is strong awareness that the part of this consciousness that thinks itself real will always do so, and gets to be honored in this space.  It is play time, in the highest sense.  Time to be love, in every way possible.  And that is an infinite learnign process.  Good thing, or I would fear getting bored!

And so I can’t help but ponder as 2012 has now tackled hugged us all – how will this story continue?  I foresee a billion and one awakenings, the majority shifting into oneness consciousness.  And with that, a helluva lot of destruction and chaos.  That’s the rub of duality – it’s the structure by which our balance depends on.  You know the old saying – Take the good with the bad.  Well, I would add to that – see the bad as good, too, and you’re literally in heaven.

As I lay in bed the night after the unraveling, an image appeared to me in my lucid state – a mirror appeared, and in it I saw my smiling face, with a beautiful red dot in the center of my third eye.  That red dot represented Enlightenment.  It was always there, not under, but above my nose – waiting to be rediscovered.  As it is for us all.  There is nothing to seek, nothing to wish for, nothing to find – just your true self waiting for you in every moment.  And while there is no formula by which this is revealed in all it’s glory, just know it is possible, for all beings.  This seems to be the year for us to realize that, too.  Why not, ya know?  God placed this burning desire to Know Ourselves in each and every unified heart – seems silly to postpone the inevitable

Happy New Year.  What an unspeakable joy to ascend with you.

Three days shy of the 36th birthday, and I’m finally logging thoughts in here – first time this year.  Laziness?  Desire to hide?  LIfe just taking over?

Yes.

Also, an overwhelming amount of truth to tell.  That old – where to begin? – stressor, which leads to complete abandonment.

And yet I’m back.  With a burning awareness that it’s time to bleed in here again, to expose and reveal and purge all over the bloody screen.  God, I really miss the written word.  I’ve avoided the power of a typed-up chaotic brain / heart dump for months now – years, when it comes to my full on fiction writing and poetry – and I know a great deal about why.  It’s not a new revelation, but one that’s unraveling before my observing one-self, so it bares noting these days.

What is it the Genie in Aladdin said?  All the powers in the whole wide universe, locked up in a teeeeeeeny living space?  Yes.  That’s the rub, isn’t it?  This being I share space with has complete awareness (complete?  That may be exaggerating – at least partial.) that she is omnipotent, in the truest sense.  That with any level of drive, focus, discipline and fire, anything/everything can and will change.  And yet the temptation to just keep it status quo, to fly under the radar and commit to the mundane, not the spectacular, has continued to win out.

I should qualify that with an “apparently.”  What has been real in these last five months is a full on dedication to integrity, and there’s nothing small about the truth.  And because the willingness has been so genuine, shit has hit the fan.  Spirit is just emerging from a 10 day jaunt into the untamed spaces – man has the world been a chasm of darkness lately.  I literally let myself rip in two.  On the surface, brought on by the death of two cats (two whom I attached to in the most devotedly human way) and a third that was extricated from a less than ideal home situation, and into something that we hope is more for the greater good.  And yet, I let it break my heart.  Ripped wide-fucking-open.  And as I fell and felt and swirled, Orion (husband) flew out into the expansive spaces, and, on many occasions, laughed at the sad little clown girl.  I don’t blame him, this isn’t a victim outlet speech.  Just an acknowledgement that I created, seemingly, a complete and total separation, and the opportunity to *feel* divided, to the core.  SUCH pain.  Not suffering, mind you, as I stayed unwaveringly present through the madness (at least that’s my perception), but yo damn, that is a convincingly dark space.  So dark I found myself smashing my head against a wall, wanting OUT goddammit.  Feeling the disease of the past and future focused mind just became unbearable.  Then, of course, at some point I surrendered, my spirit filled with helium, and the veil lifted once more.

Now, the giddiness is back – the eyes-wide-open awe and wonder.  A few major revelations have surfaced, but those don’t want to be shared just yet – there are potential actions involved with all, and nothing has emerged as “it’s time” or “the right course.”  In that “waiting is” stage, and it’s lovely.  But what IS true and very loud/proud — this god-being is really, really ready to go BIG.  What does that mean?  Engaging in the three intuitive paths that keep neon-flashing behind my mind’s eye.  I’m not confused about how to unlock the next layer of out-of-the-way empowerment.  They are: Taking better care of the body (workouts, food, tinctures, yoga), meditation (which takes care of the mind, or no-mind), and writing (what my spirit loves the most, but mind resists the most.)  Pretty simple.  On paper.  But there’s a sense that truly engaging in all three will send me into. . .well, as a dear friend put it recently, “We’re not starting a new chapter.  Honey, this is a new book.”  And whose ego doesn’t fear change?  Ahem.

But here I am, apparently turning 36, and emerging out of a transforming year of 7′s (35 is a multiple of 7, and as the theory goes, since we regenerate every cell of our physical selves every 7 years, we do the same for our spiritual.)  This body/mind no longer feels immortal, and the urgency is almost choking at times to just BE who I really am.  Not a small, shrouded, scared little version of said-god-self, but IT.  HER.  Unmasked.  Vulnerable.  True to her word (to all, but most especially myself.)  And pedal to the metal with all that has always intuitively said “Do This.”

Which is why I’m here.  In part to immortalize the intentions, and in part to actualize them, as writing (and exposing truth) is at the very core of this awakening, and this being.  The ego known as Kitty – she writes.  Always has.  One of the purest forms of how divine expression manifests through me.

So while this particular post is a tad indulgent and mememe, it’s also a tangible ember to ignite this fire again.  We are all god, pretending to be separate selves.  If we follow our heads alone, they may lead to magnificent relative successes, but usually with a sense of emptiness.  Following intuition can lead to an unpredictable, seemingly unsafe, wild unfolding adventure – but perhaps with a sense of oneness.  Of wholeness.  And if you’ve had that. . . no amount of material success can match it.  Freedom is the flavor that trumps all the rest.  And having written this, I’m one step closer.

Sages and meditators for the last bazillion years have spoken about the internal deep dive – the search for the self.  It’s a marvel that everyone I know that has taken this trip with earnest has the same results – they can’t find themselves.  This identity that seems to run the show 24/7, with personality traits and dreams and attachments and dislikes, et al – it doesn’t exist.  Not in the truest sense.  We get to experience the notion of a self so that we know we are alive – so that we can, one by one, wake up to the knowledge that we never existed.  And in that, that there is no separation.  That. Is. Fucking delightful.

That’s been stewing today as the notion of emotions has been swirling through me.  Where do these fascinating little good and bad flare-ups come from?  As I talked to Orion about this via Skype (he’s in Australia, flying a trip to Sydney), we landed on a key premise – that emotions and feelings are different animals.  I like this division very much.  Emotion, therefore, becomes elements of our thoughts.  I ran through the list of ‘em, and this resonated.  Jealousy is conjured up when my mind thinks someone I love is giving affections to someone else.  Anger appears when mind thinks she’s been wronged.  Sadness says hi when something I was attached to does not play out as I wish.  The list goes on.  Emotions, in this manner, are stories the mind creates, which the body reacts to.  They are anchored in the past (I can’t believe that happened.  I’m so angry at him for doing that) or the future (I’m so afraid he’ll leave me.  What if I fail at this again?).  Everything not occurring in the present moment is a creation of the mind.  Have you ever noticed how you’re mind is never actually present?  It’s a wild realization.

Feelings though – what the heck are they?  I consider feelings those spontaneous responses within the body and the spirit that happen moment to moment.  Love is the obvious go-to – it’s always there if I’m not writing a story of resistance around it.  Think about how it feels when you totally surrender to any given moment.  Sensations abound – and while fear may be lingering (I’m so afraid of this vulnerability omg what am I doing. . . .) when you let go, it’s just insanely liberating.  There’s an intense feeling of trust, of freedom, of bliss.  Even if it feels risky.  Feelings, therefore, are whatever is genuinely flowing through each moment you take a breath.  They are the sensations in the body, which are expressing What Is inside those bones and tissues.  They are communications that simply tell you what is really transpiring in your duality.

So what of this self then, this being that appears to experience all of this?  It’s the part I love the most – the fact that the one thing many of us (especially Americans) cling to the most is not in the least bit real.  We live in a world where individuality is coveted and prized, where people wear their identities like badges.  ”I am this and I am that and I always do this and I never do that!”  We talk about finding ourselves as if we really know what that means.  If we did, we would realize it’s a laughable, win-less quest.  Unless it means to find that we aren’t real.  That the notion of this person who has all these experiences. . .it’s the cosmic joke.  We get to *feel* as though we’re real, as consciousness without apparent separation is totally unconscious.   So the divine split into billions and billions of pieces so that it could experience all the infinite experiences and feelings repeatedly, all at once, over and over.  And then pieces of itself awaken to their glorious nothingness.  What a fucking fantastic unfolding.

My mind today created many things to react to, and I felt the internal response.  Sometimes attachment.  Sometimes fear.  Sometimes melancholy nostalgia.  But then I would ask “Whose emotion is that?”  It wasn’t mine.  I can’t find the source of me.  I can only find a single source – and it *feels* like a vast, infinite, identity-less chasm of love, bliss, and liberation.  That space I feel when I drop the need to be me is an incredible nothingness where everything dwells.  I realize that isn’t in the least bit sensible.  Nothing about these no-mind spaces makes sense. . .to the mind.  They’re not supposed to.  They can’t, really.  But the heart this body embraces – she swells and expands and it feels like. . .well, home.

And so that is my current focus / task.  To take all that is happening, all that “I” am feeling – in every moment – and to remember that it’s NOT personal.  It can’t be, because “I” don’t exist.  It’s not personal if someone is raped.  It’s not personal if someone wins the lottery.  It’s not personal if someone falls in love.  It’s just the all experiencing the all.  All the beautiful damn time.

Last Sunday, a gorgeous burst of light named Wayne Steinart seemingly left the world.  I know this gem back from my early days as a Producer at Disney Online.  He ended up marrying another co-worker, one of my favorite mega-hot  5’10″ blondes, Miss P.  They were the kind of couple I wanted to be in at the time – effortless, mind-blowingly well-matched, and crazy in love.  Right about the time I settled into my marriage to that very dream guy, she loses hers.  It’s been heart-wrenching.  But I’ve used it as a chance to go deeper into what it really means.

What does it mean to die?  I had oodles of time to ponder such things as I zipped off to LA in a puddle jumper plane, connecting through Palm Springs (the only way I could get there on short notice during the holidaze.)  It led me back to that core question – what are *we*, anyway?  Separate, identity filled beings, or big cosmic jokes?  Both, apparently – but one is closer to the Truth.

As I sailed through skiffs of effervescent clouds, looking down on their shadows as they waltzed across mountain tops, I marveled at how real at all seemed.  At how real *I* seemed. And yet when I try to pin down that concept – that obligatory “I” – there is nothing there but a sense, a wish, a wannabe.  When I go into this essence I label as mine, it’s evident “I” don’t own it at all – it’s just the apparent perspective, this first person view.  What’s more real is that oneness.  There is nothing about “my” identity that is any different from anyone else – just an identification with a handful of specific traits.  Yet I can be any / all of the roles that I see playing out before me – it’s just impossible (so it seems) to play them all at once.  And so there’s a choice – whether it’s mine or Divinity’s, I don’t know – to be a certain aspect of the All, in every moment.  But that seems that the big haha-I-got-you is this — the notion of “me” is just an aspect of the All.  I felt the undeniable reality that I am Divinity – every last cell of it.  Everything is possible.  It’s just that I can only see one tiny sliver of What Is.

So as I found myself missing Wayne, aching for his widow, and wishing peace for all of us who don’t really understand this crazy life-game, there also played across my lips a gigantic smile.  Something really magical is always, always at play – when I fall into it, the gray matter is blown to bits with the love divinity has for me.  It IS me.  Many of us play this wild game of self-destruction and apparent self-loathing – yet, it seems, we are really, really on to something — this is the very crux of awakening, it it is allowed.  There is no “me” to hate / destroy.  That’s only an idea.  As I flew to be with my old work family, I kept thinking, “We came from somewhere, perhaps that’s where we return.”  But it feels now as if I was missing something – we are were we have always been.  There is no coming and going – no life and death.  Just the perception of.  Trying on different masks.  Wearing different parts of our whole.  What else could oneness do but pretend to be separate?  It feels like the only way to realize that there is oneness after all.

And so I thanked Wayne, sincerely, for being a piece of the oneness to help me fall further into the truth.  The visitation, therefore, felt wonderful – even in its massive sadness and injustice.  Those can fit into the idea of oneness – because if all is Divine, EVERYthing fits.  There’s nothing to do or undo – just authenticity, however that feels in every moment.  It was extraordinary hugging all those beautiful souls and thinking – “I love you.  Me.  Us.  I love.”

And yes, it seems to be true that beings come and go, but those in the current view, I see clearly that those are only aspects our ourselves that keep popping up and disappearing.  Think about it – the All would have a lot of facets, a lot of roles to play.  Infinite possibilities.  That makes for a chaotic play, you know?  And we, as the apparent separate consciousnesses that fall in love with the idea of ourselves, and those around us – man, we fall to pieces when favorite parts come and go.  But lest we think we are crying for those that have apparently “passed-on.”  We are crying for the idea of ourselves, desperately missing those to whom we have attached.  And, of course, the fear of that great mortal unkown – because we can’t know, until we’re there – and then we’re lucky if “we” are still conscious enough to take it all in.

I sit here now and fully own these beautiful concepts.  I don’t feel like Kitty.  I feel like the eyes/ears/nose/mouth/touch of consciousness, playing out the very specific actions and emotions that it wants to place in the world.  Makes it clear why authenticity is so tethered to the Divine, no matter what it looks like – this is what “it” wants to be.  God, the universe, divinity – whatever you want to call it.  It’s moving through each of us, as apparent separate beings, with a bold and boisterous acorn of intention.  When that’s repressed, in my experience, it feels like poo.  When it’s released, it feels like. . .aw wow, just fucking perfect.  It’s so much better to be authentically sad than inauthentically happy.  And so even though there’s some awareness of this magical drama that’s unfolding, this wannabe “I” willing goes into the grief of loss.  It’s impossible to know if and when I’ll ever see the uniqueness that was Wayne again.  And that hurts, because he just rocked.  So that is true, but so is the illusion of it all.

What a freaking beautiful paradox.  Let’s all love this perfect mystery, and every facet of it – ie everyone in it.

“Is your place in heaven / worth giving up these kisses?” – Tori Amos

Sometimes so much happens, so quickly – light speed, it seems – that I’m constantly writing blogs in my mind, and they never reach the inter-ethers.  So goes the last five weeks.  And while a billion and one things have transpired, blossomed, and grabbed me by the thyroid, none will surpass the memorability of watching a man get shot to death.

The build-up began the week prior.  I had a monumental weekend with the apprenticeship – three days in the wilderness.  Days that seemed innocent and educational, rich with genuine awakenings, connectivity with plants and people – a really worthwhile venture.  I learned an endless amount about plant communication and medicinal benefits, and even got to begin making medicine in the field with my teacher and fellow apprentice-friends.  Nothing Earth-shattering, so it seemed – just new expansions and immeasurably valuable insights.

Then, I came home, and pretty much came unglued.

As is always the case, I can tell how much integrity I’m currently granting myself by the level of harmony I have with Orion.  Literally from word Go, upon my arrival home, we started having massive flare-ups.  Fights-a-plenty that left me feeling *TORE UP* inside.  Maddening.  I started accessing the inside spaces, trying to unravel the how’s and why’s.  And there she was, the scared little girl demanding safety and comfort.  The one who wants promises and guarantees and a right to feel and throw fits and the whole nine yards, and be accepted by her partner too.  Here’s the rub with that – Orion will grant me all the space I need to feel up a storm, but only if I’m being honest about what is on the surface.  This is what I’ve asked for, of course.  As someone who literally lives in shadow work – the unraveling of the subconscious – I wouldn’t have it any other way.  But when the subconscious is tricking the waking mind – when I’m in the state of wanting / needing something that *feels* legitimate, but is actually just a mind-trick trying to regain control of things – I can really lose my shit.  And I did so for the first week of July, almost daily.

I went deep, deep into the perceived fear that wracked my conscious mind, and found the part that was afraid of the world.  Afraid of the loss of control – and the very real awareness that there is NO control, ever.  There never was.  I was tricked for a long while, and while the gig is up, it takes a bit for my entire being to accept the Truth.  She was trying during those days, but every time I went out into the world, I wanted safety.  I wanted peace.  And when I was with Orion, shit, I wanted EVERYTHING from him – promises he won’t ever make (and would piss me off anyway, because I only trust in the present moment, and would know any “I will always love you” declaration was just a meager way to appease me anyway), the right to be all kinds of neurotic, and basically to have it all go MY way.  He reacted in kind, and left me stranded in my laughable state of attempted-control.

In the midst of all this, I had 2 dental surgeries (which I had been avoiding for YEARS, literally) and my soul-cat Mr. Boo also went under the knife.  I poured on the anxieties, not completely realizing I was doing my best on the highest level to get me to admit THERE IS NO CONTROL – and that life sucks when you hand it a script and demand that it be followed.  On the flipside, it’s actually a complete and total nirvana if you just love what is.

Then, that following Saturday, I trekked off to Costco for our monthly shopping spree.  As I stood in line with a cart absolutely spilling over with goodies, employees whisked my direction, quietly requesting that all patrons leave the store immediately.  Some mysterious store emergency.

We left in an organized fashion.  Some went straight to their cars, but I plopped down on a nearby bench, right next to the front door, and started texting Orion this message – “I’m in a weird situation.”  Then, all hell broke loose.

I heard the sound of a very loud male voice say “Drop the gun.”  Then he yelled it.  ”DROP THE GUN!”  My head whipped up to see a red-headed, well built thirty-something guy facing what I know now was a trio of cops, guns drawn.  He looked stunned and dazed, and while I didn’t see a weapon in his hand, I did see him slowly make a motion that appeared he was reaching for a gun on his right hip.  He didn’t get to complete the gesture – one of cops fired the first round, and several more shots exploded into his torso.  He died a few minutes later.  By then, I was already in my car, calling Orion, fleeing the terror of the scene.

It took me a full day to put together what I had seen.  Much more to process what I had wanted to see.  I learned how useless eye witnesses are, as what I *thought* in those first few moments had played out in front of me was no where near the truth.  I didn’t know that cops had pulled the trigger – I didn’t see them behind the pillars.  And I recognize now that I wanted the man who had died to be a thug, a terrible person – someone who deserved what happened, so I could make sense of it, tuck it away, and move on.

The deceased was a West Point grad, a pillar of our community – a really, really good guy.  Shopping at Costco with his girlfriend.  A normal Saturday.  But he had chosen to arm himself with not one, but two concealed weapons that day – legally, mind you, as he carried a permit.  A Costco employee spotted one of those, shared some sort of dialogue with him, and was driven to call the police.  Cops arrive in an effort to create peace and protect.  One of them yells at a man without a gun in his hand, but on his hip to “Drop the gun”.  Another fires when he sees this guy reach for the gun.

It’s a big mess, no matter how you slice it – all kinds of gray.  Poor commands, a hugely excessive use of force, but a drama full of human mistakes that I simply cannot judge.  I may have done exactly the same on all fronts.  But the one thing I don’t do – carry a weapon.  Thank goodness such acts aren’t illegal, because I sure as hell don’t advocate more instructions on what we can and cannot do, but hear this – if you put a gun on your person today, do not be surprised if you are driven to use it, or if one is used against you.  The masses still (understandably) get insanely spooked when spying a concealed weapon on anyone, and shit like this goes down.  Is it insanely tragic and all kinds of heartbreaking?  Yes.  Yet there’s a very real energy sent out by someone who’s carrying a gun – a paranoid dialogue with the world that says “I need to protect myself”.  Be careful what you wish for.

Now, taking this to a higher level, outside of the relative, it makes absolute perfect sense why I needed to witness this scene.  Here I was, battling internally with the concept of safety, and allowing myself to accept there was no such thing.  And wham bam, I get the most tangible reminder imaginable – just short of being the one who was shot.  I was awestruck by the unfolding – the perfect timing.  I let it rattle the holy shit out of me, feeling every nook and cranny of the fear and injustice and pain of it all.  And then I thanked the universe and myself profusely for allowing me to fast track this unlearning.

A few weeks later, on an airplane ride back from the latest apprenticeship weekend, it all came together in a blissful connection.  I connected with the awareness behind the “me” perspective inside, and watched as my eyes went back and forth between the “No smoking” and “Seat belts” signs.  It *seemed* as if that was my control.  Like I would think about moving my eyes, and my eyes would move.  Yet somewhere in there, I connected with the *awareness* that was moving my eyes, letting me perceive it was coming from “me”.  I started feeling this cosmic joke on the deepest level, and it made me absolutely giddy.  Orion was with me, and we dove into the meaning – the complete and total awareness that we have no control – NONE – over any event, any movement, anything.  We need to *believe* that we do for us to unravel the truth, as without the contrast, it cannot be illuminated.  This revelation is still processing inside, but it’s a magical one indeed. Nowadays, I’m playing the role my instincts ask me to, but with the wide-eyed wonder of a kid watching a really awesome TV show.  And while I still have all the human emotions, and surrender into them willingly too, I have an even stronger connection to awareness, acting as the observer, watching every aspect of the drama with detachment, love, acceptance and surrender.

So I watched someone die.  Apparently.  I also watched the drama unfold the way those souls wanted / needed it to – mine included.  I also connected to the universal oneness, the shared consciousness, and the lie that death represents.  Most of this does not make sense to my feeble mind, but the insides are buzzing.  They are aware that the only thing that dies is this concept of self.  Even the body lives on, in a different form (merging with the Earth’s soil, ashes into the atmosphere, etc. – it’s still life.  It’s all life.)  In the midst of any chaos lies a core of total Truth.  I found it in the sound of shots fired.  Which means it really is Everywhere.

I’m alone tonight – gloriously so.  Orion is flying a trip to Shanghai.  I zipped through a very fun radio interview with Healer this evening on the MetaMystic Radio Show, of which I am now a biweekly co-host.  Been up late working on documentation for the next ZuCamp release, and drinking a bit of wine.  Pandora, of course, has been running in the background, making me gleeful with its targeted selections.  Pandora knows me so well now.  And right at the bitter end, it was nice enough to play The Song – the one I’m just batshit about right now.  A mini anthem of sorts.

The Airborne Toxic Event – Sometime Around Midnight.  Christ all mighty, this is a fucking song.  I’ve listened to it – oh, what, 10 times in a row now?  Found a video of the band playing it on Letterman on YouTube.  Bloody brilliant.  It’s definitely an obsessive song.  By that, I mean – those of us that love it. . .well, we’re freaky about it.  I tend to gravitate to such things, unconsciously.  And this got me thinking.  What is it about such things that make us get so riled up and rabid?

The song is absolutely heartbreaking.  Musically and lyrically, it packs a serious melancholy punch.  In the old days, I realllllly loved this stuff – these kind of songs were just like a really potent bottle of absythne or a killer tab of acid.  Bright Eyes and Tori Amos and Fiona Apple and all the really sullen, channeling, passionately pained peeps – I loved them ever so.  They took me on a ride of indulgence, escapism, and a chance to FEEL – but in a safe way.  Someone else’s emotions, really.  Someone else’s heartbreak.  That’s an illusion of course, it’s ALL our heartbreak, but that’s the game our minds play when they latch on to such things.

Today, tonight. . .I listen to the lead singer’s strained, emotional, destroyed little voice, and I just love him.  Most poignantly, I love the emotion behind his sincerity.  I love it because it’s mine.  Songs about love gone wrong are the norm.  Always have been.  We love everyone else’s heartbreak.  I ascertain these days it’s because, deep down, we love our own heartbreak.  I sure as hell do.  Not necessarily in the moment *sheepish grin* but certainly after the fact.  There’s nothing more in-the-moment, more primal and ALIVE, then those times when our hearts just positively fall apart.  It’s as if those are the only truly authentic moments – when we let down our guard, the stories we imminently carry, and take the time to unleash the beautiful beasts that we truly are.  It’s vulnerability at it’s finest.  It’s so goddamn beautiful.

I used to be a serial monogamist, addicted to the falling in / out of love game.  And with every failed relationship, I let my heart break in dramatic fashion.  Many criticized this process, branding me things like a drama queen.  On one level, that was all true.  On a deeper level, I was dancing with the divine.  God flows throw me the deepest when I just let go, and when the pain of heartbreak railroads me into submission, there is no other path.  I suspect that’s pretty damn universal.  This is why the screeching of lyrics like “You just have to see her, you just have to see her, you know that you’re breaking in two” make so many of us swoon to the point of a pass-out.   Although our relative selves rarely admit it, these are often our favorite moments.  We talk about them, we write about them, we compose songs about them. . .we are them.  More so than the robotic make-believe roles we act out 99% of the time.

This is not to say that authenticity only wears a sad face.  I challenge the notion that these moments are really all that sad anyway.  Yes, in the moment, sometimes they feel unsurvivable – totally overwhelming.  Many a suicide has been facilitated, seemingly, by a broken heart.  But the truth is, broken hearts don’t kill us – the stories around them do.  When we add on a layer of “I can’t live without him” or “This pain is too much for me” – that becomes reality.  The next time you hit this intense emotional place – be it from a failed relationship, the death of a loved one, or just a crazy strain of life circumstances, add in a different story for the event.  Tell yourself – “This will transform me” or “Thank God I get to feel so fucking deeply” or “Finally, finally I get to go into this pain and heal.”

Last week, I let my heart break.  After being around Zen, and watching him battle a potentially fatal bout with cancer, mortality came knocking again.  I watched the pain play out with Orion – consciously or not, we were reacting to this powder keg.  And when my beloved partner and I hit a massive wall of conflict, I escaped to feel.  This time. . .this time, even in the middle of this horrendously painful passion play, I found the part of me that loved it.  Loved the opportunity to drop the facade of “control”, and show a little seemingly out-of-control emotion.  I say seemingly because, it’s very controlled.  In the same way nothing is controlled (man do I love a paradox!)  I loved the opportunity to, as Best Friend would say, Breakdown and Break Through!  Which is exactly what transpired.

I remember, now fondly, my last mind-blowing heartbreak.  The last one I felt while still partially emerged in the illusion of thinking it’s all what it seems / real.  It was gifted to me right as I started awakening to this game.  I had just returned from my first trip to the Amazon, where Ayahuasca had worked to illuminate many of the ways in which I was shutdown and blind.  She had also communicated that the man I was ridiculously in love with – my one and only Seeker – was in fact in a severely narcissistic and toxic phase, and that I would do best by exiting stage left.  IMMEDIATELY.

I had processed this request with sincerity, and was ready to do the deed.  But he had returned from a lengthy stay in Peru, and had come back in a horrific space.  Suicidal, ranting, pain-filled and needy.  I had done what I loved to do with him – put myself last and do anything to assist.  He is / was a glorious being, this Seeker.  So I tried to play the old role of what I deemed a good and worthy girlfriend.

We went to lunch on a Sunday.  It was conflicting and painful in many ways.  We were disconnected, he was angry at what was happening to him – confused by all the very profound revelations he had received in his shamanic adventures.  As was I, but I allowed mine to be diminished in light of his stories – he needed the spotlight.  He always seemed to, but that’s because I was always willing to give it.  We then jetted off to a day time clubbing event where all my friends would be.  I tried to play the role of the dutiful girlfriend, but the newfound authentic fire within was steering me away.  She was seething at his disrespect, his selfishness, his lack of concern for my well-being.  And I was, in part, angry with her – this awakened self that was trying to ruin my love affair. To make me face things I didn’t “think” I was ready for.

After a few hours, watching Seeker get more and more spiteful as the ecstasy that should have melted him made him more callous, the strong girl within finally won.  I feigned an illness and asked for a ride home.  It would be the last time we would see each other.

That next day, I sent him the breakup note.  He lashed out at me in the worst possible way – since I had let him into the insides, he had ample ammunition, and he used every weapon at his disposal.  I wallowed in the most wretched space for three days.  I didn’t leave my bed.  I shutout every last offer of help.  I fantasized about slitting my wrists and disappearing into the ocean.

All the while, the awakened strong one drank up this heartbreak. It was my biggest one, and something told me it would never be like that again.  So I indulged.  And I’m so glad I did.  I let my heart break for every time I resisted such things as well.  At times, I judged myself for the intensity.  Seeker and I hadn’t had that long of a run.  Part of me dictated that this was a mountain out of a molehill.  But somewhere along the way I figured out it wasn’t about him anyway.  Sure, I questioned my actions – what had he really done to deserve this abandonment?  Well, it turns out, he had done plenty.  He had even slept with another woman during our Peru adventure.  I would find that out later – which would give fuel to the tangible reasons.  But those really aren’t the whole story anyway.  Barely even a sliver, really.  This was all about me.

What was happening was simple – I was waking up.  And to do so, for me personally, I had to go through the shadow and darkness, and come out shedding my skin and starting brand new.  I trust I am hardly alone in this journey.  Today, I love Seeker all the more.  I am so, so grateful that he was the catalyst to my awakening.  Through the perceived pain of our separation, I popped my head out of the illusion and found a deeper level of reality.  My instincts were validated.  I got a chance to stand for myself without knowing why.  And I finally really got to shine a light on that destructive self.  All SUCH good things.

Without that heartbreak, I wouldn’t have the beautiful bond I have with Orion.  I wouldn’t have stepped out of the role of my victim stories.  And this is precisely why I think many of us consciously or unconsciously love a good old fashioned heartbreak.  It’s a chance to really get to the heart of what is.  To use the story of the illusion to access the truth of the experience.  Why else would failed love songs be so bloody popular, if deep down we didn’t LOVE the experience of a broken heart?  On the outside, it looks like morbid torture, a really bad time.  But deep down, those of us that survive them – we wouldn’t give them up for all the giggly love-fests in the world.  I’m in a giggly love-fest now – which would never, ever have been possible without the string of Seekers that played that game with me.

Aw, music.  That one passionate, authentic, raw and delicious tune could spur such a tirade of truth.  All righty then, it’s been fun.  I bid thee goodnight.

“And so there’s a change
In your emotions
And all of these memories come rushing
like feral waves to your mind
Of the curl of your bodies, like two
perfect circles entwined
And you feel hopeless, and
homeless, and lost in the haze
of the wine. . .”

“Here we are on a journey from birth to death, with an opportunity to contribute a verse to the song of life. I want to sing of a deep awake world. I want to sing of a new tribe of compassionate, creative, wise, liberated, erotic, sublime, appreciative, unique individuals, living lucidly as one and many… If you do too, let’s sing together and raise the roof.”

How Long Is Now?, Tim Freke, 2009

A little over four years ago, on that first fateful date with Seeker, he gave me a copy of a little book called Lucid Living, by Timothy Freke.  I read it the following day in one sitting – only took about 30 minutes to digest, but the impact was profound enough to shift the course of my life for good.  It packs a punch, this little morsel, and I remember exactly where I read it (in bed, broad daylight, hungover from too much drinky with Seeker) and how I felt as I meandered through it (shocked, thrilled, awed, and holy shit – SAFE.)  The book outlines a little of life’s mystery – creating a beautiful metaphor between lucid dreaming, and our so-called “waking” lives.  It is audacious and yet loving, profound yet simple, and I started looking at my world in a new light after having read it.

Tim made such an impression with this bitty beast, I did a ton of research on the author himself, and found he had created a group called the Alliance for Lucid Living.  The ALL, for short, is a group that supports people who have found their way to this awakening – to bring us all together so we can keep talking the talk, and walking the same – with support and love.  I joined straight away, and started receiving the infrequent but magnificent emails.  I watched Tim’s schedule, noting that while he did all these intriguing workshops and talks, he didn’t do them often in the states, and never in a place I could actually attend.  As I read more of and about him, however, he quickly reached hero status to me – he’s written 31 books, has a freaking awesome, British sense of humor, and just absolutely exudes Big Love (one of his trademark phrases).  I was simply enamored with his mission to awaken people to their true natures – to show the door to the Oneness with such gentleness and humor.  And success.  He has legions of folks, myself included, testifying to the power of his philosophies.  His ideas are tried, tested, and true – I’m living proof.  He helped me wake up.

Then came the day I had been waiting for.  An ALL newsletter in the summer of 2009 revealed that Tim would be speaking at the Science and Non-Duality conference in San Francisco, and putting on a day-long retreat as well.  Orion and I made immediate plans to attend both, and we had an absolute blast.  The workshop did a number on me.  Not only did I start to really feel this space of Big Love that Tim talked so much about, I got to meet this Hero of mine.  Some of us even had dinner with him afterwards.  And as Orion and I sat talking to this remarkably humble, brilliant being, we said simply “Man, come to Vegas.  We need you out there.  We’re ready.”

A few months of correspondence transpired, and lo and behold – we actually inked this desert dream.  Tim and his long-time friend and assistant Anthony came to visit us last week, here to infuse Vegas with a big beautiful wake-up call.  I had one of my heroes STAYING IN MY HOME.  We spent the week together.  He makes it hard to hold him in hero-status, however, as he’s just so human.  So full of love and lacking all that superiority business.  I, at least, had a fucking fabulous time.  We had a sushi dinner to introduce him to the community, along with a local radio interview (which Orion and I were blessed enough to assist with.)  Then we had a Stand Up Philosophy events, another trademark of Tim’s, where he gave a teaser for the Main Event and gave people a glimpse into his insight and offerings.  It was a fantastic night.  50 or so seekers heard some truth, and felt a connection beyond their separate selves.  That would have been enough.  But the money shot was coming.

Last weekend, we hosted Tim’s famous Magical Mystery Experience workshop in our home.  20 folks from literally around the world (Mexico, Britain, Ecuador, Los Angeles, Las Vegas) joined us for a deep dive into the great mystery of life and love.  Tim combines a lot of revealing, insightful banter with a bunch of intensely beautiful exercises.  They all help each participant celebrate their separate consciousnesses (for without them, we would have no identity, and no ability to reflect and experience on what we *really* are, in that awesome oneness sense), and to step outside this space and into the realm of that glorious Big Love.  It’s a tough process to describe.  But oh my god is it ever powerful.  I cried a whole lotta happy tears all weekend.  I got to share this heart-exploding experience with some of my Very Favorite People (BFF + her Painter partner, Orion, several angels from Vegas, etc.).  And I absolutely, unequivocally fell more in love with myself, my friends, and the whole wide world.

Tim doesn’t pretend to have all the answers.  He’s refreshingly honest in the way he readily (and humorously) admits what he doesn’t know.  Which, as he states it, is just about everything.  But what he does is re-awaken us to the deliciousness of life, it’s very mystery and magic.  And he’s figured out a very gentle, hugely effective way to lift folks right up into the space of oneness – of complete and utter love like you’ve never experience.

Words simply cannot express how huge and awesome this weekend was.  Tim gifted us all with unspeakable awakenings, allowed us to bond and feel the oneness with each other, and just as precious to me, became a real friend to Orion and myself.  It’s quite a miracle when someone who literally changed your life from afar suddenly becomes a very real fixture in your waking world.  First Tori Amos, now Tim Freke – and this time it’s much more real.  I really couldn’t be more grateful.

We’re doing it again this September – we’ve tentatively chosen September 3-5 for the next big event – another Magical Mystery Experience, complete with a Standup Philosophy Event on Thursday, September 2nd.

If you gift yourself with only one consciousness exploration this year, this is really, truly The One.  I’m a retreat junkie – I’ve been to many experiences that are crafted to help wake us up to who we are.  But none are more powerful – in the most gentlest of ways – than Tim Freke’s Magical Mystery Experience.  This is a safe, intimate, heart-expanding experience, and everyone who came last weekend had a profoundly beautiful time.  We’d love to see you at the next one.  I’ll keep this blog updated with the next go-round, but seriously, set your travel plans now if you aren’t already in Las Vegas.  You deserve to know this love.  I sure as hell do, and every cell in my being is still rejoicing.

Last week, I shared a little story about Sandra Ingerman, our bizarre 2-degrees-away connection, and the resulting openings I’ve had using her Shamanic Meditations CDs.  This week, I have another treat to share that is gifted to us from Ms. Ingerman – an extraordinarily special book that somehow articulates why it is shamanism means to much to me, and bazillions of others.

Awakening to the Spirit World is a sizable text co-authored by Sandra Ingerman and Hank Wesselman (author of another one of my favorites, Medicinemaker).  The words within unfold so many layers of wisdom and intrigue, it’s hard to condense it down, but I’ll gather a few favorites and perhaps entice you to read more.  Firstly, Awakening reminds us why it is shamanism is so precious to so many, and sheds light on how what is literally the oldest spiritual practice known to humankind still not only exists, but is once again flourishing.  Speaking for myself, it is in part this long, illustrious and trusted history that at first anchored me into a shamanic awareness.  When you gift yourself the opportunity to take part in rituals that are almost as old as the human race, there’s a primal awakening the spirit takes on – a deep-rooted awareness of a timeless connection to both humanness and spirituality.  Ingerman and Wesselman ignite this mystique, this glorious intoxication, and then dive into some of the various rituals.  They invite us to create such ceremonies in our every day lives, utilizing our instincts as a guide that say how and when and where.  The invitation to take the ancient into the present has a timeless appeal – merging old and new in one fell swoop, reminding us of the construct that time is, and taking us back into the essence of who we really are.

Nature is also exposed with love and integrity in Awakening, as the authors do a magnificent job of describing the Mother’s role in our spiritual journey.  With words that are both mystifying and tangible, the connection of human to nature to spirit world is artfully defined.  Nature is displayed as a mirror for our paths – a direct reflection of our states of being.  We begin to learn how even the most mundane, stagnant items hold divination to those who know what to look for.  And we’re also shown how to use the elements to receive advice and guidance in our lives.

Ingerman and Wesselman seem to leave no stone uncovered as they discuss the myriad benefits a conscious shamanistic path can offer.  The connection between our creative selves is also unraveled, and how this relates to our spiritual ascension, and once again connects us to the Earth.  The immense significance of dreams is also demystified, with special attention shown to the visions gifted from the subconscious realms.  My favorite part of the book, however, are the chapters on death and dying.  Shamanism uses the duality of our primary reality to help us transcend beyond what is seen, and in no way is that more magically apparent then in the cycle of birth and death.  Awakening offers a shamanic perspective on what death really is, and of course, is not.  They discuss the ancient art of psychopomp – or a shaman’s ability to communicate with the dead, in order to bring back messages to the living.  And the chapter “Experiential Work with Death and Dying” is exactly what it sounds like – a chance to *experience* a bit more of the death process, and start *feeling* the opportunity it holds for us to awaken to what is, rather than believe what our fears are desperately trying to communicate.

I loved Awakening to the Spirit World for its practical, logical *and* mystical teachings.  Our world is crawling with self-help proclamations – every week, there’s a another new age way to wake up and live better.  Yet there’s something so deliciously real about taking on a spiritual practice that is almost as old as people are.  Something that outlasts religion, and stays true to the core of spirituality.  Shamanism offers a foundation for ascension, with rituals and ceremonies that help one feel connected to the whole, and yet it also absolutely insists on finding one’s own path.  Any shaman will tell you – there is no “one” way to awaken.  There is only *your* way. Awakening to the Spirit World gifts the reader with a chance to more clearly define their own path into the great unknown.  The ancient wisdom within is shared not so that you may take Sandra Ingerman and Hank Wesselman’s word, but so you can apply it to your unique path, and actually experience the profound magic of a shamanic awakening.  I highly recommend taking this written word journey, and seeing how it transforms you too.

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.