December 1, 2020
Writing Prompt
Le Cordon Bleu
I was 20 at the time. I had lived away from home for a year, worked at a Bob's Big Boy, and did it! I saved enough money to take off for a year, in a year, sewed my own orange backpack from a kit, and head off with everything in this pack. I cried on most of the plane ride there, leaving my then boyfriend, and encountered an act of kindness from the person sitting next to me. He asked me to carry his American camera through customs, I did, and his family drove me to my youth hostel, where I sat i the field, and felt the depth of the cultureshock of it all. I pulled myself up by my metaphorical bootstraps, got settled in my room, and headed out to Notre Dame, sorting out how to use the metro, stunned and in awe by this Cathedral. I arrived back to the youth hostel late, but they were kind enough to serve me some delicious chunky potatoes. I went to dream to study with Marcel Marceau, and by some small miracle, found a job as an au-paire in the suburbs of Paris, in Neuilly, and cared for four children.
I would have half day Saturday's off, and all day on Sundays. While I busied myself on Sundays with museums, on Saturdays, I engaged in other activities, such as jazz dance, and a mime class with another artist. I had not been accepted into the school initially, but did not let this deter me, and decided to go to Paris anyways, and thought, once there, for certain I would be let in.
I loved cooking, and this was encouraged out of necessity by my parents.
In High School, when my mother went back to College, I took on cooking for the family of 8.
My aunt had given me cookbook, the Fannie Farmer cookbook, and from this I learned.
On holidays the cooking extended to baking learning how to make home made pies with home made crusts. At Christmas time, my aunt inspired us with the cookies she would send, and we would bake an abundance of cookies, finding ways to hide them by burying them deep in the big freezer in the garage, from our three older brothers.
They not only scrounged for these cookies to devour them before Christmas, but they would place the candy canes high, beyond our reach on the Christmas tree.
I could have been a Chef, I realize now, and the creativity with cooking would have tucked in quite nicely.
While in Paris, I enrolled in the Cordon Bleu's community cooking class, on Saturdays, for amateurs, and here I was charmed by the magic.
I was most enamored by the pommes on Chemise. Soaking raisins in cherry flavored liquor, peeling and coring apples and dusting them with, I want to say vanilla. Filling the cored apples with the raisin mixture, and then wrapping it in a pastry made not only with butter, but an egg in the center of a well of flower.
I learned the butter must be chilled, and the utensils one uses chilled, but I seem to remember the Chef using his hands for demonstration.
The dessert was served with a sauce sabayon, groan. White wine, sugar, and I want to say egg yolk to thicken it, drizzled over the apple stuffed with kirsch soaked raisins and wrapped in pastry, a favorite dessert.
I went on to make this dish for others, but it has been a long, long, long time since I have baked with such intimacy and find, like so many others, I take the short cut, purchasing pre-baked pie shells, pre-prepared croissants even, that I simply thaw out, and bake.
The creativity though, with cooking, has deepened as I've grown as an artist in other dimensions, as a singer/songwriter, a visual artist, a dancer and dance maker, a poet even, and this creativity goes into making and creating, for others.
A deep somatic connection with the body where one goes into a deep level of intuition and bakes from the body often times find oneself mixing ingredients one had never heard were mixed before to create entirely new dishes.
The key ingredient, I have learned, definitely is care for other people, the desire to be generous, the satisfaction of serving others and blessing them with the old fashioned simplicity of a home cooked meal made with the best ingredients one can muster, organic, local, and lovingly grown.
I am grateful that I've now the time to garden, and can create with veggies I grow myself.
December 7, 2020
Captured Moment Week Two
As I closed my eyes, and listened to the calming sounds set to 528 HZ, and the sound of Eileen's voice, the image of Ellwood's buttery forest, what we called it s kids, this butterfly forest comes to mind, and jumping through this forest over fallen eucalyptus branches on my horse Blaze. An aha bubbles up, of the right knee, that continues to hurt me, and Blaze one ride intentionally attempting to unseat me by jumping too close to the trees and my knee painfully being whacked, and how, that knee, in gymnastics in High School, was hurt. I hobbled around on crutches with water on my knee for quite awhile. This same knee was hurt when I feel down as a waitress, but I had to keep working, and perhaps because I was young, and ate things like liver and onions, well, my body healed, but my heart has not healed, not fully, not quite yet. I settle deeper into the memory of the profound wonder of the groves of eucalyptus full at a particular spot where they no longer are. In fact, they are down 98%, and there are very few left. To be there, as a teen, was the most sacred of Cathedrals I have yet to encounter, one of the unknown wonders of the world. To walk through this glade and witness the laden branches more butterfly than branch and encounter the light through the wings. It was a balm to my soul that exists today. I sit in this moment, in this memory, and I ask Blaze, where-ever he is in horse heaven to forgive me. It is most likely that he experienced pain in his back now that I understand more about horses and their issues and I ask this wonderful soul to forgive me for saddling him and bridling him and running him bareback on the beach. May I grow into the type of person where my interests and passions don't result in harming others, or harm the planet, and as I say this, I think on the toxicity of the paints I use, and just ask the butterflies for wisdom in all of this.
My brother's passing.
My brother Michael came back into my life 4 decades after having little to no contact. I would see him on rare occasion, on a street corner, in passing, once in a very blue moon. He would greet me by my birth name, and move on, making it clear that he did not want to have contact beyond saying hello. I gave him space, and felt pain about his condition, the impact of trauma, but was grateful he had housing and food.
His path was his own.
One of my first memories of my brother was the fight we had over our pet, Thomas, whom I believed followed me home from school. My brother insisted this loving orange tom followed him. He probably followed us both home, is my guess. I don't remember him much in grammar school, other than he was great at cheating at checkers, or Junior High, but have more memories in high school, and my fierce pride of him being a champion CIF wrestler.
There are a lot of painful memories in our relationship, that I simply let go of, and focus on the great beauty of this soul.
I learned at one point, that he was in the hospital, and was resisting treatment for a mass that was found. My brother reached out, and signed paperwork to make medical decisions for him, but some social worker decided to give this to our mother, who believed in miracles and chose to
December 15th, 2020
Writing prompt, scan your memory, of something kind you have done in the past that makes you feel good about yourself?
The first thing that comes to mind is my sister Leilani, who I hold and love so very dearly, and how painful it was for me as a sister to see her struggle with her trauma related mental illness, and then to lose touch with her for nearly a decade, and to discover, when we were reconnected, that I was not well enough myself to have a relationship with her.
The kindest thing I think I have ever done I think is to have the courage to be a resource to my sister. To do the hard hard hard work to heal, and once stable enough, to reach out and develop a relationship with her, and her daughter, and then, to slowly reconnect to other family members.
It took an incredible amount of courage, and this is a quality that I think may have been encouraged by reading the Chronicles of Narnia and the mighty lion Aslan. I think Aslan permanently moved into my heart and gave me courage to not only heal, but to pay it forward.
I remember the first visit, and being with three of her children, with our first stop being a coffee shop, and the joy of placing presents before her, a coloring book I had made myself, and a journal for her to sketch in. In that I had been a life model before, and I knew of her passion for life drawing, I posed for her in the coffee shop, and she drew various poses.
We all drew together with her, each taking a turn writing in her journal.
She had absolutely no self awareness at that time about what was going on in her body, and it took awhile after that to begin to understand her language and to help educate her.
For instance, in relation to eating, and food, she would constantly say she was allergic to this food or that food, and when I began to dig deeper, I realized what she was communicating that there was a correlation between physical pain and eating certain foods. When she ate certain foods, she felt pain, and I realized, that she, like I had been, was triggered by certain foods. She had reduced her diet to just yogurt in that no foods felt safe and they were treating her eating disorder by locking in her a room until she would eat.
I brought in educational literature and began to educate her one little bit at a time and she began to develop language and awareness.
On one trip back to the facility, she had a shocking shift in character, when I dropped her off.
When we talked on the phone after I returned to Santa Barbara, she expressed that it was the cigarettes. Whenever she saw cigarettes she became an identity she called "smoker" who is extremely rude, and crass, and I imagine this part was created in order for her to survive on the streets.
I realized in that moment, she had what I had, DID, and did further research discovering a researcher who contended that people who have DID cannot have schizophrenia and that the different voices were a dissociative condition.
I was with her in that facility three times a day by phone, and would teach her all of the coping skills I had learned to help her cope when she was PTSD triggered, and most importantly, I plugged her back into her passion, her art, in that I believe the most important key to success in recovery is moving from our life work, our Akua given gifts and our reason for being on the planet.
It is weird to think, because of COVID19, we have not seen each other for nearly two years now, in that I couldn't see her last fall, but I trust the wisdom of the journey.
I have been dreaming and imagining a home, a real home for her, and have done creative exercises in relation to this with her, and now, it sounds like she may have a home.
I dream of going up to live with her to get her settled and plugged into healthy community in that I don't believe she has the capacity to live alone and manage by herself, and will need support in learning new skills.
I am happy that my spouse agrees, and he said, just like Windhorse.
So we are on the same page.
This vision makes me so happy I could cry.
But I won't, I'll just give thanks.
December 27th
St. Kevin
When the impossible presents itself, and the heart is moved by compassion and connection, the flow of what is necessary takes over and that which was once perceived of as impossible becomes natural and altogether ordinary. The vibrancy of our interconnected network comes into alignment, sings even, hums, in awe of the simple shift in awareness of the call of the heart, letting go, and being in the flow of what appears necessary, being the nest, the tree, the bird, the season, the eggs, the cycle of life.
January 5, 2020
I had the thought this year, that the New Year I have celebrate, it lines up with the Gregorian Calendar, and what actually does the Gregorian Calendar have to do with how I am presently living. The seed was planted to shift my relationship with American cultural holidays in December, learning of Kwanka, and choosing next year to celebrate that.
I have always ADORED new year, just adored it, and perhaps because there was never any significant trauma ever on New Year's eve. Beginning in November, I would open myself to reflection, about what to do, for change, and growing as a human, beginning in my 20s, and following the counself from the little voice inside, or information from a ceremony from more recent practices, having something to focus on for 12 months, it seemed wonderful.
I've always loved the rush as well, the feeling of a new year, a global celebration, and this year I noted how new year's was a different time around the world, and in the afternoon I began to tune into celebrations in New York City finding someone called the WalkingNewYork Show walking the streets and making her way to where the ball would be dropped, and I found myself drawn to this rather than some other large network program.
I was struck with the sense of her own thought of 2020 being a sucky year and a certain distaste and revulsion over 2020, and was curious about this, in that, there is so much opportunity for growth when there are challenges. It makes no sense to me to hate hard times, but rather, to soften into them, and to be open to new tools and relationships and discoveries about oneself to emerge. To feel the flames of the fire, the heat, and let the heat be a catlyst for burning up old beliefs and ways of acting that prevent one from being more fully in one's joy.
I have decided, I am going to shift next year, and I am going to celebrate a different type of New Year.
Hau'oli makahiki hou.
This is Happy New Year in Hawaiian, and the celebrations for the New Year lasted 4 months.
This year, in 2021, I will begin in November with the sighting of the Pleiades.
So, This year, I will begin star gazing, and learning the skys, which will be easy, because Stephen loved astronomy as a child.
I can see, as I cheat and look up on the internet about it, it is rich with different ceremonies.
These would be wonderful to re-enact.
Warfare was forbiden, and working other than the essentials was forbidden as well!
oh my goodness, I would always say, I am from the Pleiades, and I am just now learning, this is what the ancient hawaiian believed.
https://www.moolelo.com/ancient-celebration.html
https://www.kaahelehawaii.com/makahiki-the-hawaiian-new-year/
The sky was filled with stars last night, raining down poetry, dripping down belly laughs, giggles, and very special delight.
I turned my face to the sky and opened my eyes wide.
I opened my mouth wide.
I opened my heart wide.
I opened my soul wide.
and my spirit danced as the stars raining down poetry rained into my wide open mouth, as the belly laughs and the giggles dripped into my heart, and the very special delight nestled into my soul.
They taught me to touch the thunder beings with free wings and the dance circled the globe raining down love, raining down vision, raining down wisdom, beauty, and healing.
The sky was filled with stars last night and I pulled the night sky up about my shoulders and walked through the cosmos trailing this cloak of stars behind me, never looking back, but only forward, to the possibilities of what could be for the fragile planet of earth and as I walked I talked to all of earth's brothers and sisters and cousins as planets and stars and I asked for their help, for healing on earth, and we had long deep conversations in our dreams.
I have become the sky filled with stars at night and have become a beacon and a navigational system harnessed to the wisdom and wonder of the cosmos.
I have become a chariot of fire and beauty and my reins I have handed over to my keeper, my maker, Akua, and my guides and guardians, unicorns, angels, and the song of the gems and jewels that line your heart, my heart, our hearts, together as one.
January 26th, 2021
In this moment, I actually feel financially secure, and how odd is that, to be accessing $500 a month from the retirement funds I managed to squirrel away while working as an Ombudsman for nearly five years, and then a receptionist for a law firm for 14 years. I am able to do this, because in this moment, my partner is not asking for me to contribute to paying the mortgage on the home which is his property. I am so grateful that my student loan is on an income basis, and because my income in terms of my retirement funds is so low, I won't have to pay on this, or, anytime in the future. I have the potential of a disability payout on the horizon, and if this comes through, then some of my travel desires will manifest, but if it doesn't manifest, I will be just fine, in that my life has included its own fair of adventure when I was younger.
Somehow, in my 30s, or perhaps 40s, I knew to not wait until retirement, but to invest in my dreams and play and travel and pursue passions in that somehow, I had the foresight to see, when one is older, they may not necessarily have the energy.
So, while I did fantasize about winning that last super-lotto, I am content to let go of my largest dream and realize that others will realize it for me. That sometimes to dream it is enough.
In this moment, I have food, in this moment I have shelter, in this moment I have medical care and can afford a trauma therapist for continued support. In this moment I have shelter in a simple lovely little cottage with space in the front yard and the backyard with critters enough to keep me ever entertained. The song of the mockingbird in spring, the day to day connection with the scrub jays, the bunny who lives in the bushes, the lizards, the chipmunks and squirrels, and the hawks that soar during the day and the owls that hoot at night.
The consistency of the sun who brings life, the soft glow of the moon, the wide expanse of the sky.
I have my health in this moment. I have connection to beautiful people.
My partner and I, after nearly 30 years of effort, we have worked out the kinks, and life is good between the two of us.
I have the skills to manage my mental health challenges.
I suppose I would just go on doing as I am now.
Painting, acting, writing, hiking, gardening, studying, being of support to loved ones and families.
With that said, if this windfall comes through, I'll be able to take a big trip and we are thinking, Santa Barbara to Newark, Newark to Dublin for 3 nights to take in plays. Dublin to the Canary Islands for a month. The Canary Islands to Cape Verde for two weeks. Cape Verde to West Africa for two weeks. Back to the Canary Islands for a month. To Portugal for 3 days. To Newark, and home.
I actually can't imagine living this life without my feet touching African soil, in that, I have a very small amount of me from Africa, and I believe connecting with the land of our ancestors is a part of knowing oneself.
Before I die, I hope to discover the name my maker calls me.
I hope to know who I am, where I am from, where I belong, what to call myself.
Doctor: You have 5 years left to live, maybe 10.
Patient: Excuse me?
Doctor: I know your hearing is fine, you have 5 years left to live, maybe 10.
Patient: I heard you, and I put a mirror up and reflect this nocebo back to you. Yes, I know my body has a life threatening illness, but you aren't God, even though you might think you are. I might have 30 seconds to live, I might have 5, I might have 10, and I might surprise you by making a full recovery.
Doctor: Don't get testy with me.
Patient: I will be how I choose to be and I draw a boundary with you and am clearly articulating that your view is not helpful to me in this moment.
Doctor: Oh, well, what do you want from me?
Patient: I'd like you to take it back.
Doctor: Take what back?
Patient: The statement that you have 5 years left to live, maybe 10?
Doctor: How would I do that?
Patient: Repeat the sentence and replace You with I.
Doctor: What did I say?
Patient: You have 5 years left to live, maybe 10.
Doctor: I have 5 years left to live, maybe 10.
Patient: Oh really? what makes you think that.
Doctor: Wow, I think I understand what you are trying to get across.
Patient: So, tell me more doctor, why do you think you only have five years left to live, maybe 10.
Doctor: Oh goodness, I think because my father died at the age I will be in 7 years.
Patient: Do you want the same fate as your father?
Doctor: No.
Patient: Then kindly don't project it on to me.
Doctor: Okay.
Patient: Tell me what my options are, point me in the direction of a second opinion, and tell me stories of others who have succeeded in getting their health back.
Doctor: Others?
Patient: Yes, I assume others have gotten their health back.
Doctor: Well yes, there are quite a few who have survived me.
Patient: Why not launch a survivor support group? Invite me to attend?
Doctor: Well, gosh, then I would have to re-think my relationship with my father.
Patient: That's right, why are you beholden to him?
Doctor: What is your background?
Patient: It doesn't mattter, just answer the question.
Doctor: Because my mum died when I was three, and he cared for me.
Patient: What would your father actually like you to do.
Doctor: (laughs), well, he said he wanted to live to be 101.
Patient: and?
Doctor: I think I am going to set that as a goal so he can live through me to be 101.
Patient: exactly, and now, the group?
Doctor: Let me invite my nurse in, and we can have her take down your ideas, and we'll get the ball rolling.
Patient: Ask me the question again.
Doctor: The first question?
Patient: Yes.
Doctor: Well, you do have some challenges ahead, but I am confident in our ability to come up with a treatment plan that you are comfortable with and your ability to continue enjoying life to the fullest.
Patient: yeahhhhh!!!
February 9. 2021
I don't have bucket list, really, I feel I've done enough, so perhaps my bucket list is continuing on with more of the same.
I would say there are chores left to be done. Sorting out what to do with all of the drawings and paintings and things that have life that I have made. How do I and what do I do with things. I'd like to have much less stuff, so perhaps, I don't know what. Something says start with a website. Oh lordie lordie lordie. But what if I wanted a bucket list for play. I'm already doing what I love to do. Beach swims, hiking, taking classes, spiritual studies, gardening, reading books, unplugging from social media. I'm very content and happy with my life. So, no bucket list. I can journey anywhere in my imagination, the past, the present, the future, and that feels like enough.
I do have a dream, I dream of a better quality of life for my sister, who lives in a psychiatric nursing home. But perhaps this is her lot in life. I don't know. Another thing to journey about.
In some regards, I feels as if my bucket list is so empty I'm ready to go to the heavens and sit with Akua for awhile, and become an ancestor, and go back to reality. But I wonder if that is sorrow that causes me to feel this.
I don't know.
Bucket lists are for pansies and poets, dreamers and screamers
Lists that wrap around waists, paper belts, shredded shawls
Bucket lists are for eating to go through our digestive tract, and gurgle a bit, and for the gut to begin to converse with such a list.
What would my gut say to my bucket list?
I've a few ideas.
To buy a kite, and fly a kite, the one single solitary memory of my brother David where there was actually connection.
Perhaps send him a kite, or not, be free to fly a kite and become the kite in the sky.
For my arms to grow feathers and my back to become strong enough to hold up my wings.
For my hands to become the paws of bear and my belly scaled like a playful fiery dragon.
For my tail bone to sprout a dolphin's tale and my legs to shorten to better be able to scrabble up the rocks.
I'd learn to converse with stones, to speak French again, to learn Spanish, and Hawaiian.
To go sailing and fishing.
To take my niece and my sister to Kauai, the garden island, and have a family vacation.
To write beautiful poetry, write inspiring songs, to grow as an actor.
To be kind, and generous, and a compassionate friend to all in need of a compassionate friend.
To tell stories that cause children's eyes to open wide.
To eat chocolate and carve stones.
To drink wine and guinness once again in celebration of life.
I'd turn over the bucket, and would burn all the lists ever made and conjure up the skill for all to merely be all one desires to be in the container of do no harm, win win for all.
The best pets are the one's that choose you, and in life, I have had a handful. Our first Cat, Thomas, an orange tabby who had a sad end, a sweet tiger manx named Max, whom I accidentially ran over with my then husband's Volkswagen Squareback. I fasted and prayed to Jesus for a week, and the dear thing lived on, only to break my heart and pass from what I don't remember. She was my lifeboat when in a really abysmal marriage. Then came Magnolia, who adopted us from across the street, whom every waking moment while in the house was devoted to treating her like the queens she was. Magnolia died one night sleeping under the covers in bed with me. I heard her cry out at night, and reached out to comfort her, not realizing, she was probably having stroke. She had run up a tree that morning. I was grateful that she died relatively young and that we didn't hang on to her so long like we did Fluffnik. It was one of the most painful days of my life, this dear sweet cat dying. My present partner told me, the morning she died, a hawk came and deposited a rodent at the doorstep. So, presently, we do not have a cat in the home, but this has made room for another animal to adopt us, who doesn't take quite as much work to tend. The female scrub jay. I will never forget our first meeting. She was a young bird, perhaps her first year, and I spied her in the bush outside of the garage which has become my art studio.I began to sing to her, and she began to sing with me. My partner taught her to eat from his palm, and she now eats out of my hand. It is unusual to have a wild bird for a pet, but I am very grateful. Scrub jays live for awhile, so I suspect she will be around for at least another 7 years, that is, if she can stay hidden from the owls that come out at night. The one positive thing about not having a cat around are the other animals that there are more of in the yard, lizards, chipmunks, rabbits, birds, gophers, and squirrels. I miss my cats. I miss them terribly, to this day, and I don't know if my body could stand the loss of another pet.
FEbruary 16, 2021
He has kid eyes, tanned summer skin, a fit thin body, a playful heart, and he is my summertime platonic sweetheart in Switzerland. The summer sessions at Squola Dimitri are short, I believe two weeks per workshop, and the workshop we are in together is taught in a language I don't understand, improvisation, but somehow I know what to do. After our day of play we head to a river to sunbathe, where the fish play in the shallows, and I am curious about how the women sunbathe topless, and I don't remember if I had the courage to do this, but I am imagining yes. On weekends there are longer outings, and I choose to go with the summertime sweetheart in Switzerland hitchhiking to a neighboring valley. A lovely couple picks us up and I think to myself, they seem like angels, their energy. We dine in a small grotto, but I'm not remembering if it is before the hike, or after, and I am thinking after so I flow to the next memory of hiking up this mountainous road, and pausing to drink from a metal ladel at a water fountain with fresh water flowing into the stone basin. We arrive someplace where the mountains are singing and I feel my body singing in harmony with the mountains singing. I am overcome by the immensity of the beauty and softly lower myself to a moss covered boulder, the river raging below and sending up a fine mist. It is in this moment a teaching emerges in my heart, that the greatest work of art of all is creation, and I am a part of this, and this work of art is marked by honesty and integrity. I realize, if I want to make art that harmonizes with this understanding, I needed more honesty in my life,so I choose to shift, to attempt to be more honest, which morphs into becoming a truth quester. I recently drew this card from a deck of oracle cards I have used for a number of years, and drew seek truth, a card I have never drawn. So, I choose in this moment to fiddle with my navigational star and align it once again with truth. I have come to realize that the human journey, or at least for me, this time around, it presents with a single value that seems most predominant, to study, and for me, it has been questing truth. I have many spiritual teachers, and the one of my childhood is purpoted to have said the truth will set you free. I can indeed attest, for me, that pursuing truth has brought me great freedom. Thank you Thomas, thank you Switzerland, thank you Mauna.
Sad and sorrowful, I remember only yesterday, truly, in the 53 degree farenheight swimming hole I go to on Monday's with the love of my life. I decided this time, to only dip three times in the chill to avoid a headache and got out of the water to towel off before my beloved. It hit me, a wave, a wave of sorrow, realizing, that my father, my mixed race Hawaiian father, he lives on through me, in that, he as a child, he too would go to a beautiful pool of water with a waterfall to swim. I did not get to say good-bye to my father. I was daddy's little girl, the first of three girls, and I loved him, and didn't realize that what was being done was wrong, I just assumed that all little girls experienced this. My father, when he was a child, he was dressed up like a girl by his mother who wanted a daughter, and she curled his hair especially to be like a girls. He was replaced eventually by a daughter. My father knew trauma. He was raped by an uncle, the kids were beaten with a hose to hide bruises, they threw their kittens in a bag in a river and drowned them. His trauma was passed on to me and I was molested by my father. I was choked with a tie around my neck by my father. I was sold for sexual touch to engineers to help pay the bills. I was sold for bizarre medical experimentation. He and an uncle made films of my naked body when I was under five. To spite all of this, there was a time when I was daddy's little girl, and I loved my father. We grew to be estranged, and the last thing I heard from him, was an answering machine message telling me he was praying for the destruction of my flesh for the salvation of my soul. I used this message in my master's thesis, and made art out of it. He reached out to me, when he was dying, and I did not know he was dying, but I was too afraid to talk to him as I was still in the throes of healing. Now that so much healing is behind me, I find there is space to grieve, and I grieve for the loss of my father. It hurts, it hurts very, very very deeply, and in this moment it feels like a gaping wound that doesn't know how to close, so I fill it with the cold water from this swimming hole I visit every Monday and I let the rock people sing to my heart, I let the old feelings and thoughts and beliefs that tear at the heart go, and watch them float down river, dissipating into time, who is the greatest healer yet. I still have a boundary with my father, through the veil, and while he came to me in a dream, I did as one individual suggested, to send him away, I wonder about this, but, I have set a boundary, to not connect in this lifetime, it will take that much and more, to heal. The best gift we can give is space. I do welcome feeling his presence somehow, and it always comes through Iz's song, somewhere over the rainbow, and I give him love through the veil.
Pepuali 23, 2021
Who in the world would you want to be? Shall I be you and you be me? What color is your blood? red, so my blood as your blood is red too. How tall are your relative to my petiteness, taller, so I will be taller to see this new vantage point, and you can be more petite to feel what it is like to stand on tippy toes to reach things. What is your favorite color, pink, as is mine, so we share the same favorite color. What were your favorite stories when you were a child? Oh, you liked action figure stories, I liked bible stories, so you can live in the bible stories and I am going to become one of your action figures and, oh yes, you can set aside the bible stories if you like, and you can adventure with me, this person I would like to be, if I could be anyone in the world, I would be you, and you me, because we are one and the same. I really donʻt want to swap shoes because I love the shoes I walk in, but well, in that you can adventure anywhere I adventure to Mars with you as a first space traveller from this planet and we together create a no war zone and advocate for the planet and draw a boundary with humans. No, you cannot come here until you have cleaned up your mess you have left in space and clean up the mess you have made on earth. You are not to be trusted with another planet. Why would we get to go? Because the only way we can get there now is to adventure with the shamans drum and talk to Mars and learn from Mars. Oh what a convaluted story this is, if I could be one person, right now, I think I would ask to borrow Jesus, Buddha, and Muhammed, and the spiritual figures who have been morphed into belief systems that cause harm, weʻd come rolled up in one and roar loud, like the loudest lion, and all injustice would just stop and we would simply change the rules of being allowed to play on this planet, the earth would giggle, the species would be saved from mass extinction, and oh, my it is too tiring to try and be anyone other than me so I give your tallness back to you, but I do keep the story swap, and bring this to a confused close with a single dot, a period, so there.
I would be a rock, a mountain, a boulder, a pebble, a grain of sand. But I am this already. I would be a bird, a vaccum cleaner, a guitar, a paintbrush, Van Gogh, a rug. But I am this already. I would be an alien, a monster, a gremlin, a cheat, a hero, a ghoul. But I am this already. I would be joy, I would be sunshine, I would be forgiveness, I would be aloha. But I am this already. I would be music, I would be wind, I would be rain, I would be healing, I would be comfort, I would be inspiration. But I am this already. I would be the dance with no body, the poem with no words, the laughter with no belly. But I am this already. I would strip away everything and just be what I am, everything, a part of everyone, and everything, a slow sacred act of a single solitary moment that holds everything and nothing all on the pin of an unseen needle weeping rainbows, giggling soundlessly.
March 2, 2021
The day is March 2, 2021 and I am seated in a rocker with a square green cushion and slats against my back. The air is mild, temperate, and a breeze that is ever so subtle. It is my first day of a new awareness that I have shifted from living life as if I am on vacation to I am on permanent retreat, and in the flow of retreat my days organize differently. Iʻve chanted my morning prayers, sang alenkars, recollected a dream of a giant butterfly that wept as is died, dark tears, and I marvelled at its choice of where to die, on concrete, outside of a lush abode that had a sacred feel to it. Iʻve dined on a two egg omelet with goats cheese, pungent, cloaked in herbs and exactly six prunes, two brazil nuts, a handful of supplements and jalapeno sauerkraut. Iʻve sat in two breema meditations and lifted weights focusing on growing bones and pruned the garden. This hardly feels like a very rich description, a mere stating of activity until I come to sit, and practice stillness. In the stillness, I hear the arrival of my friends, the thick flutter through air of a scrub jay who perches on the plum tree. The laundry is hung on lines about me, towels now dried shifting ever so slightly in the wind, each plant in my field of vision dancing its own subtle dance, the staghorn fern, which has grown massive since I first brought it home with its few fronds, the bright red oxalis, the crimson geranium buds, and there the bird sits. The mate arrives, and I realize, the male is the first to arrive, and he, like me, he just sits on his perch at one with everything observing. The female arrives and my meditation shifts to include being present with our ritual of feeding. They have us well trained these two. Rising from the rocker my inner child rushes in excitement to the sliding glass door to tell my own partner, the jays. He hands me the yugurt container full of worms and I find my seat again in the rocker and fill my hands with worms once again. She comes and perches on my hand, and my eye graces her feet, her claws gently grasping the edge of my hand and she takes her time selecting a smaller dried worm and eating. My eyes trace the colors of her form, the beautiful blue edged with grey and a grey band along her back. Two delicate white lines of feathers about her eyes. She eats, pauses, locks, and pecks again before filling her beak to flutter over the clothes line to the outer part of the garden to bury her treasures. I scatter worms on the concrete patio for the male, but the female gathers a few first. I become become one in this joy of this very special shared relationship, and observe, the male eventually comes to eat what is left. It is time for journalling, I know this, and I look at the scrub jay couple in the plum tree side by side, birds that mate for life, and am grateful I have found my mate, and the joy we also know of feeding each other, and being wing to wing soaring through life, with gratitude and awareness.
First communion
They lined us up, shortest to tallest, and we were paired up with someone of different sexual biology. It was my first communion. There is a lot I still donʻt remember about my experiences in the catholic church and there are things I choose to not share in that I want to focus on the positive. Of late, I have returned to singing, and I dreamed of a singer last night. I was coaching her. She had blonde hair and she didnʻt have the ability to look me in the eye and she found her own installation and sang there, as beautiful as a nightengale, in her own natural envirnoment, before falling from a very high distance and I wondered if she had harmed herself. My first memory of singing is at this Catholic School, Saint Brunos, and as with the first communion, it was a moment of feeling special. My sister Leilani calls them the dirty nuns with rulers, and yes, she too shares less than stellar memories, but again I let those dissipate and glean the happier moments. I was dressed up in a pale blue cardboard teacup and sang, Iʻm a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle and here is my spout, when you tip me over then I. I donʻt remember the rest of the verse, but I remember how glorious it felt to sing. It felt wonderful to go through the rite of passage of first communion, and while I loved Jesus, at some point, the structure of the religion no longer made sense to me, the connection remained, but the walls slowly crumbled down, and here I am now, sitting with white hairs remembering the special feeling of being the shortest, and the first to receive my first communinion of all the others. A very special white dress with small white flowers, a veil, and it was my day, we went to the restaurant of my choice, the international house of pancakes and I ate pigs in a blanket with applesauce and maple syrup. Oh how I love maple syrup. I had a photo of this special day and gave it to my sister, who lost it, so all that remains is the memory of this very special day, of my first communion, and establishing a connection with my first teacher, Jesus, and an awareness of angels, and today, the little girl who loves to sing, is now singing, and the little girl that loves to pray, prays, but now we pray in Hawaiian, and we pray in a way that lines up with our indigenous sensibility and rest in a practice on a path on the same mountain we are all on, and brings a sense of ahh, of wonder, of balance, and it is all good with my soul, my body, my mind, my heart, my imagination, this world and all worlds swirling in a cosmos murmuring mysteries known and unknown.
I stood in khaki pants, a coffee colored hoodie, and hiking boots for support, at the cusp of my studio, the garage door flung wide open. I stood with my hands in my pocket, heart wide open, in a standing meditation, watching all that moves. Poetry began to move through my thoughts as I stood, head uplifted, watching the bird sing. Not any ordinary song, but a song of love and seeking his mate for this season, a song of many songs gathered from other birds. I watched his gullet move, his head look this way and that. My ears began to watch the movement of the california grey dove. I watched this fine singer drop one dropping, then open his beak after awhile and drop a pellet from his beak, and after awhile longer he dropped another dropping, good luck I hear a friend say in my ear, might I stand beneath you and receive this blessing or is witnessing. I watched the movement of the spotted towhee, glorious in his rust colored breast, black head, and white splotches on his wings, and I watched his mate come, but no before the pair of linnets had visited the apricot tree directly opposite the fine singer. Different species the brain said and I watched this thought and I watched my thoughts thinking of the man who advised simplicity, just watch what moves so I watched what moved. I watched the energy go out the soles of my feet and into the earth as I allowed myself to ground. I watched both Towhees zip from the honeysuckle hedge to the lemon tree and watched their movement as they flew the scrub and moved about. I watched the male Towhee come to the bird bath I had just filled that morning. A simple affair, a clay flat dish, wide, and with several heart shaped rocks placed inside. I watched the bird bath, dipping his breast, fluttering his wings, waggling his tail. I watched the towhee fly back to the hedge and flutter his tail, preen under his wings, and continue his bathing ritual, readying himself for the rite of spring.
30 things that make me smile
when my partner smiles at me.
when I feed the scrub jay from my hand.
when I am talking to my sister and supporting her.
when I am acting.
When I sing.
Some things on TV shows/movies
Watching the Fresian horses on youtube
Watching animal videos on youtube
sitting in the sun at the beach after a dip in the ocean
Playing my uke and playing my guitar
Doing something nice for somebody else
Being generous
Getting pottery out of the kiln after it is glazed, it feels like Christmas
Having my art exhibited or performed
Seeing children play, playing with children
studying Hawaiian in a group
laughing in the SH groups, the fun we have
reading something funny in a book
reading funny sayings that go with funny animal pictures
being on a plane travelling somewhere
learning something new
kayaking off the waters of Santa Cruz islands and the ocean spraying water on us.
seeing the worms wriggle when I am gardening
seeing the hawks in the sky
skinny dipping in a creek
people loving the food I cook, hosting a party
cleaning up messes
writing
taking photos, painting, drawing
writing songs and sharing the songs.
being mischevious
seeing seedlings sprout from seeds Iʻve planted
a beautiful sunset or sunrise
winning and being number one on Duolingo (I now donʻt find it fun)
riding a bicyle
eating ice cream or chocolate or almond croissants
reminising about previous adventures
Giving something to someone who is homeless
Vacationing
One of the things I dreamed of, if I were to be approved for disability, was a family vacation. When we were little children, I remember a family vacation to Oahu, which, from my motherʻs recollection, was very unhappy because we were not welcomed by my grandmother. But I remember being charmed to go to Oahu and a very strange recollection that may have been a dream to where the bones of ancestors were up a rugged trail. When we were older, living in Goleta, we would have a vacation every year for a week or two at El Capitan and oh how we loved that. It wasnʻt so comfortable sleeping sometimes two to a sleeping bag, and it may be where I developed the claustrophobia, but there were other small wonders. I especially loved the camp store, and buying snacks. I loved the coppertone suntan oil and how dark our skin would get with the summer sun. Oh how we laughed riding the mats on the waves before the era of boogie boards and to spite shivering we would say in the water for ages. I loved the little ground squirrels, cooking donuts, and all kinds of camp food.
As an adult, my first vacation was in the Swiss Alps. I moved to Paris for a short while to work as an au-paire and I was given a holiday at Christmas and I travelled on a ski vacation with a group where I had a massive crush on a handsome young Scotsman. I started out on the bunny slope, but within a few days I had advanced, and by the end of the week, I went down a double black diamond slope. I will never forget the terror of seeing the person in front of me tumble, but somehow I managed to get down the slope. I loved the hot spiced wine! Also while living in Paris I would vacation with the family. Twice to Le Croisic, the home of one set of grandparents, where I would witness a drastic ebb and flow of the tides, and one to a beautiful chateau near the swiss border with berry groves, a pool, a pool table, and a dairy next door. I remember the shock of seeing the hounds being tossed rare meat from the table and the exquisite joy of going to the farmer next door to get fresh milk. If you have never had fresh milk from a farmery, I would definitely put this on your bucket list! I can still hear the sound of the pingpongs as we played pingong in a chilly playroom. Also while in France we vacationed at a French chalet where I had the opportunity to ski in the afternoons when the parents took a break, or was it the other way around, I donʻt remember.
April 20, 2020
What are five things I am really good at.
Oh goodness, what am I really good at?
I think I am really good at being a positive, helping, loving, and considerate person. I genuinely care about people, and my environment, and all of my relations for that matter. For instance, although the gopher in the front yard makes a big mess, when I saw him today, with his cute little nose poking out of his hole, I couldnʻt help at feeling a wave of love for him.
I am also good I think at ideas, and love ideas, and I love thinking. Iʻm a really good thinker, and I am growing to in my ability to watch and be aware of my thoughts. I think the idea realm also goes hand in hand with creativity and I somehow understand that I am a very creative person with people in the past having coined me as an artist in the truest sense of the world.
I am very good at being curious and enjoy self-discovery and learning. I donʻt have a paragraph to write about this. Or perhaps I am avoiding this. I remember asking my mother incessantly, why, and often times she would say, I donʻt know, which led to a lifelong pleasure in figuring things out myself and finding my own way. Struggling and puzzling something out.
Iʻm really good at cooking from scratch without a cookbook, and getting in the flow, especially if I am cooking for other people. My favorite food category of late has been pancakes which my partner calls the worlds best pancakes. This week I spiced them with cinnamon, tumeric and ginger and added pea protein powder, almond meal, muesli, eggs, coconut milk, and dried cherries. yum!
I am good at being true to the beat of my own drummer and being true to my own conscience which also ties into being good at sensing intuition and harnessing these gifts to help myself and others.
Catherine
My favorite dessert is you.
The sound of your voice, your friendship, your generosity of spirit, and kindness of heart.
You have no calories and knowing you is absolutely scrumptious.
July 13, 2021
I feel numb
an empty page
wanting to be written
with no writing implement yet invented
i wait
in stillness
watching and waiting for the invention to simply appear
but it doesnʻt
so i wait some more
all alone
lonely
wondering what is going on beyond my empty page
i can hear the sound of the Latino workmen, jolly, building a playhouse in our garden
i can see the wind move by way of the dancing lime green and yellow leaves outside the bank of windows
i can feel the support of my bed
and now, i can name the feeling
raw, fragile
i did it today
i declared in a court of law that i had a vision of helping others recover
i dared to speak this
it just blurted out, as if it had to be stated, that so little was available in way of resources, to be a voice
i dared to utter this
and now
i am an empty page
who has the pen that can put this vision on paper
is it me?
is it you?
is it us?
is it just a dream that will always remain a dream?
is this cycle meant to repeat over and over, or is it meant to cease?
i donʻt know
i am just an empty piece of paper with thoughts that seem to come and go as do the clouds that appear and vanish and sometimes gift us with glorious colors as brother sun comes and goes from dawn to dusk
so, i close my eyes and roll myself up, this blank piece of paper, a comforter, and i settle into a nice long nap.
while i doze letters appear on the blank piece of paper
i am no longer alone
----
A crown of sunflowers from a single stock
a shock of vivid yellow with dark centers
she stands within the safe borders of her bed of rock
the sound of wind chimes wafting on the mid-day breeze, to beauty my soul surrenders
the call of ripe tomatoes drooping from the thick green vines
enlivens my taste buds in happy anticipation
it is a lazy afternoon and into this garden view i do recline
in this moment, nothing is lost in translation
your many moons of hard hard work
tending the inner fields and inner wounded warriors
not once your kuleana did you ever shirk
in this work youʻve outdone the quarrier
and now, my gift to you
this happy home and happy life
time to paint for others their color blue
butter on warm bread spread with the finest knife
----
Where do they come from these little figures in clay
when my hands go to work, they simply show up to play
pushing, and pulling, tossing and throwing, pinching, and punching
their forms make themselves known
is this how i was made
did my maker toss me on his wheel
did whatever brought me into being smile as i smile now
observing this quiet figurine gone through the kiln not once, but twice, sticking its white tongue out at the slow growing lemon cucumber.
oh how often Iʻve been put through the kiln
tried and tested
broken and mended
when death comes what will remain
ash
scattered in the winds
consumed by all that is true, good, wise, and beautiful
and perhaps i too will settle in a bank of clay
to be played with by some descendant
and my hope is
that i will be able to further the great delight
July 27, 2021
In the stillness
of the hour
of the moment
of the fold
in the space that contains time
is a wrinkle
a fold
a flap
that giggles and tickles and teases
in such a place
the light shines bright
a magic eraser that first reveals what seeks to be revealed
unearths what seeks to be unearthed
so it is part shovel as well
a magic eraser beyond the slate boards
soothes
epochs of pain, misunderstanding, bigotry, fear, judgement
revealing
we all wear underwear
sometimes
we all bathe naked
in the colors of our own rainbows uttering the hoʻoponopono prayer
i love you, i am sorry, please forgive me, thank you
the illuminated path teaches us to forgive, but not forget
the magic eraser wipes away the woes
and we stand
scarless
free
at last
This time next year, what would I like to be different
Purple moons, Invisible suns
What if the moon were purple, and the sun invisible
What if all the warmth went away
Would the love in our heartʻs explode to compensate?
Would all the skeletons in all of the closets of all of time come out free at last to tell all those stories in the cover of dark?
This time, next year, would be another time in the dry season, what we call summer
It is my hope that all of the skeletons I personally know and feel, that they all have their day in poetry
and that from the four cardinal directions
they come
From east, my motherʻs fatherʻs line, the place of the rising sun, spring
From the south, my fatherʻs fatherʻs line, the place of the midday sun, summer
From the west, my motherʻs motherʻs line, the place of the setting sun, fall
From the north, my fatherʻs motherʻs line, the place of the beyond, winter
May the unwell ancestors come
to slip and slide and dance in on and through the ancient rainbow bridge
where we all step aside and let the invisible and infinitely wise and connected send them home
to connect with their ohana
and be renewed
What qualities do you seek in a friend.
I am my own best friend, and qualities within myself include, empathy, compassion, honesty, curiosity, ferocity, playfulness, spirituality, creativity, heart, and I own my shit. I am willing to do the work. I am really committed to self-growth and committed to being a positive influence in the world. I will go the extra mile for others. I am highly intuitive. We tend to like being with people like ourselves, so I appreciate in friendship:
Honesty
Patience
Beauty
Humor
Curiosity
Intelligence
Compassion
Supportive
Insightful
Determined
I also love to exercise, and art, and enjoy friendships that include exercise, art, and spirtual things, or some common vision or goal.
What is your favorite kind of pet and describe why.
My favorite kind of pet is my partner Stephen. Ha, ha, ha. But also, I think the scrub jay, which I call Makuahine lalo, boss mom.
My pet Stephen is so incredibly loyal, and loving, and patient. He feels so good to hug in the morning with a loving chest that makes a very good pillow. I especially like to sling one leg over his long and lanky body. It feels so good. My pet Stephen knows how to take his own space and do his own thing and he lets me take my own space and do my own thing. My pet Stephen is a wonderful artist, and he is very conscientious when the piano playing is a bit loud.
Why is he such a good pet?
I donʻt know.
What about the scrub jay?
Sheʻs a good pet because sheʻs wild and this connection helps me to connect to the wild. She is low maintance, so if we go on holiday, I donʻt worry about her. She knows how to take care of herself. She is humorous, something about her and her family, they are really humorous.
I miss my cat Magnolia, she was a great pet.
She definitley owned us. I think a good pet knows who is boss, and I know, Iʻm not the boss, that the pet on some level is boss of me, although, well, Stephen and I, we let each other be our own boss, but we definitely do support and encourage each other.
Ah, a good pet helps us connect to our heart, to feel love, and to be the best we can be.
Ah, a good pet has a restorative and inspirational quality.
Ah, a good pet, listens, unconditionally, and doesnʻt try and fix anything.
Ah, a good pet, gives their good vibes because they care about you.
Ah, a good pet is a wonderful companion.
My heart is heavy, my body is tired, but Iʻm also feeling happiness.
Being human is a mixed bag.
What is in the mixed bag of you?
If we were to open up your bag and spill out your contents, what would it tell us about you?
What is beyond the mixed bag of you.
After all, I am just one of many mixed bags, and somehow, we are all connected by some glorious magic.
Do you like to share all that is in your mixed bag?
Or, are there bits and pieces youʻve tucked away, hidden, secret.
Can you share these secrets with yourself at least? Give them up to the angels, the guides, the guardians, the sprites, the nature spirits, the thunder beings.
Secrets are too weighty to hang on to, so go ahead, letʻs just dump all of our contents out and let them be seen, air it all out, and let be what will be.
August 31, 2021
Change, alchemy, making and re-making
It has been my most loyal companion through this life partnering the desire for this very thing
Change
as in loose change?
Well, yes, and no, it depends on the game.
Shall we flip?
Flip?
Yes.
Flip what?
The coins?
What for?
To read the signs of where to go and to do what in order to bring about the change you desire.
Well, I hadnʻt thought of that.
Try it.
Okay, here goes
(rattle, shake, shake, rattle, rattle)
Ah, one coin lands spinning and continues to spin on its head while all the others land with heads up.
Go ahead the inner voice prompts, turn them over.
One by one the coins are turned over and each one, rather than having a head, has its very own story.
Oh my goodness, this is too precious for words.
Yes, exactly that, life is precious your life is precious, simply be like the spinning coin dancing on its edge for a bit, donʻt worry how it lands and where it lands or if it lands at all.
Let the decision to be as you are and to let the process be the purpose, let this be the hand on your being as a lump of clay that fashions whatever it is that seeks to come next, no stress, and keep following the trail, the very narrow trail, suspended in space on a very narrow wire.
You can use a pole for balance, and then let go of that, then let go of the wire even.
Walk on air because you are the air.
Ahh, they says, I like that.
My purpose is the process and I walk on air because I am air.
Breathing in I breathe in joy, and exhale joy.
Breath in I breathe in happiness, and exhale happiness.
Breath in equanimity, and exhale equanimity.
The three remaining mindfulness cards in the deck weʻve been shuffling for years, ever changing, ever growing, every evolving into just being, not doing.
September 28, 2021
Summer is passing, and with it comes apprehension along with excitement, new challenges, learning to love this season rather than dread it. Iʻve been tracking joy lately, and this helps, rather than focus on the dark things in life, and the negative moods, to just observe, what brings a spark of happiness, or joy, and to look for this. Lo and behold it does exist, so with summer passing and fall arriving, with it, comes this present practice of tracking joy. Iʻm reminded last night of bursting out laughing so hard I thought I would pee my panties. I was out walking with Stephen around 8:30 pm, and lo and behold, he caused me to laugh with his new exercise regime. Usually he walks very leisurely and moves very slow as a large person, while I, a petite person, move much more quickly. He started to walk in a super fast walk with his long legs eating up the ashpalt, I cried out, you are the bionic man. Now everytime I need a laugh, I know, I can ask him to do the bionic man walk and I can watch him burn the rubber off of his tennis shoes. I am tracking what experiences what make me feel less well as well, and I hold those things close to my chest, and will adjust my life so as to do less of what I find aggravating and leave more time for joy. Such as this morning. I sat with a meditation group and we did a lovely meditation of thinking I wish you healing, I wish you safety, I wish you love, I wish you happiness. Then you do it for a stranger, then for someone who you may be in conflict with. I went out into the day at 6:30 am and felt so wonderful seeing the early exercisers and the early dog walkers out, and so, so, so happy to see the ducks at Alice Keck Park, where I plucked some flowers, and plucked some more along the way. I saw someone moving very, very, very slowly with an aide, and gave the flowers to the aide, who smiled so brightly, and noticed how doing kind things to others helps me feel happy, so, I could go on and on, into summer passing, and I am eager for the Fall, for observing big shifts in my being and old patterns broken, let this be my first Fall depression free.
What do I like most about myself?
I am drawing a blank. A big blank. It is a blank screen. A blank wall. A big question mark, an open field with no seeds, I draw a blank, a blank as in a gun with no bullets, thank goodness, but some little imp inside is jumping up and down on the bed he/she is not supposed to jump on, but what the heck, go ahead, jump, and the little one inside says. C R E A T I V I T Y. You have always been a highly imaginative person and a very creative person and you have chosen to use these gifts to help rather than harm, you have been very wise. Another part of me jumps up and down, skipping rope this time, and sing song says, in an image actually, gives me a mental picture this morning, of words coming out of Stephenʻs mouth, and him expressing that the research now shows one ought not throw rocks or beat up a punching back if one is angry, but do other things. I commented, hmm., I have chose to do something with it, like write poetry, and he commented yes, you have chosen to take that energy and make something good out of it. I call this creative alchemy, and see myself, when I do this, as a wizard, a magician, a magic maker, which makes me smile. So, I am creative, I am a magic maker. Another part holds up a big sign with one word on it in big bold letters, my cheerleader. Give me an H. H. Give me an E. E. Give me an A. A. Give me an L. L. Give me an E. E. Give me an R. R. What does that spell? Healer. What does that spell. Healer. What does that spell? Healer. You have done it, in collaboration with your guides, and guardians, and healers, you have healed from DID and from PTSD. It is true, although you do have little upsets, and do sometimes feel a bit depersonalized, really, you have let your body heal and discovered your way, so, by default this makes you a healer, a wounded healer they say, but rather than a wounded healer, if I have no wounds left, I have the little breaks and fractures that I fill with gold like the Japanese do, to make kintsugi, You have made a beautiful life from all the fragments and lost pieces, youʻve diligently searched and brought all the lost ones home and integrated them and made space to be the full you, and your vessel now has the memory of this, filling in the breaks with kintsugi gold, you are a Creative Alchemmical Kintsugi Healer and now that you have healed yourself, and healed some of the world, you can retire, just go ahead, and have fun!
Chose a body part
Itʻs a no-brainer, my brain. Oh goodness, scary topic, is the brain a body part? Well, it is a part of the body, its a part, and it takes up so much space, in that, well, thinking, my brain it thinks alot. Rather than get irritated about my brain thinking so much, I just accept, Iʻm a thinker, a big thinker, a deep thinker, a silly thinker. I notice with many many many years of work, the negative thoughts are very rare when once upon a time a positive thought was very very very rare. The brain is elastic I am discovering, and it can recover, and this excites me, it excites me alot. Right now my brain is snatching at phrases of Hawaiian music in the other room as my beloved Stephen is at the computer working on breaking down a different version of a song I have been working on for 8 weeks! It is very, very difficult, and today was the first day I sang along and managed to play the uke while listening to the singer. He was kind enough to find a different version which will be easier for me to sing, and learn, because the other singer, although singing beautifully, is definitely off key, and it is very hard to learn something when the singer is singing off key. So, see, there the brain did its thing it went where it wanted to go. I ask my brain, why is my tongue tight? How can I fix this? This is my one present curiosity, tight jaw, tight tongue...hmmm... it will loosen up after therapy... it always does. Brain, big, bold beautiful, believable, likeable, and with a very expensive platinum coil in a small vein in my brain that was threatening to burst, doing away with the lightening rod fierce type of headaches. Brain, my body has a brain too, did you know that? It thinks, and my therapist always says, when we are tracking the journey, to ask your body, not your brain, which way it wants to breath, and my body as a body part is another story which I save for another day, my brain gives me a mental picture of tonight, groan, the dreaded colonoscopy, off it goes, down another channel, but here, I am going to trap it with a period. Done.
I am thrilled, the changes in the one room in the house that is my domain, and my domain alone, well, accept for the family printer. After a big change, or a shift, I go wild and tear it apart and shed "stuff" and then rearrange things. It is like an itch that just has to be itched. This time I went through my closet and the shirts I hadnʻt worn in 8 months, they went into a thrift shop bag, clean of course. I pulled off all the ceramics and things off of one set of book shelves I made by hand and stacked them on another and made space, for the table that had been sitting in our backyard for a good part of summer when we had our bedroom carpets pulled out. The plan was to pass this on to someone else, but I LOVE this little maple table so much I made space for it, and here it is, I have an official workspace now and it faces outside into the garen where I can see hibiscus blooming, I can see ripe purple peppers in our new raised garden bed, and bright pink zinnias. On my desk is a sweet small white orchid blooming, and a bouquet of flowers that is so sweet as well that I couldnʻt resist at trader joes for $4.99. Now how can the farmer manage that. On the desk is the ONE single organizer for holding paper. Other important papers are in my guitar, for quick exit in event of fire. I can see my stapler, my hole punch, a pad of watercolor paper and my Na Kai ʻEwalu beginning Hawaiian book, a beautiful ceramic dish, my calculator, a coffee cup, and my fingers typing. It feels so good to have a desk to write at and I imagine, somehow, a new career blossoming from this, and wonder what it will be, in these fun years of retirement, do I need to bring more money in? I do if I want to travel, but gosh, then, well, I set that aside for another day and just enjoy the feel of my rump on my chair and being able to type properly seated in my room freshly re-organized with just a few things to sort out where to store. Thatʻs all folks!