Radical Gratitude

Thankfulness brings you to the place where the Beloved lives. ~Rumi

I'm often surprised by how people are surprised by my level of gratitude. Even when the proverbial shit is hitting the fan, I'm usually experiencing and expressing some degree of gratitude. There was a time even I might have looked at me now and been surprised. But these days it's become such a part of my outlook, I'm often like: what? Big deal. Yeah I'm grateful AND I'm crushed, scared, unsure, angry, and lost. And grateful. All at once. Neato, huh?

I credit this to years of daily gratitude practice. One of my first teachers used to have me do this when I was feeling sorry for myself: open the refrigerator door, stand there and say, "Thank you for the mayonnaise. Thank you for the apples. Thank you for the eggs. Thank you for the soy sauce. Thank you for the bell pepper (but I'm allergic! Say it anyway...). Thank you for the moldy bread."  Okay, maybe not the moldy bread. But then again, maybe. It's all in how you look at it. There was a time I was so hungry, I would've eaten that fuzzy semi-sentient mass in the corner (seriously- you don't even wanna know!). But now, I am blessed with such an abundance, I can just throw it on the compost pile and resolve to not let it get moldy next time.

Later, other pain in the ass teachers had me do things like make gratitude lists, thank people for teaching me through adversity, look for gifts in every wound, yadda yadda yadda. It's sometimes tedious when I'm just getting a good run of suffering going to toss some gratitude in the soup, but it always helps loosen things up a bit, balance things out some. After all, there's rarely ALL curses or ALL blessings happening at any given time.

This may sound like a lotta silly frilly nonsense, but it works. Go ahead, keep shying away because you're too cool. You can hang onto your victimhood as long as you like. If that mojo is still workin for you, keep at it. Me, I got tired.

And I tell you this- this kind of silly frilly shit has saved my life over and over again. The simple little magics that I thought were ridiculous and silly and way, waaaaay beneath me; these things have been my salvation. I was finally so tired that I didn't have the energy to be too cool for anything. I got smarter, way more foolish and a helluva lot more alive and okayish.

Ye Olde Gratitude Onion

These are the ways of radical trust and gratitude. This is the kind of gratitude practice that takes it far beyond Polly Anna style "everything's groovy and I'm gonna plaster a smile on my face". This is gratitude that coexists quite nicely next to terror, pain and full on raging rebellion. Yes, I will have it all, thank you very much.



The path I came to embrace (when I wasn't running screaming from it) is one of radical inclusion, radical living, radical showing up for every nuance of what's actually there, as much as possible. No pretending. Sometimes a little acting for the purpose of practice, but acting is not lying to oneself or anyone else- acting is conscious, honest playing. Not the same thing as faking with the intention of fooling.

So, here I am-  In my worst moments, I'm grateful I have a heart to break, 'cause there was a time I could feel almost nothing and walked around in a daze of foggy numbed out survivitude wondering what the point was. I'm so so so grateful for a fully functioning emotional life, that I can feel a range of things on a daily basis and that I have language for those things and people who speak it with me.

I'm still living with this Lyme disease thing, in pain most days, exhausted almost every day and still grateful. I can be mad and whiny and hurting and still be grateful.In my worst moments, I'm grateful for the ability to walk, even though it hurts like hell- at least I'm off the couch and I still have this body to maneuver. We're in bodies such a short time. Even a hurting body is better than no body, which will come soon enough. Though honestly, at some of my worster times I have not thought a hurting body was better and I just wanted out, but that was while ago, and a rare and especially horrible time- a time for which I am now grateful. It taught me a lot, but mostly I'm  just grateful not to be there right now. This pain is just a nuisance, but it's also a precious, if fierce, teacher.

There's more. Oh, so much more. I don't even know what I'm expressing gratitude TO. And it doesn't matter. The benefits are mine and undeniable. That's what counts in my world. Does it work? Meaning, does it bring me closer to where I want to be in terms of my living and feeling and being? Then I don't care how silly it may seem. If it helps me, I'm in.

Here's my gratitude list for today:

I have a bed to sleep in.
I have awesome new jeans and don't have to shop again for another six months. Woot!
I am fed and warm (but not too warm).
I have coffee and the means to make me some.
I have time to write and I'm using it.

I have things to say and I'm willing to be a fool and say them. Out loud. Where people can hear me.

I have so very very much love in my life. I'm grateful to be able to explore the many facets of those loves without having to consider the affects on someone else. For this reason and others, it's really amazingly wonderful to be single.

I'm grateful for the state of homelessness at this point in my life, as it affords me profound freedom.

I'm profoundly grateful for all the people that say, "don't leave", "stay as long as you like", "come back soon", when for years all I heard was "get. the. fuck. out." and "lose my number". I was a mess. Jeeze- I love that mess I was, but it's so wonderful to be cherished and fought over. There was a time I thought the day would never come and I'm still regularly stunned to be wanted in such a way. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

and dark in the light.... 

I am grateful for a heart that breaks, a body that aches, a soul that longs, dreams that are as long and deep as the ocean, that will never ever be fully satisfied in one lifetime. Boredom? Really?!?!


I'm grateful for brown eyes that make me forget what I was going to say when I look into them. I'm grateful that this can still amaze and humble me (I wonder if you will read this and I will be yet further humbled...).

I'm glad to be so easily amused, entertained, moved and awed. I see magic everywhere.

I'm grateful for the people who made me make silly gratitude lists, as a way to remind me to keep balanced in the midst of challenge. They taught me to see the whole truth, which isn't just about what's hard (or denying that), but also what's working, what's beautiful. They taught me that it's all lifey and that's what it's all about- showing up for the real. I'm grateful for my own willingness to do silly things, to be teachable.

There's a woman in a group I admin on Facebook who's regularly posting snippets of gratitude. It's been a beautiful reminder. Thank you Cari. I'm grateful for your new found friendship and the way your living ripples out and affects mine in such a beautiful way. You are the inspiration for this post.

The Daddy Shirt 

Thank you for the peanut butter.
Thank you for my car and my sleeping bag.
Thank you for vitamins.
Thank you for puppy smell.
Thank you for the Daddy shirt that makes me smile.
Thank you for my son and his lovely love.









I'm grateful for all of you and this amazing connection we share. Thanks for being part of my universe and letting me co-create in yours. We pretty much rock.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost...

Along the Alaska Canada Highway.

Nor are they necessarily found. Some of us are kinda lound...maybe a little fost.

One definition of wanderlust is a desire to travel, in order to understand one's very existence. Seems I'm about to undertake some further study in that regard. Maybe. I'm not sure, but possibly. Or not. That page of my instruction manual seems to be missing.

What's a trip without baggage?

When I ask my inner/higher/universal self what's next for me, it points at boxes to pack, meals to eat, meditation to... (do nothing with....?), I get the basic outline for the next few weeks or so. "But what about this summer? What about the rest of the year? Where is home? Where am I going to live? And what the hell is my life's work meant to be while we're at it????" And spirit says, "First eat this meal, wash this dish, pack this box, call so-and-so, do some writing and try not to worry so much. You're exhausting yourself...."


Fine. Fuck you. Then I eat the meal, wash the dish, and so on.

Drifting in the Fog- It's Not So Bad....
Til you run out of food. Or into an island. 

Spirit is being stingy with the marching orders in the past few years. Since my life was upended, the rug pulled out from under and I wanted to die. Tried to actually, only to fail at that as well. At which point I demanded  (righteously angry, and appropriately so!) that the Universe had a little 'splainin to do in regards to just what the hell I was kept around for. At that point the information started trickling in. And I do mean trickling. It's like I'm traveling through a fog. I can sense an expansive landscape around and ahead, I can hear things moving around out there, but I can't see any of it yet. I get glimpses occasionally, but it's like that parable about the people who can only see a foot of the elephant at a time: the person at the tail describes a snake, the person at the tusk describes a spear, the person at the flank describes a wizened old person. They're all right, but they're all profoundly mistaken in thinking they see the whole picture. The only difference between me and them is that I know I'm not seeing it all. I desperately want to, but I only get these little pieces of the puzzle handed to me from time to time. It's frustrating and exciting and sometimes I wonder if I'm just losing my mind.

I hear Adyashanti's voice telling me, "You're not going crazy. You're going sane."

Fine. But how does a person who's going-sane-but-not-quite-there-yet pay the rent in the meantime? And why is it taking so fucking long to see the game plan?

A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for. ~William Shedd

The sun rising over the Alaska-Canada highway on my
trip home last year.  I was listening to "gold lions gonna
tell me where the light is...." on a cd that my niece made for
me as the sun rose.  *magic*

I know that god knows exactly where I'm headed. Maybe not in detail, but in overall shape and feeling. God's just not sharing. The information is handed out on a strictly need-to-know basis, with god and I apparently unable to agree on the definition of "need" in this case. Sometimes I'm wicked frustrated. I suppose that's obvious.





Sometimes I long for a home in the sense of a specific place. Instead I keep learning that home is everywhere, bigger and more interesting than I ever imagined. Sometimes I want one love in my life, someone to focus on and around, to have sex with them and only them, to have and to hold, to know who exactly "my people" is. Instead, I keep learning that settling is a kind of spiritual death and that it's healthy to have a bottom line in terms of how I want to be treated. I keep learning that there is more love in the world than my heart could ever imagine and if I'm going to stay honest with myself and others, I can't hold that tightly anymore. Sometimes I want a gorram paycheck damnit. I think ART SUCKS as a profession and I just want a good ole office job I can clock in and out of again, wherein at the end of the week there is (did I mention this already?) A PAYCHECK. Instead I keep learning that living on less is a kind of freedom and that again, settling is a kind of death in terms of work too. I keep seeing that my body won't let me do that anymore. Bitch.

All the while, I can hear a song in the distance. It's faint sometimes, but it's like nothing I've ever heard and I want it more than all the security I used to long for (used to...ha). Sometimes it's hard to hear under the grumbling, the tears, the distractions and the white noise of confusion. But when I get quiet in the aftermath of a tantrum, there it is, hummin just beyond reach and something in me *knows*. Sometimes it's roaring like a waterfall and I'm flying along the current in utter blissful abandon. Those times help sustain me when I'm being battered by rapids, cursing the river only to realize that I'm battered because I'm hanging on to that branch as the current slams me into it again and again. Then I let go and trust. Again. And grab hold. Again. And let go. Again. and again and again and...

Long ago, I thought I would reach a state of utter trust and not doubt anymore. Ever. Hilarious!

What I know right now is that the fears, anxieties, stresses, desires don't go away, but my relationship to them has changed profoundly. I may rant and rave a bit (it's a great way to clear stress toxins out of the body), but I just can't take those doubts too seriously anymore. I've seen over and over what kind of magic happens when I'm willing to live with "I don't know" and just take the next indicated step. My trust muscles have gotten amazingly strong (relatively speaking) over the past few years. Sometimes I want it all to come faster. But bread takes as long to rise as it takes. Weather is weather. Every step is an integral part of the journey. And honestly, I am undoing and rebuilding some heavy shit here. It is deserving of more than a hack job.

Yukon Rainbow

The last time I was truly at a turning point and not sure what was next, I got a phone call from a dear one who was going to Alaska and invited me along. I stayed a year, made amazing friends, saw and did incredible things, was forever changed by it. I could not have done that if I'd plugged myself in somewhere just to be plugged in, not without a lot of painful unplugging anyway. I have several of those kinds of stories. I fully expect to have another one by the end of the year (my demands list to spirit's ear!).




In a few days I'll put what remains of my belongings into storage again, load up my car and take the next indicated step. I have a fair idea of what I'm doing through the end of June, after that- it's anybody's guess. There are longings pulling me in several directions and, so far, spirit is quiet on the matter. When I ask, "But what about the end of June??? I'LL BE HOMELESS FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!! What am I supposed to be doing?", spirit chucklehums and says, "Well, first of all you need to eat some food. Then you really ought to clear off the bed so you have somewhere to sleep tonight. After that, make a list of what you want to do tomorrow- you know that'll help you sleep. Then do the dishes and go to bed. Sleep sucker. You're gonna need it."

Alien. It's all a matter of where you're standing. 

Fine. I can do that. And between now and the end of June, I'll be the one exploring, grumbling, dancing, bitching, quaking in my boots now and then, then laughing my ass off as I await further instructions and grope around the elephants ass.

Say a prayer for me. It would be a kindness.

Holy, Holey, Whole

I'm a socialist at heart; if I have extra and you need some, it's yours. The problem I sometimes have is determining if I actually have extra. I end up passing out my own rations and going hungry. That's okay once in awhile, but if I keep doing it without you doing what it takes to bring in your own food, we're both gonna be hungry and at some point, I won't have what it takes to bring more food in anymore either. If that keeps up, eventually we're both starving, desperate husks, our desiccated fingers pointing and mummy lips snarling in each others general directions. 

   

But that's what I learned of love growing up: we may be impaired, malnourished, suffering souls, but all we have is each other and we must stick together no matter what, giving whatever it takes to keep the other alive on meager resources. If we don't stick together in the pit, we just end up in the pit alone. The only thing worse than a crazy, filthy pit dweller is a lonely one, damnit.

Occasionally, one of us would try to crawl outta the hole and the other pit dwellers were quick to pull them down. We didn't do it consciously; we were unconsciously carrying on the chain of abuse, doing what had been done to us, what we'd learned to do. On a deeper level, we were afraid- afraid for the climber: it's dangerous out there, are you crazy? Stick with the tribe man. Besides we need you. Another part of us was terrified: what if they actually make it? What the hell will that mean for me?  That means that the story starts to crumble and the earth under my own feet suddenly becomes questionable.

We can see this same dynamic at play in the culture around us all the time. "Who are you to be free? Get back down here bitch!" Sometimes it even looks like, "Damnit, I LOVE you!"; even, "I'm doing this FOR YOUR OWN GOOD."

So it can be freaky to watch someone get out, to watch someone even try to get out. As hole dwellers, we rarely have words for these feelings, especially if we're used to living in a daily state of low level panic, fear and anxiety. These were daily companions in my growing up home and are for many of us today. As kids we weren't capable of naming our feelings, much less identifying why we were snapping at someone's heels as they tried to exit. We may be adults on the outside now, but some of us are still kids-in-the-hole on the inside. 

  

Some of us learn this kind of giving as a way to survive or at least keeping our companions-of-the-hole by our sides. As a kid, it was a survival thing imprinted on me early- keep her alive so she doesn't leave me, because the alternative was (literally) death. Many of us have our own versions of this in varying strengths and for a lot of us, it's now costing us our own life force if not outright killing us (literally).

So, if I'm really honest with myself, when I'm giving too much, my motives aren't all that pure anyway. There's at least a tinge of "if I take care of you, you won't die and leave me alone" involved. It isn't pretty, but there it is. It's left over from my days in El Mundo Malo, the Country of the Dead, where Queen Wasp ruled with an iron fist and I dashed myself bloody on her studded skirts in desperate bids for love and sustenance. There's rewiring to do yet. I'm on it. I can even see that the seed of "taking care of each other" is a healthy biological survival imperative that gets warped beyond reason by extreme situations. How do we know when help isn't healthy anymore? 

There is no hard and fast rule for how much help is too much. Our best bet is guidance from our feelings, intuition, or a trusted source, inner or outer. I have trouble listening to that guidance sometimes. Especially when I love someone. The more I love them, the more bonded we are, then the more likely the code "keep giving no matter what" is to kick in, particularly when they're struggling. It's a challenge that still gets triggered in certain situations.

This is what I know as of right now:

Tho he didn't go joyfully...

1) Crawling in the hole with someone only means that now there are two people in the hole. Maybe they aren't as lonely anymore, but still- it's a hole. Holes can be nice sometimes, but do you wanna live your life in one? Even Smeagol got out eventually. Besides, there is lots and lots of company to be had outside the hole too. And trust me, some of them will be thrilled to hang out with you and it won't cost you a thing (Look ma, no blood price!)

2) Standing on the edge of a hole while someone in the hole pulls on you constantly will wear you out. If you expend too much energy trying to get them out of that hole, you will eventually fall back in yourself. This isn't the end of the world- you can get out again, but it's fucking exhausting. Or you could die on the edge of that hole with your arm hanging out of it's socket, having missed a lot of great concerts. And your buddy in the hole will still be in it. So, do both of you and the world a favor and make sure you do what it takes to stay out of the hole and out of tug-games at the edge of the hole. Remember, your own oxygen mask first!

3) If you're out of the hole, then you have an amazing gift to offer the hole dweller: You speak holey language and the person at the bottom of that pit is more likely to hear you, believe you more than one who hasn't done their time in the hole. This may be the most important thing you have to share with a person in a hole:   

If you got out of the hole, anyone else can get out. Period. You may indeed have what look like superpowers, but you didn't have them when you were in the hole either. Like me, you probably worked super hard for those superpowers and so can they. But often they don't wanna hear that. I didn't want to hear it when I was stuck, starving and dying. The person in that hole is scared shitless. Remember that when they're cussing and cursing you for a cold hearted bitch as you smile at them from the outside or (the nerve of you) walk away. They're terrified. They might like nothing more from that vantage point than to pull you back in and say, "See? There really is no 'out of the hole'. I knew it. Let's just stay down here and eat each other." 

They might try the falling apart, heart wrenching sobbing, don't-leave-me bit too. There's no blame in it. It's a tried and true tactic among hole dwellers, system approved- you remember. Of course they're sad. Pits can be sad, wretched places. The question is, what are they going to do about it? Not, what are YOU going to do about it. Their hole = their climb.

Don't fall for these or any other "grappling" tactics. Stick to what you know. The perspective of an ex-hole dweller is especially valuable to the still holey one, not just because you've been there, but because now you're not. What good are you to them if you move back into Holeville? From outside, you can describe the scenery, the quality of the air, what it's like to run, sail, fly and see vast distances. You can tell them how you escaped. You can break trail, leave bread crumbs and come back to tell of your adventures. If they aren't really ready to climb out, but just want you to save them (translate: ease their pain by filling up their holes inside- black holes that can't really be filled anyway and will eat up your known universe like The Nothing. Dramatic? Hell yeah it's dramatic! Take this shit seriously. It's your life.)...... erm.....where was I....

If they just want to be rescued, they'll probably find your message irritating as hell- can't you just save them already and shut the fuck up? You may eventually have to walk away, having passed on what you have to share, and know that you will see them out in the big ole non-hole world sometime. Or not. Either way, sometimes you just have to let it go. After all....

4) The only one who can really save us is ourselves. Really. Of course we can help each other out along the way, but each of us has to make a decision, a commitment to our own freedom in order to get on the path. I can't do it for you, you can't do it for me. It's an inside job and though we don't have to do it alone, we do have to do it ourselves.

5) There are a plethora (secksy work alert!) of resources out there. I promise you, you are not the only one in the world that can help this particular hole dweller. If you honestly feel that it would be damaging to you or them in some way, SAY NO and point them in the direction of another resource. The world is full of resources, some sources are even more abundant and more appropriate than you. It's okay to say "no". Hear that? It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". Say it with me: It's okay to say "no". Say it LOUD, like you MEAN IT: IT'S OKAY TO SAY 'NO'! woot!!!

Does that make you cringe a little? No worries. Me too. Say it anyway, do it anyway. It gets easier and your self will thank you for it. And who knows, the hole dweller may one day also. Some of the biggest helps I got along the way came when people walked away. It was painful and I even hated them a little, but now I see how they helped me wake up. Not only is it okay to say "NO", it may even be better for the denyee too. It's healthy to have a bottom line. 

But don't expect the hole dweller to agree with you. After all, they probably don't know this for themselves yet. How can they allow it for you? 

6) I read this in The Wanderground by Sally Miller Gearhart an age of moons ago: That which I give that does not come from my overflow is poison (paraphrased). That means it's not good for anybody, including the hole dweller you're trying to rescue, for you to give, in a way that damages you. Make sure your own well is full before you go givin away all your water. That way, you and your horses live to ride another day, spreading the teachings of liberation and well diggin across the land. And you get to dance and eat sushi and be Whole. Dessicated husks in holes just get to be holey. Maybe that's your thing- just remember, you have choice. It's easy to forget that in a hole. 

Sometimes people know there's more than life in a hole, but they don't want to do the difficult, amazing, sometimes tedious work of doing what it takes to get out of the hole. They want to latch onto you like a velcro monkey, pretend they're you and get carried into where you are in life, just like that, *presto bang*. But even if you manage to pull both of you back from the edge, it doesn't work that way. Because "No matter where you go, there you are" applies here too. They could step into your life, but they'll be walking dynamite in a terrain that they have no tools for, the tools you've developed through doing the work (and you know what dynamite makes when it blows, right? A new hole). It's like putting someone in the drivers seat of a plane without the hours of training it takes to be ready. Disaster is assured. It isn't their world yet, they have to grow into it themselves, in their own plodding, tortuous, miraculous way.

There are no shortcuts to saving your own life. Believe me, I tried them all and found them false. The only way out is through, for each of us. Not only is it bad for me to try to carry someone when I can barely carry myself some days, but it robs them of their own experience, the gifts that the struggles and discoveries bring. Sometimes I hate this- I want to be able to save them. If I was farther along, I'd stop putting energy where it does no good; I'd stop giving to the point that I'm exhausted and angry; or I'd be able to stand at the side of a hole, dribble some water on the hole dwellers eyes, say "arise and walk" and *poof*- that would be that- less hole people and more dancers in the moonlight. I would be an Un-Holey Saint. I'm not there yet and maybe I never should be, but it's an understandable wish.

It's not like the work stops once you're out of the hole anyway. In fact, the work/play/self-creation process is actually the whole point. Getting out of the hole is just the beginning. That's when you really start to get on with it. The good news is, it gets more and more fun as you go, in ways you can't even begin to imagine if you're still in the hole. Wanna find out? Here.... here's a life line and instructions. If you have questions holler~ loud! Help will come, but you've still gotta do your own climbing.

Happy Little Flow Chart

I love this little flow chart. It reminds me of one of the simplest principles that's also one of the easiest to forget. It in no way stands as an endorsement by me of Happiness-as-the-optimal-choice. All choices are valid. Rare is it that we have a simple choice between something making us happy and not. Most times, the choices we make as grown ups make some parts of us happy and others, not so much so. I know too that "happy" and "unhappy" aren't the only possibilities there are in terms of our emotional state. Is a woman in transitional labor happy or not? Is someone happy who's apologizing sincerely for a mistake they made that caused someone grief? 

Our culture seems to have an addiction to happiness, thinking that somehow if we just do the right things, we can get to a place where we've arrived at Happy Land and can coast the rest of the way on Happy Wings. This illusion and our do-anything-to-avoid-pain approach to life actually causes a lot of harm, even violence, emotional and physical. Sometimes doing the thing that makes us NOT happy (or comfortable or relaxed or carefree or...), sometimes that unhappy-making thing is exactly the right thing to do. 

What I do mean to endorse is aware, conscious choice. We don't have to be victims of our lives, historical or otherwise. We can't always choose what happens to us, but we can choose our actions, attitudes, belief systems. We can control a lot more than most of us think we can. It may take some work to get past the blocks that keep us from availing ourselves of all the options that are open to us, but if we're willing to do the work, freedom is always there waiting for us. It's the sun that is no less there just because there are storm clouds between it and our rain drenched heads. 


The more we own our power of choice and the consequences for those choices, the more we'll be able to create the kind of experience that we want to have in the world. There are consequences for every choice we make, including doing nothing, including standing still. We each have to decide what consequences we're willing to live with. Staying in a situation that makes us unhappy may be the better option for us at the moment. That's okay. No one can decide that but you. However, as long as we keep telling ourselves we're trapped, then we are, but only by our own beliefs. We're not trapped; we're choosing.


We almost always have choice in actions (unless we're handcuffed or the like and even then we do, within narrower parameters) and we always, always have choice of response. And therein lies our growth and our power. 

Neither Hair Nor There

Me n my mop.

I have a lotta hair. I get compliments on it, which is awkward because I don't do anything but leave it alone. I mean, I was born with it. So, eh... It's long mostly because I'm lazy, though I also like the feel of it on my nekkid back- it's a sensual treat. Getting it petted is fun too. Super short or super long, you're bound to get some pettin o' the head. Every once in awhile I'll go in and pay someone to trim it for me, just so I can get it brushed and toyed with. *ecstasy* Sometimes, there's just nothing like the touch of a professional. Heh.

This is not a photo of me~ by Olga Proana

I'm a natural redhead of the not-coppery variety. When I was a kid, that was totally not cool. It was one of the things that got me harassed a lot. Then as a teenager, not quite as much, but still- there was a lot of "redheads are trouble" with much knowing nods of the head (as if those 16 year olds had enough experience to even form an opinion). Other tags for reds were: slutty, passionate, temperamental and witchy. I still get some of that today, but less. Whatever. I always wanted to have straight glossy black hair. I don't know where that desire came from, but it was constant until I hit early early adult years. 

Like many things in life, it remains a mystery.

When I was a young woman I did all kinds of things to my hair without changing the basic color, but eventually I got tired of messing with it. It was right around the time I was a single mom, going to school, working and playing in a band. I started to wonder at just how much time I spent everyday with makeup, shaving, styling my hair and squeezing into uncomfortable clothes. Why, when I could like... SLEEP an extra hour? So I saved the big ToDo for performances and special occasions and started going natural the rest of the time. I liked it. It had the unlooked for benefit of making me feel friendlier to my body over time too, like I kept giving myself the message over and over that how I looked was just fine without all the enhancements and manipulations. My self-image responded well. The big ToDo nights started to feel a little like doing drag and it was a lot more fun when it was an option instead of a daily requirement.

It was not a cool thing to do at that time and place. The area I grew up in was pretty conservative and women (men as well) were expected to apparel themselves a certain way. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Then I got my nose pierced- three times. I know that's not much now, but at the time I was one of three women I saw in a 5 year period that had it done even once. I had a wonderful conversation with a woman in her 50s that was working a boutique where I was shopping for nose jewelry. She told me with a smile, "You know, when I was a young woman, I was told that only sluts got their ears pierced. That didn't stop me. It's all fashion honey. Don't let 'em get to you."

I didn't. I kept growing my hair out, stopped shaving and wearing makeup. I eventually got visible tattoos and got more piercings. Whatever. It's my body.


For the past 10 years or so, red hair has gotten increasingly popular. After all the teasing I put up with as a kid, forgive me if I get a little snarky about it sometimes. Walking down the street some days, I can be heard quietly remarking to my companions: bottle, bottle, bottle, real, bottle... Hey, at least I don't yell it out... usually. 

About 10 years ago, I buzzed my head. I'd been thinking about it for years and it was just... time. I was going through a breakup, I was starting to perform more of my own music. People were always going on about my hair like it was something personal I'd created or my best quality. I wanted to know what it would be like to be me without my hair. How would it be to happily, willingly rid myself of something that so many people identified with me that really had nothing to do with who I was? Something that is so clearly identified as a feminine characteristic- long hair? And most importantly, just what shape was my head under all that freakin hair?

This is not me either, but that's the same cut.  Somewhere I have ONE photo of that buzz.
When I find it, I'm framing it. Dude, this makes me wanna do it again....

It was amazingly liberating! I felt exposed and open to the world and people in a way I never quite had. My head felt light and open, the skin so happy to feel sun and wind. It was cold though. I hadn't thought about the fact that it was fall and all that hair had been keeping my upper extremities warm for years. And thus began my collection of hats and scarves...

The most interesting thing to me was people's reactions. People seemed to either love or hate it. There wasn't a lot of neutral reaction. Which is fine. What was not fine is that so many seemed to feel they had the right to tell me what they thought. A lot of people that I barely knew, even strangers that only knew my face from performing or walking around town, would volunteer their fervent opinions: Whaddya wanna look like a freak for? Why would you want to look ugly? Oh your poor poor hair! I can hardly look at you. One instructor said, "I think it's more dignified when older women cut their hair short, don't you? Good for you. It's a sign of your acceptance of your mature status." What the fuck? I was like, 35 at the time. Arg. People just love to spray you with the fog of their own biases and opinions. Some people just stared in a stricken way, turned and walked away. I was shocked at how strongly people felt about hair that wasn't even their own. It was proprietary and weird. 

The people I really enjoyed were the ones who asked me (imagine!) how I felt about it. Thank you, where ever you are....

Hair grows back, though slooooowly. I realized soon after I buzzed it that if I wanted to keep it short, I'd need to do upkeep every month or so and I didn't want to. So I started growing it back out again, which was tedious, but also symbolic for other things that were "growing back" in my life. Patience was the order of the day- persistence and patience.

I don't change mine that much anymore, basically because I'm lazy. I think about it now and then, but then I think about growing it back out again and it makes me leave it alone. People talk about how much work long hair is, but I don't know what they mean. It's so easy. I trim it every 4 months or so, I wash it 3 times a week. If it's bugging me, I pull it back; if it's cold out or I feel like hiding, I leave it down. I can do things with it, decorate my head to express a mood or attract someone's attention. In my experience, short hair takes a lot more maintenance. 

Finally, a head that is mine. Gray is beautiful.

I haven't yet had the urge to cover the gray, though some of my friends that do keep telling me, "oh, you just wait. You'll hate it too!" I'm like, what the hell- are you cursing me? So what and what if I don't? Right now I like it. I'm willing a nice fat white streak along the front that starts at the peak and it's working. I've begun to wonder if I lose my "redhead status" when it goes all gray. A friend assures me not- he says being a redhead is in the DNA and that, no one and nothing can take away from me. I love him.

See? Some people don't even notice it. 

The one thing I did start doing a few years ago was the black under layer- my childhood wish at last realized in part. I was nervous about it before hand, because there's actually an awful lot of hair under there that's black! But you can't tell. When it's down, the black just peeks out here and there, but I know it's there. And I quickly found out I LOVED it! It was a little like that first tattoo that I got in a place that stayed hidden, in case I didn't like it. I was so thrilled with it, that I was flashing my pubic bone at anyone who wanted to see. I wanted another tattoo, immediately. In a similar way, I loved the black so much that I immediately wanted more. It was fun and it's stayed fun. I can flash it more depending on how I wear my hair or keep it subtle when I'm in my Grandma's church. We win.

I just got the black redone finally after months of growing out. The person who did it for me offered to add another color if I wanted. Her hair is a lovely mottling of purple, blue, yellow, green and her natural medium brunette. "I've got a drawer full of colors left over..." Including a deep blue purple that I loved. SCORE!!! 

So for the first time I have an "unnatural" color added to my locks. It's subtle- really only shows up in the sun and it's not as deep as I'd hoped, but I love it! Purple is my favorite color and this rocks with the red and black. I'm not sure if I want more yet, but maybe. I feel possibilities opening up that I hadn't considered before! I want more white at the front-they can do that, right? And maybe time to play with some sculpting gel or something. Maybe even shave a layer and do some tattoo work on my skull while it's bare. Seriously! It'll grow back in if I let it. Like everything in life, it's temporary only more obviously so. It's one of it's great advantages, that and its malleability. There's so little in life that we can change that fast, that easily. Why not? It's just hair. 

47 and flying mah freak flag, high and proud! Don't let 'em get to you.

ps: Please feel free to express your opinion if you're compelled. Just don't expect me to care. 

Tell me about your hair adventures and show me some pics! 

Monster Love

Can you spot the monster in this picture?

Monster love is kicking my ass lately. I mean, really? I went from months of no- or very little- romance or physical intimacy ( I guess I could've just said SEX), then a few months ago I kind of gently put it out to the universe that I was maybe ready to start dating again. Within 4 weeks I was seeing two new people and seeing relationships from afar deepen in ways I hadn't previously imagined. It's a little like being flushed down a toilet (and no, I am NOT being dramatic!!!) to a magical, alien world where little is familiar and even that is twisted just enough as to be unsettling. And effluvia- always with the effluvia! Sheese.


One of the most up-front-and-center things about the romantic relationships I'm currently engaged in is that uncertainty is blatantly, in-my-face built in, complete with flashing neon signs and fog horns. HERE BE MONSTERS- leave your silly, pointless armor at the door, go deep or go home. It's so obvious that it can't be ignored, I can't lie to myself, even a little teensy bit. There is sweetness, comfort, love songs and fantastic sex (oy!), but there are also communication snafus, disappointments, delayed gratification and the kind of letting go, over and over and over, that comes with everyone getting to take care of themselves in the best way they can; accepting gifts from each other, but not demanding or obligated. It's a trip. How the hell did I get here? Where's my map? aaack!

I Monster: beauty and beast divine.

And somehow every time I really stop and face the Monster, I end up looking into a mirror of such clarity that it aches and shimmers, moans and sings in the bell of my being. It often seems what I'm learning to love truly, is myself, through you. *sigh* Some days you're the monster, some days you're the bug(s bunny).







On an intellectual level, I'm well aware that uncertainty is built into everything. Everything but EVERYTHING is temporary; some things are just more temporary than others. But historically (from my 20s on, more or less) I would place myself in romantic situations where I could at least pretend or hope (usually hope was the gas that fueled my engine) that this could be a permanent thing, a thing I could count on come hell or high water, someone who would finally, once and for all and forever, have my back. In other words, I could hope I'd finally found the parent I never had and always wanted. Better yet, I had found GOD incarnate and god would be mind all mine. Oh yes. MINE. Forever. I would then proceed to direct a huge amount of energy towards making that person and relationship fit the bill. You can imagine where that got me. My poor partners! Anyway...

Love it and squeeze it and name it...MINE!

I got better at picking people who fit my "bill of certainty" a little more as the years went on, also better at boxing up, tamping down, hiding pieces of myself in exchange for their faithfulness. Which, let me say here, isn't what I'm doing now, but that doesn't mean it was a mistake then. Each of those relationships taught me an plethora (sexy word alert) of things about love, communication, myself and most importantly, why it wasn't worth it to box up, tamp down, hide pieces of myself in exchange for an all too brief dream of security. It never worked. When my marriage ended 3 years ago, I hit bottom with the security addiction. I had done ALL the "right" things damnit and it ended anyway, for no clear reason. When I saw that much of my rage and betrayed feeling was about how much "I have given up for this! How well I've behaved!"- well, the subconscious deal I'd been running with the Love Gods began to be exposed and unraveled. It was a very painful wake up call.

Since then I have been on a path of consciously experiencing love with less bullshit, less rules, less measuring of the certainty factor. My desire for assurances and specific outcomes have not gone away, but it's not the boss o' me no more. Most of the time. Every relationship ends in death or dissolution. So, what was I trading away my spark, my juice, my intensity, my living-out-loudness for? Why was I avoiding my polyamorous tendencies? Why was I settling for less than the sexiest, most passionate, intimate sex ever? Why was I hiding out in 'safe' relationships (and lifestyles) that weren't even really safe at all? 

Silly Bunny

It's been an interesting 3 years. Now here I am, madly in love in three relationships that are not certain in ways that are too obvious to allow me to fool myself (and that's just the romantic loves. One of the deepest relationships in my life is a non-romantic, non-sexual one and she's moving away soon. *oooowieeeee*). There is a part of me that frequently wants to run, from all and sundry. It rants at me sometimes: are you FUCKING CRAZY!?!?! and I say, yes- that's quite likely. But the me that is the witness to all the ranting, panicking, gibbering terror, the witness that sees how really perfect this is for me, my path, and I trust, theirs too- that part keeps making the choice to lean in deeper, to open more, to see what's there when there are no guarantees, even of the obvious in the moment, "I will be there for you tomorrow" kind. The realest part of me knows that I am, in fact, going sane.

Some people ask me "Why? Why open more when you know it's likely you'll get hurt?" This reminds me of the 'keep it simple, marry a nice girl, get a good job with benefits, have a couple kids and settle down in the country' talk. I mean, if that's your shtick, then I support you. I have found, the more honest I get with myself, that it's not so much my thing. Parts of me wish it was. But my bent for adventure is an inherent source of aliveness for me. Even if I did settle down in anything that looked like the scenario above, look deeper and you would see me pushing the edges, dialoguing with the darkness, telling the hard truths over Sunday coffee in bed or after some lovely ass play or a flogging session; you would see me crying and laughing like a maniac at times, dancing nekkid under the moon and/or talking to god, who answers. Cuz that's just how I roll.

Gossamer goes metrosexual?

So I keep showing up because it feels right. When I question it myself (and I do, believe me) I get a steady, firm YES. I do it because my heart is stretching, bursting, I'm feeling more love from more directions that I ever thought possible. At times I lose track of specific sources and just feel, be, know LOVE. I suspect that herein lies the security I have always hungered for- in a universal experience of a tribal love that's SO huge, so powerful and so far beyond 'this person at this time in this way' that it will answer all the questions for, by and about love that I have ever had. It's a love so omniscient that it cannot be taken away, I cannot lose it because I AM it. And it is me. This is the tribe that always has my back- it's just bigger and less localized than I thought it was. This is the reality that cannot be undone by departure of a particular "one". This is the heart that cannot be broken, because, like the Dude, it abides.

These people are embodying it for me right now and I honor that, I'm attached to these bodies, but I know on a deeper level, that our embodiments will part someday in some fashion, but the love- the magic we're creating right now and here, the ways we're growing, singing each other bigger, breaking each other open and exposing our hurt, nasty bits, this love we make- this is ours forever and ever. That is how it's always been, no matter what story I've been telling myself about "contentedly-ever-after". This is the truth and I want it. I've known it forever, but I'm getting to experience it now through this dinged and scratched human lens. I have somehow grown the balls to actually LIVE it. I'm frequently terrified, often ecstatic, swept up in a libidinous frenzy I have never know, then peaceful and easy. Often in complete, utter awe of the process and our beauty as we do the dance together. I'm am in love. I'm beginning to know what that really means; just beginning. It's killing a lot of my old notions which makes lovely compost for what grows in the ashes.

I do it because it feels right, because it's making me a better person. I do it because these people I love are simply, stunningly amazing creatures that fascinate me endlessly and I can't seem to stay away from them even when fear wants me to. I do it because it's incredibly interesting. I do it because the sexiness is rich and moves me like nothing else I know. I do it because it brings me joy and life flows through its every channel. I do it because they want it, it makes them richer too, in ways I only begin to comprehend. I do it because it's part of what's propelling me to the next level of my evolution. Like any trip through a birth canal, it's uncomfortable, painful, exciting, powerful, inexorable and infused with mystery- I have no idea where it's taking me really. Really. No fucking idea. But I'm here for the journey and, when all is said and done, that's all there is.

It ain't too pretty or pop-song romantic. This is monster love- it's messy, honest, painful, thrilling, undefinable (though trying is fun!), unpredictable, and free; both devouring and creating. This is the void where anything and everything is possible. Mystery rules. Lean in... lean in... lean in....I'll see you inside....


(Thanks to Luke and Marc for inspiring the Gossamer additions. Such an innnnnteresting monster....)

Romeo, Romeo- to the Back of the Bus, Mister

(photo "His Heart's On Fire" by Wesley Kirk)

Ready for another post about LOVE? In case you're just making my acquaintance for the first time, be assured there will be NO love songs, NO chirping bluebirds, NO hearts and roses, and absolutely NO sonnets concerning the ebony shade of my true loves heart...erm...hair. At least not today. I've got nothing against those things, in fact they happen to be a particularly sharp and pleasant torment of sorts right now, but I'm not about that bit at the moment. The romantic lover in me is, for a sec or two, moving to the 4th row back on the left, along with the hopelessly romantic teenager (who is still recovering somewhat in the self-esteem department) and the lust consumed perve who wants to write sonnets to the curve of my love's hip scoops. They'll have a great time back there, sighing and sweating and longing; ooooh, the longing....

Meanwhile, there's an fairly functional adult up here in the driver's seat for the moment. Sharing front row with me are the Artist and the Spiritual Warrior and, on my more responsible days, the Business Manager and the Housekeeper (but those two are taking a nap at the moment. Psychic rufies rule. They've had plenty of air time today and will get more, but I don't need them for this discussion and they'll just bog us down with side trips to do the dishes and check the bank balance). Where was I .....

Ah, love. Hmmm...o_O

So, I've moved beyond states of smittenness and infatuation. Maybe a deeper level of infatuation. Dunno. But more than smitten. There is definitely love here. There is love and lust and respect and curiosity and tons of like-like-like and a generous helping of romance. It's the romance I'm suspicious of.  I'm not sure why romance gets to be the bad guy in this scenario, but it seems to have fallen out that way, at least today.

Perhaps it's not romance itself, but our tendency (my tendency) toward addiction to it. Romance can be a tricksy bugger- one part sweet, a little (ha!) obsessive, starry eyed, love-song-humming, generous and shiny shiny drug-high shiny; one part ravening beast, drunk on life force and self-centered as hell, growling "mine mine MINE"!, doing it's best to latch on to a good thing and hold on for dear life, no matter the cost to the rest of the team. Even if it means everyone drowns in the end. Tragic? Yes. But they drowned for LOVE damnit.

Romance dreams of the future: houses in the country, kittehs and dawgies, posies in the window, Princess in an apron (only) bringing me a cold beer while I tune up the farm truck, which leads invariably to sex in the garden. Romance wants to know what's gonna happen and likes to put things in boxes with lots and lots of preservatives. Cuz romance is on a crazy rollercoaster ride with two ways off: sailing off into the starry sky and an eternal bliss of happily happily or a fiery crash on a ground that only seemed to disappear for all those weeks and months of the honeymoon phase. One can't really fault romance for trying to stave off the crash at all costs; however ineffective (and sometimes self-fulfilling) it may be, it's understandable.

Romance. *sigh* We hate to love it, love it too much or love to hate it. It seems we all go through it at some point. Romance itself can be a fine thing- like everything else it's our creation. If it's flawed or dangerous, it's only because we make it so. And often we do. Dangerous because almost always for most of us, it's got a healthy helping of blind spots and dreams built on sand bars. It always hurts to lose illusions. Romance is dangerous because those illusions are built around and affect other real live human beings (in most cases, but I am again in danger of digression....)- beings with dreams, needs and illusions of their own. *crash* It ain't purdy.

It seems the problems happen when Romeo gets to drive the bus. If I can enjoy romance as an oh-so-tasty side dish on the plate of my life (maybe even a little hors d'oeuvre and dessert....and second dinner....), but keep the keys out of its hands, I'm usually doing okay- a little crazy, but a basically-sane person is basically in charge. Romantic feelings are powerful and tons of fun, maybe even useful in keeping us motivated in moving deeper when the FREAKED out control freak in us would otherwise say GET THE FUCK OUT, NOW. Romance may feed the bonding that becomes glue that helps us stick out tough times, which will surely come and make us want to RUN.

Romance is a rare delight. I'm not out to kill it. I like it. Just maybe too much.

Besides romance (see there? the problem child always gets more attention) there is a lot of love here. What's a lot exactly? Hell if I know. But it's intense. Love that doesn't give a shit about what's coming tomorrow. Love that knows a broken heart is the sign of having loved well and life well lived, that knows that despite my daydreams about walking away from the wreckage unscathed, it just ain't thatta way. Walking away unscathed is the sure sign of a bystander. Or a Saint. Don't wanna be one and ain't yet t'other. Love knows that getting good and scathed is one of the main points of it all. Scathing moves and marks us, it changes our landscape, inside and out. It makes room, cracks where the light can get in.

This recent slough of romantic, secksy love in my life has been a veritable bull-in-a-china-shop with all my carefully laid plans- plans for the day, the year, the next couple of life times. The things that go on in me these days- such a beautiful mess! But it feels right. When I get quiet and ask, something deep and calm in me says "yes". And I believe in that voice. It has never steered  me wrong, even when it's steered me into crashes. Sometimes fiery wrecks and broken china is exactly what I need, whether I know it or not at the time.

So here I am, stumbling through acts of radical trust, even when I'm feeling, like.... like five years old and utterly stompable; there I go, choosing Love: monster love, messy-honest-growing-pain-warrior-love; Love-capitol-L with lots of room for silliness, sexy sex, brilliant creativity and yes, even Romeo. If only he would stop stealing my keys.