Moving With No Movement At All

 

I haven’t been writing lately.

I’ve wanted to write.

I’ve wanted to write because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Write. I’m a writer. I should be writing. I want to write. I miss writing. I miss feeling words flow through me on a walk or during yoga. I miss rushing to get to my journal to write them down. I want to mush words together between my fingers, to mold them and shape and form them into a pose and put it in the kiln to finish.

I’ve wanted to write but since the picture I haven’t. I mean a journal entry here or there, but that’s the extent of my pen.

I’ve thought about writing. I’ve thought a lot about how I’m not writing. I’ve thought a lot about the light bulbs that puffy cloud through my mind but don’t seem to make their way through my fingers onto the ring.

I’ve been reading more than writing. Good thing writers read. Phew! I’ve been reading articles and books, poetry and blogs. I’ve been reading the news. I even read the back of my husband’s Morning O’s cereal box. (A quick read indeed).

The other day I read Cindy Yantis’ Thought Changer blog. She wrote about winding roads and beating your own drum.  

Let me paraphrase. I do that. I paraphrase. I’ll take someone else’s light bulb and ingest it, process it and make it my own. It’s not plagiarism, I promise. I give credit where credit is due. It’s more like digestion. Then I can share the light bulb and spread the love. Isn’t this what we writer’s want? To make a difference in the world with our words and let our light bulbs enlighten.

Cindy described that feeling of moving through molasses, that idea of things not happening fast enough. I know this place, I know this judgement of speed and how things should look. I know this gavel well.labryinth

My path has brought me here–to this forest. I’m not producing right now. It’s not my time. It’s my time to clock. Instead of writing, I’ll sneak off to a dark cool theatre and watch someone else’s creativity unfurl. Instead of writing, I’ll explore my own popcorn. I’ll listen to it hum and vibrate. I’ll feel it and feed it a bit of patience and respect and ocean air. It has been quite a practice, putting  my judgment aside and letting my popcorn dolphin on it’s own.

When I sit back and breathe I feel my gratitude. I’m grateful for the picture–that huge bump in my own coiling trail. I am grateful for the wrench that jammed up my labyrinth and the skillful hands of builder who yanked it out. All that digging and stirring about, although quite tunneling, turned out to be a blessing. I am different. I am more grounded. I am even somehow more whole.

It’s a funny thought. To find myself here, in a place of acceptance after that picture and the tunnel and my inability to grasp at my light bulbs and put them to pen. After all that, I’m okay.

Still, in this place of moving within no movement at all.

 

I’m Keeping on Keeping on…

I’ve been feeling a bit stuck lately, in my writing, in my work, in general—stuck.  I hold my breath and hold myself back. There is something I’m not seeing, something I’m missing, some door that isn’t opening.  On the outside, I appear cool and confident and on the inside I’m a bundle of nerves.

It’s funny, people will tell me I’m courageous and that I’m a risk taker and I’ll be quaking in my boots or wondering if I’m making the ‘right’ life choices.

When I was waiting tables at Old Venice in Manhattan Beach back in the 90’s a gal that I knew from high school came in and I had to wait on her.  I wasn’t exactly embarrassed, even though it was Halloween weekend and I was in cat makeup. I was more uncomfortable, worried about what she would think.

After I brought them their drinks, while taking their order, we caught up a bit.  She went to college, law school and got married. “What about you?” She asked.

My cat ears were twitching. I’d rather chase a rat than tell the story of my life up to that point to someone that together.

“After UCLA I worked on some features, then, after my Dad died, I worked for Camden Artists, then Triad.” I said.  She was leaning toward me, looking up; she seemed interested in what I had to say. “Then I went to Europe for 6 months and I found a job at a patisserie…” I said.

It went on from there.  How could I tell her every detail? I didn’t. I didn’t tell her about my move back home, the garage sale where I sold all just about all my stuff—including that fabulous orange flowered print skirt and matching shoes and ribbed mid-drift pullover I bought in some crazy expensive store in Santa Monica.

I didn’t tell her the details of how I found my first apartment and my first job and all the other jobs when I moved to Santa Barbara where I worked as a waitress – at The Jolly Tiger coffee shop, at the San Yisidro Ranch, at a bowling alley, at Pascual’s Mexican restaurant, then there was the Turkish company, Telanav, they were doing something shady and they wouldn’t let us leave for lunch, then there was Market Place Media—that’s where I learned how to use PageMaker.

I didn’t tell her that after Santa Barbara there was Venice and Value Health Sciences, Inc.(VHS) and that the reason I left Venice and moved to Redondo Beach was because my roommate was a psychopath who delivered a bag of garbage to my office with a note that said: ATTN: CAROLYN, because he was mad I was moving.

I didn’t tell her that only way for me to get promoted at VHS was to leave and move to Phoenix.  I didn’t tell her that I worked in the marketing department at  Eye Care Plan of America—they turned the storage closet into my office—ahhhh my first office.

I told her that I hated Phoenix because I tell everyone that mentions Phoenix that I hate Phoenix—when you’re wearing jeans and cowboy boots on a 90-degree day, side-stepping cockroaches the size of my dying Mustang convertible,  it’s time to head back to the beach.

“So, I moved back to Redondo Beach and I also work at Gold’s Gym in Redondo.” I said, summarizing best I could. “I want to be a personal trainer.”

“Wow.” Her smile seemed to go from ear to ear.  Her husband was smiling too.  “I envy you.” She said.

“Why?” I asked. She was the grown-up here.  She had a career, she had a husband, she had a house.  She was a real person.

“You’re so courageous,” She said. “You didn’t just do what you were supposed to do like I did.”

There have been quite a few more lefts and rights and even some U-turns since that conversation 20 years ago.

curvy path

twist and turns ahead

I am still zigzagging along on my path.

It seems these days that I’m not the only one, there are others. The world has changed and the straight and narrow isn’t as straight and narrow as it used to be–we are explorers all of us.

Still, at times, I find myself gasping for air.

I sometimes have to remind myself to breathe.  I have to remind myself that I have courage, that I am brave, that I am in the right place at the right time, and that if history does indeed repeat itself, well, I’ll be just fine…actually, I’ll be much better than fine.

doors close…

 

All that worry
All that comparison
All that fear
Turn it out
Let it move through
Let it leave
Open the door and
Let it out
Dance it away
Sing it away
Write it away

Let it
Be gone

When God shuts a doorclosed door
some where he opens a window …

wait for the breeze
let it kiss my cheek
let it wrap itself in me
let it lead me to what’s next

Let go of the closing door
Let it close
Let it be
Let it

Allow

Let it close

Let it slam shut
If it has to
Let it

Allow

Lots of closed doors
Lots of open windows
Lots of attachment
And the practice

Let it close
Let it slam shut
If it has to
Let it

Allow

I can hear the crumble
Echos
Tumble and fall
Echos
Of a dream
Echos
As it rams head on
Into that iron door
Ahhhh but my dreams
will stand up
back away
maybe examine a wound
treat it
or not
let the breeze from the open window
heal mend strengthen fortify

breath
Let it open wide
Let it enter
it will
Let it

Allow

begin from this placeopen window

I’ve done this
Over and again

Let the magic
Blow in through that open window

The magic of unknown
The magic of letting go
The magic of trust
of knowing and desire and bliss
of miracles

all I have to do is
breathe

 

 

Integration

see the light two catalina

Seeing The Light

Once you know you know. There’s no going back. You’ve opened your eyes and seen a certain kind of light. That’s it. Now you know it’s there. You can’t shield yourself even if you wear dark glasses. The light is there. You know it, the light knows it.  The light is there.

It started after my Dad died. I was 25. His death pushed me out of LA, through England, Whales and Ireland and then to Santa Barbara.

It was during my time in Santa Barbara that I started doing personal growth work. It was more my Mother’s choice than mine. I’d journey to LA on weekends to sit with a group, cross legged, hearts open, minds open, ears open and we’d take the dive into ourselves. For seventeen years I sat in this group learning about myself, diving in, fishing and digging and pulling, prodding, tearing, expanding, shrinking and expanding again, all the while, breathing. I was cultivating a practice and I didn’t even know it. I mean I knew it intellectually, our facilitators told us, but I wasn’t integrating this practice into my life.

Instead, the practice was shadowing me. She kept her distance. She would follow me back to Santa Barbara, take a seat a few bar stools over and observe as smoke circled above us. My tequila kept me distant and warm.

I didn’t fight against her but I also didn’t turn completely toward her either. Instead I let her trail behind me.

shadowself

Shadowing Myself

At 28 I was straddling two worlds, a world that was being built in awareness and one that was anchored in too many men and too many late nights and too many white lines.

I remember the day when those two worlds collided.

I was sitting on the curb outside of his house. He, M, was sitting next to me. I was crying.

“You’re a big fat liar!” I said. I knew he wasn’t a liar, he always told me the truth. I knew about most all of the other women he dated, I knew that I wasn’t someone he brought out in public, I knew we were an on-again-off-again-not-really-a-relationship-at-all relationship. I was just pissed about it.

“No I’m not”, he said. He was laughing at me.

“I’m in love with you and you don’t even care!” I said.

It was a few hours later that something hit me. BOOM. We were lying in bed after sex. I was jerked upright and I grabbed the sheet, pulled it to my chest and smiled.

“Oh My God!” I said.

“What?” he said. He sat up, moved a pillow behind him and leaned back against the wall. He turned to look at me. “What is it?”

Whenever I was with him, it was as if time stood still. I could escape my life and rent his for a while. I would go over to his one bedroom apartment on the second floor of the Victorian house and disappear.  I used to say, “I love how no one knows where I am right now except us.” We’d spend a day or two at most tripping around Santa Barbara, going from one bar to another.  Once we even drove up to the top of Gibralter where he surprised me with a picnic of champagne, grapes, cheese and crackers.  We made love, watched the sunset and drank our champagne. The light went on that afternoon, as the slid out of the room.  I breathed in and inhaled the sensations, reactions, moods, and feelings of the women who had been there before me. I had absorbed a little bit of Lisa, Wendy, Beverly, Karen, Missy, the hairdresser we called ‘Squishy’, the cocktail waitress, the girl that owned that restaurant, the crazy girl that jumped off the booze cruise for no apparent reason and the girl that was afraid of wind.Even the women I didn’t know about, they were there too and I drew them in and expanded.

“Oh my God! I’m going to be so over you one day.” I said. I was giddy with excitement. “I can stop beating myself up. I don’t even have to worry about how or why or when. It’s just going to happen. So in the meantime, why beat up on myself?” I took a deep breath in. I exhaled. “Wow, I feel so good. Like a weight has been lifted.”

“Gee thanks,” he said.

“No, thank you.” I said. I reached over, kissed his cheek, got out of bed and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Now, looking back at that moment I realize it was about more than just us. That moment was about integration. That moment is the moment I turned toward my shadow.

We ARE Married 10 26 03-1Life unfolds.  We don’t have to work so hard. All we have to do is believe. I didn’t try and get over him, I just did. I didn’t try and integrate a practice into my life, I just did.  I didn’t try. I wanted, I desired, I believed, I received.

By the way, we are still great friends. He and his wife were at our wedding. To this day, I joke with him.

“You had your chance,” I say. And we laugh.

Fairy Dust

 

I’m finishing the last chapter in a book today. It’s not a book of poetry, although that will follow soon.

It’s a book about intention. It’s a book about writing. It’s a book.

Intention, desire, trust, letting go.

This is the time of year for letting go, for desiring to receive more and more good in our lives and shaping these desires into something tangible, memorable and, dare I say, cinematic. Then we have to let go and trust that we’ll receive what we’ve asked for.

Oh, you want more on cinematic do you? Well, the more visual, the more visceral, the more vivid, raw, real, energetic, the more real we make our intentions the easier it is to spot them in the real world.

It’s a creative way of acting as if.

Act as if you’re already where you want to be.
You’ve already received what you desire.
You’ve already met him, her, them.
You’ve already …

Act as if you’re grateful 
Because you are

Act as if you’re happy
Because you are

Act as if you’re a singer, dancer, writer, actress, actor
Because you are

Act as if you trust
Because you must
Let go

Oh isn’t that letting go part challenging? I think it is.  I want to hold my intentions lightly, let them float above my open palm and breathe.  For me it’s a balancing act between doing too much and not doing enough. When am I doing too much? Usually when I’m so stressed out that I sit at my desk for hours without a bathroom break. That’s when I get in my own way and I trip over my own two feet.

I want flow
I want peace
I want magic
I want happy, blissed out days filled with light and love and the electric twinkle of fairy dust.

Her blue spun silk hair glows in the moon’s light, her dress is spun from fabric blessed by Diana, Vesta, Venus and Terra Mater, and her fairy dust is distilled from more stars than I could count.    She waves her translucent wand  above my head and sprinkles her magic into all the nooks and crannies of my life.

Ahhhhhhh

What are your feelings on intention, desire, trust, letting go and fairy dust? What’s easy?  What’s hard? What is it you desire…deep down, in your bones?
Please share…let’s start a dialogue.