The Mountains We Make

Posted: August 16, 2011 in theSlice

The Mountains We Make

Sometimes I don’t realize how much of an obstacle I am to myself.  If I would just get out of my own damn way, it’d be smooth sailing (or at least a serene float down-stream.)  But I have this tolerance for pain that gives me an inability,… a blind-spot, for knowing when I should bail. Bail water out of the boat AND bail-out of the situation. Just opt out.  UNSUBSCRIBE.  Because giving up is “failing” and I was raised with that option NOT in my gene-pool.  If ya got a B, it wasn’t, “great JOB!” — it was, “You’ll get an A next time.”  And so — I was imprinted with that mentality (seeming like such a good-ish thing to help your kid strive for improvement and being the best) pressuring myself — until I completely burned out.  Burnt to a crisp.  Crrrash & burrrrn.  To the point of not even knowing if best was ever going to be good enough.

So what I had to learn, was that average is okay.  Not-first was quite alright.  …That imperfect was not failing.  I didn’t have to be an over-achiever shooting-star (reference previous crash&burn statement), who did better and MO’ than everybody else.  I didn’t need a workaholic job-ethic that would shame the pyramid builders, no really 8 hours IS fine. What I found out from “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff (and it’s all small stuff)” is that I needed to lower my tolerance for stress.  LOWER it.  Like there’s some sort of temperature gauge sticking out of my ass — ‘Warning WARNING Will Robbins DANGER, stress is approaching’ — then I’d hit the dial to dowwwn.  Yea.  That was it.  So basically, what happened is that I was virtually in a recovery-program for reducing my addiction to the GUILT.  The guilt that I wasn’t there for everybody all the time, that I didn’t remember everymutha’lovin’ detail of EVERYTHING, that I wasn’t doing it ALL, that I was fallible.

What I struggled with as I was lowering my stress (aka the mountain of shit I heap on my head that I was trying to scrap off) — was redefining what I perceived as ACCEPTABLE.  What I accomplished that day,… was it something I could live with?  And it’s been a process.  A huge pendulum-swing path, one extreme to the other one extreme to the other, until gradually the bipolarness lessened. or maybe I learned my lesson.  (Imagine that.)  As my threshold lowered, my radar for bullshit got more sensitive.  I started to discern what I didn’t have a gene for, I needed to compensate.  Like losing one of your senses and having the properties of the other ones increase.  An example:  I’m recovering eating-disordered, I’ve mucked up my hunger-pang-instinct to the point where I basically don’t HAVE one.  I don’t associate “fullness” with the amount I’ve eaten, nor do I associate my LACK of eating with the possibility of mood-shifts.  Essentially my brain chemistry is fubar so I need to be a reasonable adult and figure it the fuck OUT.  I mean, how many times can the excuse “the gas gauge is broken” justify running out of gas in the middle of nowhere?  The phrase “howz that workin’ for ya” applies.  So yea, it took me awhile to realize that the propensity to take a crap-ton lot of pain and stress is NOT a talent! Muther of GAWD.

And you wanna know the best part of being “average” at performing SOME things?  …Is that I do not have to be any less fucking EXTRAORDINARY.



Head Above Water

Posted: July 28, 2011 in Perspective


Swimming is just so,… frelling UNCOMFORTABLE.  There’s supposed to be this rhythmmm, and you’re supposed to be coursing through the water like a dollllphin, and you’re SUPPOSED to be able to breeeeathe — oh but HALE no.  That day just hasn’t come yet.  I mean I do the American-crawl.  I think anyone standing on the side of the pool MIGHT think I’m swimming okay.  (No one’s thrown the life-ring at me.) But I’m IN there, going through the motions, having all the snazzy right equipment (didn’t you know it’s COOL to wear one of those sexy swim-caps making you look like a penis-head?!), got my goggles, I’ve done my googling for tips on how to get better — but it just never seems to feel,… organic, ya’know?  I’ve already got those wax ear-plugs, but I always FEEL like I need a nose clip.  I’m logging the 10 laps every session, but I always FEEL like I need fins (I’m certain size 6.5 pods are just not ENOUGH to be channeling my mermaid tendencies.)  I took lessons when I was little, but always FEEL like there was this critical class I musta missed.  I think swimming is like life.  No wait,… it’s like DATING. No matter how much you do it, you always wonder if you’re doing it right.  Are you supposed to keep doing what’cher doing regardless of whether you’re necessarily feeling smooth or getting “results”?  What’s the result I want?  Swim fast, swim far, swim efficiently, swim comfortably??  Date fast, date more, date until you don’t feel like a dork (nevah gonna happen), date until you don’t ever have to date again in your LIFE hahaha.  Becaaauuuse we all know that dating is supposed to have a goal.  Right.  Which is for it to stop.  Because it’s like swimming and while you’re doing it your head is a circus crowd heckling at you as to WHHYYYY the hell are you putting yourself through this.  And my friends have a joke that I don’t date —  I have relationships.  I don’t know what that MEANS.  Ak yes I do.  It means I don’t get in the pool to practice — and theeeeen I sign up for a triathlon.  So.  I made up this fool extraneous theory exclusive to my universe, that if I swim 20 times, then that uncomfortable feeling will go away.  (Yea don’t ask me how I came up with twenty I pulled it out of my ass.)  It’s not that I’m scared I’ll drown, I just hate that I’m not having JOY.  I picture that I should get that swimmer’s-high of elation so I feel happy and freeee.  (Can anyone tell me when that shit’s going to happen?)  But I don’t feel frrreee, I feel HEAVY.  Like swimming is just a thrashing battle to slow down the inevitable sinking.  Other people seem to float so well, I don’t float!  I watch other people do it and compare myself to them, am I doing it like them?  They look pretty comfortable, they’re probably comfortable right?  They probably know exactly what they’re doing, they have a plan and a strategy, and they look like they’re just zipping along,… meanwhile I’m trying to watch what they’re doing while they’re swimming beside me and THAT almost makes me drown.  Sheezus frikkin’…  I just always feel like I’m in limbo.  I don’t like that.  Purgatory of treading water forevvveeerrrrr.

Dating is a farce, isn’t it?  No one knows what they’re doing.  But they just keep going.  So I’m going to try THAT.  Twenty times.

Mantra for My Spirit

Posted: March 23, 2011 in Living in the Now


I am a woman
complete and strong.
Adventuring the way of my universe
living as a grown-up child God loves,
treating myself as a person I cherish and exalt.
I acknowledge the dark.
I embrace the light.
My power resides at the heart-core of me
vibrant, true and enduring.
I strut my sexy walk
I dance my aware vibe
I breathe my choice of participating
in the creation of my own dream.
My life, my joy.
My hope, my prayer.
My importance, significance, talent , touch and impact.
Unwash the brain
move with deliberate conscious purposeful kindness.
Be present, be now.
Be now, be present.
Sincerely authentically fantastically
be me.
My badass beautiful self.
Choose.  Fly.

Brother Tough

Posted: March 13, 2011 in Real Men


The saying is — why spend holidays with family when you can spend it with friends.  The truth is they are the people I have had in my life the longest and fortunately (or unfortunately) remember me the most.  We have known and grown about so many things we’ve forgotten many to overwrite for new experiences.

My mom tells us for me and my brother Steven (18 mos younger) — Japanese was our first language.  However, we told her, “We’re American, we live in America, we’re going to speak American.”  So that’s why we don’t speak Japanese (dammit.)   (Of course this don’t fly with the other brother who’s 7 yrs younger, but he’ll be a different blog.)

The training-wheels got taken off my bike when Steve was ready to ride sans accoutrement.  I think I will always need therapy for this childhood trauma lol.

My mom says we were really close when we were little, if he got in trouble (as boys are wont to do) I would beg for him to not be punished and promised he’d be good.  I can’t imagine ever having done this but she says it happened ;-).

While walking along the street my mother told him to pull up his pants, so he grabbed the bottom hem of his shorts and yanked them to his hips.  When we fell-out laughing he paraded around like an old-man in a diaper.

I used to stick pearls up my nose. This would baffle my parents because it was probably something more like what Stevie-weavie might do.  But he probably would’ve used rocks.  Because rocks are easier to grip with tweezers.  I liked to do things the hard way.

We used to eat white-bread smeared with margarine and sprinkled with sugar & cinnamon on the top as a snack.

One time I caught him stealthily taking a tube of airplane-glue out of the freezer, (that he’d apparently made a bubble form), and lighting it with a lighter.  I was furious.  I was definitely in the “I’m telling(!)” phase.  We used to roll around on the floor in fist-fights punching each other yelling at the top of our lungs until someone split us up.  We were about the same size so it was a pretty good match.  We never went for the face though. I’d call that honor among warring siblings.

I think I failed a class in grade-school because my mom had to make flash-cards with multiplication tables on them.  This was old-school stuff not that new-fangled math,… where we had the actual x between numbers and not a graph to nostradamus the product.  Weave learned the cards at the same time and used to compete with me. He was quicker with the right answer even while being 2 grades behind me.

My mom used to cut the boys’ hair until I took over.  I mean that Asian-bowl-cut can only go so far when you’re in Jr. High-school ya’know?!  I just knew I could do it “better” (which was prettymuch ANYTHING) and they let me experiment while teaching myself which was really big (and brave) of them.  They had two totally different types of hair and the same style wouldn’t work on the other,… so trial & error was the word with that trust, but they had everything that money coulda bought — flat-tops, weight-lines, cut-ins, feathers.  I was the bomb fashionista sister.

We were raised being used to my uncles in Indiana hunting and a deer hanging upside-down from a tree in the back-yard was “normal”.  Steve used to go out hunting with some sort of gun.  But it was on a red moped we’d won in a raffle.  Once I asked “what are you going to do if you catch a deer?”  I guess hunters don’t like being asked that.

We could both fix a car pretty good.

He used to tell me he’d visit the animal-shelter sometimes.  And how a cat had walked against the fence cage so close, so many times that it’d worn the whiskers off the side of its face.  He was so sad while telling me, I asked him why he goes there… I don’t remember what he said,… my theory is, I think it was to offer the animals some sort of solace.

Weave is a science teacher.  Once when we went to visit him in Orlando we visited his classroom and saw the tests he was grading.  Boy were those kids dumb (meaning even WE knew those answers.)  But we didn’t feel it was a reflection on his teaching ability.  He was the type of (asshole-ish) teacher who did (head-smackingly inventive) life-lessons like telling them to read the instructions first.  And in them he’d write “if you’ve read these, skip the quiz, write your name at the bottom then turn in your paper for a 100.”  More than half the class got a big FAIL on that one.  Brilliant.

My brother is one of the damn-smartest people I know.  He’s a trivia wiz athlete and knows more useful and useless information than anyone on the planet.

My broski is also an incredible runner.  When I was training for a half-marathon he was the guru I turned to, to ask stupid-beginner questions (while I was soaking in epsom-salts), like what’s better to take ibuprophen or aspirin because I was sore as hale.  Yea he didn’t need those.  He taught me to always test your “equipment” well before an event and never race in anything new.  30 minutes with anything is verrry different than 2.5 hours with it in your ears, on your feet, or rubbing your skin.  He exposed me to my 1st trail-race up in Chattanooga a few years ago.  At first I was going to just sit and wait but decided to do the 6.5 while he did the 10.2.  I mean, I knew I could WALK 6 miles if I had to, right?  Man was that a moron mistake, hardest shit EVER.  But awesome.  There were hills on that sucker that I didn’t even want to be carried up.  And I almost took longer to do half the distance he did, which was (I don’t care to admit) a much more arduous trek than my lame-in-comparison portion.  But it was the just being-in-nature that was a really killer treat while I was dying on my feet lol.  I don’t remember if I told him I got lost.  But at least there was this other girl there, so we bitched-away our fear.

Yesterday we did the Zulu Trail-race in Cumming, GA.

I was doing the 4 while he did the 10.  We’d done some trail-running on the Eglin reservation in February on his birthday weekend so I knew I could move the distance, but that was Florida.  The idea of hills there is actual HILLS not mountains.  Still, I fell in-love with it and have decided that I’m not going to do road-races anymore.  I want to get good in the woods.  (Gotta be a t-shirt somewhere.)  I seem to (probably metaphorically symbolic for something) be better with obstacles, feeling a sense of accomplishment and gumption going up or down hard places.  The open flat asphalt just bores the crap out of my brain and it’s too-busy screeching to do things like staaahhhpppp.

So I got done in one-hour:36 seconds.  Fairly horrible in my opinion since my goal was 40 mins.  Walking during a run will do that.  Whereas for him, at the 1st check-point he was 3rd overall, averaging around 7 ½ min-miles (WTF-ever, I’d like to get that once in my lifetime NOT in a dream lol.)  Anyways even though I’m shitty at math (see flash-cards paragraph), even I know that’s TWICE as fast as me haha.  It’s just crap-luck that the fastest guys got to a river-crossing and there wasn’t a volunteer to tell the correct direction and it wasn’t marked, so they went the wrong way.  Only about 1.4 miles but Jesus.  Suckification.  And in true-to-form agony-of-defeat, when the slower guys got to the same place, they got pointed the right way so moved into pole-position.  Being a pioneer has tough breaks.

I was waiting at the finish-line and wondered why much slower-appearing runners were showing up.  Clearly they were moving at more like my-pace.  I was wearing my bright-orange hat so he could see me and kept thinking I screwed up to change clothes because he must’ve already passed by.  But then he came motoring up and said a bunch of guys fucking got off-track and lost some major fucking time.  He has a snazzy GPS-watch so he’s going to calc his true distance and time.  We drank some celebratory Guinness (going to start a tradition I think, we did this at the Rock Creek River Gorge run too) which is the liquid-analgesic electrolyte-replacement drink of the universe.   This is the best part because I get to hear all the stories like running in a river for a mile.  Gheeze I ran (stepped) across a river a few times and that water was butt-ass COLD but I didn’t even get sand in my shoes.  I also didn’t get bramble-scratches across my chest & legs from running through a quarter-mile thatch.  But he has an optimistic way of viewing things, he said that while running down a mountain his toes were so numb and held in place by the cement at the tips that they didn’t slide around in the pocket.  Which he thinks helped.  Yea I laughed at that one too.

Rehashing the race really teaches me about tactic and strategy.  One wouldn’t think there’s too much of that going on when you’re just trying to run “fast” — but doing an after-action to review where and how to conserve energy and know what’s “normal” (expected?) during performance is enlightening.  As a neophyte I’m not at that point yet with my current goal being to just not friggin’ walk.  But I’ll get there.  Learning about fuel and prep and recovery in this new environment changes everything with confidence on the trail.  I asked him if he was scared when lost and he said an unusual (poignant) thing, — no, because he’d been lost before and he knew he could deal with the mental-aspect of it if he kept his thoughts in-check and let his body handle the rest of it.  And I think that’s applicable life-advice.

So while we weren’t running the same route we were running “together” and share this experience in the book of our family history.  I consider that another lovely notch to go right alongside the holiday fights.  Because our tree has twists and turns and also many unexplored paths yet to be discovered — and I am really liking this family-turning-into-friends thing.

Have you thought about what your brother(s) mean to you recently and how maybe they could be a person in your life that is wiser and cooler than you never thought?  Try it — when you forget about the rocks & logs, it might make the difference to shift your trail to something surprisingly heart-opening.

Under the Influence

Posted: March 6, 2011 in Family Craziness


Grass in the shade grows,… differently, I’d imagine.  Is the chemistry of the soil affected by the lack of the sun?… Not to mention the direction of the blade and the strength and depth of the roots.  Grass is very pliable and takes on the imprint of something heavy laid on it.  The color of it isn’t as bright if it’s under the influence of lack-of-light coupled with the heft of cinder-blocks — it just aint as healthy ya’know?

How much euphemistic cement has been laid on your soul?  You probably thought I should say soil,… but I mean it the same — the foundation for your “grass”… the stuff growing out of you showing the lawn of your life.  Has the water been a futile effort because a pile of logs is in the way?  Is the fertilizer only bullshit heaped on seedless ground?  Have things been trampled and packed-down so there’s a broken trail cutting through your field but it’s not leading to where you want it to go?  Is the sunshine unreachable and unattainable to catalyze the chlorophyll into a vibrant green and you’ve fooled yourself to think you’re a new breed of deprived albino-strain bred to subsist in caves?  Do you only care what your “neighbor” thinks, constantly comparing your yard to their’s, competing in a jone’s-way to be just… more?  Or do you take pride in what you’ve done with your own two hands and bent-back, cultivating with purpose and consideration.

We are our grass — and our lawn speaks for itself.  I’m no expert but my friend is.  Yes she is a bonified freaking grass-expert professional and she (in effect) has told me exactly what I need to do to fix my soul.

Offload the fucking bricks one by one.  Doesn’t matter how much naturey rain or purified spring water I sprinkle or pour onto that shit, it isn’t gonna grow right, BE right,… be ABLE to grow verdant and true, with the burden of the past scarring its direction.  Once the load is lifted there needs to be a status-check to see what the reality of the situation is.  A little bit of sun will have to be shined.  At first it will seem too bright and it’ll feel like the light is scalding, but after the initial weak/retarded/crippled/damaged pieces have been seared-away, that’ll leave a void for the possibility of seed-receptivity.  The earth will probably have to be stirred up a bit to aerate the stagnant places to get some air where the sun don’t shine so-to-speak — and that will feel uncomfortable like a tilling-machine rammed up our ass.  Awesome.  Something to distract me and look forward to when I thought I was going to just be able to lay there on the down-low and breathe (for a few years) after the damn clutter was removed.  You mean I don’t get to fly under the radar?

Swailing might need to be done.  Burn that mess to the ground, nuke it for broke get rid of the weeds and disease in one fell swoop.  Hurts though.  Hard to see through the smoky haze that’s unseeable to the other-side.  The smell clings to everything and it seems like you’ll never get clean.

Decide the seeds — which means set your intention.  Only an idiot would clear the area then pray or wish the type of result you want, miraculously poofs on the scene.  Do you long to be Kentucky bluegrass or Bermuda?  ARE you turfgrass but want to be fescue?  How much shade do you need, how high-maintenance are you?

Then a crop has to be planted.  Oh yea, and that means some stupid birds have to be fended off.  I think some sort of netting (let’s call it safety-netting) is a good idea,… I’m, I mean the shoots, are still fragile and this will give a little manageable shade (reprieve,… haven) — still letting the sun through while keeping the peckers off.

I’ll be vulnerable to the elements and environment at this stage, requiring a lot of tender-lovin’ care.  And bluntly, we’re just not going to know for sure if that dirt is going to let anything “take.”  Dirt’s pretty resilient though.  You can throw trash and compost and shit (virtually) on it and that stuff will magic-wand it into mutant super-powers dirt.  With a little help from fairies and worms of course.  Unseen support coming from places we didn’t really think could be so important.

Just when you thought all the hard work was done, you’ll need to take a look at the surroundings and see if extraneous “things” are inhibiting the chances of survival.  You’re tired and want to rest but yer going to hafta paul-bunyan it up and ax some of those dead tree branches jutting precariously lifeless over your field, and cut away some of those pesky hanger-on vines.  Trim that crap AWAY,… because it’s causing “shadow” where you don’t want it,… and well,… it’ll just be um lighter and PRETTIER, more feng-shuiy too.  Yes now you have the ability to start paying attention to neglected, ignored and avoided things like aesthetics.  Took too-much out of you before — but now’s when it has to happen.  It’s not enough to be dirt.  There’s gotta be some hope.  There’s gotta be some bling.

Then,… one of the most important parts,… time.  To be patient and wait for things to take root.  For baby-shoots to sprout and that should start to give you some giggles of laughter bubbling up because admit it,… you were afraid things were barren beyond repair.  But there you are… coming back to life again.  Then as the beginnings get stronger, the water of love gives the grass purpose to reach for the stars along with the sun.

Annndd in my usual Kathisms — sooo many freaking steps to the process — can’t I just lay SOD?! Haha Unfortunately my verdict is that would be the not-so-cheap yet easy way to get to the point.  Because isn’t the main objective here, to grasp own my value?  Understand that the labor is a necessity to prove I’m worth the hard work.  I AM worth it. It’s not easy being green — but I deserve it. To be soft and lush and full,… so I can roll-round on & in myself, inviting the picnic-of-life to come play on me.

I’m done with being “under the influence.” It’s time to grow my own damn self.  BOOYAH.

Post Traumatic What?

Posted: March 3, 2011 in Getting Therapyized

Post Traumatic What?

PTSD: Post traumatic stress disorder.  Google that shit and see the trouble THAT looks like.  I went to a therapist for this OTHER issue,… and this is what rolled out of the gumball machine.  A whole new animal that might’ve started the snowball downhill.  Great.  Nothing like going in for a psyche “cold” and finding out there’s a psychotic “tumor.”  So now I get to consider “surgery” to remove it or “radiation” to shrink it,  either way it’s going to be a sewage-ordeal and I get to canoe through it.  It’s a technicality that it’s psychological — but it’s all spiritual to me.  The problem, the process, the recovery, the scar.

What the universe has told me — is I am ready to handle this now.  Otherwise it wouldn’t be coming up to be healed.  We never stop a behavior unless we are ready to change.  A force continues on a straight line until a greater force kwams it to veer.  All things never stay the same.  And I am a constantly evolving entity — so it’s just crap to not get-it that “I” am not and will never be a stagnant static thang.

So I’m in the phase of Sybil when she thought she only had 3 personalities to contend with (bad news), and juuust found out there’s a rugby scrum in there (um worse.)  I feel a little fragile but the ammo I HAVE, is loaded in the paintball-gun and I’m slowly picking those suckers off.  I’m stuck in the carnival shooting-gallery and those metal chickens are whirring by, but I can hear the ting of when the BB finds it mark.  Yea it’s not in any planned order or sequence (Problems-R-Us, alphabetical) — but who cares.  It’s better than hiding under the counter and fighting-back with WISHES.  Not enough buckshot in that shite.

I am putting on my alchemy-raybans and looking at PTSD as if a doctor told me I have diabetes.  Not on my bucket-list but it happens,… and there’s a lot of information and support groups to help.  I’m going to have to take “medication” or adjust my habits accordingly (or a combo of both) but either requires action on my part.  I will have to step-up and increase my awareness for my state-of-being and do status-checks frequently till things level-out.  I have to listen to the doc even if they say things I don’t want to hear. I have to “grieve” that it aint all going my way.  I have to accept that I don’t want this battle to be happening to me — but it is.

My CHOICE in the matter is prettymuch what I have to cling to — and hope is not a plan.

I choose to shake the acid off the rose and assess what’s salvageable.  I choose to be the Poinsettia which can only turn red after sitting in the dark for extended lengths of time for days in a row.  (Crap, why can’t it just be like ONE?! gheeze.)  I choose to fail-forward-fast and not limit myself to slow careful mistakes. I choose to see my situation as blank photographer’s paper basking in a calgon-bath of chemicals in a closet until what’s secretly-imprinted there comes to light.

I don’t know much about this PTSD stuff (I’m used to manufacturing crises of my own lol) but I know I’m not in the boat alone.  For once, this actually isn’t necessarily a flaw on my own part, but rather a reaction to circumstances that I didn’t know had a root in my tree-of-life.  Pruning branches is an obvious thing which chain-saws are an amazing solution for — but something that threads so deep and moles in so MANY hidden forking-tributaries,… is slightly godzilla-intimidating.  I wrestle with vacillating on every aspect aforementioned,… it seems like these kudzu-roots have a lizard’s-tail regeneration-capability and my laser-gun aim needs to be fine-tuned — but what is it going to matter in 5 years?  This sitch is directly in-line with honing my new skill of letting everything be what it IS,… and serenity-prayer’ing the rest.

So the big-bad has squirreled its way to the forefront and I’m in the cage to mixed-martial-artist ‘is arse for the belt.  It’s a good thing I know Karate AND Kung-Fu.


Posted: March 2, 2011 in Overcoming Delusion


Asking for help is one of the fricking hardest things to do.  Harder thant that mountain I just tried to run up at the Chattahoochee river-trail,… harder than running a half-marathon.  Most of the time I don’t even know I NEED help.  Meh.  I cruise along in my own sandbox of too-high-tolerance-for-pain and it’s only when my metaphorical skin starts to peel and the stink of burning-flesh has me CONTEMPLATING that maybe.  I should remove my hand from the stove.  Ya’know,… maybe.

You know what helps the most?  Is a real friend who says, “hey asshole, how ‘bout taking your damn hand off that there stove for starters.”  — Or a person who says “I am here for you if you need me” — Or someone who says “you mean a lot to us,… keep going, we’ll wait.”

Too often I don’t reach out to others because frankly I am slightly overwhelmed by my OWN world (of late) I’ve tricked myself into thinking that if I step into yours, two or twenty-fold things that I have to shuffle around will inundate & capsize me — and that feels like it’s going to be a liiiittle more overwhelm onto my head pushing me under the surface.  But it’s like love.  When you give some you don’t lose it — rather, it multiplies like tribbles, instead.

I realize I hadn’t been in contact with close-friends & family as much as I wanted (should) because I didn’t want to LIE in response to the inevitable “so how you been” jeopardy-on-crack question.  WAY too many worms in that can, — and “fine” (fucked-up insecure neurotic egotistical) just hurt too much in it flip fraudulence.  I realized that calling or sending a message OUT to them meant I might need to be ready to respond.  And I just wasn’t equipped for that recently.  But now,… Now I am open for business.  I am a start-up company that doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing — but by-God I’m GOOD at it!! (lol)  I’m not even going to bother to say “forgive me, I’m not very proficient at this yet (being a real-person.)”   It’s more a matter of “dude, I’m part of the CLUB  now! Let’s fuck this shit up TOGETHER ohyeababy.”

I’ve been “living” (questionable) in a cave of my own isolation and demise.  Which means I stood myself apart looking in-on the zoo and thought I was making a CHOICE to stand above.  But really, what I was doing was standing alone.  And craving to be part of the group.  I comforted myself with the delusion that I’m non-to-comfortable with team-sports (I do “better” at loner-things) because what I was really.  Afraid of,… was the fear that I’d let someone else down. I’d embarrass myself because I couldn’t catch that frisbee and you’d hate me for losing the game.  What this did was negate all the skills I DO have (I’m pretty good for a girl at throwing a football and I can block like a mutha’fuka) — in order to give-life to the gargantuan-ogre of insecurity.  All insecurity is, is security that hasn’t baked yet.  I didn’t know that everyone messes up or has an off-day and that’s OKAY!  Pressure on ourselves is much fatter than all the participants of the Biggest Loser — right on our heads.  So then we recto-cranially-invert ourselves thinking the load will be lighter if it’s where the sun don’t shine.

No go.

I thought to myself today “I like reaching out to my friends because they’re great and they like me and I don’t CARE if I’m ready or not-ready to respond,… it iz what it IZ and maybe we can help each OTHER.”  And it’s so stupid-awesome that connecting with them helps ME.  Helps me to get out of my self-imposed shell-o’hell (when I’m in that shell I am a frelling slow-ass snail) — helps me to pay-it-forward (instead of hoarding the love like a miser) — helps me to want to give more — helps me to appreciate myself as the person who is human just doing the best she can.

See,… I did a crazy thing the other week,… I asked the universe for help.  And guess what?  It fucking ANSWERED.  With a resounding YES.  So when the helping-hands came, who am I to smack them away?  I was honor-bound to deliver on MY end and take it.  Grab ahold and hang on tight.  Now I’m being flung around like a tetherball in circles by the daunting numbers of offers to help.

And all because I asked.

What else is out there that I’ve been too much of a moron to ask for?

My Reason

Posted: February 27, 2011 in Poetry


A life is how we grow it.
…My life is how I tell & show it.
The earth of our history has been fashioned by our ancestors, paved in a way to give us options to walk the same template or forge our own stones.
Is it fertile and receptive, or unyielding and tracked.
Is it fraught with idiosyncrasies and deficiencies and prophesied curses we are powerless to reverse? …Or rich and malleable with the beckoning to mark our own ingenuitive path?
We are born with the exact-right parents and environment to enact the karma which is ours to traverse.
We are given the choice to follow our journey with the pseudo-dignity of blind resignation slipping into the groove already-made or the angst of rebellion to create a new way, a rebirthed way, of shattering the pattern and pioneering our individual legacy.
We are not put here to begin profound then shrink.
We are not put here to wake bright then fade.
We are not put here with a voice singing to be heard then silence ourselves to invisibility…Then to die.  Be gone.  Disappeared, forgotten.

We are ALL destined to adventure our way through this thing we call experience.
We are ALL becoming the greatness that is our duty to manifest.
We are simple, we are complex.  We are mundane, we are brilliant.  We are elated and motivated and positivey aglow — we are depressed and sorrowful and woefully numb.  A conglomeration of contradictions glued together, together.  A resource of information intertangled and entwined, we are a jungle of connection of one-spirit one-mind.
All these facets of me are not complications, they are a vitally critical piece-of-the-puzzle.  All the blues of the sky blend with those of the waves — but when we epiphany-click them into place, they stand as a unit with the whole and everything starts to make sense.
This life I’ve built has been shredded and torn apart at the seams.  It’s been reworked and revamped so it doesn’t feel like the same quilt-of-circumstances I embarked to have you see.  It’s been illuminated and burned so the foundations of a multi-level hovel is now a mansion of imprecise perfection.
I have died and been reborn so many times I am a universe unto myself.  …A damaged child, a confused girl, a searching woman, a completing soul…
Who am I?  I ask myself,… when the embodiment of this life I’ve painted on canvas and written in endless novels is the monument that stands as the testament of me.
The touch of my life has spilled a million different ways and directions to cause exponential ripples to snuggle or crash against yours — your touch has searched for me, found me, found me and laid claim.  We are a collective-consciousness when all we have to learn, is that your puzzle is also a part of mine.  We belong.  We are amalgamated.  We are transformed. We are home.
We were born to be unified within ourselves and with each other.
We were born to be resolved with our issues and dilemmas and pasts.
We were born to realize our impact in making a statement of our ability to reach toward enlightenment and become,…better.
We were born to have serenity and confidence in our worth because EVERY insignificant detail has raised-up a Shangri-La empire from a clean slate of beginnings — and WE.
Were the tool.
That God.
Decided to use.

All the troubles and travails, all the glitches and false-starts, all the stumbles and cracks, all the groping, flailing, and lament.
All the joy and growth, all the gloriousness and surprise, all the hope and love, all the friendship and family…


Let fall away the doubt that what we haven’t done is too much.
Let fall away the questioning that what we are isn’t enough.
Release the heaviness that we are tired and will not be able to finish this race at a sprint.
Release the burden that we will not be happy and capable to be beautiful in the end.
Release the mind-set that the weariness-inside is too much, too much.
Pray instead for the strength and DESIRE to embrace the picture of your life as the most fantastical poem that you have gifted to me.
You have saved me in so many ways you could have never known…  When I was a pool of despair you didn’t know that it was your kind encouragement which kept me afloat.  When I was floundering in chaos, you sharing yourself and how you’ve been there before, shined a light to guide me out of the dark.  You didn’t even speak, you just stroked me on my arm and I needed that oh so badly, to have human-contact with another — it made me weep inside and break through the hazy-dim to want MORE.  You read my stories and say your thoughts, you argue with me and stick to your opinions, you let The-God-in-You come play with mine,… the vibration of you resonates with me, and the clarity and peace that ensues gives me a haven for all my answers.

You give me TIME, that I call mine — and the proof of it smiles upon me like a thousand candles rising into the sun.

My life has unfolded and refolded into an origami army of swans and airplanes, flying me to a fantasy place I could have never predicted — and you need to know,… that you were the air that carried me there.
My life is your life and your life is mine.
WE — together, and never alone — are the reason.
My reason.

Faith & Leaps

Posted: February 26, 2011 in Unlimited Possibility

Faith & Leaps

Taking a leap of faith is freaking SCARY.  The edge of the cliff is there, you’re there (with a blindfold) — and something in your gut is telling you to step out in the air not knowing what or if anything’s under you.  There is a football stadium chorus of voices going on in your head debating with each other as to their opinion on the matter.  Do it — don’t do it(!) — you’ll die — you will fly — what about blankety-blank(?!) — what about what’s-their-name — who’s going to catch you — you’ll look like a fool — what if you’re cripple after this — are you effin’ CRAAAZZYYYY??!!

Your head is screaming, your gut is churning — but something,… something inside tells you that you NEED to do this.  Sometimes I hate that voice.  It’s the quietest, least explainable one… yet it compels me to follow.  With only faith.  Try a new thing that I might not be good at, might FAIL at.  And what is failure except a dictation of my own mind based on what my experience has determined?  So many of my “failures” have turned out to be blessings.  Lessons I’ve learned on how to NOT do something.  They say Edison did not think he failed… he successfully found 4,296 (whatever) ways that the lightbulb did not work.  Isn’t it all just a PR-spin on our perception and definition?  My idea of a flaw was not doing something perfect.  Then my idea of “perfect” changed.  There are no such thing as mistakes.  It’s all a part of the process.  You have to start somewhere.  You have nowhere to go but up.  I set the bar so high for myself it’s self-defeating to even contemplate making the mark.  Understanding my strengths and not-so-strengths have helped me to evolve simply what I am BETTER at.  I’m not much of a basketball star (for reasons dictated by gravity), I can’t play sudoku for shit (I am a words-girl not a numbers person), sometimes I am afraid of crowds (the conflicting energies overwhemingly swirl around me) — I am great at interpreting dreams (really fantastical random answers come to me from angels), I am so good at explaining movement of chi through a body (being a dancer, gymnast, crossfitter, and martial artist), — I am awesome at conveying life through analogies through things I write (my genius-genie likes to visit me often.)

Faith is something in me that is a part of me.  Faith is God.  Faith is not knowing the prediction of an outcome but doing it anyways. Faith is that elusive grasp of the universe working through me even if I’m not sure if I can be the vessel.  Faith is not needing to trust me, but trust that this is the right thing happening at the exact right moment — and I only have to keep taking steps and be excited to see what the result is going to be.  It’s like a first-date with myself and I get to see if I’m going to be marriage-material.

I might not know what the frell I’m doing half the time,… but at least I know I’m good at leaping.  Go ahead,… You leap too.

Truest Loves

Posted: February 20, 2011 in Real Women.


When a mirror is held in front of me and the reflection is blinding in its light and loveliness — I am humbled by God who would gift me with the grace of such an all-encompassing embrace of soul.

To frolic in delight, rolling around in the dandelions and fire of the fortress & haven of our friendship,… you, my friend, fill me with the wonder of witnessing your unfold and unfurl, and the awe of basking in the glow of your wake.  …Your POWER stretches out beyond the universe calling in other light-warriors for safe-retreat.  A woman of fortitude, your amazon-ness & bold laughter spills over everything you touch,… melting like a golden white caress of unlimited possibility.  You are.  Complete.

Complete in the way that showers your circle with the rain of joy and awareness… love is what you are made of — and love is what you shine out to us,… to me.

I love you D’Lish my Beautiful friend.  Happy Birthday.