re-membering

This morning I picked “The World is a Waiting Lover” and began to read it from the beginning. I did not realize that the author, Trebbe Johnson, is a guide for AVI, the organization I chose to do my vision quest with. The first chapter recounts parts of a vision quest she was guiding on, specifically the morning that the questers returned from their solo after three days and three nights. As I was reading I was immediately taken back to the morning I returned from my solo. My skin darkened, my hair unkempt, and I am certain, a wildness in my eyes, I stumbled into base camp and although I hadn’t eaten for four days, I felt stronger that morning that I have for weeks in this time space as I fill my body with toxins and my mind with egocentric thoughts. Coming off the solo really was like waking from a dream and I continued in this state for at least several days.

My new friends, fellow questers and guides, had been there to welcome me back from my time alone. I fell into their embrace and saw my Self reflected in their wild eyes. I did not care to share words with them that morning, did not know how, only hugs, tears, laughter and energy. After four miraculous days without food I hesitated to ingest anything, it seemed so foreign to me. As I read about it this morning I could still recall the taste of the avocado I was fed along with a root vegetable I can’t recall the name of, all sprinkled with lemon juice and salt. Nothing so simple ever tasted so good.

I have hardly vocalized to any human beings what happened those two weeks in the desert, particularly what took place on my solo. To do so would somehow do an injustice to the experience but you may begin to see bits and pieces of it here in my blog. I will tell you now that I danced under the stars, spent hours naked in the sun and was shown just as much overwhelmingly painful grief as I was shown indescribable love.

I drove out to Julian last weekend, a small mountain in Southern California. I could not believe how fast the clouds were moving. I hoped that the clouds over my heart would move as quickly.

It was stormy when a friend and I drove through the same town in March when we were coming back from the vision quest. We stopped in Julian at the coffee shop there and ended up spending three hours talking and journaling as the storm outside ensued. It had been so daunting to return to the city. We had so much in our hearts and felt that the world was opening up to us. But at the same time, both of us were uncertain of how we would relate to other's in our lives, if they would be receptive to the changes that had occurred in us. Neither my friend nor I even knew where we would live in the coming days and months. I knew that I was different but I did not know how that would change the way I walked in this world. It’s no wonder I was scared. The reintegration has been far from easy for me especially since I have come off the road after weeks of traveling and landed in a new place, getting to know this new me. I have been tired and physically unwell but I am continually reminded to be gentle with my Self and to trust Mystery.

It is easy to recall the strength I felt during and coming off of the vision quest so I know that strength is still there and that I may find it just below the surface. As I buried my feet in the sand at the ocean the other day and let the waves crash against me, I felt strong again. Soon there will come a time when I can find that strength in my Self anywhere.

Random Page in a Book

I love to open a book to a random page and see what it has to offer. I received some books today that I had ordered on Amazon and decided to implement this practice. The book is called The World is a Waiting Lover by Trebbe Johnson. It was so interesting because the subject matter of the particular paragraph I read was very much like a conversation my roomie and I were having the other day about acknowledging each other, strangers and acquaintances alike by making eye contact or even physical contact. We have been talking a lot about presentation of Self as well. Of course I also have a special affinity for this excerpt because it discusses the gray area between hetero and homosexuality and confesses an attraction to the Other regardless of gender.

The author is speaking of a time when she lived in New York City. She had been admiring the way certain women would flirt with men on the subway.....

"I realized that I, too, could join this harmless mating ritual. So I started allowing myself to exchange probing glances with men, including strangers, friends and casual acquaintances. I realized that, in such moments, the erotic potential - which could mount so quickly that both of us had to look away - was often accompanied by, or even superseded, by something else, a kind of curiosity or fascination. So I began trying out the look on women, too, although that was harder for both of us and could never be sustained as long. When the look endured, however, it was an exquisite thing. The rawness of a soul, fully concentrated in the outward-turning gaze, and meeting, just for an instant, another raw soul, revealed something both exotic and very intimate. The connection between these two ensouled gazes penetrated veils, so each could see the Beloved in the other. Then, in a naked instant of acceptance and desiring curiosity that people usually do not allow into their life, I saw my Beloved in them and their own Beloved shining forth around them."

Disconnected

I went to a festival the other day that was meant to be in celebration of the Earth. The festival was full of people and portable johns and movie nachos and not very good bands and booths supposedly selling things that represented different parts of the world. Most of the crap was made in China. There were some decent parts: African dancers and a Latino band that was interesting but still it was no way that I would have thought to celebrate the Earth. I would rather be held by her on the desert floor, let her hear my cries when no one else is around to listen, climb gracefully up her beautiful rocks or watch the waves lap against her shores.

I had to park two miles away from the festival which was fine, I don't mind walking. But as I was following the herd of people towards the event I experienced a feeling that is not uncommon when I am in an overcrowded place: disconnected. And all of these people seemed disconnected from each other. It's no wonder that as a society we focus on searching for that special other to connect with romantically. No wonder we are procreating, are we seeking unconditional love in our children? No wonder we want to dress like each other or connect with a character in a television show. Can't we love each Other without romance or the same DNA or real people without a screen between us. Not that I myself don't long for a partner at times, it's possible that I'll have a child someday and I do cry every time I watch Grey's Anatomy.

I let myself get carried away with these thoughts at the fair but later as I was leaving, I pull it back and remember. I listened to an amazing group of Brazilian percussionists playing the drums int the park on and girls dancing and we were all connecting through music. I was reminded that if I pay attention, the connections are there. It's there when I receive a huge hug from a musician because the band played, I danced and we connected. It's there when a dear friend of mind finds a ring on the beach miles and miles from here that makes her think of me and we are connected. There is a connection with the owl feather that I carry with me and the owl that I saw in Anza Borrego. If I pay attention, I can think of ten instances in the past week of connecting with Others, human or otherwise. I was sailing and spontaneously thought of a friend of mine, not finding out until later that he has a special connection with sailing. We are all mirrors of each other. We are the same. We are one.

On another note, I feel incredibly shy about posting these thoughts and question the validity of the blog. But admittedly, I am questioning a lot of things these last few days. I am not sure how to share this blog, what to share and with whom. I do know it feels good to write and to connect.

The Guest House

I've dedicated myself to feel and to live my Truths. The truth is that I cannot feel content all of the time. No one can. The truth is, I woke up this afternoon, after sleeping for twelve hours, and I felt sad. No, sad doesn't really cover it. I felt overwhelmed with grief, near hysteria. And I'm proud of myself because instead of burying these feelings or attempting to distract myself from them I lived the grief and the sorrow and I fucking cried. I cried inside and outside and I cried as I walked to the coffee shop and I cried as I flipped through The Essential Rumi. Of course the poem I opened up to was The Guest House:

This being human is a guest house,
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of it's furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-Rumi

So I invited the sorrow in even though I didn't really want it here. I welcomed it, I entertained it but I also wanted to know why. What do you want from me? I asked. I didn't like the answer I got....rest. "That's ridiculous," I told a friend. "What good does that do? I'm not doing enough! Rest, hah!" I like to argue with the answers I get. But if I'm not willing to listen why ask? So I will take some time and I'll rest. I'll reintegrate and get my footing in this place and in this time space. I'll pull back the reins on my soul work for a minute because my Self cried out for rest. I'm grateful that I was able to pay attention even if it took a few hours to really listen.

One Who Blogs

I was never going to write a blog. But then again I was never going to live in California. I was never going to fast in the desert for several days and cry for a vision. I was never going leave a perfectly fine, established career and a great apartment in order to dive into the depths of my soul. I was never going to be so fortunate as to fall in love over half a dozen times only to fall head over heels for..... drumroll please..... my Self. But really, if I think about it a little bit harder, I was always going to do all of these things. These things and so many more that have made up the stories of my life.

And it keeps coming up, the blog thing. When it first entered my mind I nearly laughed out loud! Sure, the Mystery wants me to write a blog. But then it happened again in meditation and it came to me again in nature of all places. All I talk about these days, all I tell my self is PAY ATTENTION. So here I am, paying attention to the call to blog. It makes sense, really: I want to share my stories, what a great place to start.

It's got to be authentic. Otherwise, what's the point? It's easy enough to be authentic with others in my "new" life. It wasn't hard for me to share with fourteen strangers on the vision quest or my new boss or friends that I've only spoken to on the phone. It's not difficult to tell a story to a tree or a squirrel. But to be authentic with some of you from my old life that maybe I haven't necessarily opened up to about my journey..... that's a little daunting.

So here I go. I'm excited to see what will enfold here and in life. I hope you'll join me.