What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
That’s good enough for me.
C is for the golden compass.
C is for courage.
C is for crown. C is for costumes.
And it’s good enough for me.
By which I mean:
“C is for cookie, that’s good enough for me.”
And also: that it is good. It is good enough. It is good enough for me. It is good enough and it is for me. It works for me.
These are the things that I see when I see C.
These are the things that I see when I see C.
C is also for the chocolate in my imaginary chocolate shop.
And C is for carousel. With a buttmonster riding a C!
C is for Congruence, and up until last week being a chocolatier felt like the most incongruent thing possible, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m wrong. I hope I’m wrong. I think I might be wrong.
C is for course, of course. And for changing course.
So many gorgeous things that come with C.
Spy-words, for one thing….
Like Code. I have a blog and it is written in code! Cryptograph. Contact. Cooperation. Counter-intelligence! Cipher.
Mmmmm, I love this one so much…are you ready for this? Casting. In all sense of the word.
Casting like roles. Casting like iron. Casting like spells. Casting like throwing away and releasing. Let us cast things. Let us cast things off and cast things away.
Oh, and another thing I love. Conviviality, a marvelous word — and superpower — that I will forever associate with Max!
She brought it to Rally (Rally!) a couple years ago, and I can still picture the way she said it with a gigantic smile, as if the very existence of the word was filling her with delight.
C is colors, all the colors! Including cerulean and crimson. C is for coloring in monsters.
Calling in begins with C.
Let’s call in some of the qualities that start with C.
Creativity. Calling. Counsel. Cadence. Calm. Courage. Clasping. Collaboration. Companionship. Community. Conductivity. Connection. Compassion. Communication. Counter-point. Canopy. Competence. Confidence. Courtship. Court! Containers. Containment. Contentment. Cradling. Comfort. Continuity. Commitment. Closeness. Cohesion. Catalyst.
C is cycles and crossing. Coasts and coasting. Caring and being cared for. Celebrating and being celebrated. Charms and feeling charmed.
C is change. C is Choice. C is Clarity. C is being cheered up. And cheering, in general.
C is the superpower of COMPLETION: every thing gets to the point it needs to get to so that I can move on to the next piece.
And another kind of C.
Right now, for me, C is for option C. The Third Way. The thing that is not A-or-B.
So possibly C is for Compromise? Or maybe the third way is something better than compromise.
For me this not-A-and-not-B is about possibility.
The C is a new and delightful way that I haven’t been able to see. It is a seeing — that I can’t C, or maybe a C I can’t see. But it is there. It is the hidden pathway.
And since there may be infinity-pathways, let C stand for:
Any pathway that is both desirable and available to me, but as yet unseen by me.
I want to believe in C! This is my wish.
And I want my C to seem accessible, not far-away or tooth-fairy-like. Not some distant wished-for miracle. An actual viable possibility. Not a ship that might come in some day. Something that is here.
C means: I can step onto the new pathway once I know it exists. Or, I can at least make a path from where I am towards C.
But the most important thing about C is that it exists.
Just because I haven’t thought of it it yet or found it yet does not mean that it is not there. It is there, waiting for me to remember it.
It is on the tip of my tongue. It is just around the corner. It is incoming. It is the other door opening when one closes. There is a world of C that wants me to open my eyes and my heart to it.
It is my sea. My C and my see and my sea!
It is already happening, I think.
Last week was Rally B, the second of this year’s Alphabet Rallies and the 27th ever Rally, I think.
I spent a lot of time with words that start with B, and I was on a reality show that wasn’t real, and I resolved my existential crisis, which was awesome.
And one of the things I learned was that Forgiveness has a silent B. That is, it has a silent BE.
The week of B turned out to be the week of BE.
I am convinced that everything at this week’s Rally — Rally C — will have a silent SEE. And possibly a silent SEA. It will be the week of seeing things I have not seen before.
I can’t wait to find out what that is like.
May it be so! And come play with me.
We can say words that start with C. We can sing C IS FOR COOKIE.
(That’s good enough for me).
If you want to whisper words or sound effects that appeal to you, go for it. If you want to share in any of qualities, you can. They work like the salves in the Friday Chicken: just take some, there is always more.
If you want to throw some superpowers into the pot for Rally, that is welcome.
Waving from the Playground! Whispering loving spells that begin with C, for myself, and for anyone who wants…
Visions #225: I want to write
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
Each week I write these Visions of Possibility and Anticipation to practice asking for what I want. And to get clarity on what that really is, even when asking feels conflicted.
I always get useful information about my relationship with various aspects of the ask. Join in if you like!
I have to give you a glorrrrrrious update!
Generally at the end of these, I like to peek at what I asked for the the week before to get a sense of how things are developing.
At the very least, I usually notice an interesting pattern or two, or I learn something about the hidden emotional content of my desires.
Quite often — and to my continued astonishment — I discover that I ended up getting some especially lovely aspect of the thing I wanted. Something that I did not expect (or even know existed!) when I was asking.
Last week is especially interesting because I did not ask directly about the thing I wanted.
What I wanted was a resolution for the Boring Existential Crisis that I’ve been in for the past four months, centered around [situation] with the Chocolaterie, but also impacting everything else in my life.
I didn’t think that was possible, so I asked for POPPING. And popping UP and things that POP. And then I made a quiet commitment to work on Operation B.E.C.K.O.N. — Boring Existential Crisis in the Key of N — at Rally B.
Well, things popped. Many, many things.
And one of the things that popped (in the sense of exploded) was my existential crisis, which ended up getting COMPLETELY RESOLVED while I was at Rally!
So I just want to pause, and take a breath of appreciation for that.
What do I want this week and moving forward…
I want to write.
I want to write stones.
I want to process and discover and reveal.
I want to write about Roxy. About Roxy, with Roxy, for Roxy. Roxy is Assertive Me. Roxy is a lot of things.
I want to interview Eve Wild, who is also Roxy. Roxy might even be Eve Wild’s middle name, if that makes sense. I’m not sure if it does.
I want to seed wishes that have to do with [habits] and [boundaries]: skin, flowers, ritual, hegedim — I can’t translate, but it is somewhere between aspirations and affirmations.
I want to find out why. I want to ask WHY about so many different things. And not an angry why. Not a why with an agenda. An open loving curious why. If there are two kinds of why, more like ten times why and less like wheel-grinding why.
And specifically, why I choose not to do things that are obviously good for me, and why I choose to do things that are obviously bad for me.
Again, not a critical why. Not a guilt-driven why. Just genuine curiosity: How come like this? What’s up with that. What do I know about this.
I want to write from the voice who knows how to ask with lots of love and zero expectations. Simple, present and adoring. Who is the me who knows how to do that?
I want to tell stories using the treasure box of tiny stones.
I want time for this writing. To make time for this writing. To remember that it is okay to drop everything and write, even though this is scary.
What will help?
Early to bed.
Something to block out the noise.
Packing lunch.
Cafe dates.
Wearing a costume.
And this week is Rally (Rally!). This is the first time in over three years of holding Rally that we’re doing two-in-a-row. I can’t wait to find out what that’s like. Given that the first week dissolved my crisis, I imagine that whatever is INCOMING is going to be pretty outrageous.
These are all things in the hard. What will help in the soft?
Planting it here. Wishing. Symbols. Secret agent code.
What else do I know about this?
Writer me is dancer me, and dancer me is writer me.
Being a follow is being present. Being a writer is being present.
This is the ultimate spy mission, isn’t it.
The qualities inside of the wants:
Let’s see.
Flow. Presence. Ease. Delight. Shelter. Access. Creativity. Wildness.
And the superpower of It Is Already Happening And All I Had To Do Was Notice.
What else do I want….
Some of these are secret agent code or silent retreat. Some are qualities and some are dreams. Some are re-asks and some are pre-wishes: tiny seeds for future processing.
- Progress on the ops!
- Miracles everywhere.
- Regular gigs at the ballroom, which is also the Spiegelsaal.
- This doesn’t require my input!
- Ha, it’s so perfect that it turned out like this.
- Past me is a GENIUS.
- I have what I need, and I appreciate it.
- There is money for this.
- I can see why this moment is good.
- Trust and steadiness.
- Hawaii.
This week’s ops?
This week is about finishing up the dossier of The life of a Chocolatier, possibly about MAGIC EIGHT BALL REASONS, and about borders/boundaries. Also about dancing.
I’m playing with…
Dancing. Costumes. Emergency calming techniques. That page is many years old and needs rewriting. Maybe that’s one of this week’s asks too!
Request!
Can you help support our magical Red Rose Ballroom by liking it on Facebook? And spreading the word about the Red Rose Ballroom to anyone you know who might want to run events or programs or parties in Portland?
Announcement!
Last chance to get on the STANDBY list for Rally (Rally!)
Only a few rallies have openings, and we will be announcing them soon….
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
So. Last week, aka popping up everywhere…
I wanted pop-up shops for the Ballroom, and we might do one with Mary. But mainly I learned that it doesn’t matter what happens in the ballroom. What matters is that I follow and don’t try to lead, and that I do things that make me feel joyful.
I wanted other forms of popping, and everything popped. Rally was full of POP and delight. Also we popped many, many bubbles together while giggling and tossing teddy bears at the ceiling. I talked to Hopeless Me. I found passion about things. It was a pretty great week. Hard. Full of hard. I ran into ALL MY STUFF, especially my stuff about Shame. But then that popped too.
Yay for things that pop.
Big love to me-of-last-week, as always, for knowing what to ask.
Playing. Shelter for the comments.
What’s welcome: Your own wishes, gwishes, visions and personal ads, small or large. Updates on past ones if you like. Things sparked for your own process.
I’m receptive to warm wishes for the things I’m working on and playing with.
We ask for what we need, and we give each other space and spaciousness for the process.
This is a place of safety for creative play and exploration, with a very non-dogmatic approach. We don’t tell each other how to ask for things and we don’t give unsolicited advice. We play.
That’s it. Let’s throw a bunch of things in the pot!
As always, amnesty applies. Leave a wish here any time you want.
xox
Chicken #274: a thousand points coming through!
It is Friday and we are here.
{a breath for Friday}
What worked?
Asking what the next move is.
Over and over again.
What’s the next move, chicken?
And then I just acted on that. Sometimes I really needed to know two moves, or otherwise I wouldn’t feel motivated to make the first one. Or because I felt scared that I wouldn’t move at all once I did the first one.
But basically, all I did was ask. What’s the next move, chicken? And sometimes: What’s the move immediately after that?
If I did things that weren’t the next move, then they became the next move because Nothing Is Wrong and This Is Right. And that worked too.
What’s next, chicken? Spill tea all over yourself! DONE! Sparklepoints!
What’s next, chicken? Ask the same thing again.
Being Billie.
This week was Rally (Rally!), and it was Rally B and I decided my name should begin with B this week, and then that took over everything and being Billie became my Rally project, and also a proxy within a proxy, and it was wonderful.
Laissez les bon temps roulez!
Yup.
Next time I might…
Remember that not-doing is part of doing.
It’s not a distraction. It’s not procrastination.
It’s allowing things to percolate, and it’s a vital part of the creative process.
A thousand points for not-doing! And trust. The not-doing is helping things move along, not getting in the way.
And everything else I do that is [not the thing] helps too, because: fractal flowers.
This is an INCREDIBLY subversive concept, especially in our protestant work ethic culture, and I am only able to work with this because Rally has demonstrated, over and over and over again, that it is true. But even remembering this is going against everything I have ever been taught in life.
A thousand billion points for the bravery of even entertaining this as an idea.
Eight breaths for the hard, challenging and mysterious.
- Hahahaha! 4am is the worst time to be woken up by an incredibly painfully loud smoke detector announcing its battery issues. If there had been an actual fire, the damages suffered would have not have been from fire but severe hearing loss and noise trauma. A breath for waking in terror.
- Not wanting to work on the thing I thought I wanted to work on. A breath for trust.
- I want to dance all day every day, and I don’t know how to do that while being in charge of an online business and twenty six rallies and a ballroom that is also a chocolate shop. Actually, I do know how to do that, but I am worried about it. A breath for how scary it is to know what you want.
- The day (more like three days) where everything was, as Max puts it, eight degrees off. A breath for feeling off balance and tumbling.
- A surprise visit from Loneliness, and the false perception that no one wants to play with me. A breath for how sometimes Ludicrous Fear Popcorn feels so completely real.
- A dance class where it felt like I was not only not making progress, but actively getting worse. And an uncomfortable feeling with a partner. A breath for everything about this. Whoosh! Elevator shaft!
- Worried about so many things. A breath for all the things.
- Inhale, exhale. Goodbye, mysteries and hard moments of this week.
Eight breaths of good, reassuring, delight-filled.
- Saying thank you about all the good things. Playing Eleven Times Yay (exactly what it sounds like) with Oliver Danni! A breath for appreciation and delight.
- Accidentally lucked into a private WCS dance lesson with a fantastic teacher. A breath for getting the just-right thing handed to you on a platter.
- Marisa and Anna and I had a bad-mood picnic in the sun and then we went on an outing. A breath for friends.
- I did a wonderful-wackadoodle session with Max that involved Tarzan and Billy Zoom. My wish was to get something actionable, but I got something even better which is the realization that I truly am not worried about what I choose. A breath for suspicions confirmed, and playmates.
- RALLY RALLY RALLY OHMYGOD RALLY. Rally B! A breath for everything that is Rally. Also: best ever compelling spirals practice. With HIPS. We did a cha-cha’d version of a Ke$ha song. A breath for hilarity and playfulness.
- At the last Rally (Rally A), I worked on Assertiveness, which starts with an A, and dealt with a bully in the building and made all kinds of Assertive Requests. Guess what! Two of them were approved this week! A breath for the superpower of Assertiveness and the wonderful gifts it holds.
- Playing sparklepoints-for-things-undone at the Frolicsome bar! A breath for playfulness and company.
- Coming through! My whole weekend is filled with dancing. Ballroom tonight, Thrill The World tomorrow, jitterbug workshop on Sunday. I am so excited about this. I told my dance partner, “It’s like all my dreams are coming true!”. Except I wrote COMING THROUGH instead of coming true. I was right. All my dreams are coming through. Watch out, we’re coming through! A breath for pure undiluted joy.
Also! On the day where everything was eight degrees off, there was much tripping. Literally and figuratively. At one point, traipsing down some steps, I completely missed a step and tumbled. While wearing three inch heels. But then nothing happened. My body just rebalanced itself mid-tumbling, and I was fine. I am still not sure how this happened. It seems like at the very least I should have twisted an ankle and/or fallen on my face.
An extra breath of thank you for core strength and balance from fifteen years of yoga, and for inexplicable miracles. I guess all miracles are inexplicable. Or maybe they’re very explicable. But it was an amazing moment.
WHAM BOOM! Operations completed.
This week was all about my Boring Existential Crisis, which is no longer boring, existential or a crisis, so I’m going to say: WHAM BOOM to that!
Superpowers!
A superpower I had this week…
The superpower of trusting that things that seemed like rabbit holes were actually doors to where I wanted to go! And they were.
And the superpower of Forgiveness with a Silent B. Also the superpower of realizing that a silent B is also a silent be.
Forgiveness has a silent BE.
This is truth.
And a superpower I want next week.
The superpowers of Billy Zoom. Serene, capable, smiling confidence.
Salve.
The salve of Forgiveness with a Silent B.
This salve works like a deep exhale that runs through your whole history, releasing everything that is done.
It finds all the hidden scabs that are filled with shame, and dissolves the shame in such a way that the edges heal beautifully.
This is not the kind of forgiveness that comes from a person, it’s not about that. It is heart-forgiveness, internally and externally directed, and it feels like love. Because it is. That’s the secret of the Silent Be.
You don’t need to do anything. You just are.
The best thing about this salve is you don’t even have to rub it in. I mean, you can if you want to. But this cool thing happens where you just dip your finger into the jar and then it’s almost like you are the salve.
Playing live at the meme beach house — the Fake Band of the Week!
This week’s band:
YOMBA.
They’re from Amboy, Washington, and they are an anagram, and yes, it’s just one guy.
Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. ANNOUNCEMENT.
You guys you guys you guys!
I wand to once again loudly (for me) recommend the monster manual and coloring book, which solved many problems for me this week.
I had so many monsters this week, so much shame, so much fear, so many internal accusations. These are the techniques and concepts that helped. Plus coloring makes everything better. It just does.
Get the Monster Manual & Coloring Book.
AND. If you know people in Portland and you can help spread the word about our Red Rose Ballroom or help do that on facebook, that would be hugely appreciated!
Come play if you like…
Join me in the comments. Some of us share hard and good, some of us check in with a hi or a ♡, or maybe we’re on silent retreat. My ritual doesn’t have to be your ritual. Whatever works for you. Almost three hundred weeks of this and there still isn’t a right way.
Everyone belongs. We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. We don’t give advice.
Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.
p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever you like, it’s no big deal. And I am blowing kisses to the Beloved Lurkers. I love that you are here too.
reality
My name is Billie. Well, this week it is.
I am in a band.
I live by a bay.
I live between a small brook and another brook. Some people call me Billie Brooks. Because of that.
I have a box. I have a bell.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong, but I also believe that is a lie.
I have recently been scheduled to appear in a reality TV show called Boring Existential Crises.
And, assuming I don’t get booted off, I will go on to compete in America’s Top Boring Existential Crises.
I ended up here because I have no idea what the show is about (other than the title), and I don’t know what it will require.
So I’m just going to learn stuff. Like how to salsa. Or speak Italian. And hope that helps.
Also I would like a book deal.
The superpower I want most is buoyancy of confidence, so that I feel all Electric Boogaloo about my life.
Update!
I have just learned something new about the reality TV show I’m going to be on.
On this show I will be expected to resolve my Boring Existential Crisis, or replace it with a more interesting one possibly. And … get this!… I’m supposed to do this by learning how to dance the WHISKEY RIVER JITTERBUG.
Four things about the Whiskey River Jitterbug.
- It is called the Whiskey River Jitterbug, which is seriously the best name in the entire world. For anything.
- It was originally called the Lake Charles Slide! Lake! Charles! Slide!
- It’s an east coast swing variety that moved cajun and I love it even though I don’t really know what it is.
- I have the hugest Ludicrous Fear Popcorn that if I do this I will become obsessed with Whiskey River Jitterbug and forego everything else in my life. Ohmygod.
An explanation. Or: Things, again, that start with B.
This week is Rally B, and I am thinking about things that start with B, and this is why I am being Billie.
And also my project is a little scary to me, and so it easier to learn things about Whiskey River Jitterbug than it is to try and solve my actual Boring Existential Crisis, but secretly learning about Whiskey River Jitterbug is solving my Boring Existential Crisis.
Through the magic of proxies and fractal flowers. And Rally.
Whatever I learn about Whiskey River Jitterbug is going to show me what I need in real life. And that’s why it’s a reality show. It is showing me reality.
And one of the things it has already shown me about reality is that my Boring Existential Crisis is a) not boring, b) not existential and c) not a crisis.
And that it can be solved, like most things, through dancing it out, whether literally or metaphorically.
Reality is full of good surprises today.
Keep me company?
You can call me Billie.
You can make up names for my band. Which, by the way, is probably just one guy.
You can use words that start with B.
You can share excitement for Whiskey River Jitterbug.
You can make things up about the fake reality show that I am going to be on.
Basically pretty much anything goes except for advice. ♡
In my dream I said thank you.
I had a dream and in the dream I said thank you.
In the dream Hoppy House was suddenly in Hawaii.
Hoppy House is what I call my house. It was in Hawaii, and it was on the beach, and it had more windows than it normally does but in all other ways was the same, and the view was extraordinary, obviously, because it was on the beach in Hawaii.
In Maui, if you are wondering what flavor of Hawaiian beach.
And somehow even though dream-me knew that Hoppy House was located in Hawaii, on the beach, I had somehow never really paused to take in just how stunningly beautiful my view was.
I stood there, in the kitchen, looking around at my kitchen and at the spectacular beauty right there through the windows, and I said THANK YOU.
Not out loud though.
I didn’t actually say thank you, because I am silent in my dreams, just like in real life.
I felt thank you, and for me feeling is like saying. Since going silent the distinction between those two things has diminished. By a lot.
Not only do I feel and say together, I also say more of what I feel. That is: I say things in my scribbled post-it notes to people in my life — things I truly and deeply [think-feel] — that I would never have said in my speaking life.
Anyway, I felt THANK YOU, breathed THANK YOU and said THANK YOU in my body. It was this intense moment of adoration and contentment, appreciation and peacefulness, gratitude and quieting.
A familiar thank you…
This moment of thankful felt a lot like post-yoga thankful in my room, where the leaves through the window are extra-pretty. Where I suddenly only see the good, I only feel the thankfulness.
In normal waking life I mostly see the things I don’t like in myself, or the things I find challenging, unattractive or unsatisfying about my body or my home…
When I open my eyes after yoga, all I see is things to say THANK YOU for.
My body that is a home for me. Space in my physical home where I can practice. The deep trust that my body and I have built over many challenging years together. The blanket wrapped around my shoulders. The lamp Mary made that I bought from her when I moved into the house five years ago next month.
My whole world is a thank you in that moment.
And then I forget, because forgetting and remembering is the work of life and aliveness.
In the dream.
In the dream, [Agents Mueller and White] came into the kitchen, and they asked me what I was thinking.
I wrote:
Have you ever noticed how outrageous the view is?
They laughed, and said, “Every day. It’s why we’re here, right?”
And that is all I remember from the dream.
The next morning.
The next morning I had five minutes before I had to leave for the bus, and I didn’t do any of the usual things I might have done.
On another day, a day without that dream, I would have done something. It’s not like there is a shortage of somethings. If anything, it seems like there is an endless list of somethings.
Given an extra five minutes, I might pluck some pesky eyebrow hairs or fold some towels or run around looking for my sunglasses or, more likely, check facebook or like photos on instagram.
That’s not a criticism of day-to-day me. These all count as valid somethings, and if I am drawn to them for whatever reason, then that’s the something for that moment.
But on this particular morning, I just sat down, and looked around my dining room.
With my thank-you eyes.
And my thank-you heart.
Not looking the way I normally would, at all the things undone, or cataloguing all the things I wish were different. The mark on the curtains, the ceiling that needs to be repainted, the chairs which are not the sexiest chairs in the world.
On this morning I saw the FEELING of the room: Peacefulness.
I saw the curtains that Richard hung up for me. The truly gorgeous light fixture that the previous owners picked out with love and care. The leaves through the window. The window seat where my uncle Svevo always curls up almost as soon as he arrives, where my friend Anna was reading this weekend.
I said-felt thank-you for all these things, and for other things. The neighbors who are genuinely lovely people. The color of the wood. The clothes hanging on the wooden laundry rack in the hall. The rack itself, a gift from Svevo. The rocking chair, another gift from Svevo.
The bus taking me to where I need to go. The app that lets me store bus tickets on my phone. The things that are sweet and right, where normally I see what is wrong, what hurts, what isn’t.
I won’t always have a thank you.
Partly I am saying this as reassurance for my monsters who are afraid that I will dissolve into a puddle of gratitude and platitudes, until I die an embarrassing death by drowning in my own cheesiness.
Worse than that, they are afraid that I will forget to be alert to very real things that are Not Okay, that I won’t know how to protect myself from harm if all I see is good.
I get that. And while I seriously doubt that I will always be able to find a thank you inside of me, I hope that I will.
I want to look — really look — and see how just beautiful it all is.
Play?
This is that incredibly rare thing (online at least) that is safe space to play, and usual commenting principles apply: We are here to play! We remember that people vary! We take care of ourselves. We do not tell anyone what to do or how to feel. We are on permanent vacation from advice-giving and care-taking.
Ways we could play today:
Saying thank you to and for anything at all! Sparks sparked for you. Experimenting with these ideas in various ways. Joy for my moment of thank you. And flowers, of course. I love flowers.
Love, as always, to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers, and everyone who reads.