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.
Friday Chicken #209: crown as a verb.
In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of ritual and self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
The hard stuff
The letter that I didn’t want to receive.
Well, not the letter that I didn’t want to receive. That would have been unbearable.
But a letter of love that still hurt.
Being toast on Friday.
This always always happens after Rally, to the point that I pretty much just schedule it in.
But somehow it hit harder than usual this time.
Being toast on Saturday.
That was from not going to bed on Friday night.
Up until four in the morning.
Admittedly, up until four in the morning enjoying the hell out that. But Havi on no sleep cannot do conscious entry, and without that everything else kind of falls apart.
Havi needs her sleeps.
No regrets. Just a reminder for the Book of Havi.
Exhausted.
Worn out.
A difficult situation and I don’t know what to do about it.
Hmm.
It isn’t really a difficult situation. It’s just that I don’t want to deal with it. It’s a design problem, it has a design solution. Somewhere.
Not on my way to Boston.
Moments of sad to very-sad.
Sadness and old pain.
Yes.
Every time I didn’t do entry.
Seriously.
The worst.
Too much going on.
Still.
The good stuff
Found a new just-right cafe.
Thank you, hidden clew that lead me there.
A stone does an unexpected thing.
Hmm. Intriguing.
Playdate playdate and more playdate.
I will [silent retreat!] on the details and instead will just beam a radiant smile of delight and contentment about this.
Basically this entire week just turned into one long uninterrupted playdate of playfulness.
It made everything better this week. Over and over again.
Also it made a really hard thing that was going on so much more bearable.
I am happy. About this. And words are being weirdly useless right now, so just: know that.
Under the tree.
Yoga in the park with Danielle. Under a giant tree.
Pinecone shaped bruises. Tiny twigs everywhere.
Happiness and delight. Soft breeze. EARTH. My god.
I did not have to have any stressful horrible conversations this week.
So that was a new fun development that made this week different than the last several.
I was actually social this week, how bizarre, and it was fun, how bizarre.
This is highly unusual.
Aside from the one thousand nights of playdates. I guess that is a form of social too.
I finally had that drink with Lizz, eight months later. She’s great. She’s on a mission, you guys. Pay attention. Also her dog Oliver is my new best friend.
Also Jenny and I have ACTUAL PLANS to, I don’t know, paint the town red or drink tea and fall asleep, more likely. The point is, this is all new.
And I ran into Emily on the bus, and this was the most perfectly timed thing in the world.
Beach day.
With Lady Chuck.
It made everything better.
I’m actually glad I’m not in Boston today.
So that worked out well, I guess.
Friends.
One of the most painful of the many, many painful things in these past six months was the loss of a friendship that was incredibly important to me.
This week I leaned into friends.
Michelle and Marisa and Danielle and Chuck.
The best thing. Well, aside from playdating.
The tiniest of tiny children, at the beach, wearing a shirt that says Play Or Get Out Of The Way! And nothing else.
I approve wholeheartedly.
I wanted to write all week.
And I even put stuff here.
All the words.
Let’s start with eight, because I always start with eight.
How about vernacular and flash and reaction and romp?
Crossing, intensity, namings and tug.
Words are the best.
An amazing sparkling visit with my business mentor.
We speak a secret language, and we tear stuff apart, and it’s amazing.
Energy!
Me, on Wednesday: “I feel so excited that I can’t stop moving! I need to go aerobics and do fabulous cheesy 80s moves to disperse some of this! Okay, now I need to go to dance class! Wait, I still need more dancing!”
Me, Thursday: “No, still excited! More dancing? How about a two hour walk and then another couple hours of yoga, just to calm down a little?”
Me, Thursday night: “Why do my calves hurt?” … pause …. crash.
Today! Today is my secret royal coronation at the royal courthouse.
I have been waiting for this for a very long time. Today I am meeting Incoming Me, and maybe we are also going out to brunch. This is all because of shiva nata, and it is amazing.
Havi Bell! Come in, come in. Let’s reverberate. Let’s ring all the bells.
What a pleasure. This. Is. Pleasure.
From the archives.
Some old, weirdly pertinent posts that I don’t remember having written, encountered while looking for something else:
- This one called Memories and maybe a correction. I’d forgotten.
- Thinking about love. This is important.
- The difference between grinding wheels and not griding wheels.
- This one about something to believe in.
Tabstravaganza! Or: what’s Havi been up to with all those open Firefox tabs?
- Read this. Amy’s marvelous post about monsters and understandings.
- Our Eve is doing the most amazing thing.
- Okay, I am so very much out of the loop (out of all the loops) of pop culture, and I hadn’t even heard the Call Me Maybe song until last week. I’d only heard people bemoaning its existence slash all the covers. So this is probably the last thing you want to see but I don’t care because Cookie Monster! And also because “Snicker-doo-dell” is the best pronunciation ever. And also the line “please someone call the girl scouts”. This fills me with delight. Snicker-doo-dell.
Playing live at the meme beach house — it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
Background? Ez and I make up bands. Stu (retired Bolshevik-fearing voice-to-text software) once translated “people will hate me and be jealous” to “they’ll hang out at my Meme Beach House“. It’s just one guy.
This week’s band:
Bothered By Pomelos.
You might have heard their first album: LINGUAL COLLISIONS.
And yes, it turns out that it’s really just one guy.
I stole both of these excellent names from Nick.
Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. Announcement time.
Picture me wearing that crazy hat…
I recommend the monster coloring book. It worked several miracles this week for pretty much everyone at Rally.
Also the September Rally is sold out, so try to come February.
That’s it for me …
Join my Friday ritual in the comments if you feel like it. Or call silent retreat!
We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. And we don’t give advice (unless people specifically ask for it).
Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.
I am lighting my candle. You can light one with me if you want.
p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever (or not) and it’s no big deal.
Soundtrack of this week…
Here you go. Dance it up.
That’s what I’m doing.
Hello, August. Let’s passage in!
So. August. We’re here. Hi.
You know what I’m going to do today?
This is straight from my journal. Yesterday morning. What I wrote to August.
It’s a little vulnerable, a little intimate. But here it is.
Oh August. Hello!
I have a thing I want to say. A proclamation, really. I have a proclamation! For us!
August, August, August, I am done with the pattern of ambivalence. I am done feeling ambivalent. About months, about beginnings, about transitions, about whatever the new thing is that is currently the new thing.
I am done trying to figure out whether or not I am “ready” for the thing that is actually happening.
And more than that.
I am committing to a new kind of passaging. A passaging that is about EAGERNESS. Welcoming and delight!
The door is here. And so I say: Door! And then I take that door like it was meant for me.
I say: Door! I am here too! Open with me!
The bridge shows up because it is time to cross.
And here you are, bridge.
So come, allies and mice. Come, companions of play. Come, sweet Havi Bell. Come, all the Havis and all the selves and all the aspects of me and this.
Let’s cross.
This is the month.
This is the month of the Hypothalamus. That’s my new office space.
The month of flowers. The month of openings.
Internal, external, Stompopolis, all of it.
I am entering this month in a completely new way. With heart-breath and anticipation. With trusting and play.
With attentiveness. Committing to being giving and generous with you, August. August as a new playmate.
I am entering this month with entirely new levels of certainty.
My commitment to you, beautiful month.
Well, I don’t know if I can do this. But I can commit to playing and experimenting with this, with you.
Treating my queenly quarters with respect. With sweet loving attention.
My bed. The refuge of bedroom. My pirate queen quarters at Stompopolis.
Making these spaces ready for me-who-is-coming in.
Same thing with my body, my feet, my organs, connective tissue. My breath. My clothing. My surroundings.
There will be flowers this month. There will be water to drink and to bathe in.
There will be grounding and more grounding.
Joyful practice. Loving kindness for all the sad, scared selves. Pleasure and delight. Support for the mission.
A new sense of order.
Ordering like seder.
Not rigid. More like: a configuration that is beautiful. Organic form. Ordering of pathways. Order in the kingdom.
A setting for me and for my process. A setting that supports the things I want. Me being gracious in how I treat that setting.
These are my chambers. This is a big deal.
They don’t have to be a certain way. As long as they are fun, welcoming-to-Havi, delight-filled. I take steps to enhance the qualities that I want inside of them.
August! Come in, come in. The door is open.
Come in, honey.
I am done with dread and ambivalence in passages. I am ready to get to know the version of me who says YEAH, PASSAGE!
I am ready for full-hearted welcomings, excitement and tingle-joy.
August, let’s meet like lovers who have only known each other through dream-fragments, through whispered words of hope and wanting.
Take me to wherever you’re going to take me.
I have my superpowers and my resources, internal and external. You are the bridge and I am here for this.
Play with me?
Okay, this was almost as over-the-top as my love letter to June. But different. This is a very different month, and a very different kind of love letter.
For other variations, peek at: last July / August / September / October / November / December / January / February / March / April / May. Oh, and this year’s July, of course.
You are welcome to write your own hello letter to August, if you like.
Or you can leave little pebbles for my love letter. Or drop off some gwishes for the month.
As always, we make this a safe space by not telling each other what to do, how to be or how to feel. We make room for each other.
Wishing you the most just-right August possible. May it be full of unexpectedly good things. And love.
Beach.
Hmm. I do not remember when this was. Twelve years ago? That seems about right.
Summer.
On the beach. Maybe 6pm, going on 7. Warm, sun-drenched. But not heat in the way that afternoon is heat. Sitting in the sand. Watching the water.
The best water, because this is the Mediterranean. And this was the time for it.
Mmm. I lived in Tel Aviv for a third of my life, but this was the point when we we were absolutely in the throes of our mad love affair with each other, me and Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv in me.
It’s the balconies. The clean Bauhaus lines and then those secret hidden winks when you look up. It slays me. You look up and suddenly you feel it: something sweetly magical in the air.
Anyway. A long slow late afternoon of beach. Beach and horizon.
And then I followed a street.
Okay. I didn’t just follow a street. I took the street that I normally took pains to avoid because it was the street where I got my heart broken years before when I was in university.
Followed it to a staircase to a porch to a bar. Sat outside. Had a beer.
Ah there is that elusive slippery thing about memory again.
I just remembered — just now! — this was not my first time. I’d been there once before. Late April. Probably when Michael was going through his divorce. He would drag me and Uzi on these long walks that ended in unlikely places. Was that then?
No idea about the shoes.
Anyway. There I was.
Outside. Oren was working and Alona was there too — Oh wow. Look! Alona!, except I didn’t know that yet because we didn’t know each other and this was before everything. No, not the Oren I ended up marrying. A different one.
It’s funny. I didn’t know at the time that this was a significant day or a significant moment. I didn’t know that until right now, actually. But I can still tell you exactly what I was wearing.
Except the shoes. No idea about the shoes.
But I remember black bikini underneath a rainbow-stripey halter top. I remember worn faded jeans. I remember sunglasses pushed on top of a careless pile of sand-encrusted hair.
I remember the beer I had. I remember the music playing.
Home.
So this was the place that ended up being home for me for the next however many years. Lots of them.
To the point that people actually sent me mail there. That’s not weird at all.
I ended up working behind the bar. The first time it was just for six weeks when I lost a different bar job. The second time I put in an entire year. I was there anyway. Why not.
It was the place of every New Year’s Eve. It’s where I had all the dreams.
And it’s where I became friends with oh, pretty much much all of my friends.
Alon. Benjy. Inbal. Oh! Sweet Alona! Marsha. Gilad.
People I still am in connection with. Ehud. Orna.
People I am not at all in connection with. Hi, Dori. I hope you are doing good things.
It’s where I became friends with my friend who is dead. And where we spent hours and hours and months and years talking about everything that can be talked about. Which is why I can’t go back.
It’s where everything happened. Where everything started.
It’s where I wrote and worked and practiced and cried and laughed and sometimes even slept.
It’s where I met The Kid. Though that took a little work.
Thank you Benjy for that strategically placed call at Mishmish. I still owe you one. And by the way, The Kid is in his 30s now. We have to stop calling him that.
It’s where I read all the best books.
It’s where I learned German.
Let’s follow the trail of stones, okay?
Well, a trail of stones. One possible likely trail.
Because of that day of beach, I found a place that redefined home and family.
Because of this home, I met The Kid.
Because of the three years that followed that, I moved to Berlin.
Well, I was already committed to the move. But I don’t know that I would have actually done it. Except I talked The Kid out of Amsterdam and he chose Berlin instead. And I was jealous. My dream! MY dream! So then I had to.
Because of Berlin, I got deathly ill and that changed everything.
Because of the illness, I learned how to heal.
Because of this new understanding of how internal-process and undoing of patterns works, we are HERE RIGHT NOW — I mean, oh god so much has happened over the years since then and look what we are doing and the ways we are changing everything, here, together, and is this not the most marvelous moment, hello! — on this hidden portal of love, disguised as a website, together.
And then! Did you know? We have this website because, seven years ago this month, The Kid made it for me. August 2005. That’s when it came into being.
He was applying to graphic design programs at art schools in Berlin and needed to build a website for his portfolio. He knew me better than anyone and so he built something that was pure Havi essence. This was born. We are here.
Beach.
Yesterday I went to the beach. 
Cannon Beach. The Pacific Ocean. Hello, ocean. Hello, rock. Hello, quiet quiet waves.
Seven hours of beach.
For my regularly scheduled Clandestine Executive Board Meeting. It’s a thing. An internal thing.
I did shiva nata on the beach, with magical words and glowing sun salutations.
I did slooooooow yoga, until I was coated in sand, each long exhalation rippling through sand, being sand.
And the sand talked to me. It told me marvelous and unexpected things about plenty and delight and release and enough.
And then I wrote. I followed the trails of stones. Not letting the stones be a narrative of all the ways that I have been hurt. Not using stones as evidence of wrong or right. Just letting the stones show me where they have taken me.
Letting the stones show me.
Letting the stones show me how all the beautiful things from now have come from a trail of then.
And how all the beautiful things that are coming in as I write this (and those that are still to come) are born from trails and stones of now.
This doesn’t mean, of course, that I have to be grateful for the painful hard heart-breaking crumbling of now. That is a distortion. It just means that hey, guess what, there are trails and I can pay attention to the infinite ways they can open up.
Hello, stones. Hello, trails. Hello, being covered in sand. Hello, beginnings.
This is what Havi feels like after yoga and shiva nata on the beach. Empty and full. Sweetly peaceful. Tired and releasing. Coming back to herself.
Thank you, beach. And stones. And bridges, large and small. And seven full years of this home online. But mostly patterns and shiva nata, and being able to see again.
Playing and responding.
Things that are welcome: you can leave pebbles or heart sighs. You can say thank you to stones or notice things about stones of your own, following your own trails. You can share things that were sparked for you. Or take a silent retreat — it’s way more empowering/fun than it sounds.
Things that are not welcome: the usual! No advice, analysis or attempts to try to make things better. That’s part of how we make space for people to experience what they’re experiencing in the way that they’re experiencing it.
And of course if you would like to yay with me about seven whole years of this magical online space or about how magical it is to do shiva nata on the beach, that is welcome too.
Love, as always, to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers, and everyone who reads. Happy August. We are passage-ing.
Passage Out of July.
Good god I love saying hello to things. Hello, day. Hello, month.
Sometimes I just walk around sparking tiny whispered hellos to everything.
Hello, tree. Hello, red rug for yoga. Hello, palm of my hand. Here is a sloppy hello-kiss for you.
It is a form of naming things. Remember? I do. I am here.
But here is a hurting shard of heart-truth: I am not doing great with goodbyes right now. Not now.
Exiting, yes. I like exits as much as entry. Consciously exiting is a thing I care about. It’s just…
Oh, this hurts. I cannot bear to have goodbye be the opposite of hello anymore, I can’t have it as the closing bracket. I have been through too many painful goodbyes this year and my heart cannot contain even one more. No to goodbyes.
No to goodbyes. And yes to marking exits.
With a new name and a new form.
So this will be a passage and a crossing. A shelter for leaving.
Wishes of faring well. Like in the sea shanties. Fare thee well. Thrive, my love, thrive. Thrive while I cannot be with you.
Yes. Like that. Bittersweet, maybe. But not loss. Hope-filled and love-filled.
Okay, July. Let us look at you and remember. Show me what I need to take with me for this passage through you and into August.
July, sweet July. Things I loved about July.
Sparks across the miles, carried by moths.
The 10 27s and the evening ritual and the morning ritual and writing thousands of words.
Things under things. Lace. Hope.
Living out the love letter to June that spilled out of me, letting July be the fruition of that.
The 37 second video made just for me of bridge, field and the smallest hello.
Realizations. Epiphanies. The word “unlock”. Potential to kinetic.
Heart opening and opening and opening. Tingle-joy-heart.
Discovering new things about heart. For the first time in all my years of yoga understanding why people think backbends are exhilarating instead of awful and sometimes terrifying.
Plantings for the bells. Two different secret beach days.
And, of course, Rally (Rally!). It was Rally #22, and it was outrageously amazing, and I loved every minute of it, and I cannot believe how great Rally is.
And July was playdates and discovery and new words and ALL THE WORDS, and a just-right playmate that I can have the words with. Which is somehow magically easing and erasing lots of pain.
Things that were hard in July.
Loss. Loss loss loss loss loss.
Three of the most important relationships in my life crumbled and died. Or reconfigured, fine. But they are gone.
Well. One crumbled in March. And one crumbled two years ago and ended in May, but this was the month of feeling the pain of knowing: over. Done.
And then all the beautiful rituals that I love and loved so much that died and cannot come back, because they involve people who are no longer in my life.
And the place that I love most, the place that I love more than anywhere else aside from my fruit trees, who are also gone, more loss …
I might lose that place too.
This July was about meeting hard painful truths and not liking them and accepting them anyway. It was about re-learning the difference between detachment and numb.
It was about coming to terms with the truth that what I need is within me, but that to see the reflections of source, I have to remember how to hold and be and know. To be source and resource and reflection at the same time.
And there were terrifying panicky moments when I not only forgot that, but I forgot everything that I know about why things are okay and why they will be better.
All the points! I win at July. Because…
I am awarding ridiculous amounts of sparklepoints to myself right now. Because I can.
Specifically for:
- Healing pellet-pattern. That’s something I’ve been working on for years and this month it faded like it never has before. An old neural pathway of addiction: it is gone.
- Courage. I was brave about conversations. I was brave about the sad goodbyes. As much as I could. This is new.
- Using the tools.
- Taking it to my body, with yoga and shiva nata and dance.
- Walking the beach.
- Ringing the bells.
- Going to the (royal!) court to initiate the secret coronation.
- Finding the words.
- The sparkly redesign of the shiva nata website! Finally.
- The beautiful Stompopolis website! Double finally.
- Asking for help.
- Playing.
- Smiling through the tears.
And slow internal-burning yoga on the beach, listening to the sand. It had a lot to say.
Things I want to remember and take with me from July.
Knowing what is important.
Breathing into my heart of tingle-joy and my heart of releasing.
How July will help me passage.
I am entering August with much less weight. All those tears that have been released.
I am entering August with infinitely more information about what I want, what I need, what I stand for, what I care about, what I will not put up with, what I am currently receptive to.
I am taking the elements and essence from everything that has crumbled. Keeping the parts about sweetness, desire, presence, wonder. Letting everything non-essential scatter.
I am going into August with the strengths of the version of me who was able to handle everything July handed me.
With curiosity, receptivity and hidden strength.
The soundtrack of July.
July came in with this track, on repeat on repeat on repeat.
Shawn always knows what needs to be listened to.
July came in with the field of all the fields. Possibility and anticipation.
But then that changed.
And now July is winding its way out with this on repeat instead: Hope. Grace. Comfort.
With calligraphy.
Whitney reminded me about this song.
Stepping into the conduit.
I am taking everything I need with me.
I am releasing all the things that are done.
Fare thee well, July. Be a passage of love.
Play with me if you like.
If there is anything you want to say or remember about July, this is a secret fountain where you can whisper those things.
Or take a silent retreat. Or leave a flower or a stone.
Everyone has stuff. We’re all figuring it out. We don’t give advice or tell people how they should feel. We make room for people.
And! This is a place for safe adventuring. We approach with as much curiosity as we can muster, and a sort of loving non-dogmatic reverence.
*blows a kiss to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers, and anyone who made it through July*
Visions #159: Romping and Collisions.
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!
Oh this weekend. It has been full of words. Beautiful words. I am having words. I am having all the words.
So let’s put these words into some visions.
What do I want this week? What do I want, in general?
Thing 1: Saying yes to the opening.
Here’s what I want:
Saying yes to all kinds of things opening, but specifically the opening of Stompopolis, our new and life-alteringly amazing space.
This requires that I finish what I began at Rally (Rally!), namely the sorting of pieces into three magical boxes-that-are-not-boxes.
One is the Plumlet. One is the On A Mission From God Statement slash Understatement.
And one is the Secret Hatch.
It doesn’t really matter. The point is: Me. Sitting down. At the table. And letting all the pieces fall into place. And then opening all the openings!
Delightedly. With grace and ease.
And if this turns out to be a secret fractal flower that helps other things open? Like passages, channels and portals. Or a thing that has to do with wine and stones, except that these are proxies…
All the better.
Ways this might work:
So many ways!
I am absolutely convinced that Beach Day is essential to the magic.
And also I could just wake up early full of vim and vigor and things like that.
And of course: commitment.
I’m playing with…
Well, shiva nata, obviously. That is the fastest way I know of to make a portal to a thing you want. And to do it through untangling the old patterns that are keeping you from finding the secret hatches.
I will also play with (related!) being the fox in the video game.
And with a thing that is like presence (“all the presents!”) but crazy-shiny and it glows.
Thing 2: What are the useful things about the stones?
Here’s what I want:
Not the stones that you skip. Though also those.
And not the stones that you can’t get milk from. Though also those.
But the stones (people and experiences) who come into your life and take you somewhere and then they are gone, and then you cry.
This week I want to look back at some stones from then. But to do this through putting my attention to the beautiful gifts I received from knowing stones, instead of remembering old stories about the unbearable sadness-anguish of goodbye, stone.
Ways this might work:
Asking curious loving questions.
Remembering the truth about excitement from the Book of Qualities.
Maybe it would help to invent some sort of ritual for saying thank you, stone.
Here is a lovely shining piece of truth that Kate told me, and something I have experienced myself many many times: Sometimes stones come back. When you’re ready for them.
I would like to remember that without being attached to it or needing it to be true.
I’m playing with…
Opening my heart and letting the fire inside, to quote J. Ruth Gendler.
Thing 3: Exiting July. Not so much exit as passage.
Here’s what I want:
I love exits. I love them as much or more than entry through preparing for the voyage. I love the spangly Revue. I love reflecting the reflections.
Except I have been avoiding doing this with my month because it seemed like the bookend to Hello, [Month] would be Goodbye, Month.
And I am not doing great with goodbyes right now. Exiting, yes. Saying goodbye, no.
So this needs a new name and a new form.
It needs to be a passage. A crossing.
And no goodbyes. Wishes of faring well. Like in the sea shanties. Fare thee well, my sweet fair maid. Thrive, my love, thrive. Thrive while I cannot be with you.
Not goodbye. I can’t take any more goodbye this year.
Ways this might work:
I am placing this here to find out.
I’m playing with…
Intention. Wanting what I want. Getting clear on the elements of exit that I love, activating those!
And making space for the pieces that still hurt.
In fact, let’s just start the whole damn thing with a long slow MOMENT of let’s-just-burn-it-all-down. Followed by a giant exhale for how much hard was hiding in this month.
Yes, quiet sweet loving acknowledgment is always the best door. Still.
Thing 4: Bells for Havi Bell! Almost-almost!
Here’s what I want:
This Friday is the day.
The process of my bell-ringing is complete, and then I become the bell and get to reverberate with all the qualities.
So. What do I want for this?
Preparing to meet me-of-Friday.
Doing sweet symbolic things for her, setting it up, making things sweet for her.
But mainly: Excitement. Anticipation. Tingle-joy.
Ways this might work:
Beach day, of course.
Going with Lady Chuck to get the things for the baths.
Immersion at the pools.
Writing love letters to Havi Bell about the bells and about all the ways that things can ring right now. Asking her how she wants to be welcomed.
Making all the Isabel jokes. Havi Bell is a bell is a bell is a bell, Isabel. Even though yes, there is sadness in there too. Identity is hard!
Oh! Oh! Look at this post I just found from two years ago called Ringing the Bell.
I’m playing with…
I will dance out the patterns with shiva nata and align all the alignments.
It will be spectacular.
Thing 5: Play-fueled everything!
Here’s what I want:
Let’s make this week run on play.
Pure essence of play. What would that be like? I want to find out.
I know that it involves, like everything else that is important: body, breath, attention, curiosity, open heart. And of course: having words. All the words!
Ways this might work:
Paying attention to what I need and want.
And then finding out how to bring more essence of playful into any situation.
This may require costume changes, and I am fine with that.
I’m playing with…
Dancing it up. Dancing it out. Gazelle state.
Playdate.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
Oh wow. What a week, you guys.
I asked for big huge heart openings, and that was um…interesting. It happened, and with unanticipated side effects. I talked to my heart every evening, and breathed into it for twenty minutes every morning. When the Tiniest Goodbye That Was The Saddest Ending showed up, I was able to breathe my way through it.
Man, it’s almost like me from a week ago knew how much potential heartache was coming down the tube this week, because she had me exercising to prepare for it. When I asked for this, I didn’t realize how much anguish I would have to encounter, how distraught I would feel, how much I would need it.
But I’m glad I asked. Because it saved my ass this week.
Then I wanted to invite in an unasked question. And that was also very interesting. I pretty much never make an ask that involves someone else, because it just seems super unsovereign. People will do what they want. My asks are about my process, not their actions.
But this ask had to do with how I wanted to ask and receive, and it involved another person doing a thing. Which is sticky. Anyway. I looked at the situation again, and realized it wasn’t so much a question as an unchecked assumption.
And the thing with any conclusion is that once jumped, it will remain unexamined unless there is reason to examine it. It can’t be asked as a question because there is no question in the question.
So. I take back my request and will stay with the part of my ask that is about maintaining sweet receptivity to what is.
Then I wanted writing AND IT HAPPENED! Joyful appreciation!
Playful 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.
Here or on your own or in your head. It’s all fine. Or call silent retreat!
I’m receptive to warm wishes for the things I’m working on and playing with.
If you’re looking for suggestions or heart-sighs or anything else related to your wish, you will need to ask for that because our default mode is giving 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 make space for people’s wishes.
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