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.
On invoking protection.
Okay. This post was supposed to be a continuation of yesterday’s musings about the art of preparing for something you really, really want.
About the Playground — my new baby that is not a baby, and some of the things I’m doing, working on, thinking about and imagining, in the context of creating safety for this tiny, sweet thing. And fun-brewing.
So I was writing. And at a certain point, it morphed into a poem and surprised the hell out of me.
And became the second time I’ve written an accidental poem on the blog.
There are footnotes at the end, to clear up some parts that might not make sense. And if it still doesn’t make sense, my wish is that it sets off something hopeful in you.
Start with the first circle.
Starting with the first circle.
The giant ship’s wheel on the wall.
Direction and steadiness. Setting a course. Marking a path.
A trajectory of intention. Change. Possibility.
Fortuna, the pirate ship, the chakras. The frame. Of course. It’s the frame of the Nataraj.
You can’t get away from the dance.
Then the mezuzah.
It says remember.
It says I remember.
It says wholeness. It says entry. It says you are safe.
It says with your whole heart and your whole soul and your whole being-ness.
It says when you lie down and when you rise up.
It says on your gates.
It whispers safe passage in all transitions.
A hand.
That’s the hamsa. A shield with an eye.
Another way in.
Eye of the storm.
Another place of stillness in chaos.
New beginnings.
Ganesh swings from the chandelier by his elephant trunk, the god of new things and new beginnings.
Careless, carefree, sweet. Keep watch. For the moment when playful swinging reveals patterns and spirals.
A piece of memory:
My father putting a piece of the afikoman above the door to ward off evil spirits.
It keeps away the demons. That we don’t believe in.
Exactly.
Sound.
I sound the bell. A ringing so round and complete that everything stops.
The sound rises in circles. Like a perfect tornado funnel.
Yeats in the corner, with his gyres. Scribbling furiously. Taking notes.
Then there’s that sound that comes after the sound. The other vortex. The wishing well.
Another sign.
When I couldn’t find my way, I asked for a sign.
Prompting lengthy and complex internal discussion.
I don’t believe in signs. But I wanted one. But I wanted to not believe in it. But I wanted it to be so clear that there was no doubt it was speaking to me. But I needed to know that the process was internal, not external. But I needed faith.
But.
And then there it was.
The small, tilted wishing well.
The one from the drawing. The one I’d already chosen to be the sign before I knew there was going to be a sign.
A wooden bowl full of monsters.
We collect them.
So we can practice the art of not being scared by them.
We talk to them. We practice wishing them well.
And it’s back to the dance.
Spiraling movements of deconstruction and creation.
Everything comes apart apart into its essence. Every pattern into a new one.
Smashing dancing. Soothing dancing. Whirling dancing. Wishing dancing.
Bringing new unheard of things into form. Stepping right into the chaos.
Eye of the storm.
Watching the pieces coming together, re-form themselves. New air.
Disappearing into the dance of anger that is also the dance of joy that is also the dance of everything that is possible.
The most gorgeous falling apart there is.
Under the wheel.
It’s a wheel. A sign. A hand. A new beginning.
The shield. The bell.
The funnel. The well.
Guardians of the gate. Eye of the storm.
It wishes me well.
Assorted footnotes and some Useful Links:
Because it seemed kind of weird to put links in a poem but I figured there might be stuff you’d want references for.
- The pirate ship is my business and I am the Pirate Queen.
- The nataraj is dancing Shiva.
- The dance is Dance of Shiva, the cosmic dance of creation and destruction.
- A mezuzah is what we place in our entryways.
- A hamsa is an amulet for protection.
- The afikoman is the last thing you eat at the seder.
- Ganesh is a Hindu deity: lord of new beginnings and remover of obstacles.
- And the monsters are everywhere we internalize criticism.
And comment zen for today.
Part of the joy of having a blog is that it’s — gott sei dank — not a literary criticism class.
So no advice on my poetry non-career, please. I’m not leaving my day job. Wait, this is my day job. Never mind.
Also: a symbol is a symbol is a symbol. A metaphor is a metaphor is a metaphor. Symbols and metaphors are not avodah zara. They are symbols and metaphors.
You’re welcome to share excitement and wonder. And to be happy for me and my Playground in our time of craziness and fun-brewing.
And if I am not the only one whose writing sometimes becomes poetry, that would be a lovely, reassuring thing to know.
Preparing for the arrival of a thing you really, really want.
So as you might already know … I’m having a baby that’s not actually a baby, but a tiny, sweet thing.
It’s a playground. The Playground. A real-life studio for everything that my duck and I teach.
And now it’s being born.
There is the waiting.
The waiting. And the waiting.
There is the not being ready because you can’t be ready, but what the hell you’re committing to stepping into this new role anyway.
The hesitancy.
The excitement.
The ambivalence.
The knowledge that everything is changing.
The anticipation.
The wonder.
The wondering.
The second-guessing.
The double-checking of everything.
The stashing of supplies.
And of course, preparation happens on different levels simultaneously.
So there’s physical preparation. Energy preparation. Emotional preparation. Mental and spiritual.
There’s preparation in the hard (everything I do that is tangible, that can be seen and touched).
And there’s preparation in the soft (everything I do that is symbolic, subtle, part of a process).
All happening at the same time.
A short list of some of the elements in my own preparations:
It all started with the baby blanket.
As soon as I knew I was metaphorically having this baby-like thing, it was clear that toys were needed. Toys!
And reminders.
So I bought us a beautiful baby blanket (yay, Etsy!) and kept it in my workspace to remind me that everything I was doing was connected to bringing this being into form.
Help from metaphor mouse.
Whenever I find myself not wanting to do something, it’s invariably related to internal stucknesses that need attention.
And I often play with words and their meanings as a way to soften resistance, so we have had many visits from Metaphor Mouse, my beloved caped superhero.
Which helped me name things.
Naming things.
Having an attorney was kind of intimidating, which is how my barrister became Jerry the Bannister.
My CPA is a pirate! And even The Playground had already named itself. Fun-brewing instead of “fund raising”. And everyone who was helping me?
Fairy godmothers.
The fairy godmothers!
My group leaders at the Kitchen Table were the first to hear the news, and they immediately formed into the best cheering squad ever.
I’ve been doing huge amounts of energy and emotional preparation with my pretend-sister Hiro, who has been the most amazing source of strength and guidance. As well as my giggling partner in crime.
Many sessions of mental preparation with Carolyn, who has been gently zapping stucknesses right and left.
Then lots of strategic preparation with Pam and Cairene.
And of course I can’t forget Hope, my real estate witch.
And everyone else who is rooting for me.
My gentleman friend.
My favorite uncle.
My friends and clients and students.
My commenter mice and Beloved Lurkers who have been crossing extremities and sending love.
More presents!.
The collecting of literal tangible things, beyond the baby blanket.
Sometimes practical, useful things. With boring names like “beverage dispenser” and “trash receptacle”.
And sometimes symbolic things that provide a sense of protection, safety, specialness. Things to give love. Things to help the space feel loved.
Like this perfect, playful mezuzah that I bought from Jennie.
The singing bowl from Nepal that Hiro gave the Playground.
The pirate ship wheel that you’ll read about tomorrow or the next day.
The asks.
The many Very Personal Ads.
The very first thing I did when it dreamed itself up inside of me was to begin writing it love letters. Many, many love letters.
Tiny ones on post-it notes. And long, rambling ones that took up pages and pages of my notebook.
And then the mind maps and the extravagant Charting of Flow (because of course I suck at flow charts, but if you chart flow than somehow it’s easier).
I gave over my office to Project-ing this. The floor got covered in index cards and maps.
The walls are for the fun-brewing charts.
We arranged for a fake stage so that I could pretend to be teaching at the Playground during my Shiva Nata and yoga practice.
And the play.
The various conversations and negotiations with my monsters.
The figuring out what is stuck, using every technique that I teach.
The Shiva-ing it up to generate hot-buttered epiphanies and surprising insights.
Where I’m going with this.
Oh, who knows. I’m too excited with the waiting to find out if we got the lease.
The lease! The John Cleese! The flock of geese! The queen’s niece! The Witherspoon that is Reese! Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!
But I will say this:
For me, doing things in the soft is just important as taking steps in the hard, and I try to make sure I’m always doing some of both.
Also, this creation is all about play and fun and goofiness. And about how these qualities are part of transforming things.
So I need my process of creation to be an experience that is playful, silly, light-hearted, pleasurable.
Which is hard, because so many parts of the creative process can be so completely painful and agonizing (did I mention the waiting?!)
Reminding myself (several times a day) that the point of a playground is having a place to play (and to ground) has been ridiculously helpful.
Comment zen for today.
You are welcome to bring the baby playground gifts in the form of love and excitement and good wishes.
Because I consider you one of our symbolic good fairies too.
And I’ll just add that I’m not ready right now to hear what-ifs or uh-ohs or anything that isn’t full-on enthusiasm. Because this is my tiny, sweet thing and it is sleeping. Shhhh!
Thank you!
Very Personal Ads #42: dancing up a storm
Personal ads! They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.
And now it’s my weekend ritual. Yay, ritual!
Let’s do it.
Thing 1: ease and smoothness with lease-signing.
Here’s what I want:
As I reported on the Friday Chicken, we finally found the — gasp — perfect place for the Playground to live.
My wish/hope is that we sign the lease this week.
And that the whole process is simple and straight-forward, with smoothness instead of bumpiness.
It would be so great to just breeze through this thing so that my focus and attention can go to the crazy and fabulous things that are going to happen in the space, now that we have it.
Ways this could work:
I can keep reminding myself that we are in excellent hands. Hope, our realtor, is smart, competent, fun and as wonderful as her name implies.
And while I’m reminding myself of things, also these:
That, as Hiro says, what’s mine is mine.
That the space has found me.
That no matter what happens, it will be something that has good in it.
I can breathe. I can do Dance of Shiva on it. I can try to maintain play and silliness in the face of all this not-knowing.
My commitment.
To do everything I can to stay grounded and centered.
To whisper sweet nothings in the Playground’s ear.
To give it presents.
To remind myself of all those things I have trouble remembering.
To notice all the places of pain in me from past negotiations, and to talk to my pain and remind it of everything that is different now.
To be hugely appreciative of the ease and the smooth as it comes, and to learn what I need to learn from this.
Thing 2: adjusting that invisible crown again.
Here’s what I want:
I have been doing huge amounts of internal and external work on the sovereignty thing: doing my thing and not caring what other people think.
Standing my ground. Being gracious. Taking responsibility. Trusting my own sources of power.
Feeling everything that comes with the invisible crown.
And it’s been awesome. There’s a whole new depth and strength to my sense of what sovereignty is and how it works.
What I’d like help and support with now is maintaining that enormous sense of queenliness (and all its related qualities) that I’ve been feeling over the past few days.
Ways this could work:
Play!
I can stay mindful and still have fun with it. Introduce rituals. Make up goofy dances. Wear my hot red sovereignty boots and stomp around.
Magic!
It could just happen.
Intention too.
I can spend some time this week mapping out what this might look like. Doing some writing. Maybe some more personal ads.
My commitment.
To experiment.
To notice everything I can.
To plant seeds. To give myself reminders. To laugh. A lot.
Thing 3: Changes. Oh, more specifically than that?
Here’s what I want:
It’s really time to make all sorts of changes to the Shiva Nata website.
It’s gone through an incarnation or two since I first built it (hi, HTML) in Berlin, but it’s really out of date.
So: either I’d like to make a bunch of changes, or at least come up with a bunch of ideas about what I want to start doing with that.
Ways this could work:
I suppose — oof — I’m going to need to take a look at some of my stucknesses around this.
I can also brainstorm with my gentleman friend and other people who will be sensitive about my stuff and not propose seven thousand things that would be great but that I have no time for.*
So it seems like the main thing has to be just giving myself some softness around this.
Permission for it to take time.
Permission for me to be in avoidance.
* Yes, I know we need new videos. And a results page. And to rewrite every word on there.
My commitment.
Tiny little steps.
To dance up a storm until the epiphanies start streaming in.
To be hopeful.
To remember that I don’t have to do everything at once, and that little pieces count.
To notice when I’m not able to be patient with myself. And to be kind. If I can.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
The first thing I asked for was emotional and financial support with fun-brewing.
And while I got both of those, in many ways, the main thing I received from that ask was that I was asking for the wrong things, in the wrong way.
I had some huge realizations around that, and will write an explain-ey sort of post that goes more into depth about what I’ve been learning about support and asking for it.
I also asked about support for my Guns N Rollers and we’ll see how that goes.
And the last bit was about caring for myself. And I must say it’s gone really, really well. Surprisingly well.
All in all, good stuff. Hard to believe it’s only been a week.
Comments. Since I’m already asking …
I am adding to my practice of asking for stuff by being more specific about what I would like to receive in the comments.
Here’s what I want (just leave them in the comments):
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!
What I would rather not have:
- Theories.
- Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
- To be judged or psychoanalyzed.
- Advices.
My commitment.
To getting better at asking for things even when asking feels weird.
Thanks for doing this with me!
Friday Chicken #89: Not just for zombies
Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
Yes, Friday.
I know. It’s weird how that keeps happening.
Anyway, here we are.
The hard stuff
#$@%.
So the joy of sponsoring a Roller Derby team is that I get to wear derby drag and scream a lot.
And then last weekend we lost to the Heathers (no, not those Heathers) in the most ridiculous loss in history of derby. Seriously.
We were up by about a million points at halftime. Brutal. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore.
Technical stuff.
Then WordPress, which is generally the only technology in my life that isn’t driving me batty at any given time, ate two-thirds of a post.
After I’d published it. And double-checked that all was fine.
All of a sudden, there was a third of a post up here. And uncommentable so you couldn’t even tell me about it.
Ugh. Annoying.
Pulled over at Canadian customs.
And grilled.
Absurd.
Had to make some tough decisions.
And say goodbye to some things I was looking forward to.
Sadface.
Just the tiniest bit sad.
But that’s just me.
The good stuff
A freaking miracle.
After all these months of not finding, and not being sure and almost-compromising, we found the most perfect place for The Playground.
About three hours before hopping on a plane.
All because Hiro looked at the address and said it looked really, really great.
This is the thing about hiring someone who is clairvoyant and always right (hmm I wonder if those two things are connected).
If they say something looks good, you are completely stupid to disregard it.
I am a bit odd but definitely not stupid. Also, I hire Hiro for everything. If you ever hear me talking about something that was a horrible mistake, that’s a sure sign that I didn’t run it by Hiro first.
Anyway, we thought this particular place had fallen through and anyway, it was supposed to be too small and we were pretty sure that it wouldn’t work because it was too something something.
But Hiro said. And when Hiro says, you have to go see it.
So I saw it. And fell crazy in love.
We’ll know in a few days if we get to lease it. Please keep all extremities crossed!
My boots.
They’re so hot I can’t even stand being around myself.
It’s outrageous.
It was a glorrrrious day!
Well, I don’t know if it was.
But we went to the now famous glorrrrious day cafe, the one I can’t stop talking about. The one that inspired Pace and Kyeli to sing the milk song.
So that was awesome.
Sweet Jane!
I really just go to Vancouver to see my darling Jane.
Jane!
Hmmm, could it be that my mad love for her might be why the Canadian customs people view me with such suspicion? No. That makes no sense.
Seeing Hiro!
Yes, that would be the same Hiro I talk about all the time.
She is wonderful.
In fact, Selma and I are sitting with her right now.
Also, I may have just talked her into teaching a class on Internet Hangover (like, how to cure it and how not to get it). Please ask her to do this because I want to take it.
Fabulous Shivanautical epiphanies.
I have been dancing up a storm, using Shiva Nata to generate brain-zapping insights related to opening the Playground studio.
And all sorts of other things have been happening as well.
It’s brilliant.
Our sourdough starter.
Is fantastic.
Best. Bread. Ever.
Thanks, backyard.
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week’s band (thanks, Vancouver!) is …
Zombie Rainboots.
They’re big in Japan. And yes, it’s just one guy.
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.
Extremely brief letters to the (internal) editor
Among other things.
To my feet.
Dear feet,
I am sorry that I have neglected you. You must feel really tired.
Even though it might seem like I don’t appreciate you even slightly, I do.
Know that there is a warm epsom salt bath in your (very near) future as a thank you for moving me from place to place.
I get that a letter from me is hardly a substitute for some real attention. A start?
To my day.
Dear day,
Wow. Already here.
I must admit to feeling just the tiniest bit apprehensive about your arrival, given all the things that want doing and saying and thinking and deciding.
If there is any way you can offer me reassurances, yay.
Here’s what I would like. I would like you to be filled with trust and a sense of being grounded. Stability.
And I will do what I can to stay aware of where and when these qualities are showing up, as well as the times when I’m having difficulty connecting to them.,
Open to being surprised about all sorts of things today.
To my resistance.
Dear resistance to writing these letters, hi.
Yes, you have a place too.
Even though you worry about me becoming (more of) a hippie tree-hugging yoga teacher, I want you to know that you are not in danger of losing me.
You know me. And in all of the wild things that have happened over the past several years, you know that I have not lost my sense of humor.
I have not lost my sarcastic bitchiness and I have not lost my impatient eye-rolling. Right? It’s still me.
So even though you think that if I let myself write little letters to things that may or may not be able to respond, I will become someone who is gullible, easy to deceive, easily hurt …
This is not what’s going on here.
Thank you for trying to keep me from losing myself. And please know that all these things I experiment with are not intended to turn me into someone else. They’re helping me to get closer to myself.
And yes, I get that you think I might discover that my “true” self is an annoying, preachy, holier-than-thou person who wears white robes and speaks only in ridiculous cliches about how life is a blessing. Oh god what if that happens.
It’s not going to happen, sweetie.
I know who I am. And the essence of me — the core Havi-ness — isn’t going anywhere. I am allowed to contain contradictions.
Oh yes. I am allowed to be a yoga teacher and the Head Shivanaut and a bad-ass pirate queen and someone who writes letters to her day and someone who thinks this is stupid, all at the same time.
I hope this explanation makes it easier for you to let me write these, because I really want to write them.
p.s. I won’t tell anyone how much you like talking to trees when no one’s watching.
Trees.
Dear trees,
I love you.
Morning yoga practice.
Dear morning yoga practice,
I know you miss me.
Maybe not as much as I miss you but still.
Know that when I do a calf stretch on the stairs, or a lazy forward bend while standing in line, I am thinking of you and we are together.
Every piece counts. And yes, you are allowed to feel frustrated that we don’t have as much time together right now.
Working towards it. Coming home to you.
To my bed,
Dear bed,
Please hold me in love and comfort.
To my body,
Dear body of mine,
You are loved.
Even though you might feel pretty annoyed with me right now, I just want you to know that I am with you.
I will get you pillows and baths and yoga and time. And napping.
I will feed you and clothe you and whisper things to you. Sometimes we will fight. Because I forget.
And sometimes we will have long, unhappy discussions. And sometimes we will cry.
I’m with you. You are loved. Even when I say harsh things. Even when I cannot like you or myself.
This doesn’t have to make sense.
Tonight’s sleep.
Dear tonight’s sleep,
Help me feel safe.
If you could be restful, restorative and take care of me, that would be awesome.
If there is anything that needs processing (and I’m just going to assume there is lots of that), please let it happen gently and thoroughly, without disturbance.
Missed connection.
Me: Sleepy woman in her 30s. Green eyes. Wearing a purple dress and extremely hot red boots.
You: My afternoon nap. Skinny. Cute. Nice smile.
We looked longingly at each other but I had to catch a cab and then do a bunch of things. I wish I’d had the courage to just say what the hell and take you right there in the middle of the day.
That would have been great.
Find me?
Comment zen for today.
You can play too! Extremely brief (or long, rambling) letters to editors, internal or otherwise, are all welcome.
We don’t give advice and we don’t edit for each other. We respect the fact that we’re all working on our stuff and that sometimes it’s hard. xox