The Fluent Self

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?

* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.

as you wish to continue

by Havi Brooks | Oct 15, 2015 | my personal practice

I excel at the art of avoiding goodbye
my exits have a quality of fleeing

I am the person who is at the party and then
not at the party

not flushing-flustered cinderella who couldn’t keep her shoes on
I know exactly when to slip into the shadows and be gone

I neglect to say goodbye not only because it isn’t fun

but also because exits, planned or spontaneous,
elegant or messy,
are generally complex and time-consuming,
and the part of my mind that handles logistics and details,
calculates angles
doesn’t (can’t) have room for the amorphous organic splattering
of endings

as if there’s only so much processing power
and all my clarity must be devoted to the getting-out and getting-through,
meeting the pain comes later
when safe passage has been procured and I land in the new place

and sometimes there are other reasons

for example when you dearly want to share the goodbye but
[anything you say can be used against you in a court of law]
and your words have too much echoing power
so you turn them off

or when goodbye entails
demands for explanations you don’t have
you need your energy to make it
through the gate

a sensitive introvert can’t throw a goodbye soiree
and if you go have goodbye-tea with one friend,
everyone else will want too

anyway, there’s no time for that
with packing to be done and crying in the shower,
so you just leave
and send postcards later: {sorry-love-sorry}

as you wish to be in it

we had a sign at the retreat center I ran for five years,

enter as you wish to be in it
exit as you wish to continue

this falls into the category of things that are
simple but not easy

trying to “succeed” at this gets frustrating fast
but if you hold it in your heart as a seed of light
that is enough

my beautiful lover has gone

he was supposed to leave friday, but I requested a weekend
to be with each other and the exit

I wanted to introduce to him the idea of [weekend]
since he has no concept for that, too busy working himself
into the ground

but also I wanted to give this exit
the presence I generally pack away for later
in the interest of postponing pain

now he is gone

I am writing
not to remember and not to forget
but to exit as I wish to continue:

being there for all of it
practicing shiva and shiva (both meanings)
letting grief take the form of words and light

here it is

three days of beautiful goodbyes: a story

you feel the moment he turns onto your street, like always,
you used to think you must have heard his vehicle
but even on a bike, you feel him as he gets close

he brings you a present
he’s never done that before, that’s not his style
he’s a mountain man, he’s probably never brought anyone a present

it isn’t something you need but you understand he’s giving it to you
in the same way a four year old who loves you and sees you are crying
wants you to have his red toy truck

you head out to Lenora’s for barefoot blues which is not really barefoot
and not really blues but who cares
dancing is blurry magic
luscious
in the morning he pulls you to him for sleepy kisses and immediately falls back asleep
sprawled out, limbs everywhere, head burrowing under pillows
your heart is almost unbearably full

lady knight

you remove bread dough from the refrigerator,
curl up on the couch to write things that want to be written
he comes downstairs at noon-thirty, groggy, green t-shirt and jeans,
wraps you up in his arms

you type on your phone “last night was pretty great”
but it changes last to lady, and he pretends you’re talking about yourself
as if Lady Night is the name of your latest secret identity

you add a K to make it lady knight, and he laughs

rain

you walk together in the rain to brunch,
holding onto each other under the tiniest chalk-covered umbrella because it is actually raining-raining which never happens

speaking of things that never happen:
somehow he’s gone forty years without brunch

and speaking of other things that never happen
— an unheard-of miracle that he can’t appreciate —
you only have to wait five minutes for a table

you wonder, in an odd surreal moment,
if you look like twins instead of lovers:
pale, tired, long-bodied dancers with matching green eyes, matching sad smiles

like a ship

you sit across from each other and can’t not beam at each other
as has been true since you met, and long before you knew you would be lovers

you both admire the loft of plants and imagine it in a round house
he teases you about the tiny tucked-away-up-high round windows
so that’s why you like this place, it’s like a ship,
and kisses your hand

you talk about going to turkey together someday, and really, who knows:
maybe you will and maybe you won’t

honey, whiskey, cake

snippets of conversation reach you and make no sense,
the young woman next to you has just bought a one-way ticket to peru
her friend, who looks like a model, is explaining that you can’t just
bring gardens to people who don’t want them

you see a sign for honey whiskey cake and have trouble
perceiving the words as one thing instead of three

soft

the food is pure sensual delight, the bowls are exquisite
the rain is soft, the space slowly emptying out and there
is all the time in the world

you don’t want to leave but you recognize
the innocent child-like wish to stop time and postpone the inevitable
so you channel all of your adult powers to stand up and go

halfway to the park you burst into tears
he holds you and kisses you and says I know, sweet girl, me too

your storm passes and you pick up a few things at the grocery store
the wind is whipping up leaves but the air is warm and just when you get home
it starts to rain again

few words

you snuggle in bed and watch an old episode of Longmire from the first season

Longmire thinks the suicide note is pretty short to be a suicide note
Vic teases him, “maybe he was a man of few words, I know someone like that”

your lover is also a man of few words
and you are someone of no words
he says, I know a woman of very, very few words, and you grin

peace

Longmire doesn’t want to put down the horse with all the burns,
he wants to wait and tend to it, he says he likes the long shot

you ask, do we like the long shots?
your lover thinks about it and says yeah, we do, kissing your cheek,
though of course the horse has to die at the end and you already know this

Longmire says to the horse,
“you don’t have to keep fighting, you’ve already proven how brave and tough you are, now there is peace”

treasure

you curl up in each other’s arms for a nap but then you start sobbing again
he holds you and the green trees outside the window are wet and also his eyes
and you are so unfathomably sad, about this ending and also about how
this is the first time you’ve had a real weekend together —
you should always get a weekend like this, every fucking week, and it is not fair

you ask him to tell you something sweet and he says,
you are sweet and this is sweet and I am sweet on you
you say, I can’t believe this is happening what are we going to do
and he says I don’t know sweet girl, I don’t know, we’re going to be okay
and you say how and he doesn’t know that either, and you kiss through tears

he holds you so tightly and you listen to his heartbeat and your breathing
softens and you realize that this moment NOW is treasure,
as good as it gets and then some,
and if you had an eternity of moments like this you wouldn’t know how sweet they are

and if everything ended now

then this would be a pretty beautiful moment, the most beautiful
and you might as well fill up on the endless well of thank-you heart gratitude

so you do that

not as a should, and not even as the only logical option,
but because thank-you is the truest and most sincere way
to meet this unique breath-moment in time,
and the fact that it is also bittersweet and painful
does not negate the specialness

crickets

he curls up so close behind you, arms around you, kissing the back of your neck
and you both fall asleep for a sweet perfect hour until
you wake up to his horrible alarm which sounds like the loudest crickets
and wonder why you love him at all

then he holds you with so much sweetness and you remember,
but also you think “I need something better than love which comes with loud crickets”

it feels so good inside this warm close perfect embrace and you say this
and he says yes, and you say well except for the heartache part
and he says yes

your eyes hurt from crying or maybe they hurt from
all the things you don’t want to see

yes, you are deeply entwined with someone who doesn’t understands rest
you live by “don’t push”, he lives by “push more”
and he has pushed himself over an edge and needs to go heal far away, and he will or he won’t, it isn’t up to you

kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss loss

he leaves for a few hours to have a goodbye dinner-and-movie with friends
you text him kisses but autocorrect chooses kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss loss
instead and you’ve already sent it

you practice dance drills and channel Wisest You who says:

you will get through this my love, you will, you will,
see how wonderfully brave you are
choosing conscious goodbyes instead of
running away from them like we usually do, it is safe to be here now

here

you feel him on the street again
already heading to open the door before his knock
he says WHOA YOU LOOK SEXY and you laugh happily because you
never get tired of that

you head to the blue diamond around 11pm
the band is loud and raucous
the place is packed and it reminds you of chicago,
you sip whiskey, until the music pulls you to the dance floor: magic

light

you are hyper-aware of everyone on the small crowded dance floor
though not aware of anything about them,
they are moving points in space, to dance between,
you and your lover are made of light, anchored constellations of light,
whirling reconfiguring constellations of light,

you are deep in the connection of being connected,
movement and play, dancing small and contained because of the
limitations of the space and the points of light
you fit in his arms so well, a well of joy, you spark together

the band plays a slow song, a ballad, this one’s for the lovers, she says
slow sweet bluesy funk

you are made of light but you are not light, not flitting
think panther not butterfly

forgetting

you forget to be sad and you forget to cry because there is nothing but now and
now is forever and perfect and feels so good
Melanie is singing Aretha Franklin and absolutely killing it
dancing is so right, the best language for life and for
everything you could say to each other: it doesn’t need to be translated
because it doesn’t mean anything in any language other than dance,
if you tried to translate it, you’d only get fragments of spark-intensity-joy

only when the show is over do you realize
you may never get to do this again

good for the soul

That was some good dancing, a man says outside on the street,
he draws out the word good, and says it again:
good for the soul, it’s good for the soul to dance like that
yep, says your lover, good stuff

on the drive home his right hand rests on your leg, and you
can’t stop staring at it,
have there ever been fingers this beautiful, has there ever been a hand like this

you wonder why you don’t do this every week,
dancing is the play of delight in life, and you dance so deliciously together,
oh right because he works himself to death and is never around
and this is why

this is the why to every question and now you are home

love

you dislike the phrase making love
not only because it’s cheesy but because, as you realize now,
it’s inaccurate

nothing is being made at all
it’s more like IMMERSING in love, or BEING love
you don’t make love together, you are love, together

you cry a little while being love together,
not because he is leaving, you are too immersed in immersing to remember this,
you cry because the intensity of joy-pleasure-sweetness and wild-vulnerable-passion
is so overwhelming and

he holds you for the longest time, with so much love, and you think,
incongruously,
this is what it must feel like to be a lioness and a jewel and a flower at once
you fall asleep in each other’s arms, telling stories about once upon a time

1993

bye bye sweet girl, he says, with an admiring glance at
you draped over midnight blue sheets in black shorts and black lace
and he goes to do work stuff for six hours
because he still doesn’t understand weekends

you meet at wolf & bear and eat sabich, your homesickness comfort food
you burst into tears two more times
you say, being in love is stupid and I hate it
he laughs and agrees but points out the beautiful sweet parts
you know he is right but you aren’t done crying

his toiletry kit gives up the ghost, he’s had it since 1993,
you don’t have anything from 1993
you can’t even imagine a life where something from 1993 is still here

you water plants and touch their leaves and say thank you

the weekend is over

you don’t sleep much
you dream about sheds
it’s monday somehow and he kisses you and kisses your palm and
presses it to his heart and says okay sweet girl and kisses you again

you think about the line diamonds on the soles of her shoes
and you imagine glowing gems at your feet

he goes to finish packing and then comes back for a last goodbye
sweet luscious kisses
you manage not to cry
he says okay beautiful and bye beautiful
and kisses your palm and your wrist and your lips again
and he is gone and you need

you need to do something (let something = anything)
but there is too much sadness to concentrate,
so you make a casserole
and admire the beautiful roundness of potato slices
the comfort of spices

this must be what being a grownup is like
you make casserole and you don’t run away

enter as you wish to be in it, exit as you wish to continue

part of grief is the retelling
and part of grief is letting things be as they are

I do not need advice (I never need advice)
but company is so very welcome

you can come sit with me, or leave pebbles, hearts and stones
you can share love, appreciation or anything sparked for you
or practice your own forms of
entering as you wish to be in it

♡

shiva

by Havi Brooks | Oct 12, 2015 | stuff I think about

very personal ads

I write a Very Personal Ad (also known as a Vision of Possibility & Anticipation) each week to practice wanting, listening, getting clear on my desires

the point isn’t getting my wish (though cool things have emerged from wishing), it’s learning about my relationship with wanting, accessing the qualities…

wanting can be hard, it is easy to feel conflicted about it, and the reasons for that make this a surprisingly subversive practice…

this is the 327th consecutive week of wishing, come play!

eighteen weeks

eighteen weeks ago I made a wish called Shed
a double-meaning wish about
deep releasing and intentional space

since then I left utah and returned to my house in portland
emptied my home
let my sweet beautiful lover go
(because he needs to go, not because either of us wants this)

and now I am slowly preparing myself to move into
136 square feet of space
so basically, hahaha, yes, okay, a shed

did not see that coming

the wish went deep

as so many wishes do
deeper than I was able to conceive of when I wished it
and there is probably more about sheds and shedding that I don’t know about yet
and it will be funny later
when I get to it

I have shed, and I have a shed

I have shed
tears and skins and layers and belongings and parts of me
that are no longer congruent with how I want to live

I have let go and let go, into the emptying and into the Less

and now I am allowing an intentionally small
— and unintentionally shed-like —
container of delicious space to emerge
so that it may hold me in love during the next piece of this adventure

and now is the time

it is time for the next wish-of-double-meanings
I am a little scared of double-meaning wishes now
but I am also ready

shiva (i)

shiva is the beautiful form that the jewish tradition has given us
to deal with grief-sorrow-anguish-mourning

it’s no secret that I feel conflicted about many aspects of the
tribe I was born into
but judaism does some things very well
and thoughtful compassionate ritual is one of them

shiva comes from the word SEVEN
and when you lose someone, there are seven days put aside for
you, the person in a state of loss,
for doing absolutely nothing
but to be in the grief of the grief of the grief of it

you sit on the floor and you have no obligations

your friends come and they feed you
and hug you if you want to be hugged

they do not talk to you about your loss
or about how you feel
unless you bring it up first
they just give you safety and make sure
you are not alone
and that you are being nourished and cared for

it is a very good system

only when I saw how other people do it
with the awkwardness and no one knowing what to say and then
somehow almost compulsively saying all the least-helpful things

or how people in grief throw themselves into work
without making time/space for sitting with the void

then I understood what a blessing it is to have shiva
and not just the shiva but all the rituals and forms around it
there are the first seven days, which are part of the first thirty
which are part of the first year

ritual holds you the whole way
back to wholeness

shiva (ii)

shiva is the god-power of destruction
shiva is the force that sweeps through and just takes shit apart
generally right when it needs to be taken apart

the shiva force isn’t about violence
it’s about breaking things down into their components
so they can take new forms

making room for the new
which can’t grow until the old structures
have been razed

I prefer to think of it as Deconstruction
rather than Destruction
but either way, everything ends
and sometimes, or at least so I like to think,
the shiva essence makes this happen faster
more elegantly
with meaning

shiva is also a dancer

and not just any dancer but shiva nataraj, king of the dance
shiva dances-in the change (yes, that is the verb I want)
shaking things up
shaking things off
shaking things out

trust the dance

I used to teach a form of this dance
but I had to stop (because everything ends but not just because of that)
really because the thing I loved most about the form was the freedom to play
the open-source essence of it
and when that changed, unexpectedly, from where I stood,
so did my relationship with teaching

it was painful at the time
to lose my identity as a teacher
and as a student
and as someone who had been obsessed with this methodology,
who made it her life and career for a decade

but I trusted the true shiva essence of it all
and saw that if my life seemed to be coming apart
it was because something new and better was being danced-into-being

so I said thank you
for the treasure I couldn’t see yet

I was right

my wish this week has to do with both kinds of shiva

I am going through big tumultuous transition right now
with the end of my time in my beautiful home
where I have spent the past seven years

the end of ten years living with my wonderful housemate

the end of these almost unbearably sweet
fourteen months of joy and passion and gladness
with my beautiful lover who left today

I want shiva

I want to mark these endings and passages
the way I would the death of a loved one

sitting on the floor
crying as much as I need to cry
being held and fed and comforted

and I want to remember that shiva the dancer-destroyer
who brings about upheaval and deconstruction
can dance in changes with grace and power

and I can say thank you for that

I want to say thank you

I want to say thank you for
the treasure
I have already received and

the treasure that has yet to be revealed to me
but is absolutely here in all of this even when I can’t see it

I know it is here, and I know this from experience but
also because incoming-me told me so once
when I lost my mentor and all the barns burned at once

she said, my love, this is all treasure
because from now on you get nothing but treasure in this life
so if it doesn’t look like treasure,
get curious and look with wiser more loving eyes

letting go, with love

I want to find the treasure in releasing
I want to release the treasure in finding
I want to feel the treasure in grieving
I want to grieve the treasure of feeling

all of this and more

what do I know about this wish?

I am definitely feeling the strong pull to not do this
even as I am wishing it

I want so much to hurl myself into work and plans
into dance and working out
and scrubbing things clean

anything but sitting with the void
of my-lover-is-gone
and soon-my-home-is-not-my-home

anything but walking past the dining room chair
where he likes to sit and work
and where I pause to kiss the back of his neck
the way he takes my hand and kisses my palm
and presses it to his heart

anything but thinking about that please

and yet, there must be treasure in this too

for example, it is treasure that I don’t have to stay in this space
filled as it is with too much saturated memory

and it is treasure to remember being treasured
and it is treasure to know that the next time we see each other
— if/when if/when if/when if/when —
I will be both infinitely more free
and infinitely more grounded
(yes, yes, bird and tree)
than before

and so we will be new
either way everything is new again

what am I noticing about my wish?

same as last week’s, actually: this is also a wish about freedom
and about presence

this is a wish about I AM HERE, and a wish about
healing and about process
peaceful intentional process
meeting myself where I am
with as much love and legitimacy as I can muster
filling up on LIFE and beautiful ALIVENESS
coming back to the fullness of my thank-you heart
even — especially — in times of hard

may it be so!

now

turquoise blanket, sunlight hitting stone, the word exit, my lover-who-is-leaving texts “kissing you sweetly”, wiping tears away with a white flannel square, dark circles under my eyes, copper bell, the sun decal that is now a moon and looks like half a heart, I am here

superpower of yes to my yes, no to my no.

last month was stand in my strength more, and october (on the Fluent Self calendar) is be bold more

with the superpower of yes to my yes, no to my no

nothing is more important than this

I said last week: this is how I want to live in all things
even when it scares me
and I stand by this

last week’s wishes

I wished a wish called these are my roots…

it was a very powerful wish
and roots were exactly what was needed most
in this week of emotion and upheaval
as was the realization that so many of you also care about
the many ways that The Game Is Rigged
and so we are going to have to do something about that
subvert the game together
and I feel strongly about how important this is
and how vitally necessary it is to be well-rooted to do that good work

thank you, process of writing about wishes, and thank you, me who asked

invitation: come play with me…

you are invited to share many !!!!!! about what is here,
or share anything sparked for you while reading

deposit wishes, gwishes, superpowers, qualities, ingredients, intel, possibly in code

safe space for creative exploration asks us to let go of care-taking and advice-giving

wishes are never late because whenever you wish is the right time for wishing

here’s how we meet each other’s wishes: oh, wow what beautiful wishes

♡

love-breath chicken

by Havi Brooks | Oct 9, 2015 | my personal practice

Reflecting on both the hard and the good in the week that was…

Hello, Friday: we are here.

{a breath for being here when we get here}

Thank you, week!

This is the 376th week in a row we are chickening here together….

or “checking in”, if you prefer to enunciate.

What worked this week?

Getting close to the ground.

Even if I didn’t want to close my eyes. Just getting on the floor and breathing, looking at my space (external and internal) from a quieter perspective.

Next time I might…

Remember the mechanics of grief and exhaustion

I know how these work, maybe even too well. But sometimes I forget.

Right now, for example, the number of times I have left my bedroom for the living room to retrieve my laptop to write this but returned empty-handed (because I forgot what the mission was) is up to five.

I would like to remember that this is how it works, and this is normal, so I can be wonderfully patient and compassionate with myself, instead of momentarily wondering if I’ve lost my mind.

My mind is right here. It’s just processing bigger things. And that’s legitimate. You’re doing great, mind. This is just a thing that is perfectly understandable, even in the moments I can’t remember why.

Upcoming biopic if it were based on this week…

Trust Equally In The Wisdom Of Everything Ends And Everything Is New Again

If you feel drawn to comment on aspects of my week, I will take love, hearts, breaths, pebbles — I do not need advice or cheering up, though presence and sweetness are always welcome

8 breaths for the hard, challenging and mysterious.

My sweet beautiful lover and I heard-and-received the understanding that we need to part ways even though we don’t want to be apart. We know this is right, and also we are both heartbroken and aching and distraught over this. A breath for every moment we have been given to love each other: treasure.
The pain of this is absolutely agonizing. A breath for breathing into this.
Nothing has ever hurt even remotely like this, and life has already given me a hell of a training in endings and loss and all forms of Everything Ends, and nothing has hurt like this. I suddenly found myself sitting on the kitchen floor, not sure how I got there, one hand pushing against the wall, hyperventilating from something that is beyond tears. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t even remember how to be scared about can’t-breathe. For a moment, my mind flashed a picture of me in an ambulance. And then I realized this was Wise-Me was trying to get through to me by sparking a memory of a short story by Etgar Keret. It’s a very short story, just a paragraph, I probably haven’t read it in ten years, but it’s about how when you are in the throes of an asthma attack, each word has meaning: “I love you” or “ambulance”; choose wisely. Yes, I just looked it up. Here is the whole story, well-translated by Miriam Shlesinger:

When you have an asthma attack, you can’t breathe. When you can’t breathe, you can hardly talk. To make a sentence all you get is the air in your lungs. Which isn’t much. Three to six words, if that. You learn the value of words. You rummage through the jumble in your head. Choose the crucial ones–those cost you, too. Let healthy people toss out whatever comes to mind, the way you throw out the garbage. When an asthmatic says “I love you,” and when an asthmatic says “I love you madly,” there’s a difference. The difference of a word. A word’s a lot. It could be “stop,” or “inhaler.” It could be “ambulance.”

A breath of breath — for me who hurt so much she forgot how to breathe, and then remembered through the power of words.
Usually I fall asleep moments after my head comes to rest on my lover’s chest, his fingers tangled in my hair: I feel him kiss my forehead and then it’s morning. But the night we knew, I found myself awake in his arms all night, listening to him breathe, not remembering how to sleep. A breath for me.
There is nothing more I want to say about the hard of this week, so here is a pebble. A breath for pebbles and I am here.
Another pebble, another breath.
Again. A breath.
Inhale, exhale. May all misunderstandings and distortions, internal and external, dissolve in love if not in laughter. Trust-more love-more release-more receive-more. Goodbye (and thank you), mysteries and hard moments of this week.

8 breaths for the good, reassuring, delight-filled.

I have known this was coming, there was no surprise in it. Exactly one week before it happened, I wrote in the secret s-word society that I knew he would be exiting my life soon, because everything that is no longer congruent has been easing its way out of my life — it is, after all, the Year of Easing & Releasing, and I knew this was next. I wrote that one day very soon he would come to me and say, “Sweet girl, I love you so much and I don’t want to leave you, and I need to go”, and I would say, “I know, it’s time”, and we would cry, and that is what happened. And I’m glad it was that and not other ways of exiting, for example, he could have exited in a heart attack from working sixteen hour days seven days a week in high-stress conditions, or in a car wreck brought on by stress and fatigue. A breath for the treasure in not being surprised, because I don’t like that kind of surprise. And a breath of gratitude that I didn’t need to say what I was ready to say — hey my love my love my love I can’t have this in my life anymore — because knowing it was hard enough.
The beautiful boy and I fit more pure unfiltered love, sweetness, passion, joy, intensity, adoration, play, wild adventure and genuine happiness into these last fourteen months than other people get in decades or lifetimes. Even as it hurts (so much!), I have endless appreciation and gratitude for all the gifts of this connection and this love, and I am not someone who believes in the myth of the value of longevity that our culture pushes on us. Everything has the potential to have a just-right healthy vibrant lifespan, and I plan to always choose quality over quantity in all things. A breath for the wisdom of this, and my full heart.
I have experienced breakups before that fall into the category of “mutual”, but invariably one person is more ready for the ending. While I don’t wish this pain on anyone, there is a certain comfort in knowing that we are both equally torn up about this, in the same turbulent experience at the same time. We have to trust truth, this is what is indicated, and also it hurts like hell. A breath for the odd little funny grace of not being alone in grief.
I’m going to be okay. If life has taught me anything, it’s that stones come and go, but the water is always there. I can scream and cry and beg DON’T LEAVE ME STONE I LOVE YOU STONE COME BACK TO ME STONE, but the purpose of a stone is not to stay forever, it’s to jostle me from my stuck places and lovingly nudge me back into the stream of aliveness. Flow is the answer. Stagnation is not. Thank you, stone. Thank you, river. A breath for trusting life.
I had a beautiful time at Waltz Brunch, dancing for hours with people I enjoy and cherish, leading and following, feeling at home in my community. This felt especially important this week, with so many shootings in Portland and the city feeling dangerous and unwelcoming to me, it was good to have a place that felt like ahhhhh this is where I belong. I especially enjoy when there are new women in the lesson and they see a woman leading and realize this is a thing, and it’s possible, and they get so excited and happy. A breath of yes and thank you.
Even this unbearable sadness has joy and beauty in it, because the reason I am sad is that of course I don’t want to say goodbye to the intense passion and our magical pull and the deep wells of sweetness, our perfect-fit embrace. The way he sings to me in the car, or how he writes I love you on the small of my back with his finger when he thinks I’m asleep, as if my back can’t read. A love-breath.
My lover was supposed to leave today but I asked him to stay the weekend, partly so we could have time for goodbye, but partly because he doesn’t know what weekends are, and I would like him to experience just once what a human weekend in Portland feels like, with sleeping in and walking in the park and brunch and restfulness. So we are doing that. A breath of thank you.
Thankfulness. Everything is okay and so much is good. Nothing is wrong, even when I want to believe it is. Now is not then. All Timing Is Right Timing. Thank you for this grand adventure. A full breath of deep appreciation in my thank-you heart.

Sparklepoints, superpowers, salve, fake band of the week!

Operations completed and forward movement!

Despite being overwhelmed by heartache, I was able to channel the qualities, superpower and theme for the 2016 calendar and handed it over to Richard for design magic! Hard to believe this is already the fifth year we make a calendar!

Also making progress — like a Fairground Stripper! — on initial preparations for the Sweet Honey ops and Operation Shed Shed Shed, and decided to put another mission on hold until spring, and that feels good. Thank you, fractal flowers.

I now bestow upon myself a quintillion sparklepoints, and you are welcome to do the same for you.

Or if you don’t do numbers (even fake ones), an endless cascading fountaining abundance of sparklepoints

Superpowers I had this week…

The superpower of really feeling the difference between 5% yes and 120% yes, and the power of graceful exits, both of which I used on The Facebin and a project that wasn’t feeling joyful.

Powers I want.

I want the superpower of Deep Beautiful Trust In All Is Well.

The Salve of Deep Beautiful Trust In All Is Well

These invisible salves are distributed here by way of internet magic. Help yourself! Take it in a bath, as tea, a cocktail, whatever works for you. Not only is there enough salve, there are also enough ways to receive it.

This is a softening salve. I start with my feet, and as I breathe and rub little circles in the soles of my feet, I feel into forgotten truth.

I feel the pulsing hum of life and the the vibrating jewel of the center of the sole of the foot. I feel the way my foot changes as I imagine I can breathe through it.

I feel the earthiness of earth and the support of the floor.

I feel so much, because I have let things soften, and I have let things soften because I have remembered, maybe not always consciously but somewhere deep inside of me, that I am okay and the ground is okay, and stumbling is okay, and hiding is okay and waiting is okay and striding forth is okay, and whatever I choose, I am good.

Playing live at the meme beach house — the Fake Band of the Week!

My brother and I make up bands, which are all just one guy. The Meme Beach House is the venue.

This week’s band is :

Received Like This

Their latest album is How Very Peculiar, and, of course, it’s just one guy.

Photo taken just for us in Lubbock, TX by Jesse — thank you!

Quick announcements!

While clearing out the house, I discovered a hidden stash of the gorgeous Stone Skipping cards! $22 for an extremely magical deck of cards plus shipping, or for $30 (plus shipping) we’ll add a cheery red Playground mug, since I found some more of those too! Tell the First Mate if you’re interested.

How was your week?

Come play in the comments. Share something from your week, take a breath, or just say hi! No rules, my format doesn’t have to be yours, we’ve been doing this every week for years now and there still isn’t a right way.

Everyone belongs. We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. We lovingly refrain from giving advice.

And of course it’s always okay to comment under a made-up name, whether for play and delight, or in the interest of Safety First.

Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.

Shabbat shalom.

It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — jump in whenever you like. Blowing kisses to the Beloved Lurkers too!

no one could look as good as you, Mercy

by Havi Brooks | Oct 8, 2015 | my personal practice

a list

last week was my mother’s yahrzeit
one year (by the hebrew date) since she died
my brother and I made a list of mom-things:
Ruth-pursuits!

we had a lot of fun adding to it
and I think of that list as a secret guidebook to reclaiming
the process of [mourning]

lists and list-making are on the list of course
so it is also a list about lists

it brings ease

that way I didn’t have to think about what to do
on this hard day
just look at the list
as if it were a tray of delicious colorful amuse-bouche
pick whichever appeals most in the moment

for example: immersing

immersing myself in creative process
— writing, drawing, garden, cooking —
because those were things she loved
and watching a movie (but only the happy parts!)
because that was how she watched movies
and, the ultimate Ruth-pursuit,
listening to Roy Orbison full blast top volume

maybe only for a few minutes though
since my capacity to listen to Roy Orbison is somewhat smaller than hers

full blast

this makes me laugh since she was such a quiet sensitive person
who didn’t like noise at all and never blasted anything
but get some Roy Orbison on the radio
and suddenly it had to be FULL VOLUME
and if you were in a car with her
then it was windows down bass thumping
like she was suddenly the rowdiest teenager

she really loved Roy Orbison
it was weird
but also sweet

so that was how I spent the day

doing Ruth-like things
that is to say: sitting on the couch and reading
with tea and apple slices

she liked sleeping in
and puttering
her painting classes in the evening
working on a secret art project or
reading as many books as possible on a topic that interested her
or just sitting and thinking
wrapped up in a blanket or three

ne’ila

I didn’t want to go to a synagogue on yom kipur
I didn’t want to be one of the mourners
I didn’t want to do anything other than
get quiet, turn inward
and call in qualities for the new year

tuning into my own internal sense of the essence of absolution
undoing and dissolving connections to any
lingering distortions
connecting instead to the wisdom in my lineage
releasing the rest

and when my jewish friends
said “hey forgive me for my transgressions please”
I translated that in my head to mean:
“I love you so much and want to be reminded that you love me too”

here is a red balloon of releasing filled with the
superpowers of absolution and always-loved

more lists

my plan that night was to sit quietly and name things
(yes, a list!)
to call in what I want to feel, remember and experience
in this new year

my friend Natanya was unexpectedly in town
and I asked her to join me
we sat in a quiet neighborhood place
with a small glass of ginger-infused whiskey
and it was lovely
really really lovely
exactly what I needed

volume

there was this moment: we were pausing in reflection
in our list-making
and I wondered-thought
okay so probably mom wouldn’t think this was the best thing
but I bet soul-Ruth approves whole-heartedly!
and just then
as I thought this

the song Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison came on
and they turned the volume all the way up

all the way up

until this moment there had only been
soft quiet background music
and suddenly, out of nowhere, ROY ORBISON! TOP VOLUME!

until the end of the song
and then back to the quiet music of the style that had been playing before
and no one commented on this

it just was

so thanks, soul-Ruth
for that
and for the sweetness

sweet mercy

I love how it was not any song of his but this song
which has the word MERCY
like a musical pun
on the yom kipur essence of true forgiveness in quality form

no one could look as good as you, mercy
you look so good to me, mercy
you are beautiful, mercy
this is my love song to you, mercy

no one could look as good as you, Mercy

what if the song is speaking directly to MERCY!
what if mercy is what I want to meet
what if mercy turns around and comes back for me

that is the funniest thing I have ever thought of
and I think on some level it is also true
in the way that things are true

and this definitely fits mom’s sense of humor

so she wasn’t just dropping by

in song form
to say goodbye
but to make a joke about forgiveness
so that I would smile

the song also has the line “won’t you pardon me”
another hidden pun
thank you, mom who loved words and wordplay and layered-meanings
and had so much to say about everything
in her own inimitable way

bees

I am burning a beeswax candle for my mother today
inside of one of Elissa Bromberg‘s stunning ceramic pieces

bees as in bee as in be as in being
(being, not doing)
and bees as in honey: sweetness
and honeycomb which is the prettiest pattern
tiny interlocking compasses

sweet is the word everyone uses to describe my mom
she was so much more than that
but yes, also sweet

a list for a new year

beautiful well-timed exits
finding/revealing the treasure
a wonderful lightening

the superpower of seeing only beauty
in all things

unapologetically taking up space

choosing towards freedom
joyful liberations
because what is releasing
if not to liberate and be liberated

sustenance and sustainability
safety and support
absolution and always-loved

trust in my wise instincts
insist on supportive environments always
turn up the volume on things that
require volume

like Roy Orbison, but also other things

stone

today is the unveiling of my mother’s gravestone
my dad told me they put a bar code on it
apparently that’s a thing now
they do it automatically

so you can scan it with your phone and go online and
be interactive or whatever
share your grave-selfies (double-meaning!)

though apparently
if you give the gravestone people the death-stare (sorry)
and tell them they have two days to get rid of it or heads will roll (sorry)
they will remove it for you

mom would of course be incensed
(I’m seeding a delayed-reaction pun here, so you’ll have to wait for it)
at the idea of bar-codes on gravestones
but soul-Ruth with her tambourine and laughter sees the absurd humor in it
and says “oh, life!”

and both of these things can co-exist,
and knowing this is treasure

treasure and grace

I think a lot about what she would like
sometimes what I’m pretty sure she would have liked and what soul-Ruth likes
are not the same

life is finite and qualities are not and
I am here now and
my yes is to be in a state of grace with
soul-Ruth
to wish her peacefulness-always and honor her essence
enjoy things she enjoyed that I also enjoy

and it seems funny now that we don’t all do this with each other all the time
because of course we can share this soul-level sweetness and peace
whenever we want

peace

Roy Orbison says:

give me room to travel on my way to a place where dreams all fade away

and an old friend who (I hope) will one day be my friend again used to say,
let’s light a stick of incense to burn away all karmic residue

let’s do that
mom didn’t like incense (there it is)
and she would raise an eyebrow about the phrasing
but she’d find the idea interesting
and soul-Ruth appreciates ritual and sweetness in all forms
so let’s do that

and wish for

peace
peace
peace
peace
peace
peace
peace
peace

easing & releasing
everything dissolving into love
because that’s what absolution is

no one could look as good as you, mercy
you look so good to me, mercy

quiet sweetness
at full volume

♡

pebbles and stones

in jewish tradition you leave pebbles and stones
on the gravestone
so if you feel moved to respond and don’t know what to say
you can always leave a pebble here
or a heart or love
or a favorite roy orbison song
and of course you are welcome to share anything sparked for you

thank you for being here with me
and making spaces of sweetness together
it means so much to me

these are my roots

by Havi Brooks | Oct 6, 2015 | my personal practice

very personal ads

I write a Very Personal Ad (also known as a Vision of Possibility & Anticipation) each week to practice wanting, listening, getting clear on my desires

the point isn’t getting my wish (though cool things have emerged from wishing), it’s learning about my relationship with wanting, accessing the qualities…

wanting can be hard, it is easy to feel conflicted about it, and the reasons for that make this a surprisingly subversive practice…

this is the 326th consecutive week of wishing, come play!

the things we don’t know yet…

when I was in high school in michigan
I had the tremendous good fortune to study american history
with a young brand-new teacher who was intense and passionate

not just about history
but about systematically undoing
all the bullshit we’d been imbibing before we got to her

she convinced the school to acquire college textbooks for us
and we learned the things that don’t usually get learned
and unlearned the rest

for example we learned

that the “founding fathers”
were not good people so much as they were interesting

we learned about the mechanics and horrors of the slave trade
and how we betrayed and trampled the native american populations
and the ongoing aftermath of both of these that is swept under all the rugs

the awful sad stories of internment camps in the second world war

xenophobia, manifest destiny, imperialism,
the hilarious myth of american exceptionalism
the studious ignoring of desperate cries for help
the unwanted and sometimes insidious intervening

she taught us to be wonderfully skeptical, curious always

and she taught that you can absolutely love the place you inhabit
without being docile, or agreeing to its acquired mythology,
and you can expect better, and agitate for better

(thank you for this treasure)

and still there is so much we didn’t learn that year

so much

the textile mills in massachusetts
and the young women who worked impossibly hard hours there — 5am-7pm
a 73 hour work week operating heavy machinery

the worker’s strikes and the fight for labor reform

the fascinating life of Emma Goldman (“the most dangerous woman in America!”)
and other strong outspoken women who were agitators and troublemakers

what the suffragettes went through —
imprisoned, mishandled, force fed through tubes,
labeled as traitors, for wanting equal rights: to vote
and to do things as shocking as wear pants

the fire at the triangle shirtwaist factory
women workers (immigrants: jews and italians) jumping to their deaths
their employers kept the doors to the stairways locked
out of fear that god forbid someone might take a break
during her nine hour daily shift

this is a history of intense oppression of workers

and also a history of people — my people — taking a powerful stand towards change
and we never talked about any of it

I’m thinking about this in several contexts right now

1) today is Day 209 of Shmita

I’ve been working non-stop for twenty four years — since I was fourteen,
and now I’ve had the gift of two hundred and nine glorious days
of Not-Work, immersed in this experiment of letting my fields be fallow,
and the main thing I’ve learned is that The Game Is Rigged:

even in our modern convenience-filled world
and even with the plentiful magic beans I’ve been granted,

as a legal citizen, as someone who is white and well-educated and able-bodied and owns a washing machine, just for starters, and without kids or anyone else who requires care

still, even graced with so many advantages,
and this immense treasure of time off from my job/s,
just the work of day-to-day life
— acquiring food, preparing food, cleaning up, laundry, decision-making —
just this is already a full-time job,

and that’s the best days,
the ones with no chronic pain or unexpected life stuff

2) the cult of too much

for years when asked what I do for a living, my answer was:

“too much”

or IWOM which means “too much and top secret and I either can’t or don’t care to describe it”

but really everyone I know, the self-employed included,

does too much
works too hard
puts themselves last
pays themselves last
puts up with unreasonable conditions/expectations and other unsovereign bullshit (both from clients/bosses and from themselves)

3) we are terrible at setting expectations of what is enough

hell, even people who are much better-compensated than we are
also have this same problem
of not setting clear, sovereign expectations
for what is fair labor, and instead internalize this stress-shame-pain cycle,
and companies never revise their expectations

because their expectations are never challenged, though also yes, because they see people as expendable

4) the problem of “women’s” work

because women’s work is invisible, unvalued, unappreciated
and we know this
and still collectively forget it each day

and we are told by productivity-guru-time-management-experts
that we all have the same twenty four hours in a day
and the usual bullshit

said more often than not, I think, by men who
forget they have someone at home quietly doing the dishes
and picking up their socks,
someone who is never going to say
YOU KNOW WHAT, ENOUGH, THE GAME IS RIGGED

the game is rigged

do you know how my business started?

ten years ago I started this site, and a parallel site
one was for working on our stuff:
our pain/fear/monsters/doubt
so that we could inhabit and embody our internal worlds, and make them
places of peacefulness

the other was the non-profit side of this, for going out into the world
and bringing our self-fluency to projects
that could heal the world

because, as far as I was concerned, there is an intimate connection
between tending to, mending and healing ourselves (and our selves)
and glowing healing-mending into the world

never got to that part

it was always in my thoughts,
but the game is rigged, and there wasn’t time for it

and also I noticed that the only time there was pushback
on this blog was when I talked social justice

so I let it go

man, you should have seen the reactiveness and defensiveness
when I dared to point out that amazon is an exploitative dangerous company

and people thought it was gross when I talked about menstrual cups
which is funny, because

you know what’s actually gross?

that we have been socialized and brainwashed to think that bodies which come with uteri and ovaries are “gross”, and to not discuss how they function
oh, right, the 20 billion pads, tampons and applicators dumped in the landfill each year just in North America
or that each menstruating person who doesn’t use a cup, cloth pads and/or Thinx, will be responsible for 125 to 150kg of disposable menstrual products put in the earth in their lifetime
that tampons and pads are hugely toxic and harmful to the bodies of the people who use them, and the companies who make them know this and don’t care

that’s what’s gross

that, and the fact that me-then learned to stop writing about
these things I care about tremendously

because it seemed more important then to be able to reach people
and distribute tools and techniques and qualities for
healing and self-fluency and Safety First,
than to alienate people through saying things they weren’t ready to hear

but I’m done caring about that now

last night

my beautiful lover, who, for reasons beyond my comprehension
is dead-set (yes, that is the word)
on working himself to death
had just came back from an incredibly stressful work weekend
five hours away

this was his weekend, which followed a week of impossibly hard work days:
drive five hours
work non-stop and all night in unbelievably tense conditions
without food or access to food
or taking a break
sleeping just a little, and then five hours back

he didn’t take the day off yesterday to recover
instead he worked from 7am-7pm
and then drove to his other client to…you’ll never guess…
do some more work

there won’t be time for you unless you take it

he: how is it that I’ve been going all day and still have work to do?
me: probably related to the reason you didn’t say “hey I worked a hundred hours this weekend so I’m taking my weekend now”? though also because The Game Is Rigged
he: yes
me: there won’t be time for you unless you take it
he: but there’s always more work
me: exactly, and it’s kind of nuts that after a ten day work week, you’d put in thirteen hours today, and you’re still going — you might want to call your union rep

that was a joke but it’s no joke

(like me, he runs his own tiny company so there is no rep)
(but really, we should all be our own union reps)
(and consult with these internal reps in WUSIT situations and also all the time)
(because good lord, the conditions we agree to)
(and only this week after TWO DECADES of this nightmare of being on-call 24-hours a day did he establish overtime rates)

what’s the solution?

I don’t know
I only have small clues

I can tell you that when I am off social media
the quality of my life/time is better for me
but even when I am completely off social media
the game is still rigged and I am still busy

I can tell you that when my lover and I lived in a nine foot camper plus bed,
that was a very human-sized space, as he would say
and it made so many things very simple
but even a tiny space still needs to be swept all the time
it’s amazing how much dirt and mess accumulates
when life is concentrated in one place

I know I need to get back to rooting and rootedness
back to my roots
breathe down to the root

here is a clue from my madeleine

roots

so there is a history here
a history of agitation, advocacy, creative activism,
real social justice, stirring up the pot,
sticking it to the man, whatever you want to call it

I was born into a line that isn’t too far off from
Emma Goldman levels of dissent and trouble-making
russian-jewish rabble-rousers? that’s my father’s father’s whole family

strong women who said fuck-off to the patriarchy:
that’s my hungarian paternal grandmother who ran away at seventeen
took off for british palestine where she consorted with gun runners and did
wild impossible things in dangerous exciting times

it is time for protesting
it is time for pointing out over and over again
that The Game Is Rigged
it is time for internal decolonizing of all the acquired
external rules and assumptions and bullshits
it is time to reclaim internal space, reclaim force fields

to say no
take time back
claim space and time
unapologetically
marching in the streets
of my own kingdom

unapologetically, that is the key

My history, my roots
I want the firm rooted knowing that justice and freedom
in all things are important, and that I can speak truth
from steady source
without apologizing

I am really tired of everyone apologizing,
even the most flagrantly unapologetic women I know
apologize for things that ought not be apologized for

placating and reassuring are a subset of apologizing

my god, even Amanda Palmer feels the need to reassure
a very rude shoe-thrower

— newsflash to all shoe-throwers, not that there are any here,
it’s never okay to let your monsters write someone a letter —

that no, she isn’t crowd-funding her baby

though, really, why shouldn’t she

the question may be rhetorical but that doesn’t mean it’s not important:
why the hell can’t she crowd-fund a baby?

(seriously, if anyone could do it, Amanda could)
(and babies, last I heard, are quite expensive and time-consuming)

I think it would be inspiring
it takes a village — what if we started asking for a village?!

and even Clementine Ford who is so justifiably proud of being
unapologetic that she straight up tells you
all the things she won’t apologize for
still feels the need to explain about her patreon:
“this isn’t an account to fund or support my lifestyle”
even though, again, what would be wrong with that

I mean, The Game Is Rigged

why not allow people to help with your life
so you can do your mission

I’ve read lots of patreon pages and have yet to see
men hasten to reassure people that they aren’t
just trying to get money for life through providing value

because men in general haven’t been as socialized to the same extent to think that’s shameful

I’m not saying men have it easy
(look, now I’m apologizing!)
see for example the case of my lover who couldn’t tell his clients
that he does in fact need to be paid more when they wake him up at 4am

we all get screwed by The Game Is Rigged
we all have to figure out our own way to subvert it

here’s what I want

and this is for me, you can wish (and do) what you like

taking — taking — time for me, every chance I get and then some
being fiercely unapologetic about everything I do to take care of me
no more supporting the system, I get that I can’t exit the system but I’m done giving money to Our Corporate Overlords and companies engaging in unethical practices (and yes, I get that this is most companies, and I get that figuring out who to trust requires the immense magic beans of time to research), if each dollar is a vote, I am going to vote louder
living smaller
choosing and valuing the qualities and superpowers of BEAUTY and COMFORT, and their healing magic

my mountain man lover who likes to sleep on the floor has been heard to say that “comfort kills”, though this also the person who is working himself to death, and what is actually killing him is his inability/disinclination to set clear expectations about how much work is too much work, so really a little physical comfort not only wouldn’t kill him, it might actually save him, but saving people is not my job, so that’s going to be up to him

anything else about this?

I just want to be clear
(because this is the internet and people twist words and meanings)
that I am not in any way comparing the injustices of the industrial revolution
to how we work too hard and too much today

this is not about comparison
this is about calling in the spirits, invoking the qualities and superpowers
of Sovereignty, Integrity, personal power: rebelliousness and rabble-rousing

what am I noticing about my wish?

like all good wishes, this is a wish about freedom
and about presence:
fully inhabiting and occupying this life and this body, claiming space:
I AM HERE

may it be so!

now

orange table, amber bottle of a magical tincture, fuzzy blanket, quiet music, I am here