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.
These are the thoughts I think while hiding
There are a lot of things I think about while hiding.
There are a lot of things I think about while hiding in the alcove next to my refrigerator, huddling close to the smooth wooden cabinet, appreciating the way it juts out, blocking any view of me from outside the house.
For example.
For example, I think…
It’s okay, babe. Nothing is wrong. And this will pass.
The person banging on my door will give up and leave. My shoulders will relax again, my breath will return, my heart will come back to rest in its usual spot, its usual rhythm, and I will forget that I was here behind the refrigerator.
It will become a regular evening again.
It always does.
Well, unless this time it doesn’t.
I wonder about that too.
I wonder…
How long do I plan to stay here.
Why am I holding this spoon.
My tea must have cooled by now, the mug is getting heavy in my hand.
I wonder how long it’s been.
I haven’t heard them leave the porch.
I haven’t heard them leave.
Do I dare peek around the corner at the clock on the stove?
But maybe then they will see me, maybe they are still there, maybe they’ve moved to the side of the porch and then they will see me because the curtains facing the kitchen are slightly open.
Slightly open.
I wonder what it would be like to be someone who didn’t flee in terror at an unexpected knock on the door.
I wonder what happened to me, what made me into someone who immediately, automatically, unthinkingly intuits the worst case scenario and seeks the nearest hiding spot.
And also, what is wrong with people. Who knocks on a door unannounced in the middle of the night?! Who even does that.
And yes, okay, it’s only 7pm, but it’s pitch black and I’m not expecting anyone, and there is no way I’m opening that door. There’s no way I’m even going near the door.
There is no way I’m going near the door.
I have heard too many stories from women friends.
Too many stories, told in that eerie flat voice. I have heard the words, “I knew I shouldn’t open the door, but…”
Never open the door.
Never open the door.
Why am I thinking about the Swedish girl, what was her name, the one who was leaving for India. Nina. I took her flat in south Tel Aviv after my divorce.
It was a small loft in a corner of the fourth floor of a (loosely) converted clothing factory in a not-great neighborhood. It had bars on the windows and the shingles were asbestos, and I loved that place.
Oh right, the door. It was a wide metal door, very wide, with a sliding lock.
People would come and bang on it. And shout threats. Nina owed a lot of people money. And it turned out my boss at the bar had no intention of taking care of all the tickets we’d gotten for being open past midnight, which all had my name and address on them, and I don’t remember exactly what happened with that but there was drama.
One time I got a call from someone who said they were at the bar looking for me, to arrest me, and that Omri, the owner, had gone out the back door instead of explaining that it wasn’t me they wanted. I stayed with a friend for a while.
Mainly when I think about that door, I remember being curled up in a ball in the corner, waiting for the angry people outside the door to leave. They would yell about how they knew I was in there, and I remember wanting a cigarette so badly, and shaking.
Sometimes they would slip an envelope under the door, strategically placed halfway so they’d know if I moved it, and I would leave it there for weeks. Mostly I just waited.
Lots of waiting.
Lots of waiting.
While I am waiting now, I try to think about this as a systems problem.
Like, how about a good sign for the door.
For example: No Soliciting.
Or possibly, better, what about this?
A Person With PTSD Lives Here, Do Not Knock On The Door Because She Can’t Handle It.
Or maybe just PLEASE GO AWAY.
Or maybe the signs need to be inside of me. Maybe see a hypnotherapist, create new responses to knocking on the door. Seed calm and steadiness. I still don’t have to open it. I can just be calm in my not-opening, in my non-response.
Preventative measures, it couldn’t hurt.
It couldn’t hurt.
I am wishing I had my cell phone in my pocket, why don’t I just carry it with me.
No, that’s nuts. Do I really want to be someone who can’t walk a few feet to the kitchen for half a minute to pour herself some tea without having a phone for company?
Actually, yes, maybe, because it would be so nice to have right now.
And because this is not the first time I’ve been right here, cowering, frozen, waiting, shallow breath, trying to feel the ground beneath my unsure feet.
This has happened dozens of times. And if I had the phone I would know how long I have been waiting, and I could text my housemate and tell him what happened.
This is always comforting. He’d say that it’s probably the kids of that couple that look like spies, collecting money for the basketball team. And I’d say no, because they didn’t knock next door, I would have heard, it was only here. And anyway, this wasn’t kids. That was an adult knock: firm and determined, and it repeated.
And he’d say maybe it was the neighbors. He would run through all the possibilities and ask if I wanted him to come home, and I would feel better.
I would feel better.
I think I hear a car driving off.
I wonder what it is like not to have PTSD. What is it like for a knock to just be a knock, just information. Oh, someone is at the door.
I wonder about whose fear this is.
Tiny me, maybe. When I was little I had recurring nightmares, for years, about people breaking into the house to kidnap me. They’d surround the house, and then one of them would bang on the door, and I’d hide.
Or maybe it’s older than that, from before I was even here, fear that is energy residue or cellular memory, inherited genetic or cultural fear, Jewish fear. Maybe this is the received collective memory of the Inquisition, of pogroms, of Gestapo pounding on the door.
Or maybe it’s from my adult life. Maybe this is the fear that comes from Not Having Safe Space, maybe this is the fear that comes from the lived experience of being without a home for eight months, maybe this is the fear I didn’t let myself feel when things were desperate.
Maybe I don’t need to know.
Maybe I don’t need to know.
I am gripping the spoon and my hand hurts.
There is a small cut on my finger.
I have been staring at the can opener on the counter for a very long time.
It is okay now, I can peek around the corner at the clock, it’s been seven minutes since I last looked.
I could walk to the couch. Or crawl, maybe crawling is better. Not going to crawl.
I make it to the couch and sit there for hours, not moving, keeping myself as distracted as possible, because who wants to feel this much nervousness, who wants to listen to the monster chorus of Why Can’t You Just Be A Regular Person Who Can Deal With Shit, This Is Not A Big Deal, It’s Just Someone At The Door.
One day this will pass. This will pass, this will pass, this will pass.
It passes.
I find my way back.
To breath, to steadiness, to trust, to this moment which is now, where I am safe.
I sleep peacefully through the night, and the next day in the light of morning it is just a remembered moment, without a charge to it (remember when I freaked out completely when it was probably just a neighbor?).
The next time will be a little easier, and then the time after that.
I get back to the daily work of taking exquisite care of myself, cultivating steadiness, resting and breathing on the floor, talking to my body, talking to me-from-then, talking to incoming me, talking to me-now.
Being a glowing beacon of warmth, permission, acceptance, safety. And of course, the tricky art of self-forgiveness.
Asking curious questions. Changing bits and pieces in the video game.
I practice the tools from the emergency calming techniques kit so that I can access them faster next time.
I find the thank you in my thank you heart. I name everything around me. I am here. I am okay.
I am here. I am okay. I am practicing
How commenting works here, and an invitation to play.
This is exquisitely vulnerable territory here.
And while each of us comes to this with different background and different experiences, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. And: people vary. We have different needs and different approaches, and that’s okay.
In order to ensure safe space in this sweet corner of the internet, we commit to not giving each other advice, not analyzing each other, not telling people what they should try or how they should feel. We make space for each other so that everyone can have their own experience.
We do our best to meet ourselves and each other with as much grace and warmth as we can.
You are welcome to leave hearts, pebbles, flowers, soup. You are welcome to share things that were sparked for you.
May we all have safety, comfort, clarity, everything we need. May we all have the spaciousness and presence to meet our patterns with understanding, and layer on new experiences, rewrite expectations, let go of all that is done.
♡
Looking. Under. Things.
Up.
I want to tell you about Tel Aviv.
That city and I had a long complicated love affair that stretched out over ten sweet, wildly intense years.
I mostly think I’m over it, but then again, I don’t visit. Which is suspicious. Tel Aviv is like an ex that I never let myself look up to see what she’s up to. Because I’ve moved past our relationship. But maybe also yes okay fine because I’m afraid if I know how she’s doing, I might make contact.
She still has my dishes, my couch, my books, my favorite jeans.
I don’t look her up.
But Tel Aviv is the one who taught me to look up. That’s how we fell in love, me and the city, the city and me.
Look Up.
Tel Aviv is gorgeous, breathtaking. But it takes a while to see, to perceive, because all you see at first is the parts that are narrow, crowded, a little grimy.
You have to look up. Up to the sexy lines of the Bauhaus buildings, the curving balconies. Up, follow the music up to where people are having a picnic on a rooftop that looks out over the Mediterranean
Walk down Hess street at night, the living rooms illuminated by lamps and television. Look up into these cozy dioramas, these scenes of home that draw you in.
Walk through Neve Tzedek towards Florentin. Look up. Look up, it’s his apartment, that magical almost-invisible building — yes, there — go up that wrought iron staircase in the back, up to the door, that’s where we said goodbye. Look up. I have danced on the roof, under stars, by the sea.
That’s why I don’t visit. That’s where he killed himself, and the thought of being in Tel Aviv without him is unbearable.
But still. Up. The secret to loving that city is always looking up. “Everything happens for the best”, is what he would say.
So look up. Things will look up.
Under.
Do you remember Alec from The Phantom Tollbooth?
“I see through things. I can see whatever is inside, behind, around, covered by, or subsequent to anything else. In fact, the only thing I can’t see is whatever happens to be right under my nose.”
Milo asks if that’s inconvenient, and Alec explains that everyone in his family has a different perspective:
“My father sees to things, my mother looks after things, my brother sees beyond things, my uncle sees the other side of every question, and my little sister Alice sees under things.”
I also see underthings.
I can’t help it. I’m a woman in her late 30s, all I think about is lingerie.
Anyway. Perspective. Sometimes it’s under things.
It’s the looking that’s important.
You have to look up. And you have to look under things. Sometimes even at the things you don’t want to look at.
But there are ways to do that safely, playing at the edges, breathing sweetness, holding someone’s hand.
I have learned a lot from looking up and under.
You.
Up and Under are my U words. They’re also my YOU words.
This past year we had a Rally (Rally!) for each letter of the alphabet. And I missed U.
[I love how that sounds like I missed you….]
Where was I during the week of U? That must have been my visit to Michigan, to see my mother, before she died.
So for me, Rally U became Rally YOU. That is to say, Rally ME. It was about taking time to do this thing I needed to do for me. I wasn’t physically at the Playground but I had companionship for the mission.
My list of things that begin with U was actually a list of things that begin with YOU.
This was good for me. To keep asking, “Hey, my love, what is here in this week of you?”
Looking up, again.
In dance, looking up is imperative. Not up towards the stars like in the desert, or on the rooftop of an apartment in south Tel Aviv. Not upward towards the curving balconies.
Up as in: not down. Up as in: not distracted.
Up as in: wearing my crown.
If you look down while dancing, it messes with your frame, your posture, your body flight, everything about how you move. It is hard to remember this, even though all evidence has shown that attractive and graceful dancing requires mastering the art of Not Looking Down.
Of course, once I got a handle on not looking down, I still wasn’t looking up. I have this need to look at my partner’s face, always checking in. But the height of my partner’s face is not always the height that my head needs to be for me to be beautifully balanced, beautifully anchored.
Eyes up. Head steady. Crown on.
The crown is invisible. It’s good for balance, and it is also good for remembering to treasure myself.
What I see when I look up.
Standing at the bus stop, I look up and I see green. So much green. I forget how lush Portland gets, how winter rains turn it almost tropical.
Dancing with the boy, I look up into his smiling eyes and I see-feel-experience pure joy, I can’t even tell if it’s his or mine, or if it lives in the music, in this moment of connecting, this happy play of aliveness.
Walking up the path to my house, I see the vase that Mary made, resting in the window with a flower in it.
Opening my eyes after long, slow, deep, old turkish lady yoga on the floor, I see the high sloping ceiling, the spaciousness that is there even when I forget to look.
That makes me think of the Phantom Tollbooth again, the visit to the cities of Illusions and Reality. Illusions is actually a mirage, and its twin city Reality is what you see.
Reality used to be as beautiful as Illusions, but the people in Reality were in too much of a hurry, too committed to efficiency. They rushed around and didn’t appreciate things, and their city faded away without attention, without intention.
That’s why I look.
Looking up and looking under is a way to actively practice sovereignty: What is in the kingdom of me, my life, my internal world, my thoughts, feelings, desires, beliefs, convictions, imaginings.
What is here? What is supportive? What works and what doesn’t?
What needs to be eliminated and what needs to be illuminated?
What is here for me when I look up, when I allow myself to look up? And when I look under things?
These are the questions.
And this is my double-meaning secret code reminder: Everything is looking up.
May it be so! And come play with me.
Usually when I do these meditations on a letter, the alphabet posts, I have to stop myself from listing all the words because otherwise it will take me a hundred hours to write the post.
Luckily U is a small but spicy letter, so here are just a few delicious ones:
Undulate. Ubiquitous. Unfurling. Umami. Utility. Ukulele. Umpire. Uncover. Upward spirals.
Oh, and my absolute favorite U words: Undoing and Undone.
And of course that brings us to all the powerful U words that are negations, like unwavering and undeterred, hello, you are important too.
Also ULTRA-, as a prefix, which enhances any quality or superpower!
If you want to whisper words or sound effects that start with U, go for it.
You are invited to add more U words, or peek over here for more unique and unusual U’s. Like ubiquarian, unstercorated, utraquist, and uxorious.
And of course, if you want to share in any of magic invoked here, help yourself. Words work like the salves in the Friday Chicken: there is enough and there is always more.
Whispering loving spells that begin with U, for myself, and for anyone who wants…
Wish 290: exit as you wish to continue
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
♡
What’s in here for me?
Some weeks I don’t know what I wish for at all.
(This is never true, it invariably turns out that I am trying to keep myself from knowing, for reasons that are completely legitimate and also sometimes monster-fear.)
Other weeks, like this one, I wish for so many things, which gets kind of overwhelming.
So let’s name some wishes and find out what they have in common.
I wish for a just-right tenant.
After nearly five years, I am letting go of The Playground, my beloved center in Portland, Oregon.
It is an unbelievably gorgeous space. Twenty foot coved ceilings. Five rooms. A small stage. A kitchenette (the Galley). Beautiful light. It is the most wonderful place I have ever been, and the thing I am most proud of bringing into the world, by a lot.
I would like a tenant who appreciates the specialness.
Appreciating specialness is how the Playground came into being, did you know!
It used to be that I’d run a retreat someplace and we’d magic it up with sparkling wonder, irrepressible joy, deep peacefulness, soaring delight. And then it would be so sad to leave, knowing it would eventually revert to a boring conference room.
Also I resented the preposterous add-on fees. Fifty dollars a day for a whiteboard? Come on. For that sum I could take a limo to an office supply store, get my own whiteboard and write things on it while sipping champagne. So stupid. And so I set out to look for my own teaching space.
Anyway, the Playground was special to begin with. Five years of glowing-love-and-adoration later, it’s incredible. May the right tenant be delighted with it.
I wish for help with the Augean stables.
Clearing out the Playground after five years of filling this enormous space with clues and toys…
It is quite the task.
Each time I go there, I spend somewhere between three and eight hours clearing stuff out, and haven’t made much of a dent yet.
The beautiful boy offered to bring the truck, and a few other people want to help. I would like this to come together easily and beautifully so we can show the space.
I wish for a healing for my leg.
I did something to my left leg, which is to say, I did not do anything to my left leg.
This is an emotion-level reaction to [things], for sure.
It has to do with some of the many things I’m releasing, and it happened immediately after feeling very upset about a situation, and now I have this inexplicable injury and can’t walk.
So I am wishing for an ease of releasing, perfect for this new incoming year of Easing & Releasing.
And I am wishing for the treasure in this to reveal itself quickly and easily, and for the return to functional happy body to be easier than I think it will be.
I wish for ease and joy with the new op.
Got some intel the other day at the Playground. Turns out the real reason Operation True Yes got postponed is that I am not currently cleared for the kind of top-level security it requires.
So I am now on a mission to get ready for that op by increasing levels of Sovereignty, Agency, and Panache so that I can integrate a new Incoming Me.
This is going to involve making peace with some shadows and solving the mystery of What Is Good About [PLB].
I will need to do more of a [thing I currently resent other people doing, because I don’t allow it in myself], in order to stop feeling upset about this.
Apologies if that made no sense. The point is, there is some internal work to be done, and now is the time to do it, and I would like this to be fun, and to have some good company.
I wish for ease-filled transitions.
Right now an ending is approaching, and I have been avoiding dealing with it because of [not-fun thing that happened last time].
I want help remembering that Now Is Not Then, and a new way to approach this particular ending.
I wish for peaceful time-off before the time-off.
All this doing-doing-doing getting ready for Shmita has me exhausted.
I need a week of nothing, somewhere quiet, and I need this to reveal itself as soon as possible.
What do I know about my wishes?
The motto of the Playground is relevant here:
Enter As You Wish To Be In It. Exit As You Wish To Continue.
Right now I’m not exiting things with the qualities I want to take with me.
More harmony, more congruence, more peacefulness, more rest, more sovereignty, more joy-sparks!
What else do I know?
Nothing is wrong.
This is all part of the process. This discomfort is growing pains, and that’s a thing, and I am okay.
What else do I know?
Taking care of myself first is always the right answer.
What do I really want?
To see with clear eyes.
And, as always, to trust my instincts more. To trust my yes and trust my no, and act on that trust immediately.
Me: Hey, slightly-wiser me, what do you have for me?
She: Change the metaphor. This isn’t about herculean labors, it’s about saying goodbye with love. Focus on the love part, not the work part.
Me: Okay.
She: Nothing is wrong, my love. You are being given nothing but chances to take care of yourself. Take them!
Me: I feel so frustrated right now.
She: Of course you do. This is so much to be dealing with. All the more reason to choose bath, bed, quiet, fresh air, soup.
Me: You are right.
Clues?
Hahaha, so many clues.
For now the biggest clue is that me of a week ago knew to say no to Puerto Rico even though it sounded like the best thing in the world, all because the YES disappeared. And now I am wearing a knee brace, and am so very glad that I am not on a plane right now. So. A clue about trusting instinct. I’ll take it.
The superpower of calm steady trust is mine.
The quality for January on the 2015 Fluent Self calendar is ANCHOR.
With the superpower is Calm Steady Trust Is Mine.
Calm steady trust will help me find the treasure in all of this. And the anchor reminds me that the voyage is still happening.
Ongoing wishes.
- Everything is easier than I thought, and look, miracles everywhere.
- I have the best time dancing in my ballroom.
- This doesn’t require my input!
- Ha, it’s so perfect that it turned out like this. Past me is a GENIUS
- I have what I need, and I appreciate it. There are resources to do this.
- Trust and steadiness. I can see why this moment is good.
- I am fearless and confident. I do the brave things, I state my preferences clearly, calmly and easily, and it is not even a big deal, yay.
- I am ready to come into my superpowers and receive gifts that are winging their way to me. Superpower of Everything Enhances My Superpowers!
Things I find helpful when it comes to wishes…
More sweet pauses, yes to the red lights and purple pills, say thank you to the broken pots. Costume changes. Stone skipping with incoming me. My body gets the deciding vote. And, as always, saying thank you in advance.
Give it to the compass: Eight directions, eight qualities, eight breaths.
Adventure. Rest. Horizons. Security. Passion. Sweetness. Clarity. Presence.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
So. Last week, aka the treasure in disliking things…
I did in fact find treasure in disliking things:
The disliking can be fuel for making changes. The disliking tells me more about what I do like. The disliking tells me that I’m worn out and depleted, it is a sign to take better care of myself. The disliking gets answered with legitimacy and love, two things the world needs more of.
Thank you, disliking. Thank you, treasure. Thank you, process of letting things go, and thank you, wise me, for noticing just how much emotional dust this kicks up and how strongly I react to dust.
Attenzione! Attention, AGENTS.
Attenzione! Attention, AGENTS.
I wish to whisper a whisper about the Monster Manual! It comes paired with the world’s best coloring book, which does so much monster-dissolving magic that even if you wait to try the techniques, you’ll still feel better about everything.
Self-fluency is hard enough, we need ways to to interact with the thoughts-fear-worry-criticism that shuts down creative exploring. And when people get the manual, I am able to me spend more time writing here. So if you don’t need help with monsters, get one for a friend. Or plant a wish that someone gets it for you! And bring people you like to hang out here. The more of us working on our stuff, the better for all of us. ♡
Keep me company?
Consider this an open invitation to deposit wishes, gwishes, personal ads. In any size/form you like, there’s no right way. Updates on past experiments are welcome too, as is anything sparked for you.
Commenting culture: This is safe space for creative exploration. We are on permanent vacation from care-taking and advice-giving. We are here to play and throw things in the pot! With amnesty. Leave a wish any time you want.
Here’s how we meet each other’s wishes: Oh, wow. What beautiful wishes.
xox
Chicken 339: WUSIT!
It is Friday and we are here.
{a breath for Friday.}
What worked this week?
Choosing intentional seclusion, and redefining it.
I got invited to a fun thing on Wednesday and realized the better choice was to say no, because, as I put it, “better to not inflict this tender, vulnerable, emotional premenstrual state on the world.”
And then I instantly corrected myself:
“I mean, better not to inflict the world on tender, vulnerable, emotional me.”
I chose to stay indoors and take care of myself, and this was such a good move. Thank you, wise me.
Next time I might…
Trust the no.
I had been getting a maybe-no on something for a while, but the thing itself sounded so amazing, that I just talked myself into sticking with it.
Then when obstacle upon obstacle piled up, I realized that I was being redirected towards a better yes, even though I didn’t know what it was yet.
I want to trust the no, because that’s what helps me trust the yes.
Actually this happened with about ten different situations this week, so clearly this is the thing I’m meant to be figuring out right now. It is not easy.
Eight breaths for the hard, challenging and mysterious.
- Massively ptsd-triggered by an explosion on Saturday. Pain in right ear lasted through Monday evening, hearing probably damaged. A breath for poor scared me-from-then who can’t tell the difference between fireworks and suicide bombers.
- Entirely new levels of overwhelmed. Also, the phrase What Unsovereign Shit Is This? (WUSIT!) gave way to What NEW Unsovereign Shit Is This? That got said a lot this week. Oh, and I got angry enough to give someone the finger. That never happens, I don’t even know who I am right now but this week I got to the point of Seriously Hating Everything. Except the boy. I still like him. Everything else though is getting on my nerves. A breath for ease.
- Still letting go of everything and it hurts. A breath for releasing.
- Collating collating collating and getting all the things ready to go. And then a hundred things went wrong. Our shopping cart software gave us billing addresses instead of shipping addresses, so we had to redo each package individually. And they haven’t respond to help requests because they have this new thing where paid requests come first. So apparently paying a thousand dollars a year for the service doesn’t count. Oh, I could go on. Post office obstacles and ordering obstacles and everything obstacles. A breath for logistics.
- Body hurts. I miss yoga. I miss being outdoors. I miss Rally. I miss dancing. A breath for comfort, and for patience.
- Waltz brunch, my all-time favorite Portland dance event and the main thing keeping me here, was not enjoyable for me this month. The lesson was terrific but got triggered twice during the dance and left early. A breath for all signs lead to the exit.
- Missing the beautiful boy. And our four weeks of running away together got canceled for [reasons] and [obstacles], and this is absolutely the right thing, and I can still be sad about it, and I am. A breath for a new plan, may it reveal itself soon.
- Inhale, exhale. May all misunderstandings and distortions, internal and external, dissolve in love if not in laughter. Goodbye (and thank you), mysteries and hard moments of this week. May I choose to trust-more love-more release-more receive-more.
Eight breaths of good, reassuring, delight-filled.
- The secret code name my lover and I gave to our four weeks of running away together was Operation True Yes. So it’s pretty funny that less than a week before we were set to leave, we both discovered simultaneously that this was not our True Yes. I mean, running away together is still our true yes. Just not in the particular form that had been planned. So here’s to true yes, here’s to the new form of that, here’s to going somewhere quiet to breathe together. I can’t wait to find out when and where that will be. A breath for trust, and for true yes, and for knowing that this is right.
- Sweetness and warmth. I know what in my life is good. A breath of appreciation.
- Sending off all the BORKS! A breath for delight.
- A wonderful talk with Alon about living by joy sparks. A breath for delight.
- I was hating the latest self-administered haircut, and Marissa was able to salvage it, and now everything is slightly better. A breath for perspective.
- Turned the horrible yard sale of iguanas and doom into a Releasing Party & Treasure Hunt, and now I feel better about that. A breath for how words are magic.
- Taking care of so many iguanas. I am ready to let go of things I was not ready to let go of before. A breath of thank you.
- Thankfulness. So much is good. Rumba. Soup. The red hot water bottle. People who care about me. Everything is okay. Nothing is wrong. Now is not then. All Timing Is Right Timing. A full breath of deep appreciation in my thank-you heart.
WHAM BOOM! Operations completed.
So much done! Finished editing the last two ebooks! Stuff is moving at the Playground! More boxes are leaving my house! A very complicated Playground op: taken care of! Thank you fractal flowers. Wham Boom.
Revisiting some wise important words of truth from past-me.
Let’s revisit the fountain. As much as possible. We’re all equal at the fountain.
Superpowers…
Powers I had this week…
I had the power of Solidarity In Irritations (is it just one guy?), and the power of Finding My Way.
Superpowers I want.
I want the superpower of Totally Unfazed By Any Of This.
The Salve of True Yes.
When I wear this salve, I feel steady and grounded. I remember again. I feel what draws me, I recognize that belly spark of oh, this is for me!
Everything that is not my yes doesn’t even appeal, so I’m not even tempted.
I just zero in on moments of yes.
It takes three seconds to know what I want to wear. I am not overwhelmed by choices in the supermarket.
This salve is a secret sovereignty salve: want what you want!
It reminds me of vetiver, frankincense and the hidden staircases inside of me that lead to treasure.
If salve does not appeal, you can have this in tea form, as a bath, cocktail, whatever works for you. Not only is there enough salve, there are also enough ways to receive it.
Playing live at the meme beach house — the Fake Band of the Week!
This week’s band is from the Vicar. Since everyone I know has been having a week of Everything Is Extra Horrible (the latest album of this band), it is reassuring to know that I am not alone, there’s some weird cosmic clearing out of junk, or something going on, so really, we have company, and The Cosmically Fucked is a gigantic ensemble, and not at all just one guy.
Attenzione! Attention, AGENTS.
I am still recommending the Emergency Get Calm, Quiet And Steady techniques, since they are keeping things good around here for me.
So I want to seed a reminder that this is a thing, and it helps, a lot. Not just with calming down in the moment but with building the kind of habits that allow you to change your relationship with whatever is scary or uncomfortable.
I hardly ever recommend these because the page is already many years old and needs rewriting. However, copywriting aside, this is still one of the best things I have ever made, by a lot. I have two boxes in my office full of the sweetest thank you notes from people, and so many of them are for this.
Come play if you like…
Join me in the comments. Some of us share hard and good, some of us say hi, or maybe we’re feeling quiet. My ritual doesn’t have to be your ritual. Whatever works for you. We’ve been doing this every week for years now and there still isn’t a right way. Feel free to leave pebbles (or petals!), hearts, warmth, sweetness. Those always work.
Everyone belongs. We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. We don’t give advice.
Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.
p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever you like, it’s no big deal. And I am blowing kisses to the Beloved Lurkers. I love that you are here too.
Time will tell.
Tenderness.
Tenderness is a word that has changed for me over time.
It used to grate. Maybe I had tenderness about tenderness.
I didn’t like it. It felt too vulnerable, overly sweet, almost overbearing in its rawness. I didn’t want to be tender. I wanted to toughen up, to feel the firmness of clearly delineated lines, the steadiness of clean edges, of knowing where they are.
Time has passed, and now I am different. My relationship to tenderness is different.
If once I experienced it as uncomfortably awkward, now it is another flavor of love with its sudden welling up of joy, and yes, it is vulnerable. It can still be uncomfortable, just in a new way.
It’s uncomfortable not because I can’t handle it but because it is honest: here I am with my real heart, my real love, my real everything. I am ready for tenderness.
I love words.
You’ve probably figured that out if you hang out here.
I mean, I’ve written 1,409 blog posts. Well, about thirty of those are still hanging out in the “one day I might press the publish button if I’m feeling brave” hallway, speaking of things that are tender.
I love words, and I love them even more since having become silent.
Once I used to taste them in my mouth, now I taste them with my whole being. I feel them. Sometimes I think silence has amplified the magic and pleasure of words. Speech now seems like a very small way to access language, if that makes sense.
Once.
Once I had a lover who loved words as much as I did.
We never met. We were lovers in words. We created entire worlds constructed in words.
We spent well over a year whispering words to each other across the distance.
All the words.
We would fall into words, as word-lovers do.
If we were in touch (a word that begins with T), I would ask him about how he experiences tenderness. The word and the quality.
Twisting.
I share words this way with other people too. I have word playmates. TJ. Agent Elizabeth. Anyone who can play. Delight in words is my inheritance.
Word playmates can’t stop at Tenderness.
The other T words would have to come and play too:
Twisting. Tangled. Tentative. Toss. Torque. Tension. Tulips.
Take. Torrent. Torrid. Tend.
Truss. Tussle. Tousled. Tassled. Together.
Twilight. Tilt. Tipped. Trouble. Treble. Trellis. Trill. Thrill.
Touch. Taste. Treats. Timelessness. Trust.
Trust.
Trust is the most beautiful thing in the world.
I am learning about it in entirely new ways with the boy I like.
This is my love-more trust-more.
In [relationship with jealous ex], he never trusted me. And I would think, “Well, that’s his stuff, and he’ll find his way through it, and see what is true.”
I didn’t understand that to be with someone who cannot trust me is not sovereign. You can’t have love between equals when one person doesn’t believe the other person’s words.
Trust is everything. Mine got broken. But here I am, trusting harder, because that’s what is needed.
Time.
I have never liked the phrase “time heals all wounds”.
It is one of those things that is both true and not.
Time makes space. It allows for perspective, and there is a slow, steady magic to moving through life and then discovering that you have a new relationship with the hurting places.
Everything ends, changes, reconfigures.
Suddenly you’re on the other side of the thing that seemed like it would never be okay.
This week I made a list of every time someone in my life has disappeared. Death, breakups, misunderstandings, drifting apart, mysterious disappearances, or not-at-all mysterious ones that made total sense but still hurt.
I put an asterisk next to the ones that still sting, and two by the really painful ones.
Much to my astonishment, it turned out that items that used to be squarely in the two stars category suddenly don’t require any.
So. Time has a wise magic. Time, space, releasing, forgiving myself.
Twice.
Some things just need to be repeated.
You really hear it the second time.
There is something about twice. Twice becomes ritual. Three times is even better.
This is also related to truth and to telling and to tradition.
Tranquility.
I recently came back from 43 days on the road with the boy I like, in the desert and by the sea and in the mountains.
43 days, 5150 miles, 114 hours holding hands while driving in the truck,
We called it Operation Tranquility Recovery Magic. Is that not a marvelous name?
There is a deep peacefulness that comes from horizon and spaciousness, a restfulness that I can soften into and trust.
Tranquility might be my favorite drug.
Transition.
Things are in transit, right now, for me. And also in general, because everything changes. That is the way of things.
Nothing wrong with transition. It’s metamorphosis. Things moving because life requires movement. This is the end of stagnation, and sometimes it looks like breaking when it is really shedding.
Tell me. Tell me tiny truths.
This is what I say to the beautiful boy when my head is resting on his chest.
Well, I type it.
I like hearing his voice. I like being reminded of things that are true.
Sometimes I want to be told about sweetness, sometimes about warmth, sometimes about trust.
There is a tenderness (yes) to asking: Tell me. To listening and receiving.
This is how I get better at remembering to treasure myself.
Treasure.
Where is the treasure?
Right here, in this moment.
The thing I want more than anything else is to be someone who treasures herself, who takes exquisite care of herself. To meet myself with a kind heart.
To be someone who finds treasure in treasuring. To glow boldly, because the treasure is in my heart.
TRUST TRUTH TOWARDS TREASURE.
May it be so! And come play with me.
This has been a meditation on words that begin with T.
If you want to whisper words or sound effects that start with T, go for it. Or we could drink tea. Or listen to the tale of Tetrazzini, something I do every winter.
Other T-words (tea words!) that I like:
Towards Trickle Tricksy Twinkle Tenacious Tea Texture Tomorrow Tipsy Transparent Teleport Talisman Twirl Turning Tough Turquoise Truth.
Oh, and toast — it’s also a verb!
And tango. And turning over. And thoughtful. T is also for Terpsichore, the goddess of dance, the muse of movement. A toast to her, and to all the Terpsichorean treasures.
You are invited to add more T words, or peek over here for more tasty T-treasures. Like tachyphrasia, tangoreceptor, temporicide, and tirailleur.
And of course, if you want to share in any of the qualities and magical words I named here, help yourself.
They work like the salves in the Friday Chicken: there is enough and there is always more.
Whispering loving spells that begin with T, for myself, and for anyone who wants…