Ol' 55 - Ol' 90

As I pulled off the freeway this morning I saw a man with a sign: "Homeless. Hungry." So I gave him my $1 and as I handed it to him, I said, "Here you go, brother. Good luck." He said, "Thanks. It's embarrasin' standin' out here." "No it isn't," I said, "we're all in this together." As I drove away one of my favorite songs came on, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKd4yLVARkQ
, and I thought about what I just said and I wanted to go back and take him to yoga with me and give him a hundred bucks, which is the last of what's left in all my bank accounts, but I couldn't because, well, because.... well I just didn't. So I came home to post all my honest red-...faced lack of humanity here, and listened to Tom Waits tell a story about this song and let it inspire me to be here anyway. I had an old caddie once. It was a black 1990 Fleetwood and it had tinted windows and people were always shocked to see this tiny white girl jump out of it when I went anywhere. I got it because my ex boyfriend's cousin needed bail money and I needed a car. And so this song reminds me of so many things, most of all my humanity. And here I am. And I still believe we're all in this together and I still love you. All of you. Me too.

Ol' 55 - Ol' 90

Real Sex Infiltrates Modern American Pop Media! Red lipstick lovers UNITE.

Real Sex Infiltrates Modern American Pop Media! Red lipstick lovers UNITE.

Thank god.I have been SAVED from impending social suicide.



Stuck for hours at the VW service shop, I have been forced to watch the Today show and suffered hyperventilation because of the attack on my nervous system from the stupidity of what is passing for morning news. I know I am a horrible snob but..... and I LIKE the anchors and the crew on the Today show. Like, I would like to have coffee with them. But I don't care if Jessica is flashing a ruby ring a week after Nick announced his engagement. I mean, I am happy for them! Does everyone have to be a snarky bitch on TV? Can't we have some joy and tenderness along WITH the snarky-ness? And it isn't even really funny snarky-ness, it's like this mild version of 8th grade without all the crying (because a show of real emotion would be scary. God forbid anyone feel their feelings....) . My peer group that I hung around with in Sauk Rapids was snarkier and smarter and funnier and sexier than these folks. Just who are we/they trying to please anyway? By trying to appeal to everybody they lose any... anything.... at all.



In short, I feel insulted...



and sad.



But... wait....



Next, still stuck here, I have been forced to watch Access Hollywood and ...



What's this????



....one of my FAVES, Dita Von Teese, is talking about how proud she is to be one of our BEST STRIP TEASE PERFORMERS of modern times. What an AMAZING woman. Ladies and gentleman, Dita, the Le Cirque Girls, modern day burlesquers, Jessica Rabbit, me... we're not bad.... we just live in a community that has had all womanliness and sensuality almost thoroughly suffocated out of it!! DITA IS TEACHING THEM TO STRIP TEASE! Makes me so happy to be alive.



These opinions are TOTALLY mine and in no way are representative of VW and its affiliates. However, VW is ultimately a German company, and I can safely say, having dated a German, they probably approve.



Thank god for real people, real men and real women, and I do include absolutely EVERYONE on these shows that I think are an insult to our modicums of intelligence and ability to choose for ourselves, 'cause ultimately, we all think we're people, right?



And thank god for the striptease. (See more on my blogs from the Le Cirque Rouge days for that information.)



Love ya and your big red lips and your false eyelashes!



mwah!



-International Girl-

K-15, me and Bob Dylan

K-15, me and Bob Dylan

from "Poet's Lovely Daughter," inspired by last night's dream:

I dreamed Bob Dylan invited me to play "K-15" for a dinner party. Later the party all received spa-style seaweed wraps.



During the dream I couldn't remember the lyrics to verse two at first, until EVERYONE at the dinner party started it off for me.... It was pretty wild. Then, I went back to give Dylan a massage and we took a nap on the shores of the beach outside his home in Croatia. (!? I don't know. Look. We were both born in Minnesota.) When I got home, the layout of my website had been hacked into and changed by his cohort and now featured cartoon versions of me and Bob playing a Zelda- like video game.





Track 2... http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/poets-lovely-daughter/id336674182







First, I know your secrets

Second, I know you lie to everybody

Oh, now, I shall immortalize you

is that unfair of me?



I see your mouth has my figs in it

I see your hands are empty

I see the fear in your eyes, baby

you’re starin’ right at me



Let’s not bear bones to the world, baby

do you really wanna be my slave

you’re movin’ where you’re not welome

you think I’m so quick to cave

First, I know your secrets

Second, I know you lie to everybody

My famous heart, that’s what you wanted

I shall immortalize you presently



Weren’t you the one who held me all through the night?

Secretly hiding your intent to terrorize

Still just a girl, I learned to hide behind these eyes

Give back my life, dear captor, don’t I have a right

Don’t I have a right… don’t I have a right…

new poem 11.8.10

poetry abounds. here's one i wrote in my head in class today:


empty and clear, a hollow vessel; homeless as a shooting star,

i am... at one with the world. you say

this has meaning and i say, it may,

but don't get caught in the web of your thoughts.

just let it, this love, let it/ open you.

who cares who outdrew whom? just.

be one with that star that is you,

burning through time, falling

deep into this sea,

the blue of my eyes.

love all around you.

<3,

Me

new poem 11.8.10

Woke up feeling Bad अ$$......

So I woke up this morning feeling REAL Bad Ass.

(Alongside deeply poetic, it's my other default state of existence.)

That is, until I tripped and fell over my too-long yoga pants in front of a city bus on Crescent Heights and Sunset....

Paying no mind, I laughed, dusted myself off, waved to the cheering boys in the car behind the bus, and relaxed into a great soundtrack, starting with "Cruel" by CALEXICO (<3 <3 <3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t46dvudrp8.

While I was running, Soul Coughing's "Blue Eyed Devil" came on and I had to laugh, because I had just been telling the drummer last night at Cabaret Idol, @Kevin.Widener1 about the time my sensitive pony-tail haired boyfriend had dumped me via mix-tape (CD). That sweet, sensitive, Jeff Buckley, Tori Amos lovin' son of a Preacher Man (AND Woman) has been coming up a lot lately in conversation, and I believe THAT song, Blue Eyed Devil, was the first on the official/ unofficial "You Make Me Hate Myself And Oh By The Way I'm Breaking Up With You" CD. (Well, come on, we were 20, and addicted to love, and we got back together the next weekend anyway before breaking up again and then getting back together and etc.) i was laughing with Kevin last night explaining how I used to have these dramatic relationships and he said in mock surprise: "Yoooooou? No......" Funny how much a person can get to know you when they play drums for you.

Then, about the time that the New Standards version of "Watching the Detectives" came on iPod, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLtNCcMG1Mw , I looked "up" from my run and realized I had no idea where I was. None. Zero. Nunya.

So... lost in the hills.... somewhere.... I started running and soon found myself coming out on Nichols Canyon, which I then took down to Hollywood.

At this point, Cesaria Evora popped up on the playlist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmDLZORG6Cg ~ Carnaval de Sao Vicente~ well, god made me womanly for a reason, and I could not help but swing my hips.... and when I got to the stoplight, I looked over to see this GORGEOUS cutie hunky mcHUNKerson I have seen twice now in his Saab..... he was smiling at me, but smiling at me in that, "Oh, look at that sweet retarded girl" kind of way.... I looked down and realized why.... I had tucked my too-long yoga pants into my socks and was wearing a (I'm not kidding) teddy bear with a heart sweatshirt. (What. I need to do laundry.) Sigh.

And then, as he drove away, I realized that if I had ANY brains, I would have tripped and fell in front of his car, so that as he ran out of his car to see how he could help, I could pull of my sunglasses- just so- and take off my golf cap and undo my ponytail and hopefully not be TOTALLY BRIGHT RED in the face and sweating and panting and he would say, in his cute little horn-rimmed glasses- "Hi. You okay?" And I would smile and say, "Um, maybe.... I think I'd feel better if you took me to get some coffee..."

Well, it didn't happen that way, but instead, one of my all-time rallying songs pushed me on home.... And THIS song.... THIS song folks..... THIS is one of the songs that has, is, and ever will be me. ;-)

And I still feel Bad Ass.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIb6AZdTr-A&ob=av3e

...the Muirmaid....

Just a typical day coming up from the water...
...the Muirmaid....

I know I say funny $%^&

I know I say funny $%^&
by Erin Muir on Friday, October 22, 2010 at 11:04am

I was thinking this morning about how people laugh at the things I say, even if I don't mean for them to be funny! I guess I realized that it is in part because, while most people cover up the embarrassments of life, I do so many embarrassing things on a daily basis that I just embrace that part of my life and talk about it with a passion. Like, I was thinking about this one time I was doing a glamour photo shoot and my... bra size... wasn't really big enough for what they wanted. So I used those funny little chicken cutlet looking plastic things to give myself more... cleavage. Well, it was the first time I had ever used them so I didn't really know what I was doing and the left chicken cutlet kept slipping sideways! I hadn't TOLD anyone at the shoot I was using these things, I was just pretending like, yes, these were my breasts, and yeah, everything was fine! But then the photographer said, "Um, there's something wrong with your.... shirt...." and I looked down and my left side was a good INCH lower and sideways compared to my right side! I just laughed. I mean, I was thinking, "well! Outed! I'm not as big as I was pretending to be." I burst out laughing and pulled the chicken cutlets out altogether, throwing them across the studio, making everyone else hoot, holler, laugh. I know it was embarrassing but what the hell? It was funny, too. So I think that I like to embrace my clumsiness, my silliness, and my ability to love myself even through stupid acts of blush-inducing behavior, because, well, we all do that stuff!! Oh, the stories I could tell. ! And DO! XOXOxoxoxoxoOXOXOOX

As my sister said, "You so crazy!"

So, I thought I'd foil my own hair. I told myself, "Sure! I've done it many times." (LIE.... I've died my hair many times but the number of times I've foiled in base and highlights = 0.)



Always cavalier, I went ahead and got started, using 2 colors + a paint brush, just like I've seen stylists- and their assistants- do in salons.



Well, somehow, I forgot that



A. they have training, permits, degrees, and CERTIFICATES from the STATE permitting such behavior

B. they're know what doing

C. I don't, in fact, have 8 arms or eyes on the back of my head,

aaaand

D. I'm an idiot.



One box of foil, three boxes of dye, four hours of labor plus one hour bleaching the sink (I splattered,) a healthy dose of panic attack, and quite a lot of @#$%!!!!!, and the results!???!?!



Survey says:



I will never, ever, ever lie to myself again. About hair, anyway. Well, okay, not in the next 3 weeks.



And it looks, uh, chestnut brown.

अ न्यू दरें Poem

Sparking awake from sleep

I breathe in a line of ancient poetry

and am surprised to discover

I am no longer running from the crumbling tower in my dreams

but am alone in the ring of silence.


What is this force which keeps me

waking, running, sleeping, then waking again?

What is this voice that comes through

In waves and waves and waves?


The crest falls.

Day begins and rest is no more.

I shall put aside, then, these visions,

and tend to the mundane things that

circle the world.

Coffee. Work. Sister. Friend.

And secretly, in stolen moments,

I close my eyes and dream-

A New Champion

A New Champion

An eventful morning during my run at the park: I met a new friend there.

As many of you know, I am friendly with many of the homeless folks who live at the park near my home in Los Angeles. Today there was a new gentleman. I call him "Russell" after Russell Crowe in Gladiator, because at our first meeting, he became a champion!



There is a pathway that weaves around the park at about .8 miles. I run that pathway between 3 and 6 times every day, depending upon my mood and time commitments.At the southern bend of the trail, I first saw Russell. He wore his hair like a Knight, short bangs cut straight across and around, but with slightly longer hair in back. It was dark dark brown with tints of grey, and he wore a full beard. His skin was dark and leathery from the southern California sun. But his eyes were bright, a deep, deep hazel, with a light that shone from behind them.



He saw me looking at him and looked right at me. I smiled a small smile as I ran toward him, the Trumpet Voluntary (The Prince of Denmark's March) played. "Russell" looked right at me, nodded, and nodded at the foe that stood between us (which, for me, I could see was a sprinkler watering the grounds, but who knew what it was for him.) He proceeded to MARCH RIGHT THROUGH THE SPRINKLER as I passed him.



I kept running.



As I curved around the southern bend the second time, his back was to me, but I saw him waiting in his long, dark green trench coat. As I approached him, Jeff Buckley singing in French in my IPod this time around, I saw Russell stiffen. In that way that I KNEW he was seeing some foe between us on the first approach, so I knew he sensed me sensing him as I approached him this time. I felt a fear and a quickening, and kept running.



After all, I don't know this fellow. Most of the homeless folks that live at the park by my house- at least the ones I have given food or talked to- are mentally ill. I don't know Russell yet. I don't know if he would even like me writing about him on FB yet, because, well, I've never asked any of my other folks if they'd mind or not. Anyway....



The third time round, which was to be my final round on this bright morning, he was waiting for me, at the same bend, standing tall and proud as any warrior in victory. He beamed when he saw me. He stood, his eyes in a wide V, rooting deep into the ground, two tree trunks joining in the center of his hero's chest, his hands at his hips in strength and courage. He looked right into my eyes, and I looked right into his. As I do for all people I see, I said a quick prayer for wholeness, healing, and peace. He smiled. I smiled. He nodded his head, a quick bow of recognition and motioned his right hand. "Let her pass."



As for every other moment of his life, i cannot say. But in this moment, he was clear and pure joy.



Amazing.



So, thanks, Russell!



You made my day.

In Honor of ...

August 21st, 2010

In Honor of Scarlett


It’s been a while since I’ve blogged- I just finished a big ghost writing/ editing project for someone else and it took everything in me, in terms of writing time.

And in the meantime, so much has been happening! I’ve got a video coming out September 16th, I’ve got a novel coming out soon and a slew of great cabaret performances coming up… and meanwhile, life is beautiful here on my little street in my City of Angels! The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, my upstairs neighbor is still doing construction on his kitchen, (three years later, god bless my sweet lug of a Liverpoolian neighbor) and I am IN JOY.

For me, so much of blogging feels very much like I’m writing a letter to a dear, dear friend… and so I want to update you, dear friend, (I suppose, much like Anne Frank’s “Kitty”) but I also have something I want to ruminate about and through in this space.

Today is my niece’s 4th birthday. She is the apple of my eye, and my favorite little bean. And not just because she looks like the blonde baby version of me (ahaha!) (right down to her energy and drama.) (Which has mellowed out in me now that I’m a grown-up…) And I want very much for her to have joy, and peace, and presence, and the ability to be in life on life’s terms… and I want that because I DESPERATELY want her to AVOID the trials and tribulations I put myself and my family through as a teenager and during my early 20s. And… from which I pray every day to stay delivered from…. and with which I offer myself up to help others if they want it….

I know that life happens as it happens, whether we want it to or not, but at least, I am grateful that each generation gets, in some ways, smarter than the last. But we who have read books and history and watched the skies and heard the breeze through the trees… we know that, la plus ça change, la plus c’est la meme chose! Each generation is, in fact, smarter than the last, and each wave of technology brings new trials and new stupidities, and in the end, we are all equaled by nature.

So… what I ant to write about today is possibility in the face of such strange dangers.

I like to be honest about my life experience, my dealings with eating disorders, addiction, depression, and more importantly, my recovery and my growth, because I’m proud of my commitment to health, and because there is nothing to be ashamed about when it comes to the communion of human experience. We all have our issues. And I figure, if I can help even one person have faith in the possibility of health, and the release of suffering, then my life is not in VAIN!

God forbid my life should be in vain, but then again, I’ve already given my-SELF the gift of faith. Because I am LIVING PROOF that LIFE is possible, whether that means self-love, self-esteem, overcoming illness and disease, any of it. All of it. I want to help anyone who asks, as best I can…. whether you’re my homeless friend who hangs out at the Fairfax Library, my songwriting student I’m mentoring, or just some stranger off in some strange corner of the universe, reading this on your laptop…. So. I write this for you, and I write this for me, and I write this for Scarlett, and I write this for all the girls that were in my rehab for eating disorders, depression and suicide- wherever all of you are! I love you, and I hope whether you’re in heaven or on earth, in the earth or on top of the world… I hope you found peace. I hope you find peace. And I know: You Are Peace.

COMMERCIAL BREAK: “As I walk along, I wonder, a-what went wrong with our love, a love that was so strong…” Del Shannon flipped on, randomly, on my iPod, just now. This song was one of my Dad’s favorites growing up. He loved all his “oldies.” And I used to sing this song and a feeling would grow in me that was so deep and sorrowful… ah, drama. Leave it to the Piscean child to hook into the misery of the world and then offer that at the potluck (haha!) (I laugh because I know now, it isn’t real. Someone go back and tell 8 year old me that!)

So what spurned this blog, in addition to my little niecey’s birthday?

This article my mother sent me:

http://www.twincities.com/ci_15759298?source=email&nclick_check=1

She was beautiful, outgoing and too young to die.
That's what friends of Arianna Tatum, 20, said as they gathered on the White Bear Avenue bridge over Interstate 94 in St. Paul on Thursday.
Tatum, of St. Paul, reportedly kicked off her sandals, crawled over a fence on the overpass and leapt onto the eastbound side of the interstate Wednesday afternoon, said Lt. Eric Roeske, Minnesota State Patrol spokesman.
Three or four passing vehicles struck Tatum about 2:25 p.m. Wednesday, the State Patrol said. She died at the scene.
"It's very tragic, very devastating, very unexpected," said Jackie Steele, Tatum's aunt. "Arianna was very well-loved by her family, and whenever she would go through different things, she would call someone and

Family and friends of Arianna Tatum have left balloons, flowers, stuffed animals and notes on the White Bear Avenue overpass where she jumped to her death. (Mara Gottfried | Pioneer Press)
talk. So for her to get to the point when she didn't talk to any of us, I don't know."
Family and friends left stuffed animals, flowers, balloons and notes on the overpass.
"She would do anything for her friends," said Janeen Roy, who met Tatum in ninth grade at Como Park Senior High School. "She was generous, had a big heart and could sing like an angel."
Tatum's mother, who could not be reached for comment, wrote on her Facebook page that she had lost her first-born daughter, "my best friend, my world. If you are hurting TELL SOMEONE & LET THEM HELP."

My mother loves to send me these kinds of emails, and I always respond with emails that say: Prayers sent, and I’m great.

Why? Because I was this girl.

Let’s pray for this girl, and teach everyone we know, all our Ophelias, all our Erins, to take responsibility for telling the truth and giving commitment to joy.

Double lives, man, they’ll kill you. Literally. Okay, so I’m not saying this girl led a double life. I couldn’t presume to know her version of the Ophelia story (I’m referring to that book, “Reviving Ophelia,” that came out around the 90s, in the ebb and tide of other issues I lived through during the 90s, the generation of Grunge, of Kurt and Courtney, of waifs and Sassy, of Lilith Fair… and THAT is a reference to, of course, Hamlet’s Ophelia, who kills herself over the loss of love and support from not only her love, Hamlet, but from her father and her brother….) (and on and on. Lack of belief in herself, no place in the world, no ability to tell the truth of life.)

But I know my version. And I was her then… and so I have a feeling about things, such as I do… that she felt so ashamed of her secrets (and they may have been as grand or as miniscule as any others, but to her, they were obviously overwhelming.) I never met this girl specifically, but I have met her again and again and I pray for the day when THIS tragic ending… ends….

Like I said, I was her. When I was her age… rather, a bit younger…. 20 was, well, like her, at 20 I was in the middle of my fuck-its, but I was still SORT of trying to hold it together, kind of. Old habits die hard. But in high school? I was, on the outside, kind of. … perfect. I mean, I hate to use that word because I’m not trying to say I was. I was soooooo far from. And we all know perfect is an unattainable concept. It’ll keep you distracted and chasing as long as you believe it exists. But I was all those good girl things: first in my class, musically gifted, published in journals for my poetry and short stories at the age of 16, awarded scholarships to every college I applied to… I was lean and healthy (so I PRETENDED) and BLAH BLAH BLAH ON AND ON AND ON. Just call me the Little Miss Goody Two Shoes CLICHÉ, ‘cause I was!

But I was also leading this double life full of dating older men, having eating disorders, and later, other addictions, you know. The whole deal.

And I kept it all to myself. I think I started telling people…. my sister… a trusted girlfriend who kept my secrets for me…. until there were so many secrets I stopped knowing what, if anything, I could talk about, and so I stopped talking….

And then I did the next cliché. I got the fuck-its. Real bad. All this keeping it together. All this pressure. All this “gotta get somewhere” “can’t screw up” “can’t lose my man” “can’t talk about my man” “now there’s two men” “can’t gain weight” “can’t eat” “can’t not eat” “must write great American novel by age 21” “college is really in the way of my fucking novel writing” “can’t eat this package of Fig Newtons and go sing opera here at semi-prestigious but not too prestigious so as to not piss off my peers and family music school” “can’t not eat this package of Fig Newtwons” “oh shit I just went from anorexic to bulimic in a heartbeat” “well there goes my singing career” “can’t be perfect? I’m worthless, might as well die” thoughts just got the better of me.

Thank god for drama, really. Because I have friends and clients who let those thought patterns go on for years and years and years. But I was lucky. I got out and went to massage school and forged my own path. I took the road less taken and got real public about my life so that I could get real healthy. Whew!

Hahahahaha! It only took me ten (or fifteen!) (depending on how far back we want to look) more years, eight therapists, a bad-ass boyfriend who taught me how to have TOO much fun, moving around 27 times back and forth across the globe, a few more dramas in the love department, several trips to India, (just call me Liz Gilbert) (THANK GOD FOR HER!!!!), some health wake up calls, a few embarrassing nights in a bar with a guy I really liked, a teacher who wouldn’t put up with my bullshit, and a deep love for my sister, my niece, and my other niece, a series of profound spiritual/ mystical/ love/ god awakenings… a commitment to meditation, health, sobriety, and love…... And here I am!

Whew! Let’s hope I’m committed to health tomorrow afternoon, too, because, well, double lives are EXHAUSTING.

But what about that Ariana? It’s no coincidence to me that the lead character in one of my plays, based on me, “My Life as a Phone Psychic,” is named Arianna. (Yup, that’s the novel coming out soon.) “Arianna Moore,” from my play, is a pretty obvious nom for Erin Muir. What about our dear friend to the world, Ariana Tatum, only 20 years, loved by all who knew her? All, that is, but for herself? Why couldn’t she have made it, too?

I am so grateful I made it. And I want desperately for her family to know that I almost didn’t. And not just once or twice but many, many times. MANY nights I almost didn’t make it, and you know what? If I hadn’t made it? It would never have been the fault of my mother and father, or my aunts and extended family, or my friends and teachers who loved me. It was no one person’s fault with Ariana (even hers, because she was doing the VERY best she could.) I made it through to the other side,for now and in this moment, because of course, life happens…. But for her family, and for families struggling with the same stories, I want you to know, YOU CAN MAKE IT. And for Ariana’s family, I want you to know, IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT.

But what can we do now?

What we MUST do. We have to try and help the Erins and the Arianas.

WE HAVE TO START TELLING THE TRUTH.

Why did it take me so long to get help, and to believe and trust that help?

Partially, because we do not yet live in a culture that encourages telling “the” “our” “my” “truth.” I grew up in a culture where we- girls, boys, just people in general- were/ are supposed to be successful, and do what we’re supposed to do, and look a certain way, and behave a certain way, and if we have problems, we’re not (STILL!) supposed to have them. Problems are embarrassing. Problems are shoved under the rug. OR then you get to be like me, or like “Girl, Interrupted,” and then you’re the crazy girl.

Guess what? I’m not crazy. Oh, sure, I’m a bit different. I mean, I’m from small town Minnesota, a town full of lovely folks for whom, I’m sure, I’m a bit, “different.” I know I am, because growing up, I was told so. I don’t mind and I don’t blame. And guess what? Everywhere I have gone and everywhere I go, I’m… “different.” Here in Los Angeles, in Dusseldorf, Germany, in Naples, Florida…. even in New York City…. even in San Francisco…. among the weirdoes, the bohemians, the artists, the punks… I’m still different. Because we ALL are. And that’s our BEAUTY. And we’re all the freaking same. And that’s our beauty. You and me! Me and Ariana! Me and Liz Gilbert.

And as for all of that? I’m actually, in my very grateful and humble opinion, very very healthy. I love and respect myself, and when I find out I haven’t been (loving or respecting myself, whether with chocolate or working too much or etc), because I still have my cycles and circles of non-belief, of dis-ease, then I ASAP go back to love and peace and balance. And ask for help.

Intellectually we understand this. But to LIVE and BREATHE this and be okay with it?

That’s next.

To help all the Erins out there, and all the Opehlias, and all the girls I was in rehab with in between college and massage school in my early 20s:

WE HAVE TO START EMBRACING ALL OF LIFE.

Really.

AND THAT MEANS US AND ME AND YOU AND MYSELF AND YOURSELF AND THEM AND THOSE PEOPLE OVER THERE AND ALL OF IT because…. we’re life, too. They’re life, too.

Oh, I go on, and I go on.

And the sad violin plays and suddenly it’s a fiddle and then it’s joyful and then we’re dancing until were laughing and crying all at the same time and life. is.

And that’s it. Life. Is. Life is life is life is. If you’re reading this, you’re one of the eggs that made it. You’ve succeeded. You are.

You are you are you are!

So….

In honor of Ariana Tatum….

Part three of my little “I want to live” manifesto it:

LOSE YOUR FEAR

Not easy to do, but then again, it is, if you keep breathing.

I can only imagine how much harder it must have been for young Ariana than it was for me. To me, our culture seems to have gotten more fear-based while getting even more success-presentation oriented. Womanhood is, in shadows and silks and corners and hints, FINALLY re-beginning to become exalted, but there is so much un-healthy, un-likely- un-truthful presentation of life going on in this universe right now. Expectations will kill ya. Goals are a joke, The world is not safe. Never has been.

As for what is real… or at least here? You know what is? You are. If you are reading this? You’re here and you’re heart is beating and so joy is possible. I vote for THAT candidate.

I don’t know. I really don’t. But I love. I love deeply. And I have learned, and am learning… to feel my feelings, to let them pass through me… not to be swallowed up by fear or lies or masks or problems… to be human and to be proud of it… to embrace my womanhood…. to love men and women for who they are… to be available to healing…. and on. And on. I go on.

And as for Eliot’s mermaids…. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each….and when I pulled back and saw the reflection in the water, one of those mermaids was me… I was calling to my lost heart…. and now, I get the gift of me.

Today, will you please find an Ariana, or an Erin- if it’s you- if it’s your sister- if it’s your homeless friend- and just offer him or her the biggest gift you can- your heart- as a reflection of their heart? All you need to do is send a text message or a little voicemail saying hi. No proselytizing, no preaching… just hi.

That’s what saved me. Hell, honestly, that’s what saves me. I could wax melancholic on life and write sad songs and I will again and I will have hard times and I will survive and I will thrive. I don’t know what love means, but I know what love means. What you can’t get from this blog is that the first time I wrote that, I was also pointing to my head, and the second time, I was pointing to my heart. Soul is. Love is. God/ nature/ divine mother/ my heart/ whatever you wanna call it is fine with me/ deep love from the cosmos… God keeps saying “hi” to me, in any way I can hear it. Sometimes, when I was lost in the idea of drowning in my grief, it was a phone call from my mother, and sometimes it was a note from an old friend… and sometimes, when minding my own business, the “hi” is a magical coincidence like Del Shannon’s song coming on just as I began writing this, and in general, in life, sometimes it’s cancer and sometimes it’s losing a job and sometimes it’s winning the lottery.

God keeps whispering to us. Listen.