This morning I woke up and it was so peaceful and quiet in my apartment, and that meant, in my neighborhood as well, it was eerie. I live smack dab in the middle of a very busy neighborhood of Los Angeles where there is always something going on at every and any hour of the day.
3 am? *Somebody* (Saudi princes, I have heard) likes to race down W 3rd Street, which is fifty steps from my apartment door. Lamborghinis unencumbered by those pesky pedestrians.
7 am? Construction, delivery trucks.
1 pm? Everyone in the universe wants to have a freakin' green juice or a smoothie across the street.
7 pm? Dinner time! Cocktails.
11 pm? The hot nightclub across the street plays house music except on... is it Thursdays when they play some awful 80s pop? I mean fun 80s. Ahem. Right. Okay.
Anyway so this morning it was so quiet and it reminded me of something from childhood. But what? I could think of only moments: being awake before anyone else, a quiet house, just a large old clock ticking in the living room, me sitting in front of it, listening to the inner ring of silence, waiting, waiting...
And then I was awake. And it was time to get going. And look at Facebook and see that my childhood friend had a huge birthday party in a hall somewhere in our small hometown, probably the VFW, with a huge sheet cake and a band and I couldn't help but feel like, out here in Los Angeles, this city of angels, a new person, a satellite who has left Mission Control forever and loves the space, loves the stars, never wants to go back.... was somehow missing something, some parallel reality, some other life in which I would have been at the party... maybe two or three little ones of my own grabbing away at my pant legs, runny noses and ruddy cheeks, "mama, mama," these make believe peanuts at once life-sucking vampire brats and yet the most beautiful angels in all the world... and I kept thinking to myself, what is this life? What is this life? What is this? Life? What? Is this life?
Yes. Yes it is. Indeed, yesterday was a great day in terms of what I personally love in life. I got up, I had a meeting with a showrunner about one of my projects, I walked a little dog I love, I went to an audition to sing and nailed it- the singing, I mean, whether or not I nailed the audition is up to the people holding the auditions- I talked with a producer friend about making my web series in Chicago, I had a Skype date with a best friend, I got an email about another audition and studied Kentucky dialects for the dialogue. I had posted about my script with Carlo getting I think its 7th or 8th placement on Facebook and added a picture of me at 7, braids and huge glasses, and said something like, "If this girl doesn't give up on her dreams, neither should you." And a lot of my childhood friends are like, well into their lives, and said sweet things. And this asshole friend of Carlo's commented I was an ugly kid. It was weird. But I never liked that guy anyway. Carlo wouldn't let me unfriend him and I thought, well, I posted that picture on purpose.
And then I thought,
why do we make everything so hard in life?
I mean, yesterday was an awesome day, but I let one comment by one guy I don't even like have meaning? Why? Not why like, oh dear God the humanity, but like, why as in what is the point?
Why do humans always force obstacles whether or not they need to?
And then I thought of nature, and how nature pushes up against itself (and therefore so do we, for we are nature, we are part of nature, and we have our own collective nature, like it or not, definable or not), and I thought of this Rumi poem about the tanning acid of a leather worker, and how the soul is like the hide that is turned into a beautiful leather with the bitter tanning acid, and how life will work against that soul to make it beautiful. I thought of the Elisabeth Kubler Ross quote about the wind against the mountains. I thought, you know who is famous? Mountains. Like we know a few names from antiquity, sure- Jesus, Plato, etc. We know the villains [sic]. Harrod, Judas. Nero. But you know who is MORE famous? Mountains. Mountains are so famous that everyone outside of humanity knows them, too. Maybe Mount Everest doesn't know the Himalayas. Maybe they do. I don't know. I don't speak mountain. But in my dreams, I do. In a vision once at Prophecy Rock, a story for another time, a story I shared here before, I do.
And Mountain, the language, it isn't like, say, English, or Italian, or even Russian. It's so quiet that it becomes loud, and to speak it, you must surrender your mind of meaning and allow your body to open up to the mountain to receive it, and in the open receiving of that cool rock against your mind, you understand things that you can barely put into words...things that words are too small to express.
I woke up thinking other things, too. A friend of mine and I have been texting back and forth about "The Secret." I think the ideas presented in "The Secret" are alright, but people seem to have run with them and forgot they they were fully human, having fully human experiences. As if we are only supposed to be happy happy happy positive positive positive all the time. If that were true, we would have been made THAT way. It's like saying that if you want to be rich, tip more to prove you're abundant. But that only works if you are ALSO abundant in the secret thoughts beneath the consciousness... and by the way, I have plenty of clients in my day job who are among the wealthiest people on the planet who have never tipped me. So you tell me. But yes, it's better to choose that life is worth living, and full of love, I suppose, rather than to be a negative Nelly curmudgeon all the time, I mean, probably. So it's great to choose a positive mood, point of view, etc. But life is full of everything. No one escapes until the final escape. And I woke up wanting to write to my friend, "But why WOULDN'T you want all that life has to offer?" And then I sit here now, writing, angry, cranky, crabby, sad. Feeling blue for no reason, or maybe for reasons I'm not ready to face. And I think about sorrow and loss and the appeal of becoming a nun. Loneliness seems somehow easier to bear than heartbreak.
But my life is a beautiful necklace full of precious jewels. And I love them for more than the sparkle, but for their profundity. They were born deep in the earth, born of darkness and quiet and minor miracles involving just the right amounts of oxygen and certain other minerals and elements, and then wait to be discovered during the tumult of the tectonic shifting of the planet and the sifting and sifting and sifting of generations of dirt, while far above them, a thousand babies were born, cried, and passed unto that which we know not before yet these precious gems saw the light of day.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Sunday, January 29, 2017
BERLIN - LYRICS
by Erin
LYRICS
La di da da da, la di
da da da,
La di da da da da…
La di da da da, la di
da da da,
La di da da da da…
VERSE ONE
Streets are black
from rain and I’m smokin’ out of character
Lost in the fog of my
mind
Feels just like Berlin with the
crumblin’ heaps of structure
Mirrorin’ the state
I’m in
BRIDGE
Cant say yes, won’t
say no, Maybe tomorrow
Faces all around me,
maybe that’s the way I like it
Maybe tomorrow
CHORUS
I’m learnin’ how to
love, love,
Shoulda learned it by
now
I’m learnin’ what the
truth it
I’ll find it some how
Tell me what’s true
Tell me what’s true
Oh, Berlin , is it you?
La di da da da, la di
da da da,
La di da da da da…
La di da da da, la di
da da da,
La di da da da da…
VERSE TWO
Our friend all think
we’re crazy
And the birds are
worryin’ ‘bout it
And all the fool
choices we make
There’s gotta be a
way, boy, that we can work it out
But it just never
seems to take it
BRIDGE
Cant say yes, won’t
say no, Maybe tomorrow
Faces all around me,
maybe that’s the way I like it
Maybe tomorrow
CHORUS
I’m learnin’ how to
love, love,
Shoulda learned it by
now
I’m learnin’ what the
truth it
I’ll find it some how
Just like Berlin , see me in need
of a little rebuilding
See the gunshots,
ages old, there to remind you
Despite the chaos
there’s love, waiting for you
Just find the heart
of me, I’m waiting for you
In Berlin
Tell me what’s true
Oh Berlin
Is it you?
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
2017, Thou Hast Arrived! ... Music, TV Series, Writing updates; Emily Dickinson, Mark Mallman, spies, Kansas, Sarah Brightman, and all things old are new again as all things new become old.
Hello, all! Happy new year. It is 2017, arbitrarily and confusingly the beginning of the year in the middle of everything, and while it is part of our consciousness and has been since the dawn of the Julian calendar or probably before that and I'm sure someone will tweet at me the proper information, I think mostly we humans just love to confound everything and make life wonderfully impossible and full of delightful complications, like having a new year in the middle of 8th grade.
2016 was my breakthrough year. I broke my dinosaur MacBookPro and am instead, for now, using my significant other's old roommate's old computer from college (Go Trojans, I guess! Circa 2005 or 2006, this computer and I have lived in LA the same amount of time, so that's cool.) The political system was broken open, or so the ubiquitous *they* will tell you, but we ancient poets know that it's just a variation on a theme and art is where it's at, always has been, always will be. I won't go through the deep losses of the last year except to mention the loss of a personal hero to me, Leonard Cohen. When I'm old, I hope I rock fedoras like he did. As I am young-ish still, I wear them only sometimes, but I aim to be as fashionable and styling as he was, only in a female glamour spy manner.
Speaking of spies, Carlo and I filmed a teaser for our new web series, "Spy V Spia!" It's really a proof of concept, designed to show viewers and potential investors (such as yourself?) the relationship and sexual tension between the two leads (conveniently located here in our apartment, LOL.)
"Spy V Spia" is a will they/ won't they romantic comedy with a spy parody twist. Two rival international spies accidentally become neighbors and form a love hate frenemy state, until ninjas attack, and our unlikely buddies must band together to save the world. The show itself will have stunts, evil organizations, Bond boys and Bond girls, plenty of Minnesota and Italy jokes, and even a tiny tiny tiny tiny blippet of opera. It also has an awesome theme song composed by Mark Mallman and sung by yours truly, coming soon. But until then, you can watch the Proof of Concept video clip here!
And let me close with a little bit of the classic rock band, Kansas, or better yet, the classical pop crossover delight Sarah Brightman's version of their hit, "Dust in the Wind."
2016 was my breakthrough year. I broke my dinosaur MacBookPro and am instead, for now, using my significant other's old roommate's old computer from college (Go Trojans, I guess! Circa 2005 or 2006, this computer and I have lived in LA the same amount of time, so that's cool.) The political system was broken open, or so the ubiquitous *they* will tell you, but we ancient poets know that it's just a variation on a theme and art is where it's at, always has been, always will be. I won't go through the deep losses of the last year except to mention the loss of a personal hero to me, Leonard Cohen. When I'm old, I hope I rock fedoras like he did. As I am young-ish still, I wear them only sometimes, but I aim to be as fashionable and styling as he was, only in a female glamour spy manner.
Speaking of spies, Carlo and I filmed a teaser for our new web series, "Spy V Spia!" It's really a proof of concept, designed to show viewers and potential investors (such as yourself?) the relationship and sexual tension between the two leads (conveniently located here in our apartment, LOL.)
"Spy V Spia" is a will they/ won't they romantic comedy with a spy parody twist. Two rival international spies accidentally become neighbors and form a love hate frenemy state, until ninjas attack, and our unlikely buddies must band together to save the world. The show itself will have stunts, evil organizations, Bond boys and Bond girls, plenty of Minnesota and Italy jokes, and even a tiny tiny tiny tiny blippet of opera. It also has an awesome theme song composed by Mark Mallman and sung by yours truly, coming soon. But until then, you can watch the Proof of Concept video clip here!
I am so passionately excited about life this year. I am attached to star in a new TV show as a police detective, "Emergency: LA," and another project I wrote with my excellent bosom friend Anzu has a wonderful and successful showrunner attached (but we can't say anything about that just yet!) I'm brunette again and planning on doing some live streaming singing concerts in the next few months as I prepare to sing alongside a Russian choir for a movie filming in Sardinia and raise money to shoot the web series mentioned above. I'm still writing away at a novel (every morning at least a little bit) and while my holidays were wonderfully relaxing (dead computer = no computer in Minnesota = no distractions = lots of the lost art of reading!) I am thrilled to be moving and grooving in 2017.
But make no mistake, I am still working my day jobs, for which I am grateful, and working on getting fit for "Emergency: LA" while not getting too crazy about eating (file under: eating disorders and "StandUpera," my one woman show) and I have a few personal goals: be a better friend and family member this year.
I'm (re)-reading:
"Man's Search for Meaning," by Viktor Frankl
"The House of the Spirits" by Isabelle Allende
"Romeo & Juliet" by Wm. Shakespeare
I'm reading for the first time:
"The Big Leap" by Gay Hendricks (trying to kick my self help habit but then, why?)
"A Man Called Ove" by Fredrik Backman
I'm watching:
"The OA" on Netflix
and I cannot WAIT to see
"Toni Erdmann" the film.
I'm listening to:
"Lala Land" soundtrack
I'm thinking about American Impressionist and Expressionist painter Jane Peterson after seeing a private collection of her works at a dear friend's. I'm wondering how to make millions so I, too, can invest in art and the fostering of creatives (starting with myself.)
I'm also thinking about pink champagne (like the kind I drank on New Year's Eve), tiaras and rhinestone headbands, the roaring 20s and the state of humanity. When I get to that final thing I'm pondering, I shut down, take Henry Monster for a walk, and regard the cacti plants in the gloomy southern California drought. For now, it's better that way, since the revolution is within and therefore will be televised but through the creations of characters and stories that tell us who we were, who we are, and who we are not, as we push up against the witnessing of storytelling, our ontological beings at the fire of Netflix and Amazon and YouTube.
I'm eternally reading this poem by Emily Dickinson:
This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies
And lads and girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls;
This passive place a summer's nimble mansion,
Where bloom and bees
Fulfilled their oriental circuit,
Then ceased like these.
And lads and girls;
Was laughter and ability and sighing,
And frocks and curls;
This passive place a summer's nimble mansion,
Where bloom and bees
Fulfilled their oriental circuit,
Then ceased like these.
Monday, November 21, 2016
A calling
I am so happy for those of you who are using self help to get through these times of apparent struggle and arrive at a place of self-realization. That is wonderful, and I applaud you. For me, this is a time for the dark and winding staircase to my secret soul, to the place where danger and laughter and hope and fear intermingle, like wine and perfume and sexual longing at the intermission of a great show on a great date. For me, this is a time to open up my mind and let the beauty of art touch me everywhere, in that way only art and music and literature can fully express and reach me, because everything else I could write or say or read or hear would never make as much sense as Beethoven's 9th symphony, as Nina Simone singing a cover of Leonard Cohen's "Suzanne," as ee cummings and four leaf clovers, as that ancient calling I felt when first I read "The Once and Future King" and T.S. Eliot's "Wasteland," when I heard Tori Amos and felt like there was someone who had gone to the inside of my bone marrow and written songs about my life before I was even a singer myself... it's a time for Chinua Achebe and Neil Gaiman, for Harry Potter and Verdi, for Mary Shelley and Billie Holiday. Why? Because I don't need permission to be positive, to be a good girl, to do the right thing, to be super duper happy, to change the world, to speak correctly. I actually am already that woman and was raised lovingly to take care of your hurts and wounds and I.... I don't need a reminder not to dampen someone else's day with my emotions or my mind or even my sexuality, which does in fact belong to me, and I don't need to be yelled at just because I supported one candidate or the other or because I did march and then I didn't march and then I will again and then...... Ugh. F*** all that that I just wrote, even though I meant it and it's true and there is a time and place for all of it and that time is always now and that place is always here, if that is the time and this is the place, but for me, for now, only poetry and algebra and desire can reignite this flame, and by algebra I mean that, and by all of it, I am actually speaking in code, and so, now, let's sit with our music, and our books, let's light a fire and read aloud to one another and tell each other of the ancient lights and conquests, of the dreams still in our heart, and when silence become our music we may fall into a dream of our own humanity and linger, until human voices wakes us.... and we.... drown... but drown in the sea of love, where everyone would love to be.
Or we could just look at some puppy videos. That works for me.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
The Girl in 14G
Guys... I have been busy. SORRY! But I promise some exciting things are coming up and I WILL get my 2016 things to be grateful for in one way or another but for TODAY, TUESDAY, ELECTION DAY, I'm all dressed up and singing a little cabaret to take your mind away from the US Election if only for a second. xoxoxo
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Weather Vanes, a Shanty
One of my neighbors has a weather vane on top of the house
in the shape of a pirate ship.
The leaves on the tree in front
have spindly veins, bright green,
like a tree frog or a strange crayon,
except for the leaves that are dead, still hanging,
brown and breaking off.
If you get close and touch the leaves,
one side is smooth,
and the other side is soft, with little hairs,
and the bark of the tree is rough but
not too rough
and then you look and you notice
a bee buzzing over a small flowering shrub
and the weather vane shifts just slightly
and the house is made of stucco
and through the window
you can't quite make out
but someone has just passed through a room
and a shadow lingers where a human once tread.
Are there veins between us,
we humans, veins we simply do not see,
but feel, and react to in anger, or hurt,
or love?
As if we were a group of Aspens,
you know,
how forests of Aspens are one large organism
altogether?
A little girl told me that
and I believed her
because children in school learn amazing things.
Maybe we don't see where our roots connect us.
People, that is.
But that doesn't mean they aren't there,
just below the surface,
pulsating with information
not of the school children variety
but something deep and primordial,
something beyond the facts and figures of tests and essays,
something intangible
but wholly real.
Then the weather vane shifts again,
or was it my imagination?
And the slow voice that let me walk
unperturbed by the worries of the world of the grown up?
It speeds up, getting louder now,
reminding me, oh, look at the time,
but you can't because you don't own a watch,
but you can feel it, yes, can't you, more energy on the streets,
traffic a block over?
and there are important people to invoice
and coffee to make
and
and
home now,
no coffee,
ignoring still this maddening humanity
cutting off its own connection
as if an Aspen could take an axe to his roots
we are the crumbling leaves
we are the shadows dying in the dust
but I am a pirate
my treasure, my soul
my heart is my gold
and my dreams are my sails
and the high seas where I bravely sally forth?
well, they are made of secrets,
of the songs you forgot
and the things you learned in school
all those facts and questions that never did make it on to any test.
Now they are all tangled below with the seaweed.
in the shape of a pirate ship.
The leaves on the tree in front
have spindly veins, bright green,
like a tree frog or a strange crayon,
except for the leaves that are dead, still hanging,
brown and breaking off.
If you get close and touch the leaves,
one side is smooth,
and the other side is soft, with little hairs,
and the bark of the tree is rough but
not too rough
and then you look and you notice
a bee buzzing over a small flowering shrub
and the weather vane shifts just slightly
and the house is made of stucco
and through the window
you can't quite make out
but someone has just passed through a room
and a shadow lingers where a human once tread.
Are there veins between us,
we humans, veins we simply do not see,
but feel, and react to in anger, or hurt,
or love?
As if we were a group of Aspens,
you know,
how forests of Aspens are one large organism
altogether?
A little girl told me that
and I believed her
because children in school learn amazing things.
Maybe we don't see where our roots connect us.
People, that is.
But that doesn't mean they aren't there,
just below the surface,
pulsating with information
not of the school children variety
but something deep and primordial,
something beyond the facts and figures of tests and essays,
something intangible
but wholly real.
Then the weather vane shifts again,
or was it my imagination?
And the slow voice that let me walk
unperturbed by the worries of the world of the grown up?
It speeds up, getting louder now,
reminding me, oh, look at the time,
but you can't because you don't own a watch,
but you can feel it, yes, can't you, more energy on the streets,
traffic a block over?
and there are important people to invoice
and coffee to make
and
and
home now,
no coffee,
ignoring still this maddening humanity
cutting off its own connection
as if an Aspen could take an axe to his roots
we are the crumbling leaves
we are the shadows dying in the dust
but I am a pirate
my treasure, my soul
my heart is my gold
and my dreams are my sails
and the high seas where I bravely sally forth?
well, they are made of secrets,
of the songs you forgot
and the things you learned in school
all those facts and questions that never did make it on to any test.
Now they are all tangled below with the seaweed.
Friday, August 12, 2016
Letters to God
Author's Note-
I use the word God. Some say Cosmos, some say Divine, some say source. Sometimes I say Goddess. You get the drift.
Dear God-
when you come to me as the bright half moon in a starry mountain sky, I want to reach out and pluck you from the velvet dark, hold you in my hands and stroke your porcelain skin, feel the sun reflected in you in a warm buzz, a pot half cooled from the stove top.
When you come to me as a bad dream, I am confused by you. I seek understanding and clarity. Perhaps I should not seek to analyze and compute but merely allow the experience, like I would go on a roller coaster ride, not wondering what the conductor meant by those strange images and feelings, the paralysis of my own fear clutching at my throat, no words, just desperation to force my lips and breath into sounds to scream for help.
When you come as one of my addictions, I am fraught with terror, consumed with desire, eased by wisdom only after a taste of that which is insatiable. In this longing is you, I know it, if only I could find you before I fulfill the hurtful want. I cry out, as I do in the night for the moon, for the words- a child reaching for mother, for that place from whence I came and was part of wholly (holy), where I can never return for now I am separated from that thread of dust and blood.
And when you come through me,
as you do always, but I only sometimes notice-
in my capacity to love another-
I am in awe.
Such beauty is you in all these ways and means to return me to that place I never saw but know so well.
I use the word God. Some say Cosmos, some say Divine, some say source. Sometimes I say Goddess. You get the drift.
Dear God-
when you come to me as the bright half moon in a starry mountain sky, I want to reach out and pluck you from the velvet dark, hold you in my hands and stroke your porcelain skin, feel the sun reflected in you in a warm buzz, a pot half cooled from the stove top.
When you come to me as a bad dream, I am confused by you. I seek understanding and clarity. Perhaps I should not seek to analyze and compute but merely allow the experience, like I would go on a roller coaster ride, not wondering what the conductor meant by those strange images and feelings, the paralysis of my own fear clutching at my throat, no words, just desperation to force my lips and breath into sounds to scream for help.
When you come as one of my addictions, I am fraught with terror, consumed with desire, eased by wisdom only after a taste of that which is insatiable. In this longing is you, I know it, if only I could find you before I fulfill the hurtful want. I cry out, as I do in the night for the moon, for the words- a child reaching for mother, for that place from whence I came and was part of wholly (holy), where I can never return for now I am separated from that thread of dust and blood.
And when you come through me,
as you do always, but I only sometimes notice-
in my capacity to love another-
I am in awe.
Such beauty is you in all these ways and means to return me to that place I never saw but know so well.
Friday, August 5, 2016
Fiction Fridays- travelling. No novel, but random thoughts on Love, money, being wrong, what if we're wrong, thank God if we're wrong, wildflowers and coyotes.
Note:
I am traveling the next few weeks and left my external hard drive at home. "My Life as a Phone Psychic," the novel, lives on that external hard drive! So I won't be able to post chapters until the end of August. I will create a link and link it up HERE.
In the meantime I thought I would riff poetically in prose on:
Love, money, being wrong, what if we're wrong, thank God if we're wrong, wildflowers and coyotes.
Love is a weird thing. We never tire of reading about it and writing about it. We're obsessed with it. In the last few years I have finally separated out the difference between love and romance. I have both in spades, naturally, as a person. In fact, I have so much of both that I think I offer both to the world in giant waves without reserve. Maybe I'm wrong? That's my thinking, anyway. And I don't know why this is so. But the thing is, is that when it comes to relationships, it's like we as creatures are obsessed with romance and forget about love. And while I definitely want romance in my life, and being a romantic person, I give that without trying to- like tagging my fellah on a sonnet by Shelley yesterday because it was Percy Bysshe Shelley's birthday, or would have been, because I know he loves the romantic English poets and because Shelley lived in Naples where Carlo is from (albeit 200 years ago) and then I realized that it was also a very romantic gesture, and the poem was a sonnet about love and kissing. I mean, I *knew* it was all wrapped up in there, but I am sitting here typing this and wondering, oh geez, have I accidentally mislead anyone by tagging THEM in poems I merely thought were something they would enjoy but they saw the more obvious content that related to romance or sex or something? It might explain a lot about a certain number of failed friendships and business situations. And I WANT to be responsible without being codependent and I definitely want to be aware and have excellent boundaries but I am tired of losing myself and my ways to thought of "but what will they think?" So here is my relatively low stakes dilemma of the day.
Money is another weird thing. Honestly, it barely feels real to me. Almost every business transaction I do is connected via my phone, the computer, and this tiny little plastic card. The only time I really use hard cash is for laundry, because I don't have my own washer and dryer, and so I prize these stupid little quarters as if they were my diamonds and rubies and other royal jewels. Everything else is so abstract and yet, I read "The Divide" by Matt Taibi, I saw Lawrence Lessig's TED Talk about getting money out of politics, I am aware of white privilege, I have seen the Enron movie and studied Wall Street and protested with Occupiers and voted for Bernie in the primaries. But I don't hate wealth. I would never want to keep someone from creating their own incredible kingdom. It's only when so many are hurt (Lehman Brothers?) that I have issues with the "system" so to speak, but then again, I wonder if the "system" and all of these strange arms of it- racism, classicism, capitalism versus variations of reform on the theme versus socialism, sexism, old versus new, change... I think about how easy it is for me to sit and think about money as a philosophical pursuit, and trust me, I'm still paying off my college loan for a degree I love but never use, and separate myself out from any emotional ties to money as a real thing. This whole paragraph is probably so dumb, just a bunch of links to things I've read, and I don't mean that in a self deprecating way whatsoever but moreso as someone who is aware that she really just doesn't know a lot in this arena, that I'm not sure I should keep it, except that it's on my mind a lot lately, but most likely in a manner different than what others are dealing with. For example, I'm not worried about money. Maybe I should be. I definitely ask for help when I need it, and I give to charity when I probably shouldn't. But I just... barely care. It's like I'm living for some other reason than the almighty dollar [sic] and while in my heart and body that's amazing, in my mind I wonder if I am missing something.
On a final note about money, well, probably not final, but final for today, the other hard part about it, besides the fact that we're not all paying in gold coins or emerald tear drop earrings for things, is that I live and work amongst every class imaginable. Literally I have massaged Saudi royalty in their vast estates that most people don't even realize exist in the Hollywood Hills (seriously, who knew there was even that much land to plot upon?) I gave a private concert one afternoon for one of the wealthiest and most famous old Hollywood Tycoons who wasn't exactly hurting for money and while I cannot say much about it, I wish I could, because it's fascinating to see how the rest of the outfit (family, friends and company) are jockeying for position. I grew up pretty solid middle class, my neighborhood now is pretty middle and upper class (a place being gentrified as we speak) and yet has a few of the creative class left, and a LOT of homeless people. I know a number of my homeless neighbors by name and they ALL know my dog, Henry, and love to pet and play with him. What am I to do, ignore these people who live in my alley way and feed off my trash? Of course not. But I cannot solve their problems, I can only be human with them, and try to share what I can.
And I hunt for quarters like my homeless neighbors hunt for food that's safe enough to eat and some folks hunt for the next FOMO Venture Capital Entrepreneurial Opportunity. What the heck is up with this world?
On being wrong: I am wrong all the time. A close friend once told me that I always need to be right. That isn't true, and I would argue with her, although I didn't want to come off as someone who always needs to be right and so didn't want to argue with her in the moment hahahahahaha, that in fact, I just hate wasting time and so often this particular friend wastes time on things that just don't need to be wasted on. Does that make sense? You know what I mean. But I took it to heart, what she said, and really examined it for myself and saw that in deedy, there are areas where I just assert myself a lot. I really don't need to be right so much anymore and the older I get the more and more the fallacy of being right just falls away. One cannot be an artistic explorer and need to be right. It will lead to boring art. And I try to just let Carlo, my partner, be right all the time or whenever there is an argument if it's not a boundary thing, and a lot of times we agree to disagree because the truth, if there is such a thing, often just works its own way out later on down the line. Very consciously, in the past year or so then, I have practiced- not being wrong- but being okay with being wrong. It is incredibly liberating, eye opening, and actually fun. Like going down a roller coaster fun. It has also removed an incredible amount of stress and anger from my personal life. And it really opens me up to connecting to more possibility. I wish I could give a concrete example but the only one I can give is about politics. I have a lot of die hard Hillary fan-friends get mad at me for voting for Bernie (they asked! I did not bring it up. But I don't lie, well, not about Bernie, and I don't feel a need to "not discuss politics.") as well as I have a number of family and friends who are voting for Trump and by the way, none of them are stupid, although some of them may be living in fear of a certain religious order. What's amazing to me is, I don't need to be right about my political viewpoints. Politics "works" when many different opinions come together to work for the common good. I'm very use to being shockingly out of touch with "politics" and the opinions of people, and I don't mind it. So, I have had many people explain to me why my opinions are wrong, and guess what? Maybe they are. But they are mine. And I have thought things through for myself, and I extend that same courtesy to others....
So, what if we're wrong?
Well, of course we are.
Look. People used to cut a whole in your head and drain blood out of it as a treatment for headaches, and that was an accepted, scientific, medical practice. And people believed it would work. Were those people stupid?
Those people?
Were US.
So of course we are wrong about all kinds of things and the quicker I realize that the more I get to have all kinds of amazing discoveries.
This is not a recommendation to doubt every choice you ever made or live in worry that you were wrong about that relationship or this career choice or that note you sang or this money you gave.
It is a way to liberate yourself from the impossibility of being right all the time. It will connect you up to people because you might just start to look for common ground rather than where you're different and therefore dangerous.
And magic happens in that bridge from heart to heart.
Finally. I am in Colorado and I saw TWO coyotes at different spots here in the mountains where I am staying, and also, the wildflowers are gorgeous.
That is all.
You are loved.
I am traveling the next few weeks and left my external hard drive at home. "My Life as a Phone Psychic," the novel, lives on that external hard drive! So I won't be able to post chapters until the end of August. I will create a link and link it up HERE.
In the meantime I thought I would riff poetically in prose on:
Love, money, being wrong, what if we're wrong, thank God if we're wrong, wildflowers and coyotes.
Love is a weird thing. We never tire of reading about it and writing about it. We're obsessed with it. In the last few years I have finally separated out the difference between love and romance. I have both in spades, naturally, as a person. In fact, I have so much of both that I think I offer both to the world in giant waves without reserve. Maybe I'm wrong? That's my thinking, anyway. And I don't know why this is so. But the thing is, is that when it comes to relationships, it's like we as creatures are obsessed with romance and forget about love. And while I definitely want romance in my life, and being a romantic person, I give that without trying to- like tagging my fellah on a sonnet by Shelley yesterday because it was Percy Bysshe Shelley's birthday, or would have been, because I know he loves the romantic English poets and because Shelley lived in Naples where Carlo is from (albeit 200 years ago) and then I realized that it was also a very romantic gesture, and the poem was a sonnet about love and kissing. I mean, I *knew* it was all wrapped up in there, but I am sitting here typing this and wondering, oh geez, have I accidentally mislead anyone by tagging THEM in poems I merely thought were something they would enjoy but they saw the more obvious content that related to romance or sex or something? It might explain a lot about a certain number of failed friendships and business situations. And I WANT to be responsible without being codependent and I definitely want to be aware and have excellent boundaries but I am tired of losing myself and my ways to thought of "but what will they think?" So here is my relatively low stakes dilemma of the day.
Money is another weird thing. Honestly, it barely feels real to me. Almost every business transaction I do is connected via my phone, the computer, and this tiny little plastic card. The only time I really use hard cash is for laundry, because I don't have my own washer and dryer, and so I prize these stupid little quarters as if they were my diamonds and rubies and other royal jewels. Everything else is so abstract and yet, I read "The Divide" by Matt Taibi, I saw Lawrence Lessig's TED Talk about getting money out of politics, I am aware of white privilege, I have seen the Enron movie and studied Wall Street and protested with Occupiers and voted for Bernie in the primaries. But I don't hate wealth. I would never want to keep someone from creating their own incredible kingdom. It's only when so many are hurt (Lehman Brothers?) that I have issues with the "system" so to speak, but then again, I wonder if the "system" and all of these strange arms of it- racism, classicism, capitalism versus variations of reform on the theme versus socialism, sexism, old versus new, change... I think about how easy it is for me to sit and think about money as a philosophical pursuit, and trust me, I'm still paying off my college loan for a degree I love but never use, and separate myself out from any emotional ties to money as a real thing. This whole paragraph is probably so dumb, just a bunch of links to things I've read, and I don't mean that in a self deprecating way whatsoever but moreso as someone who is aware that she really just doesn't know a lot in this arena, that I'm not sure I should keep it, except that it's on my mind a lot lately, but most likely in a manner different than what others are dealing with. For example, I'm not worried about money. Maybe I should be. I definitely ask for help when I need it, and I give to charity when I probably shouldn't. But I just... barely care. It's like I'm living for some other reason than the almighty dollar [sic] and while in my heart and body that's amazing, in my mind I wonder if I am missing something.
On a final note about money, well, probably not final, but final for today, the other hard part about it, besides the fact that we're not all paying in gold coins or emerald tear drop earrings for things, is that I live and work amongst every class imaginable. Literally I have massaged Saudi royalty in their vast estates that most people don't even realize exist in the Hollywood Hills (seriously, who knew there was even that much land to plot upon?) I gave a private concert one afternoon for one of the wealthiest and most famous old Hollywood Tycoons who wasn't exactly hurting for money and while I cannot say much about it, I wish I could, because it's fascinating to see how the rest of the outfit (family, friends and company) are jockeying for position. I grew up pretty solid middle class, my neighborhood now is pretty middle and upper class (a place being gentrified as we speak) and yet has a few of the creative class left, and a LOT of homeless people. I know a number of my homeless neighbors by name and they ALL know my dog, Henry, and love to pet and play with him. What am I to do, ignore these people who live in my alley way and feed off my trash? Of course not. But I cannot solve their problems, I can only be human with them, and try to share what I can.
And I hunt for quarters like my homeless neighbors hunt for food that's safe enough to eat and some folks hunt for the next FOMO Venture Capital Entrepreneurial Opportunity. What the heck is up with this world?
On being wrong: I am wrong all the time. A close friend once told me that I always need to be right. That isn't true, and I would argue with her, although I didn't want to come off as someone who always needs to be right and so didn't want to argue with her in the moment hahahahahaha, that in fact, I just hate wasting time and so often this particular friend wastes time on things that just don't need to be wasted on. Does that make sense? You know what I mean. But I took it to heart, what she said, and really examined it for myself and saw that in deedy, there are areas where I just assert myself a lot. I really don't need to be right so much anymore and the older I get the more and more the fallacy of being right just falls away. One cannot be an artistic explorer and need to be right. It will lead to boring art. And I try to just let Carlo, my partner, be right all the time or whenever there is an argument if it's not a boundary thing, and a lot of times we agree to disagree because the truth, if there is such a thing, often just works its own way out later on down the line. Very consciously, in the past year or so then, I have practiced- not being wrong- but being okay with being wrong. It is incredibly liberating, eye opening, and actually fun. Like going down a roller coaster fun. It has also removed an incredible amount of stress and anger from my personal life. And it really opens me up to connecting to more possibility. I wish I could give a concrete example but the only one I can give is about politics. I have a lot of die hard Hillary fan-friends get mad at me for voting for Bernie (they asked! I did not bring it up. But I don't lie, well, not about Bernie, and I don't feel a need to "not discuss politics.") as well as I have a number of family and friends who are voting for Trump and by the way, none of them are stupid, although some of them may be living in fear of a certain religious order. What's amazing to me is, I don't need to be right about my political viewpoints. Politics "works" when many different opinions come together to work for the common good. I'm very use to being shockingly out of touch with "politics" and the opinions of people, and I don't mind it. So, I have had many people explain to me why my opinions are wrong, and guess what? Maybe they are. But they are mine. And I have thought things through for myself, and I extend that same courtesy to others....
So, what if we're wrong?
Well, of course we are.
Look. People used to cut a whole in your head and drain blood out of it as a treatment for headaches, and that was an accepted, scientific, medical practice. And people believed it would work. Were those people stupid?
Those people?
Were US.
So of course we are wrong about all kinds of things and the quicker I realize that the more I get to have all kinds of amazing discoveries.
This is not a recommendation to doubt every choice you ever made or live in worry that you were wrong about that relationship or this career choice or that note you sang or this money you gave.
It is a way to liberate yourself from the impossibility of being right all the time. It will connect you up to people because you might just start to look for common ground rather than where you're different and therefore dangerous.
And magic happens in that bridge from heart to heart.
Finally. I am in Colorado and I saw TWO coyotes at different spots here in the mountains where I am staying, and also, the wildflowers are gorgeous.
That is all.
You are loved.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Gratitude Saturdays #222-235: Of Shakespeare, redemption, and peppermint bon bon ice cream
Hello, my fellow humans. Amongst you there are poets, lovers, readers, writers, family, friends, fans, a few haters and a lot of seekers, a few who have been found.
Many of you know that I am listing 2016 things I am grateful for in the year 2016- collectively! Meaning every [sic] Saturday I add to the list.
It's been a busy few months and a sad week, and here in the USA this is the week we celebrate "The 4th of July," aka "Independence Day," aka the day that the Declaration of Independence was adopted back in 1776 and the Colonies were no longer the Colonies of the British Empire.
The rumblings of the world are impossible to ignore right now, and all those years of colonization are starting to erupt across the globe, as imperial forces (if only spiritually and philosophically, yeah, right) are attempting to continue their dominion over the hearts and minds (and lands and resources) of those who have been exploited.
I ask you now, what is your independence? Truly? What is the freedom you seek?
I ask myself this and the answer is something about
opening my heart to light, love, the divine
you know, the usual spiritual talk
but something deeper-
something-
primordial?
At least Shakespearian, which, of course, is at once primordial and cultural, defining human in noble spirits as well as those of lesser virtue.
I have an audition for a cool piece to play Gertrude, Hamlet's mother, and I am filled with sorrow, and aliveness, and humanity this week, after the sort of loss that leads a woman to look at all her losses and all her mistakes, not in self-pity but in self-reflection; not to make true the story of it all but to look at my part in it. Was I truly the heroine, or was I playing at a grosser game?
And so, I offer this week's Gratitude list:
222. Reviving Ophelia: this book I read in college in between eating disorder rehab stints, and now that I have grown out of that age and into womanhood, I wonder what I might know had I been different, only the world being what it is, I don't think there was any other way for a woman like me to be.
223. Helena Bonham Carter as Ophelia in Mel Gibson's "Hamlet." A role I saw as a young actress that defined partially how I wanted to be! Of course I am nothing like Helena Bonham Carter, or only very slightly, but I didn't get that at the time. I still want to be her when I grow both up and young.
224. My childhood/ high school sweetheart Jonny, and all his innocence. I saw him recently, he was in town shooting a Coke commercial (he grew up to be a D.P.) and for all our shared "baddie," and trust me, we both grew up to be pretty badass in our 20s, and even when I haven't seen him in a few years, together, we are right back to two innocent creatures with a shared love of movies and a eep esire to show the world that precious talent we tuck inside our hearts.
225. Discipline. I don't mean the inner governor or the wicked stepmother variety. I mean the kind that gets me up every morning, walks the dog, works out, warms up, rehearses, writes, and reaches out to casting people for auditions. The kind that diligently works on the projects I am writing and doesn't take a day off because I'm too sad. Oh, there are days for that, I suppose, or days where it would maybe be appropriate to take the day off, but for me, the discipline carries my spirit THROUGH those times in a way that gets me out of my pity party and focused on something more bright and shining.
226.Your humanity.
227. My humanity.
228. Henry's pure doggie-hood.
229. Meg Ryan movies
230. Peppermint bon bon ice cream
231. 16 bars of an uptempo rock song
232. Casta Diva
233. The ability to sing them both
234. Singing
235. The fact that where I grew up and throughout my childhood, we all called mint chocolate chip ice cream "peppermint bon bon" ice cream, even though no one else anywhere on the planet that I know of does.
Many of you know that I am listing 2016 things I am grateful for in the year 2016- collectively! Meaning every [sic] Saturday I add to the list.
It's been a busy few months and a sad week, and here in the USA this is the week we celebrate "The 4th of July," aka "Independence Day," aka the day that the Declaration of Independence was adopted back in 1776 and the Colonies were no longer the Colonies of the British Empire.
The rumblings of the world are impossible to ignore right now, and all those years of colonization are starting to erupt across the globe, as imperial forces (if only spiritually and philosophically, yeah, right) are attempting to continue their dominion over the hearts and minds (and lands and resources) of those who have been exploited.
I ask you now, what is your independence? Truly? What is the freedom you seek?
I ask myself this and the answer is something about
opening my heart to light, love, the divine
you know, the usual spiritual talk
but something deeper-
something-
primordial?
At least Shakespearian, which, of course, is at once primordial and cultural, defining human in noble spirits as well as those of lesser virtue.
I have an audition for a cool piece to play Gertrude, Hamlet's mother, and I am filled with sorrow, and aliveness, and humanity this week, after the sort of loss that leads a woman to look at all her losses and all her mistakes, not in self-pity but in self-reflection; not to make true the story of it all but to look at my part in it. Was I truly the heroine, or was I playing at a grosser game?
And so, I offer this week's Gratitude list:
222. Reviving Ophelia: this book I read in college in between eating disorder rehab stints, and now that I have grown out of that age and into womanhood, I wonder what I might know had I been different, only the world being what it is, I don't think there was any other way for a woman like me to be.
223. Helena Bonham Carter as Ophelia in Mel Gibson's "Hamlet." A role I saw as a young actress that defined partially how I wanted to be! Of course I am nothing like Helena Bonham Carter, or only very slightly, but I didn't get that at the time. I still want to be her when I grow both up and young.
224. My childhood/ high school sweetheart Jonny, and all his innocence. I saw him recently, he was in town shooting a Coke commercial (he grew up to be a D.P.) and for all our shared "baddie," and trust me, we both grew up to be pretty badass in our 20s, and even when I haven't seen him in a few years, together, we are right back to two innocent creatures with a shared love of movies and a eep esire to show the world that precious talent we tuck inside our hearts.
225. Discipline. I don't mean the inner governor or the wicked stepmother variety. I mean the kind that gets me up every morning, walks the dog, works out, warms up, rehearses, writes, and reaches out to casting people for auditions. The kind that diligently works on the projects I am writing and doesn't take a day off because I'm too sad. Oh, there are days for that, I suppose, or days where it would maybe be appropriate to take the day off, but for me, the discipline carries my spirit THROUGH those times in a way that gets me out of my pity party and focused on something more bright and shining.
226.Your humanity.
227. My humanity.
228. Henry's pure doggie-hood.
229. Meg Ryan movies
230. Peppermint bon bon ice cream
231. 16 bars of an uptempo rock song
232. Casta Diva
233. The ability to sing them both
234. Singing
235. The fact that where I grew up and throughout my childhood, we all called mint chocolate chip ice cream "peppermint bon bon" ice cream, even though no one else anywhere on the planet that I know of does.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Yes, the heart can break- and it can break open.
Over on my day job blog, I wrote this article, and thought those of you who read my personal blog would enjoy it. xo
I often say, live long enough, and life will happen.
And “life” is full of joy AND sorrow. We all know that, of course, but when LIFE is happening to us full force, and usually we become aware of the extreme details of the present moment in times of sorrow, danger and shock, we forget that THIS is a part of the gift of life, too. This hurt. This pain. This sorrow. And that it is not happening because we were bad or didn’t hold the perfect affirmation or mantra the right way in our heads and hearts but because…
Life happens.
I got mugged once at gunpoint at a drive through ATM. I was totally broke at the time. I was driving through at about 9 PM, at a bank where the drive through ATM was maybe 100 feet from the curb. It was a Monday evening in a busy part of Studio City, CA. There were people walking by. I had about $10 in my checking account and had just given a massage and had $100 cash to put IN to my bank account. I drove up, put in my card, hit the PIN number, and then leaned over to grab the cash out my purse when-
Knock, knock…
I felt something hard against my head.
A boy, or young man, in a ski mask, stood at my driver’s side, holding a gun to my head.
Knock, knock…
Another boy, or young man, stood to the right of my car and knocked on my window to let me know HE was there, too.
My heart stopped. Time slowed. I remember that I had clear, extremely reasonable thoughts: “…if they try to get in the car, I will drive off and risk getting shot, because THEN they will probably bring me to a gang house and… the worst. If they just want money, they can have it, I will just try to get out of this as quickly as possible.” I recall that a couple walked by, not 75 feet from me, and either didn’t notice what was happening or didn’t care. I believe they didn’t notice, because eventually, someone would have dialed 911, right?
The boy at the ATM tried to get cash out but he couldn’t.
(There was no Cash to GET out! I didn’t even have $20 in there, remember?)
I was holding the Benjamin I had just earned in my hand. He took it, and asked,
“That all you got?”
I nodded.
“Gimme your phone,” he said.
His hands were shaking.
I gave him my phone.
“Get out of here,” he said. I drove off, and then my heart raced.
Later, the police were at my house, questioning me, fingerprinting the car. I heard on their walkie talkies ANOTHER robbery at another ATM, same exact format. Probably the same boys.
The cops were much angrier than I was. I found that nice, but weird. They kept telling me they were gonna “get these guys” and that the guys “would pay.” I understood that was the job of the police. I actually spent a lot of time with them and learned about them. One was a veteran of Afghanistan, from a long line of police in his family. The other needed a job and this was one.
But I felt so bad for those boys, or men, who had not only mugged me but threatened my life to get money. First of all, they were obviously either a) on drugs (they were skinny and shaky) or b) new at crime (they were skinny and therefore probably young and shaky) or c) joining a gang (probably a shortened life there) or d) just really wild and dumb kids on a crime spree. Their guns were real, although I don’t know if they were loaded, and wouldn’t have wanted to find out…. or at least their guns were VERY real looking. I am not an expert but I have gone shooting several times, grew up around guns and hunters, and (now) am romantically and life-partnered with a former Police Captain. So… it was real enough.
But these dumb boys, they were targeting some broke massage therapist slash actress (it was about two years before I started working with 12Listen,) they were at worst getting into drugs and crime and there is no future in that, or at the other worst, just a$$holes.
I prayed for them. I prayed for them, for the police officers who were probably just a few years older than the criminals who were endangering themselves to stop crime, and then, I prayed for my bank account. (I mean, I did. It’s the truth.) And I never went to an ATM after dark again unless it was right in front, on the busy street, where there were LOADS of people.
Why am I telling this story in a blog about heartbreak?
I don’t know, but it seems like the right context to share the next part of this blog.
Recently I have gone through a few heartbreaks again in life, less painful than some I’ve encountered thus far in life. Not the worst, is what I’m saying, but… it doesn’t make it any easier to go through.
Years ago, long before getting robbed, long before going to India, but not THAT long before… when my heart would break, I would turn into a dramatic mess. I would sob, and wail, and go for long walks in the woods reciting very depressing 19th century poetry, and listen to a lot of depressing music by songwriters who died young or committed suicide. (poetry by Christina Rosetti and Arthur Rimbaud, music by Jeff Buckley and Mama Cass and Elliott Smith.)
These days, I don’t deny my feelings, but I let it wash over me. I still go for my walks and I look very closely at nature. I listen to the wind in the trees. I touch the hard wood, feeling its roughness over my soft skin. I give nature my sorrow and it returns new life force to me in return. A shaman once told me that when we have emotions like sorrow or anger, we should go to the earth, give it to the earth, because the earth needs our humanity as much as it needs our carbon dioxide, that it’s part of the symbiosis of our lives as natural beings.
I give the Earth my humanity, and it gives me in return a call from the divine, from the holistic Earth-Divine-Cosmos continuum, from Brother Sun and Sister Moon:
A whisper soft and low, but that yet I can hear, nay, feel in the very core of my being, from my beating heart to the marrow of my bones:
“Yes, yes, my child, let the heart break, for it breaks open, open to the blue firmament of sky, open to the laughter of children in a distant place, open to the birds and the breeze and the orchestra of life happening all around you.”
Don’t hide from your life.
Be here, here with me, here with you. Be here with your life and let the beauty of this world, inner and outer, shape your love.
You are here. Is is…. I am…. I am…. I AM.
Yes, the heart can break- and it can break open.
On heartbreak, small crimes, and Mother Earth.
I often say, live long enough, and life will happen.
And “life” is full of joy AND sorrow. We all know that, of course, but when LIFE is happening to us full force, and usually we become aware of the extreme details of the present moment in times of sorrow, danger and shock, we forget that THIS is a part of the gift of life, too. This hurt. This pain. This sorrow. And that it is not happening because we were bad or didn’t hold the perfect affirmation or mantra the right way in our heads and hearts but because…
Life happens.
I got mugged once at gunpoint at a drive through ATM. I was totally broke at the time. I was driving through at about 9 PM, at a bank where the drive through ATM was maybe 100 feet from the curb. It was a Monday evening in a busy part of Studio City, CA. There were people walking by. I had about $10 in my checking account and had just given a massage and had $100 cash to put IN to my bank account. I drove up, put in my card, hit the PIN number, and then leaned over to grab the cash out my purse when-
Knock, knock…
I felt something hard against my head.
A boy, or young man, in a ski mask, stood at my driver’s side, holding a gun to my head.
Knock, knock…
Another boy, or young man, stood to the right of my car and knocked on my window to let me know HE was there, too.
My heart stopped. Time slowed. I remember that I had clear, extremely reasonable thoughts: “…if they try to get in the car, I will drive off and risk getting shot, because THEN they will probably bring me to a gang house and… the worst. If they just want money, they can have it, I will just try to get out of this as quickly as possible.” I recall that a couple walked by, not 75 feet from me, and either didn’t notice what was happening or didn’t care. I believe they didn’t notice, because eventually, someone would have dialed 911, right?
The boy at the ATM tried to get cash out but he couldn’t.
(There was no Cash to GET out! I didn’t even have $20 in there, remember?)
I was holding the Benjamin I had just earned in my hand. He took it, and asked,
“That all you got?”
I nodded.
“Gimme your phone,” he said.
His hands were shaking.
I gave him my phone.
“Get out of here,” he said. I drove off, and then my heart raced.
Later, the police were at my house, questioning me, fingerprinting the car. I heard on their walkie talkies ANOTHER robbery at another ATM, same exact format. Probably the same boys.
The cops were much angrier than I was. I found that nice, but weird. They kept telling me they were gonna “get these guys” and that the guys “would pay.” I understood that was the job of the police. I actually spent a lot of time with them and learned about them. One was a veteran of Afghanistan, from a long line of police in his family. The other needed a job and this was one.
But I felt so bad for those boys, or men, who had not only mugged me but threatened my life to get money. First of all, they were obviously either a) on drugs (they were skinny and shaky) or b) new at crime (they were skinny and therefore probably young and shaky) or c) joining a gang (probably a shortened life there) or d) just really wild and dumb kids on a crime spree. Their guns were real, although I don’t know if they were loaded, and wouldn’t have wanted to find out…. or at least their guns were VERY real looking. I am not an expert but I have gone shooting several times, grew up around guns and hunters, and (now) am romantically and life-partnered with a former Police Captain. So… it was real enough.
But these dumb boys, they were targeting some broke massage therapist slash actress (it was about two years before I started working with 12Listen,) they were at worst getting into drugs and crime and there is no future in that, or at the other worst, just a$$holes.
I prayed for them. I prayed for them, for the police officers who were probably just a few years older than the criminals who were endangering themselves to stop crime, and then, I prayed for my bank account. (I mean, I did. It’s the truth.) And I never went to an ATM after dark again unless it was right in front, on the busy street, where there were LOADS of people.
Why am I telling this story in a blog about heartbreak?
I don’t know, but it seems like the right context to share the next part of this blog.
Recently I have gone through a few heartbreaks again in life, less painful than some I’ve encountered thus far in life. Not the worst, is what I’m saying, but… it doesn’t make it any easier to go through.
Years ago, long before getting robbed, long before going to India, but not THAT long before… when my heart would break, I would turn into a dramatic mess. I would sob, and wail, and go for long walks in the woods reciting very depressing 19th century poetry, and listen to a lot of depressing music by songwriters who died young or committed suicide. (poetry by Christina Rosetti and Arthur Rimbaud, music by Jeff Buckley and Mama Cass and Elliott Smith.)
These days, I don’t deny my feelings, but I let it wash over me. I still go for my walks and I look very closely at nature. I listen to the wind in the trees. I touch the hard wood, feeling its roughness over my soft skin. I give nature my sorrow and it returns new life force to me in return. A shaman once told me that when we have emotions like sorrow or anger, we should go to the earth, give it to the earth, because the earth needs our humanity as much as it needs our carbon dioxide, that it’s part of the symbiosis of our lives as natural beings.
I give the Earth my humanity, and it gives me in return a call from the divine, from the holistic Earth-Divine-Cosmos continuum, from Brother Sun and Sister Moon:
A whisper soft and low, but that yet I can hear, nay, feel in the very core of my being, from my beating heart to the marrow of my bones:
“Yes, yes, my child, let the heart break, for it breaks open, open to the blue firmament of sky, open to the laughter of children in a distant place, open to the birds and the breeze and the orchestra of life happening all around you.”
Don’t hide from your life.
Be here, here with me, here with you. Be here with your life and let the beauty of this world, inner and outer, shape your love.
You are here. Is is…. I am…. I am…. I AM.
Sunday, May 15, 2016
City of Hope a poem
City streets
Cigarette butts
Cigarette butts
Neighbors who are uncouth and-
Think you are, too, in their own set of rules
Think you are, too, in their own set of rules
You walk the dog on a grey Sunday
And reclining in the entry of a closed boutique, smoking, wrapped in his navy blue sleeping bag,
One of the most beautiful homeless men you've ever seen
He reminds you of an old lover
A Hawaiian shell necklace
A nonchalance
A head of hair like the tapestry of Psyche and Eros at the Met in New York
One of the most beautiful homeless men you've ever seen
He reminds you of an old lover
A Hawaiian shell necklace
A nonchalance
A head of hair like the tapestry of Psyche and Eros at the Met in New York
You wonder if he, too plays the piano
And if he, too, loves choral music and would sleep in on a Sunday and then Stroll hand in hand to a farmer's Market to smell the soaps and taste the berries as the blue sky opens up with rain
And if he, too, loves choral music and would sleep in on a Sunday and then Stroll hand in hand to a farmer's Market to smell the soaps and taste the berries as the blue sky opens up with rain
Probably not
But maybe
How lucky you have been
And beauty is evident everywhere
Amidst the trash and clutter of an unfeeling city,
Oh, so full of feelings,
A city of hope
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