Friday chicken

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

Hello, week: we are here.

{a breath for being here when we get here}

Thank you, week!

This is the 417th week in a row and I am glad we are chickening here together!

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

What’s been working?

Not trying to solve/resolve all the things or think ahead to next steps. This moment now: what is needed? And then doing that.

This not only has been keeping me calm but also is supporting my bigger wish-mission of living by Do Less and Choose Ease.

I might try…

Keeping snacks around so that if a panic comes to visit or low blood sugar hits, at least I won’t have to deal with both at once. And also because this is a way of providing for myself, which is a form of self-treasuring.

Naming the days.

I name each day the night before and I love how names change things and also how they become incantations.

This was the week of learning about prowess and these were the days.

Sanctuary is beautiful. It’s all so clear. I’m a Special Occasion. Immersing and releasing. Harmonious space. Better names. Letting a new melody come in.

Upcoming biopic if it were based on this week…

Not A Worry And Not A Care: Okay Well We’ve Figured Out The First Half Of That Which Is Pretty Amazing But We Still Care Kind Of A Lot

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

8 breaths for the hard, challenging and mysterious.

  1. Why do I go to the toxic places? I know the answer. Because pellet-pushing sometimes yields pellets of sweetness and sweet distraction and these are addictive. Ugh I went on twitter and read the things I should not have read. A breath for breathing through.
  2. Holy god, the circus of the American elections in general and the republican national convention in particular, this is all very distressing. A breath.
  3. I have gone from being over Portland to being really over Portland. But also I have to keep visiting Portland because of [projects]. When can we get to No More Projects. That’s the wish. A breath for trusting the exit signs.
  4. Got super disassociated after seeing a woman suddenly collapse in the street and being part of the helper crew. Took a while to realize this had stirred up memories for a very young me (five? seven?) who was a tiny witness when my mom had a stroke? At least that is the word I vaguely remember being used but it seems bizarre. She collapsed. I remember the sound of the dining room chair hitting the floor, my dad running downstairs and kneeling by her side, calling 911 and stretching the phone cord as far as it would go from the kitchen and she wasn’t responsive, I remember seeing his panic and terror and helplessness, I remember EMTs taking her out of the house, and that’s all I know. What happened, where did I go while they were at the hospital, did no one ever talk about it, what was all that and how come I don’t remember explanations or reassurances or anything else about what was clearly a very scary thing. Anyway, there were a few very shaky days this week and I had to (or got to, depending on how you look at these things) drop everything and take care of tiny me and make safe rooms for her. A breath for life and how deep things go.
  5. Oh the rage I feel about men commenting on my eating choices. What is it about a woman buying or consuming food that seems like an invitation for some random stranger to have commentary on it? WUSIT: What Unsovereign Shit Is That. And then also retroactive feelings about my frozen autopilot Placate-Placate-Placate mode, oh sure I will laugh with you about the joke you are making at my expense, because this is the mindset of survival, and you know what, to hell with that. A breath for prowess and not taking crap, and for endless self-forgiveness when I do because triggered response patterns are ingrained and old and have reasons for having come into existence.
  6. Not only did Plans A, B and C for living at the coast fall through, but so did all the back-up plans, including the one I didn’t want. Even the last-ditch hail mary of fine we will just throw all of our money at this and do the really expensive option didn’t work. Adrianna the Italian heiress just shrugs her graceful shrug and does not worry and moves on, but I, while not worried, feel some sadness about this. All my friends keep saying some form of “why are you fighting this, why do you keep trying to make it work when it’s obviously not working, why try to send water uphill instead of letting it float downhill”, and sure, they’re right. I think I want to be in this small coastal town, and everything about being here is saying no to me. But there just aren’t any other options I like yet, any places I want to be, and I can’t be in Portland because Portland is not good for me, and I know there will be a marvelous answer but I want it to just show up already. A breath for me and for my wish and for trust more.
  7. The extreme sound sensitivity that pms brings where every not-good sound is amplified and magnified and makes me want to set the world on fire, combined with the fact that the beautiful faraway cowboy came to visit me for three nights and the only available hotel room at the coast is directly across from a business with loudly beeping backing-up trucks that beep and back up at all hours. A breath for escaping to the wilderness, or at least for the wish of that.
  8. Inhale, exhale. May all misunderstandings and distortions, internal and external, dissolve in love if not in laughter. May peacefulness prevail. Trust-more love-more release-more receive-more. Goodbye (and thank you), mysteries and hard moments of this week.

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

  1. The morning when the woman collapsed in the street: I was following protocol because Adrianna was delivering instructions. She insisted I have brunch, even though I’m not much of a brunch person, she chose a place I’d never been and didn’t let me walk the route I would normally automatically take to get there. She told me when to leave the house (“now!”) and when to pause and smell roses, literally, and for how long. She even made me smell one twice. And so it happened I was walking down this exact block on a small side street, exactly at the moment this woman’s friend was shouting for someone to call 911 and exactly as a jogger was stopping but didn’t have a phone, and so I dialed and handed my phone to the jogger, and then we waited for the ambulance. I also mysteriously had smelling salts, water and a handkerchief, which came in handy after it arrived. The woman was fine, her scared friend was fine, the EMTs were warm and caring and arrived very quickly. I got to be one of the angels in the constellation, right place right time, and because I listened. A breath!
  2. Last week’s chrysalis is still yielding intense results. I have Adrianna’s powers of I Have Forgotten How To Worry, which might even have been her power that I wanted most. Things are clear and simple because Adrianna doesn’t experience worrisome things as worrisome, and now I can feel things the way she does. A breath of gratitude.
  3. Writing writing writing and it is so good. This year’s YEARbook ebooks are going to be the best of all time. Between Adrianna’s wisdom and my river-to-ocean muse, things are just sparking and glowing all over the place, and I can’t wait to deliver them. A breath for this.
  4. Mmmm did I mention that the beautiful faraway cowboy cut short a two week motorcycle trip and came to see me for three days and three nights? A breath for Sweetness and for Love and for sitting across the table from him at the cafe dancing in my seat to Huey Lewis and the News and we can’t stop smiling and how can anyone feel this glowingly content, like the cat with all the cream, is it even legal, and the amazing part of being Adrianna is that she/I can just experience the joy of this and the deep gratitude of savoring this moment right now, and let all the rest of it go, like the part about how tomorrow it is gone. And as I wrote that he kissed my neck three times in a row and whispered “that is all I have to say to you” and kissed me again.
  5. An hour and a half in the float tank, letting it all go. A breath for deep peacefulness.
  6. A two hours dance lesson with my teacher who came to the coast for the day, after we hadn’t played together in a month. I didn’t know if there would be much improvement, as most of my practice has been crying on the floor or posture-related, but it turns out that integrating Adrianna and her panther prowess has made all the difference in the world. Jen said, “This is the first time I haven’t needed to tell you to relax, this is the first time I haven’t seen you panic when you miss something, you are dancing like a queen, totally in command of your groundedness and your reactions, it’s incredible.” Also I got over my dislike of the mirrors, so there’s that, and it’s big. A breath of big joy for dance training, and the unexpected non-linear ways that progress happens.
  7. I have been training and practicing in I AM A SPECIAL OCCASION, and there are so many unexpected wonderful results to this. The main thing I’m noticing is that I’m able to let go of decades of resentment over [various experiences of perceiving that I’m not appreciated] because I am taking so much time to celebrate myself. I don’t really know how to describe this because (monsters say) it sounds so cheesy. But there it is. A breath, as we did last week, of jubilation for the transgressive work of self-treasuring as a path to freedom! And also for no reason at all because self-treasuring is its own reward.
  8. Thankfulness. Treasure in the form of two of the best meals of my life, surprise good fortune, lovely people to keep me company when the bus was hours late. Everything is okay and so much is good. Nothing is wrong, even when I want to believe it is. Now is not then. All Timing Is Right Timing. Thank you for this grand adventure. A full breath of deep appreciation in my thank-you heart.

Superpowers I had this week…

Last week I asked for the powers of wild magic, freedom in all things, and what if there is enough and more of everything I need. What beautiful wishes, and all received.

I also had the powers of brave-right-now, and Love More Trust More.

Powers I want.

More of the same please and also the powers of opening the doors that need opening and closing the ones that need closing, and being unhesitatingly clear about which is which.

The Salve of Letting Doors Be Magic.

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

This salve is an allowing salve. You don’t have to work for it, you don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to choose which doors or whether to open or shut, you just let them do what they are wanting to do anyway, and rejoice over each opening and each closing. And if there is just a knocking, the kind you feel potentially hopeful about because you think this might be something you invited, you trust your own ability to sleep on it and feel things out, no hurry and no agitation, all will be revealed in right timing.

Side effects include feeling delighted about good surprises and calm about everything that has not yet shown itself to be a good surprise.

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

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

just-one-guy

This week’s album is from a mysterious road sign, and the band is sort of named after a bottle of wine.

Sparkle Toes and the Boom Boom

Their latest album is Cement Washout, and this band is just one guy.

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

Announcement time….

The fantastic monster manual is still available in the place that used to be the the shop, and it is enormously useful if you would like to practice being Way Less Impressed with the horrible things that internal critical voices say!

How was your week?

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom.

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