In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of ritual and self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
Friday, you say? Okay. I’ll believe anything at this point.
Hello, Hi. It was a hell of a week. Lots of light, lots of depth (thank you, Sarah, for that phrase). Lots of everything. I am here. I am happy about that.
There was a lot of hard but it was useful-hard. I’ll take it. For now.
Anyway. Let’s chicken this baby and set it free.
The hard stuff
Saturday was panicky and panicking. I couldn’t find my way back to the bells.
It was awful.
Oh no beach day canceled!
For totally understandable reasons, of course.
It’s just that I had been so looking forward to and craving beach day, everything had been building up to it.
And then it is a ritual and this was the week that all my sweet rituals reconfigured or disappeared, so there was that part of the grieving too. Poor sadmouse Havi.
A ritual — my favorite one! — disappearing for several days.
And discovering how much I was attached to it. How painful that was.
Also there was a lot of stuff about WHY LIKE THIS. And I had to go into some old narratives in order to find my way back out of them.
I had to sit and wait. And talk to the void about it.
The ending of what might be my longest ritual.
Four and a half years of doing a specific thing at a specific time. And then discovering that I can’t continue it. And then discovering that I’m not attached to any aspect of it, other than the aspect of wanting to believe that I need and crave all the aspects.
Not the Chicken! Do not worry, I am still committed to our Friday chickenings.
Anyway, that was intense and interesting. And also painful. Man, attaching and detaching: both of these can hurt so much.
I’ve been sticking with it, wanting it, but it’s been fizzling and not-there even when there.
This week it was clear that this was the end, and that it is the time for saying goodbye to a ritual that I have deeply loved.
I told a sort-of-friend who is tangentially part of the ritual about this and he asked why. And I said, because everything dies.
Then, in that moment, a song came on and the chorus was: baby, everything dies.
I had plans for Toozday night. I thought it would be fun, sweet, light-hearted.
But then I just felt achingly sad the whole time.
I am a morning person and no one in my life is a morning person.
When I wake up, I am fully 100% Havi. Awake! Hello, day! Hello, LIFE! I am here.
I want to write and do shiva nata and glow salutations (shivanautical sun salutations) and say hello to all the flowers and breathe and speak words, beautiful words. And skip off to dance class before work work work work work. Zing!
Everyone else I know is mumble mumble coffee mumble.
Which is fine, because I spend my mornings alone. But for some reason this week I was extra-aware of how all the people I know and like do not like mornings, and how you have to avoid talking to them. Oh well. That was part of this week too.
A perfect storm of things not working.
The heat and the decisions and some not-sleeping, and everything coming together to create a tight spiral of anguish.
That was rough. That was the cause of the panic, and the worst moment of the week.
Until I remembered all the reasons for why it’s like this and why now and why it hurts, and then it passed.
I am still really angry about this one.
A huge (and casual, which made it so much worse!) violation of my workspace.
By someone who really should know better.
Stuff. Mine. About this. Lots of it.
A person in my life who is, all by themselves, their own perfect storm.
And I feel very strongly about this connection, so sometimes I put up with more crap than is necessary.
To be examined. Later.
I went over the top of the top, and shared some things that maybe were not the things to share. And ran directly into my stuff about wanting what I give to be … reciprocated? acknowledged?
Anyway. Pellet patterns. And more pellet patterns.
Oh! I discovered a sandbox of jealousy in my heart. .
Yes, a sandbox of jealousy. In my heart.
And I didn’t like it.
Jealousy is something I’m used to dealing with from the other side, usually in business but sometimes in the rest of life: having it directed at me, and how crappy that is.
This was different. This was big pain. Old big pain.
At leas I recognized the sandbox though, so that gave me a good starting point. Working with it.
Tough truths from my business mentor.
He is right, and I don’t like it. He believes in me, and I I believe too.
But doing the work… oh, the working on the working. Feeling disjointed. Grateful. And disjointed.
Especially since I’d thought this was over. There was another piece of this to learn about. I didn’t like this either.
I needed to cry this week.
At inappropriate times and in inappropriate places. Like at the bar. In physical therapy. On the bus.
Well, actually it was very appropriate. It was appropriate for my body, which is my home.
That doesn’t mean that it felt comfortable.
Sometimes the void is so damn hard. And big. It’s really big. Hello, space.
I think I crave you but then I doubt myself.
The good stuff
The void. It was the right place to go/be.
Sometimes the void is limitless sparkling possibility. Birth and rebirth, choose any door, let all the treasures come to you.
I got good things from the void this week, once I got through how much sadness I had come to it with.
I found my way out of the panic.
I followed the protocol in the Book of Me, and it worked, remarkably quickly.
And then it rained and the heat broke.
And suddenly everything was better.
As I knew it would be.
The Book of Me even had a reminder that sometimes I think I’m falling apart but actually I am reacting to very specific weather conditions. A perfect storm inside of me.
But as soon as it happened, I really remembered the truth of this. Rain sweet rain. All is good. Warm bath. Cool air. Walk in rain. Purple hoodie soaked through to skin. Delight.
That is when I come back to myself.
So now all I need to do is remember this in times of hot: it is not a falling apart, it is weather.
And it can be taken care of with ice and a fan and remembering truth.
The superpower of Everything Is Possible and I were best friends again, holding hands and running down the street.
We were in binging-spark flow, we did glowing glow-salutations and caught all the right buses.
Big breakthrough in dance class.
A conceptual one that lead to a physical one. This was also a shivanautical side effect.
I finally really and truly (or: more really and truly) understood what Eva says about holding the spaces between the movements.
The understanding made itself a little home inside of me, beyond theoretical, into visceral knowing. That difference is basically why I do shiva nata.
Anyway, my body suddenly got it. All of it. The new choreography, how to stand tall with open heart even while leaning forward, the lean and the curve and all of it.
Beach day happened after all!
And it was perfect.
Lady Chuck came with me and we had twelve beautiful hours of beeeech!
I processed and wrote and talked to the water and walked in the sand.
And the next day I wrote the Letter of Sixteen and heard what I wanted to hear in response. I give full credit to this to the beach. Or: to the experience of beach. Just because.
It took me a while but I saw the pattern.
Thank you, shiva nata, again, for everything that I understand about everything.
I finally saw — really deeply internally understood — the pattern cycles of how I am with time.
And how when there is entry, things are sweet and supportive. Everything that was good this week came as a result of the desires and intentions that I brought with me as I entered those experiences.
Everything that was hard this week came about when I entered it casually, thoughtlessly, haphazardly, thinking about something else. That’s when things fell apart.
Wally said: you have the skills to do this. And I said: and I’m using them hard.
But when I remembered that all I need to do is conscious entry for everything, there was a flow and it was made of dots of light.
Spark! Idea! Possibility!
First I a spark of an idea that could in fact be the perfect simple solution that I so desperately need right now! May it be so!!
And some amazing realizations (shiva nata, again, to the rescue!) about how to sneakily circumvent the pellet pattern.
And then my friend Dana might have the answer to a challenge that has been the biggest challenge. Doors. They really are everywhere.
I got to meet Sarah.
A series of wonderful events meant that I got to hang out with @sarahemily on Sunday and show her Stompopolis. That was the right thing.
A beautiful gift from Leni (thank you, sweetie!) that is absolutely perfect for the Room of Mystery. Transformational.
And a whole load of stickers from Kat. Yay!
Everything is good.
Things getting undone.
In all the best ways.
A thrilling adventure full of unexpected twists and turns.
Playing with words. And then tasting the words.
There are not a lot of people you can really, really play with.
But when you can play? That is the best.
I like words. This was a good week for this.
And usually I keep most of this play to myself but this week I shared it.
This was, and is, a marvelous surprise.
A coded message!
The good kind.
Hidden for me in an unlikely spot on an unlikely street, but I saw it. And then I saw it again.
Huge realizations that change everything.
About sovereignty, about the void, about relating, about source and resource, about my heart.
Wanting heart openings all week. doing backbends by choice. Doing wheel pose not just by choice but in the morning. I know, what? What?!
Out of the woodworks.
Everyone showed up this week.
Dana called. Hope called. Sarah yesterday. Rebecca today. This feels good.
An opening through the pellet pattern into a box that is a treasure chest.
And an interruption of compulsive behavior that changed everything.
From one-more-minute-is-unbearable to three hundred minutes of blissful not caring.
All. The. Points.
And actually I think I may have now, finally, resolved about 98% of the pellet pattern, which is amazing (shiva nata! again!) because there is so much old pain in there.
Playing live at the meme beach house — it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
Background? Ez and I make up bands. Stu (retired Bolshevik-fearing voice-to-text software) once translated “people will hate me and be jealous” to “they’ll hang out at my Meme Beach House“. It’s just one guy.
This week’s band is fairly experimental. They like sound and sounds and sound effects. Sometimes it can go a little Laurie Anderson, but I’m not complaining.
Anyway, I think you’ll like them:
The Universal Symbol For Thwork
Though, of course, wouldn’t you know, it’s really just one guy.
Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. Announcement time.
Picture me wearing that crazy hat…
Seriously seriously: the monster coloring book.
And then come to Rally. They’re almost all sold out. And Rally is the thing that gets you to the point where you can handle the hard. I recommend it. It is sparkly and surprising.
That’s it for me …
Join my Friday ritual in the comments if you feel like it. Or call silent retreat!
We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. And we don’t give advice (unless people specifically ask for it).
Wishing you a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day, a restful weekend and a happy week to come.
p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever (or not) and it’s no big deal.