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.
Let’s just say it. This was the week of being Shat Upon.
Literally and metaphorically.
It was also the week of going with that. It was the week of flow, because there is only flow. It was the week of hey let’s just keep on skating.
Stroke. Glide. Glide.
The hard stuff
Seriously. What is with all the shitting on me.
I am currently pretending to be the heroine in a (so far pretty terrible) romantic comedy.
Birds needed to shit on me this week. Twice in as many days. First my jeans, then my favorite scarf.
I’m not really clear on how or when the romance or the comedy plays a part in any of this but the part about being covered in bird shit is completely taken care of.
Of course, given the way I was metaphorically shat upon all week, it kind of worked.
A conundrum. And some soul questioning.
Everything reconfigures. Everything changes. Everything dies. This is truth.
Still, some reconfigurations are less expected than others.
What do you do when the one person who has consistently had your back for the last ten years suddenly and inexplicably turns on you?
That was a question this week. It was one of them.
Everything is different now.
That’s probably a good thing. But it doesn’t necessarily always feel like a good thing.
Every single thing I planned to do this week was derailed by the Emergency Situation (I am fine, everyone breathe) that showed up Sunday.
The hardest letter.
I thought July brought the hardest letters to receive and to write, but actually this week: harder.
It seems I’m getting quite skilled at receiving heart-shatteringly awful pieces of information from people I love.
Not of the romantic kind. Silent retreat!
There is nothing worse (for me) than being misunderstood.
May all misunderstandings be dissolved in love. And this one. Especially this one.
Taking apart what has been built. Undoing and then undoing some more.
It’s been one long bootcamp in loss and pain. With bonus exams in the subject of perceived betrayals, misunderstandings, broken friendships and goodbyes.
I am thinking a lot about the symptoms and indicators of being in shock. I have them.
Still a bit wobbly.
And the cold that didn’t want to go away took its sweet time leaving this week.
You know what’s great about being a Giants fan and a Tigers fan?
Writhing in agony while watching both the teams you madly love embarrass themselves shamefully in the post-season — AT THE SAME TIME.
Oh wait, that’s not fun at all.
I mean, yes. They somehow made it to the post-season. That is very exciting. But seriously, this week was torture. Embarrassing, embarrassing torture.Whew. Onward.
The good stuff
Saying “stroke-glide-glide” over and over again..
Nick gave me a quote from his studies: “compound-time divisions might feel like waltzing or skating — stroke, glide, glide; stroke, glide, glide; stroke, glide, glide…”
And in this tumultuous of everything breaking, that phrase came at just the right moment.
I really just need people around me who can say Stroke, Glide, Glide all the time.
On repeat until I remember that EVERYTHING is part of flow.
Stroke. Glide. Glide. Stroke. Glide. Glide.
(If anyone wants to say it with me here, you are welcome. Also it might make you feel better too, who knows.)
It’s almost like this steadying reminder that this is all part of flow. Just keep skating. Listen to the sounds of life skating: stroke, glide, glide.
I said this a lot this week.
I took everything to the ocean, and the ocean knew what to do with it.
The ocean knows.
And it gave me a cold black stone from the heart of the earth.
The ocean lives by stroke-glide-glide. It knows about time and about things that are temporary. About reconfigurations and letting things go and being massive and being tiny. And surrender.
It was an entire week of surrendering. Actively, not passively.
Here I am, consciously agreeing to not fight. Consciously agreeing to be love.
I was in it, and then back to resistance, and then in it, and then back to resistance. Waves and waves.
You guys. Surrender is a big crazy word that doesn’t even begin to hold all that is inside of it. That shit is intense. And that’s pretty much all I want to say about that.
I was hurting hard for big parts of this week and somehow everyone knew the right things to say. My business mentor took care of me. The first mate was calm and steady.
Marisa and Briana and Lady Chuck and Wally and Alon all said things that brought me back to truth. And my playmate was there to remind me too, with little notes.
And also something D’s friend said about how this year is the end of the world, but it’s all about personal apocalypse. It made me smile wryly exactly when that was the right thing.
Getting exactly what I wanted, cue hysterical laughter.
Here’s a funny story.
I spent all Saturday writing about the direction I want to be taking in my life and in the business. The thing I have not been letting myself think about because of other commitments.
And these other commitments all stem from a huge promise I made many years ago.
So I wanted to figure out if I could delay some of them. Or find easier ways to make them happen. Or maybe they could be delegated or changed somehow.
The very next day I received the pain-filled letter that changed everything, and a side effect of this letter is that it essentially released me from this promise.
So. I am now free to do the things that I want to do, and I no longer have any obligation to stick with the things that I did not want to do but were in service to the mission.
I would rather have been released in a way that was less shocking and painful. But you know what? This awful, awful, painful thing is also a permission slip to go and do what I want.
Yep. That’s kind of funny. I will laugh about it some more once I’m done crying.
Clean, clear slicing through. Undoing everything that no longer serves truth or is no longer needed.
A lot of things got destroyed this week.
In eighteen minute segments.
And here is a quote, even though I never do this.
And not just a quote, but a Rumi quote.
“You are not just a drop in the ocean. You are the mighty ocean in the drop.”
Not just. You are both. This and also that. Stroke, glide, glide.
The place where all my problems melt away. Perspective.
I went to Stompopolis every day, and Stompopolis slowly made it all better.
I cannot even imagine how I would have written that letter without being there.
Somehow both the Tigers and the Giants made it safely through the first round of post-season madness.
(And I collapse on the floor in a pile of exhaustion!)
It rained. And I had a bath.
I am here.
The color turquoise.
Everything is okay.
Everything is okay, and for the first time in my life I know what it is like to be surrender embodied. For stretches here and there, at least.
Stroke, glide, glide.
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 from Nick again and it’s one of my favorite bands ever. They’re funny and sweet and you never know what’s coming next.
Tiger Dopamine Delivery System
Though, of course, it’s really just one guy.
Hallo Hallo! I am saying Hallo Hallo. Announcement time.
Picture me wearing that crazy hat…
We’re phasing out all of our products that come with DVDs, both online and in the Toy Shop at Stompopolis.
As of last count, there are 51 shiva nata dvds (but I’ve promised one to a friend so the page says 50).
So. If you’ve ever wanted to get the Shiva Nata starter kit, this would be the time. Or get the DVD without the kit. While supplies last. Shipping INCLUDED in the cost.
And we have three left of our non-sucky yoga package. There you go.
When these are gone, they’re gone.
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.
Stroke, glide, glide. Stroke, glide, glide.
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.