Friday chicken

Where I cover the good and the hard in my week, visiting the non-preachy side of ritual and self-reflection.

It is SATURDAY and we are here.

Sometimes a Friday lasts a little bit longer, and sometimes a Chicken happens when it happens….

So here we are.

{a breath for Friday, and for being here right now}

What worked this week?

Setting things up in advance.

Or really, following instincts.

It was Rally O this week, and early Tuesday morning I was at the Playground taking care of something when I heard a clear instruction to get everything ready for Rally. “Why now?”, I asked. “Rally doesn’t start for eight more hours.”

But there it was, a clear instruction. So I followed it.

Then in the afternoon, I urgently needed a nap. I set a bell but I didn’t hear it because of the fan, waking up just in time to get to Rally. But I didn’t need to do anything once I got there, because Tuesday-morning me had already made a thermos of tea, filled the water jug, set out the candles, picked stone skipping stones, turned on the fairy lights and made everything pretty.

Or: Right now I am entering Operation Detwah, which takes place in Detroit of course, which means I had to get to Detroit. But there wasn’t time to get ready for it because of Rally. Tuesday-me did all the Provisioning (it’s secret code for “packing”), and then I didn’t have to worry about it.

Next time I might…

Say thank you.

This week it was easy to see the hard, and hard to see the ease.

But really, there are lots of things that are happening with grace and ease, miracles everywhere, small moments of beauty, endless reasons to say thank you, to delight in life and aliveness even when things are so hard.

Everything gets better when I say thank you. And it’s hard to remember to say thank you if I don’t pause long enough to get quiet and remember. To get quiet and hear truth. Hear truth and say thank you.

From Maya Angelou’s last tweet, zichronah l’vracha, may her memory be a blessing: “Listen to yourself and in that quietude you might hear the voice of god.”

Eight breaths for the hard, challenging and mysterious.

  1. So much W (worry) about so many different situations. So many people in the hospital, so many mysterious health emergencies, so many people I love in so many different kinds of (physical and emotional) pain. A breath for being filled with love, glowing ease, wishing everyone well.
  2. The Unbearable Missing, now at the three and a half week mark, still hurts. Differently, and it still hurts. A breath for believing in time: this will pass, and I will say thank you, so I might as well say it now. Thank you.
  3. I do not wish to add to the voices that have said things along the lines of “I get that #YesAllWomen is important but…” No. It is beyond important, and there is no BUT. I am just noticing, again and again, how hard it is for me to read the (shared) experiences of my fellow women, and live that pain again, mine and theirs, not to mention the additional pain arising with each ignorant or trollling response. It is astonishing to me how many people I know in real life felt the need to deflect, diminish and discount the vulnerable stories that are hard enough to share as it is. I actually noticed at one point that my whole body was hurting, and it gradually became clear that I’d inadvertently plugged in to the energy of this swelling of shared experiences, the energy of All Pain Of All Women, which is not only too much to bear, it is not mine to carry. I had to do a healing and then stay offline for a while. So important, so important, and: I have to be very careful and very clear so that I don’t revert to the pattern of reliving everyone else’s trauma. A breath for safe space, and for breathing love and peacefulness into the world.
  4. I deeply, deeply, deeply need two weeks off. Or in. Or something. And I have no idea when/how this could happen. A breath for needing an opening and not seeing the door.
  5. Street harassment, the usual, the fact that it is the usual. A breath for this world we live in, and for hope.
  6. A mission I’m not looking forward to. A breath for making peace with this, and finding the treasure.
  7. Feeling overwhelmed, tired, conflicted, wary. A breath for all feelings are legitimate, temporary, understandable, and also not the whole truth of life.
  8. Inhale, exhale. Goodbye, mysteries and hard moments of this week.

Eight breaths of good, reassuring, delight-filled.

  1. After several months of working with my current theme/project/mission of What If I Could Treasure Myself, and getting to know the Incoming Me who can do this, I was able to experience an entire hour of what it is like to have the superpowers of Wildly Confident and Of Course I Treasure Myself. I am remembering eight years ago when I was working with “What if I could approve of myself, what would that be like?”, and how far off and impossible it seemed. Now it’s a given. One day this will be too. A breath for joyful forward movement.
  2. I was able to clearly and easily indicate during dances when people were doing things that hurt my shoulder, and no one was a jerk about it. A breath for advocating for myself.
  3. Remember a few months ago when I was feeling so anxious about Operation Bell View? Not only did that turn out to be the best op ever, but this week all kinds of additional treasure from that op suddenly revealed itself. A breath for past seeds, and me who seeded them, and appreciating everything that is still invisible and under the surface.
  4. I had an overwhelming impossible-seeming op this week that involved climbing a scary ladder, and also carrying the ladder up and down a flight of stairs. And then I didn’t have to do it because Aaron was in town and he did it for me. A breath for good fortune and right timing.
  5. So #YesAllWomen happened, and this is the public acknowledgment I have been waiting for my entire life, or at least, since I was a teenager and suddenly became aware that 1) harassment, vulnerability, being perceived and treated as prey, and being put in exquisitely uncomfortable situations was to be a part of my daily reality for the rest of my life, 2) no one talks about this and you don’t get to talk about it and if you do you are silenced, so keep it to whispered warnings between women and shared hugs/tears because for some inexplicable reason we aren’t allowed to share these things even though we have to live with them. Holy shit, you guys. EVERYONE IS TALKING ABOUT THE THING WE NEVER TALKED ABOUT. So many times in my life I have wondered: Okay so this happens to all of us, why are we not marching in the streets, why are we not raging and grieving in collective outrage, why is no one talking about it? And now we are. It feels like a miracle. Even though it is sad, hard, scary. Even though there is so much pushback. Even though all these people still don’t believe or understand what it is like. Even though there are still so many stories I have never shared and still do not feel comfortable sharing. Just the fact that everyone is finally talking about this awful aspect of my daily life, something that has impossibly, inexplicably been swept under the collective rugs throughout history, it is amazing. A breath for seeing something I didn’t think would ever come.
  6. Dancing west coast swing all weekend long! Friday night fusion! Fourth Saturday swing! Sunday night lesson and social! Also, and this is new and fun, so many people said lovely things about how much they love dancing with me. I can feel certain moves getting better. I can feel how much fun I’m having. A breath for delight in life.
  7. I WON THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD. From a raffle I’d entered (and promptly forgotten about) during Operation Bell View, thinking there was no way it would ever happen. In fact, I had the opportunity to enter it again and didn’t even bother, because what’s the point. But I won! And now I get to go to the most amazing dance convention ever this summer because they are holding my ticket at the door!
  8. Appreciation and thankfulness. Nothing is wrong. Remembering this is my life work and I am doing it. Richard was gone all week and I missed his company, and now he is back! Okay, so now I’m gone again, but it was so wonderful to see him. Everything is healing. Roses everywhere. Hi, Casey. Brunch with Rosie, Riv and Marisa. Sea shanties at Rally (Rally!). So many things are good. A breath for deep appreciation in my thank-you heart.

WHAM BOOM! Operations completed.

The phrase Whoosh Ha Mastodon Boom is secret agent code that means: this thing is done! It is often shortened to wham-boom. You may also shout (or whisper) other joyous words if you like.

This was another big week for ops! I had a list of 23 missions that I whittled down to 4. Operation Cape Egrets is ready! Operation Detwah is happening! I am ready to announce the Righting Retreat. Wham Boom.


Powers I had this week…

I had the superpower of trusting the process.

Superpowers I want.

The power of All The Right Openings Reveal Themselves.

Salve. The Salve of 8 Miles In A Single Step.

This is from this week’s Wish, which involved the superpower of I Walk Eight Miles In A Single Step, If I Want To, with all other implied forms of this activated as well:

Each seemingly small thing I do goes deep, covers lots of ground, brings me closer, heals old hurts.

It is a salve of fractal flowers and a salve of trust.

When you rub this salve into your skin, you begin to feel calmer, steadier, you remember that you are powerful, that actions have symbolic meaning, that clearing away one thing means more clarity. It is a salve of domino effects. Of tiny actions having big results.

A little effort, a lot of movement.

This salve is a healing for guilt and urgency, it reminds your cells of the bigger picture. All timing is right timing. Nothing is wrong. The small steps are meaningful, intentional, have bigger results than you think.

These salves can’t be seen, but the production factory delivers enough for distribution by way of the magic of the internet, so help yourself. There is enough.

If salve does not appeal, you can have this in tea form, as a bath, cocktail, whatever works for you. Not only is there enough salve, there are also enough ways to receive it.

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.

This band is from Casey and it’s called Who Plays Music In Houses?, and they play Irish music, in houses. They’re basically a house party jam band. It’s confusing. I bet you can’t imagine an Irish band that is just one guy, but guess what: it’s just one guy.

Attenzione! Attention, AGENTS.

I am deep in an undercover mission to get better at receiving in all forms, or as I’m calling it: Glowing Receptivity and Being Receptive to Glow. Including the skill of gracefully accepting thanks.

It is related to my mission of Coming Out Of All The Closets and sharing about my personal experiences with not-sharing-how-hard-things-are.

If you would like to take a part in this and support me on my mission by sharing sweetness and appreciation for any aspect of my work, I would love that. You can do it with the magic of words, through the comments, or add something to Barrington’s Discretionary fund. (Explanation!)

And if the way you are glowing appreciation is quietly in your heart, I like that too. ♡

Come play if you like…

Join me in the comments. Some of us share hard and good, some of us say hi, or maybe we’re on silent retreat. My ritual doesn’t have to be your ritual. Whatever works for you. Almost three hundred weeks of this and there still isn’t a right way.

Everyone belongs. We let people have their own experience. We’re supportive and welcoming. We don’t give advice.

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

Shabbat shalom.

p.s. It’s fine if it’s not Friday anymore. There’s complete chicken amnesty — join in whenever you like, it’s no big deal. And I am blowing kisses to the Beloved Lurkers. I love that you are here too.

The Fluent Self