Well, this latest leg of the cleansing journey surely has taken me into unexpected territory, but of course, it's totally the ticket (ooooh-inadvertent pun--ticket, journey--yeah, I know, you probably got it immediately)! So the magic that seems to be happening (and I'll get into the details of the regimen here in a bit), is that I am unleashing years of pent-up gratitude toward my body for her oh-so-integral role in this experience that is life on Earth as Me. I'll say she plays a pretty huge role. She's the vehicle, and, what a vehicle! Do you remember Night Rider, that tv show from the '80's? The car was a smart and beautiful vehicle (smart for pretend, of course). Compare a hunk of metal that has some cognizant capabilities and whatever to the marvel that is the human body and Kit (the car with the sexy voice) looks like a set of dental braces or something. I am appreciating my body (especially repenting of hating on certain aspects which I made the scapegoat over the years), and that, I think, is at the heart of why I wanted to do a cleanse to begin with. She needs some love and appreciation from me. She has been on "my" team ("my" who? I hope my shrink isn't following this blog--I'm going to get a new diagnosis!) She has done very well--marvelously, even! She is my partner on this journey (or rather "I" am along for the ride) and she henceforth gets her dues. Yay Hannah's body!!!
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
24: Well, whaddya know? I am writing a story (just the bones so far, but wow)! Check it out (and check out the end of the last post for the first bit of it)!
why does the noblewoman dig me so much?
Is she into women? No, well, maybe, but she's not after me in that way, or else she is being really subtle with her approach. I helped her in a moment of real need. She needed to hide out with her grown daughter and my small cottage was the place to do that. Her grown (illigitimate) daughter was pregnant, and sadly, she and the infant died during childbirth. We buried them there, asking the midwife to keep everything under wraps. She continued to stay with me for much of the following year. I would have to go back down to my family's home (they didn't know a thing about all this) to bring down the herd and participate in shearing and trading at market and such, but I would always make an excuse and return to the cottage, bringing fresh provisions, blankets, little comforts. At one point, she decided that she was ready to return home, and very carefully and chokedly asked me if I would like to come with her back to her world. I thought about it, knowing that I would never be able to return home in the same way again after, that bidding farewell to this life was pretty well for keeps. I went back and forth about it, then what won me over was my desire to study and learn and discover. I said yes, and I introduced her to my family, who were all properly bowled over, of course. They hopped around frenetically to bring out the best and make a good impression. The time came when we told them of our plans, and they were stunned. My mother started to cry, then I started to cry, and I noticed my noble friend was dabbing away too. My father and brothers looked like they had been sucker-punched, all lacking their usual bravado and boisterous manner. We rose to leave, and my mother embraced me, and choked her way through asking my friend to be careful with me and be good to me. My mom wrapped up the remainder of our meal to send with us. My father disappeared then reappeared with a bottle of his infused brandy, and my brothers gave us sheep-things--wool, wool tunics, wool socks, a sheepskin rug. My nicest brother gave me his handmade flute, trying unsuccessfully to speak as he handed it to me. I wasn't able to either, and said it with embrace instead.
The carriage had arrived, and my friend produced a small but heavy (two-hander) box full of gold and silver coins (I had wondered what had made her things so heavy) and gave it to my mother. We boarded the carriage and waved to my family as the horses pulled us away from my old home. I thought about opening the brandy, but knew I wouldn't need any help keeping my stomach settled in this swaying, jostling carriage. My friend advised me to fix my gaze on something outside the window that doesn't move, and patted my hand, resting her hand on mine for a second. Big tears then started to roll down my face as my gaze had clamped onto the rock outcropping that marked the spot where I had been going since I was a young girl to pasture my sheep. I couldn't see the cottage, but I knew it was there, and would be there, but after a while we began to pass it, and I had to pick a new focal point further out into the distance.
Is she into women? No, well, maybe, but she's not after me in that way, or else she is being really subtle with her approach. I helped her in a moment of real need. She needed to hide out with her grown daughter and my small cottage was the place to do that. Her grown (illigitimate) daughter was pregnant, and sadly, she and the infant died during childbirth. We buried them there, asking the midwife to keep everything under wraps. She continued to stay with me for much of the following year. I would have to go back down to my family's home (they didn't know a thing about all this) to bring down the herd and participate in shearing and trading at market and such, but I would always make an excuse and return to the cottage, bringing fresh provisions, blankets, little comforts. At one point, she decided that she was ready to return home, and very carefully and chokedly asked me if I would like to come with her back to her world. I thought about it, knowing that I would never be able to return home in the same way again after, that bidding farewell to this life was pretty well for keeps. I went back and forth about it, then what won me over was my desire to study and learn and discover. I said yes, and I introduced her to my family, who were all properly bowled over, of course. They hopped around frenetically to bring out the best and make a good impression. The time came when we told them of our plans, and they were stunned. My mother started to cry, then I started to cry, and I noticed my noble friend was dabbing away too. My father and brothers looked like they had been sucker-punched, all lacking their usual bravado and boisterous manner. We rose to leave, and my mother embraced me, and choked her way through asking my friend to be careful with me and be good to me. My mom wrapped up the remainder of our meal to send with us. My father disappeared then reappeared with a bottle of his infused brandy, and my brothers gave us sheep-things--wool, wool tunics, wool socks, a sheepskin rug. My nicest brother gave me his handmade flute, trying unsuccessfully to speak as he handed it to me. I wasn't able to either, and said it with embrace instead.
The carriage had arrived, and my friend produced a small but heavy (two-hander) box full of gold and silver coins (I had wondered what had made her things so heavy) and gave it to my mother. We boarded the carriage and waved to my family as the horses pulled us away from my old home. I thought about opening the brandy, but knew I wouldn't need any help keeping my stomach settled in this swaying, jostling carriage. My friend advised me to fix my gaze on something outside the window that doesn't move, and patted my hand, resting her hand on mine for a second. Big tears then started to roll down my face as my gaze had clamped onto the rock outcropping that marked the spot where I had been going since I was a young girl to pasture my sheep. I couldn't see the cottage, but I knew it was there, and would be there, but after a while we began to pass it, and I had to pick a new focal point further out into the distance.
Friday, May 27, 2011
34-25
Sweet Jesus. I am in an intense time. I am retraining the way I think about myself and the others around me. I am retraining myself to crave the present moment rather than craving catharsis from it. My moments are steadily becoming more bearable and also even enjoyable. You could not have bribed me with a large enough sum to get me to admit to this up until now, but the pep rally I've been leading for myself all these years has been masking a heavy flow of judgement, suspicion, fear, and dissatisfaction with myself and with Life. Of course that's not all that's been flowing, otherwise I wouldn't be able to humble myself now, but it's been my modus operandi for ahhh, a long-ass time.
I am now increasingly attracted to the willing act of laying myself bare to Life by coming present. It feels like a death, but I'm starting to dig it more and more. It really is nothing to fear, death. Decay is a little stinky, but death itself, eh. You'll live.
I am embarking upon a weekend (holiday) to envision the kind of space I would like to have, envision what I do week in and week out, and include notes on quitting tired routines and pursuits and replacing them with the very thing that would make me love me madly! As the vision gets clear, I would like to begin alternating envisioning sessions with sessions for reordering my stuff, setting up organization systems, putting on my bossiest leather corset and telling shit whether and/or where it belongs in my space. I am all for washing and wiping down and orange-oil-throwing, thus blessing my new space and quite moving in. Everyone is going to need to stand back for this. It may get loud. I might weep. I might play guitar quite a bit. I might even do both at the same time!
This long weekend is all about my relationship with the love of my life, which is me, of course. I've finally met the man of my dreams, and guess what? She's not only a woman, but she also happens to be me-- Mycellf.
During this weekend, I take impeccable care of my body, washing and detoxifying her gently, girling-up as desired. I will take care of this. It is of the utmost importance. I eat lovingly (and gratefully, I would imagine, after two days of leek broth) cooking indicated recipes, following Mireille's advice to the letter.
As if pretending that I'm French is not enough from the whimsy department (clearly it's not, or it wouldn't keep coming, right?), I have decided to pretend that I am a tanned and calloused shepherdess from, y'know, French...sheep...country (?), and I have had a chance encounter with a lovely, wise and kind noblewoman who now wants me to come live with her at her home and be with her out at social functions of all sizes and on every level (she is not tied down to her own social stratum, and for that is considered amongst other members of the court at Versailles a bit of a threat, or in the vernacular, a crass and wonton shipwreck of a woman). She pities them, but as it is out of her jurisdiction, she lets it blow by her. She loves me, thinks the world of me, can't get enough of me and can't wait to start taking me places with her. She apparently has quite a good time of it, and rather takes it as easy in her life outside of court (that she has one is the problem, of course) as she gets a hard time from everyone at court. She sees me-- sees my beauty, my charm, my depth, my grace, my wisdom, my cleverness and my hunger to know--to make journeys of discovery. I feel bold with her, just as Shakespeare said that one was bound to be, "...when one is sure of being loved."
I am now increasingly attracted to the willing act of laying myself bare to Life by coming present. It feels like a death, but I'm starting to dig it more and more. It really is nothing to fear, death. Decay is a little stinky, but death itself, eh. You'll live.
I am embarking upon a weekend (holiday) to envision the kind of space I would like to have, envision what I do week in and week out, and include notes on quitting tired routines and pursuits and replacing them with the very thing that would make me love me madly! As the vision gets clear, I would like to begin alternating envisioning sessions with sessions for reordering my stuff, setting up organization systems, putting on my bossiest leather corset and telling shit whether and/or where it belongs in my space. I am all for washing and wiping down and orange-oil-throwing, thus blessing my new space and quite moving in. Everyone is going to need to stand back for this. It may get loud. I might weep. I might play guitar quite a bit. I might even do both at the same time!
This long weekend is all about my relationship with the love of my life, which is me, of course. I've finally met the man of my dreams, and guess what? She's not only a woman, but she also happens to be me-- Mycellf.
During this weekend, I take impeccable care of my body, washing and detoxifying her gently, girling-up as desired. I will take care of this. It is of the utmost importance. I eat lovingly (and gratefully, I would imagine, after two days of leek broth) cooking indicated recipes, following Mireille's advice to the letter.
As if pretending that I'm French is not enough from the whimsy department (clearly it's not, or it wouldn't keep coming, right?), I have decided to pretend that I am a tanned and calloused shepherdess from, y'know, French...sheep...country (?), and I have had a chance encounter with a lovely, wise and kind noblewoman who now wants me to come live with her at her home and be with her out at social functions of all sizes and on every level (she is not tied down to her own social stratum, and for that is considered amongst other members of the court at Versailles a bit of a threat, or in the vernacular, a crass and wonton shipwreck of a woman). She pities them, but as it is out of her jurisdiction, she lets it blow by her. She loves me, thinks the world of me, can't get enough of me and can't wait to start taking me places with her. She apparently has quite a good time of it, and rather takes it as easy in her life outside of court (that she has one is the problem, of course) as she gets a hard time from everyone at court. She sees me-- sees my beauty, my charm, my depth, my grace, my wisdom, my cleverness and my hunger to know--to make journeys of discovery. I feel bold with her, just as Shakespeare said that one was bound to be, "...when one is sure of being loved."
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
42-35
I am cleansing, doing a hybrid of Guliano's leek soup and the Master Cleanse in an attempt to recalibrate my habits, go all the way crazy, and set myself up for success for the remaining days of Savor School. Slowing down enough to do the work of Savor School has proven to be a huge challenge, so I've pulled out the big guns (fasting). It's what Guliano suggests anyway to jumpstart the equillibrating process and lifestyle.
What's really been in my face these past two days of cleansing is how badly I tend to feel about myself and how disgustedly I tend to talk to myself and how badly I tend to treat myself. I'm nose to nose with my low self-esteem, and I think that it's up for a raise during this fast. I feel pretty clueless about making that happen. I feel like a beginner, not an expert at all. I think what separates me from the me I would like to be is humility and acceptance of my perpetual beginnerness. I would like to be okay with this "cluelessness" rather than feeling threatened by it. "I don't know..." (the answer, how to do it, where it is, where I am, what's going on...) is where I want to feel most at home.
What's really been in my face these past two days of cleansing is how badly I tend to feel about myself and how disgustedly I tend to talk to myself and how badly I tend to treat myself. I'm nose to nose with my low self-esteem, and I think that it's up for a raise during this fast. I feel pretty clueless about making that happen. I feel like a beginner, not an expert at all. I think what separates me from the me I would like to be is humility and acceptance of my perpetual beginnerness. I would like to be okay with this "cluelessness" rather than feeling threatened by it. "I don't know..." (the answer, how to do it, where it is, where I am, what's going on...) is where I want to feel most at home.
Monday, May 9, 2011
"52-43" or "WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU???!!!!
43
It's been a few days in coming, but guess what? I have such a clear idea of what my main pain is, and boy is it special. It's the stuff that would make Oprah herself want to wrap it up and call it a life.
It arrived by stork this evening, just as I was going on hour #876 of solo parenting duty, meanwhile trying to do what I do and be who I be without major failure. I don't think I have been this angry with no place to go with it since I was about seven years old and getting my ass handed to me by my next eldest brother. I really felt like I was coming to pieces tonight, and in the midst of the crisis, I gave an excercise I recently picked up a whirl. What the hell...I am angry enough to murder, practically, so why not give peace a chance?
I started stream-of-consciousness-ing into a text message (which I promptly readdressed to my own phone--no sense in sharing this brand of love with someone who had simply asked "howz it go-n?"):
"I am in violent rejection of something about Andrei. He is the most out of touch person on the planet. So insensitive I think he is the undead. I feel like dismantling him. However, I am of the persuasion that any time we humans react to something in someone else, it is simply because we are loath to acknowledege that bit about ourselves. It is my own insensitivity that I can't and won't look at. He is simply mirroring it back to me and I cannot f***ing stand it. He is giving me a good look at an aspect of myself I actually (deeply) and desperately wish to acknowledge and integrate. It is within a hairsbreadth of my life purpose. Another 'I' (waking, surface?) hates this and wants to forget the whole matter. Problem is, I am miserable in my life to the exact same degree that I am resisting this: that I am just like him (and just like my brother and my mother, for that matter). I hurt others in the same way I feel hurt by him! I hate it. I am so deeply disturbed by this aspect of myself that I all but but can't look at it. What do I feel when I consider that I am just f***ing like him here?
Well...ok...
'that I am the worst human being that has ever walked the earth. I cannot be loved. I cannot be forgiven. I cannot be accepted. I am utterly wretched. I am worthless. I have relegated myself to oblivion. There's nothing else to do with me but reject me and let me disintegrate. I'm trash. I've wrecked and ruined myself. I am to blame for my own wretchedness.'"
So! No mystery why I've been using :)! Jesus and baby Mary.
It's been a few days in coming, but guess what? I have such a clear idea of what my main pain is, and boy is it special. It's the stuff that would make Oprah herself want to wrap it up and call it a life.
It arrived by stork this evening, just as I was going on hour #876 of solo parenting duty, meanwhile trying to do what I do and be who I be without major failure. I don't think I have been this angry with no place to go with it since I was about seven years old and getting my ass handed to me by my next eldest brother. I really felt like I was coming to pieces tonight, and in the midst of the crisis, I gave an excercise I recently picked up a whirl. What the hell...I am angry enough to murder, practically, so why not give peace a chance?
I started stream-of-consciousness-ing into a text message (which I promptly readdressed to my own phone--no sense in sharing this brand of love with someone who had simply asked "howz it go-n?"):
"I am in violent rejection of something about Andrei. He is the most out of touch person on the planet. So insensitive I think he is the undead. I feel like dismantling him. However, I am of the persuasion that any time we humans react to something in someone else, it is simply because we are loath to acknowledege that bit about ourselves. It is my own insensitivity that I can't and won't look at. He is simply mirroring it back to me and I cannot f***ing stand it. He is giving me a good look at an aspect of myself I actually (deeply) and desperately wish to acknowledge and integrate. It is within a hairsbreadth of my life purpose. Another 'I' (waking, surface?) hates this and wants to forget the whole matter. Problem is, I am miserable in my life to the exact same degree that I am resisting this: that I am just like him (and just like my brother and my mother, for that matter). I hurt others in the same way I feel hurt by him! I hate it. I am so deeply disturbed by this aspect of myself that I all but but can't look at it. What do I feel when I consider that I am just f***ing like him here?
Well...ok...
'that I am the worst human being that has ever walked the earth. I cannot be loved. I cannot be forgiven. I cannot be accepted. I am utterly wretched. I am worthless. I have relegated myself to oblivion. There's nothing else to do with me but reject me and let me disintegrate. I'm trash. I've wrecked and ruined myself. I am to blame for my own wretchedness.'"
So! No mystery why I've been using :)! Jesus and baby Mary.
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