The snowflake-maker + me.

I am grateful to have walked this rural Michigan road every day to/from school for several years of my childhood. This recent picture is from Oak Cove Resort's Facebook page.
In the late 70's my Mom and I lived at Oak Cove Resort as its off-season innkeepers.

Living in that magical place during my formative years did something to me.  Shaped my core.  Caused me to fall in love, day after day, with acres of woodlands, and the gorgeous Lake Cora that was our "front yard."  Sometimes Cora gave fish.  Sometimes she threw paddle-boat and canoe parties.  And every winter she offered her strong icy back for us to skate on.  TV and toys were just not that captivating... not when stacked against Nature.

A snow blizzard + dark blue mittens.

One day in my second-grade class, we were cutting out snowflakes.  From what I recall, we had to fold white paper, and then draw and cut-out a complex geometric design on the top layer.  When we unfolded our paper, each "flake" was so delicate and beautiful.  Like lace.

Our teacher told us that "no two snowflakes are made the same."  I looked out the window, at all the tall heaps of snow, and found her words really hard to believe.  How could each flake be different when there were so many?

My school bus dropped me at that long, curvy road pictured above.  Everything was white as white can be.  And the falling flakes were huge.  I held my mitten-covered hand flat, to catch and investigate them.

I held those flakes close to my face and watched.  I let them melt, and get replaced by new ones.  And it was true.  I could see that each ice crystal really did look different.  This might be unimpressive to some.  But it was everything to me, seeing this outrageous display of creative genius.
"How full of the creative genius is the air in which these are generated!  I should hardly admire more if real stars fell and lodged on my coat."  (Henry David Thoreau)

Walking that road gave me my love for the tiny and the tender.  Simple.  Aliveness.  Thanks for letting me reminisce with you.  Below in the comments, I would love to hear a story about Nature somehow leaving an unforgettable impression on you.  C'mon and share!

And The Day Came...

And the day came when her purpose overtook every fear.  Every excuse.

Incremental Bravery

Can you relate to any of these statements?  Do you have any of your own you'd add?
  1. Take responsibility for your own happiness.

  2. Your worst fear, and your highest destiny, race each other.  Every day.  And you get to choose the winner.  Every day.

  3. Some days, the choice may feel so hard to make, you'll be tempted to choose stagnation, or even regression.  Don't.

  4. It's nice when people from your old reality bless and cheer your new reality, but sometimes separation happens instead.  Be okay with that.

  5. Notice when you give parts of your power away.  Notice what causes you to do that.  Transform, or transcend, the cause.

  6. When you finally get to know who you really are, don't apologize.  Walk taller.

  7. Let go of time-sucks and energy-drains, so you can be fresh and available for your Deeper Values.

  8. Your body is rarely confused.  Pay attention to your gut feelings, which work like an inner traffic signal: red, yellow and green lights, to guide you on your way.
     
  9. Trust that the world will not fall apart when you speak and live your truth.  It will, in fact, be made more whole when you do.
Erika Harris © 2013

Who/what leads your life?

Way back in undergrad I majored in Philosophy because I actually wanted to study wisdom.  At the time I didn't give much thought to how that choice would (not) benefit me in the marketplace.

I didn't think about it because I did not view myself as a market dweller, but as an earth dweller.  I don't live in a mall.  I live on a planet.

Twenty-six years later, and I feel even more disconnected from the myth that our lives are intended for constant gorging, buying, wasting, numbing, rushing.  No thank you.

My identity is anchored in love.  Not stuff.  And I'm currently organizing my entire life around this truth.  I know the things my soul longs for, and none of it is merchandise.  Well, maybe a little is merchandise (technology!), but it's not the main thing.  It's the supporting thing.

So one day I just found myself completely out-of-step with culture's push to earn and burn.  My heart demanded more of me.  When I tried to make it conform (ouch!) and go mainstream, it called me a liar.  That is no way to live, in constant disagreement with yourself, and your values.

I started daydreaming about a simple, unhurried low-carbon life that would support my desire to study, write, create, explore, and make beauty and harmony.  Because those are the kinds of pursuits you can give yourself to when you're not chasing dollars, like a rodent trapped on a wheel.

After coming to peace with the fact that I was not put on this planet to collect and compare possessions, I took on the tingly assignment of asking myself:

"Well, why then?  Why were you put here, if not to make money and buy stuff?"

I'd be honored if you shared your answer below.

"You need to detach." (George Clooney)

I saw Gravity last night;

loved Sandra Bullock, George Clooney,

and all of the meta-meanings floating around.

My favorite was about detachment:
Risking.  Releasing.  Flinging yourself into the potential of the unknown, to vacate the hurling debris of the known.

Curiosity does not kill cats. It unlocks life.

Hey, beauties.  We know, from here and above how fun commuter stories are, so here's another one!

Train conditions:  Southbound at 6:20pm on a weeknight, half-full cars, moderate noise.  I sat near a window, with no one beside me, and only a young woman in front of me.

She turned to face me, “'Scuse me.  Can I borrow your phone?”

Blink, blink.  I was surprised by her request and, honestly, didn’t know how comfortable I felt with it.

“You’d be calling in this country, right?” I asked, semi-jokingly.

“Oh, yeah.  I’m late for work, and just wanna let my manager know.  My battery died.”

Seemed reasonable.  And I had on flats in the unlikely (according to my gut) event I'd have to chase after her.  “Sure, here you go.”  I handed her my phone.

She showed me the numbers as she dialed.  “Danny, this Martini.  Yeah, I’m running late.  Should be there in 20 minutes.  Okay.  Bye.”

She returned my phone while telling me she's been with Subway Sandwiches the last three years.  Then she asked me where I worked, and if they were hiring.

“What are your interests?”  I asked.

At which point she cracked up laughing.  Hand-over-mouth-in-case-something-flies-out laughing.  I had no idea what was so funny.

"Interests?  What are my interests?!  Nobody ever asked me that before!" she said with a lot of force.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm asking you now!"  I gave back a little force.  Just because I had lent her my phone, didn't mean I had a right to get in her business.  Or did it?

Anyway I persisted, and asked slowly, "What's something you want to know more about, Martini?"

Her eyes LIT UP... as happens when the mind gets set on fire.

"So many things," she kinda whispered, looking up.   

The four-legged + the furry.

Those with four legs and fur
have a magical way of refreshing me.

They baptize me in wildwater.

Not bottled, sanitized or spritzed.
Just is-ness.  Not business.
Organic and sporadic.
Free, like I intend to be.
Free, like I was born to be.  

Their nature-grace helps me remember
the primaltribalvisceral Sound
from whence I came.  Unruly flame.
Burning songs of belonging
into the heart of my calling
to the Jubilant Wild.  Honey-child.

I go by "Erika" this time around,
but my feet are not bound.
Just because I have no tail or wings
in this chosen body.  My partnership
with the GreenWorld is rooted
in Love and Memory.  Blessed be.
This heart that soars, and roars unto
the subtlety of sniffing breath
that signifies Your trust in me.

You are my gateway. I am Your voice.
This is the choice I made back then.
When We agreed to be soul-friends.

What loneliness taught me.

I think the feeling of loneliness
creeps up and grabs us (from time to time)
to make sure we don't settle for fluff.

Loneliness, at least the kind I sometimes experience,
is such a ruthless state... it will accept no counterfeit
consolation.  No hugs from a mannequin.  Or fake
laughter from a can.  This grizzly beast strips me,
not as a cruelty... but as a centering.  

This is the work of the tart and the terrible,
to help us grow from a weeble-wobble,
to a sure-footed person who can dance
without consensus.

A Mid-Life Check-In.

For the longest time I tried to live in the world, while not really being in it.  I hung-out at its edges, and gazed into its center.  And then concluded that because its center (the main functions of the world I live in) seemed so different from my center (the main functions of the soul I embody), the two must be absolutely separate.

Well, that divisive view caused me a whole lot of pain.  Because I had judged the world-at-large as uncaring and shallow, it was hard to joyfully participate in it.  But the epic amount of energy needed to build a life that felt safe and suitable to my non-mainstream ways (extraordinary sensitivity and depth) was so exhausting.  What to do?

In my 20's and 30's I looked for ways to exist outside of the mainstream, because I was convinced that its water was too rough and salty.  Not to my liking.  So I searched for the tender and the sweet.  A full-grown woman looking for innocence "in this world" is surely delusional, right?

Perhaps.  But the longing has always been there, directing my path and my passions.  Recently, that longing taught me that Oasis is not a "place."  Oasis is a choice.  Wherever I am, whoever I am with, whatever I am doing... all earthly scenarios can actually be enriched by my unreasonable hopefulness.  Daily, mundane life gives me the chance TO BRING, AND TO BE the deep tenderness and sweetness I long for.  I execute this imperfectly, of course, but that doesn't stop my commitment to it.

Day, night and in between.  The tension is where it's at.

What's your orientation?  Not sexual, but life.  What's your life's orientation?  Are you mostly motivated to raise a well-adjusted child?  To make as much cash as you can?  To travel the world, and load up your memories with adventure?  To create innovations that lessen suffering?  To push your athletic or artistic abilities to their edge?  To experience the love of a lifetime?  To uncover and share your most heart-felt truth?

My life's orientation has always been tending to the domain of the soul -- the endless, limitless part of who we are.  Even as a little girl, I loved to fling myself into the atomic center of a Thing, and then feel my way into some kind of understanding or meaningfulness.  Nothing's changed.  I still most enjoy sacred conversations that lead me or another person to a better feeling, more clarified space.  Drama is draining.  Inner peace is energizing.  And the more I cultivate peace inside of me, the more my outer life morphs into something I adore.

In a few months, I'll start my 43rd year of life.  And I'm happy to report there are no crises accompanying this mid-life check-in.  With 4+ decades behind me and, hopefully, 4+ decades in front of me, I am clear about how I want to spend the rest of my life:  I want to help create a culture of deeper conversation, stronger connection and increased capacity for life's hard parts.

This is contrary to the flat-and-fleeting 140-character soundbite mentality that whirls in our plugged-in heads.  Dominant culture is resistant to depth.  The media and the marketplace pressure us to race along, and keep it light, bubbly and above all, FUN!  As a result, the muscles required for reflection and integration have atrophied in many of us.  They've given in to the tendency to minimize, abbreviate and reduce.  Attention spans have never been shorter.  Every few seconds, our brains demand more stimulation, more entertainment and more distraction.

Because the alternative -- Full and Fearless Presence -- seems like a relic now.  Something of the pre-internet past.  And yet, Full and Fearless Presence is exactly where our humanity most shines.  #nohashtagforthat

If you've read this far, you are a rare breed.  So many words have been put before you... without pictures, animations or manipulations.  So maybe you'll be up for this.  A check-in with your own life.  CONSIDER your decades thus far, and upcoming:

  •   0-10: ___________________________________
  • 11-20: ___________________________________
  • 21-30: ___________________________________
  • 31-40: ___________________________________
  • 41-50: ___________________________________
  • 51-60: ___________________________________
  • 61-70: ___________________________________
  • 71-80: ___________________________________
  • 81-90: ___________________________________

What are the themes and patterns in the decades you've lived so far?  What do you want to see, create, experience in your upcoming decades?  What do you do with complex or difficult feelings?

If this post spoke to you at all, if you resonated with any of it or its questions, I'll have something special for you by the end of July that will help you fill in your gaps.  Whatever they may be.  Keep in mind that gaps are a good thing.  They give you the blessed chance to see where you've been, and chart a course for where you'd like to go.  Stay tuned!

Hawks + Hockey

If you're open to it, culture can bring you an endless supply of spiritual goodies.

Last night the Chicago Blackhawks won a thrilling, triple-overtime playoff game.  I'm not a huge hockey fan, but I've learned to tap into the group euphoria created at sporting events.  As my city rejoiced, I inhaled the elation.  And on a deeper level, I was reminded of the shamanic "medicine" of hawks.

Symbolically, hawks are known to be the messenger, the protector and the visionaries of the Air.  
The hawk has higher perspective, and sees beyond distraction.  It has keen and piercing sight, and sees detail at great distance.  And it has the power of focus and observation, to seize opportunity.

Literally, hawks are birds of prey who strike with speed and precision.  Metaphysically, hawks endow receptive people with the ability to see (visionary), and the confidence to say (messenger).

Thank you, NHL and Stanley Cup Playoffs, for adding so much commercial energy to a spiritual reality.  This two-sided coin excites me.

The music @ Garfield + Wentworth.

I call this interesting intersection home.
Where Hyde Park and Englewood kiss. 
Scholars from University of Chicago
quickly pass by on their way to ivory towers.
Sign-holding homeless folks patiently beg for money.
And, now that the weather won't make your ears
freeze and fall off, there are highly motivated musicians
holding down their own corner.  With buckets and sticks
they play out their devotion to Possibility.  They inspire
drivers stopped at red lights, not only to give cash,
but also to remember their own heart's howl.

One of the downsides of having all your needs met
is that complacency can creep in more easily than a draft.
The dulling effect that comes with having eaten too much...
that's the signature of complacency.  Legs kicked up.
Buddha-belly gurgling.  Demanding for more.  Unable
to appreciate enough.  Complacency turns us into infants...
belchy, whiney, stinky.  But without the cuteness babies can claim.
Hearing the industrious beats from down the street
remind me to make music with what I've got.

The power to stand.

Love is not a sticky dollop
of sentimental goo
too anemic to face storms.
(Who needs impotent fluff like that?)

Love is the fortifying iron
from which you sprang.
It is muscular enough
to stabilize you
whenever you feel
droopy or weak.

Love lights the Sun.
It enforces gravity.
It knits fetuses
into perfect lil' beings.

We always have access
to this power to stand.
The trick is to simply remember.

So don't just look at tulips.  Listen to them.
And all of Nature, for that matter.
That way, you won't ever forget.

How brewing kombucha can help you become a stronger writer. (Part 2 of 2).

Deciding is the first step in any creative process.  By deciding to make kombucha, I also decide not to make (at least in that moment) beer, sake, wine, mead, cider, etc.

So the first batch/draft is made.  Now what?

Wait.

That four-letter word is why I wrote these kombucha posts.  Waiting is what gives your creations flavor and maturity.  I used to really, really struggle with waiting.  (Now, I can use just one 'really.'  Hey, it's progress.)  When I started fermenting things I finally understood how essential waiting is to making things that are robust, rather than weak and watery.  So after your first round of making something:
 
*  Put it away.  Step aside.
*  Live your life and tend to other things.
*  Resist the temptation to peek and meddle.
*  Rest in the knowledge that transformation is allowed, not forced.
*  Chuckle at the irony that you, and your perceptions, are changing while you wait.

Conscious waiting is not idle.  It is a very active state of mind, and state of mastery, that rounds out the body of your creation, while also mellowing its creator.

Adopting a fermenter's mindset, and applying it to your writing, will help you relax and be at-ease with your creative gaps.  Do you really want to crank out vats of uninteresting, non-nourishing kool-aid?  There's plenty of sugar-water already flowing in the world.  Take your time with what you pour.  Choose savory.

How brewing kombucha can help you become a stronger writer.  (Part 1 of 2).

I love fermented foods.  Wine, pickles, kimchi, vinegar, mead, yogurt, sauerkraut, etc.  Mmmm, that tart zing that clears a path on its way down.  Let's hear it for gut flora!

I used to spend a small fortune on kombucha until I finally got my first kit from a Madison-based, woman-owned company, NessAlla. 

Kombucha is a fermented, effervescent beverage/functional food made from black tea, distilled water, sugar, a "mother culture" (also called a SCOBY -- as in symbiotic colony of bacteria and yeast... yum!) and whatever flavors you choose to add.  It's loaded with enzymes, probiotics, B-vitamins, and for me, memories.

Anything canned or fermented will always remind me of my sorely missed Grandad, who demystified all kind of life-mysteries... including the fermentation process.

Even as a child I related to being broken down for a higher purpose.  The grapes my Grandad grew on trellises would give up their sweetness to become something else.  They were agitated to the point of having their essence changed.
Well, now that I've been actively brewing kombucha gallon after gallon, week after week, I keep seeing patterns that relate to writing.  Here's the first:

Decide.

Deciding what you will make/write is the first step out of inertia.  What's the story or message you're burning to tell?  What's the best vehicle to carry that story or message?
  • a blog post?
  • a digital book?
  • a letter?
  • a magazine article?
  • a poem?
  • a prayer?
  • a screenplay?
  • a song?
  • a tweet?
  • an audio book?
  • an essay?
  • an opera?
  • something else?

Ultimately you might choose several of these expressive forms, but you'll have to start with one.  Decide which it will be.  Then enjoy the ease of movement that happens once you've decided what the heck it is you are making.  Elimination is a huge part of creation.

In the next post we'll look at what happens after you've decided, and created, your first iteration.

Fierce devotion.

Erika Harris + Naomi Wilzig

Earlier this month in South Beach, Florida I met the woman who founded the world's largest erotic art museum -- WEAM.  She is dignified and regal.  A true lady.  And her gallery is filled with the wildest manifestations of humanity's expressed and repressed sexuality and eroticism.  Gathering all those artifacts, knowledge and history was an important work I'm sure many didn't understand or support.  Thankfully, it didn't stop her.

Which brings me to you.  If you are pouring yourself into a pursuit or project, and especially if it is controversial or misunderstood, I am to encourage you to persist.  Insist.  Lean forward and bring that precious thing into completion.

Your daily commitment will feed you with all that you need:  insights, resources, strategies, connections, miracles.  Become as solid and immovable as Mount Kilimanjaro.  Love, not duty, will empower you to do so.  To be so.  Each failure or setback will only add to your height and breadth.  Nothing gets wasted.

Discouragement and fatigue will melt into amusing puddles at your feet.  Make use of their water, and plant flowers there!  Memorialize the shadow-talkers who said it couldn't be done.  Enshrine your conviction that knew it could happen all along.

Speak, or forever hold your peace.

When you express your truth, you strengthen your magnetic effect.
Some people and opportunities will draw closer to you,
while other people and opportunities will pull away from you.

More and more, I prefer these polarized effects.

They sculpt.  They add contour and clarity.
They create the difference between a nebulous cloud
you can only look at, and an actual life you can adjust to fit you.

It is not vainglorious to seek or create a life that fits you.

Sharing your truth (what you know or feel to be certain
about a particular thing) takes a glob of indecision, or faint
expression, and turns it into something you not only recognize,
but craved all along.  And the best part?  Everyone remains okay!

Better than okay, actually.  Sure, others may not like or approve
of your expressed truth, but in those uneasy situations, you get
to taste the matured freedom of living with rejection and disapproval.

You get to know for sure that your survival is not dependent upon
the blessing of others.  This liberation isn't to make you
an insensitive jerk, but a high-soaring soul (who will find that
gentleness is the seed that altitude plants in every seeker's heart).

So, speak up.  Sculpt.  Be willing to whittle, chisel and trust
that sharing your truth is good.  It is The Point.  Or one of them, anyway :-)

The sanctity of your mind.

To trespass is to enter the owner's land, property (or mind) without permission.

Imagine, the ridiculousness -- and even nastiness -- of letting your mouth
hang wide open, and allowing anyone to put anything in it.

Gross, right?

How much more gross is it to leave your mind hanging so carelessly wide open
that anyone (manipulator, marketer, madman) could put anything there?

It happens all the time.

I've gotten much more aware of this subtle interaction... how my proximity with you/the world
can allow a fair amount of you/the world into me.  And vice versa.

And because my mind's ambiance is of the utmost importance to me,
I do understand that I must guard it with the same fierce discretion
with which I guard my own womb -- my own mouth.

Access is earned.  Bums are ejected.  Muses, teachers, true-friends and sparks are embraced.

Dear Ladies-in-Waiting

You are a supreme and generative creator.
You have spent years, and lifetimes, refining
the treasures within you.  It is time, now,
to cast those treasures outside of you.

What have you been waiting for?
More money, time, support, knowledge?

Activate and release Your Work first,
then, those things you were awaiting
will appear.  They will chase you down
and insist that you have and enjoy them.

You have died the death of linear logic.
Your feminine resurrection now summons
you to luscious life, born through your hips and lips.

Will you sway?  Will you say?  Will you allow
your season of free expression?  Will you
add your nectar-fragrance to the air we breathe?

Or will you tuck it away, in an attic, for another time?
Your words, your curves, your underwater nerves,
are begging to surface, to be see, known and heard
by the hard angles, and the soft angels, that indwell
this place we chose to call home.  Fluff the pillows,
set loose the power, that burns between your breasts.

That heat, that light, is not for your protective sleep.
It is for the risk of daily dawn.  Mother, daughter,
sister, lover, matriarch, queen, goddess, that You Are.
Wait?  I think not.  Those days have set.

Would you think the sun or moon "polite" if they withheld
their luminosity? You are no less, and no different,
from those icons in the sky.  And the world will remain in disarray
unless and until we stop this waiting.  And, instead, start beaming
the beauty and wisdom and comfort and harmony that is ours to beam.

How to heal yourself from disappointment.

Disappointments.  They feel like soul-snags, those moments in life when you are let down.

Thanks to resiliency, we can recover from most of them with little time and effort.  We are usually good at bouncing back.  But there are some disappointments that get stuck.  They hover around like a persistent sadness, and if left unchecked, they will ferment into resentment... and then you'll have an even worse interior state to deal with.

So, if you've got a disappointment you've been carrying around (as I did), read on.  I'm going to share with you a way I discovered to free yourself from a deep or long-term disappointment.

What it is.

Disappointment is defined as a "feeling of sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one's hopes or expectations." 

How it happens.

Disappointment happens when you place hope outside of yourself, and either put it in the hands of someone else, or in the attachment to an outcome.  This is a form of dismemberment.  The reason the disappointing person or event keeps coming to your mind is because you have left an aspect of yourself with that person or that outcome-attachment.  Your mind and heart want to be whole, so they keep nagging you -- rehearsing the disappointment again and again -- as a prompt to, literally, bring yourself back together.

How to heal from it.

See the disappointment in your mind.  Feel it in your body.  Identify the person, people or outcome-attachment that you gave your hope to.  Reclaim your hope.  Reach out your hands, as though you were going to grab your keys or pick up your phone, and take your hope back.  You don't have to snatch, or be mean-spirited.  Just be confident in knowing that the hope is yours, and it will best serve you by being with you.  Not outside of you.

When you do this (and it is done simply, by directed imagination), you are sealing up the leak/crack that got created when you gave your hope away.  Very sensitive people can often feel an internal shift of power as a result of taking your hope back.  You'll no longer feel vulnerable to or hurt by the particular person or outcome-attachment because you have gathered and grouped your essence back together, versus having it scattered and entrusted to non-caring scenarios.  Your hope is a very important part of your being-ness.  Share and spend it with great care.

Did you find this technique useful?  Do you have questions or comments about it?  I'd love to hear from you.

How I turned two frogs into two princes. (And no, I didn't kiss them.)

Rush-hour, south-bound Red Line.  Chicago public transit commuters know what this means: crowded and crude.

This past Thursday evening, I got sandwiched between two men who were smack dab in the middle of a loud and highly detailed discussion about their favorite porn. They acted as if they were the only two on the train.  One of them said he liked to get down while watchin' a woman get gang-banged.

Did I mention I was standing right in between these frogs?  Their nasty, disrespectful words flamed.  Sliced.  Reduced.

I was a four-alarm fire, and I completely understood commuters' rage at that moment.  The swampy disregard for all the women who surrounded them... and me, who could feel them bump against my hips (again, rush-hour + south-bound = standing-room only) while they loudly recalled many of their favorite porn stars by name, with explicit reasons about why they liked what they liked.

Everyone sighed, grunted and rolled their eyes in disgust, but no one said anything.

And maybe, had I not been close-enough-to-bump, I would have popped in my earbuds, and tried my best to ignore them, too.  But I wasn't.  So I couldn't.

I decided I would clear this atmosphere.  But how?  Empathically, of course ;-)

For the past couple months, I've participated in a weekly Empathy Circle.  Every Saturday for 2 hours, Edwin Rutsch (El Cerrito, CA), Lidewij Niezink, Ph.D. (Groningen, Netherlands), Alice Aird (Victoria, Australia) and I (Chicago, IL) connect via Googlehangout.  We do so to develop our shared intention to "build a culture of empathy."  That might sound like a lofty goal, but this post is about a real-world application of doing that very thing, while riding the subway.

The first thing I did was choose the place I would speak from.  Let's be clear, I was pissed off.  Not angry.  Pissed.  The negative feelings I had about their praise of a young woman being gang-banged were as low a vibration as the the loud filth they were talking.  Sexuality is beautiful, and I've seen sexually explicit material that I've deeply appreciated.  So this wasn't coming from me being uptight or prudish.  I was triggered because circumstances had forced me into super-close proximity with highly disrespectful content that I couldn't easily escape.  So, respect is what I reached for.  In myself, and in them.  In my mind, I created a bubble that held the three of us.  I then filled that bubble with this simple thought-form: "I respect you, and you respect me."

The first word out my mouth wasn't immediately true.  I spoke to what I wanted to be true in that moment -- I called them, "Gentlemen."  Turning to my left, and then my right, I looked them both directly in the eye and said, "Gentlemen, I'm offended by your conversation, and I'm asking you to stop. Please stop your conversation."

They were flustered for a moment, and then the man on my right said, "You're right, ma'am.  I'm sorry."

I really believe, somehow, they felt my intention not to judge, condemn or fear them.  For the remaining 20 minutes of our shared ride, we actually got into an enjoyable conversation about gender-relations.  I asked them, "Would you talk that way in front of your Mothers, Sisters, Daughters, Nieces?"  They openly admitted that they wouldn't.  "Well, maybe you could give the same consideration to Mothers, Sisters, Daughters and Nieces who aren't yours?"  They received the suggestion, and even thanked me for it.  There was genuine rapport between us, and our whole lil' section of the train-car had a feeling of upliftment, like something clean and fragrant had just swept through it.

Believing in the humanity of every soul, including my own, is an empathic choice.  Sometimes, we'll be called to see the desired end, from the beginning.  Start from the atmosphere or experience you want to be true.  Trust in your ability to bring that adjustment into actuality.  Little steps, taken again and again.  When space is made for the height of our potential, it's pure joy to see us rise into it.

How do you feel about believing in the goodness of yourself/others, and calling it forth when it seems to be hiding?

Never waste a good mad. Or a good heat.

I got the first piece of advice from a sweet Jesuit nun in grad school.  It worked.  So I added the second part.  I was a long-time celibate urban mystic.  And as you can imagine, there were lots of emotions and longings to sort through.  I chose to use rising crescendos of energy (whether rage or rhapsody) purposefully.  I milked the feelings, and turned them into fuel.

I found that anger was best for cleaning things.  And horniness was best for creating things.

When Life wants to come through you, it can feel aphrodisiacal.  Like warm whispers on your neck.  That is Life readying you -- indoctrinating you with desire.  It’s no different from sap filling a tree, or salmon spawning its eggs.  Life's Fire shoots up, into an irrepressible mandate that something must get made.  If not love, then art.  Or a meal.  Or, maybe, a book.

I’ve spent the last several years percolating.  Metabolizing.  Sublimating.  All kinds of revelations and stimulations.  So much so, I’m gonna pop.  I mean, publish.

The way to cross the bridge between light-filled THOUGHT and love-influenced FORM is to direct your concentrated vigor downward -- from your head, through your heart, and into your loins, where erotic and procreative power reside.

My creative journey has tapped into a lively shade of red.  More frank.  Less coy.  Adult.  Blessing and integrating ALL that I am.  Sacred and sensual.  Stardust and flesh.

From Midwife to Mother

Her capacity
to Be With Other
was epic.

She had a way
of making you feel
so seen and held.

So she was entrusted
to help lots of mamas
birth their dream-babies.

And this was fine
until her own womb
filled, with light. Life.

She reconfigured things.
Cleared clutter.  Made room
for her own dream-baby.

At night, she heard belly-whispers
that encouraged and prepared her:

"I am coming for your big love.
I am a handful, a heart-full,
and am envious of distraction.
Tend to me, and I will tend to you.
Together, we will bless even more
people than you ever did before."

What kind of dream-baby
announces itself like this?

Apparently, my kind.
The first (of many)
is due Mid-November.
__________________________________________________________________________________

I'm curious: Have you had a similiar shift in your creative life, where your emphasis changed from supporting the delivery of others' work (midwife), to directing the delivery of your own work (mother)?  How did that creative transition feel to you?  How did it impact others?

Say what you mean.

                        Photo credit to Long Nguyen Thanh, "Yin Yang."

Queen's Pink

Friday evening
droops
from a week's herculean effort.
Workers freed by 5 o'clock
don't looked gladdened.
Trudge. Grudge.
Dangling dreams of respite
mixed with city sirens,
and low-grade self-pity,
suddenly INTERRUPTED
by an outrageous SLAP
from conspiring petals
planted at a bustling corner
to uplift the weary
with beauty and hope.
The worker bee remembered her crown,
adjusted it, while deciding:

"Well, if they can keep their splendor
 in rushing fumes and angry horns,
so can I."