Birthday Piece

It is always the off-birthdays that sneak up on me. I had no problem with 21, with 25, with 30. But 19. Oof. 27. Also oof. And apparently, 34. Oof oof oof.

My husband reminded me this morning that today is my last day in my early thirties. As of tomorrow I will officially be in mid-thirties. Mortality is a bitch, peeps. A bitch.

Today is an interesting day, because I was actually born at midnight between June 29 and June 30. So I always think of June 29 as a bit of a birthday too, even though officially it is June 30. And having now gone through it myself, the time of labor is a miraculous period, right?

My one moment of nirvana was while I was in labor. I looked around and thought, holy mack, all these people have mothers. ALL THESE PEOPLE WERE BORN. SOMEONE WAS PREGNANT WITH THEM AND THEN THEY WERE BORN. What a gift. It made me realize how precious, how much love, goes into all of us. Which is a happy thought.

Focusing on happy thoughts today is a good goal, right? Because honestly, I am feeling a little bloated, a little lonely, a little disappointed. A little in need of a stiff drink. Which I know does not actually stop the pain, but man, it does dull it. Which is also a gift.

Perhaps some cake would also be a good idea. Made with love. Someone I love did send me 12 cupcakes. And I am grateful, even though I'm also dancing around them like a snake dancer 'round a rattler. Among other things, they offer a little space, a little peace.

 "All I want is a little peace! A little piece of Poland,
A little piece of France,
A little piece of Austria
And Hungary, perchance!
A little slice of Turkey
And all that that entails,
And then a bit of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales!"

Mel Brooks is also a happy thought. Wish me luck, my friends. 

Flying/Moon

Last night was the SUPERmoon for 2013. It was amazing.

I know this because at about midnight, Lil decided she had to go to the bathroom. Outside. In the grass. Jason was trying to talk her out of this when I finally came out of the dream I'd been dreaming and realized what was going on.

Considering the circumstances, it seemed totally appropriate that my woodsprite child, buck nekked already, would want to go outside and take a piss under the fullest moon of the year. So I held her hand and out we went.  The moon really was amazing.

And then when we came back inside she wanted, as she often does these days, for me to lie down with her in her room till she fell asleep. I am fairly often happy to do so, as I get to snuggle her and smell her hair, and all of those gooey mama cliches that are so remarkably true. And while I was lying there listening to her suck her fingers I remembered my dream.

I fly a lot in my dreams, in a very Douglas Adams sort of "falling up" kind of way.  Usually it is not that exciting: a run and a leap and then a sort of gliding up high for a while. Last night felt very vivid, like a memory, and I was somewhere sandy, sort of like eastern California-evergreeny-meadowy-desert landscape and I had been swimming and flying and sort of doing my thing. And I wanted to fly back to where I was supposed to be, and there was a family coming up behind /passing me on the path, so I politely said "excuse me" and started doing the running-leaping thing that proceeds my style of dream-flying. And then I took off and was flying through the trees and the mama of the family started freaking out and calling to Jesus in Spanish, which also sort of freaked me out, because I thought what I was doing was perfectly normal, and so I grabbed onto some trees to get me higher up and leapt off and grabbed some other trees, which eventually led to a domestic building of apartments or dorms or something, and then I put my foot, which was wearing a dark espadrille, onto the building's railings and knocked on the window so some stranger could let me in and I could get out of the view of this family that was freaking out at me.  And that's when my daughter woke me up.

Now, what I think about this is:

1. Isn't it cool how things that at one point feel totally impossible and improbable (like flying) can, with frequency of use, feel totally quotidian?
2.  I felt very wordless in the dream, and I liked it.  I think I want to practice that quietude more.
3. What is the significance of the espadrille?

I wonder if we are always having dreams like this, but that we don't know how to hold onto them very well, so we don't remember most of them.   I am looking for help on this, so if you have any, send it my way. Also, I highly recommend the experience of peeing outside on a summer night, with or without the toddler.

IMPORTANT COINCIDENCES

AFTER, by the way, AFTER, I posted yesterday, I went to dance class.

Which was all about.... wait for it...

JUICINESS! AND FEELING JUICY!

AND:

then I was reading a blog that I love but do not always have a chance to read, and it mentioned how important an author was, who happens to be the author of the textbook for a class on writing and somatic movement I am taking this summer.

AND:

this morning I was waiting for a particular song to come on Pandora, and just as one of my favorite people walked in the door, it PLAYED. Like a theme song.

So if that isn't the universe reaching out, I dunno what is. WHOOHOO!

Solstice

I have been thinking about beauty this morning, because it is the official Summer Solstice and there is so much abundant free-floating natural gorgeous out there these days. My lord, New England has been showing off of late.

I am not just thinking about the beauty of a spider web shining in the sun, or fresh cherries, or clouds so full of rain they are busting. ( Cloudburst, by the way is an amazing word.) Because holy mackerel, have you seen the people out there these days? I feel like I keep getting sideswiped by long legs and ponytails and tight t-shirts. This morning at the bakery the girl behind the counter had a jewel just floating about four inches above her cleavage. She was stunning.

Earlier this week I was talking to a friend about this particular kind of beauty, which women are so good at employing. Because the jewel was objectively beautiful, as was the girl, and together it was just amazing, but also I felt a tug of manipulation, or something, because of the sexiness. And this is what I've been chewing on. Is beauty all about sex? 

This is a thought that is sometimes more comfortable than other times. It depends on how I  defining sex. If I  am defining sex as penis in vagina, then yech. Back away, no thank you.  But if I think of sex as abundance, as magic, as juicy backbone, then ok. 

Which brings me back to beauty, and how we are always worrying about being beautiful, and how to be more beautiful, and who is more beautiful than us. My friend was stressed out because someone she wanted to have sex with was being hunted by another woman, who was younger, and also a burlesque dancer. The burlesque dancer was reputed to be very comfortable nude, which makes sense given her profession. Ok, so when my friend told me about her concerns my immediate thought was that nude does not guarantee seduction, and who cares? But the unrecognized thought was that it wasn't really about nudity or whatever, it was about my friend's feelings of not being beautiful enough, of not being chosen, of there not  being enough loving to go around.

I am not sure how this is going to play out for me, but I think it has some strong correlation to why women are mean to each other. So how do we get to a point of recognizing the amazing abundance of beauty? And how one beautiful thing only adds to our own beauty? And see that in each other? Or is that horrifically naive? 

And sex. Hmmm. And sex.  While I am typing this, two dragonflies are getting it on by my foot. The solstice used to at least be in part about getting laid. The dragonflies certainly seem to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps I will put aside the larger questions, however tempting such cerebrality might be and attempt to simply soak in the longest day.

How do you measure, measure a year?

This weekend we visited with family again. And we saw a good family friend who just happens to be a psychic in Provincetown, where the ions are extra witchy.  She is lovely, her name is Carolyn Miller and her studio is in the Whaler's Wharf on Commercial St, third floor, so if you are lucky enough to be in town, go visit. She also leaves free books outside her office door, which just makes me want to hug everyone.

Anyhoo. All the women got their aura pictures taken. Have you ever done this? I am a big fan. Because it is part of this hidden language thing I love so much. It is the mysterious universe talking to us through colors, which is of course of course ALWAYS happening, through trees, and skies, and birds and all that. 

I had my first one done a year ago, when I was newly pregnant, and just starting to really shift my whole worldview.

It was deeply disappointing. I had gone in expecting all kinds of deep cool colors and bright spots of angelic helpers, and what I got was pure red, with some gold around the heart. I went home and picked a huge fight with Jason and then had to go on a long walk to figure out I did not WANT to have an aura the color of power, the densest color, the most rooted to the physical, the color of ego. I remember walking in the Cape woods thinking, "I am so calm! I am the serene one; I believe in fairies,  I take good care of other people, what the f*&$?"

AH, it was such a gift. I am a person of power. I am enormously physical in ways I had totally blocked. I love myself so much.  And I am most definitely someone who when thwarted must think carefully about how to react, and even most 'specially about what thwarted even means.

So I was really excited to see what this year's might reveal. And now that Lil is old enough to keep her hands on the plates and understand what's going on, to see what her's might have to say.  Here they are:

 

Mine is the one higher up on the bulletin board, and Lil's is lower down. (I have to say, it is an amazingly beautiful picture of my girl.)

It also amazes me that there are such similarities in our pictures, which were not shared by the rest of the family. We both have bright bright purple in our recent past (mine is brighter than hers) and are moving toward green (hers is brighter than mine).  We both have a guide on our left sides, and we both have clear spots near our throats/lungs. Mine is particularly pronounced, which is related to healing, which I love, because I have been thinking so much about using my voice, and healing my asthma, and remembering to breathe deeply so as to access the big "treasure chest" in my solar plexus. 

The golden orange all around me is a very happy color. It also relates to reproductive organs and emotions, which makes a lot of sense since that has been a focus of late. It is also the color of creative vitality, and an outgoing social nature. It also can indicate that I am currently experiencing stress related to appetites and addictions. Heh. THINGS TO THINK ABOUT. 

The purple means that I believe deeply in magic, and have become more attuned to my needs and wants, and the yellow-green that I am moving towards is about change, and my heart, and using my heart to communicate. 

Lil's is all about learning to express herself, and studying, and about how sensitive and intuitive she is, and how important peace and harmony are to her. I love that about her. I know that about her, of course, but it so helps to be reminded that she is such a love-centered little girl, who is trying to find her way. Also I am reassured because she does seem to have a lot of angelic creatures loving on her (up high, in the ether above her head, where they are happiest).

I believe more and more that all roads lead to Rome.  That is doesn't matter what methods you use, what beliefs help center you, what walks you walk and talks you talk. 

What is most important is to be true, to be a benefit, to experience everything as fully as possible and to love. For me, however, it is nice to have a little concrete evidence to hold in one's hand, to have a koan or a mantra or a picture,  and to have insightful human beings help translate the message.

James Richardson, ooowee.

This I saw in the NY Times Magazine this Sunday, because my parents were here and my mom does the crossword, so we got the rest of the paper. I was so glad we did, because James Richardson, ooooooweeee.

One of the Evenings

After so many years, we know them.
This is one of the older Evenings - its patience,
settling in, its warmth that wants nothing in return.
Once on a balcony among trees, once by a slipping river,
so many Augusts sitting out through sunset-
first a dimness in the undergrowth like smoke,
and then like someone you hadn't noticed
has been in the room a long time...

It has seen everything that can be done in the dark.
It has seen two rifles swing around
to train on each other, it has seen lovers meet and revolve,
it has seen wounds grayscale in low light.
It has come equally for those who prayed for it
and those who turned on lamp after lamp
until they could not see. It deals evenhandedly
with the one skimming downstairs rapidly as typing,
the one washing plates too loudly,
the one who thinks there's something more important,
since it doesn't believe in protagonists,
since it knows anyone could be anyone else.

It has heard what they said aloud to the moon to the stars
and what they could not say,
walking alone and together. It has gotten over
I cannot live through this, it has gotten over This did not have to happen
and This experience one day I will be glad for.
It has gotten over How even for a moment
could I have forgotten? though it never forgets,
leaves nothing behind, does not believe in stories,
since nothing is over, only beginning somewhere else.

It could be anywhere but it is here
with the kids who play softball endlessly not keeping score,
though it's getting late, way too late,
holding their drives in the air like invisible moons a little longer,
giving way before them so they feel like they're running faster.
It likes trees, I think, it likes summer. It seems comfortable with us,
though it is here to help us be less ourselves.
It thinks of its darkening as listening harder and harder.

James Richardson