Life in Analog

It’s one of those days- when it doesn’t feel like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but rather traveled  to another dimension of myself. Wait, Im awake?

IMG_6428It’s just that I don’t know when I’ll be “me” again. Or if I’ll even know when I get there-like falling into an avalanche and suddenly not knowing which way is up- my internal navigation might be off.

I feel like a satellite pointed into the vast blackness of myself. But there’s too much electronic noise. Signal cant come through. They do say this is the problem with

analog—too much distortion

But I’m not digital. I can’t be digital. There just aren’t enough ones and zeros to color me completely from skin to marrow to soul.

Digital- I know, it’s more efficient. It’s all at our fingertips, everything we could possibly want to know. But the more I know, the less I feel, and that is perhaps my worst fear. I think there might be a direct correlation between how “me” I feel and how much of me I “feel”. It’s so easy to get lost in the doing, the going of life where each day becomes the next and each month the last. We can lose ourselves here, where the colors of life start to all bleed together.

We can all too easily forget who we are and what the fuck we’re here for when everything comes down to just getting it right, having the right information, the best, most calculated course of action.

I can Google every question I might have and fill my mind with more information about any one topic than could ever possibly be proven or peer reviewed, and even then, what does it matter? What does any of it matter if I can’t tell my own truth from another’s opinion?

Im not interested in what you know. Im interested in who you are when you’re naked, not just of clothes, but without judgements, and opinions., free of labels and shoulds’.

But the truth is, we are becoming more like satellites and less like animals. Still, the system we are running this data through is mostly water, this body is mostly body you see, and all of this information it creates insulation- between us and us.

Fillet me open. Take my beating heart and scrub the layers of doubt and fear from these hungry arteries. I know how to do nothing less with this gravity of life than to take the weight of oxygen and let it lift me from the inside out. I know nothing less, than to with prescience and precision,  turn my insides out and feel this world on the underside. What else is there?

I have no interest in the “right way”. No interest in becoming anything. I have every interest in being and feeling and doing this now with the most of me that I can muster. How much of me can I fill into the square inch of this moment. Let’s forget about the next. Let’s forget about the last. Let’s just forget everything. That’s a good place to start- from scratch.

You

What do I  want to write about? Truth-the taste of it. Dripping from salted, trembling lips-the kind that moves mountains within us. I want to talk about what It’s like to feel like you’ve hit “rock bottom” only to see the bottom is lined in golden foil and somehow light keeps getting into this darkened room that doesn’t quite live up to it’s reputation.

I don’t want to write about human perseverance, we eat that shit for breakfast. Every morning there is something in us that says “yes” to the mystery of it all. And so, we step into the day in unwavering devotion.

youIts more about what you do when you’ve had to fold. It’s what you do when everything seems to be telling you to STOP but the momentum for more, next, different, still swells in tsunami force within your quaking heart. It’s what you do to slow down long enough to count each line in the road, sometimes each crack in the pavement and trust that this will lead you, still blinded by the unknown.

I want to write about coming home. Coming home to your voice, your truth, and the echo of all that was and is no more. I want to write about coming home to you, only to realize that you’ve been “it” all along.

For My Son

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/11/for-my-son/

IMG_2146My son, with eyes as wide as a midnight sky.

I want him to always ask “why?”

Even when he knows the answer, I want him to ask “why” again.

Because each “why” should lead to another until his x lines up with the all the “whys” and he finds the ordinate of belief and reason—the point of infinite depth, muscle to soul cohesion.

When he goes to school, I don’t care for him to learn about dead presidents and wars upon wars.

I want his desk to be bare feet on wet dirt and his pencil, a shovel.

The only test that matters I’ll tell him, is this: How far are you at any moment from who you really are?

If you don’t know, stop, breathe, go slow, remember, you are never that far.

And if you ever feel lost, I’ll remind him, of his personal compass––his own two hands.

I want him to wear his heart not on his sleeve but the center of his palms. So each time he holds anything, it’s from the bottom of his heart. I’ll say:

“This is a good place to start. Do everything out of love. Do everything out of love.”

When you come to a fork in the road and you don’t know which way to go.

Take the high, because honey, if there’s one thing I know about the low—it’s that you reap what you sow.

My son says mom, I love you more than chocolate bagels with cloud sprinkles. And I say, I love you all the way to Jupiter and back down, but slow like rain returning to the ocean.

Because I want him to feel life and love—but in slow motion.

If I have I one wish for you it’s that your heart just keeps expanding and when the wind blows hard you don’t fall, just lean—because you’re rooted, not just standing.

You see, there’s a gear and it’s for landing but be sure only to use it when necessary because otherwise, high above the trees, you see the panoramic view. You’ll see the mountains to the sea and all the inlets and valleys in between.

And these valleys you should walk on moonless nights.

To know the depth of your inner being, that is your birthright.

And the man you’ll be when you walk through will give you a whole new sense of the saying “be” not “do.”

When you face yourself head-on there’s no need to ever hide.

There’s no need to “play it cool” no place for empty pride.

And remember take this all, take this all in stride.
Life can be a series of disappointments and getting over disappointments.

It can also be a dance, danced backwards and a song where every note is just a little off.

But your job is not to make a perfect life but to fully own an imperfect one. 

Your job baby, is when the monsters come out of your closet, not to run, not to go out and buy a gun but to learn that this life is to be lived, not won.
~

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Raw, Dirty, Beautiful

photo 2 (1)I like bendable things. The things that bend and stretch and start out one color but due to dirt or food or both turn into something else completely in your hands-kinda like putty. I remember as a kid opening the little egg-shaped container and rolling it around the kitchen table, stamping the newspaper and then stamping my hand with backwards letters.

We seem to have it all skewed. We seem to think so often that those parts of our lives, the ones we would rather recreate into a whole new story with different characters, are what separates us from others. In truth, I think its what binds us- the raw, the dirty and the beautiful. Maybe its even in this sequence that we begin to articulate and integrate these moments- at first feeling the rawness, then the shame or discomfort, only to be followed by the allowing and the intangible beauty of seeing something so out of place, fit perfectly together with our own evolution.

I like to look for these memories now. The ones that hide out like cunning children avoiding punishment in the alcoves of our minds. I like to see them emerge from the darkness, mud on their tiny faces and stolen joy in their hands clasped tight behind their backs. I just invite them. Nothing more, than invite them with no other agenda to come out. It’s in this space of agendaless authenticity that these little ones begin to speak with their eyes, and in moment-transform.

Wisdom

photo 4-1To know and be known.  This life—a falling in love with oneself. Deeper deeper deeper. We are mirror images of others, but only in so much to know ourselves more fully. To accept in another—ourselves, we must forgive, as to ask nothing different from the past. We must. Because it is ourselves in this moment we are really allowing.  We are asked, “What would Love say?” and that is truth. Truth is not heard, but felt. We must feel and muster the courage to siphon truth from our bellies and up to our throats. We must allow it to dance onto our tongue and drip from our lips before our mind lassos it up with all the other “is”’s and it goes from crystal to mud. From flame to ashes. For the mind, is the graveyard of wisdom. True wisdom, comes from the gristmill of inner knowing and courage. It waits patiently at the your doorstep for you to arrive home and somehow, always feels like a surprise visit from an old friend.  Wisdom, like water, moves drop by drop, softly shaping the calcified mind into the infinite it always was.