Philosophy and a Pork Platter

Driving to pick up some barbecue for dinner today, I had a revelation.  It stems from the outfit I’m wearing today.

I’ll explain.

I’m wearing a dress today that I have had for a long time, maybe a year or so.  There’s nothing wrong with it.  The dress is lovely and light, perfect for Summertime and it fits me well.  It’s yellow and floral and frilly and beautiful, and I have until today been afraid to wear it.

Wait, what?

Who’s afraid of a dress (I mean besides the big white ones that come with rings and dramatic promises)?  Well, this girl was, for a number of reasons.

First, this dress is bright and happy, and I wasn’t feeling that way.  Yellow is not a color that says “I am moody” or “Don’t talk to me”.  It screams, “Smile!” and “Sunny day bicycle ride” and “Let’s go get a popsicle together!”

Second, this dress is sexy. 

To clarify: it’s not a sexy dress.  It’s not what you think of when I say the word “sexy”.  (Yes, there’s a difference.)  This dress isn’t cut to hug every curve or show a lot of skin.  It covers much of me and it flows away from my skin in the breeze.  But when I put it on, it feels like I’m wrapping myself in a long-forgotten version of me, or perhaps she’s a brand-new version I’ve not become.

For most of my life, in my friend groups, I have not taken on the role of Sexy Friend. Historically, I’ve played the part of a sincere friend, helpful friend, aloof friend, sidekick friend, even bitchy sarcastic friend on certain late nights and weekends.  Never was I up front, sitting center, or walking in slow-mo to maximize the effect that me walking by might have.  That’s just not who I am – or how I saw myself – outside of the confines of my own living space.

Wearing this dress today I have felt open, and sexy, and radiant, and … well, happy.  True happy, which is way above fake-it-til-you-make-it happy or posing for a photograph happy.  I’m talking true, puppy who just got adopted, tail wagging so hard it’s spinning me in circles, happy.

So this dress – or rather, the beams of light radiating from me as I float through the world in this dress today – got me thinking about good energy vs bad energy, or high vibration vs low vibration, and what happens when the two meet in human form.

For example, let’s say you’re feeling fly like a G6 and smiling and saying hello to your neighbors and even when the barista gets your coffee order wrong you’re still singing in the car all the way to work because you’re grateful to have that kind of First World problems.  Then you run into a kindred spirit who is similarly cheerful, grateful, and radiating light.  You are instantly attracted.  Not in a romantic way, but in recognition. You want to be near them, and it’s not really a thought as much as it is a pulling feeling in the center of the chest or navel area.

This attraction happens because you’re reflecting back to them the light that they are.  You are vibrating at a high frequency, and their vibration is at a similar frequency, and your inner beings create harmony together. The divinity in them recognizes the divinity in you.  It’s like a soul hug.  Or a Vulcan mind-meld but with less agonized screaming.

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“I can literally FEEL the gratitude.”

On the other side of that, (and this is the really important part for me because I am living it out and I literally just realized what is going on) when someone is repelled by you and your light (the you that is functioning as a divine light being having a human experience, your best self), two things are happening:

One, you are reflecting back to them what they are not – which is to say, what they are but they are not currently BEING or choosing to be, because in truth they always are the divine and the light, just as you are.**  When they see and feel your energy, they immediately feel things like guilt, or shame, or insecurity.  This is not your fault.  It’s only because you act as a mirror for them to see themselves clearly and for many people, that’s too much information that they’d rather not look at so closely.

Two, you are in high vibration and high frequency and they are at a lower vibration, which creates dissonance.  You both experience disharmony.   Again, it’s not a thought, and very seldom does the conscious mind understand what’s happening.  It’s not a soul hug this time, it’s more like a soul wedgie.  It is a feeling within that instead of pulling, pushes.  You want to get away from them and likely, they want to either get away from you as well or to lower your vibration so that it matches theirs (and therefore you are in harmony, which FEELS better.)

Side note:  When this happens it’s very common to lose friends, family members, and other people from our lives unexpectedly and sometimes in big and messy ways.  Harsh words are said, feelings are hurt, pride is injured. They will do what they can (unconsciously) to lower your vibration because it’s comfortable for them.  It is easier to lower frequency than to raise it, so please be aware of yourself and do what it takes to keep yourself shining light.

In my mind, losing friends is preferable to lowering vibration.  To achieve higher vibration there has to be a willingness to confront and integrate the shadow, to heal the inner child and old traumas, to cut out discordant beliefs, fears, and stories.  It is hard work.  The reward for that work is the privelege of embodying a version of yourself that isn’t dependent on outer circumstances and isn’t easily changed by being in the company of lower-vibe people.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

All of this happened in my mind in the span of about 8 minutes, and I really couldn’t wait to come home and write it down.

 

**No person is really darkness except he who chooses to be (and even in that choice, he is just denying the light he came from, not truly existing as darkness.)

 

 

Anniversary

It’s been one month. The time has flown but in my heart, it feels like it’s been 5 years.  What does it feel like there?

I get turned around, don’t know what day it is a lot. I can’t do math or count very well, though I have no idea what that has to do with missing you.

Talking to mom on the phone and even as we are talking about your passing, she said: “Maman’s here!” I jumped.  Totally expected to hear your voice.  Gut punch.

Mostly I look forward. Life is a gift, I know.  I remember the Lauren Hutton interview where she quotes King Lear while talking about reminiscing.  “Not that way, never that way.  That way madness lies.”  That way madness lies.  So much truth in that line.

One month down.  All of them to go.  I love you. Je t’aime.

DFW

That story –

The one about David Foster Wallace

Winning a prestigious award months after

Stepping into the abyss,

Believing he and his life and his work

Were worthless…

I don’t know if it’s true but

It comes to mind a lot.

I started reading him after I heard that story.

Talented, raw, stunningly gifted.

I am full of rage today

White-hot flame that accompanies

Grief of this magnitude

I’m pissed that my life hasn’t gone anywhere

Embarrassed that you probably

Aren’t proud

And I am ready to be done with

All this bullshit

So. Much. Bullshit.

Maybe I’ll never amount to anything?

That’s where it seems to be headed

All these talented people around me

Some are horrible, liars and cheats who

Got ahead

Some are authentic and totally

Deserve success.

They are my peers.

Am I the exception that proves this rule?

I work and wait and hope and believe

And nothing happens.

I feel stuck here, unloved, ordinary.

And I’m angry you are gone

Angry at life

Angry at death

Angry.

I’m no David Foster Wallace but

I think about him a lot these days.

Why Aren’t There More Love Poems

Why aren’t there more love poems

About Grandmothers?

Epic hero’s journey tales recounting

Their fantastic feats?

My Bonmama is nearly 93.

Once she was of noble blood, a beauty queen

Raven hair, dark eyes, sharp wit.

She is trilingual, a WWII military translator

An immigrant, a mother of 5, an entrepreneur

In short,

She moved mountains with her bare hands

(Usually before breakfast.)

Later in her life,

After raising all her children

Building a business

Assimilating into a foreign culture

Earning retirement,

She raised two more kids.

Not half-heartedly, not begrudgingly

But with love, enthusiasm, and candor.

My grandmother is my mother.

She is my very best girlfriend.

She is extraordinary.

Every time I talk to her I feel home

(In the way that only her home has ever felt)

She gave me culture, humor, and grit

She is my beacon and my true North.

And I’m sitting here after a long late chat

Wondering why no one writes love poems

About Grandmothers

My Bonmama has loved me more honestly

More enduringly, more enthusiastically

Than any other, and in return I have

Tried to treasure her, honor and humor her

Though nothing could repay her for

Her heart

Which I know I hold in my hands

Perhaps the challenge is in articulating

The greatness of a woman unprecedented

Unparalleled

There are no sufficient words to express

All that she has been and continues to be

For me.

And so no poems are written here,

No songs are sung

She is otherworldly.

Too dear for this kind of thing

I’ll keep it to myself, then.

I’ll keep it between us –

Where it has always been.

Maybe I Am

If I was a voodoo priestess

(Maybe I am, maybe I am)

I’d keep your tongue in a jar

Your eyes on a shelf

Your heart buried in the yard

Behind my house.

He Was Wearing a Red Shirt

I had the worst dream of my life last night.

In all my 39 years I have never experienced a dream like that one.  I hope I never will again.  Give me demons, give me suffocation, give me any of the other dreams that have scared me awake in the past.  I’ll take them gladly, in exchange for this one.

I woke up choking on my own sobs, absolutely breaking down in my bed, somewhere in the middle of consciousness.  When I finally looked up and realized I was in my room, I cried louder but this time they were big, hot tears of gratitude and relief.

It was only a dream? I walked over and checked on my kids, placing a hand on each one to feel them breathing.  I sighed.  I stood up and paced around fora while.

In my understanding, dreams are not just thoughts we have while sleeping. They are another level of consciousness, an alternate reality.  In sleep we travel to the dimensions we cannot reach when we are awake.  Dreams represent the subconscious mind, intuition, possibility, and the unknown realms.  Sometimes they offer solutions, sometimes they offer us greater insight into ourselves.  Sometimes they destroy things in us that need to be destroyed, and that we are resistant to releasing, in order to move us forward towards our highest selves.

Consider me moved.

Recorded in my dream journal for future exploration, or maybe just to get it out of my head.  It could have easily been real, and I will always be grateful for the moment I woke up.

 

 

 

Inked

If you got a tattoo

For me

What would it be?

My eyes? My nose?

A beautiful rose?

No…

I think it must be

A star, or better

A whole constellation

Yes that’s what it will be

A constellation on fire!

More permanent

Than ink

Than a supernova

Than me or you,

Ancient

Ignited

Eternal

Within, without,

Above, below

Primal, ethereal

True.

So would you?

Still Life [version 1]

She grew up here, in this garden.

Rooted in the soil, watered by the rain and heated by the sun.  Not nourished by the sun, exactly, as she had never been brave enough to expose herself to its light.  Not refreshed by the rain, exactly, since she never let it touch her face. But this was fine.  This was life.

She was a tightly closed bud with delicate yellow petals, and even shut into herself like this, she was a wonder to behold. Every day people walked by the garden on their way to – she didn’t know where – and sometimes they’d stop and look at all the flowers and plants.  Their eyes were always drawn to her, because she was tall and graceful and otherworldly.  Still, they could not truly see her, as she remained tightly shut, afraid to let in the light.

One day, a man stopped on the sidewalk to peruse the flowers, as people often did.  He noticed her like all the rest before him, for she was tall and graceful and otherworldly.  But he didn’t just look at her and walk away.  Curious and inspired, he knelt gracefully beside the garden, leaned his face over her, and began to whisper in a voice so low that only she could hear.

He told her she was lovely – a treasure, if truth be told.  He told her she was a gift too precious to stay so tightly shut.  He told her she was unique, and he had never known another like her.  He told her it was safe to look upon the sunlight – that even though it might seem scary to expose her true self, the risk would be worth it.

When he was satisfied with all he had said, the man stood up, brushed the dirt off his hands, and walked away.

She – the tightly closed bud with delicate yellow petals – stood tall and motionless, but the man and his remarks touched her deeply.  His words echoed in the raindrops that fell heavy and loud over the garden that night.

The next morning, she decided to face her fears, and she began to stretch out her long, lovely petals. For the first time she felt a bit of the sun’s warmth inside her and she knew she could never be shut again.

Over the course of the day the beautiful yellow flower opened herself completely to the bright sun above.  She allowed herself to be vulnerable.  She allowed herself to be brave.  In doing so, she revealed her nearly indescribable beauty to the world around her, and she made it a better place.  People now stopped to photograph the garden and several of them gasped at the ethereal, glittering light that seemed to radiate out from the tips of her petals.  She was happier than she had ever been.

She had bloomed.

A few more days went by and the once tightly closed bud, who was now a fully realized golden garden goddess, began to notice some changes in herself.  Her leaves were drooping a bit, her petals sagging and falling off.  She knew what was happening, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.  Just as she was pondering her newly wilting countenance, she felt the cool of a shadow over her.  It was the kind stranger who had awakened her days earlier, come to whisper to her once more.

Ever so gently he leaned down and again spoke in a voice that only she could perceive.

He told her she was lovely, but more than that, she was brave.  He told her that her courage had transformed the world.  He pointed out that ladybugs, bees, and butterflies had been attracted to her radiant aura, her honey-like scent.  He told her about the crowds of people who had come to see her.  He told her he had painted a most incredible portrait of her and he thanked her for her gift.

When he was satisfied with all he had said, the man stood up, brushed off his hands, and walked away again.

By nightfall, the beautiful flower had wilted completely to the ground.  She lay there, cool in the dirt, and pondered her long life shut away from the sun – and her short but glorious time under its rays.  It was worth it, she knew.

She had been closed off for so long, until a magnanimous stranger simultaneously enlivened and doomed her.  His near-silent, secret whispers had provoked her to the edge of her greatest fears.  He had introduced her to the sun.  Oh! – the hot, beaming, delicious sunlight – and how it playfully danced and glided over her magnificent petals.  That was her favorite part.

She prepared herself for the slow and peaceful fading back down into the earth that had born her, and she considered the irony that in destroying herself she had finally learned what it was to live.

Her life had not been the garden, or the breeze, or the people walking by or even in how long she stood there, afraid and tightly shut.  No, all of that was simply existing.  For the tightly closed bud with the beautiful yellow petals, the meaning of life – and the measure of it, too – was in the blossoming.

Miss Mulitiverse

My perfect date is

Dancing in the kitchen

To Børns

“…tell me what is Heaven if

our souls are split in two?”

Baking and making

Dishes no one’s

Ever heard of

Twirling around

Like we did when

We were kids

Consumed by joy

Falling but unafraid

Light

Weightless

Free.

Oh, and World Peace. ✌️

Echo

Sending little notes

Emotional bread crumbs

Into the ether

Straining eyes and ears

For the slightest response

As if a ghost –

A vapor –

Might take the bait

And, hearing my words,

Whisper them back.