This weekend I danced with a partner - a real, live flesh and blood partner. In a club no less. It was a bit of a head trip. I haven't danced in a club since my party like a rockstar days. I didn't know what to wear, where to go, how to navigate... hello outside edge of my comfort zone.
I have been on a warrior's path since I can remember. Adventure beyond belief has graced my footsteps. I have traveled the human experience both externally and internally in a way few others are drawn. I have chosen to meet life on my terms, in my way, by myself.
The warrior's path is often lonely. Loneliness has been a price I am willing to pay for freedom and my quest for Truth. My physical body now asks me to explore a new way of being. Community, partnership, relatedness. All of these things confuse me.
Truth be told, I didn't think I would enjoy getting down with another body so close to me. In the last decade the few partner dancing situations I have encountered have felt heavy, like a wet blanket dropped on my dancing soul. My date blew my mind, as he loves to do. He's got rhythm, he's got style. I don't know how to follow.
As I relaxed a little I found myself getting into a groove. Over the night I never really got fully into my groove. I don't know my groove with another. I had a great time trying. I have to remember I'm learning a new skill - it takes time.
Dance is a great metaphor for life, especially for me since dance is my spiritual practice, where I come Home to mySelf. I suspect a lot of partner dancing will teach me to navigate this new era of belonging.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Surrender and Fear of Commitment
Several years ago, without knowing it, I committed to my life being a Spiritual Journey. Taking this step is one of many fortuitous accidents that continue to shape me. As a seeker I am part of several communities - ones I never fully commit to. My dance with community and humanity is asking to be explored. It is one that confounds me. As a person with serious commitment issues I anticipate this will be a curious journey over the next few years.
I am deeply and wholeheartedly committed to my development as a human being. There is nothing else I can trust with no doubt to commit to. Deep in the recesses of my heart I yearn to belong in the fabric of humanity. It is something that calls me, for my development and my contribution. Through my inner travels I have felt myself fully integrated in the natural world, woven into the thread of all existence. I KNOW in every cell of my Being I am a part of the fabric of life.
Fractured in my experience that doesn't translate to people. I trust rattlesnakes more than people - you always know what to expect with a rattlesnake! There are a lot of practical reasons for this with my history... and some lesson I don't yet know how to learn (stay tuned).
In many Spiritual Traditions surrender to a teacher is part of the process. Being who I am I doubt I will ever surrender to a human teacher (other than possibly a lover) in that way. Teachers are first and foremost human, and therefore fallible. For me to surrender I need a bigger holding environment. In my journey, at this point in time, Life herself is the teacher, the lesson and the gift of practice.
A poem I wrote in May on an experience of surrender - I recognized that a decade of dating addicts was a sign of my lack of trust for Life to provide what I really want in a partner: a Spiritual Warrior who can be Present. My surrender in the end lead to progress on my quest.
How the Light Got In (homage to Leonard Cohen)
I feel like a junkie
With my bad boy lust,
Insatiable hunger
for an adrenaline rush.
Arousal or fear?
I can’t tell the difference
It’s an addicts’ high
Compulsively I seek it.
Life on the razor’s edge, bleeding
The only way I feel a thing
The ritual seduction
with trembling desire:
Cocaine
Whips, chains
The pleasure of pain.
EVERY high ends with a crash
In unfillable emptiness
Left in his wake.
I see him in strangers
Who look nothing like him.
His hungry, strung out eyes
Haunting me
For seven years.
His love playful, generous
Accepting the wild child
more often judged.
He forgot one small thing-
His family.
Etched in my body memory
His head on my chest
“so sorry” for life
That wasn’t meant to be.
Seduced, discarded, dismissed.
Coldplay serenaded the break-up
Renegotiated several times over four years,
Not a sober day among them.
Thin white lines drew me from narcotized sleep
To the sharp, intrusive day
With an emptiness so vast not 100 bodies could fill.
Frequent, intense, fear, pain
A brain wired for addiction by violence
Adrenaline, dopamine
The cycle repeats
With felons and addicts filling the beats
A new face, a new story
A new visit to the empty well.
Seduced, discarded, dismissed.
Heroin his solace,
His imprisonment my salvation,
Recovery my quest.
Cocaine dropped in an instant
With one jarring image.
Addiction to criminal addicts
a longer journey that brings me
defeated and humbled to
Resonance
in a room full of equally broken souls.
God – grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change
the courage to change the things I can
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Pathologically self-reliant.
Trust?
Fuck.
I would rather walk
Through burning forests
Slaying dragons
With one long sword.
Pathologically self-reliant.
Hot, wet tears stain my skin
with the discovery
I will be in recovery
For the rest of my life.
Please God, is there another way?
Her lips curve in a knowing smile.
She repeats. Trust.
On my knees, where I never go, pleading.
You know I will DO anything.
If I can just DO something,
I’ve got ninja skills.
Then Trust.
Give me something else I scream
Fists ready for a fight.
I have. Now Trust.
Helpless, a tear laced confession,
“I don’t know how”
In that breath peace washes over me.
Surrender. There’s trust.
I am deeply and wholeheartedly committed to my development as a human being. There is nothing else I can trust with no doubt to commit to. Deep in the recesses of my heart I yearn to belong in the fabric of humanity. It is something that calls me, for my development and my contribution. Through my inner travels I have felt myself fully integrated in the natural world, woven into the thread of all existence. I KNOW in every cell of my Being I am a part of the fabric of life.
Fractured in my experience that doesn't translate to people. I trust rattlesnakes more than people - you always know what to expect with a rattlesnake! There are a lot of practical reasons for this with my history... and some lesson I don't yet know how to learn (stay tuned).
In many Spiritual Traditions surrender to a teacher is part of the process. Being who I am I doubt I will ever surrender to a human teacher (other than possibly a lover) in that way. Teachers are first and foremost human, and therefore fallible. For me to surrender I need a bigger holding environment. In my journey, at this point in time, Life herself is the teacher, the lesson and the gift of practice.
A poem I wrote in May on an experience of surrender - I recognized that a decade of dating addicts was a sign of my lack of trust for Life to provide what I really want in a partner: a Spiritual Warrior who can be Present. My surrender in the end lead to progress on my quest.
How the Light Got In (homage to Leonard Cohen)
I feel like a junkie
With my bad boy lust,
Insatiable hunger
for an adrenaline rush.
Arousal or fear?
I can’t tell the difference
It’s an addicts’ high
Compulsively I seek it.
Life on the razor’s edge, bleeding
The only way I feel a thing
The ritual seduction
with trembling desire:
Cocaine
Whips, chains
The pleasure of pain.
EVERY high ends with a crash
In unfillable emptiness
Left in his wake.
I see him in strangers
Who look nothing like him.
His hungry, strung out eyes
Haunting me
For seven years.
His love playful, generous
Accepting the wild child
more often judged.
He forgot one small thing-
His family.
Etched in my body memory
His head on my chest
“so sorry” for life
That wasn’t meant to be.
Seduced, discarded, dismissed.
Coldplay serenaded the break-up
Renegotiated several times over four years,
Not a sober day among them.
Thin white lines drew me from narcotized sleep
To the sharp, intrusive day
With an emptiness so vast not 100 bodies could fill.
Frequent, intense, fear, pain
A brain wired for addiction by violence
Adrenaline, dopamine
The cycle repeats
With felons and addicts filling the beats
A new face, a new story
A new visit to the empty well.
Seduced, discarded, dismissed.
Heroin his solace,
His imprisonment my salvation,
Recovery my quest.
Cocaine dropped in an instant
With one jarring image.
Addiction to criminal addicts
a longer journey that brings me
defeated and humbled to
Resonance
in a room full of equally broken souls.
God – grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change
the courage to change the things I can
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Pathologically self-reliant.
Trust?
Fuck.
I would rather walk
Through burning forests
Slaying dragons
With one long sword.
Pathologically self-reliant.
Hot, wet tears stain my skin
with the discovery
I will be in recovery
For the rest of my life.
Please God, is there another way?
Her lips curve in a knowing smile.
She repeats. Trust.
On my knees, where I never go, pleading.
You know I will DO anything.
If I can just DO something,
I’ve got ninja skills.
Then Trust.
Give me something else I scream
Fists ready for a fight.
I have. Now Trust.
Helpless, a tear laced confession,
“I don’t know how”
In that breath peace washes over me.
Surrender. There’s trust.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Keen Body Awareness is a Double-Edged Sword
I'll start with a confession: I occasionally smoke cigarettes. If you know me this will probably shock you, if you don't and you know my yoga tendencies and health freakishness this will probably shock you as well.
So why do it?
Anxiety. I was blessed with an over-active nervous system which gets me out doing adventurous things... and gives me overwhelming anxiety when I am bound to a desk, bored, lonely or going through a major life change.
At my last Diamond Approach weekend I shared this unusual smokin' tidbit about myself and one of the older ladies in the group (I am the youngest by a generation) said, "why don't you question what the anxiety is about instead of smoking?"
"Well, I smoke a couple of cigarettes every several years so I'm not too worried about it. You don't think I spend every waking moment questioning? That's what I do. 2000 hours of formal training over the last several years means I've got a highly honed skill. Sometimes is best to just let it go and thank the chemicals for their assistance."
As I watch my body rage an autoimmune disorder battle I weep from my tailbone to my toes and through the pores of my skin. Sometimes I compassionately numb the trembling with a cigarette and when I'm lucky with a hug or loving massage. When I experience betrayal I tremble all the way through my Being in the same way, pierced to the core. The double-edged sword is that I no longer have the power to repress or hide from the darkness. This means I experience it and the freedom encapsulated in the process.
The gift in feeling the pain so intensely is that I learn to make decisions that honor me while I yearn for deep, rich connection.
And -
When I watch the sun set or enjoy the company of someone dear to me who is Present as well it is one of the richest blessings you can imagine. I feel the love and beauty permeate through my very Being. I vibrate with the ferocious intensity of Life.
In that I have the opportunity to mirror it back to You. If you have the courage, I invite you to come with me on the road less traveled - you will be more alive and more connected than you could imagine. It's only hard 'cause it's worth it.
So why do it?
Anxiety. I was blessed with an over-active nervous system which gets me out doing adventurous things... and gives me overwhelming anxiety when I am bound to a desk, bored, lonely or going through a major life change.
At my last Diamond Approach weekend I shared this unusual smokin' tidbit about myself and one of the older ladies in the group (I am the youngest by a generation) said, "why don't you question what the anxiety is about instead of smoking?"
"Well, I smoke a couple of cigarettes every several years so I'm not too worried about it. You don't think I spend every waking moment questioning? That's what I do. 2000 hours of formal training over the last several years means I've got a highly honed skill. Sometimes is best to just let it go and thank the chemicals for their assistance."
As I watch my body rage an autoimmune disorder battle I weep from my tailbone to my toes and through the pores of my skin. Sometimes I compassionately numb the trembling with a cigarette and when I'm lucky with a hug or loving massage. When I experience betrayal I tremble all the way through my Being in the same way, pierced to the core. The double-edged sword is that I no longer have the power to repress or hide from the darkness. This means I experience it and the freedom encapsulated in the process.
The gift in feeling the pain so intensely is that I learn to make decisions that honor me while I yearn for deep, rich connection.
And -
When I watch the sun set or enjoy the company of someone dear to me who is Present as well it is one of the richest blessings you can imagine. I feel the love and beauty permeate through my very Being. I vibrate with the ferocious intensity of Life.
In that I have the opportunity to mirror it back to You. If you have the courage, I invite you to come with me on the road less traveled - you will be more alive and more connected than you could imagine. It's only hard 'cause it's worth it.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Seduced
Seduced
by dance.
Again.
I show up
half-naked,
willing.
Who does the seducing?
Me or She?
Does it matter?
No.
Result the same:
Sweaty puddle of bliss.
by dance.
Again.
I show up
half-naked,
willing.
Who does the seducing?
Me or She?
Does it matter?
No.
Result the same:
Sweaty puddle of bliss.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Socially Acceptable Survivor
At an event tonight I saw a woman wearing a "race for the cure" t-shirt with "survivor" proudly displayed along the side. It struck me as odd that some survivor-ship is socially acceptable and other is not. For example if I wore a "domestic violence and sexual assault survivor" shirt in pretty pink or pale blue how would that be received? I imagine it would make people uncomfortable. Surviving violence is no less heroic than surviving cancer yet somehow carries more shame.
Maybe the commercialization of pink ribbons for breast cancer makes it socially acceptable, maybe because the fight of cancer is against nature not man so "united we stand". I would love for someone working in the DV/SA field to commercialize a blue cracked egg that lives in the social consciousness to symbolize the incredible courage and strength it takes to reclaim power after violence.
Admittedly I thankfully have not had to face the battle of breast cancer in my body so I don't know how they compare for sure... I lost one of my dearest friends, the woman who introduced me to Yoga, Patricia Arters, to breast cancer in my mid-20's, the quick decay from vibrant, feisty, strong woman to tired bones was humbling. Her passing precipitated huge changes in my life, it was an inspiration to live more fully. This invitation required divorcing her son. Life has a funny way of opening.
In the midst of my current opening I stand for equal survivor-ship rights. Will you stand with me?
image credits: the eggs are percussion instruments http://b2b.coastmusic.com/ the shirt race for the cure
Maybe the commercialization of pink ribbons for breast cancer makes it socially acceptable, maybe because the fight of cancer is against nature not man so "united we stand". I would love for someone working in the DV/SA field to commercialize a blue cracked egg that lives in the social consciousness to symbolize the incredible courage and strength it takes to reclaim power after violence.
Admittedly I thankfully have not had to face the battle of breast cancer in my body so I don't know how they compare for sure... I lost one of my dearest friends, the woman who introduced me to Yoga, Patricia Arters, to breast cancer in my mid-20's, the quick decay from vibrant, feisty, strong woman to tired bones was humbling. Her passing precipitated huge changes in my life, it was an inspiration to live more fully. This invitation required divorcing her son. Life has a funny way of opening.
In the midst of my current opening I stand for equal survivor-ship rights. Will you stand with me?
image credits: the eggs are percussion instruments http://b2b.coastmusic.com/ the shirt race for the cure
Friday, April 1, 2011
Sex is a Journey not a Destination
Curiously, I peek my head back into the world of dating after a therapeutic reprieve. Interesting world at my door step.
I took to a party what I thought was a simple guideline for meeting people: a decent, healthy human being who turns me on and is available. Not such an easy bill to fill after all. The evening was filled with fun interactions, interesting conversations and DANCING! As the party wound down a kid a decade my junior came into a conversation a friend and I were having about crazy people being good in bed and impossible in relationships. Now, I am experimental and adventurous by nature... and open and expressive. From wild he interpreted easy. On the dance floor he latched on to me and didn't take the hint when I clearly backed away every time he came close. Finally when he physically tried to draw me close to him I pushed back with "I am independent and need a hell of a lot of space" (especially when dancing). By his subsequent behavior (and sharply honed intuition) I knew he expected to come home with me. WTF? I don't know how wild translated in his head to assuming he had rights... and I'm kind of pissed about it, still.
wild does not mean easy
I embrace my wild side. Tattoos turn me on. I relish time with those who have not fully tamed their inner feral animals. The irrational spark of wild unbridled passion ignites a hunger in me. I am experimental and adventurous by nature. This helps push my unique evolutionary envelope. Adventurous experiments also mean I don't follow conventional rules for sexual behavior. That doesn't mean I am easy, in fact I am fucking picky... in my own unique and unconventional way.
More than once when sharing the story of a road less traveled someone (not particularly interesting, sexy, adventurous or wild) hearing that story has tried to kiss, grope or fondle me. I can see how wild would spark desire. After all, I know that feeling myself. What I can't wrap my head around is how they assume that because I push the envelope, I am there for the taking.
I can't entirely blame the guys, I march to the beat of my own drummer, probably not on this planet. I am sure they are expecting something else. Several years ago I did a lot of Muay Thai kick-boxing. Punching was a natural component in my muscle memory. Hours upon hours of practice brought this home. My Muay Thai career started as a women's self-defense workshop through my volunteer work as a advocate for survivors of domestic and sexual violence. I enjoyed the workshop so much I continued training at the facility that hosted the event. Several months into training I was dancing with a girlfriend at a club. I felt unknown hands behind me on my hips. My next memory was drawing my fist back after punching him squarely in the chest. His hands were raised to the side saying "don't hurt me." Another experience in his life taught him this was acceptable behavior, hopefully I rewired a little in his brain.
I still can't make the connection why Joe Shmoe thinks I would have any interest in something so utterly mundane as a random hook-up just 'cause they are there. I think the underlying principle for them is sex, for me it is exciting.
sex should be exciting
Life should be exciting. If it doesn't turn you on why do it (this principle is carrying over into more areas of my life)? The journey is the key. Sex doesn't have to be a sex circus - over rated. It is all about the journey, not the destination. There MUST be passion, desire, thrill, tenderness, riding waves of energy together. There has to be connection. Roaming lips, roaming hands, roaming exploration. When I come to sex I am looking for a shared journey, I can get the destination on my own. What I need a partner for is the surprise, opening new doors of awareness, revealing new things about myself, about how I relate, about what turns me on... in that moment. It changes, frequently. That's part of the thrill of the journey. Maybe that's why I have liked sex with crazy people - there is always an unknown. In the most prominent such relationship, on and off for several years, in my life there were a few things broken - including furniture and my heart. I think this was Leonard Cohen's "there's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." That crack was widened by a betrayal that graciously ended the relationship.
nothing kills passion like betrayal
enough said... no matter the nature of the relationship, honor it passion flows in waves, betray it game over. This can be romantic relationship, friendships or working relationships. Same with yoga practice - if you betray the body, pushing it too far it breaks down. Translated equally to life.
Honor connection, honor life and enjoy good sex.
I took to a party what I thought was a simple guideline for meeting people: a decent, healthy human being who turns me on and is available. Not such an easy bill to fill after all. The evening was filled with fun interactions, interesting conversations and DANCING! As the party wound down a kid a decade my junior came into a conversation a friend and I were having about crazy people being good in bed and impossible in relationships. Now, I am experimental and adventurous by nature... and open and expressive. From wild he interpreted easy. On the dance floor he latched on to me and didn't take the hint when I clearly backed away every time he came close. Finally when he physically tried to draw me close to him I pushed back with "I am independent and need a hell of a lot of space" (especially when dancing). By his subsequent behavior (and sharply honed intuition) I knew he expected to come home with me. WTF? I don't know how wild translated in his head to assuming he had rights... and I'm kind of pissed about it, still.
wild does not mean easy
I embrace my wild side. Tattoos turn me on. I relish time with those who have not fully tamed their inner feral animals. The irrational spark of wild unbridled passion ignites a hunger in me. I am experimental and adventurous by nature. This helps push my unique evolutionary envelope. Adventurous experiments also mean I don't follow conventional rules for sexual behavior. That doesn't mean I am easy, in fact I am fucking picky... in my own unique and unconventional way.
More than once when sharing the story of a road less traveled someone (not particularly interesting, sexy, adventurous or wild) hearing that story has tried to kiss, grope or fondle me. I can see how wild would spark desire. After all, I know that feeling myself. What I can't wrap my head around is how they assume that because I push the envelope, I am there for the taking.
I can't entirely blame the guys, I march to the beat of my own drummer, probably not on this planet. I am sure they are expecting something else. Several years ago I did a lot of Muay Thai kick-boxing. Punching was a natural component in my muscle memory. Hours upon hours of practice brought this home. My Muay Thai career started as a women's self-defense workshop through my volunteer work as a advocate for survivors of domestic and sexual violence. I enjoyed the workshop so much I continued training at the facility that hosted the event. Several months into training I was dancing with a girlfriend at a club. I felt unknown hands behind me on my hips. My next memory was drawing my fist back after punching him squarely in the chest. His hands were raised to the side saying "don't hurt me." Another experience in his life taught him this was acceptable behavior, hopefully I rewired a little in his brain.
I still can't make the connection why Joe Shmoe thinks I would have any interest in something so utterly mundane as a random hook-up just 'cause they are there. I think the underlying principle for them is sex, for me it is exciting.
sex should be exciting
Life should be exciting. If it doesn't turn you on why do it (this principle is carrying over into more areas of my life)? The journey is the key. Sex doesn't have to be a sex circus - over rated. It is all about the journey, not the destination. There MUST be passion, desire, thrill, tenderness, riding waves of energy together. There has to be connection. Roaming lips, roaming hands, roaming exploration. When I come to sex I am looking for a shared journey, I can get the destination on my own. What I need a partner for is the surprise, opening new doors of awareness, revealing new things about myself, about how I relate, about what turns me on... in that moment. It changes, frequently. That's part of the thrill of the journey. Maybe that's why I have liked sex with crazy people - there is always an unknown. In the most prominent such relationship, on and off for several years, in my life there were a few things broken - including furniture and my heart. I think this was Leonard Cohen's "there's a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." That crack was widened by a betrayal that graciously ended the relationship.
nothing kills passion like betrayal
enough said... no matter the nature of the relationship, honor it passion flows in waves, betray it game over. This can be romantic relationship, friendships or working relationships. Same with yoga practice - if you betray the body, pushing it too far it breaks down. Translated equally to life.
Honor connection, honor life and enjoy good sex.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Out of the Comfort Zone, Into the Learning Zone
Last week I got the leadership of the ODAT team (the most entrepreneurial, wild west group within Backcountry) to get out of their comfort zone and learn some new skills: AcroYoga with Amy Olson. We had a ton of fun and learned more about how we work together.
We learned we can stack people four planks high.
...and the importance of communication since the plank stack came tumbling down (not pictured). Since I landed on my face from four high, it still hurts a little when my rad cube mate Steve Perry makes me laugh.
Here we are developing the foundations for the 6-person Super Yogi Mandala. The more complex the configurations the more communication, or the lack thereof, became critical.
All six of us bring it together...
...for the Magic!
After we got all Yogarific we had to "man up" and went to the shooting range for some target practice (very interesting insight for me into the world outside my normal life).
We learned we can stack people four planks high.
...and the importance of communication since the plank stack came tumbling down (not pictured). Since I landed on my face from four high, it still hurts a little when my rad cube mate Steve Perry makes me laugh.
Here we are developing the foundations for the 6-person Super Yogi Mandala. The more complex the configurations the more communication, or the lack thereof, became critical.
All six of us bring it together...
...for the Magic!
After we got all Yogarific we had to "man up" and went to the shooting range for some target practice (very interesting insight for me into the world outside my normal life).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)