Riding it out… 6 27 22

The sun always rises. We count on things to remain the same, until they change. My perspective has changed and changed and changed. I return to feeling alone, in space, in time, connected to everything and to everything unseen and blind.

Oh well, oh well, oh well…

We are eternity in motion. Evolution, expanding and contracting; breathing.

I am the ing in the ism, the gap in the program, the wild card in this Great Western Deck.

Now we ride.

Dream Rains, 6 26 22

I have a dream. In my dream, we are capable of unity, you and me. We are able to see and appreciate our various capacities. We recognize that our strengths lie in our ability to get along, to act collectively, cohesively, in curiosity, confidence, kindness, and with courage.

Individually, we are often weak, stupid, and we propagate disease on this earth. Collectively, we have the ability to do amazing things. We can build cities on the moon. We can send cameras to Mars. We can move our bodies in rhythm together and dance beautiful moving dances, make magic steps down mountains together. Ride waves. Oh wait, that’s individually as well. We are truly remarkable, gorgeous, creative, colorful, delightful creatures. Collectively and individually.

Who is driving this rocket ship?

I come around to the conclusion that it is leadership we are missing–or that is where I see potential, where I see cracks in the matrix–where some light might get in, and also, the only place any significant difference can add up…it’s tricky because really the only place I can make any difference is in me, and also, if we all make a positive shift inside, then we still need leadership that knows the way.

I am a natural born leader. Paths illuminate themselves under my feet. Only recently I realized more about why mostly the only people who try to follow me are feeling pretty lost. There are lots of reasons, obviously. In my feet I hold a extraordinary capacity to choose, to step lightly, consciously, in delicate harmony, in loving relationship; or to stomp selfishly, selflessly, unconsciously, out of time, out of sync; and all the while, the perfect orchestration of existence unfolds flawlessly. “It never ends and you can’t get it wrong.”

I almost fell for a baited meme again this morning. I go about taking things at face value and often find myself in a snake pit before I realize what it is. Ironically, it is those humans I once was closest to, once held mutual respect and even kinship with, who spew the most hate. Of course, I generally agree with most of what they are spewing, but then they add this hate part, this absolute, these NEVERS and ALWAYS and then the little sound bite clues that they got all their opinions from a pre-programmed box of lies. Sighs. I am glad I backed away in time this time. I am sure my mere presents and ‘heart’ was and will be enough to put me in line for another round of blind hate, accusations, persecutions, punishments, cancellations. I am too tired to care anymore, and long disillusioned with the puppet show to waste any of my attention or energy there. So I go on alone. Still alone.

Later, after midnight, I think I could be painting.

I fell asleep this afternoon for a long while and so it’s no surprise I am not all that tired now. I didn’t used to sleep during the day hardly ever, not unless I was quite ill, however lately naps have been occurring more frequently…sometimes still when I am ill, which has been more frequently again the last few years, and sometimes, like today, seemingly just in response to the weather and/or consuming a lot of sugar. I had paleo pancakes with maple syrup and then passed out on my van seat couch. I think I did manage to get my boots and glasses off this time, so I guess that’s progress.

This collective dream of ours is getting more and more clear. The drumming rhythms of our hearts beating closer and closer to one is easier and easier to hear. I hear it not just in my ears, but in my bones, by ancestors, my stories, the future scents of trees and berries and in the patterns of pollen left by the legs of bees…

It’s raining quite a lot. More than usual for around here. Of course, our usual has been extreme drought it’s hard to really have a feel for it. My house could use a lot more buttoning up. Paint. Stucco. Windows. Lots more caulk. Heavy sighs and smiles.

Sapphire is back by my side. I don’t know where she got to this morning but she was gone until after 10am, and then slept on my bed most of the day. Now she seems a bit nervous from the rain, and happy to sit at my side as I type. She has a funny cat smile and she is wearing it now.

I imagine the lakes and rivers and aquifers filling, the trees and grasses and seeds drinking in this much-needed moisture, the fires smoldering and going out. Hoping for minimal flood damage, maximum profits, future adventures, all of that.

I miss having a partner to do things with. So much about my last intimate partnership is going to be impossible to replace and hard to beat. I wonder if he feels anything positive about me at all. Tears still spring up easily when I think of him and others I thought were my close friends and even kin.

So I change the subject a lot, only, more and more I learn to sit and face these feelings, and now that I have another file cabinet of data with the autism label…well…more processing, processing, processing.

Perhaps my emotions are like the rain, gushing into arroyos, collecting in streams, congregating into rivers, flowing to oceans, evaporating into clouds again…

Yes, I know how futile hope is, very well. I know the shadows and the deep and the darkness, very well. That is why I feel confident in saying, it makes sense to choose hope, it makes sense to pretend we are on track, it makes sense to carry on, to try, to begin again, to say you are sorry and mean it, to heal and remember how to dance and kiss and see your eyes sparkle again.

Sapphire moves away from the music. She prefers silence. She is nearly mute herself. Even her purrs are nearly silent. My last partner prefers silence where I wanted to talk. He compared himself to his own skittish cat friend fairly often. I miss them both, miss them all, miss who I was with all of them.

All I can do though, is begin again, and again. This is where I am.

6 25 22, on purpose

I posted some version of this today:

Just yesterday I realized that so many ‘camping invitations’ are actually covert references to legal abortion. For years now I actually thought some of you were camping advocates and these increasingly copied and pasted ‘invitations’ have struck me as a bit odd. Now that I realize what it actually is it strikes me as extra odd and absurd. Any of you who have ever had an abortion or gone camping will probably understand the absurd mismatch of that in actuality/aka REAL LIFE. Another great example of how much this world just doesn’t make sense to me and how ‘in the dark’ I am with regards to human manipulative tactics/aka communication (?!?).

I would like to state on public record, I do not give my personal power to anyone, regardless of what absurd ways they attempt to claim it. Lock me up, drug me, ridicule me, exile me, kill me, shock me, laugh at me, scorn me, accuse me, silence me…whatever suits you. My life is mine and I take full responsibility for how I live it. Any entity that forcibly manipulates me bears that responsibility itself. I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY AUTHORITY OVER ME. Absolutely NO ONE ELSE is responsible for my life and how I choose to live it. You and I and all of this life are all equally worthy of autonomy and the exercise of our own bodies and free will. Any government or other entity that makes claim on my body or mind or spirit is discordant with living a harmonious life and will be rejected to the best of my abilities as long as I am alive.

Controlling reproduction is as disempowering as it gets.

Also, If any of you need help putting together an herbal formula to help bring on late menstruation, or to help ease the symptoms of perimenopause, or if you need a ‘home base’ to help arrange a legal or illegal abortion, or camping trip, let me know how I can help.

I edited it a lot, and am aware that not any of it is likely to land in any relevance or consequence, outside of my own practice in articulating my position and opinions.

Woven in to the fabric of my body, is the understanding that humanity betrays itself. That we are unawake, unconscious, dangerously adept at creating unconsciously…

The visceral effects of being locked in a cage, I remember always. Woven throughout me. The sound of unfeeling steel doors locking electronically. The inequality and oppression inherent in the scene of one animal in a cage and another animal holding the keys out of reach. Wrapped around every cell of me, is the defensiveness to that offense, the push back, the part of me that feels entitled to survive as my true self. Naturally. I imagine you must feel at least some glimmer of this as well. I can’t be the only speck of life that wants to own itself, sovereignty, capacity, autonomy…

No, locking me up did not help, did not cure, did not save, did not do any good for society. Locking animals in cages is a gross manifestation of disempowerment and disease. Men who believe they should control the bodies of others while they disregard controlling their own meatsuit capabilities. It’s absurd and sad. infuriating at times. Invigorating and inspiring in some ways…

Taking cats to the “pound” (actually, now let’s call it “animal humane society”, for extra ironic effect, shall we?) woke up a lot of that pain in me. The wounds of my teenage self locked up, raped, violated, persecuted, laid to waste, disempowered, discredited, dissed….it would be shameful if shame and blame was of any use at all. It is not. Not to me. Not today.

It came as a shock to me that so many humans and dogs prefer cages–actually feel safer locked away under the care of someone or something else…which would be more understandable if there was actually any care or responsibility involved, however, humans use cages to compensate for our failed consciousness…there is no caring involved. Cages are crude answers to great questions. We can do better. Take responsibility. Be willing to get the words wrong and learn, improve, get up, go on.

We have this

bewildering tendency

to pretend things are not what they obviously are, FUBAR, frequently…

and I understand it is senseless to face too many unpleasant or inconvenient truths at any given time…because ultimately it is all illusion, and the vibration of things is much closer to the actual truth

we are creating future possibilities by way of our current choices and actions. Pave the way. Get ready for what you are going to get, even if it is by not getting ready…or, acting as if we don’t have the choices we do…

look what YOU made me do

our favorite and most disempowering game…

I use that word so often it has become disempowering

it “defeats its own purpose”

Better, not bitter… 6 19 22

Exploitation is the name of the human game, as I see it today. Society is predicated on taking advantage of weaknesses, so it makes sense that being ‘too needy’ would be grounds for termination, exile, admonishment.

Aand we’re off to a great negative start, says the artificial intelligence I paid to have sum me up–I mean, my writing, not ‘me’ completely. This is merely a sliver of my whole self. Wordplay in all its forms might actually be a solid chunk of me. It makes up the majority of my pass-times. Narrations. Contemplation. Physical flow states afford me some reprieve, and I welcome those pauses, those states of inner peace and knowing, when my body is in motion and in synchronicity with the rest of this physical plane…in those states it is obvious that all these words are merely pointers, and not the real things.

I wonder if it’s ‘an autism thing’ that I start off so well and then fall so low, nearly every endeavor, every relationship, every business. Not every degree. I finished all three of those and dozens of certificates. Putting them ‘to use’ is ‘another story’ all together. I have many many many unused skill sets. I don’t find fulfillment in doing what others can do, except to establish I can. Most often someone else can do those things better, especially those things that thousands or even millions are doing. Why would I waste my life doing something someone else can do better? Why would I want to be anything but my own unique self?

My work, and yours too, most likely, is to be better and not bitter. The work of all aging humans. In our youth I think our work is to get some living on, make plenty of mistakes, propagate if inclined or maybe even if not. ‘Accidents happen’. That’s what we say when we think we don’t want to propagate but then we end up doing ‘it’ anyway. It’s a common story, and not just among humans. Probably older than flowers or fish eggs. It could be through unconsciousness. A slip. Rape. Manipulation. Bliss. In it’s best forms it is blissful, ecstatic, creative energy at its best. Sexual reproduction. Like a galaxy banging itself into existence. We become. We expand. We contract.

I find it fascinating that we seem to fear or avoid death so fervently, when it is the one thing guaranteed us all, and it is obviously necessary for life to proceed, at least, in the current paradigm. Interesting fantasies we continue to propagate regarding our origins and our destiny…it all seems like somewhat arbitrary contemplation to me. Similar to the way birds sing. We contemplate everything. Most likely it has no meaning beyond our own potential to enjoy or suffer in it. I think that is really the only part that adds up in the whole of things. Are you enjoying, or are you suffering? We all get that choice, all along the way. Better or bitter? Most of us are choosing from columns a, b, c, and constructing infinite new combinations–new potentials are ever in the works, and also, still always add up to plus or minus. One or zero. Yes or no. Yucks and yums.

Processing Hate–A Woman’s Search For Meaning 6 13 22

Hate, resentment, defensiveness…are feelings that stem from being under-informed. When we are fully awake, it is easy to see the interconnectedness of all things, and it is obvious how loving and patience and compassion is a better choice than hate and blame and shame. I hold healing space for those who condemn and punish and persecute me. They are misguided and naive, and without exception, destructive actions and violations of the safety, security, bodily sanctity we all are here to play in–all these actions come from a place of good intention. The source is always love, though the path becomes twisted and hardened, calloused and rigid. Calcified.

It’s alright. Everything is alright. All is as all should be. We each hold the power of peace, of love, of forgiveness, of acceptance, of seeing, of listening. We are all witnesses to one another, and in this witnessing, creation is propelled forward.

The student teacher relationship. Society. Leadership. This has long been a passion of mine, and I feel a sense of coming finally out of the darkness, wakening again, from another layer of dreaming.

I can forgive the idiots–the idiocy in me and that which I foolishly think I perceive outside of me. Any accusation is to the self.

Bad friend. Difficult to communicate with. Killing people. Racist. Uninformed. Too needy. Manipulative. Passive aggressive. Projecting. Too strong willed. Out of touch…

Any and all of these accusations, and all the others unspoken and/or forgotten, are all reflections of self. It is actually impossible to accuse another being of some wrong that deserves punishment without condemning one’s self. This is the beautiful perfection of this Universe. All is One. One is All. Whatever you hate in me is what you cannot yet accept in yourself.

I grapple with my sense of justice–the idea that I should stand up for myself, defend myself against persecution, try to force the truth into other people’s eyes. This is obviously ridiculous. The entire idea of justice is a perversion of real truth. It’s the best we have come up with so far. Perversions. Twists. I think that is how we see the truth, how we choose, how we learn to tap in to the trueness of ‘in tune’.

Again and again I conclude that the only way to peace begins in me. If we continue to punish and shame and blame, rather than taking personal responsibility, we will continue to burn and suffer. Perhaps there is no escaping it on the broader scale. Perhaps there is, and we can come to some high vibrating state in which torture and punishment—war–killing over disagreements and ideals–poor resource management–or even no resource management–just servitude to a few ‘leaders’ whom we continue to allow to ‘run amuck’ because we are still too weak, too naive, too cowardly to find peace in ourselves. To forgive. To let go. To rise.

“Floggings will continue until moral improves.” When we realize we are cocreating these states of hate, rather than blaming institutions we have given our freewills to–the morale instantly rises. It shoots up like a rocket, in fact. It might not ever come down.

I think we can. I can do better. If I can do better, then nearly everyone else can too. So there we have it. All wrapped up in a pretty bow again. Let’s do the belonging walk then. Good morning.

*The AI summation of this writing as negative is a good example of where we are failing/falling down hard–the oversimplification of nuance–the loss of context–there seems to be an increasing tendency to dumb everything down to two sides–negative or positive–and while I see the simplistic beauty in that–I appreciate the usefulness of binary choice very much–it does not seem to be a practical or useful tool for ‘Real Life’, aka ‘Living Alive’, which is ultimately what I am here to promote. The AI demonstrates a common misconstruing of intention which is prevalent in human society. Certain words or soundbites trigger the summation of ‘negative’ or ‘positive’ without considering any of the actual content. Context is thrown out, and in that way, all meaning is washed away. This is at the heart of my ongoing personal delimnas. Misunderstandings due to mismatching contexts. I am playing in this multidimensional field much of the time, and also, in this singular perspective meat suit, always…just like everyone else. I think the answer is more patience. More space. More listening. More forgiving. More letting go.

I do appreciate the truth of vibrational state that this binary system is getting at. I contemplate how to tune my words up to a higher energetic state. Can I address the same truths of calm and clarity and forgiveness without starting out from the barbed hook? I think barbed hooks are what humans are generally using for attention. To snag awareness. To pull ourselves in to the solution, we create problems. Still beautiful, yes.

I find new resolve to heal. New resolve to put so much knowledge to use. Create more flow and wellness in my own body, and allow that to radiate. I appreciate that I feel defensive to persecution because I am still betraying myself, still not stepping fully into my potential–of course that is inevitable to an extent–I can step more fully into the potentials I have uncovered so far. That is a potential to rise, a potential to love, a potential to connect dots, weave threads, create beautiful tapestries.

Oh hey. I drizzled enough beauty into my text to flip the binary switch back to positive. And just like that, I feel a little bit better. Remarkable, how that works. It is all energy. I am excited to dive back into more qi gong training. Continue expanding and contracting. Find more joy. Build better relationships. Continue adding fuel to the joyful fires. I will add color, vim, vigor, laughter, touch, stretching, breathing, dancing, moving…I will bring the ‘ing’ to the table, and we will tromp all over some stuff–I mean–dance around with intentions and create meanings from madness, mice, mites, millipedes…I mean–practice loving, practice forgiving, practice enjoying being, practice listening and understanding and letting go.

Yes to communication and lightheartedness. Yes to not taking things personally even, or especially, when I am personally attacked. Yes to laughter, and playfulness, and movement. Yes to belonging and sharing and bringing things to the table. Yes to cleaning up. Yes to making the meanings I want. Yes to participation, leadership, ceremony, twirling, skipping stones, aligning, singing out loud. Yes to being present.

Let’s do this, morning. I got you.

I forgive those who have persecuted me for falsehoods and those who have drawn out my weaknesses and fallibility. I forgive myself for wanting, needing, and sometimes, giving from perspectives of lack/scarcity.

I am fit and free and ready for service to the Great All Mystery… ..

6 11 22

The voices in my head rarely are actual voices, though now and then they are. ‘They’ are more of a constant narration, banter, arguing, abusing, questioning, judging…this is the ego mind. Check your text books. It’s all right there.

Now and then I try to reconnect with people I felt connected to at some time, or connect with new people, but it never seems to work. Autistic burnout, is apparently the name of this quicksand I have been trapped in so much of my life.

And again, I feel sucked under. The lead suit wraps every cell. Arms tingle. Eyes weep. Mouth breathing. Close your mouth. Deep breath. Exhale more and let a fresh breathe pour naturally in.

It’s fucking windy again, and I might have another period this full moon. I tried to make plans tomorrow and the stress of it ruined my ability to work most of this afternoon. I also feel something trying to get me. Cold maybe. Allergies pollen dust smoke. The fucking wind.

I think about drinking again, a lot lately. It has been nearly three years since I quit “drinking for sport”, actually removed that as a coping strategy…I didn’t replace it with anything though…I thought I was replacing it with an ‘adult relationship’–real intimacy–I think–I thought. I am learning to trust less. Trust leads to trauma, at least in most cases, for ‘an autist like me’. I have learned this ‘the hard way’.

Be yourself. They say. I always said….and yet…and yet. I only recently realized I thought all this time I was someone else. A capable human being for some reason not being capable. Deserving of punishment and at the same time defensive and determined to survive the constant messaging from society that I should die. Now I learn I was actually born twisted…yes I fucking knew that…I didn’t realize though, that the shutting down, the burnout, the meltdown, the rage, the dropping, the weeping, the inability to speak…all this is textbook “autistic burnout”… whatever we/I call it, it has taken me down, taken me out, eaten at least half of my fucking life.

Being bitter doesn’t help, I know. Crying doesn’t help. Yelling, expressing, contemplating the injustices–does not help. Isolating helps, but at the cost of social standing, financial stability, health and wellness, social network, family, friends…

I made a video about autistic meltdowns and felt a little better. I’ll post it on YouTube. Maybe get my ‘ducks in order’ (ducks only get in line when you GO, stop trying too hard). I do feel good when I am teaching. And creating. And playing. Moving, in good ways. There are many tools I have and know how to use, thankfully. I am Super Grateful. Time to get to producing, publishing, polishing some things…offers, sales, shipping…yes.

I made plans for tomorrow and they quickly got all rearranged to the point of meltdown for me. I backed out. Now I am the flake, again. I just wanted a quick mellow dash, a getaway. Really Tuesday is better. My good sister friend wants to do everything all at once and so invited another mutual friend and his truck, and now it’s a whole event and they wanted to pick me up at 8am. I said no. She is now left hanging. They should go. I can’t help but feel like there is some subconscious manipulation going on with her and Jason and whatever the fuck their whole fucking game is. Really glad I declined involvement, and suspect this trip with she and I and ‘another man’ is all part of whatever lil game they are playin. It feels like I am a pointless, unappreciated, disrespected pawn in some game I have no skin in, and don’t care to play.

I’m a bit tired I suppose from recovering from the virus a couple weeks ago, a triple root canal in Mexico last week, an 11 hour dash in the heat for the crowing event, which went relatively flawlessly, and even still, took some energy. I used to be something of a super hero, or so it seemed. I hold myself and others to standards I can no longer achieve. This is a source of much suffering in me. I know how to recover. Know how to relax. Know how to rise. Let’s do this.

6 9 22 Portal to a new life day

Am I happy with my life? How happy?

How much do I enjoy what I am doing?

These are questions we are directed to ask regularly.

After all my super powers were ‘sucked dry by leeches’, I found myself feeling deflated…dehydrated of creative juice and magic mojo. I set about allowing, healing, enjoying being.

Most of the humans I know seem preoccupied with living obscure lies, resigned to their lives. Some of them seem also alive, and of those, none seem like a good match for me. I have tried. Lawd knows I have tried. And I’ve lied too.

Most of them mainly think about fucking, as far as I can tell. Or how much better they are than someone else. Or how they can get a better deal. Or who wronged them. Oh my, yes. That is the current favorite human passtime in my gloriously abundant country. People love to get together and talk about who wronged who. All the ways we are also victims too. It’s a full time occupation, being diseased, uneasy, out of ease.

I do best when someone loves me. When I have plans to kiss, and understanding of hits and misses without

banishment. I have been banished from a few hearts. My mother. My last lover. I wrastle with the

All of this is just to say, I am in love with the idea of true partnership. Of true honor and respect and appreciation. Of open honest real multidimensional ongoing conversation. To make plans. To do the work. To meet. To kiss goodbye. To dream. To laugh. To sleep, sometimes.

I am not big on the sleep part, and I don’t want to always share a bed. I don’t want to live together in one house…two or three, maybe.

I am not interested in acting smaller or weaker or less than just to beef up your ego. And I am not into being put down, teased, diminished, disrespected… I do have a crass sense of humor and also prefer the realm of infinite potential to that of dogmatic certainty.

I remember a lot. I forget some things. I am super fast sometimes and super slow in other arenas. I am not interested in learning about how you’ve been taught to disapprove of me. I am interested in dancing, loving, building, laughing, discussing, playing, traveling, meeting, joking, working, designing, planning, dreaming, touching, stretching, soaking, relaxing, breathing together.

Tomorrow I get my tooth crowned in Juarez. It’s a long drive. I am grateful I figured out the means and the end, and I am amazed at the round about ways I get to valuing myself sometimes.

I will be glad to be back in time for band practice tomorrow, and hoping the pain stays gone…so far there is a still a touch of inflammation in the area, but I not feeling in or under the tooth, so excellent there. I’m tired, also excellent, as I would do well to rise before 5am–maybe closer to 4:30. As long as I am on the road by 5:30/6 I should be fine…still not sure where I am parking…maybe I can park right at the bridge I think.

I am freshly resolved to care for myself as anyone who loves and honors and respects me would. I will take time to preen and clean and decorate and celebrate. Feed myself well, drink many wonderful beverages. It is a very good life indeed. I am aware how quickly the feelings can turn. I have new perspective, still so much to process…and, yes, ready to love fully, starting with myself.

I’m glad to be tired. I will dream well. Forward! Onward! Upward!

June 5, 2022

June 5.

One year ago today my “good elbow” bursa exploded on my way home from a complete breakdown of the last remaining scraps of an intimate relationship. I couldn’t use my arms for 6 weeks. I have lost strength steadily since then, and have had to come to new terms for my life. The escalation of decline in mental and physical health has been rapid and alarming. I have been in silent treatment/exile/punishment for 365 days, following several lesser stints in which I didn’t seem to learn, and, like so many other times in my life, am slowly picking myself up from the ashes.

All this is perfect, of course. It must be what is necessary to temper me. I am sharp and soft; flexible and resilient; multidimensional and singularly present; all and one.

Again, I rise.

It’s been a year since I lost much function of my arms, and the last fragments of hope for humanity, love, music, art, family, honesty, integrity… and a minute or so since I regained it again, and again, and again… ..

Perhaps I just gave in to a moment of weakness.

It happens to the best of us.

I am beginning to feel a bit stronger, having shed the last shreds of my identity again. Having destroyed and rebuilt myself again. Having stripped away all the excess to find my larger higher better former eternal goddess self again.

I have had to turn down work and found myself unable to maintain any routine or manage myself to my fullest capacity anymore. These are shifts I probably could have made sooner…though we only know what we know when we know it…not sooner.

All of this is a framework for shifting. A scraping off of old skins. An untangling and a Great Crushing Letting Go. Sometimes I have to pry my own fingers loose to set myself free. I got this. I am the breeze.

36 days ago I realized I am autistic. That explains a few things. It’s a helpful lens when it comes to reducing the amount of bandwidth being used up 24/7 in my body trying to figure out how/why/what the fuck happened…I don’t understand how people can be so cruel, so cowardly, so immature…and then I see myself, so cruel, so cowardly, so immature, and it’s easier to understand. Easier to forgive. Easier to put it in a larger basket of things I won’t forget but that are no longer relevant to my day to day decisions. No longer relevant.

Pretty much everything has become that. Less relevant. My feelings, your feelings, systems, hopes, plans, relationships, ideas…I don’t know how to trust anything buy myself anymore, and even I am losing capacity much of the time. Fallibility gets the best of me often.

My bodily sensations oscillate from blissful, pleasant, comfortable, and appreciative; through to uncomfortable, diseased, and dysfunctional; all the way over to despair, hopelessness, betrayal, inability to trust, uncertainty, paralysis…and back to eternal and connected to everything.

I keep showing up. Doing my best. Even though my best is often too much, too little, too hard, too soft, too needy, too independent, too fertile, too old, too fast, too slow, too, too, too–whatever… I am aware this is part of the human condition, and probably some other conditions too. Mammals. Earthlings. Consciousness. Love.

I am a bit of syncopated love. Crystallized light. Multidimensional shapeshifter. Artist. Autist.

My role as daughter, mother, lover, friend are being supplanted by crone, goddessness, ‘bat shit crazy’ witch, just a woman, older woman, insignificant…I feel like I have failed at becoming legitimate at every turn. From birth through death, from the looks of my current trajectory. I will lean in more to the herbalist, bodyworker, lightworker, shapeshifter, edutainer, artist, songwriter, muse, student, teacher, business woman, holder of ceremony, leader, rainbow warrior, home maker, love saker, body shaker, mover, dancer, singer, rock skipper…

Of course, you never know how history will perceive you after death. That is a great mysterious lottery of a sort. You could go down as a bad example, or a hero. Most likely you will go down as a whisper and eventually forgotten. If you are written into history, it will only be a false pretentious societally induced caricature of an actual self. Not the real you. Not the real me, if there even is such a thing.

I appreciate that has been a conscious choice at many turns. I have chosen freedom and the unknown over security and domestication. I despise being locked in a box, cage, identity, story, label, construct…abhor it, utterly. Those are guttural words. Guttural language is its own magic.

I am stepping more fully into my capacity to hold space for healing, for infinity, for creativity, for love to bloom, for unfolding, for evolution, for understanding…compassion…passion…calm. I am not sure if all this suffering has been a requirement, but it is comforting to think I might make some meaning out of it in the end. I have been making all sorts of meanings of it all the while of course. This is what humans do. We make up meanings… So I reset my course on my own fantastic story. Making my life mean what I want it to mean…a fine example of a full life, a strong life, a unique and exciting and loving life. I suppose I want to leave a mark, a legacy, a memory, a song; just like everyone.

We can have it all.

Bone fire. Skin fire. Eyes of fire. The beat of me marches on. I am willing to ask, and to listen. I can only hear the deafening roar of fire some of the time. Still I rise, and rise, and rise again. Begin and end and begin again. Get up. Rally. Get the fuck up. I can. I will. I am.

I have pushed off the bottom, again.

Bounce then.

Lean In (1000 Words 5 19 22)

Authentic presence. I connect with people who are here now. I connect with people who are genuinely curious, courageous, confident, and fine with getting the words wrong. I find certainty to be arrogant, boring, and off track. I am learning not to lean on any social connections. The way many humans seem to make a life has proven dangerous and defeating for me. I am not lovable the way others are, and I do not love the way others love. I feel. I am real. Genuine. And of course, merely a reflection of you.

I see through you.

Fuck you censorship. It is astounding to me that we have moved so far from freedom and so quickly to conformity. Can’t even say CUNT anymore without people’s fucking ears falling off.

Can’t fucking “FIRE IT UP” behind the garage??? Wow. Well. Things are even worse than they seem.

Joe Rogan might not even be able to save us. How about one of the Norms? Comedy is certainly our only hope.


that’s a little better. Fuck your fucking censorship right in its fucking political puppet (whore) eye socket. I don’t mean that as offensively as it sounds.

Nah. I’m barely even angry anymore. I love too much to waste this life being angry.

For all intents and purposes. Indents and porpoises.

I grapple with resentments and judgments. People who clamor on about belonging and how to manage our minds…as I have tried to. It’s not that I don’t think others can do what I am unable to, exactly, it’s more that history has proven humans to be ego-driven, make believers…I don’t see any place for me anywhere, except just here, in my head, in my body that hurts too much to stay in completely. Humans frown on suicide but they really don’t allow living either. Half alive is the best you can hope for in our modern society. And that, only if you are one of the billion dollar having elite. So a few thousand half alive humans are driving us forward–no wonder we are aiming for domestication. Put everyone in a box… Might as well blend us up smooth first and get to sucking us up through that giant straw.

Try not to be so angry.

I have danced in the void a fair amount. I came with a lot of void still stuck on me, in me, blasting through me. I am a multidimensional crystallized being of light. I can reach though time-space and pull threads, story lines…

A storyteller is coming to town this weekend and I hope to make it…though I am ‘supposed’ to sing with KGB–they love only the aspects of me they can use freely. They scorn and scoff and toss me away just like the rest of humanity. The second I cease to play the role they imagine me in…some broken wounded difficult thing who obviously fucks everyone but him. Always.

Fuck all that.

I gotta get on with these. Gotta get on with the film show. I am a creator. A writer. An artist. A lover. A mother. A dancer. A singer. A world walker. A soft shapeshifter. A movable hard line.

Yesterday I had two couches, two chairs, two ottomans, and a lot of cushions picked up and crushed by the city. I regret not recording the five minutes or so it took the hydraulic inner workings of the city garbage truck to crush so many years of cleaning and sitting and moving and cushion rearranging, just into splinters, mangled metal, waste material. Back to the basics. It felt good to get rid of. I am done trying to fix up old and busted, outdated, fucking piss infested, uncomfortable, ugly, pointless, body wrecking furniture. In fact, better furniture is on my agenda. Sit on the fucking floor. It’s good for you.

I continue to be conflicted about airbnb. Again, my only income this week, and still, not enough, always a stress, living with strangers and feeling out of sorts in my own home…constant compromise…soon the year is up and I think about shifting insurance…wish I could afford legal council, health care…so many of the things that seem to come natural to so many…I know…they pay the price of conformity and domestication. I don’t know if I could do that if I wanted to, and I really don’t want to…though I also don’t really want to die so alone, so hopeless, so worthless in society’s eyes. My son really is the only one I feel an obligation to….humanity and earthlings at large too. Life itself. Love. Yes. I am a Rainbow Warrior. I don’t know if I will connect again or just live the rest of this life in exile. I try not to overthink it. Align. Smile.

Soother. You got this.

Try to remember that things look differently to me than they do to you. What is obviously true to you is an obvious lie to me, and what is simply the truth from my perspective seems irrelevant from where you are.

I sent a woman I love a critical message about grammar this morning. What the fuck is that? I don’t know. Some immature, child aspect of me, wanting to be seen, wanting to feel worthy, wanting validation. I see me. My grandmother Dee sees me, maybe.

This woman and I have just a few sacred memories. We are both powerful bodies. She is on a powerful, sensual, sexual journey. I am something out of time-space…only powerful in the quantum field…or…perhaps I am simply resting in a shadow.

“Lean in”, she said. “I got you.”

She is lovely and holding space for me, and also, I know I taxed our relationship…taxes can add strength in the long run…maybe…or maybe it is only about the release. The tension is necessary for the release, isn’t it? I think so. I am grateful. I will meditate, soak in sunlight, let go, bounce, walk. Remember who you are. Remember who I am. Remember we are one.

This is the capacity I have long held, and currently feel disconnected from…my certainty shaken. My confidence broken. I am grateful for the incoherence. I will come back together stronger, more relevant, more presently now. Willing to be weak, willing to fail, willing to get all the words wrong. I sing anyway. I trust anyway. I can find my way back to myself. I don’t need anyone else. I am every man, every woman. This woman. Alive!

I love you anyway.

Woman’s Search For Meaning…letters


Yesterday I got a letter from my father. I have had very little contact with him in my life, overall, and this might be the first time he has written me without a prompt from his now deceased wife (lovely Dolly, I sure do love you), or a holiday or birthday. We are learning, growing, slowly… Even this late in life. It arrived in good time. I have been struggling to feel loved and lovable, even though people tell me they love me fairly often, I don’t think they see me, and they also tell me I am difficult or obviously different. They say all the right things I guess, and it doesn’t have the right effect. My trust has been broken. So this letter from my father arrived in very good time. It’s relatively short and from the heart, as if he just blurted it out, which I love. He signed it “Your Invisible Dad–Bill”.

Today my mom texted me to tell me she isn’t feeling very well. I said ‘me too’, in a few more words than that, and after a few more exchanges ended up feeling a familiar surge of resentment. “Another thing you can blame on me.” I do feel I have been the scapegoat for many things, and I understand she probably feels the same. That’s how these things work, after all.”It takes one to know one.” Her last message was a note about how we finally fit in with the bulk of society, a bleak thought I already had and she and I have discussed more than once. How our society connects through disease and disorder now… I still aim to do better. Improve. And also, love myself and all of us exactly as I am, exactly as we are.

It must be perfect after all. It is how it is.

I’m having all the conflicted feelings when it comes to posting online…in all the various places. This still feels like a secret diary of sorts, even though I know one or three people do read it now and then, and it sits in public perpetuity…I question my intentions here and elsewhere…I find I tend to feel better the less I post personal stuff on facebook…though I think I benefit from the idea of a public witness, or accountability, or documenting my life somehow. I think blogs are a good place for it. So, here we are.

I’ve had some extreme pain cycles the last few days. More intense than in a long while. It was a full moon. I am in perimenopause. I have numerous stress factors adding inflammatory chemistry. I fell into an incoherent state and habitually spiraled in for a while…I am still teetering. It’s a matter of physical/emotional/vibrational regulation. Soothing. Letting go. Relax.

I took a nap yesterday and then woke at 2am. It took over an hour to get back to sleep. Stretches. Pillows. THC edible. Reading. I finally drifted off for a couple more hours, or probably one more REM cycle. The broken tooth is flared, my nervous system is activated…hormones are crashing, autoimmune symptoms are flared. Bone fire, skin fire, brain fog, distortions. I am doing well all in all. Super grateful for my home and the internet and the connections and coherence I manage to maintain. I am finding some promising guidance to help me manage my thinking better, now that I understand more about some of my underlying framework.

My Etsy shop is doing okay and I think I will actually get to some rounds of productivity there…though I have been intending to pick up so many fragments for…oh…five years or so. I am tired of struggling to feel financially secure, and I see a path forward with all my content that feels aligned, authentic, accessible…

Autism is a part of that. Irony. Witchery maybe. It all depends on your perspective and your preferred language I guess. I read somewhere recently that human body language/social cues are not an autist’s first language, due to the overload of so many sensory inputs. This makes sense to me. I have studied them extensively and know many micro expressions more accurately than the ‘average human’…which is a funny concept we will untangle in another ‘episode’/post.

I do speak in code also, it’s just, I make up my own, as they are obviously all made up…and most people have these agreed upon frameworks which serve and unserve them relatively well. They help them stay safe and protected, coloring in the lines, living in safe boxes of conformity.

ASD is part of the ‘old paradigm’ code, I think, although it also seems to be evolving, as everything inevitably does, and has shifted to seem to be less accurately describing “disorders” and more “differences”…some of those do lead to dis-abilities, with regard to our current systems and also with regards to the individual body-brain, heart-mind coherence. This is really at the crux of the situation at hand. Heart of it? Root of it? Heart-Mind-Root-Cosmic coherence…

Someone in a group I belong to referred to it as autism spectrum exceptionalities, or something…extra-abilities is more accurate. A lack of pruning is what it boils down to. For better and worse. As if there was such a thing.

We are getting somewhere now…


I am considering pain killers…pharmas I mean. That is an interesting thing I do. Disempowerment. As my mom pointed out, it’s how we belong. It’s a big part of the reason people pull back, put up walls, just stop speaking to me…

Took 600mg ibu and 200mg aced and a hybrid gummie, found an orgasm and dozed off. Woke with the pain manageable again, though I can feel the swelling in my head still. It is nice to be able to see and think around the pain. I continue to feel stronger after falling weak over the weekend. This is the first time I’ve taken pharmas since I was sick in 2019.

I am grateful to have access to them. Grateful I had $20 in my wallet and gas in the tank. Grateful things are open and the women who stood over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t steal any painkillers at Walgreens has a job. Grateful for the Lex Fridman podcast and so many extraordinary humans he shares conversations with. Grateful for the strength and clarity and sovereignty I feel.

I am grateful for the random glimpse of a picture of healthy people I love in a place we used to love together, even as I feel familiar pangs of sadness at being cast out of their lives. They are still and always will be family to me. It’s a difficult thing, to come to terms with the fallibility of those we love, including ourselves. I am grateful for my current guests, and grateful that I had this time carved out to volunteer, as I can cocoon without much guilt. I am looking forward to being back in the saddle soon.

If I had your speakers, this is what I would listen to.