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titanium spoons

I’ve been wanting to write lately but notice I speak of the same things over and over in blog posts.  Losing a friend and lover, creating meaning out of the loss.  Gardening as a metaphor.  I went to writing group the other evening and was excited for a friend who is really shining in her writing.  There’s a few older eccentric men that come to our group and harsh her for picking out a little tavern to host our writing.  Small talk deemed a distraction, people turning into mosquitos.  I found myself in tears in church on Sunday listening to her sermon about riding her bike across the country.  I don’t feel the need to compare us any other way other than we are both on a journey.  Both writers.  Both searching.

I want so much to go down the rabbit hole of analyzing my past cycle with the old flame.  I think awful theories of subconscious creation of pain through other women, attacks, lies.  I think what was different this time was giving in a bit more to the freeze reflex.  I laid first on a plastic mattress on the floor and then a futon mattress and kept whispering “light as a feather, stiff as a board” while hands pressed all over my body.  I told myself to be quiet, that this might make things better.  I did not touch back.  I did not kiss.  I let it all happen and felt my stomach curl into knots.  I remembered parties of my youth sleeping on a carpeted floor in a trailer while some stranger pressed against me.  Paralyzed.

Instead of trying to make my demise all about cheating and lying, I can just default to values once again.  I don’t have many possessions and call myself a minimalist but I think survivor is a more fitting term.  I spent money like crazy in college and will forever suffer the consequences of my need to feel good…right now.  I sit on the couch in anxiety and watch an Amazon cart fill up with materials for solar power, titanium spoons, objects.  I stop to put down a spoonful of hillbilly beef soup I had made and laugh.  Why on earth won’t a regular spoon work?  Why do things need purchased?  Why so much time spent trying to figure out what to buy?  I see the cycle of capitalism and consumerism played out right in front of me  under the guise of “my land, my tiny home.”  Ownership.  Possession.

Despite the new rebellion against materialism the consumer mentality it still very much alive.  Still worried about kind and quantity.  Two titanium spoons, one for the ex and one for his guests.  Security sought in numbers all motivated by the anxiety that there may be some missing out of what’s going on.  Someone else might build a better tiny home, be more sustainable, have the best batteries.  Researched  lifetime warranties a little more lying naked on the couch in the morning.  Throw away cactus plants, throw away male marijuana plants, throw away people.  I learned most about what’s important inside a concrete room for three months.  One spoon works great and takes on many uses.  A toothpaste box becomes storage, toothpaste becomes a whitening agent for v-neck tees.  Stripped of identity and objects, my thoughts become my only possessions.  A true shift from the inside.

I still am teetering on that rabbit hole wondering if I was used for sex, unbending like a 2×4, noiseless like a spider.  As I shower I feel my heart jump as I mistake the soap bubbles for a spider.  I remember a game I created called finger spider so I could crawl my veiny hand tendrils all over the body of that same dude.  Not frozen all the time.  But still scared, seeing paper tigers and toy guns.  The last nail in the coffin became a pair of skis.  I watch the crazy eyes emerge–the same ones contained in a video with all actors high on acid.  Folks sure do get crazy over the things that help them escape.  I’ve gotten pretty crazy, too.  The skis were traded back and forth until eventually they have ended up in my truck bed.  Its hard to bicker over possessions (skis) not giving a shit about skiing.  Its hard to admit I’ve been fooled again.  And so I write.  About the same things over and over with or without distraction in the tiny tavern of my heart.

“To live fully, we must learn to use things and love people, and not love things and use people.”

― John Powell

Archetypes, character study, Colorado, Death, Dharma, Dichotomies, eccentric, Existentialism, Expansion, Faith, Fear, Mental Health, Micro Non-Fiction, Mindfulness, mountains, Non-Fiction, Nostalgia, poetry, Relationships, Running, Self Growth, Self Love, Self Reflection, subject, Universiality, Yoga

all life will love

I’ve written on oppression this week.  Philosophy.  Relationships.  Diving into my thoughts and feelings on where I am, where I want to be.  And I’m sometimes amazed at what I’ve done—created exactly what I want in my life.  And like clockwork, every time I leave a certain situation that is feeding me somehow, yet not nourishing my spirit—really good things happen.  Will I start to listen to the universe?  I’ve been so elated lately to make friends and be more social than I’ve been in a while.  I’m starting to test as an extrovert again (ENFJ) and its exciting to be around others and hear what’s important in their world.  Get out of my own head.

There are some subjects that I find utterly boring and want to be defiant just to show others there are different ways to live.  My diet, for example.  I’ve lost about 30 pounds in the past few months, mostly due to what I’ve been calling the sorrow diet.  I do the ketogenic or low carb kick and try to limit whatever carbs I take in—and rarely eat sugar in its pure form.  Strawberries and yogurt in the morning give me a little energy for the day and then its whatever hamburger patties, coleslaw, chicken wings, brats, etc. that I can shove down my hatch.  I secretly laugh hearing others around me talking about cleanses, recipes for low calorie cauliflower whatever, and I head off to Mick Deezers for like the seventh time this week for two hot and spicy chicken sandwiches.  I use the chicken patty to scrape the mayo off the bun and squeeze the paper wrapper around the discarded pieces making a ball of refuse.

I miss my running club folks and take my daily run wishing for the one quiet runner girl I admired so much watching her body maneuver down steep trails and try to move my body in the same way.  Building repetition, confidence, lung capacity.  I bug others to go on mountain bike rides as I’m learning and have none of that competitive streak yet.  Just enjoying the feeling of wind on my face and always surprised when my bike follows my front tire in exactly the way I direct it. A metaphor for life, front tire always going where I need but sometimes pressing that back tire brake too hard and spinning out for another crash.  After any crash I always get up first, look around, and then assess the damage.  Who saw me mess up?  I’m okay, I’m okay.  Aye, a scratch!  After every fall I hop on again a little nervous and scared of a shaking back tire but confident I’ll be right back where I need to be.

We went on a stroll the other evening and Pagosa is beginning to be a real neat place for me where I encounter folks I know everywhere I go.  We pass a certain yard and see a couple doing yard work and I comment on the teamwork and then the Stepford wife looking scenario.  Turns out, we know this couple although I don’t remember meeting this woman at astrology group.  She leads us into the backyard to see this wonderful patio-room she has created by the river like a scene in a romance novel with a huge four post bed, brown mosquito netting hanging above and special rocks and objects all around.  I think about what it might be like to sleep in the space with the sound of spring run off crashing in the background.  She mentions they tried to sleep here one night and the rushing water was just too loud.  Perfect for me, I think.  River water matching the high waters of my soul carving mountains.

My work with clients is feeding my soul in so many ways and yesterday I started to realize that I am changing right along with my clients.  Clients have chosen to terminate, clients have chosen to take risks.  And I live for that moment whether in sorrow or utter contentment when we look at each other in the eyes and our souls touch.  The healing nature of the relationship is working!  When I set the intention that I must work hard in a relationship—I make it completely functional.  So, I’m still perturbed at any failure in my relationships but understanding that some corner of my being knows I shouldn’t work as hard because this is not for me.  I remember struggling profoundly with loneliness in Laramie with the paradox of so many friends around, I couldn’t settle on who to hang out with.  There’s a music festival in town this weekend and while I remember my hippie dancing in college very fondly I know now that this won’t feed me.  And so I think of who wants to hike Pagosa Peak with me, who wants to camp.  Who wants to see the ongoing festival of trees right in nature-groomed backyard of Pagosa.

I am so, so, content.  I’m right where I want to me.  I am not a bad employee.  I’m not a bad girlfriend.  I’m not a bad writer.  I’m not a bad counselor.  I’m doing the very best I can, always shamefully aware of my shortcomings but learning to just let that stuff bubble to the surface to figure out to swim through the foam.  If you want to be around me, know I’m intense.  Advocate for your voice to be heard and tell me to simmer down and I promise I will correct myself.  I become so much better at things when I fail first.  And maybe that’s what this is all about.  Failing gloriously to reflect on the junctures when I could have made a different choice and the junctures where poor choices turned into personal growth.  I am an introvert, I am an extrovert, and I want to seek to connect to all around me.  No matter if I can’t quite understand the pop culture of cleanses and small talk about the weather, I can appreciate everything secretly laughing at the absurdity of it all.  This one, wild and precious life.

 

“If you Love all Life you observe, you will observe all Life will Love.”

― Donald L. Hicks, Look into the stillness