Cosmic Joke

We must laugh at ourselves. We are the master fool. You have done nothing wrong, but you have also done nothing right. In essence, you have done nothing.

Life is the Cosmic Joke, and you are the star of your own show. Stop taking yourself so seriously so that you can catch the mechanics of your character.

Play your part well. Laugh during the funny parts. Close your eyes during the scary parts, and cry during the sad parts.

Emotions are the spices of life. Go ahead, be spicy. Have fun and enjoy all the thrills of life, but remember too much salt spoils the broth.

You will make mistakes. Sometimes you will suffer, but nothing lasts forever. Dive in. The safety of the shoreline eventually disappears into the ocean.

You can either go get life or wait for it to come to you. There is no right or wrong way. There is only the Way.

In This Moment

In this moment I am breathing in the quietness of the morning. My mantra today is, "There is nothing to do. It's all already been done."  Lately, I have to remind myself, increasingly more often, to slow down. What I am hurrying to get to? Where is it I am going? That quiet, but oh so wise voice, whispering from the backdrop of my consciousness, answers, "There is nowhere to go and no time other than now."

Last Sunday I made post on Facebook asking my friends to give me some inspiration to write. It has taken me the week to settle into a space quiet enough to sit and allow my thoughts to formulate into words. In this moment, I am feeling grateful, as their thoughtful comments have inspired me. I hope you will see your threads in this quilt I am weaving with words.

If I am to be completely transparent, I must admit that my inner quiet this morning is partly due to being utterly exhausted. Although, I do love what I do, twenty-six years is a long time to be a Massage Therapist. I find as the years go by I need more breaks from this work to avoid burnout. In this moment, my body exhales a sigh of relief knowing I will let it rest today.

One of  my loveliest, dearest friends, sent me a care package of delightful things and a soul renewing letter.  She said in her letter, that one thing she imagined I never knew about her was that she secretly wished her hands looked like mine. She's a bit younger than me but close enough to see what was around the corner for her. While I have heard from many people, I have great hands. No one has ever said they were pretty. I have had old looking hands since I was young. They look like useful, hard working hands, but I will not kid myself. They are not pretty. They are thick and muscular, showing the signs of far too much sun with fingers curving in strange ways that have yielded to the demands of pressure I've put on them over the last few decades.        

In this moment, I think about her hands and how lovely I always thought they were. We haven't seen each other in a few years. From the age of about 45 on, it seems women's bodies change at an alarming rate. She said her hands looked like mine now, and she was happy they did. Without even seeing them, I know they express the hands of a woman strong enough to dig in the dirt and soft enough to nurture things to grow. We age gracefully by accepting the changes that come and honoring the lines and scars that living a juicy life leaves on our bodies and the imprints it leaves on our souls. Regrets are for those who wish to age without grace. My friend and I were once young, sweet dancers, who grew into sexy sirens with full hips and who are now growing gracefully into wise women with the authenticity of their lives expressed on their faces, wearing our battle scars like badges of honor.

"Cicadas emerge this year after 17 years of incubation."  In this moment, I wonder what I have been incubating. I ponder what my life would've been like if I had remained still the last 17 years. Knowing what I know now, I would like to think I would've taken better care of my skin and my joints, saved more money and lost my temper a little less. Funny thing is, I know a lot more now, and I still spend too much time in the sun, spend too much money and spend too much energy being upset when things don't go my way. I have held back very little. But if I have incubated anything over the last 17 years, it would be the fear of inadequacy, of somehow not measuring up, of not meeting my full potential. As that serves no purpose, I am ready to release that now.

Aging gracefully happens when accept this moment as it is and realize it's all we have. Our full potential is not something that will happen in the future. It happens when we are present in the totality of Now. When we can not only accept our failures and misgivings but when we can recognize our strengths and talents and when we can be grateful for all of it...  then we have learned  the art of aging  gracefully.

Sometimes we fail to see the beauty in everyday. We have special days to honor mothers, fathers, veterans, and even the Earth, so that we take time out to be grateful for all that we are blessed with. What if we treated everyday as if it were sacred? What if we honored the other humans, plants and animals we  cohabit this planet with?  What if we stopped long enough to notice the beauty of the moment, the sublime in the mundane and the order in the chaos? It's all there for us all the time. We're just one walk in the woods away from it in any given moment.

There's a magical place with tall trees, spring green ferns, spotted mushrooms and fairies of all sizes and shapes that exists in my imagination.  Did I mention butterflies? My magical place is filled with butterflies, lots of butterflies. At times I just want to kneel down and wrap my arms around this beautiful place and whisper sweetly to that little girl inside that still just wants play, and dream and dance, "I got you. It's okay to come out." Sometimes, it's almost as if I can feel her disappearing from my awareness. When she gets buried in mind underneath all the demands of the day, I head to the woods, the mountains or the ocean, wherever I can get to. I know that whatever inner conflicts I have cannot hold a candle to the purifying fires stirred by the wildness of nature.


In this moment, I feel the call to take a walk on the wild side. Yes, as always, even when I feel have nothing to write, the simple act of slowing down enough to sit while the words flow, is healing. I may not be able to travel to the other side of the globe today, no hanging out with wild sadhus, wicked saints and groovy gurus, but I can go to the woods and take in all it's glorious wildness, because in my mind there are always lions and tiger and bears. I am not a tired masseuse. I am a strong yogini with wildness in her heart and magic in her veins aging gracefully with the passage of everyday beauty in everyday life.
#shineshamelessly#blissoutmadly#juicylife#

Divinely Feminine

I want to wear a red dress, the kind that floats around my thighs and reminds me I'm a woman.

I want the back to be low, so I can feel the strands of my hair tickle my skin when I turn my head. I love those sweet little messages my body sends to my mind reminding it that we're still quite alive.

I want to wear it with red shoes, the kind that allow my little red toe tips to peek out, high enough that they make my hips sway a little more than if my feet were planted firmly on the ground. Sometimes it's good to feel a little less grounded.

I want a gentle breeze to catch my own perfume and brush it across my face, reminding me not all beauty can be seen.

I want to feel the power of my feminine wiles when I walk in a room and make heads turn. AND not for the art of manipulation. AND not even to use or mis-use in any way.

I just want to feel it and roll around in it and get drunk in it.

I want to remember that power is in me, that sensuality is mine. No matter how old I become, no matter how my body changes, no matter, no matter, no matter...

The feminine within me never leaves.

It has nothing to do with what I wear or how I look BUT everything to do with how I feel. I feel it when I move my body. I feel it when I write. I feel it when I laugh. I feel it when I cry.

It looks and feels different in every woman. We express it through our art, through our touch, through our compassion and through our passion. These are our gifts to the world to be cherished.

BUT this individual expression of it is mine. I am free to revel in it, and use it as I will. AND I will wear that dress and those shoes and get lost in my own essence... AND I will own it.

AND for the silly creatures who can't see that the sway in my hips is not for them, but a movement that comes from something they will not ever fully understand, that mystery will be impossible for them to know. They have no clue how divinely sensual it is to be feminine.

Some will spend their entire lives searching for answers in every feminine wile that floats their direction and still know nothing. They are the surface dwellers afraid to explore the treasures in the depths of the ocean. It is the divers courageous enough to plunge deep that find the gems.

If you want to know me, look at the straightness of my spine and recognize a woman with a backbone. Explore the lines on my face.... The ones around my mouth from laughing, the ones between my eyebrows from fretting and the ones around my eyes from crying. Although it may sag a little now, look at my jaw and see the pugnacity of a woman determined to know and live in Truth.

If you want to feel me, get lost in the sway of my hips... If you dare?  They express the transparency of my nature that excites you as well as scares you a little beyond your comfort zone.

I do not waste my time with flirtations. If you can feel the intensity of my gaze, know that it was intentional. If you can't, you must be sleeping. It's not my role to awaken you. I am too old and too wise to be frivolous with my gifts.

He, she, it... whatever.  Labels are not important. Authenticity of being is important. It's not who we are that matters. What matters is  knowing who we are and mustering up the bravery to express it. #liveoutloud#shineshamelessly#blissoutmadly#

Where the Wild Ones Shake

To be a writer one must write. I feel like an imposter lately, posing as a writer for I haven't written in so long. I sit to write, and it seems the words don't flow. They have no substance, no juicy bits to express. Have I nothing to say? Have I lost my voice? Are my thoughts that jumbled? Have I become so caught up in the world that the feeler, the thinker, the artist in me has gone to sleep?

That cannot be. For it is the feeler- thinker- artist in me that feeds my soul. When she sleeps, my world seems smaller with hard edges and straight lines. When she is awake, she dances wildly in mind, painting pictures with words, expanding horizons and softening edges with her curly, swirly lines.

I felt so ridiculously emotional yesterday for imagined reasons. That usually happens when she's trying to get my attention, and I am too busy for her. And if I ignore her, she only knocks louder. However, what disturbs me more is when she becomes silent.

I fear I may have been ignoring her louder and louder knocking, and now the her silence has become deafening. I have made a horrible mistake, but I see what I must do now. I must stir her from her slumber, and I must do it now or she may go deeper and deeper into sleep, farther and farther away from me.

I will start gently. I will go to her favorite places, where the tall trees sway. She so loves to hear their sweet creaking. I will breathe in the sun until she can feel it kiss her cheeks. I will sit by the pond and watch the ducks and herons, then dip my toes in with the hopes that the chilly water will get her attention.  Then I will play her favorite music and swirl and twirl my body until she feels the aliveness of the rhythm that has been resting in my hips.

Yes, that's it! I will dance her awake until I fall to the floor in a sweaty pool of juiciness. Then I will breathe, breathe long and slow and deep until she speaks. I know her well. She can be coerced. She is not angry or sad. She is simply bored to tears. Worldly concerns, errands, work and toil are like poison to a passionate soul.

 No, I will not let her stay asleep. We will dance and sing today. The day's duties have been canceled. Don't bother to call us because where we are going we cannot be reached, beyond superficial man made dreams to where the wild ones shake away everything that is not soul.