Sorrow as Celebration

Sorrow as celebration. I read that in a magazine this morning. The author recommended, or really insisted, that our ability to relish in polar opposite emotions was essential to well-being. Why not? There are moments of deep sorrow that I feel the most alive, that the right word or phrase alters my life. In sorrow I can see through illusions that I would not have otherwise seen. In sorrow, I remember the depths of my love for another, the expansive and overwhelming knowingness of emotional pull for someone I love so deeply that words spill out in ways that wouldn't have otherwise.

It takes sorrow for me to open the floodgates of emotion, as does the feeling of joy. So, what's the difference between the two? After massive digs into the caverns of my sorrow, I feel blessed, whole, and new, as happens with excessive overflowing of joy. The deepest sadness allows extraordinary avalanches of bliss. And the highs of my ecstasy brings forth the ability to sink into the underbelly of great sadness and excavate anew. Ah...it becomes refreshing dynamite that breaks apart the unnecessary to make room for the magnificent.

So, I say celebrate sorrow. Thank you, Tammy Fischer, for bringing that to my attention this morning. I feel new again.

magic in music

Last night was one of the most magical and beautiful nights of my life upstairs in my new studio I share with Karen Klassen, owner of Spoons and Spoons Garage.

Lights shining on my fabrics and beads.
My friend Sonja sitting in the orange wicker chair eating Rick's cheeseburger.
Piles of threads on the table.
Fabric scraps scattered along the floor like bread crumbs.
And Buzz Andrews singing in the background. With the window opened it was like having Buzz in the studio with me. My feet tapped on the hardwood while layering textures of fabric.

It was a Buzz Andrews night. Again.

And then tonight I got to hear him again, but this time I saw him. I talked with him. I hugged him. I laughed with him. Not only is he a great singer and musician, but he's an even more devoted husband. There's nothing sexier than a man talking so wonderfully about his wife. Thank you, Buzz, for being my driftwood. You make me believe there is a continent full of amazing men.

room for scootching

It's a cloudy day here on the square. I'm alone in the spa as all the practitioners are elsewhere on this Friday afternoon. I volunteered to stay behind and woman the fort. Curled leaves blow past the French doors, and I watch a pink-shirted woman eating lunch across the street at Cafe Malaga.

This is my life. I sip on chai tea from Coffee 'n Cream and receive texts on my new Sprint phone from my McKinney friends. With one, we're sending pictures back and forth on the latest tea mug designs and with another, we're expressing our mutual admiration.

A woman wearing sunglasses and long bleached hair hops into a monster SUV while cars scootch over in the other lane to allow her room for scootching. Room for scootching. We all need it. Last night I needed it. There was a full house here with cackling women, and I had to scootch to the back room away from loud. Loud was not my friend last night. Quiet and calm were twins that wanted to bunk down with me instead, and I was more than willing to make room for them. However, they didn't show up here last night, so I took a walk with the twins around the square instead.

It was lovely.

I didn't hear any loud music coming from Cadillac's last night. The only sounds I heard were those coming from Malaga's where a guitar was being strummed and a heavenly voice singing with it. I couldn't keep myself from joining friends inside and drinking a bottle of Roda red wine. There were dates wrapped in bacon on toothpicks, a mound of spinach in the middle of glazed shrimp, Pelligrino bottles, and a square plate of olives dressed in every shade of green. Gold painted walls with photos of the beautiful owner and her daughters. Tony at the ready with more plates topped with tapas. Annie with hugs and excitement about her new move around the corner -- Malaga's is going bigger. And the red wine enjoyed with two of the most amazing people on earth. I am so blessed.

It's a beautiful life. It's full. It's inspiring. It pushes me. It thrills me, and sometimes exhausts me, but I love it. I just love it, and thoroughly love all those involved.

So, right now all is quiet and peaceful as the police officer rides past the French doors on his bike. A grandpa holds his grandson while walking down the sidewalk, a mom pushes a stroller, and a shop owner sweeps the sidewalk in front of her door. A Jaguar in mint condition drives by, followed by a Ram truck covered in mud.

I'm able to write all this after leaving a Chamber meeting that RejuveNation LifeSpa sponsored at 7:30 this morning and before the spa fills back up with women at another nightly event tonight.

Right now I sit before my computer and breathe calmly. I know the quiet is short lived, and I am so grateful.

For Amelia....

"You did not come forth to face reality. You came forth to spring off of reality. You came forth to let the reality be the basis from which you take flight.

And that is really what we want you to hear. We want you to be in love with the contrast that produces the desire. And we want you to milk those new desires for everything they are worth.

When you get a new desire, if it is big or if it is small, we want you to fantasize around it and give your attention to it, and take every bit of pleasure you can from the power of your mind knowing that manifestation will follow.

But it is not your manifestation that we are here rooting for. It is your moment-to-moment thrill with the power of your flight."

The above quote is from Abraham-Hicks.

I have been obsessed with flight since September 2004 when I took my virgin flight over the mountains from Aspen to Gunnison, a place where I had held huge dreams for myself. That flight to the dream world of two 18 year olds was a huge awakening for me. My pilot was a former college friend who I hadn't seen in almost twenty years and to be able to fly back to a place where we thought we could do anything and be anyone was intoxicating. We sat in the W Cafe where we had back in 1975 and talked about what had happened between then and 2004. How did we end up being the people we were? How could that have happened?

We plotted and forged and reminisced, and it all felt so naughty and enticing. Could we possibly take a leap? Could we possibly make twists and turns in our present lives to become who we thought we were going to be?

He didn't. I did. He's still in Aspen with the same life. I'm nowhere near Aspen figuratively or literally. I leaped. I went home and set the wheels in motion for a single life far away from where I had buried myself in marriage.

And here it is 2009 and just a few days since I saw the movie about Amelia Earhart. I've ravaged every book I can find about her disappearance, and amazingly enough I find many missing puzzle pieces to my own life that have just created more questions and less answers.

It's flight that is foremost on my mind. I cannot listen to an engine overhead without looking up to check whether it's fixed landing gear, high wing or low wing, twin engine or single. I dream about my hand on the yoke, full throttle, and feel the thrill of the nose wheel lifting from the runway.

I don't know who Amelia was. I don't know myself half the time either, but I do know this: It's the moment of liftoff that is the most exhilarating. The possibilities are limitless. The insignificance of what's on the ground becomes minuscule until it all evaporates in the clouds. I bet Amelia felt it too.

death

It's taking on a new meaning for me lately. Death. Is it really what we think it is?

I had some past life regression sessions with my shaman, Rob Wergin, awhile back, and discovered two major things: watching myself "die" was funny and feeling myself come into this world was the most painful experience I have ever encountered.

I wasn't planning on these concepts being true or even imaginable, but now, right now, I'm seeing how true they really are for me.

I belong to a tribe, a family of amazing beings on this planet. Some of them were in a spiritual cleansing process this week that helped them transition in the most profound way.

Even as I write this I feel the humans around me appalled that I would write what happened in any other way than tragic deaths. The more I feel into the situation, the more I know that the transitions were magnificent and it's our short-sightedness that sees it as anything less. It's our disconnect from who we really are that feels it as anguish instead of the ultimate beauty we all live for. These magnificent beings chose to transition out of their physicality after deep breakthroughs facilitated by a man whose heart is open to his purpose, his vision, and his source.

I do not know all the circumstances, nor do I pretend to, but what I do know is that all happens perfectly no matter what it is. Our struggles deepen when we try to fix things, make sense of things, figure things out. When we just be, when we just show up and live in pure joy, we change the world. We affect the world with our laughter. We brighten the world with our smiles. When we open our hearts to pure love, we have no room for judgments and blame. We open our hearts and we become who we really are. We are the god we're seeking. We are the light we want to be in. We are the changes we want to see. We are it.

The true death is the letting go of self, of outcomes, of results. The true death is knowing that all is perfect, all is whole, and all is now and only. There is no other. We are here right now together. What we see in another is ourselves. What we see in the world around us is what's in our hearts.

So, what I see is love. What I feel is love. What I know is love. That is all. That is everything, and there is nothing else to ponder.

my birthday

Today is my birthday -- again. Thank you to all who celebrated with me. I am so grateful. I've had the time of my life here in McKinney. I mean that with great sincerity. It's partying, networking, moving and shaking like I've never seen before in my life. I've thoroughly enjoyed it. I've worked my ass off with still so many other things left to do. I've accomplished so much and feel there's still so many more things to fulfill. I've danced and sang, and I still feel there's so much more to sing and dance about. The more I do, the more I want to do. The more I experience, the more experiences I want.

I've awakened after a very deep sleep in my marriage, and then my two short years of cocooning in Steamboat. It was truly an amazing healing process with the shamans I worked with and the family of friends I played with. I am so very, very grateful because when I moved to this town little did I know what the pace would be like on a regular basis. Fast speed has been the predominant speed. Steamboat for me didn't even know that pace existed.

It was slow, especially on the snowy mornings when I would scrape my windshield and brush the feet of snow off my car. (Okay, sometimes inches, but still...)

I am fifty-three this weekend. I turned the new number last night in a bar dancing with friends. Tonight I did the same thing with more friends and more fun. At one place there were disco lights flashing and every single person dancing on the dance floor was dressed to the nines in black. There were many pairs of boobs that didn't move. With my jeans and t-shirt on, I went through that tight circle of black high-end fashion plates and danced with abandon. I laughed and hugged and threw my arms wide open. I flung my head back and laughed. I shook my hair and moved my feet wildly. Those black suits/dresses just looked at me. I didn't have a care in the world. I danced with a man who mirrored my actions. We went crazy. And it was the best fun I've had. I let go and danced. I danced as if no one was watching, but I saw many pairs of eyes on me. I danced anyway. I had a hole in one knee while surrounded by designer black wear. I danced anyway. I was sober, coherent, and alive. I especially danced anyway.

I then went to where I knew I was with my people, a place where there were no designer wear, especially in black. There were jeans and t-shirts and I was grabbed and squeezed, kissed and hugged.

I work hard. I usually work seven days a week even, so to play this wildly for two days in a row, is just downright decadent.

But today is my birthday, and I deserve it. I also deserve to go to bed with my love's arms around me. I deserve to have him nearby so when the hour approaches meal time, he can walk through the spa door and pick me up in his arms and plant kisses on my mouth like he used to. I deserve to have him here with me, to sleep all night with him, to wake up with him, to eat regular meals with him. He used to tell me what a great cook he is. I left the state before he could prove it to me. He also told me he'd give me a massage. We never got to that either. Me being naked always led to something else.

Today is my birthday, and I deserve to wake up in the morning with him lying next to me and kissing me awake. I deserve to be able to look into his eyes more than once a year. I deserve to have him near me, to work with him nearby, and to dance with total abandonment in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by Armani suits and Vera Wang dresses. I deserve to be in his arms and melt into him because that's what I came here for. The trip I'm on now includes him, and I intend him near me because I can, because that's what I desire, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am awesome without him here, and to have him near would make it all that much more full and magical and amazing.

And I deserve it.

one ladybug, one movie, One

I've been having adventures with ladybugs lately. Well, one in particular.

It started one night when a friend stopped by the Gratitude Cafe/RejuveNation LifeSpa to see about going to Cadillac Pizza Pub. She needed to change clothes and drop off her dog. So, off we go to her house where she hands me a book that her landlord had written. I open the book and the first character's name I see is the last name of my guy in Steamboat. My friend sits next to me and I show her the name. I said wouldn't it be cool if I found out while flipping through the pages that his first name is the same as my guy's. As soon as I got that out of my mouth, I turned to a page and right above my thumb is "And his name will be ---------." And yes, it was the same as Bo's real name. Not that the character in the book has the same first and last name as Bo, but there are two characters closely connected throughout the book with both of Bo's names.

Now, I know there are many skeptics in the world who don't see their lives as orchestrated by some masterful maestro, but I don't happen to be one of those. I see my life as an amazing fabric intertwined with everything and everyone I encounter. As a matter of fact, I journaled about this fantastic experience I had had with Bo. As he was talking with me one night I could feel him. From the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, I could feel his energy wrapped up in mine. The best way I can describe it is quiet euphoria. It was tranquil and all encompassing. And it was the feeling of being home, my true home, a home I didn't know existed. I called it oneness in my journal entry. I wrote about how we were not separated by miles because we were one. I could feel him. I could smell him. He and I had merged and there was no separation. We were one. Period.

Now, back to my story. So my friend and I head to Cadillac's where the bartender brings me my Cabernet. As I sit there talking with friends, I look over at the glass and see something crawling along the outside of the glass. It was a ladybug. It flew from the glass to me. It crawled up my arm. Now what's really amazing about that is that we were in the back of the bar and it was packed with people. However, the ladybug got inside the bar, made its way through the mob and landed on my glass out of all the millions of places it could've landed.

I remembered that there was some kind of message about ladybugs in the movie Under the Tuscan Sun, so this morning I slid in the DVD and watched.

The main character played by Diane Lane, a writer and newly divorced, moved to Tuscany to begin again. She buys a villa and sets about spiffing it up. She longs for people to fill it, but most importantly she desires an amazing love in her life. Her friend, Katherine, tells her that when she was young she searched and searched for ladybugs until she grew tired and laid down in the field of flowers. When she awoke she found ladybugs all over her. Katherine tells Diane that she needs to let go of the search, be happy right now, and what she desires will appear.

Throughout the movie her wishes do come true, unlike what she thinks, but still... In the last scene she walks around the wedding reception in her yard and is filled up with the love she has for all those present. She realizes her dreams did come true. She does have a family, and she did host a wedding at her house. She lays down on a chaise outside and closes her eyes when a man comes up to her speaking in broken Italian.

She tells him that yes, he found the American writer who lives in Tuscany, and it is she. He bends down and picks up something off her arm. "A ladybug," he tells her, and then says that she reviewed his first book that eventually led to his next book that he redid because of her criticism.

Now, I'm watching this scene. I see the ladybug being picked off her arm. I'm hearing that he's a writer, and I already know that she's a writer, and I'm seeing a lot of similarities between her life and mine (minus the Tuscan villa, but still Bo and I are writers). She asks him his name, and I immediately think oh my god, it can't be the same as Bo's. He says it's Ed. Whew! His name's Ed. Not even close.

This is what I'm thinking as the credits roll and the picture of Ed shows up with the actor's real name. You guessed it -- the same name as my Bo's real name.

I have no idea what any of this means, nor would I even attempt to figure it out. It all is whatever it is. I'm enjoying the stories as they play out, and thrilled to be a part of it all.

And one more thing, the novel that my friend's landlord wrote is published by the same company that's publishing mine.

Okay, and another one more thing -- the title of the book my friend's landlord wrote is One.