Grody. Yeah, I said Grody.

Wow this weather sucks.

That's right. I'm blaming my melancholy on the weather. Melancholic. I was a colicky baby. I have a cowlick in my hair.

It has nothing to do with the NEW YEAR. Things are actually better now than they were last year at this time, so it can't be that. Well, partially, it's the neverending "transition" that I seem to be constantly and consistently going through. But it ain't necessarily a bad thing. It's a good thing. Just uncomfortable at times.

And DAMN does this weather suck.

I feel like a mouth-breathing doorman commenting on the weather repeatedly, but I *did* just come back from sunny southern California, where the skies were blue and cloudless. So the contrast is a wee bit noticeable. Not that I would want to be in that sunny southern California on a permanent basis. Or even a temporarily permanent basis. Because as I've already established...

The family brings the CRAZY.

Man, even my kitties seem melancholy. Edgar keeps curling up in the tightest little orange fuzzball imaginable. And Willa, the typical little brat, has been whining for like an hour.

I gotta' get the hell out of here.

Not The Fun Kind of Pool

Oy. I have the duty of the jury.

I postponed it once and I have the option of postponing it twice more, but I think I'm just going to go this time.

I've been before. In fact, I served on a jury. I served on a jury for a criminal trial and we found him guilty. And I found it extremely uncomfortable.

I mean, besides having to listen to days of boring testimony, fighting the whole time to keep my eyelids propped open without the use of my hands or toothpicks...besides being locked in a room with eleven other people who were, frankly, not the sharpest of tacks...besides the crappy little sandwiches and the wasted days and the blah blah blah... I had a moral crisis!

Okay, yes the guy was guilty. He was CLEARLY guilty. Ridiculously so. And we did (finally) find him guilty. I do feel confident that I gave the "right" verdict. But I didn't want that responsibility! I felt so strongly that it just wasn't my place.

Which, of course, is exactly wrong. Because it IS my place. Because I'm a peer. I'm a random sampling of the population and according to our glorious constitution or whatever, it is ALL of our places to serve as jurists from time to time.

Well, all I say to that is: I did it once and I ain't doing it again.

But I am going to go. It's the DAY after another IIN weekend, which means three early days in a row. There go my Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. And possibly longer... But I figured I'm not seeing clients yet, so it won't cut into my paycheck. Plus, even though it'll be tiring to have several days like that in a row, I'm sure we'll be given a ton more books and CDs and the like during our next weekend, so sitting on my butt in a jury pool waiting room will give me plenty of time to get some of that work done.

That is if I don't get picked.

Oh hell. I'm willing to fake mental illness here if it'll keep me from being picked.

And whoever's thinking "who needs to fake?" SHADDUP!

Ease Has Been Lost In This Alternate Reality

My parents' house is an alternate reality. The laws of nature don't work here the way you'd think they were supposed to. Linear reasoning is an impossibility and I have long since given up trying to understand what's going on half the time.

In some ways, I'm gaining new perspective and even respect for the places in which my parents are stuck. How can they be anywhere other than where they are what with everything going on? Of course they're fighting. Of course their moods switch faster than you can blink. Of course they're eating themselves into comas. Of course they hold grudges and give silent treatments and roll their eyes and yell about the inconsequential. Their lives have been turned UPSIDE DOWN over the last seven months and it seems like there isn't going to be any letting up soon. So they yell when they're sad and they cry when they're mad and they glare when all they want is a hug.

I'm seeing more how all of their various issues are conspiring together to keep them where they are and make it impossible for them to grow and change. Their house sucks the energy like a whirlpool drain. I find myself grazing in the kitchen, wolfing down mango slices even though I'm not hungry. I catch myself starting to engage in arguments and discussions that really don't make any sense. Even my physical energy is in the toilet. I was sitting on the floor today and I just didn't want to get up. I was amazed I was able to run on the treadmill the first couple of days I was here. Where did I get that energy and motivation? Cuz it ain't there now! (I realize, thank god, the "stuckness" isn't mine and I'm very sure I'll find my drive again once I'm back on my own turf.)

Surprisingly, I am feeling a level of compassion that had been difficult for me to access of late. Yes, despite all the criticisms above these lines and below this post, I'm feeling warmer towards my parents. I think I "get it" more. Rather than feeling distanced and disgusted in amazement at their behavior; I'm finding tolerance is coming easier. There's a little less judgment in my bones. But I still don't like it. I don't think I ever will. And I don't have to, I suppose. Of course I wish things were different, but...

I hope hope hope they heal soon. My folks aren't always like this. They haven't always been this way. Or maybe they have and I've just become more aware of it through my own growth. I don't know. But there is an ease that is missing and I'd like it to be found again.

Hexmas

Again again again.

Christmas fucked my shit up.

That's okay though. It happens. Shit happens. Family happens. Screaming babies happens. Perfectionist parents happens. Strange relatives happens.

Seriously. I'm a little pissed off, a little disappointed. But I'm really feeling okay with things.

Is that the wine typing?

That's okay too.

Merry merry.

Howzit in Hell-A

I have been on my feet ALL FREAKING DAY. Cooking. Cooking all day for Christmas. Oh fun and joy.

The time here with my folks has been up and down and up and down and bouncing like a trampoline. It's amazing how quickly a perfectly benign conversation can turn into antagonism and tension.

Example #1:

Talking to my dad this morning about my forays into holistic nutrition and the like. This is a topic over which we usually connect quite well, owing to his business history. But he's in the vitamin field, and I'm encouraging people to get their nutrition out of food. Somehow, some-bloody-how, he starts pressing me and asking "Well, people don't really want to change their diet and lifestyle and they want a quick fix like a vitamin, so how do you reach them?" And I say that those people won't be the ones coming to me for help. He keeps pressing and saying "Well, but you can only reach so many people, so what do you do then?" And I tell him that there are over 1,100 people in my school this year alone. If we each talk to only one person, that's another 1,100 people who are thinking about nutrition in a new way. He comes back with "But that's only a small percentage of the population. People don't want to change their lifestyles." Blah blah. He kept going on. Anyway. So what was the deal there? And he didn't understand why I might get angry with what he was saying. Gee, dad. You basically spent ten minutes arguing to me that what I'm doing isn't worthwhile because I can't possibly change the world. I HAD ALREADY SAID EARLIER that I AGREED that in certain cases, vitamins were totally necessary and that most people DIDN'T get everything they needed out of food alone. I had also said that the people who aren't willing to make any diet and lifestyle changes probably aren't going to be the ones starting on a serious vitamin regimen either. But he kept coming at me asking how do I expect to reach the people that don't want to change? I'm not going to reach enough people through counseling, Thanks, dad. Thanks for that amazing support.

Example #2:

Talking to my mom this afternoon. We were actually having kind of a great conversation. I was able to share things with her that were going on in my life. I was opening up about some stuff that I had been holding back on and I was even considering broaching some really deep subjects. Until she turned the conversation to rehashing an argument we had several weeks earlier. She started telling me how self-centered and self-involved I am. How she doesn't understand it and doesn't like it. How she sees that my friendships change over the years and I don't seem to keep friends very long (Never mind that one of my friends has been since KINDERGARTEN, another is from ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, and others are several years long. Never mind THAT of course.). She said that I obviously don't value my relationships and don't treasure or hold dear my friendships. She loves her friends and wants to keep them around. She also said that the older people get, the more they get set in their ways and the more naturally self-centered they become and do I ever worry that I'm never going to be able to have a long term relationship because I will be so self-involved that I won't be able to let anyone into my life. Holy shit. I mean, COME ON. At that point, I said that I am no longer going to sit there while she calls me cold and hard and self-centered. She left to go take a shower and when she came back, it was like NOTHING HAD EVER HAPPENED.

Seriously. Seriously. Again. Seriously.

So I'm an iceberg, huh? A lonely island iceberg. Nice.

Wish me a merry miracle Christmas, please. I've managed to avoid fights and arguments and engaging and getting sucked in. I'm doing a damn good job, I think. I've even had some fun moments. But I ate some dark chocolate twice today, nibbled too much on my own cooking, and tomorrow I have to deal with 9 more family members. WISH ME FUCKING LUCK!!!!!

What My Tea Told Me

Mmm. I love Yogi Tea.

Tonight my tea bag said:

The beauty in you is your spirit. The strength in you is your endurance. The intelligence in you is your vastness.

Lovely.

Oh, So THAT's What's Going On...

So.

The last two and a half to three weeks I've been a leeeetle nutso. Dealing with a lot of anxiety, some obsessive behaviors, old feelings. Basically coming up against yucky stuff that I couldn't quite explain. And I've been really hard on myself about it.

But my therapist reminded me today that I'm going to be seeing my mother in a few days. And that this is what it always looks like before I see my mother. And I always have stuff come up the two weeks after I see my mother too.

Doh.

How is it that I always forget that?!? I mean, this has been the pattern for how many years now? And each time it happens, I wonder where the hell it came from and what the hell is going on and all that junk.

Not to say I'm stuck in a neverending repeating pattern over here. It is always a bit better each time. The more and more aware I become, the easier it is to find the underlying stuff that's really going on.

I'm glad she reminded me, though. Because some of the pulls make sooo much more sense now. I'm regressing! Doi. I'm flying back to L.A. to go visit my mommy and daddy. Of course I'm regressing!

Knowing what's going on and forgiving myself for it makes it possible to address is and MOVE THE FUCK ON!!

Yay!

Zip It

It has been brought to my attention that my blog might be perhaps too transparent a view into the inner sanctum of my mind. One friend described it as "depressing". Someone mentioned it was "raw".

I've never been any good at mystery.

But the constructive criticisms were not intimating that I'm losing it or anything. Rather, that I'm much more sane and together than the posts seem to convey (and yes, I'm defending myself here for some reason). My writings (according to one person) appear to communicate that I'm reaching out for someone to save me or something. Perhaps I am reaching out, in a way, but not for a savior.

I don't know what I'm writing this thing for, really. It's as if I'm leaving my diary open on my coffee table. I've wondered since my very first post what my purpose is in putting this stuff online. Do I want people to read it? Which people exactly? And why? Is this catharsis? Or is this an unhealthy exercise altogether?

Any opinions, thoughts, commentary, or musings would be much appreciated.

Click here to send me an email.

So Many Thingies

I feel like I'm journaling all the time now. About everything. I always had this much going on in my head...I think I just chose to, if not exactly ignore it, then slightly deny it. But I kept busy.

These days I am woefully unproductive. So much energy is going into processing processing processing that I'm finding it difficult to produce. That leaves me feeling a bit shitty. My days seem to amount to very little. I've become great at getting "outside the house" stuff done--but not so much the things I really need to do.

I need to clean - recaulk my tub - refinish my marble - send various emails - write Xmas cards - make Xmas presents - paint - excavate my closet - pay bills - organize - print business cards - do other "businessy" things - keep up with FAM (not short for family) - stop eating - research - Bollocks. Loads of things. Fuck it.

Oh great. It's a full moon. Thaaaaat's great. What am I doing? Someone called me a loser last night. To my face. Well, over the phone. I think she meant it in a joking way; but she has no idea how it struck home.

Unrelated to that, but also to something else someone else did last night...shit. I can't get into details. Let me put it this way: Don't dick with me. Don't pretend to reach out and make contact if you're doing it just for appearances. Half-hearted bullshit is ridiculous and I DON'T APPRECIATE IT. Ass. What are you avoiding? I'll call you on your bullshit, you know. I expect the same in return, but don't think I'll let you get away with fooling yourself--or god forbid--me. I'm smarter than the average bear.

More Death Thoughts. Fun!

How could my grandparents NOT attend their own son's funeral? I just found out from my FRIEND last night (not my family) that my grandparents didn't go to my uncle's service. At first I thought that perhaps they didn't make the trip up to North Carolina because they just flew into Florida on Wednesday. But no. Apparently they decided long ago that they didn't think they could handle it. WTF?!?

Maybe that's being a little judgmental considering I too did not attend the service. We all grieve in our ways blahdy blah. But DAMN. Their own son?!?! I'm kind of horrified.

Who would show up to my funeral? God, that is depressing. Excluding family members, I think, barring travel expenses, perhaps 30. Maybe. Not all of those people are friends--ha! If only I had a loving crowd like that. But I think they'd show up if I fucking DIED.

I think, though, that it would take people a while to notice I died. If I croaked in my apartment tonight, I think it would take a week before anyone noticed. Well, maybe not this particular week, what with the holidays and everything, I am very much expected certain places. But in normal life, I think it would take a week. My parents would think I was just busy and wasn't returning calls. My appointments would wonder what the fuck happened, but I don't think they'd come banging on my door. My kitties are totally going to eat my eyeballs.

Poem? Dinner and a Hope

So easily derailed am I.
Or rather--how much do I rely on the external for fulfillment.
When will I be enough?
When will the silence be soothing?
When will alone not be lonely?
I'm in awe of anyone who doesn't own a television.
Or doesn't use the internet.
They must be such productive people.
Or awash in so much connection
so many fulfilling encounters
that they need the home-grown space to breathe.
How is it that I make friends everywhere
and keep them nowhere.
Is it really Friday? Am I really here again?
It has been four days and three quarters
that I've managed to just be with things
with every thing
Every Fucking Thing that has arisen.
But I haven't been alone a single evening
Except tonight.
So let's just see how that goes--shall we?

These thoughts were written while treating myself to dinner at my favorite (organic live vegan kosher) restaurant. Beside me sat a woman who drank only her own bottled water and insisted on eating with plastic cutlery, which she first washed in a glass. Strangely, she didn't seem bothered by either the bowl her soup was served in or her date eating with the metal utensils and dipping into the same food as she.

Germaphobes kind of astound me. If only they realized how filthy life really is. Do they have any idea how many spiders they will unknowingly ingest in their lifetimes? It's insane to think we can sterilize and antibacterialize the planet. It does us more harm than good you OCDers.

And another topic shift: Some people really show up. Some people really don't. Some people kind of sort of look like they show up--but really they're absent. Some people manage to show up without even being there. I hope one day it won't matter to me one shit whether any of them do anything because I won't need them at all. They'll be icing on the cake, but the cake will be moist enough to do without.

Shoot me Up

I have hyperhidrosis. Oh no! I'm dying!

No.

Hyperhidrosis means that I have overactive sweat glands, specifically in my hands and feet. They DRIP sweat. It's gross. And it makes it really hard to type or write (the paper gets smudgy and wrinkled) or do yoga or shake hands or lots of those things.

And there aren't any good treatments! There are topical thingies that are basically super duper anti-perspirents. They don't work so well for me. Or there's these elctro-shock tanks that you can put your hands and feet in for like an hour a day and it sends electric currents through you and might help. But it's really painful and time consuming. Or there's this surgery where they cut a nerve in your neck. But that results in compensatory sweating, which means that suddenly your ASS sweats like crazy. Thaaaaaat's not cool.

There is one other treatment, and that's the one I do. Every six months or so, I get over 150 injections in the palms of my hands and bottoms of my feet of BOTOX. It's not 100% effective, it's really expensive, it doesn't last much longer than the six months, it's toxic, and it HURTS LIKE HELL.

I mean...think of it. THINK of it. When have you had shots IN THE PALMS OF YOUR HANDS? The worst, though, are the ones on the bottom of my big toe. Owwww.

So why all this shpiel? I'm doing it again Monday at 2 PM. Anyone wanna' come watch?

Tripping on my own Empathy

Being a sensitive person is a good thing. I didn't used to think so. I used to think that being sensitive was a weakness. I felt it made me too vulnerable. It didn't serve me.

Or so I thought.

Then I grew to appreciate my sensitivity. I saw it as an asset. I noticed things and felt things that other people didn't necessarily experience and that made me a more complete human being.

But where that sensitivity still trips me up is when I am too susceptible to the emotional states of those around me and subsequently take their feelings on as my own. If the person I'm with is anxious, I start to feel their anxiety. If they're sad, I get melancholy. If they're elated...well, thank god, because then I'm thrilled!

So again I guess it's a question of balance. I want to maintain my ability to be sensitive to others' emotional states...but I want to stay with my own experience independent of theirs. How do I care about them without caring too much?

It's ME and it's ALWAYS ME

Why must I be one person all the time? Someone wondered to me last night if that was the real me, or if the person he knew at other times was the real me. They're both the real me. It's all the real me. I may have different aspects to my personality and I may sometimes play with varying personas...but they're all me. I live a more integrated life than most, I've found...and it's ALL ME.

Because you know what? I can't stand it when I'm not being "me". When I feel anything other than my true self, it makes me ill. It makes me hate strangers because I'm really hating myself. So I don't do it. I'm me, goddamnit. I'm always me. It's always me. The silly, sarcastic laughing me is me. The solemn, reserved withdrawn me is me. The thoughtful kind generous me is me. The selfish bratty cruel me is me. The wounded little girl is me. The strong powerful woman is me. The needy weak one is me. The isolating powerhouse is me. The dork is me. The partyer is me. I'm me with red hair or blonde. I'm me when I was 230 pounds or when I'm a size 6. It's fucking ME.

So let ME be.

R.I.P. Dennis Butler

My uncle passed away last night. I realized shortly afterwards that much of the anxiety, tension and other emotions I had been feeling regarding the whole situation were really more about my mother and I than my uncle and myself. It's a heavy burden to be the one called upon to maintain my mother's health, happiness, and sanity.

I'm not sure yet if I'm going to go to the service. I've never had much need for funerals. I achieve closure my own way, and have rarely needed the ritual of a service to do so. Right now I'm leaning towards not attending.

Some of my friends have been wonderful. They know who they are. Thank you.

Disconnected Classy Thoughts

A Few Random Moments/Thoughts/Analyses From This Weekend's IIN...So Far:

If I hear "before IIN I was a [fill in typical boring-ass sob story here] but now I'm gloriously happy blah blah" one more freaking time I'm going to choke a bitch. I'm up to my eyeballs in tester-moan-ials. They're shoving IIN-esteem up our noses. I'm not snorting no more ya crazies! Koolade Koolade Koolade.

When was the last time you were in a "class" that continually applauded the professor? Forced fucking standing ovations. I swear some people leap to their feet so automatically. It's like seeing a Broadway show these days. The audiences stand and clap like little monkeys for just about any bloody performance. Where's the discretion people?!?

Not to therapize people--but okay, I do it all the time anyway--so, whatever. BUT. I feel so strongly how so many of my fellow students are motivated by fear and ANXIETY. The mad dash towards Super Student is insane! People have posted hundreds of posts on the Online Community, or the "OC" as it's called in IIN parlance. Some students have done dozens of Health History Consultations. One lady did 110. One Hundred and Ten. Seriously. Each of mine have taken about an hour. I've done 15. I can't imagine the time commitment necessary to complete 110 QUALITY HHs. But anyway.... There's this one chick who sits smack dab center front row EVERY time and volunteers to speak in the microphone EVERY time. Far too many chickies cheer like rabid football fans for anything anyone says. They're grade grubbing gold star junkies. Except we don't get grades. All of this triggers my own competitive instincts and brings up my anxious kindergartner who wants to do everything right and be teachers little pet. It's icky. And because it triggers personal shit for me, I'm less able to just not care and to simply let these people be. Rather, it bothers me and I want them to stop stop stop it. I want someone to admonish them for their crazy over-enthusiasm and obsessive behavior; not PRAISE it.

Isn't it interesting how so often exercises intended to increase positive thinking and build self-esteem seem to actually enforce the opposite of what their intentions are? "These exercises are so simple! If you do these 'right' you'll change your life and everything will be perfect. Oh...you did it and things are still difficult? Well, you must be doing it wrong. You FAILED them. You're not putting your whole self into it. You're not dedicated. You're obviously not destined to succeed."

ON THE PLUS SIDE:

I had lunch today with three awesome chicks.
This weekend held more solid information and less hype than last weekend.
I liked the people I ended up sitting near.
I got great seats yesterday and today.
Joshua made a point of affirming that we're all working our own program and reassuring the class that we needn't compare our involvement with others'. Additionally, he said that per all the complaints on the OC, they won't be doing the massive peer counselor testimonials or the Fast Track hard sell next year. That was pretty cool.

There's lots more that I've been thinking about and lots more I need to journal about but my brain is mushy and I need to go to Duane Reade before it gets so late that my butt permanently welds to the couch.

Counting Days Again

I fucked up.

Day Zero.

Presented Without Commentary

• My ex's dad died yesterday and I'm going to the viewing tomorrow. I've never seen a dead body in person before.
• A woman at the energy workshop tonight was so fucking fidgety and annoying I visualized her head popping off like a giant zit.
• My cellphone is practically glued to my hands because I'm waiting to hear about my uncle "any minute now".
• A most amazing friend stayed with me to help me get through the night of death calls.
• I did something very unhealthy this morning.
• I got another replacement iPod today and this one works (yay!) and the guy helping me was lots of fun.
• For the first time practically EVER, I forgot my pack of multi-colored pens today. I haven't been a day without them almost since I got them. A couple are running low on ink. I use the pink one disproportionately often.
• I did something somewhat unhealthy an hour ago.
• H&M had a really awesome black scarf that was super cheap. It's cozy and I want to hug it.
• I feel squishy and fuzzy right now and I keep spacing out.

No analysis.

Fucker Mother

Passive aggressive mothers are DEADLY.

It is absolutely impossible to argue with someone who resorts to behavior even a five-year-old would be embarrassed to display. Refusing to engage only makes them more furious.

"Them", "someone"...fuck theoretics. My mother pissed me the hell OFF today. I'm still relatively stewing some seven and a half hours later. As much as I've learned to disengage, the woman can still get under my skin.

And she wonders why I'm NOT looking forward to coming "home" for Christmas? Gee...can't imagine why.

She brings the crazy.

Contrary to Popular Opinion...I Don't Eat Babies

This is me doing something completely out of character.

It's amazing what men with tattoos and lip rings can convince me to do. One even convinced me to volunteer Saturday with Creative Arts Workshops, which brings visual and performing arts to kids in East Harlem. Yup. I spent a Saturday working with inner city youths.

Anyone that knows me will find that surprising. Cuz kids? Not. My. Thing.

Here's the deal: It's not that I don't like kids. I do, to a certain extent. And it's not like I don't know how to relate to them or deal with them or that I'm scared of them or whatever whatever whatever. I'm juuuuuust not enamored. I like them, generally, in small doses. Small doses where I can have brief, fun little interactions and then HAND THEM BACK TO THEIR PARENTS very quickly...before they get cranky. And that's just with well-adjusted suburbanite children. Throw in the underlying issues inherent in a group of "at risk" kids? The vying for attention? The behavioral issues? The sheer cultural divide? Um. YIKES.

And I don't get that glowing, joyous feeling from kidlets, either. You know those people. They're the folks that just LOVE children and find them adorable and precious and God's gift and blahdy blah. The ones who squeal at babies in strollers and squat down to talk to toddlers before addressing the parents. I am not one of those.

I'm not sure from whence the disdain sprang. I think it coincided with when my mother started pressuring me to have babies. She wants to be a grandma so bad she fucking OOZES it. Last Christmas, she said to me (in all seriousness!!):

Honey, if you get to be 35 and you still aren't married and you don't have any children yet...will you PLEASE consider freezing some of your eggs?

I told her to get the hell out of my ovaries. You see this abdomen? It's got a biiiig red circle with a LINE through it.

But back to volunteering...

It was definitely an interesting day. I really was fascinated by the behavior of the kids, even if I didn't exactly like it. I found myself very curious to know where some of their behavior was rooted. Why did one little girl insist repeatedly that she was a boy? Why did one little boy suddenly go from laughing and hanging all over me to crying and refusing to make eye contact? Why did another older boy act out so badly to drive me away, and then once he succeeded, try to draw me back in by showing off his artwork?

I was so impressed that the guy who convinced me to do this actually DOES this all the time. On a regular basis. All year 'round. And LOVES it. It takes a very special person to find this kind of frustrating, demanding, exhausting work rewarding.

And as much as I kept and keep saying "this isn't ME"... Well, earlier I was recounting my experience to a friend and I found myself actually getting excited by the retelling. So I guess that means I was a *little* into it. Oy.

But, mom--this still doesn't mean grandbabies are coming ANYTIME soon.

Lookie What I Made!!!

Ooooh, such a good day and such a good night. I'm diggin' December 1st.

Tonight at the New Moon Ceremony at the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors (I know, I know, I'm a New Age Hippie Dippie PUNK), we had such an amazing creative meditative experience. The drawing above is what came to me after a guided visualization meditation on future self. I would LOVE someone to turn this into a fantastical blue-hued tattoo.

Below is what I wrote after a long (25 minute) silent meditation on unity. It ain't my best work, but it somewhat expresses part of a vision I had.

Hands cover my body.

Some support. Two grip my upper thighs--I feel strong fingers press into my flesh. Not so hard that I fear spotty bruising; but hard enough that there is no mistaking their presence. These are the hands of an older woman.

Other supportive hands hold the back of my neck. Firmly, they cradle me so that holding my head is no great effort. They prevent me from straining and so I am free to look forward without pain.

Hands of tougher love are pushing me along. A gentle pressure on my lower back is a motherly fatherly prodding into life.

My shoulders, too, are subject to this force. For once I do not desire to resist being shoved from the nest...I've far outgrown it.

Atop my head rests a hand of assurance. A calming flow of chi enters my crown and suffuses my body with a warm golden glow. This is not an earthly hand.

Nor is the hand over my heart of this world. That radiant hand also ignores the assigned chakra hues; instead imparting a red warmth into my chest. I can't help but sigh.

The hands on the tops of my thighs caress my skin. They are loving hands--both sexual and neutral. They make me tingle and make me smile.

Tickling my upper arms are more hands in motion. The gentle excitation of my flesh is such a pleasurable feeling. I'm so glad they want to touch me.

Baby hands. Old hands. Young hands. Male hands. Female hands. Craggy, smooth, bony, plump.

I never knew they were there.

And I hope they never leave.

Ahhhh. I have to say it again, especially since life's been a little difficult of late: I loved loved loved today.

And, of course, once again as always...I cried throughout the meditations. It isn't about being sad...it's about tapping into an energy so huge that I can't possibly contain it and it just comes leaking out my eyeballs.

And I love that too.