In my morning time yesterday I was done with the sitting and done with the journaling so I thought I was done, for good. Ready to start the day. Thursday's have been thesis writing days so my head was a tumble of forward motion towards that. Words on a screen. Losing time down the rabbit hole of books into thought into books into new next thought. Like little lights in a row each of which transmits power to turn the next one onnnn. I love it. I have never before been so plugged in to my real life on every end.
I got down out of the loft and went for my phone. I keep it plugged in downstairs where I can't reach it. Or that's when I don't have clients in the morning or need for the alarm. That way my precious first glance at me in the morning isn't consumed by that dastardly little electric machine! Those high-wires they so easily infiltrate my brain.
When I got down the stairs and peeked the time it was only 8:30, I don't write til 10. Sighhhh, morning time. I made a fresh cup of coffee and climbed back up to the loft.
Hoagy Carmichael on Pandora brings up muscle-ey memories that catch in my chest and stir my whole body to rise. Coloring in bed for the next hour is what I did. It let my body transmit memories. I was alive, at Church Street, which is the house in South Baltimore, Brooklyn Park, where my grandparents raised 7 kids. This little two bedroom and an attic space, the living room ahhh god the kitchen, a space so living in my earliest reverie. I spent a lot of time there. It's a body memory of orange-brown linoleum and yellow walls and my grandmother's round squooshy bosom where her hug got you lost. And my pop, his records. Porgy and Bess.
It was amazing to me. I had this new experience of re-living the love-light of back then, and feeling so happy my eyes brimmed with wet tears at least for half the colored pencil ink pen time. All I could think the whole time was wow, it's never really gone. What a secret to comprehend! That we can revisit love-past at any time.
It wasn't bitter-sweet. The tears were gratitude, every one. Meeting the Self is endless in its inward reigns. It's playful, a living sacrament we each get to make unto our own spirit and soul whenever we choose, each and every day. There's so much joy. There's so much play and life. There's so much and it's so endless and precious and easy to access when we just--do.
In the early morning pain in 1997 when Grammy died I dealt with it in customary McMullen forward motion. Shuffled the girls with their clumsy arms and awkward puberty hair and squeaky voices and braces mouths in to my car. There were five of them, my five girl cousin that all came in a year or so of the others. They were in middle school by then, except for Sarah, the babe. I was 20.
We drove 97 through the county towards where Jackie lived. At some point the car radio played Total Eclipse and that is our song, to this day. Endless. Reverie. Church Street. The bemoans of the aching human heart. An eighties song so legit during the interlude you actually hear blowing wind. Uhhhh yea.
This morning, bc this is the way of the heart when we let her open and sing--cousin Erin's text was waiting when I climbed down the ladder from the loft. A group text to all the girls. It said, Total eclipse on the radio! Love you all-- with a million exclamation points to try to express the inexpressible. We live in Seattle, Buffalo, Vermont, Pennsylvania, Baltimore, California now. It was to me a nod from life that the heart is still home, endless in its ways which lead us both in and outside.
The oldest just had her first girl, last week. Of the six of us, half are parents now. Life goes on. The heart keeps us golden, connected. It eclipses, too, hell yea. And also, overflows of blessings always there, always living and beating, pressing us to look a minute and recognize. To just, see.
November 7, 2014
November 6, 2014
This really happened and I am still awe-struck
I couldn't figure out why the streets were chattering with that low Laguna glee but at Thalia seeing all the foot traffic heading towards PCH it hit me. Art Walk or first Thursday was happening. My glee was elfin and made of sea salt which I suppose is more mermaid then but if you're town bound after the setting of an orange sun you have to go with elf. You need feet, is what I'm saying. Hide the fins. That and also, Kelly J had an Elf the Movie quote on insta this eve so it's in my brain.
And that's my life, salt brain. Sea-eyes. I finally got fins and a mask and didn't even bother with the snorkel literally just ditched my towel and tossed my clothes and ran for the sea. And it feels like I'll blow it now, trying to give words to what that was like, being finally able to see what I could feel for all these years? To really see. Most people it scares them to feel that large body living and breathing and pulling and pushing you all around but me I have nothing but intrigue. It's an honor to dance with her, to be swept up in her moves. And I don't know how to make people understand which means I guess I can't which means I guess I just get to keep the smile of secret glee all to me. Which is that I have a salt water heart. Which means really and secretly I know the truth of the alchemy-romance between the ocean and the sun.
Holy god more than once I had to move my legs hard to get to the top again because I could've stayed down there forever-- but I mean you know, it's just--air. Because when I was far enough out above my head and dove under again and felt it, the pull--the livingness--I turned quick as I could which with fins is still awkward but I was looking for it, what I felt--and there it was and sure as I saw it well it also saw me, too--and this is the part I can't explain and you won't understand. But the shock was enough for me to have to fast remind myself not to breathe in bc I'd a sucked sea. Which I think I would've been happy like sorta it's finding Camelot under there, but also please don't read this the wrong way it's not like I want to drown. What I am trying to say is there where the sunlight went under and was glistening with the water it was real, the livingness, like it was living, had presence. Was more life-full and emanating with the life-ness then the small skate that slid under me or the many many schools of corvinas I swam through. And I knew it was real when I saw it bc I had to squelch my gasp. Like it was animated, where the sun and water met, they made this other, this sacred precious third made out of them together. Just like all great soul mates, that thing, their own third that is her and her or her and him or whatever combo of two together--and the witnessing of the creation of sacred other, the Third. Which is Their's. Of them but not them. Holier than as result of the combination. Startling in its truth.
I have felt and swam and floated inside that presence, its come up and cradled me a million times so it was like for the first time ever truly coming home. To see it. Holy Sacred Third, divine created combo of Sea and Sun. To have it react to and with me. I am not being hyperbolic here or a creative writer. This really happened and I am still awe-struck, in bliss.
It was cold tonight but I stayed out for a half hour or more. I changed on the beach and laid a long time on my towel, watching the sun go down and stunned and still in stoke-awe. I thought I'd cry. Then dude with the blonde ponytail, the one the Coachella boys would call an old loc, he showed up and went out mask and hand boards but he took his piece. To breathe.
And we've never met but always acknowledge each other since we often beach at the same space. But tonight he came right to me when he got out, clearly enchanted too, said Can you even believe it out there eyes clear and wide and green-blue sparkling same as the sea. And I had someone to share it with then, my slack jaw glee, my joy at the livingness unseen now seen. Danny the ol loc who's been in the same spot above Taco Loco for 30 years. Just livin and jammin on the magic out there. We marveled over the sunset so clear you could see San Clemente Island to the left of Catalina.
I drove in circles when it was done confused by the foot traffic and bc I was thinking I'd raised Atlantis with the setting sun. Now I am being creative. The fact is though I had to park and made my way through my little town on its sparkle strung air by foot, greeting other ol locs and finally making my way to St. Anne's. It was $5 enchilada night at Feast. I had a lot to celebrate.
Like the fact that tomorrow I will get to do it again.
Amen. Amen, amen.
And that's my life, salt brain. Sea-eyes. I finally got fins and a mask and didn't even bother with the snorkel literally just ditched my towel and tossed my clothes and ran for the sea. And it feels like I'll blow it now, trying to give words to what that was like, being finally able to see what I could feel for all these years? To really see. Most people it scares them to feel that large body living and breathing and pulling and pushing you all around but me I have nothing but intrigue. It's an honor to dance with her, to be swept up in her moves. And I don't know how to make people understand which means I guess I can't which means I guess I just get to keep the smile of secret glee all to me. Which is that I have a salt water heart. Which means really and secretly I know the truth of the alchemy-romance between the ocean and the sun.
Holy god more than once I had to move my legs hard to get to the top again because I could've stayed down there forever-- but I mean you know, it's just--air. Because when I was far enough out above my head and dove under again and felt it, the pull--the livingness--I turned quick as I could which with fins is still awkward but I was looking for it, what I felt--and there it was and sure as I saw it well it also saw me, too--and this is the part I can't explain and you won't understand. But the shock was enough for me to have to fast remind myself not to breathe in bc I'd a sucked sea. Which I think I would've been happy like sorta it's finding Camelot under there, but also please don't read this the wrong way it's not like I want to drown. What I am trying to say is there where the sunlight went under and was glistening with the water it was real, the livingness, like it was living, had presence. Was more life-full and emanating with the life-ness then the small skate that slid under me or the many many schools of corvinas I swam through. And I knew it was real when I saw it bc I had to squelch my gasp. Like it was animated, where the sun and water met, they made this other, this sacred precious third made out of them together. Just like all great soul mates, that thing, their own third that is her and her or her and him or whatever combo of two together--and the witnessing of the creation of sacred other, the Third. Which is Their's. Of them but not them. Holier than as result of the combination. Startling in its truth.
I have felt and swam and floated inside that presence, its come up and cradled me a million times so it was like for the first time ever truly coming home. To see it. Holy Sacred Third, divine created combo of Sea and Sun. To have it react to and with me. I am not being hyperbolic here or a creative writer. This really happened and I am still awe-struck, in bliss.
It was cold tonight but I stayed out for a half hour or more. I changed on the beach and laid a long time on my towel, watching the sun go down and stunned and still in stoke-awe. I thought I'd cry. Then dude with the blonde ponytail, the one the Coachella boys would call an old loc, he showed up and went out mask and hand boards but he took his piece. To breathe.
And we've never met but always acknowledge each other since we often beach at the same space. But tonight he came right to me when he got out, clearly enchanted too, said Can you even believe it out there eyes clear and wide and green-blue sparkling same as the sea. And I had someone to share it with then, my slack jaw glee, my joy at the livingness unseen now seen. Danny the ol loc who's been in the same spot above Taco Loco for 30 years. Just livin and jammin on the magic out there. We marveled over the sunset so clear you could see San Clemente Island to the left of Catalina.
I drove in circles when it was done confused by the foot traffic and bc I was thinking I'd raised Atlantis with the setting sun. Now I am being creative. The fact is though I had to park and made my way through my little town on its sparkle strung air by foot, greeting other ol locs and finally making my way to St. Anne's. It was $5 enchilada night at Feast. I had a lot to celebrate.
Like the fact that tomorrow I will get to do it again.
Amen. Amen, amen.
November 5, 2014
You know, like from Peter Pan?
I left Jan's and had tacos then got Starbucks and got on the road. On the 73 the veins in my forehead were so thick I think you could jump them like rope. Like tangle them out from underneath my skull bone or apart from the muscle up there and use them for sidewalk games. That's what traffic feels like. Trying to untangle the jumprope jarble from my brain.
I'd been so calm too--what the hell is all this red brake light on the toll road? The whole damn reason they make an elitist toll system through the rich part of south county is so entitled brats like me don't have to deal. Just eww. No I didn't actually think that last part that's just me making fun of the southern cali-chick in me. Elitist. Entitled. White. Bratty-ass. Chicken. Me.
Anyhow. I really do have issues with road rage but I haven't in a long time. The way the 73 runs up and down the coastal hills is like a smooth finger along the backbone of the land and feeling her long slow in then out--up then down--breath touches me in that inside place that hummms with quiet rest. The moon fat and white to my left. I love that stretch of road. It's why I originally moved to Laguna. Almost three years ago now…or anyhow come May. I had to take the toll road for an ESL conference to San Diego and was wowed by the rolling canyon up-downs. Green expanse this side of the 405 with no construction and dirt hiking paths? Woah what is this magic land? I didn't know a thing about Laguna. I'd only been there once, and that was dancing. And it was dark.
Jan said some stuff near the end of our session though and I guess it pissed me off. That's the part that challenges me as a therapist. My job isn't to tell you what to do, or how to think, or any of that. My job is to help you feel understood. Truly seen, witnessed for what's true in you.
In this way you get to become stronger in who you really are.
And my point today to my therapist was that Wendy, you know like from Peter Pan? Wasn't just the mama in that story. She didn't just play the good girl role, in fact she got to explore never having to grow up, too. She got to have all the same fun as the lost boys and Peter Pan. And that's a hell of a lot fun…So it's not all just stunted, to be enchanted by Never never land. It would be if Wendy didn't know all the subtleties of her role.
But if she does? Does that mean Never never land is still in control? If Wendy is exploring parts of herself, a conscious choice of subversiveness? I got all triggered because I didn't feel like my therapist heard my point. I told her as much, and now I am sitting here wondering: so is it Jan's job to align and hear where I, speaking for me back then, as a wild grl Peter Pan teen, stood? Or to challenge adult me now?
And is there truth in her point, since I'm pissed? That I still love for the enchantment to take control? And if that's a role she's gonna take with me, to challenge me--how do I feel about that, working with clients, challenging them?
Is it something I'd want them to leave with…to have bulging out their brains? I trust her, a lot. And am willing to ride this to see where it leads. I drove to see my clients, with that rope-vein jumping like nuts outta my head. I chose to just focus on a secret I know about, which is were all crazy, just working it out in our own ways. And working it out or covering it up or whatever we each do looks different for us, each and every one. All of us have our own very unique styles of crazy-management. It's a wonder we make it from day to day.
Tonight I for one am happy that at least for today, I didn't ram in to the back of any cars. I actually laughed at myself freaking over a couple brake lights, running those up-downs, grateful to have a bank account, a means to afford a fast track, the little unspoken gifts that made it so I wasn't in traffic on the 405. And now, it feels good--I like how you're there waiting for me, like you used to be, sweet ol familiar blank screen.
I'd been so calm too--what the hell is all this red brake light on the toll road? The whole damn reason they make an elitist toll system through the rich part of south county is so entitled brats like me don't have to deal. Just eww. No I didn't actually think that last part that's just me making fun of the southern cali-chick in me. Elitist. Entitled. White. Bratty-ass. Chicken. Me.
Anyhow. I really do have issues with road rage but I haven't in a long time. The way the 73 runs up and down the coastal hills is like a smooth finger along the backbone of the land and feeling her long slow in then out--up then down--breath touches me in that inside place that hummms with quiet rest. The moon fat and white to my left. I love that stretch of road. It's why I originally moved to Laguna. Almost three years ago now…or anyhow come May. I had to take the toll road for an ESL conference to San Diego and was wowed by the rolling canyon up-downs. Green expanse this side of the 405 with no construction and dirt hiking paths? Woah what is this magic land? I didn't know a thing about Laguna. I'd only been there once, and that was dancing. And it was dark.
Jan said some stuff near the end of our session though and I guess it pissed me off. That's the part that challenges me as a therapist. My job isn't to tell you what to do, or how to think, or any of that. My job is to help you feel understood. Truly seen, witnessed for what's true in you.
In this way you get to become stronger in who you really are.
And my point today to my therapist was that Wendy, you know like from Peter Pan? Wasn't just the mama in that story. She didn't just play the good girl role, in fact she got to explore never having to grow up, too. She got to have all the same fun as the lost boys and Peter Pan. And that's a hell of a lot fun…So it's not all just stunted, to be enchanted by Never never land. It would be if Wendy didn't know all the subtleties of her role.
But if she does? Does that mean Never never land is still in control? If Wendy is exploring parts of herself, a conscious choice of subversiveness? I got all triggered because I didn't feel like my therapist heard my point. I told her as much, and now I am sitting here wondering: so is it Jan's job to align and hear where I, speaking for me back then, as a wild grl Peter Pan teen, stood? Or to challenge adult me now?
And is there truth in her point, since I'm pissed? That I still love for the enchantment to take control? And if that's a role she's gonna take with me, to challenge me--how do I feel about that, working with clients, challenging them?
Is it something I'd want them to leave with…to have bulging out their brains? I trust her, a lot. And am willing to ride this to see where it leads. I drove to see my clients, with that rope-vein jumping like nuts outta my head. I chose to just focus on a secret I know about, which is were all crazy, just working it out in our own ways. And working it out or covering it up or whatever we each do looks different for us, each and every one. All of us have our own very unique styles of crazy-management. It's a wonder we make it from day to day.
Tonight I for one am happy that at least for today, I didn't ram in to the back of any cars. I actually laughed at myself freaking over a couple brake lights, running those up-downs, grateful to have a bank account, a means to afford a fast track, the little unspoken gifts that made it so I wasn't in traffic on the 405. And now, it feels good--I like how you're there waiting for me, like you used to be, sweet ol familiar blank screen.
November 2, 2014
The dark comes and then like a switch
Bob Weir shouldn't be singing about don't you want your daddy to feel alright because I haven't had coffee yet and it makes me think eecchh no bluch what's up with this version of this song? It is a studio version, clean version, Shakedown Street version. The dark comes and then like a switch too, the cold is here. I am adjusting to winter in the canyon. Which means my windows are still open but in the morning I need fuzzy socks and sweaters and live recordings of the Dead that make me think of the dreams of California before California was actually my living dream. You know yellow sunshine cliffsides and PCH. Not mustache muffle you can hear too well bc of over-production. I mean. Sheesh. Also I will need a wetsuit now. At Mermaid Beach it was the blue and gunmetal color on the twists and turn-unders that make the lips break so stunning white. Which if you know the sea like me you know that means cold. I was right and even though past the pound it was clear and turquoise underneath, still it was goosebumps soon as I got out and my hands took several hours to warm. It was the same before on Tuesday, just that it didn't look cold yet.
Haha this, my life. I spent at least six hours yesterday cleaning up my online presence. Online presence!!? Isn't that a trip? When I wrote that I saw in my head my old bedroom when I was a young teenager where in the corner I had this sittin-chair, like a futon armchair thing. It made me feel like, you know. Adult. And it's where I would sit and paste pictures on the wall of cut-out magazine poems and surfer boys. And ohhhh lawd feel the angst of gahhh but life is sooo hard. Then smoke a cigarette out the window and think of all the reasons I needed relief. Back of hand on forehead. Dear me.
I went to San Juan to meet ppl down there to celebrate a birthday and the 73 was like driving through a technicolor scene. Like sunshine batches you could actually reach out and touch and make into braids to ribbon through your hair. Clouds the size of bonnets for the Angel-Queens that ride in the sky. What this land would look like if we got more of this once or twice a year rain!? Come on world you're so beautiful it is devastating. You crunch me apart like I have glass insides.
Hand to the forehead.
Again.
When I got home after that I spent another five hours on business cards and brochures. It was 2 when I turned in. The flat pat of rain outside. The holy surrender cry of plants that long ago had quit. It amazes me the instinct--where does it come from--to press on and on, and do what we have to do.
Life you strange beast. I adore and…also grit my teeth at you. Plants sing better than Weir does out my window. Ahhhhhh ohhhhhhh mmmmmmm yea
thank you waterrrrRelief.
November 1, 2014
The Vintage Series.
You guys, I'm back. YES, the Impulse Itself is vibing high and vital! Screaming surging pulsing pressing to get out and witnessed, or at least not to just stay bubbling under the surface any longer.
Can a blog that started only six years ago be called vintage? No haha and I am alright by that bc I dowhatiwant and also, yes of course it can--bc in this high-wire frame of techno overdrive time blogging is as yesterday as MySpace so holllaaaa and whatev. Who's gonna stick with what feels good anyway?
Ya. Def this girl.
So for two years I worked out my esoteric witchy wisdom stuff over on Wild Women Wisdom. I'm really hella proud of that project and how it informed me as a tool through which I could be self-taught. That whole time, (and still) I was getting fed from the bottom on up by my education in depth-influenced counseling psychology at Pacifica Graduate Institute. For the past several months I have been behind the scenes, relying on the old persona of KadadaB to work it out for me as I begin to coalese the old with the new in order to focus actively on what will yet be! So STOKED!
Wild Women Wisdom is slowly changing into the hub of my women's coaching practice. I am focusing on self-empowerment, whole-bodied practical day to day meeting of yourself where you're at and learning to love and live your self, through whatever responsibilities and roles are alive and real in your life as a woman. I am happy to work with men too! I will also specialize in The Women's Work, or the Menstrual Mysteries, which is helping women to embody their personal tides until they are no longer mysteries! A life's work, for sure…I offer Skype sessions right now, can see clients in an office space in San Juan Capistrano, and (especially for more ritual or sacred-based work) in my home.
Ultimately--and here's the exciting stuff to me! The seeds of what yet will be! Woot woot--I will be incorporating--ever so slowly, my goal of doing the Social aspect of Permaculture work. SoCIal Perm. I'll be using Wild Women Wisdom to mostly work that out but you know there's no separating soul--so stay tuned on here to learn--WITH ME!!--more about what I mean by that. We'll learn together, since that's always how I do this jam.
The Impulse Vintage Series will be alive-- again! Horay. Bc sure as I am living I need a place to express all the minute expressions of the holy mundane coming through me and that I'm out there relating to each day. In this way, I re-Christen this blog, at the season of Samhain, holy celebratory tide of reverence for the dead. From which comes all new life.
To Poetry, as a way of being, living, seeing. Getting it all down~ holy act of self-creation. Amen Amen Amen.
I love you guys! Play on~
Can a blog that started only six years ago be called vintage? No haha and I am alright by that bc I dowhatiwant and also, yes of course it can--bc in this high-wire frame of techno overdrive time blogging is as yesterday as MySpace so holllaaaa and whatev. Who's gonna stick with what feels good anyway?
Ya. Def this girl.
So for two years I worked out my esoteric witchy wisdom stuff over on Wild Women Wisdom. I'm really hella proud of that project and how it informed me as a tool through which I could be self-taught. That whole time, (and still) I was getting fed from the bottom on up by my education in depth-influenced counseling psychology at Pacifica Graduate Institute. For the past several months I have been behind the scenes, relying on the old persona of KadadaB to work it out for me as I begin to coalese the old with the new in order to focus actively on what will yet be! So STOKED!
Wild Women Wisdom is slowly changing into the hub of my women's coaching practice. I am focusing on self-empowerment, whole-bodied practical day to day meeting of yourself where you're at and learning to love and live your self, through whatever responsibilities and roles are alive and real in your life as a woman. I am happy to work with men too! I will also specialize in The Women's Work, or the Menstrual Mysteries, which is helping women to embody their personal tides until they are no longer mysteries! A life's work, for sure…I offer Skype sessions right now, can see clients in an office space in San Juan Capistrano, and (especially for more ritual or sacred-based work) in my home.
Ultimately--and here's the exciting stuff to me! The seeds of what yet will be! Woot woot--I will be incorporating--ever so slowly, my goal of doing the Social aspect of Permaculture work. SoCIal Perm. I'll be using Wild Women Wisdom to mostly work that out but you know there's no separating soul--so stay tuned on here to learn--WITH ME!!--more about what I mean by that. We'll learn together, since that's always how I do this jam.
The Impulse Vintage Series will be alive-- again! Horay. Bc sure as I am living I need a place to express all the minute expressions of the holy mundane coming through me and that I'm out there relating to each day. In this way, I re-Christen this blog, at the season of Samhain, holy celebratory tide of reverence for the dead. From which comes all new life.
To Poetry, as a way of being, living, seeing. Getting it all down~ holy act of self-creation. Amen Amen Amen.
I love you guys! Play on~
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