DONE

Someone I know, a very spiritually oriented man, recently sent me this video via Instagram:
(Warning: Don’t listen with little ones around. F’bombs are dropped.)

While I understand her perspective, as the me not-so-long ago would have been offering high fives and hell yeahs! all around, this video also embodies the fallacy of so many of new age vague spiritual and self-help doctrines. Notice where the attention and focus are. It’s on ME. It’s all about ME and my energy and my light and my clarity. It is rather self-serving and assumes that to be good and to do good in the world we need to be some perfect model of light and clarity rather than accept the fact that more times than not, we are anything but those things. That should not stop us from going out into our communities and serving those in need who may not be as clear or dare I say, privileged, as we are.

Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that, like this woman, I do embody such light and divine spirit. Is it not my job to spread that to the very people that need it the most? If I, as a Christian, am to embody the living spirit of God as Jesus did, who would I be if I only decided to hang out with people that matched my “vibration” and only when it was a resounding “Hell YES!” to do so? Jesus hung out with tax collectors and harlots and the lowest dregs of society. The broken. The desperate and despairing. Is it not my duty to be like him to the best of my ability? To be a light and example to others? To go out into the very messy world with all its sin and fallen people to set an example?

This is where new age spirituality failed for me. It was all about me and my perfection. I am much happier to serve the world, with all my flaws, and offer my time, talents, and treasures where they are most needed rather than to satisfy my personal desire for comfort and light. Of course, I find a lot of support in like-minded persons but now I find those persons who have a heart for service to be much more inspiring than the message in this video. I also acknowledge an idea like this served me at a certain point in my life. However, now, my life is of better use to do God’s work in the lives of those that need Him most.

As a Christian, the shift of the focus from me and my feelings to the service of others and dedication to be God’s servant is one of the primary changes in my life. Yes, I certainly have had to practice boundaries, particularly in personal relationships. I’ve been known to attach to energy suckers and can get easily drained. However, I do my best to discern between someone truly in need from someone who is a distraction from my purpose. This spirit of protecting oneself from the outer world and those who are less ‘clear’ or ‘light’ will not help the dire circumstances and need for God and His word in our current culture.

The first thing I now ask in the morning is how can I fortify and improve myself today so I can better serve God’s purpose for my life and demonstrate his glory? Rather than how can I fix myself to improve my situation? Every morning I pray to listen with the ears, see with the eyes and speak with the tongue of Jesus. Lord knows, I fail miserably most days. But I am more aware when I do, and I aim to be a better representation of his love.

Many people have tried to use the words of Christ and “love thy neighbor” against me when I go against the current narrative and say words that don’t seem to be very Jesus like. However, if I argue in defense of Christianity when it is vociferously attacked, as it so often seems to be in current culture, I will not hesitate to use sharp words to speak Truth. Yes, Jesus spoke of all the warm fuzzy things we like to hear – compassion, love, and hope. But God in Exodus 23:1 commanded: “You must not pass along false rumors. You must not cooperate with evil people by lying on the witness stand.” In Timothy Chapter 4 we are told to “preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths.” Jesus warns that those who uphold and praise him as the Lord of all would be mocked and vilified and He gave comfort. “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” (Matthew 5:11-5:12)

In a response to my friend’s Instagram message, I offered a summary of my points above and sent him a passage from the book of Matthew, 5:14-5:16:

“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

May you find kinship with those who uplift and support you, but don’t hesitate to hang with those who challenge your comfort or when it may be a “F no.” In that very moment, they may be the ones that need you the most.

My body my choice. This statement seems to be populating social media posts everywhere with regards to two different current social issues – abortion and vaccinations. 

I wonder if people really think through this statement before posting. I was particularly distressed – and saddened- about the former application today. 

Leaving violent or forced intercourse out of the discussion (as this is not a pro vs. anti abortion argument) – how is abortion simply a woman’s choice? Yes, her physical body is the carrier for another human life but two other lives are involved. (Yes, I do consider an unborn child a life. I can listen to arguments about when the fetus has the ‘right to life’ but I know where I stand on that as a matter of opinion.) Unless the woman is the second coming of Mary, a man was involved in the creation of another life. You simply cannot take him out of the equation. My heart breaks for all the men single handedly removed from the discussion without their consult. I see many women saying it’s actually none of men’s business. None of their business? Was it their business when their penis was inside of you?

For the men that agree with the statement – do you really care that little for the women with whom you chose to have sex? In this statement we’ve relegated men to mere perpetrators of an act against women and sex to a transaction. I can’t think of anything more disempowering to women. Even if you aren’t having sex in the context of a loving exclusive relationship (which I don’t judge AT ALL) there are still two people – preferably adults – involved. Responsibility falls on both for potentially creating a life. Responsibility should fall on both for deciding to end that life. Spin it any way you want – abortion is terminating a life. So I am very disturbed by comments that men have no right to decide what a woman does with her body. It is one of the most selfish things I’ve seen. Because it’s not just about YOUR body. It’s about the life living INSIDE your body that you created with another human. Whether you meant to or not. Where is our sense of humanity?

As one of my favorite humans, Dave Chapelle (I can only imagine he would be one of my favorite humans if I met him) once said about abortion “Are you pro-choice or anti-consequence?”

I also can’t help but think about my LEEP procedure many years back. Nothing – and I mean nothing – felt more violating then having steel forced up my vagina and an electrical current sent through it to remove pre cancerous cells in my cervix. I cried for days. It certainly didn’t feel like “a routine procedure” as my ob-gyn often referred to it. 

I can’t imagine having a fetus removed. 

I wish I didn’t have to go through the LEEP procedure alone. I certainly would never want to go through an abortion without the support and presence of the man who conceived the child with me. 

Some of this line of thinking may stem from the old feminist notion that “Yes! Women can ‘have it all’ just like men!” I’ve got two newsflashes for you. First – you can’t have it all. No one can. Even men. There are only so many hours in a day. You choose how to spend them – working, resting, tending to a home and children, or in my case tending to my spiritual life for ten years. I prioritized my well being, mental health and inner world (maybe under the false premise that I couldn’t truly be happy in any other area of my life until I “fixed myself” which is a completely different story) and sacrificed larger paychecks, and likely, a family. I don’t regret my choices as I’m on my own path and have lived a lot of life. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t, in my forties, lament the fact that I likely won’t have my own child of my flesh and blood. I hit the snooze button on my biological clock (or maybe it was out of batteries for a while) and my reproductive organs are on a different time table. 

Men often sacrifice their desire for freedom for a career, to support a family or, serve their country, as has been a highlight for the last two weeks. Sure, they probably rather be drinking beers with their buds and playing ball, but duty calls and if they mature into actual men and don’t become perpetual Peter Pans, they heed the call and act accordingly. (For more on this topic, Google Jordan Peterson and “Peter pan” and you’ll find some interesting sound bites.)

I’m not saying abortion can never be an option but to say unequivocally say “My body my choice” in the case of abortion, seems immature to me, stemming from a childish notion that it’s all about me. God forbid if my pregnancy would cost me my life – I can’t imagine going through that decision – or the psychological aftermath – without my partner or the toll it would take on him. Especially if other children were involved.

I thought women fought to have equal rights to men – not cut them out of the equation completely. I worry about furthering the divide and dissent between men and women – amongst other polarizing lines – in our country and the world when what we need most is the recognition that, yes – males and females are biologically different, and the masculine and feminine qualities (however they may express themselves in gender) are both valuable and necessary for a stable, creative and thriving society. We need them both and more than ever, we need the union of the two. 

Let the public stoning begin. 

May as well whittle down my friends before I tackle “My Body My Choice” with regard to vaccination. 

Sometimes I do it on purpose. Play the sad song. Because I can feel it  sitting in my throat. The big old lump that just won’t seem to budge on its own.

So I open Spotify, search for Sarah McLachlan and hit play. Usually the first song that plays is Angel. Fool proof. The tears stream and energy seems to move, albeit slowly. But the lump is not gone by the end of the song. So I find another song. Gravity by Sara Bareilles. Another good choice. The tears run.

And I let them. With every waterworks, every big old messy fucking yawn, every stretch and crack and pop of my joints – I can breathe a little easier.

These are messy moments. The salt water mixed with mascara. My shorter hair doesn’t completely pull back into a ponytail so it falls alternately in my face and then gets pushed back, wet with tears. These are not the dainty Awwww, she’s sad kind of cries. These are ugly fucking cries.

Maybe I’m just tired. I know I’m tired of trying to figure this out. Who knows. It could be some deep ancestral trauma or an ex-boyfriend or a couple times of sex that I wished was a boyfriend or the last episode of Transparent I just watched.

If I close my eyes and let it continue to flow, eventually . . . eventually, I feel empty. Empty and exhausted. And that’s a good place to start.

And now, Rocket Man.

I don’t want to sell you anything. I don’t have a course or a program or a product or an image or a system to sell you. Wait. Yes, I do. I have workouts and videos and tutorials you can purchase and watch. However, I don’t do much to tell you that I have these things or spread the word. In this day and age, it requires too much time to wave you down, screaming “HEY LOOK AT ME!” And I don’t have the stamina for that.

I try every now and then – to post something on Instagram or Facebook that will direct you to my shit for sale. Or to amass a big enough following so that no matter what shit I sell, you buy it. From what I understand social media marketing requires constant, carefully crafted messages and images to be successful. That means ME ME ME all the time. I can do me a lot of the time, but eventually, I lose steam. Even if I think what ME is offering is valuable.

Truth be told, I have many fabulous friends on social media, but if they are selling something, I get sick of seeing their shit, too.

So I now find myself in conundrum. I could produce more content and pump out more information, but that would require me promoting that content and trying to make you look at ME in a sea of other yoga and nutrition and wellness people. I hesitate to use the word ‘expert’ because some of the shit that people are listening to, watching and following the most, are from those under 30 years old with a 200 hour training under their belt and few years lived. I’m not saying you have to be old to have something to offer this world, but when it comes to the category of personal growth, time, trials and tribulations are a pre-requisite for significant change. Sure there are exceptions to this rule, but I don’t see many.

It’s already so LOUD out there. I hesitate to add to the noise.

I don’t really want to manage you either. Although, I’ve done that, too. Managing a team or even one person always felt like adult babysitting. Maybe I’m just lazy. I don’t really want to be responsible for anyone else. Their successes or their failures. I think everyone has to do that on his or her own. Although I’m glad there are people that do enjoy managing others and people that like being managed. Or else everyone would be running around aimlessly with no direction. Kind of like me. Makes sense because I don’t particularly care for being managed either. This knocks out a whole other category of employment for me. Quite a large one at that.

I could continue to be a teacher. I enjoy it. I even love teaching on camera. I do from time to time feel like I have something to offer. But I’m too old and frankly tired to get on top of the mountain and shout about it. I don’t enjoy what it takes these days to tell people about what I teach or to earn a living at it. I get thrown back into the social media pickle. (However, if someone would like to hire me to tell people about your amazing product, I’d be happy to do so. If it really is an amazing product.)

I’ve come to the conclusion that I should be doing what, in my heart, I’ve always wanted to do. Create and share stories. I have a wicked imagination. Before any of the dramas of my own life have concluded, I’ve already schemed up twenty different endings.

I can share stories via my body with dance. I can share stories via word – both spoken and written. I can act out other people’s stories via, well, acting. I am an artist. It took me 45 years to figure this out, but here I am.

Now I just have to figure out how to not be a starving one.

You don’t believe in Mercury Retrograde you say? Ha.

A tree knocked down a power line by our house Friday. We were the only property without electricity. Or internet. Seriously. My neighbors all had power. Every. Single. One. Of them. Just us. Because of this, as you can imagine, the power company was in no particular rush to fix one power line providing power to one house in the middle of a canyon, CA . Luckily, for all my bitching and moaning, my landlord is the guy you want around in a situation like this. The same man that refused to evacuate during the Malibu fires this past Fall. He lived on a generator for almost a week. He’s pretty handy like that.

So electricity was not a concern. At least between the hours of 7am and 11pm or so at which time he’d turn off the generator. Luckily, I don’t keep meat in the fridge nor did I have any cheese in there. All other food would survive intermittent temperature drops. And on the off chance I’d happen to be awake after 11pm and wanted to read, it would be candle city for me. Just like the old days.

That leaves the internet, which even though my phone and computer both insist I have full connectivity, doesn’t seem to work. Which means I have no connection to the outer world. If you’ve ever tried to have a phone conversation with me while I’m at home, you know what a futile attempt that is. I have no reception here on the mountain. Without WiFi, I’m no better than that guy on a deserted island with Wilson the volleyball. At least I have Zeus.

Here’s the real punch line: Frontier, our cable provider, can’t come out to fix this mess until March 14^th. That’s five days from now. (And I’ve already been without for this whole weekend.) No communication. Once my car makes that last curve around the bend up to my house, I’m cut off.

No trolling Facebook because I’m bored. No scrolling Instagram for the high of seeing who hearted my most recent photo. No posting the fabulous things I’m cooking up or drinking at home. No scenic sunsets from my deck in my stories (that one’s kind of a shame) or cute cat photos of Prince Zeus (how will you live?!?!?)  What’s a gal to do?

I’m considering the rest of this week as a forced vacation. A staycation if you will. I will read (please pass along to die for book recommendations). I will write – this being the first in what may turn out to be daily blogs. Maybe without so much fucking distraction my mind will find the space to offer some clarity around what the hell I should be doing with my life.

After turning down a pretty great job last week, I’ve already experienced extreme discomfort concerning the big gaps in my calendar. I’m talking DAYS of nothing in that little square box except a friend’s birthday. So. Much. Time. I’m squirming. Without my beloved internet – shit’s about to get real as the kids say. Not to mention QUIET. No internet for me means no Netflix. And virtually no MUSIC. If you don’t hear from me in the next 48 hours, send the authorities. I may have died from a broken heart.