The Continuation, Original written on May 10th, 2014. 1:49am

I woke up from a dream, grabbed a pen, and began writing.

I have been afraid. I have been afraid of love. I’ve been living under the delusion that it is one way when it is not. Love is just love. It is not the old ball and chain, or the horse and carriage. It doesn’t have to look on me the way it looks on others.

I am afraid that with love, life will stop. Society has told me it will. But with love, there will be oneness and an abolishment of duality. Life will not just NOT stop, but it will flow, and expand, and bring me closer to the core of myself, and therefor all beings.

I now realize that my mind has been tied up in mistruths, a dense and deep-rooted miseducation – and up until this point, up until this moment of waking up in a sweat, in the middle of the night, in Australia, on May 10th, 2014, my mind has been telling me that with love I have to conform. That with love I will have to ‘settle’, and begin moving through the motions. First you are free, and then you find someone, and you are not.

Intellectually, I have rejected the physical thoughts, the projection onto me, but there was so much to be undone. A 27-year-old garden – fucking full of weeds. I could tell myself as much as I wanted to, ‘you don’t want to live this way’, but underneath were old seeds, working against my truth. Tonight I see them, and I pull them out.

Love is greater. I don’t want to and don’t have to feel like a ‘wife’. I don’t have to be a wife. Period. I still remember how the men in the office at South Bay would react when someone told their wives were on the phone. I still remember the grins and the high fives when the mistresses would drop by. I kept my eyes on the computer screen, and told myself, you will never be the wife. I was 18 and my young soul was hurting, and it wasn’t just shields that came up with that ache, but weapons. I didn’t want to just protect myself; I wanted to play the game and fight. I don’t know why. Maybe my ego or upbringing, but that is what occurred. In that moment, I utterly rejected the idea of partnership. My young self also didn’t realize it’s not so black and white and that I worked with a bunch of assholes.

Bottom line is, I don’t have to feel lesser than a mistress. I don’t have to have children, or partake in any of the domestic white picket fence shit that makes me nauseous. I don’t have to be a traditional wife or push out offspring. I am and can be none of those things and still be love. And the souls that my soul is already bound with will understand this.

Life doesn’t have to stop or be a certain way. Our souls can continue to orbit this earth, explore together, grow together, and be un-uniform. We’ll see past the fog and past the unspoken laws. The souls that my soul is already interwoven with have been waiting for me to wake up 1:40am and realize with what ludicrous fear and social condition I’ve been living with. I didn’t see this.

The thickness of the untruth we’ve existed in. Traditions are truth for many, I am sure, but for me, it is hard to swallow. Love is life. Love is infinite. It expands, elevates, and wraps you up in the fabric that binds us all and through it you are never suppressed. And for some it may look like the picture that was painted for us, but not for me.

With love, I only go deeper into myself. It does not end things for me. It does not begin things for me. It runs in an infinite circle. It’s a reminder of the beautiful wholeness, the continuation. The continuation. The continuation. It just occurred to me.

I’ve been in love all along.

Dear Body - I am sorry.

I feel remorse.
I turned a blind eye to the abuse, and in doing so, made you my slave and not my partner. 
I used you to mask my pain, and then resented you for not being able to recover. 
For every moment of neglect and unawareness. 

For throwing you into starvation when I thought it would make the world love me. 
For the month of moonshine, top ramen, and peanuts, and then sprinting, bloodymad sprinting, until you hit the wall, dehydrated, throbbing, trying. Trying so hard for me. 
For the lack of balance. 

For the decade of birth control. 
For not resting and keeping you warm when you were so defeated and ill. 
Mostly I am sad for pushing you away instead of pulling you close in moments of disconnect. 
I am sorry I couldn't look at you. 

And mostly sad that I didn't see how lovely you are. 
Thank you for harbouring my soul and my spirit, and speaking to me with such patience.
As you always have.
I am listening now. 

#dearbody 

#dearbody is a declaration of love, a renewing of vowels. After more than a year of traveling, I found myself disconnected. I knew all too well that despite my efforts and my practice, the constant flux and absolute lack of structure and stability had been long taking a toll on my ability to check in and l-i-s-t-e-n, and it was creating suffering. 

One spring evening as I sat in the sand and enjoyed a sunset, I assigned my intellect and ego to draft a  letter to my physical and emotional body. This was the result. And although private, I feel compelled to share because this is my yoga. The journey is far from over, but this helped infuse the path with more love and compassion.

Natural Disasters

I alone cannot hold back the rivers of the world. 

Grant me permission to unclench my fists.

To avalanche, sprint, and downfall.

To wrap myself around you like wind arcs around an eagle’s wings.

I alone cannot subdue the storms of the world.

Like majestic sirens and sailors, I need

You to release your fingers into the poppy fields of my mane.

To sink your Titanic, and give way to this drunken dusk.

Like horizons take the sun.

Like horizons take the sun.

With ceaseless certainty.

Untiring and utterly undone.

Say you give into me.

Or take cover, and sound off

                                

The alarms.