the time to wake up is now

uniquely human

i’m living       i’m there

part of evolution

blooming       valuable

the world is changing fast

we don’t have control enough to stay this path

ask: what will last?

growth comes if you are willing to lose the way you think

want to see what beauty really is?

open your hand

i will give you something to take inspiration from at every level

while I’m cursing my neurotransmitters

thanks for the sting of simple things

around every corner

beyond the shape of the body       past the skin

this deep, delicate heart that feels more than its share

has grown into the powerful sanctuary

only a few are able to sustain

easy to forget

but we are pieces of the Divine Whole

cherished       absolute

the truth won’t be painless

but we can be gentle

i imagine the sadness of trying to carry the world

i might have been her

obsessed with this outer shell

pulled down by the weight of being perfect

but I want to conquer the damage from this honorable breakdown

this battle

this ragged dance

i was once told

there’s nothing like this

and there’s not

it’s my life

but my story could be yours

my eyes see you

elegant soul

your potential       your process

you’ve been forged in a knot

i could put down my beloved weapons

change tools

give away the rage

return to quiet

if you stay here

just connect       connect       connect

life is more than walking in a straight line

the curve is more fulfilling

remain attentive       in the moment

one perfect instant

we have the world to offer

even with my chemistry I won’t lose my ability to love

believe it

opening yourself will be heartbreaking       painstaking

like the plunge into fog and rain and snow

unfamiliar country

strange boundaries

rising       stirring like never before

body and spirit collide

fold into themselves

a thousand lovely paths crossed in the sun

restoring passion

protect what you love       design your fate

become authentic       come home

love as a hero honored in even the darker parts of the dream

myth of tenderness realized

gently push the prayer to your lips

words the body has written

while the mind remembers the violence of the past

the poet brings freedom

nurturing the blaze that burns underneath it all

only for a moment allow the music to expose possibilities

of dazzling beauty within another human being

effortless poems       rich and absolute      instinctive, wild

made out of the desire to touch one person

i must seek what can be loved

feel ease in unlikely moments

be able to trust the wider world

even if it goes dark ahead of me

fumbling in my voracious curiosity

or new light

to be able to feel tenderness underneath the surface of negativity

a world mad and sometimes cruel

uprooted by crisis

i’m free-floating       fearless       fluid with every moment

shifting beautifully across extreme depths

destiny guiding me back to balance

my sense of self

vulnerable among the ruins

my body displaced

more than just cosmetic       made unique

life hangs on one breath

inspiration

ancient medicine still healing

all in the safety of our warm struggle

everything deepens

carried up       letting go

everything vibrant

imperfect courage

the test forged the soul

giving       offering

messy love

a new way of being

come see

The Rose Wheel

the rose wheel

infinte

is the blood of

Seed Mother.

such cruel salt,

these sacred tears.

had a bad day again

have you ever looked at your reflection and burst into tears?

i'm working from home today: no makeup, no masks, just me in raggedy-ass clothes, in all my non-primped-out glory.  earlier i looked at candid photos of myself on Facebook; also, i went to an artist's website, a photographer that takes nude erotic bondage pictures of women where light replaces leather, chains and ropes.  (note: the only reason i went to his site was because he lives in the same art community complex as some dear friends of mine, and they've mentioned him a few times in the past two weekends. i never got around to stopping by his studio, and now i know why: my psyche was probably trying to protect me).

my point is that these factors--and maybe others that i'm not yet aware of--are what contributed to this feeling of disgust with my appearance.

when will this end?  will i always have these moments of terror and horror as i look at myself in the mirror?  will i always feel panic at how much cellulite i've gained or how much muscle definition i've lost in my abs?  why--with all the positive things people say about me and my work--do i still feel so crippled by body dissatisfaction?

to my eyes, my photos show a girl-woman with a protective layer around her, making her heavy and elephantine.  when i was younger, i always thought of my body as a skin that i wanted to shed in order to feel light and free.  when i see these touched-up photos of women who are young and smooth and blemish-free, i know that this depictions are not real, that the men who snap these shots think of women as cars or diamond rings, sparkly and sleek and polished and hinting not one bit at the soft, squishy, dimpled messiness of real human bodies.

hanging out with my friends all this weekend, women who are strong and fragile and REAL, probably lulled me into a false sense of security.  enter Monday and The World As It Is, or The World As We Have Been Taught To See It: yoga ads with pictures of hard-bodied women in pretzel poses, models who are "edgy" with short, spiky hair and black eyeliner who look all of 16 years old, white, upper-class PhDs who talk about healing but who have never been broken themselves, who have never been told, again and again, since the single-digit years, "you are not good enough," "you are ugly," "you are shameful," "you are unsightly."  i want to be back in that safe, warm, easy space where everyone is loved for being alive and being human...where strangers are welcome and friends are like family (the family that you really, really like).  if that space could expand and occupy the entire world, a giant heartspace where we could all just relax and breathe and let our talents and gifts and skills and knowledge shine out...

i suppose i must first create that space inside my own heartspace.  unfortunately, some days it feels like a Sisyphean task: like building and building and building and rebuilding a house on mountains of mud.

i have a dream

that one day, little girls will focus on playing, becoming smart and strong; that they will base their self-worth on their vitality and ability.

that one day, mothers will not be ashamed to talk to their daughters about adolescence and puberty; that they will prepare their daughters for physical transformation, creating an environment of pride, excitement and support.

that one day, mothers will focus fully on meeting the needs of their children instead of spending so much energy and money on losing pregnancy weight, erasing stretch marks, buying anti-aging cosmetics and hair dye.

that one day, secure women would pass on valuable wisdom to their children: that creativity, courage, integrity, compassion, honesty, generosity and joyfulness attracts friends and lovers, and helps create a life worth living.

that one day, women will not compete for the attentions of men; that there will be no jealousy, no comparison. 

THAT RAPE AND SEXUAL ABUSE WILL NO LONGER EXIST.

that women will no longer feel the need to take anger, frustration, exhaustion or loneliness out on their own bodies.

that one day, the cyclical nature of the universe, very present in the lives of women, will be valued more than out-and-out productivity; that phases of darkness, stillness and rest will have their place in human life.

that one day, all humans will remember that they were nourished in a woman's womb before birth, and nourished by a woman afterwards, and that we are all equal because we all came from a woman.

i am writing this in lieu of bingeing and purging

i weighed myself today for the first time in a long time.

mind you, weighing myself on a scale is a very dangerous activity.  it almost immediately triggers eating disordered thought patterns and behavior.  i was triggered way before i stepped onto that cold, digitally merciless metal square from Hell, however.

i went to Golden Gate Park to help my corporate yoga client, lucy Activewear, shoot photos for their website.  lucy makes clothing and accessories for yoga, running and cross training.  i was there as a consultant, to make sure the models were doing actual yoga poses, not just jutting their hips out and pointing long skinny limbs in all different directions.

these models weren't waifs, but only one really looked like she was athletic.  one of them actually admitted that she doesn't work out. (it was actually really entertaining watching them try to do pushups).  i'm disappointed that even activewear companies don't use "real" women to model their products.  but i didn't really expect anything different.

i don't have a classic "yoga body."  i'm not a dancer, i'm not super-lean.  even after 30 days or veganism, i still have meat on my bones.  i often feel like a yoga fraud because i'm not wiry and slender and able to bend into crazy poses.  it's tough for me to not compare myself to yoga "celebrities" and to want to have the yoga "look" that's advertised in the media.  i think classic "yoga-bodied" people do not comprise a wide percentage of the American population, but that is what is shown in magazines, on DVDs and in the movies.

i have to constantly remind myself why i practice and teach yoga.  the students i teach are not super-lean super athletes either.  they are stressed, overweight, underweight, injured, weak in places, stiff in others.  they are seeking a better quality of life.  they want to remove suffering and the only way to do that it to practice non attachment and compassion.  if a tight yoga butt is one of the byproducts of such a practice, great.  but for that to be the goal is not definitive of the heart of yoga.

i'm 5'7" and i weigh 160 pounds.  160!  i can't believe it.  it seems like a grotesque number.  it is the amount i weighed my senior year of high school, the year i fell into a deep depression and began my almost-lethal dance with my eating disorder.  is this full circle?  is the universe testing me?  will i choose the same path i did 12 years ago, or will I use what i've learned to break through self-destructive patterns and free myself from 12 more years of suffering?

i suppose only time will tell.

*shrugs*

the sun bleeds orange, a broken yolk for the fading blue sky to soak up as if it was toast.

i walk out to my parked car as a truck driver saunters back to the cab, wiping his hands on a white rag.  he yells something at me and i pretend not to hear.  i get into my car and slam the door shut.

meanwhile, clouds like the ancient scales of a serpent are layered down to the crest of the hills, melting like sugar into misty light.

i pull out and onto the street, looking for places to post my flyers.  "Breathe," they say.  i'd rather be in the studio,  practicing my chaturangas.

the old osprey is holding his usual post on the bare, gnarled tree.  he doesn't sound warning this time as i walk beneath him.  his white breast catches fire in the sunset glow.

i pull into a tiny lot near a coffee shop.  closed.  a teenager in a red beanie flashes me a dirty look, shuffles through songs on his iPod as he hunches over on a bench, his feet on his skateboard.

a pocket of darkness hangs beside where the trail bends.  the creek is dry, though it was running just yesterday.  cool and green, the moss hugs the bark of the oaks tightly.

i move on, circling blocks.  outside the Warehouse, a bald man in a pink flannel shirt draws on his cigarette.  i see him standing outside the doorway often.  i wonder if he's waiting for someone.  or something.  is he the owner? a patron?  his eyes study the floor.

out beyond the grassy banks, the swallows swing in wide, fast arcs to catch a new crop of spring-born insects.  above the dance, two hawks and a lone vulture.

i park again, across the street from a red and white church.  a man walks by carrying a plastic bag heavy with groceries, muttering words under his breath.

the water is low.  ripples lap at the rocks and reeds, are carried under the soft, dark bellies of ducks.

the sound of dishes and voices carries through an old, splintered window frame.  smells of cooking waft down to the sidewalk.

i am a guest

without a name

day 4: i blew it! and the Jealousy Demon

so, i buckled and had a taste of some of my bro's 7-layer dip.  it had cheese in it.  see everyone? I'M HUMAN.  a spiritual being having a human experience, rather.  it gets clumsy in here sometimes.

otherwise, it's going pretty well.  today was less headache-y, though i had some weird nervy, burning sensations in my calves for the early half of the day.  sometimes i get that sensation in my hamstrings...not sure if it's because of some kind of deficiency...maybe i need to increase my potassium.

i read somewhere that a majority of the toxic waste in the human body is excreted via respiration.  in other words, deep, conscious breathing is a great tool for detoxing.  when i went on my walk this evening, i made it a point to slow down and breathe in a slow, melodic rhythm.  even taking 10 deep breaths once a day can make a huge difference in one's energy level.  which is why i love teaching yoga, because i become aware of my own breath as i attempt to make others aware of theirs.  did i mention i have one of the best jobs in the world?

did a demon-feeding sesh this morning.  (i posted a link about Feeding Your Demons here.)  the demon? Jealousy.  yep, i'm partially Latina, so you can imagine that this is a problem in my relationships...even though i can be a shameless flirt.  yep, i'm hypocritical at times.  like i said: i'm human.

anyway, Jealousy looked a lot like Jabba the Hut, with dead, unfeeling gray eyes and long, spindly fingers, grasping desparately to hold onto everything and everyone.  while my Jealousy demon wanted to fuck up all of my relationships and prevent my from finding true intimacy, what it needed was affection and tenderness.  so i fed it with love, deep, pure, true love, and it dissolved away into a tiny blue-green gecko.  (i know, kinda weird, but this is where my visualization brought me, peeps.  i have an active imagination.)  this little guy led me to an ally, a beautiful dark-skinned woman wearing turquoise robes, sitting in lotus pose on the surface of a pool of water.  her hands were in dhyani mudra and she looked at me with deep, loving brown eyes.  i asked her four questions.

how will you help me?  
i will help you by opening up your heart and allowing true intimacy to develop. i will teach you to trust.


how will you protect me?
i will protect you by being your rock, your steady shoulder to rest against when you feel weary or hopeless or scared.


what is your pledge to me?
pledge to never abandon you in your time of need.


how can i gain access to you?
you can gain access to me by wearing or looking at the color turquoise, by gazing up into the sky, or by looking into your own eyes in a mirror.


and with that, me and my ally were integrated, and i enjoyed a few minutes of stillness.


alright, i'm craving my evening meditation and sleep.  off to dream...

day 3 of Spring Cleanse 2011

this is the third year that i've done a spring cleanse.  there's a lot of controversy surrounding detox "diets," especially with my history of eating disorders.  you can shake your heads and judge all you want, because i'm going to do it anyway.

the deal is: for 30 days, i will avoid all dairy products, meat, eggs, sugar and gluten.  i will not drink alcohol, coffee or black tea.  i will increase my consumption of water and herbal teas, drinking lemon/ginger tea (made with the real deal) and a bit of maple syrup (no high fructose here) first thing in the mornings and throughout the day, and ending with psyllium husks and senna tea (think natural, slow-acting ex-lax) in the evenings.  i will decrease my salt consumption (this is the toughest one!) to avoid water retention.

after about 2 weeks, i'll enter into the juice fast phase: all fruit and veggie juices with no protein.  this will last 3 days and is mainly just to flush the kidneys and give my system a break.

really, this isn't much different from my normal diet.  you all probably know how i love wine, so that might be tough.  i don't drink milk or eat yogurt (don't worry, i take calcium supplements and drink fortified almond milk), and i eat eggs and fish minimally.  i already drink tea like a mofo, though i'll miss my chai (i can still steep the spices with my almond milk and add a little maple syrup, especially when i'm craving chocolate at night).  yes, i love my goat cheese and occasional brie, so giving up cheese for 30 days might turn me into a cranky bitch, at least for the first 2 weeks...

there's still a ton of things i can eat.  kale, chard, spinach, broccoli, peppers, carrots, onion, garlic, squash, mushrooms and celery, to name a few.  all the herbs. (well, not ALL of them...)  avocados, berries, melons, citrus, coconut...raisins and dried fruit like cranberries and cherries (though they have added sugar, so used sparingly) do well to satisfy my sweet tooth.  quinoa, rice, barley, bulghur, buckwheat and millet for grains.  nuts and seeds.  and trust me, i've been eating lots of all of these.

the concept behind the dietary changes is that gluten, sugar and dairy products are symbolic of other things.  why do you think macaroni and cheese is considered a comfort food?  for 10 years, i've tried to numb out by consuming sugary, rich and bready foods, hoping that eating enough of them would soothe my broken heart, repair my low-self-esteem, give comfort to my sadness and quell my rages.  i became addicted to them as one becomes addicted to alcohol, using them to try and produce certain emotions while avoiding the uncomfortable ones.  so, for a short time every year, when the seasons change, i strip myself bare of these crutches to find out what comes out in me.

the diet helps make my body light and healthy so i can be ready to purge all the intangible crap.  this morning, before i even got out of bed, i identified some negative thoughts, mostly dealing with my insecurities in relationships, and wrote a letter to the person with whom i have the relationship.  signed it, dated it...and took it into the kitchen sink to light that sucker on fire.  taking a few deep breaths (careful not to inhale the fumes of burning paper and ink), i let those insecurities go up in flames and drift out the open kitchen window.  it didn't get rid of all the insecurity, but i feel better then i did.

i'll be trying to meditate for 15-20 minutes once or twice a day.  yesterday i took the dog out to the lake and let him run around like a crazy man.  it was strange to walk slowly, as i'm so used to jogging the trail, but i noticed a lot more of my surroundings.  i sat on the bank and watched the sun go down.

today i haven't felt as dizzy or weak, and no headache.  took some vitamin D at noon and had a good lunch before jumping on the computer to figure out some new yoga classes for the summer.

it's disturbing at first to let life slow down and unfold, to watch hunger creeping up on me and notice how i begin to crave certain tastes and textures at night even though i'm far from hungry.  very strange in this society to take time to watch the breath and feel sun and wind, to shiver because i'm cold and have that be okay.

think i'll end the day with a walk and yoga...not the burning kind, the kind that lets me go where i'll go.

sun's out

after the storm, the world has been scrubbed clean.

the river banks are swollen with rain, the lakes coffee and cream, filled with silt lifted from the sandy bottom.  the surface of the earth is reshaped again and again and the animals find new crevices and hollowed-out places in which to sleep.  trees that were weak are felled, drowned and begin a slow journey back to the soil.

nature is cyclical.  i am cyclical: every full moon (or thereabouts) i am reminded of who i am and where i came from, whether i like it or not.  i remember that i am blood and tissue, bone and breath, but not only these things: i remember that one day, my soul will shed this body (which will begin a slow journey back to the soil) and return to fire, to the spark and the source from which it came.

my moods are cyclical, and i know why they name storms after women, why the sea is a feminine entity to those who travel through it.  drugs can help keep me tempered, but i am FEELING, i am the pull of the moon on the water and stuff gets dredged up--ready or not, here it comes.  whether that pull is joy or pain, it serves a purpose: it electrifies me and i remember that i'm here to do SOMETHING...

if only i had taken notes before my birth and left them somewhere secret, somewhere only i could find them.

but haven't i?

aren't those secrets written into the music that makes me shiver, inscribed in the eyes of the people i love?  i know i've smelled them in the air before the rain falls and heard them in those few seconds between lightning and thunder.  they're right there--maybe just out of reach--on late/early nights with too much wine and wet paintbrushes.  sometimes i check under rocks and leaves...between cracks in the pavement where weeds push through...under my lover's chin. sometimes the answers come clear.  but the other times--when they aren't--are enough to cause me to keep looking.

i'm a seeker...and because i'm not sure what it is i'm looking for, my search will never end.

cheese/sentimentality/thinkin' about stuff

we carry so much baggage with us, the weight of our parents' stories and their parents' stories...traumas and past lives and expectations and pressures.  we change and shift and shrug.  we become stronger and we break open.

yes. ten years ago i was--not a different person--a different version of myself: the ghost of a stone sculpture not yet articulated in sensuous curves and sharp-edged hollows.  i was a dream and a spark of what i am now...and right now, i am a spark of what i will become.

do we ever really get to reach our highest form?  yes.  maybe not while we are alive, but we are born with this perfection, this blazing joyful soul that becomes veiled as we age and learn and become burdened with knowledge and avoidance--and we return to that state in death.  i suppose select few make that transition while in human form: these are the Buddhas and Jesus Christs and Mohammeds and Mother Theresas, the anonymous ones who drag dying brothers to safety and who spend their days feeding and bathing the sick.  But most of us are trying to flip the Rubix cube while we are half-blind and roaring for affection and recognition.

i am no expert in love, though i know that i crave it and need it as much as i need water to keep my body running smoothly, as i crave pieces of dark chocolate on a select few days out of every month.  i know that love has many masks...and that love unmasked is more powerful than the weapons our government spends billions on every week.  i know that i can convince myself that i have it, that i am in it--or that i don't have it and won't ever know it, not truly.

the truth is that i am looking for the freedom that comes from pairing with a person who can look me in the eye as i lay down my burden of stories.  i need a best friend who will cherish me and call me out on my shit.  someone who is imperfect and adept like a chameleon, shifting to fit a mood, a mode of communication, a moment when i am glorious and frightening.  i need a lover who can undress me, and a confidante who can hold me when my mother dies--a partner who will have my back when i'm faced with a gang of demons ready to bludgeon me to death with their stinking fear, and a companion who will play Twister with me while Tom Waits, followed by Radiohead, followed by BB King, followed by Mozart plays on and on and on...

in return, i will offer every bit of who i am.  i will be lovely and sexy and honest and jealous.  i will cry and kiss and soothe with my fingertips.  i will complain and apologize and praise and bless.  i will be there, even when i am not.  i, too will be imperfect, and i will try so hard.  and i will back off and run away, but i will always come back.  and when our paths part, i will still love you.  and when we meet up again, i will not love you less. 

feminism ain't about equality, it's about reprieve

amendment 
written by ani difranco

wouldn't it be nice if
we had an amendment
to give civil rights to
women
to once and for all just
really lay it down from
the point of view of
women
i know what you're thinkin'
that's just redundant
chicks got it good now
they can almost be president
but it's worker against worker
time and time again
'cause the rich use certain issues as a tool
and when i say we need the ERA it ain't 'cause i'm a fool
it's 'cause without it, nobody can get away with anything cool

you don't have to go far, like
just over to Canada
to feel a heightened sense of "live-and-let-live"
what is it about Americans, like so many pitbulls
trained to attack and never give
we gotta put down abortion
put it down in the books for good
as central to the civil rights
of women
make diversity legal
make it finally understood
to the civil rights of
women
and if you don't like abortion
don't have an abortion
and teach your children
how they can avoid them
but don't treat all women
like they are your children
compassion has many faces, many names
and if men can kill and be decorated instead of blamed
than a woman called upon to mother can choose to refrain

and contrary to eons
of old-time religion
your body's your only
true dominion
Nature is not here to serve you
or at any cost to preserve you
that's just some preacher man's
old-time opinion
life is sacred
life is also profane
a women's life it must be hers to name
let an amendment
put this brutal game to rest
trust that women will still take you to their breast
trust that women will always do their best
trust that differences make us stronger, not less

in this amendment shall be
"family structures shall be free"
we'll have the right to civil union
it takes unions of all kinds
unions of hearts and minds
to give society communion
let's do more than tolerate
let gay and straight resonate
and emanate all that is human
with equal rights and
equal protection
intolerance finally
ruined
and then there's the kids' rights
they'll naturally be on board
the funnel through which
women's lives are poured
our family is so big
we're all so very small
let a web of relationship
be laid over it all
over the strata of power piled up to the sky
over the illusion of autonomy on which it relies
over any absolute that nature does not supply

and the birthing woman shall regain her place
in a circle of women in a sacred space
turn off the machines
put away the knives
this amendment shall deliver from bondage
midwives

a muck amok

i read an article today about an article about an 11-year-old girl in Texas being gang-raped by between 18 and 28 men.  (if you can call them men.  they sound more like animals to me.)

last night, i told my story to a group of loving, supportive women.  i talked about being kept separate from my Puerto Rican heritage for most of my life, and have been lit afire with the new task of uncovering my ancestry.

my best friend is working on her graduate research project, and asked me to fill out a questionnaire about many aspects of my transition from high school to college.  more than once i teared up, thinking about the horrible things i've experienced.

in short, the past is being dredged, and the muck is rising.  it's good.  i need this to happen...in our society, it it preferred that we function and live in the future as opposed to honoring our past and feeling our present.  all of those horrible things are a gift that i must unwrap.  now that i am medically and more emotionally stable (knock on wood!), it is time to go deep. i'm terrified, and exhilarated.  excuse me while i fight the urge to vomit, take swigs of rum right out of the bottle, or go on a 4-mile run with a hamstring injury.

numb is such a pleasant place to take a vacation...and then, when i get back, the muck i left behind has risen from elbow level to eyeball level.

so, here i go.  i know MY story.  every time i tell it, it gets a little clearer.  little details surface, things i had forgotten because my brain was so fuzzy from low glucose levels.  and they matter.  the images i can recall from when i was 6--my mother getting angry at me for asking what her tampons were used for--they matter.  why did i reject one of my first Christmas gifts--a baby doll?  why did i express a desire to have been born a boy in elementary school?  they're pieces from my puzzle...and not just my puzzle, but the puzzle with pieces belonging to my mother, my father, their parents and their parents' parents.

maybe if everyone went back as far, striving for a stark naked understanding, we, as a human family, might find it less desirable to rob, rape and kill each other.

my dad's brother is diagnosed schizophrenic.  in the throes of mania once, he threatened my grandmother--his mom--with a gun, saying he was going to kill her.  why?  where did those delusions come from, and how did the energy from that incident reverberate through the Tormos clan, influencing my dad and his sister, his other brother, their children?  why did i date--and later file a restraining order--against a schizophrenic/manic depressive named Scott Jaffe?

my mom has (had?) a cousin who never was institutionalized (to my knowledge), but never ventured out of the house after having some kind of "nervous breakdown."  what caused this?  how did her family--my relatives--react?  how did this influence my mother's reaction to my somber, quietness as a young girl...and later my depression, my suicide attempts, my institutionalization...which influenced my recovery...which influences how I perceive my own worth?

i think these next two year are going to unearth some terrible and wonderful things.  i'm ready to understand--truly--where i came from, who i am, and where i'm going.

still at war

i wonder if i will ever be able to feel like i deserve to eat.  every bite of food i take is judged, as if it was a reflection of my own personal code of ethics:  is this yogic enough? am i eating it because i enjoy it, or am i eating it to give a big "fuck you" to my inner critic?  is that the best reason to eat something?  will i feel guilty about it in a few hours?  is this going to add to the fleshy curves of my body that i already have mixed feelings about?  is this food rich enough that i'll have to go hiking for 2 hours even though my hamstring is injured and i need rest?

occasionally i still purge.  i can't believe that i used to throw up anywhere up to 6 times every day, sometimes in rapid fire succession.  it amazes me that i never had a heart attack.  i still probably won't know the actual damage i've done to my organs for another two decades.  the pain i sometimes feel to the right of my navel makes me nervous.  then there are, of course, my teeth, which will never be the same...

these days i can sense the point between eating and bingeing, and the point at which i decide i'm going to purge--like running my fingers down the smooth surface of driftwood and finding a nearly imperceptible notch.  at that notch i make my decision.  i usually choose to be gentle with myself and sit with the guilt and anxiety.  every now and then, i'll run straight to the toilet.

the after effects of a purge are similar to the feeling of being drunk or stoned.  an adrenaline rush at the time of vomiting gives way to a numbed out, cotton-wrapped feeling.  my thoughts slow down, my movements slow down.  i get thirsty and dizzy.  it's not a pleasant feeling for me anymore, but i suppose my mind still finds it preferable to the sting of sorrow or rage or loneliness, emotions that felt as though they would kill me when i was younger and--hard to believe--even more sensitive.

then i am pulled way down into a black pit, and the emptiness filling it is called Shame.  no matter how much i try and talk to myself, soothe myself, tell myself i will not beat myself up about my behavior, there is always shame.  the amount of time that it lasts is variable, but it follows close like sound from a jet.

i am in recovery, but not recovered.  i would like to say i am recovered some day.  i know i'll be close when i can stop purging, then stop bingeing/restricting.  in reality, those three behaviors are so closely tied that it's hard to say which i'll be able to stop first.  ideally, they'll all have to go.  the funny thing is that everything is an addiction.  i'm essentially trading one for another, an unhealthy one for a healthy one.  non-attachment is the goal, but that might not happen in this lifetime.  that's why i am so drawn to yoga: yoga teaches me to be separate from the storm though i am in the thick of it.  i am still so reactive: it doesn't help that i am super sensitive and over-analytical.

i told a friend the other day that i believed i wasn't going to be one of the ones that die from their eating disorder.  i do believe this...or do i just want to believe it?  i am strong, but not invincible.  we, as a country, forget about the wars we cannot see, but the battles rage on with our acknowledgement or without it.  in the same way i need to be reminded that i am much more functional than i was when i was 5 years ago, but the scales can be tipped at any time...

i didn't take any photos, but this might be better

there are only a few people out, not enough to be annoying, so i let my armor dissolve.

it is warm enough that i don't need gloves.  in fact, after walking up the steep hill to the trail, i want to strip down to my underwear and soak my skin.  the forest drips with diamonds, raindrops collecting around blossoms and at leaf tips.  the lake is a still mirror for the sky and the trees.  mist--rogue wisps of clouds--dances across hilltops and settles in tiny valleys.

the shades of green are myriad, like lush quilts of textured emerald hues, from the black-green of old oaks to the bright new sprouts at the trail sides--leaves shaped like moths, wings flat and round-tipped.  i want to graze on that green, taste the moisture on my tongue and feel juicy fibers crunch between my molars.  vines of ivy climb down the sides of the ravine to my right, tangling with slender switches and reaching towards the fuzzy moss that blankets nearly everything that sits out of the sunlight's reach on brighter days.

the smell is like coming home: decaying leaves, wet earth, native herbs.

if i can't take off my shirt, i'll roll up my sleeves.  the rain is soft, tiny kisses by the millions.  every nerve ending in my epidermis gets a massage.  a strand of wet hair points to the corner of my mouth and i let it stay.

the rain begins to come down faster, and the thick hush of the forest is interrupted with soft, sweet percussion.

the walnut trees, skinny, multiple trunks growing out of one base, arc up and over the trail, reaching to the water's edge.  i stop there, too, feet in the wet sand and eyes skimming the surface to find the geese i can hear, honking in approval or in disapproval, i can never tell.  veils of rain descend, bringing water and landscape closer to the same colorless color.

there is a flickering in my periphery and i look up to see a falcon slicing across the sky.  i know she is not a vulture, her movements are quicker and her tail long and slender.  the buzzards are out, too, a few of them, their wings lovingly caress the sky when they move, sensuous and slow.  they are enormous birds, so regal, but their ugly, bare heads betray the bad karma bestowed upon them, perhaps from an earlier life.  they seem to accept their fate with grace, and i quickly say a prayer that i might do the same when i begin to get ugly.

i lift my arms up to stretch, arching back in a bend that opens my ribs and reverses the heaviness of my shoulders.  it's amazing how, when i make a conscious effort at awareness, i can feel the electric current running up from the earth into my feet and up my spinal column, dispersing like little lightning bolts through the conduits of my nervous system.  even in this cool rain, i am sparked, hot, outward-reaching.  time is obliterated and there is only here and now, though i'll have to return to a place of clocks eventually. it isn't doing that nourishes the human soul...it is being.

i woke up from a 20-minute nap and i was different somehow

i will take the path through the dark
though they're hot upon my heels
i will sail those thousand seas
for i am nothing 
without love

from the song Those Thousand Seas by Claire Tchaikowski


forgive.  smile.  play.  take the time to understand your enemies.  bear forth your broken heart for all to see, then watch as you pull it together and realize your radiant self.  cry.  grieve.  admit defeat and vow revenge...but then soften your anger into sorrow.  take a walk by yourself in the woods--on the beach--and rediscover the cosmos in the curve of a fern or shell.  hum.  sing.  scream at the top of your lungs or sob into your bathwater until it aches.  call someone you haven't in awhile.  ask them questions that have nothing to do with the weather.  express gratitude.  pray with your feet.  drown in booze and wake up thick with regret...then venture out into the sun and sip on tea.  move.  breathe.  eat fruit.  contemplate dyeing your hair...and then don't because no one else needs to know you're in crisis.  touch yourself.  find yourself ravishing.  release and crumple back into the sheets.  cook.  clean.  rearrange the furniture.  cut your toenails and your pants into shorts.  dream.  imagine.  you're traveling...where to?  who do you meet?  what do you say?  how do you feel?  when you are standing alone, are you the same?  when you are together, do you change?  reflect.  meditate.  illuminate the dark spaces that you've always feared.  and love.

love.

love.

above all: love.

arcana

heavy blossoms fell last night with the rain. i tossed them into the compost pile this morning with hot, creamy cup of earl grey in hand, as i bid them make my soil rich.  there's another storm coming, and the air is pregnant with rain.

in tarot readings, there are a handful of cards that make you sit up straighter.  i drew Death, The Hanged Man, The High Priestess and Temperance.  these major arcana represent the forces of life over which i have no control. indeed, these specific cards represent, respectively:

transition. letting go of the past. returning to simplicity.  riding my Fate. moving from known to unknown.


sacrifice. emotional release.  relinquishing control.  taking time to be.  surrendering to experience.


waiting.  allowing.  withdrawing from involvement.  seeking inner guidance.  mystery.  intuition.


centering.  finding middle ground, equilibrium.  recovering.  healing.  flourishing.  synthesis.


i have put myself "out there."  now it's time to turn inward and wait.

i am horrible at waiting.  for all the patience i have as a yoga teacher and artist--waiting while my students drop into the space of relaxation, creating tiny beauty with my hands--when it comes to allowing my life to unfold as it is ready, i have all the patience of a sheepdog herding her flock.  which is silly, because i cannot rush myself into realizing my highest potential anymore than i can force flowers to rot.

ironically, the Priestess is my favorite card.  she is all that is unknown.  she is the lucid dreamer, the stargazer. she celebrates the moon in all its phases, preferring the dark and the shadow because they are the house of the soul.  she needs not wage war because destruction, death and rebirth are already occurring.  she recognizes that life is lived both forwards and backwards--that we are what we will ever become.

lying in savansana once i had a vision: the soul, in some cosmic waiting room looking out upon the entire Universe, gets to choose what human life it wants to live.  depending on its karmic level, it sees a summary of each possibility--with its black lows and jubilant highs--and makes its decision.  it forgets what it is, reminded by art, poetry, music, dancing, the heartbreaking resplendence of the sea--by the stars, by moments of hopeless despair, every time it falls in love.  all is decided because Fate is a thread: but the thread must be woven, seen through to the last warp. (this is a weaving term, yes?  come on, all you weavers!  challenge me if it is not!)

i am beginning to read James Hillman's The Soul's Code, because--as always--i am seeking.  he posits that there is a daimon in us all, a guardian that guides us to our highest selves at all costs.  the more we ignore, medicate, numb, oppose, repress the daimon, the more awake it becomes.  it is charged with our care because it loves us with a fierce love like blue fire.  it loves us more that we love ourselves.  when we are aligned with it, we feel whole and nourished.  but it takes courage to stay aligned.

so i will wait.  i will relinquish control and surrender to experience. i will be: with my close-set eyes and my petty insecurities...with my passionate voice and my depression...with my road rage and my tenderness.

i will be.

love, 2003, acrylic on canvas

date rape, robert garza

going back through my journals, i realize how lost and scared and confused i was.  the perfect prey.

robert...what the fuck was your last name? garcia?  you worked at the Thousand Oaks Healing Arts Institute in Reseda in 2005, i know that for sure.  Garza.  Robert Garza.  you work at the Hands On Healing Institute in Tujunga, as well.

looking back, i can't believe i didn't recognize how creepy you were.  what was i thinking?  probably rationalizing, while my intuition, straitjacketed in starvation and malnutrition and depression, was feebly begging me to run the other way.  you were 41; i was 24.

i went with you on a road trip to San Francisco and Lake Tahoe during Christmas of 2005--my first Christmas away from my family.  i had already told you i did not want any romantic relationship.  i was willing to travel with you as a friend.  i could get out of Camarillo, see the snow, learn how it is in other families during the holidays.

i don't know if you planned it.  maybe it was just a spontaneous thought--you brought some for yourself and figured you'd see what my reaction might be.  either way, you gave me one magic pill before we left for the jazz clubs: Magic X.  i believe i was drinking martinis.  you gave me another one before we even got to the next club.  you would end up giving me 3 tablets of ecstasy within 3 hours.  thanks for the introduction to your favorite drug of choice.  and you're a professional in the health field?  scary.

i remember being back at the hotel room.  i remember getting undressed: i don't know if it was you or i who did it.  but we ended up in bed together.  eventually--probably sometime during the wee hours of the next morning--i made my way, vomiting, to the toilet.  you watched as i teetered in front of the bathroom mirror, as my legs buckled underneath me.  you told me later that you caught me just before my head hit the corner of the bathroom counter.  my hero.

i remember making it back to the hotel bed.  i remember drifting in and out of consciousness; at one point i heard the housekeeper banging on the door to be let it.  check out was at noon, but i couldn't regain full consciousness until at least 4pm.  you've must have been scared shitless, wondering if someone was going to find out that you had a semi-conscious young woman half-naked in your bed with a duffel bag full of pot and e and who knows what else.  i know we eventually made it out of there.  when i regained my strength, i vowed never to let you touch me again.

i tried to stay away from you while we were in Tahoe, sharing a room at your friend's house.  i engaged in playing with her three children, even had fun sledding down the hills near the neighborhood.  you attempted to apologize, giving me little trinkets and gifts.  i wanted nothing to do with you; i was only biding my time until i could go home.  you confronted me, saying i was being ungrateful and rude.  i was incredulous that you could accuse me as such, and asked what exactly it was you wanted from me.  "Affection," you said.  i told you that warmth was the last thing i felt for you and tried to leave the room, but you followed me upstairs and closed the door behind you.  this was when the little hairs all stood up on the back of my neck.  i was cornered like an animal, and like an animal whose life is threatened, i became all adrenaline and rage.  you got in my face and hissed again about me being ungrateful (for you overdosing me?!?) and i have never EVER been so close to punching a grown man in the face before.  i growled something like "get out of my way" and something in my eyes must have shown you that i meant it.  you stepped aside and i ran out the door, down the stairs, out of the house and into the snow.

our last confrontation came after we returned to Southern California.  we were both scheduled for work that day at the chiropractic office.  i avoided you: no eye contact, no words spoken.  after my last massage, you came into my room while i was stripping the bed of sheets and packing up to go home.  "I just want to talk," you said.  then you closed the door.  again, cornered.  again, adrenaline.  i tried to pack up as fast as i could so i could flee before you tried anything.  i was terrified.  i should have just left right then, or screamed bloody murder.  but i didn't.  "Don't touch me," i hissed.  "Get the fuck away from me."  i made it out with my things as you insisted that i was over-reacting and that you just wanted to talk.  i got in my car and sped off until i was out of sight...then i pulled into a parking lot, killed the engine and burst into tears, shaking uncontrollably.

i discussed what had happened later with a friend who happened to be a law school dropout.  "Write a letter," she advised me.  i did.  i made 3 copies: one for me, one for you and one for our supervisor.  it said that i had dated you and broken off the relationship, and that i wanted nothing more to do with you.  if you looked at me, touched me, spoke to me or in any way made me feel uncomfortable in my place of work, i would demand you be fired...and if you were not, i would sue the office.

i never heard from you again.

i feel sorry for you.  you are one sick bastard.  i hope you are no longer a massage therapist.  i hope you haven't had the chance to victimize any other girls or women; but if you have, i hope they've had the courage to press charges and incarcerate you.  i've held this secret for a very long time, letting it poison me.  it feels good to finally tell the truth.

pwacticing da counting

i often feel like i need to be doing more with my life.

i don't know if this is healthy ambition, unhealthy ambition, me being called to fulfill my true potential, or me doing too much thinking and not enough doing.  i suppose i'm having a third-life crisis.  no, not a mid-life crisis (because knowing my luck, i'll live until i'm 100); not a quarter-life crisis (because i don't forsee surviving to blow out 120 candles).  approximately one-third of my life is over, and it's freaking me the fuck out.

i mean, i just ate a chocolate chip cookie and hardly really tasted it.  i'm going to need to get my act together if i plan on making the other two-thirds of my years count.

i know part of it is the pressure of our culture: pressure to have a retirement fund set up by age 25 and a college fund for your kid 10 years before you have her.  i don't even want kids, but i feel guilty for having all of $400 in the bank and a crappy credit score.  i guess i can thank my family for my financial retardation...and since i'm not having any kids, my bad money karma can die with me and that will be the end of it.

i really should just be amazed that i made it this far.  everyone here knows that i attempted suicide, landed in the hospital for anorexia, blahblah blah blah blahblah...but instead of feeling like a superhero for being able to eat peanut butter and avocados without having a mental breakdown, i feel like a 17-year-old trapped in a 30-year-old's body, a girl who just figured out what everyone else was practically born knowing.  i can't even figure out relationships for buddha's sake (although i know some 50-year-olds who still can't quite get it).  there are people 5 years my junior who are running startups they'll be ready to sell by 2017...i have been putting off fixing my brakes for so long that i'd rather run the risk of a ticket for rolling through a stop sign than endure the embarrassing looks from pedestrians as my shrieking bansheemobile pulls up to the crosswalk, shattering a few storefront windows in the process.  i don't know why i feel that car maintenance is a microcosmic metaphor for life, but i just do.  so there.

thank god for graduate school and doctoral programs, because at least i can go to school for the rest of my life, rack up debt and avoid having to figure out what to do with myself.

yeah, i sound a little bitter and depressed.  sorry.  transitions were never easy for me, and the move is having a delayed effect on my stress levels.  i broke up with my ex because i wanted more space.  now i'm in the center of a gaping abyss with a dinosaur of a laptop checking into my Facebook profile page every 10 minutes.  it's just sad.  i should at least go to cafes and check Facebook...because when you're on a laptop at a cafe, you always look very busy and important, even if you're watching the latest episode of Baman Piderman.

what?  you haven't seen ANY episodes of Baman Piderman?  christ, man, click here.

anyway, i wish i had some uplifting conclusion to this post...but i don't.  i'm going to pick the cookie crumbs out of my teeth and try to recapture the taste so i can make the 100 calories i just ingested count for something.

you know it's bad when i start listening to cat power again...

pick me up
drop me down
kick me to the curb

rock
rock
rock
a
bye

sing me
lull me
i am your hypnotic neurotic
cutting you with my tongue

seep
sleep
into my open eyes
where the cup overflows
because it's much too much

but empty
can't be
i've worked too hard
spat on my hands
rolled up my sleeves
and all for this

spin, spin, sugar

i woke up briefly in the early hours to buckets of rain dumping from the sky.  i wanted to run outside and stand underneath it, to beg of it to wash me clean and drive away the dirt the film the scum, to wash away the self-loathing, the fear, the anxiety, the sadness, the anger, the mediocrity and the procrastination. but i fell back asleep.

the human condition is a strange one.  we are capable of such greatness--both beautiful and terrible--and we are so lonely and needy.  sometimes my loneliness sends me into a spin, and then i realize that i am no different than anyone else.  loneliness is not a matter of being surrounded or abandoned by other people, it is a story that is made up by the ego.  of course we are alone, and of course we are not.

now the sun emerges briefly and the far part of the sky turns much darker then i previously noticed.  it is light that makes the darkness so dark!  one moment i feel sure of myself--and my path--and invincible.  but there is always that dusty corner of pitch, that threatening current waiting to sweep and pull me down away from the sun.  but when it does, i can always count on--my strength? fate? the cyclical nature of, well, Nature?--to propel me up towards the surface, towards the light again, bobbing enthusiastically until my next desparate dive.

why do i have so little self-respect?

"if you want to grow, look at things differently."

i have more self-respect now than i did 5 years ago.  it's a process.

it's a good day at 9:55 a.m.

sometimes i feel like the buoyancy rising up in me will lift me in simple levitation, take me up into the clouds where i can finally adopt the perspective of my beloved red-tailed hawks.  a blush rises to my cheeks and my skin grows a bit warmer and colors seem brighter.  i notice things like the gorgeous weave of spider webs at the edges of windows, and the taste of warm maple syrup on my tongue.  i give hugs freely like they were pieces of gum (because i'm never stingy with my gum).  i look into people's eyes to see their smiles.  people are so beautiful, it hurts to think how some of them can have such evil actions and intentions.  i think at the bottom of evil is just hurt, pain, sadness.  someone needing to be touched, held and told they are deserving of unconditional love.  it's so hard to love the hard-to-love, but someone must.

get a raging clue--and NO, i DON'Tmean a boner, South Park fans

"i need to eat something i can feel bad about in the morning."

that would have been sufficient.

but then he adds, "like a $10 hooker from Jersey."

i take a deep breath.  "sounds fun.  enjoy."

"i will do my best...but she better not charge for the crying afterwards."

really?

now, how could he have known that i had just stepped off BART where i had been reading Revolutionary Women, specifically reading about Phoolan Devi?  he couldn't have, and i had no clue who she was until just today.

According to the book (edited by Queen of the Neighbourhood, "an all-woman collective of writers, researchers, editors and graphic designers originally hailing from Aotearoa/New Zealand"), she a woman born in India who, because of the caste to which her family belonged, "was married at thirteen to a middle-aged man who beat and raped her."  later, Phoolan was thrown into jail over a family dispute where she was "repeatedly gang-raped by policemen."  at age sixteen, she was kidnapped by bandits and used as a sex slave by the gang's leader.  when the leader was assassinated, the assassins took her into custody in their village, where she was, again, "gang-raped for 3 weeks until she managed to escape."

Phoolan is quoted as saying:

"You call it rape in your fancy language.  Do you have any idea what it's like to live in a village in India?  What you call rape, that kind of thing happens to poor women in the villages every day.  It is assumed that the daughters of the poor are for the use of the rich."

whoa.

so what does a joke about a brutally-used hooker from the East Coast and the story of Phoolan Devi have in common?

well, for starters, neither of them is funny.

if i had a dime for every hooker joke made by a guy, i'd make a huge donation to victims of sexual assault and abuse.  i called this particular guy on his shit, and his answer was, "derogatory is fun."  from what i gathered, if he stuck to more positive comments, he would be "one-sided and boring."  um, what?

can you imagine being a 13-year-old girl living, dirt poor, without a family, no access to medical attention, being forced to have perform sex acts with men twice, three times your age--or suffer torture, electrocution, beating, even death?  which would be worse?

can you imagine being a poor woman living in the most dangerous part of an American city, feeling like your only option for survival is to charge men money for doing what they want with your body, for hanging around as a drug dealer's mistress because you know you'll only be raped by him and maybe a few of his buddies, at worst?

how is this funny, amusing, cool or freakin' sweet?

it's not.  the issue of prostitution--and more importantly, the underlying issues in our society that make it acceptable to make casual remarks about the sexual assault/abuse and objectification of women--is part of the big picture, a picture that reveals a world falling apart.  it makes me sick and it makes me sad.

mostly, it makes me want to kick some ass.  i've had rage well up in me intense enough to make me put my fist through a wall.  if i was poor, living in India, i would probably become a vigilante like Phoolan, who was dubbed "Queen of the Bandits" after she started up her own gang and "went around exacting justice on all the men who had abused her."  but because i am white and middle-class, i was taught to quietly swallow my rage...then throw it up, wipe off my lips, apply lipgloss and smile on my way to the mall.  i was well-behaved for a very long time.

it's not that i truly wish to turn violent in response to the abuse that i and millions of other women have and do endure, but i can't remain silent and act like it doesn't affect me.  if you're going to make a joke to me about hooker, you're going to get en earful.  and i certainly won't hook you up with any of my hot friends.

and, just to clarify: i'm not opposed to humor.  laughter is fantastic--it creates endorphins and it allows Margaret Cho to make a living.  i know people turn to humor to diffuse heavy issues, to disassociate from the emotional pain they can incite.  but there needs to be a balance and an awareness: if there is no empathy, we can all just ignore and avoid the complicated suffering that is the human burden.

it might seem like a small and insignificant gesture, but words are powerful.  thoughts even more so.  i know this guy isn't a bad person, but he seems to feel like making hooker jokes will make him more acceptable to society--and he's right, because society is largely patriarchal and most people are ignorant.  if we can start small--speaking from the heart and choosing words that are compassionate--we can make big change to the big picture.

don't let the days go by...sertraline

She Keeps Bees is my new favorite band.

what's happening with the bee populations these days?  i hate how our media builds up excitement around one issue for a week or two...and then nothing is heard of it again.  i suppose it's up to the individual to follow whatever cause speaks to her.

i am feeling restless lately, like i have a beehive in my belly.  no, it's not the Level 4-spicy Tom Yum Goong i ate.  the turmoil is in my emotional body...maybe in my intellectual body.  it makes sense: i have not purged since before Christmas.  all the stuff that normally beats its wings against my brain until i rush to numb it out is spinning around, unfettered.  a year ago, i couldn't bear to be in the house alone.  i would almost inevitably binge and purge.  recently i've found caught myself browsing online stores for hours...i think i've always had a mild shopping addiction, and now that my food addiction is lessening, something has to fill the void.

what is so treacherous about the void?  it's big and empty, and my Shadow self resides there.  the Wild One, the one who wants to to leave everything and everyone behind and fly to Tasmania.  the one who wants to swim naked in cold water.  the one who is rude and vulgar and impatient.  the one who is not her culture's idea of a socially functional woman.

my Shadow Yoga teacher says that we must follow the shadow to the source of light to become balanced.  in the dark i am obsessed, but in the light i am passionate.  in the dark i am a dilettante; in the light, a renaissance woman.  we either flee our Shadow or become consumed by it.  but the day and night each have their time, and so things grow and bloom and die.

i am afraid to bloom.  afraid to step into the flow of creativity that will sweep me up and toss me around so that i have sand in my ears when i surface.  creativity is the realm of gods--of spirit.  it has nothing to do with me and everything.  if i close off, i get sick and die.  why can't i remember dying?

maybe it was intentionally uneventful so that it would pale in comparison to the life i'm now living.

once i become more adept at unblocking my creativity (Roto-Rooter for the chakras?), maybe i won't have such high highs and low lows.  maybe i can quit depending on sertraline HCl.  wouldn't THAT be nice.

this one was heavy.

re-solutions

i was hiking in the mud today with Satchel and thought about a painting i'd like to do: a tribute to my grandma, Virginia Tormos, who passed way a year ago today.  time goes by so quickly.  i still remember being in the first grade and thinking that all of the fifth graders looked enormous and intimidating; i couldn't wait to grow up.  these days i'd like to just slow everything down a bit.

the painting, For Virginia, is going to be mixed media.  lots of reds.  a nod to Puerto Rico, New York, cats and hats. 

(she loved to wear hats.)

why won't i let myself paint?  i caught myself watering my plants, making tea, adding gadgets to iGoogle, chopping vegetables...all instead of painting.  i think my inner child might be rebelling against productivity.  maybe a bribe will work...

i think this is the first January when i haven't gone all gung-ho on the New Year's goal-setting-life-revolutionizing-thing.  i'm in the middle of a lot of projects, and i plan to let things unfold.  i'm teaching two--possibly three--yoga classes, one meditation workshop, two after-school art classes and have yet to turn in two graduate applications.  not to mention i'm also co-running a household (with pets instead of children), studying/practicing yoga, recovering from an eating disorder, managing a crapload of anxiety, trying to stay healthy and keeping up my connection to the art world.  i feel more organized than ever, which is fabulous.

god, these entries are boring...i guess that's why i only have 3 followers.  maybe THAT will be my resolution...

RESOLVED: to find a more interesting gimmick for my blog.

wish me luck.