My Stomach Turns.thepage

No amount of food or desire of my tongue will satiate this unbearable hunger.

The hungry ghost ravages and feeds, spoiling my stomach with any delectable taste it can imagine; "here you go," and "have this," and "try this," to no avail.

In the end, I am only left with the gutwriggling sharp pangs of disheartening reality.


There was a time I could wildly devour this intense anxiety without even the slightest retaliation, secretly banishing mounds of food and feelings to my belly until it could stretch no more.

As my continually evolving spirit is birthed and expressed in physical form, it declares a slowly decaying pattern here, demanding a deeper awareness be cultivated.

Only the Deepest of Pleasure

I pine for only the deepest of pleasure.

Not the pleasure that sweetens my tongue,
drips down to my heart in a ripple of waves,
then crawls back up again, asking for more.

But the pleasure of feeding my soul
with my own hands, the gentle nourishment,
hearty and green, extending through my lower belly and beyond.

Not just the pleasure of emptying my heart
onto a blindingly blank page,
only to have more and more to purge.

I want to scribble my heart onto the walls of my room,
spilling onto the paved sidewalks,
around the block and up the hill,
to the ocean, scribbling in the sand,
retracing a spiraling labyrinth, over and over,
sinking deeper into millions of grains with each guided revolution.

I want to sit. I want to soften and open.
And just sit.

And experience my ecstatic body shaking,
my head hypnotically circling,
my torso rocking as dynamic life force
courses through the deepest of spaces within.

Inquiry To Go

What are you working on?
What moves you, each step you take?
One step closer to knowing.

Pull that thread loose.
Yes, that one right there,
which tickles your resistance.

Write it down,
something you don't know.
Something you want to know.

Please write it down.
Then, like a scientist,
ask questions of the space around you.

Ask bus stop ads,
ask books on shelves,
ask the images hiding in the imperfections of your wood floor.

You are surrounded by friends with answers.

Then notice the obvious,

this, your most potent answer.
Obvious means you know it when it seizes your attention.
If you miss its slap across your face,
consider that you've purposefully ignored it.

So, this answer doesn't satiate your desire, you say.
Why, this answer only brings up another question, now does it?
Well, unravel that one, too.

Follow your most burning of questions, love.

And PLEASE, write it down.
On a small folded piece of paper,
that fits in your pocket.

Take it to go.
Revisit it many times today, my friend.
And PAY ATTENTION,
to keep this, your most imperative work, alive.

Abre Camino

An accosting kitty implants irritation
in my skin with every scratch.
Dried cinnamon & oatmeal residue taunts
of the endless obligation of renewal.
Indefinite wanderer,
fire-ant swollen body reactions.
This, too, I can include.

Rinse repeat

I am looking forward to becoming a more pure and clear channel of color. I wish you the same, to be opened in love, during these tumultuous times, dear one.

Full moon heart beam

love geyser full stream
washing the space inside me.
Clean and buzzing pleasure
wherever i plunge.
I want to share it's
contagious vibrations.

Listen to my skin
it quivers
electric surrender.
My heart swells
like a sponge soaking
in hot vitality.
I want to get gritty
rolling in dirt
made of you.

Practice has steeped me in now.

My senses are swooning.

No Chicken Soup Needed

Lemme splain... No, I don't mean I don't believe in nourishment for the soul, in terms of chicken soup symbolism. I firmly believe in daily nourishment, and for me, I prefer something like Hafiz.

And no, I don't have anything against Chicken Soup for the Soul books. I can't say I don't enjoy a heart warming syrupy recollection every now and again.

I simply mean, my soul is not sick. And it desires texture and the deepest of inquiry. When I say espresso, you say LIT UP. Here, I invite a space for acceleration on the most direct path. And I don't mean direct, as in linear. I mean a turning toward...THAT right there which most calls your attention. Yes, even that. And especially that!

But, if we're talking about actual elixirs that rev up my soul, a celery, apple, spinach, parsley, mint, ginger & lime juice will deliver a high speed sustainable ride, as opposed to the crash and burn of caffeine. While just the tiniest touch of espresso may certainly light the fire under my ass, I find caffeine aggravating to my vata tendencies, the airy and unstable constitution in Ayurvedic medicine. But, lets face it, espresso for the soul makes a better point of it.

Sweet as me

A deep aubergine curtain drops, the final act of my played out drama. Its weighing pull at peace, at once silenced by the substantial weight of this plush curtain unraveled by grace.

Luscious pile of dark quiet. Delicious quiet. FINALLY quiet.
I sense a deeper light, now heralding a new center of attention.

Two baby.blue.bird confections flutter and delight to nestle in my curled tongue. A flirtatious gust of mingling cherry blossoms streams forth from my unfurled mouth. Pink sprinkles, joyful jiggling flecks of sugar closely play in pairs atop my candy heart. Vanilla bean frozen yogurt coils a pretty pile of my intestines. Rich raspberry drizzle paints a squiggle dOt! that marks the spot.

My intent finger traces sweet lemony filling, spiraling delectable yellow labyrinths. And on, endlesssly spiraling smooth lemon lemon lemon.

Elemental Messages

Spirit leads me in the exciting dance. Dips me back.
I suddenly breathe in.

Earth is one-pointedness. Wise grandfather staying in his place knows the answer. "I'll be here."

Air takes my mind by the hand and spoonfeeds it the motions.

Water, smooth and fluid, shifts my mood just like that. Free floating patterns unwind. Can i swim here?

Fire sprinkles little drops of burn, like watching an area on the sidewalk fill in when it first starts to rain.

I shouldn't write such gloomy things.

Today, the mad tide rushes in. The new moon springs forward to barely waxing.

A small diamond sparkled girl with long copper locks tosses and flips about, surrendered to the undertow within my torso. Unknowingly, she begins to sink towards the dark and fertile waters of my lower belly. As she realizes where she is headed, terror overcomes her in this transition. Tendrils of darkness touch her and her anxiety is at once hushed. Reminded, she quietly curls into the fetal and enters an indefinite, restful sleep of the deepest kind.

I want you to hear this.

An intimidating drill pokes and wriggles to the right of my belly button, incessantly taunting discomfort. Ouch. Would it make any difference if this was the seashell kind of an auger? I breathe and envision a pink pearlescent cone shell, in its same uncomfortable place, in its same uncomfortable motion. You know, it STILL hurts. Only now, its more beautiful, and hence, I am more willing to experience it fully. Now, instead of shielding my face, squeamishly stealing peeks through my hands, I finally allow the uncomfortable wriggles to wash over and through me. As each rich and gnarling revolution passes through my senses, I am somehow comforted in the idea that I will never have to feel THAT one again.

I don't care if I do this right. It's gotta come out. I look down at the fine movements of my rapidly typing forearms. They are glowing, white hot, and burning their thin and stringy shape into my field of vision.

Outside my window, the clingy pacific sky, an indigo-violet femininity, chases the receding coral sun with its grabby fingers. Something in these transitions is alarming, even panic inducing. The destined night sky surrenders its grasp on the day, its imploring fingers, now resembling something more of a wave goodnight. With my gaze fixated, this merciful scene showers a cool and softening purple inside my upper belly, graciously retiring the uneasy machinery for the evening.

Things are brighter, louder, and clearer for you here.

"Wow, you've got a beautiful smile! But, I'm afraid I have some bad news..."

...the reassuring words of a boss, just before cluing me in to my termination with the company, today. But, this 'bad' news didn't exactly resonate with me. My stunning smile and feelings of happiness grew uncontrollably as I realized- it's about to get EVEN better. So, I dive right in and take bait.

I'm with you, Universe! Lets go!

Scaling the epic Nob Hill of San Francisco, just minutes before, I began to prepare myself for this highly anticipated meeting. Heading toward the top-rated spa where I (used to) work, I drop down for a check in. I feel the distinct sensation of warm, demanding pressure, wispy cloud lightness, and expansive sky.colored space inside my throat. All of these sensations together feel like a tiny helium balloon is living inside my neck. My relaxed body below dangles, hovering above ground and streaming, like colored ribbon tied on a child's balloon. My legs, travel smoothly, like underwater scuba kicks. glub glub. But, all my attention and focus is pulled to my throat now, as its determination carries me along. My head discreetly bobs atop the mini.model of the ever.expanding universe, projected inside my neck.

So, in an ongoing massage client relationship, after working with a specific place of tension in the body, a person's complaint area often begins to shift around, as the client's body opens and he or she becomes aware of where else tension is held. Similar to this phenomenon in bodywork, the experience of unyielding pressure and expansion continues to creep up my energetic body, inching higher and higher, as I surrender to its push. In either case, I say, things are moving. This is a good thing.

Is this spiritual evolution [cant wait!]?

Things are moving at an accelerated pace for me, and a friend from work reiterates this thought bubble as I share the fresh news with him on the way out. "This place is a way station. You've got other things going on, right? Yeah, everyone here does. Some move through faster. Some move through slower," he reminds me.

way station (n.)

:a station between principal stations on a route.

Let me remind of you just HOW accelerated (or how often) things in my life are moving. In the preceding year, I have lived in at least nine different abodes. The map below outlines each place with its numbered order, location, and accompanying catch phrase.

View Cribs in SF in a larger map.


Home, today, feels like this:
::::::::::A place where I can play sleepy for a bit.
:::::::::Safe. Quiet.

:::::::::::My legs glow in negative colors, tonal inversion.

::::::::::::::A place to go and grow inside.
:::::::::::Sweet cottony cocoon.

What It Feels Like to Have a New Blog

What am I actually experiencing?

I tab over to my live blog, setting my eyes on the blank page. I feel the sensation of a bag of stones and Styrofoam balls inside my stomach, shuffling around inside of a plastic lining. Every single experience or feeling that I have contained, repressed, stuffed inside me, and stored in my stomach, stirs restlessly inside the bag containing it. I feel each morsel, eager for expression, jump as if it wants to be vomited, in an energetic Pollock splatter onto the monitor. They sure are ready to come out.

Micro::::Macro

P o l l o c k s p l a t t e r

My heart sees the blank page and relaxes back into its easy chair. It feels comforted with a sense of home, an intentional and specific location with boundaries, where it can express its voice. I feel a 2-way bridge, a thick beam of light, between the page and my chest. One glowing stream moves from the screen into my chest and the other radiant beam, stacked directly below it, flows in the opposite direction. I see the background white space reflected inside my heart, and I see the dark and swirling patterns of my heart (think 'satellite image of a hurricane in motion') superimposed upon the page, adding a layer of depth and contribution to this brand spanking new format.