Tag Archives: manifesting

Birthing into the Invisible

Precipitous leaps into inscrutable voids.

Letting go of the vines with right hands and holding out left’s, hoping to find other vines because:  BLINDFOLDS and FAMISHED TIGERS, milling below.

Burning Encyclopedias of Known’s for books we aren’t certain exist.

Sacrificing Destination on the alter of Journey.

We do these things when we decide to live intentionally.

What bravery!

*****

I went to the gym today. (Pausing for applause and plaque engraving. K A L E Y)

I emerge from last year’s emotional hibernation by coping a la carbs (here you may clap again before adding a line to the plaque — because it wasn’t sex or overspending, drugs, alcohol, or gambling and that is pretty freaking amazing). The chub is more than I want to carry by more than I wish to confess.  But because I do want to get naked again at some point, I want it all gone now. But it cannot be gone now because today it is just the right amount of ‘goddammit’ to remind me that I may not be where I want to be in my journey, but I am here. Because of me. And that’s okay. I have access to a gym and I can walk and I made it through another volcanic year.

How I feel and carry myself when I am at fighting weight is probably kind of obnoxious. But it feels amazing and I want it back. Empowerment. Physical and existential strength knowing that I am the responsible manager of Kaley, Inc.

To create the me that I am, I am going to have to Birth into the Invisible.

Birthing into the Invisible means drinking water, eating protein, and walking even though the scale laughs. Fucker.

Birthing into the Invisible means that tomorrow starts clean for you too, no matter how many times you’ve ‘failed’. Or not even bothered to start.

Birthing into the Invisible means starting today to learn the tools of crafts we’d give our front teeth and favorite sweat shirts to have already mastered. (Like scenes and character development. Or goat husbandry.)

Birthing into the Invisible is much like wanting to pee in private but having three small children who Adore and Worship you and absolutely have to accompany you to the bathroom. Again. Because of love.

Birthing into the Invisible is the ten years of working your fingers numb with scales and riffs before becoming an overnight success.

Birthing into the Invisible is knowing that you can’t fail at birth. That sucker is coming out whether you get in its way or not. It is trusting the blueprint for LIFE that establishes inside you when you become pregnant with dreams. It is doing the next best right thing you know how to do. Sometimes that is just breathing.

Birthing into the Invisible looks like being glad you are ambulatory and can afford a gym membership — and drinking more water. It looks like being thankful for new beginnings which stem from oft inauspicious endings and believing that you are a wonder of Creation for simply being, warts and all. It looks like wearing your favorite sweatshirt as you write horrible obstacles badly for characters you struggle to infuse with authenticity — and not quitting. It is being grateful for flush toilets and unconditional cuddles from healthy kids. It is wearing callous with pride and being able to tune your own guitar.

We Birth into the Invisible when we don’t know what that means. When we’ve hidden behind defining ourselves by what works for everyone around us instead of listening to the voices of the characters we are put here to play and we finally come to our senses to step on stage.

This is how we do it.

 

 

 

 

 

The Sweet Spot

Not THAT sweet spot. The one where I am in a state of extreme gratitude for having lost everything. And when I say everything, I don’t mean a kid. I mean everything but a kid. And I don’t mean everything either in the sense of having to live outside.

Enough disclaimer: Here’s a list of what I’ve lost and lessons I’ve learned. There will be more perspective as time passes, but in terms of today’s gutcheck we have:

MARRIAGE: I miss the social acceptability of marriage but I like who I am on my own, my new friends, and I have a feel for what is important to me if I choose to share the journey with someone at that level.

HOUSING: From big house in the country to a one-bedroom apartment with three kids. Appreciate having lived in Japan where small is just the deal. I’m not defined by my stuff (stay away from my books, or I’ll eat your head) and I like setting up new spaces and new beginnings. My home is where my kids live with me.

STATUS: Separating my worth and identity from how much money I make or what position I have has left me bruised, bloodied, and gasping for air. How do I do a fix up project without my staff, my fleet, and my warehouse? But I depend on people more because I have to and this is putting a chink in my pathological independence. Still not comfortable, but I value my friends more — and have more compassion. The delusion that my resources define my worth will be a nice one to let go. Choices are vital to me. I will trade the uncertainty of creating my own way to have more autonomy.

FAITH COMMUNITY: Trading ‘neatly defined’ and ‘following expectations’ for living with freedom and abundance. I don’t like judgers and people who know what I should be doing in this new paradigm. I’m choosing a more creative path, and it makes people uncomfortable. I’m okay with that. My new tribe rocks. The intangible wealth that comes from struggle is largely under-rated. Permission to remind me of that if I start whining again.

Something inside me has changed. I passed the Mid Point on the ‘Life is Like That’ Continuum:

*———————————————-*——————————————————————–*

                        Life sucks, and I’m a victim                                   Life is full of amazing opportunities, and I Co-Create

 

Something I sincerely dig about myself is that some deeper intuitive part of me seems to make decisions for me that I know are in my best interest even when they don’t make sense to the fretful mask of me (quitting my job, trusting that I will make my way with writing). I’m going to honor that better part of me and start trusting her. She hasn’t led me astray, yet there are countless times that my fear and need-to-be-a-victim have sabotaged our forward motion. Just getting out of the way.

Having a text conversation with a good friend as I write this. “The whole thing of itemizing what used to be will forever prevent enjoying what you have now,” he writes. BINGO! He is a good friend.

Don’t think I would feel this alive if I hadn’t shaken it all up.  What I have now is pretty fucking fantastic. Take that, Dragon!