Watch me as I step down from the pedestal of the 7 ways I’m fabulous once in a while. On a blog post.
This past year I’ve taken a sabbatical of sorts, and I say ‘of sorts’ because nothing stopped or even seemed to change, in fact everything was pretty much the same. I kept writing and drafted two books which I am petrified of finishing, I kept going to work, and playing ping pong and doing a bit of asana.
I’m also part of a collective book project for which I am the Senior? Writer/Editor? Wait, those are not the words, is more like I’m the one doing most of the writing and getting people’s submissions and editing, without getting any cash or even credit. And I love it.
And its far from a “me” thing (as in: my book, or my project). It is very much a “WE” thing.
It’s amazing work I would have never dreamed of that leaves me with this fullness of soul, this quiet happiness and a sense of purpose as I witness what gives when dozens of people put their spirits together, and speak from the heart. It humbles me.
A gift like that that can only come Divine sources, I could not have dreamed of it but it’s happening, and I am sort of at the helm because I happened to be there and there was a need for it.
No credentials needed. No job application. No pressure even. I was appointed straight from God. Sweet.
Yes, Sugar Brought Back God.
I know, I know. It’s a difficult word. But this God I got back is my own. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, brave, strong and not really worried about what anyone thinks. Woman! You know what I’m talking about and being a man makes zero difference.
And it makes me roll with laughter and sparkle with life. It gives me this jumping enthusiasm that scares people in the park when someone can’t return my serve. God I love it when that happens!
This God, loves me unconditionally and tells me to be gentle on me, to celebrate the small victories, to appreciate and be kind to all fellow humans (including the ones I currently dislike), to move in the world without hurting anyone, most of all myself.
She is OK with me not getting it ‘right’, whatever that may be, she says. She thinks I am perfect exactly the way I am today. Aw.
This personal God is the reason women and men got burned at the stake, because we have the audacity to came up with our own interpretation of God regardless of how the church (any church) wants to translate. Dangeroooous.
I now have her on speed dial, and I call when I want to, sometimes in the middle of Times Square after I high-five Batman.
The Soul Voice
I follow the Soul Voice meditation -only takes three breaths- that Meghan Watterson taught me in her book “Revealed” (a treat).
On the first breath I go ‘a-la’ Eckhart Tolle and return to this moment, clear the mind and all that, I re-incarnate, pop back up and materialize in the body with full presence. Ah, the rest of no regrets or striving.
Once I notice I am alive and well I take the second breath and intend -by hereby declaring that I do- to hear my inner voice, the one that knows, the one that is linked invisibly, and all the stronger for it, to all women and all goddesses and gods and the universe, you know the one.
In the second breath I feel my body as the Cathedral it is, and witness my heart, sacredly placed, center stage, pumping love.
And then on the third breath I ask about anything. Anything! From issues of work to money to sex and boyfriends and love and sugar and how on earth do you get the foot-work to happen in ping pong?
And I listen.
Then She Said
The point of life, she says, is not to be enlightened, not to be fully in the moment. That may happen, yes, but come on!
The point is to be flawed and love it. Including the parts where I was not my best, the places where I said those things I rather hadn’t, or the time I slammed the doors, and the time I knew that was not the way to go, and did it anyways.
The point is that now I am aware, because if we are lucky to get the speed dial number at some point in our lives, then we all know what taking responsibility for our lives means. Correct and continue, we are aiming for the sun, we may land on a meteorite. Its the imperfect journey that drips honey.
The point is the defiance of declaring: “I am off sugar”, tweeting about it and being full of myself, and then putting it back in my coffee with a divine wink. Laughing all the way through Penn Station, knowing I’m OK.