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February 2014



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Feb. 23rd, 2014



I was thinking about the phrase: comfort zones. Other than confirming how one best deals with investments, I look at it as more of an alert zone. Alert to denial, stagnation, crowding fears, and numbness.

I said to a friend recently, they are more like discomfort traps.

All the anxieties, neurosis', and soundtracks, cradled in our arms, there to bury our faces in their softly rotting promises, whenever we think of acting on dreams and longings or responding to the whispers of our souls.

They are the step back to the two steps forward; if there are two steps forward.

Everyone's talking and no one is listening. Everyone has great advice but few people take their own. The same words are coming out of everyone's mouth and I in my mask, do the same. I look for myself in the sea of words, the waves that ebb and flow each day, from my coworkers, my neighbors, strangers on the street, a blog, a facebook post. I frame a response, I post my viewpoint, I speak to the strangers.

There is a guy in my neighborhood, who may or may not live in the house a few blocks away for men returning to society after jail time, I'll call it a halfway house.

Maybe he lives on his own and has a developmental disability or lives with the after effects of a physical condition. He speaks very slowly and deliberately using simple words. He collects recyclables from the trash bins set outside. He loves dogs and knows Sahara pretty well. He is handsome despite the damage; tall, fair skin, blue eyes, strong build, very clean. He seems to me to know that he appears imposing, because of his size or circumstance and is respectful on the street. Just writing about him makes my eyes fill up.

One day I will ask, what is your story? Or maybe I will ask one question each time I see him that may lead to more of his story. I hope he has a cat.

I am so isolated. After the break up, there is just me. I don't have a gaggle of friends. My friends annoy me, maybe they're not really great friends. Maybe I'm not such a great friend. I think there is no damn time to nurture friendships. Want to meet for a drink?

I'd love to but: I have to work late, I have to visit my mom, I have to call my mom, I have to run errands, I have to feed the dog, I have no energy because the daily grind wears me down, I have no money; how about next week?

Feb. 11th, 2014



I've noticed this break-up is different than those in the past and it reflects the age and stage I am in life.

I feel fear burbling through my veins, making my mouth tremble and tears well. Fear of everything. The future, the past, not being grounded, finances, death, life, love, day to day to day to day grind...

My alone-ness startles me. It's not in the quiet of the night or the hustle of the morning, but during the day, I realize, there is no one to text to say hi, there will be no one to tell later on, what a bitch so and so was today, there is no one in the bleachers cheering me on anymore.

Years ago, it seems my hormones wrote the scenes, dramatically. It was at night, when I grew restless and tossed and turned, not in fear, but physical ache, that I think I read as an aching soul, but t'was not.

My hormones are quiet, sleeping, makes me a little sad. On top of all the other sadness. I think they went to sleep after the assault and they don't rouse themselves unless I feel very very safe and happy. Which is ok, just so radically different than my younger self's life.

So this time, it is my soul, curled up protectively, waiting it out.

I've noticed something else within myself that I have to guard against.  I'm shuttering and boarding up most of my feelings, most of the day, so I can function at work, as a pleasant hard working person. I usually cry on the way home, in the car. More as a release, opening up the dam, than out of true grief.

That's why I wanted to post something tonight, I have to practice expressing my feelings again. They look so raw and ugly to me, on this page. I hope I can sculpt them into something else. Eventually.

Jan. 30th, 2014


Dreaming of dreaming

I recently realized I no longer seem to be able to daydream and fantasize. And I think this is a fatal detriment to living. If I can't visualize and feel my way into a life first imagined then realized, I will stay where I am or perhaps move very slowly, like a sloth bound by it's physiology, to a situation here, or a corner there. The prison of not choosing, looms.

Naturally I feel like day dreaming most, when I can't, like at work. The relative quiet and hum of the office hive encourage inquisitive thoughts; the two monitors stare at me, begging to be asked meaningful questions; creative seeds sprout  behind the mundane duties.

At night when I finally go to bed, finally put down what I'm reading, and close my eyes and drift, I catch myself thinking about the day that is gone, replaying the film, lingering on what was or uselessly cycling through the worry list, of all that did and can go wrong. And that foolish waste of my mind, creates nothing but the same.

So I determinedly shut that down, and what I found was blank. If I couldn't worry or dwell on the past, my mind didn't know where to go. Which made me start asking, what are my dreams? What is my ideal place, feeling, person, activity? Where does my mind go for fun or excitement? I'm still working on these answers, so I can fill my resting mind with limitless visions and feelings of joy, peace, love, contentment, awe, health and more. And create That.

I find it funny that I got myself here. Funny that I have to teach myself to let my mind travel the world, create, and experience ever widening vistas or small, silent velvety spaces of peace.

The older I get, I see that for me, relearning what I once knew, is a real theme and challenge. When these times arrive, I look back and see so clearly both how the obscurfication happened and how I would have denied it,(or did deny it) if noticed or pointed out to me, at the time.

Learning to daydream again, can't be that difficult, can it? I see myself as a kid in school, looking out the window, traveling somewhere, I will start there.

Sep. 8th, 2012


(no subject)

I barely notice the little pad of paper that sits near the base of my monitor on my work desk. It simply resides there now with the assorted clutter that comes with the clerical nature of accounts payable, neighbors with a few staple removers, paperclip chains, old and new post-its, cheery colored flags and paper that reproduces like single cell amoebas.

When I do notice it, I realize that when I'm at work, I have very few creative thoughts. That was interesting to acknowledge. I work at a start-up, so the duties I have are at least a job and a half or two jobs. I'm never done. It's just a matter of accepting what it is and deftly managing all my superiors and co-workers who need various things from me. Not sure how deftly I do that, but know I'm drained at end of day. 

My direct supervisor is on maternity leave and her manager oversees our little team and he is mellow, nice, thoughtful, smart and very good with people. Not a blamer, just shoots straight to how to handle whatever.

On-leave manager is very A personality. Gets angry, speaks with anger, drills people. We are really hoping the baby mellows her. I'm going to his 60 day birthday party tomorrow night. My co-worker and I went in on a gift. She is a full-fledged accountant and has stepped up and done great work. I don't think she'll get yelled at anymore. But we don't know. I'm sure I will. So we went big and bought the baby a Tiffany silver spoon. We joke endlessly with each other that when on-leave manager comes back and gets angry with us, we will visualize the spoon and project it into her brain, wear pendants with spoons on them, have t-shirts made with silver spoons, wear spoon earrings, spoon hair accessories and on and on. Remember we spent too much money on you for direct reports? We don't mind at all.

So, my creative right brain at work, has to be partners with lefty. It's all about organizing that works for me, creating a schedule and procedures to get through my various loads that work for me-not what on-leave manager thinks it should be. Forming relationships with all the people in the organization that I need information from. Righty is busy figuring out how to live in society not forming words that touch people and express that deep longing in my soul. Maybe those words are being stored by Lefty, would be nice.

I haven't meditated in ages, but I do yoga almost everyday. I walk several times a week. I have a boyfriend which is another way of growing. Getting this relationship in middle age has been very cool. Lot to be said about that timing, perhaps another time.

We hiked a bit at Mt. Shasta a few weeks ago. I never knew that area was so mountain filled. Incredible. Loved the whole spiritual vibe, we saw a cloud ship, the majesty and beauty and peace overflows the mind. We stretched ourselves and discovered in each other that we're good hiking partners, reasonably good athletes, love pushing ourselves, can't wait to get out more. Have talked about getting a small tent.

I didn't go to Burning Man this year. I missed it. Now I miss the after affects, the processing of all the experiences. I'll try for a ticket next year, I have no idea how the process will be.

I do get tired of people saying it isn't what it used to be, it's this or that, some people who have never gone have very vocal opinions. I say, it changes like every thing changes. Younger people will go and become loyal. Some will never go back. Old timers will eventually stop going. It's evolution and life. When you're there, you start experiencing it. That part I think, does not change.

No matter the red tape, the logistics of managing 55,000 people in the middle of a desert, no matter the rules or lack of, or is being there, with 55,000 people, building your home, having your mind blown by art, nature, music, being solitary and hearing your own voice with 55,000 people. There is work, yes, building camp, keeping it clean, keeping food supply eatable, keeping your body going in the heat, getting along with your people, seeing yourself as you are, without the comfortable crutches we are so accustomed to back in default world.

Yeah, I missed it. Here in the bay area, so many people go, I see the dust covered cars here and there and my heart shatters for a minute then reforms.

Jul. 22nd, 2012


(no subject)

I'm having brunch with J later this morning. After his therapy session on Wednesday, where he said he 'was beat up pretty bad and well deservedly' he wrote me a lovely invitation to brunch. His therapist has known him a long time and she called him out on his latest behaviors towards me.

I admire him a lot for going through with therapy. He is proving to be both old & new school. He really wants to change some things about himself, behaviors that stem from childhood, father issues, environmental, etc.

It was a lonely couple of weeks for me. People here on LJ seemed to understand me. The real-time friends I spoke to, depressed me, they all had similar reactions. Was I being too sensitive? Was I asking for too much? Men don't like to do this, or that. This is how it is with men.

What I heard, was that if I wanted this man and relationship with a lot of good qualities but others I wasn't comfortable, with, I would have to change.

Don't get me wrong. I always want to be more tolerant, handle things differently. But even J knew he had worn down my patience. He admitted he was passive aggressive and knew exactly what he was doing/saying. He admits he can be controlling and childish. He wants to change and be better for himself and me. He is firm in his resolve that I am for him. He said he's never known a woman like me that stood up for herself. He thinks I'm a sort of super female/ as in Superwoman. So that's lovely.

I can see in myself where in the past, I valued what my friends thought and advised more than what my gut was telling me regarding men. And I tried to change myself to accept what I didn't want to accept. And got no where by doing that of course. 

I'm looking forward to brunch. I've missed him. I'm bored with myself. I want to enjoy life and a close friendship/relationship again. It was a lonely few weeks especially with the gentle friendly suggestions and advice that I am too difficult for any man. Just some of them I think.

I have so many aches and pains in my body. 51 years on this earth. Is this normal? Am I withering down to a creaky crabby crone?

To the yoga mat!

Jul. 14th, 2012


(no subject)

Chilly early Saturday morning, family time with the cats (combing session) laundry churning downstairs, sun slowly melting fog away, reading all over the net and finishing Ann Patchett's State of Wonder. I have 2 more novels waiting for me, and fingers crossed, am hoping my first newly renewed New Yorker arrives today.

I've been starved of good reading, this past week I could feel the difference. I sleep differently; dreams are bits of the novels, bits of life's situations, bits of amusing nonsensical typical dream like things. During the day, I think of my characters, form questions that I wish the author had answered, wonder casually what will come next.

I will not miss what has become a pattern the last several weekends. The baggage mudslide that hits midway through the evening and I wonder what the hell am I doing wrong and then he admits its all him, and I agree, at least 95%. Of course, will miss the missable things. 

Jul. 12th, 2012


(no subject)

Feeling a bit miffed and slighted, also questioning why. That questioning of course, is a very healthy thing to do, to inspect one's thoughts and emotions. Still annoyed though. Space between thoughts and emotions is freeing. Space is created when one meditates and practices yoga, in our own bodies and minds. Creating space is so good and it's hard, because you have to S L O W it all down and step back.

J and I are on a break, because I think it will do us good, to communicate but not be together; it's the result of alot of his actions. He's got a macho streak, swath, freeway in him that translates to some inconsiderate behaviors. And this he knows, and is admirably working through this.

So, this weekend he's having a BBQ? Seriously?  It's a rather significant event, it's the first gala he's had in a year and a half, first party as a single man.

I really really really love this:

George Carlin, When Will Jesus Bring The Pork Chops?

No offense anyone.

Oct. 17th, 2011


(no subject)




Confusing and lovely times.  People walking into my heart. Me, actually being able to step into theirs.

Oct. 13th, 2011


(no subject)

I participated yesterday at Occupy San Francisco’s ‘foreclose Wells Fargo,’ my 3rd Wednesday demonstrating.

I feel like this movement is the revolution I’ve been waiting for my entire life. It resonates on every level of my being.

The action took place during morning rush hour.  Tuesday night I couldn’t sleep at all, tossed and turn and thought. Partly the humidity of October in the bay area, partly many things on my mind, such as feeling something being born or recognized in myself. I’m going through a metamorphosis of some kind, which is also something that I’ve been waiting and seeking my entire life.


So these thoughts are in my head and I’ve been trying to capture their forms into words.

Back to yesterday. I donated a big quilt to Occupy SF, I had bought it at a thrift store for Burning Man, stuffed it in a huge pillowcase type thing for a cushy seat, that  I never brought out of my tent, since the shade structure wasn’t as large as it was made out to be. 

I couldn’t fit it in any bag but a big garbage bag; I couldn’t take a sign, because it would rip the bag, so with a few essentials, holding the squishy bag to my body, I half trotted/ran to the Bart station since I was going to get there about 10 minutes late. I rode into the city with the morning commuters; it’s only a 15 minute trip. I got to the encampment, the quilt went to a young tired young guy, they pointed me in the direction of the march about 2 long blocks away, and in between waiting for lights, I ran to catch up and get in the midst.



For me personally, getting up at 4 because I couldn’t sleep, sipping coffee at home, then sprinting to Bart and then the march, then marching and chanting and singing, well, that’s a lot for an early morning.  My head and heart were thrumming with adrenaline and passion and solidarity with so many different people who participated.

I went to a McDonalds a block and a half away a couple times to use the restroom and bought another coffee. I had a banana at some point, and then bought protein bars at a Walgreens.  The energy was electrifying, the speakers were amazing. Naomi Klein showed up which was cool.

After the action was done, I walked back to Occupy SF. I really like being there. I also love that I’ve gotten involved while this movement is small because I’m meeting people, I’m meeting my people, we’re all our people I think.


A new friend I met last week was nearby on a tarp playing his guitar, we waved and he came over and we all sat. I pulled out the sage I had brought for the march but didn’t light, since we were picketing, there wasn’t enough space to really burn it.

We talked and talked about life and the various actions and how the cop that started the aggressiveness last week was paid off to start something.  The guy with the guitar is a gifted singer and musician and free spirit with very good energy.  He left after a while and the tech guy and I leaned in to the meeting to listen.


There was discussion about permits. Some thought they should apply for a permit for every different aspect the occupation offers, such as a library, food, first aid, etc. But it seems that was dismissed when the person with the letter said that’s not what the city was asking; they could apply for just one permit.

Since they can’t have tents on the sidewalk there is a lot of discussion about moving and scouting out parks. That’s a little sad, because being in front of the Federal Reserve building is amazing, being on Market, the bus drivers beep like crazy every time they go by, which is frequently, drivers honk, it’s a very symbolic place to be, if not totally practical, although the Bart station is right there too.


They seemed to decide that a park would be best because they want to be self-governing, not told what they can do. It’s all about participatory democracy. Some felt they can do that on the sidewalk, as it’s their city, public property. But others like the park idea since they’re anticipating more joining the actual occupation.

They had been discussing for 2 hours, intelligent words and ideas coming out of every type of person imaginable, some living there, some donating their time and influence and resources.  They passed around a sign-up sheet for those that wanted to answer the letter from the city as it was decided that they wanted to answer all communication whether they agreed to it or not.


It was very interesting, very powerful and encouraging.  It’s not all peace and love, but it is people speaking their truths in turn, respectful of letting each voice be heard.

I really like if not love, being there. I’ll be there often, until I’m working again.  I know for a fact if I was 20 years younger I’d be sleeping there a couple nights a week.

Occupy Oakland has a completely different vibe that I am not into on any level. I joined their page on FB but I don’t agree with their actions nor their ‘demands, ‘nor their very high opinion of themselves as an organized group. I don’t want to demonstrate with them either, because of the history of violence; I don’t trust them. My nerves and ethics just don’t fit into that model.


The SF group discussed the cop situation and determined the cops on the ground are there to protect them; they’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. It’s the layers of authority above the cops on the ground that they mistrust. I agree wholly with that. It’s nice to see the cops moving slightly to the music and chanting and singing during a protest. They can’t help it. Plus they know which side they’re on.

 So for this movement, my heart is in San Francisco.





Oct. 10th, 2011


(no subject)


I’ve surrendered.


My heart doesn’t behave like a door or window that I want ajar

just this much and no more.


Once opened, it yawns hungrily and claims more

and becomes so vast,

I occupy my heart

instead of it nestled in me.


How disturbing…how exhilarating…

I lose my balance.


Everything comes in.


Salty sea water

in which sometimes I surf, sometimes I drown

but just for a time

before I plunge up for air.


Dry metallic desert dust

envelops me; chokes and blinds me,

yet polishes me like white marble.


Bees and hummingbirds bring gifts:

a glittering tiny stone, small bones from recent feasts,

a scrap of paper, once part of a love letter.

They play a whispering magnificent symphony.


An ancient and nascent wind blows.

It cushions and lifts me on a journeying draft.


It caresses my cheeks and kisses my lips

and murmurs in my ear

 of past adventures, inviting me

to love further.


Free, revealed

seeking you

and me.

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