Living in a body can be so complex, if you let it. So much to ruminate upon, if you’re not wary enough to catch yourself falling down the rabbit hole. For one thing, cultural norms can be so distracting, with cyber bullshit and national news casting an elaborate fantasy meant to tease us into submission. We’re surrounded by a wide variety of circuses that flash sparkly stuff into our eyes 24/7. The thrill of murder and mayhem can even drug us in that realm. Or a sense of inner lack can disconnect us from the present moment.

Yesterday, subbing for a class of high school seniors, I listened in on a loudish conversation blooming across the room. Two girls were fawning all over this brute of a boy who kept describing his bitch (girlfriend?) of three years as so innocent (ergo, in need of his guidance). He annoyed the crap out of me, but most fascinating were the girls, getting high on the drama in his soliloquy. As the class started, the girls sashayed in late, and one showed him a video on her phone in which she and another girl were fist fighting. He gave some tips about the other girl’s weakness as a combatant. Bam! The delicious thrill that something really earth-shattering is going on and that you’re a starring player reminded me so much of doing cocaine. A train wreck wouldn’t derail those kids’ determination to be thought of as sophisticated, or something else important (but more today than that). There was a wingman for mister Big Stuff, but he didn’t have any lines. Everyone had role in the story though. I eavesdropped.

Like any addiction that works to prevent our being present and accounted for, glory hypnotizes us. Being respected or admired lures us. Those kids? I wish them true happiness. But the ignorance of them? Somebody’s been working hard to make sure they have no tolerance for originality and that they crave entertainment. Because…





Everyone feels pressed to keep up, but we – us Baby Boomers, I guess you could say – aren’t as agile and peppy as we used to be, and keeping up wears us out. We find we’re expecting a physical ease most of us once took for granted, and then we’re stunned at the noises we make when standing up or sitting down.

When you’re young and you ignore reality your body doesn’t rebel, except when you’re so far out there your wise body insists you stop or slow down by cracking up your car with you in it, or by smashing your face into concrete in another way. Other times you might just get sick. These things happen. But mostly young people are impervious. I’m kinda jealous.

On the other hand, the slowing down has some advantages. Whenever I catch myself out of alignment now, I want to look to discover what I was trying to hide. What propelled me into the world of make believe? Often, my reactions to anything/one I find imperfect reflect the secrets I’m keeping about myself from myself: the places of my woundings. The potential for healing follows. It’s a process.

Due to my reactions towards others this past week I’ve learned the foolishness of boasting. (It’s not just buffoonery, it’s baloney balloonery!) I also saw that when someone called themselves out on a silly faux pas it was a kind of liberation, where witnessing that felt like a hug. And I remembered how much misery we find when we measure ourselves based on extrinsic standards.

Then I picture Beanie, my Olympian-material doggie pal, tossing a tennis ball off the couch so he can go catch it. Love that guy.

Ah yes, living inside a body! They say that being restricted in this way provides a training ground to encourage our soul’s evolution. It makes sense now. All good.

Why are we all so afraid of each other?

Seeing lots of cars in the bank’s parking lot puts me on edge. Don’t want to stand around waiting. Don’t want to be around strangers. What a sad state our nation is in. Why so icy? I ask myself. (Feeling cruddy?)

While only one teller seems to be moving people along at the desk, the bank isn’t crowded, with just a couple of people and an older man filling something out at the courtesy table. I wait behind the one person in line and sign a check, fish out wallet/fish out i.d., and wait about two minutes before the older man finishes at the courtesy desk, gives me a look (seeming put out) and stands behind me. I’m feeling cocky about having the wherewithal to sign-in-line, remembering times I’ve had to use the courtesy desk myself and panicked about losing valuable line time. (These days I’m slick and loving it.  Slipping around town in a new sporty car brings me back to my younger days, maneuvering through smoky bars.)

But courtesy desk guy isn’t so thrilled. He starts squawking about there only being one teller on a Saturday. They always have more, he says. I say I saw the other teller bring a customer through a glass door for one of those…”Safety Deposit Boxes?” the man wonders. Yeah! And still he’s grumbling behind me. Wanted to ask him if his bladder was full, since I get cranky when mine is. Or maybe he had Saturday before-the-game errands to complete.

Realized only later, at home, that I could’ve asked him if he wanted to go before me. It would’ve been a kind and gracious response. Why was I at war with him?

I’m all about compassion, because I preach it relentlessly. Then an opportunity arises in which someone could benefit from a demonstration of compassion, and there I am, inwardly rolling my eyes at someone else’s impatience. Me!

Maybe armored is my natural state, or maybe we’ve all been manipulated into high alert – into defensiveness that’s based upon a cynical translation of reality. No matter.

Today I choose to be more present, more rooted in the earth. They can’t brainwash everyone, because most of us treasure others, the planet, generosity and respect. I tend to forget my heart when constantly distracted by noise and toys, but I keep working on it. Am trying to embrace my teachings instead of simply mouthing the words, because I don’t believe we can heal the world without letting down our barriers.


Archangel Michael

Someone transported a virtual archangel to me via interstellar whoosh. I think it was Michael. “Help me to simplify my life,” I prayed at a newly created white altar.

Then my hard drive crashed, taking with it beloved photos and all my school lessons.  I had no back up. How’s that for simplification?

I chuckled at the beauty of this divine joke, but then only changed slightly, subtly in response – which is my typical stealthy and slow way of growing anyway, if I’m being honest. I still have a thirst that can’t be quenched for new trinkets or new temporary hobbies to distract me, so stuff piles up in my home before too long. The shopping is fun too. At least now I notice when I consume blindly, like a hypnotized fool. I notice, but letting the habit go is not as easy. There are nuanced layers. I house objects to fill an emptiness – a void – where closeness with other people should be.

Some people don’t notice when the universe sends an important message or warning, and some of us notice but still don’t do the work needed to move forward. It’s too real, too scary.

Just the same, driving on the highway in a blinding rain storm, I told my dog pal Beanie, “No matter what happens next, I’m content.” I meant it too. Feeling blessed helps me continue battling out of those stuck places.


The Internet Works Better with an Open Heart

Social media, like my apartment, is a hot mess.  At the same time, both are nothing but raw honesty, and are just a heartbeat away from cracking wide open.

Through social media we have an opportunity to share with each other – to learn from and to teach each other ways of navigating and of moving forward. But we can only help each other when we’re naked of our armor.

Last night, beginning to get off on a magical treat, it struck me that my too-frequent attitude toward other people suffers the twin curses of suspicion and self-defense. That’s the “shithole” way, to borrow a term from our Con Man in Chief. Oh, let it not be my way anymore, I thought. Better to speak truth to power, but with kindness and respect. Better yet to pay attention before reacting critically. It also struck me that sometimes only cannabis brings me around to remembering how we’re all connected to one another – especially when I’m so tense and defensive I forget it. Yes, the connection holds even when I’ve slipped off and can’t see it. And while I’d like to stay in the flow without the need for that loving plant support, these are tough times. It’s often hard to keep my heart open without it.

Anyway, I’m trying to learn to give everyone a chance. Mostly when I do, I find a human being looking back at me. This isn’t too hard in person, but social media’s remoteness sometimes grants us an excuse to forget we’re interacting with other people; promoting and defending ideas in the cyber world can make it harder to remember that we’re humans among others of our kind. That’s a lot of lost opportunities.


Distraction = Evasion

I distract myself by jumping off to something or to somewhere else – hobbies, quests, games… My brother’s ex-partner once called him on this. We were in the car, and she’d just asked him some question – something seemingly simple, maybe about a bottle of Advil – and he grunted or shrugged in response. She asked the question again, and he said, “Huh?” She let him have it, with: “You always pretend you don’t hear me whenever you don’t want to talk about something!” I’d never before heard a woman tell a man what’s what at close range, and it was a revelation to me.  She really held his feet to the fire in their relationship, and it did him good, ultimately. Best of all, I learned something too.

Maybe that anecdote is more about evasiveness than about distraction, but what’s the difference? Because essentially, I’m a lot like my brother. I see invisible challenges or potential roadblocks and immediately distract myself with nothing of any consequence. Used to be sex. Oh yes. Unable to deeply connect with another person in any committed way, I satisfied my hormonal itches by rubbing up against other itchy people. That was fine, until it wasn’t anymore.

Today I notice myself tripping off whenever a task asks for more mental, physical, or emotional energy than I can muster at that moment. But I’m working on remedying my condition. It begins with a realization that the physical world is real and in need of my attention at times, and it ends with remembering that whatever I said “Huh?” to usually does not disappear on its own. It will grow dust waiting for my loving care. At some point, I’ll need to tune in.