confession: last night i received a long letter from pixie sister in her tiny handwriting that i can read without my reading glasses because she and i are magically connected in a way that empowers my vision to see her, hear her, read her with heart-centered clarity. as i slept last night i answered her letter in a dream conversation in which i spoke of myself too much and listened too little. all i need to do, all anyone needs me to do for them…is love them with deep listening.
confession: this morning i found an email in my inbox about upcoming warrior goddess retreats. i clicked on the link and tried to imagine myself spending a weekend in seattle or sedona or new york or austin firewalking and bonfiring with a group of women. the imagining made me tired. the imagining slid me into remembering the person i was in my 20’s who was devoted to shamanic healing and sweat lodging and peaceful warrioring with braless women in long flowy skirts with long flowing hair interspersed with my devotion to mind-altering drugs and addictive sexual relationships and a fuck-ton of conventional psychotherapy and then i paused. i brought to mind my circle of grandmothers and wondered if any of them had ever participated in the warrior goddess movement. i laughed outloud remembering them roasting marshmallows on one side of the fire pit while the wind fed the flames burning our fears on the other side. they knew that their flaming marshmallows would add sweetness to the fears burning off the other side of the former-girl-scout-leader’s skillfully built pyre.
confession: grandmothers roasting marshmallows are more reflective of who i am now than warrior goddess firewalking. my 25-year-old self would have been horrified by that statement. my 25-year-old self was a well-meaning, trying-too-hard-at-everything, screwier-than-she-could-conceive idiot.
confession: time, presence, attention—these are our greatest resources we’re mindlessly wasting each day.
confession: spending all evening in bed with a book is never a waste of time or attention.
confession: i ordered two books yesterday, one for me and one for a friend. everything i’m reading this month shares a common theme of removing obstacles to loving. according to the self-affirming and bias-confirming reading material i choose, unconditional loving is the embodiment of enlightenment.
confession: a friend’s friend died this week. i wrote and mailed a letter to my friend on the day before her friend died. in my letter i thanked her for surviving. rooting into our core for the courage to survive is a daily task for some.
confession: the poetess and i sometimes muse about people who live without the suicidal reflex. those people never think to kill themselves. because they’d never consider ending their life, they don’t understand why anyone would. we are grateful for their lack of understanding. we celebrate that their sureness about living will forever eclipse their ability to comprehend what living-with-an-urge-toward-dying is like for others.
confession: my mother sent me an email two weeks ago that i skimmed but didn’t read, setting it aside for when i had the head and heart space to communicate with her. after two weeks of mentally responding to her email, i sat at the keyboard to write to her last night. when i opened her email from two weeks ago and read it with my full attention for the first time i realized she hadn’t asked me a question, only posited a statement. therefore, her email didn’t require a response from me. i appreciated the ironic two weeks of suffering i created for myself by mentally defending myself to her about a question she didn’t ask.
confession: the stories we tell ourselves create most of our suffering. we can change the story anytime.