Completely Naked

You are standing naked at the edge of a cool river, on a moonlit summer’s night, and dipping a hesitant toe into the chilly bath. Little by little you immerse yourself into the waiting flow until you are weightless, moving rhythmically with the current, your legs kicking through the silky atmosphere, arms pushing and slicing, saturating every part of you, until you are one with the river, baptized and immersed into something much bigger than yourself, and you are free.

Sounds so romantic, but giving ourselves over to something bigger than we are isn’t always so private, or refreshing. Unfortunately life is bigger than us. It’s bigger than us on nearly every level; except for maybe when everything is going along in a predictable manner, and then we somehow fool ourselves into thinking that we are bigger than life. Those moments never last long enough.

Every now and then I have this same dream. I dream that I forgot to put my clothes on and I’m at a public event, spy walking from tree to tree, trying to hide because I am naked….and oh so vulnerable. I wake up relieved that it was just a silly dream, and wonder at the meaning of it.

Well, that’s how life is sometimes. It leaves us naked and exposed… and running for cover. You see there’s a tender spot at the center of our being that is vulnerable and naked all the time. It’s a beautiful spot, but usually going through some sort of transformation, or adjustment. It’s our “me” spot, the core of who we are, and who we are becoming. We show it to people on our terms, in our time, and when we feel it’s appropriate…and safe. But, sometimes we become overly protective of ourselves and unwilling to share who we really are with others. This is usually when life intervenes and points its big neon finger at our “me” spots, causing everyone to stop and see our somewhat awkward, but beautiful nakedness.

There are probably a gazillion ways to feel naked to the world and life knows them all.
But that moment of nakedness changes things as we scramble to process our emotions and adjust to the change. We may get angry, or laugh, or cry, but there’s always a reaction and an adjustment period, which results in us learning something about ourselves or those around us. Of course there are usually a few witnesses around to watch the entire process, and it’s at that point that I wonder if I should simply hug them, or shoot them.

Eating life raw can be extremely messy, but oh so delicious, once you embrace your nakedness.

Between My Ears

I often wake up to prickly negative thoughts that speak with exaggerated authority, pushing their way into my mind…into my day. I respond with an internal flinch, and a sigh of distress, as I slip out of my bed, already dreading the day. I surrender my day without much resistance, believing the lies that nip at my heart, “you’re a fat fool ...and a failure” they say, stealing pieces of me until there is little left for living….or loving. Who would have thought I could surrender so easily, waving the white flag at the first sign of an attack without a fight or even a proper argument. But this is how the thief of souls comes; stealing in the morning when the sun is still dim and the dew of my dreams still fresh on my heart. Stealing before inspiration’s tender green roots find sure ground, robbing me of the tidbits of my truth before they have a chance to feed my spirit.
Life doesn’t have to be this way and I know it. I know it because I have tasted the sweet waters of inspiration, and seen how they nourish; bringing precious gifts of light and hope with them. Instructing me on how to fight back, and reminding me of who I am…who we all are. That we are special and here for a purpose, but as long as we stay distracted by negativity we will never truly fulfill that which we came here for; the unique purpose that sets us apart as individuals and makes us special.
Some days start with truth and light, and for those days I am grateful. But on the dark days, and there are plenty of them, I need to remember to fight back. To center myself with my God and listen to the Spirit speak to me about my life and who I am. When I do this I find life is a joy and not an endless chore. So, why do I allow myself to fall so far before looking up? Perhaps it’s a habit of my fallen nature. I find habits of the flesh seem to come naturally but habits of the Spirit must be fought for and won.

Where'd My Mojo Go?

I’ve been feeling a bit insecure lately and asking myself….where’d my mojo go? I miss that youthful zest that came naturally to me, flowing like a foamy head of beer over the top of the glass.
I used to speak with persuasive fluidity, and feel the interesting pieces of conversation come together as I told my story. Now I stammer and search for the right words sounding more like a banker hooked up to a polygraph.
Although not stunning, I was always considered attractive and able to turn heads when I walked into a room. Now I feel as though I’m invisible.
When I smile my cheeks push up and crinkly lines surround my eyes like sun beams. So, I seldom smile, and although I look mad most of the time, I look ten years younger.
My hair is turning white and wiry, like one of those little terrier dogs; only I’m not as cute. Every couple of months I visit a trendy, and expensive, salon, where a spiked out 24 yr old girl with a Bluetooth stuck in her ear, giggles and chats away to her invisible friend while tugging and pulling at my hair like she’s in a corn shucking contest. When the entire process is over I hack up $100.00 dollars for the treatment, $20.00 for a tip, and when I get home nobody notices the difference.
My ample bosoms have headed south and I now resemble those topless pictures in the National Geographic Magazines that I use to snicker at as a kid. Gravity bites.
Where’d my mojo go… my magic essence, my touch with dancing with the world and the people in it? I need my mojo. My mojo is me with “attitude”.
Maybe that’s the key. Perhaps my attitude is off. Maybe I’ve been looking at things from the wrong angle. Like looking at the negative space around block letters, and all you can see are the shapes, but when you relax and find the positive spaces, you can read the word. That’s it! I have been looking at the negative spaces instead of focusing on the positive substance! Perhaps if I stopped skulking around like an abused dog and began to dwell on the positive things about myself my mojo might return?
Where’d my mojo go? No where. It’s just been waiting for me to remember who I am, whether the world agrees or not. My mojo is spiritual, not self-conscious or guilt ridden, and rests confidently in its ability to navigate through the twists and turns of my life. I'm the only one who has the power to turn my mojo on and off, and in the end I can count on my mojo to always be there to inspire me. Phew...I'm glad that's settled. What a relief!
Has anyone seen my libido?

Eating Life Raw

Life is a messy thing, sometimes slapping me in the face with a wet hand (dripping with suspicious fluids), kissing me on the neck while I’m scrubbing grimy pots and pans, and ignoring me when I need attention the most. Sounds much like my husband, although he has never slapped me in the face.
Yes, life is a daily crap shoot with the odds being about even for fate to dole out grins or grimaces. Each day I rise to an inner dialog that goes something like this: “I have to get up. What for? Coffee. Yes, Coffee. Coffee and I have to go pee. Wasn’t there something I was looking forward to today? (Long mental silence) Nope. Arg!”
I then haul my vulnerable butt out of bed and let life have its way with me.
Television makes life seem too pretty. Like life is supposed to be served up on a fancy dinner cart, pushed room service style up to my bed. Silver domed lids protect each gourmet entrée, and crystal goblets wait, thirsty for the red wine that is currently soaking in an ice bath, and breathing with ease. The last time I breathed with ease I was being slapped on the ass by my mother’s gynecologist.
In reality, life is more like one of those survival shows. It must be pursued and hunted, like wild game in a dense forest. And once caught, you must wrestle the thing to the ground, choke the life out of it with your bare hands, and then tear it apart with your teeth…. and eat it raw.
Sounds disgusting, but it’s the truth. Life is real, not airbrushed, edited, or even made-over. Real life is having to drag your reluctant ass to a job that you hate. EVERY DAY. It’s being cornered by a neighbor’s piranha toothed Pit Bull while you frantically dial 911, or watching the transmission fall out of your car on the first day of your vacation. Actually those are minor compared to death, war, and famine.
Okay, I don’t want to sound too jaded so I’ll throw in some of the benefits of eating life raw; like falling in love, belly laughing with your best friend, and being bold enough to pursue your dreams. You might even learn how to love the unlovely, help the down trodden, or live like a king in Fiji.
I guess the sum of life is this. Life must be eaten raw….daily. And we must trust that whatever dose of shit, or roses, that life gives us, there is a deeper reason for it; a reason that will make sense to us. Someday. We also need to remember that flowers grow in war fields, and ghettos, as well as meticulously tended gardens, and every time it rains, the sun is boldly shining behind the clouds.
I don’t know if we signed up for this life, or if we were drafted; either way life must lived. So be sure eat up because there’s plenty of life to go around.

Vacation Separation

Vacation is over; gone like yesterday’s weather, leaving me as full as a jelly donut with all the pleasures I gorged myself on over the last week. Of course it’s a mellow residual sort of feeling by now, like the after glow following good sex; fragile as a shadow but still oh so satisfying. Monday morning looms over me, bossy and overbearing, ordering me to get in line and report to duty like a loud mouthed drill sergeant on crack. I can feel my sedative little glow slipping away, leaving me dependant on my naked resolve to stay upbeat. I paint my face, throw on some work clothes, and head out the door, telling myself that I can make it through the day by conjuring the next vacation I will get to take… in only 364 days. It doesn't get much more real than this. Seeing the work days stretched out ahead of me is like approaching a vast mountain range that I must cross, alone….and barefooted. But then I remember the old adage “One day at a time.” and the mountain range shrinks down to one solitary mountain. But damn it’s tall, so I search my mental flash drive for a better adage and quote loudly “One minute at a time.” to myself and God and all those who can read lips in the cars around me, thus reducing my mountain to a large speed bump on the road of life. Turning up my car radio, and taking a deep breathe, I let the music drive deep into my soul, inspiring my hands to drum against the steering wheel, while a determined smile spreads across my vulnerable face. Yup.