I am here because I told myself I would be, and I care immensely about sharing our perspectives on every subject under the Sun. I’m particularly interested in outlier perspectives and inside information. I am a metaphysics maven hungry for energy moving through words in a way that urges and urges me to keep going, to stay open, to be in love with this experience on earth right now.
I am here to move energy in a way that feels respectful of my system.
I am here to inquire about subjects that resonate with me and channel the wisdom I hear flooding me from sources I trust. …
Recently I’ve been courting a man, a soulmate, one of those people that feel like an impossibly strong magnet and who prove to you that you’re not as in charge of everything as you think you are.
After two years of running into each other and tripping over ourselves, we started taking our dogs for treks weaving long country roads and luscious forest paths. Our bodies would bump against each other and our conversation twisted and dipped with the vast landscape of our cares and everyday creations.
I found myself talking to him in my head throughout my days. I happened upon patches of great depth that urged me to grieve things of my past. What a gift these daydreams have been, however, I noticed another trend — a habit that has lurked throughout my decades. …
So often when life is saying slow down I do the opposite and speed up. I pump the breaks to give myself the illusion that I am listening but I refuse to rest while maintaining a fixated gaze on a more perfect time after this or that.
I started spraining my ankle when I was in grade one.
Through the years of spraining that same ankle over and over again, I started to realize that these occurrences aligned as an invitation to ground my energy rather than continuing to rush.
As if literally falling flat on your face, nose in the mud, could mean anything more or less than Spirit insisting I say Hello to the Earth, but it turns out in doing so I see a lot about me that I previously missed. …
I like to sometimes refer to my Holy Guardian Angel, my HGA, as my HSS, my High School Sweetheart.
My HGA is the person I was waiting for to sweep me off my feet and turn everything around.
In high school, I brutally rebuffed anyone who expressed any affection towards me. I pretended to allow myself to have friends, and then I would get drunk and tell them I hated them.
All the guys and girls that wanted to date me were repulsively kind and available. I pined after the numbskull jock who I got extra grades for tutoring.
A relationship with my HGA would have enabled me to be in alignment with allowing myself a life where I felt heard and held and seen. …
Existential kink is a willingness to be kinky with your existence — to know your being and your doing as complete with pleasure and pain of such a perfectly equal proportion that in your experience of it you can stabilize yourself — both melting into the nothingness of bliss and harnessing the charge of sensation.
Existential kink consciously plays with sensation as the charge that fuels the system — the charge that circulates, making itself known, informing the system before being expended.
The idea is to relax your system, so that you feel safe and secure enough to be with sensation — the feelings that mostly have typically been taught to you as bad wrong shameful or unlawful. …
I watched the Introduction to Tantra on YouTube instead of reading it. I’m sure I missed some aspects that inhabit the book, however, what fascinated me was the stark contrast between Lama Yeshe’s laughter and his silence, both plentiful in the two hours of film.
I think the laughter and the silence were the main aspects of the lesson, though his broken English imparted both stoic and humorous explanations of the tantric attitude.
He would talk, and laugh at his own jokes, and he allowed his laughter to have its own life, rolling out of his scrunched face.
When he lost track of what he was talking about, he would go quiet, close his eyes, thumb his mala, rock his body back and forth, back and forth, back and forth seemingly putting no pressure on himself to perform any aspect of this presentation. …
I bite into my croissant and the warm almond cream squeezes out the side into the palm of my chilly hand. You can open a bakery with shitty croissants and hope people buy from you because they are lazy and addicted to pastries, or, you can make the best damn croissants in the world and remind people that miracles exist.
Everyone is lining up for miracles because they want some proof that there’s reason to believe.
Magic works as a cross-section of finite and infinite time, space, and character.
Our habit as humans is to get stuck in the finite and forget that our brains are actually always craving reunion with visceral quantum reality from which we hail. …
[She] spoke about mental illness when barely anyone else was ready to. And we have whittled her down to a disorder. – Fleurine Tideman
The Journal of Sylvia Plath lept out at me from a library shelf when I was 23. I devoured it in agonizing relief. I promised myself I would find a way to survive.
So far I’d been surviving on poetry and sushi — I could see this wasn’t going to sustain me in the “real world”. There was only one other book on that infamous library shelf, the psychobiography of Virginia Woolf.
At that time, reading about these women — one who stuck her head in an oven in 1963, and one who walked into a river with pockets full of rocks in 1941 — I dedicated myself to investigating the loopholes in mental health from every angle I could find. What resonated in my body when I read their words was a recognition that I could never enunciate and only experience. …
I am autistic and my partner is schizophrenic. Neither of us knew we fit these labels when we got together. You could say that being together and reflecting with each other has drastically contributed to illuminating our inner worlds.
There is so much we were able to keep at bay before we met each other.
Though we’ve spent a lot of time learning about strategies, we still experience a lot of stress when the conditioned resistance to sharing ourselves intimately meets the determination we nurture to grow in intimacy with ourselves, with one another, and with the world —
it’s like rusty gears grinding, shooting sparks in unpredictable directions, shrieking right into the core of your consciousness. (Make it…
We are currently 323 days into this year of 2020 where I keep hearing people speak about how unknown everything is.
Meanwhile, I am celebrating that the unknown is getting her due attention — her presence no more or less than ever before or ever will be.
Somewhere in the first hundred days of this year, before I knew my autistic dreams were coming true — where social distancing would mean I could stay home for weeks at a time, have groceries delivered, and just pick a few friends to stay frequent with while I dive eyebrows deep into my special interests and take way more leisurely forest walks — I saw a post on Facebook that would rock my world in a way that completely highlights the opportunity we’re in. …