breathe in, breathe out

I've returned to Breath. And, what a difference it's making.

Yoga is amazing. I do it for the breathing exercise, because I always forget how much it does for my body. I don't know why, but I don't think "body" when I think "yoga". Holding those poses while concentrating on breath...whew! My shoulders start to hurt just thinking about it. But, it's good pain. Very good pain.

March has been a month of purging for me. I've been tidying my home (except, apparently, the one table next to my computer) and tidying my mind. I've relinquished relationships that weren't serving me in order to make space for the ones that will. I wholeheartedly believe in the abundance of the Universe, so I logically feel that I don't have to release in order to accept. However, I also believe in the laws of attraction and so I release what's wasteful of my energy in order to attract that which I prefer.

As long as I remember to breathe, it doesn't feel like work.

2008 was a year of selfishness for me. I allowed myself to do things I would have never done in the past because I needed to experience those things and push them aside. I had a list of "Don't"s and "Shouldn't"s and I had to get rid of it. The best way I knew for doing that was to do just about everything on the list. If I couldn't find an inherently logical reason for not doing it, it got done.

I flew my Freak Flag like you wouldn't believe.

But, now, it's a new year. The Year of the Ox. A year of prosperity through hard work. And, I'm prepared to participate in that work. I'm prepared to walk into that prosperity.

The time for petty indulgences is over. I feel purposeful, meaningful, Divine. I feel like breathing for the first time in a long time.

And, so I do.

modesty revisited

I grew up covering my hair. As a Muslim teen, my mother forced me to wear hijab and so I did. I hated it until my senior year in high school, when my mother gave me the choice to stop wearing it. I didn't stop. I figured it would be more trouble than it was worth at that point, so I made some sort of peace with covering my hair that year. My mother had forced me to do it as a way of instilling self-respect into me. She never accepted that I had enough self-respect for the both of us.

In the years since I've moved out of my mother's house and into my Womanhood, I've occasionally covered my hair. I didn't have religious motivations; I just didn't feel like doing my hair. But, for the last couple of years, I've found myself drawn to the idea of covering my hair for spiritual reasons, again. I've struggled with this desire.

Modesty, as a concept, resonates with me. I like the idea of covering. I also like the idea of doing it because one wants to, not because one feels it's necessary as part of one's Fear of God. I don't have a problem with shorts and miniskirts. As a woman, I do have issues with females who walk around in bikinis all the time. Mostly because I feel the reasons people do so have more to do with misogyny than freedom of self-expression. Bikinis when going to the pool or beach? Of course. Context matters.

I truly believe that women should be able to wear whatever they want without negative judgment being foisted upon them. And, even though we don't live in that world, I like to believe it's possible. I suppose I think the discussion becomes a little murky when we get into the reasons some feminine articles of clothing exist in the first place. In the end, clothing is an inherent political statement.

So, back to my romantic notions of modest dress. My main issue with it is that the accepted term for it is "modest dress". It implies that if a woman isn't wearing a long skirt and covering her hair, she's immodest. In my gut, I want to rail against such a notion. In my mind, I think it's not completely off the mark.

But, why does modesty even matter? What does modest dress, outside the confines of religion, mean? Why would a feminist like me involve herself in such an obvious display of social pandering? The questions seem endless.

To end my struggle with the desire to cover my hair, I've begun covering my hair in public. I find that I am hyper-sensitive to the reactions of other black people, because it was black people who shunned me first and most back in junior high and high school. I recognize that fear and console myself. I use the opportunity to practice my affirmations. I use the opportunity to practice forgiveness.

I've been studying Rastafarian thoughts on hair and they're impacting me greatly. I love the idea of hair as spiritual process and spiritual connection to that Higher Energy, that Oneness. I'm finally able to wrap my mind and heart around why I've struggled with the concept of having locs upon my own head, even though I love them and they are my favorite hairstyle.

I struggle with commitment and this struggle sometimes wreaks havoc upon every important area of my life. When it comes to modesty, I've always been the sort of person who keeps her body to herself. Showing belly and thighs was never my thing. But, can I commit to more of a Life Calling when it comes to modesty? Can I be more modest than I already am? Is it a sign of humility for me to do so?

I'm immodest with my tongue. I know that. I proudly wear the Badge of Irreverence. I can be ruthless, disparaging, downright horrible when it comes to showering the world with my opinions and thoughts. Is that the legacy I want to leave behind?

This is where my desire for modesty comes from: the need to grow, evolve, and prosper. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe covering and respect have more to do with each other than I've understood. I wouldn't say that I've lacked self-respect, but I would concede that modest dress helps others keep their more negative energies to themselves.

And, that's really what I'm striving for, in the end. I need to let my light shine while keeping the darkness of others at bay.

I'll call it modesty if I must.

streaming thought

I have a fascinating dream life. I'd go so far as to say my dream life is more interesting than my real life.

Recently, I had a dream with shadowy figures in it. I call them mud entities, because I don't know how else to describe them. I keep thinking about the dream and what the entities represented: me, others, spirit guides, what? I'm not sure and it's driving me a little mad, because I have a feeling the dream is significant and none of my current theories about what it meant ring true for me.

Reading about how humans got started on this Earth, I've run into a lot of alien stories. Many African tribes tell us that we came from the stars. Apparently, the Illuminati believes at least some of us came from space. I don't generally care about all that, but I did have an out-of-body experience once in which I was definitely not a human. It was very cool. The furniture and bathroom (especially) were just like human stuff, but much larger.

Some people think stuff like that is crazy. I've always been the sort of person who was fascinated by stories like that. I've never really cared if I had any experiences myself, I just thought it was cool. Probably has something to do with why I love science-fiction.

So, back to my mud entities. They weren't made of mud in my dream. That's just what I thought of when I tried to describe them. And, there was a point in the dream where the entity I was following needed to go into the earth. Like a hibernation of some sort. And, it decided to go into a shack, instead, and smoke a cigarette. Only, it had no mouth (or eyes or nose). When the sun fully rose, it disappeared. Just *poof*. Gone. And, the dreaming me stood there, stunned. Then, the real me woke up wondering what the dream was about and who the entity was.

I often have dreams about myself as another entity. Or there are a couple of me in the dream; one acting and one observing. I've always felt separate from myself, if that makes sense. I've never felt like one person. I'm easily three or more people in one life, one body. My dreams seem to bear that out.

There's a horror film in which a girl walks up to herself. The "herself" she's walking up to has her back turned to her walking self. I've had moments like that in dreams. It seems like whenever I ask my spirit guides to present themselves to me, one is always me. She always looks like me or has my energy.

I think that means I'm my own guide in this life. I've known that all along, but getting confirmation is still unsettling. Everyone looks to me for guidance. Even my self.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, yet. And, I'm not sure the mud entity was me. I'm also not sure it wasn't.

reflections of a life current

the surprise was not that you were

gone

the surprise lay in that fact
the fact that the mirror

remained

true or false?

Truth.

Is there such a thing as truth? There are facts, but truth is often subjective. We often pit truth against falsity and fact against fiction, as if they mean the same thing, but they do not. Not inherently.

All truths are not facts. I can say so-and-so is a nice person. That may be true, but it is not necessarily a fact. It can't be proven. I can give many instances to use as proof, but "nice" is an idea and a concept and, hence, can't be quantified in a way that we can use it to describe anything with absolute certainty.

So much of life is opinion. I often wonder why we bother to pretend we know anything at all. Today, someone told me, "Electrons exist is actually true." Is it? We call them electrons, but what if that is wrong? Or, what if we allow ourselves to see things that are not there just to prove our existence to ourselves?

When I first watched The Matrix, I loved it. (As most existentialists probably did.) I found the posits quite common-sense. Someone had finally made a movie that mattered. However, the more you figure out, the more questions there are. The Matrix has now become a part of human subconscious, on many levels. People wander around telling others to get out of the matrix. Kinda like people used to go around telling others to think carefully before taking the red or blue pill. It's not that these ideas are new, but some of us now have a clearer visual for them and more folks feel comfortable expressing their understanding of those thoughts.

But, the film leaves a lot to be desired (and I won't even bother thinking about it's sequels). For instance, if they were in the matrix before, once they're unplugged, how do they know they're not in another matrix? B/c it makes no sense for robots to be controlling folks like that. What matrix is behind the matrix? There is always one, right? How can we know (or not know, as the case may be)?

That's the problem with knowing. Or claiming to know. Because you can't ever really know. You can simply think you know. That frustrates many people and it causes us to create all sorts of beliefs.

But, isn't it highly likely that none of this is real and there is no such thing as fact? The thing about living is that it demands trust. You must trust that there is a reason, grand concept, something behind life or you find yourself wondering why you're living.

And, what if you're only living because you've yet to choose to die?

balance

I haven't been around for a couple of months because I haven't been sure what to talk about. My life has felt quite empty for the past few months. Spiritually, I've been more in the Earth element than the Air element (and I generally live in the Air). As a result, I've been doing things, trying things, touching parts of myself that I didn't know I had.

As a result, I've been knowingly helping a guy cheat on his girlfriend.

As atypical as that is for me, I don't feel badly about it. In the past, such an act would have violated many, many parts of my soul and heart and my head wouldn't have been able to wrap itself around the concept. But, at this present time, I've needed the experience.

For many moons, my soul has been quiet. I've tried activating it, but nothing has worked. Until this little affair. This affair has stirred me in some unexpected ways. I don't know what I thought would happen, but I certainly didn't think I'd drudge up all this pain.

Because this man is not mine, because he's a jerk to his girlfriend, because he wants to dominate and control me, because he thinks it's what I want from him, because he wants me more than I'll ever want him, because...

I have felt comfortable with him. He was a secret desire that I never acted upon and never admitted to myself that I even wanted. For a year, I'd see him and publicly despise him and he'd look in my eyes and see my want. He says he loves my eyes. He says they look exotic, strange. Then he says that maybe that's because of the things I think.

Maybe it is.

Truth be told, I think some fucked up shit. I am full of positivity and light, but I am also full of shadows and death. At times my cup runneth over. The shadows spill out. The death looks so becoming. And, I find a man to smother with it all.

Lucky him. He loves the sex. He loves the kissing. He loves the fighting.

I love that I'm letting it out. All this pain and sorrow and despair. It has no place to go without him. I dislike him and need him at the same time. In him, I've found a safe place to put my lower vibrations. And, since that is who he is, he can take it. He has no problem with it.

He reminds me a lot of my ex-husband. That same darkness of soul. Until him, I always wondered why people like that existed. Now, I think I understand. I use him. I relieve myself with him. And, he won't be any worse for the wear. I can put all my negativity upon him and it won't damage him.

What a useful little human. What an ingenious invention these assholes were.

My body craves him because my soul craves the relief.

My soul craves him because my body craves the relief.

My head is tired of it all. My head wants out. And, since my soul has finally come back to life, I can release him. If I stay with him too long, it'll go too far. The shadows will overtake me and I honestly like the light. I don't want to be totally in the dark. One foot in, one foot out...that's the way for me.

this is where the healing begins

I believe that thoughts create our realities, and, yet, I've acted victimized by my thoughts of late.

I wonder why that is so.

If I get to choose the thoughts I hold on to, why hold on to ones that don't serve me well? Reading chapter four in Louise Hay's book, You Can Heal Your Life, I am confronted with my pattern of self-harm. She compares choosing thoughts to being in a buffet line and then says, "Now, if you choose thoughts that will create problems and pain, that's rather foolish. It's like choosing food that always makes you ill. We may do this once or twice, but as soon as we learn which foods upset our bodies, we stay away from them."

That's what she thinks.

That passage resonated because I, indeed, choose foods that harm my body on a pretty regular basis. A few times a year, I binge on dairy, a food my body no longer tolerates well. It turns into vaginal madness and it's both unnecessary and unwelcome. Yet, I do it anyway. Sometimes, I get angry that my food choices are so limited. I want to be able to eat the processed, crappy foods sometimes. And, some form of dairy is in all the ones I prefer. So, I binge.

I was working on my thoughts about dairy, since I know the problem is more spiritual than physical (well, what problem isn't, right?), but I got away from being that present and at one with my body and I now am dealing with things I'd rather not share, thanks. My mind got me into it and my mind (with the aid of a few over the counter products) will get me out, but that's not the point.

The point is that if I'll do this with food, why won't I do it with thoughts?

I've decided umteen times to be the change I wish to see in the world. Why doesn't it stick? Why do I later choose to be the lazy I wish to see in the world? Perhaps I am just human, stuck in the ebb and flow of life.

But, honestly, I know I'm above all this back and forth. I know I can stay away from both foods and thoughts that harm my body. I know I can choose thoughts that benefit me more often than thoughts that harm me. I know I can heal my life.

So mote it be.