I wrote three songs yesterday. I haven't written since I was in Chile. It feels amazing, just an effortless flow of words and sounds that strike some pleasure center in my brain. Last night I listened to most of my discography and was touched with how great it is. Songs that I couldn't stand two years ago seem sweet and worthwhile. Taking time and space away from things is so, so important.
In other news, I cried out of joy three, yes, three times today while watching the most recent episode of Glee: "Born This Way". The episode centered around self-acceptance and bullying, something that was rarely addressed in any effective manner when I was in high school. Add to it the fact that it is such a gay positive show, I choked up on how things have changed so much in just 15 years. Of course there is still injustice and cruelty but I can see a positive change; see how the world shifts in good ways (culturally) and not just in environmental apocalyptic ways. Society is so quick to throw out good, having such little patience for the quiet hurrah of most positive success. If only we could harness the world's addiction of worry and fear into a viable energy source, we would be set for generations. But I can see it; I can see good things happening.
Of course there is bad as well. Always both. Where there is good there is bad but where there is bad there is also good.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Humidity
This is what my hair looked like when I got up this morning.
This midwest humidity is truly turning me into a Disney princess. That or June Carter.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Latin love
My morning Zumba class ends this Wednesday. It's been a great experience not only because I love to dance but because the ladies are so sweet to me. They gave me an Easter cookie last week and now I feel like I have three new grandmothers.
Plus they are VERY vocal about how much they are going to miss me.
Plus they love to party and will use any excuse to make a baked good. They nonchalantly asked last week what my "favorite flavoring" was...in regards to breakfast foods. ??? We got on the topic of cinnamon and it was settled: they surprised me cinnamon rolls this morning. This gluten intolerant lady is overwhelmed by love and wheat sluggishness.
But it's all good.
Plus they are VERY vocal about how much they are going to miss me.
Plus they love to party and will use any excuse to make a baked good. They nonchalantly asked last week what my "favorite flavoring" was...in regards to breakfast foods. ??? We got on the topic of cinnamon and it was settled: they surprised me cinnamon rolls this morning. This gluten intolerant lady is overwhelmed by love and wheat sluggishness.
But it's all good.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
21 Questions
There is a FB game called "21 questions" where person A anonymously answers questions about person B, C, D, E...and then hopefully persons B, C, D, E... want to know who answered the questions. The only way to unlock the answers are by answering more questions about other people and so it continues... Out of curiosity I checked it out, though luddite that I am I refused to answer any questions to find out who said what. What I did get from the answers is still fascinating information:
-People believe I have slapped someone but not ever punched someone.
-People think I am smarter than George W. Bush and Jessica Simpson
-People think I am a reliable person that can easily run a mile and do 20 pushups.
-People think I have a cute butt, have a crush on me, think I'm cute, would look good in bikini and yet the majority would not hook up with me. (can't win 'em all)
-People don't think I'm greedy, would easily loan me $100 and would like to travel the world with me.
-There are some fierce disagreements as to whether I sing Brittany Spears when I'm alone or not.
-One person even thought that I recycle 'dirty' underwear. I'm not even sure what that means...
Overall, I'm not as blundering a human being as I could be. :)
-People believe I have slapped someone but not ever punched someone.
-People think I am smarter than George W. Bush and Jessica Simpson
-People think I am a reliable person that can easily run a mile and do 20 pushups.
-People think I have a cute butt, have a crush on me, think I'm cute, would look good in bikini and yet the majority would not hook up with me. (can't win 'em all)
-People don't think I'm greedy, would easily loan me $100 and would like to travel the world with me.
-There are some fierce disagreements as to whether I sing Brittany Spears when I'm alone or not.
-One person even thought that I recycle 'dirty' underwear. I'm not even sure what that means...
Overall, I'm not as blundering a human being as I could be. :)
Triggers and Randomness
When is it best to cut ties? Um...I'm guessing: when it's time to heal, time to move on, time to get some space or when regardless of your best intentions you hurt more than help (and vice versa).
Sometimes I really get the metaphor of life as a great big play with me just a hired actor reading my lines. I can try to divert the course of the production with incongruent actions or misplaced lines but the other actors remain consistent and I am left alone with my wanting.
As an adolescent, my biggest trials struggling with depression were:
1) not knowing what was wrong with myself/why I was hurting myself so then I couldn't really ask for help
2) being furious with adults telling me how to live my life when it was clear they were neither happy or at peace or even enjoyed being an adult.
3) the only thing I've ever wanted was to be happy, to seek out joy and to keep on learning and growing. Sadly, there were no such classes offered at the University of Illinois in 1999.
Now after nearly two decades of suffering and learning, I know how to make myself consistently happy 90% of the time and how to equally be at peace 90% of the time. And while this is quite an incredible feat for someone of my depressed and lethargic generation, I am a little chagrined that trials/challenges don't stop. At times I am surprised to see that my words or actions could trigger someone to such heights of rage that they would call me "malevolent" or "warped". And it's those times where I need to look very openly at my actions, taking responsibility for what is my shit and to steer clearly away from what is their shit.
I hate all of it: hate having been triggered to anger, hate triggering someone else. I feel so helpless and sad. Mostly because I know there is nothing I can do to help, thus I need to go away for a while. When what I want (to MAKE/FORCE/CONTROL things to work) is not what actually needs to happen (give everyone their space, reflective time), I fall back into the space of my own presence or some sort of vital cellular energy. I come home to what I truly am after the hard day's work out in the chaotic and insecure world, to the one consistent source of happiness I have: myself.
Sometimes I really get the metaphor of life as a great big play with me just a hired actor reading my lines. I can try to divert the course of the production with incongruent actions or misplaced lines but the other actors remain consistent and I am left alone with my wanting.
As an adolescent, my biggest trials struggling with depression were:
1) not knowing what was wrong with myself/why I was hurting myself so then I couldn't really ask for help
2) being furious with adults telling me how to live my life when it was clear they were neither happy or at peace or even enjoyed being an adult.
3) the only thing I've ever wanted was to be happy, to seek out joy and to keep on learning and growing. Sadly, there were no such classes offered at the University of Illinois in 1999.
Now after nearly two decades of suffering and learning, I know how to make myself consistently happy 90% of the time and how to equally be at peace 90% of the time. And while this is quite an incredible feat for someone of my depressed and lethargic generation, I am a little chagrined that trials/challenges don't stop. At times I am surprised to see that my words or actions could trigger someone to such heights of rage that they would call me "malevolent" or "warped". And it's those times where I need to look very openly at my actions, taking responsibility for what is my shit and to steer clearly away from what is their shit.
I hate all of it: hate having been triggered to anger, hate triggering someone else. I feel so helpless and sad. Mostly because I know there is nothing I can do to help, thus I need to go away for a while. When what I want (to MAKE/FORCE/CONTROL things to work) is not what actually needs to happen (give everyone their space, reflective time), I fall back into the space of my own presence or some sort of vital cellular energy. I come home to what I truly am after the hard day's work out in the chaotic and insecure world, to the one consistent source of happiness I have: myself.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Relief
Out of love and purest observation, my dad called me a control freak last week.
It was such a relief to hear someone say it out loud. :)
It was such a relief to hear someone say it out loud. :)
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Because a good day deserves a good picture.
100% practical, 0% magical but overall a cloudy delight.
Karina as a Disney princess at Beth's house regaloneando with Kaincito, the sole existing picture. (That is unless you want to jack into about 25 Indian families' Iphones)
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Perms and macaroni with cheese
As you know I get up at 6 am on Mon, Wed and Fri to teach Zumba (latin cardio dance) to a small group of women in their late 50's and 60's at the YMCA in Decatur. It is a total delight, not only because I love to dance and listen to Spanish music, but because I get to insist that these straight laced, gringa women jiggle their butts and sway their hips. As one once loudly proclaimed "This feels gross!" but she hung in there with it and keeps coming back.
This morning I subbed for another Zumba instructor at an all womens' club called Curves. Curves is great because it's smaller than a gym and more individual focused, and thus appeals to women who don't feel confident in a traditional gym setting. This morning's class was full with about 20 women, a lot of them 60 and older. These were women that reminded me of my grandmother or great grandmother: hearty women of sturdy midwest stock with perfectly permed domes of hairsprayed hairdos and a fire-cracking sass. They reminded me of coming home after elementary school to either my grandma's or a friend's grandma's house. Hours were spent watching cartoons on a plastic-covered sofas; drinking Sprite and eating cookies; playing with friends until it was time for supper, usually a cheese/pasta/meat dish and not a vegetable in sight; and snuggling up afterwards with these dry, sweet smelling older women who thought I was the coolest thing since sliced bread. Here I was in a room with later versions of the loving and ornery women of my youth, getting them to shake their booties and boobies all in the name of physical fitness.
I smiled. My grandmothers are laughing their butts off somewhere, if not dancing along. :)
This morning I subbed for another Zumba instructor at an all womens' club called Curves. Curves is great because it's smaller than a gym and more individual focused, and thus appeals to women who don't feel confident in a traditional gym setting. This morning's class was full with about 20 women, a lot of them 60 and older. These were women that reminded me of my grandmother or great grandmother: hearty women of sturdy midwest stock with perfectly permed domes of hairsprayed hairdos and a fire-cracking sass. They reminded me of coming home after elementary school to either my grandma's or a friend's grandma's house. Hours were spent watching cartoons on a plastic-covered sofas; drinking Sprite and eating cookies; playing with friends until it was time for supper, usually a cheese/pasta/meat dish and not a vegetable in sight; and snuggling up afterwards with these dry, sweet smelling older women who thought I was the coolest thing since sliced bread. Here I was in a room with later versions of the loving and ornery women of my youth, getting them to shake their booties and boobies all in the name of physical fitness.
I smiled. My grandmothers are laughing their butts off somewhere, if not dancing along. :)
Monday, April 18, 2011
A FB note for my younger friends
Just a note I posted on Facebook. It comes from a nostalgic today and is meant for my friends who are 21 and younger:
"I spent the better part of this afternoon going through a large, green chest I've had for easily 15 years. I keep all my nostalgic memories separated in this humble wooden box. I had a great time reading out of 4th-12th grade journals, reading angsty poetry from my 1996 year in Chile, reading the brilliant/maddening intellectual questionings of my very early twenties, going over all my delightful CAMP! memorabilia and, lastly, reading love letters (received and written) that span from 1996 to about 2006. I loved going thru them all and, as every wave of nostalgia slowly worked its way out of my body, I wondered about my younger friends, you adorable orbs of living that probably missed out on letter writing because of this awesome thing called the 'internet'.
So I'm wondering where your memories are. Do you have a 'Memories' folder on your desktop where you store all of your thoughts and the love you've received from others? Do you have any physical chest where you store the good vibes you've received? Do you write actual physical letters or only the electronic type? Do you even care?
I'd love to know. Teach this older lady a thing or two. Personally, I can't imagine not having that box to revisit every year or so to remind me of who I was, who I've loved/who's loved me and then stepping back each time to see who I've become: more at peace with what I see."
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Fuel for Growth
"You're either growing or you're dying."
"You don't need to obliterate your fears, only tame them. And you will."
"You can be bigger than your problems. They don't have to be bigger than you."
T. Harv Eker
Life is all uncertainty. I want to hold on to the calm, comforting times and grow furious, resentful when chaos returns. But such is life; ever changing and never static. The fears I've grown about my problems don't solve them, no, they only give me a reason to hide. But I am growing bigger than my problems and will soon see them as little shadows easily dissolved by my light, one after the other until the day I stop growing and die.
And now for something completely beautiful:
"You don't need to obliterate your fears, only tame them. And you will."
"You can be bigger than your problems. They don't have to be bigger than you."
T. Harv Eker
Life is all uncertainty. I want to hold on to the calm, comforting times and grow furious, resentful when chaos returns. But such is life; ever changing and never static. The fears I've grown about my problems don't solve them, no, they only give me a reason to hide. But I am growing bigger than my problems and will soon see them as little shadows easily dissolved by my light, one after the other until the day I stop growing and die.
And now for something completely beautiful:
Slaying windmills
A young cardinal lives on the farm. Mostly adolescent gray but with a fiery and manly red slowly creeping out, he is easily overshadowed by a bright red, robust and boisterous older male who can be heard singing as flamboyantly as he is colored. Determined to prove himself this spring, the younger one has taken to attacking any male competitors. Unfortunately his biggest rival is an identical bird, same age and coloring even the same movements, that lives in the reflection of the our large windows. Morning after morning the young warrior attacks his reflective twin, consistently rewarded with a windowpane smack in the face. Still he shakes it off, barely hanging on to a nearby supportive branch, quickly coming back for another run. Dull thuds fill the farmhouse mornings. Then there is silence. Soon we hear the aviary rhythm begin again on a different window as our confused hero simply regroups to meet his nemesis again on the west side of the house.
Watching him beat himself over and over again, I feel great empathy. I put things in front of the windows in hopes of detering his reflection but it doesn't. I want to free him, let him see that he is fighting an illusion, something that has no power over him other than the power he gives it. But he is vain, stubborn and proud.
Coming out of my most recent sadness, I spent some time wondering if I had any guardian angels. If I do, I bet they feel unto me as I feel unto the cardinal: desperately attempting to wake me up from a self-imposed dream of dread and suffering but impotent in the face of my vanity, my pride and my impatient stubbornness.
Watching him beat himself over and over again, I feel great empathy. I put things in front of the windows in hopes of detering his reflection but it doesn't. I want to free him, let him see that he is fighting an illusion, something that has no power over him other than the power he gives it. But he is vain, stubborn and proud.
Coming out of my most recent sadness, I spent some time wondering if I had any guardian angels. If I do, I bet they feel unto me as I feel unto the cardinal: desperately attempting to wake me up from a self-imposed dream of dread and suffering but impotent in the face of my vanity, my pride and my impatient stubbornness.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
The heart begs to be believed.
Something was off today, I could tell. I slashed thru bills, organized my finances for living in Chicago next month and even made some very colorful signs for my prosperity jars but I just couldn’t get my Queen on. It seemed like a day in which a two-year-old version of myself was running the show; nothing could make me happy even things that MAKE me happy (music, fruit, going for walks). All I wanted was to throw tantrums and fill the empty house with my pataletas.
Instead I patiently held my two-year-old hand and said it would be ok. So we snuggled in to do some sewing while watching Sense and Sensibility, listening to the bird clock every hour on the hour. We ate cheese, turkey, broccoli, cauliflower, strawberries, maple yogurt and chocolate with almonds for lunch. Yum. And amazingly enough once the movie was over the two year old had a request: to learn one of the songs from the movie on piano. So we found it online, downloaded the sheet music and proceeded to be amazed at how difficult it is. Four, count them, four flats. But it’s beautiful and it uses a part of my brain that is dusty, dried, crinkly and in need of some renovation. I know four measures, cannot play both hands at the same time but am pleased. I noticed it’s one of the many things I love to do: jump in to a project with no realistic idea of its difficulty and thus no preemptive hurdle against its accomplishment. I’ve accomplished many amazing things and reality had nothing to do with them at all. ☺
After that I went for field walk with Ananda. And about 40 paces out my heart was hit. All air rushing out of me and I doubled over, gasping and crying, wailing and snotting all over myself. My heart was breaking again, shifting as it does every now and then these days. It had nothing to do with the pain of missed romantic opportunities, asynchronistic timing with someone I’d have dedicated my life to or even the occasional aching memory of old unrequited love; it was breaking from the pain of not being believed. Of me not believing in it, not trusting its desires.
I love my heart and its endless ability to unconditionally embrace others but these days I’m trying my damnedest to make heart and head a team. Currently, the head holds the most power due to a landslide victory after many a romantic and heart-heavy misadventure (read: learning experience) in my twenties. But while head holds its power, the heart is dismissed.
My heart breaks because it thinks I don’t believe it. It wants me to run with it, with my feelings, to take action, to initiate, to breath life into the hundreds of adventures it has planned for us and for our beloved. I want to say that I DO believe it, that I just need some time. I really want to say that…
Instead I patiently held my two-year-old hand and said it would be ok. So we snuggled in to do some sewing while watching Sense and Sensibility, listening to the bird clock every hour on the hour. We ate cheese, turkey, broccoli, cauliflower, strawberries, maple yogurt and chocolate with almonds for lunch. Yum. And amazingly enough once the movie was over the two year old had a request: to learn one of the songs from the movie on piano. So we found it online, downloaded the sheet music and proceeded to be amazed at how difficult it is. Four, count them, four flats. But it’s beautiful and it uses a part of my brain that is dusty, dried, crinkly and in need of some renovation. I know four measures, cannot play both hands at the same time but am pleased. I noticed it’s one of the many things I love to do: jump in to a project with no realistic idea of its difficulty and thus no preemptive hurdle against its accomplishment. I’ve accomplished many amazing things and reality had nothing to do with them at all. ☺
After that I went for field walk with Ananda. And about 40 paces out my heart was hit. All air rushing out of me and I doubled over, gasping and crying, wailing and snotting all over myself. My heart was breaking again, shifting as it does every now and then these days. It had nothing to do with the pain of missed romantic opportunities, asynchronistic timing with someone I’d have dedicated my life to or even the occasional aching memory of old unrequited love; it was breaking from the pain of not being believed. Of me not believing in it, not trusting its desires.
I love my heart and its endless ability to unconditionally embrace others but these days I’m trying my damnedest to make heart and head a team. Currently, the head holds the most power due to a landslide victory after many a romantic and heart-heavy misadventure (read: learning experience) in my twenties. But while head holds its power, the heart is dismissed.
My heart breaks because it thinks I don’t believe it. It wants me to run with it, with my feelings, to take action, to initiate, to breath life into the hundreds of adventures it has planned for us and for our beloved. I want to say that I DO believe it, that I just need some time. I really want to say that…
Thursday, April 7, 2011
My Life, My Education
My bedroom on Willow Haven Farm is small yet well lit and a strong lilac color. My bed is a billowy cloud, perfectly coiffed and cuddly. My nighttime companions are music, writings and books. They are always within arms reach when I need them, when fits of fear or nauseating streams of repetitive thought would otherwise take me. They fill up their side of the bed like a beloved companion, filling my time with joy and only occasionally complaining ("Thud!!") when I kick them off the bed in the middle of the night.
Oh my lovely books and my lovely habit of reading four at the same time. Today they are books that redefine the archetypes of masculinity, that cover the meaning of life (consciousness creating and destroying, playing hide and seek with itself), that “Redefin[e] Gravity” and that share the secrets of the millionaire mind. In my commitment to balancing the ethereal with the worldly, I am taking action with my finances and learning about (gasp!) making money. It is something I’ve avoided for a long time, for varying reasons, but it’s time and I’m ready. After all,
my life is my education.
About 8 years ago I made a collage poster, all threaded photos of my trip to Germany, skeletonized supermodels, theatre performances in Chicago, all the many versions of me throughout the years, etc. These images represented the three psychological archetypes: the id (the child), the ego (the adult) and the super ego (the divine) in a pyramid formation. At the core of the pyramid I wrote “My Life, My Education” and from that moment on I knew that I would never again despair at my incongruities. All three are there, I am all three and all three have much to teach.
And I am simply ravenous to learn.
Oh my lovely books and my lovely habit of reading four at the same time. Today they are books that redefine the archetypes of masculinity, that cover the meaning of life (consciousness creating and destroying, playing hide and seek with itself), that “Redefin[e] Gravity” and that share the secrets of the millionaire mind. In my commitment to balancing the ethereal with the worldly, I am taking action with my finances and learning about (gasp!) making money. It is something I’ve avoided for a long time, for varying reasons, but it’s time and I’m ready. After all,
my life is my education.
About 8 years ago I made a collage poster, all threaded photos of my trip to Germany, skeletonized supermodels, theatre performances in Chicago, all the many versions of me throughout the years, etc. These images represented the three psychological archetypes: the id (the child), the ego (the adult) and the super ego (the divine) in a pyramid formation. At the core of the pyramid I wrote “My Life, My Education” and from that moment on I knew that I would never again despair at my incongruities. All three are there, I am all three and all three have much to teach.
And I am simply ravenous to learn.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Willow Haven Farm Day
I love to walk...
but not as much as Ananda.
Spring seems to be about getting things done and helping out.
Nature's television
A good man deserves a good burn pile.
but not as much as Ananda.
Spring seems to be about getting things done and helping out.
Nature's television
A good man deserves a good burn pile.
This is what I do at 6 am M, W, F with my 60 year old gringitas.
They're not quite this enthusiastic but it's basically this much fun. Je Je Je...
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Teaching Is On.
I've signed up for an in-class Teaching English As A Foreign Language (TEFL) certification in Chicago for the the month of May. This means that I can go to any foreign country (say...Chile?) and teach English. It is on like Donkey Kong. Of course now all the doubts and fears slither around, creeping between my sheets of informative paper.
"What if this is a waste of money? What if I don't get a job? Why am I going any way? Do I really want to do this? Am I just running away from something here?"
And while I let them wash over me I take into account that they make a few good points. But I don't have any answers for them yet. Then at 6:45 am this morning, as I'm teaching my latin dance class at the YMCA, a song comes on: Bolero Falaz by Los Aterciopelados.
I remember the first time I heard in Chile in 1996 when I was going to high school. I love that song. It made me think of the trials and discomfort, the incredible amount of laughing and the music (oh the music!) of that year. All these things I would have missed if I hadn't wanted to adventure out of my country at 16. Now I want to adventure out again at 31. And I started to cry.
There I was doing numerous reps of biceps and triceps curls with my middle aged ladies and tears silently streamed down my face. I love the country of my birth so, so much. I want to go back and be there again. Who knows? Maybe it will only be for a year but it's the only thing my heart wants to do and as long as I satisfy my mind's to-do list of practicalities it's all good.
"What if this is a waste of money? What if I don't get a job? Why am I going any way? Do I really want to do this? Am I just running away from something here?"
And while I let them wash over me I take into account that they make a few good points. But I don't have any answers for them yet. Then at 6:45 am this morning, as I'm teaching my latin dance class at the YMCA, a song comes on: Bolero Falaz by Los Aterciopelados.
I remember the first time I heard in Chile in 1996 when I was going to high school. I love that song. It made me think of the trials and discomfort, the incredible amount of laughing and the music (oh the music!) of that year. All these things I would have missed if I hadn't wanted to adventure out of my country at 16. Now I want to adventure out again at 31. And I started to cry.
There I was doing numerous reps of biceps and triceps curls with my middle aged ladies and tears silently streamed down my face. I love the country of my birth so, so much. I want to go back and be there again. Who knows? Maybe it will only be for a year but it's the only thing my heart wants to do and as long as I satisfy my mind's to-do list of practicalities it's all good.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Write!
One of my pieces for Becca's zine on romance.
"I fashioned you into existence, although your parents might righteously deny it.
But I know the truth.
I knew you could exist even though I had no proof.
The Italians say that the right man comes at the right time
So while awaiting your arrival, I fashioned myself upon becoming the right woman.
Years went by, my belief faltering here and there
Nights spend sobbing, furious with this addiction I have to hoping, to believing to see.
And then after such pain and demanding, there you were chasing after me.
I was ready.
I’ve been advised not share too much with you, that it is a mistake.
The larger the allure, the more powerful the lure.
But this is them implying that I have a small fixed amount of myself to share, like a shallow well, some minor mine shaft...
They have no fucking clue.
Sharing of myself is critical to my functioning,
just as air rhythmically releases from my breast so do the water of my words.
Besides if I need to withhold myself, and thus trick you into their version of love, how true can that connection be?
What an exhaustive exercise only thickening the mask between the you and me that would be!
No, no, no.
Your boredom is your prerogative and I am anything but boring, even at my most quiet.
So the choice is yours as I chose not to waste my 'me' on painting veiled self-portraits, air-brushing out my details.
If you prefer layers between us than I am not your woman.
But if you love the purest stream of light than I am yours forever."
The Work of Fear
While hanging out at my friend Beth's house I saw this sign hanging from her back door.
"I must not fear. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn my inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
It's so simple and true. Yet every time fear braces my mind, doubt chasing possibility after possibility into a sterile steel cage, I feel like all will is forfeit. But then it passes, as it always does, and I think "What was I so worried about anyway?". I shuffle along completely unconscious of the tricks fear pulls. I have a lot of fear these days but I am permitting it to pass over me, so that only I will remain.
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