Honest Mirrors

She was full of life, a spark of joy and wonder, and she hung on me like a baby bird. I adored her and she always wrote loving cards and pictures for me. One day she looked at me with the loving eyes she always does, and I expected her to say "I was her big shining star". A phrase she had said to me many times, and even written on cards, but  she calmly and non-judgmentally said "Simone, why come you never brush your hair?" I froze for a moment and realized that not only had it not occurred to me that my hair grooming was unruly, but that I wasn't even particularly sure how to answer that question. Should I be offended? Should I come up with a well constructed defense mechanism for my appearance? I didn't know. Then a flash came across my mind and I wondered for a moment if everyone close to me secretly wondered this. My physiologist parents sitting at the dining room table shaking their heads, "She has done well, but why come she doesn't brush her hair?" I was presented with an honest mirror. I realized in that second two very simple things. One, why I seek time with youth no matter what I may have going on in my life. They are very real, and the joy and humility in that makes you aware of yourself, and the world, and all things that matter. And, two, there is a part of me that likes to be slightly untamed and this is why I may unconsciously not tend to every hair on my head. I had a response for her. " Well, I like to be a little wild, like a lion with a big mane." And I took my hands and playfully swatted at her like a cat and roared. She nestled her head into my chest and then said "I still love you anyway" and with that she ran off to play. I walked home feeling a little lighter that day. I was seen for my weaknesses, it was brought to my attention, I was accepted for them, and that made me love myself and the world a little bit more. I may have even roared at an in-expecting neighbor on the walk home, just to own my new found self awareness a bit more. 

F.L.O.W.

F. L. O. W. Following Life's Original Way. Each person has a path, a unique gift, and a way towards their truth. There is a reason why you are here, and there is something you love to be and do more then anything on the planet. This is what you are supposed to do. You loose all sense of time and space when you do it, it is productive, it is healthy, it helps others. It may be a strange mix of many things, it may be linear, it doesn't matter. This is your path and your vision here on earth. Trust it, listen to it, find it. It doesn't matter if it makes sense to the world, or if it is different then what everyone expects from you. You will know when you are in F.L.O.W. if you listen to it it is quite easy, it feels like riding with the waves, sanding with the grain, sailing with the wind, running with the bulls...go get in the FLOW...

Is that a tissue in your pocket?

I was standing at a bus stop. It was cold. It was raining. I needed a tissue. I looked in my backpack, no tissue. My purse, no tissue. I stood there trying to snuffle myself into comfort. I looked at the restaurant across the street, maybe they had napkins I could use. I looked at my phone, the bus was supposed to come any minute, but they weren't always on schedule. I didn't dare miss it. I asked someone standing next to me for a tissue. No luck. I waited almost a half hour trying not to breath for fear all sorts of stuff would drip down my face and put me in even more agony. The bus came. I sat on the bus. I road it till I got home. I walked to my front door. I looked in my coat pocket for house keys. I found a tissue.

This is how most of us go through life. In pain, looking for what we think we need that will make us finally feel better, you already have it in your pocket. Check your own life pockets first, you may find that you already have what you are looking for.

The Non-Drinking Drunk

I don't drink. I have never really drank. It's just not my thing. It never occurred to me that this might be strange until I moved to Los Angeles. I would have to answer the question at least a hundred times at every party. "So, you don't drink?" "No" I would respond. "Are you on the wagon?" "No" "Do you want a line of coke?" "No""Here, have a joint."I'm good thanks.""Cigarette?" "No, thanks." It went on forever. And, I didn't really mind, I got used to it and still seemed to have fun partying. Friends that knew me well began to understand my way a bit. While living in Laurel Canyon my nick name became naturally stoned, and when we would end our epic parties quite often I was the last one on the dance floor bouncing around like a bunny. My friends began to tell people that I didn't drink because I didn't need to, I was drunk on life, that is as good a reason as any I guess. Sometimes people would ask me about my parents drinking, or my religious values, it really just could not compute in their brain that it just wasn't my thing. The other day my long time friend started to offer me a nonalcoholic beer, and then he laughed and stopped himself and said, oh that's useless because you just don't like the taste. And, it's true. I don't really like the taste of alcoholic beverages, I am told they are acquired, I never really felt like acquiring it. I like carrot juice, when I drink it my family laughs at me. Carrot juice is really good, I wish I would remember to bring it to parties. I seem to relax and party just fine with out alcohol. A family member once mentioned something to me about it being about too many calories and that's probably why I avoid it, I think I was eating my third plate of cannelloni when he said it so my mouth was too full to refute his comment. One time someone told me that it was because I didn't like to loose control. I thought about this. But, isn't alcohol often a way to control one's own emotional state? To relax more, open up more, laugh more, avoid painful feelings. I like to let myself be wherever I am in a situation and allow my present state of being to just be what it is, to me that seems like less control, not more.  Let this be noted that I have no problem with any sort of substances, it doesn't bother me in the slightest when people I am around, or close to do these things. I think it is up to the individual to decide what feels best for their own soul.  I think perhaps I was born drunk on life and I love to be as present as possible to take it all in. The point of this is not, "to drink or not to drink", that is not the question. It is to be true to oneself regardless the reactions of others, ay, that's the rub.    

Gold Digger

We drove in the car after he had treated me to lunch. We began to speak of travels. "Well, you're an attractive lady" he said,"I'm sure lots of gentlemen have taken you on nice trips." I froze. I literally didn't know what to say, I had no comprehension or understanding of a statement like that whilst in the middle of speaking about worldly exploration, a thing I am so passionate about. I should have let my serpent tongue come out and spilt him in two. I said nothing at first because I was in shock. It was as if I was speaking of the magic of the universe and why I love to discover it, and in a swift statement he had called me a high class hooker somewhere in the middle.  I gathered my thoughts. "There are many ways to travel with out spending a lot of money" I tell him. "I went to Jordan for two grand including a plane ticket. I was traveling with a friend, and we split everything." "You're defending yourself" he says, "which makes it even more suspicious." I am caught between a hard place and an even harder place. If I say nothing, he feels justified, and if I defend myself, he also feels justified. This is useless. I'm not sure that he or it is worth my time at this point. I think of all the travels I've been on. When I was younger, much of it was blessed by my parents, and still sometimes to this day. Then, as I got older, it was backpacking through Europe with a girlfriend from grad school, sleeping on trains, slumming it at every corner. Trips with boyfriends were often split in some way where I bought the tickets and he bought the hotel rooms. And then, my solo ventures that I can't seem to hold back. I think I was being accused of being a gold digger at that point, yes, and actual cliched gold digger, and I think primarily based on my appearance, my dates, and his lack of understanding on how I support myself and my life. It's simple. I live simply, I can stretch a dollar for a mile, and I put my money in experiences rather than material items. I have dated some very interesting and successful souls, I have also turned away much more successful and less interesting souls. I have dated people that didn't have a pot to piss in, I have dated people some where in the middle. It doesn't matter. This specific man didn't seem to have a gage on me, or a desire to get a real gage. Truthfully I had known him for years, but knew little of him and his back round. But, it wasn't until a few months earlier when I saw him get up in early hours on a Saturday morning to help weed a community garden that I thought he might be worth even a moment of my time. So, I guess I do love jewels. Pearls of wisdom, diamonds of truth, and hearts of gold. Then indeed, I may be a gold digger after all. A big, tenacious, relentless, unwavering seeker of the biggest hearts of gold I can find. And, I have found them often both in friends and in romance. So I just keep digging.  

Freedom in Free Items

I was moving from the place I had lived in for five years in Los Angeles. I glanced around the house. Room divider, $20. Bed, $250. Dresser, free. Record player, $20. Living room furniture, free. Book shelves, free. Comforter, $10. Futon, free. Office furniture, free. So, I furnished my entire place for $300. Hmmm, could probably sell the bed alone for $300, but instead I just give it away to dear friends that need it. Most of the items were given to me, and to complete the cycle I think the best thing to do is to give them back to people that can use them. This is the easiest move ever. I realize the freedom that comes from not investing a lot into stuff. I don't feel weighed down, I feel that life can take me if it needs me, it's all OK. I move up to Seattle. Living room furniture is given to me, free. Couch from a neighbor, $30. Chair, free. Dresser, free. The cycle continues. There is an abundance of goodness out there if you open your heart to it. I like to have everything that is of value to me be able to fit in the back of my car. Perhaps this is a useless point for those of you that have a family, I recognize that, but I think the basic concept remains the same. The less you invest in external items, the more freed up you are to invest in your soul, and be moved as needed to put your time, energy, and money in more important matters.

Feminist Flexible

"I would clone her if I could" he says. "When her boyfriend went over seas for a year she didn't even really leave the house to show her loyalty to him. He asked me to go check in on her - strictly in a platonic fashion of course - so I did."  I am silent. I resist the urge to ask him if he fed her wet or dry food when he went over to check on her, and how often he had to change the litter. Maybe I am crazy, but that doesn't feel like loyalty to me, that just feels silly. Am I a feminist? Maybe. I think we are beyond the time when a woman doesn't leave the house to show her loyalty. And, vise vera, if I went away for a year from a man I loved (which I have done) I would hope he would do something exceptional and interesting in the freed up time without my presence. I don't like labels though. Am I vegan? Vegan flexible. Am I Heterosexual? Hetero flexible. Am I a feminist? Feminist flexible. I like to change up the roles. One day a bread winner, one day a bread maker. One day wearing a suit and tie, one day rolling barefoot and playing with the baby. But staying in one's house for a year while their partner galavants around the world just seems absurd. I'm sure I must not have the entire picture, it can't be so. But, all I have to say is for me loyalty is not based on a location, it's a state of mind. I know I'm in love when I'm at a party dancing and all sorts of people are hitting on me and all I can think about is I wish my man was there to enjoy it with me but he couldn't go that night. Or, at times I remember loving someone so much I'd miss them when they stepped into the bathroom. Missing them, yes. Proudly reporting to a suitor that I was off the market because I was in love, certainly. Staying in my house for a year? No. And, I would question someones' love for me if they needed me to sacrifice  the fullness of life in that way to feel secure. No real man would do that, and certainly no man of mine. 

Last Night Out.

It was time to get her out again, Joan almost eighty seven,  had been living in a residential facility for some months now. Her husband of over 60 years could no longer do the in home care for her, because her needs had become too great, but he still loved to visit often. It was never an easy task getting her out, but my folks were determined to do it.

Her getting into the car was what one might imagine a small rotation of planets would be like. The core moved at a slow and consistent pace, and the arms and legs like moons and stars being swayed in particular directions by gravity far behind.  Slow and steady, only meant for the patient or severely good willed, of which my folks are blessed in both. I even had time to take a walk and watch the neighborhood, only to return and find her still in half rotation before she could plop into the car with success. "Hi Bill"she says to her husband in the backseat."Hi Honey" "How are you Bill?" "Well, I went to church today. It was nice" "Oh I haven't been to church since I moved in here." "That's Ok honey, I said a prayer for you so you won't go down below." And, we drove to the restaurant.

She wanted whatever Bill was having and said that with a quickness as we sat down, two pepperoni pizzas then, and he put his hand briefly on her hand as they ordered. She ate almost an entire pizza by herself, and then munched on Bill's crust, and then managed to shovel in one of my veggie slices that I was going to take home before we left. The process left my mouth slightly ajar the entire dinner. A slice of pizza in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, slumped down so far that her chin almost hit the table. Her eyes were closed, and most anyone would think she was fast asleep. I myself has assumed she had dozed off, but then I would see an occasional chew of the jaw and an abrupt move towards a large gulp of wine that slung her head entirely back. I kept thinking how brilliant it all was, that if I could manage to nap and munch an entire pizza in the same moment I'd be ever more successful with all the freed up time.

The drive home was just as lovely and peaceful as the dinner. "Are we sleeping in the same bed tonight Bill?" She said, "No, not tonight Honey." He replied, "Ok" she said, and the drive moved on.
She reached for candy in the glove compartment...and shuffled it around. Nothing was there but the searching seemed to give her some satisfaction none the less. They said their goodbyes, and the getting out of the car process started again. As the folks brought her back inside, I sat quietly in the car with Bill. "She really seems to enjoy seeing you" I said to Bill...he smiled, and with a pause, a little whisper and a twinkle in his eye chirped..."Well, after living with someone for 63 years you develop certain affinities." I got the feeling in that moment, that that's all love really is in the end. The simple desire to enjoy having this particular certain someone around for as long you possibly can muster, and they did it as well as anyone I could imagine. That was Joans' last night out, and I for one am very grateful to have been lucky enough to have been there, I couldn't have imagined a better last night out if it was my very own. And, although it is too difficult to get her in the car anymore, she still enjoys a good glass of wine, a hearty meal, and the company of Bill in the residential home she fondly refers to as "her condo." It's nice to know the important things don't change no matter the location.

Going Homeless to Find Home

"This is a therapy issue" were the first words out of my fathers mouth. "If you need help in paying for it, I am happy to help."  It was meant to be supportive, I think. I had told him I had the overwhelming urge to leave my job, my man, and my home to live as a homeless person. It wasn't something that just happened over night. It had been gnawing at me for months. Six months, eight months, maybe even a year I tried to think of ways to do it with out loosing everything I had built and enjoyed. Maybe he was right, maybe I was crazy, but the thought didn't leave my soul. He even talked to family friends about it, and had them call me to convince me not to do it. Nothing worked. I'm not even sure that I wanted to do it, to be honest. I just knew it was something I had to do, and I didn't even really know why. So I left my job, left my man, and found a friend to rent my house for four months. I bought a HD camera and started on my way with a oversized back pack. The first couple months were completely depressing. I felt both lost and confused. Who am I? What am I doing ? I spent much of my time in homeless shelters, sleeping in camps, sometimes a couch of someone I knew, and most often monasteries. I cried a lot. I thought why would I leave Hollywood  at 26 when I was working in a company that was deemed the future of the industry, living in a castle in the Hollywood Hills, and had a boyfriend that would have supported almost anything I did. And yet,  I wanted something more. I kept joking before I was going to close friends that I think it was supposed to be a honeymoon with god, but I didn't really know what that meant, and when I was starting the journey I didn't feel particularly in love, or happy. I was depressed, sad, and confused. I didn't know what was happening at the time, but I can see now quite clearly that I was letting go of a false self. A self that is based on situational identity. This is my family, this is where I grew up, this is my education, this is my job, my friends, my home, my money. Blah blah blah. But, I gave it up, so who am I now? Often we can not find our true self until we have completely lifted from our attachments to the false selves. Then the pain started to lift, a fog of ego fears that were running circles around my soul didn't have much of a place anymore. It was somewhere in the middle when I ended up in northern california in Mount Shasta. I remember sleeping hidden in a bush in my super sleeping bag, feeling a bit cold, and waking up with snow on me. The mountain peaked in the early morning glory, as had I. My new self was emerging. It was a clearer self, a self that knew no boundaries, but had a foundation. A self that loved parents but wasn't dictated by them. Appreciated money, but wasn't defined by it. Enjoyed life, but wasn't attached to the exact way it should progress. This self was more solidified almost a month later while staying in a Buddhist monastery in Mount Shasta. We meditated three times a day, much of my time I was just starring at a wall. But, one day something happened that confirmed all I needed. You could call it a glimpse of enlightenment, a taste of nirvana, a kensho, or just a  groovy state of mind. But, all I really remember is feeling completely at one with the moment in a state of a bliss and peace so deep I have never experienced it before. And, I knew in that moment beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was home. That was what I had been looking for the entire time, and yet I didn't know it until that moment. I had indeed needed to go homeless to find my true and everlasting home.    

Butterscotch Candy

It was seven thirty at night, late to be visiting Grandma Joan. I'm not sure what the usual bedtime is for a woman in her late eighties, but I wouldn't gather it would go past eight. I wanted to check on her though, even if she was asleep, as my folks were out of town and she wasn't getting her usual daily visits. I walk in and they tell me they have her already tucked in bed, but I can still go see her anyway, no problem. I go upstairs and find her as they said, Pajamas, check. Water by bed, check. Comforters tucked in at every corner, check check. Grandma Joan wide awake and ready for a Friday night party triple check. What? "Who's that?" she says as I slip in the room. "It's Simone, Grandma Joan." "Oooh Simone!!" She says. "Did I catch you at an ok time? I don't wanna keep you up." " Oh goodness"  she says " No, perfect timing I was just looking for some company, what should we do?" And, for a moment I feel caught, should I go down and get her secret stash of wine? Or, maybe I can get the nail polish out  and we can do  her nails? Or, maybe I can find something fun on the T.V.? The list flashed quickly through my mind. "Well, that's up to you Grandma Joan, I'm just here to spend some time with you. Would you like something to drink?" "Yes" she says, and before I can think of grabbing the wine from the basement she says. "Hand me that cup of water by my bed please will you?" So, I do, and then realize she is lying completely flat and I am not exactly sure how this drinking process is going to work. I envision trying to pour a fountain of water down her throat, nope, not going to work. Definitely not going to work." So, Grandma Joan, do you want me to..." and then I see the bed is slightly lifted in the back already. Oh, it's one of those beds, I think to myself, those magical moving beds. Now if I could only figure out how to move it. "Down there" she says and points towards her feet, where I see a fancy bed remote. Oh no, I have visions of Grandma Joan being turning into a human pretzel as I can't figure out to stop the bed from lifting her feet over her head. But, it worked out, she eventually got her water. And, as she was happily drinking she turned to me and said " You know what we need up here are some straws." Brilliant, I thought to myself, she has it, the woman still has it. 

We get into discussions that I say I haven't have been able to have with her for at least over a year, as her dementia has been progressing in it's presence. She asked me about my father, and told me how wonderful he was, and when she first met him she said to her daughter. "This is it for you, you either marry this man or it's off to the convent for you because your nuts!" I comment that she seems to have a knack for picking good men, as she did with her husband of over sixty years. "Oh goodness" she says to me. "Oh Bill, I love him so much, I think about him all the time, I even dream about him." I mention that my folks are at a wedding for one of her older grandchildren and she fondly remembers a toe ring I had given to her at her last grandchild's wedding. The ring was actually on my toe, but she liked it so much I gave it to her. She rocked that toe ring as anyone could. I mention to her that the summer is coming and she says "Oh yes, I'll have to get a new dress for that, and then put on the toe ring." We laughed, we laughed a lot. I can't even remember what all about, but you know you've had a good time when Grandma Joan is laughing. She has one of those special laughs where her jaw actually drops to her chest, and if you're lucky you'll get a hand through the her hair and a slap on the knee all at the same time.  I kept worrying that I was keeping her up, and when I would mention it she would say "If you were keeping me up, I would tell you." And, it was true. One thing about Grandma Joan is you always know where you stand with her. So the night continued. I re-filled her water cup about three times, and mine as well. We were two hydrated partiers. Over two hours later she finally acknowledged she was a little sleepy and it was time for me to go. I got her all set up and hovered close for my goodbye. "You know Grandma Joan" I say "you look beautiful", and she did, white hair, serene face, glimmer in the eye, and she looks right back and me and says "Goodness, I was just about to tell you the same thing," and then she flat out giggled "If someone were watching us, they would think we were in love." I laughed really hard at that one. "Tell your folks what a nice time we had tonight, will you?" she says, and I nod. And, then she pauses for a moment and looks at me with love, but a very serious expression "But, next time, bring candy." And, I tried not to bust out in an eruption of laughter. "Oh yeah, candy? like chocolates?". " No" she says "Not, chocolate, that's not good for you. Bring those hard candies, like the ones you can suck on." "Berry flavored?" I ask, my knowledge of candy being limited. "No", she says Butterscotch, butterscotch candies."  It's good to know even in a world of dementia and an ailing body, that we can get these magical moments, these great evenings that are so full of joy and wonder that the only thing that might possibly make them any better is a small butterscotch candy. Sweet, with a lot of bite, that's her alright.        

Sanely Insane

Some months ago someone was asking me a little bit about myself, and what I like to do, and how I live, and I mentioned a few things, and they said.."No offense, but that sounds a little crazy..."
Something I have heard many many times in my life..."No offense, but that sounds a little crazy."

And, the truth is that I am not offended in the slightest, but I have often come to question what it is that we have come to deem as normal. What scares me is the things that we don't even look at or question anymore, as so many of our thoughts are choices have been automatically conditioned by society.
I sit down on a park bench with a homeless guy, and try to hear his story, and people think I'm nuts. Meanwhile I think it's amazing how we can walk by these people, and don't even see them anymore, like they don't even exist. They might as well be park benches themselves. I moved into a new place about six months ago, and didn't buy a bed. I still haven't bought a bed. I have been sleeping so great on the floor. People that have come to know about it laugh at me daily. What's wrong with sleeping on the floor? We slept out in caves for years, many people today still sleep on the ground in impoverished countries, and don't even have a nice carpet and plush blankets as I have. We are in a privileged position to be thinking that sleeping in a nice fluffy bed is the norm. I am not making a plea for everyone to talk to homeless people, and to sleep on the floor. I am making a plea to open your eyes and look at the world and try to make fresh decisions out of the conditioning of society. We have been so conditioned that our life should follow certain tracks just because those are set before us.

It becomes more dangerous for larger choices such as war and slavery. Slavery was seen as normal before someone took a risk to stand out against it, and then others followed. Women were allowed to vote later then black men, and today the thought is women not being able to vote just seems unbelievable. Sleeping on the floor and hanging out with homeless people are relatively mundane tasks, and think if I get that much flack for those things, think about the silent pressures to conform over larger and more important matters. Group think is a very thick and transparent poison that can be toxic. Take a stand to think for yourself, what seems insane actually might be much more sane then you first realize. And, the ultimate litmus can only be the voice deep inside your self.