Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette

I am in a funk today...laying on my bed...somewhat bored with myself and my ususal antics. I am listening to Natalie Goldberg again, her chapter entitled, "Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette Hanging Out of My Mouth." She talks about breaking up the familiar, doing something different outside of your usual when we become boring and sick of ourselves and keep writing about the same old stuff. She gives several suggestions...die your hair green, perm your hair, pierce your nose, paint your nails purple, dress as the opposite sex. One small prop, one small changed can take your mind into a whole new world.

I decided to try out Natalie's suggestion -- nothing else has worked today, bath -- nope, coconut popsicle -- nope, nap -- nope. I get up out of my nest made on top of my bed -- laptop, journal, favorite writing pen, writing down the bones cds and 4 pillows -- and head for the shower. What could I wear that would shift my experience? And in a nanosecond it comes to me...this funk is grief...this funk is September...this funk is 5 days until the 2 year "anniversary" of my father's unexpected and early exit -- here today and gone tomorrow. I go to the hall closet and open the door, peering into the darkness looking for the one item that I have that belonged to him. I see it on top of a bag of winter clothes -- one fuschia Eddie Bauer fleece jacket, men's large. I pull it out and put it on after a quick shower. Now I am back in my nest. I am numb. I can't feel anything just a void, a hallow place. I don't even like this jacket, it doesn't comfort or bring me anything, it is a lifeless thing...just hanging here on my body...oh, here we go a feeling...cycnicsm, anger...

Girl interrupted, relationship interrupted, bridge being built -- interrupted. We weren't done he and I, building that bridge...we were both suspended out over the canyon of the years, doing our best to build a bridge that would carry us back to one another. Bam, interrupted. I look up and he is gone. I am hanging suspended from these fragile lines, hammer in my hand and nail in my mouth. Diligently working to find a way back to how it was "supposed" to be. If only, if only, if only. Project "repair and reconciliation" incomplete. You exited Dad, you fell so quickly from this world into the next. I feel disappointed, sad, confused. You were my compass then, where is my compass now? You were a desitnation. We had big plans to meet again in the middle.

Everything in a moment, interrupted. Everything in a moment, changed. Life takes a sharp turn and I go flying out of the car, into this ocean, this vast, vast, vast ocean. I can barely see the shore. "Swim baby, swim. Get moving, get going. Set your sight on that palm tree in front of you and head into shore. You will be safe there. Nourished. You can lie naked on the sand and let the sun warm you. Let the sun restore you."

Just be naked in your heart and let the sun restore you.
Let the One restore you.

I have said nothing or something, I don't know.
I numb-sad...distant-sad...like I can't quite make out the words of my heart right now.
I should be over this by now, I could be over this right now if I would only feel.

The phone rings interrupting this sad story ;-), Angela Aminga...says, "Anakha, I keep hearing "ahimsa, ahimsa, what is going on?" I tell her about my day in the nest, "I didn't even open the blinds," I whine. She laughs and tells me that it is okay to not open the blinds sometimes, to stay in the nest. She asks me what I've eaten and offers her soul remedy --"go get some chocolate Anakha and salad rolls, I'll call you in a couple of hours."

I want to apologize for such a messy blog entry today...yeah, that's Anakha's shit...doesn't want to be seen too messy and unraveled... so I won't apologize, I'll just acknowledge that I am feeling funky, messy and unraveled today.

I am going to pick up Jack at Noah's Arf and will think about those salad rolls, the chocolate is a no brainer!

Ahimsa...ahimsa.
Anakha