3c0

Her memoir was much more measured than you would expect from a Sagittarius woman. She was so observant those first five years with Picasso, and in a way, it felt like she was locked up in her body, moving and responding to the different situations that she was thrown into—until it dawned on her—2 children later, that she was losing herself, and could no longer live in the shadows of someone.

I do remember being 20-something and ‘letting’ things happen to you, feeling somewhat less in control of your destiny. She was 21 when she met Picasso, who was 61. Reading her memoir gave me some empathy for an ex of mine, who had muttered under his breath, after a couple of years of a long-distance courtship that he had felt like my shadow.

Though, I was no Picasso. I was no tyrannical egotistical painter, who would throw tantrums, when I think of him “fading” within my confidence and poise, I can still understand what he might have meant, a little better. He was 10 years older than me, but I can see why it feels like I have lived more lives than he has.

What they should be teaching us in schools, is the resiliency and confidence that most people try to find in others first. We think that we will get stronger and better, in a duo or couple. Our culture trains us to look outward for it, but a lot of it is self-knowledge…and then the true test of being human, is being able to be part of a community, to be in communion with others—not just in romantic relationships.

Here’s my release for the evening. A word appetizer. A salad before the main course. The last time I was in this space, I spoke of love vampire energies. I don’t need to, but in case any person with conscious awareness is reading this, I have decided to mindfully explain myself.

Every word or action we choose is powerful enough to change or affect other souls and energies. I take responsibility.

There was something about a certain situation that irked me. I was irked because I allowed myself to feel “more” than the situation required. Upon further meditation, I refuse to react so irrationally either. I have vomited the previous entry, and I return with more peace in my heart.

I was referring to certain people as vampires, because they move and act as such. As if they are not human, as if they are not mortal and fallible. They act as if the laws of the universe do not apply to them. They travel and move about in this world, as if they can pick and choose when to appear and disappear from people’s lives, and everyone else on the receiving end, simply must “accept” or risk losing them completely. This is not love. I shall not even attach the word to what I had previously called them.

Alas! We are all mortals. Everything is impermanent and as such, no matter how you choose to live your life—there will be consequences.

Every cause has an effect and vice versa. Everything is connected. And hurtful action is hurtful. Intention is one thing, but if you care for someone, no matter what you intended, can you soften enough to repair? To take steps toward into love?

You can’t love someone who doesn’t want to be loved.

At first, it was a saying, a reminder for me to be open, and that I could easily fall pray to my old habits of being a love vampire myself.

This is important to keep in mind when opening yourself up to someone else too. Allow yourself to be met where you can meet yourself.

If they are unwilling to meet you where you are willing and open to meet yourself, what’s the point?

You will have to learn your lesson again and again. You will meet the same person again and again.

If they don’t stay, they are not your person. They are just another lesson, yet another love vampire, living in a fantasy world.

They would rather run in circles around you and in their heads than live out the present with you, where they inevitably must meet themselves.

What the heckin’ heck. I was just thinking to myself that the last time my body felt this way, S was hanging around my energy field. And by the way, it was not a good feeling. It’s lethargic. Weighed down. Heavy. Like something had taken a hold of my body. I was just letting a video on YouTube play (and hints of this person came into my head) and then I fell asleep and napped. When I woke up, I saw a letter on my doorstep from S. It looks thick, like it’s at least 7 A4 pages long. My intuition tells me not to open it and to cut it outside.

No. No mister. I grew in my peace. I tilled my body for this peace. I cultivated and watered my peace. I watched all the flowers and fauna in my garden grow. I let the weeds grow wild. They are plenty. But my garden is peaceful and loving and there is no space for you to be in it.

I forgive myself for letting you in. I forgive myself for being lonely and needy and hungry for someone to care about me. I forgive myself for allowing you to enter my sacred space and for even giving you my address. I accept what I have done and forgive myself. I release you. I let you go. And no, you remain uninvited.

Happy 420am as I write this. I’m sitting crossed legged on the floor with the laptop propped on the edge of my bed. An AI-generated Spotify playlist is playing in the background while I type. On Instagram, I was served an ad with a catchy tune by an American indie band that wrote some songs in Spanish and I got hooked. The playlist was generated from that track.

I’m awake because I slept through the first of February. No regrets, except I’m wondering, what time I should actually nap later or should I just stay awake until early evening tomorrow?

I announced this sabbatical very privately within my work network, but not all my friends know about it yet. I still have access to my work email and can see the different colleagues and clients responding to my goodbye. I had forgotten to cc my personal/work email.

This feeling of “emptiness” that I don’t have to think about a company’s goals as I putter and idle in my house, feels extra luxurious. I still have my other part-time work, but the lightness is incredible. Miraculous.

I look back on the month and so much happened. I haven’t wrapped my head around the happenings of the year, either. I’m poring over my journals and various notebooks. How do the days pass so effortlessly and fleeting ? In August last year, our local indie theatre closed and now, it’s February and they’re opening again. They chose to hit reset, which is what it feels like I’m doing. I intended it to be a mental break, but it’s only my second day and I actually feel the “reset”. A little before my card pull, I started to “feel” and “vibe” certain things. Goosebumps as I went about my day and noticed things.

I feel the alignment and clarity, again.

It’s crazy how we all need to pause, take a step back, in order to feel this present and well in our bodies. Most of us feel shackled and chained like we aren’t allowed to catch our breath or have a moment to ourselves. I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to be.

What if, we are not meant to focus on the pain or the suffering, but the possibility? The vastness. What if, the headset is meant to be small? What if the fleetingness of the flashing lights are part of the distraction? That diseases were not punishment but signals of wrong turns taken? Somewhere along the way, we kept disconnecting. We kept disassembling. We pulled apart from the ebb and flow. The cycles. The breath. The quiet. The darkness.

Pulling cards feels natural again. It’s been a while, but today, I pulled for myself “Temperance” from my She Wolfe deck and the mantra from this card is “I make my scars into art”. As February approaches, I feel it. The lightness and the rightness of this direction. With all that’s happening (the other things I am preoccupied with), I also feel very strongly about taking it one day at a time. All of it. Reminders from The Universe. Echoes from the abyss. This is the right path, but that it’s okay to take my time. One step at a time.

Then, I did a reading for a dear friend and she felt goosebumps. That’s the best, when it’s not just me feeling the flow, but that they do too.

I’ve been remembering my dreams too. This one, involved a room, some kind of basement like space, where a group of people (musicians, mostly male) were hanging around and keeping to themselves. There were rows of seats, similar to pews. All of us were strangers to each other. Or maybe, it’s better to say that none of them looked like anyone I know in my waking life. Then there was an elevator in the corner of the room, that would go up and down bringing a person or two into the space for a performance. Everyone in this “room” seemed to have a day job. They made a thing about being there. “You didn’t know, that I had this?” one of the musicians said to me pointing to whatever weird musical instrument they had brought with them.

There was another one before this, but clearly my brain’s RAM is being used up by all the other work things at the moment. It’s coming, though. More time to dream.

I stayed in this weekend. The “schlumpy” heavy feeling has returned to my body. Here I am feeling it right now: from the base of my neck and along down my spine towards my lower back. I don’t know if it’s simply exhaustion or the lack of proper exercise and movement this past week. I thought I’ve stretched some, but not as actively and as consciously as the previous weeks. I also missed out on eating mostly vegetarian this past week. And I didn’t take my daily vitamins and supplements.

I wonder if any of that has anything to do with it. I’m no scientist or doctor, so I won’t ever know that for sure. I’m trying my best to feel and intuit my way through this. If we go down the checklist of basic nutrients… I do not feel like I’ve had enough sun, water or movement this week.

Admittedly, I have been staying up really late watching a lot of YouTube videos on consciousness (i.e. I’m not sleeping very much either). It’s a mix of “revenge procrastination”, actual curiosity and some anxiety that the coming week is my last official week of working at the office.

It’s back to remote work and more idle time for this human.

I notice in my body that I’m not scared… but it recognizes up ahead, is this feeling of uncertainty. It’s a situation or moment that I can’t predict and have no previous information to fall back on. So since I’ve gotten used to the rhythms and demands of working a regular shift, I notice that my body is clearly a little unsure about what it means to having more idle time again. Sleep, is always delicious. I’m trying to remind my body that it doesn’t want to be on “productivity” mode. That this is meant to be a reset.

I’m also writing this on my trusty old Linux. It still works! It’s great for distraction free writing. I needed this. I haven’t been writing regularly, and as I’m sure it is for those of you still here, it’s one of those helpful and medicinal things we’ve consciously added to our hierarchy of needs.

Yesterday, I grieved my beloved emerald raw silk dress from Hanoi and a newly acquired 100% cotton t-shirt from a somewhat bougie store that had become a fast favourite. I have been trying to wear less synthetic fabrics and those were meant to be part of my main wardrobe. They are gone now. They, along with some underwear (RIP) and a bolster cover I had planned to give to a friend. All gone. How blissfully poetic that I cannot remember all items of clothing in that particular load, when I had just been writing about having a lot and how I need to re-look at my relationship to the material.

I was struck down with an illness again last Friday (at this point, it feels like a curse). I honestly can’t remember if it was Thursday night or Friday when I put the load of laundry in, but I was knocked out and next thing I know, I wake up and it was Sunday. The thought about the load of laundry just sitting there was in the back of my mind as I lay in bed exhausted and in a fuzzy state. And here is one of the main disadvantages of being a singular household, apart from having to change the bedsheets on your own, you have to do all of it on your own. Laundry. Folding Laundry. Cleaning house. Changing lightbulbs. Plumbing. General upkeep of your dwelling. Sometimes, searching for missing laundry. And it adds up to feel very burdensome. Especially, when you’re sick.

There was a little knot in my stomach when I finally got out of bed, but I still hoped for the best.

It was my first day feeling human, but I still moved with a weighted head. The migraine and aches hadn’t fully disappeared. Quietly, I walked towards the machines—then I noticed that the dryer was empty. Empty. Any item I expected to find, was not where I though I left them before the world faded for two days from my consciousness. They were not not even put in a re-usable bag on top of the machines, which is how some of the former neighbors would set aside forgotten laundry whenever someone needed to use them. Nada. The whole lot of it was just gone.

There was however, a load in the wash whirring and sloshing around as if to taunt me. I am not yours. These aren’t yours, Lady! For a second, I thought perhaps someone kindly put my load in the wash again. I was knocked out for two days after all. But that seemed highly unlikely. My neighbors are mostly straight patriarchal men and they have not been as neighborly as I have been. They fail to clean the lint filters after they use the machines, so why the sudden thoughtfulness?

As it happens with any precious attachments, when it finally sunk in that my favourite items and assorted possessions were likely thrown away, I let out a little panicked sound. A gasp. A muffled cry.

But, feeling too weak to express anything beyond the shock, I quickly composed myself. The moral of the story and TL;DR was loud and clear: Time to let go of these material lovely things.

Let go of these, and anything else you are still clutching on to. With every breath. Let go. And within the same breath, I also allow there to be sadness for these small, ultimately insignificant losses.

#writing

I keep forgetting that no one knows this writing space exists. I can write whatever I want. I can be as woo and as wild as I want, without the usual fears. Just like how it was for WT, which allowed me to do some work and deep reflection.

I am, like most people who still listen to some news, am gravely disappointed that at a time when we have so many billionaires and material wealth, we still have many people in the known world—because we know where everything is now, or rather we seem to know all the things—experiencing genocide, famine, and hardship.

I speak and move from a position of material wealth. I have all that I need and I know that me buying another thing (even another subscription) won’t change the suffering. The materialism will only keep going if I allow that chain to keep dragging me back in.

As I witness my ego, I am aware that this is the illusion that will continue to keep me in suffering: The endless loop of consumption. The seemingly endless loop of identity making.

Because that is what it is, still, isn’t it? This item, these objects, how they feed my ego and make “me” feel more like “me”. The attachments to things that preserve “me”. I may not be so attached to my opinions, but I am attached to my past habits and trauma and stories still. I am conscious of the loop.

I have started to make moves, but I am not ending the cycles of closing the loop. There is a bag in my home, full of t-shirts from lovers. I had planned to write something about them, but there they are. Taking up space and taking up space in my mind.

It was really refreshing (and sobering) to hear Danjo-san, our guest during our group meditations, share last week about how he too has a problem with letting go of even gift wrapping. Even he, a Zen Buddhist monk, who recognises that everything is made from the Earth using the planet’s resources has trouble with letting go. Both things can be true: how we can appreciate the preciousness of the material, but also that we may be holding too tightly to the material.

It sparked and nudged my consciousness to look at my attachments again.

I am still seeking solace in the material.