Lunar Cycles

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Two weeks ago I waded into the Gulf of Mexico.  (Not naked...this is NOT me in the photo!)  I walked in by myself and allowed each wave to crash on me.  I leaned in further and further.  And I thought for a moment, how wildly delicious it is to be a woman.  I considered the tides and the moon.  I considered the lunar cycle and my cycle and I thought how deeply "natural" it is to be a woman.  Our being is so deeply woven in and mirrored by the cycles of nature.  I laughed at every "cyclical" complaint I have ever uttered because, really, how glorious is the cellular connection.

And, I felt a little sad for men.

When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everything in me that is bewildered and confused. - Rainer Maria Rilke

Bathing Suit Shopping

Today was the dreaded day.  Today was BATHING SUIT SHOPPING DAY!  The last time I purchased a swim suit I was considerably heavier and trying to "tone it down a bit" as I was going on a cruise with my boyfriend and his parents. ( I also think it was during the last decade, no joke.)  At that time, I opted for two lovely one piece swimsuits.  I have worn them to shreds and sadly the elastic is shot is some pretty important places.  

This year I decided a two piece was in order.  My thoughts on that were largely guided by the fact I have gotten rather accustomed to standing around in a jog bra and (practically) panties for the last 10 months and well...what the hell!  If I can handle looking at myself in limited gear in a room full of mirrors and florescent lighting I can CERTAINLY handle it in the beauty of the sunlight, no mirrors AND a rocking cover up, right?

Be that as it may, I put the search off until the LAST DAY POSSIBLE before my big beach weekend.  In fact, I parked my car in the parking lot and I sat in it for 10 minutes before I mustered up the courage to walk inside!  One laboring footstep in front of the other pointed me in the dreaded direction and I basically dove right in.  (No pun intended.)

Well, first let me tell you, I broke off the entire arm of one of displays.  Oops!  It fell to the ground.  I walked away.  I liked the print but I wasn't about to claim my clumsy error and sift through the navy blue butterfly printed mess on the floor.  

After I talked to myself, as I ALWAYS do when something grossly embarrassing happens to me, I re-engaged in the search.  

I entered the fitting room with no less than 10 possible choices.  

Choice One: So precious...but what is going on...oh, wait, it has a little skirting.  Why won't the skirt sit right?  Oh, it's from the "junior section!" No! No! No!

Choices Two through Nine were all too big!  Yessssssssssssss!  Over estimation, Patty.  Well played...and you didn't even know you were creating a strategy, did you?  

Choice Ten:  Perfect.  AND...it is a size too large.  Again, well played, Patricia...well played.  

Once I got myself into the right size, I slid on my platform heels, checked myself out in the mirror and said, "Not bad, lady!  We've got our winner."  (Too bad heels sink in the sand.)  

Added bonus...the top can easily double as a pole dancing costume!  (Obviously shopping for a bathing suit has now taken on a dual purpose.)

Here's the beautiful part of this story:  At one time "body dysmorphic disorder" was tossed around by a professional in reference to me.  (Gasp....I know....hard to believe, right?)  But there is some real truth in what I said earlier.  The more I have become accustomed to seeing myself in what could essentially be considered a "swimsuit"...the more I have come to appreciate WHAT I look like.  And, trust me, I am by no means society's definition of a perfect body....but sure as hell am God's definition of a perfect body.  And it works, it moves, it's healthy, it's strong...strong from the inside out...stronger than ever before.  So yeah, looking in that mirror today (NOT IN TOTAL DISGUST) was an enormous victory for me.

Takeaway:  Enroll in a pole fitness class and you might find bathing suit shopping is just as natural as breathing!

Final thought:  The lady next to me was roughly 70 years old, dressed to the nines, very proper, about 4' 10" and she purchased the tiniest, sexiest, leopard print two piece in the shop.  I was even intimidated by her swimsuit.  Damn straight, sister, life goes on way passed your thirties, doesn't it?

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I Think I Have to Do This Part II

Yesterday I left you with the idea that "peace needs to be sexy, again."  It wasn't my thought.  I'm not that gifted.  It was something I heard on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday.  

When I heard Jean Houston say it I smiled and immediately thought of Woodstock and how (ideally) I would have loved to be there but (realistically) the disorganization and mud would have driven me bat shit crazy!  Let's just say I fancy myself there "in spirit."  I can MOST definitely say I would have loved to have been dry, fed and front row to each and every act.  If that could have been arranged...I would have been one happy, golden hippie.

But Jean Houston was not talking about Woodstock peace, which was arguably not peaceful at all.  I think she was talking about Jesus peace.  I call it Jesus peace because that is what works for me.  You may call it perfect universal equilibrium.  Some may call it "blue."  The name we give it is frankly irrelevant.  It's all the same when you strip the house of language away from it.

I don't consider myself "at peace"....ever.  I don't even sleep peacefully.  I don't consider this a character flaw, I consider it a unique attribute.  Sometimes my peace-less-ness serves me well, most times it doesn't.  It is something I am often chasing after and fall achingly short of reaching it.  Then I wonder if others "have it" and know how to "get it" and look at me, sadly shaking their heads at my many failed attempts.  And then I go a step beyond that.  I wonder if no one is chasing the peace BUT me and people look at me, sadly shaking their heads at my many failed attempts.  Y'all notice how many OTHER PEOPLE'S thoughts and opinions creep into my quest for peace.  I am going to head out on a limb here...the path to peace probably involves allowing all that bullshit to melt away...melt far, far away.  

I suppose in my quest for "peace" and "making it sexy" again I should try to define what I'm after.  All that comes to me is the following: a gentle hum.  Peace, for me, would feel like a gentle hum at the very cellular level of my being.  Like the hum of the bowl Marisa has in her house...it makes the universal sound OM.  The gentle hum would awaken my body to it's greatest purpose and it would replace the chatter in my mind...which I have recently learned NEVER stops.  I feel like I would emanate the hum and people would be drenched in it when in my presence.  It would fill up the space between me and everyone else.  The space would be pregnant with joy and love and limitless compassion and forgiveness.

I often find myself angry with Earth.  No, not Earth.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  Earth is a mother who gives and gives and gives...like the tree in The Giving Tree and I fear we have collectively worn her down to a stump and yet we keep asking and drilling and begging and polluting as if her resources are infinite and our behavior should proceed without consequence.  (And I will be the first to admit I am a giant offender.)  

No, I find myself angry with the ways of the world.  Here I am, chasing after the gentle hum and God (or The Universe) makes it REALLY damn hard to find the hum.  And I'm truly privileged.  And...... as I just typed that last statement I closed my eyes and shook my head in dismay and disappointment.  My thoughts shoot to a starving child in Africa with a defeated and exhausted mother trying to fill his belly. Somehow I suspect they hear the hum and feel the hum far more clearly than I do.  

It's a funny thing, really, truly ironic....I want the hum and yet put a myriad of obstacles in my own way towards the OM.  Let's take this moment for example....I've got the television on.  Usher is entertaining an audience of people.  I did not go to my fitness class to find body balance.  I chose instead to come home and lay my head down for a few moments.  I allowed the actions of a few women today to occupy my thoughts and behaved in a glib manner when recounting the story (essentially gossiping) to a friend.  I never took into account the space between myself and these women...the place I want the gentle hum to exist.  I never, for a moment, tried to find the hum in them.  I have chosen to perseverate on several unanswered emails today...completely blocking the hum I am after.  I could go on forever.

Indeed it is time to bring "sexy back" in the form of peace....at least for me.  There is a song in church...

"Let peace begin with me...let this be the moment now.  Let peace begin with me...let this be my solemn vow. "

I'm gonna try real hard to bring sexy back...my way...not that Justin's way isn't equally as important.

And in my attempt to bring it back, I ask YOU, my friends, to help me be accountable.

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I Think I Have to Do This

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Is anyone else watching Save Me on NBC?  If you aren't, might I be so bold as to issue a stern, "Well, (hand on hip, finger pointing right in your face),YOU SHOULD BE!"  Yes, yes, yes, I know...Anne Heche had her crazy moment, in public, unfortunately.  Let's cut her some slack.  I've had many a crazy moment and thank GOD for my relative anonymity.  Listen, I am sure some nights my looks have give Lindsay Lohan's a run for their money, messy hair, weeping mascara, broken heel, lipstick askew...but I get to hid behind the veil of NON FAME!  Thank God those days were FAAAAR before camera phones.  Oh wait...or maybe one was two weekends ago?  I digress, forgive Anne Heche her weird ability to speak in alien tongues like Nell and WATCH THIS SHOW!  In a strange twist of irony...it is all about second chances through God, and God alone.  

Very quickly....Anne's character, "Beth," chokes on a midnight, post partying, sandwich and is saved by God.  Now, she receives messages from "He/She" (she always says the voice is gender neutral) and she simply can not ignore He/She.  She is often implored to share the messages out loud and chaos ensues.  God's plans rarely match up to ours so I imagine chaos would inevitably ensue.  The nice thing about TV is that it gets wrapped up in 30 minutes (WITH commercials!) and God's message, however confusing it might be, is delivered to us and you walk away feeling like you, TOO, should be more of a Good Samaritan.  

When He/She speaks to Beth, beautiful harpy bells signal THE MESSAGE and she tries very, very hard to say, "No, I can't tell them that right now.  Please, leave me alone.  Ouch, you are speaking too loudly, FINE...I will do it."  And then she does it and she seems crazy.  Only her family and friends tolerate her and the messages and each one of them is becoming the better for it.  

I've been ignoring the "harpy bells" for a long, long, long time, now.  You've probably noticed.  My blog posts are surface...important and fun...but not nearly coming close to sharing what has been on my mind and in my heart, as of late.  

I fear my thoughts are still a bit of a jumbled up mess...but I am going to attempt to place them into cogent statements in the next few posts.  Or maybe I am just saying that to put off, ONE MORE DAY, sharing what might be so deeply personal I get funny sideways glances from my family and friends?

Today I leave you with this thought: 

"Peace needs to be sexy again."

-Jean Houston

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