At Easton Eight Days

At Easton eight precious days--ahhh...nature is the truest healer. Doing kitchen prep work is NOT easy. Gardening was a joy--am I turning into a complete elder? I could spend my life in a greenhouse or a garden and be quite content to die there...

I was meditating tonight during a long bike ride (I took a break up by Grant's Tomb where Lincoln is interred) and noticed that I do believe I'm close to loosing the need to famous or recognized. This is very good--kind of like loosing one's ego--however I needed to have my ego in tact in order to bike home.

Some women were very nice to me. Smiling and what not. I liked that. I noticed so many sexy high heels dancing over the puddles.

Doodling on the Allegro machine at one gym --then off to another for a bit of dancing to get the old heart rate up--then the Grant's Tomb ride. Must loose this Easton Mountain flab. I ate way too much up there but it was a joyful retreat. Logged a great interview I did after First Shamanic Workshop in April. There are some wonderfully sincere moments. Will post soon along with new exercise videos after editing IF I can control movie viewing addiction. I am a work in progress.

Then home and wrote a funny song about hunting down and killing a really bad bad therapist I had (I've had so many--Goodness).

Tomorrow there is a drumming circle at the Center. Should I go?

I have destroyed 2 or 3 other blogs as I had complaints from one client in particular about certain elements of "hate writing" as he called it--that he objected to. I tried to search for said items but it was easier to just destroy the blog, as I do not want any dirty laundry made public.

Hardly anyone reads these things anyway. In some respects, they are quite a waste of time. However I like to produce them in the hopes that I reach someone somewhere or that perhaps someone will see or agree with my truth...perhaps I will meet a fabulous lover or a millionaire...maybe simply a kindred spirit. Though in the billions of digital bytes flying around I'm sure mine is just another zero and/or one something something something...

Writing blogs is a way for me to write the blues instead of sing them and therefore-- not go insane or become a drunk--as insane as they may at times sound...they are like weaving baskets...innucuous aids to finding both peace and weaving one's own special blend of witchy knowledge, wisdom--an antidote perhaps to the New York Times which tends to make me feel like a very small ant being crushed by so much gigantic culture, such greatness, such fame all around RINGING LIKE CATHEDRAL BELLS!

It's rather bizarre--I don't understand actually how someone can complement one's writing with such grand praise and then turn around and say "You are so full of hate blah blah blah."

That life is a mirror and we are constantly learning and growing IF we are alive IS a truism. As I said--I am a work in progress. If I sat back on my butt and said "I'm never going to touch anyone or offer any advice until I process out all my own character defects and imperfections", first off I would be too paralyzed to work doing massage on anyone; and secondly I believe that through giving helping therapeutic work (ON VARIOUS LEVELS ; ) that one is BY ONE'S immediate ACTION loving people and not hating or hurting them. How dare he really! So I'm full of hate--bullocks!@&^%$#$^ I've been comforting people for 15 years! If there was that much hate in me I would be in prison--for slicing them up and tossing them in the f------ garden!

If your intention is to make someone feel better-then you touch them that way.

On a sheer level of healing mental dialog-UNLESS we can argue and discuss openly all of our myths, our scripts, our lies and our closest held beliefs sincerely and honestly--how the hell will we ever grow or love one and other as people or understand eachother? How will we ever EVOLVE or advance humanity to the next level? You can fake being politically correct and it's just as bad as being a total hate monger or a bigot. They are both insidious.

Without the dark side--there IS NO LIGHT!

The above client in fact went on such a tirade for a few moments I actually felt frightened.

The internet is like my Mother--just weird--and funny. It's merely data. The best thing is to remain completely detached in one's attachment to it (which of course is a paradox) but this is necessary for one's own mental health. It's a similar situation with clients--the less one is involved --the better off for all concerned.

Money changes everything--Cindy L. sang that in the 80's and the phrase went zinging through my head tonight.

My neck is tired. Goodnight everyone and no one.
Amor & Gracias.