Decomposed

He married me, and I began to decompose. Here was all the bullshit, all the manure, piled up inside of me. Bit by bit, I began to rot—my stomach had ulcers and acid reflux ran wild. Longing to stay intoxicated in this toxic relationship, I began to drink more and more, pickling my brain into more mush. I cared less and less, the flotsam and jetsam of my life like oily seaweed on a Jersey shore.

Finally, only fit to feed the worms and grubs, I lay down on the earth and sobbed out my heart's lament, my deep discontent, my deepest regret. As my body returned to soil, at last I felt grounded again. A seed of hope began to grow in my chest—seed of release, seed of peace—the seed thought quite simply known as divorce.

You Would Scarcely Believe It

You would scarcely believe it to look at me now, but once I was the shyest person on earth. Smaller than anyone else in the classroom, quieter than the proverbial mouse, once I existed as a shadow at best. Once I only disappeared, was never heard, and certainly never laughed out loud.

Now I am bold and brassy, and certainly a little sassy, always willing to catch your eye and smile. What changed? One day I discovered I was queen of my own particular universe by inviting the

Duchess of Nothing over for tea...

Mermaid Self

Romantic Notions Series
"Mermaid Self"
Hand watercolored design
copyright kgr 2003

Menu

Mourning my past relationships

Is like

Mourning my last meal

I'm hungry

And all I can think about

Is that last dessert

Even though

It gave me

Heart burn

How to turn my thoughts

To what could possibly be

On the next

Menu

Thoughts on Work & Play

Work is love made visible - Anon.

"The best part about being self-employed is you get to choose your OWN eighty hours a week."- Random joke

As I self-employed person, let alone as a single mom, I have to choose between working all the time or playing at my work. I choose play. Everyday I find myself changing my language - I play with my clients, I play on my computer, I play in the garden, I even play house. And yes, I play with money...


Everything in my house is painted - "People with no TV, what should we paint tonight?" From murals on the walls to the glass on the kitchen cabinets, every light fixture to the toilet in the guest bathroom, everything is decorated in one form or another. Gunilla Norris says,

Ah, time to dust again
Time to appreciate by touch
what I love and cherish
The most...

I put glitter on the handle of the feather duster, anoint the scared ostrich feathers (a royal and regal bird) with essential oils, blessing my house as I wave my "fairy duster". All the windows are open, music is on the stereo, the creation of order feels joyous despite routine. This is the everyday work of being a priestess in her temple.

Everything has a sticker on it. I despise brand names and conspire to change my universe to reflect my reality. Even the "anti aging wrinkle cream" becomes "Smooth on Good Boundaries Today" with the help of a decal of Durga and a sharpie. I buy pretty paper to print all my office forms, decorating my checkbook as the Sacred Record Keeper of Perpetual Abundance.

Each day I play on the computer - I create websites, blogs, Tweets and Facebook posts, striving to inspire an unknown audience to hear the cosmic giggles of celestial encouragement pouring down from the stars. It is so different from old school advertising, but this form of using social networks for playful marketing keeps my schedule booked well in advance and makes me happy.

I play with my persona, with my image and my looks, and I encourage others to do likewise. I ran into an old friend who exclaimed, "You look completely different!" Thank gawd, I thought, because you look exactly the same. One of the most important things I do is to give myself permission, to be my authentic self, tattoos and all.

I play with energy - whether doing a tarot reading or an astrology chart, leading a guided meditation or channelling reiki. My business is called Tools for Transformation but really, it could be called Toys for Transformation. I work at playing and play at work, and I feel blessed to practice happiness, to play at being me, every single day.

Blessed be.

Vintage

As I grow older and more mature, 
I appreciate the finer things in life - 

Red wines, aged cheeses, 
Antique candle holders and broken down old barns. 

I savor the time it takes to craft -

  I experience the richness of patience paying off.

While I find my plate is less full, 

My bites somehow smaller, 

My life is bursting with a zest and vitality 

I have never experienced before. 

I welcome new flavors and savor familiar delights

I enjoy sharing my abundant life with friends and family

In the most simplest of ways.

Blessed Be.

Viene Aqui

Come to me

My beautiful unknown

Come to me

And I will feed you

Pomegranate Seeds

I will lay out a picnic

On these golden, grassy hills

And invite you to dine

On apples and clemetines

We'll read to each other

Feeding hearts and minds

We'll be drunk on laughter

But I'm still glad I brought

Apricot wine

Come to me

All that I can not imagine

Come to me, and I will feed you

Pomegranate seeds...

Exercise 3: The Absence of Play

I notice the absence of play when I mourn the past. A deep darkness, slamming my head against the wall. Heavy in my chest and in my bones. Like permanent low blood sugar. Everything is an effort. My throat is tight and sore, my eyes want to cry. I am missing someone, some time when life did feel joyful and fun. The feeling is of no return. The absence of playfulness is somber, mournful and heavy.

I notice it creeping into my consciousness in small, insidious ways. It's my mom's voice, admonishing me to tone down my jewel tones and paint the walls of my house beige in order for it to rent for the most money. It's my dad's voice, telling me to get "a real job", preferably corporate. Become more conservative, take out that nose ring, cover your tattoos. The absence of play is very beige. Or grey. Greige.

It is ugly, plain, boring, humdrum, the taste of metal file cabinets. It's forgetting to make things beautiful as well as functional. It's the feeling of I have to do it all by myself - all the decisions, all the phone calls, all the chores, all the errands. This feels plain ol' tiring.

The absence of play is the absence of joy.

The absence of life.

Onions and Pearls

"Opinions are like onions - The both make weep"- Retreat participant

Those 3 famous words
"In my opinion"
With their weight, authority
Testimonials and reviews

I can be satisfied
With my own opinions
With my body's messages
Of what I truly value
Even cramping right now
Serves a purpose

True serenity comes
After grinding grit against the mother
In my hands
I hold the pearl of wisdom now

Stepping off my pedestal
I let go of self judgement
Moving easily along my path
Discriminating, discerning
Choosing each step carefully
If not fussily

I notice letting go of the opinions
Of plum trees and small violets
Of spotted lillys and green mosses
I even let go of the opinions
Of this particular circle of women
Criticizing my writing now

I write slowly, I read clearly
Raising my shaky voice
To tell the world what I think
In my experience, in my opinion

There will be those who agree with me
And those who don't
Either way -
They'll know their own truths

Longing for acceptance is paradoxical to
Being center of my universe
This ugly ducking
Is ready to be queen of her unnamed pond

There are times I am sweet
And times I am sharp
The Rose
is always protected by the thorns

You might think I'm eclectic
But I am bursting with life
You might think I'm eccentric
But I'm bursting with joy

I soften my sharp tongue
Coat my words with honey
Choose to be engaging
Come be on my team

I pay attention to the details
Loving all my many qualities
I pay attention to myself
This is all I have to do.

Exercise 2: Archiving the Alien

 Part 1: Write down a childhood memory

I am in the 4th or 5th grade, living in Kirchberg, Luxembourg. I am my best friend Vicki's house, and we are having a sleep over. Each of us are in our own seperate twin bed, with the covers over our heads. Our feet are pointed straight up, making a tent with the blanket. We are playing space aliens, and these are our space ships. We are each in our own little tent world, and we excitedly communicate with each other about shooting down UFOs and making spectacular landings. It is so fun to engage our imaginations together. I want to craft a consol for my space craft out of cardboard.

I feel so bonded in the moment to my "American friend", after feeling like such an outcast at the European School. Vicki's mother makes a big deal out of bringing us hot chocolate, but my mom's hot chocolate is better. I am so aware of how old her parent's are - twenty years older than mine. Vicki has a grown up brother that she never sees. I love going to Vicki's house because she has all this "American" stuff like Barbies and Archie comics. She's bored of them, but I am fascinated and want to play dolls all the time, even though I am "too old". Vicki's mom collects porcelain dolls dressed in Victorian clothing that we are not allowed to touch.

 Part 2: How does this memory relate to today?

This childhood memory relates to my feelings of being alien, the foreigner, of feeling alienated from my community over the last few years. It relates to this moment in terms of my searching for true companionship - that feeling of being in collusion with another human being. We are each in our own craft, our own body, but we are communicating, creating a consensus reality. I muse on the words communion, come union, and communication.


It relates to my feelings of looking for acceptance, of where do I fit in, of no longer feeling like the outcast. I relate it to longing for family, for hot chocolate moments and the creating of traditions. It's a longing for belonging.

This memory serves to remind me of the feelings of "here is someone who gets me, who understands me and encourages me, who supports my wild imaginings. Someone who really wants to play with me." It relates to me being open to what new relationships bring - new toys! New games. More fun. The joy of sharing. Indeed, shared beliefs, shared joys, shared laughter.

It relates to my search for a new best friend.

Exercise 1: What was "play" like as a girl?

When I was a girl
I would play
In my imagination
Throughout the whole day

I'd create my own stories
let my mind wander far
Every time we went any where
Especially in the car
When I was a girl
And because I was sick
I had to make things up
Yep, that was the trick

My brother was busy
My dad wad too
my mom was gone
But was I blue?


When I was a girl,
In my hospital bed
Nothing could compare
To what was in my head

Some kids were mean
and didn't want to play
I felt lonely & isolated
Sometimes quite gray

When I was a girl
At times it felt so fake
All that pretense
Was just a big escape

I realize it now
I spent my life in fantasy
Now as an adult
I try to create my reality

When I was a girl
I'd dream day and night
When I was a girl

It's what kept my heart light.

-kgr 2009

Silent Retreat: Day 1

 The quieter you become, the more you can hear. - Baba Ram Dass

Last month I set off on an adventure - a four day writer's retreat, which was also a silent retreat, down at Mission St. Antonio, just south of King City. I left on a Friday after my last client, turning off the radio after Watsonville, setting the proverbial tone for the weekend.

Driving through the golden California hills, here was Steinbeck country - a baking 78 degrees in the valley, cabbages and artichokes filling the fields as I sped down 101. "Bless those hands, bless those backs" I thought, watching the workers, musing on who had picked my food, who had toiled to harvest the grapes so that I could have wine at my table.

I reached my destination after a few short hours, parked the car and meandered off to find my room. After plucking the crucifix from the wall, I made a swift altar to creativity on the windowsill, with various journals, colored pencils, a moon book and a deep red scarf. I added an apple and a pomegranate, invoking the Madonna in my tiny monk's cell.

After unpacking my few belongings, I realized I forgot a few essentials: no jacket, no flash light, and no alarm clock. My cell phone was out of service, so I plugged in my lap top despite no internet access, simply to know the time. Indeed, it was strange not to type all weekend, but to journal by hand instead. I meandered around the Mission, exploring the rose garden, taking note of the warnings for rattle snakes posted in the bathrooms.

We had a delicious dinner, simple and filling, seventeen women in complete silence. The crunch of the fresh bread, the scrape of a chair as someone refilled their ice tea, the dull clink of silverware on the plastic bowls as we polished off the hearty pumpkin soup that had been provided.

Afterward, we had our first workshop, our 3 minutes of speech for the day, briefly introducing ourselves and setting our intentions for the retreat. As we sat and meditated before our first writing exercises, I was aware of the sound of crickets, the rustle of paper, the closing door, a distant bell ringing. The theme for the weekend was "Cultivating Lightheartedness."

Walking back to my room, I had to laugh at myself - the moment I saw a cat I broke silence, calling softly to the long haired Siamese - my first thought was how to get it to sleep with me. Over the next few days we became friends, along with her black haired sister. Fierce hunters, these two, soon bird feathers graced my altar, the sacrificial remains of the day.

I was pleasantly surprised by how much I was already enjoying the silence - I felt a deep peace and stillness, a deep relief at not having to entertain or amuse, to counsel or comment. The relief at just being able to eat without interruption, without conversation. I smiled at everyone, and wonder what brought them here...

There is a voice within, that no one, not even you has ever heard. Give yourself the opportunity of silence and begin to develop your listening in order to hear, deep within yourself, the music of your own spirit. - John O'Donohue

Let Me Be Known

"Your reputation always precedes you" - Chinese proverb

Let me be known as intelligent and creative, brilliant and sparkling, always inspiring. Let my reputation be as a great business woman, a compassionate healer, a knowledgeable teacher, an excellent mother and a renaissance woman.

Let my fame be for being a good listener, the keeper of the tavern, the keeper of confidences. Always the deep reflective mirror, a soothsayer who tells the truth in gentle and kind ways that the truth may be heard and responded to in appropriate ways.

Let my fire bring warmth to those who seek its' comfort and illumination, may none be singed or harmed by my sparks of passions or electrical emotions. But I here Mae West chuckling in my ear: If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

Let me be seen as authentic and original, beautiful and eclectic, quirky, queer, and quintessentially whole. Let my reputation light my way like a lantern in the dark, contained and self-sustained.

Let me be known for my integrity, my loyalty, my wit and my wonder.

Blessed Be.