love-stream, spin-cycle, number two

there is something that happens with a blog when you ignore it; it feels like ignoring a pet. this thing, this living presence, you really do want to put your attention into, rumple its skin with your fingers– and then, for no good reason, you don’t. and then it waits there. panting.

i forget i “have” a blog.  the blog doubles: it is not only my ignored pet, but is my secret boyfriend i visit when i have some energy that wants an explicit and explicitly weird space of release.  right now, i am waiting for the power in our house to go out. the electric company wants to work on the lines, within the fence-top tree-scape….a job which seems oddly archaic.  but a fun prescience, to wait for midday failure.

i feel mildly fatalistic about the world.  but every morning, in my practice, this truth returns to me: no one can take from you the ability, the choice, to give and receive love.  let me say that again (i learned everything i know about rhetoric from joe biden): NO ONE CAN TAKE FROM YOU THE CHOICE TO GIVE AND RECEIVE LOVE.

likewise, no one can take from you the ability to know yourself completely.  “self-realization” always sounded like a pompous term to me,  but recently, i understood it better.  it is (don’t fall over): realization of self.  the way you might realize you left the laundry out to dry and it’s about to rain hard: OH!  and so you simply see the thing, the situation, as it is, approach it, set it right.  a process of recognition and action which is complete action.

in this labored analogy (i’m getting there, really) the “self” is the laundry. and you (proverbial) washed it all-together, as i tend to do, to the horror of many laundry-separators world-wide– just like a man! i was told– the whites, the colors, one big blob of laundry.  not only that, but you washed it with hippie detergent, so all the dirt is still right there in its organic, life-affirming presence.  and here you are: OH! and you step towards the self.  and you see it for what(ever) it is.

so self and love are these two mighty ingredients we have, in these bubbles of a body, bubbles which could pop as easily as the ghost of the stock market past.  what wind is pushing us, o co-bubbles in this planetary air– what light catches on our edges?

oh no, this flippin blog just peed on my desk!  retribution: it doesn’t like to be ignored either, like any other thing with feelings.  very well then, blog, your urine doesn’t scare me.  this was what tippy, the illustrious emotionally-disoriented dog of my old household used to do: use his diuretic and enemic properties to make a point about love, love and attention.   GIVE IT TO ME, was what he said.  and, in a simple way, this is what all of us might want, whether or not the economic system swings like Tarzaan on his vine rope or falls like a hungry tern into the ocean of being.

liz, my 101 year old heroine, said on the phone she’s never seen things worse than they are now.  in uncharacteristic fits of memory loss that pleased us both, she kept forgetting mccain’s name.  “that other guy.”  and so here (raise your glass) is to forgetting what is, indeed, not in favor of life going on, of life, at all costs, known and not known to us, giving us more and more opportunities for knowledge that matters.  for love that is indestructible.  (what can i say, my power is about to go out, i’m feeling dramatic).

oh gosh, now the blog took a number two.   i really must remedy this situation. with, of course, the discrete tenderness and toilet paper we all owe to our blogs.

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