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Put in the ground

Life will always be equal parts: poison and joy.
And the more you open to either, you open to both.
You have to drink the poison to feel the joy.
That means there will always be pain, but not always suffering.
Suffering is resistance to pain.
And there will not always be resistance.
Eventually, there will be courage...or exhaustion.

I stopped suffering, and suddenly felt everything.

Put in the ground.

In the beginning of yoga class yesterday, I was my piece of ameytrine. With purple held deep inside its hardness. By the end, I was a lavender eggplant blossom, on a delicate thread, liable to blow off in the wind. Karuna—we say “compassion” but means “a quiver”; the vulnerability of an open heart that resonates to any note struck. And I got up and stood in that place.

My aunt and my mom had been picking out paint colors for my mom’s new house when she paniced. Her mind can move forward, but her energy got froze in a trauma a long time ago. My aunt almost called me earlier in the day when my mom made the statement that “maybe she just wanted to paint everything beige”. When Camilla asked how she was, I said that she wanted to paint everything beige. Camilla said, that sounds like a nice simple idea. No, its not like that. Then Camilla said it was because she needed a partner to make that choice for her. No, its definitely not like that. I knew that it was simply one of those moments when you realize that happiness is going to be hard for a while…and, might it be easier to give up.

Ten years ago, my dad died. The house filled with people who talked about someone I never knew, and overflowed with food that no one ate. In the afternoon, I took my sister outside and we watered the baby plants that were growing in Dixie cups.

Nine years ago, to the day. We buried my teacher by hand in a simple and beautiful pine box. For three years from there, we brought stones. Eight year ago was my grandma, but she had really died ten years before. When she sucked on my aunts pearls, cussed, and packed her bag. Seven years ago was supposed to be me.

Last year. I crept close, across the room in a conversation that lasted six hours. I reached Camilla and set my arm near hers in the space before touch. Where hairs stand on end, and you feel the magnet push or pull and bounce off its poles, until she pulled away, and I slid away to the wall where I had been leaning before. We had a silent conversation and negotiation of the space between until she walked me down at 2am. She said I could stay on the day bed, if I wanted, or did I want to go? And I was the one who tried to touch her, so, of course I did not know what to say. She started boiling water and said, “I can make you black tea if you are going to drive home, or camomille, if you want to stay”. I hadn’t answered, but she was bringing the cup that contained the choice. When I tasted it, it was plain, hot water.

Put in the ground.

But it’s hard to remember 3 days ago. I guess I had gone to work and then to my mom’s old house where everything was packed and I got stuck there too long because my grandparents showed up. and my grandpa handed me $50. Jodi said she was leaving beet seedlings outside my door because they were getting too big for the pot. plus my stuff. And there was a chime wrapped in this tissue I saw many months ago and her print and a skull. A skull, and I started to cry. Aaron read my cards and I felt blessed by the big picture and getting to watch it unfold. It was good to just be there; I had been judging myself to the point where I couldn’t feel anything.

So, in the few days before, I kept having this physical sensation of being torn open at my heart and I was actually feeling things for the first time, because I was finally not feeling them too much. I had felt my pain for years and years, my pain, and cried sometimes for months and sometimes raged, not for the reasons you’d think; and I had felt my dad’s pain and his lungs filled with liquid and compression and heaviness and closed off and black. But I had never felt it all at once with eyes wide open and not wanting to make it any different than it was. And on Friday, I had also cried for Camilla. Cried hard that her body was no longer my temple. She was still a goddess, but I would no longer lay at her feet. I took the beets and was so glad to have something to put in the ground. On Sunday, I wasn’t sure if I was avoiding my family. My mom called to check if I was okay and I was. By then I was very alone and I had meant to be alone, I was maybe gonna throw bread in the ocean or something, but I didn’t.

I remember when I was like 7, and Tracy and I were sitting outside by my grandma’s jaccuzzi, looking at the stars. I couldn’t even tell if she was awake. Steam swirled from her skin, but she seemed deep inside. She was something I did not know. I asked, “are you awake…what are you doing?” She said, “I’m not doing anything, I’m contented”. That was the first time heard that word spoke and certainly the first time I’d seen it done. But we are transfixed in its constellations. Held perfectly by the stars; how could I have forgot? When I was 3, I remember very consciously making a vow that I wanted to see truth. Commitment to see the true nature of reality, and whatever that would take. And I let it be hard. In recent years, I have studied that true nature is bliss. And this new life started with a vow of happiness. And it is still hard. It is peeling away, but now I know for sure what the poison’s for.

So, the Holy Basil plant I bought from Amma did not do well in the time I was in New York and that’s okay. Amma told us that you had to put things in the ground. That you have to burry them in the dirt so they can root. You burry a seed for life just as you burry a dead body…but for some reason we think they are two different acts. Wee need to keep laying things down and surrendering to what is until we hold no agenda and are present. And then serve…and then comes grace.

It is terribly depressing to be cleaning #10 and moving back in. But I guess there is a reason I need to clean so much gross stuff. And shuffle shit. And feeling like I'm not getting anywhere. Anaswara was tired on wednesday, I could have asked her if she needed a sub, not to assume she even would have let me, but maybe it could have been my “big break” but I wanted to go to Noah’s meditation. And Camilla wanted me to come to her, and I engaged with her and missed the call from my aunt that told me to come to my mom. So I went to class, and sat the whole time on the edge of a tear, jfeeling a new meditation after ten years, and having compassion for all that came up. As I drove to my mom afterwards, I was not afraid. My breath is not long, but its fine. I wonder if anyone’s heart is okay. I have been told that mine is strong and I have wondered before if its too strong. But now I know that it can be broken and still beat. I think that a lot of the work I do is showing people that what they thought was death is not the end. And, for myself, when I asked for happiness, what came up was a situation that would make it easy to judge myself, to stop myself, to follow a law. It’s all medicine. Exactly what I thought was the end.

driving late at night. I had completed the impulse to walk and keep walking. and I hope with an open heart.
I blew white light for myself--for the first time. It rushed from the pit of my stomach and the center of the earth. and I was surprised to feel it hit my skin like glitter.


beautiful and perfect.
the beets have space now to root deeply.
beets: red and purple-blue like hearts, full and delicious.

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