MAYBE-MIGHT Hill-where I live

I have no idea what I'm doing. I mean, NONE. It has not gotten any clearer as I have gotten older. In fact, it is less clear now, then it was before. Actually, I do not remember it ever being clear "before" either. I always looked on blankly as people would answer those questions like: "What will you be doing 1 year from now, 5 years from now, 10 years from now?"

I remember being really curious as to how some people seemed very certain about what it was they would be doing. They had a confidence in their voice, and a knowing quality. I cannot honestly remember what sort of nonsense came out of my mouth. I remember hoping to get something out of it, and be done as quickly as possible.

I just do not understand predicting the future or planning. It seems that when I do, things become more confused. But it is not a surrendered confusion. It is embroiled with turmoil, and brief moments of "Eureka! I've got it!" then followed by dissolution. I cannot imagine having children. How could I be this uncertain and provide a child with any sort of security? I would not even be able to lie about Santa or mythical snow bunnies. That is why I think it is very funny when people ask me why I don't have kids. duh.

I think routine can be very soothing. You wake up, know just where you are going, what you are going to have for breakfast and at what time. But this does not seem to happen in my life. When it does, I try to grab at it sometimes, and whisper, stay here with me, time. Stay so I know what happens.

But it is the French movie, alas. Perhaps the reason why they irritate me, is because they often end like my life on a regular basis. NO finish, no conclusion. Draw your own. What is it like to live this way? Well, you do see things all the time around you, because you are not on a set course. Ideas, intonations, motivations pop up when the world of "yes" or "no" is maybe. But it makes the practice of one-pointedness necessary so the brain can hold still on something for a moment. I am finding that the only place I can find stillness for a moment, is in the quiet of a spot, a circle that I breathe in and out of. It is not in actions, or in the day, or in what's next. Just that inner tomb that I get to in order to step out of maybe and "what could happen." It is the break in a storm.

The real blonde

I have a dear friend. And he inspires me regularly to thought and ideas. He may think this is not a good thing. But I love anyone who inspires me to break down old thoughts. Also, he is a great storyteller and has a wonderful sense of humor. Yesterday, he told me that I looked ten years younger when I had dyed blonde hair. And I agree, I was very sexy-looking. It was useful when I needed anything at stores. Men working in these stores were instantly helpful. I wasn't blonde for a long time. Just a period of a few months. So why did I give that up? Because I was TIRED of trying to be pretty in that way, didn't feel like spending the money, didn't feel like having chemicals pouring into my brain, didn't ever like it after a week or so, and DON'T CARE IF I LOOK OLDER.

Now does that mean I will purposely make myself look unattractive? No, I enjoy playing with what I call my "skin sack" until it turns into a crumbling mass of bones to be eaten by worms. And I do not find this offensive, either. It is life. Death is life, and the more I tune into this, the more joy I can live with--the less I will spend time thinking about doing things to avoid death like having my face pulled tight so I don't have wrinkles, trying to dress in a way not b/c I enjoy it, but to "fool" people into thinking I am younger. I do not need to entrance all men. Or any men. My husband thinks I am the cat's meow most of the time, except when I am acting like Medusa.

I told my friend, I don't care. I also told him, I am a middle-aged woman and I want to have my hair as it is. Grey. It is not a political statement. I am not a "feminist." I am just me. And I am finding that I have never been happier with myself than at this point, and I am certainly not as young or beautiful or as strong, etc. But what I am, is gaining more an more acceptance of who I am, and this brings wonderful joy. More than my dyed hair. Am I pissy sometimes because I feel "fat," or unsuccessful, or anxious? Duh. But keeping my greys is on the long-term plan before return back to the earth with the worms. And who knows? I might come back a natural blonde.

Ha Ha Ha

I love being entertained. Stupid things. Silly things. Anything that makes me laugh. It feels good. It's like being Lenny from Of Mice and Men. He pets things because it feels good. Well, I enjoy these benefits from laughing. I am not a hard audience. You do not have to be especially clever. You can be witty, although, if you are too erudite, I might miss it. There is nothing I tire of more, than jokes I cannot get.

This always triggers my anxiety when someone starts telling a joke and I begin to think, "You are not going to get it, you numbskull. But the three other people in the room will!" By the time the joke is done, I am busy squeezing my forehead "trying" to get it, which makes me feel a bit constipated and stifled, and then even if I do get it, it is not so enjoyable. It is like being tickled and having someone poke you with a scissors at the same time.

So what is my point? Well, I really don't have one. This is my problem. A friend of mine the other day told me, "You are unfocused." I thought about this for a while, and I saw a giant sign above my head, and I pictured a giant name-tag across my neck. UNFOCUSED. It seemed like a bad thing. I was deemed unfocused because my friend said that I am always on to different ideas. I didn't ask but I wondered, if I had the same theme all the time, would I then be FOCUSED? Perhaps if I just repeat the same phrase over and over, people will laud me and pat me on the back everywhere I walk.."You are FOCUSED," they will say in that very impressed voice that impressed people use. Maybe then I will wear blue jeans instead of old, sloppy exercise clothes all the time and I will wear eye makeup and remove it nightly. And I will not get those goopy things in the corner of my eye the next day.

I thought about this UNFOCUSED as being my potential achilles heel in "life."

But maybe being this supposed UNFOCUSED allows me to see things not so clearly. Which allows me to interpret all sorts of events and causes. Which allows me to analyze and think of other ways to do things, like something brilliant I would like to use for an example, but I can't think of any. I am not really sure about this--whether this is my "problem" in life--being unfocused, not being able to think of clever things. Maybe it's just a bad rap, like being born with six toes.

My "problems" are funny as soon as I see that they are not at all problems, but things I am making a fuss over. I sigh or I groan, or I rant. I like ranting. Not all the time, but depends if it gets me wound up enough. I'm okay when I can find humor in something. Usually it will happen while I'm in the midst of making a drama. Part of me looks and says, you've got to be kidding--that is the stupidest thing ever. And then I start smiling in spite of me.

I guess I like "funny" so much, because then I am not walking around like everything is serious with the straight face and the straight body and the backside that appears to have something lodged up it. And a tight neck. If I am very serious, my neck becomes like steel. I would rather have the floppy Sharpei neck than a tight one. It is a good thing to find yourself funny. Then you can laugh and even if you are unfocused, or have a crooked part, or maybe just don't like Sneetches, (the creatures from Dr. Seuss) life can still be funny.

I would rather be a simpleton and laugh than be up on the latest grim reporting in the paper. Funny is as funny does. And life for me is much more pleasant this way. After all, in a matter of time, I will be a bag of bones. And that's funny.

Going down

I have always hated forward bends. I didn't like them when I was a yoga student going to class religiously every morning. The teachers always shoved me forward and I had perpetually strained hamstrings. And I never bothered to say stop. Only after I was injured.

Today I am doing forward bends. It was actually because I dislike them so much that I got interested last week. It interested me that I had such a vehemence toward them. There are the obvious reasons, which are that people often hunch worse than a humpback whale when doing them and jam their chin or forehead forward to do what I call a "pretend" stretch. Or they dump their bellies like bowls of jello. But it began to intrigue me, as most things do that I find that I dislike. What is unappealing to me, is often very appealing.

So I began to do them and explain how to do them properly. And they began to grow on me. A teeny bit. Then today, I decided to really go to town on them. I was sort of tired after riding my bike. I was quiet and reading, and it just felt right. I took up all the sitting poses that I thought I knew. I began to move forward and engage in reaching without overreaching. But I went much further than usual. And I hung out in myself. And I felt wonderfully anchored and supported. It was like I was in my own cave with the exact amount of pressure to make me feel safe and supported.

When I moved deeper in the pose, I noticed that there was an athleticism to the forward bend of which I was blindly unaware. There is a true strength to extending and releasing, and at the same time, contacting with strength and anchoring. It is a contradiction in form--my newly claimed forward bend. I love contrast. Like hot torso with blankets over me with cool legs poking out of the blanket in the cool of night. And there is wonderful contrast in the forward bend. Move forward and thrust back and earth yourself by sinking. Expand your ribcage like a glorious bird and let the breath course through you while you are bent over your leg. Bowing down but not collapsing. It feels victorious and surrendering at once. It gives me that funny feeling in my throat I get when I feel like I am going to cry.

I think what I liked the least about forward bends is now what I am liking the most. How far to go. This has always been my question--where do I stop? When you let someone push you, and you are the push-ee, it does not feel like your own action initiating from inside you but on the outside. This is what is so wonderful about making contact with our own bodies. You are moving from you, in you, on you. It is like making love to yourself. There is strength in yielding, in surrendering--when it is done with grace and the full sense of personal responsibility. In the forward bend, you are the determinant and the witness and the participant.

I am all over this forward bending like a happy pig in shit.

The ball in the sky

Yes, today was different than yesterday. Everything seemed suspended more, there was a chill in the air, and just a hint of sun. When I was at the end of my walk, I looked up into a grove of trees where they do ropes courses and such, and the sunlight was peeking between them. It shined right in my face so I couldn't see anything while I walked. The light shining on me feels so all-encompassing that I cannot think about what is going to happen next in the list of "to do," or what time it is. I just allow myself to be a person under the tutelage of the sun. There's something about that moment, when the sun shines right in my eyes like that, where everything goes still and I just feel without thinking. I cannot help but close my eyes, not because of the glare, but I feel like melting. My only responsibility is to be a person who lets sun shine on her face. Gift of stillness from a yellow ball in the sky.

What's-its-name

When I was outside walking today, I remembered why I walk. There is something that overcomes me, when I step on soil and twigs, and feel myself surrounded by these great big trees. Some people like wide open spaces. I am very happy to be sandwiched in on the trail by trees. I feel like they are these supernatural Elders watching over me.

Everything in my head seems to leap out of me, and new ideas flood in when I am greeted by so many aspects greeting me. I thought I smelled lavender today. And eucalyptus and fennel. And there was a particular smell of earth and sunlight mixed together. And then there are all the noises while I am walking of slithering things sliding, and other things scurrying under crackling leaves and bushes.

I love walking on all the gravel. I always pick this over cement if I have a choice. I have always loved the feel of gravel under my feet. It almost tickles, and the sound to me is lovely. When I was a runner, it was my absolute favorite thing to run on. Put me on gravel, and I went flying.

When I walk, and my energy is high, like it was today, I feel like I am floating. My body is just moving through the air, and my legs move so swiftly and with such ease that it is like water being poured from a pitcher. It just happens and flows. And then there are the birds I see up in the sky like today. There were these marvelous hawks. I remember getting distracted from the beauty because I wanted to be certain that these birds with the enormous wings were hawks. Not some other bird by a different name. This is so funny to me now that I think of it. I had to make sure in the midst of my enjoyment, that I could "name" them properly.

I thought about how I also wasn't certain that the lavender smell was lavender. And that it was unlikely that it was lavender because I didn't see any of the flowers. It is funny how the urge to name and categorize pops in during a deeply sensing experience. Sometimes I think it is the mind getting nervous and saying, "Hang on, guys. We don't want her to get lost in it, or we'll be steamed noodles!" It sure is funny to notice this preoccupation, though. It is like having an orgasm and wanting to count how many minutes it lasts. Just a funny human thing, I guess.

Thing. This is a good word. I am going to use it more often. Maybe it will allow my brain to feel like noodles more often and smell more lavender in my life. And see more hawks that may not actually BE hawks. "Thing" is not considered good because there are so many adjectives to use. Then one can be specific in their description and exact. But thing means I am not naming, not really explaining. I am just walking and taking it in without knowing. Sometimes it is not necessary to be smart. Not all things need a name. Know what I mean? Hopefully, you are not really listening and are smelling lavender instead.

Can't we all just get along?

What if God is in you and outside of you. What if we are descended from some sort of species and the whole evolution theory is true? It seems like people often tilt one way or the other. I know a person who believes that God is outside you. That God is separate and created everything. I haven't asked her about monkeys and if she thinks we came from that. I knew better and didn't want to get "the look." Although I hear that now it is not monkeys we are directly descended from but something else that swung around on trees.

Then there are the others who think the whole Bearded Guy in the White Caftan thing is ridiculous and that there is only science. And then there are others who believe in Spirit, or Nature. Or nothing until proven exactly.

Well my thoughts on all of this, is why not believe in EVERYTHING. Now this may seem like I am just afflicted with a bad case of the I'll have everything on my burger-itis. And I must admit, back in my sugar eating days, when I went to Dairy Queen, I was the type to get EVERY POSSIBLE CANDY shoved in my frozen soft serve, so there was barely any room for the soft serve at all. Just enough for a nice big stomach ache. So there is a pattern here. But my thought is that it is soothing to think that GOD is inside me. That anything magnificent that exists, is created within me. But I also believe there is magnificence outside of me. And I am up for the possibility that there are spirits and such that create events.

And I believe that science determines the reason for all sorts of actions, such as the explanation for why words are pouring out of me as my fingers dance along on these keys. I don't have to choose. And I don't NEED to choose. But it doesn't make sense, to have ALL of that, you might say. I don't care. As long as I find all sorts of ideas that interest me, what do I care if they don't match. After all, I mix and match all different black clothing, which is not done in some high-fashion circles.

I am wondering if we might not be a bit happier if we spent less time DISproving. The GOD people do not like the EVOLUTION people telling them that there is another way. And the EVOLUTION people think the GOD people are naive, or irrational, or backwards. Now don't get on me for using three nasty adjectives about GOD people, and only one for EVOLUTION people. I do not have a favorite.

I could never choose just one candy. Or just one movie. Or just one book. I like it all.

Can't we all? Just wondering...