Flush

Once upon a time, way back in the mists of my personal history, I was smart enough to take one day a month to flush my system. When the moon was dark, I fasted, drank only carrot juice and water for 24 hours. Even a mild-mannered cleanse like a one day fast resets everything, reminds the body what normal appetites look like. It's nice to let the digestive system rest once in awhile, to let go of habits such as caffeine, alcohol, chocolate and such.

In recent years I've let that practice slip, mostly out of laziness or perhaps self-indulgence or who knows why. By the time I got sick this last week, my toxin level was pretty much over the top, or so it has seemed during the early phases of the detox I'm currently experiencing. I'm not fasting, but am eating very carefully, while totally avoiding all my guilty pleasures until I feel "right" again, whatever that means.

It's always a relief to discover that drinking, coffee, even chocolate, are all just habits that aren't that hard to stop once I'm in a mood to do so. I was so sick this week, it was not a struggle to slam the brakes on these pleasant indulgences.

My mind clears during a flush like the one I'm now in the midst of. I see things from different angles, I feel so focused and able to contemplate fully. It's kind of a miracle - which begs the question, why don't I quit for good, live the pure and righteous lifestyle?

Oh. Come on! Life is short and I'm not dead yet. Carpe diem, baby. Never drink coffee again? Just shoot me! No chocolate, ever?? Back slowly away from me without my chocolate. A glass of wine or blender drink or occasional martini? As I always say, a little bit of alcohol is great for people, though too much alcohol is terrible for everyone.

Yes I am benefiting from the flush, and looking forward to a more moderate approach to all beloved poisons sometime in the future. In the meantime, just visualize me with a halo over my head, my hands in the gassho position in front of my heart, an angelic look on my face. What? You can't imagine that? OK. Neither can I.

Shalom.

Splat

One minute I was dancing around the chateau, drinking martinis and singing Shake yer groove thang, shake yer groove thang, the next minute: flat on my ass. Yeah. I got sick, an inevitable consequence of too much booze and coffee, not enough water, and not enough sleep. The body never lies. For awhile now my body has been telling me to slow down. But I was too busy having fun to listen, so - my body knocked me down. Ouch.

When I'm in a mood to blame something other than the unbridled behavior I've cultivated since I moved into my own space, I hold the crazy planetary arrangements and especially the mass coronal ejection of last week responsible. It's an excellent storyline: extreme space weather brought me to my knees. Ya think? Why not blame Brother Sun? He doesn't care, yes? I say yes.

Recovery from a big ole solar beat down requires monumental effort. I'm off all liquor for awhile, all caffeine, too, drinking lots of water and juice, eating carefully, getting enough sleep. Does it sound boring? It is actually refreshing, believe it or not. Slowly but surely I am coming back to my usual standards of good health. Maybe I can be a little bit more moderate in the aftermath. That is my intention.

Happy Saturday to all. L'chaim.

Mithraic Reya

Brother Sun, who has been very quiet for the last couple of years, just woke up. I wish I could have seen the aurora borealis that was the result of the massive coronal ejection, but it has been cloudy in DC at night, so I missed it - if indeed you could even see it from here. Dang, man.

But I sense the awakened neighborhood star, or at least I tell myself that I can feel the renewed energy of Brother Sun. I feel the power, as a friend would say. Even in the midst of this ridiculously hot summer, I love the sun. I'm glad he's stirring around again, it's a relief.

The re-awakened sun stirs up in me a sense of excitement, anticipation. It feels as if something really big is just about to happen? Do you feel it? Or is it just me?

Social Studies

What happened to yesterday? What I remember about days off work from the house on Tennessee Avenue is a whole lot of leisure time. Here at the chateau, my social life has picked up to such a degree that even my "weekend days" disappear in a poof of smoke.

Ironic that living alone has tilted me in the direction of extroversion, such an unusual state for me. People drop by, ring the doorbell, come in for whatever I have on hand (not much since I haven't even had time to get to the supermarket.) I go out - for lunch, dinner, drinks.

Hectic? Yes. Fun? Oh yeah. But ... I do miss hanging out here in the bloghood. This afternoon, between this and that, I should have some time to get around and visit.

Even now, at age 57, I learn something new every day, and every day I am surprised by something or another. Life is good and I am grateful. Shalom.

My Strategy: Make Love, Not War

It's a great week to bump heads - well, if you feel like it - because the planets are squaring off against each other, i.e. metaphorically bumping heads, so you can blame the sky should anyone become offended. Or perhaps you would like to row against the current, and radiate peace, harmony and tranquility. I'm actually considering the latter rather than the former, which is so unlike me. I'm a mixer by nature and tradition. We Jews learn through disagreement. We argue at the drop of a hat, but we can come out of those interactions so much wiser, if we're able to listen, that is.

I am feeling rather contrarian, I mean moreso than usual. My intention is to keep that tendency in check as I move through this week, if possible. I'm going to get on the table of the Bulgarian swimmer massage therapist today; that should help soften me up. Also perhaps I can blow off some steam at lunch today with the woman who brought me "into the blood of Mongolian shamanism," as she describes it. She loves a good head bump and is never offended by a challenge. Later on a friend and I will meet for martinis. The two of us love to laugh hard, a very good way to dissipate excess energy.

Once upon a time I loved seeing sparks fly, but as I get older, the allure of of mixing it up has waned. Especially recently, I'm feeling the urge to cultivate grace more than ever in my life. I'll be OHmmming a lot this week. Also ShalOHmming. And Salaaaaamming.

We'll see how it goes. Peace.

Tony

It's hard to catch digital images of ghosts, but I got one yesterday. Right after I took this shot, the ghost moved away quickly, offended, perhaps, or embarrassed at being photographed. When I realized what had happened, I yelled Sorry! but it was too late.

Yesterday for the first time since Jake died, which was well over a year ago, I "saw" myself walking a little dog, a mellow dog, a SMALL black dog, a dog named (who knows why?): Tony. I'm not ready yet, but at last I'm understanding it's possible another dog might come into my life. Right now, in the midst of the dog days, I'm receiving visuals that include a dog. Cute, eh? Also, it's now official: I am a dog person.

Jake was the first dog of my life, my dog of destiny, as I always called him. Once upon a time I thought I was a cat person, but as it turns out, that isn't at all true. Jake was so hard to live with, he was waaayyy too much dog for me to manage - and yet - I loved him without reserve. After Jake died, in so many ways I wondered if he would be the only dog to come into my personal saga. It seemed quite likely until yesterday, that is, when I "saw" Tony. I saw him curled up on the couch next to me, hanging out in the kitchen while I'm cooking, I saw us walking around Capitol Hill.

Maybe it won't be a black dog, maybe it won't be named Tony. I like the name Fiona for a dog as well, also Roxy would be a great dog name. Depends on the dog, I guess. Some of the things I know for sure: it will be a small dog, suitable for an old lady like me. It will be full grown - No More Puppies. It will be a mellow dog, not completely without attitude, but Tony - or Fiona - must get along with other dogs, and must not try to devour the mailman.

When I took on Jake, I didn't know a damn thing about dogs. I really hope I burned through a lifetime of dog karma with Jake; I'd like my relationship with Tony to be a whole lot easier. Just putting it out there, ok? OK.

In between

Oh man. I'm feeling the season of Lammas, this cross quarter moment halfway between summer solstice and fall equinox. It's not quite harvest season, yet summer has peaked and begun to recede. Lammas is a time that's neither here nor there. My shamanic dance at this moment looks a whole lot like the limbo.

In Reclaiming we characterized Lammas as a time of both hopes and fears. I'm feeling it, definitely. My heart is full to the brim with both emotions. All this hope, so much fear, overlapped in a way that makes it hard to tell the difference! Maybe my hopes and fears represent flip sides of the same thing, who knows?

I had a good sleep last night, so I'm therefore feeling more plush, as Mary Oliver would say. I'm more resilient this morning, confident that I can abide with an abundance of hope/fear for the time being. I wasn't so sure yesterday or the day before. I love a good sleep! Oh yeah.

White Flowers

Last night
in the fields
I lay down in the darkness
to think about death,
but instead I fell asleep,
as if in a vast and sloping room
filled with those white flowers
that open all summer,
sticky and untidy,
in the warm fields.
When I woke
the morning light was just slipping
in front of the stars,
and I was covered
with blossoms.
I don’t know
how it happened—
I don’t know
if my body went diving down
under the sugary vines
in some sleep-sharpened affinity
with the depths, or whether
that green energy
rose like a wave
and curled over me, claiming me
in its husky arms.
I pushed them away, but I didn’t rise.
Never in my life had I felt so plush,
or so slippery,
or so resplendently empty.
Never in my life
had I felt myself so near
that porous line
where my own body was done with
and the roots and the stems and the flowers
began.

--Mary Oliver