Jayne Says

Let Me Stand Next to your Fire

Hello Darlings. Okay, make that six months.

Allow yourself to fully experience your desire for an object of pleasure. Even though you may know intellectually that it will lead you down the same old path, you may have never fully and consciously acknowledged your attachment to it. There is energy in that infatuation. The pure force of your own desire may subject you to cellular shaking. Be willing to experience the whole of that force and not go numb or dissociate. Experience the burning of being awake and conscious in a bonfire of of desire.

- Gangaji,The Diamond in your Pocket 

I am willing to submit myself to the cellular shaking of desire.

I am willing to live in the NOW.

I am willing to delight in the joy of existence. I forgive myself. Life is good.

Checking In

Hello . . . ? Is this thing on? 

This Tennessee Williams quote keeps haunting me: “A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages.” And no, not just because Angelina Jolie has it tattooed on her arm.

A five month all-consuming distraction sucked me in and has just spit me out the other side. I'm a little bewildered, forever changed and better than ever. But I am in need of a long, hot shower.

For reasons I won't go into here, my heart is breaking. But I have realized that's okay. I am letting my heart break fully, openly, without defense or hope of rescue. I am no longer running from fear, pain, disapproval, anger. Even joy or love. I have been inviting it all in, meeting it fully. I have never felt more present.

I got a new tattoo - pictures once it's finished.

The family is moving up to southern Oregon soon. I hate where we currently live. This town is (ironically) called Paradise. Conservative, religious, retirement town. I'm not ready to retire. T will be fixing up the house here to put on the market while I move pretty soon. I am excited to live on my own for a while, get my head straight. In a community where I might fit in a little better than here.

I appreciate T so much. For giving me this time and space, for giving me a break. A sabbatical - from work, school, marriage, blogging, whatever you need a break from - can do wonders. Trust me.

Anyway, I think I'm ready to return here. We'll see. I can't wait to see who of my blogging buddies are still around, and what you are all up to!

Epiphany

I have not really stopped moving, other than to be sick (or "exercising my immune system," rather) for the past few weeks. I am in another town, again, today. We had a lovely time in Utah, but endured a whole lot of driving.

Two weeks ago, whilst in San Francisco, I met up with a colleague and friend of mine. She mentioned how several people I work with think of me as blunt, intimidating or otherwise unpleasant. When she said this, I experienced a moment of gripping panic, of disapproval, of wanting to scramble to make it up to these people, prove myself likable.

But that moment, that feeling of a bad child needing approval from some perceived authority figures, suddenly cleared. I felt at peace, I relaxed and smiled at my friend. I changed the topic. I actually finally don't care if people (namely opposing counsel) don't like me. Seriously. My clients like me and pay me well to be an intimidating, blunt, bitch who wins for them.

I know many people learn this lesson early on, in grade school -- that it's okay if not everyone likes me. I guess I'm a late bloomer but it really is liberating for me to be free of caring about that. This is a big deal for me, a breakthrough. No matter what stance you take, how diplomatically and compassionately you try to live your life, somebody, somewhere will be unhappy with your choices.

They won't like the way you look, what you wear, your chosen profession, the words you choose, your partner, the food you eat, the music you enjoy, your vices of choice, or, you know, the dozens of intimidating letters you keep sending, demanding justice.

Fuck them all, my dears. Love yourself, live boldly, take a stand, speak out, be strong and dance a little. Dance a lot.

(I am not blognoring you, really. I will catch up soon.)

Eid Mubarak!

Blessed Eid, everyone. Today is Eid ul-Fitr, the Islamic holiday marking the end of Ramadan. This is generously a joyous, celebratory time for Muslims.

Because I have spent several years of my life in the Middle East, the Arabic language, food, culture and people are forever in my blood, my heart. Actually, because some of my close relatives are of Arab (being deliberately vague here) descent, this culture really is part of my blood.

Some people find solace in mac 'n cheese or Ben & Jerry's. My comfort foods are hummus, baba ganoush, tabbouleh, falafel, shish kebab, labneh, pita . . . If it has olive oil, garlic, eggplant, lemon - more, please!

What about the crazy islamofascist terrorists, etc.? Sorry, I don't know any. I'm pretty sure they are in the extreme minority, much like our crazy christofascist fundamentalists here. Though we are doing our part to increase those numbers, on both sides.

What I do know:

• Fatima had an infectious laugh, gorgeous huge brown eyes, and taught me how to belly dance.
• Omar's parents were so warm and generous, I had to be careful not to compliment anything, or they would give it to me.
• We were sitting on the floor around a huge feast of spiced rice and meat with some Bedouin in an expansive tent. My mother was offered the tongue (what a delicacy!) and my brother and I had to stifle our giggles while she ate some. We drank hot, sweet tea in glass mugs.
• Teenaged Arabic boys are just as silly and hormone-crazy as teenaged American boys.
• Tariq was so chivalrous to cut up my frog in biology class ~ I just couldn't do it.
• Karim had a crush on me, but Ali took me to prom.
• Places like Petra, obviously the Egyptian pyramids, the Dead Sea, Mecca (from as close as I was allowed) and famous Souk (market) in Damascus inspire awe and stillness.
• Of course there were some scary older men who spit in front of my feet once as I walked by.
• And, years later, the jerk manning a Burbank gas station who very charmingly asked, "And how are you, today, sharmuta? [whore]"
• To which I replied, "Just fine . . . and I speak Arabic." He wasn't expecting that.
• To this day, there are certain Arabic words and phrases my family and I automatically use, as they are more appropriate and have no adequate English equivalent. We'll say, "Inshallah" (God willing) when we hope something comes to pass, or "Mabruk!" (A nice, hearty congratulations.)

It is difficult to fear that which is known. I do not fear "Muslims" or "Islam" or "Arabs." How could I? Today, I join my Muslim brothers and sisters in celebration. (Well, except for the fact that I haven't fasted for a month or anything before today. And I'm not going to celebrate with the small number of crazies who want me dead. Details.)

And for your viewing pleasure, here are some rare pictures of a ragamuffin Jayne in the '70s, getting cozy with an islamofascist camel (jemel) and cat (bissa).

Ma’assalama! Until next time.

Even More Mirth

I've not been myself for quite some time. A month? Longer? This is what happens when I disregard my spiritual life. I need to feel that connection to Source (God, Love, Joy whatever you want to call it) or else everything spirals down and dark and despairing.

I looked for some guidance in my Osho Zen Tarot deck and pulled this card (XVI in the Major Arcana, Thunderbolt). At first, my heart froze at the terrifying picture and description of a burning tower and people falling from the building, especially given my last post. These cards can be uncanny, which is why I suppose I use them. But then the remainder of the description was sort of comforting, at least what I am able to hear right now.

The card shows a tower being burned, destroyed, blown apart. A man and a woman are leaping from it not because they want to, but because they have no choice. In the background is a transparent, meditating figure representing the witnessing consciousness.

You might be feeling pretty shaky right now, as if the earth is rocking beneath your feet. Your sense of security is being challenged, and the natural tendency is to try to hold on to whatever you can.

But this inner earthquake is both necessary and tremendously important--if you allow it, you will emerge from the wreckage stronger and more available for new experiences.

After the fire, the earth is replenished; after the storm the air is clear. Try to watch the destruction with detachment, almost as if it were happening to somebody else. Say yes to the process by meeting it halfway.

- Osho Zen Tarot, by Osho

So my inner world might be exploding and shaking, but I just need to observe it, bear witness to the destruction and resurrection. Of Hope?

I don't know why my light's not on. Am I not plugged in right now? Did I blow a fuse? I am searching for that lost connection, checking all breakers.

In the meanwhile, I DID attend a lovely wedding in Calistoga over the weekend and I DO have some herbal infusions brewing. Recipes and pictures to follow by the end of October.

And this video of Keith Olberman railing on Bush's stance on torture, blaming Clinton for 9/11 etc. was encouraging.

Halfway Friends

I am heading to Southern California today. I have a few friends down there but probably won't get to see them because one has a baby (so is off the hook whilst baby's still on the boob, I suppose) and the other won't meet me halfway.

He would love to see me, I am even welcome to stay at his place. But I will be about over an hour away with all the traffic (I'll be somewhere near Riverside, he's in Hollywood) and after driving to the airport (1.5 hours) waiting in the airport, flying to San Francisco, changing planes, arriving in San Diego, driving another hour or so to the conference hotel . . . he will expect me to hop in my rental car and drive up to see him. Then drive back. I have done this many times before and always enjoy my friends' company. But I feel taken advantage of.

This whole "would love to see you if you come straight to my door" stance bothers me.

I prefer it when friends meet me halfway. Because T and I travel a lot and don't mind driving, we usually end up visiting our friends. But not always vice versa. We've probably set this situation up because everyone figures we'll roll into their town eventually.

I'm having a bad friend week. (One invited me to stay at her house then lost track of time and I ended up staying at a hotel, 2 were supposed to spend the weekend with us here then canceled for a LAME reason, now this . . .) Poor little Jaynie.

So I'm taking a little blog break this week. Will return when I am fascinating. Or have something to say that doesn't come out in a whine.

Labor (of Love) Day

Yesterday was my one year blogiversary. I wonder how many hundreds of pages I have written here--and why I didn't instead write a book or finish a screenplay?! Probably because I wouldn't have written a word if I didn't think someone would be reading it and providing feedback. This blogging experience has certainly compelled me to write. Not always well or well-conceived, but I have been writing nonetheless, so I thank you for that.

This has been an intense, wonderful year. I started out in blogging because I felt generally compelled to express. Also, though, I felt I had a "message" to "teach" and I would "build" an "audience" for such message.

HA! I have learned I have no message, I don't care enough to do the work it takes to build and market my site, and that everyone is my teacher. I kind of prefer the scenario where I'm the charismatic cult leader and my readers are the glassy-eyed, obedient, adoring followers, but I'll roll with reality for now.

12 other things I have learned about blogging over the past year:

• Just because someone comments on your blog, that doesn't mean you are friends.
• You can and most likely will create enduring friendships that start with a comment on a blog.
• Paragraph breaks can make or break a blog (for me, reading-wise.)
• No matter how terminally unique you think you or your problems are, you can usually take comfort in knowing there are many others enduring a similar ordeal.
• Except sometimes, you're just terminally unique and terribly, terribly alone. But that's okay.
• It is possible to take your blog (and yourself) too seriously. It is best not to.
• People who identify themselves too clearly on their blogs and go on to write things they don't want people in their lives to read usually regret it.
• Just because you are excited and proud of yourself for starting a blog, does not mean your friends or families will be. And even if they are, you might regret telling them about it. Because then you will never know who is lurking, it is unnerving (and you might offend someone. I learned this the hard way). Keep it to a few close friends and don't be insulted if they aren't blog people and don't keep up with reading your precious words.
• You might get more comments by posting scantily-clad pictures of yourself, but you won't get more respect and a readership that gets what you want to write. There are exceptions.
• It can be so easy to get sucked into living online and forgetting to get outside, connect with the people in your life, perform the work you are paid to perform. Balance is key.
• You can't really trust anyone you meet online. Until you do.
• This medium is under-used as the world-changing force it could be.

10 things I learned about myself this past year:

• I could be a professional starter. As in projects. I can get anything off the ground.
• It's the follow-through that fucks me.
• In order to be happy, I really need to pay attention to and take care of my health and body.
• And make an effort to connect with those I love.
• And get out there, take risks and LIVE.
• And make an effort to be kind to everyone I encounter.
• And take responsibility for the impact my living has on the planet.
• Not just think "deep thoughts."
• I always thought my natural tendencies were to be a little bit lazy, mean and self-absorbed. That may be true, but in studying brain psychology a bit more, I realized that is most of our tendencies; we just need some awareness and discipline to move beyond them.
• I have been unnecessarily intolerant of some belief systems, and perhaps too tolerant of others.

5 things I wish I hadn't heard over the past year:

• She has Parkinson's. Fuck.
• He has Parkinson's. Double-fuck.
• The check really should be in the mail.
• We want you to do the presentation.
• You are overdrawn. [Again.]

5 things that I didn't mind hearing so much this year:

• You look great!
• Are those real? You sure have big boobs for a skinny bitch. [Ah, thank you, Ruthie.]
• Can I see your ID?
• Petition for review to the California Supreme Court has been denied.
• If you come to Africa, I'll pay for half of your expenses.

So, given the above, I should probably add one bullet-point to my above list of things I learned about myself this year:

• Flattery, money and success make it all somehow bearable.

Somehow, I don't think that's THE LESSON I'm supposed to be learning or imparting here, but I need to save something for next year's blogiversary, no?

In the meanwhile, please tell me I'm pretty and that I'm doing well for my clients, who will pay me very soon. I'm sure the check is in the proverbial mail.

As Usual, I Worried for Nothing

I spent several hours with my biological dad yesterday and it was . . . nice. He was genuinely touched that we drove out there. We helped prepare food and chatted with his friends. No other family members attended. His friends were fine. There's a certain "type" of well-off Northern California aging former hippie and the room was full of them.

We looked at his old pictures, there were a few of my brother and me in there that I had never seen. I have in one of my photo albums a goofy picture of my brother and me with our faces painted. I am about 3 and very happy. My brother is about 5, with long hair. My father had more of those pictures from that day that I had not seen, and he is there with his face painted, too, laughing. Funny how different photos, like different perspectives, can sometimes complete a picture, a snapshot in time.

Just a few awkward moments. A few people who had known M for 25 years showing visible surprise (quickly hidden) that he had children.

My referring to my mom and dad, er I mean "step-dad" and what they are doing these days.

Other than that it was a pleasant day. I need to stop with the anxious worrying, dread and stress over future events. Things usually turn out just fine.

Writer/educator Parker Palmer (I have one of his books in my sidebar, he is brilliant) was on NPR talking about the meaning of life as I drove home. He was saying that life in itself is good. That once we appreciate everything, and really feel grateful (for getting up in the morning, for a child's smile, a beautiful day, a good meal, etc.) we can be happy. Nothing else really matters. This understanding usually comes about after tragedy (depression, illness, loss) but can also come about from living a contemplative life.

My father hugged me, his eyes shining a bit as we bid goodbye. He told me how much it meant to him that we came out there for his birthday. His sincere expression of gratitude, in his eyes, voice and touch, loosened and freed something in me.

I am thinking about getting a tattoo or several to remind me about gratitude. I seem to forget about this way too much. It is the best gift we can give one another.

I am dreading this

I have probably seen my biological dad ten times since I was two years old. Every few years and then some.

He sent me a $100 bill for my birthday in April. To my old address. When I was a teenager, he called my mother to ask when our birthdays were. Ouch. I always wonder why she told me that.

They were hippies, back in the day. Peace and love. Seems he wanted more free love with more groovy people than she really dug, man. My brother was born in the Summer of Love, 1967. 1969 must have been the Winter of Love, because that's when I was born and my father began to take off.

My mother always called him "Peter Pan." My grandfather hated him. My grandmother calls him a "funny little man."

Growing up, I idealized him. He was (and still is) a sensitive, quirky, brilliant artist. He's a semi-famous, "name" craftsman and I am proud of his work.

I blamed my mother for not working things out with him. But almost exactly 20 years ago, I attended his 40th birthday party. And hung out with him and saw him as, realized he was, . . . just a man. A human. A flawed, but decent guy with no power over me. The spell was broken.

Since then, although I don't know where to "put" him in my mind and heart (he didn't raise me; I think of my step-father as my "Dad") we are still connected, albeit tenuously. He came to my wedding but didn't walk me down the aisle.

My brother and I are his only children. He has two grandchildren now. I don't know how many times he has seen them . . . twice, three times? He was not invited to my brother's wedding. He expresses his regret and shame. He seems filled with self-loathing at times.

Tomorrow, he is having his 60th birthday party, a BBQ. I just sent an e-mail confirming my attendance. T is such a wonderful buffer; they can bond over making things. T created his website and online gallery.

So I'll drive down to the Bay Area and try not to drink too much to mask my social discomfort. Our relationship is not "easy." I can fake social comfort and ease; I can schmooze with just about anyone. But I certainly didn't inherit that from him.

Some of my aunts, uncles and cousins and maybe even my grandfather (I don't even know if he is still alive, how sad is that?) will be there.

And part of me -- the vain, petty, shallow part -- wants to go because I am tall, thin, (now) pretty, charming, successful and confident (as far as they know) and I want to show them all that I've changed since I was a chubby, awkward teenager (when many of them last saw me) and that they can all go to Hell and live with a wistful regret that I am not in their lives.

So . . . evolved and compassionate of me, I know. I am just conflicted, okay?

Happy 60th, M. For your birthday, you get my ambivalence and my presence. Which are both pretty damn generous, considering.

Allergies are Sexy!

I love gazing into red, weepy, squinting eyes.

And the sound of a loud sneeze gets me hot.

And oooh, streaming mucous, yummy. How about when a person always has wads of Kleenex stuffed in her pockets; how alluring are those intriguing bulges?

A wheezing, asthmatic whisper and cough in my ear, mmmmm.

Best of all? Being able to write on a person's skin, using nothing so sharp as the back of a post earring.

This condition is called dermatographia (derma=skin, graph=write) and I've had it for as long as I've had skin. The kids in elementary school used to play tic tac toe on my arms. But I'm not bitter.

I developed asthma around age 13; it was serious in my 20's but is under control now. I still have to carry an inhaler everywhere I go, just in case.

And blowing my nose is practically as common as breathing for me.

I think my allergies are the root cause of my fatigue and listlessness.

Also, lately I suspect that I have a lot of food allergies and sensitivities. I have been reading about them and they are quite common, particularly related to wheat, gluten, dairy, eggs, nuts and some fruits. Over the past few months, I've had some near anaphylactic reactions and strange rashes and digestive problems (I know, too much information!) which led me to the cleansing program (I won't link to my post on that).

I'm neither a bedroom nor a bathroom blogger; most will thank me for that. For those who are disappointed, (hi, Stella!) I will merely say that I am very glad I have been cleansing. It hasn't been pretty and I am pretty sure I had parasites, the lucky 1 in 4 people (but I have lived in the Third World much of my life so that could explain it) but I won't elaborate on that. Mostly, I have become very aware of what I am eating and how that has affected my body.

I'm about halfway through my 2 month internal cleansing and I think I am detoxing and have really been noticing my reactions to certain foods. My throat started closing up a bit after eating cinnamon a few weeks ago. I think this has happened before but I didn't pay much attention. I've been so accustomed to feeling crappy that I just took these "little" symptoms for granted, as a part of my unsatisfactory life.

I am sick and tired (literally) of feeling crappy. I just finished a wonderful book about surviving food allergies (Food Allergy Survival Guide - in my sidebar) that has a good scientific and nutrition section, along with many allergen-free recipes, and did not know how common these allergies were. I am frustrated that no doctor has ever mentioned this to me when I complained of my symptoms. Food and additive allergies can cause digestive problems, rashes, runny noses, fatigue, depression . . . your body thinks the normal food particles are enemy invaders and mounts a histamine response to repel them.

So I am taking charge, and am on a practically vegan, mostly organic (produce grown without pesticides) very simple diet, and will gradually reintroduce certain foods and notice my reactions.

I am whining, I know, but at least I am writing.

I wonder if people with allergies and very sensitive skin develop that as part of a scary or unpredictable childhood? If our emotions and psyches must be constantly vigilant, maybe our immune systems likewise become hyper-vigilant, sensing attack and betrayal where none exists?

Maybe that's just a crazy theory. I just want to get to the bottom of why I feel lousy so I can change it. The doctor handed me a few weeks sample of Lexapro, an anti-depressant. What if it's just that I'm eating myself sick?

The Pilot makes me exercise; he told me yesterday that if I wanted to have as round and firm an ass as he, I'd better ride my bike to the gym. Maybe he didn't say those words exactly, but in my hyper-vigilant state, I can read minds and I know that's what he meant, when he said that nutrition is just half of it and that we should exercise more.

My mother (a Norse force) is literally the daughter of an Olympic champion, my grandfather. She has boundless reserves of energy and calls me a "hot house flower." Why did she go and breed with a sicklier, smaller man who wouldn't even stick around after I was born? I guess I wouldn't be me, then.

If you are able to eat whatever you want, wash your face with any old supermarket soap and you feel great without any symptoms, I hate you.

But just watch out, because allergies are all the rage this season. And I'm too sexy for my snot, baby.