9:27 am
July 19, 2010


Just had a dream.
I woke up feeling I had a great Short Story
ro write, but Short Shories take time to write.

I am so very tired
from having no where and no place
to be without what feels like an intrusion
of sounds I cannot control,
fast walking down the stairs outside the thin wall
of my room,
friendly conversations in the dining room
piercing through my head,
too many bodies, out of my control
in our house that apparently have no where
to go and are dependent on others here to
guide them on their route.

What have we become, in this summer of shift
2010, this transition time form the known to the unknown,
a time when more and ore of us have no home inside
ourselves where we can rest and be in peace?

from this Dream--and I do want to take time to record it--
I realize I feel no ground.

Saturday, I was swept away
in eight hours of unanticipated subject material.
It is so consuming the draw of the computer
and the thought that what I am say here is
somehow of interest to someone else.
It is the writer's unmet need,
the deep felt desire to be heard,
as if someone in the world was listening
and comprehending. That may be part of the
draw.

The computer it is so addictive.
It so draws in.

Oh my God, there is a moment of silence
in this second, 9:39 am.

It is the 19th of the month.
I have not even found the time to
put the rent checks in the bank.

I would like to do that today.

I have been draw into putting out fires
at home for weeks, feeling like going on months.

Saturday afternoon, after writing,
I went to OHI to visit Eva, my niece,
wanting to carve out some time for her,
but then, also wanting to go to
La Milpa to make some kind of
community connection.

I felt caught in between worlds.
No where to stand.
No where to be.
No safe haven or oasis at home.
No ground of my own in this world.

I am responsible I know that.
I get so sucked in to my virtual world,
and no time is left for cleaning up the messes
from the massive amounts of unfinished
creativity my mind has spun.

I have been concerned of late of little money
coming in. The house has so consumed
my confidence levels, but that tide seems to
be turning.

I have rediscovered some things I am good at,
poetry highly valued by others,
who ask to be put on my mailing list,
or say, "Gosh, that needs to be published."
I am feeling excitement coming at it,
but then I hear raking outside my window
now, and the raking is going through my head.

We have neglected the earth for so long here.
The New Youth is bringing us all down to earth
and pointing out the inadequate levels of rulemaking
and agreements.

Agreements are so necessary when people live together.
I am so better at pointing fingers
at the lack of them in the world.
It is so obvious the wrongs being down against us.

Last week, what did I do?

I may have completed two articles.
Yes. Thank you.

1. I took space on Thursday.
I wrote something for Vision Magazine.
I took time to send the graphics.
I better remind Sydney that the title
is Blessed are the Beet Keepers.

Do that now, and get a complete please,
dear Leslie.

2. I drove Regina Jensen, my editor at
Space of Love totally crazy.

The lack of space here at the house
and our disunderstanding of timelines
had me racing to complete. I was sending
edition after edition of Keep The Beet's column
causing harm to Regina's homelife.

Look at these emails,
Look what I did to another person.

Undernearth, I so some growth.
I actually have an honest to gosh person
editing me. Thank you so much Regina.
We rarely talk. On Saturday morning,
she took time, cell phone in route to SF
to listen to be read this:

She was very moved
and said she wanted to help me
make an Mp3.


I want to send her an apology and
underscore how to make the world easier
between us.

Someone going down the stairs now
the other side of the wall, at least they are not
racing.

Oh my Gosh, I met the sweeting human being
at La Milpa Organica Farm!

I do not want to betray her trust by naming her,
maybe I can say without being too revealing,
her name is Heather.

What a delightful person.
It was the real thing.
I was actually interacting with a live, human,
being. I was listening.
I was being heard,
how very uncomputer,
how very off line,
and on the mark of what
somewhere in my being
I still imagine to be one of the
joys I was born for:
Intimacy.

New Agreements!
We need new agreements here
for how we are living together now.

New agreements re; guests.
new understandings and sensitivities
for how we need to live together here
in great respect that there are others
living in the house. We need sound level
sensitivity, and energetic sensitivity.
We need to let the kitchen be the kitchen,
and the Hallway be a hallway, not an energy
resonator.


GULF CALL TO SACRED ACTION

I heard a resounding need last week
while listening to Andrew Harvey and
The Fractal Time man, what is his name?

Someone is running water through a
container in the kitchen now, it is going
through my head.

9:59 am

He was saying we need to live together.
Oh, what a Great Experiment this is.
The entire world should send checks
to keep this experiment going.

How do nine people + guests
live together on 1/3 acre?
At least we have land where it might be
possible to go out and sit,
if we were not all housebound.


HOUSEBOUND?

Ouch. That stuck in my head
Friday night at the Integrative Medicine Discussion Group
night. Sexuality was the theme.

Fay McGrew is a delightful person
and teaches really important work with
her colleague about breasts.
I feel an incongruity: "colleague" and
Breasts????

Breast are so very personal.
Sex is so very extremely personal.

I had to leave the room while Fay
was taking to stuff my face in the other room.
This was too close to home.

Housebound?

One woman, an orgone therapist was talking
about how our energy expands and contracts
and how very natural this is.
She own energy was contracted.
She could hardly get the words out.

The energetics of the room were
stiffling and charged.

The room was filled with breathing
vagina's and penis's, each with needs,
wounds, and histories.
We were all listening to something
that in part sounded abstracted and surreal
and distant from the bedroom.

It was days after, and it dawns on me
Kamala Devi was touching her generals in
a room full of healers/acupucturists,
and guiding us to do the same.
I have never been in a room at Pacific College
of Oriental Medicine where we were invited
to touch our genitals and connect the energy
to our chests, or hearts or someplace else.
I am not sure what the other end of the genital
place where we were asked to touch was.

10:09 am

Knock on my door.
I forget to unopen the door
on the bathroom.
I have to get up to do that.

More voices in the kitchen.

10:12 am

knock on my door.
A sweet knock.
"I need my space now."
I say. Am I being rude?


THE REST OF THE DREAM


I was away from home.
I was in an empty room at UCLA.
I made friends with an ally,
She did not know I had a home.
I was there for four days.
I was in incognito.
I laid my brown leather bag on the floor
that has some photography things in it.
I laid my fanny pack down.
I was comfortable to put these things down.

Then, I went somewhere else nearby.
Suddenly, I realized that a sports team
was going to use the empty hall.

The people who come to clean came into
the safe space while I was out.
I was in a panic because I felt a lightning bolt
of energy to realize that I had left m identify,
my fannypack with everything inside,
on the floor.

My things were picked up.
I was out of touch with my identify
and important things
I had laid down.

There was something about a shaver with a razor.
What was that all about?

Only that it was a key
to gave me some comfort.

10:19 am
I am hearing voices at a distance
talking in the garden.
My head is so tired,
and I am feeling somewhat sick
in my belly. I woke up with
a bit of a headache, maybe from
doing too much.

The voice in the garden
has energy behind it.
I am being drawn out.

GREG BRADEN

Yes, it was Greg Braden on the Gull Call
to Sacred Action. He or Andrew Harvey
were saying, we needed to clock time
as a human race with more experiences
learning to live together.

I have more to write,
but I do not want to write it here.

I did get my fanny pack back
in my dream.



SPACE OF LOVE MAGAZINE ON FACEBOOK

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Space-of-Love-Magazine/119676684713200#!/pages/Space-of-Love-Magazine/119676684713200


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