Ten principles.

The trouble with perfection is,
I get more out of my own mistakes
Than I ever could from your perfection.

Most days I am good at being thankful.
I have so much, I am so much.
We are.
But today, I am completely overwhelmed by my own attempts
at radical self-reliance.
I have never in my life been so fail.
But there are lots of things in life that I'm experiencing now
That I've never been...
My own contributions to this funny gift economy
Have left me scraping a little,
Scratching in the dust to get through til next week, or whenever.
I wish I knew better.
Princess fallen, pretty dress all in tatters
All wet and muddy from trying to cross the river by myself.
Trying to fix the sprinklers, the wires, the cars, my bike.
A lesson in pride,
In humility.
In asking for help.
Sheltered so long, too long -
In keeping me comfortable, I was kept from a body
Of knowledge that I could sure use now.
Learning precious lessons about the how-to of Life
Frustratingly late.

I keep paying it forward, you know.
That bright morning, all white and red.
I lost it and cried for a moment, and
Your hand glued my eggshell back together.
For that I'd keep giving until I'd none left
I own nothing.
I am in debt for it all to your kindness, compassion.
I'm just renting this life, now.
Just keeping it safe til next week, or whenever.
So I'm thankful for piles of laundry,
For peeling paint,
Dead batteries and the hole in my shoe.
Thankful to get to wear shoes at all.

Sail.

"and I still hold on hope/ and I won't let you choke..."

Back on a Mumford kick again.

And a-swim in a sea of WTFOMGBBQ.

Got a list a mile long, I once wrote.

One mile, or 5,400 doesn't matter.

It's still too far.

Still hold on hope.

Still keep one eye on the prize,

And the other on the horizon,

Waiting for the flash that means

I'm coming home.

God, I don't know which way to turn

My life is rich with opportunity,

Possibility

I have only to reach out and find the strength to close my hand around

One thing

One line

One bright island or another

But instead I trust the wind that moves me and just

Keep spinning.

Drumming song.

Don't put me up.

Don't hold me up there where I can fall.

'cause I will.

I'll prove you right, every time.

I'll prove empty and unfit.

Hopeless and hapless.

Less than the paper I'm written on.

I hope that, at 28, I can learn this lesson and move on.

Not follow in those ancient footsteps and be doomed to

Pay my grandmother's ransom.

Made a habit, of late, of jumping right in,

Of punching my every fear straight in the face

Of praying that the icy cold, that gasp of breath

The sound might drown out the raging

between my ears.

"but as the water filled my mouth/ it couldn't wash the echoes out"

And I hear it still, that echo calling quiet

I can't. You must understand.

Hated that it hurt so very much

And loved every minute of it.

Loved the challenge, been living on the edge so long.

Now that I've turned the corner, will I find this worthwhile?

Or will it prove empty and unfit, and will I ever return,

To that drumming in my ears,

Following close the song

Pounding, knocking away at the sky, the door, the ceiling,

Anything that will just

Knock back.

Us.

Oh, to feel loved.
To feel connected, together, toward.
For a shared experience, some validation
That you and I are doing something worthwhile.
All each of us ever wants is to feel worthwhile,
Important.
Right.
Right here and now and always
We just want our story to be heard.
Humans, pack animals every one.

Whom.

Buzzing alive, nibble at my toes.
Drift far and wide, bring home the bones.
A smoking gun creeps,
Look down the windows
Hear my harping and listen close.

Said goodbye, a little green circle over my heart
Or inferior vena cava, really - the vessel through which
All things return.
Farewell, adieu, burning impulse drives me into
A leap of faith, or something like that.
Not ready, not ready to sleep just yet
So I sit with my glass
And my cigarette lit
And watch the crazy go by.
Getting closer to a place of comfort
Of ease.
It's been difficult so long, too long I'm ready for a change.
Flip switch, panic drift
That call to calm, to lay down arms,
"against a sea of troubles".

The #2 drives by, despite their waving and calling.
I have never taken the bus, here.
Not sure which waves higher, your hand or your
Mounds of pungent flesh.

Cigarette burnt out, I didn't really want it anyway
Just lit because the pack was open and
That's what you do.

I wish a lot of things into the morning sunlight
Maybe it's just that I can't stand going home to an
Empty bed, anymore.

Sticks.

If I never have to hear the question
If I never again have to tell a woman that there's nothing we can do,
That she didn't do anything, couldn't have known.
If I never have to swallow my tears
Put on a brave face
Choke back the wave of smothering grief
Washing out from this mother's mouth.
And walk into another room, filled with flowers and balloons and butterfly wishes, dizzy from the contrast...

If I never again have to hold her hand while she wails
My baby, my baby.

I would be ok with that.

I know its not my grief.
I know it's not my story, not my baby, not my loss
I am just the messenger.
But I feel her pain.
As a nurse, as a woman, as a human being I am struck here.
I am helpless to do more than bear witness to an ultimate sorrow.
We, unquiet shepherds- Charon's sidekicks charged with working the other side of a revolving door.

Birth & death really ain't that different anyway.
Either way, it's generally a 10 in the "Oh, fuck" factor.

Cartoon clouds, now the only witnesses to my inflated sense of self-importance sneer at me from on high.
As if clouds could sneer.
And so I let go, after a mad moment of empathy and understanding of suffering.
I let fly a giggle at my own ridiculousness
I am my own judge and jury, here on the high court of my porch.
Me, Charon, and the clouds, all.

All.

Back to good.
Better than that, even.
Hopeful, eyes bright and heart-light,
I turn toward a rising sun.
God, give me strength.
Give me the courage to find love and forgiveness for myself,
To find peace.
Yes, I have had enough.
I draw the line here in the dust,
Between what is and what was
Between myself and I, just behind my own feet.
And in taking the first steps forward,
I find I am getting it right.
Shed of my fear, my hurt, the things I held on to so tightly as if they mattered.
I just wasn't ready to let them go, yet.
Needed a course in ego from an unlikely teacher.
Rent and repaired, whole and perfect,
Shed light on my passion, my offering, my connection with All.
I am God's perfect child.
I have the potential to be powerful, but power only measured by how I lift others up. Measured by how I give.
What I have been given, I shall give.
And how I am loved, I shall love.
What I have been shown, though- I keep close to my heart. It is precious, and secret.
And beautiful.

Burningman 2011 Or, Why I Shaved My Head

So, I buzzed it GI-Jane style before Burningman last year after an "oops" by a friend who was helping me buzz it short-but-not-that-short... Anyway, it was awesome. I loved the super easy hairdo (yeah, no hairdo at all) last year, it kept me cool on hot days and I did fine with sunscreen and hankies. As expected, it also presented me with a wonderful challenge (and we all know how much I love those) to my vanity, and my sense of self-worth. I'm used to being relatively pretty, attractive, whatever. So, minus the hair, how pretty am I? Am I still attractive? Does it matter? I really loved the chance to kinda deconstruct my own vanity and re-examine my self-worth, and found that a lot of people gave me compliments on my eyes or my smile.
Enter this year's Burningman theme: "Rites of Passage."
Hella.
After a car accident and a divorce, I fell apart a bit this year. I have been looking forward to Burningman as a turning point, a ritual experience that would help me shed my skin a little and integrate the things I have learned over this rough year.
So, in my ridiculously dramatic, occasionally hippy-dippy style, I brought clippers with me to the playa and upon arriving, drove promptly to the trash fence at the point where it is furthest from Black Rock City, and buzzed my hair off. It was sunrise. It was perfect. (Yes, burners, I sat on a sheet and rolled it carefully so as to avoid making MOOP out of my hair.) I drove slowly back to camp, where the first friend I saw- Mister Jellyfish- greeted me with a whole-hearted playa hug, and told me I was beautiful.
A wild week ensued of traipsing about alone and with friends, watching many a sunrise, nursing many a hangover.
I lived almost total spontaniety, following my personal theme: "Yes". To all my friends that I didn't find, and made plans that I didn't follow through with - I'm sorry. I will make plans with you again soon. I really needed to go live in the moment there, and am really glad I did. The playa worked its magic, giving me incredible opportunities at every turn and I was able to take them again and again because I wasn't riding around looking for "Camp Green Pony."
I made mistakes.
I learned from them.
I danced the story of my life in front of a whale-shaped art car. I fell down. I got back up again.
I taught several hundred people the "Official Black Rock City 2011 Battle Cry" inspired by my roomie. Dad, you would have been so proud watching me jump up on the crowded bar at Jub Jub and Ashram Galactica to command the entire crowd with my silliness.
I giggled until my cheeks hurt.
I leaned hard on my wonderful friends. Some of them leaned back. We all held eachother up.
I cried hard, too.
I cried for my marriage. I wore my wedding gown on what would have been my 7th wedding anniversary and walked a pilgrimage to the Temple of Transition. There I hung a smiling photo from my wedding day. I cried for all the things we said to eachother, for all the things we didn't, for all the things I did wrong, and all the ways it could have been, but wasn't. I cried for the love I still have, and always will. I laid there in the dust in a pouf of purple, until I realized that I have had enough "poor me" and left that with the photo behind in the Temple, too.
I cried for the fear, the pain and uncertainty after wandering blind in the snow. I am no longer afraid, and no longer hurt. I have only the blessing of a renewed appreciation for life.
I cried for the people I have let down, lately. This includes myself. For the family I want to know better. For the person I was once, and will be again, but am not now...
I cried because my shower bag didn't work, too.
And then, on Sunday, just before the Temple burned, Mister Jellyfish saw me again and said "Hey Chels! Wanna shave our heads?"
What else could I say, but "Yes!"
I'm sorry we didn't get time to shave your head, Jelly. I needed to get to the Temple.
6 or 8 razors and an entire can of shaving cream later, my head smooth as a baby's butt in places, and sandpapery in others (he did a darn fine job with the tools at hand!) I went off into the playa twilight, and watched as beautiful cleansing flames lifted my grief, my joy, my prayers, and my commitment to myself into the sky; completing the ritual that was my Rite of Passage.
To all of you who love me, who bear witness to my transition, who have given me strength and wisdom and caring when I needed it, and a smack upside my bald little head when I needed it:
Thank you.
In my father's words, at my last rite of passage, that now inspire me in a new light:
I love you.
I have always loved you.
I will always love you.