backing away from FB

It's not that I really want to die.
There's an entitled princess inside who doesn't want to experience any discomfort, inconvenience, sadness or disappointment who will come up with some of the darkest ways to avoid feelings.
I try not to listen to her so much, her whinging is repetitious and not very original.
Sometimes I think she's just pissed because she used to have so much power.
These days when she's kicking up a fuss, I stand in front of the mirror or get on the scale, or go where I will be offered a senior discount without ID.
Face it honey, as a princess?  You're a flop.
Then maybe I'll envy all the princesses out there who got away with it; who went on from dewy youth to become queens.
These are the women with shiny, flowing gray hair, no jowls, just some picturesque laugh lines and a gently used neck, straight spine, narrow torso and most importantly, unswollen ankles.
These are the women who if they color their hair, keep up with it, either have a becoming hairstyle or have aged into their 1960's hair without irony.
These are women who know not to wear too much makeup, just enough.
They laugh at a suitable volume.
The cat doesn't run for cover when they sneeze.
They don't sneeze.
They don't sprawl around in flannel or wear crocs.
They do not look silly in pearls.
They found good husbands when good husbands were to be found and when they were flexible enough to become good wives.
They give back to their communities and most people don't cross the street when they see one of them coming the other way.
But I am the one who crosses the street -
and they are relieved.

Still Life With Chickens

I don't know what makes me think I can go anywhere.
It is a good thing that truth isn't limited by geography, or awakening by climate, or finding the inner teacher by going through the air in a metal tube, because one thing that I discovered is that after 5 days of not being in control of what food I get, my system went way out of balance.  I slept.  a lot. Lethargy took over in a big way, and my whole body turned into cement once again.  Just when I think the Lyme symptoms are under control, or better yet, have gone away,  a slip in vigilance reminds me that they have not.
Back to being up all night, sleeping during the day, unable to focus or tolerate stress, blah, blah, blah. I remembered that one thing that really helped me to avoid getting poisoned by ticks was keeping chickens.
I said to my spirit companion, "If I go to the dump today and find an acceptable [and free] place to house chickens until I can put together a real coop, I'll get chickens again.
6 new hens are hanging out in my yard now, and I have set the alarm.  This way, I will get up and take care of some people who can't take care of themselves and who also don't speak English.
I missed hearing their conversations, I missed their cheerful little personalities and their business like lack of sense of humor.  It is kind of like having a yard full of frilly town clerks.

after yoga

I realize that the last post was about silence, and then I said nothing for months.  Not that I had nothing to say, just nothing that seemed to matter, and that has not changed.  It's clear, I write this for myself, to hear my own voice.  As a child I was accused of liking the sound of my own voice.  It was brought forward as though it needed to be corrected.  I was supposed to like the sound of someone else's voice maybe?  The sound of silence perhaps, which I have mostly experienced as deafening.
Hoping to bring some friendlier noise into the silence, or actual silence, I embarked on a Yoga teacher training, with no clear end in mind.  This was all in all a good thing, but because there is the word bitch in the title of these posts, I have things I see that again need adjusting.
In the movement from one pose to another, a voice of self competition comes up, pushing past the idea of doing my best, to not doing enough.  Comparing what ashtanga was like for me 15 years ago before I slid down the long dark tube of depression, to what it is now, sometimes feeling as though I am hanging by my fingers over an abyss of decay and rigidity.
Somehow afterwards, I feel full of light and clarity.  The edges of peace are continually assailed by the stories that the ego loves to tell.
One improvement is that I don't feel as though that monologue is my ego specifically, if it is, he [it has a man's voice] is very unoriginal, because everyone who will talk about it is being read the same list of shortcomings.  It isn't enough to bond with anyone in a community of people who are all tormented by the same noise, but instead to look for the ways in which each person is seeking liberation.  It was my first ever experience in what is turning out to be kind of a long life [not complaining about that] of being in a group of people who all, or mostly seemed to want the same kind of improvement.
Not sad about it, but wondering why the hold up?
Well, desire, obviously, craving, attachment, and after all, those things are still alive and well; just trying not to let them steer the vehicle.  [good luck with that] the noise says.
So. still old, stiff, craving chocolate, wishing I were young enough to fall in love, dreaming I can fly, waking up to find I can't.

All Things Arise In Silence

If I could go back in time and speak to my younger self, any point along the way, but the important crossroads are the ones that come to mind, I would bring a list with me.  First on that list might be that judgmental reactions reveal a lack of kindness and curiosity.  What is there to fear, I might ask.  Chances are, knowing me, and how much like everyone else I was and am, I would not have listened.  I remind myself of the story about the man who was caught in a flood, and when the water came up to his front door, the Red Cross came by to help him evacuate, but he didn't want to abandon his house, so he told the rescuers that he was a Man of Faith, and knew that God would save him.
When the water had come up to his windows, some people in a boat came by and offered him a way to safety, but he told them that he was a Man of Faith, and felt sure that God would not let him drown. Then the water engulfed his house and he had to climb up on the roof.  A helicopter came by and dropped a ladder for him to climb to safety, but he shouted that he was a Man of Faith and God would not let him drown.  As the helicopter flew out of sight, the waters rose further, breaking up his house and swirling him off into the flood.  Shortly thereafter, he stood before the gates of heaven, dripping wet and in a very bad mood.  "I am a Man of Faith" he said.  "All my life I have waited on the Lord and put my complete trust in Him, why did he not save me?"  Rhadamanthus put down his pen for a moment, looked up and said" Well, we sent you a rescue squad, a boat and a helicopter, what more did you want?"
Every day, probably, all my life certainly, I have been sending away helicopters and then being angry with the results.  I can't pass this on to my former self, and any parents out there know how much point there is in passing it on to offspring.  But now, in this moment, I can know that love is available in some form, every minute; that even the things that look like aggression are calls for love.  That the distortions of life might be only kindling for karma, the only creative force is love. Love is the only healer, the only teacher, love is all there is.