3/30: Playing it small?

morning coffee spot two: ghettoasis trash waterfall ambience + coffee + books

"There is no passion to be found playing small- in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living...And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."         -Nelson Mandela, '93 Nobel Peace Prize Speech

Something I can thank Alanon for is the filling in of many of the gaps in my spirituality so that I have the faith to wait for answers to appear spontaneously, unfolding in perfect time.  Earlier today, an answer revealed itself regarding a relationship in my life which has changed.   It occurred to me at once how I often played it small in an attempt to keep the boat steady.  And isn't it usually about fear?  I read a quote recently about change being scary because we know what we're giving up, but we don't know what we're getting.  

A catalyst for my mini-realization seemed to be reading a truly beautiful, inspirational blog entry of a friend of mine:

"Hear ye, hear ye, I’ve resigned my sovereign reign over tiny kingdoms, no longer bound by my own self-imprisonment. With nothing left to numb me, got me  thinking/wondering – Am I even still the same me? I know this is true: I feel full and I fully feel."

I've denied the magnificence of the universe, the collective, infinite, source, God, many times to impose the will of my tiniest self, of my tiny kingdom.  Our smallest selves will take what we can get, because we have a sense of poverty.  Our infinite selves know that poverty is an illusion, and so is net loss.  Our infinite selves have permission to shine brightly and unapologetically, and to be the first one in the room to light up, if need be; isn't it true that that high vibration consciousness is contagious anyways?  "We give others permission to do the same."

Today, I am grateful for feeling full and fully feeling.

2/30: Here Comes The Sun

‎"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."
Henry David Thoreau

In a lot of ways, I feel like I've recently woken up (or am waking up) from a long, maybe two-decades long, waking sleep.

It was my winter. A time of dormancy.

Even in winter, the seeds hidden beneath the layers of snow and frozen ground are no shorter on potential, patiently waiting for their due time. Perfect, perfect due time. And everything's a paradox anyways, isn't it, when we consider the illusory nature of a linear experience. Nothing is liner. The seed and the grown tree take up the same space. Enlightenment and ignorance. Love and hate. Break it down: sameness.

I can sense the sun coming; but, it's always been here.

Today, I can feel it's warmth. Like, in a girly drink with an umbrella kinda way.

1/30: feelings aren't emergencies

my partner teacher's abacus

So, I took on a 30 day blogging challenge. It's day one, and I am under the weather, but I'm still showing up. I dig a blogging challenge, and it's been a long while since I've indulged in the social part of blogging. I remember the days of Creative Every Day and Self Portrait Challenge. Aw.

I've not been quite myself for a couple of weeks now. It really comes down to taking exceptional self-care; time to get back on the bandwagon. The Faye recipe for health and happiness seems to be Transcendental Meditation + daily exercise + sleep. Add a little green juice and a lot of gratitude. The meditation went first, and the gratitude went last. So, let's work backwards: I'll stop whining by way of raising my vibration to the tune of gratitude. And then so on.

I'm so grateful...

-That acceptance is the answer to all of my problems today- that I don't need to solve how I feel in this moment. For today, I can let it be, and I'm so glad I know that.

-That I finally get that feelings are not emergencies. I don't need to *do* anything besides nothing. Talk about liberation.

-That when I pray to be surrounded by full of light people, the universe just responds and responds and responds.

-To hang out with kids all day.

-To be surrounded in nature.

-For my connection with God, however heatheny my version of God might be to someone else. My connection with God has been absolutely transformed over the past year, especially the past two or three months. I'm dumbfounded.

-That abundance is abundant.

-The love is the only truth.

Lately, whenever I feel a sense of or a worry of poverty about something (afraid of not having enough or of losing what I have), I take that moment to reflect on how that particular thing (money, time, love) is already abundant in my life and to pray about more. I'm amazed by the power of prayer, and I kinda can't believe I'm saying that.

in the dew of little things

grateful for this view.

From The Prophet.

On Friendship: Because I'm feeling very blessed.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

grandpa penis?

Yup. Grandpa penis. Latest google search to find my blog. Things are really going down hill around here.

my new girlfriend: Lily Allen

my new boyfriend: Shakespeare

I'm watching the BBC "Shakespeare Retold" series on Netflix. Tonight, I watched the "Much Ado About Nothing" episode.

Much to the dismay of old, more romantically pragmatic Faye, these days I'm feeling secretly hopeless romantic-y. Whaa? AND I'm on a dating moratorium. For who knows how long. I have decided to date Shakespeare for a bit; because, I'm nerdy like that.

I was never the girl who dreamily imagined my wedding day or had lots of crushes on boys. I was terrified, since before I ever dated, of losing myself in relationships. For reals; I was the youngest cynic ever. 

Love. Love. Love. Who knows what's real and what isn't real out there; I'm not sure what I believe in these days, and I guess it's not time to know. "More will be revealed," I am often being told these days. Wisdom. And so maybe stuff like this only exists in literature, but I find the words of Beatrice hopeful for the kind of relationship I would secretly one day hope is for reals. Secretly. Maybe. Okay, yes. I duuuunnnno.

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."

- William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, 4.1

SONNET 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

                    Analysis (from Faye's lurve schema):

                I like the analysis below; however, it is my opinion/feeling that, whether over                    lifetimes or what not, the purpose behind a romantic relationship always becomes complete at some point (probably!).  So, I don't know if I could say that the only love that is true is also an ever fixed mark; unless we can say we're talking about love in general and not necessarily romantic love.  As hopeless romantic-y as I am, I don't know about forever.  It feels presumptuous (for me). 

 


Analysis (from Wikipedia):


The poet begins by stating he should not stand in the way of true love. Love cannot be true if it changes for any reason. Love is supposed to be constant, through any difficulties. In the sixth line, a nautical reference is made, alluding that love is much like the north star to sailors. Love should not fade with time; instead, true love lasts forever. When it says "Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom," Shakespeare is saying that love is timeless, and only death can do it part.
The last two lines employ a paradoxical conceit. If there is no such thing as true love, the poet says that neither has he ever written, nor has anyone ever experienced true love. However, because the poem has been written, it means the poet, ultimately, is right about true love.