Put the Needle In

I’m an addict. I freely admit it. I’ve had this problem for a very long time. Um, lifetimes. I’ve struggled and battled with a pervasive, all-encompassing urge, a hot need inside of me that feels larger than the sun.  When I rest my head, it’s there whispering through me, easing me to sleep, asking me to give myself over to it. When I wake up, it’s there softly chanting in my blood, singing from the edges of my consciousness, pulling me into another day of deep feeling and longing.

Every face I peer into tells me about this desire of mine. I see it in other people’s eyes, I can taste it from the air around them. Every time I stop for a few moments, the tingle of this thing washes through my body, stirs my mind. It’s an invocation, an asking from my highest self. It’s a relentless voice at the core of me, asking…asking.

I’ve tried (unsuccessfully) to push past it, brush it aside, ignore its plea, stay out of its way, but it always catches me. It always catches up. I’ve gone into each living day full of hope that I can beat it, that I will not make the same choices, but I know that I won’t beat it. I will choose this over and over. I won’t beat this thing. Even when I rail to the heavens and ask why I came back here to this place, I know that I’ll succumb. Again. I always do.

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What is this addiction of mine? Living. Despite the pain it causes. Despite the heartbreak. Despite the loss. Despite the countless, exhausting, relentless, and charmingly beautiful experiences chronicled inside of my soul (Akashic records), I come back to this loathsome, but breathtaking planet over and over and over. I’m addicted to being in a body. I’m addicted to life. I’m addicted to feelings and thoughts and other people. And, like all addictions, there are all kinds of results.

Now, before you roast me for being cavalier about addiction, which I assure you, I’m not being, and have had my struggles with (work addiction, anyone?), hear me out. In my belief system, we humans plan lots and lots of details about each life we enter into before we get here. We sit in a classroom of sorts, with our guides, and choose core parameters around each life and the lessons on which we hope to work for each incarnation. We do not plan down to the minutia, but we place high-level markers in our path for specific lessons that we want to “advance” or “master” in a particular lifetime. We place agreements with other souls, in our plan, so that these people will come into our path and work with us on advancing. Yes, we make agreements with the so-called “good” people and the “bad”. We invite all of it.

We control lots of aspects of living before we live yet again. And, then we come in, hit some of the markers, live the experiences, and do our work of advancing as souls. None of life experience is “bad”. None of the stuff we do is “wrong”, nor for that matter is any of it “right”; it just is. We come in, live the plan (roughly) or deviate from it wildly, in some cases, and gain from it all. Our consciousness expands and grows and ripens with each experience. All of life experience serves us on a soul level. And, we ask for all of it, even the bad stuff.

When we are out of bodies, it all makes perfect sense, this pain, this torture, life’s hardships, and the joys. When we are in bodies and solely focusing from within an incarnation, however, life sucks so bad at times, we hate ourselves and every living thing on the planet. We struggle. We are stunned, injured, happy, depressed, angry, joyous, sad. Life hurts. Bad. Life is also excruciatingly gorgeous, heady, and beautiful. But, it hurts more than it is beautiful, in my experiences.

So, how does all of this relate to addiction? Ha, glad you asked. I, my friends, am addicted to life. I’m addicted to coming in here and going another round. I’m a classic “A-type-overachiever-perfectionist.” And, I know that these traits are core to my soul signature like I know that I have a physical face. I know that I choose really difficult lifetimes so I can advance “faster” but in so doing, I make myself pretty damn miserable. Alot. For, like, lifetimes.

How do I know this? My guides gave me the entire “download” one day as I sat talking about life lessons and reincarnation with my bestie. Behind my eyes, without warning, I saw a vision of me, an amorphous blob of soul sitting at a table, pouring over my records, and saying with a childlike exuberance:

“Oooo…ooo! I know! I’ll come in and be abused. YES! That’s what I’ll do. My mother will be a monster and she’ll help me work on trust, so let’s mark that down. I’ll then have incest experiences with a psychotic/sociopathic stepfather and my narcissistic brother and then, oooo!! I’ll be raped at age 12 and then go anorexic! Yes. THEN! I’ll have an abusive first husband and after that, I’ll get really fat and be workaholic and try to work myself to death at a young age…”

Yep, the entire thing played out for me in my third eye in a hot flash. I knew it was the truth because I heavily edit my “psychic ability” and ordinarily do not let things like this through. But, it busted through my firewall like nobody’s business. I “saw it” all before I could clamp down on it. And, then, I started laughing so hard because in that moment, I got total clarity. That moment led to others in which I was able to then see the decisions that I made and take utter responsibility for my path, my pain, my problems, my choices. It also led me to deeper understanding of my wiring, in this life and many, many others.

So, here’s the truth: I load up my plate with all kinds of pain and hardship before I get here and then when I get here, I bitch about the choices that I made in my planning. I bitch about how my life if going because it hurts. It’s true. I get here and forget that I’m eternal. I get here and I forget that all of “life” is an illusion and the real stuff is what happens outside of life (and in the soul). Life is just a play that is playing out on a stage of my own creation and I can change every aspect of it or none of it. I get here and forget that no matter what choices I make, I am loved beyond measure. We all are, by the way. I get here and complain that “life is too hard” or “my body hurts too much” or “that person is disrespectful” or, “why do I keep coming back here” or a real biggie for me, “I can’t advance fast enough”.

Shit, man. I am so good at bellyaching. And, this complaining that I do keeps me in victim mode. So, the first few steps in changing this pattern is to accept that I’m addicted to living, embrace that I’m getting what I need from my lifetimes, no matter how challenging they are, and writing this blog post to tell on myself. I want to accept that I am a spiritual being having physical experiences and that I will reincarnate, out of choice, not force. I want to stop pushing against my spirit guides, stop threatening them for sending me back here. I want to stop pushing against my psychic ability, my true nature. I want to embrace my lives and extract every ounce of precious learning that I can and I want to be okay with the pain. Truly okay with it.

In 2012, I got really, really sick: lung embolisms, a huge clot in my right leg (due to birth control pills), severe anemia, gallbladder loss, an ablation to my uterus, surgery for a filter to be placed in my vena cava, then an unsuccessful surgery to remove the filter seven weeks later (on and on). It was a crazy few months. I think part of that journey was a planned “way out” for me, a window that I worked in prior to getting here where I could “pop out” if I wanted to. Part of me didn’t want to face the rest of my work, even more work, the hard stuff that I’m now actively doing. But, I chose to stay. I’m still here.

I’m not afraid of dying. I mean, I have moments where it kinda freaks me out, but I have a strong sense that I’ve lived before and I’ll live again. I have this sense because I’m so close to the veil between here and there. I’m so close to the Other Side that “death” doesn’t scare me. What scares me is reincarnating again and going through this crap again and being in physical and emotional pain again.

A psychologist friend of mine, Robert, said to me recently (when I was… yes, you guessed it, bitching) “You’ll stop incarnating when you no longer care that you do”. Ha! Son of a… Ahhhh…the sweet truth, in a tidy little package of delicate little words, from a guru. God, how I love that man. Anyway, yes. he’s right. When I embrace my addiction to living, have gotten everything I need from it, come back here just to serve others, and question not what creator sends me in to do, then and only then will I no longer come back and face ever-grueling, painful, but illuminating and precious life in a body.

So, from the bottom of my bottomless soul, I say to each of you: “Hi, I’m Elizabeth H. ‘Liz’ Casey, aka, BigLizzy, and I am an addict”.

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Got My Pigeon Back!

…sort of…as you can see from the following photos (that my hubby took of me in our cluttered studio and which inspired this impromptu post), I’m back to doing yoga every day and LOVING IT! Goddess, why did I ever stop? Oh, that’s right. Bulging disks, the holidays, working two jobs, life, stress, etc. Thaaaaat’s right.

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Well, body lovers, I wanted to share these photos with you to simply re-affirm that every triumph, no matter how small, is good to recognize, celebrate, and pause long enough to let it into one’s core. Every success causes us to rise in energy or effectiveness or joy or consciousness and it’s all worth acknowledging. When one rises, we all rise. I have really missed doing my favorite pose, pigeon (aka, Eka Pada Rajakapotasana), and after four weeks of daily practice, it felt like a good time to try it. Ahhhh…

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However, I have to be honest. At first, I balked at sharing these photos. Pigeon is not the most flattering pose. BUT, just as quickly, I realized that my entire blog encourages self-acceptance and pushing oneself to explore all of the nuances of feeling and behavior that results from the exploration. So, sharing these photos was what I very much must do, if for no other reason than to drill down on my discomfort, to short-circuit my ego, to live what I write on a deeper level (like when I shared the demodex photo with you some time ago). So, I forced myself to post these.

Is my pose perfect? By no means. Is the pose flattering? No, but yoga teaches us that acceptance is key. Breath is key. Trying is key. Staying present is key. Staying with the body is key. And, above all, accepting the journey, whatever it looks like. I get to accept that not every pose will be as deep as the day before. Not every pose will “look good”. Not every minute will you be successful at staying totally present in your asanas, but it’s okay. You might not be able to do pigeon or tree or cobra every day, but that’s okay, too. There is room for all facets, all phases, all expression. Just show up. Keep showing up for your body. Keep listening to your body. Keep loving your body.

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It’s funny, but when my hubby snapped these, I was actually deep in the process of praising my body and thanking her for letting me do what I was doing. I was simultaneously feeling the delicious difficulty of pigeon, reveling in the sweat tricking, and glorying in my body for being so strong and flexible and wonderful. I L<3ve this.

So, there it is. Me, deep in yoga at the end of my daily practice, and loving the process of getting over my ego’s fear of being “less than beautiful”, which is funny because I am beautiful, even in pigeon asana. :) What about you guys? Have you been celebrating the small triumphs? Have you praised your body today? Have you tried pigeon or any other pose that made you think and feel deeply? Talk to me. I live for it. :)

Guest Post: Pieces Lost & Found, Soul Retrieval

My darling friend, Susan, of the amazing Mariner to Mother blog has another tasty guest post for us. As you might remember, Susan has been actively and wonderfully healing the severe trauma she suffered in childhood at the hands of her caretakers. This time, she’s back to tell us about a fascinating and hugely healing practice that she recently underwent. Susan is such an inspiration. Please show her some love, here, guys for sharing more of her journey with us.

Susan

Pieces Lost and Found: Soul Retrieval Ceremony

As we grow up and go through life, things happen to us to cause us pain, discomfort, and trauma. These things can be big, like losing a parent when you still very much need them to be around. Or, they can seem smaller, like being so very proud that you dressed yourself and fancied up your hair all by yourself, when you were four, only to be met with disdain from your mother because you messed up your room in the process, leaving clothes all over the place. And, you ruined her best lipstick, wanting to be more like mom.

As life happens to us, little pieces of our soul can get left behind. The pure joy and love we have for ourselves as a wee one becomes hidden behind shadows of judgment. Have you ever asked a four-year old what she would change about herself? I saw a video recently where women of various ages were asked just that very question. All the adults talked about their bodies; things they didn’t like and wanted to change. But, when the young children were asked what they would change about themselves, many some said there was nothing to change. And, one imaginative child said they would add wings so they could fly. We are taught that we are defective; that there is something wrong with us.

Pretty soon our self-esteem is diminished. Our light becomes dull. And, by the time we reach adulthood, big chunks of who we really are have become blocked off from our consciousness. What healing work does, is to bring these bits and pieces back to us. At least, that’s how it feels. What it really does is uncover or unblock them from the rest of us, allowing us to actually be more of who we truly are.

I’ve been doing just this in a variety of ways for about the past five years, and have used different Energy Healing techniques to this end. Reiki, Matrix Energetics, unnamed energy healing often guided by intuition, and hypnotherapy are my most often used modalities.
Being curious about Native American methods, I recently went through a Soul Retrieval Ceremony. The idea of the ceremony is that a healer, in this case a Shamanic practitioner, creates a sacred space and invokes ancestors of the person wishing to be healed, to come forth and bring back pieces of the soul that have gone missing. During my ceremony, these pieces were brought back accompanied by a variety of birds and animals, who are symbolic.

It was a fascinating experience that began by having the space and all of the ceremony participants’ energy cleared and cleaned by using smoke from burning sage. This is called smudging. I talked with the Shamanic practitioner, answering a bunch of intake questions she had put together. I talked about my family and some of the dysfunctional dynamics that I grew up with, and about some relationships that I wish to change.

Once we got down to the brass tacks of the ceremony itself, I was lying down on the floor with my husband sitting by my head. The Shamanic practitioner lay right beside me, arms touching, and we also had a drummer drumming out a fast drum beat to assist the practitioner get into the meditative state. My job was to stay present. My husband’s job was to help me stay present and to “love the shit out of me, ” as he was directed by the practitioner.

The practitioner at this point had created a sacred space and called in ancestors to help us. Bit by bit, pieces of my soul were brought back. Love of life, love of nature, and love of self were accompanied by a monkey, a bear, and an elephant. There was a shift in one relationship in particular that I’ve been having some difficulty with, and time will tell how that will all work out. And, at one point, lots of light energy flowed through my entire back, affecting me down to the DNA level. The practitioner had a few tools that she used to usher my soul back into me and to cut energetic cords that are no longer beneficial for me. She had a rattle, a crystal shaped like a pyramid, and a polished piece of rose quartz. She had other tools, but these stand out in my mind.

Her work went on for about 30-40 minutes, and then she was done. With the end of the drumbeat, the practitioner told me what she experienced and what soul pieces came back to me. When all was said and done, we shared tea and I showed my appreciation by giving these wonderful, supportive people a few small gifts I’d picked out for each of them, as well as giving a gift of abundance ($) to the practitioner.

One of the things I’ve noticed after I do energy work, especially when big shifts are happening, is that I get very tired and need sleep. Much of the changing happens when I sleep. So, after the ceremony, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open that night until about 9 pm, when I finally crashed and slept.

Since the ceremony, one distinct thing I’m noticing is a shift in my chronic back pain. Because of severely herniating a disc in my low back about six years ago, I often have discomfort, especially when I lie flat on my back. There is increased comfort now.

Another thing that’s going on, although I am not able to recognize it yet for myself, is a gradual healing on the energetic level of things that have manifested at the physical level. I live with acid reflux and an underactive thyroid. Both of these existed energetically outside of my physical body before I felt physical symptoms. Now that I’m working on healing these at the energetic level (while taking medicine to support my body as long as it needs that support), at some point, my physical body will be healed and I won’t need these meds.

So, if I can’t “see” this happening, how do I know it is? I work with a woman who is a medical intuitive, who can see energy and who is able to actually see this happening. Awesome!

With regards to the challenging relationship, I feel more detached from this person who could quite easily set me off. I don’t interact with them very often, so it may take a long while to see just how things have changed there. But one thing I do know for sure is if you have a challenging relationship with a person, when you change you, it will definitely change the relationship. Letting go of old “hooks” that set you off, is a beautiful way to cherish yourself.

What I know for sure about soul retrieval, is that as I do this work and make shifts, I feel more and more like me. I carry less and less crap belonging to other people, because I realize that it isn’t mine to carry. And, I am feeling a deeper sense of peace in my heart. Recently, I defined peace as the ability to stand with people who are swirling dust devils of their own shit, while I stay centered.

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I don’t know about you guys, but I want to know more about this. So, I looked up a few resources on soul retrieval. Here’s some stuff to paw through:

  • The Foundation for Shamanic Studies web site
  • Sandra Ingerman’s web site on soul retrieval
  • An interesting article on soul retrieval by Sandra Ingerman (she’s everywhere, I tell ya)
  • Sandra’s book on the topic
  • Here’s a link to a really loving healing center in WA that Susan shared with me; they do Akashic Records work with people, which Susan tells me is basically another form of soul retrieval work
  • Here’s the practitioner with whom Susan worked on her soul retrieval ceremony

Closer Than Skin

You know. You do. I know that you know. You’ve been there. Right there. You’ve been to “the” place, the land of exaltation. Your body knows how to tread that narrow, but well-worn path through those particular woods very well. You could get there blindfolded if you had to. Yes, you’ve been there and you’d like to stay. We all want to stay, so we devote poems and songs and great works of art to this magic realm.

heartsWhat is this place? Being in love. You know: when you think of someone you love, and your whole body floods with such emotion and adrenaline that you feel hot, dizzy, weak. Your heart pounds when you think of them. You feel eager, excited, and happy when they are around and achingly lonely when they are not. Like, it’s actually physically painful not to be in their presence. Your body sits up and takes notice when that person enters the room. You are pointedly aware of their every move, where their eyes alight, how they hold their hands, the shape and heft of their body. You want nothing more than to pull that person close to you, look into their eyes, feel their skin, kiss them, and stay in that warm bubble of connection, that syrupy happiness forever.

Yeah, that place. The place we all love to visit. The location of primal, glorious, and flushing feeling. I love that place. My body loves that place. But (and there’s always a butt–hahhaha), we all get there alone and we remain there alone. *Sigh* One of the things that my body and I have been pondering all of our lives, but in particular, very deeply over the past few months, is the concept that we are each alone. Truly, inexorably, completely alone here on planet earth. Despite our connections with others, our abundant senses, our experiences, our feelings for other people, our great and not-so-great “loves”, we are isolated. We experience the circumstances of our lives and live with the effects of our decisions, alone.

No one else can share in our reality. No one else shares one ounce of our perception or even our sight. No one shares our synapses, ruminations, or emotions. Oh, to be sure, we can look at an object and agree to what it is, a car, a book, a table, but you perceive these things wholly differently than I do. We are totally unique in our perceptions of objects and our experiences of things. And, I have to tell you that this causes me some distress. I kinda hate it. More on that in a minute.

atomWe create reality by way of our consciousness, our thinking, and our corresponding actions. Literally. So, each of us is completely separate from others. We are in a bubble of our own creation, a reality of our own design and maintenance. Yes, our bubbles get close to each other and there is energy exchange (which happens all of the time); yes, we commingle and interact, but in that process, what we perceive of as touch is actually an illusion; it’s the sensation of not touching that we actually perceive. It’s a dream of connection, but on a subatomic level, there is no such thing as touching.

The charged electrons in your hand actually repel the inversely charged electrons in my hand. What we feel as touch is nothing more than a tiny spark of repelling energies that shove each other away (quite violently, actually) when they get close together. There is no real connection at all, other than the resultant expansion in our consciousness from the energy that we perceive of as touch and well, our ideas about the person with whom we “connected”. But, no touch actually occurs. Sad, I know.

In my pondering of this sad fact of being human, I realized (yeah, like, just this week) that this is why I’m writing the book that we’ve explored together in other posts and on which I’ve been slaving away for pretty-much ten years. As you, dear readers and friends might recall, a compelling thing happens to me. I’ve only experienced it a couple of times in my life (with people) and find that it happens much easier and more frequently with nature and animals. My term for it is “merging” and my book is a futuristic/SciFi novel about a telepathic race of people who do this practice of merging in pair bonding.

Merging is literally the feeling of exchanging energies with another being. In my book, however, the characters go much deeper with it. They actually swap bodies and physically experience what the other person, place, or thing perceives. Well, I’m now pretty sure that I’m writing the book as a way to slay that dragon who goes by the name of “I-am-alone”. Ah, so there it is. All of my psychology, laid out on the open Internet for all to see. Well, then. I might as well tell you the rest.

It bugs the living crap out of me that we are ultimately alone, that we have to do all of this perceiving and living and learning alone, in our isolated little consciousness bubbles, and that one man’s reality in no way, shape, or form resembles my own. I mean, I get that we feel love and exchange energy with the world around us and I deeply believe in “guides” who nurture us and help us from the Other Side while we are here in earth school just slugging it out. I get that we have some help and that our bodies are a huge boon to us in what we explore here, but ultimately all of our perceptions are our own and we are responsible for grooming them and learning from them.

I suffer from a deep existential loneliness and this “aloneness” is the root cause of it. What I know, I cannot teach (though I keep trying and trying and trying by way of my words, my blogs, my poems, my art, etc.). The fact that what I experience, my merging with others, my depth of feeling is really, really rare. I suffer because when I talk with others, tell them about what I think, people often look at me like I have a horn coming out of my head. I feel really alone here. I think about and say sh*t that few people seem to ponder and then, I’m left wondering where the rest of my tribe is. I wonder where my people are. I wonder why I chose a life where I walk around feeling so terribly alone.

And, I suspect, given how hard I work and how little time I have left, that the book, if I ever finish it, will be my magnum opus. It’s my attempt to beat this loneliness down. It’s a chance to explore what it would be like if there were more people here like me. Yes, it’s narcissistic. Every bit of art is a practice in narcissism. But, I *hope* that it serves others and helps them. I hope it gives something back to humanity.

I want to be closer than skin. I want to merge energies with others. I want to be open and heightened and feeling. Other people’s emotions do not scare me. I want to know what they feel and think about and ponder and learn. I want to experience what others experience, because it causes expansion and growth, feeling and thinking. I just want to know that one other person on this planet gets it, gets me, and that I get them, really get them. But, that’s impossible, isn’t it, my little love-nuggets? Nonetheless, I’m gonna keep trying until I don’t any more.

P.S. In case it wasn’t abundantly obvious, this is me, a bit down-in-the-dumps. Just thought you’d like to know that I am not always “sunshine” and “delirious happiness”; all sides are represented. I don’t come to the shores of sadness often, but when I do, I lug my boat up onto the sand and I camp for a few days. <3 Love you, my friends.

An Open Letter to Your Body

My friend,

How are you? No, how are you really? I’ve been thinking about you so much these past few weeks and wondering if you can feel me. I’ve been wondering if, as you move through your day, you can feel my thoughts coming to you and moving over your being. Can you feel me: thinking, studying you, holding you in my mind, heart, and psyche?

So, as I’ve thought about you and your life, your bearing, and abundant presence, it only makes sense to reach out, tell you what’s going on for me, and hope that you can receive my words in all of the tenderness and adoration with which they were created. This is my love letter to you, body. Please…please take this in as deeply as you can.

You must know that when I see you, spirit in form, such sweet emotion rises through me. I gasp at your beauty, your contours, your radiance. It’s like you are lit from a fire that radiates outward in all directions. It’s staggering. I can see the light from you. I feel the energy of you, how you move, and where you hold yourself in. I do.

I can see what you carry and how you process the emotions and thinking of your caretaker. You, body, do such a wonderful job of processing what your caretaker hands you and you rarely complain until it becomes too big for you to parse in a healthy manner. I also see that when you receive what you need, you do not hold grudges; you heal, readily and look forward to the next adventure. You do such a good job of being ready and counted upon; it just delights me. I admire what you do with so little.

Further, I can feel when you struggle with the icy hand of hurt or when you bask in joy’s warm laughter. I can feel when you suffer or celebrate. I really feel you. I sometimes think that you can feel me, too. And, that makes me smile, suck the moment down into my body, hold it there sweetly while it spreads to the furthest reaches of my physicality, opening layers, penetrating the center of my molecules, touching, holding. Such riotous joy inside because of you. You, my friend, inspire me beyond description. I’ve written poems about you and how it feels to look at you. I’ve written pages and pages about you in my novel. I simply cannot get enough of you, body. I want more. I want more.

It’s our lot in life, isn’t it? That, despite what people believe, we are all intimately tied together in energy. We are all connected in the ether. There is no separation between any of us. Bodies register each other, don’t they? They know things the mind can never know. They handle things the ego can never evaluate, appreciate, or understand. Bodies are the gateway to the spirit. You know this. And, despite people’s reluctance to take ownership of their feelings and behaviors, our bodies always do. You, dear friend, do. So, this letter is to tell you what I see and hopefully give you a little boost if you need it or a quick pat if you are doing well.

I see a hardworking body doing the best, the very best, that it can to teach, receive, heal, help, grow, process, and protect. I see you working so hard. I see you doing exactly what is asked of you through your caretaker’s attention, beliefs, and choices. I see you accepting and accepting and accepting despite being largely unaccepted. You never waiver. You are a true, true friend, a solid partner in your caretaker’s growth and you receive so little recognition for the role you play in the expansion of their consciousness. But, you do the work, day in and out, year after thankless year. Well, I thank you.

I honor and accept your shape, your heft, your bearing, your light, and your darkness. I will never turn away from you in disgust no matter what you manifest. You are beautiful and don’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise (including your caretaker). YOU ARE A MIRACLE of evolution, a masterful design, an inspiration. And, you are perfect. Please know your perfection because I see it every time I lay eyes on you and it makes me swoon.

Know that in me, you will always have the dearest friend. I love you, sweet body. I love you.

<3 BigLizzy

In a Famine, My A$$ Could Feed Me for Weeks

Make no mistake. My arse has a plethora of healing powers. Ask anyone who knows me. It’s a magic a$$. It’s an epic shelf of protection, the very source of my earthly powers. Ha!! I joke, but it’s literally a fact that due to my “largess” in the hindquarters region, I would outlive lots of people in a famine. I might even outlive the famine. Fat is a good thing. It nourishes, protects, heals, heats, and feeds. It’s necessary to life. We all have it.lizzys_tush

People often talk about the unhealthiness of being fat, but rarely do you see reports of the good that being a chunky-monkey can do for one in this world of ours. Well, I’m here to set the record straight (or, curvy as the case so clearly is for so many of us). Following are three pluses of being…well, plus.

one

Fat is actually healthy and being overweight leads to longer life for lots and lots of people. Being overweight is even cited as a boon for fertility, better skin, calmer dispositions, stronger bones, and sounder minds. Despite rampant reports that being fat equals automatic heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes, it’s simply not true for lots of people. Studies are coming out all of the time that disprove the “Fat is Always Bad” prejudice.

Unfortunately, what we have in this country is a media monster. This monster spreads misinformation so pervasively and so routinely that few people ever take the time to question, let alone challenge the assertions being made by these misinformed souls. One of the falsities that the media perpetuates is that being fat is universally bad or will lead to bad things down the road. Not true.

We all know that life is much more complex than soundbites and selling news would have us believe, isn’t it? There are way more nuances across the wide spectrum called human health than these media monsters portray. I encourage you all to dig a little deeper. Like anything in life, there are extremes at either end of a particular spectrum. And, unfortunately, these extremes are the most cited as, Du-Du-Dum! Evidence by the media monster.

But, most of us are in the middle somewhere and we know that “the middle” does not sell newspapers, television shows, or magazines. Yes, some people who are fat suffer from the results of that bodily state, but fat does not automatically equal unhealthy and sad, nor does thin automatically equal healthy and happy.

It takes all kinds of shapes, sizes, and experiences to be human and we all have a relevance to the human collective. Bodies are merely vehicles for the exploration of spirit. Your body is the way it is for a reason. If your body didn’t need to be fat or thin, it wouldn’t be. So. There. You’re free. Go forth in your new-found freedom, forget the size of your body, move into soul, find ways to be healthier every day, and be the bad-ass human you came here to be. We’re counting on you.

twoI’ve talked about this before in other posts, but being plus size is an invisibility cloak.  You can get away with alot of shi*t as a fat person. I test this all of the time and it always makes me laugh. As big as I am, I can get in and out of places without ever being seen. It’s the coolest phenomena. I literally walk right past people who, because of what I can only guess are their own prejudices and general insecurity about their body size, do not see me. And, this, my friends, comes in really, really handy. For example, when wanting to merely run into a store and grab something quick without a long, protracted discussion or “connection” with someone, being fat is awesome. It’s freedom. People don’t look at me. And, you know what, that’s okay. I actually like stealth mode.

No fighting to be seen. No more getting other people to validate me or even acknowledge my existence. I get to practice being enough for myself, break the dependency between myself and others, and push deeper into my own psyche, my own healing. It’s liberating.

So. If you’re fat, try to have some fun with it. Know that you are broadcasting an energy beam around the issue and if you look for disapproval in the world, you will find it. If you instead look for ways to validate yourself every day, eventually you will have self-esteem and you will manifest approval from the world in lots of ways. If you can, try to laugh as much as possible and know that other people do not matter one little eensy bit. It’s YOUR opinion that counts. Be stealth. And, giggle. Alot.

threeIf we are totally, totally honest with ourselves and we dig past the societal biases that we’ve maybe absorbed about fat, I bet more than a few of us would be very surprised to realize that we actually like a little cushioning versus bones or rock-hard muscle. Fat is very, very comforting. It’s silly; it jiggles and wiggles. It’s fun to grab and poke and handle. Fat is pleasing to us psychologically because it’s about nurturing; it’s about the mama, being held, being warm, and gently soothed. Fat is comfortable, encircling, engulfing, and just a delightful, never-ending softness. Fat definitely broadcasts a message of fertility, abundance, and pleasure.

This fat phobia of ours is a very recent cultural phenom. Up until the 1920s when the country was becoming enthralled with industry, being a bit fat was okay. Farm people were fatter. They needed to be to work the fields. Women were expected to be fat because they made babies. But, with the choke-hold of the industrial revolution, came the idolization of the “machine”, the “hard”, the “thin”, and along with it swept in the idolization of a thinner body type.

The thing is, world-wide, until modern times, fat has always been viewed as wealth, abundance, comfort, and something to celebrate. This fat phobia of ours is a modern construct. It’s time to be honest. If you don’t like fat, ask yourself why. Do a little digging around in your psyche. But, ask yourself if your ideas about body structure are truly your own or if you have absorbed the ideas from other people. Touch your fat and see what comes up for you. Journal about it. Ask and ask and ask. I bet you’ll be surprised by the journey. Oh, and READ THIS BOOK that I blogged about early on in the life of BBB. You gotta read this book; it will change your ideas about Fat. Guaranteed.

There are many more very real, life-affirming benefits of being fat, but ultimately, this blog is not advocating that people become fat. I’m advocating for the journey toward self-esteem, regardless of how you look or what your bodily conditions are. I’m advocating for self-acceptance because I want us, as a species, to accept others, expand our consciousness, and become healthy. I want us all to be well-fed, happy, and taking responsibility. I want us to own our power, be a force of good on this earth, and love. I want us to love. Even our fat.

 

A Body that’s Too #@&% Full!

A body that’s so full, the energy spills out in every direction and reaches the furthest points in the galaxy. A body, rife with such emotion, such movement it can barely contain it all, so she has to be bigger and more vigorous. A body that pushes words out and tries to convey, weigh, catalog, and identify, but feels lasting frustration with the endeavor because words can never capture what’s really happening inside. Words are mere nuances, shadows, ghosts of the depth and intensity that this body and consciousness experience.

How to tell you how it feels for me here, now, in this body, on this planet, in this life, in this moment? It’s nearly impossible. I have no proper conveyance system to help you understand, but for the expression in my eyes. If you want to know, you have to look into my face. Then, you will see it. You will get it. You will come away with a piece of the truth.

Sigh. I’ve been writing my novel again. Mostly because the emotional pressure has built up so much inside of me that I must write. I must get it out. I sit here and climb the purple walls in my office for a few days and then, I can’t take it anymore. My body is so #@&% full of feelings that I have to tap in, drain it off, release. Such is the anguish and the exaltation of the writer.

Some more of my crazy artwork

More of my tangle artwork

My protag is a fierce woman. She is a depressive. She is intense, strong, deep-feeling, ballsy. She merges with other people in a culture that stringently dictates how and when that should happen. She’s not unlike me. And, while I don’t want to write about myself (because I’m pretty sick of myself most of the time), I can’t help it. I’m all that I know.

The challenge for any novelist is to create a character so different from one’s self that that character lives outside of, eclipses the psyche that created it. I’m not there yet. All I can do for now is plumb the depths of my own being and spill it all out in the hopes that this character will someday emerge from my shadow and stand in her own light. I want her to be other than me. I want her to live.

So, lately, I’ve managed to write (on her behalf) some snippets that might almost be good. Tell me what you think.

“The depths that I swim frighten me. I go so, so deep. I live in that murky half-light, that blue-to-black space, that world between worlds. I live in a place without light. I breathe the sea.”

“His silence is either bad or worse. It almost never means goodness. It’s a cold stare, a closed hand. A dark room. It means consternation, tension, guilt. When he’s silent, I have no choice but to make up stories about his feelings (or lack thereof). I have no handhold, no beam of energy on which travel, no connection. His silence is a knife in my neck.”

“If only I were enough for myself. How different might my life be? Today, I can describe my life only in terms of what’s missing. So much is missing. What’s not here is what I carry into each strangled moment. The ache of loss. The dim blood-beat of loneliness. What’s not here smothers me. I feel like I’m drowning.”

“He lives and breathes from inside of me and while I don’t know exactly what it all means, if anything, I can say that to feel him so close, so immediate, so deeply but not be able to touch him is torture. It’s a yearning that never ceases. A gnawing, steady drag of feeling through me that never relents.”