Tag Archives: writing

This Exquisite Madness

People often say to me: “Lizzy, how can you possibly feel all of the stuff that you write about? Where does it come from? You can’t possibly process this much, channel this much, can you?” I smile. I look into their eyes and ask them in my mind: “What do you think? Do you not feel the worlds of movement in my writing? Do you not see the soul peering back at you when you catch my eye? Do you not grasp the immense, unfathomable, endless infinity of experience, emotion, and thought when you stand beside me?

But, here’s the secret: all of that is exactly what I feel when I look at you, when I stand next to you, when I peer into the soul of you. This exquisite madness, this thing that we’re all doing here together, as in, expanding mankind’s consciousness, is the only raison d’etre any of us really need and it’s our only important work. We are doing it together. It is happening.

So, yes. I really do feel everything that I write about. I came here “on” and there is no holding back, no tapping out, no turning this off. Admittedly, this madness scares people, people who are not ready for someone who is so awake. I’m not bragging when I say this, guys. This is simply the case. I’m awake. It’s acutely painful at times. It’s lonely at times. But, it’s worth it. And, you do this, too. You’ve gotten to your own version of “here”. Your exquisite madness is more lovely than mine, I venture.

So, for those of you wondering how it feels…

When I eat food, explosions of emotion erupt inside of me. I can feel the soul of the food entering my cells. I can feel the essence of how the food was grown, how it was handled, packaged, and shipped. I can sense the atoms of sunlight bursting on my tongue. I can hear the messages from the food, the acid in the soil, the alkalinity of the water that fell on the plants. I can feel my consciousness changing shape when I consume food, when I feed my lovely body. The plants hold ideas for us. I decipher them with my senses. I close my eyes when I eat often because the feelings are so full, so big, so voluminous. And, I’m giving myself over to the experience. I’m fully receiving the experience.

When I listen to music, the notes expand inside of my body, shake feelings from the deepest recesses, spin my head with such dizzying movement and joy. I cry alot when I listen to music but not from sadness, from fullness. The lyrics burst through me, become me, live inside of me: glowing, radiant, energized, and precise. Music stretches me out on my back, opens my limbs, changes the structure of my cells. I love laying on my yoga mat, blasting house music, and widening my entire body to it, my psyche taking off like a shot through the universe.

When I’m writing, words shake me at my desk, the phonemes strangle me with energy; it’s a ravishing experience to be taken like that, to yield to it, to let go. Words are not just words. Words are life essence. Words are the conveyance system for me. They are so important. You want me to fall in love with you? Use your words. Tell me what you feel inside; go there, find the emotion, locate it inside of you, tell me where it is. Tell me how it is to be in your body, to stand on a mountain, to be seeing creation, to be pulling life through you. I’ll love you forever. And ever.

unsplash_bird

Lovely art, compliments of lovely unsplash; check ’em: https://unsplash.com/

When I touch his hand, my body opens, drops, undulates like a flag in high winds, receiving, pulling in, and emptying out. I feel his energy crossing, entering my veins, filling my insides, living inside of me, in all parts of me. When I look into his eyes, my whole body vanishes and I’m suspended there for a millisecond, floating out to edges of the universe, holding the beam of energy between us, riding that wave, feeling that spark, that atomic connection crossing the distances between us, over and over. When I merely think of him, my cells jump up and dilate, tasting all of the moments that have transpired between us, the words, the sentences, the laughter, the love, reliving everything, drawing it all in, holding it, teasing apart the meanings. And, there is sooooo much meaning between us.

Yes, this is real, people. This is what it means to be fully awake. This is how it feels to accept what comes, to enter the garden of the self, to know that all of my experiences have been drawn to me, by me, for a reason. Each moment, whether positive or negative, holding a gift in its hands for me. To live life fully awake, means, at bottom, to demonstrate a willingness to be vulnerable, a willingness to search for personal answers, to open your rib cage and let life trifle with your innards, to look inside of the psyche, hold what’s there, ponder the self, and above all, to be honest about the self, regardless of how messy or real or uncomfortable.

It takes courage to do this work, to lower one’s defenses, to head out toward an unknown horizon, and stay this open, but in the process, we see colors, feel feelings, have thoughts, and taste experiences that we would not have otherwise had and we grow profusely in the process. Yes, it’s acutely unnerving at times; it’s scary at times. I have been punished, rejected, ridiculed, hurt, and misunderstood in life because of my open, full-feeling nature, but it hasn’t stopped me; no one has dimmed my light and no one ever will. This is how it feels to channel the madness of sages and saints and shamans. This is how it feels to be “on”. Come with me. You know this road. You’ve stood on this bridge. You built this tower. Come stand beside me.

Body Poetry is Craaazy Cool!

Lately, I’ve been writing what I call Body Poetry and it’s pretty cool. What is Body Poetry?  It’s poetry that bubbles up from the body consciousness to the mind, not the other way around as is typical with writing poems.

This is how I do it. I sit for a few minutes, close my eyes, breathe deeply into my core, and ask my body to give me sensations, feelings, or words. I invite my body to talk with me. It takes a long time for me to center and still myself long enough to hear, really hear my body, and not trample what I’m receiving with my mind. But, I’m getting better at “hearing” my body with practice. Sometimes I get physical sensations in a particular area. I then zero in on that area and ask “What do you want to say to me? I’m listening.”

The first few things that came through me were really odd, like stream-of-consciousness stuff that seemed to have little coherence or meaning to my current circumstances; here’s an example of something that recently came from the area of my chest and ribs:

yellow curl
heart-scape sealed
grab air
nothing
float
closed

My heart said these things, or “breathed” these words to me as I meditated. I had to wait a while for the words to come up from my body and settle softly in my mind. It’s hard to describe what’s actually happening when I do this, but the words flit through me really fast from way deep in my body. I didn’t understand the meaning of the words that first came through me, but I made sure to hold them, welcome them, feel each one, and live there inside of them for a few minutes. Then, when I traced the words back down into my body, they were crowding my heart area and their meaning became clear. I realized that I had been guarding my heart toward someone because I was recently offended by them. At the time, my mind had quickly and dismissively characterized the whole episode as “their problem”, but when I held the feelings and traced them deeper, I found that my heart was actually still stunned and a bit sore from the exchange between us.

So, my heart’s message was one of curling inward, yellowing, and sealing off. In looking for a connection with the other person and getting nothing in return, my heart then went away with a residue of pain and carried this pain until I asked it to tell me what was going on. And, when I held the words and asked where they were from, the person’s image loomed up in my mind and my heart constricted. Ah-ha! To get this message from my heart was profound. To see that my heart has its own code, it’s own language, and its own presence, aside from the rest of me, was so moving. And, it’s only continuing to deepen as I continue to do this kind of work.

So, I’ve been practicing this a little each day. I can tell you this: My belly wants to and likes to speak. My belly often speaks of force, strength, will, and drive. It often holds a simmering impatience and irritation. But, staying with the static from my belly longer, reveals something else inside all of that bluster and bravado; there’s a supple tenderness, a wish to protect, a yearning to be really seen and considered and loved. And, oh, my Goddess, my belly loves to be touched! She asks for it all of the time. 🙂

Anyway, I’ve found that the loudest feelings are often covering up my more gentle ones; the loud stuff is masking my vulnerability. It makes sense, but until I actually “lived there” with a deep concentration, I was missing all of this.

I have a particular person in my life, whom I adore and who is energetically in my body alot. This person gives me unending pleasure to ponder, sift, feel, and hold inside. When I dial in and ask for belly emotion, his face sometimes looms up inside of my mind, and then I feel such body joy, such pointed awareness of his physicality, his “essence”.  I get chills and radiating blue electricity inside my core and can actually feel my Chi radiating outward; it’s so pleasing. He’s incredibly tangible and physical for me. So, with the help of my belly (and some attention from my mind also), I wrote this poem:

Wanting to gently pull from youjournal_pages
a confession
softly uttered
in the stillness

of
a never-ending night

the barely audible
but steady
timbre of your voice
carrying the weight
of a thousand years
inside it
carrying me open
and down into your
body
as you bare
who you are
at that moment
in the darkness
and use your
missives
to ease the
latches of
my core places
open and
loosen points of
light
into the eaves
where they breathe
and blink above us
like night on
the mountain
whispering
your name
through me
over and over.

This is my belly wanting deep recognition, a confession that he feels as much as I do; it’s a sweet, soft, and pure recognition of the fact that he and I have known each other before now; it’s a longing to hear his words about that experience, our experiences together, then and now. As he speaks, my body opens and becomes his body; parts of me that are usually hidden are gently unlatched and the light of those energies is freed into the corners and eaves of the room where they blink like stars in the night, on the mountain, which has its own messages and mantra. It’s about trusting that this person, whom I’ve let into my core is gentle enough and reverent enough to know what a big deal it is for me to have him there. Few people make it into my core, so this is a significant shift in my energy paradigm. To be honest, it scares the hell out of me to have someone so inside of me like this, so deep, and so prevalent, but my belly largely dictated this reality, so I’m going with it. I’m holding the energy despite my fear.

I think I wrote about this before, but some years ago, I had the pleasure of talking with a psychic that could receive messages from a person’s body parts. She told me that my left knee was unhappy about some of the things I had been saying about it to other people. I was stunned at first and then incredibly apologetic. I begged my knee to forgive me. I simply didn’t know that the body listens to us so intently and never regarded the body as having its own code, it’s own consciousness, its own “life” outside of me, the soul and psyche operating it. Well, I learned such a valuable lesson that day. The lesson has obviously stayed with me. The body poetry work that I’m doing now is an extension of that work from so many years ago. It’s delicious.

Today. These are the words that came from my body:

Heart says: “blue haze quiet longing”

Belly says: “sifting
memories through layers
touching
edges of meaning
holding you
holding you and me”

My left knee says: “walk into future”
My lower back says: “need change need”

Interesting. So, so interesting. I have a feeling that big shifts are coming for me. My body is telling me in advance. I can feel it coming and I’m ready! What about you? You wanna try this? Please do and leave some comments about your experience; or, better yet, write a guest post. Would L<3ve that!

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. ❤ Love you, my friends.

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.”

Holy Poetry! I Won a Prize, Peeps!

Hi, BigBodyBeautiful friends!

Just a quick post to tell you some cool news. I, along with some other incredible poets, won a poetry prize. The contest, hosted by the amazing poetry site, The Poet’s Billow, held a Bermuda Triangle Poetry contest on the theme of disappearance.

My poem, Invisible Woman was selected as one of the prize winners. The poem is an observation (not a lament, mind you) of how when one becomes fat, one actually disappears. Check it out, be sure to read the other winning poets, and feel free to share your thoughts here. Oh, and the contributor’s page is pretty cool, too, because you can get biographical information on all of the writers.

Thank you so much, The Poet’s Billow. I’ve loved working with you cool, creative, and nurturing peeps. Please support these guys, readers. They do so much for the poetry community. ❤

Pressed Freshly and Freshly Pressed!

It’s HAPPENED! I recently learned that my last post, Brushing My Mustache, was Freshly Pressed. Who knew that my fledgling mustache, FURdinand, would resonate so much with others and bring people such mirth and delight? Thank you all for sharing in my journey to crone-dom. 😉

This is so much fun!

THANK you very, very much, WordPress fairies for dusting me with your magic fairy dust and bestowing upon me this great, great honor. I’m entirely delighted and very happy to be connecting with new readers and gaining this exposure. I heartily welcome all of you to BigBodyBeautiful and hope that I do an excellent job of keeping you entertained, intrigued, and thinking.

All of you grace my blog and life with such feeling, intelligence, wisdom, and light. I remain your humble, devoted, body-loving friend.

freshly_pressed