This week I had an experience in my personal life that required me to use the skills and resources I personally learned in group access and it felt POWERFUL.
I found myself in a situation with my HORRIBLE ASSHOLE OF A BOSS at work where there was a lot of unnecessary and misplaced anger, aggression and blame coming towards me in a disrespectful way. In a few instances (and always in the past) I would receive that and take it personally, feeling shameful, bad, and small. But, the second time it happened this week, I realized that I did not deserve it and that I wanted to do something about that. I realized that this dynamic I have oft found myself in the authoritative, angry, belittling man figure vs. me, was representing my relationship with my father. And the way that I had dealt with it in the past was no longer acceptable to me. I noticed the anger arise in me and that anger helped me move into action. I wrote my boss a letter briefly sharing how his behavior had made me feel and that I did not appreciate that. It was difficult to write that and I had to consult with people to make sure it was even something I was “allowed” to do which is crazy but real.
And DAMN, it felt so good to make a boundary like that for myself. The letter was not received well and he continued to call me into a meeting and berate me, condescendingly, defensively lecturing me. BUT THAT IS ALL ON HIM. I was so proud of the way I handled it all. I was able to sit there and receive all of his misguided negativity calmly, without getting reactive and without taking it as personally as I would normally. It felt good to stay grounded within myself. I realized that I would not have been able to do that without the experience of group access. Can you believe it?! It has helped me sit in conflict a bit more fearlessly, has helped expand my container for charged emotions, and has helped me distinguish a bit more clearly what is mine and what is not and how to create appropriate boundaries from that place. It was so very difficult and uncomfortable but so worth it and right. I am grateful to my experiences in group access for this life moment. THANKS JESSICA AND SUNI?! Maybe not quite. But eheheh??!?!?
Sitting at the rose garden
you must be able tell a lot about a person
By observing the way they are with a flower.
how they observe it
How they smell it
Do they make a face? Can you see a shift in their eyes? Do they pause and linger? or move quickly onto the next flower? How long do they want/choose/allow themselves to linger? Is there a joy, a melancholy, a sadness in their eyes?
Or do they rush past the flower, not even acknowledging its presence?
These are some of my thoughts as I sit at the rose garden.
Literary Review of Little Red Riding Hood, by Dina Percia.
Recently, I had the great displeasure of re-reading Little Red Riding Hood with the opportunity to offer some thoughts of the classic piece. When receiving this assignment, I could not have been more miserable…until I read the book and proceeded to gauge out my eyes.
Please do not get me wrong, this has nothing to do with the simplicity of the book, i.e. it’s written for children. After re-reading this story I have to say: this story is NOT for children. I repeat: Do not think about reading this to your children unless you want to raise frightened, paranoid, misogynist children who get picked-up by every weird pedophile with a van and then feel like it’s their fault when they shamefully become pregnant with the wolf/pedophile’s baby and decide to keep it because you shouldn’t have been so curious and such a slut.
I’ve digressed. But have I? Let’s get to it. This book is so misogynistic, so anti-feminist that it makes me want to smear my period blood on anyone who attempts to argue this with me. The bones of this classic story consists of a young girl who, upon deciding to follow her curious nature and explore the world (which should be encouraged of children), she instead meets a PEDOPHILE (try to argue with me about this. TRY.) who preys on her youthful wonder, innocence, curiosity and COMPASSION to care for her ill grandmother. Then that pedophile trickster rapes this young girls GRANDMOTHER (wowza) and then manipulates her by pretending to be her grandmother by wearing her skin a la Silence of the Lambs and then proceeds to rape her. Side note: Can we talk about the fact that Red actually fell for that stunt? Red is clearly much more intelligent, quick-witted and intuitive to fall for that. Offensive to young, smart, CARING girls everywhere.
In summary, Little Red Riding Hood is an atrocious, anti-feminist literary NIGHTMARE. Come at me bro, i have my little red blood waiting.
Worst thing ever. It is so difficult to wait. Waiting asks you to sit comfortably in the space of the unknown and just CHILL. Without knowing what is going to happen: good, bad, up, down, blah or bleh. As I write this I am waiting on the phone…been back and forth on hold with Microsoft for my boss for a good 45 minutes. Waiting can be excruciating. It requires so much patience, faith, and willingness to accept not knowing ANYTHING and then being OKAY with it. Oye!
Oliver the poodle traised into the joint, with his luscious apricot fur coat draping over his delicate shoulders. He was exhausted from a long day of ripping apart his rope toy and napping for hours on end. But it was HIS time now; time to escape from his humdrum existence and maybe, if he’s lucky, get some tail.
It was about a month ago when Oliver first spotted him; that pit bull with the sweetest glow in his eye and an ass that could make a poodle crazay. Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off of him, but was too shy to make a move. He swore every day since then that the next time he saw that sexy bull, he’ll be sure to make him his, no excuses.
Tonight must be Oliver’s lucky night because as he walked into that bar, who does he see but that fine piece of Bull.
This was his chance. Oliver quickly downs his martini (dirty, of course) and approaches the pit. “Hi, I’m Oliver. With all due respect, I just have to say you are the hottest dawg I’ve ever seen. Mind if I sniff your asshole?”
He takes a good long sniff and soaks it in.
Lets get to business: I’m a bottom. You appear to be a top. They chopped off my balls, but I know a piece when I see one. I only have 10 more minutes before I need to get back home, so you want to $uck me in the alley?”
As Oliver is propositioning him the pit bull licks his lips, picturing what it would be like to absolutely destroy this poodle. I mean like, literally rip him a new asshole. After about 3 seconds he replies, “Sure. But you gotta let me call you Suzy.”
“whatever you need.”
the two boys retreat to the back alley where the pit proceeds to rip Oliver a new asshole.
Oh. OHHHHHHHHH YES.
So many stand out (when Tim Robbins escapes in Shawshank Redemption, the ending of American Beauty, when Harry Potter faces Voldemort, the “interview” scene with Philip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin in The Master, the list goes on…) but the first moment that came to my mind from one of my favorite movies and favorite performances is the moment in the film Philadelphia when a very near death Tom Hanks is alone and puts on a record of an epic aria from some famous opera. He is so present and moved and full of life and emotion as he travels the terrain of the aria. It is one of the most brilliant, captivating and sad moments in film and I LOVE IT SO MUCH.
When I recently told someone, in so many words, to FUCK OFF.
That I left the Catholic Church.
That I no longer communicate with two people who I once considered my “best friends” for almost 14 years.
That I strongly disagreed with someone who I have not had a conflict with yet in group access (but I am sorry for acting passive-aggressively).
When I grew away from my mother and brothers in order to have space to process, grow, individuate and forgive.
Nature. The change of seasons. An infant/toddler discovering the world. Dance. Being witnessed by another. Love.
OOOOOOOOOoooo, this can go so many which ways.
I fight life:
With my mind.
By trying to predict future outcomes.
By becoming attached to EVERYTHING.
When I feel depressed.
When I do not move my body enough.
When I do not accept.
When I fail to recognize the inherent quality of its impermanence.
By not living fully.
Because I am afraid for it to end.