At The Tipping Point

This Monday is my no excuses date for launching my website RoxytheRiveting. I’ve created my mission statement, linked my ‘contact me’ buttons, have my treatment room ready. Part of me thinks that I should wait for spring, when the weather is beautiful and everything is growing. Another part of me drives past the local up and coming meditation clinic and counts the cars that I believe are going in there day after day. That part of me knows that I’m waiting out of fear and that if I don’t launch now, I never will. 

I am the type of person that needs a catalyst. I prefer to commit and plan the rest later. I have been very trepidatious with this though because I know that stepping into this role will set my life into a direction that I won’t want to come back from. With each person that ends up in my room, on my table, beneath my hands, I will open parts of myself that I will not be able to close again. With each chant, meditation, energy session, I will throw open all the windows to my Soul and tear the door to my heart off of its hinges. 

I find a great amount of exhilaration and honor when people open up to me and it’s something that happens so naturally whether I know them or not. For myself on the other hand, I’m very reticent about my life. It contains so many sad stories and broken pieces that don’t really serve me anymore and yet they have defined me for so long. To not tell them seems like a betrayal to all the strength it took to get through them.

There are brief moments, under the right circumstances, when everything aligns just right that I talk deeply and vulnerably about myself. I usually don’t realize the moment’s presence until the very last second before my stories spill from my tongue. As soon as I speak, I want to run; not out of shame but because I don’t want to show all my cards, to anyone. Everything about me is known, just not all by one person. I kinda want you guys to have something to discuss when I die. 

Just kidding, or am I?

In reality, I struggle to be in any one person’s life; ask my beloved husband. I am like the hamadryads (tree nymphs), I have all the characteristics to draw people in but, am incapable of maintaining human love. I am ethereal and therefore cannot be held; a breeze that passes through you, leaving you changed and me lonely.  

The path I have chosen, I fear, will ground me more to this plane, leaving less of me floating on the wind and more of me firmly rooted. I am afraid to be so well planted that I will be unable to ever feel free again. 

What is truly keeping me moving forward is all the amazing people all will meet. Humans who need a touch of heaven, that desire a seed of knowledge they didn’t have before. I am excited to teach humans how to be more divine in their every day lives. In doing this I hope to find a balance between being an ever evolving spirit  and a grounded human female. The only way for me to do that I think is to lay myself out on the table; all my cards, all my broken pieces, all my healed parts. 

I want to inspire you to believe that it’s possible to make it to where I am. I hope to see many of you either along my path or as you embark upon your own. For those of you that have supported this seemingly lost nymph, thank you. To those that are curious, come check me out; let’s find your road less traveled together. For those that are unsure, don’t worry, you will find what you need when the time is right but, there’s only one way to discover whether that time is now or not.

Find me here.


Much ado about Insomnia

I’m awake again.

Have been for hours.

Pacing the floors inside my home, knowing just where to step to avoid causing too much noise to wake the children or the husband.

It’s in between these slices that I’m able to find some solace.

I envy Frida Khalo’s living arrangement; to have my own house right next to my husband’s where I can escape to paint or write or hula hoop or roller skate at 2 in the morning while I listen to music and meditate on how much I probably should be sleeping and all the many reasons that I can’t.

All couples should live next to each other or at the very least have separate sleeping and dressing quarters; it should be a standard built into every home. I dream of having a tiny house to travel with my family in for a few years or even a school bus but, in all those daydreams I still somehow find my own little pieces.

I truly miss the days of just waking up, fucking my beloved, then going to cook or smoke or hula hoop or play video games. Sex is like espresso for my insomnia; it gives me the energy to be twice as productive in half the time. Now if only I had a lovely someone to make food for me in a dainty apron so I could just throw on some headphones and hula hoop for 30 while I ponder my existence and how I got to this point and where I want to head now.

Being a adult is hard and this is definitely not how I imagined it for myself. I pictured myself, in my thirties, laying in a bed surrounded by lovers, in a home that was only mine when I wanted it. I want many of those; you call it home, I call it cache. I wanted to be like 007, “The name’s Bond, Vaga Bond.”

Instead, I’m in a bed surrounded by my children while my husband snores and bumps into my feet. This bed space intrusion though is something I swear by for sleeping survival as nursing momma. I want my insomnia to be mine, damn it! Not caused because of some crying baby that I have to go retrieve from another room, getting out of bed because I have to is miserable. Co-sleeping keeps me well rested, as much as I could be, for someone who doesn’t sleep.

On the nights when I can’t get an injection of vitamin C.U.M., I am left with the freedom to be creatively irresponsible. I can make a big mess by painting or neurotically organize my paint supplies. I can burn calories by hula hooping until I can’t stand or I can attempt to achieve the same results with the help of pussy petting and porn. I can meditate, ruminate, prognosticate, integrate, and try to acclimate to what my life is or bake cookies! These moments of freedom are better than getting to pee alone.

These moments also help satiate that itch that I get. The get up and go itch that causes me to want to sell it all and move to Northern California to someplace where I can see the ocean everyday preferably on a ship so I can pick up anchor and go to Alaska and New Zealand and Scotland and Egypt.

I often wonder where other people are during this time. Friends I used to call just to chat with about bullshit. People I could always count on being the places they’d always be. Living within walking distance of my high school home doesn’t help. Only heightens that “can’t wait until I get out” feeling.

Tonight, I want crunchy fall leaves, leather trench coats, to go coffee and hand rolled cigarettes. I want hand holding and cool night breezes. I want Bon fires that everyone knows the location to and knows to show up with wood and drinks. I want walks and talks that go on for hours. Goodbyes that end with a hug and greetings that open with a kiss.

I have instead settled for a nightcap, a short post, and walking around my home naked. And now I believe, I am finally ready for bed.

Ode for a Boy

My body is a temple
Going through transition
My Soul is preparing
For a real important mission
My muscles are all achy
My brain is a mess
I’m trying not to worry
Or cause myself to stress
There’s days I can’t eat
When all I do is sleep
I can’t be my own caretaker
And that causes me to weep
I’m growing a human within me
Who demands as much as I can give
I’m fighting for a bit of peace
As I help this Soul to live
My husband tries to care for me
But I don’t make it easy
Accepting care from others
Makes me all the more queasy
I can’t control my body temp
I switch from hot to cold
This is everything that I fear
About getting old
I try to find moments between the pain
To pause and take in the joy
And wish in a whisper beneath my breath
Please, make this one a boy.