Still Unfurling

I partied like it was 1999 in 1999.

And, I’ve partied like it was 1999 in other years too. Say from 1994 through, well, 2014.

This year, though, I thought it might be time to hang up my hat. You know, the sobriety and all. Plus, I’m 37. Perhaps the hat hanging is long overdue.

Nah.

Being stone cold sober did not stop me from getting all glittered up and hopping from seedy bar to friendly party. Did not stop me from swinging my hips to a live band or lifting my ginger ale (Hey, they had a bottle, I had a bottle. What’s the difference, right?) and whooping at midnight.

My lack of intoxication also, apparently, did not stop a very, ahem, interesting youngish man from humping the floor in front of me (there was music on, the gyration was just one in his arsenal of dance moves) and then propping himself on one unsteady knee and, in a sloshed and slurred voice, proposing to me. This was not the first time that a stranger has proposed to me, but this time it was for real. He insisted that it was anyway. For real. Woo hoo! 2015!

And, yes, I’m still single.

I’d love to tell you all about the rest of my New Year’s Eve—about happening upon a previous date that I’d hoped to avoid, about a friend pulling out her new Taser, about being thrown under the bus by a twenty-something when she claimed that I was her mother (what the hell?!?) and about being a really handy, dedicated, and exuberant DD—but you’ll just have to read my book which, I swear, will hit the shelves some time in my life time.

No, perhaps I should talk about what everyone talks about when the buzz has worn off and the headache has subsided. I’m going to talk about intentions and tattoos and sublimation and about how I’m trying to type this while doing cat-cows. (That’s yoga for being on all fours and stretching my back.)

While I don’t often consult horoscopes or meddle in astrology, as we barrel toward the Year of the Wood Ram/Sheep, this fire snake had to take a look see. The ram, with its beautifully divine spiraling horns, is gentle and calm, an inexorable force of peace, and a champion for the arts. Yippee! And, for the snake? (You know, those “strong, charismatic… bewitching and beguiling… wise and philosophical… notoriously good looking… experts in the art of seduction,” as is claimed by metaphysicalzone.com.) Apparently, this is going to be a better, but equally tough year.

Barring any real tragedy, being careful what I wish for, if being tough means being tested, I say “bring it on!” I feel so ready, more ready than ever, to tackle life. Or, at least, to tackle myself. Head on. Just a little me and a little more me in the ring.

As astrologyclub.com puts it: “It is believed that people born in the year of the snake hold a strange magical power inside them. Some even think that one of the greatest challenges for the natives of snake is learning how to deal with that inner strength.”

This year, my intention, my theme, my purpose, what have you, is to harness that strength.

I like to think I know what that looks like. I have all these little fantasies of me doing this and that and really glowing and thriving. (Yes, I meant glowing not growing, though there’s that too.) Yet, I realize that I have little control over what will be slung my way. Still, in the words of Pablo Picasso as was pointed out by my sister on Facebook: “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.”

My goal for 2015 is to work and let happen, happen.

I recently started, but did not finish, a post about my getting a new tattoo. I may still publish it, so I’ll leave out all the big, juicy spoilers. But… The tattoo is a fiddlehead, a young fern, just unfurling, just opening new leaves to the sunlight, the air, the universe. It’s a fractal, that golden spiral that appears in shells, weather patterns, galaxies, seed heads, DNA. It reminds me that there is something bigger than myself out there and it represents this stage in my journey, this being pushed to open up, as we are and always are, and of both my conscious and unconscious transformation.

I am planning yet another tattoo, a larger one, to remind me of my resilience and of my continual rebirth and that the death of an idea or a dream, a way of life or a former self is only another opportunity to flourish. It will also remind me of that ever present, dirty old man Bukowski who is always surfacing in my life and my writing for God knows what reasons and whose words I may have painted into my flesh.

Ha! Bukowsi!

In addition, two weeks ago, I attended an art therapy session in which I began, under the guidance of this fabulous woman, a transformative piece in which I wrote, painted, cut, and glued to create a representation of a soundtrack that no longer serves me. In a few days, I will be destroying that piece and, from the crumpled bits and ashes that are left, I will create something new. A current soundtrack. A pretty one.

In this session, aside from the India Ink and sewing patterns and deep, black scribbles, we talked about sublimation—“the diversion of the energy of a sexual or other biological impulse from its immediate goal to one of a more acceptable social, moral, or aesthetic nature or use.” (Dictionary.com)

This discussion, about the positive expression of passion, made me feel almost high. I drove home with a serious life-buzz kicking. I cranked up the rap music and felt like, for the first time, I understood the drive behind it and why the music, despite its misogyny, makes me feel so damn good. Furthermore, (and, yes, more important than my understanding rap) it felt like a step in understanding my life’s purpose. All that ripping off my own limbs shit that I’ve been talking about here and all that personal turmoil started to make sense. I am starting to feel as though this wild center of mine, that barbarian that I’ve conjured up on this blog in the past, has an artistic life to live.

I am, I swear, coming into my own. Work and let happen, happen.

I will leave you with this quote from suffragist Frances E. Willard: “This seems to be the law of progress in everything we do; it moves along a spiral rather than a perpendicular; we seem to be actually going out of the way, and yet it turns out that we were moving upward all the time.”

So, from partying, to proposals, to horoscopes, to fiddleheads, to sounding like I plan to write porn, this is my New Year. Yours too. May there be peace and light. May we all be taking steps in being awakened to our beauty, to our life’s purpose.

 

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1 Comment

  1. Andrea said,

    January 10, 2015 at 6:06 am

    So inspiring! Glad you are having such epiphanies😊 can’t wait to hear more….


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