Ah, I feel so so good!  Nick’s off today and still sleeping, the roosters are engaged in their usual apocalypse, and my dad’s playing his keyboard with headphones so it fills the house with softly percussive patterns.

I looked at the ocean — I always make a point to do that in the morning, just because I can (it’s right there), and the little dogs were adorable and cooperative when I encouraged them to go out and pee.  The little dogs are like scenes in movies that are absolutely saccharine, like Shirley Temple, or a Christmas special on TV with an egregiously holly jolly ending — except they really are that way, all the time, in their souls.

Milo threw his tiny cowboy leg up like it was the door of a Lamborghini, to pee against the truck tire, and really concentrated about it, with his overcooked blueberry muffin face.  Buffy pensively meanders the grass like a plane running out of fuel, touching down finally and also concentrating about it, with her undercooked blueberry muffin face.  Then she’s very pleased with herself and toddles amiably away.

Could we end systemic racism right here and now, simply by describing each other in terms of what stage of blueberry muffin we are?

Anyway, I woke up feeling pensive about the fake president, obviously, and being apparently poised where we are on a rollercoaster called Venezuela, and most of all the absolute lack of booms yesterday, last night, this morning.  Especially given my timezone!

So I noticed a new Simon Parks video, listened to that while still laying in bed, felt even worse, and then kind of examined that reaction.  I’ll talk about what it said, what seems to have gone wrong, and what I think is happening, etc. — because whether anyone wants it or not, it appears I’m an armchair alt-media commentator now, OF SORTS — but first, let me start with my key take-aways:

I don’t want to be a reality-regurgitator right now, or ever.

I want to keep my eye on the vibrational prize, as that prize evolves for me, to the exclusion of other focus.  If consuming media enhances that, great.  If eschewing media enhances that, great.  If producing media enhances that, great.  If going dark enhances that, great.  Whatever I need to do, to keep myself massaged into the level of mood I’m going for.  And the level of mood I’m going for is very high.

This is no time to be a spiritual pussy.  This time, of all times, we are called to be spiritual warriors.  And no I’m not Christian, I don’t have a shred of the evangelical impulse in me — I’m just someone who likes to work smarter, not harder, and since 99.9999% of our leverage is vibrational, that’s where I’m gonna do my work.

I’m also not an alcoholic but I have a deep and abiding appreciation for the 12 Step prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  Pretty much says it all, right?

Being in passionate love with my life, and the process of my outrageously abundant present moment, is what I’m about.  We can all be poopy-pants versions of ourselves and we can all be magnificent versions of ourselves, and I’m no exception.  LORD, I’ve been a poopy-pants in times past, even as recently as five minutes ago.  So I’m gonna react, I’m gonna stutter, I’m gonna falter, I’m gonna hold a hard heart against someone, for as long as it takes me to remember that I’m above all that, by the grace of god.  Holding grudges against people who disappoint me makes about as much sense as holding a grudge against Milo when he vomits in the bed.  He consumed too much bad stuff and it had to come out somewhere!  If I struggle to forgive anyone, I can think about a time when I wished I would be forgiven, and forgive them because it’s kind of like experiencing the relief of someone else forgiving me, in a roundabout way.

The election of President Trump was eye-opener number one, I suppose, of how I don’t want to react, the narrow confines of a false reality I don’t want to trap myself in.  (That would be Lib Land, fyi.)  The fake inauguration of the fake president, because you’re high if you think that election wasn’t rigged to the moon, was eye-opener number two.  Guess what other false reality I don’t want to trap myself in?  The one where I want to feel good but instead I’ve convinced myself that I have to feel bad because of external circumstances.

The more I look into not only the political and legal machinations that have created the situation currently unfolding, the more I realize there are deep metaphysical underpinnings and currents.  And of course that’s always true, but — let me put it this way.  I’ve felt a bit compartmentalized about my interest in the metaphysical because I don’t find it reflected back to me very often.  That’s not what people are interested in, and so if I process or explore ideas on that level — for my own benefit — it falls flat for others, or I have to do some extra work of translation.  We’re physically focused beings having a physically focused experience, so I get it, but AGAIN — once you get hooked on working smarter, not harder, the intangible and abstract becomes a necessary vein of approach.  (I’m just assuming this entire paragraph is falling flat for most people lmaoooo.  If so, NBD.)

But what’s occurred is pretty ironic.  How do I explain.  Okay: I became convinced, due to the stuff I was looking at, that thoughts are things.  Our experience of reality is much more malleable than we suppose.  And we all have the tools to bend it to our preference — we’re just given very little encouragement or mentorship in that direction.  We get “practice” all the time, but our practice is sort of like a little kid practicing karate by going up against a national blackbelt champion.

It’s tough for us to learn the baby steps when we’re so busy getting knocked on our asses.  And getting knocked on our asses is why we come up with these things like “men only want one thing” and “there’s no such thing as a loyal woman” and “all cops are bastards” and “I would never own a Pug” and “flying United has always been the worst experience of my life” and “I’ve tried everything but I can’t lose the weight” and just all the substantiations and reiterations of our limiting beliefs.  And our limiting beliefs *are* true — that’s why we keep repeating them — and them more we repeat them, the truer they get, and pretty soon we’re absolutely right, and absolutely miserable.

And the caveat to the above statement is that we get lots and lots of red flags and intel from the universe BEFORE it knocks us on our asses, but we just haven’t been taught to notice.  We’re literally insensitive.

So yeah — the memo that I got, about a decade ago, was that if I wanted to practice my personal reality manipulation skills…then I had to take everyone else out of the equation.  Everyone else’s limiting beliefs, demands, reactions, expectations.  And some people help us fly, right?  And so do we want to take them out of the equation?  Well, no, but then what happens when they have a bad day, or they decide they don’t like us flying anymore?  Now we’re a little hooked on what they have to say!

So this is what I mean about being a reality-regurgitator.  It’s great to regurgitate beliefs and observations that feel buoyant, but it’s really tough not to get hooked on them and then follow the wrong rabbit when things go south.

So, being armed with this knowledge, and deciding to lean into my own malleable-reality-shaping skill set, what do you think I did, the last ten years?

Well, I fucked it up from the ground up, that’s what I did.  And it sucks even more when you DO accept your own responsibility for the reality you’re living, because then you can’t even bask in the opinion that it’s all someone else’s fault, anymore.

But despite all that, somehow I did, as they say, “Forrest Gump” my way into my dream life.  Which is by no means a static thing, or a place of arrived-endedness.  Now that I’m in Hawaii, in an amazing house on the lava coast, with my eternally fascinating, brilliant, sexy life partner that I’m obsessed about, with our two holiday Christmas special dogs, my best and most favorite friend in the whole world who also happens to be my brother, our remaining living parent which is obviously really important, just loving my job as it were, loving my days all day long from the time I wake up til the time I go to bed, sleeping great, eating great, taking walks, wearing every dress and frilly thing I own because it’s the perfect climate, enjoying working out, loving just every every everything — so now that all that’s occurred, am I going to get upset that a fake president threatens to Venezuela our country?

Yeah, actually!  It’s pretty fucking upsetting!  But here’s the point I’m making.  And I’m awful at making my own points, you should know that by now if you read me at all.  The point is: in an incredibly awkward fashion, 2 steps forward 1 step back, I DID, actually, manage to figure out that my vibration matters.  My focus matters, my emotional climate matters.  Look at my life.  Look at my fucking life.  It’s ridiculously abundant and perfect — and that’s only as a result of holding a half-assed focus for a decade, with many personal spiritual catastrophes and dumpster fires along the way.  I’m not sure anyone could be worse at keeping their vibrational footing than me, because I’m a spiritual shit show almost all the time.  But somehow I did it.  I’m doing it.  I do it!  It can be done.

But the point is — omg even I’m exasperated with myself now — the point is, I did all this work of getting vibrationally up and setting the tone and brightening my emotional climate in a sort of social vacuum, okay?  Whatever circles those likeminded people move in, it’s not CDL training or wildland fire contracting I guess, and it’s certainly not Flagstaff social justice warrioring.  I’ve had very few people to talk to about this, very few people reflecting back to me that this is a worthy endeavor — mostly my brother, long-term, and it’s no surprise he’s here sharing paradise with me.  But you know what I’m realizing now?  I’m realizing that the energies of our planet are having the same kind of showdown we’re having in American politics (if you can even call it that, at this point).

And quite frankly you can think you’re on the right side, the good side, but if your existence is essentially one big energetic temper tantrum when things don’t go your way — then that’s the side you’re on, in reality.  The screaming mimis.

So yeah, I laid in bed this morning, and I was bummed that the trap was set but the jaws weren’t sprung.  They were all there, all in one place, the prisoner processing tents were erected, the prison bus was standing by — oh, how I wished I could be that bus driver, yesterday — and all for nothing.  And depending on what level of energetic temper tantrum you’re having right now, it was either because this is all an elaborate hoax, a psy-op within a psy-op, or because the Cabal had provided themselves with some sort of insurance policy — a doomsday device that they’d unleash against the public, because why wouldn’t they.  Apparently all the dirty bombs had been accounted for, they thought, but then they realized several days ago that one was unaccounted for.  Whatever.  Whatever level of reality you’re operating on — and I mean that — there are really only two teams you can play for right now, and that’s the team who stays even-keel and optimistic, despite apparent setbacks, or the team who melts down and loses their shit and bemoans everything and everyone.

And I know which team I’m gonna play for.

So yeah.  The way I got out of my funk is, I just got out of my funk.  I just did it.  Case closed.  I withdrew my consciousness to the present moment — always therapeutic — and I realized I was laying in a perfectly comfortable bed, with a crazy hot guy, two little heaps of sleeping bugaboo, in a room that was the perfect temperature, with a wide-open window from which the sights and sounds of dawn, tropical foliage, and apocalyptic roosters could be appreciated.  I could get up whenever I chose, go look at the ocean because it’s there, and never be cold again unless I get on a plan and, you know, sign up for it.  (The never being cold again thing is what really made my vibration shoot through the roof.  I used to be cold for a living.  Literally.)

For some reason, and for the first time since moving here, I remembered my and Nick’s last several weeks in Arizona, getting everything together for this move after the fires. You know how houses, or towns, or people, don’t have an emotional flavor until you don’t live in them anymore? I guess it’s been long enough — almost three months — that those weeks to have taken on an emotional flavor now. I remember being in the house in Flagstaff with Nick — my dad and brother already gone, the furniture already gone, every day waking up and having a seemingly insurmountable task ahead of us. Training Nick for his CDL on a fucking crazy accelerated timeline AND continuing to sort through two households’ worth of stuff AND stressing about our dogs’ immigration paperwork, and all of this with a hard decline, fast approaching. The weather in Flagstaff was getting very pumpkin spice latte, as the white girls say, and Nick and I were smoking cigars a lot (I’ve since quit entirely) just as a means of…having little eclipses built into our days, at least. There was so much to do, and all this on the heels of that mamma jamma of a fire season we’d already had, in order to finance it all. And I just thought (this morning)…gah! Look at what we did. Look at what we accomplished. It was 20 some degrees in Flagstaff last night.

I don’t know how to explain it. Just the feeling, the realization, that we jumped our life onto a new set of tracks, and the work we did, moment to moment, WHILE making that jump, mostly consisted of…just staying positive. Just taking it one day at a time, one thing at a time. Feeling tired, sitting down, smoking, releasing, seeing it spiral up and dissipate, feeling the winter sun, and getting up to do a little more.

I came back to my present moment with a sense of awe and wonder.

I realized that, everyone who wants to throw in the towel is gonna throw in the towel, and everyone who wants to know what went wrong and what’s next is going to access the same resources I do.  Everyone who wants to mope and mourn and play their violin is gonna do that, and they’re already in my rearview mirror.  And it’s not that I’m fastening an even more fragile hope on an even more elusive goalpost.  I just mean, I’m not going to have this shit anymore.  I’m not going to be on an emotional rollercoaster (called Venezuela).  I’m blogging this because I’m seriously committing myself to it.  You’ve seen (read) me bluster and bemoan and stomp around and be huffy about things.  And don’t worry, I won’t stop making personality-level observations, like “wow, Antifa is really bringing beta back”, or cameoing offensive memes.  I’m not saying, “I’m gonna be in a good mood again BUT ONLY BECAUSE the updated plan says by March 4 we should be out of the woods and meanwhile the military is obviously not cooperating with the fake president” etc.

No.  I’m gonna access my most magnificent self, my most contributing self, my most funny and for-the-heck-of-it self, my most creating-for-creation’s-sake self, and keep doing what I love, which is posting blogs and vlogs and narrating books and actually getting into a competition prep with Nick now, and just all the things, because I can not and will not be taken down, emotionally, by anything, or anyone.  They can come kill me, but I’m not leaving my happy place.  Not for this, not for nothing.

So, if you’re into that, then that’s what you can expect of me, more consistently, in the days and weeks ahead!  I love you, I love me, I love this journey, and let’s all help each other smooth out the bumps.