Gaia: DIVING DEEPER: A Writing Workshop - Diving Deeper: PROSE

a little more.. chapters

http://jensiper.gaia.com — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 02:13:45 GMT

we drift away back to our own rooms in silence. I look at Davie and he looks at me. he goes his way but I know and hope that he will stop by later. We seemed to have developed an unspoken agreement or connection that does not need words. It is unique and refreshing.When I get back to my room, it is dark. I turn on the one light. I let my clothes drop to the floor and I lay back on my bed to stare at the ceiling. I just lie there looking up not able to move or even think. I fall asleep briefly before I hear the door open and Davie slips in. We crawl in to bed together and sleep a long deep sleep. Dreamless and heavy.The sun awakens me with the sounds of birds. Peace.I am ravenous and ready for some tea. I roll over and look at davie. he is on his right side with his hand under his face. His eye lids are flickering. He is breathing softly. I hate to awaken him so I just lie there and stare at him. I feel an urgency to urinate, so I slip out and run to the bathroom. I brush my teeth while I am there. When I get back he is still lying there in the same position. I slip in beside him and lie on my back. I lift my arms up and stretch out a full body stretch. I hear him stir and when I turn to him, his eyes are open. His endless blue eyes with their dark black lashes. God he is beautiful. I take him into my arms.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://jensiper.gaia.com — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 15:33:15 GMT

those bathroom mirrors don't flatter anybody.
I try to avoid them.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 02:16:21 GMT

How did you know, Jenni? I felt so weird in my sunglasses. Did anyone have any idea what an alien they had in their midst? The worst part was seeing myself in the mirror in the washroom. Do I really look that bad? Frightening. Maybe you're right. I should eat popcorn or something. Anything normal. I have to try.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://jensiper.gaia.com — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 22:33:52 GMT

there is nothing quite as desperate as having to urinate. I am having a little trouble seeing you sitting there in a movie theater. Did you have some popcorn or some Dots? Or Jujubes Maybe?

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 17:04:40 GMT

Finally, I am irresistably drawn to see Avatar, despite the review implying a lacklustre storyline redeemed only by its incredible state of the art special effects, if you are of that inferior class of moviegoers who are taken in by spectacle. Since I have not been a moviegoer for a long time, I thought I might possibly escape the shame by reason of curiosity as to what state of the art spectacle is these days. Turns out, the illustrious author of that condescending review is nothing but a mere mouthpiece of the sick culture of greed and empire the movie indicts, in a storyline that triumphantly fails to disappoint right up until the very end. The movie had me so riveted and I had to pee so badly by the end of it, having dashed out once already, that I was very seriously distracted by a vision of myself discreetly pissing on the floor. I made a mad dash to the washroom the instant it ended and stood for a full half hour before the urinal in desperate relief while a long line formed behind me. I devoutly hope that the reviewer, who had likely returned for yet another dose of the spectacle, was waiting at the end of the line.

excerpt from chapters

http://jensiper.gaia.com — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 23:33:05 GMT

I feel free of them. well mostly free. . . davie rousts me from my reverie by putting his arm around me. I feel his big hand on my arm. I feel the pressure of his fingers. I lean into him while we walk. we settle down into the pace of the walk. we start to chant again. our voices strong in unison and around us we hear others are chanting as well. the night is balmy and there is a smell of flowers in the air. It has quieted down a bit as we work are way around the mountain. I don't feel tired. I feel like I could walk for ever. I start to think about tomorrow and the fact that it is my last day before I leave. I can't imagine leaving davie and gail and even bob and robin. I feel like this has become my home. I know in my heart that it is only temporary. bob and robin will leave to go back to the states. Gail will move into her house and Davie will go on his treks. Will I him meet again I wonder. I can only wonder. I cannot hold on to him. He is young and has his life and I have my life too. My life back in new york.. I can hardly remember it at this moment. It is like a dream to me.Davie starts to sing feliz navidad . I look at him in surprise. The tune is so catchy I can't help myself. I start to sing along.From that point on the time seems to fly by and I lose track. the rest seems a blur to me and before I know it we are back at the ashram, back at the gate to go in to go to sleep.I think back and I must have daydreamed the rest of the walk away which bothers me because at this late date in my life I am really trying to live in the present, because I realize that this is all I really have. I can't depend on anything else. I keep thinking that i will get the hang of this but I keep forgetting. So I remind myself once again. we are at the gate and we say our goodbyes for now. I hug robin, her skinny little body nothing in my arms like I could break her if I squeezed too hard. Bob is much more substantial by yards really. A big man. LIke a bear and he hugs me with such sincerity with a smile on his face that is the most genuine I know. I feel good in his arms and I hug him back.Gail's hug is more hesitant but just as sincere. I stay in her ams a second longer than I might because I know that this is not forever and soon I will be gone. I smell the shampoo in her hair.Davie is last. I feel short against his tall body, my head just reaching his chest. He folds me in his arms. I don't want to let go.I must eventually, so we say goodbye until later, all knowing that it has been a special night that won't be forgotten.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 17:13:49 GMT

I can't be the only one who has noticed that in this modern age there is such beauty in women that you would never find anything like it in the art of the past. Is anyone paying attention?

On the spur of the moment, after a most cursory perusal of references to ancient cultures and government coverup of extraterrestial intelligence, I pick up Shirley MacLaine's book, Sage-ing While Age-ing, a wise old crone's musings, mildly intriguing if not vaguely disappointing in her personal retrospective and reflections on synchronicity, then suddenly, after disgracing herself with some historical absurdities, so utterly amazing in her candid revelations of a spiritual awakening that matches my own of most recent date, I am in complete awe of such synchronicity.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 05:04:01 GMT

Since I have no other recollection of Peter Sellers' Pink Panther movies, it's strange how two scenes have made such a lasting impression on me. In one, Inspector Clouseau is committed to a mental hospital because of his pathological rage over an enemy, the mere thought of whom drives him beserk. In another, he has hired someone to lie in wait for him in his own house and attack him at any time unawares, so that his defenses will be sharpened. It is such a perfect metaphor for what we do to ourselves. We scream in outrage at the injustices that are done to us, when perhaps we have chosen them. I realize that's a huge statement. How could we ever willingly have accepted the horror of this world? I remember seeing a woman on the street of my home town, one of most horrifying apparitions I have ever seen. I am not normally so intuitive. One look told me everything. Dachau. The word formed in my mind. Later my mother confirmed my intuition. I was rather depressed myself. The woman screamed when she saw me. Perhaps it had been a long time since she had met anyone as depressed as she was.

Re: All the pieces of me

http://yhd52754.gaia.com — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 02:26:18 GMT

Nono,

This is good. It makes me want to know more, get some answers. There is that unsettling feeling there may not be any . . . the questions spin round and round, is it a dream ?, is the driver drunken ?, are they mentally unbalanced ?, why is the person driving ?, what got them behind the wheel ?, how will the person end up ?

I want more, sadly the answers aren't in this piece . . . and I want to have more.

Yes, it is good to want more . . .

Deb

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 03:38:04 GMT

A friend of mine likes to challenge what I write. She doesn't buy what I say about Shakespeare. Think about the kahunas hidden away in the West Maui Mountains, she says. And the pharaohs. They didn't want their bones moved. Look how people would kill for bits of the Buddha. Fine. You don't have to believe me. Read the scholarship. I admit that my own conclusions are questionable. Shakespeare never presumed to be more than a poet and playwright. Why would he have left a verse that proclaimed himself the secular messiah subsequent generations have found him to be? It would have been completely out of character. No one accorded that kind of recognition to Shakespeare in his own lifetime. The scholarship is compelling that Hal's bitter rejection of Falstaff had its origins in Shakespeare's rejection by his patron, the Earl of Southampton. I have not read speculation why the Earl might so cruelly have cut off his great friend, perhaps because it's too obvious. As honored as he must have been by the superb poems dedicated to him, and charmed by the witty poet, he must finally have been angered by flatteries he could not have understood as originating from a consciousness untethered to sexual bias. Speculations that Shakespeare was homosexual or bisexual are absurd. He was a romantic. For a while.

Re: All the pieces of me

http://jensiper.gaia.com — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 01:23:48 GMT

this reads like a bad dream I might have had. I like the feeling of dread and unknown and fear and confusion. It is always lurking.

All the pieces of me

http://pz.gaia.com — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 18:58:15 GMT

My fingers and hands on the wheel start to tremble. Should I turn? Where is this road going? Where am I going? Where am I? I have a feeling that I should be somewhere. I am on my way to somewhere, to meet someone. Who?
I shake my head slightly and feel the fuzzy feeling of cotton wool that surrounds my mind and thoughts. The traffic around me goes in ultrarapid and somewhere deep inside me I hope I have my autopilot on. I sense I am in danger but since I can't get my mind to work on it I just continue driving forward how unpleasant it might be.
Maybe I am on my way away from the place where I should be right now? Maybe I should stop and wait that my memory will catch up with me so I would know where I'm heading right now, or at least why.
The wheel feels slippery and I can't decide if I should turn off the road or not. Turn or no turn? It is dizzy out there, dizzy winter. Where am I?
It sounds like a horn of some kind, but it doesn't bother me. Just driving ahead and hoping that I will remember everything.
But what if I end up somewhere I no longer know my way? Something bad is going on with my mind. Stop. I need to stop. It's not good to drive when I don't know whre I'm heading. I don't even remember where I live. My home is gone from my mind. Home?

* * * * * *

It took me almost an hour to write this little thing, so it relates with the state of mind, meybe it is? How should I know?

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 16:33:14 GMT

Frankly, I find no solution. Ever.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://sandrajensen.gaia.com — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 11:28:30 GMT

Is anything is repulsive from a state of God consciousness?
the best approach I've found is Deida's (basically tantra). Feel it. Feeling it doesn't mean you have to do anything with it 'out there'...
xo

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Tue, 15 Dec 2009 06:12:23 GMT

Point being that you cannot give sex free rein and not make a fool of yourself. And you can't get away with being dishonest about it either. From a state of God conciousness sex is repulsive, but up until that point only an indoctrinated monster would deny its place. What else is there to say about it? Has anyone ever found an apt metaphor for it?

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://sandrajensen.gaia.com — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 22:08:58 GMT

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 04:55:04 GMT

Have I shared this wondrous secret? Amma and I are twin souls. I was born one day ahead of her in Honolulu. With the time change between hemispheres, would that make it the same day in India? The same moment? Our astrological charts are carbon copies. Well, almost. Some slight differences perhaps. Nothing major. I inform my roommate in San Ramon. He's bows his head to the table and I place my hand on it. Never has he felt such a divine current of blessing, he tells me. I do that for very few, I tell him. He's been with Amma for twenty years. Not only has he been with her longer but he has spent far more time with her. He tells me things that blow me away. Amma doesn't do Devi Bhava, the manifestation of the Goddess, anymore in India because the Indians identify Devi as a young woman. I'm an old lady, Amma says. Wait a minute. What does that make me? This is absurd.

There's more. Oh, God help me, sinner that I am. How can I repeat such stories? Amma has an ardent devotee from Kerala, her own home state, who follows her on her tours. He has the stirling reputation of getting laid on every tour. He is waiting reverently outside her hotel room as she exits with her entourage of monks and nuns. She glances at him and says something to them that has them all practically rolling on the ground with laughter. He begs one of the monks to tell him what she said. "Oh, there's our hero. He hasn't gotten laid yet."

It gets even worse. I know that my roommate is telling me these things for a reason. Amma has remarked that some of her monks and nuns are masturbating too much. Fuck. They don't need to do that. Send the nuns to me.

Where is this going? My buddies at the gallery want to set me up with the former wife of one of our artists. Have they taken a look at this woman? I couldn't care less if she has money. I want an eighteen-year-old. And then I ask myself if this is true. I look at the eighteen-year-olds in Sports Illustrated. Nah. Twenty.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 03:53:11 GMT

Sandra, you've got me reeling. Can I show you my chest? It's much nicer than Ken's. Other parts of me are even nicer.

Re: Sail, You Mother

http://Ramsses.gaia.com — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 03:47:10 GMT

I like this very much as a literary device—saying without saying. That's if you meant it the way I read it. I like it regardless.

I think I meant it the way you read it!

I can't even imagine comparing myself to KW, and it's not for reasons people might think.

You've really got me wondering.

By the way, I love the title of this series.

That's because you are very beautiful.

Re: later in chapters

http://jensiper.gaia.com — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 23:53:20 GMT

thanks so much mary!