The Queen Of Transformation Does La Push

Please Note: this is more like a travel journal and I have not gone over it and changed it. So I suspect it will be after I hit "Publish", is when I will regret this decision.

Why do I not write when inspired? Why do I still use excuse that I will get to it later when I never do? I had a wonderful “idea” formulated in my head for the beginning of my book and did I write it down? No. Instead I mentioned it to my friend as my newly realized brilliant beginning but that I would write when here at La Push. Well here I am at La Push and not at all inspired. My mood was setting the scene and I must learn to go with that. It might make for bipolar writing, but it was always going to be that way so why the fuck fight nature!?

I am just so tired of my self-sabotaging antics when it comes to writing my book. Yes I need to focus on building my brand TQOT but even with my focused turned, I come up with ideas to write, and that again, I never fucking write!! This is becoming as redundant as my suicidal ideology; I will never do it, so why fucking even go there? Well the book will indeed exists, so why not just get on with it?

So to those worried about being in the book, it is likely because you are going to be. I figure anyone “concerned” is so because they know the truth is not as pretty as fiction and that they do not wish to be viewed in any other way than they see fit. Well my message is this: get over it! If I decide our story together speaks to the human condition, mainly MY human condition, well its going in. And I am pretty certain of one thing, if this book succeeds as predicted, you will go from embarrassed to wanting the lime-lighted attention a book like this can garner. This isn’t me bragging, this is a real possibility, one I have pondered at great length and I know many will turn to wanting the attention for the 15 mins or even 2 mins of notoriety. Fuck there is a chance that’s exactly how long my mins will be. And another thing, no one will be exposing the juggler like myself. Not anyone.  Remember you are characters in the carnival of my life; you are a part of my story. It will be told from my point of view and if I get shit wrong, oh well, I am changing your names so get the fuck over it.

Oh and another thing, to those I actually give a shit about, I will not be holding back. It will not work otherwise. Please understand that again if you are player in my play, it’s because I think people will want to read about it. We all have lessons to dispense in Poor Impulse Control; I mean if you make the timeline cut. Though many of you will be in one of my books, blogs, and one of these days…articles. I can easily see my future just writing about me, people around me, and the experiences we have. Like Sex in the City and Eat Pray Love…only totally fucked up, dark, twisted, but with puppy love endings and shit.

This is me just journaling my thoughts as they pop into my noggin as I try real hard not to smoke. My lungs hurt and I smell bad. I hugged someone the other day I had not seen in a long while and I was embarrassed because I knew I stunk and could see in his face that he found it repulsive, which not that fucking long ago, I did as well. There is a combination of acts that has led here to the demise of lung health and lets just add, my liver health as well.

Let’s start with smoking because that was becoming a thing straight out the fucking gate in Belize. It starts with joints. Rolling is how it’s done in Belize and the weed lends itself to it well and though I could not roll to save my life at first, in the end, even with endless practice,  I was no better. Still I rolled and smoked dozens of ridiculous looking joints that led to a growing sense of smoking cigarettes. I could feel a shift but I still had no intentions of making the leap from joint to filtered cigarette, since I had not smoked in YEARS and wasn’t going to break my record as I still found it, icky. Well that’s till I met The Irishman who offered me a cig every time he had one, which was numerous and who was I to say no to those freckles and deep voiced accent? Apparently not I and so inclination was then anchored with copious amounts of rum punch. Oh Mayawalk and your 2 for 5.00 BLZ (that’s 2.50 US) rum punch. It is almost certain you are the real reason why my liver function tests found some…dysfunction.

Fuck! All this talk of smoking is making me want to…SMOKE!

Don’t look….

Whilst outside not smoking I made note that there is no better score for sea gazing than from the movie The Piano. I can observe the ebb and flow of the sea for hours but when dark and rainy as it is now, nothing is more perfect. Though truth be told, I can watch nature for endless hours in general, just as I did in Belize. I watched a few times over the plantains outside my window bloom flowers looking to be from a Jules Verne novel. These large purple plumes would open and unfold tiny baby plantain growing and awaiting the neighbor’s machete. They would come from their tin roof shack to hack down the fruit, lugging the burgeoning bunch over their shoulders on their bicycle to the market for profit. Belizeans are experts at balancing heavy parcels on bicycles.

Oh look, a seagull with what appears to be a large piece of fried chicken in its beak….cannibal. 

The Sun just had to make an appearance, prompting me to take a million snaps I said would never be. Never say never in matters that concern Mother Nature and her awesome ways.  I even worked on my tan basking in cold rays on my deck as I drank Irish creamed Early Grey.

The Milky Way!! Even beer swilling red neck hunters with their porch light pollution cannot ruin…the fucking Milky Way! Sitting there wrapped up against the cold, drinking hard cider with my neck bent way back (ouch) I realized this is always a constant and just because I cannot observe it, doesn’t mean the stars not observing me.  It’s like those moments of sadness when I am sure I am alone, I’m not. It’s the grandest of illusions, just as the cloud cover and light pollution veils the Milky Way from view. Oh how I know how hard this is to put into practice in the everyday. How do you connect,  to feel it when you are in a room in the basement alone and cannot even see the sky? You breathe through it and fake it till you fucking make it if need be. And when you can, push you out the fucking door and find a tree.

Nature never fails to amaze and rejuvenate, even if it be just your tiny urban garden, stick your hands in the soil. Go to your local park and sit at the base of a tree. If luck shines upon you and on Caribbean island, bury your toes in the sand and splash the water like a child. Were ever you find yourself, just close your eyes and feel the connection. The connection is there we just have layers of veils distorting our view, leading us to the united delusion that we are alone, separate, to the point we believe it’s not there.  Well it is. You cannot even disconnect if you wanted, you are a part of everything, and everything is right the fuck back atcha!  

Shit I guess that makes us all Gods/Goddesses…well that’s not scary at all.   

If you want to see the pictures I took..."like" my Facebook page! Here be a sneak peek.

The Great Fucking Mystery Dangle

I pull cards so that I may get messages as I cannot read for myself and of late, there has been a theme. Get prepared bitch, because we prefer you get the fact that you should never plan a thing, that we know what you are to do...you do not.

My response? I'm off to the La Push for fierce ocean storm watching, writing, cleansing...alone time.

I can take it when the lightening bolts hits. I can even find gratefulness in the warning, for being prepared is not a horrible thing. Making plans is futile in this life I find me in and I will find my way to a joy in that. Experience is a bed partner I can embrace over suspension, for suspension lingers in nothingness. Experience is the explorer and dangles the leap into the new, which I am an expert at.

This card bugs the fuck out of me, but it also challenges me to ready myself for...anything.

Disruption

Disruption

This marker warns of a shaky foundation placed on a fault line. At best, this reminds you that shake-ups are necessary when you need a wake-up call. It’s a warning for you to be diligent and alert when making decisions. This can also portend a toppling of plans, ideas, or a total destruction of something hard won, worked for, or desired.

Be reminded that the way of the God/Goddess is one of mystery and chaos, and chaos is the ultimate cleanser. Disruption brings delays and upsets that have a hidden gift of opportunity within them.

This is the time to rethink, rebuild, and refortify that which was previously unstable, or it allows you to begin anew. Without this gift, you wouldn’t be adequately supported later on, when you’ll need it most.

The greater message reminds you that, in life, all people, places, concepts, and things are but fleeting on the path to wholeness. Only Spirit is stable and eternal. Such is the Wisdom of Avalon.

Shit Breaks, So Don’t Love It Too Awfully Tight

Also, don’t hold on to things that do not serve you or that you’re not wearing anymore! This goes for the accumulation of stuff you thought fitting for the life you were leading, but clearly are no longer. This is my current struggle as I said I would deal with my shit/stuff with my time here in the States, but I am doing an awful job of it.

Why? Because as much as I want to be free of all the things that feel a burden now that I’m not the Pagan Martha Stewart I once was, it also feels a burden to sell it all. And fuck have I accumulated a mass of clothes, décor, and what nots.

The pressure set upon me by myself and one who will not be named, has backfired in my face. The more I say I will do this, the more I don’t. Its immature bullshit and I know it. But I am insane in the membrane and so only partially have been able to push my stubborn ass to task.  

One of the reasons I planned on this endeavor in the first fucking place was a lesson learned in a hard fashion via pirates in Belize. The lesson learned was not to hold much value in stuff, cause said pirates might make a sacred geometric shape on the floor with your prized crystals and then smash them accidently whilst hoola hooping. So when I came back here for sake of being a grown up with responsibilities, I thought I would find it easier to let go of what I once prized, I was wrong.

I want to be rid of all of it, so I guess it be time to man up and stop being a pussy. 

Dipping My Toe Into The Pool Of Ick…

Though I’m not too mired in the Ick to lack gratefulness for my ability to get my ass up, do the fucking dishes, wash my hair, and write this less than ‘my best’ blog entry. Today is Grateful Thursday and therefore, nothing for it.

Because I lack creative mojo and chain smoking seems a worthy use of my time today, I will make use of the handy bullet list.

I am grateful…

For my daughter. She tops all lists, all of the time.

For not being a crack whore, or worse. Going over some of the stories from my book, it was touch and go there for a bit.

That I have the money for my return ticket to Belize! This would be #2 but my near addiction stories are still afresh in my brain.

For the security that I often times take for granted.

For my friends. Old ones, new ones, and soon to be ones.

Finally…that I know how to cleanse me of the Ick that I find my toe dipped into presently. 

P.S. Yes, I am aware I forgot the bullets, however I did bold it all. 

Humping Hump Day…

I thought that title might catch your attention.

So why is it that women are sluts and men are studs when it comes to an active sex life that does not include monogamy? Puritanical bullshit, that’s why! I mean my shoved way back in a corner puritan comes out here and there. As example: I am not an exhibitionist and will turn from sexual adventuress to dowdy prude in a hot fucking second if it even suggested.

With all this clatter about “slut shaming” I've taken a look back at the sexcapades of my twenties and don't recall really being slut shamed, feeling ashamed or having any remorse for what I did. OK, there was mortification on the highest level, but shame I suppose is not my thing because I’m far more embarrassed that I fucked a skinhead in a Native American graveyard than I’m ashamed of doing so. Actually, I can tell that story laughing my ass off as it's over the top fucking ridiculous and honestly, not to believed other than the fact that you know, it really did happen.  

I just feel already tired at the term “slut shaming”, though without dismissing the reality of harm it causes. But evidently the garish over sexed 80’s has been sanitized and forgotten in this 21^st Century.  And I think here lies the truth in why I feel no shame…none of us fucking did! It was like the free love of the 60’s only with white jeans, Nikes, big hair, and really dark eye shadow. Oh and that’s not just the girls.

The scare of HIV and other sexually transmitted disease may be in part the cause of all this shaming of the girls who fuck for which it seems boys are never held accountable for. Its guilt is always pinned on the girls as to transmission, and never the boys responsibility. It’s not their problem till they find their prick hot with puss and then of course again, it’s the sluts fault, never theirs. No matter how much bullshit that is, slut or not, protect your private bits girls! Even if YOU have to carry condoms in your purse when that boy may think himself so sexy he can get away with “forgetting”.  By and by….this was a common occurrence in Belize. Men there do not believe they have to wear a condom and I believe this might be why so many young girls are pregnant and some, have HIV.

So let’s touch on Belize for a moment. In my beloved Belize you are slut in the male gossip mill but wanted for their beds in secret. There I named myself The White Whore of San Ignacio, I thought it funny in that dark way I do even though it wasn't true at all. But I dared to be a single white female living alone and hanging with the Rastas. It didn't matter that I never slept with them, though not from a lack of effort on their part, it mattered that I partied with them and women do not hang out with men who they are not fucking. I did however get rather drunk with them on several occasions, but they were nothing but fucking gentlemen with me and always made sure I made it home, even that one time I couldn't walk…that much at all.

Ironically the townsmen with prying eyes and womanly gossiping ways, never knew who I actually was sleeping with. He and I were rather private about it, but still, a slut I had been deemed and I never did help my cause as I hung out with mostly men. When a group of very young backpacker/pirates came into my world, and we drank much “pirate juice” at a centrally located bar, the stories became even wilder!  

So am I a slut for sexcapading with more than one sexual partner in Belize?

My answer: I’m a sexually active middle aged woman loving every moment of my sexual awakening. It is I who chooses who I fuck without too much embarrassing compromises. Well unless said compromising position was agreed upon and well some shit was just out of my hands. Heh. 

You know I arrived in Belize pretty broken physically with my weight very high, my memory fresh of gory oral infections and still healing from abdominal surgery. So slut shaming aside, I needed that sexual healing and Fuck Off to any who wish me to feel ashamed for that. 

Why The Queen Of Transformation?

Here is just a bit of the why…

It goes back at least ten years now, the name was not created because it's rather fetching, it was something I started calling myself  when giving tarot readings and realizing that I had reinvented myself several times over via spiritual breakdown, to build back the fuck up again. Wash, Rinse, Repeat…over and over if fucking necessary, this was often advice given to clients. I find that I have a deep understanding of the smalls deaths we endure in life. 

I realized we die to the old so that we can rise as to be bad ass phoenix's and that I was no longer the Michelle of my twenties who leapt at every compulsion offered…just to find out what would happen. More so than the sick and twisted, what I adored the most was danger. Dangerous deeds like being ordered to shoot at the Circle K cashier if he runs after Adam who was there for cigs and beer. We of course had no money, so obviously we had no choice other than to steal because a night without smokes and beer, would have been a hardship indeed. 

I still possess that compulsion to see what will happen. This compulsion led me to having sex on a Belizean island with a Rasta Man just last year, though this doesn't mean I would ever knock off a convenience store in this age of Michelle. I mean a girl has to set fucking boundaries at some point in her journey.

So yes, there is the natural growth most us humans allow, but there were acts of the nastier ilk in my youth that left me ill to my core and nothing but a deep cleanse would do. Simply put, some endeavors need more energetic soap than others, but I know transformation from the worst of us is more than possible, it just takes a 'no holding back' look at yourself. One must allow for the flinching, for the tears, and the rage that is likely to come when you realize the scope of pain you contain. But indeed cleansing is something I do well and often. Part of the death/cleanse rite is to accept your participation so that you can let it go or embrace it, depending on a plethora of details. If you come here seeking assistance, again, I have a rite for that.

In the end as TQOT, I die to ancient history and negative aspects so that I can be free to continue this journey having learned enough to know not to rob a fucking Circle K store. I mean at the very least...

And The Winner IS......

I have a winner for my first Facebook page contest for a reading! Oh yea, I have a new FB page and really ought to have a button here so those from around the globe reading my blog, can “like” it. Oh and I need a twitter button as well, cause I have one of those too.

Fuck I am so very behind in this self-promotion so I can make money doing what I used to do for free…fodder.  But free fodder is fun, just ask my contest winner! Well after her prize has been dispensed and I’m relatively sure she’s not going to run away screaming.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe freaking out my customer base is not good for bizniz. Oh I'm just playin, I am not scary at all. Really...

P.S. click on Facebook to "like"