Saturday, January 30, 2010

permission permission permission

Gonna make a pennant.A banner.Hell,a flag --that says PERMISSION.

Permission.What a word.

A yielding.Of yourself,to yourself.To nothing.And then,to everything.

On the phone this morning,she says:"rest,today",I said :"how??tell me what to do,give me an itinerary,a definition,how do you do this rest thing?"She said it's taking care of yourself.Eat.Shower.Spend time with a friend,don't leave the house,eat cookies.Do nothing.

I try.It doesn't work.I said I just feel like I need permission...

Permission is what you ask for when you can't give something to yourself.Something you feel you're not allowed to have.Something as simple as quiet,as rest.And some things as great,too,as acknowledgment of who you are and what you do,what's inherent in you and the value of that.

I know some people--many people--who seem entitled,who appropriate,who try on others,steal what works and throw away what doesn't,who amalgamate--and I am envious.The envy lives in the place that tells me to own something,that I could have this walk and this flash and this show too,if only I would take on an identity that fits.But I am left with a hollow feeling,a "goddamn phonies" feeling (RIP J.D.) ,and this seems less appealing even than having no identity at all.

This is where permission comes in.What is appropriate to appropriate is my own self.What I do or can do is not who I am,but who I am is the spark of what I do.To give myself permission to be a natural born ANYTHING AT ALL--because I was naturally born with all kinds of special.Of perfect for me.Of purpose in life,I was brought into life with sparks that lit occurrences,like a poem at 11 years old,like where did that come from?

You're afraid to say you've honed it,afraid to say you've crafted,because you may just be told you're not that good.

So be it.Instead,acknowledge.Instead,value.Instead love as though you never had a doubt in your mind that you were created,all flesh and heart and artery to pump it,and that inherent too is the art and the desire and the commune-ication that pumps your soul.A soul that throbs not only for meaning in the world,but to express the coursing heated relentless inner life.And the irony is that what we emanate is the inner,that the sleeve is just an article,that the tattoo of appropriation is ink--and that the paint on my permission flag is written in my own blood and tears and song on the inside,that the wall it is to be written on is my spirit house,and all I have to do is look there,inside, to paint it.Myself.And yield .To the truth.Which is not a photograph,but a mirror.


She declares,she shouts it out I LOVE BEIN' A GIRL!LOVE,LOVE,LOVE BEING A GIRL!

Criticisms masked as compliments( did you lose some weight?!),suppression doled out as advice..

no one telling you that the plush of your body,the place
between your legs, is of VALUE and IS connected to your soul,to your spirit and your connection to

this magic,this realm this Universe of love and possibility.That your womb,in fact is this.Not to carelessly give it away

or hate its look or mask its smell and bleeding.I was taught not to cry (stop crying,now) I was taught my self and my music

were too intense,my feelings mistaken,I was taught the more you can carry the stronger you are the better you are.And I could carry a lot--until I couldn't.

My middle name is Eve and for a woman like my mother who had a reason for everything,who hated religion,when I asked her as

an adult:why that name?She didn't know.The FIRST woman,they say.And she couldn't say why.

I love my name and will not be implanted with self-hatred.I can carry a 200 lb man with the strength of my legs and I can lift

again and I am strong again,and I will not equate muscle with masculinity.I will source not the male energy to push

myself,but the Boudicca,who can carry both a sword and a child ;I see now that I have been mistaken in this.I will not equate the bulk of my

strength with the heft and weight of mistaken self perception,of world perception that bulk is unwomanly that it is

male,that paradoxically is WEAKNESS and weakness of character.MY STRENGTH AND THE BODY IT MANIFESTS may be judged as this

infirmity of SIZE and I say f@8@k you,cuz I can lift it,cuz I can take it,cuz I can HEAL it and I can love,still,above

all.THIS is strength and this is fierce and this is brave and this is the essence--of life,of breath,of truly giving within

the danger of not receiving and the truth that I can love you and I can risk it because the SPIRIT that originates in the "girl ness" is a POWER.I am strong because I am vulnerable,because I choose to be,because compassion is the great winner over

brutality,and love is not pushing through it,but seeing,and pausing,and giving rest and credit where it's due..And "I" can hear this now because you had the strength before me to

(for Eve Ensler)