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Booty-Call of the Human Spirit

"Contentment is not the fulfillment of what you want, but the realizationof what you already have." ~Unkown~
“Contentment is not the fulfillment of what you want, but the realization of what you already have.”

This past Friday, I was prepared, as much as one can be after a 60 hour work week, for a deliciously naughty date.

Decidedly, at this age, the term booty call, (A late night summons to arrange clandestine sexual liaisons on an ad hoc basis), is gauche.

We still have booties as it were, but they are older, more tired booties, and should not be spoken of without the greatest respect.

Regardless of the linguistic box into which you try to neatly categorize whatever you want to call it, I was so looking forward to whatever was going to happen Friday night.

What happened was not what I expected. No, he did not arrive naked with leather ties and stainless steel attached to his tender bits. Nor did he appear tuxedo clad with a bouquet of my favourite daffodils.

He arrived beautifully simple (and late) at my door, and gave me a warm, genuine, hug. You know, the kind you give someone whom you’ve known for years. And we have known each other for years.

I had managed to slip out of my suit and into the bathtub before he arrived (late), having had to circle ’round the city to retrace his steps due to a forgotten briefcase.

I mention the word ‘late’ here, because in the past I would have been seething mad at someone having had the nerve to be late for, well, whatever it is you want to call this.

But with age comes a lot of things other than tired skin and squishy mid-bits. Patience, wisdom, even kindness.

The usual anxious anticipation was gone, and I settled into a deep joy knowing I could spend some time with my not-a-booty-call-guy (even though I have always thought he was totally gorgeous and amazing).

Because of the time mix up, I was not worried about my make-up, my hair, or what to wear.

In the past booty-calls have been scheduled to coincide nicely with a hot bath and my third glass of bubbly in the tubbly. I simply pull the plug, towel off, and answer the door naked. After all, I’m nothing if not practical. Why bother ruining an outfit for someone you wouldn’t tolerate over a three course dinner and a show?

I had settled in with a white wine spritzer, light on the wine (I was on day 20 in a row at work). He settled in with a diet soda, and we stretched out on the couch and got lost in a conversation that was full, rich, and, considering the relationship we’ve had in the past (when we were both in our late 20’s, and full of ego, insecurity and fear), a significant depth.

We met at time when nothing was important and everything was crisis;


Before we knew it, our little visit had taken us to a place on the clock that demanded he make the drive home, and I tuck in for another early morning at the office.

I stole a quick kiss, and a hug, and that was it.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that after a good round of hide-and-go-seek-in-the-sheets, I glow. I smile non-stop, and I generally exude a radiant, freshly frisked aura.

Saturday morning was not really that different. I woke, felt the warm fuzzies inside from having had such a nice evening with someone I’ve known a long time. Someone whom has always held his emotions close to the vest, but felt comfortable enough to share some of those same emotions with me.

Aged emotion steeped in spirituality is a wonderful thing, even better than cellared wine. Time can be a bold thief, and I’m learning that it can also be a benevolent giver.

So, for a booty-call that wasn’t, it was pretty damn good. Love has many faces, and they can be seen from different doorways. Friday night I saw a new face on an old lover, and I liked what I saw. It may be a week, it may be a year, it may be never, when I see him again, but as always, with this man, he will have a special place in my heart.

Ode To a Watch in the Night

by Pablo Neruda

In the night, in your hand

my watch glowed

like a firefly.

I heard

its ticking:

like a dry whisper

it arose

from your invisible hand.

Then your hand

returned to my dark breast

to gather my sleep and its pulse….


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No Mud No Lotus

lotusmudNo kidding.

We know that already don’t we? We’ve all heard the sayings;

It’s always darkest before the dawn

No pain, no gain.

You can’t have a rainbow without the rain.

It’s in when I’m in the middle of chaos that I know my mind and emotions rock back and forth as violently as a ship on a stormy sea.

It is when I’m in the middle of chaos that I forget all of my training as a meditating wonder. Instead,  I laugh, cry, rage and cower randomly, and often.

It’s when I’m in the middle of chaos that I forget my breath.

I forget that deep knowing in my soul that the world is as it should be, and the best thing to do is to surrender and do my best in the present moment.

Instead, I regret the past, I fear the future, hope, despair and basically, drive myself crazy.

I guzzle my tea, swallow my food, and forget what I’m actually doing while my mind is travelling through the time-space continuum.

Little phrases like, ‘No Mud No Lotus’, coined by Thich Nhat Hanh (Thay) can seem kitschy and meaningless when you see them plastered on a car bumper, or posted on a Facebook page.

For practicing Buddhists they can be a bell calling them back to their breath, to the present moment.

These concise little phrases  can be the reminder that you haven’t really ‘practicing‘ anything, and you need to get back to the cushion.

No Mud No Lotus. 

Tomorrow before I hit the shower, I will remember to great the morning;



After I repeat that my butt will hit  the cushion.

This weekend before I head out to work on Saturday night, I will register for my annual meditation retreat.

Tonight, before bedtime, I will breath. I will smile.

I will have to dig deep, past all of the, ‘screw this’s, and screw you’s’, and I will remember just how much I have to be grateful for.

No Mud No Lotus; Thanks for the reminder.

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Waiting for a Sign; 2014

Guiding lights
Guiding lights (Photo credit: James Jordan)

Today is a rare and wonderful lazy Sunday. I know it will be filled with great music, leftover Indian food, and much thought about the closing of one year, and the revelation of another.

2013 was a challenging year. However challenging, in true Scorpio style, I rose to meet those challenges, mostly, I think. Well, let’s just say that I got by with a lot of help from my friends.

Not one to make resolutions, last year, I made a list. A short one. A “To-Do-List”, that would most likely take a year to be fulfilled.

With only three items on it, how could I not focus on each and every one, however massive and life changing those listed items may have been?

Unlike resolutions, lists are finite tasks which are intended to be completed. Resolutions are the equivalent of the late night booty call whom we wake up to sometime in March. Only then do we realize that our  resolutions  packed their carry-ons and quietly left around January 5th, leaving us with their ugly, snoring, unshaven twin-brother.

With a grand leap of faith and some ferocious determination, I whittled my 2013 list down to one, last, frustrating item. Frustrating, because I believe that except for being open to it, it’s out of my control.  That one thing is niggling at my insides.

Trust me, I’ve tried to tame it with stilettos, champagne, adorable men-folk, and fabulous lipstick. I have waxed philosophical and tried to surrender to it.  On more than one occasion I’ve tried to tame that little niggling #3  with bourbon and writing.

Alas, it remains unsatisfied, and teases me. It whispering about the universe and her grand sense of humour and mischief. I may, indeed, have already achieved what I set out to achieve in item #3 of my 2013 ‘To-Do-List”. I may be able to check-tick item number three, but I don’t know for sure. Nor will I before the clock strikes midnight and 2014 rises like a virgin debutant, casting her blinding light over the future.

Watching the tail of 2013 slither off into the shadows of the new year is something that I’m looking forward to, even though I know it will coil up in a corner of my soul like every year has since my birth, reminding me of lessons learned, and that surrender is necessary for graceful living. Le sigh darlings. Le sigh, indeed.

Not only is the new year upon us, but it comes in unison with a new moon. My body is so tightly bound by the cycles of the moon that I’m always tempted to hide until the tides of new and full moons are over. I’d like to say that I bring out my surfboard and camera when this happens, and play in the energy. The truth is, most times, I only don a brave mask, persisting rather than surrendering.

So, as I began this post, I fall into my lazy Sunday. It’s not lazy according to the standards of most. I will begin to take down the glitter and gold that welcomes Christmas. It is my ritual, and every year I do it alone, with intent, feeling that something has ended and something new is about to begin, even though I can’t define the ends or beginnings in concrete terms. I liken it to watching the last embers burn in the fireplace, and then rise again as new fuel is added.

Through a brilliant blue streak of profanity, the tree and the ornaments will be packed away. The fridge will be purged of leftovers, and I will begin to consider my list for 2014.

It will be a gentler list, a more spiritual one since my basic needs were at the heart of what I needed to change in 2013. I will be more specific and gentle with the thoughts and wishes I put out to our beautiful universe. But I will be as persistent. I will even be grateful to the beastly nature of 2013 that forced me to birth a new life, to challenge my self-confidence, my values and my spirituality.

I wish you a lazy Sunday, or any other day. One, during which you can take stock and reframe your purpose. May your ‘list’ for 2014 be true to what you need.