UFO Gathering

When I arrived in Austin, I signed in to Meetup.com and joined some groups. One was Austin's Center for Spiritual Living. I was headed towards membership in Seattle and was hoping to enjoy Austin's center just as much. When I looked over what types of "meetups" were listed, I noticed a "UFO Gathering Support Group."

Hmmmmm, strange.

I was stumped. And a little turned off. I certainly believe in UFO's; I saw one once. But why would anyone need a support group for that? The only support I would need might be to feel no hesitation to admit it without fear of people thinking I'm crazy or trying to convince me that it was just some sort of atmospheric phenomenon-- oh, look, I just admitted it without hesitation! No support group needed, thank you.

Now, an alien abduction support group I'd understand; it would still be strange to see something like that offered at CSL, but it would make more sense to me than a UFO support group. And what was meant by "UFO Gathering?"

Despite my curiosity, I did not read the description for more information. Instead I just looked over the other meetup titles and dates and realized that between Sheng Zhen classes and Ecstatic Dances, I have schedule conflicts for all of them.
A few weeks have passed since then, and I just received an email reminder for the UFO meetup. This time I notice something that definitely was not there before.

It says: "UFO Gathering (UnFinishedObjects) Support Group"

Aha! Austin is not as weird as I thought. It's a "support group" for unfinished arts and crafts projects! Ha! I still won't be attending, but seeing this made me smile and laugh at myself for the assumptions I made.

Maybe next time I'll get more information before jumping to any conclusions. Then again, the whole thing was pretty funny, sort of like with the tricyclist I saw the other day. So maybe in some situations my assumptions serve a higher purpose: amusement.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Rebecca vs. Becky (aka My Nickname Identity Crisis)

A couple of weeks ago, I met the daughter of one of my yoga teachers. She was only about 5, and her mom asked her, "Can you say Rebecca?" I said that she could call me Becky instead.

"Oh, do you go by Becky?" my teacher asked.

"Well, it depends. I don't usually introduce myself as Becky, now that I'm an 'adult,' but I usually think of myself as Becky. It's actually a bit of an issue for me sometimes. Who am I? Rebecca or Becky?"

"Well if you think of yourself as Becky, then that's your truth."

"Yeah, but I'm Rebecca too. And it doesn't really feel right introducing myself as Becky."

And since then she's been calling me Becky. But it doesn't sound right. Or feel right. And it took a couple of times before realizing why, and it's something I had never considered before. For me, "Becky" is not just a name or a nickname; it's a term of endearment.

"Beck" is just a nickname. Beck, Becks, Becca. Those are nicknames. I suppose they can, and sometimes are, like terms of endearment as well. But for me, Becky is something else; it's more intimate; I'm more sensitive to who uses it with me.

So it just doesn't sound right when certain people say it, even sometimes with people who are close to me but have always known me as Rebecca, but especially when a stranger or acquaintance says it. Then again, I suppose I have met some "strangers" and have some acquaintances who can get away with it. Oh, and this would make a whole other great writing topic: what's the difference between a friend and acquaintance? But back to this one....

There are some people, whether close or not, who could get away with calling me pretty much anything because of their tone of voice and loving energy (not that this yoga teacher isn't sweet and loving). For example, I used to hate being called Becca,  so much so that I'd tell people right off the bat when introducing myself. But over the past few years, a few of the sweetest souls I know have called me Becca, and it felt fine; it even helped me soften to the possibility of that nickname being used by others. But still, it's not my favorite.

My favorite actually isn't even Becky. It's Beckita! Because my mom calls me that sometimes. But I'm pretty sure it wouldn't sound right coming from anyone else, and not so sure I wanna find out. But maybe. If it's said just right....

As for Becky though, when people who are close to me but know me as Rebecca start trying to call me Becky, it doesn't necessarily sound right regardless of how well they know me or how dearly they love me.

My former housemate Kerry actually could have gotten away with calling me Becky. We discussed implementing this change. But one morning he greeted me in the kitchen and started out with "Rebec--" and then remembered the plan and finished with the "--ky." And that's how "Rebecky" was born! Now that is defintely not a name I'd ever use to introduce myself. But even just the thought of it makes me smile. Maybe because it's so silly, or maybe because of how it was created or the way Kerry says it.

So what am I even getting at here? I don't know. The main point was my revelation about "Becky" feeling and sounding like a term of endearment to me, not just an ordinary nickname.  Then again, "Rebecca" can be just as sweet. It so totally seems to depend on who is saying it! It's weird.

And I could go on about the different meanings and energies of each name, and actually that would be more fitting with the title of this blog since that's more about "identity" and Rebecca vs. Becky, while this is more of a vague exploration that just skims the surface, but now that I'm getting my writing brain warmed up, it's time to work on my books!

I do see a sequel to "Rebecca vs. Becky (aka My Nickname Identity Crisis)" or a "What's in a Name" blog entry in the not too distant future. I actually have quite a lot to say about my middle name: Clio. The Greek muse of history. The record keeper. The proclaimer. The writer. Yes, how appropriate for me. And it's time to put her to work.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Music on a Plane

**I wrote this on my way to the Bahamas in August and forgot to post it. Those dolphins! I suppose this didn't seem so important compared to everything that happened once I got there. But here it is.**

I can’t even count the number of times I’ve listened to the song “Let it Fall Apart” by Helio Sequence while on a plane. Come to think of it, I seem to have a bit of a travel soundtrack. Not in the form of a playlist though. Just some songs that I almost always end up individually selecting when I’m up in the air. And “Let it Fall Apart” is often the first, especially if I’ve just said goodbye to someone or something or someplace, and especially if that goodbye is tugging at my heart even just a bit. And when I pack up and leave whatever city I’m in, when is that not the case?

This song was on my iPod when I bought it off of a friend, in addition to thousands of songs by artists I had never even heard of. I deleted a lot of his stuff, but this one was a keeper. Although it wasn’t really the “type” of music I was into listening to anymore, this song grabbed me. The music itself. The words on their own. And the combination was music to my ears, for lack of better pun.

Call off all of your plans, push back all of your worries, everything can wait just as long as it has to, and it will. You can just let go. And let it rest awhile. It all moves into place. Shake off all of your tension. Give up all of your heartache….Let it fall apart. And come together again. And then it’s not the same….Think back to remember why. How you became so afraid of life. There must be a reason why. You don’t even know. You’re only rising to fall again. You’re lost to be found again. It only ends to begin again. Let it fall apart. And come together again. And then it’s not the same..

Interesting to see now that the line about being afraid of life no longer rings true. But at a time it did. It was around the same time I first heard this song, some time in 2008 or 2009, that I started becoming really aware of my fears, striving towards facing them, releasing them, and living from a place of courage and love. The falling to rise again, ending to begin again, and the constant need to let go, those still ring true.

And then it’s on to the next song. “Cruisin,” the duet re-done by Huey Lewis and Gwyneth Paltrow. I actually like it better than the original, which is a rare thing. This is more often a driving song,but it works on the plane too. A sweet song about music, love, and traveling through life, not just on the road, with someone special. It just always makes me think about how great it is to be on the road (or any type of journey) with someone you really dig and resonate with, whether a lover or a friend or a family member or even a stranger who seems oh so familiar. Or maybe it's just yourself; I do love traveling with myself (thankfully! ;)). It’s like it doesn’t even matter where you’re going or how long it takes, because you’re in it together and enjoying every minute of it. Or at least most of it!

And then my music taste takes a very different, and odd turn to “Drop” by the Ying Yang Twins. Yes, it’s true. And a little embarrassing. Especially considering that I recently asked a new friend in my life to watch his mouth around me! But the thing is, the music really moves me, so I just tune out the crassness. This song literally moves my body so much that I can barely stay in my seat. I must’ve been a Crunk dancer in a past life. Seriously. Am I too old to learn how to dance like that? My body sure yearns for it.

And as I’m bouncing around in my seat, I start laughing not only at myself but also as I imagine what it would be like to travel with my friend Anna. I start laughing out loud even as I write that. If we traveled together, especially with a headphone splitter, wow — watch out world for the dancing queens. "Dancing Queens on a Plane." I see a parody in themaking…

And then "Salt Shaker" comes on, which is not usually part of my travel soundtrack, but I was too busy laughing to start selecting the next song. And then I laugh more as I remember that movie with Sandra Bullock dancing to some other Ying Yang Twins song. I was never a fan of hers, til I saw that. Took balls to make such an ass out of herself. And see?! This is what happens when I listen to music with such a low vibration; I'm workin' up to swearin' like a sailor.

Honestly though, sometimes I wish this type of music was played at Ecstatic Dance, but an instrumental version of course. The beat, the rhythm, is super fun, and moves my body so naturally. I just can't deny it; some of the crassest songs fill me with so much joy!

All that being said, I have noticed that when I’m on the plane ride back from something like a Sheng Zhen training, most of this music doesn’t resonate with me. I still remember the first time I discovered this. After my first Teacher Training in July 2008. I got back from 10 days of heart-opening, got in my car,turned it on, and Ice Cube’s “Back that Ass Up” was blasting on my speakers.Must’ve been enjoying it when I had parked my car, but I returned changed. At least temporarily. I think I got rid of that CD, but still enjoy it on the radio occasionally. Funny how sometimes I feel so sensitive and have such an aversion to something that other times is just fun and enjoyable. What’s that all about?

Surely there are other songs in my flight soundtrack, quite a few more, but the ones above are what I just listened to and what inspired me to write this. And that is that. For now.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Thank You, Moon

Tonight as I was driving home, the almost-full moon caught my eyes in a way it never has. Or at least I can't remember the last time I looked at it with such awe and wonder. Like a child.

The moon itself was so big and glowing that of course it caught my eyes, but what created such awe and wonder in me? As I stared up at it, I was reminded of just how big the universe is, just how much is out there that we cannot see. I found myself thinking that I've been taking the moon for granted.

And then I found myself wondering what it would be like if instead of the moon we saw another earth, or some other planet, up in the sky. That awe and wonder would always be there upon seeing it, right? Or would we learn to take that for granted as well?

I don't want to take the moon for granted anymore. I want to marvel at the magic that it reminds me of in terms of all the unknown in this universe we live in. The mystery. And the vastness. It puts things in perspective. And I love that feeling of smallness it creates in me; it excites me, and I feel relieved, which helps me relax and merge into the oneness, where I can flow naturally and in a sense actually be the biggest, and best, me I can be.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Moody

When I was a little girl, probably around 7 years old, one of my friend's parents said I was moody. And she said it in a way so as to shame me or criticize me or alert my mother to something being wrong with me. Of course my mom didn't think there was anything wrong with me. My mom's awesome! She thought there was something wrong with my friend's mom for saying it. But at the time I didn't get that. Instead I internalized this criticism, this shaming around moodiness and changing my mind, and I suppose even around listening to my gut.

This woman said I was moody because I had gone from having a great time playing with her daughter, and even planning to spend the night, to suddenly wanting to go home. What she didn't know was that I wanted to go home because I felt uncomfortable with the way her daughter and son were playing doctor.

Instead of telling her why I wanted to go home, I probably just said I didn't feel well or "just because." Who knows what I said? What is a little girl supposed to say at that age when something seems off and makes her uncomfortable? Does she even have the words? I often said I didn't feel good, or that I felt sick, all throughout childhood, to get myself out of situations where I felt anxiety or other uncomfortable emotions. In a sense it was true; my stomach didn't feel right. My gut was telling me something.

Now, could I have said "I want to go home now because I got a strange vibe from your kids?" I don't think so, because I don't even think I fully understood it until much later. It was just a feeling. And honestly, nothing blatantly "wrong" happened; it was just a vibe. I'm sensitive. And perceptive. And always have been.

Unfortunately, people like this lady have said things to raise self-doubt, and even to think there's something wrong with changing my mind, listening to my gut, or being moody.

Being moody.

What does that even mean?

Moody means having unpredictable changes of mood, especially sudden bouts of gloominess. Well, yes, that happens, except for now I have sudden bouts of cheerfulness more often than gloominess. Thankfully. But I think what moodiness comes down to is emotional fluctuations. And unpredictable ones. So what? Why is that such a bad thing?

The word "moody" has such a negative connotation, doesn't it? It implies instability. And that's scary to most people. Maybe I'm one of those people.

So I don't know if it's a label I want, regardless of how I define or re-define the word. I really just think of my self as a stable but fluid, sensitive being. I know what's up. I'm quite grounded in my "moodiness," if that's what we're gonna call it. I'm pretty good at being my own observer and witness. In fact, if anything, I'm starting to think I'm not moody enough! I still suppress some of my feelings, emotions, moods, usually without realizing it, but sometimes intentionally. Probably at least partially because I don't want to be perceived as moody, no thanks to that lady and who knows what other situations influenced me at a young age or even later on.

But come to think of it, I'd rather be perceived as moody than be untrue to my feelings. Of course I'd still like to be perceived as stable, but have this fear that if I'm as transparent as I'd actually like to be, nobody will be able to handle it. "You can't handle the truth!" I hear Jack Nicholson saying as I write that. And it's true. Most people can't. But, again, so what? I've always thought of myself as blatantly honest, and I certainly am compared to others, but apparently I'm not to my fullest, deepest, truest capacity. And now is the time to be.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

The Smoking Obese Tricyclist

As I approached a red light, I noticed a very large woman waiting to cross the street. She was riding a tricycle. And it wasn't motorized. I'd never seen anyone her size riding a bike, or rather a trike. A truck pulled up beside me, blocking her from my vision. And just as I was thinking, "that's so cool; good for her making a healthy lifestyle change," she rode right past me and I saw that she was smoking a cigarette.

I had to laugh. It was the oddest sight, full of contradictions. I started to wonder if she wasn't trying to lose weight by riding a trike but maybe she was just broke and couldn't afford a car or gas. Or maybe she was an environmentalist! A smoking one.

Or maybe she was trying to lose weight and smoking helps her eat less. Maybe she even just started smoking to help curb her appetite.

Who knows? And it doesn't matter. It was just a funny sight. And it was funny to observe in myself the tendency to make assumptions based on appearances and the tendency to create stories to make sense of things. I was laughing at what I saw as well as at myself the rest of the way home.

It also made me think that writing fictional short stories based on some of the characters I've been meeting, or just seeing, lately could be fun. Might as well put that imagination and story-telling tendency to use! But only if I've already completed my other writing goals for the day, or need a little writing warm up. So thank you, smoking tricycling lady, for the laugh and the inspiration. You also inspired me to go for a walk when I got home, since I don't have a trike. I'm sure you inspired some others as well.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Why Am I So Happy that a Bird Pooped on Me?

Yes, that's right, folks. I'm still amused and feeling super good about being shit on by a bird yesterday. I washed it off, but can still feel its warmth, like a comforting hand. Sounds strange, and gross, I know. But it's true.

Here's the deal: I was walking through the parking lot of Central Market's West Gate location, in awe of all the grackles. Masses of them. Everywhere. And so loud I couldn't even sit outside to talk on the phone. As I walked to my car, I thought a little bit about how I should probably avoid walking under the trees that they were all perched in. I made it to my car safely, but then I thought I'd dropped something on my way. So I got out of my car to look for it, retracing some of my steps. No luck. Unless what happened next was lucky! And I choose to believe it was.

Just as I was almost back at my car, safe inside, "SPLAT!" All over my right upper arm. My eyes widened as I stared down in amazement. Time stood still for a moment, before I burst out in laughter. And then I had to get it off of me; it was starting to drip! The store was too far away though, so I walked a few feet to my car, looked inside. No napkins or tissues or towels. But there was a receipt, a long one luckily, so I used that to wipe it off. I didn't want to risk getting shit on again, so instead of walking back to the store's bathroom to wash off, I drove back to AOMA, the acupuncture school where I'd been all day and was about to take one last qigong class before going home for the night.

This is a grackle.

So, why was this such a great thing? Because of the timing. I was thinking about this beautiful, but currently unavailable, man who came into my life this summer, this new friend with whom I resonate so deeply. And just as I was asking what the future may hold, if anything at all, that's when it happened. So no matter how I interpret this, it makes me smile. And there are multiple options for my meaning-making pleasure:

1) Luck is in your future! (Because bird poop is lucky, right? ;))

2) Forget about the future; you're just lucky he's in your life now.

3) Your future is full of shit! Just a bunch of crap.

4) Forget about the future; this unavailability thing, in the here and now, it sucks.

5) Snap out of it and stop questioning!

It hasn't even been 24 hours yet, but I have a feeling that this actually is going to

help me stop questioning and instead accept and enjoy the here and now. It kind of reminds me of when my friend Mungasulwa said, "There is no thought worth thinking about." It short circuits my brain and makes me laugh instead of question. It brings a sense of peace. Letting go. Just being present and enjoying the moment. I know it sounds strange, but I think that's sort of what this sensory memory of the bird shit is going to be like for me. And it can apply to all sorts of needless thoughts and questioning, not just regarding my love life. So thank you, bird, wherever you are! Thank you, Divine Timing and Divine Right Action! ;) Life is good.

Other than that I can't get this Kate Nash song out of my head! At least it's not one of her super negative and/or codependent love songs. I actually like this one; it's sweet. And you can listen to it by clicking on the title....

                          Birds

http://youtu.be/P_cdLbKf9j8

She was waiting at the station
He was getting off the train
He didn't have a ticket
So he had to bum through the barriers again

Well the ticket inspector saw him rushing through
He said "girl you don't know how much I missed you but
We'd better run 'cause I haven't got the funds to pay this fine."
She said "fine"

Well so they ran out of the station and jumped onto a bus
With two of yesterdays travel cards and two bottles of bud
And he said "you look well nice"

Well she was wearing a skirt
And he thought she looked nice
And yes, she didn't really care about anything else
'Cause she only wanted him to think that she looked nice
And he did

But he was looking at her, yeah all funny in the eye
She said "come on boy tell me what you're thinking
Now don't be shy."
He said alright, "I'll try

All the stars up in the sky
And the leaves in the trees
All the broken bits that make you jump up
And grassy bits in between
All the matter in the world is how much I like you."

She said "what?"
He said "let me try and explain again

"Right, birds can fly so high
And they can shit on your head
And they can almost fly into your eye
And make you feel so scared.
But when you look at them
And you see that they're beautiful
That's how I feel about you

Right birds can fly so high
And they can shit on your head,
And they can almost fly into your eye
And make you feel well scared
But when you look at them
And you see that they're beautiful
That's how I feel about you
Yeah that's how I feel about you."

She said "what?"
He said "you"
She said "what are you talking about?"
He said "you"

Right birds can fly so high
And they can shit on your head
And they can almost fly into your eye
And make you feel so scared.
But when you look at them
And you see that they're beautiful
That's how I feel about you

Right birds can fly so high
And they can shit on your head
And they can almost fly into your eye
And make you feel well scared.
But when you look at them
And you see that they're beautiful
That's how I feel about you
Right, that's how I feel about you

She said "thanks, I like you too"
He said "cool"

-Kate Nash

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Why I Wanted to Punch this Massage Therapist

I really wanted to punch this massage therapist the other day. Seriously. Several times over the period of 90 minutes this thought went through my head. As I searched for the words to express to her what I wanted her to do differently, I'd picture myself just punching her instead and feel a little better, but also feel a bit baffled by this strong urge and imagery. I'm not a violent person! What was going on?! I believe in using words, not fists. Unless of course it's necessary to defend your life. So I suppose that's where this urge came from. A protective mechanism. But still, why wasn't my love and light and compassion making an appearance here, speaking up here? Both for her sake and for my own?

As I was lying on the massage table, belly down, I did speak up from time to time, asking her to back off. And from time to time she listened. But I'm still feeling beat up by her three days later. Her over-zealousness. Her cold and clinical touch. Her lack of sensitivity and presence. Yuck. Why didn't I just end the session and walk out? Curiosity perhaps. I should know better though. Not only because I'm a massage therapist, but because I've done this before. I've endured awful massages without giving enough feedback or just simply ending the session. Well, sometimes I find myself wondering, when I can tell that the therapist technically knows what he or she is doing, if the pain will be worth it.

Then again, I am a firm believer in that the body will tense up and resist healing if approached too aggressively. And this woman even had the nerve to say something about "attacking" my glutes. I wanted to end it there, or to educate her a bit on language. I wanted to tell her that the body is not something to be attacked. But I didn't. And I'm actually thinking about sending her a little note now. Using the word "attack" in reference to doing bodywork and having that mentality with anyone is inappropriate in my opinion, but especially so with someone whose body has been through all sorts of trauma as mine has.

So, yes, I knew better. So why did I stay?  Maybe it was masochism, or temporary insanity. Or maybe it was hope. I kept hoping it would get better. Yes, that's it, or at least part of it. And as I write that I recognize it as something I've done in other areas of my life-- relationship, living situation, what else? At what point do we say, "enough," and get up off of that table?

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Arriving in Austin

My home-away-from-home that is now my home

I left Mercer Island, WA on a Tuesday afternoon and arrived in Austin almost exactly 5 days later to the minute.  Once I got into familiar territory, only 20-30 minutes away from my destination, I got all teary eyed. Finally, this dream was coming true. For nearly 4 years I'd considered coming down to Austin for an extended stay to study Sheng Zhen Gong on a weekly basis with Master Li. The question was never if. The question was always when. Either my own travels or Master Li's travels kept preventing it. But last March I knew the time was coming. Master Li said he would be around more this year. And it was time for me to take the leap. To not worry about walking away from what I'd been building up in the Seattle-area. I knew I had to follow my heart. I also knew it had to wait til Fall.

So I've been here for 5 days now, and so far so good. Monday afternoon when I arrived, I was pretty exhausted and just settled into my room at my friend's house. I'm living with my friend Kay. I've always stayed with her the many times I'd visited Austin over the years. She runs a daycare out of her house, and in the past I'd sleep on a sofabed in her office/baby-napping-crib-filled room. Now I have my own space in the attic. Feels sort of like a dorm room. I even have my bed from college with me-- wow that thing is old. A twin-sized Select Comfort bed. Easy to transport, and having a comfy bed was important to me, so I crammed it into my car. Minimally furnished with just enough. No distractions from the daycare when I'm up here. I have a feeling this is where I'm going to complete writing at least one of my books in progress.

Speaking of writing, one reason I'm here is to help Master Li with a book revision. I found out yesterday that it's going to be easier than expected! Some of the work we thought we'd need to do because of lost notes doesn't need to be done because the notes were found. This is great, as it means more time and energy for me to work on my own writing as well.

I feel so inspired here. So fresh. I think it's a combination of things. A new place (although I am quite familiar with it). The sun. The friendly people. The Sheng Zhen. All the little kids running around the place 5 days a week; they're so cute and creative. The manifestation of this dream of mine. The commitment to focus on qigong and writing only (no bodywork or seeking out a job) for at least the next 3 months, and quite possibly through the end of Spring depending on finances and which doors may open or close here and/or elsewhere.

So have I done any writing yet? Not exactly. Emails. A couple of blog entries. I've been busy settling in. Tuesday went shopping for a few essentials for my room (like a comfy desk chair for all the writing I'll be doing ;)), along with a cute little rug with a lion on it I couldn't resist getting for my friend Sasha's baby girl; she's a leo. Grocery shopping. Eating. I needed to eat a lot the first day or two to get grounded from all the driving. At least that's my excuse. Oh, and I found a great little yoga studio just down the street! Walked home that evening with a smile on my face not just from the yoga, but from an email asking me to teach a few additional classes in Seattle when I visit for a week in November. I went to sleep very happy.

And then it was Wednesday, which was a 12 hour day spent at the acupuncture school down here where Master Li teaches one class after another on Wednesdays, including an evening class open to the public. I've always been curious to see how he starts off a new class session. Although I've been to many workshops, a few teacher trainings, and even some of his weekly classes, I've never had an ongoing weekly experience or been there for the very first class of a series. In a couple of the classes we spent 1 to 2 hours on just 1 movement! It was awesome. I especially enjoyed the movement we did repeatedly in the evening for the form called Releasing the Heart. It involved rubbing your head, circling your hand from chin up the side  and back of your head and down the other side, repeatedly. And extra repeatedly since we were practicing it so much! I think it released some major oxytocin in me. Or maybe I was just getting slap happy from such a long day.

But then Thursday I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Groggy and cranky. It wore off for a little while, during my meeting with Master Li about the book revision, and driving him to the airport. But as soon as I headed back to Kay's after dropping him off, I was cranky again. I'd been on cloud 9 so much recently, I didn't mind. In fact, there was something sort of nice about it, oddly enough. I get some pretty deep thoughts and insights when cranky. It's also nice to see how much better I've gotten at just observing myself and practicing compassion, and simply allowing rather than trying to force myself out of it. I still seem to manage to find the silver linings when cranky, but it doesn't mean you should mess with me on those days! ;) My editor machine goes out the window and tolerating others' behaviors or words without calling them on it is unlikely. I called someone on her passive aggressiveness as lovingly and delicately as I possibly could, but it didn't go over so well. Oh well! But I digress....

I don't remember what I did yesterday afternoon. Probably nothing. Literally. And then it was time for an evening class that Kay would be subbing since Master Li was gone. I got to demo the first movement from Origin of the Heart with her since I was the only other person in class who knew it. That cheered me up a bit. I like being able to help. I also met someone in class I could see befriending. That's always nice, especially when new in town.

And today? Well, I decided not to go to a morning dance class and not to go to yoga (at least not til much later), and not to get in my car at all today if possible. I've been driving so much, and so driven, in such a go go go mode that I just wanna chill today. So I spent the first part of the morning playing with some of the kids and then retreated back to my room, where here I am blogging instead of working on my book. But I will. I'm getting there. Yes. I am.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

Strange Night, Cool Dreams

Last night was a strange one. I was in a Motel 6 in Fort Stockton, Texas. Less than 6 hours away from Austin, my final destination on this road trip from Seattle. Maybe it was foolish of me to watch a t.v. show with paranormal activity so late at night, or maybe the motel room was haunted. I don't know. But when I turned off the light to go to sleep, I had a strong and uncomfortable feeling that I wasn't alone. Not just that I wasn't alone, but that there was something right up in my personal space that shouldn't be there.

I turned on the light and clapped my hands for awhile in an attempt to clear the space; I've heard that works. Turned off the light again. No good. So I turned on the Cartoon Network and slept on and off through the night with the t.v. on. If there's such a thing as ghosts, apparently they don't like cartoons. And if it was all in my head, apparently my head does. Either way, it worked.

But within an hour or so of finally falling asleep, BOOM! Thunder. Lots of it. Super loud. Super close. And the sound of pouring rain. A storm.

I woke up frequently all throughout the night, but each time falling asleep again easily. And each time having a crazy cool dream. There were several. But there are two that were the most interesting and that I remember most clearly now.

One was super vivid but hard to describe. The visuals were really striking. There were a bunch of people in what looked like an airport, or an airplane, or a large ship-- something that was taking us somewhere, or about to-- but not like anything I've seen. Futuristic maybe? Other worldly? And outside was pitch black. And there was some sort of chaos out there, but everybody inside was calm and/or oblivious to it. And then I saw something out the window. It was like a hole in the black sky and inside the hole was some sort of electric activity that was hot pink. And all the blackness, all the sky, was actually spinning around this hole, maybe even being sucked into it and through it. As I write this, it sounds sort of dark and ominous. But it wasn't! It was beautiful. And fascinating. Not scary. Not dark. As I Google Image search for this, I find "electromagnetic discharge." Interesting....  I think being in Roswell at that UFO museum may have had something to do with this dream. That and the lightning storm last night.

In the other most memorable dream, I was flying through the air with dolphins. Not flying like a bird. Flying like a dolphin. Or like a cannon ball. Mostly I was in the water with them, surrounded actually, by a pod that was mostly sleeping with just a few that were active and quite lively with their swimming and "flying." It was sort of dark where we were, in a lagoon or an ocean. It seemed to be night. I wondered when I woke up if I'd only been half asleep when I had that dream, like the way dolphins dream (or so I read). Maybe it was my turn to experience something through Coral, instead of her experiencing through me. Or maybe it was just a dream! Probably.... But who knows? In my opinion, and experience, anything is possible.

© 2012 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.