Category: joy

inspiration · joy · love · writing

And so, she falls.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I am in LOVE. This is no mere crush.
The feeling that the very molecules of your DNA have
rearranged themselves, and that the world has possibilities where there were
only plain corners. That by standing on the back of this wave of pure
inspiration, I too can achieve great things and greet the world with an
untrained eye, a new eye, an unfettered, welcoming, curious, open eye.
Yes. I am in love. With Jeanette Winterson and her
writing.
She was only just introduced to me by a friend who happened
to be reading Jeanette’s latest memoir. My friend said she had a quote about
poetry to send me, I said great, not really thinking much of it. And then I
read my email.
The quote was like walking into the room and locking eyes
with the person you will later have a torrid, fiery affair with. I was lit by
it. And so I followed it, her trail, to her website. And began to read the
excerpt from the book, the first chapter. I was mesmerized.
Like listening to someone on a first date describe what they
do and are interested in, but you actually care. You’re actually hanging onto every word as if it were laden with the
truth of the Universe and a single dropped syllable will leave you dangling off the cliff of sanity.
I read the chapter like my life depended on it – like the
meaning of my life depended on it. And I followed her to Amazon. And to the public
library.
And yesterday, I captured her. I caught up with her in the
school library, in the stacks, far in the back, while students ticked away on
papers and palms jutted into their weary faces.
There she was, nestled among others I had no eyes for at
all. Glittering gold and the miasma of the universe could have split open
around me, and I’d see nothing but Jeanette. I grabbed her. I went to the
other section where she was, and I stock piled her. I pulled her out and on top
of me. I melted under her weight and was levitated by it.
I radiated purpose and joy. The sense of purpose only pure
love can bring. The moment of Ah Hah, the moment of clarity. The moment of
infinite future, and complete finite utterly lostness of the present. Just
here. In the musky scent of pages and binding. I gathered her up.
I absconded with her, like a Sabine woman, this taut,
witty, tawdry, brutal, reluctantly tender woman. I ran with her out into the fading
light of dusk, and I opened her up to me.
I ployed with her skin, brain cells fainted in her wake
overcome by the fullness of witnessing her. And by witnessing her, I
witnessed myself. I witnessed the magnitude of the human experience. I watched her
dissect the grand Truths of the World into aching wisps of language that got tangled in my hair and singed my eyelashes.
I ingested her the way only lovers can do, wholly, boundlessly, allowed her to come inside and rearrange my organs to her pleasure.
To kick my heart out of my lung and into my throat, to choke on her
brilliance. I lay submissive to her steer-branding of every blood cell, let myself be mottled by her, cleaved apart by her, and culled back together with the
mortar of her.
Yes, I am in love. And I am different for it. 
abundance · generosity · joy · receiving

Shht! The Universe Might Hear You!

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I won’t admit this, cuz you’ll think it’s stupid.
So, to be all covert about my embarrassing secret, I’ll
speak in opposites.
The books I have by my bedside table are not currently: Money Drunk, Money Sober; The Secret; Do Less, Achieve More.
See, here’s the problem with admitting to you that I’m
currently reading three books which affirm that there is goodness, abundance,
even – no!! – wealth in this world
available to me, and truly, to you: The problem is… I believe it.
Guffaw! Gak! Me?? Me
believing that if I only keep on moving forward with a heart of gratitude,
generosity, and mindfulness that I might get somewhere fabulous in this world? Me
believing, that – eek! – I might
already be somewhere fabulous in
this world? No, can’t be. Too “woo-woo,” too wishful, too fanciful. No, can’t
be. Don’t you know what’s going on in this world? Haven’t you opened the
NYTimes website and seen Israel, Iran, and the fatal storms throughout
the U.S.? Don’t you know what’s going on??
Why, yes. Yes I do. I keep informed. I read. – I mean, I
read the news. BBC News too.
And yet.
Well…I still am having a pretty good time at the moment.
Sure, there’s “stuff,” but well, I just revamped my home with a few new things & rearrangements,
and it looks welcoming, comfortable, inviting, safe. I have some new clothing
which makes me feel feminine and pretty and stylish. I even have fancy new handsoap that smells like a spa which I used to covet at my acupuncturist’s years ago. – Me?!?
Me? The girl who would submit to eating popcorn for dinner,
because she can’t get to the grocery store? Who will eat plain pasta with a can
of tuna because she can’t afford anything else? The girl who would … turn her
underwear inside out because she needs to do the wash and doesn’t have anything
else. (this is a terrifying admission – and,
note, I have not done this in a long
time!)
All of these actions are the products of a belief in scarcity. That
I can’t have. That I can’t afford. That I’m not worth the effort of going to
the store. These are products of the belief that you accept what you’ve got
because “times are hard,” and “everyone’s struggling.” These habits of behavior
reinforce that life is a rat race, that
you need to be exhausted to make a living, that you need to make due with what
comes to you.
Surprise. I’m not believing this anymore. At all.
I haven’t used a credit card or made a purchase I can’t
afford in 7 months. But… and here’s the incredible part… !! I have flowers I
recently purchased on my desk. I have free-trade coffee brewed in my coffee pot. I
have photos in my picture frames, and my art work nestled around my apartment.
… I even have a new scarf.
Squick though I may at telling you all this about my
tectonic plate world-view shift, action shift, I can’t really keep all this
awesomeness to myself and still be honest in this blog.
I believe in a Power which pulls men back from the gates of
insanity and death. Why in the world would I not believe in one which could
restore me to sanity around wealth, and enable me to receive this manifestation of
love so that I might share it generously with others? 
creativity · joy · letting go · poetry · recovery · school

Say Yes.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Oh dear reader, as quickly as they flit in, they flit out.
Remember so recently my choreographing a ballet as a part of
my thesis? Well, perhaps not. Or, simply, perhaps not now.
My new thesis idea is a book of art with poems. Not novel, but
novel to me.
My dad’s voice is readily in my head, “You’re paying $100,000 for THIS?!?” Yes, Dad. Yes.
But, to address first things first, yesterday’s intro to EMDR
was much gentler than I’d anticipated, as my therapist had mentioned to me. And
we’re starting small, gathering positive resources, grounding in safe space,
assembling Team Molly, as it were. I cried only the teeniest bit, and did not
get struck by a streetcar. In fact, I cried only that bit when I was recalling
something really lovely actually. ~ I am grateful to have a woman as gentle as
she is to guide me through this. And she’s consistently reminded me that her
experience is not that patients have dramatic, radical shifts, but rather
subtle changes they may not even notice till later when they realize they’re holding
these things differently.
That said, the first thing I said to her yesterday when I arrived was that
I was terrified, but we did the groundwork anyway. Because, yes, it is time. (insert
Rafiki’s voice from Lion King here – “Eet ees
time.”)
To return to the thesis though. (First draft due Feb 15th… Insert Marisa Tomei’s stamping foot from My Cousin Vinny … lol, I could do this all day…)
On Wednesday night, I had a wonderful experience. Having
bought a copse of new, brilliant markers from Blick Art Supply store on Sunday,
I sat down and began to experiment with these new, saturated, luscious,
dripping, succulent colors. You can perhaps tell how much I enjoyed them.
I felt almost as if I were getting to finger the crevices of
the greatest gemstones of all time. Basking in their glow. Delighted at how
they caught the light, how they were able to instantaneously create something
out of nothing.
I experimented for a while. With the different points and
pressures and textures and shapes. I felt so calm and exhilarated. Like, this THIS is what it feels like to be engaged in what you
want to be doing. And moreover, it feels like finally breaching the surface of
the water after you’ve been under for too long. Relief in a way that makes you
want to cry.
After I’d done a few of these just luxuriating in the
experience of manipulating these colors and markers pages, I turned a page, and
began to write a part of a story. Portions of the words fell right off the
page, and the next line began somewhere a few words in, as if the others were being written
… invisibly, on the other side of the page, on a bigger page that got cut, or weren’t actually written at all and there aren’t any words to connect what
you’ve read.
With my markers, I wrote a few more of these partial
stories. Then I put them up on the wall in my kitchen. The drawing before I
began writing continues to arrest me when I look at it. Something about it
captures me. And it is under this one, that I’ve taped the first story piece,
both are in red.
Perhaps, this is the beginning of a book. Perhaps the image
and the story, or poem, relate.
And, perhaps as I thought about it this morning, perhaps
there are blank pages for you, reader, to write your own story. Or perhaps blank pages for you to draw above the stories. Perhaps it’s children’s book-like. Perhaps the content isn’t though. 
Maybe. Maybe
not. But I sure like the idea. The idea of collaboration, of interaction, of
experimentation, and creativity.
I’m currently reading a book by Thomas Moore called, A
Life At Work: The Joy of Discovering What You Were Meant to Do. And as I also look at some of the work I’d done
in response to What Color is Your Parachute, I am faced again with the notion that my work
demands to be integrative, collaborative, fun.
This new idea, whatever comes of it, is part of this
discovery process. It’s part of the milemarkers on my path to my path. (And, I
will tell you, Thomas Moore agrees with me about not needing to “CHOOSE ONE” life path.) ;P
I’m going to play with this new idea. A little more
implementable than the dance. We’ll see
what happens. I may stick with all the work I’ve got and “Make it work,” or
I’ll head here for now, and “Follow the fun.”

healing · joy · meditation · self-care · spirituality

Drinking the Kool-Aid

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Well, folks, it occurs to me that I’m not sure what I will
write about today. I just did a morning meditation – a shamanic journey, in
fact – and I’m a little cock-eyed and raw at the moment.
I usually choose not to do the journeys by myself, partly
because they’re really powerful, and sometimes I just want the assurance of
someone more experienced in case I come out with questions or concerns. And
partly, I don’t like to do them on my own because they are so powerful, and
sometimes I get so thrown by them, like today. It’s hard to put the pieces of
normalcy and reality back together – it’s like waking up from a very deep
sleep, it takes a while to orient yourself to where you are, and mainly, who
you are again.
It occurs to me that this is what I meant when I talked
about being in school as giving me the time to get centered in myself and my life. Not rushing to a
job at 8:30am, not being distracted by the water cooler, or exhaustion, gives me
the space to do this work.
Granted, people who work 9-5 can also find time for spiritual
enhancement 😉
I said yesterday that I’ve been doing work around “soul
retrieval,” and I’ve heard and consider this practice as a way to re-own and
integrate those parts of myself which I have dismissed or which have been
sliced away through trauma. Well, this retrieval seems to be happening more often lately.
It happened on the New Year’s retreat two weeks ago, and it happened this
morning, both in shamanic journey meditation. (I bought the CD of the shamanic
drumming about 2 years ago, and so I listen to it on my iPod when I do it on my own – otherwise, “in real life,” someone actually drums.)
It’s not for everyone. Well, that’s not true. More accurate
is that not everyone is into it, interested in it, really cares, or believes in
it. But, that’s neither here nor there. When I began this practice about 4
years ago, I wasn’t so sure it would “work” for me either, but, consider me a
believer. I’m no expert, and won’t try to explain it here, but you can look it
up. Also, my teacher’s teacher runs a school that does this work called the
Sacred Stream in Berkeley (laugh, scoff, roll eyes, or vomit if you must). I’m
not here to convert anyone, it’s just a tool that has been offered to me, and
which I’ve picked up, not “with abandon,” but with tentative, frightened,
continuous longing.
I was speaking with a woman on the phone this morning before
the meditation, and she was telling me a bit about one of her spiritual practices.
And honestly, I think it’s marvelous that there are so many. A wrench for every
nut, as they say. Or, all rivers lead to the ocean.
I actually emailed Sacred Stream the other day to ask if
they had any sort of scholarship or volunteer program that I could do, so that
I could participate in their upcoming Intro to Shamanic Journey 2-day course. I
haven’t heard yet, but several women on the retreat with me suggested this woman.
I asked why. I mean, I get a lot of juice from my
teacher/friend, why see/try someone else. I was told that it’s like the
difference between two artists, it’s just another view, instead of getting it
all from one (and putting the one I have on a bit of a pedestal, I admit). She
also said that it’s just neat to be in this woman’s presence. That she’s got
the juice, and it’s infectious. Spiritually Infectious Juice. Sounds like
something you pick up in India and ties you to the toilet for 10 days.
But, for now, I’m going to keep juicing this fruit, and
patch my soul back together one lost bit at a time – because maybe all the
king’s horses and men couldn’t do it, but we’ve got a bit more power than that on our side. 
joy · letting go

The Birth of Everything (for Kate)

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I’m having a hard time getting this blog out today. I have
written a couple of false starts, but they feel just that, false. Maybe
pedantic. So, apparently, I give you this instead. With love, M.
on an ancient surface of being there was a traveler. he sat
in his solitude for the time of nothing and worried that his everything was perhaps on the underside of the cushion on which he was sitting.
the traveler opened one eye, squinting through into the
vastness, lit like a clown in the spotlight of a tragi-comedy. there was
glitter on the lashes of his one eye and in the new light, they danced a fortuna among the lampposts of strands.
he hadn’t been able to pop his hip bone for a few millennia,
and it was thrumming in a monotone bassoon voice. hum hum hum. there were
other sounds too. the sharp and defiant crack of a planet being born. this made the corner of his mouth
turn up in mild approval and awe. 
new-born planets have a very particular ring to them. like
the variety of meditation bowls. cheepey little excited planets, proud of
themselves for having been manifested into existence. the long slow toll of a
heavy planet with many moon brides, undergirding what ought to be a cacophony
of celestial banter, but which was also so encompassing, it was silence itself. or
not silence rather, but noiseless vibration.
through his cracked eye, the traveler concluded that it was
perhaps safe to open his second eye, but this one was turned inward to his soul
and teaching and center and calm, and he wasn’t quite sure that two outward
eyes were in fact what he wanted. but outward or inward, all of the eyes were
in fact in all of the directions already and without the deliberate gaze, the inner limitlessness would remain. without his gaze on the throbbing heart of invention,
it would still nonetheless be the throbbing heart of invention.
and so our traveler with his radiant vocal hip and internal
oculars intact, opened his second eye.
in that instant, both immediate and eternal, having been
happening all along and yet never once before, the darkness of his
surroundings burst into a firework finale of swirling color. the colors were
in full and ecstatic possession of themselves, and ran in spirals toward one another, creating for
a moment the scene of a forest or a skyscraper or a hyperfluorescent deep sea
creature with no eyes and 8 antennae.
the fluid colors tumbled about in the joy, merging,
separating, one color, multicolors, sparkles, pulses, and chased themselves around the
giddy and somber planets.
with his two eyes, and his trillions of bodily cells, the
traveler met and observed the dancers, all of whom were
encasing him and yet not existing at all. it was both void and dark stillness, and chaotic, sincere beauty.
with his two eyes, one an iris of pale blue
diamond, the other a slick curve of onyx, he brought forth the
invention, but also simply recognized it for the first time.
the glitter grabbed hold of the boulders of tears, careened down his face, and splattered into a thousand beads of light. 
action · healing · joy · meditation · performance

BART: BY ALLAH, RISE THESPIAN!

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Hahahahaha! Hahaha! Sorry, that was the acronym that
occurred to me when I was trying to figure out how to express “spiritual
experience on a urine-smelling trans-bay public train.” And, lol, I really like
it – it makes me laugh!
In any case, I will start toward the middle, and work my way
back to that.
I arrived at the audition for the musical theater company,
attempting to still my breathing into something less hyperventilatey. I
arrived, got the information sheet, and took a seat on a plastic chair in a
long white hallway with other hopefuls. If you’ve ever sat with a group of
aspiring musical theater folks, or watched Rachel on Glee, then you have some idea of the kind of energy that
is spit balling, pin balling, manic speed balling against the very narrow
walls.
Add to this the fact that at this particular audition, the
walls were very VERY thin. i.e. we,
hallway hopefuls, could hear every single note of the person auditioning as we
sat on our “Next!” chairs.
So, while sitting, I decided it would probably be good to
get my heart rate down from 76 Tromboning through my chest. You know that
really high heart-rate feeling, where you’re pretty sure everyone else can see
this thing pulsating through your clavicle? So, I began to meditate. Because it
was the only thing I knew that might calm me down. I’d looked at my music
again, but at this point, whatever was going to happen, would happen. I knew I
didn’t know the lyrics as well as I’d like, and I knew I hadn’t rehearsed as
much as I’d like, but, there was no
more, really, I could do at this point. I even tried to read a little from a
spiritual book I brought with me, but I wasn’t absorbing a thing. It was like water slipping off oil.
So, instead, I sat. And began to breathe. “Think of your
breath as a bridge between your inner world and the outer world. Notice where
your breath goes as it comes in and goes out. Don’t try to change it, just
notice. Is it deep, shallow, cool, warm?”
And I continually came back to this line of meditation
guideposts, because it would often be interrupted with comparisons. “That
person sounds really good. Why didn’t I choose a better song? Oh, they didn’t hit that note right. Eesh, are they
really going to hold that note out.” And this, began my heart-thumping all over again. Back to the breath.
Because that’s what a lot of the hallway energy is – am I
better or worse than you? Are you better or worse than me? How to I stack up?
How do I compare? How will I do?
And, believe me, a constant chatter of comparison against
anyone, “better” or “worse,” was enough to bring me out of any sense of
acceptance of que cera cera, whatever
will be will be.
To quote what I’ve heard many times, my job is only to do the
work and show up, and leave the results to G-d (Higher Power, Universe, … or
Invisible Sky Fairy, as my great friend likes to call the Power and Calm and
Connectedness we all have within us). So, however I do in that room is really
none of my fucking business. (It is my
business to prepare more, but, c’est la vie. What’s done is done.)
There comes a moment when I’m meditating – vaguely aware of the
people going in and out of the room, shuffling through their sheet music,
someone’s mom nervously helicoptering around her – when suddenly, and
surprisingly, it all goes numb. Suddenly, my heart rate has slowed to a lull,
my breathing to a calm almost still stream, and I begin to experience the tingles that I’ve come to associate with my HP. Perhaps you’ve experienced them
– I had them at that camp experience I told you about, and when I hear a
particularly moving piece of music, or when I hear a story of divine intervention,
and sometimes even at the end of one of those sappy rom-coms when everything
swells (uh, pun intended?) and joy radiates from the screen and sops right into
my core. – Those tingles.
Suddenly, sitting in this hallway, I am calm.
It’s hard to express the depth of that moment, but you will
perhaps identify with it, and also with the near-immediate return to the more
fervent breathing and heart-rate. But for a few seconds, my tromboning heart
was still. I was moved, and grateful, and surprised, and most of all,
reassured.
On my way into the city for the audition, I had to get
copies of my acting resume printed, and was in the copy shop. I was ahead of a
woman who offered me a stapler, and I said, Sure, as soon as I stop shaking! I
said I was heading to an audition and I was really nervous. She said that when
she was 16 (i.e. a long time ago), she was going on a clarinet audition, and
her teacher said to her, Imagine you are 74 years old, and how insignificant
this will seem to you then. And though there’s a part of me that feels that
auditioning for a musical for the first time since I was 17 is actually quite a
significant and really awesome thing, she’s also right. It’s one audition out
of many I believe I’ll have. Whether it’s this, musicals, theater as theater, or none of the above, I
don’t know. And I don’t much care.
What I do know is that sitting in that plastic chair, I
knew, bottomlessly, that this was a part of my path. Showing up, doing this
righteously scary thing, is beyond significant for me, and is helping to shape
the entire rest of my life.
Which, then, brings me to the BART moment. For those
uninitiated in Bay Area public transportation, BART actually stands for Bay
Area Rapid Transit, and is a train which crosses under the bay, connecting SF
to the East Bay. It is also a carpeted train system, which means it hangs onto
every loogie, urine, spill, and foot traffic odor and stain that marks it. It’s
not the place you want to bring a hot date. Nor, in fact, is it the place you’d
imagine having a spiritual experience. But, to get back to the point.
Sitting on BART, on my way into the city with my headshots,
and resumes, and sheet music, and palpating heart, I began to go inward here.
Where I went is somewhere I know – it is an open field, surrounded by a forest.
I discovered this place the first time I said it aloud to my therapist a few
years ago, “I feel like if I step out into the light, there’s a sniper waiting to take me out.” I have
felt, for a very long time, that if I step out into the sunlight, the stream of
life, my power, my gifts, my nudges, that I will be cut down, metaphorically
gunned down by the sniper(s) who stalk those trees. That as soon as I step foot
out of the shade and into the field, BAM!, dead.
Although we’ve, and I’ve, been doing much work to dismantle
this fear, it’s always been on my radar of “Don’t step too far into your own
life, Molly. Stay small, stay hidden, stay safe.” I am mostly clear on when and
how these ideas formed, and indeed, it had been important for me for a long
period of my life to stay small, hidden, silent, and therefore safe and
lovable. I am only lovable if I am small. If I get too big or loud, I will be
quashed down.
These beliefs are very old.
So, yesterday, on BART, I found myself in that forest and field. I
stood in the middle of the field, flanked by all of my teachers, guides, and
supporters. A troop, or a menagerie, or a coven, of strength. From this place,
I invited all of the snipers to come out of the forest. I told them that their
work was done, and they were no longer needed. That, as you can see, I have an
entire community of entities to help protect and guide me now, and that their job
is now obsolete.
I swept my mind’s eye through the forest to the right, and
invited the soldier there to come out. He came forward, and I thanked him for
his service, and let him know he could now leave. And he did, through a wooden
hatch door that appeared in the grassy ground before me and my team. Down he
went. I scanned through the woods from right to left, and invited all the
troops out, watched as they lowered their guns and slung them over their
backs, in a position of neutrality and peace. I thanked each one, and at one
point it felt like there were dozens, and they just all flitted down through
the hatch with my general blessing.
Finally, it seemed like there were no more snipers in the
forest. But, I went to take a look to ensure I’ve created an entirely peaceful
and unendingly safe place for myself. And, in fact, I found one last sniper. I walked into the forest, and a ways back, he was, lying on the
ground, resting against a tree, maybe with his camo hat pulled forward over his eyes. And I approached
him, and told him it was time to leave. He nudged up his hat, looked up at me,
and said, “Are you sure?” Are you sure you don’t need me anymore? Are you sure
it’s safe to go out into the fields? Are you sure that my work at protecting
you is done?
Yes.  Yes, soldier, I am sure.
And so, we both walked out, tromping through the forest into
the sunlight of the field, and I held onto his arm, like an old friend, because
in essence, he was. And we feel kindly toward each other – even though yes,
he’s attempted to kill me, that was his only way of ensuring my safety.
We walked up to the hatch, and I saluted him, and he saluted me, and in real life on the BART train, I got a little emotional at it, at this
goodbye, and down he went, through the grassy hatch, which closed, and sprouted a flower, or perhaps flowers were laid upon it, like a memorial.
But. After this? You wanna know what I did? I went
CARTWHEELING through that forest!! I began to run and jump and sing and yell
and cartwheel all throughout that fucking forest. It was free. It was clear.
This was a safe place for me again. Or perhaps for the first time.
I was free.
Sure, perhaps it will take some getting used to, this
walking out into the sunshine, this taking the reins of my own life, this
“owning voice” thing. But, clearing out my psyche and my heart of obsolete
warriors feels like an incredible start. And after years of toeing the line,
stepping up to it and back away, don’t get too close, Perhaps now. Perhaps NOW,
I get to cross it, in cartwheels.
Amen. 
adventure · community · cooking · joy · performance · self-care

Italian Hot and Sweet

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

First of all, thank you for the outpouring of love which
you’ve sent me over the last 24 hours. I am grateful for your love and care.
I took yesterday off from work at the suggestion of the
receptionist, whom I called to say I was running late and was dragging a bit as
my grandmother had passed away, and she asked, Why are you coming in? Stay
home. And I said, well, I have those projects I want to finish so maybe I don’t
have to come in next week, and I’ll be in as soon as possible.
After about another 10 minutes of semi-aimlessness, I called
back and said, you know what, I’m going to take your suggestion and not come in
today – I’ll be in on Monday. And, so I will. I do have one project, not to
finish, since it’s epic, but to show her how to do, to pass the torch, and once
I do that, complete that task, I will be done there. I say with a finality that
allows for change 😉 But, I am feeling so over it. Sure, lots of people feel
“over” their jobs, but I have the opportunity and the freedom to make a change,
and so, I will make it. Before I get too resentful, too late, and burn a bridge
I may need some day.
One of my options for alternative income will be approved or
denied on Sunday. I’m auditioning for the live modeling guild in the Bay Area,
and they pay well. Like I’ve said before, they also require “motorized
transportation,” but I’m not all too worried about that. I have a feeling
things are in the works around me and a car. First of all, because I reached
out for help around finding one, and second because I have the support system
of my financial folks to help me really piece together the amount I can spend –
although I haven’t sat down with them yet, I let two people know that I would
be reaching out to do so.
Today is my audition for a musical theater company, and true
to my Serenity Moth, I haven’t practiced whatsoever. I have the music for one
of the two songs I’ll sing, but am still not sure what my second one will be.
And, I wish I’d practiced. Duh.
It’s “funny.” I had done my numbers in December, and had
come to the conclusion that I actually didn’t need to work these few weeks before school started, but
greed and anxiety came in, and I took the two weeks at the temp job. “Funny” is
that last week I was stupidly sick, and worked one full day. That’s it.
Then, this week, with my increasing lateness to work, and then taking off
yesterday, I haven’t worked a full week anyway. It’s like the Universe saying, See, darling, sometimes things will end up the way they’re supposed to
anyway – and you would have been better off not fighting it.
Yesterday, I did meet up with a friend for tea, and we spoke
poetry, and school, and artistic integrity and honesty. And it was just nice to
sit in the middle of the day drinking a hot beverage with a beloved friend. I
wish I’d allowed myself the last two weeks to do that. But, c’est la vie.
Perhaps lesson learned.
Afterward, I took a walk up over the border between Oakland and
Piedmont (aka the rich section), and went up to my favorite tree swing. There
are a number of swings in the streets up there, hanging from the trees closest
to the sidewalk and street, and although when I first began to sit on them last
year, I felt self-conscious, like these were someone else’s and I shouldn’t be
on them – I’ve gotten over it 😉 And I sat for a while on my favorite swing,
swinging intermittently and letting myself oscillate back to center – which
sort of feels like a metaphor for yesterday.
The later afternoon I spent on my couch in the dwindling
sunshine reading Eat Pray Love, a book
I’ve read before, and which seemed exactly the book I felt like reading. And
perhaps influenced by the first section when the author is in Italy, and
influenced by her self questioning (What would you, self, like to do?), in the evening, I asked myself
what I wanted to eat. Nothing on
the commercial strip seemed like what I wanted, so I decided to go to the
grocery market, and just see what appealed and cook something. I had a vague
idea about a pasta dish I’ve made before (also likely influenced by the “food porn”
section of the book) but they didn’t have fresh basil (it’s not at all
basil season at the moment), so I started to pick up random vegetables that
spoke to me.
This blog perhaps is longer than I intended, but a long time
ago in a galaxy far away, I was a 19 year old suburban college student in the
summer between sophomore and junior year, and I was blazingly in love with an
Italian-American. Blazingly – burn hot, burn quick. He, of the red growling IROC
camaro, yes, really, and against-stereotype dredlocks, was a chef. (Well, at the
moment, he worked at a pizza shop, but…)
One evening, he and I were in the kitchen of my house and he
decided to cook up dinner. He began to do the most amazing thing. Something I
had never ever seen before. He started to randomly take items, vegetables, meat, out
of the refrigerator and prepare them for the pot. How do you know what to
put in?? I squealed. Without a
recipe??
I was shocked. I had never seen someone cook in this way
before – without a recipe. He replied, I just know what I like, so I throw it in.
It was so novel. It perhaps sounds ridiculous to you, but at
that moment, my entire world of cooking and food was cracked wide open – and
beyond that, my ideas of rules, freedom, joy, frivolity, experimentation were
cracked open as well. It was a pinnacle moment for me. And each time I just
begin to “throw stuff in,” I still get a thrill of adventure.
So, when, yesterday, I was in the grocery store, and had to
abandon my very specific basil recipe, I found myself creating something
entirely new. Would it work? Who cares – I want to try. So, with a basket
filled with locally-made pasta, sun-dried tomatoes, capers, Italian sausage –
hot and sweet, a log of mozzarella, stalks of asparagus-thin broccoli, and a few sweet red peppers,
I headed home to the healing power of food, creation, adventure, and self-care.
P.S. it was marvelous! – but next time, ix-nay on the
capers 😉

joy · serenity

Crouching near creekbeds and small plants.

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I am definitely finding a reluctancy to plug back into the frenetic pace of life. I feel like that movie A Waking Life where it’s this wonky combination of real life film overlayed with animation. Walking yesterday out of the office at lunchtime to go meet up with some folks, I found myself looking up a lot more – seeing the trees, wondering how they’re doing in the smog, and looking at the glimpses of sky through and sun on the tall buildings. Although I felt rather serene in doing that, I also feel a sense of resignation or sadness to “have to” jump back in whole hog to everything.

I sort of feel like my priorities have shifted. Like everything that was consuming me before I left is like an echo of a memory of a dream. 😉 And I sort of like this ‘one foot in this world’, ‘one foot in another’ kind of feeling, and am sort of curious if I can, and how long I can “keep it up.”
I kept on remembering the very clear sound of the crunching of the leaves and branches under my feet as I wandered off the paths on the 300+ acre camp this weekend. The feeling of my legs lifting up over the dried wiry plants, catching my jeans on them, pausing to plot the best route through the poison oak. (Luckily, I learned a while ago I’m not sensitive to poison oak, but I don’t rub my face in it.) We were given time to simply go sit with nature, find a spot, and sit. Things are so alive and moving out there. It’s like, even if you’re just walking, you don’t even notice. The redwoods creak. It sounds like someone stepping on an old floor board. The sound of the wind coming through the dry leaves on the trees made me wonder at first if there were a highway or a stream near where I was, but no, it was the ebb and flow of the wind having a conversation with itself.
A small bird was pecking its way through a bramble bush near where I was sitting, and although I couldn’t see it for quite some time, I could acutely hear where it was and hear its progression closer to me through the underbrush.
I also took a walk on my own on Sunday morning while a good portion of the women did yoga. I wanted to be outside. I said that I’d had the strangest urge to rent Castaway when I was sick last week, and that I think it was part of my desperate thirst to touch base with the elements. This weekend wasn’t “real” camping, or any kind of fend in inclement weather. But, it was certainly natural.
I walked into the unknown hillside, knowing where the stream was, and wondering if I could get to it from my side. When I couldn’t be sure I could actually get back up the steep drop in time to join the others for breakfast, I still felt drawn to go hang out by the creek. So I went around the other way, climbed over the wooden fence, and crouched by the trickling stream. It was nice to have spent some time not near the water, as sometimes that sound, although harmonious, drowns out what other sounds there were – like the small bird’s progress, and the creaking of the swaying redwoods (which was, by far my favorite sound).
But I squatted by the river – I read once that this stance used to be much more common, and aided in childbirth, but we’ve come away from it as a society – it was nice to squat there, to feel my hip bones sort of melt open and my body familiarize itself with the stretch of my calves and achilles’ tendons. I know according to Seinfield, squatting is a bad naked pose, but that’s okay – I wasn’t naked 😉
I watched the stream’s progression for some time, and noticed where the water level must have previously been judging by the carved out, mossy underside of some tree roots. And I drank from the creek water. (I told a girl later that if I die in a few days, they know why.), but it was so clear, and it was from a running portion of the creek, and … it tasted better than Fiji water. It tasted like clarity, life, calm. And it was so cool, a freshness that I felt as I sipped it from my cupped hand.
You can imagine why, now, coming back to the current reality –which looks like me in front of a computer screen, copy machine, or cataloguing library books– is lacking in a sense of enchantment for me. But, it’s alright. I remember all that of this weekend very clearly. And I made a note too that the stream is now a part of me. I drank from it. Whatever clarity, calm, wholeness it embodies (or doesn’t, maybe it’s just water), I now have that source within me. Surely, perhaps I always have it, but as I crouched down and noticed the fresh eetsy beetsy red leaves of a new poison oak sprout, I laughed at its cheeky, unwavering confidence.
fortitude · joy · laughter · persistence · recovery

Ocean Liner

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I retract my endorsement of Airborne.
Just kidding. I just am not feeling as better as I’d like,
especially as it comes up to New Year’s Eve tomorrow.
Although I remember the last several New Year’s, which was a
new development, none of them have been particularly outstanding. Last year, I
was on the roof of a friend’s condo in SF, watching the fireworks over the Bay
– which was wonderful – with my soon to be ex – which was less wonderful, but a
great attempt at shoe-horning romance into a moment.
This year’s remains to be seen, with a party with some local
friends’ bands, and some dances out in SF that could be a raucous good time.
But I’m not feeling particularly raucous at the moment. But things change. And
this is the season for it.
I was reminded this morning as I was writing my Morning
Pages about a conversation I’d had with my friend Luke on our Misfit Christmas. We
were talking about the economy, and he was saying that people’s expectations
are that things can change on a dime, in an instant, immediately show results.
Whereas the more accurate truth is that change is like the course of an ocean
liner. It.does.not.stop. when you want it to. (See: Titanic) ;P
He drew his finger in a long, wide arc along the coffee shop table and said that
as an ocean liner begins to change course, it continues to look like it’s still
going along its original path, it continues out into the treacherous water, slowly evening a turn-about. It is not instantaneous, and
it is not immediately obvious or apparent.
Which means, that for anything that does change in this manner, like most things in this world, it requires patience.
This morning, I was reflecting that the change of the year, a
sudden WHAM BANG HELLO NEW YEAR!, might not equate with the reality of the
subtlety of change. But, personally, I feel it. The planet changing
its course in the cosmos, slowly slingshotting back around. The impending
change of the year has begun – it’s not one moment at midnight when Dick Clark
leads us all in some bedazzled primal chant. It’s more covert, and ultimately more kind
than that.
Changes that happen all at once are called emergencies.
Lucky for us, life is not always in the habit of confronting us with change in
these violent manners.
I’m not sure of my entire point here, but I suppose I’m
attempting to provide a bit of cosmic comfort, reinforcement of the
positive course I am on and perhaps you are on, and g-d willing the economy is on! Or maybe I’m just being wistful at the close of a
year, which, of course, it also is.
I was 14 and at a new year’s dance and a girl friend of mine
was in near hysterics. She said that the change of new year’s always gave her
anxiety. I got a text just now in which a friend asked me if I didn’t also have
the new year’s depression.
Lucky for me, no. I’ve bought my ticket on this ocean liner.
Cast in my lot. Threw down the gauntlet. Thrown in my hat. I am down with you,
Ocean Liner. I am concerned that I don’t know where you’re going once you make
your change in course, but I’m also mildly thrilled to see where you will go. To call on the spirit of “Must be present to Win”
and “Just Row,” I will make my best attempt to stand like Rose at the bow of
the ship and throw my arms open unto the unknown. 
action · integrity · joy · performance · persistence · self-care

"Forbidden", Make that "Attainable" Joys

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I have a piece of paper dated in October of 2008 from an Artist’s
Way exercise. It’s entitled “Forbidden
Joys,” and is a list of ten things that we would love to do, but feel we can’t
or are not allowed for whatever reason. It could also be called a Bucket List,
I suppose.
Dated about 6 months later is a strike through of the word
“Forbidden” and above which is now written “Attainable.”
I’ve added three more things to the list, but the last thing
added was dated in 2009. I’ve carried this list through my move, and
found it maybe two months ago when I took The Artist’s Way book down again while looking for quotes for my
workshop on Creativity and Spirituality in the Spring.
The list is only about a third accomplished. And I’ve decided
not to “update” it from what I’d written, as I know there are now more and
different things I’d add. But, I want to honor this list, because there are still things on it that I would really love to do, if I
let myself.
The things that are now crossed off are: Go blonde; Audition for a play; Get furniture and paint my place (prior to that, I’d been using Office Depot boxes as night&coffee tables); Ice
skate; and Paint a canvas.
I still want to continue to audition for plays, and I still
want to Ice skate, and I want to paint more canvases, but “breaking the seal”
as it were, or going on an inaugural run through each of these is a great
beginning.
Those that still remain are: Bass lessons; Camp in the
wilderness; See the southwest again; Go on a real vacation; Sing in a band;
Have a dog (not sure if now having a cat counts, but I’m leaving it!); Build a
(non-Ikea) bookcase; and Take flying lessons.
This last one, I am most poised to do at present, as I got
one of those LivingSocial, Groupon-y type emails last week…For a two-hour
introductory flying lesson.
Typically, these are really expensive. I’ve actually looked
up this company before, during this past summer, when I was trying to find
work, and thought that maybe volunteering somewhere I was interested to learn
would be good experience, so I emailed a whole bunch of flight schools in the
area, as well as a whole bunch of sailing schools. But none had any openings.
But, I did get to see what was available out there. … And to see how insanely
expensive it is to get licensed to fly a small plane, which is ultimately what
I’d like to do.
I love flying. I have found over the past few years that I
write pretty well and pretty prolifically at 30,000 feet. There is a level of
suspension of reality, of detachment from every and anything that may be going
on – I feel freer and more unfettered than I almost ever feel. The only thing
comparable to me is really hiking out somewhere, or being up in Sonoma, for
whatever reason. I once about Sonoma that “my guts release the strictness I didn’t know
they were in.” And it’s true. I feel open, unclenched, serene.
So, in an effort to follow my nudges and listen to myself
and take responsibility for my dreams, I bought the intro flying lesson. It’s a
step. And I’ll get to cross it off my “Attainable Joy” list. And “Sing in a
band,” I know you’re there, and I’m listening.