Sunday, November 26, 2017

Future Matrix



Things in the future reach back to influence your present.

Karma, not only as determinate origin, the idea that every present moment and circumstance is a result off all that was before, but also as the result of all that comes after, is a new idea for me.

What I finds in the present is both influenced by its past but also by what is in its future. All vectors of possibility holistically influence every other.

I think only god can fully experientially understand this idea, but us lesser divisions of the all can get a glimpse of it intellectually. How would it be possible to exist as an individual unless cut off from the full understanding of this? What Point would there be in omniscience? What fun?



Is Chloe getting too deep? Has she smoked too much fine morocan hashish? Or is she just thinking out loud?

Well she just had an experience of the above...

Love

C

Saturday, October 1, 2016

I'm Open...




I'm open to talking and corresponding, mainly corresponding, I don't like the phone, so you'd have to be in Barcelona to actually talk talk.

I'm sort of a hermit girl, quiet as a mouse, never seen in short tight dresses in early am club frenzies, surrounded and jammed together with other sweaty, desperate, evolved monkeys. (Yes I do know the difference between ape and monkey, but that is a tail for another day).

I DO socialize here in Barcelona, but it tends to be superficial, hi how are you? Fine? Great! Or those wine fueled deep talks with people at parties who just want to insist on their world view as if it were the pronouncements of THE oracle. I can follow along for a while but wine and thinking are divergent courses. Mainly for me, my convo partners have no problem.

I have had correspondents before, writer types who could play the game, lobbing ideas into my court and setting up for my replies, knowing I would make them move to stay in play.

It helps me as a writer to have some outlet to write to other than my work-in-progress. It cleans out the brain ducts to flow out for fun the stuff that doesn't fit into the WIP.

You can talk sexy (man or woman, if you dare and are good at it, ) or practical or stream of consciousness, I'm good at all, just don't be boring.

And if its just emails, you can be whoever you want to be and I'll play.

:)



Thursday, July 21, 2016

I'm Feeling Feminine Today



I'm feeling feminine today. Not that I don't always, but today I feel it more. Good meditation, shifting cyclical hormones, a quiet week and suddenly I have an urge to pretty up. Not FOR anybody, just because.

I feel delicate, happy, quiet, calm, loving, wanting to share, open to intimacy, strong, vibrant, sexy, and not in an intense rush, but in a gentle warmth.

I want to cuddle and talk...with someone! Not with myself in my head! I want to cook someone dinner, make love to them and fall asleep touching.

I want to wear the sheerest cotton bit of a sundress and walk in the cooling evening, feeling the air on my skin, feeling the air moving the fabric against me and away like caresses.

I want to be silly and playful, submissive and teasing, warm and open.

I want to hunt you with my teases, attract you with my retreat, feed on you with my desire.



:)

Love

Chloe




Sunday, May 29, 2016

My most recent rejection email from Elephant Journal.




I don't know why I want to be published by EJ...maybe because I like reading it? I try, and get rejected repeatedly, yet remain mostly unfazed. I like my thoughts and words. That should be enough, and usually is.

elephant journal




to me
Dear Chloe,

Thanks for putting yourself out there. This is interesting but I'm not getting much of a cohesive story or message---you seem to be bouncing from topic to topic. I'm not sure what your examples are intended to illustrate. Is there a way that you can pare it down and clarify your message? Keep it simple, focus on one thesis and it will be more accessible to our audience.

We’re not here to change your fundamental message (usually)—we are here to make sure your message can connect.

Please send your revision in this same thread when you're ready. If we don’t reply to that within a week, you might need to find a new angle/subject.

With thanks for your effort and heart—

Yours in the vision of Enlightened Society,

Renee


Me to Renee..


Yes...cohesive. Well I'm not, my life is not and that is sort of the point. Graduating, moving out into life without the structure that had held things together for the previous 23 years, and the wide open opportunity isn't cohesive.
Cohesiveness is frequently a symptom of attachment to externally derived patterns, a free mind (and body) will no doubt bounce around a bit in the time after those patterns are no longer enforced.
My life is open moving forward, sexually, literarily, yet the vestiges of old patterns still color it. That is the point.
If it is too obscure for you and your readers, if I am not writing to a plot, but just letting thoughts find words and that is not enough...no apologies.
It is enough for me and is how I write. An audience isn't as important. Maybe one will come, maybe not.
Thanks for your comments and taking the time to read me.


 

Sometimes I'm a deviously passive aggressive little bitch aren't I.


Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Madness

I feel the moon on the sunny Med,

Waiting

Fading light, letting go

The shadows fall on the day.

What nonsense will greet its rising?

Full, luminous, howl inspiring.


Thursday, February 25, 2016

Barcelona Near Spain






I moved to Barcelona after graduation. I'd never been there before, didn't know anyone there, and didn't really have a firm goal. I just wanted to plop my butt down somewhere completely outside my safe places.

Barcelona is one of the worlds cool cities, vibrant culture, amazing architecture, and a welcoming atmosphere for ex-pats.

Love that! Ex-pats.. the implications of the word... ex patriated.. removed from home.. the mystery... why..?

I was sick of school. Not that I don't severely need more education! But how I get educated...shouldn't be so dreary, so tedious, boring, and really so much an exercise in conforming to thought and conclusions reached by people who are now tucked safely into tenure and self validated wisdom. ( you know I'm taking about you JT, if you would ever deign to read what I write without judgement of the minor aspects of my writing that are not....conforming!)

I wanted danger, to move way outside my comfortable and into a challenge, but a safe one alas. Barcelona is safe. Well except for the pickpockets and the men with the intense eyes who challenge what used to be called a womans virtue...  :)

I arrived on Aer Lingus, after a layover in Dublin, at about 8pm in the evening with no reservations for the night, no local contacts and 49.99 lbs of suitcase and 20 more of backpack.

The RENFE train got me he into the city center a little after 9. Instead of looking for a hotel, I ducked into the first place I saw that looked like a glass of wine was what they wanted to make sure I had before anything else.

For a Napa valley girl, dirty, tired and exhilarated, my priorities were straight. Wine. Then some tapas or Pintxos, and maybe later....sleep and a wash, but only if the night had no other promise.

Lugging a suitcase into restaurants actually is a really good tactic, it lets people know just who I was and wasn't. I didn't finish the first glass of a really nice red house wine before a guy was at my side being friendly. Of course that sort of thing can go either way, but he wasn't a single predator (darn?) and invited me to a table of other people who wanted to keep their own night interesting by grilling a new arrival.

I ended up on the couch in the flat of a couple of german girls who thought California was some magical place inhabited by cool people. Who'd a thought just being from Cali was an entrée to the cool circle internationally!

And then, friend of an acquaintance of a friend, and a few days later, I had a room with a couple in El Raval.   Carrer de la Paloma, 11, 08001 Barcelona, Spain

Gotta love people!

_______________________________________________________________________


I'm home in Yountville with my Dad for a couple more weeks, then back to the adventure. 

I'm so tempted to take a ferry down to north Africa...it's a direct connection from Barcelona to Tangier Morocco...35 hours!..but worry the later day Barbary Pirates or some such horrors await. I'll save that for a group outing..

I can easily hop up to France, six and a half hours to Paris, a couple hours to Perpignan across the border.

But what have I really been doing there? Walking around. Eating too much. Drinking too much. Reading a lot. And just getting comfortable. Oh yea...writing a bit, my real reason to distance myself from the known.

I'm thinking of shipping my mountain bike over...but I'm up 4 floors and don't have a safe place to lock it up without carrying it up!
_______________________________________________________________________



What a change from California where there is not much that is over a couple hundred years old, and most is boxes built for economy, embellished only with cheap flourishes to mimic architectural styles.

Architecture is the art of accommodating people in and around buildings. It can be beautiful or utilitarian, fanciful or horrid. It effects how people feel about a place, and the identity they generate for a it.

Language has similar influences.

Barcelona is profoundly shaped by both.

Gaudi and catalan, (and the associated lust for independence from Spain).



____________________________________________________________________________

More reports sporadically....

Love

Chloe




Sunday, May 24, 2015

Improbable thoughts on what I might actually do with the rest of my life, as a post baccalaurette.



Yes I know I spelled baccalaureate wrong. I spell wrong a lot, but this was intentional. I will be a woman with a degree soon. I think it is different than being a man with one. Well just enough to make a small point about it. I'm not feeling like I am the lessor of the genders, just the less likely to be paid the most. Let the boys have the money, us girls have the vaginas.

Its like owning the best hotel in the years super bowl city, or a store with this months hottest fashions, or park place in monopoly, it gives power in the right circumstances.

Circumstances are made, even though some just fall into them, The wise and ambitious don't fall, they create.

It all starts with thought, you are the result of all your previous thoughts (and the actions and consequences of them). That is karma, the sum of all your previous thoughts, actions and reactions. The buddhists have a concept of dependent origin, everything is the result of something previous.

You didn't just end up living in a shit hole and having the world working against you, or in a mansion and with a magical life, EVEN IF IT SEEMS LIKE THAT JUST HAPPENED with no input on your part. The wisdom is in seeing your karma, seeing that big ball of all your prior stuff that was just before NOW, the reason now is what it is.

:)

So what are my karma and vagina up to?

(This reminds me of what a drunk guy confessed to me at a keg party last year, he said "sometimes I think of girls as just a transportation and support mechanism for their pussy". Yeah. He really said that, and I appreciated his honesty. He must have felt comfortable with me to trust me with that. Saved me the trouble of making sure I looked and acted cute and alluring with him!
Later that night I sat with him and helped him wipe his face with paper towels after he finished puking. He told me I was nice. He didn't remember then, that I was just a support mechanism for a vagina. He was probably feeling like he needed a mommy at the moment and no guy can think about his mom like that! I like guys, they are simple. I used the transport function of the vagina support device to go home early before things got cave man simple.)

My karma is currently good. I'm in a good place, well situated for the future. I've got financial support and means to explore without being tied to working. I'm willing to work, if it is interesting. I've got a passport with plenty of open pages! And I have almost no obligations. My only obligations are thoughts, consideration of how what I do going forward, will affect those I love. Truly that is my only obligation.

What would my dad think if I decided to work as an escort to research material for my writing? I wouldn't be the first girl go for a little adventure like that. In fact I wouldn't be the first girl in my facebook friends list!

I mean I've really thought about it, researched it on the net and stuff. Its fairly safe with the right agencies, they send a guy with you in the car and the clients are vetted before hand (at the really good agencies). You might even get a night with a silicon valley hot shot or doctors, lawyers and visiting dignitaries! With what they pay, $1000+ a night, these aren't guys off the street.

But its still prostitution. Daddy wouldn't like that.

I wouldn't either, but I've run the ideas of it around in my head. Not really fantasy as much as exploring where the imagination can go before it runs into barriers.

But why is it that sex and women's role is so stigmatized? Why would I be more damaged goods than the guy? Why isn't my sexuality entirely my own? Its almost like maybe it could be liberating to just say "fuck off" to the powers that be, "I can do what ever I want and what you think is your problem!"

Yeah Chloe, I dare you.

Well I was brave enough to think it. I wouldn't be brave enough to say I did it. (the reader is left to think..)  :)

I entertain even more bizarre and disturbing thoughts sometimes. Not as my own desires, but to explore beyond the edges.

What would it be like to commit to suicide by moving to Africa and working as a prostitute to truckers in Uganda? (A major AIDs vector). How would that story write out? Rich white girl decides to end it all as slowly and messily as possible. There's a writing prompt for some creative writing class. Would she change her mind after it was too late? Would the sex be brutal or would there be human moments? Is it racist to use this idea? I'm not going to use the idea, to much else to be writing, but my mind wanders sometimes.

The current work in progress, (book) is bogged. I'm just not experienced enough in living to write what I know is there. I NEED experiences. Again. I had them before but they are used up.

I'm considering stuffing a small knapsack with a pair of jeans, a skirt, a pair of shorts, 3 tops, a bra, and 5 pairs of panties, my passport and credit cards and a few sundries, and just taking the first super cheap flight out of here. I got this idea from: http://tynan.com/

Travel aimlessly but fortuitously.

Would I find love? Purpose? Rich experience, either good or bad?

Can I jump into the unknown?

But really I have, every now is at that precipice of a void.

Chloe




_____________________________________________________________________


A little post script..after a nice bike ride and reflection on what I wrote above..

I think the prostitution thing is sort of my reaction to the whole expectation of entering the working world after graduation. I mean you don't even own your own life in many cases. Student debt, the projections of your worth as described by your material comfort and success. Family, society, your own implanted patterns of thought all focused on the material.

You prostitute your soul to pay for your material life.

I want to do things in my life that are a continuing exploration of my self as a sprititual being in addition to as one of the many participants in the monkey games.

I want to be Joan Didion not Nora Roberts.

I want to think things and say things that open up the deeper meanings in life, not just pander to the ordinary.

My meditation practice, Vipassana, focuses on observing sensation without contributing to it, reacting to it or avoiding it. Noticing attachment, while not attached. Life is built of various attachments. Needs, beliefs, really any sort of thought or thing that you cling to.

What are we that needs these thoughts and things we are attached to?

Or really are we simply an observer of illusion? Gods little game with herself?

:)

w/love

Chloe

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Begining to End

It's beginning to end. The last vestiges of childhood, innocence and freedom. I just have two classes this quarter and then I can walk.

Walk the stage or just walk away with official recognition of being educated. Not that the brief taste and exposure gained with a bachlorette degree is really educated! Life does that way more efficiently.

I will though have jumped through the hoops that qualify me for entry level work in the non fast food track.

I wish it were the 60's and I could drop out of all I tuned in to, be a hippy, have no repercussion sex with gorgeous longhaired men, take drugs that were still innocent, and feel like it meant something. Something not ruined by the term slacker and social responsibility.

I want to be an adult/child, grown physically and emotionally enough to function independent of help, but with no regard for convention or others projected expectations.

Maybe like http://www.jannerobinson.com/

Bare breasted surfing in Costa Rica, writing to live, living to write.



She inspires me. But I'm not thin. Or as driven.

What sort of life DO I want?

Definitely free from convention. No 9-5. I just can't. And don't have too.

But I want purpose! I've had it before. It was to "get through it". I did. Now life is a little flatter. Sounds like depression, but its not, I am content and happy, just a bit adrift.

I see others around me excited to start careers, move into the meat of life. People are starting to semi-permanently couple, prepare to build nesting capabilities, and be more responsible. Binge drinking only on Friday and Saturday!

I am uncoupled and drink steadily, never binging.

And I look into the void of future that is my life, oscillating between projecting fantasy and confronting reality. Only there is no reality except what I move myself into.

I can go any number of ways and am paralyzed with freedom.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Obsession.

Those who know me know I am not the most stable, normal, girl ape on the planet. BiPolar, BiSexual, and sometimes BiZarre.

I've fallen into a stalker'ish minor obsession in the last few days with a most gorgeous man. He wouldn't have any way of knowing I watch him, its all online.

I've spent 4 or 5 hours tracking down every thing there is on the net about him, and check his FB several times a day...

And this is the normal part of this story!

I'm so tempted to put up a photo of him so you all can see why he is so fascinating, but I won't. He looks like a young Brad Pitt! Same scruff of whiskers....

Brad Pitt

Same alluring intensity in the eyes, confident masculinity with out looking like a macho fool. He's smart and funny from reading his comments and posts, and has a diverse circle of friends and family.

He works for a tech company, seems to have a motorcycle and a comfortable life. He gets along with his parents, although I know there were some rough years in his past. Drinking, jail.

He seems particularly self aware, aware of how damaged he was for a while, before he found himself. And now he seems very happy with who he is.

I've read his blogs and those of one of his lovers...it was by chance and googlefu that I found them, they are not in the normal search anymore, but still findable. And wow. He has a past with twists!

Look at the photo above. What would you think his semi-secret is? Gay? Yeah well he is, but that is not the secret!

I've seen photos of him shirtless and he has a nice chest and flat stomach. He always sports a bit of scruff on his chin and lip, sometimes cheeks...

OK. He looks JUST like the guy above, only real big difference is he has no dick. Literally. Never Did!

"He" is a girl who has had her breasts surgically removed and takes testosterone.

Holy Fuck Chole, you are one sick puppy for cyber stalking a transman and fantasizing about what THAT would be like!

A total guy in looks and attitude, (yeah he pulls off "guy" pretty well!) AND GIRL PARTS BELOW!

TO HIM: if somehow you read this, I so have the weirdest crush ever on you. Yea I know this kind of attention is probably unwelcome, and if I were a perfect little Chloe I would never even write this, but I'm not.  I so identify with or want.....how different you are, not that I want what you have, just you are so brave, so hot, and so cool. I don't want to be you, just interesting, complex and a survivor of hurt.

Greta is going to have fun with this in my next therapy session.

:)


Sunday, November 16, 2014

Fifty Shades...

Wow.

I just moments ago finished reading 50 Shades of Grey.

I had bought it a year or so ago, meaning to read it because it was a cultural reference sort of book. Something you had to have read so you could make a few snarky comments about it at a party.

But...

I got into it. I SO IDENTIFIED WITH HER in ways that taught me something about myself.

I'm not quite sure what it is, something on the order of could I give myself to another person beyond my limits?

Women my age don't have the social programing to be halfway submissive to men like my moms generation, or more fully like my grandma still is. Much less in the BDSM way.

Could I transcend my own upbringing and what I think of as my basic nature and personality to give more than I was...willing?...able?...prepared to deal with? For some one I loved so completely?

It is an interesting question, and one that drives the book.

I think I could do the Red Room of Pain scenes, if it were just scene. I don't know if I could do it with someone I loved. And I think that was her unanticipated limit.

50 Shades of Grey is the classic romance novel story arc, two people not terribly inclined to each other at first, then attraction and simultaneous repulsion, and then resolution. With a twist of the resolution at the end.

She's my age, my temperament, a bit introverted and introspective, clutzy and self demeaning, and totally dazzled by a man who would dazzle me!

Truth be told, I am not sure I wouldn't whore myself to him.

But then his intrigue with her is exactly in that she won't, and that she will be submissive willingly for love, but not for his less than sane urges. She is good for him, a path out of the darkness. She knows it. He doesn't. Interesting that she truly has the power as a submissive. Something I had never considered. And perhaps this is something that is in play in larger society, women, having power, in ways that are not so obvious.

Will she come back?

Well there are two more books! So its a given.

50 Shades was less than great literature in some ways, but the story, the characters, made up for it.

Now I join housewife's all over in day dreaming about a man who could make me want to submit.

Fetlife.com here I come.

:)

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Men are Funny - Psychosexual Dynamics

Funny ha ha? Or funny strange?

Both.

I love them for the silly way they think they can work their way into my life, into my pants, into my heart.

Well maybe they don't think they ARE working their way into my heart, but they do, and mostly way before they get near my pants!

Men are endearing for those very qualities that they are not self aware of, characteristics they don't control, their subconscious drives, deep urges...sweet innocence in the transparency.

Therein lies part of a woman's power.

I've had a few interactions with men over the last couple of weeks that have brought this on. I signed up for LinkedIn®, sort of preparing for the future where I am not sheltered by school and daddy's generosity. https://www.linkedin.com/pub/chloe-smith/a5/114/109   Feel free to connect!

I had a hard time finding people I know, my age and circumstance, but I was having fun just reading profiles looking for unusual but dynamic people. People who were doing interesting things with their lives.

I have a real life pagan wizard as a connection. A real life Albus Dumbledore, who has a school of wizardry, a bunch of degrees and lives a polyamorous lifestyle. It is interesting to google stalk people and read what they have said and what people around them say. Apparently there is a lot of social dynamic foofarah in an extended community of people who live in open and multiple partnered relationships. But you have to give them props for trying! I still haven't totally figured out the women, is it a submissive thing, to be one of several, in a group relationship?

I don't think I could handle all the potential drama. I can see the occasional threesome but not a long term sextuple! (or maybe it should always be an odd number?)

He seems like a sweet guy, but my mental picture is adolescent boy with a bunch of crush girls fawning. How do you extend intimacy over a group? I have a hard enough time with one other.

I also connected up with a couple of authors who are my dads age, 60's ish.

Now I have a book to my name, but it is a amateurish, self involved work, and hardly something to give me cred with the grownup crowd. Maybe points for trying. But the feeling I got from both of them was interest and solicitousness. I felt that cuteness was a big factor in their accepting my connection request. Not that I am so cute, but being a young woman, I feel men that age think I am.

Don't get me wrong either, I like that! I think older guys are sexy as hell if they have that kind of confidence that younger guys just don't have the life experience to pull off. I mean the older guys aren't so horny that they can't look you in the eye for more that a second, and know the way to you, is through your head anyway. And they have been rejected enough that it is just play, not a big ego thing. It's fun to flirt with them.

So one of the guys "liked" a picture of me on my Facebook® from when I was sixteen. And he was not single. What do I think? What am I supposed to think? The photo was from when I was skinny and the caption said I wasn't so skinny anymore. Yeah I like the photo too, but the guy has grandkids almost that age, so he likes it because.....

I think I know men. Their urges are psychosexual. Not necessarily directly toward actual sex, but things that gratify the idea, attention from young women perhaps? Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but I don't think so.

The other guy offered to let me read his upcoming manuscript! I warned him that my skills were on display in my own writing and my input would probably be less than profound. He wrote back very supportively and I had the feeling that I could establish a correspondence with him if I wanted. Tempting too as he is a deep thinker from what my googling of his writing showed. I even ordered his last book from Amazon.

I have a bit of reluctance though. Self doubt really, and fear of making a fool of myself! It's like the acceptance of flattery, is a set up for a fall. Not that any of the men I am writing about were blatantly flattering beyond mere politeness, I wasn't being hit on, or even offered the suggestion of a more personal interest. It is just what I feel is the subconscious motivation in men.

So one more guy. He only had 2 connections on LinkedIn® but one was a mutual connection, so when his request came in, I googled him.

HE WAS A FUCKING REGISTERED SEX OFFENDER!

Oh My Fucking God!

Men can not know the creepy ick feeling a girl has when someone who has messed with children, and had it proven in court, try to make contact with them!

I had to dig to find what to do, being new to LinkedIn®, but found how to sent a report to them. Hopefully they will boot him off and report him to the authorities. But probably its not illegal for him to be there.

So men. A range from the amusing to the bizarre.

Amusing is good, even great, I think of amuse as a bit of muse, inspiration. Man muse. I can work the shit out of a little bit of man muse in my life. Sucking inspiration out of life and hopefully into words.

The bizzare can be good, (wizard) or totally fucked up, (child molester).

Four men, a real range of the species' gender. Perhaps a bit of genius in each and also some deviance too.

So my take on men. Psychosexual, biospiritual organisms.

Why do I need them, watch them, worry what they think. Why do I act the way I do around them, different than around other women. Why do I want one so bad.

:)

Chloe

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Vipassana

I wake at 5:30 or 6, pee, then sit on my cushion. Close my eyes and breathe, moving my attention closer and closer to my nostrils till that fills my consciousness, the sensation of air moving in, the sensation of air moving out. Totally focused in the immediate moment of the breath occurring.

After a bit I move from Anapana, meditation on breath, to vipassanna, moving meditation on body sensation.

Top of the head, observing the sensation in the small spot I seem to find, then moving the attention systematically around, and down over the face, through the structure of my head, down the neck to the shoulder, arm, hand, fingers top then bottoms one by one. Then the other arm.

Then the trunk of my body, breasts, under, stomach, upper pelvis, hips both internal and external, then down the right leg through the knee and top of the foot to each toe, like the fingers, top then bottom. And back up from the bottom of the toes, the sole of my foot, heel, back of the leg and across my root. Sensitive genitals, anus, nerves, to the other leg.

I work back up from my extremes through my back, neck, skull and find my crown chakra.

One cycle.

Goenkaji says 8 cycles an hour are common.

When I am in the groove, in the zone, I can cycle in minutes, but that is not the goal. Finding the smallest sensation, the most focus on the most minute sensation may be. But I can also hold my focus on the whole of my physical presence at once too.

The objective is to observe the sensations throughout the body without craving for the "good" sensation or aversion to the "bad" sensation. To observe sensation equanimously. The theory is based on the buddhist idea of dependent origin, every thing that happens is based on some prior happening. This is what results in karma. So by observation without attachment, you are effectively rewriting the karma from the good or bad reaction into an equanimous state.

One hour, I have a timer on my iphone that gently lets me know when I am done.

Usually I am in a large personal space, almost limitless and ever so quiet. Sometimes I stay for a bit.

Then a bit of metta, sending love from the power of that vast space and peace to others. Wanting them to have real peace, real happiness.

This is my daily practice.

Join me

:)



Here is where:  http://www.manda.dhamma.org/



It looks so plain, but inside people become aware of themselves in ways they didn't know they could. Men and women are segregated, 10 days of silence, no speaking, 11 hours a day of meditation. Hard. But also driven by your own desire, not by any pressure from the volunteers who facilitate it, feed and house you or teach the courses. Have you ever given yourself 10 days to be with yourself in an environment that lets you see yourself from your own true perspective? I did. I loved it. No longer the bipolar, and selfish bitch I once was....I hope. I am more quiet now.

love

Chloe.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Four Years, a Lifetime.

Four years ago today my mother died. It is like a lifetime ago even though I vividly remember the day, events and emotions. But the pain has faded.

Here is an excerpt from my book, Far Edge of Seventeen:

"     The day my mom died. Every one has seen it in the movies, someone dying, but its not like that. Its not noble or dramatic or sweet sadness, its ugly, uncontrollable, and is like something is ripped away from you with hidden power you didn't know existed. And I think it is like that for the person dying as well as those who were close to them.
     It was just another day, mom had been having a rough few weeks, she had lost weight and was in bed a lot, but she would have good days when she was up and eating and hanging around in the house, and bad days when she was in bed and didnt talk much. On those days it was like she wasnt really asleep and resting, but just sort of out of it, not making an effort to do anything. We knew she was getting worse, but I still hoped that she would fight her way out of it. But today she was really out of it. She was awake sometimes and would look at me and I would know she was seeing me, but no smile of recognition, no sign of her being able to rest from what she was fighting. Her breathing had gotten sort of hoarse and she looked tired and cold.
     In the early afternoon dad called her doctor, who came by the house and looked at her, and then talked to my dad for a while. After he left Dad called my brother and sister and told them to come to the house.
    By late afternoon is was obvious that something was wrong, she had not been at all really conscious and aware at all of her surroundings since morning. She seemed to be awake, but not really.
     We were all in the bedroom, Dad on the bed with her, sometimes gently saying things to her and stroking her hair. Shelly on a chair on dad's side, my brother on the foot of the bed and me on moms side. She wasnt awake and not asleep, but it was like she was dreaming, and figgiting. Her eyes would move around, looking, sometimes open, sometimes closed, but not recognizing anything we were. Then for a while she was relaxed and seemed asleep, breathing deeply and calm. We all relaxed and just hung out in the room. It was good to see her calm, she seemed to have been fighting so much. We snacked and dad had some classical music on, Bach, moms fav.
     Then she sort of woke with a couple of quick breaths and seemed to be reaching for my dad, who took hold of her, holding her to him. She seemed to be fighting, tense, but breathing slow and shallow, not really conscious, and then she wasnt breathing.
    And in the next moment, oh god, I knew that all the things I ever should have said to her, done for her, asked her, were lost  forever in a way I had never felt before. I suddenly realized what was now gone from my life. A gigantic hole, or more like a gigantic place where nothing could ever be again. Mom wasnt anymore. I'm crying now writing this, but not the way I was then, so deep and hopeless and lost.
     Dad layed with her sobbing, we were all sobbing. There was nothing else to do.  I layed on the bed next to her to and touched her hand for a moment, but SHE WASNT THERE. Oh god.

   It seemed like hours or maybe minutes, it was like a dream you couldn't wake up from, but Dad got up and called the doctor again and called the funeral home. An hour later a van came and they put her in a bag and took her out on a wheeled thing. Mom in a bag on a cart, except she wasnt mom anymore, just something to be taken away. I remember watching them push her through the living room and out the door, and hearing the van leave. I felt like I didnt know who I was or where I was. We all went to sleep later without eating."


Yea. I remember. like it was yesterday....

And still it seems as if it happened to a different person, a little girl floundering through her teenage years. Not me, now.

The pain is gone. Not that there are not those moments when my chest tightens and my eyes leak in her memory, but it is a good thing, something strong still left from her, the memory of her.

It amazes me how life moves on in little increments and one day we look back and see the vast change that just crept up.

I have a long way to go before I could be a mom, but just that I think about it means I am a different person. There will come a time when it is my turn to be there for someone else, with the lessons of my mom to guide me. Not yet, but someday.

Dad's up at the house on the coast this week where we left what was left of her, her ashes. They are in the sea and the winds up there. The more important parts of her we have are in our memories, and in how she effected us and influenced us into who we are today.

I'm beginning to understand ancestor worship, we ARE the culmination of a long line of the people before us. Not that I would literally worship any physical representation of my ancestors, but to think about it and try to honor what they went through to put me here....Yes.

I wish real peace and real joy to all.

:)

Chloe

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Twenty One



Twenty One.

The final step into the rest of my life. They say (those wise invisible philosophers we love so much), that life is what happens while you are waiting for your dreams to come true. A valuable anti-koan to meditate on as a young person.

It marks the end of dreams, or at least the end of the excuse of youth for having to many. Sad.

Yet potentially invigorating! The knowledge that THIS IS IT. Its for real now in a way that it isn't before. It's all down hill from here, to cliche it up some more.

I was supposed to have finished my opus, my fictional 10 year literary autobiographical romp from ages 21 to 31, by the time I actually reached the age I was in it. It was ambitions I know, and great in concept. I was going to follow up my first book "Far Edge of Seventeen" with a projection of what my life would be from ages 21 to 31.

I was to write of the love I would find, the work, babies, sex and drama. My divorce, deaths and the theme of my life and of my dreams, finding myself again. Far Edge was about finding myself.

Maybe I can only really write when I am lost? That would be a good thing, as it means I am not so lost right now. Still no enduring love with a partner, no career, no babies and way too little sex! But that is a common dilemma. I look around and see me everywhere, grown girls still dreaming.

I am less concerned now than a couple years back about my life, and where it is going. Less motivated to direct it obsessively. More accepting of the sweet flow, and more accepting of the bitter snags. Meditation brings insight. And acceptance, and joy, stability, patience...

But it is here. My life. Staring me in the face in every aware moment. Do I listen the to minds worries? All the what ifs? Or just be so very present in it at every moment that there is no room for extraneous thought?

The latter.

My love to you...

A feeling very mature Chloe


Thursday, July 25, 2013

Devi UnBorn


My heart is opening 

As I move out of mind

Sitting for hours

Not feeling the time

My own universe

Still quiet vast

Unmoving yet whole

Feeling free at last


-Vipassana



          

Monday, April 15, 2013

Saffron nun from the future

Sometimes I fantasize about being a science fiction buddhist nun from the future...coming back in time to flit about, bodhisattva'ing around spreading my enlightenment.

Like I say, fantasize. I'm not enlightened. Sometimes I'm not even happy. Some creepo just blew up people in Boston, on a day when I was enjoying it being spring, and warm and things were okay.

So it's back to fantasy.

Here's how the future enlightened young woman dresses...


Sort of mimmicks the shaved head of a buddhist nun with the head covering and the colors complementing the saffron hues of Guatamas devotees.

I'd come back with a message of love and peace. A sort of why can't we just all chill and get along...but mixed with a presence and bearing of superior knowledge; enlightenment. You'd be able to see it in my eyes, so old and wise for someone so young, you'd know its true stuff.

Yea and maybe I'd bring back some technology that made it possible for people to live better with less struggle. Maybe electricity generated by a computer chip that just "tells" electrons to flow with out all the mechanical or nuclear stuff thats a problem now.

Then we could all be artists, or golfers or gamers, skateborders and steampunks...

And life would be about joy not struggle.

Yea. Thats it.

My fantasy on a day when I do NOT like reality.

Peace and love

Chloe.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Wow! Where did it go?



Where did it go?

My youth. No longer a teenager. Not sure if thats good or bad. Most of my teen years had a lot of bad in them. Rebellion. Against what? I had it good. Then worse and I grew up.

I want to be a little girl again, 8 or 9, apple of my mom and dads eyes, safe, innocent...

You can't go home again. Its not there anymore. And at this age I don't know where it will be. Still time for adventure, still hope and dreams, yet rootless and a little lost.

There's a lot I'd like to do. I still want to live in Paris forever and be young, and write. And love. Elusive love.

Love could be home. Safe and warm and the thing all decisions are based on. Nope.

I'm being a bipolar bitch today. Shouldn't be writing, all my stuff will come out and you don't want to see that! Yuck.

So I'll tell you about dinner. Going to "Bottega". Michael is a bit smarmy, but the food!

Gonna have:

Antipasti

Wood Grilled Octopus olive oil braised potatoes, pickled red onion and salsa verde

Pasti

Potato Dough Raviolo filled with spinach and ricotta, black truffles, farm fresh egg yolk, sage brown butter

Secondi

Duck Three Ways roasted breast, confit leg, duck liver mousse, Sierra Beauty apple passata, spiced hazelnuts, and watercress

Contorni

Truffle-parmigiano fries


And gonna sneak copious amount of wine. Get stinking. In the mood for it. NOT driving. (Learned THAT lesson..)

One more year and I can seriously pursue the writers curse, alcoholism. Not yet. Only 20.

Thinking of wohooing too. Maybe even get up on the table and embarassing everyone. (ya gots to do rad shit for posterity). But then posterity is only 9 days, cause the world ends soon. Damn Mayans. Bad planning if you ask me.

What would you do if you knew there were no consequences? Stuff you would be thought insane for if there were? Or just live out your life in the quiet desparation most of our lives are too full of.

Tomorrows headline "Underage drinker causes near riot at local restaurant" I guess I took my bra off too and slung it at some old dude whose wife was giving me evil looks..and grabbed the hot waiter and tried to make love to him then and there! While ordering a bottle of 1998 Krug Brut Blanc De Blancs Clos Du Mesnil...

Naughty Monkey me!

Yea.

See 20 years old and I still got it.

Imagination.

Hope I don't get stuck in it though...gotta keep at least one manicured fingernail clawed onto reality.

:)

.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Thanks



Thanks.

Thanksgiving made me think a bit and realize we have a choice, either thankful or resentful in life. It either happens TO us or or it happens FOR us. I'll have the thankful, it happens for us attitude please.

What do I have to be thankful for? My family first and most, and sitting to dinner with them, even without mom was an hour of grace.

My sister Michelle (Shelly) has a little one now and she is too frazzeled to host, Derek is a guy, and Grandma and Grandpa are too old. I didn't want to lose the tradition though so I cooked. Scary, nerve wracking and tiring, but I did it!

It used to alternate between us, mom cooking and the grandparents, and maybe the odd year with some aunts and uncles, but now its just us. I didn't get too fancy, but bought a "natural" turkey, brined it in a garbage bag with fresh herbs, and did the normal mashed potatos, stuffing, yams and a green veggie. This year the green veggie was brussel sprouts cut in half and sauteed in bacon fat with onions and garlic.

It took me three days to shop, chop and cook and was over in an hour, but everyone got up and cleaned and I got to just chill and be thanked. I could almost cry from the feeling of having feed everyone and see how much they enjoyed it! Well actually I did a little but didn't let anyone see, don't want them to think I'm unstable!  :)   (little inside joke for those who know me)

But really it wasn't just the food, but the occasion and the people gathered together that made it so special. Families forget each other, take each other for granted, and don't realize how each of us are part of the foundation for the lives of the others.

I've got a good foundation.

Thanks (to whom? God? my family? cosmic consciousness? Whatever, just thanks)

:)

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Drunken Conversations

I had a short chat last night with a guy who I used to have a crush on when I was younger. It was apparent after a couple of lines that he was pretty drunk. I had had a couple glasses of wine myself and we said stuff that we may regret in the morning.

HE: i really need your help... please frown

Me: Yes? how what?

HE: Well honestly im super horny... could you help?:)

Now here is where a girl has to make a choice; do I want to be a girl that guys can just say that too? Do I want to play along and risk making a fool of myself? Do I really want to see inside the psyche of a drunk boy/man?

I played along a bit until it was apparent that he wasn't capable of playing the sort of mind game that a good chat is, teasing, innuendo, bold moves and good observation of where the other person is at in their mind. He was too drunk and didn't follow the leads I gave him to some hot chat sex.

I think part of it is that I am a word person and he is a person who comes across better in person. I love to play with words, use them on people. If he and I were in the same mood and physically in the same location, I bet he could have just looked in my eyes and I would have felt his need and been aroused myself. Shit I felt his need through his sparse, marginally coherent, one line chat responses!

But I'm a girl and I need more foreplay, words that tease with subtle meanings and suggestions, words that move feelings and memories around in my mind, I need to be feeling something too.

All I was feeling was tipsy and silly, although I did try to use my words to get him going;

Me: I'll be in my bedroom....I'll find something sexy to wear, maybe some transparent panties and some lip gloss? That do it for you?smile

Now to me that is a pretty obvious invitation to some hot chat! But he didn't really step up, but just replied

HE:  What else would you do for me wink


  • Me: A bottle of tequila and a sleeping bag out on the hill somewhere that looks over the valley and two people telling each other their shit...now thats real.
  • Your drunk now xxxx. Just jack off and go to sleep. smile

    HE: No,,,,I want you now!

    Me: And xxx, I want you to write me in the morning and tell me all about it! Tell me what you imagined and how good it felt and all that!

    HE:  What?
    • What do you mean?


Me? Whacha gonna do for me babe? He's not a word play guy. If I was him and wanted to play back, I would have said some thing like "oh yea! and I'll kiss that lip gloss off you and then your panties too!" Or "I'll come into your room with a feather to tease you, a body to please you and my passion to feed yours".

I know, I expect a lot. Thing is he's a great guy, nice, fun, decent. But still at that guy stage where he thinks too much with his dick. And there are times when a girl wants a drunk, physical, horny guy who doesn't have much to say or any claim on you. But it has to be inperson. Not in a chat!

I did what I had to do, and had a nice sleep. I hope he did too...  :)


Thursday, October 4, 2012

Ah School...

Back in the grind, autumn in full glorious last stages of leftover summer before the cool winds and rustling leaves come blowing by reminding of how life moves on never stays the same.

Run on sentences feel so good, stream of consciousness, alive and loving it in the face of the hideous oppression of structured writing to meet the dry expectations of grad student TA's whose only desire is the professors approving eye, a beer or ten, and a new crop of young women/girls to prey on.

Yea I'd fuck for a grade if I had to, but I don't, even though there are a couple of guys I wish would ask, as if guys ask instead of passive aggessivly maneuver and scheme, just ask guys, have some balls and say it, "I want your ass".

I'd have more respect if it was done direct and left alone if rejected, but then where's the fun in that? Too simple.

I need to write 4000 cogent words on mid seventeenth century literatures beginings, lots of poets, not too much in the way of what we now think of as literature, the novel and all.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due: 
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view: 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If She inspire, and He approve my lays. 

Yea right, its work to read, maybe my attitude needs adjustment, a few beers would do the trick, but spend months on my hips too, wine perhaps in baccannal spirit, or harlots gin, and strip naked at Dr Andy's poetry night and read "Rape of the Lock" with my most drunken slur!

Wa dir oofeens frum amrus cusses srpoings...

And fall down to the applause, a performance piece macabre.

http://poetryindavis.com/ ?? should I?  I probably won't, but sit mouse quiet in the back row and fantasize about having the courage to walk up front and do anything at all! Men are not the only ones living lives of quiet desparation, internal fantasy the only love known, unseen, not recognized for who you are, but just a blob of flesh, not even acceptably shaped.

Ah well. I have not lost hope. There IS joy in me, and things wanting to get out. This was some of it.

Luv ya.




Monday, September 3, 2012

I saw her walking ahead of me



I saw her walking ahead of me in the Châtelet – Les Halles metro station, long legs, an Italian silk summer dress with a salmon and tea green print and some impossible heels the seemed too small to fit any woman's feet, but held hers like the hands of a foot fetish near orgasm.


I claim I'm not lesbian but the girl lust rose in me watching the sway of her hips and the long cool stride, the flow of her hair in the slight breeze of the metros ventilation, and the absolute confidence she had.


I imagined the silk she must be wearing under her silk, those kind of panties that are not at all tight, yet fit so close, feeling like air on the skin.


I had seen her before and smiled at her. She looked at me with a pleasant confusion, a concession to me in sometimes aloof Paris. My heart skipped a beat, or three.


Is she a model out shopping, I wondered, or a very expensive prostitue? More likely a beautiful accessory of the wealthy circles. A protected woman out in the edges of the real world where girls don't look like visions, money is a worry and life is not assured to be comfortable.


Long legs the opposite of short chubby me, with my rapidly locking dreads, and nouveau retro hippy blouses and skirts. I've figured out that I will never be long legged, slim and impeccable. Maybe more because I don't want to be. I do though, notice those who are.


A man a few days ago, a suit cut by scissors longing to make love to his body, hair kissed by the air, not fussy, no product! Ick. A gym member who doesn't flaunt it, not too tall and he smiled at the coffee lady as he collected his morning jolt and pasterie in front of me. I could have eaten him for dinner and had leftovers for breakfast!


So different from how I present myself, so different from how I want to be seen, and still so fascinating.


About 2 weeks into my adventure I decided to do dreads. I can't compete with french women at their look, so I went all Berkley, peasant blouses, short sheath skirts, sandals and me, pushing out the seams. So much for scarves and style. Its a look, suits me, and sets me apart. 


They seem to understand when they hear my American accent...  :)

"bonjour, je suis Chloé........... Oui... de californie"


So did I follow her, or him, like a puppy wanting attention? Yea a little. She noticed, he didn't.


I'll see her again.