The story, names, events posted here are fictional.
Alchemy can be the churning of energy inside of one's stomach...so I heard from Lydia, the shaman-healer. Lydia told me this in reply to my comment on the phone, at the end of an evening of a mixed bag of comical errors, omissions, and perfect unfolding of events. Perfect in the sense that things can hardly be absorbed...it may take days to catch all the nuances that spirit hides in the layers of living.
Poltergeist -- I had told Lydia that I was poltergeisting the night away. Yes, in keeping with pop-tech-culture, I am creating verb-words with dreadful grammer. If enough people use this new verb, especially on Twitter and Facebook and YouTube, this new word can appear in the dictionary within two years. Better yet, to cause a new word to appear in the Microsoft Word Speller Checker -- that is the ultimate; for therein lies the power to change a culture, it's language...and by changing one's language, the influence changes the psychic fabric of the culture.
First, the night began with me forgetting to bring certain necessary cooking equipment to the party; for without the missing equipment, the party would come to an almost stand-still. Back into the car, drive home and back again, an hour's ordeal, and arrive late at the party....with all the rushing and stress that one can indulge (or forego if one has a regular meditation habit).
And the other stress? Did I mention it...well, stress is a choice. One can choose to let go of ego and live in the moment. And...evidently, I had chosen to be in ego this day and ride the wave of stress and self-consciousness. My boyfriend, Richard...I mean, the man-I-date...well...there is no label that fits. Richard, the lovely friend who I share moments of closeness, was throwing a party gathering of meta-physical, consciously aware people. In from France was his gorgeous, elegant impressive statuesque 'other' girlfriend. Well actually -- the love of his life-- is how he introduced her later in the circle of introductions. (No surprise, this I knew, felt, heard.)
Well, being the first time I was to meet Tiffany, after hearing stories and tidbits about her for two years, the day was finally here, and I was ready for the event. The morning before, I felt no fear, nervousness, nor reluctance. But today, the drama unfolded. I arrived late, in a hurry, bringing the missing components for the dinner, rushing to unpack the items, in a flurry of drama and self-scolding for having messed up with such an important affair.
Flitting about the party, I managed to avoid dear Richard (and he is a dear in so many ways...another story)...until about the middle of my dinner. He sat behind me in the adjacent table. (Oh interesting posture...his back to me.) Richard asked me to join him at his table, tearing me away from my girlfriends. I obliged...as I do so many times. Is that the poised response? To leave my girlfriends mid-dinner? Or was it poised to join our gracious prominent host at this eventful party? Well, like I said, the ensuing days will allow me time for processing of this colorful tale.
As I moved to the next table, I left my plate, but my friend urged me to eat, and placed my plate at the other table. Starting to move it back, I then left it, despite the ever-so-quiet voice...well, not even a voice...just a gentle, tiny urging to put the plate back. Thirty-seconds later....kablam...the paper plate tips...as stiff styrofoam paper plates do...tips right into...voila...my lap...right there in front of my gracious host and four fabulous looking people who I've never met. And my favorite jacket from Italy and favorite dress (that has only fit just this year after 10 years), are now covered in bright red sauce. I excuse myself with a Debra Messing like dramatic exit. Or maybe it was more like that "I Love Lucy" scene where she has a bowl of spaghetti on her head....yes, it was more like that.
For the next two hours or so, I'm able to avoid my dear Richard and his elegant, tall, slender lover. I walk into the kitchen, whirl around to the counter, and...kablam...my glass hits the marble...Crash....My glass smashes into two or three pieces, water flies across to my dear Richard. "Oh gawd....are you ok?" I ask, not recognizing my own voice...as I channel Gilda Radnor from a Saturday Night Live routine of Rosanna Danna.
Not until I'm driving home, laughing out loud, do I realize my poltergeisting. (See how great this verb works!) Lydia explains on the phone: "Yes, you were poltergeisting...now take that energy and let it flow into your hands as you paint" she exhorted. (I'm an amateur painter with dreams of letting spirit flow through my hands, eyes, mind, skin, fingers, ears, heart...to express something that might invite...escort...usher others and myself into greater growth...awakening...awareness....love.
"And let it churn inside your stomach where it does the double-trouble-toil-and-trouble brewing."
"Oh, you mean, like a stomach-alchemy?" I asked.
"Yes" Lydia said with fervor.
"You are amazing, Lydia -- What you said is amazing." I almost screamed.
"Oh, you are amazing" Lydia said, "and that's what I keep trying to tell you."
Throwing it back at her, I was trying to get Lydia to keep the amazing ball. (I had just read the night before, Marianne Williamson's amazing excerpt to women, that tells women something along the lines of how difficult it is to -- see light in ourselves -- to see ourselves as amazing and bright and talented -- How that is the most scary thing -- Not seeing that we are crummy -- But that it is scary to see that we are amazing. Yes, this is scary and a difficult thing.
But then, isn't that ego? To deny embracing and loving ourselves like we do others? If our best girlfriend was the one denying her qualities, we'd tell her how amazing she is; so why not embrace the qualities of one's self?
Oh, the evening had so many mini-dramas occurring...and so many nuances and under-currents, and flirtations, and interactions, and sword-fights, and galant acts, and pissing contests, and subtle, not-so-subtle...and so surreal....some positive...and some...not-so-positive.
But most notably of the evening, was the shift I found -- The shift occurred in the ladies restroom -- where so many fun things happen at parties and pubs. (Some of the planet's most interesting conversations are in ladies pub bathrooms.) But I was alone in the bathroom: I looked down and the bright gold floor drain cover looked like an oriental brass design that one might see in a Buddhist temple.
Oh my, this gold design was all I could see and feel; it's message so clear and distinct, just like it's simple, unique design. What I heard and saw was -- for me to be like a Buddha student. (Indeed, I had chanted all the way from home that night, when I made the speedy trip home and back to bring the belated cooking items that I had forgotten.) Ahhh...Buddha heard me and answered. I don't even know what I prayed as I chanted. But the answer arrived, nevertheless. Be in love, be brave, and don't walk in the ego was the message I saw in that gold design: Be like Buddha. I breathed in deep.
For the first time that night, I sat down at the table where Tiffany....lover of Richard sat. I had talked with Tiffany several times that night, but I had not settled down in their presence. All night I flitted about like a hummingbird looking for the safest and most satisfying place to settle. Soon dear Richard sat between us. I listened, smiled, and thanked God for giving me courage, love, calmness.
I stopped poltergeisting.
Hiding and avoiding is ego; ego protects oneself; ego is concerned in a myopic fashion about how one looks to the world...how one maybe look the fool, or not be the favorite...not be the most elegant, poised beauty of the room.
Later, when I got home...I hummed a little tune...and laughed. The tune? Something about the story in the Bible where God used a donkey; and that God can use a floor drain...so surely God can even use me despite myself. I laughed.
And I don't have to get into ego and pride: If God can use a donkey and a floor drain, God will use me...not because I did something, or because I am so clever...but because I just happened to be there, awake, alert. All I had to do was....Just show up.
Nam Myoho Renge Kyo
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The story, names, exact events here fictional.
