Tonight I finished up work at the Magic Parlor, where a man in the audience had had qualities distinctly  similar to the qualities I envision for my future husband, "Mike," and thus I left in a happy state of daydreaming about Mike and I and our future idyllic existence in the hills of Monterey.

Mike is a character I have been building, much like Boppity Bear, in my head for as long as I can remember. And I manifested Boppity Bear into reality, so there should be no reason why I can't manifest Mike, when the time is right.

Mike has an energy and look very similar to Paul Rudd. He is fiery, spirited, and we banter. A lot. He is very well dressed, of course. He wears nice shoes and collared shirts and leather jackets. He is outdoorsy and rugged. We go hiking a lot, me and Mike. He can cook better than I can. He's spontaneous. But he also is driven and passionate about his career, which he is probably working on right now, just like I am working on mine, and I think it is something in the general realm of architecture, or maybe geology, or archaeology. Perhaps Mike's passion is some synthesis of the three.

Of course, it is not a deal breaker if Mike is not an architect or archaeologist. He also does not even have to be named Mike. But I will know him when I meet him, I am sure of it. Because I will recognize the Mike energy.

Ideally, Mike's family will own a sailboat, or together we will buy one, because I envision Mike and I sailing all over the place, when we are not hiking, traveling, taking convertible rides down Route 1, or at our idyllic house in the hills and forest.

These were all the wonderful things I was thinking about as I trekked up Nob Hill on the way back home.

I was going to turn to take a flat street home, but some little urge inside of me directed me instead up the steep incline toward the cathedral. As I approached those old stone pillars standing tall, three quarters of a moon shining directly overhead, I was so grateful for that urge.

And as I walked the stairs up to the labyrinth, pausing a moment before continuing on through the flower gardens, the fountains, looking up at the moon again and taking in the silence, the stones, the incredible stillness of the courtyard amidst this bustling city-- the gratitude came in yet another wave, bringing sudden tears to my eyes.

Listening to the water bubbling, looking up at the beautiful moon, I couldn't believe I could have this moment, for free, just like that, on my walk home. I couldn't believe the luxury I take for granted, of getting to visit one of my favorite places on earth anytime I choose. At the very peak of San Francisco, surrounded by parks and old Masonic buildings, with a birdseye view of the city, I have made mini-pilgrimages to the cathedral hundreds of times since arriving here two years ago. It feels as sacred to me as any far away castle or church or garden of Europe.

And in that very moment, alone, feeling that familiar connection with the stars, the moon, the elements, my spirituality... staring up at the night sky, saying hello once again to the great mystery... I pondered how at that moment, at 10:30 on a Saturday night, I was the only person in all of San Francisco to be at the cathedral.

The city is home to almost a million people. Thousands of which were at that moment crowding themselves into bars and nightclubs on all sides of the hill down below.

To me, what I was experiencing at that moment in that courtyard was infinitely more magical and worthwhile and satisfying than anything that could ever be found in an interaction in a loud, dirty, bar, and a far better buzz than ever achieved by alcohol. But, I thought, if there were crowds of people flocking to the cathedral, to walk the labyrinth under the stars, I wouldn't be getting to have this precious moment all alone.

And before I left the courtyard I had another thought; I remembered all my earlier daydreams about good old Michael and our idyllic future home in Monterey. I accepted that my daydreams might very well be silly, but at their core was a very serious yearning for the very feelings I was experiencing at the cathedral. Because in creating a life for myself, in creating a home, and a base, the most important thing is that feeling of space, and sanctuary, and grounding, and spiritual connection. I want a place to live that creates that vibration for me. And I want the same in a partner.

And so, it was with clarity, and a craving for potato chips, that I headed out of the courtyard and back down the hill. I swept through my regular market to get chips and hummus and avocado, and not a block after leaving the store I ran into a group of men, one of whom I have seen around a few times now, and who, although he does not perhaps have the exact "Mike" energy, still has a very good energy that I quite like from what I've seen.

So I will leave tonight's adventures at that, to be continued, with gratitude to this fine city in which a dull moment has never been had, at least not by I, and with particular gratitude to that fine cathedral, and all the spirits who may or may not have been there with me during my courtyard communion.

xoxo

Boppity Bear and I have a sort of informal book club going on. We both read the same book so that we can discuss it afterwards. I leave it with Boppity Bear during the day while I'm out, and then I read a chapter before bed. As you can imagine, he finishes things much more quickly than I do, even what with being a Bear and his Paws making it difficult to turn the pages.

Right now we are reading "Lean In" by Sheryl Sandberg.

I've done a lot of soul searching in the past couple months. But I think I just came to a major revelation. I think I know exactly where I want my life to take me. I no longer aspire to be Katy Perry (thank GOD!). 

Instead, she has been ousted in favor of a variety of role models, including writers, artists, and revolutionaries. But I think it can most simply summed up in that I have two mentalities, my personal, grounded, every day self, who would be thrilled if her life ended up something like this: 

http://prettysmartgirlart.blogspot.com/

and the persona, performance, show self, who would be thrilled with a creative outlet/thematic, traveling world with a vivid aesthetic more like this: 

http://www.emilieautumn.com/

Both girls and their lives are completely inspiring to me. I guess they are not so different in that they are also choosing to make their lives public, and write consistently about their adventures. And hopefully that revolutionary spirit will be involved, as well, which is a path I am excited to take. Stay tuned!!!

How am I supposed to sleep when I'm learning about Amazonian uprisings across the world? I just want to be in one. Or better yet, start one. With plenty of glitter and sass and party horns. That way, people don't even know they're part of a revolution, because it's so much fun.

This is the woman's group Femen (google it). At first I thought I loved them but there's a lot of controversy involved over the fact that they are essentially a bunch of model looking types running around topless and thus re-inforcing the male gaze in the first place... and they are possibly funded by a wealthy Ukranian billionaire with his own agenda. 

But I still like to see women rioting. Even though I like the women in India with bamboo sticks better. 

And this is all fuel for the mind and grist for the mill... 

I can't believe that I went for a time with Katy Perry being my idol, but I am proud to announce that ideal has been OUSTED. How could Katy Perry hold up against an Indian woman who leads a gang female vigilantes, dressed in hot pink saris, carrying sticks, beating up rapists and abusive husbands and threatening the police force? This woman is actually my earthly hero. I aspire to do, on some level, what she's doing, be it through song and sass and subversive stand up comedy and banding women together and encouraging them to intimidate misogynists and carry spray bottles of glitter in their purse to defend against sexual harassment.

Because enough, is enough, is enough. I was recently chastised by a friend for celebrating a Turkish woman who decapitated her rapist and marched around a village square holding his head and showing it to other men. I'm sorry- wait, NO, I'm NOT sorry- I think that is fucking awesome. 

And guess what? I hate violence. I HATE the amounts of gratuitous disgusting violence that we are saturated with in our society. I also hate female oppression. And misogyny. And rape. And I think the patriarchy needs a little friendly reminder that there are wrathful female deities in the cosmos, and guess what, they're arriving en masse. That spirit is awakening in me, it is awakening in others, it has clearly awakened in these women and I want to dedicate my life to helping facilitate that awakening. I cannot think of a more perfect way to embody that wrathful energy than gangs of women in hot pink saris beating people up with gigantic bamboo sticks. When I see their example, my anger over feminine oppression turns to a shiver of glee- like "The fun is just beginning!" 

KALI MA, KALI MA, KALI MA! 

"There are so many struggles that women here have to go through, it never seems to stop," Pal says, wiping her forehead with the edge of her sari. "We don't like using violence, but sometimes that's the only way people listen."

                                               

 "I am the commander of the Gulabi Gang. I started the association in the 1990s, but I named it the Gulabi Gang two years ago. We aim to empower women, promote child education with an emphasis on girls, and stop corruption and domestic violence. I visit numerous villages every day and meet the various members of the gang. We have gang meetings where we decide the plan of action if we hear of something that we oppose going on. First we go to the police and request that they do something. But since the administration is against the poor people of our country, we often end up taking matters into our own hands. We first speak to the husband who is beating his wife. If he doesn’t understand then we ask his wife to join us while we beat him with lathis. Our missions have a 100 percent success rate. We have never failed in bringing justice when it comes to domestic problems. Dealing with the administration is the tricky part since we cannot always take the law in our hands—especially with such corrupt lawmakers. We did beat up some corrupt officials but we were ultimately helpless. The goons of the corrupt officials and the political parties constantly threaten me. Once, a few goons came and threatened to shoot me down, but the women came to my rescue and threw bricks at them and they ran away. They haven’t come back since. Although most of the time I travel alone, I am not scared of anyone. My women are with me, and they are my strength. My family didn’t always support me going out and doing what I do, but when I resisted and explained to my husband, he understood and has supported me since. It isn’t easy to do this. I have no money. I travel everywhere on an old bicycle. Some of our supporters help us with small donations and charity. I want this movement to carry on and would like support from international or local agencies. I work on a grassroots level and want to set up a small-scale industry for the poor villagers that I work with. We have talented young men and women who can make organic manure, candles, Ayurvedic medicines, and pickles. They could earn a decent livelihood. If I get funded, I can set up a stitching center for women who can then support their families. The future of the Gulabi Gang is bright. It’s a people’s movement and will grow bigger and bigger in the future provided we get support from the local administration."

When I throw a "Rebel Princess" party later this summer, it will bring together a variety of feminist groups in the Bay Area and be a fundraiser for the Gulabi Gang!!

http://www.gulabigang.in

 La Loba

 There is an old woman who lives in a hidden place that everyone knows but few have ever seen.  As in the fairy tales of Eastern Europe, she seems to wait for lost or wandering people and seekers to come to her place.

    She is circumspect, often hairy, always fat, and especially wishes to evade most company.  She is both a crower and a cackler, generally having more animal sounds than human ones.

    They say she lives among the rotten granite slopes in Tarahumara Indian territory.  They say she is buried outside Phoenix near a well.  She is said to have been seen traveling south to Monte Alban in a burnt-out car with the back window shot out.  She is said to stand by the highway near El Paso, or ride shotgun with truckers to Morelia, Mexico, or that she has been sighted walking to market above Oaxaca with strangely formed boughs of firewood on her back. She is called by many names: La Huesera, Bone Woman; La Trapera, The Gatherer; and La Loba, Wolf Woman.

    The sole work of La Loba is the collecting of bones.  She is known to collect and preserve especially that which is in danger of being lost to the world.  Her cave is filled with the bones of all manner of desert creatures: the deer, the rattlesnake, the crow.  But her speciality is said to be wolves.

    She creeps and crawls and sifts through the montanas, mountains, and arroyos, dry river beds, looking for wolf bones, and when she has assembled an entire skeleton, when the last bone is in place and the beautiful white sculpture of the creature is laid out before her, she sits by the fire and thinks about what song she will sing.

    And when she is sure, she stands over the criatura, raises her arms over it, and sings out.  That is when the rib bones and leg bones of the wolf begin to flesh out and the creature becomes furred.  La Loba sings some more, and more of the creature comes into being; its tail curls upward, shaggy and strong.

    And La Loba sings more and the wolf creature begins to breathe.

    And still La Loba sings so deeply that the floor of the desert shakes, and as she sings, the wolf opens its eyes, leaps up, and runs away down the canyon.

    Somewhere in its running, whether by the speed of its running, or by splashing its way into a river, or by way of a ray of sunlight or moonlight hitting it right in the side, the wolf is suddenly transformed into a laughing woman who runs free toward the horizon.

    So it is said that if you wander the desert, and it is near sundown, and you are perhaps a little bit lost, and certainly tired, that you are lucky, for La Loba may take a liking to you and show you something - something of the Soul.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With The Wolves. Pp.26-28.

Gaia

She awakens within.