Remembering the Clouds; Remembering Puerto Rico

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This is a journey of self-love. This is a journey of finding and being okay. This is a journey where my lover is the pen and open air. This is a journey of surrender to Christ Consciousness, of becoming a vessel for the love of the Buddha and all the wise ones who came before.

This is a journey of surrender. Of opening.

This is a journey no one has taken and everyone has taken. This is a journey I am taking.

It is the first day of spring. It has been nearly a year since I began this blog.

I have been consciously celibate these past months. Since October. Perhaps the longest stretch in memorable history without a lover’s touch.

I look at the clouds and think—where do they go?

I remember when I lived in Puerto Rico. I remember the clouds and the rain. How I loved them. How the way the billowing clouds swooped in every afternoon during the rainy season and scolded us like an angry mother, announcing there was hell to pay. But then the rain always came and we always ended up safe. She loved us. She wiped us clean. One my first day on the island, I walked the three-mile trek to the beach in a white dress. She blew in, drenched the world in cold, incessant buckets for three hours, while I hid under a rock (because my phone, not waterproof, was in my pocket) and an iguana the size of a large dog stared at me with suspicion. I never made it to the beach that day.

Maybe the clouds go nowhere?

Maybe yes; maybe no.

I do know, however: that this is a journey I’ve been waiting lifetimes to take.

For two years before moving there, Puerto Rico was the lover of my heart. The main lover, surpassing any people. I wanted to return to her. I missed her. I spoke of her; I wrote of her; I dreamt of her; I even sometimes masturbated to her. And then when I returned, she took my heart and split it. She, a mighty vortex, crushed me, until I could not breathe. She showed me I am nothing—not the vast expanse of me, but the “little me,” the me that thinks I control things. She came in, Mother Puerto Rico, and she showed me, through her pain, violence, and insufferable madness that I am both darkness and the light. I am both the conquered and the conqueror. That it’s all the same.

For so long, an island was the lover of my heart.

So, now, the aim is this. To love me whether island or no island. Whether lover or no lover. To love me whether lonely or not lonely, whether happy or sad.

So the aim is this: patience. I must be patient: not knowing how the puzzle pieces can assemble, and knowing how everything works.

When I lived in Puerto Rico, I rented an unfurnished room from a retired professor. His sadness had seeped into every pore of his beautiful, multi-million dollar dusty and decaying beach house. There were rats and cockroaches, broken screens and mosquito bites.

There was so much the professor expressed but did not say. In every caustic joke, I heard him cry for his wife. The failed marriage ate at him, like the salt-air had eaten most of the ancient junk that cluttered his porch: odd-looking barbells and exercise equipment from the fifties, lawn chairs, hundreds of obscure books on tropical fishing. Things so old they crumble if you touch.

I went to the island, because I thought it was my home. And then, whilst there, I found that home was not contained in a place. Home was, is me. I found the meaning of home.

Home is my own skin and the loving words I say to myself every day. Home is the best friend I see in my mirror’s reflection.

As I type these words this morning, my heart beats: broken-open and full. I am heartbroken, heartbroken for the transition of humanity, heartbroken for all the tears I and everyone are simultaneously shedding. It’s got to became apparent how broken all of this is before we can evolve. Such pain.

I look out my window and see the clouds. The sun is rising and today is the first day of spring.

I stare at the clouds. They whisper words incoherent yet palpable. I see them in the sky. Orange. Grey. White.

This is a journey of loving. Of the ultimate surrender.


 

Love this post? Awesome! If so, you might love Opening Love, Anya’s book about intentional relationships and the evolution of consciousness.

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Enlightenment?

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How many times have I passed my neighbor on the street and failed to smile because I was too lost in thought? How many times have I judged my family? How many times have I not been there for my friends when they really needed me? How many times have I kissed my lover yet my mind was elsewhere?

I am not living in a fully enlightened state. The reality is this: Even though I am a spiritual guide, a teacher of love, and a lightbearer of a heart-centered consciousness on this planet, I often still fall into dark moods. I am often still anxious. I can tense in a crowd. I can sweat when I speak in public. Sometimes I freak out about not having enough money. Sometimes I fall into despair when I am criticized. Sometimes, I rage and scream, overcome by all the feelings I feel from the collective, unable to do anything but lock myself in my bedroom and beat a pillow for hours.

I feel. I feel so much.

Awakening for me was not some Big Event. I have not experienced what happened to folks like Eckhart Tolle or Sadhguru—folks who just, out of the blue, popped fully into Presence and never went back.

For me, awakening is a constant process. I have to work at it, daily. I have to challenge myself, remind myself, keep remembering.

And it seems there is a part of me that is seeking. Seeking for what? I don’t know. When I logically consider this, I wonder whether my seeking is part of the reason for my not having reached the abiding sort of enlightenment I desire…and, yet, I don’t want to blame this seeking. I accept that I am here now, in this seeking state, for a reason. There are no mistakes; no errors in the universe. Maybe I am seeking so that I can write to you right now and help you through some questions. Maybe it is so that you, beautiful particular you, can hear me and understand me and bond with me in this particular moment. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I am following the way of the heart. I respect the whispers and nudges of my own heart, even when they speak what is not seemingly logical. For now, that is what is happening. Falling into the heart; surrendering to the heart. Teachers like Matt Kahn have helped me with this.

And, I breathe. I breathe, knowing that, one day, I won’t go back…I won’t ever again fall back into the forgetfulness of separation.

I’m breathing. Keeping my heart open—or, as open as is possible. Knowing that it will come. Doing my best to be patient and appreciate what is Now.

And what is Now is a process. A slow, daily journey. I come in and out of the enlightened state, and I gradually can rise into higher and higher vibrations of consciousness. Sometimes, even, I reach states of bliss that are inconceivable to craft into words. Am I in the fifth dimension, or maybe the seventh or tenth? Who knows? It happens sometimes when I am cooking, writing, or walking out in nature. Picking mushrooms. Or during Reiki or while sharing deep sacred space with others. I have tasted moments of pure bliss, pure freedom, unbounded by thought and unhindered by limits such as yes and no. All that my heart contains in those moments is a connection so pure, so divine, that time is nothing and I forget my name. What’s a calendar? What’s a clock? What is there left to do?

For me, today, it feels good to say to you: “I am not yet fully enlightened.” It feels good to be honest about where I am. In a world where pretenses are the norm and people hide their challenges, it feels good just to say it.

What does your awakening journey look like? I’d love to read your comments.


Love this post? Awesome! If so, you might love Opening Love, Anya’s book about navigating the challenges and ecstasies of intentional relationships.

Meeting Matt Kahn, Teacher of my Heart

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beautiful Matt Kahn, and his beautiful partner Julie 

 

I don’t remember the first time I heard his name. I know it was at least a few years ago—maybe two, or even three? I do remember, however, the first moment Matt Kahn captured me.

Yes, it felt as intimate and intense as that: a capture. Suddenly, my life was insane. Turned upside down and all amuck. Here, here was the Eternal Now, and here, here was seemingly no choice in the matter. We were together. Me and Matt. Matt and me. He had infiltrated my spiritual journey, somehow: lifted me, exposed me, and touched me to my very core… I wasn’t sure whether to scream and run or, simply, fall.

Yes, I remember well the first time my heart stopped its normal beatings and there was nothing but space and time and love between us. I remember the moment well. It was summer 2015. It was a day late in the summer; some leaves were already turning. The birds, my friends, were already beginning their yearly meetings by the river: go or stay? Fly, or wait? The mood was shifting. Hanging.

I remember that, prior to that day, I had been watching some of his videos fairly frequently on Youtube, dropping in and out of his teachings with varied levels of interest. I remember feeling ambivalent about his teachings on topics such as angels and ascended masters. (Was this dude too New Age for me? Was he a scam artist? Some sort of charlatan?) I remember being downright hostile to his teachings on monogamy. And I remember thinking that the main practice he taught—of saying “I love you” to my heart—seemed rather childish, silly, and overly-simplistic. However, I also remember being inexplicably drawn, again and again, to his present, twinkling eyes and to his uncanny sense of humor. He was the spiritual equivalent of Jack Black! He was hilarious! He didn’t take himself or the spiritual game too seriously, and I loved that.

Yes, I remember well the moment…It is late summer. September. The trees are beginning to lose their leaves and the squirrels are beginning to move more quickly. I have just returned from my first book tour, in Europe. I am seated comfortably with my lover on the couch. Back in Ohio. Suitcase mostly unpacked at my feet. I loved the trip, but I am happy it is over. There is a feeling of rest in my bones. Yes, now I am ready to resume normal life.

This is the moment. I remember my lover on his laptop, seated at one end of our blue couch; I am on my laptop at the other end of the couch, listening with headphones. I remember my legs were stretched out across the couch and that sometimes my toes touched my lover’s thigh. I remember the moment. I remember being enthralled by Matt’s video about soul contracts. I remember so much resonating with the message that my body began to vibrate in a way that made me wonder if I was going to fly right up off the couch! I felt weightless, ecstatic, one hundred percent tuned-in.

Towards the end of the video, then, I remember the impossible happening. Matt turns to me, looks into my eyes somehow, through screens and doors and a thousand lifetimes, and he says, quite distinctly, into my heart:

“Anya, leave.”

I remember gasping, pausing the video, running out my front door, down the wooden stairs in my bare feet, standing in my backyard under the full moon, tears streaming down my face. I remember the holy silence. I remember the courage. I remember my heart beating. I remember Matt’s love, all around me.

And I know what to do. I know what he means by “leave.” On this night I make plans to move to Puerto Rico, a choice that radically alters the course of my life forever. It is in Puerto Rico that I will do my heaviest purging and releasing. It is in Puerto Rico, the island of magic, darkness, and Santería where I will meet my fate. It there I will journey alone, shedding layers of victimhood and fear that have been plaguing me since childhood. It will not be easy. It will be hell, actually. But it will be necessary.

…Since then, since that moment in September under the full moon, it has been a steadily-progressing love affair. Me and Matt. Matt and me. More and more, I’ve come to accept his teachings and feel at a very deep level that there is no better teacher for me at this time in my life. Since that moment on the couch, I’ve come to surrender, more and more, to the feeling of rightness that I feel in my body when his words pass through me. I trust my body. I trust my heart. I trust myself.

I now do the “I love you’s” daily. It no longer seems corny or simplistic. It’s actually become one of the deepest, most profound practices in which I’ve ever participated. Indeed, I love you has become my standard, go-to first response in times of stress, sadness, and crisis. If I wake up in the middle of the night with insomnia: I love you. If I eat something I’m not proud of: I love you. If I miss a writing deadline or sleep past my alarm: I love you. If I lose a lover: I love you. Whatever arises in my life, beautiful or ugly, I intend for “I love you” to be what naturally arises. I heal myself this way. I heal as I never have before.

Saying I love you has not only become my favorite mantra to say to myself, it has also become what I most love saying to others: regardless of whether to a person I’ve just met or a long-time lover. Matt has given me permission to love, love deeply. And, in the long run, my intention is to allow the distinction between self-love and love for the “other” melt. There is no seperate other; there is no seperate me.

It’s all me.

The past few months have been really intense. And I’ve heard that the same has been true for other lightworkers, healers, empaths, and positive changemakers on this planet. It’s an intense time. So much is happening. So much growth and change.

I feel like I’ve aged many lifetimes in just the past couple of months. I lost the only relationship that ever inspired me to want to have a child. I visited an intentional community, Twin Oaks, where I learned so much about sharing and how to treat our planet with love. I changed my last name to “Light,” in honor of my lightworker path. And, a few months ago, in early November, I realized, once and for all, that Matt is my primary spiritual teacher. It finally dawned on me, after listening to him for years, that he is the teacher of my heart, the one I’ve been yearning for.

As I write to you today, I have a wish in my heart…

May all beings find their teacher, their true master, the one who helps their soul blossom.

 

 

…And, until then…

I love you.


 

Love this post? Awesome! If so, you might check out Opening Love, Anya’s book about navigating the challenges and ecstasies of intentional relationships.

The Year of the Door

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And, just like that, the old year ends and the new one begins. What is time? What is past and future? The heart opens, further and further. We evolve. We grow. The old year ends and the new one begins. It has come at a perfect time.

This past year, the year of 2016, has been my “year of the door.” Why have I called it that? Dear friends, let me share with you the story.

As you read this story, may it be a blessing unto you. May you find strength in the message contained within it. May you find peace, joy, and many beautiful awakenings in 2017. May it be your best year yet!

*♥*

 

imagesIt has been a few weeks on the island. My life has become a sort of nightmarish mushroom trip—one ghoulish thing after another. A man tries to rape me. A friend hacks my email. I can’t find clients. I’m already dreaming of plane tickets again. I’m dreaming of Ohio and England, or Timbuktu—anywhere but here.

As it turns out, my long-dreamed-of paradise is really the Bermuda Triangle. My hope is really my defeat. I feel ashamed and exhausted. My health is flagging. Enough tears every night to fill bathtubs. I am marooned, on the island that was my dream.

I so regret coming here. What could I have been thinking? Why had I leap so quickly? Why had I heard the voice of God in the ocean and then, later, in the moon? Where is my lover, my housemate of two years? I miss his dark hair against the pillow. I miss his cooking and the way he’d serve me, grinning. I miss myself.

This evening, my heart necklace falls from the wall, red and green glass shattering. I don’t have glue.

This evening, my computer breaks. The screen begins to vibrate and turn pink. I no longer see words clearly. I don’t have money to fix it.

And, this evening, it’s a night full of nightmares. Tossing, sweating, utterly spoiled sleep. In the morning, my hands cannot even find Reiki. There’s no comfort anywhere. The lizards on the windowsill glare at me, and there are no angels beside my bed anymore. No friends. No neighbors. No teachers. No plans. No hopes. No lovers. No love. Nothing but thick, dank heat, and the lifeless buzz of my lifeless heart. I lay there for hours, well into the afternoon. I have never been so tired in my life. Exhaustion is all I know. All I can see is my childhood, replaying again and again in my mind. I have never left that blue bedroom on Erben street; I will always be in misery.

Finally, I pull my body from the bed. Finally, my sore feet, pulling slowly across the dusty tile, as I make my way. My plan is to leave the house through the backdoor, and climb up to the porch I share with the lonely professor. It’s a beautiful porch, enclosed by palms, endless green, and the faint sound of ocean waves from only a few miles away. The porch is the best part about this house. And I want to go there to meditate. Right now. Shit is hitting the fan, life is falling apart…but, at least I can still meditate, I think. At least I can still do that.

Yes, here is the exit. I am getting closer now. Here is the heavy exit: the set of double doors, wood and glass, that separate in from out, that take me from here to there. Dusty doors, scuffed from decades of neglect. The lonely professor has better things to do. Everything is falling apart.

Here are the doors. And so I pull, as usual. I pull again. Nothing. Nothing? I don’t understand. My grip on the knob tightens: pull, pull, pull. Harder and harder. Nothing. They won’t budge. What?? Maybe I forgot; maybe I’m supposed to push. So, I push. I push more. Nothing. I check the locks. They aren’t locked, but the door is solidly and perfectly shut. My mind cycles through explanations: Did he—stupid landlord—finally go crazy and lock me in? Is this some trick, some joke? Breath and heartbeat, breath and heartbeat: faster, faster. A strange panic begins inside my skin, and teeth are in there, gnawing at my lungs. Now, more than ever, I just want to fucking get out! I want to go meditate! I want out of this musty fucking house, out into the open beautiful air! A feeling of lunacy takes me. I think, Oh my God, I am trapped. I am trapped here. I can’t get out. I can’t get off this island and I can’t even get out this door!

Then, through the swirling of thoughts, something catches my eye. A brief flash of pink, through the glass of the door. Pink flowers. Luscious and warm. Hibiscus. They call to me. They smile. Huge flowers, as big as my face, bursting brighter from recent morning jungle rains. Pink, with a touch of yellow in their center.

A feeling flashes; a sudden understanding.

This door…this door…this door: it is the prison of my mind! I have imprisoned myself with these thoughts!

And I begin to laugh…!

This laughter is the laughter of God, the laughter of you and me and everyone and everything who helps us forget and then remember. I laugh and laugh, bending at the knees and closing my eyes. It is the laughter of Rumi, when he fell to the ground, after he meeting his love. It is the laughter of kings, when they see their daughters born. It is the laughter of squirrels on the first day of spring. It is God peeking through me; it is God sensing through me. My body relaxes. All tension drops. I shake my head, blinking, in total ecstasy. What luck! What fate! I have made all this! I stop struggling with the door. In relief, I lean my head against the glass, and all the pink in my vision intensifies. I don’t know there is a name for these flowers…I don’t know anything. My head is emptied of thoughts. I am completely awake.

I stand there for not sure how long. I stand there twelve lifetimes.

When I remember again that I have a body and that maybe I could go somewhere, I try the knob again, without thinking.

It opens effortlessly.


 

If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love.
Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance or relationship coaching session via phone or Skype.

Love at First Sight*

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“There will always be words,”
said the little girl to the little boy.
“So…let’s write them!”

The little boy looked at her.
His face was the color of the sun,
and his eyes knew more
than his height would allow.

The little boy looked at her.
“Will you, too, share the moon?” he asked,
blinking. His fingers, shaking.

 

Together, they fell into a rapture.
Together they fell.
They remembered in an instant,      beyond
what their childhood brains could know…

They remembered the swamps, the forests,
the many many islands,
and all the deserts and the hells.
But most of all:
They remembered
every key
that could, or could not, be unlocked.
They remembered it all.

They kissed.
They kissed.

Their mouths fit!

And they called sweetly to the moon, then,
their voices in unison:
“Please, gentle mother,
please be our guide.”

 

And so she did.
(How could she not?) It was love, love at first sight.
It was the thing they’d read about, later,
as adults. It was the thing they’d always know.
The lightning and the jolt. The grasses and the green.
The day, and how it always begun.

They fell,
together:
and it was the moment when all the ends worked out.
When the woman in the well began to swim,
and the man in the high priestly collar
began to bend.

It was that moment.
That moment
Of seed,
That moment of miracle:

That moment

When the planting
Could truly begin.

 

 

*Dedicated to B, and all our many past and future lives together. 

 


 

If you enjoyed this poem, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love.
Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance or relationship coaching session via phone or Skype.

What Works

I tried poetry.
It didn’t work.

I tried intellect.
It didn’t work.

I tried romance.
It didn’t work.

I tried marriage.
It didn’t work.

I tried anger and activism.
It didn’t work.

I tried work.
It didn’t work.

I tried money and shopping.
It didn’t work.

I tried publishing and fame.
It didn’t work.

I tried kinky sex.
It didn’t work.

I tried car trips, drug trips,
and always to be moving.
It didn’t work.

I lived across the ocean.
It didn’t work.

I tried to live alone.
It didn’t work.

I tried everything.

Nothing,
nothing worked.

 

So, I began to try some silence.
That worked, a little bit.

I began to try some yoga.
That worked, a little bit.

I began to try some Reiki.
That worked, a little more.

I began to whisper “I love you”
to myself,
every morning.
That worked, a little more.

I began to forgive myself.
That worked, more and more.

I began to forgive them all.
That worked, more and more.

I began to smile.
That worked.

I began to feel my heart within a web of hearts.
That worked.

I began to serve.
That worked.

I began to live amongst them,
yet in solitude.
That worked.

 

I began to begin.
I began to be.
I began to work,

For you and for me.

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If you enjoy this blog, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love. Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance session via phone or Skype.

A Spell and a River

My nipples are stones: smooth, hard, glorious. At the bottom of the deep river we see to the bottom. There are other stones, too. (So many days and dreams!) What they ask for is what we have.

Water…moves…languidly. Nobody rushes. It is midday: robins and wolves drink. Enough for everyone? Yes.

I recognize you, lover. You appear to be The Keeper this time. I appear to be The Watcher. Let the hands move back, let us see the vision: a sailboat, blue still waters, pyramids, paint.

When you first came, I was alone, shutting my eyes: unaware of, or ignoring the leaping possible. Keeping Time seemed easy.

 “Where have you been?” I gasped, crazy wide eyes. (This time not screaming.)

Air. Earth. Fire. Water. These are the elements that make us. You hold a bowl with your left, move a small gold sword in your right. We both fall silent,

making rainbows.


 

If you enjoy this blog, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love. Or, for a closer encounter, please contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance session via phone or Skype.