Tag Archives: boundaries

consequently karmic

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i don’t hear people use the word “consequence” to describe the results of anything good. maybe i’m missing it in conversation, but it seems to be one of those words that appears only in the same context as “discipline” and “learning your lessons,” usually mentioned in my internal dialog by deep-voiced authority figures…ones like the fake voices i sometimes use when reading to my little girl. as for me, i’ve seen consequences fall like burning rocks of lava from my sky for quite a while now…a shitstorm of consequences that burned and hurt and scarred, resulting from the actions of myself and another…Consequences of Doom that were volcanic, cataclysmic and explosive. i’ve also seen how important it is for every person to experience the natural consequences of their actions, doomy, gloomy or glorious.

consequences are merely outcomes…the natural outcomes of actions taken or not taken sometime earlier. they can feel awful, okay or even great…but the consequences themselves just are. i lollygagged through my day yesterday, fearing the unknown, imminent, unfortunate consequences that surely were looming behind my next whine or moment of procrastination. as i furrowed my brow through an all day recrimination festival, it dawned on me that the goodness in my life is also a consequence, or an enchanting collection of consequences, from a few things i must be doing right. it’s important to realize that consequences are your teachers, not punishments, not rewards. they teach us how to navigate choices, read people and relationships and keep our momentum when we catch a nice wave.

when things are this good in my life, i find myself searching for the mistake(s) i’ve made in the past or am about to make that will bring down with a crash all of the happiness and strength that i’ve built and enjoyed recently…bring it crashing down around my soft head and wide, exposed eyes of wonder. that search for doubt and impending despair is a product of fear, a little emotional luggage i suppose, and a sense that no one can really stay this happy…that i might not deserve it, that no one does…that someone or something will come along to suck the wind and enthusiasm right out of my chest.

but as flawed and messy as my life and soul can be, i’ve done a lot of things right. i Love with all my passion and heart. i protect human dignity and living things with every advantage i’ve been given, employing all of my strength, compassion and wit. i forgive myself for my flaws and laugh heartily at them, while celebrating those of others as the imperfections that make this Universe an eternal, delightful, forgiving playground. that’s gotta be worth something, right? i do it all because it feels good…but i have to acknowledge that my active Love in this world also brings consequences.

i’ve heard that karma is a bitch. that sounds kind of judgmental to me. i’m thinking that those who say it often probably experience the bitchier side of karma more than some. me?  i like karma. we get along just fine, even if we are both feeling a little bitchy. (then again, i typically love and play well with “insufferables,” i’m a a little weird that way). it’s important to remember that karma (or whatever spiritual/cosmic equivalent fits better for you in this context)  is also responsible for the delivery of Love and joy and fulfillment…not to the perfect, but to those who put out the effort to live hard, be kind, stay open and have faith. karma has no judgement. karma is consequences. take a look at your consequences sometime…the way you see them is the way you see your life. what you learn from them will be your life.

my blackberry just buzzed and since i’m expecting the call, i have to assume that it’s karma, wondering why the hell i’m so late to work. so i gotta run (or meander)…the Consequences are all there waiting for me and i really don’t want to piss them off.

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WARNING: never mix metaphor, guns and alcohol

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i’m excited this morning, my head filled with various instruments of dissonance…enough that my thoughts blend and twist and delight and disturb me like a favorite My Bloody Valentine track…with enough layers to combine a dirge with elation and compress it all into one long, busy sigh of complicated pleasure.

why so dissonant? my dreamy self will dress soon, in long, protective sleeves. this emotional pacifist will put on some badassery, inside and out, grab my badass best friend and go shoot some guns. hells yeah. we will learn our careful aim and techniques from a Texan, a real ranger, someone with lots of guns. i will shoot at circles or other inanimate targets, haunted by visions and the ghost of an ever-preserved charlie heston. i will fire safely down a range, prepared for the recoil of the gun, and maybe my soul a little. i know i will flinch at least…challenge my ears, my nerves and my gentler sensibilities. and. i. can’t. wait.

mixed emotions can make me ambivalent…or they can thrill me. mixed emotions are the signage that advertise my boundaries for me. sometimes i need to sift through to the firmest emotions and fortify a boundary…and sometimes blow one apart. today i will do the latter in a most literal way. that’s (one of) the funny thing(s) about boundaries…we need to establish protective boundaries, the kinds that teach others how to respect and please and support us in being our best outrageous selves. then we need to turn to our inner gunslinger and blast our way through the boundaries that limit what we think we are entitled to experience in this life.

i love comfort. i’ve kept jeans longer than any job or relationship i’ve ever had…but i bet like me, you feel the beauty and perfection of comforting things most when you come back from somewhere well outside your comfort zone. staying inside that zone decreases the scope of what we think of as possible, as acceptable, as inevitable. comfort zones breed contentment, then boredom, and then either complacency or rebellion. some people find complacency to be a natural, inert state. i find that complacency destroys both my sanity and the refuge of my comfort zones…makes them into dingy, depressing prisons of habit and stunted opportunity. from within those prisons, i can only decide to die or rebel.

so i’m going to go blow some holes through my complacency, renovate my comfort zone, add a piercing rapport to the sound of my rainbows, throw a pinch of gunpowder in for flavor and lay a little heat on my palate. sounds to me like a meal i might wash down with an ice cold mexican beer when it’s all said and done…or maybe some tequila…to flush the lead taste from my mouth and swallow the awkward chunks of these poorly mixed metaphor. wow,  i’m thinking in some seriously strange tasting visuals about guns and alcohol. thank God i’m not driving.