Post-Cleanse, Day 2


It’s over, it’s over, lalala, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, lalalalalalalalalaa!

I just ate a cheese sandwich.

That would be half a rice tortilla, about 1 oz. of almond cheese and 1/2 teaspoon of earth balance.

Compare it to…Beef Wellington, say, or Filet Mignon with Hollandaise, both of which would probably kill me.  But on this diet, ambrosia.

Today I also ate 2 eggs and 1/2 a cup of goat yogurt.

My partner drank water from rice that had been boiled for a long time.

I hope to be able to do yoga without falling over tomorrow.  It’s a big wish, I know, but I have hope.

I hope to drive up to Endicott without spending an extra half hour in traffic on Wed.  We’re at blocking-and-rehearsing-and-hoping-we -can-get-it-all-in-and-make-it-great time.

I will meditate tomorrow.  Maybe all day.

Obviously my brain has been destroyed by kichari and ayurvedic herbs.  I suppose a cleanse lobotomy could be a reason for nothing every bothering me again.

We’ll see.  How long it takes to find another rant.  There’s always Mitt Romney, but really, why bother?  He’s doing a good job of destroying himself without my attention.  I think I’ll leave him to it.

Good night, one and all.  Much metta.  Or something.  I have forgotten the meanings of many words on this lobotomy, so perhaps something makes sense somewhere on some planet in some language.  Perhaps.  Spahrep?

Advertisements

Ayurvedic Cleanse, Day 5: No Really! I Surrender!


After a decent morning yesterday, I ended up with a migraine and nausea that lasted all the way through today.  I have now admitted that my low blood sugar issues, kept at bay for approximately twenty years, are pretty serious.  Migraines, nausea, dizziness, shaking, waves and hot and cold and above all, extreme homicidal mood swings add up to serious.  My brain doesn’t work well without protein.  And fat.  In some amount or another.

So, I’m doing the purgatory today, but nothing much is happening except that I keep talking about wanting a cheese sandwich (almond cheese on gluten free bread on my diet) and my partner keeps calling and asking if I’ve purged the purgatory yet and telling me a cheese sandwich of any kind would make me unbearably sick.

OKAY!  She might occasionally know what she’s talking about!  I surrender!  Beam me up Dorothy!  I mean Scotty!

Plus, I am so sick of being reduced to the world of bodily functions.

Probably, in the world of ayurveda, I should be examining these problems with some degree of mindfulness but I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT!  It’s bad enough drinking prune juice (I couldn’t face the castor oil) and feeling crappy.  (Ha-ha, get it.)

I should also mention that I went to therapy yesterday and apologized to the woman for asking her about her interpretative dancer wardrobe.  It was unnecessary.  She is a human being even if she is a therapist who acts like a therapist and wants to talk to me like I’m a patient.  I plan to fire her at the first available opportunity.  Of course, we all know how my plans go.  Up in smoke, half the time.  I am clearly not in control.

However, on a positive note, I started writing a new book today, one I’ve wanted to write since 2010.  Here’s the title:

The Ex-Catholic, Sort of Unitarian, Anti-Therapy, Pseudo-Buddhist, At –Least-a-Little Bi-sexual , Kind of Feminist, Pro-Male, WHAT?

It’s a memoir, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.

I’m a little written-out, so I’m going to crap out (ha-ha).

This cleanse really needs to end.  Now.

Ayurvedic Cleanse, Day 4: Surrender and…Being Female


I felt my body give in.  Just a noticeable shift…I will stop fighting you.  And then the intuition that instead of ending the cleanse early tonight, I’ll extend and do the purgation on Sunday night and end on Monday when I have a day off.  Meaning, on Monday I’ll eat rice, and then on Tuesday I start reintegrating foods.

So, I’m sitting here burping rice bran oil with a sense of serenity.

Hey, if it can happen for me, it can happen for anyone.  (Of course, the day is just starting and it has therapy in it, yuck, but probably good, because the anniversary of Don’s death is approaching and I miss him so much.)

Anyhow, with surrender comes a question–who taught me to be a woman?  I mean, I’m working with men and have asked them who taught them to be a man, and what that lesson was…with surprising results, I might add; and I’ve read this new book about it, that adds to my collection of men’s movement literature.

In the men’s movement, the premise is that only a man can initiate another man into manhood.  The unhappiness of so many men, they say, is the absence of a connection to their fathers.  To make happier men, we must make better, more loving, more available and connected fathers.

I get that.

But what about women?

I find that many of the women of my generation did not admire their mothers, did not feel positively connected, and did not want to follow their mothers’ paths into womanhood.  Low end jobs, being a housewife, lacking power in the world, dependence on a husband–the women of my generation sought a different life, including equal partnerships with men, whether or not they were able to find them.  And for those of us who are queer, the path was unbroken–not that there weren’t brave people forging the way ahead of us, but that being fully out was rare.  Just being out and being with another woman started us into the garden…

I always crack jokes about my German mother.  When I’m not cracking jokes about my inappropriate Irish father.  And while I don’t want to do a stroll down childhood lane, with all its monsters and heroes, it seems important to look at who taught me to be a woman, and what it means to be a female.

I love being a woman.  People perceive me as powerful, and I have all this experience of being with men, and disliking my own vulnerability, and hating to process (I mean, I HATE to process), which is hardly typical.  But for me being female is about getting to love beauty without hiding, being intuitive, and inward, and into flow, listening to the world, loving with sensitivity, being utterly receptive, easily moved by what’s around me…it’s about getting to embody the feminine principle without shame.  I may not like to be openly vulnerable with many people, but I love the tides of emotions, and how they rise, fall, open you to newness, to landing in right now.  I love getting to change my mind, and how I am, truly, in my essential nature, endlessly fluid, airy and mutable.

I also love the little give in my body when my partner, who nurtures me in a very masculine way, opens my car door, or takes my hand, or looks into my face with a very particular strength–it’s a sexual thing, responding naturally to masculinity–I mean, I am so very yin, when you uncover me.  And there is power in that…I love the power in femininity.  The confidence of being a strong, intelligent woman, who no one better f&*k with.  I love friendships with other women, the kind of friendship in which nothing is hidden…I’ve gotten to have that, over and over, in my nomadic life.

But I don’t know who taught me to love being a woman.  My father contradicted himself constantly–sometimes treating me like a boy/tomboy as we hung out with his friends–in those moments, he told me the world was mine to claim.  But if I crossed some invisible line, suddenly I was a girl and not equal any more.  My mother believed that women should never compete with men, should shore up men’s egos, hide their intelligence.  She also thought that women were catty and untrustworthy and didn’t have close female friends.  My mother didn’t join the women’s movement when it came along, and never moved beyond a secretarial position though she was noticeably intelligent and had a college degree.  I’m not sure what she felt to be her life’s purpose, or that she would have told me if she knew.  We just didn’t get along most of the time; and she wasn’t much for confidences of that nature, period.

I had female advocates and mentors outside the family right along–teachers, mostly.  I saw women who were strong, who did what they believed in…and those who didn’t.  But if I think of who taught me how to be a woman, I go to Maria Dolores Garcia Fraile in Sevilla, Spain.  Maria Dolores had left her husband in Catholic Spain in the late 1970’s/early 1980’s, after Franco.  He was cheating on her; she thought she deserved better, so she kicked him out and began to take in American students for income.  She had dark hair with dark gold highlights dyed in, stood as tall as me (I’m 5’8″), with olive skin, and green eyes blurred by the beginning of cataracts.  She taught me to dance Sevillana in her kitchen, and I’ll never forget that–the turn of our hands in the air, the challenge and sexuality of the dance, of her, but no attraction, just a woman who owned her power, her selfhood, her life force and sexuality, effortlessly, with pleasure.  She had courage, Maria Dolores.  From the beginning, I bonded to her as I never had with my own mother, and if there was a rite of passage to be had, she led me through.  She never said these words to me overtly, though we talked about our lives in great detail once my Spanish improved, but this is the message I received:  Make your own life.  Leave who you have to leave, bear what you have to bear, but bear it with pride, with the pride of knowing who you are, with your passions and your ability to love intact because you have not betrayed yourself and in some way you never will.  Love being a woman for its richness, for being able to ground down into feeling, for being able to create life, and a life, in whatever way you do so.  Go.  Go find out what the world has for you.

It was quite a send-off, when my year with her ended.  She didn’t want me to return to my family because she knew my parents were bad for me, but she didn’t hold me, either.  I was 23.

I remember her lesson because it was the one I chose, because I wanted someone to believe in me who knew me intimately, like a mother, and she was that person.  Metta for you, Maria Dolores.  In this moment of remembering.  On this day.  For all you gave me.  You were an emotionally generous woman, and there is nothing better that a woman can be.

Metta.

Ayurvedic Cleanse: Day 1, No Drama. What?


I am not homicidal.

Neither am I hungry.

Of course, I’m mostly asleep, so that’s not particularly difficult.

I like the gruel.

I like my partner.

I like my devised theatre project.

I have micro-waveable Buckies to put on my stomach and a choice of three eye pillows.

I have already meditated once today and may do so again.

But for right now, it’s all about sleep.

I realize without something to complain about, I’m pretty boring, but I could complain about becoming boring for a while.

Nah.  Sleep it is.

Ayurvedic Pre-Cleanse Day 5: Deprivation or NOT


I don’t like deprivation.  Which is saying something, since my investment in material things is pretty limited.  I think I’ve never gotten over 1) my German mother’s investment in financial security, wooden geese and antique everything and 2) the 10 years I spent traveling around the world, careful not to accumulate anything that wouldn’t fit in a backpack (or selling things after a year of living in, say, Japan).  Here are the things I’m attached to:

1) My computer, for writing.

2) My glass statue of a winged woman.

3) My meditation cushion and yoga bolster.

4) A couple stuffed animals (including 2 snowmen and at least 1 Snoopy)

5) Some books

6) Any clothes that make me look really hot

7) My boxer shorts and t-shirts that I wear all summer.

I’m also rather attached to my partner, but she’s not a material thing, so that’s okay.

It seems, though, I am attached to not being hungry and wanting to kill people!  I’d forgotten that diets made me crazy and that when my blood sugar gets too low it’s not pretty.  Once, in 1990 or so, I had a complete meltdown on Commercial Street in Provincetown because I hadn’t eaten in 6 hours and we couldn’t decide on a restaurant (note how many restaurants there are on Commercial street-LOTS), probably because my mental functioning deteriorates on no food.  My partner got this look of panic, ran into a store, and came out with a bag of nuts.  “Eat these,” she said.  “Now!”

Within 10 minutes I was my normal insane self rather than someone out of a horror movie.  I mean, wow!  Blood sugar matters.

So, back to the cleanse.  I have been perfect in terms of sticking to it and since I Buddhistly know that any time I’m perfect it’s a big mistake, I don’t know why I’ve done this to myself!  I am determined to cross my own perfectionist line and eat some egg whites today.  Or at least 2 warm smoothies.  Because humor aside, I am truly miserable on this f*&^ing cleanse, even if my digestion is working better than it has in over a decade.  I can’t do yoga, I can’t work out, I can’t think, I drop things a lot and objects have taken on an enormous amount of life.  Today the smoothie leapt out of the pot and kissed me.  It was not pleasant.  I’m just saying.

So, egg whites.  I kind of hate eggs, so it’s not a splurge.  A splurge would be the Cacao Bliss jar that is now speaking to me in Spanish.  “Ven,” it says.  “Ven aqui mi amor.  Come mi.”  (Come, come here, my love, eat me.)

That Cacao Bliss is an extreme pervert.  I don’t even know it that well.  My partner already doesn’t like it because it has the potential of making me homicidal.  She may take it right out of the house if she hears about this, which she will, because she reads this blog.

Here’s what I have to say about that:  Over my dead body is anyone touching Cacao Bliss.

And: I need to practice my Spanish if we’re going to Costa Rica next year, which is looking realistic on reception of a very nice tax return.  I just have to convince my partner to spend it!

Ayurvedic Pre-Cleanse, Day 4: Homicidality on the RISE!


Okay, so, I’m hungry all the time.  And sometimes light-headed.  And don’t feel like doing anything.  I find myself wanting to eat the grossest, most disgustingly unhealthy foods ever.  French fries at Cane’s, next to the Boston Playwrights’ Theatre.  The jar of Cacao Bliss in the cabinet.  A steak.  Fried anything.  I find myself getting angry at every meal (I’m up to about 10 a day now, so that’s saying something).  I’m like, what is with you, you f*(&ing green soup!?  I mean, you have a problem in that I would really just like to kill you right now!  Forget you, aduki beans!  You don’t even fill me up.  I don’t care how much chipotle powder there is in your recipe!  And as for you, avocado, you are becoming a significant disappointment in my life, since you are making me fat and not even satisfying my craving to eat a car, a house, or anything covered in fat and sugar.  Rice, oatmeal, and 100% rye bread, you can go stick it.  I used to like you, but now it’s just a bored, washed-out relationship….

Before this cleanse I was moderately insane about food, more than some women, definitely not as much as others.  I ate healthy, I watched calories, and I knew what I needed to do to maintain a healthy size 8, which I did and do actually care about.  I had passed the stage of starvation diets or any diets at all, and I didn’t get hungry much if ever, since I ate lean protein and healthy fats instead of carbohydrates and sugar.  I had accepted that since I’m Irish, with a body somewhat good for child-bearing, I was always going to have curves and my thighs would never be skinny, and this was okay with me.  Aging, not so much, but I was working on it.

Now, however, I’m probably going to end up a homicidal size 12 in 2 weeks, ready to eat pretty much anything.

And on top of that, all I have to do is think about someone I didn’t like who I knew, oh, say 25 years ago and I want to go kill him/her.  Like, I mentioned my train wreck first girlfriend in the last blog, and all day today I’ve been monologuing in my head about how she did me wrong and she was in the top three of most amoral women I have ever known, and how she voted for Reagan, twice, in the midst of the AIDS epidemic and actually used ethnic epithets.  Instead of being all Buddhist and being like, “Well, you know, she was nineteen and so were you, and who knows anything then, and unfortunately she knew less than most, and was more f-ed up…”  I’m like, “Where is she?  I’m going to X state and find her and make her pay!”

I also didn’t think, “Well, you could have left a lot earlier than you did.”  I thought, “I don’t care how gorgeous she was or talented or how much of an idiot romantic I was about those things, SHE WILL PAY!”

So, I think I need some f$#^ing food!  Preferably something protein soaked in a lot of fat.

But, I am remembering the cleanse leader saying that feelings may come up.  I’m like, Right.  I already went in this week and told the IFS therapist she dresses like an interpretative dancer and talks too much and she better get with the program on how smart I am.  I’m not having any feelings.  I am FINE!

Perhaps I will now drink some water with a cinnamon stick in it and meditate mindfully on my homicidal feelings.  I will learn something new about my dark side, as if that needed any more encouragement.

And then, sometime tonight, my partner will come home.  She slipped up today and ate Indian food with some FAT in it.  I am so jealous, I could…

I will meditate.  I will.  I will stand on my head for at least 3 minutes.  I will do a handstand.  IT WILL BE FUN, DO YOU HEAR ME?  FUN.  FUN.  FUN.

I think there are about 10 more days to this cleanse.  It is very hard for me to say die, but it might be real enlightenment to do so, if death (for someone) is the other alternative.  I am considering this.  Ahimsa.  Or flatulence.  Or unmitigated rage.  It’s hard choice.

PS–I have no back pain.  So apparently, all my rage is now conscious (read John Sarno mindbody blogs if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

Ayurvedice Pre-Cleanse, Day 3: The Scatalogical


My father used to say that my mother couldn’t breathe without Dristan and couldn’t shit without Ex-Lax.

He was a pretty inappropriate guy on a good day, but the fact is, in this case, what he said was absolutely true.

As for himself, his bodily functions included hangover farts that smelled so bad you could smell them in the attic.  I know this because my sister and I (teenagers at the time) were smoking pot in the attic when he farted in the basement and it was so gross we leaned our heads out the attic window to complain.  “Dad,” we said, “You are the most disgusting person on earth.”

My mother probably agreed with that statement, since she asked him to leave a couple years later.

Anyhow, there was no absence to the scatalogical in my formative years.  My father, the farter, burper, snorer (like an earthquake)etc.  And my mother, so anally retentive she needed Ex-Lax, as we have already seen.

I tended more toward my mother’s end until I allowed myself to be seduced into a relationship with my first girlfriend (the train wreck) at nineteen.  My ex-girlfriend’s jokes were dirtier than my father’s (which is saying something) and she told them with as much or more gusto.  She was enamored of the idea of lighting farts on fire, and once burned the seat out of a pair of white painter pants at a party.  Living with her on and off for three years did teach me to burp and fart openly at home, something I would never have done in any dwelling inhabited by my mother.

Anyhow, besides the history of the scatalogical, all only relevant because I would like to avoid talking about this cleanse and its relationship to flatulence and other similar topics, there is this–I’ve only eaten 1/2 an avocado so far today.

I got home late from my devised theatre gig last night.  I walked in the door, and my partner said, “I’m embarrassed to say I ate a whole avocado today.”

I’m like, “So what, I hate two and 1/2.”

She started laughing.  I didn’t.  I was thinking that trying to one-up me, even with food, is a losing proposition.  I was also thinking that I am definitely not going to lose weight on this cleanse.  My partner lost something like 7 pounds the first time she did it.  But I don’t think she was making out with avocados every 3 minutes.

Anyhow, I’ve been feeling pretty mocus on this cleanse (my word for mentally foggy) as well as hungry and tired, and by accident I discovered that the green soup actually filled me up and didn’t make me as out of it as the rice and beans.  So today I did the warm smoothie with avocado for breakfast, and veggies for lunch and rice and veggies for 2nd lunch (yes, I’m becoming a hobbit…or a rabbit…) and voila!  Not so mocus!  Not hungry either, for a couple hours at a time.  For some reason, I’ve never thought of vegans actually eating vegetables.  I thought nuts, seeds and large glasses of beer made up the usual vegan diet, but now I see the Light.  Vegetables are actually a significant food, not something you just eat when you’re at Kripalu.

Anyhow, the scatalogical output increases significantly when you’re eating mostly vegetables.  And I have to tell you, when I’ve tried these diets before, my partner followed me around with a pack of matches, lighting one in each room I entered.  She thought this was very funny.  I was like, “You’re hurting my feelings.  And I don’t want to burn the seat out of my pants like the train wreck did, thank you very much.”

My partner has a thing about the last word.  She’s like, “You’re hurting my nose.”

I’m like, “I don’t care.”  Then I went into some psychotherapeutic mumbo-jumbo about how she was shaming me for having a body, and which, since she buys that crap a lot more than I do, actually got her to stop.

Anyhow, I imagine the car ride out to Framingham tonight should be interesting.  I can’t decide whether to hide the matches, ride with the windows open, or bring matches and not tell her.

She subscribes to this blog.  So I have to say I can’t decide so she doesn’t know.

We’re actually getting along really well these days.  And this cleanse was her idea.  Just saying.