Full Moon Feeling

Saturday night and the moon will shine its light onto forest frolickers.
Watch out for feral behaviors and lunar instigation’s, it is a time of completion, at times copulation and in this hot season I believe nights like these are the ones when the animals breed.
When the tide and all the signs are right, when new souls find easy portals into this adventurous existence.
How do you make baby hippies? Its fucking in tents.
Be wary, be warned, warm nights cry for less clothing, longing for intimate holding, leads mostly to beastly hollering. Oh be wary weary soul.
Guess it’s good I have no one to hold.
My safest solution, a loving dog in need of grooming.

Remember always wear condoms!

I miss you

I’m not sure who I’m missing exactly. Those who have passed, those who have moved on… and the ignorant being I once was.
I chose the email “stumblingflower” when I was 15. I loved the name of the band “Tripping Daisy” and reworked it into “trippingdazee” for my other email. It represented what I felt about myself. This flower that keeps falling. Not able to quite catch myself, waiting to open into grace, but always falling short. Contrary to popular belief, there is no drug connection. It was nothing more than a feeling toward myself, and the seemingly unattainable.
I am not sure I have totally blossomed or bloomed into what I am to be, but it feels like it’s closer than ever.
All of this sleeping in the woods and analysis has me on the cusp of some transformation left without mention. The awkwardness of youth is melting into the grace of maturity and female bounty. What a relief! I thought it would never happen.
Still there is a longing, a missing in my soul. Perhaps it aches only for what I do not yet know, and for those which have not yet touched me. I feel them coming and I miss them already.
As I envelop wholeness and untiy within myself, those draw near who are in search of the same, I am excited for the day I commune with such souls cemented in their own holistic foundations. We will be strong without and within, co-creating with out division and the simplification of interaction with integrity.
Love will be simplistic and sincere, passion will burn brighter, the realm of worry will be released.
Relationships will flourish, dysfunction within is realized and worked through with consciousness and help from a loving common-unity. The fouls and failings of humanity not seen as disgrace but a reason to unite and overcome. Judge-less and supportive.
All I can do is work at polishing my own mirror, reflections of what I hope to be, and all thee to see.

The beauty of a few… (men)

I give thanks to a beautiful Universe who gives in such abundance, the sweet caress of supple hands and the sharing of breath.
Quiet conversations held in majestic locations with XY chromosomes. Sometimes may lead to soft moaning, none the less at times staying up till early morning, just talking.
When compassion, and integration are the only destination. All aboard the train of Truth, packed with seekers eager to take the long road. Slowly we go, at times catching speed, so fast at times it is hard to breathe, these are just moments.
Each comes and goes in it’s own succession, each is learning their lessons, and this is the most beautiful distraction. Ones that lead to affection, and intimacy. The moments that allow me to be all I am and untapped potential.
Mirrors with fears, looking glasses of love. It is hard not to love oneself in such interactions with such magnanimous imaginations, we are co creating the world we always wished existed.
Pieces of the reasons overlooked for so long. We intertwine for the times that are yours and mine only the sign we were all already seeking.
Don’t forget to keep breathing. Never stop seeking, our best selves are always ready to surface. It may take forever to learn this, though I’ll never tire with teachers like these.

Analyze thyself

The last 6 days have been full of it. Pages and pages written in several states of mind. All rehashing the life experiences and blunders. Blaming each for cultivating me into the flexible and yet endearing individual I am today.

This morning was calm enough, hanging out as usual at the Bakery. But before I could leave. Before the morning could end in perfection, a lecture sat on the horizon. Not from my father, or my boss. No. Advice from a relation we will leave at once being a closer friend than as of recent.

This lecture was ALL about what I NEED to do. That is, based off of the perceptions and programming that are reasonable to this individual. Maybe I am wrong… maybe I am not the only one who knows what I NEED. However, I live under the life philosophy that “no one knows what YOU need, better than you.”

I found myself caught in conflict. Do I argue my point? Give examples and persuasions toward the benefits and freedoms of my lifestyle? Or do I sit silent, nodding, knowing inside what my Truth is?

So what, if I am okay being a Bohemian? Whose business is it but mine. I am not imposing my lifestyle on anyone. I take care of my own business; no one is supporting me, I am not living off the government. I make my way with peace and piece of mind. I am drastically underpaid, and yet I work hard with a solid ethic. These things are praiseworthy. However my desire to live in a tent, or to work minimally for a while is seen as bad and terribly unconventional. My “friend” says that I can not live this way forever.

Who says I can’t? I suppose if I choose to, and I am suffice to live with it, than I will do just that. I haven’t spent any of this life time trying to mimic anyone’s behavior for any other reason than jest, why would I start now. If we ever want to see a less conventional, free willed, free-spirited world, (which most wish for in jealousy, and few follow the path of,) then we must embody those traits individually with intense uniqueness.

I am more than ready to embrace this part of myself, despite what anyone else thinks is best for me.

I appreciate the concern, I admire the audacity to vocalize such concerns, but I am fuckin’ happy being me with out the burden of illusion. 40 hours a week in a job I find emotionally and physically draining may be conventional, but it isn’t for me.

I’ll side by passion, I will commune with nature and breathe expression, in this way, you may call me crazy, you may shake your head, and I will simply ask “why you are so fucking concerned with my life… I am living mine to the fullest spiritual creative expression, can you say the same for yourself?

Money is good, but faith that all good things come in time builds a patient heart. The Universe only asks us to focus on our best possible selves in the NOW. It’s a tough enough task. Let’s all just agree to make the best decisions we can for ourselves without impeding on anyone else’s path. Perhaps we will all find there is plenty to work on, and no time to burden our minds with what we can not change in others.

Ride high Independence.

The struggle to maintain connection to Divinity continues. It’s challenges set forth in each moment to be content. While wholeheartedly in this moment, I do not feel it for myself. I am bored. I want someone to entertain me. I am not entertaining myself.
Claddagh desperately needs to go for a walk, I am an unwilling companion. Unnecessary attachment has me wondering about another individual, too immersed in these thoughts, am I, to “just be here, now.” What a bad example I am setting. Today I am not in demand. I am not working, bored, and pretty awake. My body needs to move, I want to dance, but there is no music. The integral part. And yet, I don’t want to be seen dancing.
EWWWW, today is a cluster fuck of clashing feelings. If satisfaction were perused, I am sure to come up short. It seems as though, when I ask internally what I should do, I come up blank. There is no answer and this discontent isn’t conducive to how I WANT to feel, what I want to experience.

The signs say to retreat into the woods, to think, to not react. To distance myself so that I can re-commune with a clearer head, and a wiser heart. The child says, “NO”.

At times the teenage rebellion keeps me from what is best for myself…still the Faith of connectivity with my Higher Self, prevails more often than not.

Apparently I am missed, but I was never lost

Apparently, I am missed, but I was never lost

In a world of wanters’ wanting to be wanted, spring has sprung. Pheromones float in the air, beyond sight, ready to infect the masses. Winters nesting melts away into the stir craze of spring. For this particular individual, it seems as though the pot o’ love is just about ready to boil over into a frothy and unpredictable spectacle.
I call this segment of life, Six Beau’s, a Dame, an Old Dude, and me.
Finally, for the first time, I can remember, I am being called out and appreciated.
It appears as if I have created my own motley crew, an entourage if you will.
None of these followers hang out together. I am pretty sure none of them know one another. I am the Princess of the Ports. Somehow, someway, the hormonal aching of spring has drawn some unlikely suspects in the perusal of the Princess of the P.
Firstly, we have an Israeli. We met haphazardly last spring. After required service to his country, this ex-military turned bohemian was spending the last few weeks of the ski season hitting up Eldora. Minding my own business, as usual, I was embarking on a frosty brew and a heady writing session at the pub. Tokman, as I will refer to him, brought about a certain nostalgia in my mind.
Who did he remind me of???
Ohhhh, right, that guy Tyson I had a crush on in 7th grade. The guy who treated me like shit, and wrote: “dyke” (though spelled “dike”) in my 8th-grade yearbook. Yeah, Tyson, who dated my (at the time) best friend Lisa. Tyson, whom I ran into at the age of 24, working at a gas station in Cheyenne. Good ole, badass, Tyson, who found my face familiar but my name escaped him. Tyson, who has the worst case of “monk’s hair” anyone has seen in this era of plugs, sprays, and implants. All this, probably due to all the harassment he gave people like me back in the day. Yeah, Karma can be pretty heinous.
So, dear Tokman, resembles Tyson, in his youth and once hairier prime. Tokman, however, lacks much of the abrasiveness I associate to Tyson.
Two weeks after our initial meeting this traveler was bound for foreign seas. Apparently, I made an impression… a year later he is back in Colorado’s western slope and anxious to hang out… My biggest mental deterrent is knowing his hooked up with a red light district Miss, in Amsterdam.
Next, we have the pleasantly reclusive artist, we will call Bud. After a momentary interaction, I have realized that artists that reclusive must be sought out if they are to be interacted with. I ride my own rainbow, and honestly going too far out of my way to hang out with someone who isn’t “that into beer,” leaves a dry taste in my mouth. As luck would have it, the crazy spring vibe must be tickling him too, because he just started calling again.
Respectively in line is a handsome Punk Rocker. Dark, robust, pleasant to the palate, and more tattoos than me. The universe would have this hard-kore hottie living in the rough’s of Denver. It seems we can never connect via phone, and I am dying to see his band perform because from what I hear, there is stage diving and EVERYTHING. The truth is, I have never been with a musician… my ego wants someone to write me awesome songs, to call me muse and a find a fountain of inspiration in knowing me… This is something I may need to wait for. In no way am I even assuming that this specific rocker thinks I am song worthy… it just gets my imagination roaming.
Now… as if three fine young lads wasn’t enough, we have number four. Tall, ironically Jesus like in appearance, and very, very Southern. I can’t help but slip to a silly drawl when I imitate the things he says. This fine example of chivalry found himself in my way during a Lotus show. I only had a severe warning of flailing elbows for him, so he moved. Past the first set, we found ourselves sharing a smoke… and well, let’s just say he is anxious to show me all the South has to offer.

And finally, and most weirdly of all… Missed Connections on Craigslist, has recently allowed me to realize someone from my long lost past of lifeguarding and high school dances, still flirts with the thoughts of me that run through his head. I am almost certain I know who he is, and I wonder if all this nostalgia is just a quarter-life crisis. A crumbling moment most likely found in inebriation when one realizes all of the friends from their wily youth are either married or with a child. The realization that the singledom that was so bravely fought for in our early twenties is now slipping away into a need and desire for a partner in crime, not just any partner though… No, a partner you want to sleep with.

Long lost are the days of misunderstood youth, and awkward moments of teenage alienation. I have found my worth, and now those around me share their appreciation…

All the while, I am starting to wonder where the hell my sex drive went, because despite my ever broadening options and my wanting to be wanted, I know I don’t need to be needed, it just feels nice to be held once in a while… So until someone gets those old fires burning I guess I’ll let my imagination run wild, there really is nothing safer than masturbation.

Throw the guy a frickin’ bone!

Okay, gripe session here we come!
So to bring us into this piece, I am first going to set up the parameters for understanding.
Now for those of you, who have ever worked in the “tip reliant” service industry, you realize that tipping is of the utmost importance when it comes down to survival for tip-ee. Having that experience allows you to tip appropriately. Rarely will someone who has worked in this field, leave their server empty handed, regardless of service. It’s just common courtesy. When one becomes knowledgeable about the affect and effect of circumstance in a professional (regardless of how casual) environment, it then becomes easier to perpetuate equitable energetic exchange.
Last night I wandered into Aspen with some people for a show. The venue, called the “Belly up” is a bar/venue. The band on Marquee was Infected Mushroom TranceKore from LA. Toward the end of this very energetic show, ladies (though not acting like ladies..) from the front row, seemed to make their way on to the low stage. Unconscious toward sharing space with the actual performers, these girls one by one crawled on stage and attempted dry humping the singer.
Cordially he kept smiling as the stage guy escorted them from the stage. Over a 3 song stretch the same three girls keep crawling up and get escorted down. Finally, one of the girls really goes for a crowd reaction by pulling down her tube top and showing her drunk ass tits to the all ages audience. The audience is pleased, the singer is trying hard to keep smiling, disguising his disgust.
Now just like anyone who has been a server, knows how to tip… Anyone who has ever been a performer knows it’s just plain rude and obnoxious to take your drunk ass on stage during someone else’s performance. No one paid $34.00 bucks to see a drunk chicks tits.
The stage is like a bartender behind the bar… you don’t cross that bounder unless you are invited.
My guess is this girl only performs when she is drunk… she uses it as her excuse as to not know better. The truth is she is probably too much of a coward to go up there sober.
Drunk assholes are always trying to take center stage, no one appreciates this except for the dipshit jumping into the spotlight.
Anyone who knows better is less than captivated by such a sloppy performance… My advice to those of you who feel it necessary to act in this way; is to leave the stage to those who respect the space and integrity of true entertainment.

A portal of inner exploration

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