6 PM Quote

This quote just may be my favorite yet, yes. Happy holiday weekend, all. I wolve you.  -- C.A.

"All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel...Think about it. There's escaping from the wolves, fighting the wolves, capturing the wolves, taming the wolves. Being thrown to the wolves, or throwing others to the wolves so the wolves will eat them instead of you. Running with the wolf pack. Turning into a wolf. Best of all, turning into the head wolf. No other decent stories exist." -- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

F'n Rad Dater: SisterMaryOnHigh568

Hi Daters! Rockin! We have a new Dater on the F’n Rad Dating Site this morning, and she is so unbelievably in touch with her spirituality! We at the Dating Site can’t wait for you to meet her. Good luck, Daters! Remember, there is that special someone out there for you. Don’t give up!

F’n Rad Dater: SisterMaryOnHigh568

Dear F’n Rad Dating Site:

I know that you founders of this dating site are blessed creatures. I feel it deeply. I feel you. I feel everything around me, all the time. I imagine that right now, you are glowing with God’s light. I can feel it in my heart. Even though you seem to slip into sin very often, actually daily, I still hold you close in my prayers. Deeply. Holy Mother Mary of God pray for us sinners now until the hour of our death, Amen. I believe that you have been sent to me by the angels, and I believe you may be a saint at work in the world, even though you might be disguised as a fiery evil demon. I was praying with the sisters this morning, kneeling down on uneven, hard ground, and then I went to work for the convent by posting some spiritual retreat events to our Facebook page, when I came across the F’n Rad Dating Site, and I felt that it was my duty today to write to you. I’m not sure if you accept sisters to your site, but I felt that I should reach out, as it has been a very long time since I’ve tried to trudge my way in the dating world. Through him, with him, and in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, I am grateful to find you. I prayed for you this morning, and after reading some of your blog, I really, really prayed for you. We are all God’s children, but some of us need more help than others, and unfortunately, some of us, like you, are most likely bastard children.

Name: SisterMaryOnHigh568
Age: 80
Gender: Yes, I am both masculine and feminine. And I am energy divine. I am the Trinity.
Status: Single, Virgin
Smoke/Drink: Indeed!
Tattoos/Piercings: I admit that I have a small butterfly on my left ankle from the days before I devoted my life to the holiness. After this many years, the butterfly more closely resembles a bat, but I am not attached to my physical body and skin, so when I take a short bath once every couple of days to conserve water, I do not even notice the bat anymore. All right, sometimes I do notice the bat, but I then quickly let it go.
Interested in: I do not discriminate when it comes to God’s creatures. And when I say I do not discriminate, that means I am absolutely open forever and ever and ever, Amen. Completely open, honest, true. Open. There is nothing under my robes, I am so open.

Interests: Praying four times a day, eating three nutritious meals a day, power walking, making sure my tennis shoes stay completely white, occasional fasting, trying not to sweat, playing jarts with the sisters when no one is around, smoking in the Chapel, sunscreen, moisturizer, drinking communion wine, guilt, fixing my hair into a beehive like Amy Winehouse underneath my habit so no one can see, wearing loose clothing, making rosaries, lighting candles, making sure I blow out the candles, making coffee and tea for the spiritual center guests, making sure the little bowls are full of Equal, sugar, Splenda, and Truvia, walking under the stone Jesus who is suspended from the ceiling in the Chapel and saying to him “hi there” or “please don’t become unattached and fall on my head I like my head.” I sometimes become anxious and fall into a worldly state of fear when it comes to that stone Jesus, but each day, I begin to trust that he will not fall.

Occupation: Sister of the sisters on High

Music: I prefer Gospel. Or, on a more meditative day, light piano jazz. Sometimes, when the other sisters are already in the Chapel, I might listen to a little Bjork and imitate the strange sounds she makes, like beautiful whales calling for each other to mate, and then I feel guilty. Later, I recite 50 Hail Marys to purge Hell from my system, because although we all know that beings mate, to discuss it is evil.

Religion: I am very devoted to the sisterhood. But the dater I am seeking need not be devoted to the Lord. Rather, he/she may be a heathen.

Looking for: I am looking for a matching soul who dresses appropriately for the time of day, whether it be meal or prayer time. I’m not sure if your dating site accepts virgins, but just to clarify, I am definitely a virgin, if you do not count that encounter I had in high school at the keg party in the El Camino. But all of that was before my life as a sister, so it really doesn’t apply in this world. I would like someone to take walks with me, pray with me, eat meals with me, and maybe go talk to Jesus with me because I think that stone Jesus gets lonely hanging from the ceiling over there in the Chapel. I am also looking for someone who will pay on our dates, as the sisters are saving their money for a mission trip.

Kids: From that experience in high school in the El Camino, I had to give up my child for adoption. Now that I am a virgin, it seems that it is my calling to never have sexual intercourse, for I do not believe in having pleasures. But I am curious, and perhaps we could keep this and that last sentence on the down-low. (I do have all of my teeth, and everything seems to be in working order).

Body Type: 5’10”, flawless skin, a little round in the middle

Eyes: blue

Hair: gray, occasionally visible under the habit, thick and easy to pull back and hide

Contact info: Hm, this could be interesting. There is a gap in the praying between 2-3pm. I could probably disappear for a while and no one would know. If you like, I could bring some communion wine, but don’t expect any bread, because we might get struck down. :0

Blessings to You,
SisterMaryOnHigh568

-- C.A. MacConnell

Mimi's Plan. The Secret To Top Notch Health

Mimi's Plan. The Secret to Top Notch Health.

Choices, Choices.

Something is strange. Something is very strange. I haven't been physically sick in at least, lets see, nine years, maybe longer. No flu, no cold, not even any allergies, nothing. It might even be longer than that. Actually, the last time I remember having a cold was back when I taught horse lessons in 2001-2. And the last time I was severely sick with pneumonia was back in 1999 I think. Strange indeed. Now, I realize I might be setting myself up for sickness doom in writing this, that is if the universe is some kind of cosmic joker; however, I brag about it all the time. Just this past year I was bragging about it to a friend, and he was watching me all winter, waiting for me to get sick. Nope, nada. Haha.

I'm not sure why. As far as my diet goes, I'm a vegetarian these days, but I'm not vegan, and I'm certainly not all organic. And if I woke up one morning with an enormous craving for a fried fish sandwich, I might go eat one, what the hell. Right now, I have no desire, and I'm all vegged out. But I have other vices as well. Nothing illegal, but I'm definitely human. I can also put away some IHOP and some ice cream with extra toppings. I could live on sprinkles and icing. As far as I'm concerned, that sheet cake from Kroger is from the gods. I love those "nutrition bars" that are really candy bars in disguise. Burritos are cool. Lately, I've been getting into root beer and almonds for some reason.

I'm sort of on Mimi's Plan. Mimi was my grandmother, and she just passed away this past Christmas. And like my Mimi did, I absolutely love salt. Also like Mimi, I hate to cook. So I can put away some Amy's or Cedarlane frozen meals. At 95, Mimi would call me up, and we'd get together and eat these meals full of salt. Then I'd have jelly beans, and she'd have cookies. Now, I'm not suggesting this for a diet plan, but Mimi did live to be 95, and even in the end, her mind was completely intact. Actually, she remembered more than I did. I think her secret was that she never worried. 'Course she did worry about others and pray for others constantly, but as for her own health and diet, she just did whatever the hell she wanted. She smoked for 40 years before she quit. She enjoyed cocktails. She never exercised a day in her life. I'm chuckling as I write that. It's true, ask anyone in the family.

Anyway, so I can't figure out the reason for my health stretch, other than that I did start yoga in 2000. And I began to focus on it seriously around 2004, so maybe that has something to do with it all. Who knows. But I've seen other serious yoga teachers get sick and need subs. I've subbed for others a lot over the years. So maybe I should advertise my personal practice as the "sick-free" yoga practice? Maybe I should open a yoga school with that as the drawing force? Joking, there's no way in hell I'd open a yoga place in this town. There are already a gazillion of them. When I started yoga in 2000, there was only one serious school. Now, they're crawling all over the place like yoga spider spies. These days, you'd have to teach naked hot yoga to bring in clients at a new school. That's a whole other topic. More to say on that tomorrow...

And my health marathon has nothing to do with getting plenty of rest either. I sleep very little. If I get four or five hours, I consider that a good night. But the key is...I don't worry about it. People ask me all the time, "Don't you worry about getting enough sleep?" Just the other day, a friend said, "Wow, if I only got that much sleep, I would freak out." I guess I could freak out. But what good would that do? I'd just sleep less.

See, with me it's like this -- I do the best I can, and that's got to be good enough. When I start to focus on being perfect with everything, I drive myself insane. So these days, I've just decided to take Mimi's route -- try not to worry. Eat when I can, rest when I can, do the best I can. Seems to be working. Sure, I have some more work to do. I have things that I need to let go of, one thing at a time, but for now, I'm just okay with me being me. This morning, those birds are saying hello to me and the world, and that is enough.

I am trying not to be so hard on myself. That, to me, is key. I had a period where I worked at a health food store, and I took it to the extreme; I read all of the ingredients on everything. I drove myself wild trying to be pure. That was 1998, and you know what, I got really obsessed and sick. That wasn't so much fun. I'm not saying everyone gets this obsessed, as I have an obsessive nature, but these days, I'd rather head on out to Kings Island and try 4 different soft pretzels and realize the best ones still exist at the movie theater. I f'n love those things. Want to come to the movies with me? There's so much I want to see. I sometimes go alone in my pajamas.

Having my morning jolt of coffee. Then I'll take a multivitamin. Nothing special. Something generic I found at Wal-Mart. Like I said, I'm not suggesting that anyone follow my regimen, but I'm trying to follow Mimi's Plan -- do whatever, think of others instead, and don't worry about it. Depending on how you take that, it could be simple, or it could be profound. I can picture her grinning as I'm writing this. I miss her terribly, but if she were here, she'd tell me to stop thinking so much and ask, "Chris, have you been having any fun?"

My yoga practice may be the secret, but I'm on Mimi's Plan. And if I ever do open a studio, I'll name it after her, and it'll have a snack bar with jelly beans,
C.A. MacConnell

Worry? Or Simply Divine.

Attention readers:  right here, right in this spot on the page, mentally insert photos of me doing scary, twisty, impressive yoga poses wearing very tight, organic yoga clothing. Picture me doing one-armed handstands and then levitating. Yes, now you are correctly envisioning my daily practice.

Simply Divine

Sitting here wearing a yellow/gray striped tank top and sweatpants and tube socks and letting my belly hang out. I sort of feel like Al Bundy. Attractive, I know. Sorry, Al, no offense. If you don't know who Al Bundy is, then you are too young to be reading this. So my cat, Tree, just made that sound that he makes when he finds something in the apartment -- you know, like a lizard or a beetle. Yes, my place is set in the woods, and we often have visitors who like to make a home in here. These visitors are not wanted, but they seem to keep coming back for more. I suppose they want some love and coziness. Now, three years ago (actually, maybe one year ago), I would've heard Tree's meowing, freaked the fuck out, jumped up, and checked to see what the hell was grabbing his attention. This morning, I just sat here and thought, Well, if there's something in here, screw it, I'm too tired to check. Progress, I tell you, progress. For me, enormous progress. If you know me personally, then you are laughing and agreeing as you read this, I am sure.

I'm tired of worrying. I've spent half my life worrying, and most of it for no reason. At all. Just a bunch of racing thoughts that have led nowhere. Screw you, worry. I'm done with you, you madman. I might just forget to clean for a whole week, mofo. Take that, worry monster. Let the dirt reach the ceiling like Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout who would not take the garbage out (Shel Silverstein). I might not vacuum today either, Mr. Worry, you asshole. So there. I'm tired of you stealing my life.

And I'm tired because yesterday I did about four hours straight of Ashtanga Yoga. Let me see...that included a number of arm balances, all 8 headstands, elbow stands, scorpion, handstands, and every other pose you can imagine. When you teach yoga, sometimes with beginners, you end up doing the whole class with them, just because it's hard to demo when you're cold (or not a good idea...you get really sore). With more advanced classes, sometimes I'll do the class with them, and other days, I'll just talk and sit it out. But I still end up doing some demo stuff here and there. I try not to without warming up, but it happens. I love being a teacher, I really do. Honestly, I like being in front of a crowd. And as a Leo, I have to admit, I've always liked being the center of attention, ha, although I don't really think of it that way anymore. Now, I see that the students are the real focus. It helps take me out of myself, helps me with the anxiety, and it helps me expand my own practice. Plus, did I mention that I am the center of attention? Ha, I'm joking.

All that sounds very serious, but I do like to crack jokes here and there to lighten up the practice a little bit. It's fun, rewarding, and sometimes exhausting mentally and physically, but it's worth it. Sure, some days are more challenging than others, for various physical and mental reasons, but other days are simply divine. That'd be a good name for an ice cream brand, if it isn't out there already -- "Simply Divine." Just sayin.

I've always been a teacher. I taught college for a while. Then I taught horseback riding lessons for many years. I started that at the mere age of 15. Then I moved on to teaching yoga. But I've always been a teacher. It's interesting. I remember taking a public speaking class in high school, and I was terrified. Now, one of my favorite things to do is speak in front of a crowd, whether teaching, or giving a talk on advocacy issues. I dig it. When it comes to telling my story or leading a class, I feel like I'm right in my element.

Anyway, I hope to continue with work that makes my heart sing, whether that be teaching yoga or wherever else this crazy universe leads me. I've always been one to seek out work that I'm passionate about, although lately, I've been sort of bending on that whole idea. I mean, shit, you gotta pay the bills. It's hard out there, and sometimes, whatever comes in is the right thing. Yeah, I'm struggling some. Hell, that's nothing, a lot of people are. I am thinking of a slew of cliche's here -- one step at a time, one foot in front of the other, one day at a time, first things first -- you get the drift. 

Lately, before teaching, every day, I write a letter to God. It's not a flowery letter full of my devotion to the universe. Not at all. Rather, it's a real letter. Deep down dirty and real. I talk about how I feel, happy or pissed. I pray for people. I pray about situations and try to let them go, and in many cases, I pray for clarity and resolution. Sometimes, I write out a gratitude list. Other times, I rant and tell God how confused and lost I am. Many days, I scribble a sun or a star. There is no plan. Whatever comes to mind ends up on the page. I see my God as a buddy, a guiding force, someone who listens and cares. Just as I am a teacher in this world, I see my God as a teacher. So I want my God to know the real me...the beauty and the noise. My spirituality is semi-grounded, tangible, practical. And then other days, I feel connected in a mysterious way I cannot explain. Whether earthly or heavenly, every day, it evolves and changes, and so do I.

Tree is making that sound again. I think he found a centipede. I guess I should be anxious. I should rise to check. I should worry and see who is invading my home. Then again, I could sit here and write a letter to God and do some yoga and teach some yoga and worry about all that later. Every day, I've been asking God to free me from fear and let me be the person the universe wishes me to be. And I think, just maybe, something is working. Dear God, it's about f'n time. Ha.

Now, I think I will spend my morning seeing if I can get a patent on the name "Simply Divine" for an ice cream or an icing brand. That kicks ass over "Creamy Deluxe" if you ask me. And that's way more fun than worrying or job hunting. Alas, some things take precedence on the to-do list.

Peace out,
C.A. MacConnell

Four Fifteen P.M. Quote.

I'm not sure where this photo or quote originally came from, but I am sharing it from MC Yogi's page. I just adored the sucker. Of course, besides the cool words, I am a fan of graffiti as well. And I love MC Yogi's music...comes in handy when teaching, thank you. Interestingly enough, I found out that there is a slew of graffiti using this quote. All over the place, it seems.

However, I also did a little more digging, and I found out that Maggie Kuhn, an American activist who started the Gray Panthers movement in 1970, was famous for saying, "Speak your mind even if your voice shakes." She might just possibly be the originator of this saying, or it might be some old yogi from way back when, who knows. But I did find out that in the 30s and 40s, Ms. Kuhn caused quite a ruckus at the YWCA with her forward thinking regarding women's sexuality. Birth control, staying single rather than marrying, sexual pleasure, the mechanics of sex -- she opened the door on all of these issues, and she started a class to take a look at these "taboo" topics. Stirred them all right up, hell yeah. You can read more about Ms. Kuhn here. Hey, I learned something fascinating today.

Here she is:

Photo from Wikipedia.

I think I like this photo even better than the first one. This face shows lines of depth and strength.

Hope you have a beautiful afternoon. I didn't expect to discover all of this when I went to post a quote today. Hey, you just never know what you might come upon. Gheesh, I need a bath. Peace out.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

The Right Sway

This poem is one of my favorites. Hope you like it. And this photo was taken in Virginia, one of the loves of my life. CA

The Right Sway

I’ve often wanted a yellow
House
With a porch swing,
one surrounded by wild fields of untamed grass. The green
Would be tall enough to call a
Hiding place,
One soft to my bare, worn feet. I’ve often wanted
Him to appear, rising out of
The shadows, his smile tearing through the black
Night. Surely the sky will
Reveal his face
When some lightning is stuck, glowing at the
Tricky peak, never
To vanish.
I’ve often wanted to tour with words,
Touching millions, using gray phrases to
Reach you, any you. But suddenly, here,
Now, the windy dusk is
Clear. I come to. I
See that the swift colors,
The lofty
Symbols, the human, catchy words, the cool,
Uneven ground,
The secret blades, his lips, and the right sway
Will come to me.
It will all come into me, striking with the strange
Fire of letting go, wrecking this world, my world, our world
With light. I have always been struck by
Heaven,
The place beyond want, the still
Place of need
Between the noise and the shock,
A glorious, striking crash to the chest,
Left of center.

C.A. MacConnell

Connections and Intersections

Hang on for this ride.

Yesterday, after teaching up north, I drove to pick up a friend who was stranded way, way out further north in the boonies at some motorcycle rally or some shit. I don't really know what it was, but it did involve bikes. Hell, the drive was beautiful, and I didn't mind at all. I never mind a drive. The sun was beating down, the cars were flowing along (okay, that's bullshit, people were driving like lost turtles), and next to me, the hills rolled out one after another. I love the hills. The foothills of Virginia are probably my favorite place to drive. Once you get into the mountains, it can get a little slow-going, but the hills are fantastic, if you ever want to chill and feel free and be at one with the land and space out to some random radio station that only plays unidentifiable, scratchy local folk. Yeah.

Anyway, so I arrived at the weird motorcycle place, and my friend hopped in the car, and her cheeks and arms were pink from waiting out in the sun, but she and I were both in good spirits. Both of us had some tattoos peeking out from under our clothes here and there. Both of us had seen some pain and some glory in our lives. A partner in crime is always welcome in my book. And she had the most kickass black boots. I can respect some cool shoes.

So the sun grew fierce, but the wind was kind as we made the long trek south; we sped down into the city to retrieve her car. We talked of all the wild things. But when we finally arrived all the way in the center of concrete land, she realized that she'd left her keys out in the country. We sat there for a moment, mulling over the next plan. There was some kind of music/arts festival downtown, and my buddy was playing tunes there, so we just decided to check it out together. Well, on the way to the festival, we stopped at a gas station that I'd never visited. I'd never even seen the sucker. I think it popped out of nowhere -- a ghost town gas station. And we were in a part of the city that I'd only set foot in a handful of times.

So I got my coffee, and then we started waiting in line. We waited and waited and waited. The line grew longer. We waited. I started to shift back and forth, restless. I'm not sure what the hell the clerk was doing (cleaning the counters with a toothpick), but he was absolutely stuck on one customer, and it was taking forever. I mean, I considered myself a patient person, but I honestly thought about setting my coffee down and leaving without it. I mentioned this to my friend, and she just shrugged, running a hand through her short, reddish brown hair, making it stick up more. Both of us were sweating.

We ended up waiting it out, all for a small, half-burnt coffee. And right when I paid, I saw a familiar man wander inside the store. He was a man from my past, and I definitely owed him an amends. I could not believe it. I mean, if it weren't for the drive to nowhere, the lost keys, the long line, and the long wait, I wouldn't have run into him there. I decided it was meant to be that I get his attention, speak with him, and make the amends. I told my friend, and she laughed. "You have to do it," she said. "I would."

So I waited for him to come outside, and I was nervous. I'd made some amends in the past that really didn't go that well at all. I recall one woman freaking out on me and saying, "You are a bad person." Ha. I was like, man oh man. But amends are about paying attention to my side and what I've done. I knew this. So I called his name and did the best I could. He was actually very receptive, and it went well.

My friend and I shared a smile, and then we were on our way to the festival, but the weird day wasn't over yet. Right when we arrived at the festival, I realized that when I was teaching that morning, I had taken off my grandmother's necklace and set it down on a cabinet at the workout club. And left it there. I was terribly worried someone might have lifted it, so we only stayed at the fest for about 15 minutes, and then we headed a half hour back up north to retrieve the necklace.

Success. The necklace was waiting for me at the front desk at the club. Well, now the amends had been done, I had the necklace, I had my caffeine swirling inside, and now we had the problem of what to do about the car and the keys. So we decided that the thing to do would be for me to take my friend home, and she would call someone out in the country to bring her the keys to her house and give her a ride to her car later. Seemed like a good plan. But no keys meant she had no way to get in her house. So we had to get a hold of the roommate, so she could leave a spare key out.

We finally got a hold of the roommate, and everything seemed to be gelling. Then...we headed from the north to the east side of town, so that I could drop my friend off at home. On the way to the east side, a little groundhog or beaver or some creature ran out in the middle of the road. I tried to avoid him by driving straight over him...now, that might not make much sense, but I didn't have that much time to think. I mean, I thought he would fit between the wheels and be okay under the center of the car, but just when we were on top of him, he lifted his head and banged his head on the bottom of my car. Thud, thud. I don't know if the little guy made it, but when I looked back, he was running away, so that was a good sign I guess. Sorry, buddy.

At that point, we had driven all over the state, lost keys, made an amends, visited a festival, killed an animal, retrieved a family heirloom necklace, and by the time I dropped my friend off at home, we had spent some good quality time laughing our asses off. Boy, was I ready for a nap. They say there are no coincidences, that everything happens for a reason. I dunno about the significance of everything in the universe, but some things sure are definitely strangely spiritual, and some connections and intersections are meant to be, and sometimes, it's good to just drive and crack up.

And I dunno about you, but I think that story would make a kickass film, long or short, just sayin.

C.A. MacConnell

Dusk Quote

“Excuse me stewardess, I speak jive.” — from the movie Airplane

The Trooper

Yesterday, I had a healing touch session. I've had some of these before, and at first I thought, hell, maybe it'd just be a good way to relax. You know, a little nap. Well, the practitioner told me that afterward, I may have some flu-like symptoms, or I might even begin to cry and not know why. I listened to her, and I took it all in, and I thought, Hm. But I really didn't think I'd have a reaction from some energy work. I thought that I could just go home and take a big siesta and not be affected; however, the body and mind are powerful things. So is energy work, I've found.

Maybe it's because I've been facing a lot in the past year or so, or maybe it's because I've been rather raw lately, but when I came home, my mind started to race, and I experienced some intense panic. I felt a hole, a horrible dread within the center of my chest. A blackness of some sort. I've been having panic attacks on and off for about the past five-six months. At least the worst of the worst have been happening for that long. I've had milder ones for the past couple of years. And there's no real trigger. I have them at home, while teaching yoga, while doing yoga, at the movies, with people, alone...it doesn't really matter what scenario I'm in. They just happen, and I've stopped trying to figure out a cause or a trigger. I suppose I think it has to do with fear of moving forward with life -- with relationships, with employment, etc. Who knows? I also think it for sure has to do with past trauma, and it's just been coming to the surface lately. Yes indeed. There is a lot of bad shit that occurred during my drinking days, some of which I haven't even remembered until now, and it's still hazy. I'm really not completely sure. No one's really sure. Yes, I've reached out for help a lot.

I haven't really written about it until now. Anyway, I've been pushing through it like a trooper -- going to work, showing up where I need to show up, doing the motions. I don't believe anyone around me has even noticed. Just goes to show you...you never know what might be going on with someone on the inside. I've said it before, and I'll say it again...I've developed an amazing poker face over the years.

Facing all of this random, ridiculous fear has been hard, but at the same time, I feel stronger for it, and I feel like there's no turning back. I feel like this has been a long time coming, and once I can get through this, I will feel new. -- stronger, more peaceful, less focused on the past. I've already had huge glimpses of the serenity and peace, and I intend to keep making a muscle. I don't let it run my life. I just show up and do the deal anyway. What else can you do? Sit at home and hide? No way, that's not me.

Each year, it feels as if I'm uncovering layers of old trauma, old depression, old fear, and old darkness. And each year, after making my way through the sludge, so to speak, I feel a little lighter. It's a long process, sure, but living and growing and facing the tough stuff is a long process for anyone, not just me.

One thing is for certain -- I have a lot of love in my life, and I am grateful for it. I suppose you could label my problems as any number of things -- BP, PTSD, OCD, and the like. I suppose we could all label each other any number of things if we wanted to. Lookee there, there'a a label for everyone...grab on to one if you so desire. Shit, whatever it is, all I know is that I'm facing it one step at a time, one day at a time, and I try not to focus too much on labels anymore. I try to just take it as it comes and do the next right thing. Amen.

So fuck this fear. I am going forward anyway. I mean, I could seriously use a vacation and all, or perhaps a trip to the Funnybone, but as far as life's tough stuff goes, I don't let it stop me from going forward with the big dreams.

I hope that you are peaceful today. The sun is bright, and I am alive and kicking, and each day, I feel a little more connected to the energy of all that is, and that is a beautiful thing. Just look at the leaves, and the way they move with a slight wind. It's almost as if they're whispering. Look at the trees standing tall, living and growing like me, reaching for the light. These are the things that fill my heart. And so do you. And you.

I hope you are well and happy this fine day. Really, I do. I hope that you all find love and peace, or whatever you seek. The trooper,
C.A. MacConnell

Afternoon Quote.

"In terms of a message, I see this as a love story. As I was writing the book I often asked myself, 'Who survives this kind of thing? How in the world did anyone survive?' But all of the survivors had one thing in common, and that was love. They survived through love. Whether it was love of country, love for one another, or love of God, they chose to focus on that love, and it kept many people alive." -- Ruta Sepetys, author of Between Shades of Gray.

Love. I just finished reading this book, and it is deep and touching, although difficult at times. Fantastic writing and a page turner as well. Truly, it sent me somewhere else. Thanks for sharing these stories, Ms. Sepetys. Love, C.A.

Curling Up Solo

repost from 2011. Hope you are having a beautiful day. I've been working hard on a job hunt. We shall see. Two interviews down...hopefully more to go. I am hopeful. Peace out, CA

Curling Up Solo

Morning. No, afternoon. Time is a sneaky fucker.

Sometimes I wish I had a band. At one time, I did. Then it dwindled down to three of us who were mega-tight. We stayed up all hours and had G-rated sleepovers where we told each other stories ’til our eyelids drooped. Then we played more music. Always, music. They were always with me, in on the art, helping push it along. We could bounce stuff off of each other, throw it out, or make it gel. We took on different roles and such. Of course, sometimes there were arguments, as there are in any family, but that’s what gave it character. We had to push through the rough stuff and carry on, or change it up.

When I have interviewed bands, I often mulled over the curious nature of my outside role. I saw them making inside jokes, commenting on each other’s personalities, supporting each other. Often, I became envious. I mean, for an hour or so, I was part of the group, but then I morphed into the writer again. Strange sometimes. Writing. Just me. Me and the computer screen. Me and the paper and pen. Me. At times, it can be a lonely business. Sometimes it’s good. I make the decisions. I can work or work obsessively or not at all. I can revise and edit without too much interference. But sometimes, it’s tough. Like this week, I really needed a high five.

But I’ve always been a rather solo creature. As a kid, I spent more time with willow trees and horses than I did with people. My favorite place was the swing set way in the backyard, or the farmer’s field far behind our house. Often, I was a hard kid to find. In the field, the grass was taller than my head, and I’d run through it, touching crickets, searching to see if the neighbor’s horses were turned out that day. Later, barns became my escape.

In college, my best friend was the Appalachian Trail, and the hawks there. After college, the desert, the streets of Seattle, streets and ground and streets. Often, even when I was hanging out with someone, I still felt like I was moving around like an observant ghost, always sitting there with a notebook or guitar or some kind of artsy distraction. Yeah, me, the specter.

Is it true that I often revisit the familiar? Do I purposely recreate situations in which I am once again a lone wolf because it’s what I identify with, whether or not it works for me all of the time? Aye, patterns. The outsider. All growing up, I rarely, rarely dated. Maybe twice, both set-ups. That’s it. I was always with horses. I remember looking around, noticing that people were going to football games and such, and instead, I was picking out hooves, at a horse show, or sweeping a barn aisle. I missed out on a big chunk of childhood.

If I could go back, would I change things? Perhaps. But I loved those horses, and they made me feel so alive. There were the other riders that I hung out with; we’d eat Moon Pies and sit at the picnic table in between lessons, but the best days came when I was alone with my horse, riding bareback after a lesson, just goofing off in the sun. I loved the smell of him, the feel, the way he would shift, and the way that he knew, without me speaking, if I were in trouble or upset. With animals, my quiet, intuitive nature came in handy.

I always wanted people to understand me like that. For a severely shy kid, horses were the perfect solution. I’m not so shy now, but I am still quite the introvert. That brings me back to my question – do I purposely gravitate toward situations that recreate the same scenarios in life, repeating them without even realizing it? And if so, does the circular nature of it change and evolve, or is it simply me adjusting my view toward it?

Hell, I’ve had some therapy in my day, but there’s still so much that makes me wonder about living and growing. The patterns. I definitely think there are patterns. This much I know. Whether or not I’m growing beyond the patterns, adjusting to them, or hiding within them like a camouflaged boa, I think it depends. Well, I work at it damn hard, and I’d like to think I’m evolving, but I still curl up solo more than most.

And perhaps I will always be somewhat of a lone wolf, but you know what’s interesting about wolves? They mate for life.

C.A. MacConnell

The Long Stretch

I ran a marathon once. Crazy. Finished the sucker too, without stopping. Did yoga while I was training...which was helpful. Here is a little flash poetry for you. Just getting my brain in gear. Happy Mother's Day beautiful Moms! Much love, CA

The Long Stretch

Marathon lovers
often park crooked,
and she,
like the others,
never backed out
to fix
the mess.
She drove a fast, black
Mercedes.
Inside,
she was the only one
taking my class,
willing to pose,
willing to begin
healing.
New, blonde, and stiff,
the regular runner
could barely move
her leg forward,
making the first
and middle
and last
warrior.
She looked to me
like she could be
or could've been
or wanted to be
a man.
I taught the basics,
and he left swiftly,
with no more
than one look
and quick steps,
barely taking time
to say goodbye,
forgetting
to share his name.
I wanted to call
after him.
I wanted to help him
with the long stretch.
I wanted to help him
breathe,
becoming lean.
I wanted to call
after him.
Perhaps it was the thick,
muscular, strange
legs, or the familiar
light brown hair,
the shade that nearly
matched mine.
Maybe it was the curious
blue surrounding
his pupils, or the way
he never looked straight
into my eyes.
Maybe it was the whole
disguise.
I knew he was never
coming
back.
Teaching, some days
are like this.
No response, no word,
not even a tiny burn
of energy leaking
between us.
Some days, a million
words and stories
remain buried
within one blink,
or one slight grin,
the slightest of them all,
the most shocking
and mysterious
subtle smile
I've ever seen
in my whole life.
Marathon lovers
often park crooked,
and sometimes, knowing
and pain
and sleep
are for suckers.

C.A. MacConnell

Afternoon Quote

"...Max stepped into his private boat and waved good-bye
and sailed back over a year
and in and out of weeks
and through a day
and into the night of his very own room
where he found his supper waiting for him
and it was still hot." -- Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are

Thank you, Maurice. You touched many lives. You are a genius -- your writing is poetic, engaging, imaginative, timeless, and beautiful. The pictures are nothing less than magnificent. I have my original childhood copy sitting on my lap while I type. It looks rough, let me tell you, but that's because it's been well-loved. I wrote my name on it in block pencil letters when I first learned how to read so that no one would ever steal it, and the pencil writing is still there. I wish I could've met you. Perhaps you can hear me, wherever you are. Love, C.A. MacConnell

Big Cats Over Big Love

Not a cheetah, but still the best shot I can deliver of a big cat. Peace! CA

Big Cats Over Big Love

I've been reading this story about a woman and her child being mauled by cheetahs. Uplifting, I know. But what baffles me is this -- her husband caught it on camera. Now, I don't know about you, but if I were being mauled by a cheetah, and my husband were there, I would like to think that he'd put down his camera and save my ass, just saying. I mean, there is the importance of getting a good story and a good shot and all, but come on now...some cheetah's chewing on your wife's head, and you're standing there getting the close-up? Very strange indeed. I guess art and Utube and Yahoo trending rule over life these days.

From my dating experience (which is very slim), I have come to decide on a list of criteria that are "must haves" when it comes to keeping a partner around. Now, this list used to be very long and detailed. Over time, I have decided to make this list a little smaller. Here it is:

My New Criteria for Dating:

1. You must not have just eaten an entire batch of hash brownies when you pick me up. (yes, this happened to me once. Let's just say it took us forever to arrive at our destination. And then I finally got bored and just looked at him and said, "let's skip the date and get you some ice cream and munchies for god's sake.")

2. You must make me laugh.

3. Okay, if it's good lighting and you really want the shot, go ahead, but before it gets too bloody, please put the camera down and call 911 if I am being mauled by a cheetah.

That's about all.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

Letter to a True Love

Sure feels good to sleep in. Usually, my quick mind wakes me before most people begin to wiggle and stretch. So my days have been full lately, full of action, full of taking care of business that's been put off for some time now. I've been feeling simply strong, in spite of a minor mess going on, and I'm grateful for warrior pose, for it's taught me how and when to fight. And fight. I'm even grateful for age and time helping me make a muscle. I have a few gray hairs now, and I think they're cool. I've earned those fuckers, and I'm letting it all grow out.

Constantly, I fight my dreamy mind, although sometimes, I just let it run wild, which is cool with me, although it doesn't always fly with this chaotic world. I suppose if it were my choice, all day, I'd work on fiction and poetry, then maybe do some yoga, and spend the rest of the day daydreaming. Or do some yoga, then work on poetry and fiction, then spend the rest of the day daydreaming. Maybe see a band here and there. Maybe ride a horse here and there for fun. Make sure I sweat. Make sure I shower. Maybe eat, you know. It'd be cool to have a roof over my head. That's about it.

One thing is certain. I love to roam. In my mind, and on the streets, I love to roam. I don't believe I will ever grow out of this, and I don't want to really. Between teaching classes, between paying bills and taking care of tough stuff, I still love to roam. I usually have two story lines going on in my mind at all times.

See, while teaching or doing anything practical, I'm often still dreaming. I think about big cats, manes and tails, firecrackers, track pants, basement snakes, directors, actors, curious trees that reach for one another, and the wind (both strong and soft). I welcome gray days, and the rain (both hard and gentle). I think about moving and wish I had the means. I think about acting and wish I had the face and body. When I watch people act and sing and play music, sometimes I feel a burning within my whole being, like it should be me up there. And then I imagine I am. And then I believe it might be possible. Then I play it out in my head, and I even get a little sleepy, as if I've been part of the noise. Then I do some yoga and get healthier and breathe, or I have a smoke. One way or the other, it all feels like sex.

I look at little houses, wondering what it would be like to live inside, wondering who lives inside, wondering what they're doing right at the moment when I drive by. I imagine a woman wearing an apron, standing at the sink. I imagine a man, smoking a pipe. There's a son, reading a book. It's quiet, except for the low rumble of the T.V. I see a kiss. I see the colors and the dog. I see a visitor. Batman.

I love driving, looking at photographs, raw music that makes the heart sing, Diet Mountain Dew, being upside down, being right side up and fierce and taking care of shit, being independent, film and TV, old artistic buildings, creepy lighting, soft lighting, lighting, candles, incense, hawks, owls, soulful eyes, random conversations with strangers, good dialogue, moving prose, and laughter. I love faces that tell stories. I love a good story. I love salted cashews, almonds, and I am a professional at flying solo. I love people who aren't afraid to leave the umbrella home, feeling the rain on my cheeks, and occasionally, in my mouth. I can and will keep a secret.

Most days, I dream about big dreams and true love, even while I'm washing the dishes. Or cleaning. Or brushing my teeth. I have an imaginary love, and I don't apologize for it anymore, because I still believe that sometimes, we can dream our way right into reality, and vice versa. I believe this because it's my real full time job, and I believe someone out there believes it too. And why not believe? Why not. To believe is to feel alive. I may not be famous or stunning, but I have lived through great heartache and horrific madness, and now I understand raging love and pure peace, and I am still here writing, flawed like the rest, but my warrior nature lives in the center of my chest, and my heart is still beating and singing with belief.

Oh, and another thing, sometimes, I might take myself a little too seriously. That's where you come in.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

Morning Quote

"I can make more generals, but horses cost money."  -- Abraham Lincoln

Night Shift

revised 4/30/12. Have a lovely day. peace to you, C.A.

Night Shift

He works the night shift
at a gas station; he rings me up
one night. In the window's
reflection, through the finger-
prints, I catch him staring
at me. Strange Owl Eyes,
take me home. He is a singer;
for six months, he returns
words, sending secret notes
and songs. Screen to screen,
speaker to speaker, maybe
we kiss, but on the down
low, way up from the deep
inside, I know he spies
another, because deep is all
we have. Take time out
to shrug; songs are songs.
Poems are poems are poems
are delicious. He is an actor;
he is too busy and tricky
for calls. In his lines, I imagine
he talks to me, possibly.
Maybe the message is for her,
or him, or everyone pretty
and ugly. I see him editing
sound after sound, making it
right. He is an artist; he shoots
the earth. In his pictures,
I see the expression, the wrinkle,
the blur of god. He is a traveler;
he moves to move. He moves
for marriage, and the child,
becoming organic. We were hot
once. He is a skater; he has track
marks in heaven. He is the street
man, selling flowers. He shows me
how to put up the beautiful
fight, shredding petals everywhere,
and when its rough, he's still
there. He is a singer, an artist,
a traveler, a skater. He is the street
man, an actor; he works the night
shift; he rings me up again. Owl
Eyes, take me, make me feel
some sense of home. I'm unsure
about his true, given name,
but to me, today, he is the real
director of change. He is the love
of my life.

C.A. MacConnell