Coming back

So the last time I was in Cali, they removed a tumor from my face. 4cm long and 2 cm deep.
It was hard but deeply profound. As if I had moved to the next spiritual level. Like I had graduated. This time going to Cali was for a different reason. I did need to go for post-op. But really hadn't planned to go back so soon. Then I had a friend invite me to her 40th birthday.

Wow.

I thought that spiritual graduation meant leaving the baggage, the temptation, the insecurity behind. For a few weeks I had definitely had that experience. But I thought it was permanent.
The first day I had a shot in my face. (Again) Then the doctor gave me the images they took while documenting the thing being cut from my cheek.
As soon as I got to my friends house I wanted to see it. I did the first thing the next morning.
It had impact.

For three days we hung out. My friend and her husband and his family. Within the three days I spent most of that time not being very serious. Hanging out with Russ and screwing off. It was hard though. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get past the incision and how different it made me look.

Yet the people around me seemed more attracted to me than ever. LA still wanted me there and so did the party. It was confusing to say the least. To feel pretty, like really attractive when so aware of something so obstructed. That was a strange paradigm.

There was a checkered dance floor and fog. They had an oil lamp kind of thing that lit up the wall.
The music went on and I just started to dance. I forgot the people.
I took a little time and wrote these poems in the middle of it all. There was music because the TV was unplugged. So we listened to allot of it.

This is what I wrote:

I am dancing.
Swirling neon black.
Lost in the energy,
Swimming in the atoms.
Give me time.
Almost there.
Being gentle with me and you.
Us.
Love abound with treasure.
Treasure.

The next day the dance floor was blank. Checkered black and white stripped of people. That was when I chose to paint. I felt something coming through so I squirted the acrylic on the canvas and began massaging the image in the painting. No brush. Just me and my lover in the painting.

After I completed two images I went to my room and I wrote.

I am becoming tired of numbing my mind.
To feel too normal-it is too normal.
Reality has become a paradigm that has shifted into another vortex.
As it all speeds up I numb myself to enjoy the trails in the stars as they speed by.
I try to count them, but like the yellow lines on the highway,
They move too fast.
I lose count-then control.
I live on instinct and raw impulse.
I lick the flesh of the holy grail and dink the nectar with the Goddess.
And then I humbly sleep-my head in her breast.

I cried on the way home.
And when I got there, I was able to take my energy and pour it into my husband.
He looked at me, the way he did when we first met. As if I were alive and vibrant.
The incision became invisible. At least for that moment.

L