Sunday, July 6, 2014

Woo-Woo


I've been feeling what my meditation instructor describes as, 'a little woo-woo', lately.  And, by woo-woo, he (and I) mean:  out-there, unconventional, fringe-oriented, hippie-dippy, overly philosophically existential, & etc.

Woo-woo.  

Basically, I feel like I'm on some sort of journey of self-discovery.  

(Sweet holy mother of patchouli--did I really just write the words: "journey of self-discovery"? Feel free to groan and roll your eyes.  Gag, even.  I totally deserve it).

I've been taking meditation classes (hence the meditation instructor).  I've read a bunch of Dorothy Parker poetry.  Ok, so Dorothy Parker isn't terribly woo-woo.  But she does deal with existence.  I mean, she DID write:

Razors pain you;
rivers are damp;
acids stain you;
and drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
nooses give;
gas smells awful.
You might as well live.


A little dark, but an argument in favor of existence, if only for comfort and convenience sake.  And, I'm also reading Sue Monk Kidd's The Dance of the Dissident Daughter--A Woman's Journey from Christian Tradition to the Sacred Feminine, which, while not entirely awe inspiring (for me), definitely has inspired some deep thinking about my womanhood (you know...in a abstract kind of way.  Not in a--let's all stand on mirrors and examine our vaginas--kind of way).

So, in my current state of total woo-woo immersion, when my massage therapist called and asked if she could practice Reiki (ancient Japanese practice of energy healing) on me (she's just learning), it seemed right up my current--fringy-hippie-dippy alley. 

Reiki is a practice by which the practitioner acts as a conduit of healing energy from the divine.  So, they ascertain by manipulation and testing of your body, where you have blocked energy and then attempt to release the blockage and allow energy to flow freely throughout your body. 

So, yeah, totally woo-woo. 

But, it was a surprisingly intense, yet relaxing and stress relieving experience.  Plus, there are times when the practitioner is given (divinely) a word for the subject to contemplate.  

My people!  I do so love words.  Pair words with my latest inner-peace-quest?  

This was sure to get my attention.  And, my word of contemplation?

Happiness.

A wonderful word!  It's like a linguistic ginn fizz!  

So, there I was.  Having just had my energies unblocked, feeling really quite relaxed, and turning over in my head this word:  Happiness.  I begin to think what this word means to me.  I think of what my own personal definition of happiness might be.  I muse that it would probably be:  The feeling of certainty one has when one is following one's path.

Which, I realize isn't terribly articulate.  But, it's just basically the feeling that you are doing what you are meant to do.  You are where you are meant to be.  And, it was at this point in my contemplations that I had a moment of pause.  Why?  Because I never feel quite utterly and completely at home here in Boise.  I don't have any idea why that would be.  I have friends.  I have a full, lovely existence here.  And, yet...

And, yet.

So, I then begin to think:  If not here, then where?  Back in California?  No.  That doesn't feel right either.  Then where?  As I was thinking this, I was sitting at a stoplight and my eyes suddenly focused on the license plate in front of me, which read:  

Explore...Minnesota.

Now, if you know me even a little bit, you may be thinking:  Oh sweet mother of mercy...this is the precise moment when O goes right off the rails and crashes her woo-woo train right into the center of crazy town.

And, you'd be right.  

My people...it might as well have been James Earl Jones enthusing, "If you build it, people will come, Ray.  People will most definitely come."

Only his voice is booming: "Explore...Minnesota, Ophelia.  For reasons you can't even fathom, you must:  Explore...Minnesota."

I came home and immediately researched every aspect of Minnesota I could get my hot little keyboard blazing hands on. 

Let it never be said that Ophelia Michaels Oliveira ever ignored the universe (or James Earl Jones) when it (he) came a-calling.

Chris walked in the room and I said:

Let's move to Minnesota!

What?!?!  

Minnesota!  Let's move there.  

Why?

I, of course, at this point tell him about my recent experience (which, let's face it comes down to:  I saw a license plate while at a stoplight).  

Chris shrugs, says something about my being crazy and then says,  "Ok. I mean, why the hell not?  What the hell.  Let's do it."

We decide to take a hike up Tablerock to contemplate and discuss (plus attempt to burn off the two cocktails I'd consumed post Reiki--it was hot--a margarita felt in order...well, TWO margaritas felt in order).  The climb was not going well at all.  It's 100 degrees out, I've dressed inappropriately (ie:  I'm wearing all black--and not even black shorts--thick black yoga PANTS), and am forced to stop several times as I'm completely overheated and dehydrated (I should probably mention climbing Tablerock in inappropriate attire after consuming two cocktails and very little food that could be considered 'nutritious' does not work out terribly well--not that YOU'D consider something so completely idiotic--but a warning none-the-less).  So, I'm standing with my hands on my knees trying to catch my breath and cool down when I say (well, gasp, really):

Me:  Hey, babe...let's do this once a day for 90 days.

Chris:  What?

Me:  Climb Tablerock!

Chris:  Hon, I don't know that you're going to even make it this one day.

Me:  Oh, I'll make it.

Chris:  Well, it doesn't look fun.  You really want to do this 90 times over the next few months?  Seriously?

Me:  Sure.  I mean, it can't get much worse than this one, right?  It'll seem easy after this.

Chris:  You're nuts.

Me:  Does that mean you're with me?

Chris:  Babe...

Me:  C'mon!

Chris:  90 days?  NINETY?

Me:  Yeah...I feel like 90 is the right number.

Chris:  *shrugs*  Ok.  What the hell.

My people!  This man, right?!?! 

This, my friends, is what makes Chris the most perfect man in the whole wide world for me.  His ceaseless ability to be game for whatever crazy shit I fling at him.  No...not just game for it--enthusiastic.  He has since purchased me all manners of "Tablerock hiking attire".  I'm told a headlamp, camels back, and walking stick are in the works.  He now knows more about Minnesota than likely anyone west of the Rockies (except maybe, my dear Samantha) and has taken to giving me fun Minnesota facts on our hikes.   

Will we move?  Ahh...really...who knows?  I do LOVE it here in Boise.  Perhaps, I merely need a new Boise-centric experience?  Will I climb Tablerock once a day for 90 days?  Maybe?  I'm five days in.  So far, so good (I've beat my first climb time by 16 minutes already--it's amazing what appropriate clothing and proper food and hydration can do).  

Will I make it 90?  

I wouldn't count me out.  

What I do know for sure, what my husband has taught me time and again for 21 years now and Miss Monroe sums up quite well:  

"Ever notice how 'what the hell' is always the right answer?"

It is, people.  'What the hell' is ALWAYS the right answer.  

And, now...I leave with with this little gem from Sue Monk Kidd:  

"The True Self is not our creation, but God's.  It is the self we are in our depths.  It is our capacity for divinity and transcendence."

To our capacity for divinity!  To transcendence!  To all things woo-woo!

xo 


 


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