3 Surprising Ways to Exalt Yourself


3 surprising ways to

exalt yourself

"If you're feelin' unlovin'
If you're feelin unfeelin'
If you're feelin' alone
Don't take it too bad"

Wise words from one of the greatest songwriters of all time, Townes Van Zandt. He goes on to reassure that we are not to blame - it's just some kind of game, but with whom might we be playing such a game if not our precious beloved selves?

There are times in life when we are simply destined to be defeated. I recall the Hunter's Moon of 2016. I relished in that agonizing feeling: utter unworthiness of love.

There, on the 750 acre family ranch where I'd spoken my broken marriage vows 11 years before, I relinquished my poise to the sod, a tragedy unto myself.

Earlier that night, I was denied snuggles from the most devastatingly handsome man I'll likely ever know. Despite his dashing demeanor and what I thought was a blossoming romance, I simply needed touch. Desperately!

At the time I was caring for my folks, living in extreme isolation. Out there, it was just little ole' me, stewing in the juices of my prime. This rejection magnified my sorrow into a maelstrom of every rejection I'd ever felt in my life. It was time to face my deepest wound.

Stewing in dire vertigo and 3 A.M. fatigue, I solicited the ole' "Boot-Strapper" moon ritual for support. My silver sequined column gown wicked the tall grass' dew up to my thighs. I danced 'round my shadow, begging her to acquiesce the pain. It didn't.

So... "I know! I'll light that bonfire down in the valley." It was overdue, but damn that dew! I just couldn't muster a flame to save my life. So... "I know! I'll head down to the pier and rally the light of the Eastern Sun to renew my inner-faith." I wouldn't. It didn't.

The albatross hanged bloody 'round my neck with no signs of land. I was adrift. After 72 hrs of sleep deprivation, 9 failed rituals, and countless prayers to Jesus, Mary and Kali, I gave up entirely and swallowed an entire bottle of Motrin PM.

I barely survived.

1. sweep the cobwebs from your soul.

My first yoga practice out of the E.R. might have been the most expansive to date, with unparalleled gratitude for every part of myself I'd rejected: my stiff muscles, my knobby knees, my weathered artist's hands, my propensity to throw it all away, my shame, everything.

And that newfound compassion rippled out to everyone. That maelstrom of sorrow, suddenly reversed by the grace of all things holy and unholy alike. 

Every pain eventually affords the opportunity to grow. Suffering is like cleaning house for that hot soul-mate date with your future self!

Perhaps our souls co-created life's toothsome grit with the heavens abound so that we may have a chance to kiss our own knees when we fall down in despair. Maybe your existence is just flirting with making out with herself.


2. force your own consciousness evolution.

Just like nature! It's our nature to want convenience, shelter, technology. It's perfectly natural that our civilization has evolved faster than we have biologically. It's likely forcing its own consciousness evolution.

High probability: the only way to save our human consciousness is to wake it the fuck up and evolve, stat. Not to worry, it’s happening any and every which way.

Snooze buttons - off limits. We shove our hands in the snake holes of self-destruction to become more conscious of the nature of the beast and the biting pain of physical being.

Big fan of the Red Hots.

Big fan of the Red Hots.

3. Advance as a supreme muse.

Two snaps, drama queen! You're not bored now. Not no-how. Creative geniuses refuse to live like Stepford Wives. We lick our shadows dry just to thrill ourselves in the piercing light of preference.

Because knowing preference is better than being numb to the poetry of this wicked winsome world. And no one can muse you better than you.

Sure, the hunk from the COOP was devastatingly handsome and tragically ambivalent, but I was more in love with the space I hoped he'd inhabit. And that space was entirely my own creation, albeit influenced by cultural romanticism.

We could all stand to deepen the fine art of loving the mundane, i.e. bed sheets, plastic pink flamingos, wood grain, dirt, floor trim, the sound of the rain.

After all...

"It's just some kind of game made
Out of all of this living
That we got left to do."

~Townes Van Zandt