meditation
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• The Meditation of The Mundane Moving Me Through My Mania

  

  I don’t help people move. I do a lot of things in this world, but moving you is not one. When even my best friends tell me they’re moving, I just smile without teeth, nod, and then change the topic to myself. We all have our limitations. I will share my underwear with you, I will hold your hair back while you vomit, I will pick your toenails, clean your open wounds, and listen to you endlessly complain about your lover – but I will not help move that lamp.

  When it came to be my turn to move, I knew I had to go this journey alone. I can’t ask people to help me do things I would never do for them. Even when friends offered, I had to deny their generous gesture because I didn’t want to be beholden to a future moment of retribution. Fuck you friend. I’ll lift this bookshelf without you because your bookshelves are your problem!

  When I used to move apartments in my 20’s, I would get through the experience by doing bounteous amount of cocaine. I would fully pack and unpack a house in a 36-hour period and not stop once to sleep, eat, or even rest. The only thing I would pause for was of course, more cocaine. Yet now that I’m in my 30’s I had to approach this move like the mature adult that I am. Plus, I don’t have a dealer out here in the woods so…

  I guess I could have smoked weed, but who wants to puff on a joint and then pick up a couch? That wasn’t going to work, because then I would just eat chips and think about space. I had to move sober and totally aware of every moment.

  There are a lot of things I had to face during this 8-day process of moving, cleaning, and organizing from 8 am until 12:30 am. The first most glaring reality is that I am an ecological terrorist. The number of meaningless things I have accumulated over the years were frightening. The amount of trash that was produced as a consequence was utterly horrific. The frequency of dump runs was downright depressing. I am never buying anything again – except for white cut off shorts for the summer because cute right?

  I also could not help but notice my own naivety and entitlement. Because I’ve never owned a house, there is a detachment I have in the places I’ve lived. In my parent’s house I’d do the obvious things to keep it clean, like put away my dishes and pick up my room, but if I spilled crumbs of the floor I’d figure someone else would deal with that. I wasn’t going to wash their floors or windows. When I lived in apartments with boyfriends, we’d just accept crumbs on our floor. I never cleaned my toilet, or my shower. I didn’t vacuum, or scrub. I didn’t care. I’d just look at massive dust bunnies as pets and brown stains as decorative. When I’d see mouse shit on my counters I’d just flick it behind the oven and move on with my day.

  Throughout my 30’s I’ve had a cleaning person that has helped out with these nitty gritty details. I’d pick up for her and make things presentable, but I’d still assume that someone else would deal with things I didn’t feel like doing. This privileged perspective of “Oh, that will get done eventually, just not by me.”

  My own ignorance became glaringly apparent to me when I realized there was a major moth infestation that had to be dealt with. Now, I’m not a total idiot. I kind of knew that you didn’t want moths in your house and something about putting cedar in closets. But I also simultaneously thought moths weren’t that bad, and just night butterflies. I didn’t realize that moths would eat the shit out of fabric and plague your belongings with their maggots! I don’t know if you’ve ever picked up a cushion and then realized that you’re covered in moth larva, but holy shit is that a humbling moment. I spent 6 hours of my life vacuuming, scrubbing, cleaning, vacuuming, and then cleaning moth larva – breathing in these miniscule fetuses.

  So much of my stuff was covered in mouse piss from storing it that I had to clean every single thing I owned, including my cleaning products. I realized that I had to accrue a different awareness about my impact on not only the planet, but also how I approach my own relationship to responsibility. I can’t have the entitled attitude of the past, nor can I pass that on to my kid. As such I got her a dust buster so she can vacuum up her crumbs every time she sits down to eat.

  Yet despite my spoiled complaining of how much it sucks to move, it was actually a truly profound meditation. White people pay for meditation retreats to find enlightenment (present company included) but the mundane process of going through everything you own, cleaning it, and then putting it in a specific place was akin to a mediation retreat on crack. This mundane work took me to a mindful place where nothing else mattered but wiping off a counter. Dealing with how in the beginning it felt so overwhelming to stare at everything you own covered in animal feces to slowly chiseling down the effort where not only is all clean again, but also put away in its newly proper place was truly transcendent. I didn’t listen to music, or podcasts. I didn’t talk to anyone or distract myself with drugs. I just focused purely on the act in front of me, even if it was finding an onion that had somehow been packed in the kitchen “box” and said onion had molded to a point of creating a new ecosystem of fungus.

  I became so absorbed in this process that I forgot who I was. I forgot my ambitions, my anxieties about work, my depression about my unrealized dreams. I even forgot one of my best friend’s birthdays! I didn’t check email, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. I didn’t hear about the news or the fact that WE ARE PUTTING BABIES IN DETENTION CENTERS AND OUR GOVERNMENT IS RUN BY IMMORAL MONSTERS WHICH ONLY HIGHLIGHTS OUR AMERICAN LEGACY OF SEPERATING FAMILIES THROUGH THE GUISE OF POLITICAL POLICY WHEN IN FACT ITS PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE AGAINST THE OPPRESSED!

  Fully immersing myself in the mundane was a vacation from the mania of myself. I dove into my psyche at its core and scraped off the superficial concerns that usually plague me. Yet now I don’t know who I am. I sit in front of my computer and I question everything. I became Toni who vacuumed and scrubbed, and that Toni had a mental freedom that the Toni that writes, makes videos, talks comedy into microphones, and tries desperately to be noticed doesn’t have. Cleaning Toni can have a goal and accomplish it. Cleaning Toni can eradicate crumbs and handle moth abortions. Trying to get into Sundance Toni I’m not so sure about.

  My stuff… still covered in pee pee of rodents

  

  ecological terrorism 🙁

  

  I also found such gems as the below old diary… where I not only practiced by alphabet cursive, but graded myself and A+ and decided I was “great.”

  

  June 21, 2018 • Ambitions, Change, Emotions, Musings, Responsibilities • Views: 2884

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• Fuck your Hippy Bullshit

  

  Last week The Munch had a fever of 104 for days. So I did what any caring parent would do. Let her watch TV for 15 hours a day as I continued living my life. She wasn’t complaining about melting her brain with Barbie shows, so why should I?

  After about 5 straight days of The Munch infiltrating her mind with Netflix shows, and whatever else she found on Youtube – including accidently stumbling onto some KKK rallies while looking for Katy Perry – I knew I had to intervene. When I am sick, I see it as a sign from the universe that I have to re-examine my life. It’s a time of self-reflection where I stare into the mirror and ask myself the tough questions like, “is that mole growing?” I figured that maybe The Munch wasn’t getting any better because she was distracting herself with media rather than diving into the waves of her consciousness.

  Toni: Okay Munch, today is a day with no screens.
  Munch: Why? I don’t feel good.
  Toni: We have to get you better that’s why. You have hardly eaten in days. You’re getting so skinny! Granted your runway ready, but…
  Munch: I don’t want to do anything but lay here and watch things! I don’t FEEL LIKE PLAYING!
  Toni: I know. But maybe part of why you don’t feel good is because you’re spending all your time watching things and not facing the part of yourself that doesn’t make you feel good.

  She looked at me with annoyed eyes.

  Munch: Then you’re hanging out with me all day.
  Toni: That’s exactly my plan.
  Munch: Well what do you want to do? I’m bored.
  Toni: I think we should spend some time doing a meditation to try and uncover what is it about your life that’s not working. Or what emotional issue you have to address.
  Munch: NOOOOOO!!! I DON’T WANT TO DO THAT!
  Toni: Munch there has to be a lesson buried in this? Is it me? Am I the problem? Is it something about a past life?
  Munch: I JUST DON’T FEEL GOOD AND I DON’T WANT TO DO ANYTHING!
  Toni: Munch, your mind has great power! Do you want me to tell you some stories about when I was sick and I used my mind to help me heal?
  Munch: Fine.
  Toni: Okay so remember how the doctor had told me I would never have babies?
  Munch: AHHHHHH! I don’t want to hear this story! I JUST WANT TO FEEL BETTER!
  Toni: Yes! I want you to feel better too! So let’s do a guided meditation to help your mind make your body better!
  Munch: NO!!!!!

  The Munch glared at me with an expression that read, fuck your hippy bullshit.

  Toni: Okay. Maybe we try that later. But I think watching TV for a week straight has potentially obliterated your personality.
  Munch: I don’t care.
  Toni: How about we read a book?

  I picked Charlotte’s Web, forgetting that the goddamn eclipse had pulled out of me a menstruation from another dimension from planet Gaia. The PMS I was experiencing was not only cosmic, but also torn from the fabric of the menses multiverse. My uterine lining was shedding into the space-time continuum, rocketing my emotions through the dark matter that envelops us.

  Toni: “I’m less than two months old and I’m tired of living,” said Wilbur.
  Munch: Mama are you crying?
  Toni: I can’t help it Munch. This book is so sad.
  Munch: Well stop reading it if it’s gonna make you cry.
  Toni: No. It’s a classic. Let’s continue.

  But I couldn’t stop weeping.

  Toni: “When I’m out here, there’s no place to go but in. When I’m indoors there’s no place to go but out in the yard.”
  Munch: Mamma you’re still crying!
  Toni: God it’s so tragic! The futility of existence!

  We made it half way through the book when The Munch decided I needed a break. I made her go outside, and she hid under a blanket. We cuddled, we talked, and we sat, staring at nothing. This is hard for a work-a-holic manic personality like me, but I knew it was what Munch needed. To just spend a quite day with nothing but my attention so that at the end of it… I break down her inhibitions and annoyance and force her to do a guided meditation with me.

  Toni: Okay close your eyes and we’ll get your mind all strong and ready to help your body.
  Munch: Fine. I’m ready.

  And wouldn’t you know it… SHE WAS FUCKING BETTER THE NEXT DAY!

  Not interested in my bullshit

  

  Getting “fresh air” from under the blanket

  

  August 23, 2017 • 7 years old, Children, Emotions, Family Drama, Health, Kids, Mommyhood, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 5032

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• Scratching That Itch Doesn’t Make it Go Away – it Just Moves it

  

  We’ve all had those moments where you ask someone to scratch your back, and some willing, but slightly irritated victim obeys. No one wants to scratch someone else’s back because as a rational person you know what you’re in for – a journey into the impossibility of satiating an itch. Seconds after the skin scraping ritual begins, the itch moves. “A little to the left,” you say. Once again, it moves. “Now back to the right,” you instruct as their nails skid across your human casing. “Now up… down… over… to the left… no to the right I said… back down again… up… more up… up some more… and…”

  An itch isn’t meant to be relieved; it is designed to torture you with craving. We fool ourselves into thinking that digging your claws into the right spot will make it go away. We forget the unavoidable truth that the very nature of yearning is rooted in the harsh reality that even when you get what you want, it isn’t what you want any more. Our collective story is fraught with examples of this. I want that man, but now that I have him, he bores me. I think that those drugs would feel divine, yet now I am puking into my shirt. I need that job – huh, boy this job is stressful. I need a vacation, and now I need a vacation from my vacation. I’ll go on this dating app to have meaningless sexual encounters, yet at the same time look for a relationship. Even though we can often see the hamster wheel of another person’s life, we put ourselves through the same cycle over and over and over again, running into the oblivion of our ravenousness.

  I think it’s that exactly feeling that our smarty pants phones tap into. This need for an instant hit of something outside of ourselves to distract our minds from the pain of our thoughts. For most of us, our brains have a mind of their own, and we are thinking about things we don’t want to think about, yet can’t stop thinking about. So we want, and want, and want some more. We want more love, more sex, more drugs, more success, more entertainment, more food, more sugar, more adoration, more acknowledgement, more appreciation, more money, more security, more freedom, more stuff… and then we want it all over again, just a better version.

  This constant striving may be the catalyst of the vast majority of our emotional suffering, yet it’s also the drive that pushes towards progress – and maybe even our own survival. The curiosity of humans, this ceaseless thirst that we cannot quench, is unique to our kind. Back in pre-history when Neanderthals reached the shores of an ocean do you know they did? They turned the fuck around because there was a goddamn giant scary body of water in front of them, and they couldn’t see the other side. Do you know what Homo sapiens did? They built a raft to float out into the unknown and see what was beyond the horizon. When the Neanderthals reached a mountain range they would camp at the bottom, but Homo sapiens, even the straight ones, would climb to the other side. Neanderthals lacked the seemingly crucial social construction of craving for more, where we Homo sapiens succumbed to it. And who the are the ones that are extinct now!?

  Even though our wanting is part of our demise, it’s also part of our successes as a species. So how do we as individuals have a more reasonable relationship to the seduction of desire? Is there a way to find balance amidst the chaos of greed?

  If there is anything that being a parent has taught me it’s that looking for someone else’s socks can make you suicidal. The other thing I learned is that children have a much greater capacity than adults to deal with disappointment. It may not seem that way at first. If I tell my kid “No you can’t watch Monster High while eating your leftover chemically ridden Valentine’s candy before bed,” she might scream for a moment in protest. This is where depending on my emotional capacity; I may give in just so she shuts the fuck up. But if I stay strong and deal with her momentary rebellion, she will forget about it, and move on. She doesn’t hold it against me. It’s not like The Munch will even bring it up again like, “remember that time you didn’t let me have that 3rd cookie?” No. She never says that shit. She just keeps living her life, not holding onto the past of her unfulfilled desires.

  Wanting shit is not the problem. It’s how we deal with not getting what we want is.

  The reason why kids move through their feelings with greater ease and grace is because they fundamentally think differently than adults. There is more space between their thoughts, because their egos aren’t as developed. The adult mind is dealing with CONSTANT chatter from the ego. Even right now as you read this very post your ego is still talking to you, judging what I say. Yet with kids, their egos aren’t as loquacious, leaving more room in their minds for observation and imagination.

  The more the mind is engaged with observing the world around us, the less energy is spent judging it. The more the brain is bouncing around creative concepts, the less it’s criticizing. So the solution to our all our problems is right in front of us. Think less by training your mind to observe, and through that you will find the wisdom of contentment in where you are in the moment – knowing it’s all a process and you’ll never truly be satisfied anyway.

  I think The Munch has tapped into this angst of mankind, and as such told me this glorious nighttime story.

  Munch: “Once upon a time there was a toilet, and this toilet was very sad. It was a sad toilet because no one was peeing in it, so it couldn’t drink pee, and no one was pooping in it, so it couldn’t eat poop. And that is the story of the sad toilet.”

  Am I raising a genius or what?

  

  March 8, 2017 • 6 years old, Ambitions, Change, Disciplining, Emotions, Kids, Musings, Parenting, Problems, Relationships, Responsibilities, Sex Stuff • Views: 3553

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• Shamanic Journeys

  

  I wouldn’t be an organic eating, yoga practicing, Birkenstock and sock wearing new age hippy if I hadn’t partaken in a Shamanic Journey. Even though the ideal circumstance for such an occasion would have been the South American rainforest, my voyages took place in the exotic locales of Connecticut, Long Island, and Brooklyn. So yeah, there is a post-modern contextual conflict happening with my ceremonial experiences – yet they were still profound and healing.

  Here are the stories of the Shamanic expeditions I took into my mind, heart, and spirit.

  The First Shamanic Journey

  It was 2008, and I was in a really bad place. I was dealing with my brain tumor, the transitioning of a 12-year relationship, and the failing of my business. Needless to say I was depressed, lost, and hating myself. I was invited to drink ayahuasca with a Colombian shaman who was holding a ceremony in a yoga studio… in Connecticut… so obviously I went.

  I had my period during this time, so when I got there, I was told I had to adorn myself with a moon menses belt. This consisted of my taking pinches of tobacco to place into small squares of red fabric, and then making 108 miniature pouches. I then had to tie each tiny tobacco-filled sack to a red string, and wear it around my waist like a badge of menstrual honor. This was not only time-consuming but also super fucking embarrassing. Usually one hides their lunar flow by plugging up the poon, or sitting on a cotton cushion to soak up blood – yet in this instance I had to put my leaking lotus on full display for all to know about.

  When the ceremony was ready to begin, we all took our places on our yoga mats. There were buckets next to us in case we had to purge – a.k.a. barf. We were asked to come up one by one to drink the sacred vine. After it was my turn, I had one of those moments of “holy shit – no turning back now,” and wondering what the hell was going to happen.

  Even though it was suggested we sit up in a meditative pose, pretty sure I was lying down in a fetal position the entire time. It was a very solitary experience. We weren’t supposed to talk or communicate with anyone, and instead explore the inside of our own consciousness – what a creepy place! I felt like the ayahuasca had a distinct feminine energy. Part of what was happening inside my brain was like a downloading of information about how the systems of nature work. Suddenly I would be like, “oh, that’s why birds migrate.” It was beautiful, peaceful, and poetic.

  Then there was this mining of my mind that was really uncomfortable. It was as if I were staring into the void of my shadow self. Everything that sucked about me was on full display to examine. At the time I didn’t know how to unpack everything, and I remember wanting to peel myself out of my own membranes.

  The shaman was chanting as his protégés played instruments to guide our excursion. At one point, we were asked to come to the center of the room, one at a time, to stand stoically while the shaman and his apprentices did their therapeutic work. It was suggested to take off your shirt to receive the offerings fully, but I am way too much of a New Englander for that. I remember thinking to myself that maybe “taking off your shirt” was just a suggestion for the shaman to see some tits. Then I felt bad for considering that, but I also laughed because that would be hilarious.

  The whole event lasted through the night, and then around 5 a.m. we all went to sleep. The next day I felt very agitated and inaccessible. The group was all connecting over a common bond, but I couldn’t relate to anyone. I was feeling judgey and annoyed. One of the assistants came to talk to me, and told me that healing can’t just be an occasional activity, but that I had to make ceremony and ritual be a part of my everyday life. She reminded me that in order to make time for my recovery, I had to truly commit to the process. Even though I wanted to punch this girl, I knew she was right.

  A few days later, I had one of the most insightful realizations about myself. Having a competitive nature was the root of my dis-ease. Every time I compared myself to another person, I was participating in a disservice to us both. From that point forward, when I found myself thinking I was better than someone, or that someone was better than am, I would stop, and send that person love. I then trained my brain to no longer participate in that kind of destructive dialogue, and instead focus on my own evolution rather than the distraction of others.

  The Second Shamanic Journey:

  One of my dearest friends was spending her summer in Long Island doing multiple ceremonies with a shaman from Peru. She invited me to participate in one. I was on the fence.

  At this point, I had been sober for four years and was committed to my meditation practice. Meditation had provided me with a critical towards healing and I wasn’t drawn toward the influence of outside substances. I decided to go anyway to support my friend.

  When I got there, I felt a mixed vibe from the shaman. The energy of the whole event felt very male-dominated and imbalanced to me. I decided I wouldn’t partake in the medicine, but would sit and “hold the space.” Let me tell you something, the only thing weirder than doing Ayahuasca in Long Island with a bunch of strangers, is NOT doing Ayahuasca while everyone else does. I was WAY too aware of what was going on.

  After everyone consumed the black, molasses like substance, there was an hour of calm before the storm hit. It was like a cacophony of puking – people vomiting in a round of… “row, row, row your boat” style. There was also a lot of writhing and moaning going on. I was trying to be chill and meditate, which was hard while I looked around at everyone thrashing and occasionally screaming.

  My friend was  right next to me and obviously very uncomfortable. She was quiet and enduring, but also kept wiggling and shifting positions. Even though talking was frowned upon, I whispered to her anyway.

  Toni: Are you okay?
  My Friend: Not really.

  We both sat with this knowledge for a minute.

  My friend: Come downstairs with me.

  We stepped over expunging people, and walked down the candle-lit stairs. There was an open room with doors leading to bathrooms, and a massive rug on the floor. My friend went over to sit on the bench, and looked at me with a disturbed expression.

  My Friend: I am not okay.
  Toni: What is going on?
  My Friend: I think he gave me too much. I feel like I can’t be inside my own body right now.
  Toni: Oh no! Are you in pain?
  My Friend: It’s just… being confined-by-my-own-skin torture. I don’t know? Do you think maybe it is because last night I drank too much alcohol, had sex, and then we ate all that pizza in the car??

  *Note to reader: I had picked up my friend in NYC that morning, who was very hung over from drinking and having hot sex with a guy all night. I then bought us a pizza, which we split during the drive up. It is suggested that for a week before drinking ayahuasca you DON’T DRINK ALCHOL, HAVE SEX, OR EAT DAIRY!!!

  Toni: You think?
  My Friend: Fuck… I shouldn’t have done that.
  Toni: Do you want me to do some reiki on you?
  My friend: Please…
  Toni: Okay, I’ll pee and meet you back upstairs.

  My friend went upstairs, and I went to the bathroom. When I came out, there was a girl crumpled on the floor ,weeping.

  Toni: Ummm are you okay?

  The girl looked at me with wild eyes full of fear. I remembered her because she was a beautiful Russian model, and I had been staring at her all night.

  Russian Model: What’s happening to me? I am so afraid. I am not okay. I need help.
  Toni: Uhhhh, do you want me to do some reiki on you?

  I sat across from this stunning woman, and put my hands on her lap to do reiki. She was terrified, and weeping so violently, that I felt I had to calm her mind by saying something.

  Toni: There’s nothing to be afraid of. All that is happening is that you are in your own mind. You don’t have to fear yourself. It’s just you in there – and you are getting to know you. You are totally safe inside you.

  Russian Model: I am cheating on my husband, and I think I have to go upstairs and tell him.

  Now thank mother Gaia this exquisite creature was talking to me – a person with incredibly flexible morals. Call me crazy, but I really don’t think tripping balls on Ayahuasca is the right time to admit your indiscretions.

  Toni: Of course you are cheating on your husband. You are a magnificent goddess from another dimension. Every man that looks at you, would want to enter your sweet canyon of mystery. The deterioration of your relationship is not your burden alone to bear. You are both  responsible for whatever is going on, and the mere fact that you care means that you are a good person! You are not an asshole who doesn’t give a shit, but a righteous soul who is deeply concerned about your actions. But now is not the time to be plagued with guilt. First forgive yourself in this moment, and then tell him tomorrow.

  The Russian Model collapsed in my arms with relief. I held her, and stroked her hair – both for her benefit and mine. I mean, she was insanely hot. As I cradled her, I felt the daemons leave her. She was no longer heavy with panic, but her whole body became very light and buoyant.

  Russian Model: Thank you so much. You are my angel.
  Toni: No, you are.

  We hugged while she thanked me profusely. My friend then came back downstairs to see me embracing this divine being and was like “WHAT THE FUCK! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” I mean… I know I momentarily ditched my friend for a Russian model, but she was a Russian model in need, so… come on.

  When I went back upstairs with my friend she was pissed! But she was also suffering, so that was her main priority. I put my hands on her to do some reiki, but her energy was resisting it.

  Toni: Ummm, I feel like you’re fighting it.

  My friend finally forgave me, and started to relax – but she was still struggling. At one point, one of the shaman’s assistants came over to give my friend a tobacco bath to help calm her nerves. Now, I believe in the grounding and healing properties of the tobacco plant – but I am not so sure my friend was that keen on someone blowing second hand smoke in her face repeatedly. Then, I got an idea of what could help her.

  Toni: Do you want me to tickle your back?
  My Friend: Sure.

  I tickled my friend’s back just like I would my kid when she was sick. It really does make you feel better because that type of light touch on the skin actually releases endorphins. So I tickled her back/arm/head/calf until the daemons left her, and she settled back into herself.

  I realized that what was missing from this particular ceremony was the mother energy. All I was doing for these women was listening, telling them everything was going to be okay, and tenderly stroking their tenseness away. They needed to be momentarily nurtured to let go of whatever was plaguing them.

  For me, the mother role is one I am always taking on in relationships. There are times where I have resented this – always having to be responsible and take care of others. Yet this night, I discovered that this was a great gift to give people. Instead of focusing on my own bitterness that people don’t play this part in my life, I was filled with joy that I could be this for others in their times of need. I realized that this wasn’t something I needed or craved, so there is no reason to be aggrieved that I don’t have it. I can mother myself just like I mother others, and there is true beauty to that.

  I was pretty blown away that just by me being around the sacred plant, there was still so much knowledge to learn!!! I didn’t have to actually take the ayahuasca to benefit from it!

  The Third Shamanic Journey

  After 6 years of sobriety I was ready to shake things up a bit. Another friend invited me to work with someone who she felt a deep connection to. This friend has a very delicate nervous system, and is not the kind of person who does any mind-altering substances. If my super sensitive friend was into this shaman’s work, I felt like I could handle it because even she described it as mellow.

  I was expecting a similar set-up as the other two. Where we all would take the medicine, and then go back to our seats and have a solitary trip. Yet this shaman’s approach was very different. He was all about community, connecting, and being with each other.

  He also didn’t work exclusively with ayahusaca, but plant medicines from around the world. I ended up taking something called Kava, which is from western Africa, and felt a lot like pure MDMA.

  When I was living in NYC and was always surrounded by people, I could see why the universe would provoke me to go through things alone. Yet now that I live a very remote country lifestyle, I can see why the cosmos would suggest I have a more of a collective experience.

  I spent the entire night attached to 3 people. We connected, and then I was immediately co-dependent with them. I wanted them close to me at all times, because I felt like our heartstrings had entwined. One of them looked so much like my friend Bitty who had died, and it was such a sweet melancholy to look at her face. It reminded me of all the times I haven’t had with Bitty, and how much I missed the memories we never got to make together.

  Rather than having a shaman going around to heal us, we were all there for each other in this unique way. We talked about our childhoods, our present pains, our fears, and existential questions. We all knew how to be there for each other, and listened to our intuition on how to best support one another. It was like the healer in our own selves was awoken, and all we had to do was trust it.

  The night was so sweet, kind, and full of understanding. I never wanted it to end. Even the thought of the outside world felt unfathomable. I was so in the moment that I couldn’t’ help but wish the moment would last forever.

  

  February 26, 2015 • 1st time for everything, Adventures, Health, Musings • Views: 4153

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• Does Always Wanting More Make you An Addict?

  

  The problem with good things is that they leave us wanting more. If I have a bite of delicious cake … I want more. I have some good sex…I want more. I try some amazing pure Columbian cocaine…I want more. The nature of pleasure is to desire more, more, and more of it.

  Part of being an adult is learning to moderate the seduction of indulgence. We are expected to find balance because we have the foresight to understand that too much of a good thing is actually bad. Too much food destroys your heath. Too much sex gives you bumpy rashes. Too much drugs can kill you. Understanding boundaries is part of growing up. The alternative is to end up an addict.

  The thing with kids is they don’t get it. They have no concept of time, so rationalizing the limitation of a certain behavior because of future consequences is futile. I can tell my kid “Look, if you eat all that chocolate you are going to feel sick and shit your brains out later.” Her response will always be “I don’t care.”  It is up to me to moderate her intake, because left to her own devices The Munch just doesn’t give a fuck.

  I’ve tried letting The Munch totally indulge, so she could do a little soul searching on this subject. The prevailing logic was that she would realize for herself the results of excessive behavior, and consider the impact the next time she is faced with temptation. Yeah. No. That really didn’t work. Saying to my four year old “Remember last time when you ate too much ice cream and felt really sick,” only resulted in yet another “I don’t care.”  Whatever memory of the ice cream tummy ache from the past held no power over the delicious taste of ice cream in the present. I guess The Munch is very Buddhist because she only exists in “the now,” but the awareness of past or future effects is a pivotal part of learning restraint.

  The Munch is relentless in her quest for more of everything. She is never satisfied and this is annoying as fuck. She will make a promise like “Mom, let me watch something. I will only watch one episode of My Little Pony I promise. Then you can turn it off and I won’t fuss.” So I let her because I trust her* (*want to get away from her) but when her stupid neon colored show is over, The Munch immediately says, “okay just one more. I PROMISE!”

  While I admire The Munch’s commitment to negotiation, everything becomes a battle because of her inability to be content with what she just had. She will literally be eating a cookie while asking for another. I will be like “Dude, you don’t need to double fist cookies. Just relax and appreciate what you got!” But then she will start crying because I won’t give her another cookie WHILE SHE IS STILL EATING THE FIRST FUCKING COOKIE.

  Here is my dilemma. I can’t tell if The Munch’s excessive wanting “more” of everything is a result of her age or a precursor to a struggle that she will battle with for the rest of her life. I don’t want my kid to grow into an adult with an addictive personality. That is how you end up in back allies doing things you really regret. And is a hard thing to overcome. It is difficult for me to distinguish between normal kid shit, and the makings of a person who is going to beat up old ladies to steal money for blow. It is a fine line, my friends.

  Munch: Mamma, can I bring two lollipops to the beach?

  Toni: No Munch.  One is enough.

  Munch: But what if I want another one? Let’s just bring two just in case.

  Toni: Munch, that is excessive. You don’t want to feed that part of your soul. We all crave more, but it is pivotal to know your limits. Being greedy is a detrimental trait because you will never be satisfied, nor truly appreciate anything. Be grateful for what you have. You are so lucky and have so much abundance in your world.

  Munch: Okay how about I eat one lollipop now, and we bring the other one for later.

   

  

  August 28, 2014 • 4 years old, Behavior, Disciplining, Eating, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing, Toddler Thoughts • Views: 4237

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• You Spin Me Right Round Baby, Right Round

  

  When the Whirling Dervishes come to town you are going to see that shit.  At least I am.  I think it is interesting to witness the practice of connecting to the oneness of all things and the eternal godliness of the universe.  Devotion through meditative gestures and excessive efforts seems like a path towards something.  The mystical journey of truth is not going to be found on my Facebook feed that is for sure.  Even though one seems slightly more entertaining than the other – perpetual bliss and enlightenment vs. a funny video with Jimmy Fallon lip-synching.  Tough call.

  Of course I brought The Munch with me, because if I am going to transcend space and time, so should she.  We got to the front desk and I handed the woman a check as my mandatory donation for the event.

  Lady: “Is that what your are planning on using for your signature?”

  Toni: “Excuse me?”

  Lady: “That’s the signature you are actually using for this check?”

  Toni: “Ummm yup.  That’s my signature.  I guess I should have been a doctor?”

  Lady: “Or paid more attention in school.”

  Things were off to a great start.  I wasn’t exactly sure of the scene upstairs, but I realized pretty quick when greeted with a bunch of “shhhhhhhh’s” that my friend Miriam and I had been talking too loud on our way up.  Everyone was seated in a circle around an empty space and we found our way next to my friend Sarah.

  The Munch was the only child in a five-mile radius and all I could do was pray that she behaved herself.  You don’t want to be that person that everyone resents because they brought their kid.  But at the same time, I think kids should be more integrated into adult situations.  If they are always excluded from things that aren’t specifically kid-friendly then how will they ever know your interests?  If I didn’t bring The Munch with me to things I liked then she would assume I actually think going down a 3 foot slide is exciting.

  The room was very quiet, then the music started to play.  It was subtle, and understated. A flute flittered in the background and The Munch let out this really loud noise/yawn/release that almost perfectly mimicked the pitch of the instrument – just 8 volume decimals louder.

  The Whirling Dervishes came in and started… you guessed it… whirling.  Just going around and around and around themselves in circles.  A man who worked at the museum came over because he was concerned The Munch was sitting on my lap.

  Man: “Does she need her own chair?”

  Toni: “No she is fine. Thank you.”

  Man: “Are you sure?”

  Toni: “Yes thank you.”

  The man then walked back to where he was standing, and The Munch decided I was wrong.

  Munch: “Mamma, I need my own chair.”

  Toni: “No Munch you are fine.”

  Munch: “No I need my own chair.”

  Toni: “Munch you are good.  Just sit on my lap.”

  Munch: “I am going to go ask that man for a chair.”

  She then slithered off my lap to ask the man for a chair. Now the Munch is wise enough to know to whisper at events like these, but the man she was talking to was old, and kind of deaf.  He couldn’t hear what she was saying.  She kept whispering “I need a chair” and he kept pointing to his ear.  She would then whisper “ear” because she assumed he was testing her knowledge of body parts, and things got all confusing.

  So I got her a chair and showed her that she could sit on it and stop harassing that man.  As the Whirling Dervishes spun around and around and around, Munch started fidgeting on her precious chair.

  Munch: “Mamma… I am stuck.”

  She had some how wedged herself into that gap between the seat of the chair and the back of the chair.  Either way I tried to pull her out seemed geometrically impossible.  It was like extracting a flat screen TV out of a bagel.

  Toni: “Jesus Munch.  Which way did you go in? Head first or feet first?”

  Munch: “Umm, my bum.”

  I barely managed to stuff her butt back through the tight space and she was free.  Then The Munch just started walking over to the man who worked at the museum to show him how she could twirl, what the inside of her mouth looked like, her new party shoes and would then remove the shoulder straps of her dress seductively while he desperately tried to pursued her to pull them back up.

  Munch then got hungry, and thank goddess Miriam had a Lara bar.  Of course she had to pee at one point, and then almost insisted that I “talk loud” because her baby needed to “wake up and not be so lazy.”  When the Dervishes stoped whirling the room was silent expect for a loud whisper saying “I don’t want to go Mamma.  I want to stay here.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was a welcome addition to the event, or some old hippies were going to stone me.  But luckily when people started talking they said how well behaved she was, and the man who worked at the museum called her delightful.  It’s a good think old people don’t see or hear that great.

  

  

  May 29, 2013 • 1st time for everything, 2 years old, Adventures, baby brain, Behavior, Education, Family Drama, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 3107

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• Women Be Communicating and Shit

  

  It is a common cliché that women are always wanting to talk about their emotions, but I feel like that is really unfair because that assumption makes me feel condescended towards and that makes me feel angry which makes me feel vulnerable because I am feeling like my feelings are not taken seriously, so then I feel like the whole stereotype is not only exaggerated but I also feel like it is not making me feel good.

  So… this weekend I went to a Kundalini woman’s circle to explore the idea of communication and talk about our feelings about it!

  The yoga teacher starting off by describing how 80% of communication is nonverbal – your body language, tone of voice, and even the way you present yourself all vastly contribute to the way you are perceived.  She went on to explain why it is really important to dress in a way that represents your true essence and soul – with grace and beauty to reflect your true self.  I thought about this point deeply, and then looked down at my shirt that read “don’t be a douche.”  Yup.  Looks like I am on the right path.

  She then starting talking about the importance of diplomacy, how that is a natural skill of women, but we have to be careful not to fall into the propensity of manipulation.  This really made me think.  What exactly is the difference between manipulation and diplomacy?

  On a micro level, they are both using tactics to persuade another to do what you want.  Is it the intention behind the coaxing that makes one more benign than another?  There are so many little ways women are taught to be manipulative, but it is a mostly innocent.  Flirting with a cop to get out of a speeding ticket, or coyly asking for help for someone to carry your suitcases.  Women use their sexuality as a means of manipulation but sometimes that is because it feels like a convenient weapon to use against those who have power over you.

  But on the macro level, comparing diplomacy and manipulation has much greater ramifications.  It isn’t like world leaders are harmlessly batting their eyes in the hopes for peace in Kashmir.  Most political discourse is manipulative rather than diplomatic, yet that has become a societal standard.  It’s hard to commit to the authenticity of diplomacy when the tactic of manipulation is not only effective, but also a cultural norm.  I think men and women often rely on their powers of manipulation because it is the easiest way to get what you want.

  Although women often fall back on the strategy of using sex appeal to manipulate men, in truth, it is only a superficial tactic.  You aren’t really being respected in those moments, but distracting them momentarily by the butt on your back or front.  In order to truly get long-term admiration you have to conduct yourself through the nobility of your soul.

  We then went on to do this meditation where we had to look at the tip of our nose and say a mantra 10,000 bagillion times.  And you know what came up for me? That I hated that stupid mantra, and I hated communicating, and hated a whole bunch of other shit too.  The entire time I was supposed to be one with all things sacred and holy while unlocking the secrets of communicating through my highest-self all I could think was “I fucking hate this shit.”

  So I think I am well on my way, what about you!! Check out my shirt! Don’t be a douche!!!!

  

  April 29, 2013 • 2 years old, Adventures, Health, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Musings, Political Banter, Relationships, Women's Business • Views: 4790

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