Life is a Verb

Through the
life I live,
and the words I write,
I wish to resurrect
many from the
untimely death
of not fully
LIVING!

#lifeisaverb #wholesouledwoman

Happy NOWs vs Happy Endings

http://alisonbristow.com/happy-nows-vs-happy-endings/

You Fashioned Dark Chocolate and Dark Men

http://alisonbristow.com/you-fashioned-diet-dark-chocolate-dark-men/

Las Vegas Divorce and the Art of Resilience

 Dear Las Vegas,

I despise cigarette smoke, don’t think I’ve ever put a quarter in a slot machine, and wouldn’t know a black jack table if it hit me over the head. So what was I doing Labor Day weekend 2016 trekking over I-15 in my VW Passat, leaving the City of Angels for the City of Sin?

The ink on the judge’s stamp of approval was barely dry on my divorce decree and I knew I needed to get away. I could’ve gone anywhere and while for some a post-divorce Las Vegas trip is the obvious choice, it wasn’t for me.

My only memories of you at the time were from a girls’ trip ages ago, where I spent most of my time next to a pool larger than the Pacific Herself – only confirming my perception of you as a gaudy, overblown, how dare you, cesspool of excess.

And one more with an ex-boyfriend who was all-in-one recovering alcoholic, trust fund baby, and self-proclaimed cowboy. Top memory from that trip, sitting in a parking lot of traffic along the strip, Kid Rock’s country rap song, “Cowboy” blaring as loud as the Dodge Ram speakers would allow.

 Old Route 66

 Needless to say you, Las Vegas, weren’t my go-to for good times. Yet you called to me in my broken-open-hearted post-divorce state of ruin. Life had proven me wrong about so many things, maybe I had been wrong about you too.

At first chance, I detoured off the main thoroughfare and onto the world famous old Route 66. A desolate winding two-laner with nary a car to be found other than my own and open space on all sides, it was a perfect fit for my mood and need for self-reflection. Once back on the Interstate I sat amid the holiday traffic with fellow travelers on the way to your open armed modern-day mecca of sensual delights.

My excitement was twinged with skepticism. Had instinct steered me right? Trusting things that didn’t fit my old views was the lesson of the hour so I assumed this was no exception.

As it turned out that long weekend was the beginning of a delicious love affair with myself that was a long time in the making. And it was amid all the distraction – blinking lights, round the clock action, a simulation of the whole world compacted into one city, a larger-than-life-replica of everything – that I found the first hints of clarity.

From Zumanity to the best rooftop dancing ever to hours of walking along the strip appreciating the imagination, creativity and ingenuity behind the things I once scoffed at as worldly and pretencious, I came to love and appreciate you. Or maybe I just came to love and appreciate – nevertheless you were my catalyst and object of attention at the time.

When a tightly wound heart refuses to find the liberation it longs for, sometimes it takes a break to set it free. This was the gift my divorce brought me.

As I left your arms that weekend, though energized, the reality set in -  my old life was gone and my new life was a single cell amoeba with no shape or form yet. I sobbed through Barstow. Made a break away from the traffic only to find myself on a dirt road riding the divide between stretches of vast desert. Fear and doubt almost had me turn around. But faith told me to keep driving full speed ahead. So off into the blind not knowing I went, digging deep for the trust that the road would find me on the other side. And it did!

 

By the time I hit Pasadena, Barstow’s sobbing was laughter accompanied by loud music.

I had taken the bounce. I could feel my resilience and even in the absence of anything tangible to cling to, I knew everything was going to be alright.

This trip isn’t something I expected to write about, but Monday when I heard the news I wanted to feel and share my appreciation for you, a city reeling from the devastation of something hitherto unimaginable.

I don’t mean to suggest that what brought me to my metaphorical knees is in the same league as what happened to you and the individuals effected by Sunday’s events.

I mean it as a meager offering – the only one I can make from my own embodied experience of the art of resilience. As I was writing this to you, I realized that the physics behind a bounce is when something resilient hits something hard. The object must have give or it breaks. And it’s the hard thing that gives it the bounce.

No doubt, this is a hard time. Yet in all my experience thus far, I’ve found the human spirit to be both individually and collectively resilient and that leads me to embrace you, Las Vegas, and your people in that knowing.

And I trust that any political or judicial changes that this experience evokes will be born out of unity and love rather than divisiveness and hate.

All my love,

Joy Alison

Whole-Souled Sexuality

Once upon a time at summer camp (not band camp) when I was a young girl (not an old woman like now), I heard in a conversation an older woman say how she preferred gardening over sex with her husband. I remember at the time being new in my exploration of sexuality in relationship to others, raising my eyebrows and thinking - "What!? Is she nuts?!" Oddly her words stuck with me and have replayed in my head many times over the years as I've grappled with and observed sexuality from many different angles - pardon the pun.

First of all sexuality and all it represents can't be narrowed to body parts and isolated instances of connection between bodies.Sexual energy is so much bigger than that. But as with all glorious, mysterious, and awe inspiring things unfittable into boxes, we try boxing them any way. I do not remember this woman as embodying femininity. I remember her as more masculine in appearance and rigid if not mildly cranky in attitude. While there's nothing wrong with that, her words were words of resignation with a twinge of resentment. Gardening over intimacy with her husband was a consolation prize, not a celebrated choice.

There are many directions for sexuality to flow. One individual may have dozens of them, hundreds, even thousands...dare I say limitless ways - existence itself and taking a breath counted among them. For me, my first sip of single origin Kenyan coffee in the morning, the sound of Smokey Robinson's silky voice buttering up the high notes, moving my body to a funky bass line or African drum, a first glimpse of the moon on a starry summer night, or a strong, steady, masculine hand on the small of my back - all of these (though not sex per se) have at one time or another given me visceral experiences of sexual delight.

I was recently asked by an attractive man of color at a dance venue if I was Brazilian. "No, I said, but I know why you're asking." He grinned, surprised I think at my candidness. We both knew it was the booty. Who are we kidding?  We smiled at each other and he said, "Man, you're a woman, a real woman." I hunched over, pretending I had a cane, and said, "You mean an old lady." "No!" Was his emphatic reply. "You're truly sexy. Sexy doesn't even begin for a woman until this and this get connected." he said pointing first to his head and then to his heart. I liked his insight and agreed with one addition so I nodded, "You're right - this, this, AND this," I said pointing to my head, my heart, and adding my pelvis.

My response was a natural, matter-of-fact depiction of my own experience in integrating my sexuality. There's no way to leave the pelvis out! Ask Elvis.

Embracing the pelvis has so many literal and symbolic implications. As a woman, the journey of unlocking my pelvic mysteries has been a fascinating one and still continues. As a teacher witnessing the way our bodies reflect psychological and emotional states, I've found the pelvic area to be a great block for many people of both genders. In a yoga class ask people to lift their arm - no problem. But mention or ask for some adjustment or movement in the pelvic area and you can feel the trepidation in the room.

This pelvic disconnect mirrors shame and guilt about our sexuality and it's not natural or innate. It is learned, educated conditioning. No baby shoots out of the womb with any aversion to their pelvis -- quite the opposite. Latin, Mediterranean and African cultures tend to be more connected and free with their sexuality. You can see this by the styles of dance that come from these areas.

I wish for everyone, both men and women, to have a fun, free, joyous, open-ended exploration with their sexuality. Reckless and repressed are two sides of the same coin. One side reflects fighting against outside impositions, the other succumbing to them.

For me, the middle way has been looking within. I've had to blatantly ignore the committee in my head to find my own authenticity. This continues to require a lot of deconstructing, self-reflection, exploration, and quite frankly what's been recently called in a popular book -- "the subtle art of not giving a FXXX."

What I'm discovering is that my sexuality is something to be embraced, cherished, and honored. I'm finding that the more it's grounded in my authenticity, the more it flows in ways that are healthy and constructive to my life. And many of these have nothing to do with what's commonly labeled as "having sex."

All in all there's a fearlessness and freedom along with a greater clarity about my yes's and no's and a natural ease in honoring them.

http://alisonbristow.com/whole-souled-sexuality/

Fun is not a four letter word

I asked one of my clients (very successful in business with all the outer trimmings of having made it) what he did for fun. After a bit of stammering, he muttered a couple of things that were more obligatory than genuine. I was prompted to ask him the question because frankly I know the remedy for many of his ailments would be reconnecting to his innate sense of joy and allowing that to take the lead more in his life. I know this because I've experienced it. My connection to what brings me joy was cut off early as I learned to conform so I could get approval or feel validated by others (most of whom were worlds away from their joy). I went through what you might call a fun wilderness where there was no fun to be found. I judged people who had fun, wrote them off as superficial, frivolous, and irresponsible. Meanwhile I was living a perfect life that was for the most part perfectly barren of vivacious, radiant, life-affirming joy! Pretty ironic considering Joy is my name - literally - Joy Alison - though I've always gone by Alison. It took some really turbulent experiences to nudge me (or maybe even shove me) back to fun, but finally I got the hint. And oh the satisfaction of reclaiming fun as a necessity rather than a luxury from a conscious place and with contrasting experiences to back me up! For me fun doesn't mean reckless, debaucherous, or irresponsible. It means balance, pleasure, and fulfilling responsibilities with a spirit of joy and lightheartedness as much as possible. It means tuning in to connect with what brings me joy and incorporating that into my life at all costs in whatever way I can NOW. 
#wholesouledwoman  #funisnotafourletterword

Expansion over Conventional

I love supporting and witnessing a woman coming into her power and authenticity to such a degree that she has the ability to distinguish conditioning verses her essential nature and then makes choices based on the latter for perhaps the first time in her life!!! This is Whole-Souled living at its finest!

The Whole-Souled Woman doesn't seek to lock down a conventional life, rather she seeks to create a life conducive to her perpetual expansion.

#wholesouledwoman