I'm Still Hungry

A little offensive..

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This movie was so dumb I was a little offended.

Mommy?....

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Says Harlowe Winter Kate Madden in 7 years -

"Mommy, why were you killing yourself?"

Says "mother" Nicole Richie -

"I looked hella hot."

We sure are cute for two ugly people..

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Have you seen it yet? REALLY? It's nothing but joy. JOY. Refreshing. Warm. Perfect.

I have such an inappropriate crush on Michael Cera. Totally.

Could he be more gorgeous?

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I'm sorry. There's NEVER a bad time for Johnny, is there? Look at him with his hands in Namaste.
G*D DAMN!

This man changed the world....

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I love this man. I love this movie. I cannot believe he's just...gone.

Brokeback Mountain is BY FAR the most romantic movie I have ever seen, ever made. I never really bought into the idea of "movies as art" until this magnificent powerful brave film.
Heath Ledger's performance was so powerful.

I just want to watch it over and over and over and over....

Rest in Peace.

I have many dreams...

Seven years ago, I was living with my parents in Livermore California. I’d been out of treatment for my eating disorder for a couple years. I had bummed through Europe for three months that preceding Fall and Winter, leaving me flat broke and in the middle of a relapse. I was very thin, very obsessed with my weight and very confused about my life. 24 years old, out of college with a degree in Psychology, living in my old room, with the same parental unit that had contributed to my eating myself into obesity as a child and starving myself into a coma as a teen. The trip to Europe had changed my perception of myself. I’d gone by myself and despite my relapse into starving, (and a little wine in France), I discovered a self-reliance there that I knew I could never lose.
So here I was, broke and back in Livermore.
Since I was very young, I always wanted to go to church. My father is an atheist scientist alcoholic and hated anything that had to do with organized religion. My mother was completely forbidden from having an independent thought, or at least that’s what it looked like from my view. So mom pawned me off to neighbors and family friends so I could get my church urge filled and she wouldn’t get in trouble with her warden, um, husband.
     After treatment, I continued my independent search for spiritual connection. By then I’d been in 12 step groups for 4 years, so that was where I felt the most community. But OA meetings in this town were lame as hell and I wondered if there was a church that was mildly cooler. I walked alone to a noon service on the Sunday before Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. birthday and was pleasantly surprised. The church I chose had been there since I was a child, but in the years since high school, while I was killing myself with food in San Francisco and then doing my best to get well in San Diego, the Southern Baptist regime had scooted out and replaced with a pretty funky liberal Lutheran congregation. It’s hard to hate the Lutherans. They’re like Switzerland, not really against a whole lot, not really for anything but God.
The pastor was cute as hell, a young lean man with a nick-name for a first name, like Bubba or Skippy, I can’t remember. After announcements and some white folks singing really gay hymnals, Bucky, or whatever his name was, came to the podium to begin his sermon. He explained that today’s focus would be completely about Dr. Martin Luther King. I was very impressed and excited. Who in their right mind can come to a place searching for inspiration, and NOT be inspired by such an angel of a human as the famous civil rights leader. I perked up and congratulated myself for choosing this church rather than the others. Then Smitty, or whatever, had another announcement. The young cherub-looking man introduced his grandfather, also a pastor, and relinquished the day’s service over to him. Turns out nick-name-for-a name’s own granddad had known and traveled a bit with the Reverend King during his most famous days on the civil rights trail.
The older gentleman, shorter and chubbier than his young grandson took the podium and began in a voice that would make butter turn to caramel. His Southern drawl made his words linger and his stories feel much more real. He started out with a short history of the Reverend King, some parts I’d heard and some I’d not. He then began a detailed account of not only the courageous and glorious actions of Dr. King, but with such obvious admiration that old white dude explained the depth of Dr. King’s passion, the fearlessness with which the Reverend dedicated himself to the callings in his soul. He so clearly described for the congregation the degree to which Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. pursued his commitment to wherever and whatever God called him to do. And the man began to tear up as he explained the way Dr. King used his natural ability to speak, his innate charisma and power to demand the complete attention of anyone and everyone. Dr. King took his skills and utilized them to create a world he believed could be. There was absolutely no evidence that such a world could exist before this intrepid man of God told us of his dreams.  At the end of his sermon, the old pastor tried to relay Dr. King’s famous “I Have A Dream” speech but was unable, his flowing tears made his smooth voice crack and he couldn’t go on. I too was crying acutely, so moved by the pain of the loss I felt for Dr. King. I cried for the sweet recounting by this white elderly man. And most of all I cried from an ache that had developed while about hearing Dr. King’s obligation to create a more Godly world.
I had to leave, I collected myself and ran out the door into the cool air and the bright sun of a January day in California. I began walking, and as I did I found myself begging God, truly pleading with every ounce of me for direction. I remember saying aloud as I walked down a street I’d been down a million times, “Please God, please God, please God guide me. I’ve always known I have a message in me. I’ve always been ashamed of the attention I received. I’ve felt guilty for being so BIG, so idealistic, so aware. I’ve tried being obese, I’ve tried disappearing, all to not intimidate the people around me, all to not make anyone uncomfortable. But I can’t do it. Please God, please God, pIease use me. Take away my fears. I have so so so many dreams, just as Dr. King. I have so much passion for what is right and I feel so much pain for what is wrong. Can I trust in my heart as he did God? Can I trust that You will guide me and use me and show me how to use the same BIGNESS that I’ve tried to hide and shrink from? Please God, can I believe in myself enough to help create a kind of world that I dream of? “ I felt like I was begging for permission to fully possess the person I’d been since birth. I realized that I was asking for forgiveness for something I’d never done wrong, I’d just never done, be my own unapologetic self.
I must have cried and walked and cried and walked for a long time. By the time I got home it was after 4 PM. My dad was tinkering in the garage. My mom was in her room reading. As usual, no one blinked an eye as I walked into my old room and flopped on the bed, exhausted and anxious for direction. Still swirling in confusion and loss, and feeling even more so I now realize. But I did trust that there was a plan for me, that there was a way to live that honored the self-reliance that I gained in Europe and the longing I felt for a life of purpose, the longing I felt to be myself.
I still beg God for the courage to be my whole big self. And I still do not know what I “should” be doing or how I “should” be manifesting a better world. I still long for a bigger platform, a larger podium, a more effective way to blast my message. But as I’ve gotten older, and moved to the other side of the country, I’ve taken more cues from my heart and less from my fear-based brain. And I no longer apologize for being a huge loud-mouth; a liberal, feminist, tree-hugging, poetry-spouting, touchy-feely new age ranting hippy that will make any conservative cower with terror from my unrepentant tirades of peace and love and oneness. I refuse to apologize for who I have always been.

She's DOING IT!!

I knew it y'all. I just knew it. I knew that when George W. Butthole won, and by won I actually mean stole, the election in '04 I knew there was a Divine plan. Mind you, I was on mourning for months and months. But I knew in my heart that watching this dipshit completely fuck up the planet in more ways than we'd already witnessed in 4 years, that Hillary would be next. I knew she could do it. I knew the only way the Universe and the Divine Mother would allow such a horrendous vile human and his fascist friends to rule would be to ensure middle America, with their fearful and ignorant and sheltered views, to vote a WOMAN, A WOMAN in to office. I knew it.

It's OUR TIME ladies. It's the world's only hope. I want us TO COME ALIVE and be the hope this world needs. he scared little boys have done enough damage. Fear and competition and ego has ruled long enough.

You know, my desire to work with girls with eating and body issues is not just so that we can healthy women who love their bodies. I believe without a shadow of a doubt that weight and diet and appearance concerns culminate as another tool for society to shut women up. If we stay on the hamster wheel of having to look perfect, we can never have enough time or energy to do what we could be doing - TAKING OVER. The state of the world today is a DIRECT RESULT of women having to keep their men happy. The state of the world today is because we have smiled and nodded and acted cute, we have made sure we look good. And we have filled our heads and our time with meaningless and shallow concerns. We can't anymore. We have to stop keeping ourselves and each other locked in the vanity trap. We have to be the women we were meant to be, before we learned that we had to look perfect.

My grandmother just turned 81. She spent her whole life making sure the men in her life were comfortable. She is the smartest and strongest woman I know. But she is tired now. She's old. She could have taken over. She is MLK and Ghandi and Rosa Parks. She could have done so much good for the planet, had she believed she was worth it, had she known how string she was. And had she known how much we needed her.

We need US ladies. We need us to stop smiling and nodding, stop saying yes when we mean NO, and we need to follow Senator Clinton's lead. She's doing it y'all. She's doing it for US.

On Her OWN...

With Hillary running for the first female prez, and Oprah completely taking over the planet, I find it completely fascinating to watch the United States in a state of sexist panic. How can we, as women, possibly stand by and calmly watch the inconsistencies? Don't you notice that whatever Oprah does, she is held in suspicion? She is constantly proving to ignorant old-fashioned idiots that they are wrong, she really isn't the cold-hearted bitch you assume she is, just because she magnanimously successful. She continues to create more good for the planet, especially women, as well as create more good for herself. But do you notice the standards she is held to? If a white old dude did HALF the marvelous things this woman does, we as a culture would anoint him as the second-coming of Christ. But because Oprah is not only a woman, but a strong and not-cute woman, she is continuously accused of insincerity. She is mistrusted. After all the damage men in this world have done, we suspect HER of being dishonest when she builds houses for the homeless and schools for uneducated? Oprah doesn't have to lie you fools, she doesn't have anything to hide. But because she is wealthy and successful and strong, and female, we are always suspicious. In terms of money and prestige, white men have been doing what she does forever, and we celebrate their success. Men idolize other men that have just a tiny bit of the drive and smarts she has. I've had more arguments with men who say, "I'm not intimidated by Oprah...I just don't like her." Oh sure...you are so not intimidated by her....you just don't like her. Of course she intimidates you - you dumb fuck, that's WHY you don't like her. And who gives a shit if you like her? See that America? Because she's a gal, she still is supposed to be likeable. What the fuck? Is Bill Gates required to be likeable? Is Ted Turner afraid of not being liked? Obviously Donald Trump doesn't give a shit about his degree of charm, and yet we don't question his worthiness of the fortune he's created. People look up to him, and scrutinize Oprah. Why...because she has the power and money to do what she pleases. And as a culture we don't like that. The men like the girls to be skinny like Paris, sweet like Reese, and speak in small bite-sized non-threatening sentences that end in a self-depricating question-like rise in the voice.

No, no..I totally believe that you're not intimidated...it's cool.

ALMOST FAMOUS

Ch-ch-check it out...

My new yoga instruction dvd, AHARA YOGA, is now available. YIPPEE!
It has 2 separate 1 hour-long sessions on it, a beginner class and a more rapid Vinyasa class.

You can buy it on ebay by following the link below:

http://cgi.ebay.com/AHARA-YOGA-Instructional-DVD-w-PAULA-D-ATKINSON_W0QQitemZ350015514060QQihZ022QQcategoryZ62140QQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem

Now what?

Ugh...Ick...I said horrible things to Carlo last night.
I don't know how to do this. Since the beginning of our relationship it's been like this. I freak out about once a month. I just don't know how to devote my life to the spiritual journey that I feel called to and at the same time live with my beloved goof of a boyfriend Carlo who doesn't believe in a higher power at all. I feel like I can't talk to him about the things that are real to me, that are most influential to me, that are most precious to me.
I cannot deny that I am so jealous of couples that are involved in what they know is a spiritual partnership. I want that. I want a partnership that inspires both people involved to be better humans, to create a better planet. I want to talk about BIG yummy topics like 'grace', and 'Love' with the man I'm in a relationship with. Carlo is not exactly touchy-feely. He's a 31-year-old man that loves football and comic books and I just feel like I can't relate to him in a way that feels meaningful to me. There are levels of intimate soul connection that he doesn't even believe exist.

I have tried telling myself that I'm selfish and I need to get over it. But it keeps coming up. Over and over,  I cry and try to explain to Carlo what I yearn for. But he doesn't get it and he doesn't want to. He's completely uninterested in the things that make me get up each morning. He's closed to the ideas and the concepts that make me the most fulfilled and inspired.
I love Carlo. I'd rather not lose him. But I don't know how to BE who I am and at the same time be in a relationship with who he is.
Divine Mother, help me.