Love and... Ludacris?

Lately I've been trying zazen, the Buddhist practice of sitting. It's not your usual meditation - an emptying of the mind. This is sitting with what is, letting your mind range - and moving forward from there. What's coming up for me is loneliness. If happiness is accepting what is, then I can't get happy with being alone anymore.

I accept that it is unacceptable for me to be without my love any longer!

Take that, Buddha.

I am fucking lonely. I am happy with who I am, where I've been, where I'm going...and I am ready to share. NOW. I'm not afraid to say these things. I want to be held. To touch and be touched. To fall asleep with someone, wake up with someone, adventure together through this thing called life.

Being alone even one more day is completely unacceptable to me.

And on a completely unrelated note, I heard this fun song by Ludacris in my car yesterday, My Chick Bad. The hook caught me:

My chick bad
My chick hood
My chick do stuff that your chick wish she could

I have always enjoyed Ludacris, ever since What's Your Fantasy.

Blues rock is my drug of choice but you've gotta admit: a lot of the edgiest stuff that's come out in recent decades is rap. Nelly, Eminem, Missy Elliot, Ludacris.

Don't even get me started on Country Grammar. When that came out, NOTHING sounded like it. It was revolutionary, fool!

So if you're looking for a woman who's unafraid of sharing her dark feelings and jamming to some rap from the Dirty South...I'm your gal.

Dark

Amongst all the cosmic bliss, there are dark days. Days where I have stood, clothing drenched with sweat, at the bottom of 10 flights of stairs up to my apartment and thought, when's the next plane out? Days where loneliness aches. Days worry rears its head. Days an evil voice hisses what do you think you're doing here?

Or nights where you wake up, your chest clenched and heart racing. I'd had a round of tropical respiratory voodoo and self-treated with antibiotics recommended by the pharmacist. Turns out they were the wrong ones, at the wrong dose. Sometimes traditional medicine - something I don't put much stock in - does help.

That night, I felt so dizzy and out of it, I thought I might be severely dehydrated. I called the only person I knew to call - Jose, the building manager - and asked him where I should go. He said he would come and take me to the doctor. As this was happening, my gringo neighbors came back from a late night of partying. They asked me what was wrong and when I told them, replied, "Well, there's a hospital right up the street. Try drinking water." Their door clanged shut.

Note to self: when you encounter a neighbor who is sick and disoriented, help the person!

The dark moment showed me what I've already seen here: that Mexicans embrace you as family, if you're willing to hold out your arms to them.