10 minutes.
(Jena, here is what is what i get in 10 minutes. no edits.)
***
dont give a shit.
about anything except the sound of fire close to my ears and brushing against my flesh. the way it felt when i spun between my legs and it heated up my crotch. the way that when it hit my leg and my hip and even brushed my forhead it felt good, yes good. i don’t give a shit that i spun fire, finally, after years of wishing, dreaming, longing to so, but i am totally a different person now that i have. fire i love and respect. i am the one who dips her toes close to the campfire, loving the feeling of the heat, the burn, the sting. candles are always my invocation.
driving down the highway which leads to my house, there is a small and ancient church that always has very non-offensive sayings on the sign board out front. the day after i lit up, it read: Hear god’s voice this week. and i said hot damn i did, oh i did and it was Fire twirling and swooshing and cracking one inch from ear. it was the sound of chaos that quieted my mind, finally, finally, i heard god’s voice. it was fire.
***
back to not giving a shit. i don’t. i didn’t give a shit that i only spun practice poi half-assed for a few months 2 years ago. i didn’t care enough about my hair or my eyebrows or my clothes or my flesh not to do it. i promise i’ll only spin circles i told my sister/friend/teacher. even though she’s the one that brought over the jamaican rum, she pretty much knew it was an i don’t give a shit type of night she graciously handed over them over to me, told me how to light up and played pressed play on the ipod.
earlier that day i decided not to gve a shit about anything. after my daughter thought it would be all fun and games if she took her kiddie broom and bang the handle into one of our fragile timepiece door windows until it smashed it through, i decided not giving a shit was what i had to do. after i screamed for a moment, yelled at her, explained to her about SAFETY AND DANGER and then i banned her from my space, i took upon the mantra which my friend had lent to me week before; i don’t give a fucking shit. i didn’t give a shit that my house was covered in my orange shag carpet, smushed raisins, crumbled crackers and dirty dishes. i didn’t give a shit that another day was taking place and i hadn’t tilled the rest of the garden and the kale was dying and the squash was burnt and dry. i didn’t give a shit that one more day had passed and i had not dragged the kids for a hike. i didn’t give a shit that i only got 3 hours sleep the night before. i didn’t give a shit about not having any money in the bank. i stopped giving a shit about wanting anything, making anyting building anything, writing anything. I couldn’t give two shits if i ever wrote another word again. i didn’t ive a shit that i had to get on a plane once again when usually i freak out about flying, i didn’t give a shit that i was overwhelmed with three girls whose estrogen fills our home like an smoldering volcano. i didn’t give a shit how i look.act.eat.dress.talk.think.clean.create.dress.wear my hair. I didn’t give a shit what anybody thinks of me.
I. Don’t. Give. A. Shit. What. Anyone. Thinks. Of. Me (good or bad).
FREEDOM.
that’s big. and i still don’t even give a shit that it’s big. who fucking cares? it’s just life.
and i didn’t give a shit about being nice anymore either, nice like when you want to be honest, like that kind of not nice.
when i expressed this new found attitude to my husband the other day, when i told him i could care less if we make it through any of this he called me a nihilist. and at that moment my not giving a shit was a bit nihilistic. but it’s not now. now i don’t give a shit because i’ve stopped judging myself and everything around me. i stopped beating myself up. i’ve stopped wanting anything, really, except the feeling of wide open wild freedom of not giving a shit. and wow, i can’t even tell you how much more love i feel, how much i love, how much better it feels to be loved. i don’t give a shit with an open heart and a smile on my face. i don’t give a shit and i walk different, like i am happy to walk.
i
almost started to give a shit today when a close family member, pregnant with her first, began riding the slippery slope of medical intervention and as a birth professional i almost began giving a shit, but i sopped. and it’s not about not loving her or caring for her or wanting her to birth empowered. no, i don’t give a shit about what i am suppose to believe or teach or say; it’s her path, her choices, her baby, her story, her experience NOT MINE and i hold her where she is at, knowing this is hers, and it’s what she needs. i don’t give a shit about what i know and don’t know. i don’t give a shit about dogma.
and all those terms we hear people throwing around surrender, let go, let it be, go with the flow, give in, release…oh the hell with them because what do they really mean? just don’t give a shit.
just love freely and loosely. hold the happy with the sad and the sad with the happy and love them both the same or hate them both the same or feeling nothing about any of them. breath something new in with each breath andthrow that out the window with the exhale. and do something that you are totally petrified to do. like play with fire really close to your bare skin. grow dreadlocks. fly a tiny plane over the islands. jump out of it. let go of your kids and let them be. take a shit in a public bathroom. use (GASP) disposible daipers, hire a (gasp) babysitter, let your belly hang over your pants and don’t hide it. invite friends over to your totally disgusting messy house and don’t you dare clean a thing. walk outside naked (or with a big boots and a boa) and dance like sisha or something like that. right now. go on. i dare you.
Hey that was great! (But you probably don’t give a…..)
Funny, but here in Michigan I was contemplating and observing a similar ratcheting down in myself, though not as intense as yours. The lessening of reactivity seems to be key. And it’s true, it is freeing.
Comment by Aina — July 3, 2008 @ 6:38 am
Wow. That’s a hellova mouthful in 10 minutes!
My life does seem to get better every time I decide “EFF it!” Thanks for the passionate reminder.
Comment by Must Be Motherhood — July 3, 2008 @ 1:31 pm
thank you, thank you, thank you. I think I commented once before but again, we have completely diffent lives. I live in a big city and work full time and have two crazy boys. However you words speak to me and I am promising myself to enjoy my time with my kids this weekend and just not give a shit! THANK YOU
Comment by Jen — July 3, 2008 @ 2:04 pm
I am trying SO HARD to find this place right now. I need to stop giving a shit. I need to stop feeling like it’s all on me. That it’s my job to figure everything out and FIX it. It’s not. It’s not. It’s not. Things just are. Let them be. Stop giving a shit.
But damn it’s hard … especially on that 3 hours of sleep a night thing.
Comment by gearhead mama — July 3, 2008 @ 3:38 pm
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. (But who gives a shit what I think?!)
Love to you. MB. Keep at it. Ten minutes a day. Go!
Comment by Jena — July 3, 2008 @ 11:21 pm
But how does it come from a place of love and not a place of anger? When you put it that way, it sounds angry to me. Only because if I were to say, “I don’t give a s**t about anything,” I would be angry… But then, I’m just an angry person right now, I guess.
Comment by SS — July 4, 2008 @ 4:24 am
SS-
Because I am not angry when i say it or feel it. say “i don’t give a shit” with a smile on your face and your heart warm, relaxed, open, your shoulders away from your ears. it’s the same as saying “surrender” in a yoga class when your students are in a forward fold. it’s like saying, ‘it doesn’t matter, really, at all, life is happening anyway, why concern yourself.”
in no way am i saying, “i don’t give a shit because i don’t care or love. it;s like singing, in operatic voice the word Fuck. it’s a naughty word, but why? because we have a naughty attachment to it. take away with attachment and it becomes a just word that you can define for yourself.
again, it only sounds angry if you are angry.
thanks for allowing me to explore that a bit more.
bless
mb
Comment by misplacedmama — July 4, 2008 @ 4:34 am
Got the boots…black sparkly boa or the magenta one? Getting ready to dance…
Oh, but first, great exercise. About not giving a shit–I try that sometimes. For me it’s more like remembering that nearly anything could be worse. Not giving a shit when kids do something that really fucks with our perception of what the day was supposed to look like can give them a good learning experience. If I can stop when they break something, relax/not give a shit, then we can work on a)how to clean it, b)how to avoid it in the future. But sometimes I do have to remember to not give as big of a shit when I become a raging lunatic over small shit.
Time to look for the boas…
Comment by Karen — July 4, 2008 @ 5:01 pm
i hear you my fire sister.
It is god to me, love to me, clarity, alchemy, surrender, danger, freedom, mischief, sultry, truth. Fire feeds me and is of me. And I love hearing your own dance with her.
Happy, happy, happy to see you writing here again, getting it out, the ten minutes a day thing i its own practice, art, play, pleasure.
ANd not giving a shit? It’s the true home base, the return to the center, the space where everything else is burned in the fire and all that remains is the groundless freedom of everything being YES.
I love you.
Comment by bella — July 5, 2008 @ 8:09 pm
i can dance in the freedom that is created in these words. i can release my need to control everything around me. i can look at my fears with wide open eyes and say…welcome.
thank you SO much for this mb. really, thank you.
Comment by jessamyn — July 8, 2008 @ 11:19 pm
I so understand this, so have been there. And my God, isn’t it true that finally not giving a damn shit, you free yourself. You speak the truth here, sister. Wish you’d write every day, twice even, just because your words are inspiration. Like yoga for the mind.
Comment by Joanna — July 9, 2008 @ 7:45 pm
i love reading your blog…i’m working on not giving a shit myself…your home sounds much like mine, I came from the desert also…..an AZmama, Leslie linked me to your blog…i was at a blessing way and you were there, I was shy and nervous and it was really hard for me to speak in that circle of womyn but it doesnt matter…I dont feel bad about it any more. blessings~
Comment by sarah — July 13, 2008 @ 9:26 pm