I once went to church in Lesotho, Africa. The church had one room and folding chairs that the congregation set up on days of worship. I had walked by the church every day, and a young man with whom I had become friends invited me to join him. He was nowhere to be found, so I settled in between two strangers.

What happened next was something I had never experienced. The entire congregation started to sing, and soon, a woman stood up, shaking her fists in the air and sobbing. She started yelling and crying out, her anguish clear. She was speaking in Sesotho, so I had no idea what she was saying, but I recognized her pain. People around me nodded in agreement, and a few people put their hands in the air, swaying to the rhythm of her sobs.

A few minutes later, another woman stood up and started singing. I loved her voice and was delighted when everyone joined her, their voices equally stunning. What seemed like a few verses in, a man stood up. He was quietly crying, his shoulders visibly shaking. He kept shaking his head and putting it in his hand. The singing stopped, and the man started yelling. I was surprised by the anger in his voice, and it punched me in the stomach. I recognized his emotion too. When the man stopped yelling and returned to quietly crying, another women stood up and started singing a different song. Once again, everyone joined her.

We continued like this for four hours (and that was just half the service!). People stood up and bore their souls, and others stood up to sing to them. This dance of call and response was profoundly beautiful.

This experience is among the most profound in my life. It popped into my mind this morning as I drove in Los Angeles traffic, trying to remember God.

I reflected upon the Divine power of being witnessed and held. To love someone as God does, I believe, is to bear witness to them; it is to grant being to every depth of their soul. It’s to offer them comfort simply by seeing them—all of them—and not turning away. To love someone divinely is to step closer and to witness and to hold.

The gift is a simple one, and one we all have the power to give.

On My Mind Today:

• I’m ready to spend some significant time in Africa. She’s calling me home.
• Simplicity and divinity are profoundly connected for me.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I’m struck by a few things as I write my blog this evening.

1. It is so easy to get wrapped up in wondering what people think of me, my writing, and my blog! What a funny mind fuck that is. I’m letting that go and returning to my intention to simply explore and to share.
2. Sometimes I think I should be more “positive” or happy than I am, so I try to be positive and happy and end up wanting to punch someone in the face. Just kidding. It’s not that bad. And I’m a pacifist. But maybe trying to feel something I don’t is actually the source of my depression.
3. I’m really uncomfortable with the idea of praying.

My exploration in meditation and prayer has not gone as planned. I followed the call to prayer schedule yesterday, and that was cool, but I didn’t do it today.

It seems like I added something to do to my schedule.

Did you convene with God yet, Annie Rose? Yes? Check! On to the next thing.

Yesterday, my schedule and my life easily allowed for stopping what I was doing, sitting down, and connecting with God. During Duhr, my noon(ish) prayer, I stopped my walk, laid in the grass with my arms spread open, and closed my eyes. Moments later, a dog started licking my face. I didn’t flinch, and I wasn’t surprised. I loved it. I love dogs! He left after a few rounds, and I sat, remembering God.

The calls to prayer in Muslim culture are meant to give people an opportunity to remember God. I’ve been thinking about that phrasing—remembering God. Not thinking about God, not praying to God, not wondering about God. Just remembering God.

I can remember God. I saw God in several of my medicinal journeys. I saw God when my friend died. I saw God on that one wave. I saw God when I walked El Camino de Santiago. I saw God in meditations, love-making, conversations, and more. I like the idea of pausing and remembering the experience of those moments.

I remember God not with my mind but with my molecules. I let go of my thoughts about God, and I let go of my memories of God. I just sit there and I be with God.

Today, I am thinking that God lives in a moment. When I pause to remember God, I pause to be in a moment. It’s that simple for me right now.

Insights for the Day:

I have no idea how to say in words what I think God is.

I love God.

I’m not religious at all.

I feel God in churches and mosques, sometimes to the extent that I’m moved to tears.

I honor people’s beliefs about God unless they believe that God is in any way judgmental and hateful. Then I think their beliefs are silly. What does that say about me?

I long to be steeped in those moments where God is.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

One summer, I meditated twice per day for two months. I was going through a tough break-up, and my mind was driving me crazy. I knew that if I wanted to function, I needed to do something differently. And so I sat.

What worked for me at that time was to turn on music (usually Vas) and emote. I cried. I fumed. I wept. I experienced joy, relief, and peace. I traced each of my sensations as they happened, and I let myself be. I was one with my experience.

That was my first experience with meditation, and I’ve done a lot since. I’ve practiced pranayama. I’ve meditated every day for 100 days straight. I’ve taken a meditation course. I’ve studied meditation techniques and applied principles. I’ve done walking meditations, dancing meditations, coloring meditations, running meditations, and more. Sometimes I meditate for 5 minutes, sometimes for two hours. I sit up, I lay down, I move, I don’t move. I trace my breath. I transcend my mind. I focus my attention. I try lots of different things.

When I walked El Camino de Santiago in 2015, I meditated every morning for the first 10k and every night as I fell to sleep. In the mornings I focused on breath and beauty, and in the evenings I followed guided meditations. When I reflect upon it, my morning meditations were walking prayers. As I noticed the beauty around me, I thanked God for everything. The leaf. The rain drop. The sky. The bird. The village. My boots. My body. My journey. I had a practice of saying out loud or to myself, “hello, beautiful ________! Thank you for existing.” Every time I encountered another human being in those first 10k, my heart overflowed with love and appreciation. It was a profound experience.

This week I’m going to meditate and pray. In honor of my lineage and my Islamic brothers and sisters, I’m going to do so five times per day. It’s my way of connecting to my ancestor, Hafiz, and asking for peace in our world. In my meditations, I’ll focus my attention on God.

The Structure

In the Islamic tradition, there are five names for the daily prayers: Fajr (pre-dawn), Dhuhr (noon), Asr (afternoon), Maghrib (sunset), and Isha’a (evening). I’ve downloaded an app that plays the call to prayer at each of these times. When I hear it, I’ll clean my hands and feet, and I’ll meditate and pray.

Since I’m midway into Monday and I missed my morning prayer, I will start my exploration in earnest on Tuesday and complete on Saturday evening. However, I will meditate and pray four times today, and I may carry this practice into my future. We shall see what unfolds.

My intentions are to love, appreciate, and ask for healing for our world. It’s pretty plain and simple.

About My Lineage and Inspiration for this Exploration

My dad’s maternal family is from Lebanon. Hafiz, the Sufi poet, is my ancestor. “Hafiz” or “Hafez” were titles given to people who had memorized the Koran by heart. The story is that Hafiz did so in 14 different ways by the time he was a teenager.

Hafiz devoted his heart to beauty and God, and he was a teacher, protestor, lover, and poet.

Here is one of his poems, a favorite of mine:

All the Hemispheres

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.

-Hafiz

Cleaning stuff up means nothing without a broader context.

As I cleaned stuff up and shared my experience, I was left feeling like what I was sharing was relatively ordinary. I could also sense that much of what I shared was oriented around breakdown and challenge. From an outsider’s perspective, I wondered if my blogs read as mild complaints about how hard it is to be in communication, clean my car, and otherwise engage in cleaning stuff up.

And indeed, that is (perhaps) the perspective I shared.

I committed when I started this blog to write about my honest, in-the-moment experience. And it has been fascinating and helpful for me to see what comes up and onto the digital page. I’ve learned a lot about myself, the way I think, and my tendencies simply by sharing from the space right in front of me.

But I think that sharing context is important too, so I’ll do that here:

I clean stuff up because I want to eradicate poverty. No one in our world should be hungry, go without great education, or die from preventable and curable diseases because they don’t have money. No one should be without a home. No one should be worried about money to the extent that they cannot enjoy life. Human beings deserve to be happy, healthy, and fulfilled.

I clean stuff up because I want to eradicate racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and religious persecution. No one should be killed because of the color of their skin, their place of origin, their sexual orientation, or religious affiliation. No one should feel unsafe walking down the street. No one should be teased, mocked, or ridiculed for being who they are. No one should ever be a victim of a hate crime. I wish to eradicate hate.

I clean stuff up because our political system has gone mad.

I clean stuff up because my friends keep dying from cancer.

I clean stuff up because war, terrorism, and mass shootings continue to rape us of our humanity.

I clean stuff up because many immigrants and refugees have been disowned by the human family.

I clean stuff up because animals are abused and killed for their bodies, their skins, and their horns.

I clean stuff up because human garbage kills marine life.

I clean stuff up because kids are initiated into gangs.

I clean stuff up because women, men, and children are raped, abused, and neglected.

I clean stuff up because our world is full of possibility but also filled with pain, and I don’t believe it has to be.

When I clean stuff up, I’m creating space for myself to be the person I need to be to do the work I need to do.

I need physical, mental, and emotional space to think critically and act intentionally. I need a strong mind, body, and soul to deal with criticism, resistance, and bullying. I need to have my life in order so that I can focus on our global life.

And so I clean stuff up. I deal with the mundane so I can be with the profound.

I deal with myself so I can be my Self.

And being my fullest Self, I believe, is the starting point for transformation.

Lessons Learned:

• You can either set an intention and take action accordingly, or you can take whatever action you know to take and let your intention reveal itself.
• Scrubbing my heart clean makes it available for others.
• My mind works best in uncluttered, beautiful, and well-organized spaces. (And I really dig my mind.)
• The most powerful thing we can do is act from a created space.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose Stathes

Having a specific context for my life is really empowering. Every time I get scattered, overwhelmed, or disoriented, I return to my intention to clean stuff up.

Cleaning stuff up has taken me on a ride this week. I’ve had to be someone I didn’t know myself to be, and I’ve had to put one foot in front of the other in the face of challenges and discomfort.

To keep myself moving, I’ve reached out to lots of people this week. Normally, when I’m challenged or sad, I withdraw and go into hiding. I lock myself in a room, avoid phone calls, and keep to myself. But this week, because I had an intention, and because I gave my word to myself and others to keep writing my blog, I kept in touch and continued taking action, even when my legs got wobbly.

I called my friend Elizabeth about 19,000 times. Thank you, sister, for your humor, your wisdom, and encouraging me to say “fuck” a lot.

I opened my heart to my friend Shoshanna. Thank you, Sholuna, for making me laugh, reminding me to access my awareness, and standing by my side.

I left a weepy and completely honest voicemail for my friend Jennifer. Thank you, JHaz, for always listening to me and always loving me.

I talked to Friendy/Wilson/Schmoop-Dawg twice within a couple of days (a small miracle for two people who do not like talking on the phone). Thank you, Christine, for your grounding presence, partnership, and sisterhood.

I went to yoga with eyes red from crying and, instead of trying to hide, I let myself be loved and cared for by my friends. Thank you Jeff, Robert, and Anthony for noticing I was having a tough day and for being so sweet.

I kept in touch with my friend Zolani, and his presence helped me be positive, empowered, and strong. Thank you, Zolani, for being wise, funny, and emotionally intelligent.

I got lots of great hugs from my mother-in-law, “Mamacita,” lots of support from my dedicated dad, and lots of comfort from my devoted brother (who I’m not sure even knew I needed comfort). Thank you, my wonderful family.

I got to enjoy the steady and loving presence of my husband, John, and to know that he had my back as I moved through some weird bullshit. Thank you, JB, for being my husband and reminding me to stand for justice.

I took tons of actions this week, and I’ll take many more tomorrow as I complete my adventure in cleaning stuff up. I can feel myself growing, stretching, and settling into peace, and I’m astutely aware that I’m never alone.

I’m so incredibly grateful.

Lessons Learned Today

• Some truly great people have my back.
• I am more strong and graceful than I know.
• I can always control whether or not I live according to my own values and in service to my own integrity. Honoring myself and my word is truly the one thing over which I have control. Being who I am brings me incredible strength and power.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

This morning, my yoga teacher said that the beauty of yoga is that it meets you exactly where you are but never leaves you there.

You arrive on your mat, you breathe, and you notice your body, your thoughts, and whatever calls your attention. You notice where you are, and you begin your practice from there. You begin with your level of energy, your strength, your flexibility, and your state of mind. Even if you don’t know where you are, you still begin from exactly where you are. None of us has any other choice.

Life is the same way. Each day begins from exactly where you are right now. Each action you take, each word you speak, each thought you think, begins from exactly where you are. That is the nature of biology. It is alive in the moment, not in the past. It does its thing right now, not in the future. And we are expressions of our biology.

Knowing where you’re starting is the same thing as knowing what’s so.

As I cleaned stuff up yesterday, I got more and more related to what’s so. I got clear about the dynamics in one of my most treasured relationships, clear about my financial state, and clear about my stand and authentic voice in a challenging matter.

I feel even more connected to my dear friend.

I am totally anxious about money.

And I am firmly rooted in my personal integrity and commitment in regards to the challenging matter.

Not every issue is resolved, but I’m profoundly related to what’s so, and I know exactly where I’m starting.

Last night, knowing where I was starting looked like a combination of happiness and tears. It looked like power and tenderness; strength and fear. But it all happened right then, right there, and in that moment. I felt so alive and present last night, even if I was weepy.

I’m learning that none of this cleaning-stuff-up business is designed to make me happy. None of it’s designed to keep me safe. None of it’s designed to make me more money or solve my problems. It’s all, I’m realizing, designed to give me the freedom, power, and stability that arises when I’m profoundly connected to where I am.

And when I clean stuff up, I engage in my practice. I take my yoga off of the mat and into the world. I meet myself and my life exactly where we are, and I take actions to move us from here to there. My new “there” of course becomes my new “here”, and I engage in yet another opportunity to notice exactly where I am.

Life is nothing but a series of moving from here to there, and it takes awareness to distinguish where we are in any given moment. No moment is the same as the last. No moment is secure in the future. We are living and breathing moment to moments, and we transform as life transforms.

We can begin to be present of this movement and stand firm in its action by cleaning stuff up.

All we have to do is start.

Lessons Learned on the Court Yesterday

For every manipulative asshole in the world, there is a plethora of kind and generous souls, and I am surrounded by them. I am blessed.

I’ve made good movement in my life, and I’m proud of myself.

Cleaning stuff up is not as easy as I thought it would be, and I must allow time for crying, talking to friends, and moving through whatever comes up.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I often resist cleaning stuff up because sometimes I’d rather avoid the truth of the matter.

I’d rather imagine how far my money will take me than know how little I have.

I’d rather assume that I’m getting paid by a client than know for sure that I’m not.

I’d rather enjoy comfort in my relationships than ruffle feathers and hurt someone I love.

I think that the hardest part of cleaning stuff up is taking the first step. It’s logging into my bank account and calculating my expenses. Dialing the numbers on the phone and hitting ‘call.’ Telling someone I have to talk to them and hearing their concern. It’s noticing the piles of messes in my living space and deciding where to start. It’s carving out time to tend to my car and sticking to my plan. It’s resolving to risk my heart and to challenge my perspectives. It’s choosing to jump into what might be an ice-cold pool.

It takes dedication to look squarely in the eyes of objective truth, and it takes humility to address my subjective responses.

It takes presence to determine where to start.

It takes grit to know when to stop.

It takes courage to speak my truth, and it takes muscle to dig for what’s authentic.

It takes being vulnerable to lay it all out there…

…and it takes patience to see what results.

It ain’t easy.

But knowing what’s so and landing ourselves squarely in life as it actually is, is where our truest power resides. It is where love lives. It is where curiosity lives. It is where connection lives. It is where authentic expression lives. It is where you, in all your you-ness, lives. It is where what’s truly worthy of your life lives.

So what audacity, dedication, and prowess can we bring to the tables of our lives today? Where can we take our first steps? Where can we take even one tiny action?

Lesson Learned on Day 1 of Cleaning Stuff Up:

My people who are my people will stand by my side and love me, honor me, and call me out on my shit.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Life can be messy.

That’s not always a bad thing. I’ve noticed that the more I’m living life, the more I make mistakes, get confused, and fail. When I live life fully, I’m taking risks, and I’m not letting the constraints of my past—who I know myself to be, what I know myself to be capable of, and what my history says is possible—run the course. Instead, I’m letting my inner Annie Roseness take the lead. I’m using my soul’s longings as my map, and I’m letting the woman who believes in magic, divinity, and power hold court.

This means that I’m not always organized. It means that I’m often not clear. It means that I’m sometimes insecure and disoriented. It means that I change course. (A lot.) It means that I often don’t know what to do or what to say, and that I mess things up. I’m constantly sorting things out and finding my way. I live in the middle of the sea, often with no shore in sight.

Sometimes it’s exhausting, but mostly, I’m profoundly connected to life, and I’m not sure I would have it any other way. I’m madly in charge of my own experiences. I meet amazing people and have deep friendships. I travel to sweet places. I enjoy consistent insights about my inner person. I shoot for the moon, I dive into the ocean, and I live my life with purpose. I’m held, I’m flexible, and I’m free.

There’s a cost to my lifestyle of course. The price I pay for freedom is security. The price I pay for exploration is orientation. The price I pay for flexibility is certainty. I strive to establish security, orientation, and certainty, of course, but they are not a part of my everyday experience. Insecurity, disorientation, and uncertainty are.

But I chose, a long time ago, to follow this course. I chose expansion, exploration, and transformation. I chose getting to know the most vibrant and expressed version of myself by living a vibrant and expressed life, even in its messiness.

That said, here’s the deal: I’ve learned that the more I add structure, clarity, and order to that which I can control, the better I’m able to enjoy my journey. And so I clean stuff up.

For the past week or so, I’ve been particularly disoriented. I’m processing a lot of internal change, and my external expressions are taking a hit. I noticed that my environment, consistent with my inner self, has gotten messy.

My living space is cluttered. My car has trash in it. I have no idea how much money I have in my bank account. I owe several people phone calls. I have a stack of random papers on my desk, waiting for action and filing. I have half-created work slowly growing limp. I have a million things in my mind, and I haven’t sat down to make a list of things to do. My physical environment is a space that calls for confusion and disorientation.

And so this week I’m embarking on a five-day adventure of cleaning stuff up. I’m tackling my physical environment, my inner environment, and my digital environment. As such, I promise to take (at least) the following actions this week:

1. Thoroughly clean my car.
2. Organize and clean my bedroom.
3. Organize and clean my office space.
4. Call every person with whom I need to be in communication.
5. Have what might be a sensitive conversation with a friend of mine.
6. Contact and be fully honest and forthright with a person who has not honored an agreement we have.
7. Communicate with my husband about some internal changes I’m going through.
8. Balance my checkbook and create a new budget.
9. Create plans for each and every one of my current personal and professional projects.
10. Meditate for at least 10 minutes daily.
11. Eat healthy foods that make my body feel clear.
12. Run and clear my mind 3 times in the next five days.
13. Practice yoga at least 4 times.

I’ll keep you posted.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

It’s 3am, and I cannot sleep.

I have a lot on my mind, and my heart is full. I got out of bed to see if I can clear away some of the clutter.

I’m thinking about what feels like a million little things, and I’m beating myself up for worrying about them. I’m feeling a bit cursed by my tendency toward insecurity and depression right now, and I wish I were naturally secure and clear. I wonder what that would be like? I wonder what I can do to cultivate peace? I wonder if people will truly love me in these moments?

Perhaps I can begin by letting go and being gentle with myself.

I’m sad. I’m sad for my friend Jason’s loved ones who are hurting beyond belief after his passing this week. I’m also wondering why so many people from my high school have cancer. It sucks. I hate the fucking disease so much.

I’m sad for a couple of my amazing girlfriends who are facing heartbreak. I wish I could halt their pain and fill their hearts with love, confidence, and security.

I’m sad that my dear friend’s health is shitty right now. She’s recovering, thank goodness, but I love her and want her to enjoy perfect, vibrant health.

I’m confused. I’m confused about what I want, what options I have, and what is lasting or temporary.

I’m feeling a bit vulnerable and uncertain. I’ve enjoyed writing blog posts, and sometimes I’m unsure about the benefit of sharing myself with people. I’ve clearly chosen to keep sharing, and I have no real reason not to, but I notice that each time I click publish, I feel nervous. I’m so grateful for readers like you who encourage me. Thank you.

I’m really angry at someone by whom I feel manipulated. And I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this particular way. I feel hurt. I feel sad. I feel ineffective. I’m resentful that the situation is in my space. I’m in communication, making requests, and being clear about what needs to happen, and the situation continues to be unresolved. I wonder how I stop suffering over this?

I have a lot of un-tethered space right now. My husband and I are moving into our new house in two weeks. As I transition from our current situation to our new one, I’m scattered, disorganized, and unsettled. I’m totally excited to finally create a home, and sometimes my excitement turns to impatience.

I’m building my business, and right now it’s slow. Snail-pace slow. I have work in the pipeline, but none of it is guaranteed. I’m anxious, a bit concerned, and also don’t give a fuck. Not giving a fuck, as far as I know, is not the fastest route to generating income (but I’m happy to be wrong here). Also, to be clear, I need to give a fuck (I think) because I do have bills to pay.

I’m thinking about babies. Should I have them? Should I not? Will I regret it if I don’t? Am I ready to? Can I have babies? Do I really have time to consider? What does John want? Isn’t this something I should be clear about? Can I really have a family without having babies? Who are my people? Maybe I should just get puppies.

Okay. I think those are the big things. I’m starting to feel a bit more clear. (And I must admit, I read through this several times asking, “Am I revealing too many of my struggles? Is this okay? Is it safe to share this stuff? Will people judge me for not being happier? Can I say ‘fuck’ in here or is that offensive? Did I create a blog to not offend people?” At some point I imagined my dear sister Elizabeth reading this, and I heard her say, “Annie Rose, you can say whatever the fuck you want to say!” So here it is.

So. Let’s see. Here are the actions I’m going to take to empower myself in this moment and tomorrow:

1. I’m taking myself back to bed.
2. I’m surfing in the morning and making thorough love to the ocean. I request that dolphins and seals pay me a visit, and that the ocean deliver to me at least 10 perfect waves. I’m also okay with a little pummeling.
3. I’m not going to eat any sugar or refined carbs tomorrow. I am going to eat nutrient-dense foods.
4. I’m running in the sunshine, post-surf, to the smoothie shop.
5. Every time I catch myself in my head or engaging in a disempowering conversation with myself or my husband (my go-to and incredibly loving guy in these moments), I’m going to remind myself to take things day by day, moment by moment, and breath by breath.
6. I’m going to accomplish something tomorrow, big or small.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

P.S. If I might be so bold as to make a request, please do not respond to this post with advice. I learned in the Being a Leader Course that advice actually stimulates the pain receptors in the brain (good to know, eh?). I think that words of appreciate and love are much more effective in responding to people in various situations, and I’m engaging in a practice of not seeking or giving advice (unless specifically requested).

At some point in the distant past, someone (an author of an article, perhaps?) distinguished for me the difference between jealousy and envy.

Jealousy is when we want something that someone else has and we don’t want them to have it.

Envy is when we want something that someone else has and we are happy that they have it.

I’m envious, for example, that one of my friends is earning her PhD. I really want my PhD, and I’m totally happy that she is earning one.

I’m also envious of my friends who live in other countries. I’m totally happy that they’re doing so, and I’m increasingly clear that I need to do so too.

Envy is incredibly useful and, I believe, healthy. I’m envious often. I envy people’s experiences, personalities, and accomplishments. I want them for myself! And, I’m super happy that they have them.

Envy holds up a mirror and says, “That thing you see in her? You also want that for yourself. Go out and make it happen!” Envy, when clearly distinguished, acts as a road map to our authentic selves. It guides us in uncovering and embracing that which we want in our own lives. Best of all, it leaves us acknowledging and appreciating others for the beauty and amazingness that they bring to the party.

When you experience jealousy or envy, see if you can distinguish one from the other. If you’re experiencing jealousy, see if you can convert it to envy. See if you can identify what it is that you want for yourself and make a plan to achieve it. Then, see if you can love and appreciate that the other person has it. It’s a win-win.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose