My commitment to pleasure has created so much more spaciousness in my life as well as calmed my nervous system.  Inconveniences that used to unravel me have become a part of life’s divine comedy, bringing even more joy.

For example, I’m currently living in a yurt on top of a mountain.  It’s a luxurious yurt that is beautifully furnished, with carpeting and even a little kitchen inside. The bath room, however is outside.  I personally love my outdoor shower and toilet, with views all the way to the ocean.   I even like shitting in a bucket and burying my crap in the earth every week.  There’s a satisfaction of connection and participation in life- in that even my shit can be useful-can feed the earth and grow food, rather than be part of another toxic landfill.

So yesterday was my day to empty my bucket.  I dig my hole.  I dump my bucket of wood chips and waste into the ground and cover it with dirt and leaves.  I walk over to the specific hose on the side of the cliff where I’ve been instructed to rinse my bucket.  I turn on the faucet, when a strong wind begins to blow.

 You can guess what happens next.  As water splashes into the bucket, it also blows right back at me, misting my arms, hair and face with brown water.  Letting out a scream and losing control of the hose, I knock my bucket over the cliff’s edge.

“No!”  I scream, watching it roll and bounce, further and further down the mountain side, which eventually ends on a neighbor’s property.

 The slope is too steep to descend directly, so I start sprinting down the winding road-dripping with poop sweat, totally grossed out and laughing hysterically, shouting, “Stop!” after a green bucket, which doesn’t even slow down at the road, but keeps on going to the next descending tier.

A flock of crows fly along, cackling above me, as I run across the road and climb down the rocks, sliding on my butt in the dirt until I finally reach my bucket, that has thankfully been stopped by a large rock.

 I sit down to catch my breath, leaning back next to my shitty green friend.  Another gust of wind blows, as if adding a punch line.

A month away from the beginning of my 51st year, the phrase, “Kick the Bucket,” comes to mind, and I look up, smiling, receiving life’s sarcastic birthday wish.

At one time something like this would have made me feel unsupported. Now I feel as if I’m being teased by a old friend, who loves me and knows I can take it.

Walking up the hill, covered in my own shit, I think, “This was a novel experience. Probably a once in a lifetimer.  Not exactly falling in love.  But I’m grateful.”

 And thanks to Dr. Braun’s eucalyptus soap and a big bucket of laughter, my body is sparkling clean and ready for the next fifty years. 

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