Growing Pains - ouch!

I'm trying so hard to change the face of my song writing. Lyrically, I love what I do. The voices I compose are haunting, and lovely. But the natural tendency always leads to a more ambient, slow, moody vibe - which I also do love. However, after years and years and over 70-80 songs in this, "my" style, I feel it doesn't best represent what I'm capable of on a performance level.

After years of singing in rock bands, and being looked to and counted on for the big, rock voice (and, always, the "wailing") I realize there's none of that in my own songs. It's the very thing that gets the live audiences so amped up and energetic. It's what I've always been most complimented for. So now, trying to find beats and a style of music that captures the feel of my original style, but adds this other layer and energy to it is really challenging me!!!

With almost every endeavor, even if I like singing what I write, and feel comfortable with the lyrics, I feel like I'm imitating other singers, other styles that are already present in the world of modern music. I start to wonder and worry, and edit, and re-edit, and feel so frustrated and exhausted by the process. The other reality is that there are deadlines staring me in the face, so there's no time to be leisurely, and breathe and let it flow naturally - God only knows how long that would take.

I close my eyes, see myself on stage, hearing this music, envisioning my performance. I can see it. It's completely different from how I've ever seen it before. I can see people liking it. But, I can also see people saying, "Yeah, it was good, but not GREAT." My repertoire of previously written music has a different effect - it may not be music for the masses, but those who like it tend to LOVE it. Isn't there a happy medium in there somewhere? Anyone have a map?

The Little Note That Could

I ran across a few of my journals, digging through boxes in the garage tonight. They were all there - over twenty or thirty books, I would imagine. But the ones that popped out tonight went back to the years between 2005-2007. I would have been 29 years old in 2005. I vaguely remember each book and the times recorded within until I leaf through the pages a bit. This book opens with a fortune from a fortune cookie on the very first page, which reads: "Someone who deserves special attention awaits your magic voice." Hmm... seems like a good enough start.

The very next page, my first official entry, is dated November 1, 2005. All Saints' Day. An auspicious time. I wrote a poem to set the mood...

"It's going to be a long,

cold winter...

and so I have re-lit the fire

of my own spirit ~

indeed, of my life ~

and must depend on her

alone

to keep me safe and warm.

I have not wanted to do this.

I have searched for another

searched many others

to provide for me this sanctity, and nurturing.

Alas,

none can do this but me.

And so I pick up the thread again ~

the thread which is the fabric of my life ~

alone, in darkness. My self.

I've spent too long in the Underworld already,

but the box of beauty must be close now,

closer than it's ever been.

I am on the right road ~

my path, at last.

Now, where is that Persephone hiding?..."

It struck me to read this and register this particular moment in my life. I know exactly from this one entry what lies in my own writing on the pages to come. This was a particularly bad year. This was after a most traumatic ending of a relationship I refused to part ways with. This was me after having a nervous breakdown and being hospitalized. This was me at 95 pounds.

As I turn the page, I see the next entry is a two-page letter to one of my favorite goddesses, Psyche. A petition for her benevolent guidance and aid, knowing that of all my favorite deities, She would surely empathize with my situation. For She, too, was the youngest of three daughters, abandoned by Her parents, left alone, waiting to be saved by another. I don't read the entry... I know the story, both stories - Hers and mine - all too well. I keep flipping pages.

Words pass by quickly: "Empty, so empty;" "high anxiety in my belly;" "eyes wide open, yet heart as dumb as a fool; "And yet, I settle. Again." Oof! It's funny how even five years later, just the little quips can make me shudder, remembering a pain unparalleled to anything I've ever experienced before or since. Even the pain of death of my beloved father was so different from this - this was sickness. Mental, emotional, spiritual rot. I shake my head in mixed shame and sympathy.

As I keep flipping, I suddenly come to a page with no writing, but two more fortunes, and a curious note. The first fortune reads: "Be what you wish others to become." The second: "A thrilling time is in your immediate future." The note, which is scrawled in a man's writing on a small, torn piece of paper, says: "Know in your heart that you are loved more than you can imagine."

Very curious, for I can't seem to place where it came from. I start to dig back a few pages, and see that I was visiting my best friend in New York at that time. Actually, I had been sent there by the man I loved - he wanted me at a safe distance, she wanted to fatten me up. For two weeks, I stayed in her home, only venturing to go outside a mere few times. I laid near her fireplace while she worked during the day, coloring mandalas, and grieving. At night, she kept putting food in front of my face, trying to make me eat, to smile, to sing, to write, to just be in her loving energy. Yes, I remember that trip. And, now, I think I remember the note too...

It was one of my last nights there, and she persuaded me to go to a nearby bar with some of her friends. I reluctantly agreed. It did feel good to get out of the house, and her friends (who all knew that I was in a bad way) were all so kind, and warm and comfortable. While we had some drinks, we took notice of some local college boys nearby - cute boys, for the most part - who, for some, as of yet, unknown reason, were wearing the most hideous, gaudy Christmas sweaters you could imagine. I mean full on. I can't remember if they were Jingle Bells or Rudolphs or what, but as soon as we noticed, we couldn't take our eyes off of them! For the first time in weeks or months, I was laughing my ass off.

I sent them a note, grade-school style, that read something like, "Dear young men, You are both very handsome and pleasant to look at, but I must INSIST you remove those hideous sweaters at once! Thank you." The boys in return got a huge kick out of the note, and we all had such a good laugh over the incident. It was turning out to be a pretty good night at the end of a pretty tough year.

Before we left, one of my new friends gave me this small piece of paper, and said that someone unknown wanted me to have it. It was the note. "Know in your heart that you are loved more than you can imagine." Just like that, out of nowhere. I'm struggling to remember if my friends maybe knew the guy who wrote it... I can't recall. But in receiving it, and at that moment when the black cloud of my thinking had surprisingly lifted in playful reverie, I really RECEIVED it.

I remember looking at that note, thinking about it before I went to sleep and when I would awaken for many days after. I taped it into my journal. It resounded a deeper truth, a deeper voice from within me that I had all but blocked out in my recent grief and despair. It was the voice of my spirit. It was the voice of my best friend. It was the voice of the Goddess... It was the voice of a stranger who in a span of a few hours was able to see something in me that I had spent months never hoping to again believe.

I love my journals, just as I love my life. The good and the bad. The painful and the blissful. I love that I tuck these keepsakes into them that are completely forgotten and need effort to remember again. I think about the last five years, and all the other losses and grief I've endured, to find myself here - really happy, and optimistic, and full of life and love for myself and those around me. I'm in a completely different place, thank God, than I was back then.

I think, too, about the people I see who are in that dark hole. People who are struggling. People who are addicted. People who are asking or not asking for help. I think about that one little anonymous note, and what it meant to me then, and in remembering it now.

I think I need to start writing my own little notes.

Poetry Re-Visited

The full moon energy still stimulating my mind deeper into the night than as is customary, I went to the garage and dug out books - poetry anthologies, mostly, and a few journals that I hadn't visited for quite some time.

I love poetry. I have since my teen years been particularly fond of women poets from around the world. As I leaf through these familiar friends, as I've done so many times over the years, I am harkened back to a lush landscape of memories. Different colored pens which underlined favorite quotations. Initials of friends and lovers who had come to mind while passing through...

(to C.E.A.)

"I know a man who reads all inscriptions on ancient stones

and who knows the grammars of all languages, dead or alive,

but who cannot read the eyes of a woman whom he thinks he loves."

(to C.L.F.)

"...I nearly collapsed, I almost wiped myself out like a stain

I called for you and you came..."

(to S.A.T.)

"... I want what world there is behind your eyes,

I want your life and you will not give it me."

(to J.D.F.)

"Si se estrechan las manos, si se abraza,

nunca es para apartarse,

es porque el alma ciegamente siente

que la forma posible de estar juntos

es una despedida larga, clara.

Y que lo mas seguro es el adios."

So many books, so many years. Lines as familiar to me as the ones on the palms of my hands. Phrases which evoke a stabbing recollection. Full stanzas that my mind accompanies with melody, in song.

"I love a man who is not worth my love.

Did this happen to your mother?

Did your sister throw up a lot?"

Poems of experiences I've never had, yet are bought to life in their weaving, and evoke emotions terrible and turbulent in me:

"Abortions will not let you forget.

You remember the children you got that you did not get...

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed children...

Believe me, I loved you all.

Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you

All."

Poems which I've read before, enjoyed and scribbled at, which in re-reading now reveal to me a new face, born of more recent and relevant life events...

"How I miss my father!...

Now I look and cook just like him:

my brain light;

tossing this and that into the pot;

seasoning none of my life the same way twice;

happy to feed whoever strays my way.

He would have grown to admire

the woman I've become:

cooking, writing, chopping wood,

staring into the fire."

Amazing... two hours have nearly passed like the blink of an eye!

Fair enough... I'll leave off here for this morning, with a deep curtsey of genuine gratitude to Shadab Vajdi, Michele Roberts, Charlotte Mew, Pedro Salinas, Alice Walker, and Gwendolyn Brooks.

The rest I'll save for another day.

Bricks and Mortar

My husband and I separated last September. At the time it was necessary, and most unfriendly. We had been renting a house in Uptown which neither of us would be able to afford on our own, so we found "separate corners" on opposite ends of town. He, who had moved here from Israel only a few years prior, had little in the way of possessions - only the few bags he originally arrived with, and a few things bought along the way. The bulk of what had "made our house a home" belonged to me - a shameful amassing of furniture, clothes, books, artwork, appliances, kitchenware, gardening tools, etc, etc. Paring down, as I knew I had to, was the most difficult part of the separation process. It was easy to let things go, but the weight of having so much to be responsible for, so much on my back, was overwhelming.

In those weeks of packing and moving, I was petrified, really. My life was in a tailspin and was spinning so fast I truly had no bearings about me. I was moving through the motions, with a lot of help from a whiskey bottle and some great hydroponic grass. I had amazing friends who helped me, watched over me, kept tabs on my progress. It wasn't until the move was over, and boxes had been unpacked, and a new home had taken shape that I began to really settle into my single life again.

It started with the home. A second-story duplex, large enough for me, my Chow Chow, my Siamese cat and dove. Of course, it took some getting used to, but almost immediately, I appreciated the sensation of a home filled with only my energy. No one else's shit laying around, no one's bad mood to contend with, no one to invade my privacy. My husband and I were still in a fragile state, finding it entirely difficult to communicate by phone (let alone in person), and after each fight, I was thrilled to be able to hang up the line and breathe and enjoy the safety and solitude of my space.

In our conversations, he made it evident that he was already out on the scene - in the way of women, of course. Men are so interesting in that way. As I had been focused on moving from one house to another, he was swinging. Well, I have no real judgement about that. It didn't bother me then, and it doesn't now. I understand how some people just need to get their rocks off, and can go bang any number of willing participants, and never look their direction again. I'm not this way. I was built differently. Indeed, in my newfound independence and single-hood, I had "built" not one, but two, new homes: the one I lived in with the pets and furniture and books and things, and the one I carefully constructed around my heart.

It felt good to begin to feel "single" again. Flirtatious by nature, I had tried my best in my marriage to curb my natural "come-hither-ness:" mindful of my words, my general affection towards people, my winks and ogles. Now, I was able to be that flirty Emily again - the Emily we all know and love. My immediate (and perhaps inappropriate) attentions turned towards a young co-worker, barely twenty years old. I had worked with him since he was eighteen, and always thought him a doll. I found him to be physically handsome, but it was his intelligence, his depth of thought, our long conversations over beers after work that I found most attractive. Of course, my other co-workers chided me for my advances - that I was trying to "rob the cradle," that I was a "cougar."

I resented this; I didn't really think the boy took me seriously, and was just trying to have some fun during the drudgery of the work days. Though I admit to crushing on him, it wasn't long before I, too, admonished my own behavior and cooled my hopeful intentions. He was good eye candy, but, I was resolved anyway that it would be a long time before I'd seriously entertain the idea of taking a new lover. The wall around my heart had been fortified. I began to construct a murky moat there as well, to ward off the other would-be suitors.

It was a few months later that the boy took me by great surprise: after closing down our restaurant bar, he suggested we go back to my house to have another drink and carry on with our (always thrilling) conversation. My ears perked up at the suggestion, and I agreed, although I checked myself immediately - surely, there was no hidden motive. That had already been long established. So, why not? I liked his company, and looked forward to hanging out with him in the comfort of my own pad.

Although the details are quite juicy, and would make for much better reading than what I've offered so far, I'll suffice to say that the boy came to my home and seduced me in such a way as I hadn't experienced since before I was wed. It was an all-nighter. I was pleasantly shocked and enthralled by the experience. His kisses were so divine, I could have fed on his lips alone, but he treated me to a grand feast of passion, which I won't soon forget. Only two nights later, he called again, this time inviting me over to his house. His young confidence and machismo lured me in like a she-wolf to the moon. Enchanted, and thrilled. I was simply thrilled.

But how did he do it? The walls were firmly in place. The moat had been filled. There was no boat. He had stormed my tower and reduced it to rubble. And I was glowing like the sun in Eilat. I couldn't even see beyond my own contentment. Didn't care to anticipate what would come next: his cool workplace demeanor, our less frequent after-shift beers, months passing with no word or exchange of our passionate nights together. Wtf? Was I so far removed from modern-day practices of casual sex? What was I expecting? Certainly not a twenty-year-old boyfriend, but could I at least get a refill on that soda pop???

Apparently not, at least not until a few months later, when he called and invited me to see a movie, which I did - curious to understand what the hell this boy was thinking?! By that time, I had been fired from the restaurant, and he had quit. I had already begun re-construction on my heart's wall, and though I considered just standing him up and letting sleeping dogs lie, my curiosity did get the better of me. It was strange reunion... we shared a bottle of wine, he chose a good film, we shared a much less passionate experience together. I think my walls were tougher to crumble this time around. I was less open and more leery of his advances. We agreed to stay in touch, and get together again for drinks sometime, but never did. The story ended there.

It's been months since, and my bricks and mortar have weathered the seasons well. There were periods of time - like my three-week trip to Mexico in February - when I allowed myself the freedom to indulge in another sexcapade, should I choose to do so. But I didn't. It's just not my style. I'm unfamiliar with the concept of casual sex. If I let you in to my Holy Chamber in the first place, there must be some level of deeper connection - as friends, in a spiritual sense, SOMEthing. And then, based on whatever that genuine connection is, I expect a certain degree of appreciation, of communication. I'm not even concerned with monogamy or fidelity, and accept that in a casual sense people can be lovers and enjoy infrequent rendezvous. But what I do find odd is when two people share their intimacies, and it passes by with no further regard. My girlfriends tell me it's common. My guyfriends say the same. I'm bewildered by it. I just don't know how to flow with all that.

I am reminded now of one of my favorite poems, "The Lady of Shalott," by Tennyson. The cursed lady lives alone in a tower near Camelot. She's not allowed to ever leave, or even to glance out the window, but catches glimpses of the world passing by outside from a mirror hanging near her loom. She sings, and weaves the images she sees, and lives thusly, alone but content. Until one day, the beautiful Lancelot passes by, and she catches sight of him in her mirror. For his beauty and her longing, she leaves the tower to chase after him, and the curse falls upon her. She finds a boat nearby, writes her name on its prow, dies, and flows towards Camelot.

I should resolve to remain safely in my tower. To sing and to weave the beautiful life and fortunate destiny that is mine. To avoid the lure of beauty and passion, as it has always been my curse.

They say sticks and stones may break the bones. I pray the bricks and mortar may save me.

Beltane

(I'm a few days early in posting this poem, originally written in 1999, but with the Full Moon in Scorpio, and the sabbat only days away, I figured I'd put it up now.)

Beltane

Under Full Scorpion Moon,

this sabbat doth take place.

My blood drips from under me

to paint the Mother's face.

We bleeding women arise

from Springtime's laborious toil

to fashion ourselves a ring,

to sanctify this soil.

We hear the menfolk drumming

and running through the trees.

There are no deer to battle here

to bring them to their knees,

still their hearts are racing.

As we are facing

the four corners of the Earth,

we do plead as we bleed

that She will coax our grain to birth.

A priestess takes her Hawthorne wand

to cast a cone of power.

Our prayers we state, and we meditate

til we hear a distant howl.

We know they come.

The men with their drums run

leaping o'er our fires.

The chanting begins,

we women join in

and the power soars farther and higher.

We open the circle to welcome the God,

and magic now comes into play.

We drink and we dine,

passing kisses like wine

til it's time for the Great Rite of the day.

In pairs we do lay

making love under stars,

rhythms born from our hearts,

to consecrate the magic we'd spun.

And all through the night,

under fire and moon light,

gods and goddesses unite as One.

As Sola arises in the eastern sky,

atop the island, the sea

and the incoming tides,

I make my start, with full heart.

In search of some morning dew,

to anoint my brow, to anoint you,

my love,

on this holy day...

I make my way.

Loneliness

loneliness

long days, longer nights with one's self

already after many weeks, months

the initial shock has long worn off

the courage and fortitude too

the dog and cat have nothing left to say

it's just... lonely

once, there were calls to make;

they have already been rung

at one point, there was much to write, to consider,

to endeavor and experience

now it's all ho-hum

for all my longing for conversation,

companionship,

intimacy,

physical heat,

the hunger intensifies

and i worry myself about it:

if it comes, when it comes,

will my ravenous desire be too great?

will it frighten the very ones who come

to rescue me from these all-too-quiet,

way-too-many

nights alone?

can i temper it?

i fear i'm not that cool.

still haven't mastered those rules

for, in the past, it was always my game:

hunger, and they will feed you

but i'm older now

pulling it together well enough, but

tired, and wanting what i want when i want it

no time to fuss and figure

just want to call and have it delivered

what's wrong with the men of this world?

when they are tied, they strain to break free

when they are allowed free rein,

there's no interest

why must they continually be such disappointments?

fit, beautiful, deep, sensual, intelligent, talented, independent i am

if i want you, you should just shut up and fuck me

Sister Struggles

I awakened this morning in a bad way. Dreaming of my sister, the mean one. In the dream, she paraded in front of me the sacred treasures from my father's house that she and my other sister, the weak one, had divvied up after he passed, and while I was out of town. I saw the items - some which I had even forgotten about til I saw them in the dream - pass in front of me, one by one. I knew I couldn't touch them. I knew they were lost to me forever. I never had a say about where they would go from the beginning, and I never, ever would. In my dream, before I awakened, I screamed over and over again, "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

It's been over a year since I've been estranged from my mother and two sisters. I'd like to say it's rare that I think of them, but that would be a lie. After losing my father, and then the rest of my family, I can't help but to think of the past, remembering some good times and many bad. In the beginning, and for months, I was plagued with horrifying thoughts - fighting with my sister, my mother's betrayal, the look on my nephew's face.

A kind friend explained to me that by thinking of these things, I was connecting myself to them by a black cord of negative energy. He suggested that when the thoughts arise, I imagine myself cutting that cord, and sending them off and away from me with loving thoughts. This helped me a lot, actually, and I rarely think about the truly gruesome times anymore. Indeed, after the initial grieving period (for my father, as well as the others), I've found the separation to be extremely liberating and healthy for me as I continue on my true path for my life, making the decisions and choices that are true to my spirit, no longer feeling their judgement, disapproval, and absence of support.

I grew up in a family of women: my mother and two sisters, a stepmother later with her two daughters. I was the youngest of them all, and always found it difficult to assert myself, to have my voice heard, to be counted. I have a domineering personality, and certainly never feared to hold back from expressing my thoughts, opinions, and feelings. I suppose I did this to a fault, as I always felt so unacknowledged that my anger and sadness at it all bubbled up volcano-style and could spatter and spew and lay waste to these primary female relationships in my life. But the fault was certainly not mine alone: the mean sister controlled our family with her manipulations and bullying, my mother and eldest sister were both too weak to defy her. Because I was not weak, and stood my ground with her time and time again, the line was drawn. Sides had to be taken. In the end, I stand alone.

The other female relationships I have in my life are of extreme importance and significance to me. My very spirituality is goddess-based, and centered on the beliefs of true sisterhood and feminine bonding. I have endeavored to study the ways of the ancient priestesses, to become a modern-day example of a true daughter of the goddess. The dilemma is presented: how do I react and relate to my sisters of the world, when my own experience with sisterhood was so toxic and negative throughout my life?

I considered this in my journalling this morning, in reflecting on a close female friend's recent choices, which I find to be troubling, difficult, and which cause me great concern and worry for her current state of thinking, and the consequences of it. My initial reaction, I noted, reminded me of my mean sister, and how she would respond when I made choices she disapproved of. She would give me a thorough tongue-lashing, would insult me, would bully me into agreeing with her, and when I stood my ground, she would cut me off. She would cut me off from her children, my beloved nieces and nephew, and would draw that line in the sand for our other family members to choose sides. There could be no way, except her way, and if you deviated from the path she had decided was yours, then you could no longer exist in her world. I suffered this cruelty in many of the worst moments of my life - the very moments when I needed my sisters, my family, their unconditional love and compassion the most. I was brought up in this dynamic, and the residual effects from it linger in me still.

This is not sisterhood. This is not goddesstry. This is not the way for the women of the world to behave to one another. On my path, I would never wish for this kind of reaction from a sister and friend, and so I must be ever clear, careful and considerate about my own reactions to the women in my life. The dilemma returns: how do I react and relate to my sisters of the world, when my own experience with sisterhood was so toxic and negative throughout my life?

I search within myself to find not the aspects of the mean sister I grew up with, but to find the sister in me that I always wanted to have and to be: loving, honest, kind, concerned, communicative, supportive, compassionate, strong. I was not taught to be this kind of woman by my family members, but it was the kind of sister I always dreamed of having, and wanted to embody for myself. Although I have little control over the dynamics of my own family, I have complete freedom to now establish the new family of my life - with my friends, colleagues, mentors, etc. - and to behave in the manner I've long desired.

This new situation with my beloved friend challenges me to rise up and become the woman I am meant to be. To manifest the healthy, loving relationships I've been denied. To be true to my path, and to change the ingrained characteristics which lead me astray. I can allow my friend the space she needs to follow through with what she feels is right. I can be available to her, as I've always been, to talk and discuss from a place of honesty and concern, but with kindness and compassion. I can let her know that I'm struggling to understand her choices, but that my love for her will never diminish, and I am working hard to be the supportive friend she needs. Indeed, I can thank her for being my friend, and for presenting me with this opportunity to grow and to learn and to heal my own wounds. Our mutual understanding and unconditional love is a blessing we both share. In thinking of her situation in this way, this new way, my entire physical and emotional body shifts - the anxiety and negative emotions about her choices dissipate, and I feel lighter, calmer, happier. This tells me I am, indeed, staying true to my path and spirit.

As for my own sisters, at the moment, our separation seems necessary for this kind of transformative individual work. Whether they see it that way or not, or feel they need to work on themselves or not, I know it's a healthier choice for me.

You cannot forever seal the door to your family. They are with you for life, in one way or another. I believe I chose them from before birth, and the issues we have are meant to be tools for learning and growth. The day may come when we are different people who find a sturdier bridge over that line drawn in the sand where we can meet again. My deepest wish is that if we do, when we do, we will finally be the sisters we were born to be.

Desire

Desire awakened me this morning like a Mack truck on a collision course with my... feminine parts. Awakened from another unrequited dream, where I'm dancing my way around and to an unknown beloved, and just as our lips are about to meet, just as his hand is slipping between my thighs, I'm awake. Awakened a full two hours before the alarm would go off. Awakened, knowing there's no way I'll fall back to sleep when I'm so full of this longing, this heat.

My desire is so strong these days, it gets the better of me, in sleep and in life. It's been eight months, after all, since I've been single again. It's been over ten years that I've ever even been single that long. So, I'm adjusting. I'm loving it, actually, loving my single-hood. I've recently started going out with new people, going on dates, meeting up for drinks, taking in a show, and I'm having a ball! I'm definitely in no hurry whatsoever to partner up again anytime soon. I'm happy to have my own space, make my own choices, do whatever (and whomever!) I want. I think the lack of intimacy is the only drawback so far.

Not that there aren't options. Lord, help me, it seemed that as soon as the word got out that I was single again, there was a freakin' line around the block - friends, fans, old admirers, new admirers, colleagues, ex-boyfriends, you name it! I can't even say it was flattering, because I was grieving the loss of my marriage after all, and it seemed a little... tacky. So for months I've been encasing myself in an energetic wall to ward off all of the advances, trying to send out the signal that "it ain't gonna happen." For the most part, it's worked. That desirous energy that was coming my way like a meteor shower of erect phalli, bombarding me at every event, party, coffee date or walk with the dog has finally cooled. Cooled right as my own kundalini awakens in a blaze, desperately trying to uncoil from its long, dormant state.

So, what's the problem, you ask? Why not just go out and find something to sink my teeth into? To be honest, I have. I can't say it was all that intentional, in fact it kind of took me by surprise, but it certainly unlocked the gate to my garden. It is springtime, after all, and everything with a pulse comes to life. I guess that includes me. But it's not my style to run around town, adding notches to my bedpost night after night. My style has always been to lavish my affections on one deserving suitor, who wins my heart as part of the deal. This is what make it so tricky now. I'm trying to re-invent my sexual persona: how do I remain unattached (staying single, which I know I want), not be sleeping around with vast randoms, and yet be able to get off with something other than my own hand?

In an ideal world, I would have a lover (maybe two) whom I could see on a somewhat regular basis - once or twice a week. We would go out for food, watch foreign films, read together, go for a run - simple pleasures. And, to share some level of intimacy. That doesn't even have to mean sex... sometimes, all I crave is to be kissed, to lay my skin on someone's skin, to delight in the smells of another, the sound of their breathing - again, simple pleasures. At times like these, when I'm extra-ravenous, it seems ridiculous that this should be so difficult to conjure up! I question if it isn't my extreme desire, that energy of "desperation" (for lack of a better word), that ironically becomes its own repellent - that sends out a vibe that makes men cringe rather than crave. Such a paradox... if it's true, I guess I would need to smother my heat, and if that happens, I'm back to the old "it ain't gonna happen" routine.

...Here comes the rain. Pouring down in this early morning, sending a cool breeze through the window. What perfect timing. I needed that cold shower - I have a long day ahead of me yet, and have probably lingered too long on this topic as it is. For the moment, I guess there's no concrete solution. I just have to keep moving forward as I have, and trust that whatever is meant to be, however it's all destined to work out, it shall.

In the meantime, I think the best use of that potent elixir, "Desire," would be to spill it onto the page, let it soak into a song. If it can't be shared with someone (or some ones), then let me mull it into a creative cider for everyone to imbibe. Drunk with love, passion or sex... we're all fuckin' addicts.

A Fond Farewell

Sometimes when I write in my journal in the mornings, I touch upon topics of my life that I just don't seem to have the energy to write about in great detail. Maybe because they are things that tax my soul, are too emotional, or I'm just not ready to confront. I had this occurrence today about about a few things, one of which I decided to write about here.

A few days ago, I learned that my divorce became final. It happened almost a month ago, but I never received a divorce decree or anything in the mail letting me know, (which I think is strange!). My husband - ex-husband - did, and while we were hanging out the other day, it came up in conversation.

Obviously, I knew it was in the works. I had signed the papers back in November, and knew he had finally sent them in a couple of months ago. The finality of it all evokes the dramatic, sentimental aspect of my personality. I can't help but to recount the last four years of my life with this man: the better-than-a-movie romance we had when we met in Costa Rica; the travels to Israel (his homeland), Mexico, Vegas, Miami; the hasty marriage, one year to the day of our first meeting; the rough beginnings, as he transitioned to a new culture and country; the incredible struggles and obstacles we faced, battled, and in the end, failed to win over. I feel simultaneously exhausted, saddened, and grateful for all of the twists and turns of our journey together. I feel simultaneously regretful and excited to move away from him, and towards my independent life again.

I believe that every relationship serves a purpose. I believe that we were brought into each other's lives for reasons both known and yet unknown to us both. It will likely take years of growth and further consideration to gain more insight and understanding of the things that happened that made it impossible for us to hold each other's hands through life, til death do us part. At the moment, it isn't even the right time for me to try to gain this insight - it would be too difficult emotionally, and probably most futile to attempt. Distance and time reveal more to me than diligent efforts to "understand." Now is the time for me to focus on myself, and my life, to consider what I haven't had (but needed) in recent years that I can now offer to myself, to make plans for my future alone, and to take the necessary steps to ensure a most positive outcome.

My husband taught me so many things, and helped me to grow in ways that had never even occurred to me before. As an artist, and from the family life I endured as a child, I can say that "stability," "level-headed-ness," and "maturity" have been foreign concepts in the past. He, being a business man with multiple degrees, army training, and a very disciplined background, really helped me to (for a lack of better words) GROW UP. He taught me how to be financially responsible, how to make good decisions, how to plan for my future. He taught me about family, and how more functional families behave with each other and can rely on each other. I took great delight in his family, in watching how they communicate, how they help each other, what they may even hide from each other at times so as not to worry the people they love the most. This was all completely new to me. Indeed, it was so foreign, that I think I simply wasn't ready for it.

I believe I brought many gifts to the relationship as well. Where he could be so grounded that, at times, was obstinate, I brought a more care-free energy to our lives. I tried to teach him that faith can go a very long way - worrying about things all the time only increases stress, whereas faith that somehow it will all work out frees the energy for the Universe to come in and help make it work. I brought color and music and joy of life. I tried to bring efforts and ideas for improving communication, intimacy, and a sense of silliness and play. I taught him forgiveness. I'm a dreamer, and while I may not always have my feet on the ground, I think all great things in life begin with a dream. I tried my best. I know in my heart that my intentions were nothing but good.

Tears now.. happy tears, sad tears, not gushing, just watering a bit. It's hard to say goodbye to a dream. It's hard to accept when your best just wasn't good enough. It's hard to look at that beautiful man, who still embodies so many of the qualities I would to this day choose for a mate, and know that it truly is best that we are moving forward on separate paths. I know that by making that difficult choice, we will continue to be in each other's lives, as such very good friends, and be able to enjoy the best of each other, and be able to offer each other the very best we have to give.

Next week, he will be moving to Brooklyn, where my very best friend of twenty years also lives. I know it will be a good move for him - to be near his Israeli community, to start anew in a big city, to have more opportunities for work in these terrible economic times. It will be good for me, too - to reassume my city of Minneapolis, my place in it, my community and friends and work and life I have constructed so beautifully for myself. I'll have double the reason to make trips out to New york, which I love. And, I'll step fully into my independence, my spirit, my dreams, with the mixed bag of a little fear and much eager anticipation for the next amazing chapter of my life.

It's another transition. I've been through so many over the past year that I know it will be a little uncomfortable and unsettling for a bit, but I'll make it through just fine - probably better than ever. There will be a few tears yet, but they will trickle slowly and not come gushing in - a light, salty rain on my cheeks to signal a new season, the re-birth of life, new growth. I have always loved blooming so.

To my (ex-) husband, thank you. I will forever cherish our time, and bless our paths. Though our vows are undone, you will forever have a friend and ally in me. You will always be welcomed in my home and life. You will forever be loved in my heart.

Blessed be.

Choices

I don’t think a day goes by that I don’t acknowledge and give thanks for the many blessings that have been bestowed on me in this life. I have a strong mind, an able body, good health, beauty, a vast community of friends and loved ones, and many, many talents. I count them to myself in detail regularly, because, like everyone else, I have also suffered many hardships, many losses, and live with a deep, unrelenting sadness. When the difficulties are most great, and as I weaken, I have often succumbed to this sadness with wild abandon. I have battled depression my whole life, have lived in the bowels of darkness often, and have slow-danced with thoughts of death as a means to release the pain just as I pound the stage in five-inch heels to emanate my greatest joy. It’s a common story, I know. Such is the artist’s life.

In times like these, when I am most connected to my true spirit, most at peace with my daily routine, and relatively happy, I work extra hard at counting blessings. I feel that if I make the extra effort now, that when difficulties surface, I will already be too entrenched in the road of stability to be too easily swayed onto the path of self-destruction. It’s a process that continues to evolve as I continue to learn. At the moment, I feel so strong that I can’t imagine ever feeling so sick of life again. But, if there’s one certainty I’ve learned, it is that things change. What goes up must come down, and vice versa. I just keep trying to heal, heal, heal to avoid, if possible, that hungry demon that lies in wait to feed upon me when my strength of will falters.

When I think of this yo-yo dynamic in my emotional life, I am mindful of choices. One of my greatest blessings that I am always cognizant of are the endless choices and opportunities that present themselves in my life. At times, I’m even overwhelmed by the many doors that open on a regular basis. It can be downright confusing! There’s only so much time in a day, only so much energy to expend – how does one know which doors to enter, and which ones to graciously walk away from? We never know the outcome of our endeavors, and our imaginings of the end results can be misleading – projects or opportunities that seem certain and destined to go one way tragically end up falling short of our expectations. Given a few (or more) of these situations, we really begin to start doubting future opportunities – my mind will say: “Why would this work? It never has before!” or “Ha! Here’s someone else asking you to have faith – you can’t trust him! Don’t be foolish enough to take another risk!”

Getting older, I find myself in a curious predicament where I am offered more choices, and yet find it more difficult to make them. My network has expanded, my talents have grown – I am more in demand than ever! I celebrate this fact! This is what I was wishing for ten and twenty years ago when I was just starting out on my path. Back then, I would have leapt at the opportunities – well, actually, I did, which is exactly how I got burned and disappointed and disillusioned… and more discerning. I’m not twenty years old anymore. I can’t ignore the hard lessons I learned, the sadness I suffered, the desire to just quit it all, and throw in the towel for good! (Lol – I remember vowing I would “never sing again!” Like that could ever happen!) It was because of my naiveté, my innocence, my openness to try anything that I did, and was often times swindled, used, taken advantage of, and inevitably failed. The hungry demon ate for months of my life off of these failures. He became obese while I withered away to 95 pounds.

But I didn’t wither away completely. Obviously, I’m still here. Still trying. I had friends who came to my rescue more times than I probably remember – they weren’t about to let me forsake my dreams, for they believed in me. My father, too – how many road trips did that man make (cross-country even) from hearing my voice on the phone, and knowing I needed help. I needed him. You want to talk about blessings? A father’s love, a circle of friends, can sometimes mean the difference between life and death. Their love for me was a choice - a choice that humbles me everyday that I am still alive and enveloped in it.

Today, as I write this blog, there is an opportunity available to me, requiring my decision, and stat. It’s a door that I have long dreamed of entering that has never opened to me before. In it, there are great risks, uncertainties, sacrifices and hard work all awaiting me. I am simultaneously excited and filled with fear. My mind roller coasters in thoughts, and I have absolutely no idea what to do. Some friends tell me to take the plunge, leap into the void, dare to dream! Others caution that the sacrifices are too great, the risks too dangerous – they tell me to listen to my intuition. For days, I’ve been trying to listen to my intuition, and my inner voice is also confused. From my past experiences, I endeavor to be more discerning, to ask more questions, to confirm as many details as possible, to be cautious of slick-tongued promises from people I don’t know all too well. Yet, I have always been one to take a chance on a dream, for if I don’t, I will forever fester with that tired mantra, “What if? What if? What if?”

Choices aren’t always black and white – in fact, they rarely are. Sometimes, we just have to change our perspective a little bit. Maybe the lesson here isn’t to enter the door or to walk away. Maybe the lesson instead is to enter the door, but with a different swagger. This time, maybe I just won’t have any expectations. I won’t be fantasizing about the end result, thereby not setting myself up for failure. Maybe I’ll choose to seize the opportunity in an entirely new way – commit to the process as an entirely new learning experience meant to challenge me and to learn new skills (or new limitations to work on and overcome). Maybe I’ll work with a new circle of colleagues, which scares the shit out of me in many ways, but could also open new ideas and new doors for the future. Maybe the leap of faith this time isn’t even about the project so much as it is about me endeavoring to expand my self, my boundaries, and the parameters of my intellectual and creative properties. Or maybe this is me trying to talk myself into a risk I shouldn’t take. God damn!

Obviously, I remain uncertain about this decision. Tonight, maybe I’ll make a New Moon ritual – something I haven’t done in a very long time – and ask for guidance. My spiritual connection is also blessing, something I take for granted like most people, and come back ‘round to when I’m seeking help. Prayer is powerful. I believe the Universe wants to help me on my path, and sometimes to acknowledge Spirit directly, not just by giving thanks, but really investing in that relationship consciously, tells Spirit how best to help guide. Another choice I should make much more often.

Whatever the immediate choice will be, and whatever the choices in life – be they opportunities, relationships, mindsets, or what have you – and no matter how difficult it is to make them, I do take comfort that they are mine and mine alone. I will live with the consequences, good or bad, just as I always have. At the beginning and end of all our decisions is the greatest choice of all: life. I choose to keep on living and learning, through good times and bad. I choose to accept that no matter which way I go, Spirit is there to either support me or teach me. I choose to keep my overall sense of optimism that every choice I make serves a purpose. Yes, I choose life. I am content with my decision.