To the Rainbow, I Go

Quite the adventure ahead...

It's been seven years since I last went to a Rainbow Gathering. Seven. Damn. Chelsea and I used to make it out pert' near every year for a solid run there, but then... life, men, work, money... typical distractions of life, pulling us from our annual Welcome Home. Things are so different now in 2010... I am free, untied, unemployed... and the drums have made their call. In just a few hours, the gypsy wagon points east, and Red and I are freeway-bound, forest-aimed. Soon to be sky-clad and earth-pounding. Hippie bliss.

It's a little chaotic to be taking off in the middle of soooo much activity: the month of July is booked solid with teaching, rehearsals, performance, weddings and MOVING! Exactly why it's so enticing to dip out for a week, and bury myself in the woods where no one can reach me, where time is all mine, where I follow compelling instincts from moment to moment, and always end up exactly where I should be. The Rainbow is awesome-eerie in that way... synchronicity at its finest. Magic always afoot.

Mostly, I'm looking forward to reconnecting with my gypsy tribe. I've known some of them since I was a child, and others I haven't seen for nearly a decade. I think of all that has befallen us in those years - births and deaths, weddings, divorces, fortunes and losses. We'll never even get to it all in the short time I'm there, and won't need to. When I walk into the circle, I will be home. I will be welcomed as a daughter, sister and friend. I will embrace and be embraced, and that will be enough. We will sing and dance and pray. We will smile. I will look into their eyes, as they look into mine, and we will already know each other's hearts. We have been doing this my whole life.

My producer gave me a greater purpose: to find my name in the forest. We are on the cusp of launching my solo project, and I have battled the name game my whole life. Emily Gergen simply never had the panache I've craved for stage. Emily Bar is no longer. Ea Colay was too heady - "the world that is woman" by definition, but too easily mispronounced and misunderstood.

A few months back, I reassumed my very first alias: Aida Blue, given to me by the gypsies I set out to meet on this trip. Aida was a wild child, strong, beautiful, free... I've been feeling her and living that vibe intensely this year. It makes sense to saddle up with her again, and why not forever? She is the expression of my spirit. At any rate, I'll be hearing the name all weekend, and can try it on again, dust it off a bit and see how she shines. I go into the woods one woman, and plan to come out another.

In regards to much of my life, that sentiment rings true. It has been a most transformative year, and I have made incredible progress on all fronts: creative, spiritual, physical, social, emotional... Huge strides made towards becoming the woman I've always known I'm meant to be, and recognizing the amazing gifts the Universe continues to bestow on me for my hard work, efforts and diligence. Over the past month, I've become somewhat distracted by my social life, my heart, and loins... I know this trip will bring it back to center again. I need to cool off a bit on all that, and add some wood to the fire of my destiny. Something much larger than me is manifesting, and I need to be ready.

So, to the Rainbow, I go. No resistance at all. Back to camp. Back to roots. Back to G-Funk and Lovin Ovens. Back to the Grandmothers and spirit songs. Back to sushi and mimosas at NY Camp. Back to Jiva and Fantuzzi. Back to the loving arms of Freedom. I'm coming home to all of this, and so much more. I'm coming back to me.

Can't wait to hear those words: "Welcome home, little Aida. We love you."

"And I love you..."

Wrenching Wench

You cause me pain.

I hate you for your eyes.

Steely blue fixed gaze naughty naughty wanting love sex peering seeking knowing

Stop looking into my brain. Keep your eyes off my heart. Shy away from my soul.

I loathe you for your mouth.

Fucking mouth slick tongue lick lick gobble suck speak devilish coo grin spit bare teeth

I curse your twisted voice. I damn your nibbling fangs. I reject your lingo and breath.

Your skin makes me sick.

Raw rugged working hands hair curling tempting foot rubbing toes clawing throbbing neck

I defy the heat, the vapor in the ethers, the hot wetness, the magnetic air as you draw near.

You have made me ill. Sleepless. Thoughtless. Careless.

Bewitched me with some pagan pirate curse. An earthsucker's trick.

A flip of the switch.

I resent your advances, and detest your withdrawals...

I am stark-raving mad to want you so bad.

What Have You Learned, Little Girl?

The heat is on... in more ways than one...

Another sleepless night. Mind forbidding me to forget skin, hair, foot and hand, lips, nose, eyes... dots. I try to make them all vanish inside an infinite array of black dot-like abysses, to be swallowed whole in a vacuum-suction-swirling of plaguing delights expelled from the covetous, ravenous heart, the fiendish clit, the ever-demanding ego that constantly needs to feed. Glutton. Pig. Got a tiny nibble of something not belonging to me, (can I say "borrowed" a bit?) and am salivating for more!...

I learned to thieve in the first grade. Self-taught, and quite prolific for many years. My first take was a Mr. Happy pencil box from Becky McCameron's desk, where I sat during math class. I didn't take it because I disliked Becky. I didn't take it because I loved Mr. Happy. I simply wanted it, and honestly didn't think I'd ever get caught. I brought it back to my homeroom, and carelessly let it dangle on the outer edge of my desk.

It was found. By another student, or teacher, I can't recall. But Mrs. Wagner, who already had it in for me, held me back one day as my friends went to lunch. She presented the box to me, questioned me with a sneer, and I lied (also self-taught, and quite prolific for many years). She then demanded I go to Becky's homeroom down the hall, return the box, and apologize.

On the walk down the hall, I decided I didn't really need to apologize for taking the box, so long as it was returned. When I reached her homeroom, I quietly placed the box outside the door, and bid my adieu to Mr. Happy. I lingered a moment (clever enough to know if I HAD apologized, it would take a little time, at least), and then headed back to Mrs. Wagner with a grade school-showgirl's smile, that I had done as she asked, and all was forgiven.

Until Becky and her homeroom teacher showed up moments after, with box in hand. Busted. I would have to do it, to say "I'm sorry." I didn't want to so badly that I cried... I knew I had done wrong, and was guilty, and afraid my mom or friends or other teachers would find out and think I was so bad. Was I so bad? Am I still?

I apologized to Becky through thick tears and heaving sobs. When it was all over, she gave me a hug and said "it's okay." I took a moment to blow my nose, and resumed the first grade with the rest of my friends, all unknowing, in the cafeteria below...

Skin, hair, foot and hand, lips, nose, eyes... I've been thieving them all as of late. Not because I dislike her. Not even because I love him. I just want him. So fucking badly...

The moral of the story is:

a) Never let the things you steal carelessly dangle, or you might get caught.

b) You know you've done something wrong if it would make you cry to say "I'm sorry."

c) Learning lessons from first grade will serve you well through life, if you really paid attention.

d) all of the above

e) none of the above;

write correct answer here____________________________