Cold

I was born in the north, but have ever hated the cold.

You turned this way.

Suddenly, and with no warning...

like the unseasonal storming

of the Halloween blizzard, way back in '91.

Little boys and girls all dressed up to have some fun,

until it dumped

from the sky, from the clouds,

snow piled up and around...

came up to my chest.

The weight of ice burying my breast.

The deep freeze sealing off dreams

of joy and play, sweet delights to be had.

Made me then, makes me now,

so fucking mad.

You are something like the heavens, my love:

unpredictable, uncontrollable, unrelenting at times.

In good and in bad, you've exercised

your right to enjoy, invade, deny, then refuse.

Left me here singing the "Used Woman Blues."

It didn't need to be this way, love.

You know this, I had explained.

Had allowed you perfect freedom, blessed

your path, willing to remain

a friend to you always, even as we parted.

You were startled:

said, you were used to being the asshole, the jerk

when delivering such news.

I was willing to be the one you didn't choose.

But in the end, by your absence,

by the change in your tone,

by the negligent way you don't pick up the phone,

I get it. Now I see. Now I finally understand.

You are, most indeed, THAT kind of man.

Acknowledgement

All of this healing I've been trying to accomplish in relation to my reoccurring and acute back pain has its roots in layers of deep emotional issues which I tend to ignore or really work through. Coupled with living my life at a breakneck speed, the pain returns again and again, and I am ever reminded of the inner work which is required of me (required of all of us) in order to evolve and manifest my (our) true destiny in this lifetime.

For me, the deeper issues go way back to my childhood, my family, issues of love and self-worth which continue to affect my relationships, my confidence, my ability to accomplish goals and make dreams come true. In everyone's lives, there are stories and moments which can never be changed, and we must find a place of acceptance, of forgiveness. I have struggled with this task for 34 years, and realize how critical it is that I now focus on and accomplish this work, in order to truly be happy, to walk my path, to be pain-free.

My stories (which will undoubtedly be revealing themselves in this forum) began when I was three-years old - a small girl in a small town. My parents had divorced, my father was in Guatemala (or who knows where), my mother working dreadfully long hours to support me and my sisters. My sisters were older and had no time for me. I was raised by a woman named Pearl, and a community of family and friends whom I would float between for a decade to come. There was little guidance, there were no rules, there was no stability. I learned the concepts of love and family in a skewed way. I grew up alone, although surrounded by the people of my town, who knew me and collectively looked after me. I had a lot of fear, both in my home and out in the world. I was, in essence, a wild child. These early experiences have clearly shaped much of my life that followed.

So, I'm trying to dig into all this... and in my pain, the images or thoughts that arise are from that small child's perspective: I hear myself crying out for my Mom or Daddy; I feel that old fear of being a tiny girl all alone in the world, with no where to call home; I feel the aching for someone to be at my side, loving me and caring for me. Quite honestly, I'm not even sure how to heal these old wounds, except to write about them, talk about them, see my shrink once a week, continue to work with healers and people who specialize in that deep energy work.

Last night, as I sifted through my facebook page, I became suddenly overwhelmed with a realization. In my pain over the past few days, as I was tortured with hard memories from the past and current feelings of being all alone and unlovable, I began to take notice of something so humbling, so mind-blowing, so heart-bursting that I had to grab my journal and make a list: just from my few posts over the past few days, an insane amount of people reached out to me in one way or another. I mean an INSANE amount of people. I was truly overwhelmed.

The words of support, the offers of assistance, and the LOVE expressed sincerely to me and for me went off like firecrackers in my brain. It occurred to me that even as I'm processing these old wounds, as I know I must do, I am doing it inside the most expansive circle of love and light and friendship and FAMILY. I am not, at all, in any way, alone in this world. I am, apparently, far far far from being unlovable. I am more than loved: I am cherished, I am cared for, I am worried about. I am not that small girl, hiding in a closet, crying for her Mommy and Daddy. I am a fortunate woman in this world, who has cultivated through my life a most impressive network of people who see something so wonderful in me, that at the first sign of crisis or pain, they are ready to swoop in and do anything possible to help alleviate my troubles. I have tears in my eyes now, feeling so grateful, so humbled, so fucking lucky.

It came to me then, that a key part in my healing must be to begin to spend more time acknowledging what I have, rather than what I don't have. Counting blessings, not tears. Shit - I just recorded a song about this very topic, and suddenly it makes even more sense to me! So, without further, ado... I would like to thank...

Brad, Ray and Jason for all of the massage and bodywork

Matt for getting me in right away for acupuncture

Keith for ongoing chiropractic care (and for tuning in to my heart)

Nate for the Raindrop Technique and emotional support

Carlos and Nicole for their offers of financial and emotional support

Alyssa for networking and seeking out healing alternatives

Melissa for offering yoga therapy

Peter for company and chocolate

Bryce for thinking of my stresses, and offering to help lighten my load

Krissa for giving me direction, and soothing my mind

Chris for being my nighttime nurse, and constantly checking to see if I'm okay

Osho for... being Osho

Lilly for running to me every time she heard me cry, pawing at my nose, and literally licking the tears off my face

And to all of these people for sending notes, mail, texts and calls of support and love:

Bob W., Aimie, Dresden, Lee, Brooke, Tami, Marcus, Matty C., Matt S., Laura, Lindsay, Robert, Miranda, Melanie, Rich, Tommy, Shaman, Bob O., Saumer, ChaCha, Shawn, Ben, Joe, Amanda, Ammy, and Holland...

I sincerely thank you all for being in my life. You continue to mirror back to me the best that I am, accepting all my flaws and shortcomings, validating my path and my person. I must be blessed beyond all imaginings to be gifted with such amazing friends. You have all helped to ease my pain. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I love you. You make my heart happy.

Four Choruses of a Broken Back

I.

I'm not the kind of person who can ask for help.

Yet, when I put out the slightest plea,

so many respond.

A humbling throng of friends

who love, support, suggest, pray.

Offering more than I could ever even say ~

money, healing, company.

I read through their notes and mail

and chide myself for these tears.

That I sit here, self-pitying

still after all these years.

Crying out for Mom. Bawling again for Daddy.

Calling to the loves of my life

who always took such gentle care...

I want them here.

I want the ones that can no longer be

here at my side

smoothing my hair

doting on me as I lay helpless and immobile.

Love in their eyes.

Just to once more see that look

of love for me in their eyes.

I cannot be loved too much.

I can never be loved enough.

I could make friends with all the people of the world.

Could be adored by fans from sea to sea.

Could be a respected leader in my nation or community

but it would pass me right by.

Register only in my thoughts as a humbling gift

that I am ever lavished with love.

Without even asking, it has always enveloped me.

My heart holds out for the love that has passed me by,

and this is why I cry, alone.

Lying broken in my home.

For my father's friendship

and my mother's hands...

this is why I can no longer stand.

II.

The ghosts have taken up residence ~

shacking up in my back,

calling to me in painful cries,

demanding my attention.

I know them all well.

I see them clearly as the masseuse kneads and prods them

away from my spine, out of my muscles.

Tries to bribe them from my nervous system with cooling and heat.

They won't budge - they laugh at my attempts.

They've learned these tricks by now,

have banded together and

ain't goin' no-how.

They've plastered themselves to my vertebrae and sacrum.

At war with my indifference,

they shoot arrows of flashing pain

through my thigh to my knee.

Cocked my hips til I'm

crooked as can be.

I look in the mirror -

my body is crippled and lame.

They want to be called out by name:

Joey's Hands; Mr. Mean;

Michael's Love for Little Emily.

My husband is there, as are

nieces and nephew.

And though they hide their faces,

I'm certain my sisters are feeding at the root.

What more can I do?

I journal, I cry,

talk to friends and the shrink.

Try to avoid thinking of it all too much,

to avoid feeling weak (like now - see? They always get their way!)

Trying to move forward, independent and strong,

focused on songs and art and play and peace,

but these ghosts are always lingering in me...

III.

And now she's feeling sad

about a boy.

(her back says): "Puh-leeze.

What a distraction!

I'm in some REAL pain here girlfriend!"

In their brief love affair

there wasn't even enough to qualify

or justify

the space in her heart she's given him.

(Is she ego-tripping out simply because of his rejection?)

Yes, he's a good lover (like him, and him, and her)

Carries on fine conversation (like Dancing Pants and the DJ on her station)

Makes her feel at ease (ah - you got me there! A novelty...)

But still, what's the thrill?

She's certain he's not the man of her dreams.

Knows full well they aren't destined to be.

Yet, she's chosen to place him

above the other men

who are wooing and cooing and begging

to get into her heart, and her lovely lady parts.

Not smart, my little friend...

IV.

The pain in my back is my inner child

throwing a temper tantrum.

I feel her pain.

I know her rage and anger

her violence

masking her fear of being alone

in the big world.

She digs her heels into my spine,

demanding: "I want to be loved!

I want to be the most important somebody

to somebody

that anybody's ever known!"

"Hush child!" I tell her, "You already are, my dove!

I'm loving you, loving you

as hard as anyone ever could! "

She gnashes teeth into my tailbone.

She karate-chops my lower vertebrae

into bone-white china plates,

to serve up sashimi of psoas muscle.

She refuses to listen, or to believe.

She is ever just like me.

Thirst (A Siren Song)

You heard me singing, but could not see.

Couldn't find my lemon-lime

skin dipped in blue,

yet my song called out to you.

(Have you always been color blind?)

I clung to the rocks as you charted the way,

(I remember the day)

and I floated beneath the glassy sheen,

sunlight reflecting your image to me

in a watery haze. I saw you that way.

From under the sea I lured you to me

with a note.

A single deep tone

which echoed the moan of my yearning.

I was burning.

The fire, the flood of my boiling blood

came first.

Next came the thirst.

It wasn't enough to watch you sail by -

my sisters content to make you capsize like the rest,

but not I.

I changed my tune.

From the low, deep tone which had always enticed

pirates, sailors, and men of the sea

to dive, mad, into waters of death's certainty,

I sang high. You heard a dolphin's cry,

until you saw

me.

What thoughts crossed your mind?

I may never know.

I guessed at your eyes, as they met mine

below the watery veil which flowed between us.

The boundary of our worlds.

You thought you'd discovered the pearl of the sea,

the treasure of me,

and I mistook the look. Forsook my home,

my life, and family

and rose from the water to the rock, to thee.

The flash of my fish skin blinded,

my feet crippled beneath.

My body transformed, my cold blood

warmed with my love for you.

At last, you understood the tune.

I reached for you then, wobbling and shaking

as my new legs were quaking on the tip of the rock;

you were making me walk the jagged edging,

a shock.

I was moving towards you. To you. For you.

Slowly, as my steps, your ship pulled away.

You never did say or speak or sing

a word to me, as you watched me fall.

Blood on my knees, as I called to you,

"My love! My love, I am here!"

Only a tear. A drop of salt from your lashes

only mine ears could hear.

I watched you then, as you sailed the sea

to the lands of your home,

a nomad, so free.

Not me.

I have been bound to this stone

alone, eternally,

each day awaiting your return

to me.

My blood still a-boil, I suffer this heat.

A traitor to salt water, I no longer may feast

as it brittles my bones, and parches my throat.

No tail now to swim, a lifeless body only

to float 'round this prisoner's isle.

But what hurts the most?

This thirst,

unquenched,

for the love of your ghost.

Peepshow

Summer heat has us all on fire.

I've been delighting in the spectacle: hungry lovers feeding ravenously on burning flesh, sipping sweat and spit.

Mouth to tit.

Fingerprint roadmaps charting new adventures explored across corporeal mountains and caverns.

Furry gardens abloom with ripe scents, intoxicating the mind, blurring all borderlines and boundaries.

The jungle of love, dense and humid, spills and spans across marked and owned territories.

Pulsing hips slash and burn their way through the pungent wilderness, careless of propriety.

Oh! How I love these feeding, breeding seasons.

From my perch, I witness the lovers. I hover over their desires.

I hear their call in moans, whispers, tender begging. I sing their song.

Lovers waft upwards on winds of passion to my aerie; I am flanked on all sides.

They grasp and nuzzle, pawing to pull me down and into their cuddly cult.

But I prefer my cloud. Prefer to observe what's happening all around.

A girl must take heed in these dangerous landscapes.

Animalia elicits primal urges which could compromise hearts, minds, health or sanity.

Better to resist the serpent in this garden, so as not to fall from the goddess's good graces.

Yet, I voyeur on. I sop up the energies of this potent elixir.

I am ego-stroked and stoked to feel so craved.

I am as powerful as the summer sun at high noon...

... but reserve my juices for...

The Art of Loverhood

I have taken up with a man who has inspired the lover in me.

What does this mean?

It is an expression of the truest, most high, most free love. There are no labels attached to it. There are no rules, no expectations. There are no demands, or needs to tend to. No sacrifices or compromises required. It has been a long time since I felt such bliss. I had forgotten this ancient art.

I have spent the better part of the last decade in relationship/partnership mode. It's been nearly a year since I've been autonomous and independent, and I am relearning the joy of loverhood. It's the happy medium between one-night stands and marriage. It's the perfect balance of intense intimacy and complete freedom. It's being able to enjoy another person's mind, heart, sex and spirit in the moment, fully present, without ever anticipating what will come next. Senses are fully heightened, and the unknown is most thrilling!

A friend explained it to me over the weekend: lovers are the way to go. When two people come together and are tuned in, making each other feel good, treating each other with respect and care - whether it's for two days or twenty years - a pure spirit of love is experienced. Pure love, which often gets muddied in relationships, or taken for granted, or untended to. Love that becomes bored, or expected. Love that may fizzle while the relationship endures. But not with a lover... for when the energy, or excitement, or connection becomes strained, lovers simply float away.

My lover has another lover, one that he feels deeply connected to. He speaks to me candidly about it, but delicately too - taking my heart and emotions into consideration. His openness and honesty, and his gentle way of communicating, make me celebrate him all the more. The respect he shows me is reciprocated, and I feel genuine joy that his other lover makes him feel so good. There is no jealousy, or competition. No possessive ownership. There is simply love flowing, between us, between them... and I smile. I embody the goddess, act as a conduit, and radiate this love outwards to all. Not a bad gig.

I cherish my freedom. I enjoy connecting with many people, in infinite ways. I delight in the fact that I have so much love to offer, so much life and passion, and that each pairing is so unique and serves its own purpose. Whether they be sexual, emotional, spiritual or even the most casual, I call amazing people into my life and onto my path. I learn from them all. My heart, community and world expand. I have stepped into my true spirit.

To my current lover, I am grateful to have you in my life. In your eyes, I see a reflection of the woman I like to be: beautiful, sexy, interesting, passionate, happy. You please all my senses. You fit so nice. Ever unknowing if and when we might couple again, I am already fully satisfied in the experience and love we have shared. What a gift, which I will always cherish.

The passion in me has awakened...

super fuckin' fun