My Witch (1997)

The Lady in Her robes,

with golden hair like the fingers of flames

crowning her glory ~

an aura within Her aura.

She is the Fearless One

for She knows the Goddess ~

is the Goddess,

and so has made peace with Earth.

She is a daughter of the Universe ~

it's mother and grandmother in turn,

and Her strength is but an extension

of the Great Cosmic Source.

She is teacher, at service to all who seek Her,

and Her lesson is Her song.

Her voice,

the legendary weapon of the angels,

wrought in Her time to restore the Balance,

to bring Life back from Death.

She is prophetess, dreaming the future into reality,

seeing the Beyond, and what will come to be.

She is a young Maiden ~

in Her movements you can see how

Her laughter becomes dance,

and how Her work is in Her play.

She is wildchild, daring, strong, and rebellious.

She is fast, direct. She is cunning. She is free.

She is the fire of Her hair: a Ram-ess,

pushing Her way through obstacles and boundaries,

through disapproval, and the Lower Planes.

She is the spark and the sun, the star and the flame.

She is Dragon Woman, born with wings.

She uses Her wits to fly.

She is fantasy, the illusion, all-imagination.

A dream weaver, a spell caster, Her magic floods Her veins.

With it, She transcends the mundane ~

how She soars when She takes to the sky!

She is Mother. She cooks and She feeds.

Her belly so ripe with love, and Her hands so formed

to care. Her body curved to the task.

She is an Earth-squatter, a tree-talker,

every creature as Her own child.

Her fingers like tools for the dirt: with a seed

She impregnates Her dreams.

She is, too, the Great Watershed Woman, carrying

in Her buckets and soul oceans of emotions.

She is a benevolent one, the growth towards good,

the courage to change.

Her memories are Her gold. She carries volumes

of sentimentality, keeping throughout Her life

every person, every object, every moment that ever touches Her:

they are Her living journals of who She once was,

and who She walks forth to be.

She is an Ageless Woman. A Crone before Her time ~

look only to Her eyes.

Therein, you will find Her lifetimes passed,

Her wisdom, Her solace too.

Her thin, gray locks still striking out like lightning bolts!

She keeps secrets in Her smile ~

make Her laugh and they may spill!

She is Medicine Woman, a healer of hearts and spirits,

whose remedies brew in Her cauldron of love.

She bathes the flesh in light,

and soaks the soul in song.

Emily Anna!

She is Priestess of the New Age,

Wise Woman of the Great Council,

Daughter of the Divine Lady, the Queen of Creation,

Goddess of All That Is and Will Ever Be!

...This is the witch I see in Me.

Me, But Not Me (1997)

(Avalon...)

Raised to believe in one life, one God,

one chance to Be,

I did not give thought to other lives

which may share a space within me, inside.

I confess, I am no prophetess,

no psychic who sees

me, but not me, in a time

long before me...

Yet, I have had dreams of a land that I know:

a stream, thick with trees,

and hushed hills to call home.

This land that I know, with its

Rings of Stone,

its apples, and faeries,

and thick mist hanging o'er ~

I can feel this land in the palms of my hands.

I feel my very soul has travelled the Sands of Time

and Space, to bring me here,

to this who-I-am now,

to this pretty good year.

But, then why do I long to be whom I once was ~

this woman, this priestess, an old crone before dust?

There were things I knew then that have escaped me by now...

No, not escaped... just hidden somehow.

It seems I could learn the secrets of the Earth,

the mysteries of Life,

the miracle of Birth.

Or, perhaps, if I dared to resist my own fears,

I'd throw out my calendar and live

a different year.

Not by months, nor weeks, nor days, nor hours,

but by when the Moon turns

and when the trees flower.

Or, still even more daring, I could now declare

that I don't believe God is in space somewhere,

but that the Goddess now holds reign o'er my spirit,

and She lives not in space, but inside me ~

hear it!

When I sing, She moves through me,

Her beauty and light.

Her passion is my freedom.

Her pain, my darkest night.

And I could start tending to mending Her Earth,

to live a clean life all covered in dirt,

and vow to share with the world what I know

about Birth and Life and calendars to throw.

But oh! There I go

starting again to believe that

I am me, but not me,

and these are my dreams.

But, the who-I-am-now has dreams of her own,

and though they are different, in some ways

it shows that she, who is not me - but once was -

is still me!

Still looking for faeries, and still craving babies.

And I can grow food, and I can mend clothes,

I can honor the Moon, and I even still know that

one life, one God, one chance to Be

may exist for some, but certainly not for me.

It seems the Goddess I know enjoys giving me life ~

and though each one is different, each one is right...

Sunset and the Witches Take Flight (1997)

If you surrender to the air, you can ride it ~

fly it. Spin on it, chase it.

And if you unfocus your eyes, you can see it.

See through it. See through air.

There are no names for the colors I see there.

No way to describe the witches' hair

that billows and flows

out of the dark and gray,

the dull blue of the day,

into golden-orange scream!

(Do you see what I see?)

Their faces turn pink when they see how I gaze,

like a girlfriend, undressing, who reads into my face.

And brief, so brief, does the light still shine.

The gray overcome, and the women take flight.

They've surrendered to the air moments before night.

Their eyes they keep focused ~

so keen do they see

through the black and the blue

(with some help from the Moon).

And I focus, too,

and find myself here

in Mexico ~ el Caribe,

feet planted in sand.

I have yet to learn it's no secret to fly.

No running, no leap ~

just jump into the sky.

The colors will carry you, the light to guide...

Unfocus your eyes and ride!

Witchlet: A Priestess-In-Training (Part II: The Priestesshood)

I returned to Minnesota a few years later, a healthy, vibrant, wise young woman. I immediately sought out resources for continuing my spiritual education. I was thrilled to find that bookstores now carried a huge section of New Age books. I discovered online pagan communities to tap into. There were shops, periodicals, and local groups all devoted to the Goddess, and Her initiates. I attended a few rituals with local covens. But I was searching for something deeper, something more akin to the real training of the priestesses of old. I had been a solitary practitioner for years at that point, and was really craving the tutelage and camaraderie of a group experience.

In my quest to find such a group, I came upon an organization based in Madison, WI ~ the Women's Thealogical Institute. I contacted them, and received exciting information about a priestess-training program they offered, called "Cella." The program was divided into three cycles, which would span across six years. To be ordained, one would then complete a more intense seventh year, with specialized priestess work, similar to writing a thesis to obtain a degree. The curriculum was divided into various "paths" an initiate would choose for herself: Creatrix, Scholar/Teacher, Healer, Organizer, Ritualist or Earthwalker. The program was self-paced, working on your activities at home, and then meeting with your designated group for intensive weekends twice each year. I was beyond excited, more than thrilled ~ I had found the training I had been seeking since I'd first heard of the Goddess, many years before.

I immediately enrolled, and was placed in a new group that was just starting up in Madison. I knew that there would be other novices just starting out, like me, as well as women who were well on their path and already several years into the program. I had no idea what to expect, but I was so open to the experience - whatever it would be!

The five-hour road trip to Madison was invigorating. I was driving with a purpose. My body shivered with a feeling of "right-ness:" for I was embarking on a journey my spirit had long been craving. I took particular joy in the smooth road, the music I was singing too, and the birds popping into my line of sight: Hawk, the Messenger, and Turkey, the Give-Away. I was alert, and full of energy. I was ready for anything.

I will never forget when I arrived at our host's home for the first time. I was a little nervous, but entered the kitchen confidently enough, smile beaming, and said "Hello! I'm Emily!" There was a look of confusion on many of the faces I saw there - I was definitely the youngest woman present, and maybe a little more... "glam," comparatively. I heard someone towards the back mutter, "Who's the cheerleader?" But I dismissed it, as I made my one-on-one introductions all around.

The weekend proceeded as many workshops do: different women presented lectures and activities on our main subject, we had time for independent study, and time to meet with our advisor, a high priestess who would oversee our work in the program. We ate together, made rituals, and downtime to talk, knit, read, etc. I soaked it all in, and despite moments of feeling inexperienced or unintelligible, I thoroughly enjoyed the entire weekend, and all the women I was sharing the experience with. The high priestess and I determined I would walk a double path of Scholar/Teacher and Creatrix, and I couldn't wait to get home and delve into my studies!

On the very last day, a woman came to me and said, "I want to apologize to you. When you first came in on Friday night, I judged you without knowing you, which wasn't right for me to do. After spending the weekend getting to know you, I think you're a really amazing and powerful goddess, and I'm very happy you're in our group." I was beaming :-)

Over the next couple years, I would attend a few more weekends, in Madison, as well as with a group that started up in Minnesota, close to home. I was very disciplined with my studies: reading books, writing papers, creating projects. I explored different kinds of meditation, raising power, becoming more earth-friendly and conscious. I was "working the program," and it was working for me in my life: despite some other life choices I had made in that time, which might have been seen as taboo or subversive, this priestess training helped keep me balanced, grounded, and strong in my self and my spirit.

Then, as life will always have it, things changed. My focus changed. Everything was changing around me: my relationship, my work, my home. I was in my late-20s, the Saturn Return years, and as it happens for many people, my life was turned upside down. I was distracted from my studies, put them on a shelf, as I spiraled downwards into a deep depression that would afflict me on and off for years to come. I was self-medicating with marijuana, which robbed me of any and all energy to make positive changes in my life. I was surrounded by people that were mistreating me and using me. I was as far off my path, and separated from my true spirit as I could be.

Because of it, everything I tried failed. Every wall I tried to climb, I smashed into instead. All of my good intentions proved to be futile. I had learned the lesson early in life, in Mexico: by small daily affirmations of spirit, expressions of gratitude and taking tiny, positive actions in my environment, synchronicity would swirl, and when we walk the true path, we are rewarded with endless opportunities, divine assistance and magical blessings. I knew this, had already learned this and lived it... but knowledge does not make wisdom. The lesson was there for me to learn again, as lessons will often require. Some things are presented to us again and again and again, until they have taken hold in a way that finally influences our choices and actions. I wasn't there yet. I may not be even now!

Indeed, it would take many years, many journeys, other relationships, jobs, experiences, births and deaths before I would finally encounter the returning path to my spirit, and to my true self and destiny. After a particularly cruel (yet transformative) year, where I had been stripped of family, husband, home, career, and more, I was left only with one thing: me. Whatever skills, gifts and talents I had been given or had cultivated, would have to be enough to reconstruct not only my life, but (and more importantly) the person I intended to be.

After years and years of neglect to my spiritual discipline, I knew the best way to get back on track would be slow and steady progress. It was Winter Solstice of 2009, and I charted a plan for my life that would coincide with the Wheel of the Year. From winter to spring, I would begin to plant the seeds. I would rest, allow myself time to dream, create, envision, expand, and explore. I would carefully consider what elements would be necessary to live a most fulfilling life. From spring to summer, I would take action. I would investigate, seek out, invent opportunities that would fall in line with the goals I had established. From summer to autumn, I would get busier than I had ever been - push myself to network, meet new people, take advantage of every opportunity that came my way, and exhaust myself with activity and work. Finally, from autumn to winter, I would step back, assess what I had accomplished (or failed to) and make the plan for the next year to come.

This has been my current path, and here we are, in repose, looking back at all that I have manifested. For the most part, I truly have accomplished all I set out to do: I have surrounded myself with positive and inspiring people, have created work opportunities that best suit my talents, have focused on healing of mind and body, and feel incredibly strong in my person: I have re-met my true self in this process, and am firmly back on my true path ~ which, like in Mexico, is evident by the amazing synchronicity and support from God, Goddess and the Universe.

In my assessment of my progress, only one element was missing to complete the picture: the priestesshood I had left behind years before. I pulled out my old manuals and workbooks. I made a list of where I left off in my studies, and what work remained for me to complete the first Cycle. I contacted the high priestess in Madison, and told her the time had finally come, and I was ready to pick up Ariadne's thread again, and make my way into the labyrinth of the Goddess.

I received confirmation from her last week, that I am most welcomed to return to the Madison Cella group, and that I may pick up where I left off. The old familiar excitement swept through me. My spirit began to dance. I take joy in the wisdom that by incorporating this spiritual discipline back into my life, the energy which is already swirling so beautifully around me at this phase of my life will only intensify. This is the last step onto my destined road. The Goddess, who lives within me, is most certainly pleased.

Had I continued my Cella studies straight through, in all this time, I might have already been ordained as a priestess. But, that's not always how life works, nor our individual spiritual journeys. All of the experiences I endured in my hiatus - however tragic or terrible - were ones my soul needed to integrate the mysteries and knowledge I am gaining. That's how wisdom is born ~ as a product of knowledge and experience, which becomes our intuition. In the tarot, the High Priestess says this about intuition:

"Intuition is partially a function of prior experience. We can sometimes predict the outcome of a particular situation through intimate knowledge of the participants or through understanding a similar incident in the past. The wisdom of the High Priestess is a kind of knowledge we use to move forward every day when we anticipate the outcome of our actions."

I anticipate that by choosing right action in my life, incorporating positive and inspiring disciplines, aspiring to better myself each day, and staying true to the woman I know I am, the goals and successes I wish to attain shall be mine. Life will change, as it always does. We never know what each season or year shall bring. Yet, I have learned that when it feels like you're beating your head against a wall, or certain people or situations bring on agitated emotions, or doors you most wish would open remain closed... you are meant to go another way.

I have returned to the path that was destined for me, and me alone. I pick up the thread, to wind myself in to the heart of the labyrinth. She waits for me there. The Mother is calling Her daughter back home.

Witchlet: A Priestess-in-Training (Part I - Entering the Labyrinth)

I was born an old soul. From a young age, there was a deep sense of spirit within me, moving through me, using me as a channel for expression in this world. It would take me years to understand just what exactly that strange feeling inside of me was... but I learned. I continue to learn as the years pass by and my wisdom deepens. I understand the differences between creative inspiration, intuition, and spiritual callings ~ all are so subtle, and can be easily confused with nausea, head aches or strange dreams. But I am vigilant, recording it all, and able to see the patterns and the cycles more and more clearly. I find the awareness and strengthening of my abilities to be extremely exciting.

In my early years, my family attended services at United Church of Christ. My memories from back then are likely similar to most young children's first religious experiences: church was boring, I hated wearing scratchy tights, Sunday School was lame, and summer Bible School was even worse. They would tell us stories from the Bible, introducing us to strange names and foreign lands and a history that seemed too long ago to even matter anymore. Some of the lessons, while entertaining, seemed dubious: a dude with an ark? A talking snake in a garden? A virgin birth? I was an early skeptic. I did, however, like Jesus. I liked Jesus a lot. He would sometimes be my "imaginary friend," and would dance with me in my bedroom late at night, when I was supposed to be asleep. He was a real brother alright... the nice kind, that would always be there when I needed him most.

I had other inclinations, however, even at that young age. I had a "thing" for the dead - not in a morbid sense, but felt that I had a connection with spirits. I "heard" angels and ancestors calling me - I would get a ringing in my ears, and would send my friends out looking for the spirits on the playground. I tried to listen to their voices. I believed back then I was simply "using my imagination," but now, years later, I think differently. I believe these were early signs of a spiritual path and awareness that would play a very great role in my future, and my destiny.

In junior high and early high school, we had moved towns, and churches too. Many of my friends went to a local Lutheran church, and so I convinced my mother to check it out. It truly was a wonderful church, and mom and I both took an immediate liking to it. I became very involved from the git-go... I joined the youth group and church choir, took confirmation classes, played "Lucifer" in a musical production, and even conducted a youth choir, "Chanter en Paix."

I was so blessed in that church to have had pastors who were so open and so tolerant. Although I was an active participant in most church activities, I remained skeptical about Christianity in general. The Bible stories seemed far-fetched, and doctored. The hypocrisies of the religion's role in history were glaring. And, why was there rarely ever mention of significant Christian women in the Bible or the history books? I questioned and debated with my pastors, and they not only allowed it, but they encouraged my quest for answers. "That's a very good question, Emily," I would hear, "and I wish I did, but I don't have an answer for that." They were humble, kind men, who accepted me, my questioning, and their own as well. They made me feel comfortable, and loved, always.

It was in my teenage years when I started traveling around to Renaissance Festivals, performing as a gypsy dancer. I spent years in this counter-culture, and began to learn about other religions, historical concepts, and spiritual practices. I gravitated towards women friends who were well-versed in astrology, the tarot, palmistry and other divinatory practices. I heard the word, "Goddess," for the first time ~ at first, thinking a goddess was a character from old myths and legends, but then came to understand that my friends referred to "the Goddess" as the supreme higher power. I had never even considered the idea of God as a woman before. I listened intently, and picked up what I could. I participated in Goddess rituals, and learned songs, stories, and ancient poetry dedicated to goddesses from other cultures around the world. The concept of the "divine female" was explained to me. I was being introduced to women's mysteries, and instructed in the ways of a woman.

Yet, there was a guilty feeling inside... for "Thou Shalt Not Have Any Other Gods Before Me," had been ingrained in my spiritual make-up from birth. I loved Jesus, I really did. But, the Goddess... something inside of me was vibing hard-core.

I chanced upon a book in those years, "The Mists of Avalon," by Marion Zimmer Bradley. An 800+ page saga about the Arthurian legend, told from the perspective of the women of the time. It also chronicled the shift in ancient Britain from the "Old Religion," (pagan/druid/nature-based/Goddess-worshipping culture) to the "New Religion," of Christianity. I must have read that huge tome a half dozen times. Though fictional, it shed light on a part of history that I had never even heard of before, and sparked an interest, a deep passion really, for learning the ways of a spiritual woman, a daughter of the Goddess. Not to be a nun, who is married to Jesus and spends a life in sacrifice and toil for her Lord... but as a priestess, who embodies all of the innate magic and power of the divine feminine, celebrating it, and acting as a living vessel for Her energy and will to manifest in this world.

But, how would one become a priestess? Were there actual priestesses of the Goddess in the world today? How would I find them? This was in the early 90s, mind you. I had no internet, if there even was one at that time. The New Age section at the book stores was typically one shelf, filled mostly with Carlos Castenada and astrology books. I really had no idea where to begin... so I took my queues from "The Mists," from my Renaissance friends, from what literature I was able to find, and became a solitary practitioner, teaching myself what I could about the history of women in religion, about the Goddess, about witchcraft (a nature-based spirituality) and other women's studies.

I was still tossing a bit, though, with the guilt from my Christian upbringings. Was I betraying God and Jesus? Was I a sinner, even though this new path felt so very right and good? Would I go to hell - did I even believe in hell? I spent a good few years struggling with this inner turmoil. It felt like I was allowing God and Jesus to die, in a sense, from my life. I was grieving them. I knew I must continue to strengthen my bond with the Goddess, and yet, hadn't the insight yet to even consider that there might be room for both, for all.

I travelled with the gypsies to Mexico in the winter of 1996 to perform for a couple months. I was twenty years-old, and on my own in a foreign country. We were staying in the Yucatan peninsula, on the Caribbean coast, and the Mother was evident everywhere in the stunning nature, landscape, and energy of this special earth. It was a transformative time for me in my life, as I began to assert my true independence - even from my gypsy friends with whom I was traveling. But I had no idea just how powerful Mexico, as a living entity of its own, could be. She wanted me, and took me: thieves had stolen my passport, plane ticket and all my money shortly before I was to return to the States. I was beside myself with fear and confusion - not knowing what I would do, how I would get back home. The crescent moon was a perfect smirk that fateful night. She laughed in Her knowing. I resented it.

A great lesson was presented to me: that even when it seems like you're in the worst situation in the world, there is a plan. Have faith, and you might gain the greatest experience of your life. But, in those first few days after being robbed, I was still in the throes of panic. I had miraculously been given a room to stay in on credit, and was eating on credit in a friend's restaurant. I was being taken care of by the Universe, by the Great Mother, and yet I was so utterly at a loss, and confused.

Walking down the street one day, penniless and hopeless, I came upon a Mayan woman with a blanket laid out in front of her. She was trading and selling what goods she had. Some odd trinkets, a few books, some fruit - nothing much, but I stopped for a look. A book with a pink spine caught my eye, and as I looked closer, I saw the title "Ariadne's Thread: A Workbook of Goddess Magic." I grabbed at it, and leafed through. It was the first book I had ever seen that had a "program" for Goddess studies. I wish I could remember what I had given her for the book that would come to mean so much to me in my life, but all I know is I got it. With that pink book in hand, a renewed energy and sense of purpose came over me. I read the guidelines and the first chapter, entitled "Entry." I made a ritual by the sea, cast off any guilt or shame I still carried about God and Jesus, and consecrated my spirit in the name of the Goddess.

Thus began a path and a pursuit that would shape the rest of my life. While in Mexico, with my pink guide in hand, I learned so much about the powers of manifestation, about women's mysteries, about nature and energy and all the little symbols surrounding us day to day. I made an altar in my home, prayed by the ocean each morning, filling my chalice with water and flowers. I started a women's group, delved into reading the tarot, and wrote countless songs and poems in Her honor.

I noticed that by small daily affirmations of spirit, expressions of gratitude and taking tiny, positive actions in my environment (like cleaning up garbage on the beach, or offering food to the poor), synchronicity swirled about me. I had found my true path, and was living my life in true expression of my spirit, which is exactly what the Goddess, God, and the Universe want for us all ~ and when we walk the true path, we are rewarded with endless opportunities, divine assistance and magical blessings.

Three years I lived in paradise, in ritual, a true daughter of the Goddess. With the proverbial machete in hand, I hacked my way through the dense jungle of my spirit, unearthing other lives which still sang through my soul, sensing my deeper purpose for this one. Still new in my learnings and understanding, I wasn't yet able to articulate the destiny I was sensing. But I knew it was something big, something very important not only for me, but for the world and the times we are living in. I had taken my first steps into Ariadne's labyrinth. I was to be a priestess of the New Age...

Blood Moon

Blood Moon, gonna come around soon

I wanna get to the land where my body's in tune

with the tides of life, and the whole of the Universe

My tongue in love with the words I construe

I don't want you in my Blood Moon

I want the peace of knowing solitude

My food will not endure the journey for two

I pray the Blood Moon take me far from you

Softly, you step to me

I am not hearing the words

You speak so slowly

I make my peace

I whisper to you, "Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

Blood Moon, I come to you

in this land of sand and destitution

for my heart and mind -

the restitution for the years I've adhered

to your constitution

I bide my time by the Wheel of the Moon

as She waxes and wanes me full to new

I guess my healing lies inside Her movements

Will She heal me of this love for you?

I don't want you in my Blood Moon

It will not do to break myself in two for you

Don't ask me, "Baby, can I follow you to the Blood Moon?"

I will refuse you...

Softly you step to me

I am not hearing the words you speak

So slowly, I make my peace

I whisper to you, "Yeah, yeah yeah..."

(Con calma de mi alma

y el amor de mi corazon,

sur la luz de luna brilla)

The Cloak of Shame

Guilt and shame are worthless emotions. They siphon energy into a spiraling, self-wallowing pool, that fills and fills until you're either submerged and drowning in it, or you're smart enough to dive down and open the drain. I've given up on both options, and tend to let go of my mistakes more quickly than I ever used to. It's not that I don't feel the sensation of shame. I'm just not going to let it ruin my day.

In general, as a rule, I try to live my life by this principal: I try not to do anything that I can't be completely honest about - with myself or others. I journal everyday, and if I weren't able to write something down (for fear that it might eventually be discovered), well, that's a huge sign I seriously fucked up. By the same token, I write this blog, and have regular and open conversations with my friends about my life and journey, the lessons I'm learning, and my spiritual growth. If there were something which I had to hide from them or from my readers, again, it must have been bad. Those occurrences are very few and far between, but, I am not perfect. I sometimes screw up living by my own standards. I, at times, am a huge hypocrite. It is at these moments when I feel I am "Cloaked In Shame."

I can't remember from which incident I first coined that term, but several come to mind. Like the time when my band, Mad Love, was playing at a local VFW. Low pressure show, no huge audience or anything... there to hone our chops and have fun. One of my bandmates and I decided on a shot and a beer before the show. Tequila, was our choice that night. The bartender poured, and I thought it looked like a pretty tall shot... but my friend swilled hers down without blinking, and so I followed suit. I was debuting a cover song that night - a rap, thick with words and articulation - that I had been wanting to perform for years. We were saving it for a later set.

By the time that song came up, I was all the way in the bag. I'm not sure how I was still standing - maybe because I was able to sway from side to side, the drunkard's ditty, and keep my balance that way. Regardless, I was FAR from being able to sing - let alone rap, fast-paced, spitting out all those consonants. The performance TANKED! Big time - definitely the worst show of my life. In fact, it was so bad, that most of the band members left that night without even saying anything to me - a first, and a last (thank God). To make matters worse, I somehow decided to drive myself home, bawling hysterically the whole way. When I got home (by the good graces of angels above), I ran to the bathroom, blinded by my own tears. My then-husband heard me crying, hurried to the bathroom, took one look at me and said, horrified, "Oh my God, Emily! What happened to your face?? Did someone punch you??" I turned to the mirror, confused... and saw that I had been crying so hard, I had a massive bloody nose running down my chin. Cloaked-In-Shame.

Another famous episode was Halloween Eve, 2006. I had suffered a brutal breakup that fall, and was completely out of my mind, body and spirit. I had lost tons of weight from my already small frame. I was in the deepest depths of depression, after being cheated on and lied to and manipulated by my ex. I had to be hospitalized, and on suicide watch. As hard as it is for me to write that, ironically enough, that's not the shameful part of this story. It was, again, at a show - a pre-Halloween show which I performed at only a day or two out of the loony bin. It took some energy to feign normality, but everyone knew I was just not well. I had a drink or two that night, but nothing in excess. Yet, still, somehow, I managed to pass out on stage - falling backwards into the drum riser. Horrified and humiliated, I ran to the green room, laid down on the couch there, crying, and covering my face like a child. I was driven home by our two new back-up singers, who had only just recently met me. Lord, what they must have thought? I hid, lying down on the way-back seat in my new friend's minivan, crying the whole way home. Cloaked-In-Shame.

There are so many other stories that keep rushing to mind: fights with family members, sexcapades with men in relationships, my thieving episodes from teenage-hood, lies I've told... I have many things to feel ashamed about. Sometimes, these memories come out of nowhere, and I find that I start talking or singing out loud to myself when they do - a defense mechanism to sort of drown-out the thoughts. I don't know that shame ever really goes away entirely. We just compartmentalize, and move on as best as we can, knowing there's no way to go back and erase those things from the history books. And, even if we could, would we? Aren't our mistakes also a valuable part of our personal evolutions? I can try to look at it that way, and give thanks for the lessons I've learned... but for some other incidences, even years later, the sting of guilt still has a sharp bite on my soul.

I liken the Cloak of Shame to Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak. A massively huge cape that encircles your entire being - but no one can see it, except for you. No one really knows these scars I wear and bear throughout my life. As I "slap on the happy," I brilliantly disguise the terrible embarrassment with terrific accomplishments, self-confidence and an eagerness to repent for these unsung sins by helping others, trying my best to have a more positive effect on the world and lives around me.

And when I commit these grand lapses in judgments, betraying myself and my values, and causing direct or indirect harm on others, while I don the Cloak, I know that the best course of action is to reflect upon how I could have done things differently, and strive always to make better choices in the future. No need to wallow. No need to spin on it. Acknowledge, bless and let it go, as best as you can. After all, everyone - and I mean every one - makes mistakes.

(But let's try to make less and less from here on out, 'kay?)

Guess I'm Not a Bitch After All

Throughout my life, I have had it in my mind that I am a bitch.

I'm not sure how or when that seed was planted in my brain, but can easily identify points along the way that have reinforced the notion. The "bitchiness" is rolled into and tied up with a whole lot of negative mindspeak I've had about myself - that I'm a "bad" person, that I am "too emotional," that I am "crazy."

But, yeah, I'm not so sure about that anymore.

I grew up in a house with a lot of sibling rivalry and abuse, and can imagine that my anger and violence were born primarily as a function of survival - when you have a bully of a sister six years your senior who torments you physically and emotionally, you need to summon up all the rage you can to try to fight back. From the emotional dysfunction in my home life, my family certainly saw many incidences when I was "out of control," or "troubled." I would eavesdrop on conversations the adults would have about me, and heard words like "neurotic," and "certifiable." I didn't know what either of those words meant, but I knew by the tone of the conversation that it wasn't good, and that I wasn't good. So, it's likely the negative self-perception started then, at home, in my youth.

By nature, I have a very strong-willed personality. I am opinionated and out-spoken. I have many leader-like qualities, and have always traveled at the head of the pack. In middle school, I masked on heaping loads of false bravado to cover my tween insecurities, and might have been seen as intimidating and confident, almost too sure of myself (which was all an act, I assure you). I was a little wild, a little "advanced" for my young age - sexually, and in maturity - which might have seemed somewhat threatening.

However, I was also very sensitive, and so desperately afraid of what people thought of me... If I were invited to a party, let's say, I would be nauseous with anxiety about going - and often times, ended up staying home because I assumed something bad would happen to me, and couldn't calm my nerves. On the other hand, if I wasn't invited to a particular party, I would have been beside myself with grief, and would have thought that everyone must hate me and would dread going to school the following Monday to have to face them all. I never felt comfortable in my own skin. Now, as an adult, I realize that most kids that age ride that same, scary emotional roller-coaster. I also realize that my friends back then saw me very differently than I would have thought.

In high school, I was tormented by older girls, who probably didn't like my strong personality nor my blossoming talents. I would often have my head bashed into my locker, and used to keep a collection of hate notes that would get passed to me in choir. I got beat up at a few football games. In the 10th grade, to my utter humiliation, I actually ended up on a "Bitch List" that had been circulating around school. I was #2 on the list. The parents of all the girls who made it on the list were called in to the Vice Principal's office, to be assured that the school was dealing with the matter effectively. I will never forget the look on my mother's face - that her 15 yr old was the #2 bitch in a school of 1500 kids. Horrifying.

After high school, and throughout my adult life, though the negative self-perception had been firmly rooted in me, I wouldn't say that I have been perceived as a bitch. I know people have seen me bitch others out. I know some of my friends fear ever making me angry or getting me riled up. And for sure, my ex-boyfriends and ex-husband have seen demons come flying right out of me. It's easy for others to see that I am emotional, yes, and that I have a quick temper. I have remained very opinionated and outspoken. I can be very bossy at times. Yet, while I have had some volatile arguments and confrontations with certain people who are no longer in my life, in general, I think most people find me quite agreeable, having a lot of social grace, typically upbeat, and eager to make others feel comfortable around me.

But the negative thoughts about myself, that belief that I am a bitch and a bad person, has remained. It has poisoned some relationships. It has enabled me to behave badly, raging in situations when I have felt threatened or hurt. It has been the source of the deep depression that has spiraled out of control at different points in my life. So much power that little inner voice has had, and yet all it is, is simply a thought.

There is a flip side to this coin, however, and this is what has recently just occurred to me. That same negative little voice in my head doesn't just have influence on my bad behavior... but manifests in other ways as well. Because I feel bad about myself, because I still fear what others think of me, and seek that approval and validation that I am a good person after all... I forgive where I shouldn't. I am gracious towards those who offend. I reach out to those who turn away. I give where it's not reciprocated. I take the high road too often, and it's because of that deep-rooted self-loathing that seeks approval, that needs attention, that is desperate for love - as if someone's love could validate my merit, and prove that I am good and deserving.

Well, I think I'm getting over all that.

There's this other voice in my head that's been cropping up a lot more often these days. I like her tone. She sings real sweet. And she's LOUD - I think she's been drowning out the voice I've been listening to all these years. This new voice tells me that all those qualities I have - being opinionated, outspoken, emotional, and direct - are virtues which others admire, and don't despise. She validates what a powerful, amazing, talented woman I am - and that these gifts I've been given can be harnessed and used to temper my emotions, control my rage, prevent myself from spiraling into depression... that I have the ability and strength to make those choices. She also has been pointing out to me the situations in which I am spending energy - good, loving energy - on people who really don't deserve it, reminding me that I don't need approval from people who aren't even on my level. I need to leave them behind as I ascend to greater heights.

I am not a bitch. I am not crazy. I am not too emotional. I'm not neurotic, nor certifiable. I am not troubled. I am not wicked. I am not bad.

I am a lover, and have a huge heart. I am a giver, and have such great desire to help my loved ones in their hours of need. I am direct, and people can always count on me to be honest. I own my shit - I walk my walk, and talk my talk; I don't say one thing and do or mean another. I am joyous and fun. I share what I have. I see the glass half-full. I look for positive solutions. I am open. I am not ashamed. I have strength of mind and will. I am independent. I am free.

After all these years, and all this time, God damn it feels good to be me.

Again and Again and Again (Will You Never Learn?)

Did this really just happen again?

Did I seriously let my tires spin again

for what I thought, this time, was at least a friend?

Fuck me, I guess. It never ends.

Though he hasn't said, I know this dread.

I know what it means when my bed

is empty, but my heart is full...

when he's not there to calm my soul...

God, how they fucking beg

and plead at first - they get in your head,

and all you know is right and true for you

becomes unglued.

Seal 'er up! Lay the bricks!

Entomb myself from all this sick

trickery of mind and heart.

Tried to do it from the start...

... but they all have an angle, don't they?

So clever for such stupid, simple brains.

Convinced me my fortress would be my demise,

so I helped him knock it down to size.

Just when the walls began to fall down 'round me

he chose to flee. Puh-leeze.

I've been here a hundred times before:

got what he wanted, and ran out the door.

Yeah, it hurts, I feel the sting.

Gave him great care. Gave everything

in my heart in his greatest hour of need.

Now he's full up, and I'm left hoping to bleed.

Older and wiser and harder I become.

I don't cry anymore, 'cause I'm not that dumb

to waste my tears on the men of the world.

It's the same old game since I was a girl.

I'm icing the fires in my chest.

Waiting for winter to help freeze my breast.

I will learn from this shit pile of pain once again...

he's just a man, after all... hardly a friend.

Plague of the Penis, Part 2: Hot and Cold

It comes in waves, I say. It must be astrological, or something, because there are patterns and trends in the relationships around me, despite the vast differences in circumstance, personalities, and contexts. I see it in my own life, and I have half a dozen women friends going through it too... the next level of the unfortunate Plague, flu-like in its intensity and contagion, which I have simply dubbed "Hot and Cold."

I bet many of you already know where this is headed. Let you be forewarned that this blog will be a huge pile of generalities and discrimination - but yes, I certainly know that what I am writing is NOT true for EVERYone. There are always exceptions to the rule. I GET IT. Still, there is a HUGE likelihood that many will undoubtedly be able to relate, and it is for those unlucky bastards that I write these words. After all, someone needs to say this shit...

Once again, I'll start with my own personal scenario:

So, I had made it a point last year that I would not get involved in another long-term, serious, committed relationship until I had accomplished some much needed inner work on myself with some level of success and achievement. I'm not there yet. However, celibacy was never a consideration for this unspecified period of time - hell no! Girl has needs - STRONG needs that grow up like weeds, and sometimes wind and twist and choke all ration and reason from my brain! This is some powerful stuff, a woman's desire. God forbid, I deny myself the pleasures of passion and sex and lust.

But this is dangerous stuff: for to truly feel that kind of passion and intensity I long for, most often there's some semblance of an emotional connection involved. Totally random sex has little panache. Yet, for a girl who is ever cautious to remain unattached and single, those emotions and feelings can be tricky tricky tricky.

The pattern in MY experiences tends to go like this: I meet a guy that I like, and he likes me. We fuck or don't fuck - that's besides the point - but the mutual attraction is there. Dude man becomes glamoured... he sees all of the extraordinary qualities I possess, and becomes covetous - wanting me all to himself. I protest, clearly explaining I want to be single, my past relationships haven't worked out so well, I need time. Dude man can't wait - he's so bewitched, that before you know it, he's making grand declarations of love and desire and trying to tie up my schedule and my future with... him. He sees a goddess he wants on his arm. I see red flags and hear the alarm.

His persistence, however, and his charm and beauty, weaken my resolve. I try not to show it, and continue to deny his more serious emotional advances, as he begs me to "at least be OPEN to the idea that it could work out." Cracks in my armor. Mortar falling apart at the seams. Roots becoming unearthed. Little flecks of hope wisp into my old wounds. I want to believe. I hope to be loved. It does feel good. He is a good guy. Aw, shit. Here we fucking go again...

So, now, he's convinced me to entertain the idea a little more seriously than I had wanted to. I find myself texting him more often. Calling more often. Missing him and wanting to make plans to see him more often... and just like that, BAM! He backs off. His calls and texts are less and less frequent. He skips out on plans made. He pocket calls while he's out with his friends, laughing and partying, while I'm sitting at home missing him, crying for the 50,000th time over "Sense and Sensibility." What just happened here??? He made himself emotionally vulnerable by confessing he's falling in love, and then had to back off. In the meantime, I fell like a sucker for that shit. Now he's moved on, and I find myself attached and unrequited, and there's no explanation or closure in store? P.O.P.!!!

Here's the first variation of Hot and Cold. We'll call this friend of mine, "Forgotten Foxy." So, Foxy was involved with a guy she met while away at school. Same kind of scenario... she was hesitant to open her heart and get into a relationship, while he persisted for weeks with flowery declarations, (both spoken and written in poetry form) - this dude man was pulling out ALL the stops, and investing some serious thought, time and energy into it all. So, Foxy succumbed, and fell in love. They had to live long-distance for awhile, which is trying on any relationship, but they loved each other and were trying to make it work til she'd return to school in the fall.

Alas, the strain on the relationship became too great. When you can't look into someone's eyes, feel their touch, sense their energy, and are entirely dependent on phone calls and skyping, there leaves much room for misinterpretation and misunderstanding. Foxy had the notion that maybe her man was up to no good, hanging out with girls and such. He denied, and tried his best to console her fears... but then there was some evidence that her suspicions were accurate. Separated from her love, and losing faith in his intentions, Foxy's heart was breaking slowly. After much discussion, and with some fear and grief, she agreed that the two would "take a month off" from their long-distance communique, and wait til she had returned to school, to be in each other's presence, and then decide if their love is true.

She passed those first few weeks like a champ: giving him his space, treating herself to fulfilling adventures, getting her goals and priorities in check. She was feeling stronger than ever, returning to her power. They spoke here and there, keeping tabs on each other, but both abiding by the terms of their agreement. Then came the fourth week, the week before she'd leave for school, and for their reunion. Emotions began to surface again, and she thought it was the good time to begin reconnecting by phone.

He confessed to her one night that he had been trying to date a young 20-yr old, but she was refusing his advances. Foxy listened, gave him advice, and even comforted him - taking the "higher road" of friendship, if that's what their love was destined to be. Yet days later, a little confused, and emotions intensifying as the road trip cross country drew near, she tried to call, text, im, skype - communicate in any way, to clarify their situation and KNOW what to expect when she arrived back at school. No answer. None. No message returned. No respect, no closure. Foxy was left dangling, wondering, asking "Why?!" over and over and over again. Filled with anxiety, frustration, and utter confusion as to how he could have been so in love (so hot) for months on end, and then so out of love (turned cold) within a matter of weeks, Foxy flipped her fucking lid. I commiserated, and told her, "The requirement should be that you have to use just as many words to get OUT of a relationship as you do getting IN to one." P.O.P.!!!

Second variation: my friend we'll call... "Jilted Jolie." Jolie met her man in January, as casual acquaintances at work. She was never one to be tied down, though the thought had crossed her mind from time to time. She was in her mid-20s, enjoying her single life in the cities, and always keeping a few lovers about her. He joined her roster, and it was clear to both that their arrangement was purely physical, and anything but serious.

Months and months passed, and while other lovers in her life had come and gone, this one stayed on. She couldn't help but take notice of the increasing frequency of their passionate nights, as well as the increased passion they seemed to be sharing. Yet, she held fast to the context of their relationship ("casual," only) DESPITE his yearnings to want to "have the talk." She resisted the conversation, feeling it would be the inevitable nail in the coffin for the rather pleasurable affair they were both enjoying. His behavior became erratic - one day talking about love and marriage and having children together, then chalking it up as a joke and insisting he didn't want to be in a committed relationship with her. Jolie didn't know what to think.

But she was thinking. She was seriously considering his awkward suggestions that maybe what they had together would/could be a pretty solid relationship. It had been a decade since she'd walked that path... and it started to sound better and better as the months continued on. They had a solid friendship, hot sex, similar interests... and at this point, had been "casual" for ten months, and even unintentionally monogamous for two. So, what would be the harm in having "the talk," as he'd been wanting, and give it a shot as a real, defined, committed couple?

She opened her heart, and let the flood of love for him rush in. The dam of protecting her heart had crumbled beneath her, and the levies had broken as well. And so she reached out to him... reached out just a day or two after he had left her a voicemail ending with, "I love you." Suddenly, he's not interested in talking. His behavior became even more unstable: ditching her one night while out with friends, then stopping by to visit a few days later. She kept trying to communicate, but he was unavailable, uninterested, inconsistent as she grew impatient.

Finally, after spending time together once again on one fated evening, she finally said, "I really want to talk to you about us." His reaction was borderline violent, as he cursed at her, and kicked her out of his home. Left her on the street, confused, and crying alone. Three weeks have passed, and he calls no more. She thought she was giving him what he had wanted, what he had expressed: to discuss and decide what their future together would be. But, somewhere along the lines, unbeknownst to her, he had changed his mind? When? Why? The same stupid questions we're all asking ourselves. P.O.P.!!!

Variation number three: I introduce to you to "Angel Angle." Now this girl is truly born out of the heart of love. She doesn't deny her emotions, is clear about her intentions: she wants to give and receive some good lovin'. She is young, gorgeous, sexy, talented... a true catch for anyone lucky enough to catch her eye and win her heart.

After recently getting dumped by a neglectful boyfriend of one year, Angel was distraught... beside herself. Always trying to give the benefit of the doubt, look for the deeper meaning, believe in the true goodness of others (even when they are douche bags), she forgives even where she shouldn't. She pined and mourned for her lost love. She was bereft. She thought her heart would never heal.

Until she walked in on a party one night, and saw him with another girl on his lap. Stunned and likely infuriated, she turned the tables. The hope that he had been missing her as much as she was him was crushed in that instant. She understood perfectly just exactly what kind of man he truly is. She sealed up her heart, and began to do what I had been hoping she would: she turned that attention and energy back onto herself. Within that very week, her joy in life had returned, opportunities were ablaze, and plans were being made for a trip to the islands this winter - a long trip, which will inevitably change her whole life.

With her regained confidence and exuberance, her energy and attractiveness exuded from every pore. An old friend, a sexy old friend, came onto the scene, and the two started palling around until all hours of the night. A couple of times, they would crash at one or the other's house, on the same bed or couch, talking for hours, sexual tension building. They kissed... and it was so hot, Angel had all but forgotten about what's-his-name from yesteryear.

New dude had to leave town for work - has a gig where he's on the road a lot. Angel used that time to keep moving forward with her big plans, but couldn't help thinking of him - the dynamic was so intense! He, obviously, couldn't stop thinking of her either - called from the road at one point, entertaining the idea of going with her to the islands this winter... She was so excited, she almost burst!!! But, she kept her cool, and used her head, and reminded him of the amazing opportunity he would be passing up in his work. Just as she was trying to focus her energy on her life, she wanted him to do the same - but he was certainly invited for a visit, and she started to consider how they might carry on some kind of long distance relationship.

He came back into town, and they got together again. They spent a night wrapped up in each other's arms - no sex, but an extremely sensual, orgasmic experience. He would be in town for a few weeks before taking off again. She had hoped to spend as much time together as possible.

But after that night, he all but disappeared from her life. Stopped returning calls and texts. Was hanging out with mutual friends, but not inviting her. Ran into her one day, and said they could get together later that night, and stood her up. No word or mention of why? What went wrong? Did she do or say something to offend? Hot and Cold, man!!! P.O.P.!!!

I started writing about this a week or more ago. Since then, the calls and emails have been pouring in - other women, friends and even readers of my blog, who have asked advice about similar situations. It's truly an epidemic! That's why I say it must be something astrological, or floating in the air. As I listen to and read the varying scenarios, I find myself repeating the same words to others as I keep writing to and telling myself:

As a bare minimum, my sisters, respect and dignity should be the requirements of any relationship. If a man has no balls to communicate, to end a relationship he is no longer interested in, to give closure, and to have integrity, then what more about these men do we really need to know? The "why's" simply don't matter. The tears you shed he likely has no concern for. The hours you spend tormented and confused is simply time you are wasting, time that could be opened up and freed for a man who might better reciprocate the loving energy you are willing to invest. It's easier said than done, I know. We must grieve the end of a love or season. It is unfair, it is painful, it is pura mierda (pure bullshit).

In trying to let go, we must resist the urge to continue reaching out to that which would only keep pushing us away. We must stop justifying our "reasons" why we need to call or text or email. We need to accept the douche-baggery for what it is. Our attempts prove to be futile, and we rarely get the reaction we most hope for.

In moments of weakness: call up a girlfriend instead. The love of our friends is the best cure against the dreaded Plague.