Looking Back at 2011 (journal entry)

New Year's Eve... here we are!  Wow!

It's really amazing to see this year come to an end.  It was so incredibly dynamic, so full, so... memorable.

My show!!!  I mean, really, that was THE highlight of the my 2011!  Over a decade, I spent dreaming of that exact birthday show.  It was in my favorite venue.  It had all the elements - the band, the set, the dancers, the choir, costumes, lights, video, photos, body painters, belly dancers... WOW!  Tears in my eyes just thinking of it!  Such a great reminder that everything happens at just the right time, in just the right way.  Throughout the ten years of dreaming of this show, I don't think there was ever a time before when I had all the elements - the music, the performers, the resources, the support - until this year.  So many moments of panic in the past that I'd never make it happen... but I did.  Exactly when it was truly time.  I learned so much from that entire process, and grew as an artist, producer, and business woman.  But as I look back right now, timing is the big lesson standing out in my brain.  For all the other dreams and desires of my life, I needn't worry.  They are all on their way, in their own perfect time.  All I need to do is precisely what I'm already doing: being the best me I can be, each and every day.  Never losing faith.

What a gift that I was able to travel to my Mexican home twice this year, and am realizing how much I expanded my community of friends there!  I hadn't really thought about in until now, but it's quite true... it's the first time in years and years that I put myself out there, all on my own (no husband, or boyfriend, or tour-guiding other friends or family members), and found several new circles of friends: hanging out with the Farias kids (now grown!), Cesar and his crew, Jaime and Elio and the Argentinians, the Italian posse, the djs, the photographers.  My world expanded there - from the old school friends that built that town with me, to this next generation who have exploded the scene, and welcomed me into it.  Playa has always been intended as a home for me.  I believe it divinely ordered so.  I am ever requested by friends, old and new, to come down soon for a visit.  I am ever accepted, enjoyed, loved and missed.  Sometimes, I feel like if and when I ever do move back, the town is so big and advanced now, that I wouldn't find my place.  But it's not true.  I always have a place there.  I am always lovingly welcomed.  I am surrounded by friends and family who light up when they see me.  My joy and inspiration, my heart, all come alive there.  My soul's roots are in Playa del Carmen.  This expanded reality was a huge gift this year.

I fell in love this year.  I fell in love for the first time in at least half a decade... but this love was entirely different from any that came before.  I was entirely different.  I came into this love more whole, as a person, than I had ever been in my life.  I was independent, self-sufficient, and truly happy to be on my own and thriving - not looking for anyone or anything outside to "complete" me.  So, I was able to love mor purely and beautifully and gracefully than ever before.  I didn't project needs or expectations.  I didn't pressure.  True, I had many hopes and desires, but only because the man I loved was the most worthy I had ever known.

Heartbreaking, then, that it wasn't meant to be.  Brings tears to my eyes even now, almost 3 months after the fact.  In this time, I have come to see more work and mending needed yet, on myself, in my core, and realize that until the work is done, this love nor any other can be mine.  I'm so close... and the love that I discovered in me this year was a true gift, and a reminder that even greater love awaits me... just as my other dreams and desires... all on their way, in their own perfect time.

I reunited with my family, after several years of separation.  We suffered great losses in these last years, and 2011 was another devastating blow.  Two of the kindest, most gentle-hearted men of our family closed their eyes forever.  We've lost so much strong, beautiful, kind, gentle male presence in our family... we women are really gonna have to step it up, and get our shit straight, and endeavor to better ourselves in their honor!  But I digress.... While it was painfully difficult to reunite under such sad circumstances, I am full-heartedly grateful that by the end of the year, I was able to come together with both sides of my family in merriment, joy and love.  We are a strong-willed, intelligent, determined bunch, which can cause friction and separation, especially for those who remain stuck in their beliefs, judgments, and opinions.  But we are also sensitive, loving, passionate and creative, and I was so happy to experience some of those shining qualities with my family this year.  Reminded me of the good stuff in all of them, and in myself, as well.  

Musically, it was a phenomenal year!  Aside from my show, it was one of the most prolific songwriting years I remember... maybe in a decade!  I was blessed to have so many talented producers, writers, djs and musicians offer their music to me, and I was so inspired!  New favorites poured out of me, and my repertoire is now enhanced by new styles and genres, and uplifting lyrical content.  I had opportunities to perform with new people, to make music videos, to have multiple amazing photo shoots!  Even my choir has transitioned, and has become its own powerhouse of musical sensation and delight.  I have been sought for my expertise and ability.  I have been recognized and honored.  I am daily encouraged with messages inquiring about my next project, or show, or when the cd will be coming out.  Though I still get frustrated not to be farther along on this path than I feel I should be, I see that I truly have some into my own as a vocalist, writer, producer, director and teacher.  I have nothing to fear.  It's happening, it's already here, unfolding one layer at a time.

The other great feat of 2011 for me, was that I was confronted once again with my dark side, and depression.  Due to heartbreak, family pains old and new, and the loss of my job, the dark road beckoned me.  I danced morbidly back and forth for some weeks between the crossroads and the path of broken glass.  One day in particular, almost out of body, overwhelmed with pain, I met and confronted this great challenge - but not alone.  With the help from some very special friends and the support of an amazing community, I accepted help.  I did not succumb to the callings of the dark mistress... and all my little inner demons... I chose, instead, to breathe.  Isn't that amazing?  To say "breathing saved my life" seems... well, what would the word be?  Ludicrous?  Obvious?  But it did, it has.  I saved my life by taking support when it was offered, and remained open enough to accept new (however uncomfortable) opportunities.  It was a test.  A test I presented myself.  And I passed.  And now, I'm on the upwards turn of the wheel again.  And proud of myself, and grateful to all those surrounding me with love.

Wow!  2011 was certainly a dynamic and amazing year, and full of growth in each and every way.  A huge success.  I am really pleased...

And so tonight, what a blessing that I get to celebrate both this incredible year that has passed, and te new 2012 coming in, singing on stage, with beloved friends!  I feel prepared and excited... it should be a blast!

At this time, I have no clear vision of 2012, and what I may choose to manifest.  I'm okay with that.  Ideas float around about projects and music and travel and love... but I'm not attached to any of it.  All I want right now, is to work on my health and my body, to continue on my spiritual journey, to accept this prosperity and keep working hard, to be open to new people and places and opportunities, and to live each day with a grateful heart.  The rest will come.  It's already on its way.  

Thank you 2011... and welcome 2012....

Emily

They Come Back

It's not that I don't appreciate the messages, calls, texts, chats.
I'm sure what lies in them is more than the obvious:
your loneliness, coupled with a renewed heat
for what I had given so freely
a year ago, or more.
Your own heartbreak, seeking out
the shared pain
the anguish
the camaraderie of my own broken soul.

I'm sure, buried deep in the invitations
the checking ins
the positive affirmations for each new day,
there is an aim towards genuine friendship,
a desire to shoulder this long season ahead with
warmth
of bourbon and wine
fire
the poetry we effortlessly coo to one another
as if we were, ourselves, the love letters between such greats
as Kahlil and Mary, who lived their entire lives
wrapped in the blanket of language, love lost
forever
from them both.

Your efforts are not unnoticed, my dear.
The lines you cast into my crashing waves
return to you empty,
without the meat and meal you hunger for most.
I see the hook and bait you choose
ever so carefully, cautiously...
but even the most delectable temptations
are wasted
on a woman who will not feed.

It is not your fault, tender lover,
when rage boils over in my heart
liquid fire in every organ
bearing the banner which reads
"They always come back."
It is only a preoccupation in my mind.
The anger, the reeling that
for as easy as it was to cast me once into the turbulent seas,
always, and each time, they all come back to me.


They come back, pecking vultures,
dope fiends needing a fix of
my sex, my gracious heart,
to wear me on their arm
or chain me to the bed until
(as it always has gone, and, what reason
is left for me to believe it would ever be otherwise?)
they find, once again, someone
some thing
that mystical element which I seem not to possess
not for anyone,
but that will always entreat and entice them
away again,
as I lay bound in shackles
sinking to the ocean floor.

I know you mean not to watch me drown.
I know, at this time, in your heart
you are most certain and determined to
carry me from the water, to
place me on the gentle earth, to
breathe what life has been lost to me
back into my lungs, to
see me open my eyes, unveiled with skepticism and defeat,
that I might "see" you. That I might smile at the sight.

This is what they always want when they come back.

For you, o bereft pirate,
I say this:
your ship came and went.
You know this already.
In my current fury, I would warn you
not to be drawn to this siren's song...
you know the myth, and may end up, yourself
at the bottom of the sea...

but rest quietly at your prow,
and gently stroke the black waters of my heart's discontent
with no hope or expectation.
You may linger there, and
hum along to my sad love songs, and
peer into the shallows beneath the water's surface, and
maybe
just maybe
at the very least...

I might one day smile.

There Are No Obstacles, Only Options

I wrote that line today to my beloved who recently took his leave from my life.

I am thinking of how many times in recent weeks, I heard that from him, "There are too many obstacles." For him, this meant that we live thousands of miles apart. It meant that our lifestyles and work may be incompatible (however complimentary I believed them to be). And ultimately, that he wasn't feeling the strong desire to try to make a romantic partnership with me... because there were just too many obstacles.

In the six months since we were first introduced online (which, I guess, could be seen as an obstacle in and of itself), we spent long hours, days, weeks and months in conversation. I found him to be a very wise man, with beautiful philosophies (borrowed and his own) about life and love. A very positive person. A grateful heart, who embraced life, capturing its beauty with his unique talent as a photographer... his singular eye which seized such precious moments, to be admired and enjoyed by us all.

I remember when he first came to visit me three months ago, and we poured through slideshows of his work. My first impression was, "Wow - these are really beautiful!" As more and more kept passing on the screen, I thought, "How amazing to witness even ONE of these instances, let alone the hundreds and thousands he had!" Finally, it came to me, "What a blessed person he must be, how spiritually rich, to be God's eye, marveling in the glorious splendor the Creator has given us (which most of us fail to even recognize)." My impression of this man was that he was most definitely in the flow of life, supported by the universe, open to beauty and love and the positive energy of our world.

My heart and soul recognized him, then, as a kindred spirit, for although I had spent a long part of my life in pain and suffering, I had worked very hard in recent years to transcend my very own obstacles of mind and thought... and had finally landed on my true path, also in the flow of life, supported by the universe, living each day to its fullest, being of service to my community, tending to the work which is mine alone, dutifully and joyfully. For me, as we were exploring this new friendship, this new deep connection, this potential partnership, I saw no obstacles. I saw, instead, infinite potential.

I chose him. I chose to open my heart to him. I chose to trust again, despite the cruel betrayals I had suffered relentlessly in the past. But I chose differently this time. The choice would not be to abandon myself, my work, my life as it was for the love of this man... No! Far from it! My choice was to be open to him, to love purely with no demands, to allow our selves to be just as we are, and trust that everything will pan out exactly as it should.

If love is a bridge between two people, I had always walked over that bridge in the past, to the other side, to meet my love where he was at and join him on his journey. This time, I was clear: I would be willing to walk halfway up that bridge, and if he was willing to meet me there, together we could surmount any obstacles - time, distance, the logistics of life. There were no barriers in my heart or mind. Life is a myriad of possibility, and every option was open to us.

So, when he came for this long-awaited visit, and we reunited once more, I told him as much the very morning of his arrival. Although I was still not 100% about this romantic pairing, so far it had been 100% wonderful, and I was grateful to have this time with him, to open ourselves to the other, to continue the exploration, being present with one another as we did so.

Throughout the first week of his stay, I felt the walls around his heart, which hadn't been there when last we were together. I felt my own walls go up in response to it, and spoke to him about it, as we always felt comfortable to communicate all our thoughts and feelings. He agreed and admitted that his walls were up. "I just see too many obstacles," he said again and again. He didn't want a long-distance relationship, though I had never asked for one. He felt we were on the same path, but that I was on a speed train, while he was on a bicycle, though I had asked for no kind of declaration or commitment. I reiterated, my only expectation was that we would be open, relinquish our fears, and enjoy this time for what it was.

A week into the visit, he announced that he "just wasn't feeling it." He had no explanation. Despite our mutual connection, our passion, our admiration for each other and each other's work, our exquisite communication, our shared desires for life and love... He could only say that he wasn't feeling that magical elixir that would make him want to dedicate himself to me exclusively. Again, I hadn't asked that from him, but he felt it was my true desire... which, for him, was yet another obstacle.

What could I do? Nothing. I couldn't convince him to change his mind, and to be open again, and I was clear with myself that I wouldn't want to coerce someone into loving me. I instantly felt the loss of all the potential, as well as for our short-term plans... for me to come spend three weeks with him in his home, seeing his life, exploring more there. Ancient fears crept up in me as well: that old karmic pattern of being so loved and admired, but put aside time and time again. With so much beautiful potential between us, how could he cast it all aside?

Because he saw only obstacles.

The following week of his stay was a roller-coaster of emotions. I had been there before. Desperately trying to make sense of the illogical. Knowing that I was now at a familiar crossroads. In the past, I had followed the path which spiralled down into the deepest, darkest, scariest forest of my inner world. There, I had languished. I had deprived myself of food, and sleep. I had neglected the life above and around me, and my responsibilities, only making the climb out more treacherous and difficult and laborious. I had chosen the path of obstacles, and collected more and more of them on those dark journeys, from which it had taken years to truly heal and step back into the light of my life.

This time, standing at the crossroads, I looked down that shady road that called to me. I knew the way so well. There were familiar ghosts and demons in the underbrush that sang the haunting melodies of my deepest pain. They wanted me. They were hungry, and I had always offered myself as an abundant feast. My heart, which had been beating itself against my brittle ribs, desperately trying to escape the prison of my breast, pulled me towards them. If she couldn't leap from my body on her own, she would be most happy to be devoured once again.

But my mind said, "no." It was only a small voice in my mind. And I knew, I could not feel my way through it this time. I couldn't indulge my heart and consciously plummet into the abyss of misery. My mind said it again, "No!" I drew the attention away from the physical pain - the nausea of heartbreak in my belly, the headaches, the sleeplessness and fatigue. "NO! I SAID NO, GOD DAMN IT!" I liked this voice. I looked down the other path from where I stood, and above the demands of my mind, heard the most beautiful melodies, heard my father's voice, heard an eagle's wings flapping.

I saw there are only options. Choices. It would be my choice to rise, or my choice to fall.

I had been disappointed that the man I loved, whom I saw as someone so evolved and enlightened, had in truth been so very limited. Because of his past, because of his fears, because of his addictions, the obstacles he saw between us had barred him from giving and receiving pure love. He had blockaded himself from sharing and exploring with a woman so deliciously open, liberated, self-fulfilled, and full of light and joy. He cemented his feet from climbing up the bridge to meet me halfway, and explore the realm of possibility together, as equals. He came to me with walls already around his heart, and had said that I mustn't have had the right key to open that door. I think he changed the locks.

I see only options. No obstacles. The path I have turned towards is the path of my true spirit. I am met with sunlight. There is music all around me. My father kisses my head now that I finally lay my head down to rest, and put the spoon to my mouth to feed. Eagle circles above me, and all my angels are dancing and clapping.

We will always be presented with spiritual trials in life. It will never end. But this time, I choose wisely. I choose me. I choose life. I choose to celebrate this love, even when it is met with resistance. I just don't see that as an obstacle...

I see it as a testament.

I will not feed into my ancient fears. I will not let those old barriers creep back in. I will have faith that there will come a day when a beloved will appear to walk up that bridge and meet me where I'm at.

And he, whomever he is, will be one lucky son of a bitch.

Counting

The last time he left on a plane to head back home,
I felt my heart rip from my breast and leap into the sky,
attached itself to the wing of his ride,
and to him.
My heart, grown woman as she is,
chose to love
chose to wait
chose to be patient
chose to be true.

I counted down months, then weeks, days and hours
until his return.
Now, I’m already counting hours since he’s left...
Currently, we’re at 3 hours and 39 minutes into this healing.
But unlike last time, there are no tears
no banshee screams
or death cries
because this time my mind, grown woman as she is,
is choosing to love
and choosing to let go.

This time, there is no question
no wondering
if we’ll keep talking long distance,
if he has feelings for me,
if we’ll ever see each other again...
The decision has already been made,
because he is a grown man
and told me so.

No. The answer would be no.

3 hours and 44 minutes in.
I wonder how long I’ll be counting.

“Its just a matter of acceptance,” I told him at dinner last night,
for I will never understand why.
He will not bother himself to find a reason.
“It just is what it is,” he had said, “Just what I feel.”

I’ve been here before.
Too many times, really.

But all those thens resulted in my tearing my life and body and mind apart...
Desperate to understand the illogical:

For months, almost daily conversation expressing the mutual connection neither of us had experienced in years.
The admiration for each other’s work.
The shared goals and dreams for partnership, family and life.
The intense and passionate physical connection.
The ease and openness and comfort with which we communicate.
The humor and joy abundant between us.

Active planning for travel, creative work, taking it slowly as it comes
with no pressure
or demands
or timelines to decide.
It was just open. We were exploring. We were enjoying.

“You say you’re just not feeling it?” I asked with furrowed brows, “Just not feeling what?”

“The magic isn’t there. I think you are so amazing and beautiful and sexy and talented... but I have to listen to my heart, and I don’t feel the drive to dedicate myself to you.”

Huh?

“Um, but I didn’t ask for your dedication... I didn’t ask for anything other than that we both enjoy this openness, honor this connection, savor our time together, no matter what the outcome.”

Well, this is the outcome.

I will never make sense of it.
I will go mad the longer I try to.
I have been here before, too, too many times.

3 hours and 58 minutes down.
He’s halfway home.

Acceptance is the only answer for me, now, on my own again.
The plaguing questions must be kicked to the curb by the single thought:
“You will never understand. It does not make sense. He has made his choice.”

And my choice?
To smash every clock in this empty home
and never count another second again.

Tears Again... Fears Again...

I just get worried sometimes that it’s going to be such a lonely life for me.

Not lonely as in “alone,” because I can’t imagine not being utterly surrounded by friends and family, and even the strangers I meet each day usually connect with me on some level or another.

But lonely.

Lonely for me is having a host of invitations for the holiday weekend, but in choosing to rest at home, there is no one else here to kiss my hand absent-mindedly as we waste the day watching Netflix in bed.

Lonely is making the big plans and dreams for my life, and not having that one person along on the journey, watching the progress as well as the setbacks, loving me through it all.

Lonely is preparing a meal full of love and flavor, pouring a glass of wine, and sitting on the floor to eat at the coffee table, that I might at least sit with my dog and share with him the food leftover from never learning how to cook for one instead of two.

Lonely is this tear that just fell from my eye to my wrist.

I admonish my own self-pity. My blessings are too great, my luck improving, abundance increasing. I feel I have no right to complain... and what good will it do anyway? Reality is: I have crafted this life all on my own. I have made the choices. I reap the rewards, which never come without some sacrifice.... but love? Partnership?

Tears again... Fears again... Is it simply not possible that I could be so loved, even as I am so free?

My experience says “no.” In the past, to have the love, each time and in different ways, I was forced to relinquish that freedom. I sacrificed my music, my choices, my ideas, my dreams. Of course, it could never work thusly, and it never did. So I have learned from those experiences that, above all, I must remain true to myself and my path. I like my self, and my path. I am generally overflowing with pure joy, passion for my work, gratitude for all that has been bestowed upon me. Blissed and blessed, I always say. And after my divorce, I have resolved that to welcome love into my life again, it must be a love that wants and accepts me exactly as I am today.

Tears again... Fears again... Does that love exist for me?

I was encouraged as of late that indeed, it just may! Opened myself to love, in the right way, the smart and healthy way, and stayed on course with who I am, and where I’m at and where I’m headed. Loving purely, with integrity, thick with kindness and care, and benevolent freedom, just as it should be.

Yet, today I feel overlooked, or swept aside maybe, because of current circumstances in part, but also because of who I am and what I do. He called me a “gypsy,” and in his voice the connotation suggested I am too wild, too free, unable to settle down or grow up or whichever direction you’re supposed to go to be deemed worthy of love.

Is there a direction for love? Were they handing out road maps that I missed?

Of course, all of these qualities I inherently possess are the very ones I hear men express desire most for in a woman: fidelity, honesty, good communicator, loving, passionate, affectionate, intelligent, talented, beautiful, self-sufficient, socially graceful. I am not jealous or controlling. I like alone time, and grant it as well. I’m good with kids, and parents. I am optimistic and upbeat. I have a great laugh....

I don’t think it’s so easy to find a woman with so much to offer.

Tears again.... Fears again... Is there another quality inherent to my nature that makes me UN-qualifiable?

I’ve asked. I’ve gotten answers. None of them the same, but all leading back to the same point, which is that:

I cannot have love without being true to myself... and yet, so far, by being true to myself, I have not had that love.

So, as I suck up snot and wipe the mascara-caked tear streaks from my cheeks, I feel my skin stiffening, my armor thickening, my blood cooling. It’s been easier getting by under the facade of superhuman power-woman who is self-possessed and a goddess to all, rather than the vulnerable little girl who cries for impossible love, and just really REALLY wishes her daddy were here to hug her and remind her that to him, she was the most amazing thing in the world.

So, I have to remind myself:

I am amazing. And I’m working hard to be more amazing each and every day. Someday, someone might just come along and figure that out, and be giving thanks for the blessing of me in his life.

And if not, well, it’s still an amazing life. No matter how lonely it sometimes feels.

And I give thanks for the blessing of me in my life.

And even if that love never finds me, I am love. I have so very much to give.

No tears now, no fears. No what-if’s about what may or may not be. Reeling it in, back to the present moment where all my needs are met, and a beloved friend just sent a random note of kindness, and dog and cat have both invited themselves to my bed to whisk my tears away and lend me their physical support.

But I thank you for listening, and for loving.

I love you.

We All Have Our Choices

I had planned it before he even came.

Unearthed the key I had long buried in my most secret place,
warmed it in my hand, waiting.

I was in ritual, preparing for the giving of this gift.
Smudging walls in copal, dressing the scene in orchids and light,
making prayer without even realizing it.

Naivety has always been my crux.

Upon his scent, which paired well with my own pheremonal elixir,
I loosened my grip, careful not to let his eyes catch sight
of the dirtied brass I gently polished between my fingertips.

He took my feet in his hands. This was the way he touched me first.
I slid the teeth of the key into the mouth of the lock,
poised for the turning.

Confirmation came in the kiss. I had chosen wisely.
Head and eyes rolled back, tongues merging, spirit exhaled through my body,
through my crown chakra and out the soles of my feet.
Love's green cords dropped into the earth, anchoring me on his breath.
Under the din of my smile, I heard the lock unhasp its clasp.

The tsunami rolled in from the deepest sea within me,
swelled in every cell,
broke its waves against my skin,
laid waste to bone and vessel, sinew and muscle.

This rapture ensued.

As he entered me, I flowed out and spread wide and vast as the ocean.
From the depths of my primordial waters
came entities that had never before seen the light.
He reached for his camera to capture the sight.

Brilliantly colored, dancing, singing, they made their way to the surface,
drinking oxygen through my pores,
radiating and glowing behind my eyes.

They whispered their names in ancient tongues, but
said I could just call them "Love."

I welcomed Love, then, just as I did him.
It was my choice to open in this way
and at this time.
It was my prerogative to let minutes fall into hours of nails on his back.
It was my directive to angle my hips just so, that he might touchdown on the ocean floor.
It was my aim to wrap around his flesh as tightly as his corkscrew curls wrapped round my digits.
It was my call to fall.

It was his to improvise.

"Love just IS," he had wanted me to believe,
but Love is also a choice,
and we all have our choices.

I chose him before he even came.

I opened that floodgate.

And now that he is gone,
and there is no certainty he will ever return,
and the waters have receded,
exposing the desolate void of loss and pain,

I will live with my choices.

I, alone, will own this Love.

The United Nations of Love (abbreviated version)

*in re-reading the following extended version of this blog, I found I liked to take the first and last phrases of each lover's verse, and so made an abbreviated poem out of it*



I welcomed Egypt to the ranks last night... and it was a peaceful night’s sleep, cradled in the arms of the Pharaoh’s grandson.

I once stood at the border of Egypt, in the town of Eilat, at the southern tip of Israel... we never made it across that border - into Egypt, nor into happily ever after.

Mongolia came as a surprise... I can’t say I helped to solve any of their internal crises, but did seem to revive the Motherland Party in a new and most progressive fashion.

Argentina called on me to instruct two of their finest... their tears have me adopting “Don’t Cy For Me Argentina” as a personal anthem.

Italy, ahhh, Italy.... Mt Vesuvius erupted thrice.

I will say this about Mexicans:... they just love to fuck.

The British men I have served proved to be very enthusiastic and adept lovers... and truth be told, I’m still a sucker for accents.

Columbia offered me an interesting proposition:... white light magic always works better than white powder.

Mmm... that reminds me of the Native American I encountered in my youth... I shall take up singing the chakra meditation of the Cherokee people, and endeavor to return to the tribes one day with better news of justice and peace.

Does a French Canadian count?... “Je vous envoie mon amour, mon ami, et j’espere que nous reverrons dans cette vie, ou dans l’autre...”

There were some Pacific islanders I tended to long ago... I learned some valuable lessons about international trading.

And now I look forward to the Tican arriving three weeks from today... and when it’s time to go... it’s time to go.

The United Nations of Love

Upon awakening in a strange and luxurious bed this morning, the thought came to me:

I am the United Nations of Love.

I hold session under the sheets.

I am the goodwill ambassador to the beautiful lovers of our world, and feel honored to be so welcomed and appreciated by such passionate people of foreign lands, near and far.

I welcomed Egypt to the ranks last night. The revolution came to a standstill as we negotiated new terms for a better future. We sealed the deal with a kiss, and it was a peaceful night's sleep, cradled in the arms of the Pharaoh's grandson.

I once stood at the border of Egypt, in the town of Eilat at the southern tip of Israel. Like so many other diplomats and presidents before me, I spent years in peace talks with the Israeli, used all my womanly prowess and persuasion to convince him to lay down his anger and fear, and cross the frontier into a new life of pure freedom and love. But a people's history of pain and persecution is not so easily swept away, even when exquisite thighs are offered up as pillows to rest the head of its worries and tumultuous past. We never made it across that border - into Egypt, nor into happily ever after.

Mongolia came as a surprise... I hadn't thought my skills and talents would be needed in such a land. As it turns out, they have a rich history of circus performers - arguably, the best in the world. With my gypsy background, I was intrigued and also ready to learn the fine art of body balancing, which I think I pulled off quite well, considering we only had one night for instruction and execution. I can't say I helped to solve any of their internal crises, but did seem to revive the Motherland Party in a new and most progressive fashion.

Argentina called on me to instruct two of their finest in the art of loverhood. I will admit, I had a minor hesitation due to the large age gap between us (you know how young men can become so easily enamored by the sheer dexterity and finesse an older woman has to offer)... but who was I to refuse a call from the likes of Eva Peron? (We share the same shoe size after all.) I tried my best to do nothing less than blow their fledgling minds, and quickly took leave, lest their tears have me adopting "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" as a personal anthem.

Italy, ahhh Italy. I can't say it was one of my proudest accomplishments, as the Latin lothario stole from the bed of his bride-to-be to hasten to me. I was impressed, however, by his research... It seemed he had spent quite some time gathering news and information of my conquests, and his sheer curiosity and anticipation had simply overwhelmed him. He confessed he could not devote his life to his soon-to-be wife until he had paid homage to an Aphrodite. (Somewhat delusional,mayhaps, but definitely stroked my ego in all the right ways). We had a lovely tour of the countryside and other corporeal landscapes.... and Mt. Vesuvius erupted thrice.

I will say this about Mexicans: they should not be generalized, nor ever deemed inadequate. They are an amazing people, hard workers - dedicated to getting the job done. And quite different from one to the next. Aztec, Mayan, and even of Spanish descent. It's been quite the cultural exploration, and I am pleased to see how they truly pay just honor to their forebearers, despite being converted and conquered over time. I'll suffice to say, I completely understand how they have become known as such a breeding bunch... although it has little to do at all with the Pope or the Church. They just love to fuck.

The British men I have served proved to be very enthusiastic and adept lovers. Unfortunately, and I do feel awful to say it, but in giving a true account from my experiences abroad... it seems that even in this day and age, they do still struggle with hygiene. Likely, as my role dictates, I should have helped them to draft a new policy on this issue, but it just felt awkward... and truth be told, I'm still a sucker for accents.

Columbia offered me an interesting proposition: two brothers (not related by blood) whom I knew even as a young woman, before my career began. One was my first kiss, the other my arch nemesis. Yet, I tended to them both, at very different times in life. I am happy to say that I have always strictly forbidden the use of narcotics in my boudoir (or anywhere else in my sphere, for that matter), and tried in both cases to provide a more healthy and loving influence in their lives. In the end, my tactics proved successful, and I have every confidence that both brothers knew they held very special (and entirely unique) places in my heart. White light magic always works better than white powder.

Mmm... that reminds of the Native American I encountered in my youth. Cherokee. I was a mere 16 years old, and we shared a most spiritual and tantric evening in the spring rains of Texas. I dare say he was one of my first sexual shaman teachers, for I remember experiencing many "firsts" that evening. He told me he was able to see me as an old woman, and that I remained ever beautiful. (I have been clinging to that sentiment ever since.) When he walked me back to my gypsy wagon, in the rain, he bent on his knees, placed his head to my belly, and told me that he loved me - and I knew exactly what he meant. In that moment, that perfect night, we shared pure love, with no hope or expectation of the future. How I wish I might have done more to offer his people the dignity and respect he so lavished on me. Indeed... my work there remains unfinished. I shall take up singing the chakra meditation of the Cherokee people, and endeavor to return the tribes one day with better news of justice and peace.

Does a French Canadian count? They seem to be doing all right. At the very least, I was a brilliant light in the life of the Quebecois for three years. Or maybe a reflection of his crystalline meditations for love and life and spirit. He phoned the other day to say he is unwell and his lungs are ailing. Maybe what Montreal needs most is my soft cooing in their romance language.... "Je vous envoie mon amour, mon ami, et j'espere que nous reverrons dans cette vie, ou dans l'autre..."

There were some Pacific islanders I tended to long ago, Phillippino, if memory serves. They had lost their course and found themselves stranded in this tundra land. Feeling trapped myself at that time, I tried to barter a lift to Borneo. In exchange, I unfolded myself and spread like the sea beneath them. They rode my undulating waves all the way to their home... but forgot to fold me back up and stick me in the boat. Not very decent of them, but still, I learned some valuable lessons about international trading.

And now I look forward to the Tican arriving three weeks from today. I lived in Costa Rica for half a year, and remember the steaming heat of the jungle, and the savage wilderness. I remember the Pacific Ocean... beautiful, sensual, and inviting, yet all the while ready to smash you to the rocks should you not pay attention and heed its warnings. I know not what to expect from this summit, but imagine the best plan of action would be to enjoy it now as I did then: give myself completely to the experience, open myself to love, soak up the heat, the wetness, the wildness, the adventure for all it's worth... and when it's time to go... it's time to go.

I am the United Nations of Love. I am the melting pot. I am the swirling whirling Dervish twirling of sex and lust and connection and pure energy exchange... but this is no democracy any more than it is a dictatorship. There are no votes, or laws, or rules in love, other than this:

Be free. Be genuine. Speak your truth. Live life fully. Expect nothing. Give wholly. Enjoy the moment. Cherish the memory.

Personally, I wouldn't trade this job for anything in the world.

Hello Lover...

May 15th and the Sun is finally shining...

I have been struggling (along with my fellow countrymen and women of the north) for weeks now, as our Spring has jilted us all, like an unwanted lover thrown aside into an abyss of gray skies and frigid air. Impossible to feel motivated or inspired, despite a rich life thick with creative work. When you awaken day after day for endless months to darkness and cold, the only real inspiration is to pass the time in bed and under covers - which is not nearly as much fun alone as it might be with a naked beloved lying next to me. Alas, such as has not been the case, and all these hours wasted in indulgent protest to the climate have resulted in a heavy weight of unfinished work and an increasingly lengthy to-do list.

But at long last, my dearest lover, the Sun, has come scratching on my doors and windows once again, teasing and tempting me with his light, and warm caresses. And like a scorned woman who pines and pines for the one who cruelly cast her aside, I leap at this offering, and into his arm-like rays. I am renewed, refreshed, alive again. I bask in his glory, even knowing that tomorrow he may leave me again...

But I will take him today, and any day he comes. I am betrothed to this solar orb for all of eternity. I am a glutton for his flame, would swallow his flares and let my innards burn just to feel his radiance pour through me.

I, too, am made of fire. Hand in hand with the one I love, it's finally time to shine.

Bleeding Hearts (A Valentine's Day Memorial)

I think the tricky thing about Valentine's Day from here on out will be the lonely suffering. Well, I guess most of my trying times are endured alone, but on a day when everyone is happy and celebrating, one certainly doesn't wish to be the wet blanket on the Love Parade.

Why does this day have to be so hard anyway? 364 other days in the year that he is also gone, and never coming back. What does it matter that it was this day he left forever? I don't understand that. It's like the echo of grief, of the death howls from that day two years ago that resound through time and space and catch up with me, making me feel what, on most days, I am able to acknowledge but flee from rather quickly. No such luck today. No such luck last year either, even though I had intentionally tried to escape by vacationing in Mexico with a throng of friends. But it hit me there, too. There is no escape. Valentine's Day is, and will always be, the day my Dad died.

It was such a fucking horrible day, and the weeks and months that followed... ugh. I think that hurts more than plain old missing him. I don't like to remember the whole sequence of events. I loathe thinking of what transpired almost immediately after he passed. Such ugliness, still unresolved, and may also forever remain that way. He left, and with him went life as we knew it. Forever changed by his absence, as well as by the crimes committed against each other. We will never be the same.

Not that "being the same" is all it's cracked up to be anyway. I am far from the same person I was when he was alive. You imagine these things when someone dies: "What will it be like a year from now? Two years? Five?" I never would have imagined, or dreamed it even possible, that two years later I would be able to say "I'm happier than I've ever been." And yet, I am. Most truly. My mind spins thinking of all the sadness and loss and pain and struggle of these last two years... so then, to have been even more blessed, that I am able to feel such joy and gratitude... how else could that have happened without such a grand angel watching over me?

Angel, that makes me laugh. I picture him with some faerie wings strapped to him, like a costume I would have begged him to try on, with that look of pained disgust mixed with a hidden smile at my delight and laughter. I remember that look. I keep all his looks close at hand, or in mind, as it were. The crinkles in his neck. The twinkle in his eye. And his smell is still sealed up in that bag I haven't emptied yet in these two years. His bag from the trip. What he had packed for that weekend, all of it still there. I open it from time to time, thumbing through, bending my head low to inhale deeeep.... yep. I'd know that smell anywhere.

It does, indeed, feel like the echo of that day and time two years ago. I can't listen to any music today. The silence is thick. I am not hungry, but finally forced myself to eat. I want to curl up into bed, and shut the world out for the whole day and night, and possibly into next week... but there is business to tend to, and so I'm paying bills and jotting down my to-do's for the week, just as I did then. I don't feel that I avoid my grief so much. I allow it into my days when it comes requesting my audience. I cry. I talk about him. I talk to him. Shake my fist at the sky and tell him, "You're in big trouble when I see you again," half-joking, half-sincere.

He knows better. He knows me. He knows my bark is bigger than my bite. He knows that my skin is much thinner than I let on. He knows my popcorn goes in the special bowl. He knows I am never running from the problems, but running towards the solution. He knows that under my sharp words lies a very good heart. He knows sometimes I just need someone else to bear my weight.

There were things he knew about me that I didn't know myself. Though I can't ask him to tell me, he finds a way. I have come to learn and understand many things about myself since he's been gone. Things he had even told me once, but I didn't see it then. Resented him thinking he knew me better than I knew myself. But he did. He saw in me a better person than I ever saw. He had faith in my abilities and talents. Courageous, strong, fearless... I heard him describe me in these terms many times, and I thought he must have been drunk. But he wasn't (lol... I think). He was my Dad. He made me. He inspired me. He modeled good life to me. He believed in me.

Now, when Valentine's hits, and in my solitude I am awash in the Sea of Memory, I search for land to grab onto again. As I pull myself onto shore, I am met by the blooming Bleeding Hearts he always planted in my honor.

St. Valentine's Day. The day of hearts. He died from his. And mine bleeds for him forever.

and even this poem sucks

In the midst of all the busy-ness

as life flourishes

and projects and plans march onward, resolutely,

and people reach out to help

to participate,

offering skills and supplies

free of charge

given with love,

and others call just to check in

making sure I am well

and drinking tea,

and everything in the world is going my way

my mother is nursing a dying husband

my aunt will have to sell her home

my grandfathers are both unwell

and the anniversary of dad's death is just around the corner

an eternal blight on the day of love

and it's been a long time since I've had someone to hug me a bit

or kiss the top of my head

or hold my hand while I sleep

and writing songs is on my to-do list everyday

and never gets done

and even this poem sucks

exhausted

emptied out from giving my all

hurting mostly from always wearing the brave face

I would that I could cry

but it just doesn't seem right

Being Right

"You don't need to be right. You need to be smart."

Words from my ex-husband's mouth that used to drive me crazy.

Why should I stifle myself?

Why should I mask a truth that merits being known?

How can I stand by and watch someone I care about fuck his own life?

He was right, my husband, in telling me not to be right, to be smart.

The messenger often gets shot, or hung, tortured or just plain fired from the job.

It's happened to me this way many a time.

If I need to be smart, then I should start by learning from my past.

I am at the precipice of the second stage of my life.

I am a woman, fully grown, competent and on my own.

Being truthful with myself should be enough. Must be enough.

Others will either discover for themselves what they need to know,

or will suffer the hard lessons and the failures destined for them on their journey.

Everyone learns in their own time.

Some are simply not ready for sage words when they hear them.

It is not my job to save you.

That's not what I was hired for.

I have learned some things, but am still learning others:

like how to care less, or shut up,

or love wholly inside, but taper love's external expression.

I would argue this point with my husband.

I took offense at the very notion

that it might be in my own best interest to

love less?

I didn't even understand what that meant.

It means this:

To really love someone unconditionally and purely,

you may have to

bite your tongue

smile and nod

let them fall

reserve opinion even when it's pleaded for

be selfish...

...and when all that is hard to do,

keep contact to a bare minimum,

lest you risk the love, the friendship, the job

just to be right.

The Real Lap of Luxury

I am living in the lap of luxury.

It's not about things people, not about the things at all. I look around at my surroundings, and examine MY things... a hand-me-down dining room table, clothes hanging in my closet that have been there for a decade or more, a tv in my bedroom not even hooked up to any cable. I have no assets - no expensive jewelry, no fancy car, and I've never been a homeowner.

Yet I wake up every morning happy, and almost tearfully grateful for another day in this amazing life. From the minute I open my eyes, I am excited for the day ahead - even knowing it may be filled with challenges or stresses - because it is my day, every day, to live as I choose and to be whomever I wish to be. How could I consider myself anything other than absolutely stinking filthy rich?

I am far from famous. I have certainly not acquired any kind of national, regional or even local renown, despite the hundreds (if not thousands) of performances given, songs sung, dances tricked out. A fellow local singer was introduced to my music the other day, and she said "Yeah, I've heard of her - she's a hippie chick, right?" Not quite. But how would she know? I am a tiny speck on the map of these times, that wouldn't even show up unless you zoomed way in.

But I am surrounded by a community of people that at this moment are working hard on my behalf: editing my music, building my website, writing up press releases, setting up an LLC, drafting budgets, designing marketing campaigns, learning songs, choreographing routines, sketching costume designs, building sets. They are all friends. They are all people who believe in my vision, and support it, and are themselves fulfilled to be a part of it.

More than that, there is an even wider community of people who love me, and express their love for me, on a daily basis. People interested in my goings-on, friends who come to me for counsel and exchange meaningful and uplifting conversation, and beloveds who pop in just to share moments of affection ~ snuggling in to watch a movie, kissing the top of my head, embracing me in a long, deep hug.

How could I not feel like the center of the universe? How could I ever feel lonely? In fact I do, at times, but have to immediately laugh it off. I am as cared for and catered to as the queen of England, for all I can see.

The definitions of luxury:

1. Something inessential but conducive to pleasure and comfort.

2. Something expensive or hard to obtain.

3. Sumptuous living or surroundings.

From my view, absolutely anything material is inessential, but conducive to pleasure and comfort. I've said before, all I really need to be happy is a place to sleep, food to eat, and a regular bath. Anything more is luxury. From the towel I would dry myself with, to the rings I put on my fingers. All are luxury items to me.

Inner peace and true joy elude most people living in this world. They seem to be the hardest things in life to obtain. Though they have no monetary value, they do come with a price: hard work, a willingness to release fear and pain, introspection, and time devoted to acknowledging spirit. To awaken to each day with a joyful heart is pure luxury, and worth more than anything in the world that money could buy.

Sumptuous living and surroundings... this is more subjective, I think. I am right now in a warm home, on a comfortable bed draped in a $60 bedding set, whose beauty I cherish. I look forward at the wall, with a framed sketch of Billie Holiday, made for me by a dear friend way back in high school. I see my clothes, bright and colorful, hanging in the closet next to me. Everything I look upon is pleasing to my eyes, and gives me a feeling of comfort and contentment. I have everything I need, and more. I have abundant luxury surrounding me.

"Perception is key", they say. "It's all a matter of how you look at things." "Do you see the glass half-empty, or half-full?"

I live in the lap of luxury. The good life. Pura vida. It's not about the things, it's just a matter of how you see the things. Try on my rose-colored glasses for awhile. It's a wonderful, magical, most blessed world.

By My Journals' Decree (a year on the page)

I just had the most glorious morning of journal writing, and felt inspired to carry it over here, to my long-neglected blog.

Hello friends. Sorry it's been so long. I have missed you too, and come to this page more often than you think... but as life has become a mind-blowing whirlwind in recent months, I've found carving out pockets of time for pretty much ANYthing other than my work and current projects has been hard to do. I even let my journal writing get away from me for a moment, which is a HUGE no-no... when mama doesn't write, mama gets bat-ass crazy. Such was the case recently, when things got all out of balance, and I knew instantly why and how to remedy the situation: "pick up your god-damned pen," I told myself. Doesn't matter how exhausted I am, how much earlier I have to set my alarm to see it through, or how often the blank page stares at me as I stare back at it, overwhelmed and not even sure where to begin... I just simply must do it. It truly is the one tool that has helped me stay sane, keep my life organized, and somehow, magically, keeps my emotions more balanced. I tell all my friends, "When you see me flippin' out on a regular basis, be sure to ask if I've been writing..."

I'm particularly high on writing this morning because I've just finished my sixth journal of the year. That brings happy tears to my eyes. I'm looking at them now, all stacked up on my bed, on top of each other. The tears come because it has truly been one of the most amazing years of my life, and as I look at their spines and pages, even closed, I know the stories that live within each of them. The songs. The poems. I cry tears of gratitude for the present moment, at this amazing time of my life where I am literally walking in the dream and destiny and purpose I have long known was mine, and had been waiting and praying and hoping for and trying so hard not to lose faith... and here it is! I cry tears of pride, pride in myself, looking at the journal on the top of the pile, whose title was simply "Begin." I took it at that difficult time in my life (a little over a year ago) as a sort of command: "Now you must begin Emily. This is your life. It is all up to you. What will you do?"

I started small: "I will write," I said. "I will follow the wheel of the year." "I will be easy on myself, for I have struggled long and hard, and it was a most difficult last year." And so I did. I was unemployed. My husband had left me. I was grieving the death of my father, the estrangement of my family. I had quit my band. I was in a new home. Everything was different. Everything had changed. Except writing. Writing had been there for me since I was eight years old, and first kept a journal. It had been many months - seven, maybe - since I had put pen to paper at that time. In the few years preceding, during my marriage, I didn't write much - I didn't feel comfortable in my morning ritual around my ex-husband. He had violated my privacy and read my pages on a few occasions, so I ceased my practice. We both suffered from it. But, with "Begin," I was in my own space, my own energy, and ready to reclaim my life.

"Begin" took me from a little before Winter Solstice, 2009 until Candlemas, 2010. At that time, I was in Mexico, my other home, with a group of amazing friends who were visiting with me for three weeks. Beloved friends. Friends that bring so much joy and love and patience. It was then I cracked open "Follow Your Bliss." She would carry me through til Spring Equinox, and on her cover were words like "dream, vision, imagine, create, begin, transform, expand." I took her directive as well, and in Playa (the land of my spirit), I allowed myself time to just enjoy life. To be in good company, sharing food, laying under the sun, swimming in crystalline waters, making music, and writing. Dreaming up plans of what I would do when I returned stateside. What did I want to do with my life? Well, I wanted to use my talents and passions. I wanted to create a life of work that involved music, or teaching, or spiritual transformation. I didn't bother with the details of exactly what that might be... just put it loosely out there, into the ethers, trusting that whatever was meant to be would be.

At Equinox, as the sap begins to run through the trees, I chose my new book: "You Can Fly When You Want To." Spring energy is so great for new projects, new habits, new disciplines. I was born just after the Equinox, an Aries, so new beginnings have always been a favorite and exciting time for me. Back from Mexico, refreshed and rejuvenated, I set out to explore new opportunities, even things I would never have considered in the past. I hit up craigslist, and responded to all kinds of ads - ads for singers, for models, for assistants. I auditioned for commercials, cover bands, and teaching gigs. I was going out a lot with friends, and to new social events I would have stressed over in the past - I had always felt great anxiety about going to places with new people, out of my element. I still had some anxiety about all the things I was trying, but I was determined to put myself out there, knowing that new blessings would only come from being tenacious and courageous. I adopted the motto "fake it til you make it." I would feign confidence, if need be, until I truly felt it inside. It's a good trick that really works. I recommend it to everyone.

At this point in the year, right around Beltane, I bought two new journals, and I wasn't sure which one had the right message for that particular time in life. In the end, I chose by the cover art, and "Sometimes Your Only Available Mode of Transportation Is a Leap of Faith" had imagery that echoed the previous book. It seemed the right choice. I had intended that this journal would span from Beltane to Solstice, but as the sap started rushing through the trees, so did my life switch into high gear. I was writing regularly, though maybe not as much. I was starring in a theater production, modeling for artists, recording new music I had written, was dating, was social butterflying all around these twin cities like the queen monarch herself! Before I knew it, Solstice had come and gone, and I was still in the same book, and still not sure how it's meaning pertained to my life.

Until my back went crooked. Right in the middle of summer, and all of my heyday and hullabaloo, I was smacked down in critical and severe pain, confined to my bed for six weeks or more. I needed surgery on my spine. My lease was up, and I had to pack and find a new place to live. I had no insurance, no job, no husband, no family, and the pain was so crippling that simply making it to the bathroom was a true voyage. But I had me some friends. I had me some family of friends that packed me up, cleaned my house, moved me in to a new place gifted me by an ex-boyfriend (Mr. Mean! who woulda thunk???), took me to hospitals and doctor appointments, and took care of me for weeks after my surgery. I couldn't walk, I couldn't drive, I needed great care, and they were there. Sometimes your only available mode of transportation is a leap of faith all right... and a little help from your friends.

Lammas time. The old journal wasn't full, but I needed a change... once I got the message, I was ready to move onto a new chapter: "The Future Belongs To Those Who Believe In the Beauty of Their Dreams." Time to get back on the page, jump back into life (carefully, however - I just had spinal surgery, for God's sake) and resume my path, my intentions and my goals. I was healing, I was in a new spot in an amazing neighborhood, I had taken on a roommate. I was beginning again. The most important thing was to heal, and to take it easy. So, instead of flitting about, I had folks coming over. Musicians bringing me songs to write to, friends coming for dinners, small parties here and there. I had taken on some new lovers, and rekindled old friendships.

It was getting close to Halloween, which meant only half a season until Solstice again... had I accomplished what I had set out to do? Not so much. I had accomplished a lot, oh yes, but unemployment would likely be up soon and though I had created some work to get me by, more was needed. But it had to fit within the guidelines I'd set: only work that suits my talents. From my surgery, I was about a half-season off track, I felt. Add to it, I was partying quite a bit... imbibing, celebrating, living life free of taboo - like the autumnal Devil card of the Tarot. Time to reel it in. I had some work to do!

At Hallows, my next book came: "Fearless." My Dad had called me by this name many times. Uncertain of what the future held, and feeling the weight of finances slipping fast, and no concrete prospects, I decided to go back to "fake it til you make it" mentality: I wouldn't waste any time or energy worrying. I had already learned that the Universe is aiding and supporting me every step of the way, so long as I'm willing to put in the work. So I would be Fearless, and charge ahead and snatch the pieces of my destiny at every twist and turn they appeared.

Mr. Mean pulled through again, offering me a job as Creative Director at his new club! A part-time gig paying more than I had ever made in my life until now. It was the perfect, ideal solution! Using my talents, with time left over to continue to pursue my other projects and dreams... this was more than a gift. This was some serious next-level shit.

But I couldn't stop there. I had this idea. Actually, I had this dream, a dream that began over a decade ago. I glanced at the calendar to see which day my 35th birthday would fall on in 2011... it happened to be a Friday. I had always wanted to have a grand show for a birthday celebration. I considered what my dream venue would be... the Varsity Theater. So, fearlessly, I called the owner and made an appointment to walk through the venue and pitch my show idea: my 35th birthday, featuring a retrospective of my past work and my debut cd-release party. He loved it. He gave me the date, and the venue, with no deposit or anything... confident that I was going to make this a success. The date was booked. It's on!

I gathered a team of producers, choreographers, videographers and photographers, light and sound and set designers - the whole deal. I had been working in this town for over a decade. Working for other people, on their dreams and their projects. Now was my turn, my time... and the response was overwhelming. Everyone wanted to be part. They all liked the idea. They all wanted to help see it through. The wheels were in motion... now, I just had to write a debut album!

I gathered music from several local producers and took off back to Mexico, with the intention of writing the songs. Mr. Mean had bought me a new Mac laptop for my job, and I got some simple gear to lay down tracks on Garage Band while there. I went for almost three weeks, and wrote seven songs. I rested, I partied, I lived blissfully and creatively... I had the time of my life. Mingling with djs and producers from all over the world, in town for the BPM electronic music festival. I had photo shoots. I made plans for a cd-release show there in April - I mean, why not? It's my second home, ater all, where my solo singing career started almost 15 years ago! Plus, I knew I'd want to come back soon, and would need a break after a few months of intense work back home. Fearlessly, I dreamed big, and am daily taking small steps to see it through.

So, I've been three weeks back, and tossed immediately into the frying pain of this abundance I manifested! Finding talent for and opening a club in a month; recording my first full-length cd; executive producing this spectacular show for the end of March; teaching 150+ kids each week between 3 schools; conducting 2 choirs... You see why it's been challenging to find moments to blog???

And here we are, at Candlemas tomorrow. I have my new book waiting for me. Her name? "Trust Yourself." During this busy, busy time, my writing will be key in staying on top of everything, releasing stress, keeping sane. To some degree, I'm still faking it - for I have many moments of doubt and insecurity and sheer panic at all that I've taken on... but I will follow the new directive, and trust myself, because the reality is: I have everything it takes to see this all through. I have worked hard, with clear intention and focus. I have acquired the skills needed, and the resources. I have assembled the right team of people, whom as I sit here typing this to you, are all out there working on my behalf! Do you know what a trip that is? Can you imagine how humbling that feels? Studios are being dialed in, promo kits are being drafted, LLCs are being established, tours are being planned, photo shoots are scheduled... and I'm sitting here in my bed, in my pjs, lookin' a mess... I cannot adequately describe to you what it feels like to be walking in your dream. But I can tell you, despite all the pressure and stress, I am smiling.

"Trust Yourself" should carry me through to Equinox, right before my birthday and my big show. I already have the journal that comes after. I knew she was the one the minute I saw her, and as I look at her now, it brings tears to my eyes:

"Your Wish Is Granted. Now Is the Time."

A Mi Hermanito...

How is it possible, this connection, this love?

I've known you since you were barely a man...

You would come, to see me sing. Your family became mine. We spoke little, but shared much, in a time long gone, laden with memories so precious, and deep.

Over the years, barely, subtly, few and far between, there were moments... Moments of dancing, and laughing, and always with music blowing in from the air of the sea...

What is this you're doing to me?

I spent the night heavy on your lips, as we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed...

Drunk on everything - life and love and grass and beer - my mind tumbled like waves pulling me in and down and all around... "What are we doing?" I asked... "This is crazy," I said...

Crazy, si. Loco, verdad?

And yet... you are in my mind all day. The thought returns again and again: this, our love, makes more sense than anything I've ever known.

We are already family. We have already shared our lives, our memories, and the years. Whatever distance and time has separated us seems irrelevant: I feel that I know your heart.

Did you love me from the start?

I have been working hard not to fall in love. I have been headstrong, and taken so much pride in my free and wild life. "I don't want to be in love," I have said too many times to count.

And now... ... ...