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.

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.

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?)

Inner Dialogue

"Let's talk about love."

"No, let's not."

"Yes. Let's talk about it. Let's face it, deal with it, consider it. You're in it, after all, so let's at least get honest about it."

"I don't know if it's the right time yet... feels too soon for this discussion."

"Yeah, it is, you're right. But, as we know, the problem with you is that before too long, you'll be so swept up in it that any reasonable conversation will be virtually impossible. Blinders will be on. Selfish heart grasping and taking hold. Color-blinded to the red flags cropping up around you. We know how delusional you can get - even with all your good intentions."

"Fine, fine. Spare me the lecture. What needs to be said?"

"Well, first of all, let's get technical and define what's going on... let's be clear about where you stand. Would you call this love?"

"Yes, I would. I don't shy from love, you know that. What kind of love, exactly, is still a little confusing..."

"What do you mean, confusing?"

"Well, in this particular instance, there's a lot at play: there's romance and passion, there's a 20-yr old friendship (and the familiarity and comfort that comes with that), there's sympathy (on both sides), and there's the joy of re-discovering someone later in life. Not to mention, he was my very first kiss, so there's a great story there..."

"Yes, we know how much you love your stories. Continue."

"Anyway, there's a lot of love there, manifested in many ways. I mean, all in all, it feels pretty damned good, like love should, right?"

"(sigh) Lord... we'll get to that later. Let's move on to the next question: What are you most afraid of about this love, if you could be so honest?"

(long pause) "Of hearts breaking."

"That's a little too simple. Let's dig deeper please."

"What's so simple about broken hearts?! If you remember, we've come close to death from broken hearts in the past!"

"What's simple is knowing that every time you fall in love, you risk your heart breaking, or breaking someone else's heart. You choose to take that risk or not. Have you made that choice?"

"No, not yet."

"So, whose heart are you most concerned about?"

"His."

"Why?"

"Because he's better than me. A better person. A kinder, sweeter soul who deserves less pain and not more. Because of all he's suffered recently, I'm afraid to add to his grief. Because I expect my heart to be broken, and am accustomed to suffering."

"Hmm... That sounds... sad. And so self-depricating. Why do you feel less worthy of love? Why should you expect to suffer?"

"(sigh) We already know the answer to this one. Must we go there?"

"Please, humor me. Say it out loud."

"Because I am unloveable. Because I am wicked. Because I am haunted and burdened with despair and anger. Because I am selfish. My emotions can be toxic. And because everyone who's ever loved me before LEFT."

"Mmm-hmm. That's what I was going for: all that bullshit you keep telling yourself, whether you're in a relationship or not. Is this truly what you believe about yourself?"

"Sometimes."

"And other times?"

(tears up) "Other times I think I'm very loveable, and have so much love to give. I think my heart is good, and I try to be honest about my feelings and intentions. I know I have a lot of amazing talents and gifts, and that someone would be lucky to have me on their side, and at their back."

"Okay. So, maybe both statements are true, to whatever extent. But, let me ask you this: If you continue to listen to that voice that tells you you're bad, how do you think it affects the voice that wants to celebrate your goodness? And more importantly, how does it play into your ability to love and to be loved?"

"Well, it takes up air time in my brain, I guess. It's not like it's all the time, either. Just, you know, when there's a risk of me hurting someone, and knowing that the pain I feel from causing someone else grief is more than when pain in inflicted onto me.... I mean, that voice tries to stop me from making those mistakes. And yet, like now, I want to believe all of the good things about myself, and believe that I am worthy of love, of being loved, and that if it is being offered, I should be able to accept it."

"But do you believe all that?"

"No."

"Why not? What's holding you back?"

"He doesn't know yet. He doesn't know the terrible side of me. He is glamored, as they all are in the beginning, seeing only the beautiful mask covering the ugly truth beneath. I don't even want him to ever see it. I feel like I shouldn't accept this love, because it's only a matter of time before he finds out."

"So you have made a choice: you don't want to risk loving and losing this time."

"When you put it like that, I guess not." (cries)

"That's why I wanted to have this conversation, so we could be clear. But, why are you crying? You're choosing to save both of you from what you fear the most: broken hearts. That's a good thing, a wise choice, a mature decision. You should feel proud of yourself for breaking a pattern, for growing up, for learning lessons from past experiences. Why so many tears?"

(sniffles) "Because all I've ever wanted is to be loved. Here's someone so sweet, so kind and loving and generous offering it to me, and I have to turn it away. It's not fair. It's not fair! When will I ever have real love in my life, love that I can have and hold and hang on to? "

(smiles) "We already know the answer to that, my love. It's what we've been working on all along, and will continue to do so until the day comes when you finally and truly understand..."

(sniffles more)

"...Love will always be in your life. It will always be offered to you, because all of the good things you know to be true about yourself, as well as for many reasons which you still are blind to. But, when you are at last able to genuinely love yourself, provide for your own needs, and hold dominion over that sad and angry voice within, love will be waiting for you, and you will feel it as you never have before. It's coming, my girl. It's on its way. In the meantime, I'm very proud of you. You took quite a big step today."

Choices

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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