Showing posts with label lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lessons. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

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.


Thursday, November 25, 2010

Gratitude (journal entry: November 25, 2010)

Thanksgiving Morning.

Tears of gratitude wash over my eyes. The sun sparkles and glistens on yesterday's new fallen snow. My home is warm, and clean, and peaceful. My heart is full of the friendship and music of last night. Osho's fur smells like Dad (a mixture of wool and pure love). I have the whole day to follow my heart's content ~ be it to hang Christmas lights, start working on ideas for upcoming projects, cook, rest, visit friends... it's a holiday for my self, and I am already relishing in it!

I have so much to be grateful for, it's truly overwhelming. What an amazing time in my life! I see my own energy shining in my friends' eyes. I feel fire radiating out from within. I feel full, ever so full, like I'm about to burst! What a tremendous sensation, what a gift, what an honor and privilege...

I feel it most appropriate to make a list of all that I am grateful for this morning ~

1. My reunion with my true path and spirit
2. My good physical, mental and emotional health
3. My wide community of friends and supporters
4. The unique and meaningful relationships I share with my band mates
5. The abundance of inspiring, creative energy surrounding me
6. The many new and inspiring personal connections I've made this year
7. Reuniting with my Mother
8. Osho and Lilly ~ and The Bird
9. My beautiful, warm, clean home
10. My roommate, and this new journey together
11. My faraway friends who remain ever close to my heart
12. The amazing performance opportunities I enjoyed this year
13. The abundance of new, creative opportunities on the horizon
14. THAT I CAN SING!!!
15. My successful recovery from spinal surgery, and the Universe picking up the tab for it!
16. The children in my life, who bring so much joy
17. My enduring friendship with Jan Kimes, my greatest mentor
18. The growth and energy of Cantara, and its members
19. My StageCoach family, who continue to support me year after year
20. My new dream job given to me this week!
21. That I have been "out of the fog" from my addiction to marijuana for almost a year now
22. To be free of unhealthy relationships
23. To be independent and following my bliss
24. For the courage, strength, grace and dignity with which I have met life's difficult challenges
25. For clarity of thought and vision
26. For true faith, and understanding that if I put in the work, the Universe will support me
27. For Dr. Tom
28. That people feel they can reach out to me in times of crises and confusion
29. For the family members who have ever stood by my side and loved me unconditionally
30. For my Father's spirit, which is ever with me, guiding and assisting me along my path
31. For the many skills and talents I have been blessed with
32. That I awaken most days happy, energized and excited to live another day!
33. For my morning cup of tea
34. For the journals I've been keeping all these years (for them keeping me sane)
35. For the beautiful flowers on my table
36. For my open heart and mind
37. For the story of my life ~ fascinating, unique, and intensely interesting as it is!
38. For my self-confidence and self-assuredness, and the ability to accept new challenges
39. For my FEARLESSNESS!!!

I'm certain there's so much more than that, as I celebrate this past year. I conceived of a realistic plan, made seasonal goals, and took the small steps along the way to ensure my success. I am thrilled with the results. How far I've come in a year ~ how much has changed! Looking ahead now, realizing what I have cultivated and will now demand my tending to is overwhelming:

2 StageCoach schools
Teaching at Heartbeat Studios
Artistic Director of a new club
2 Cantara choirs
Debut cd project
Birthday show extravaganza
Priestess studies

Not even mentioning relationships, or other personal goals and ambitions! It almost seems crazy ~ except that I know I can do it all! I know I can accomplish all of these things now, and I WILL! I am living the life I've always wanted, elevating to the next level, rising to the occasion to meet my success!

"Gratitude" doesn't even begin to cover how all of this makes me feel inside.

Thank you. Thank you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

Sunday, November 21, 2010

The Dream of the Purple Journal

So, a few nights ago, I dreamed that I had dropped my purple journal (circa 2000) into a murky pond. Without hesitation, I dove in after it, and was able to hold my breath effortlessly for quite some time while I felt around the pond floor until I had it in my grasp.

The dream was interesting to me on three counts: first, the particular journal. I mean, I've been keeping journals since I was 8, have them going back through all the years of my life, and was curious as to why this one popped up into my subconscious. Secondly, I have a "thing" about dirty water - although I was raised in the Land of the Lakes, as soon as I spent a few years basking in the sun and turquoise waters of the Mexican Caribbean, I was never able to dip toe in brown lake water again - let alone scummy pond water! Third, that I dove in and was able to hold my breath, knowing on a very deep level the book must be saved, and that only I would find it. Unsure of what my subconscious message to myself was, I thought the best place to start would be with the journal itself.

Last night, I pulled it from its shelf, and opened to the first page, dated April 4 of 2000 (just as I had thought). I began to read the first few entries and was astonished at what I found: that ten years ago, when I was just 24 yrs old, the elements of my life mirrored directly (and almost entirely) my life today. I mean, it's so uncanny, my jaw completely dropped!

I had made some major life changes at that time - moved from Mexico back to the States, and was finding new work and new living situations. I was about a year out of my last relationship, and was enjoying my singlehood in the city. I had estranged myself from my sisters and family, as I felt myself reverting into bad patterns of my youth that no longer served me, and knew I needed space from them to free my spirit. I was ambitiously trying to record a solo debut cd, and planning a big show/extravaganza for its release. I was entering into the Women's Thealogical Institute, and their priestess training program, Cella. I was reflecting on the woman I was aspiring to be, and what steps would be needed to manifest and embody the envisioned qualities and characteristics...

I am currently writing about all of the exact same things - have filled 5 whole journals already this year, and now in journal 6 of 2010, am reflecting on how far I've come, and what still needs to be accomplished, as well as my plans for how to set about manifesting these goals and dreams. The words, the phrasings from ten years ago are almost identical to the words I write today... almost...

Ten years. I am reminded of the numbers ace through ten in the Minor Arcana of the Tarot. When I explain the numbers to people, I ask them to imagine that ace through nine is a long cycle of life, with little mini-cycles in between. By the time you reach ten, you are at the beginning of the next big, long cycle - but it's not something entirely new. With this cycle, you take with you all that you experienced and learned from the ace through nine cycle before... which, hopefully, is a lot of wisdom, maturity, resources, developed skills and talents. You have been winding your way into the labyrinth of your spirit, and are considerably deeper in, but are beginning the next phase, or have fallen back onto the true path of your soul and ready to move forward. Man, does this all resonate like crazy for me right now!

In going back to the dream, after reading these entries and reflecting on these cycles of life, what stands out most is the journey itself. The visions for my life, my work, my purpose, my spirit have always been clear - articulated beautifully in these books of my decades. However, at that young age, I also am able to see the impatience, the disappointment when plans changed, the difficulty in holding fast to the goals and dreams, while simultaneously being flexible and bending with life. I spent so much of my 20s struggling against life, relationships, bosses, etc. Now, what's changed most is my enthusiasm for the ride: knowing that it's the process, not the product, that holds the real joy, the real transformation, the real manifestation and expression of the spirit. I'm no longer excited only by the dream, but by the satisfaction of undertaking the real work to make the dream come true. That's been a huge lesson for me.

So, I'm not so surprised I dove head first into the murky pond of my past, to retrieve the stories of me. All of these years, all of the dramas and traumas, the blessings and gifts, the fights and the fury, as well as the immeasurable love - all are so sacred to me. All have brought me to where and who I am now: a strong, capable woman who is fighting against complacency and intent on striving farther, and working harder to make those dreams a reality. There is nothing I wish to let go of, or to forget. Indeed, I am able to look back, despite past and even recent upsets and betrayals, and honor each experience for the lesson and wisdom gifted to me. I wouldn't trade my life for anything in the world.

Book rescued, rinsed the muck from my skin, breathing deep and steady... ready to get back to the clear-blue sea of my mid-30s. I may be far away from the safety of the shallows, but am pretty sure I have the wisdom now to save myself in dangerous waters...

(... and getting closer to the one-eyed Sea Hag for our long overdue conversation...)






Wednesday, October 13, 2010

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?)






Monday, October 4, 2010

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

Did this really just happen again?
Did I seriously let my tires spin again
for what I thought, this time, was at least a friend?
Fuck me, I guess. It never ends.

Though he hasn't said, I know this dread.
I know what it means when my bed
is empty, but my heart is full...
when he's not there to calm my soul...

God, how they fucking beg
and plead at first - they get in your head,
and all you know is right and true for you
becomes unglued.

Seal 'er up! Lay the bricks!
Entomb myself from all this sick
trickery of mind and heart.
Tried to do it from the start...

... but they all have an angle, don't they?
So clever for such stupid, simple brains.
Convinced me my fortress would be my demise,
so I helped him knock it down to size.

Just when the walls began to fall down 'round me
he chose to flee. Puh-leeze.
I've been here a hundred times before:
got what he wanted, and ran out the door.

Yeah, it hurts, I feel the sting.
Gave him great care. Gave everything
in my heart in his greatest hour of need.
Now he's full up, and I'm left hoping to bleed.

Older and wiser and harder I become.
I don't cry anymore, 'cause I'm not that dumb
to waste my tears on the men of the world.
It's the same old game since I was a girl.

I'm icing the fires in my chest.
Waiting for winter to help freeze my breast.
I will learn from this shit pile of pain once again...
he's just a man, after all... hardly a friend.











Plague of the Penis, Part 2: Hot and Cold

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, September 4, 2010

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."

Friday, August 20, 2010

This is Getting Ridiculous

I'm going to blame it all on being cooped up for too long... now I REALLY know why the caged bird sings: what the hell else is she to do?

I have understood, and continue to understand, that this downtime has been predestined, and that as my body heals from all this trauma, so am I supposed to focus inward, and heal the traumas still living there.

Been doing it. So much god damned reflection over the past two months, I'm sick of myself! I've made steps forward, and steps back. I have written, and discussed. I have read, and pondered and questioned. I have found some answers, while others remain elusive. I have released pain, and confronted rage. I have re-connected with friends and family, just as I've slashed and burned more toxic people from my life. Blah, blah, blah... I'm bored now.

The good news is that I am mobile, and am slowly re-entering the world again. Looking forward to going out tonight, to see all my friends, hear their music, have a drink (or three or four). Feel "normal" again. Get back to my work: my album, my choir, my students soon enough. I know it's all coming, and I'm on my way. More patience is required day after day after day.

Everyone has been telling me: "You have to slow down. You can't keep running at this pace. Your body is telling you something." Shit, I even wrote a song about it yesterday, "Slow down, girl you gotta hold down, you don't wanna go down kicking both feet up off of the ground." It's just so hard. Not my style.

I've been thinking it would behoove me to get into some Buddhist practice of meditation, to do a cleanse, to make some significant lifestyle changes which might help me channel all this energy I'm blessed with into a healthier, steadier fashion. I'm thinking about it...

There's just so much I look forward to in my life, so much I want to accomplish. I have so many dreams and plans and projects... and want it all NOW! Again,"Patience, little grasshopper."

In the meantime, as I slowly emerge from this chrysalis, one delicate wing at a time, I'm forced to accept that there are limitations - physical limitations - and will be, for a while yet. I have no choice but to move slowly, to rest often, to be delicate... an Aries ram being delicate. That's some hooey if I do say so myself.

I'm just whining now. I'll stop. Let's be grateful instead that this has been and will be a temporary experience in my life. Many songs and poems have been born of it. Many friendships have been forged and cemented. My back is fixed, and likely for good. And for all the years I worked so hard, and desperately craved time to rest, well, I finally got it.

'Nuff said.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Cold

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

You turned this way.
Suddenly, and with no warning...
like the unseasonal storming
of the Halloween blizzard, way back in '91.
Little boys and girls all dressed up to have some fun,
until it dumped
from the sky, from the clouds,
snow piled up and around...
came up to my chest.
The weight of ice burying my breast.
The deep freeze sealing off dreams
of joy and play, sweet delights to be had.
Made me then, makes me now,
so fucking mad.

You are something like the heavens, my love:
unpredictable, uncontrollable, unrelenting at times.
In good and in bad, you've exercised
your right to enjoy, invade, deny, then refuse.
Left me here singing the "Used Woman Blues."

It didn't need to be this way, love.
You know this, I had explained.
Had allowed you perfect freedom, blessed
your path, willing to remain
a friend to you always, even as we parted.
You were startled:
said, you were used to being the asshole, the jerk
when delivering such news.
I was willing to be the one you didn't choose.

But in the end, by your absence,
by the change in your tone,
by the negligent way you don't pick up the phone,
I get it. Now I see. Now I finally understand.

You are, most indeed, THAT kind of man.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Acknowledgement

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brad, Ray and Jason for all of the massage and bodywork
Matt for getting me in right away for acupuncture
Keith for ongoing chiropractic care (and for tuning in to my heart)
Nate for the Raindrop Technique and emotional support
Carlos and Nicole for their offers of financial and emotional support
Alyssa for networking and seeking out healing alternatives
Melissa for offering yoga therapy
Peter for company and chocolate
Bryce for thinking of my stresses, and offering to help lighten my load
Krissa for giving me direction, and soothing my mind
Chris for being my nighttime nurse, and constantly checking to see if I'm okay
Osho for... being Osho
Lilly for running to me every time she heard me cry, pawing at my nose, and literally licking the tears off my face

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

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

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

I love you. You make my heart happy.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Four Choruses of a Broken Back

I.

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

Yet, when I put out the slightest plea,
so many respond.
A humbling throng of friends
who love, support, suggest, pray.
Offering more than I could ever even say ~
money, healing, company.

I read through their notes and mail
and chide myself for these tears.
That I sit here, self-pitying
still after all these years.
Crying out for Mom. Bawling again for Daddy.
Calling to the loves of my life
who always took such gentle care...

I want them here.

I want the ones that can no longer be
here at my side
smoothing my hair
doting on me as I lay helpless and immobile.
Love in their eyes.
Just to once more see that look
of love for me in their eyes.

I cannot be loved too much.
I can never be loved enough.
I could make friends with all the people of the world.
Could be adored by fans from sea to sea.
Could be a respected leader in my nation or community
but it would pass me right by.
Register only in my thoughts as a humbling gift
that I am ever lavished with love.
Without even asking, it has always enveloped me.

My heart holds out for the love that has passed me by,
and this is why I cry, alone.
Lying broken in my home.
For my father's friendship
and my mother's hands...

this is why I can no longer stand.


II.

The ghosts have taken up residence ~
shacking up in my back,
calling to me in painful cries,
demanding my attention.

I know them all well.

I see them clearly as the masseuse kneads and prods them
away from my spine, out of my muscles.
Tries to bribe them from my nervous system with cooling and heat.
They won't budge - they laugh at my attempts.
They've learned these tricks by now,
have banded together and
ain't goin' no-how.

They've plastered themselves to my vertebrae and sacrum.
At war with my indifference,
they shoot arrows of flashing pain
through my thigh to my knee.
Cocked my hips til I'm
crooked as can be.
I look in the mirror -
my body is crippled and lame.

They want to be called out by name:

Joey's Hands; Mr. Mean;
Michael's Love for Little Emily.
My husband is there, as are
nieces and nephew.
And though they hide their faces,
I'm certain my sisters are feeding at the root.

What more can I do?
I journal, I cry,
talk to friends and the shrink.
Try to avoid thinking of it all too much,
to avoid feeling weak (like now - see? They always get their way!)
Trying to move forward, independent and strong,
focused on songs and art and play and peace,
but these ghosts are always lingering in me...


III.

And now she's feeling sad
about a boy.
(her back says): "Puh-leeze.
What a distraction!
I'm in some REAL pain here girlfriend!"

In their brief love affair
there wasn't even enough to qualify
or justify
the space in her heart she's given him.
(Is she ego-tripping out simply because of his rejection?)

Yes, he's a good lover (like him, and him, and her)
Carries on fine conversation (like Dancing Pants and the DJ on her station)
Makes her feel at ease (ah - you got me there! A novelty...)
But still, what's the thrill?

She's certain he's not the man of her dreams.
Knows full well they aren't destined to be.
Yet, she's chosen to place him
above the other men
who are wooing and cooing and begging
to get into her heart, and her lovely lady parts.

Not smart, my little friend...


IV.

The pain in my back is my inner child
throwing a temper tantrum.
I feel her pain.
I know her rage and anger
her violence
masking her fear of being alone
in the big world.

She digs her heels into my spine,
demanding: "I want to be loved!
I want to be the most important somebody
to somebody
that anybody's ever known!"

"Hush child!" I tell her, "You already are, my dove!
I'm loving you, loving you
as hard as anyone ever could! "

She gnashes teeth into my tailbone.
She karate-chops my lower vertebrae
into bone-white china plates,
to serve up sashimi of psoas muscle.

She refuses to listen, or to believe.

She is ever just like me.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

What Have You Learned, Little Girl?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


The moral of the story is:

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

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

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

d) all of the above

e) none of the above;
write correct answer here____________________________