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

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.

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... ... ...

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.

A Pair of Scar-Cross'd Lovers

Romeo came from Borneo,

an orphan, rescued from the jungle

and a life of poverty and a mother's shame.

Those who took him changed his name.

Brown skin taped so thinly to tiny bones.

They brought him home, and

rarely ever heard him cry,

at least, that is, until the sister died

of cancer - so young, life unspent.

From her parents' arms she went

and closed her eyes for the final time.

Her spirit must have brushed his side

for they said he cried.

He howled and yowled an infant's "goodbye."

Juliet was born ill-met:

her sisters cried outside the birthing room doors.

A boy, they wanted, nothing less or more.

Their resentment and tears

painted pictures clear of the years to come.

She would ever be a lonely little one.

She was clever and precocious,

even as a babe -

desperately trying to sway attention her way.

In her high chair, she thought, "I bet if I could reach

that cup over there, someone would see

and then they would know there's so much I can do!

I mean, after all, I'm worth something too..."

She got at the cup, tiny fingers clenched tight

but the hot cocoa splashed on her chest

and her white skin puckered and popped -

third degree burns she had incurred.

'Twas the first of many a hard lesson she would learn...

Romeo's folks got the notion that he

should not be alone, so back to Borneo with speed

to the jungle and stench and destitution once again

to find for their son a couple new friends.

A boy and a girl, related by blood.

They came and they rescued these two from a flood

of violence, and death, unaware of the pain

that was etched in their bones, inherently ingrained.

They changed their names

and brought them new life.

Thrust from darkness and terror, straight into the light.

And so, there were three, meant to be family,

except that new sister could not leave behind

the pain and the fear and her will to survive...

fratricide crossed her mind

as the years ticked on.

She couldn't let go, yet she couldn't hold on.

Afraid for the life of young Romeo, and more,

new sister was painfully shown the door...

New brother remained, and the three were now two.

Yet, inside new brother, a devil's pain grew.

Juliet would wander, as soon as she learned to walk.

She whistled and sang and found herself talking

to anyone who'd listen.

Take herself to the movies, to the library, or store...

walked herself to preschool when she was just four.

Her daddy had gone, her mom wasn't there.

Her sisters, of course, never once seemed to care.

All the neighbors who knew her knew, too, she was troubled.

She acted out in ways no child should ever

be allowed in a crowd, or at home, for that matter.

But neglect had made her young soul so much sadder

and madder than other most children her age.

Her family was certain it was all "just a phase."

At the young age of eight, Juliet met her fate:

a man in a car tried to lure her his way,

as he pointed to toys overflowing in the back,

and told her to choose one from the sack on his lap.

He seemed nice enough, he smiled and was kind...

(he was the first of what would be many to try

to get their kicks off of this trusting young fool).

His wife had been her first-grade teacher at school.

She reached in the bag for the rare gift of a toy,

but found the bottom cut out, and grabbed onto his boy

parts. And thus started a legacy to come:

a girl who'd be used by men just for fun.

When they were both twelve, at that moment in time,

Romeo and Juliet, each more or less both broken inside

found each other. And, maybe, they each recognized

the scars on their hearts which they tried to disguise.

They kissed. The very first kiss of their lives.

They kissed, and caught sight of the souls in their eyes.

Too young yet to know, understand or comprehend,

the two were soon parted, yet carried on as friends.

By the end of their schooling, they had drifted far apart,

had fallen in loves and suffered broken hearts.

Romeo and new brother, both handsome and groomed

seemed as different to her as the sun and the moon.

While Romeo's beauty and the soul in his eyes

had always enchanted her, she ever despised

new brother, for he teased her and brought her to tears.

Unknowing, perhaps, that she shared his same fears

of pain and rejection, and feeling alone.

They mirrored their longings for a safe place to call home.

For as yet, Juliet, held for Romeo, her friend

a love and a kiss and a memory without end.

But new brother, she swore, would forever be

the nemesis of her youth, and her arch-enemy.

Romeo was a shy one, bright-eyed, but soft-spoken,

while Juliet's tongue and her voice were her token

to starring on stage, and commanding the scene.

With her flair for dramatics, she faked self-esteem.

The years would pass by... almost too many to count,

and their paths led them far and then near, and about

as she gypsied around and he broke out of his shell.

He was snorting cocaine; she was stripping in hell.

Romeo, as a man, had asserted himself,

had flirted his way to the top of the shelf

where the liquors were costly, but the women even more.

The diamond he'd bought was intended for a whore

but she wouldn't stop hookin'.

And so he kept lookin' for the woman

who'd keep his mind and loins cookin'.

He dabbled around, and finally found

a soul/spirit sister who eventually wound up

bearing his son... the Phoenix of his life:

from the ashes of trashes, he vowed to then rise

and embrace the glory of his first born son.

A child's spirit could change anyone....

Juliet was a fucking hot mess

in that cum-stained dress

she had harbored for years.

A souvenir of sorts that would bear her tears

and fears of living alone in this world.

She slapped on her face and strapped on her pearls

and painted the scene with her colorful voice.

Everywhere she went she'd enchant with her noise

and her sound, and her words and her brain

and her pain that seeped through

everything she would do.

The lonely desperation inside of her grew,

and she latched herself onto pretty men with good talk,

who'd fall for her face, but even more for her confident walk

which was staged, just like everything else.

She never knew love, even for herself.

New brother was floating around then, too.

Had re-met Juliet, and easily made her swoon.

They buried their grudges and cast off their pain,

and devoted two weeks of their lives to each other in vain:

'twas a shame, when he finally left.

She'd come to accept him, and felt so bereft

when he took leave from her life

never to be seen again.

She had hoped, at the least, he'd still be her friend.

But away he blew, and so she did too...

to Mexico, for years, she started life anew.

She discovered her spirit and re-met her soul,

and began to grow into the woman we would know...

Onwards and upwards, Romeo and Juliet did strive.

So different, and yet so alike in their lives

and their journeys and lessons and tithes

they did give to the people and places

they found themselves in.

He quit the whole club scene to find something more stable.

She married a man and did all she was able to do

to control her emotions and fears,

a wild bird clipping its own wings just to hear

the "I love you," she'd waited for all of her life.

Turns out, she made a most terrible wife.

Romeo was still looking for a woman to love,

and thought, once again, he had found what he wanted:

a young, pretty thing to wear on his arm.

Trouble was, after all, she was too young and far

from wanting a life as a wife or a mother.

She left him just weeks before he found out new brother

had taken his life, hung himself from a tree.

He ended the pain that had caused him to be

divided inside by his two families.

Belonging to both or to none, or for some

stupid reason he chose his own death.

Romeo's heart near fell out of his chest.

Juliet was left alone once again.

Her husband abandoned her like all the other men.

The stress and the pain of the wounds he'd inflicted

had broken her back, and she had been sickened

with grief and the fear and the pain of her life.

The doctors insisted she go under the knife.

They sliced her spine open to remove the disease

that had crippled her all the way down to her knees.

They sewed her back up, and she went home to heal

her body and mind, heart and spirit, for real.

Confined to a bed for weeks and weeks on end,

it was there where she learned of her enemy-turned-friend.

"Oh, dear God!" she exclaimed as her head set a-spin.

It was most certain now: she'd never see him again.

But 'twas Romeo, Romeo who first came to mind.

"Wherefore art thou Romeo?" she questioned inside.

The decades had passed, but she endeavored to find

him, knowing he needed her there at his side.

She tracked him down, and hobbled her way, dressed in blue,

to wrap him in love, as he hoped she would do.

She entered, they met, looking older it's true...

but their souls in their eyes were the same as they knew

way back when, when they kissed, twelve years old, back at school.

And, in that moment, she knew just what to do.

Juliet took hold of Romeo's hand.

"You're coming with me," was her only command.

She brought him to her home, and kept him three days.

She sang to his heart, took care of him, made

him eat, and sleep, and cry and talk.

She gave to him all of the love she'd reserved

for the men who walked out on her, all undeserving.

Instead of her needing, she relished in serving

the beautiful, pained, grieving Romeo.

She licked up his tears, and felt her heart grow.

And he, amazed, at this creature so fine,

lifted her shirt and kissed the scar on her spine

in a gesture of thanks, and so filled with love.

The pair of them, holed up together above

the din of the city, and the smell of the cars.

They held tight to each other, as if they had never been

parted, way back, twenty years ago or more.

They held tight to each other as new brother watched o'er them

from his celestial perch, finally free from his pain,

and so happy to see these two together again.

A tragedy shared, yet their love like a salve

erasing the wounds from the lives they once had.

Hand in hand as they stepped, heart to heart, soul to soul...

First kiss to the last pair of lips they shall know.

"You see? It was fate, that first day when we met,"

Romeo whispered in the ear of Juliet.

And she, still reserved and unsure of the risk

leapt into the void, and succumbed to his kiss.

A pair of scar-cross'd lovers, at last released from their woes...

tis the new page in life for Juliet and her Romeo.

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."

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.

Thirst (A Siren Song)

You heard me singing, but could not see.

Couldn't find my lemon-lime

skin dipped in blue,

yet my song called out to you.

(Have you always been color blind?)

I clung to the rocks as you charted the way,

(I remember the day)

and I floated beneath the glassy sheen,

sunlight reflecting your image to me

in a watery haze. I saw you that way.

From under the sea I lured you to me

with a note.

A single deep tone

which echoed the moan of my yearning.

I was burning.

The fire, the flood of my boiling blood

came first.

Next came the thirst.

It wasn't enough to watch you sail by -

my sisters content to make you capsize like the rest,

but not I.

I changed my tune.

From the low, deep tone which had always enticed

pirates, sailors, and men of the sea

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

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

until you saw

me.

What thoughts crossed your mind?

I may never know.

I guessed at your eyes, as they met mine

below the watery veil which flowed between us.

The boundary of our worlds.

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

the treasure of me,

and I mistook the look. Forsook my home,

my life, and family

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

The flash of my fish skin blinded,

my feet crippled beneath.

My body transformed, my cold blood

warmed with my love for you.

At last, you understood the tune.

I reached for you then, wobbling and shaking

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

you were making me walk the jagged edging,

a shock.

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

Slowly, as my steps, your ship pulled away.

You never did say or speak or sing

a word to me, as you watched me fall.

Blood on my knees, as I called to you,

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

Only a tear. A drop of salt from your lashes

only mine ears could hear.

I watched you then, as you sailed the sea

to the lands of your home,

a nomad, so free.

Not me.

I have been bound to this stone

alone, eternally,

each day awaiting your return

to me.

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

A traitor to salt water, I no longer may feast

as it brittles my bones, and parches my throat.

No tail now to swim, a lifeless body only

to float 'round this prisoner's isle.

But what hurts the most?

This thirst,

unquenched,

for the love of your ghost.

The Art of Loverhood

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

What does this mean?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The passion in me has awakened...

super fuckin' fun

A Fond Farewell

Sometimes when I write in my journal in the mornings, I touch upon topics of my life that I just don't seem to have the energy to write about in great detail. Maybe because they are things that tax my soul, are too emotional, or I'm just not ready to confront. I had this occurrence today about about a few things, one of which I decided to write about here.

A few days ago, I learned that my divorce became final. It happened almost a month ago, but I never received a divorce decree or anything in the mail letting me know, (which I think is strange!). My husband - ex-husband - did, and while we were hanging out the other day, it came up in conversation.

Obviously, I knew it was in the works. I had signed the papers back in November, and knew he had finally sent them in a couple of months ago. The finality of it all evokes the dramatic, sentimental aspect of my personality. I can't help but to recount the last four years of my life with this man: the better-than-a-movie romance we had when we met in Costa Rica; the travels to Israel (his homeland), Mexico, Vegas, Miami; the hasty marriage, one year to the day of our first meeting; the rough beginnings, as he transitioned to a new culture and country; the incredible struggles and obstacles we faced, battled, and in the end, failed to win over. I feel simultaneously exhausted, saddened, and grateful for all of the twists and turns of our journey together. I feel simultaneously regretful and excited to move away from him, and towards my independent life again.

I believe that every relationship serves a purpose. I believe that we were brought into each other's lives for reasons both known and yet unknown to us both. It will likely take years of growth and further consideration to gain more insight and understanding of the things that happened that made it impossible for us to hold each other's hands through life, til death do us part. At the moment, it isn't even the right time for me to try to gain this insight - it would be too difficult emotionally, and probably most futile to attempt. Distance and time reveal more to me than diligent efforts to "understand." Now is the time for me to focus on myself, and my life, to consider what I haven't had (but needed) in recent years that I can now offer to myself, to make plans for my future alone, and to take the necessary steps to ensure a most positive outcome.

My husband taught me so many things, and helped me to grow in ways that had never even occurred to me before. As an artist, and from the family life I endured as a child, I can say that "stability," "level-headed-ness," and "maturity" have been foreign concepts in the past. He, being a business man with multiple degrees, army training, and a very disciplined background, really helped me to (for a lack of better words) GROW UP. He taught me how to be financially responsible, how to make good decisions, how to plan for my future. He taught me about family, and how more functional families behave with each other and can rely on each other. I took great delight in his family, in watching how they communicate, how they help each other, what they may even hide from each other at times so as not to worry the people they love the most. This was all completely new to me. Indeed, it was so foreign, that I think I simply wasn't ready for it.

I believe I brought many gifts to the relationship as well. Where he could be so grounded that, at times, was obstinate, I brought a more care-free energy to our lives. I tried to teach him that faith can go a very long way - worrying about things all the time only increases stress, whereas faith that somehow it will all work out frees the energy for the Universe to come in and help make it work. I brought color and music and joy of life. I tried to bring efforts and ideas for improving communication, intimacy, and a sense of silliness and play. I taught him forgiveness. I'm a dreamer, and while I may not always have my feet on the ground, I think all great things in life begin with a dream. I tried my best. I know in my heart that my intentions were nothing but good.

Tears now.. happy tears, sad tears, not gushing, just watering a bit. It's hard to say goodbye to a dream. It's hard to accept when your best just wasn't good enough. It's hard to look at that beautiful man, who still embodies so many of the qualities I would to this day choose for a mate, and know that it truly is best that we are moving forward on separate paths. I know that by making that difficult choice, we will continue to be in each other's lives, as such very good friends, and be able to enjoy the best of each other, and be able to offer each other the very best we have to give.

Next week, he will be moving to Brooklyn, where my very best friend of twenty years also lives. I know it will be a good move for him - to be near his Israeli community, to start anew in a big city, to have more opportunities for work in these terrible economic times. It will be good for me, too - to reassume my city of Minneapolis, my place in it, my community and friends and work and life I have constructed so beautifully for myself. I'll have double the reason to make trips out to New york, which I love. And, I'll step fully into my independence, my spirit, my dreams, with the mixed bag of a little fear and much eager anticipation for the next amazing chapter of my life.

It's another transition. I've been through so many over the past year that I know it will be a little uncomfortable and unsettling for a bit, but I'll make it through just fine - probably better than ever. There will be a few tears yet, but they will trickle slowly and not come gushing in - a light, salty rain on my cheeks to signal a new season, the re-birth of life, new growth. I have always loved blooming so.

To my (ex-) husband, thank you. I will forever cherish our time, and bless our paths. Though our vows are undone, you will forever have a friend and ally in me. You will always be welcomed in my home and life. You will forever be loved in my heart.

Blessed be.