It's not that serious

I have been for the past three years a woman haunted.
Haunted, followed, shadowed by this shade that refuse to let me go. This thing that screams look at me
see me
avenge me

I did not know this until yesterday
3 years ago I misdiagnosed myself as crazy, unhinged and simply bitter... needing for education in the fine art of processing
guidance in the rituals of letting go.

I prayed, sang feverish songs, made smoke offerings to my gods to make the anger fade
Sometimes a few months would go by peaceful and then it would come back
You would come back
I was frustrated with myself
Angry that I was letting you get to me
get in me
I wanted you out of me
Yesterday I realized that it was not you
it was me

Tyler Perry recently butchered a brilliant play by Ntozake Shange... seriously if the woman were dead she would be rolling in her grave over what Perry did to her amazing choreopoem. I winced my way through the horrible things that struck too close to home. I put up shields and focused on his flaws at directing. The way he made black women into broken empty shells.
I bitched and nagged instead of listening to the prolific prose but towards the end a phrase reached right through me and into me and shattered me thoroughly "Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff... Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff and didn't even know they had it"

The freshest of the scabs ripped back
and I poured out
That's me
That's me running behind you screaming: Hey give me my stuff back! You tread all through me and that thing you have dragging at the bottom of your shoe
that's mine
that's me
give it back

I became a new person to fill the space of the person that I no longer was
I made new stuff.
Instead of going back to salvage the tattered bits of me I left the person I no longer wanted to be behind

I demonized her. I told myself that she was weak for staying so long, that she was stupid for taking all that shit for so long that she deserved everything that she was dealt that she asked for it though an ill conceived notion of love and it was her punishment for not listening to her mother and the wise women who had gone before her, suffered and survived.
Stupid, silly, bitch.
Now had this woman not been me I would have been softer. I would have been kinder. I would have rallied to her, swept her into my arms, been harbor in the hurricane, nurtured and loved but it was not another woman. It was me. And I did not at that time in my life have the grace to forgive myself so I killed myself.
Buried myself in an unmarked grave.
“You’ve changed” a friend would say “You are not who you used to be” and I would always respond. Of course not. This is the new me I killed the waste of space that was here before.

I was proud
And haunted.
Unable to sleep, to dream, to slow down to be still because she was at my heels demanding that I see her, respect her, save her, reclaim her.
She was still being drug across hot summer cement on the back of his fucking shoe.
I was still being drug across hot summer cement on the back of his fucking shoe.

I was not weak... I was strong enough to withstand with myself intact
I was not stupid... I was smart enough to leave.
I did not deserve what happened.
I did not deserve what happened.
What I do deserve is to give to myself to same compassion that I would give to someone else.
What I do deserve is to understand deep in my soul that I am not the solely to blame.
What I do deserve is to claim this broken piece of me and remake myself whole.

That wish list I wrote on here… yeah my first request came in. Clarity.

I have a clear realization that regardless of whether or not I join the Universal Ether or get reincarnated as comfy fat house cat whose owner is rich, childless , reasonably mentally balanced, doesn’t believe in declawing, does believe one pet is enough and is totally enthusiastic about kitty couture, bling and organic salmon dinners.

I have the memory of this one life.

This one only to hold onto in this now and if I am going to live it to the fullest then I have to let go of something.

Or rather some things, some ones and some false perceptions like this fake sense of security and the stifling fear of failure. For nearly three years this 60 to 70 hour working week thing has been the safety wheels on my life.

It’s kept me from falling down and going too fast.
It’s kept me balanced and gave me boundaries
But it also kept me from falling in love (with some exception)
in tale worthy trouble (sort of)
and down this rabbit hole that I’m constantly flirting around the edge of.

I am so so ready to free fall and fly with these wings that have been gifted to me though my own journey thus far, wings that have been pieced together from all this pain, pleasure and joy, pieced together with feathers of love plucked from friends with beautiful souls and mentors of magnificent quality.


It’s all come down to tea…

Which is my personal truth #2

Great Tea is not just tossed together. It is not just an accident. The seed has to be planted, the seed has to grow, the plant must be harvested, the harvest must be separated from the chaff, the leaves must be dried carefully, water must almost boil, then the leaves must regenerated themselves in seemingly opposing elements fire like heat and water, and just when they blossom and unfurl once again releasing like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon their life essence gets taken from them, infused changed into something new. For great tea there must be an even greater patience. I myself and my life itself are no different than the tea.

The things that happen in my life are not just accidents… well not everything :).
Life is like the tea. Sometimes we brew it for ourselves sometimes other people brew it for us. We brew with actions, and reactions and thoughts. We pick our ingredients (actively or passively) … sometimes some bastards sneak up behind you and toss something in the mix. Other times we see them put it in and just let it stay… too lazy to pick it out ourselves, or too afraid to displease them.

And when the tea is done we drink

It tastes like shit
We bitch
And pour another cup
Toast and bottoms up
WTF!!!

If it ain't my cup of tea… why the fuck am I drinking it?! Why complain and then do nothing. Why did I fill myself with the same bitter drink over and over again. Because I was worried that if I spit it out I would look like a stuck up ungrateful bitch, I was worried that it was too late to start a new batch, grow new plants and wait for a new harvest, and no matter how appalling the taste was I knew what to expect… and in that there was comfort despite the discomfort.

My mom is taught me all about tea.

An eon ago she laughed at me when I told her I was hesitant about starting everything over. She said that she understood my fear but that I was a silly hussy for using that as an excuse. "If the shoe is fucking up your foot kick it off and if something in your life, whether it be a person, a thing, a job, a situation a habit is not your cup of tea i.e. .Something suitable, appropriate, or attractive to one stop accepting it in your life. Fill your cup with something else and stop being such a silly hussy."

I did it mama.

I made my own precious ever-changing and evolving brew.
I’m protecting it and not letting sneaky bastards toss things in it I did not choose.
I am not allowing fear to dictate the ingredients of my life.

It’s almost ready and when it’s done the first cup of victory will be raised to you.


oh and Juicy if you are reading this Rubenesque Burlesque is totally a main part of the brew ;)

Bitch please....
I'm not sure
where you got your information from
but you don't own me

I don't know what happened in your past
or what happened in this present
to lead to this miscommunication
but you don't own me

you
do not pay my bills
you
do not access my quality
you
do not have power over me


I realize that your high
comes from standing on someone's head
your ego is so short that you have to  straddle someone's shoulders
to kick someone else's side

I realize that you are fragile
behind those hard eyes
that while I can laugh and sing
you can only point at and point out
every negative thing

I don't fear you
because you are blind
you don't see me

I don't fear you
because you are uneducated
you don't know me

I don't fear  you
because you need me (or someone you mistake me to be)
more  than I need this so
you don't own me

and after I write this
after I place the period
you won't own my mind either
you will not hold space within the sacred temple of my thoughts

Bitch please
slave days is ova
and
you
don't
fucking
own me
.

A year ago I made a promise to myself

I promised to Untame , To Rename, To Reclaim me

Because amidst years of conflict
amidst years of conditioning
amidst years of conforming

I had forgotten
my worth
my beauty
my self

 

A year ago I made this proclamation of reclamation. 

~it has resulted in the metaphorsis of a nine year relationship to a wonderful life long friendship
~it has resulted in the loss of 30 pounds
~and the gaining of 15 ;)
~it has resulted in ardent change within myself which has rippled out to touch those closest to me
~it has brought to me a learning of  me

And some of these things that I learned  I love
And some of these things that I learned I absolutely despise

I have learned that I like the razor edge of things
That my sunshine is all the deep deep sensations from elated joy to tortuous pain
I’ve learned that I can shout and sing and strip in front of a crowded room
I’ve reclaimed my sashay, my sass, my sexuality, my spirit.

I’ve also learned that my halo can just as easily become Horns
That I possess as much callousness as I do compassion
That I can be as ugly as I can be beautiful, selfless and selfish
That I can be brilliantly confident and oh so needy of outside affirmation

 

I learned that I had miscalculated terribly

I assumed at the beginning of this that being “me” was a destination that I would arrive at.   I even had the nerve to assume on several occasions that I had “arrived”.   

Now I know that all this, all these things that I have embraced as part of me, all these robes of robes I have put on me is not me.  

I know this because I see it in others. 

In the mother who turns to temptress after her children as fast asleep.

In the tattooed burlesque dancer who has to run off after her performance to study for her exams

In the most feared sadist who cries cheerful tears when given the gentlest butterfly kiss upon his cheek.

In the eyes of the power lawyer who confesses that all he wants is to give in, submit, be told what to think and feel and do.

 

Burlesque Dancer, Debaucher, Red Pill, Submissive Switch, Poly, Pan Sexual, Pagan these are  planets  coming in and out orbit around the soul of who I am and more importantly who I can be.  It’s easy to get caught up in “planets”  I mean hell they are fucking planets.  Huge massive things with there own systems of doing things, rules and landscapes.  It is easy to get caught on one.

I’ve gotten caught on a few
I’ve been lazy again

I’ve come far from the quite girl with low self esteem, from that over emotional self hating mess that used to cut her wrists and cry herself asleep at night.  I’ve come far from the binge eater, the hater, the angry one who threw things and cursed(I still curse but I do it with a smile).  I’ve come far from the cowardess, the powerless.

 

But  I have not arrived
This is just a plateau
I can see a little bit clearly… at least I think I can. 

And what I see are other lines cast down.  From other men and women who have gone before me.  Ropes of knowledge, wisdom, challenge, growth all dangling in the breeze.  There are footholds too, uncharted paths to take as well all things leading to the next level and the next.

 

To continue on this everyday adventure that I’m making my life to be will take more than proclamations, more than believing and boasting.

 

It will take that discipline that Sensei told me I needed so badly ten years ago…  I’m looking forward to the new set of challenges before me, the creations and catharsis they will bring me…

 

I’m not so afraid anymore
and that either means that I am ready or that I am incredibly, inexcusably stupid.  Not that that matters… I’m committed.

 

Or certifiable.

 

 

Either way there is nothing like getting your hands a little dirty to cleanse your soul ;)

You know it's like the song says.  “It’s gonna be a long way to happy”

 

~That’s because you’re carrying too much fucking baggage.

 

Fuck you.

 

~You don’t have the equipment sweetie but if you want we can take a day trip to the City so you can get some.

 

No fuck you.  You think you have it all together but look at yourself look at your life.

 

~I’m sorry did I hurt your feelings?

 

Yeah.

 

~I didn’t mean to.

 

I know… where are you going?.

 

She was  just sitting there  in her oversized sweater, the computer screen turning her skin this weird shade of bluish white.   She looks small and frail and I love her.  For a long time she has been a sister to me but I decline all invitations to all pity parties, not out of being a bitch, not out of lack of compassion but out of self protection.  Attendance at these functions does one of two things.

~ gives me that thank goddess that is not me feeling that poor sob

~encourages me to throw my own

 

Neither of these are accepted schools of thought for me.  I don’t like watching other people’s train wreck since I’ve started to pull myself from the rubble of my own.  And this particular train wreck has been happening for a long ass time. 

 

~Home… it’s late and I work in the morning.   I love Pink you know I do but fuck that song.  Maybe you shouldn’t be listening to it.   Indie Arie has a song called Hope another one called I Choose.

 

I need to process this you know.

 

~You’ve been processing for 13 years.

 

Fuck you

 

~Day trip

 

It doesn’t make any difference… life is shit, life is always gonna be shit.  You have moments when it’s good and then it all gets fucked.  Every time like clockwork.

 

~If you want to see it that way….

 

You’re not perfect you know.

 

I laugh because I am perfect…  and I am flawed, weird, obsessive, extreme and one strange little girl but I am perfect at being the me I am right now in this moment, today… as I walk away.

 

You’re a megalomaniac.

 

~I know.

 

You really have to leave?

 

~Yep

 

Well goodnight hun.

 

~Goodbye dear.

 

 

It’s been five months since I walked out of that apartment that night.  Away from a woman that was a sister to me. 

 

Turns out she was then and is now is sister to a dead woman. A dead woman who in life had delighted in misery, who always said I can’t, who blamed others for her problems, who used everything from weather to weight as an excuse not live fully.    I know this woman is dead because I offed the pathetic punk ass bitch … I only keep her pictures around as a warning.

 

A warning to never ever be that woman again

 

That wasn’t how it started though.

I wanted to help this person see her own beauty, her own power.  But I wasn’t strong enough to lift myself let alone her.  So I sank down besides her… spent hours with her at the grave of our dreams in happy content mourning.

 

Occasionally I would tell her things like

You can do it

You deserve happy

You should stop giving away your power

You have to cut the toxic people out of your life

 

I tried to pound this message into her repeatedly and one day I got bitch slapped by the universe and realized that the unsolicited unheeded advice I was giving was really meant for me.  That this person I was so close to was a reflection of myself…. I didn’t like what I saw.  So I took my own advice. 

 

 

She’s calling now.

This sister to a dead woman.

She is sending out the usual feelers in all the usual directions

 

And I am at a loss

Wondering if I am strong enough now to take her on.

Wondering if my lesson is to let go.

I am happy
this emptiness right here
this emptiness right now
is a temporary thing.

Happy people cry too
even if their tears are confused, missed and taken for laughter
Happy people scream too
even though their pain is mistaken for con and fused with fervor

I am a happy person
and this emptiness is a temporary thing

this Emptiness
where my Worth once stood
Worth I so carelessly gave away
Worth that with an equal carelessness was wasted away,
until my hallowed became hollow  there
once warm womb turned temporary torrid tomb…

Stand not at this grave a weep for me
Neither grieve for me
Nor hold wake with me
instead
give me your noise
lend me your laughter
create chaotic celebration so that I can cry


Grieve not for me
nor hold wake with me

give me  noise
lend me  laughter
create chaotic celebration so that I can
cleanse
create
and cry

for I am a happy person
and this
this is but a temporary thing.

Winter lingers

And for a long time I could not figure out why… why wouldn’t spring come.  I began to wonder if it felt this long for spring to come every year.  But when I thought back on it this impatience is a new thing.

 

I planted seeds in soil indoors and while I have had some measure of success with this in the past it completely failed this year. Withering away pathetically as I watered and adjusted for sun light, as I spent spiraling energy and played Mozart.

 

“Bloom!  Why the hell won’t you bloom? Live, it’s time isn’t it, live!”  But despite my want and will it died.  And now what I think on it this season’s early failure is a powerful lesson.

 

Winter lingers in my life because I have never accepted it.  I am all about transitions.  Constantly changing and moving and pushing lines and buttons I’m all fall and spring.  This year more than ever I denied winter.  I denied loss and death and endings of things.  I dressed my room and altar for fall and purposely did not change the season for winter.  Yesterday I began to take down my fall sprigs to replace them with my spring ones. 

 

Normally this is very life affirming for me but it felt hollow this time.  I was so disturbed that I did an oracle draw with the chakras for correspondence.  It was no surprise to me when I pulled my souls purpose as the Cave in Winter.  A call for solace, stillness, regeneration, darkness the fluid water turned to solid stillness.  Isa… that rune that word that concept that has haunted me for the past two years. 

 

For some reason the image of the cave struck me harder than Isa itself did.  I realized then that I can not move forward if I am exhausted.  I will not know where to go if I do not stop to listen.  I am so intent on getting where I think I need to be that I am missing the entire journey and as a direct consequence I am getting lost.

 

Bloom!  Why the hell won’t I bloom?

Live, it’s time isn’t it, live!

But despite my want and will many things that I touch now wither and die and it is a powerful lesson.

I can not force the seasons, and while I can deny them it is an injury to myself.

 

I realized that I am behaving like a petulant child in trying to deny that it is time for the death of old habits, self defeating patterns, ill-fated relationships.  I want connection, a beautiful soul, I want to grow but I can not grow if I do not go through winter first.

 

If I do not lay things to rest.

 

Winter is hard

But spring is even harder.

I agree with Ariadne when she said that spring is violent.

The seed splits itself in two as it pushed up through the soil it is a dark, lonely, solitary path.  It is all blood and screams and completely worth it… just ask any mother.

 

Winter’s rest, winter’s shedding of the unnecessary is vital if one is to successfully undertake the Spring.   And while I may be a little late in doing so I embrace Winter for what it is and what it will take from me.

After bitching about how embarrassed I was over this Mr. V business I was asked why I don’t delete the blogs. Or why I don’t delete all of my embarrassing blogs for that matter. I told him that I would lose like 79.5% of everything I’ve ever written if I did that, but the real reason is this

I’ll forget.

It would be nice to erase my mistakes. The times when I was a complete idiot, totally selfish and self indulgent, way too easy, volunteered for chaos, abuse and abandonment under the assumption that I was a victim.

Instead I choose to keep them all logged and tagged for easy referencing. It’s my cheap therapy, my glaring light of truth, a lesson in how not to do things. It’s not a ledger of failures but a reminder of how far I have come.

I have learned a lot from reading about other people’s lives, the words and world they have shared. The bottles they cast fearlessly out into the sea with all the deep, and hidden and hilarious messages. They teach me and inspire me.

These are my stories, the mark of my memory that I am hammering into the world. The thing I will leave behind. Since my body is incapable of creating life I choose to create this instead. My glaring mistakes, my cringing embarrassments, my non-fatal flaws, my slightly serious shortcomings are very much a part of it and they are to be laughed at and learned from… if not by others then definitely myself.

I forgot a lot of things from my childhood, from my past because I forced myself to. Because of pain, because of embarrassment. There are whole patches, years gone from my memory. I don’t want to forget anymore I want to remember

I want to remember vividly
the faces and names of people who have touched me deeply.
and some of you reading this know you have.
I want to remember
every color, sight and scent
every emotion from sky high soaring joy to earth shattering sadness
the feeling of his hands against my skin
the press of her lips against my own
how the dawn looked as I headed west with a full tank of gas and a heart full of unquestioning, unwavering love
how the terms "heartbreak and heart wenching" are painfully accurate 
how the cold the warm rain felt against my skin as I carried the last box out of our home

I don’t want to forget because the ability to experience all of these things is a gift.
So when I am old and gray, when my body has given me up like some Judas in the night. I will have the memories of this life. And I'll laugh and cry and laugh some more.

And be at peace.
Just like I am now.

And this too is something I never ever want to forget.

  

Last weekends sex-capades  left me all fucked up in the head.

After talking to a few level headed friends who suggested the following:

 

*Intimacy is a thing of perception.  What you interpreted as love making may have been his standard fair.  Remember hun you’re ass to elbow into some weird multi-favored shit… normal maybe starting to taste exotic to you.

 *There are guys who just want to please women you know (this was stated to me very defensly).  Doesn’t mean he’s in love with you just that he likes making love and until he asks you to formally be his girly then
A: just enjoy it with no emotional attachments
B: stop fucking/ making love to him

 *You’re not in love you’re in stupid.  I think you should come over so I can slap you.  Maybe give you that some sense you’re sorely lacking.

 *This guy is a stickler for rules.  And he is breaking his personal rules for you.  He may have real feelings for you but is freaking out about logistics.  Or he doesn’t and he’s using the logistics as an excuse. 

 *Maybe its your body’s way of telling you to slow the hell down you dirty whore.  Maybe you actually want one man and not three hundred. 

 *You… one guy, vanilla sex, no hair pulling or strap-ons?  Who the hell are you trying to kid.  You’re delirious from lack of sleep and a proper spanking.  Take a nap, get thee to a dungeon and talk to me in the morning.

 

 

I decide to take him for another run just to be figure out if: 
A: that I am in deep deep like with him
B: that I was delirious from lack of sleep and a proper spanking.

So last night I’m clutching the edge of the stove top and leaning dangerously close to an almost whistling teapot as he grinds against me enthusiastically from the back.  It’s hard to pour tea when someone’s biting on your neck but we both really needed it.  The tea I mean. Turns out that I gave him a nasty viral throat infection last Sunday that I wasn’t aware I had at the time.

We cuddle, drink our tea.  And I wonder if sleeping with him again is the best course of action.  Laying in his arms with my head against his chest felt too good.  But  then I figure that any guy who likes my herbal tea, doesn’t flinch or look at me crazy when I tell him about the coven and still thinks I’m sexy after serving him up a slice of the special hell I’ve been in since Wednesday  is worth another roll in the hay. 

Besides it would be like kissing after we both ate garlic… “a negating effect since I’ve already infected him”... this is his theory.  I suggest giving him a massage.  I actually do give him a professional massage with no hanky panky.

 I inform him of his body issues.  Suggest a course of action and I can barely get the lotion away before it’s all “hacha and whoopee”. 

And this time I screamed louder when I came.
This time I went into with a sense humor instead of heartbreak and you know what, maybe my logic is skewed but it worked out in my favor anyway.  I figured out that what I've got is something far better than a fuck buddy.  I have a love buddy.  Which is kinda like a fuck buddy but better. 

See my love buddy cares about my day, my life and when he is going to see me again, he wants to know what I am thinking, and how he can please me. He teaches me to load and shoot winchester rifles and remembers the things that I say and sometimes peer pressures me into eating beef.
I care about my love buddies goals and pursuits, whether or not he made it home okay, I know the names of his siblings and that when he was 12 he had a blond patch of hair... just one patch admist all that brown  and how a specific shade of green turns his eyes really really blue... and I make him laugh.  Alot. 

I really like him
and I really enjoy my time with him. We both enjoy our time with each other, moaning and laughing, touching and tickling. Holding eachother and breathing.

There was no embarrassment as he massaged a horrendous cramp out of my left thigh while kissing my right knee.  And in the after glow as we cuddled under my blanket I told him about my mother and he told me about his.    

I saw the pain in his eyes when he spoke of the cancer that killed her.

 

He knows my secrets.
He’s seen me at my worst and best
He likes me just as wild and free as I am.
He hasn’t asked me to change in any way.


His secrets are silent but on the surface.
And at he worst he is harsh on himself at his best he is passionately focused
He is controled and displined, intelligent and giving
I wouldn't want him to change in any way
 

His hands were warm as he touched me and I told him so.

He replied with “warm hands cold heart” 
I cupped my hands around my mouth and breathed out hot air against his chest.   I was smiling with childish satisfaction as looked back up at him.   He was laughing, the lines around his eyes deepening and within them I saw that struggle that hesitation but he drew me closer and kissed me anyway and rubbed his nose against mine.

So I love him.

So I  make love to him.

But I'm not in love with him.  See I’ve learned the lesson of the tree.  How some people are roots and stay forever, how some people are branches and can fall away, how some people are leaves and are for a season only.  There is danger in trying to turn a leaf to root.

 

Intuition tells me  that he is a leaf. 

 

And that’s alright. 

I accept that. 

I’ll revel in this season. Because right now he’s a little island of sanity within all the insanity of this amazing and awkward adventure I call my life. If he ends up touching me like that for only a little while…If we end up touching each other like that only for a little while then so be it. 

 

Because he has touched me

Deeply

In a positive way
that will remain with me
long after he himself  is gone~~~

I'm so fucking neurotic that if it were a crime I should be locked away for life.
I just re-read my last few postings.
That was some shit straight outta Jane Austen. I should be slapped.
This is the exact reason why I  try not sleep with people I actually really really like.

He may have not felt the same way I did.
Or he may have and it freaking out too.
I am not in any way ready to commit to a relationship.
I enjoy my life the way it is now.
Not that I don't get lonely or really want someone to hold me and take out the trash, someone I can cook for, who actually likes that digusting sound I make in the back of my throat when I am sick...

But lets face it. I don't give a damn about my bad reputation and Donna Reid I am not! 
I am not for changing, quieting down, or locking myself into one saddle.
And if I have to play a game to date I would rather not do it at the same time I understand that my candor can be mistaken for more that what it is.


I'm over it now... well almost

my only regret:
that I didn't scream louder when I came.

sigh~~~

I'm: feigning indiffrence for sanity's sake