The Absence of Fear

It’s 38 degrees, and I woke at 4:45 today, more due to having passed out on the couch somewhere around 10 last night than anything else, I suppose. Undisturbed sleep which I can’t exactly term as peaceful or sound due to having had a 12lb ball of fluff taking up a larger portion of the couch than one would think he could. No doubt happy to be “allowed” to sleep with me, as generally night time is when we go our separate ways. Morning cuddles are always a thing, but I don’t dig middle of the night wake ups that include puppy butt in my face.

Puppy butt, cold mornings, and too early aside, if my writing about fear the other day was Yin, this writing about it’s absence must be Yang, and just must be. Been in the back of my mind for some time now, in some form or other. And what its about more than the absence of fear specific, is how almost exactly a year has passed, give or take, since so many corners were turned, choices were made, calls were taken, and I remembered me.

I don’t know exactly what was my mindset, or where was my heart, or “soul,”  a year ago this time. Meaning, how happy I was, how clear I was, how anything other than starting in earnest the climb up from the place that I’d dwelt in for many too many years. What I do know, courtesy of Facebook memories, is that I had purchased my plane ticket for my trip to Arizona, and was making plans to see my friends, and to immerse myself in myself, and meditation, and whatever else I’d find when I got to the workshop which I was traveling to AZ attend.

Similar plans now made, at least where traveling to Arizona is the topic, and where I am today, what is my mindset, and where are my heart, and soul, … what a difference a year makes. I have so much clarity in so many ways, and so much confusion which is possibly more just a lack of defined path or steps than true confusion, in others. And even the places which are clear as crystal, don’t as of yet have plots or plans, or blueprints, to outline them. there is just, knowing. And love.

What I didn’t know at the start of what was this year of tremendous change and transformation was how deep it would all go, and how far out, as well. When it started for me it was just a shift from being the lost spouse of an abusive sex addict, to (re) becoming the rad chick who wasn’t afraid of most anything (that isn’t a creepy crawly, or slithery icky thing), who explores people, places, feelings, and ideas. It was just that simple, which wasn’t simple at all.

Meanwhile, there’s this book I’m writing, and these feelings I’m feeling, and thoughts I’m thinking, and things I want to say… and when THAT all ended, and THIS (which also includes this, which is no less THIS than the other THIS) all of those things came out in rushes and tumbles, minutes and hours spent wrapped in laughter, and beauty, tinged with occasional tears that weren’t the kind that hurt, but just a last little clearing of a long ago past. The absolute absence of fear, which didn’t and doesn’t mean recklessness, was like wings, to sound like a cliche jackass, but it was. THIS –  the first, while still blurry, is so much more clear as light shines in, on, and through me. As downloads, or upgrades or shifts, or whatever it is, fill me with energy


4 days later. Not that I haven’t written since then, just, not this, not here. And nothing complete. Too often is the case that by the time I get home from work, later than I want to, walk a couple miles, which I want to do for as long as I can while the evening weather still flashes between summer and fall, cook, eat, clean up, my mind is just too worn out to formulate full thoughts on virtual paper. And it frustrates the fuck out of me. My mornings are either too early when I all but beg sleep to take me back, or a semi-rush to get out the door for work. I never was much for the middle ground.


I keep seeing a meme the last few days that says something about hoping the last 3 months of this year (which is closer to just 2 months now) is the plot twist “you’ve” been waiting for. And I think with sort of amazement about how the last year has been the plot twist I didn’t know I was waiting for. And it’s here where the absence of fear returns to me.

If there is such a thing as miracles, the changes in my life in the last year has been the stuff of that. Not in the fishes and loaves, or dead men walking sense. (which reminds me, The Walking Dead is back on tonight!! Holy fuck am I excited!) … To sort of echo what I’ve written in other blogs, and because at its heart this blog is not for me, but is for anyone who may need what it says, underneath the sometimes silly or indiscernible bullshit, there was a point in time where I absolutely did not want to wake up again. I saw no hope for a future that was of interest to me. I said those words to more than one therapist. I have daughters I love to the greatest depths, and the highest heights, but I didn’t think I had anything of value left to give them. My trust had been so utterly eroded by one person, (on top of the residue of erosion from others) that I didn’t see myself ever trusting anyone again, and life without trust is a very bleak place. I also though myself absolutely unloveable, and unworthy of being loved. So what was the point, of anything, ever, at all?

Maybe this was my “Dark Night of the Soul” except while I was in the midst of it, I’d never even heard of such a thing. (Which is likely just as well as I, for myself, believe that I wasn’t focused then on a target in the future, and what was coming, seeking out a something mythical around a next corner, but was instead fully immersed in the present, feeling every ounce of every bleak, black, horrible emotion.) But even if it wasn’t, even if it was just depression around being married to an abusive sex addict, to have gone from there, the absence of light, to here, where there is light so SO bright…. I know it’s not just me who can go from that dark to bright. I know part of why I am here, the biggest part of why I am here, is to be the light which allows others to find their way to the light.

I think for those who are where I am, or in places similar to it, it is easy to understand how almost happy I am to have shadows, such as fear of a certain something, pop up. Hold up the mirror for me, (or be the mirror, incredible as it is, that it is so) so I can SEE, and FEEL, and work through, every teeny, tiny, or huge, thing. While it is for me, it is absolutely not just for me. I have come to accept, and embrace, and be astounded by, the knowing of how much not just for me my path is, so if clearing, or embracing shadows is what it takes to get me fully there, I’m in! Because I am here to shine light, to be light, to heal.

With that said, I am, (we are) also here (I believe) to shift or destroy paradigms. If everything that was “how it’s always been” was still “how it is” no progress (or what passes for it, in some cases) would ever have been made in history. And I’m not saying I have all, or any answers. But I am saying, an energetic return to ancient ways, doesn’t mean a return to the way it’s always been. Its the usual case for my life; if you try to put me in a box, I’m going to protest, and hopefully find a productive way out. I’m going to find a new path. Or forge a new path. Chaos theory (magick?) all up in here. Where this once might have been done in protest, it is now done in a something “higher” way.

It was my own steps that, once again, brought me back to the absolute absence of fear. My own steps that included seeking wisdom, and knowledge, and then using my discernment to see what applied to me. My own steps that included going as deep inside as possible. And as far outside myself as possible. But also, it was the reminder of unconditional love I give, and get, that has been one of the most amazing part of the plot twists of the last year. The sort of love that can’t not activate, and elevate. A love that is intelligent enough that it requires me to do my part, as in; getting the fuck out of my fear if I’m dwelling rather than working through. (As a preemptive strike to questions along the lines of “are you in a relationship now?” Of course I am! Any interaction with another human is a relationship. Ha. But really, I’m not speaking about love in that way. That’s not what I mean here. 3 words have 2 meanings, which can be, but don’t have to be, mutually exclusive. So for purposes of the words I am writing here, think of love in the biggest way you can, multiply it by a billion X infinity, and you’ll have a fraction of the idea of the kind of love I mean right now. Is this about a dude I’m dating. Also no. Stop being nosy.)

So to recap my blah blah, not even sure (as always) I’ve made any sense; I was in a dark shitty place, I got happy and light, I realized I am light, I realized I’m here to shine light, and love so that everyone can remember they too are those things, here for those reasons. I am the luckiest human on the planet to have received, and allowed to give, unconditional love, shadows sometimes pop up, I let one get the best of me for a minute, now I’m through it.

And I’m sending love. Always, always.

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Fear

4AM wake up. Was it you, or them? Or them through you, or the converse? As I turned to meditation in hopes sleep would take me back, found myself instead surrounded by angels, or aliens, or nothing that is also everything. Surrender was for what they were asking, and what I must give, as light poured in, energy poured out, in an exchange of love, and knowledge that I’m yet to understand.

Even now as I am asked to write, in between are pauses for hands raised, (mine) re-positioned, (by unseen them) as they teach me; ancient ways of healing? They won’t say. But each time I’ve tried to withdraw, they have pushed back on me, and made it impossible.

As quickly as words come, they melt away before the path is complete from mind to fingers to keys. If the words I write (or hear or say) are for you, then they have to be for me too. Immutable truth.

Over and over and over; “Don’t fear the embrace.  In the embrace all fear will be lost.”


Iteration 4562. Which is really 3. And instead of 4am, it is now 2am, and my alarm will happen in 4 hours.

As I search for the reason why I have so much of others fears around me, have so many around me who choose fear, knowing that now is my time of revisiting shadows and to choose (or not) to fully, finally, learn certain lessons, I realize I can’t joke or laugh my way through, because this is bigger than me. I am bigger than me because its never just about me.

My biggest fear I am able to identify at this moment is losing people I love. This is not about death. This is not about abandonment. This is about temporarily letting go in the knowing that it is for the highest good. Last time I let go, temporarily, from the most pure place in my heart and out of the most absolute and unwavering love, my world exploded, then collapsed. No matter what hindsight says about why it had to be as it was, I don’t want that again, ever.

But still, what if temporarily letting go is the best thing? The highest thing? The thing that will (fully) heal? (you) and me? Will I be able to stay in my magic enough for it, and you, and me, to reach the place we’ve for so long been journeying to?

All I want to do though, is love. Feel love, be love, give love, and as far from least as possible, receive love. Which I know I do on the daily, but that’s not what I mean. I don’t want my super power to be letting go, even when it’s with love. Loving without the letting go is so much less sucktastic.

And I’m weirdly emotional today. Which maybe isn’t so weird because I’m also utterly exhausted. But everything is perfect. Leaps of faith have been taken, and even as this writing tells me it’s drawing to a close, I feel the clearing, and the rising, and the tears that cleanse are here now too.

Don’t fear the embrace…., they keep saying it.

—-

“…2 am and I’m still awake, writing a song

If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,

Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd

Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud…”

Anna Nalick “Breathe”

——

(Drawing credit Austin Osman Spare. Recently tweeted by someone I follow and I meant to remember who, but don’t. Used cause it seems to capture fear well. Going to have to check him out.)

“…I’m a (wo)man whose tragedies have been replaced, with memories tattooed upon my soul…”

Because I'm deep in the depths of my other writing, my writing to, and about, Chester, and cancer, but my thoughts, and heart, betray me so often I can't focus, there is this. Other thoughts that aren't those. They are all here, HERE, in my soul and my fingertips, the words I want to finish,  which I've been writing for almost a week. Today though, I've been riding the waves of memories from ages ago, tinged by anger, and hurt, or something, of right now, but I have to say something. Something… Because the other writing is as much about me as it is about him, and suicide, and depression, and cancer. But this one is about me, as I relate to him, and just me. And Liz Gilbert. (Eat Pray Love) And I don't know why I'm writing it, just that I'm supposed to.

This is not a cry for help blog. This is not an "I'm in a scary depressed place" writing. Because by the grace of what the fuck ever it is, as much as I am some insane mix of angry and sad right now, and clearly dancing with expansion that has left me exhausted I'm OK. I mean, I'm often these last few days on autopilot, and I would LOVE for now to be the moment of melting into the arms of the one I trust implicitly, who trusts me implicitly, and to just let go. (There, I said it, I SAID IT. I'd shout it from rooftops. If I could. Because as much as I'm scared to say I want {translation: need} that hug, I'm not scared to feel it at all, anymore. Mostly not scared. OK, sometimes a little scared but also, not. Fuck. Note to self: finish clearing fear of saying I need that hug, and of actually needing hug, etc.)

There's some sort of irony in the timing when need might be said (more than once) but… reality makes it not really possible to say. C'est la vie. I trust there is a reason to the timing of it all. Maybe now is a time for me to lean in, more than to lean on. Except I do know I'm not alone. That it is inherently impossible for me to ever be alone.

These things that I am going to say next are being "spoken" into smoke to lift them, carry them away, as they are what has been but does not still need to be. I will phrase them in the present tense as in this moment while I am writing, they to some degree still exist as my truth.

I have abandonment issues. Big fat the size of the Milky Way (galaxy, not candy bar, in case you weren't sure) abandonment issues. These stem from boringly typical, and fuckeduply atypical, events throughout the course of my life.

I have trust issues. Whatever is bigger than the Milky Way, (galaxy) is the size of my trust issues. I believe in the best of people. That people are inherently good. My half a hippy wants to bounce across the earth giving hugs, and cupcakes (except cupcakes with their processed flour, and sugar really aren't good for you, so that's kind of not a nice thing to give. But how lame would it be to give, like, celery, or cheese, which are actually better for you? I mean, I LOVE cheese, but, cupcake trumps cheese most of the time.) I will absolutely trust everyone, right until they give me reason to not. Or right up until I start to look for a reason to not. To look for, and find, the teeth that fit the scars, and then say the teeth came before the scars. And it's not just a male/female relationship trust issue thing, BTWs. I can not trust you irrespective of your gender. To not hold my past against anyone continues to be my quest.

My mind, if too much time is spent by me, alone in it, is a bad neighborhood. (I've stolen that from Chester, yes I have!) I over think, I over analyze, I "should" on myself, and have been known to spend entirely too much time looking over my shoulder, or into a figurative crystal ball trying to catch a glimpse of tomorrows. I have been prone to a melancholy I did not understand. I doubt my appearance, my intelligence, my worth, and second guess myself, a lot.

I have a fear that if I don't say everything I need to say RIGHT NOW, I will not have the chance to say it. I believe this stems in large part from ~ went to visit for a weekend, dude I was dating, who lived in another state. When time came for me to go home I said to him, in tears, "I'm afraid I'll never see you again." (Random, melodramatic, and clingy much, 19 year old Michelle?) He said "of course we'll see each other again, we have too much fun when we're together, to not." The following weekend I had a brief phone conversation with him. He said he was going to go for a ride on his motorcycle. He wrecked his bike. His injuries were catastrophic. I never saw him again. Each of his friends thought the other had called me to tell me. It was 5 days after his passing when I called to speak to him, and was told what had happened. So not random, melodramatic, or clingy, at all. I could genuinely have anxiety on the daily out of fear of losing someone I love, and not getting to tell them I love them, in general, or one last time. This is compounded by fear of something happening, and no one calling me to tell me.  So I often say too much, and its never enough.

I've made an art form of self-sabotage. Frequently because of attempting to fit into the boxes others think I should be in. As soon as I acquiesce and climb in, I start fucking things up, left, right and center, in a form of futile protest, as the only damage done is to myself. I can pinpoint every reason I have this tasty little habit, but, meh. Is it when I'm happy too, Chester? (Because he said of himself that he is {was. fuck.} never content, even when happy.)

As I re-read, I can say in all honesty, a lot of the above have decidedly been more my truths in my past than any time recently. But as they each have presented themselves to me tonight, they got included. Many of them find their origin in molestation when I was 7. I only mention it as it is one of the things Chester, and I, share as a commonality. Part of why I GET everything he said, in every interview I've seen, when he's spoken of his depression and where it has taken him.

*Cue smoke into which they will float away*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I listened to a brilliant Ted Talk given by Liz Gilbert titled "Your Elusive Creative Genius." Only 20 minutes long, but, a game changer if you choose to hear what it says. As it relates to me, to Chester, to Chris Cornell, and too all of the other ridiculously talented creative feelers I have ever known, what I HEARD above all was (screen captured 'cause I couldn't copy/paste)

liz

This proved to me once and for all that she is my hero, and possibly my spirit animal. Because I have spent YEARS thinking about WHY so many of my creative lovelies, are so fucked up. But more than that, seem to almost wear it like a badge of honor. "I'm starving for my art." Well, go you! You go right ahead and be that stereotype. Imma be over here, trying to create something, and also, eating. Since you'd rather starve, I'll eat your portion too. You've seen my ass, right?

In all seriousness though, in the years I was working with bands, and in my interactions with artists, always, I have had a very clear train of thought, that starving for one's art, literally and as a euphemism for a bunch of other dumb shit we do because we are "arteests" and sensitive, isn't really cool. Or fun. Or interesting. Also, its been done, to death. Literally. Irrespective of at a point being the girlfriend in the "what do you call a musician without a girlfriend? – homeless" joke, I always ALWAYS walked away from working with those bands who by choice were starving artists. Music was too important to me, people were too important to me, to do either the disservice of saying "Yeah, sure I'll watch you be your own worst enemy, in the name of creating art." My standard line, which was never just a line, but really IS the song of my soul, "keep pursuing your dream, while taking care of reality." Read: get a mother f'n J.O.B. if ya got to, so ya not living in your momma's basement, while you're trying to be the next (Chester Bennington.) Don't be a drug addict while thinking its cool to be a drug addict, because its not. If you accidentally become a drug addict, don't decide it's cool. No judgement. I've got that t-shirt. But heroin chic, is not.

I am not saying that Chester did anything he did, ever, much less at the end, because of the paradigm of the tortured artist. I do not assume to know what was in his head, and heart at any moment in time, less the time he told me exactly what was in his head and heart. (Which is part of another blog, and of a blog to come.) What I am however saying is, perhaps as a group, we should stop accepting that this is who we must be. How we must be. I understand, with a capital UNDERSTAND, how that may not be easy, because we do FEEL, so deeply, so everything, and because when I was in my darkest, most horrible place, I might have told someone attempting to shine a light in, to get fucked. But maybe if we shine a different light on it, each for ourselves, which will then affect the group of us, maybe it will help a little, until it helps a lot? Maybe if we nurture the tiny ridiculously talented creative feelers while they are still tiny, instead of discouraging their dreams, it'll be a preemptive strike but in a good way.

As I see it, Chester did not "go gently into that goodnight." No matter how that goodnight came about. I believe that Chester with every ounce of his energy worked to shift what needed shifting, inside himself. For himself. For EVERYONE. He put his life into his lyrics, in the most raw, and vulnerable of ways. He furthered his transparency by speaking candidly, and frequently about his hurts, and fucked-upnesses. I know many people are watching his interviews and posting them as his alleged cry for help. I think that's absolute shit. I think he was just being his honest self because he knew on some level that to be so would help him, and others. So maybe we can shift that too. Speaking about what hurts, or sucks, doesn't mean you're crying for help, or crying at all. Maybe its just that you know it is the right thing to do, for yourself, for others. Perspective baby. Get some. See where yours takes you. Might not be the same place I go, and that's cool.

Why I put myself so fully onto these "pages"is a combination of my NEED to create a something, joined with my NEED to work through my shit, and my HOPE that maybe my words will give a someone the tiniest something when they need it most. Even if its just because they read what I write about myself and think "this bitch is CRAZY, and I am absolutely NOT" right when they need to think they aren't crazy. Maybe in me they will find a kindred, and feel not so alone, even if they never speak to me. Or maybe they will reach out to me, as some have, and say, "You have been where I am right now, you are giving me hope that I will able to be happy again, someday." And I'll have a new friend, and so will they. THAT is what it is all about, really. Touching lives. Experiences. Making a difference. Helping others. And not being afraid to show our crazy, while also being happy, and creating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

To Liz Gilbert, thank you for being so wise, and bad ass, and inspirational. Please don't ever stop writing. I mean, unless you want to. Also, tons of love to you, and your Rayya.

Thank you to those who today helped me to walk through the mini fire that popped up. I am so very grateful.

http://wp.me/p6f5rK-1FEChester, your thank you is in another writing. But also in my heart, which I know you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title is an excerpt from "Into You" by Dead By Sunrise

Your Elusive Creative Genius – Liz Gilbert

 

 

Thank You For Not Being My Hero

Its important to say from the start, this is not a feminist “I don’t need no mans to save me” something. Mostly because I’m not a feminist. But also, I don’t need no mans to save me. Or womans. Or even a priest or minister, although I am sure there are those who will beg to differ, but that ship sailed when I was 6 so, get over it already! Also this is not a “be your own hero” thing. I dig the vibe that is trying to put out, but, that’s not what this is about.

These words have been trying to come out for days, have been partially written for days, as I’ve again, still, been walking, or sometimes what has felt like crawling, through so much that I don’t understand. The things that make me feel crazy, which also make me feel not crazy, that I in some moments fight,then surrender to, when I’m not contemplating running, or crying; with gratitude, or because so much feels like SO MUCH!

I keep it mostly inside because as much as I am pretty flexible about certainty these days, I feel pretty certain that all of what I am being brought to, or that is being brought to me, is a solo journey, except not really, because that is inherently impossible. More its about rolling around in what my intuition says, and what my truth is, rather than seeking counsel from “experts” or friends, or some random dude. Which that one, the random dude one, would be not really about the counsel thing, but more about an attempt to forget the everything, and to fake take away the lonely that sometimes creeps in. For as much as it is a quasi-solo journey though, it couldn’t possibly be any less about me.

If ever you (whomever you are, reading this) aspire to feel like a crazy dumb ass, have a “spiritual awakening” or whatever name is appropriate based on your particular flavor of beliefs. Then try typing those words, about yourself and see if you either laugh at yourself, or think ‘what in the actual fuck is occurring, because I don’t say shit like that!’ Especially if you weren’t ever spiritually “closed” nor were you seeking any sort of opening thing. And also if you roll your eyes every time you read the words “spiritual awakening” because it sounds so cheesy/pretentious, when you think it relates to you, you’ll feel like a crazy dumb ass, who a little bit wants to punch themselves for sounding like an idiot.

Maybe part of my “mission” will be to come up with a less stupid sounding expression for what I’m feeling/doing/have happening to me/I am happening to. Ascension is another frequently used term, but I don’t vibe with that either. It reminds me of Jesus, or the Virgin Mary, and Bible stories. All I know is, some crazy (cool) somethung is going down inside me/around me/in every version of me, and has been since last November. Well, really long before then, as I can pinpoint other dates that  parts of this journey started (continued) in this lifetime. But in November I had some sort of “quickening” like in Highlander. Except there can’t be only one, and while I often feel as if my head has fallen off, I’m pretty certain no hot Scottish dude is going to show up with his broadsword to chop it off anytime soon. I mean, hot British dude always  welcome. Chopping off of head, not so much.

To quote  (again, as I’ve used it in a previous blog) a brilliant line from Marianne Williamson “we are the ones that we have been waiting for”  and in thinking of a story also recounted in another blog, told by Denise Linn, from the Elders of Native American tribes, those who sacrificed themselves lifetimes ago, for a moment in the future/some other time, in which they were needed, are returning because that moment is now. And no matter how nuts I feel sometimes, no matter that “this”  and elements of it, triggers me, challenges me, causes me to dig so deeply into everything I think I know about myself, and my beliefs, in moments I feel raw, I’m all “game on” about this path.

If none of that blabber appears to have anything to do with the title, it really, actually does. So I’ll say it again; Thank You for Not Being My Hero.

Don’t get me wrong, there are many times where all I want is to be wrapped in arms I trust, and to just let gooooo. To not have to be in charge of anything, or worry about anything, or think about anything, for even just a minute.  And this isn’t a “Jesus take the wheel” (haha) thing I’m saying, I mean literal arms. Man arms. Preferably attached to a man. I’d love to just melt into the someone I trust implicitly, who trusts me the same. Chick arms are cool too, for hugs, or cuddling sometimes, but just not the same. Still though, I don’t want to be saved. Or rescued. 

I just FINALLY dipped out of the part of my life where “victim” was the brand I was “supposed” to wear. Victim is more itchy against my skin than cheap wool, uglier than polyester from the 70’s, and more constricting than Spanx. I don’t want to wear that ever again, even in the arms of one supposedly rescuing me from it. Bleh. 

So to my not heroes I need to say, thank you for not trying to swoop in, scoop me up, and “oh poor you-ing” me,  to the point I’d start to think “oh poor me” also. Thank you for instead of trying to make my boo boos all better, giving me your time, your moments, your humor, and your ear. Also, your voice, your opinions, your ideas, and thoughts, without insisting or even suggesting, that I make them mine, as they (my boo boos) healed on their own. 

Thank you for not spouting platitudes that would have annoyed the fuck out of me, but instead, sharing photos, quotes, stories, poetry, or music, meant to comfort me, make me laugh, distract me, or bring me to a warm, and fuzzy place.

Thank you for being whole enough in and of yourself, that you see me as, in and of myself, whole enough to be able to navigate everything I needed to navigate, until I saw myself as that whole, too.  And for patience, as I, like a Rottweiler puppy who has reached full size, am still a clumsy as hell, not having yet fully grown into myself, trip over my own feet while excitedly running through the world, and slip on the hardwood floor  because I’m just too busy wagging my tail to notice anything else going on.  But really, the growth spurt was fast, and my inside is still playing catch up with my “outside” so, thanks also for the patience when I jump on you because I’m just so happy to see you. I’ll grow out of it. Not the happy to see you thing, the having no chill thing.

Thank you for not trying to patch the holes of my insecurities you did not create, with whatever it would be that could fill them for a moment, but instead just BEING, as I remember I don’t need the insecurities. And for kissing my wounds, while not seeing them as disasters in my soul, but cracks in which to put your love (Paraphrased/bastardized from Emery Allen) while making no attempt to fix them, either. 

Also thank you for knowing I want you but don’t “need” you.  (Except sometimes. Shhh, don’t tell.) But also for not NEEDING me, but wanting me too. Thank you for being in your own ways, a brilliant shiny example to be followed, by me, by others, in our own way. 

Thank you most of all for the trust. In its defying of explanation, it is probably the most clearly ‘exactly as it is supposed to be’ thing I’ve ever known.

If you think that this might in part be for or about you, it probably is, because there is more than one not hero. And not heroes aren’t just boys, which still isn’t feminism but is fact.  There is also though, one SUPER not hero? Not SUPER hero? Whatever. One who has, by happenstance, which is more likely part of a “divine plan” not just held the mirror, but is the mirror, that has allowed me to see the possibility of all, to paraphrase myself. 

To each of you, but most of all to YOU, I send my endless gratitude and love. You’re the most amazing not heros any girl could ever have! Thank you for not thinking me crazy. Or liking my flavor of crazy. Whichever works best for you. And at least one of you is going to one day, when I write a book, which will then be made into a movie, in which my not heros will be featured,  end up wearing some skin tight something or other, irrespective of your not hero status, just because it will be fun. 

On Being (Sleep Deprived) Light 

Long before I’d had even a glimmer of understanding of the enormity of everything that is still not, but never wasn’t, so therefore is (And to think Jean-Luc once accused me of pedantry!) there was for me, light. That which illuminated. That which is the antithesis of cumbersome/heavy. Light.

Irrespective of the place in which I am for this time, which is in shadow, and maybe I, as has often been the case in life, have it all wrong, but I think it’s now my turn. To lilluminate. To be what isn’t heavy. So from my place in shadow, I’ll be the light. Shining into places that appear scary, but really are not. Making it easier to traverse the road (less traveled) ahead. Being a cosmic cheerleader for those who need it, encouraging them to leave behind the heavy, the cumbersome, the past. 

Written from my bed again, in a night of sleep that has come in drips, and drops, after an evening of fighting everything inside me that feels overwhelmed by a call to trust in some sort of greater plan, and to trust in general. Fighting to transmute thoughts and feelings and energy which doesn’t serve me. Fighting to overcome the sadness of not being where I want to be, where I thought I’d be, tonight, tomorrow, next week. Fighting to believe loneliness won’t be forever. For whatever it means, I’ll be the light. 

There’s some sort of irony in typing this right now, into my phone, in a room with only just now the slightest hint of sunlight peeking through the blinds, without my glasses as I’d planned to sleep tonight, not write,  as with so much else in my life, just feeling my way through, and hoping I get at least most of it right. But also a little bit saying fuck it, if there are tiny mistakes, at least I wrote the thing, instead of just letting it sit untouched in the back of my mind. 

Clairvoyant Skies

“…We are standing on the edge of a choice, And waiting for a voice, Is it destiny that pushes us this far?…”

(Don’t know what lead me here, to listen to this song, this morning, with rainy skies outside my window. This is one of the first bands I worked with in Arizona. And Ive realized I could draw a line that starts with this band, {or really, Conrad, their then manager} that would circle back to this moment in time, and encompass {almost} every person I love most, and experience that has brought me the most happiness in life.)

So with Michael’s Clairvoyant Skies floating above, and all around me, I think. About the memories I hold, the moments I’ve shared, the secrets I keep, the reasons why, of so many things.

And I feel.  Love, and loss, loneliness, and connection. Titanium strength, wrapped in a velvet of gentle. The brightness of  throwing my arms wide open, and the darkness of fear.  Clarity, and confusion.

This year that feels as if it just started a week ago, is unfathomably half way over. And this month is one of changes. It’s beginnings, and endings, and a little bit in between too. But it’s forward motion or die on the vine, and I won’t be dying anytime soon, even if life once again, possibly, doesn’t look like what I’d thought it would.

Pausing in my writing, to listen to the birds outside my window singing their morning song, and to read, and I find these words by Brene Brown, amongst a larger grouping, but these call to me. These are where I am. Where I have been for months.

“…I’m not screwing around. It’s time. …
…Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. … Courage and daring are coursing through you. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It’s time to show up and be seen.”

Nothing big, nothing important, happens in the blink of an eye, and I get that. But I also get that I’m ready to dance in the light on figurative tabletops,  and sing in the sunshine on literal mountain tops, or while standing on cool sand, with waves breaking upon the shore. Because I’ve spent enough time not doing those things. Not doing those things was where I needed to be, but don’t, anymore.

Maybe it’s time to shed skin again?? To go deep outside myself. Maybe I won’t find answers to my questions, maybe I will. But not if they go unasked. Unheard by whatever needs to know them.

There’s a quote floating in my head about destiny being decisions not circumstances, or something like that. And being still in Clairvoyant Skies, and the unexpected confluence of so many things in my life, that started with my decision to answer a phone call not meant for me, I agree.

This morning in June, with its rain gently falling, finds a cool breeze coming through my window, and a puppy laying near to me, because to not touch me in the morning is always more than he can stand.  Which is sweet, and cute, but I’m ready for more than “puppy love” mornings.

Now meetings have been had, moves will soon be made, and constant has been the stream of beautiful music this week, that strangely, not however surprisingly, led me here.  Back to where so much found it’s start. To where I begin, again.

Mt. Michelle – revisited

I came across all of my old blogs from when Myspace used to be “a thing” and I’d write all the time. This blog, circa 2004, was inspired by a PM sent to me via the motorcycle forum to which I used to belong. In case that doesn’t make sense in 2017, the motorcycle forum was a message board. A place where like-minded individuals would gather, virtually, to discuss their common interests. In this case, it was motorcycles, (duh) and the riding of them. Or in my case, passengering on them. But, REALLY passengering. At 120 miles per hour sometimes, leaning so deep into curves, our knees almost touched the ground, and for hundreds of miles at a time.

From Myspace:

Me:  He sees my photos, he reads the words I write, (not here, elsewhere) has limited one to one email interaction with me, and based on these things he says I’m like nitroglycerine…. I’m not sure why he started to write to me, but here is how he thinks men view me. (asterisks are mine, reference at end of writing)

————————————————-

“yes, it’s clear that your volatile* personality is a draw…your ability to change looks from mother to rock groupie chick** to biker to manager……. you are like nitroglycerin. “taking” you would make a man feel very powerful. king of the world. look at this fine specimen of a woman that I have slain / subdued / seduced / caused to fall head over heels in love with me / fucked her brains out. however… mishandle the nitro… and THAT’S YOUR AZZZZZ! this scares many men off, because it’s too much responsibility. all they are in it for is to meet a cutie, have sex with her, go out to eat and the movies, maybe fall in love and have a family. they really aren’t prepared to deal with a forceful personality. other guys will see it as a diamond in the rough. a needle in a haystack. something different for a change from the easily duped and quickly swooning volunteers…”

————————————————–

Me:  So apparently I’m Mt. Michelle, waiting, much like Everest, for the brave souls willing to attempt to conquer me?  And what happens when “they” perceive they have conquered me? What if they have the idea that getting me in bed is something that won’t happen until they pledge undying love to me but I decide to allow it to happen before then? Do they think they’ve conquered me, and then I’m not a challenge? And what if “they” are one of the few that get to experience what I think are the best parts of me? The affectionate, romantic, nurturing, tender woman I am. The woman who will in fact cry for their hurt more quickly than she will her own. And who sometimes doesn’t want to be strong, but rather wants to lean on someone for a moment. Are they let down because Mt. Everest isn’t supposed to be touchy/feely, romantic, or emotional?

This is all very timely and interesting. I know it’s only one man’s (unsolicited) opinion. And a man who does not in fact know me. I see elements of truth in what he’s said though. So it leaves me to wonder, if I’m perceived as this challenge, but then instead of playing those silly dating games of making a guy chase me, I am just who I am, is “their” idea of me destroyed and I then cease to be appealing? A friend of mine once said about herself “hard to get doesn’t exist in my vocabulary. If I’m in it, I’m in it.” And I feel the same way.

Which brings me back to the thought of destroying the illusion of Mt. Michelle waiting to be conquered. I suppose the ones worth my time will realize that whether I wait 3 days or 3 months to have sex with them, it’s not indicative of me having been conquered. And they will also know that number of phone calls or email isn’t indicative of anything other than I friggen communicate with everyone, all the time! And if I seem excited to see them it’s ’cause I enjoy their company, not because I’m whipped. And that if I want to help them out, it’s not ’cause I’m madly in love, it’s ’cause that’s what I do. And that while I’m not complex in a drama queen way, that “conquering” me isn’t based on what they might think it is!

Overall I guess this is much better than being viewed as an easy target though. But for my part I guess I have to try and figure out who’s just in it ’cause they think it would be neat-o to say they stood at base camp at Everest, vs those who plan on actually trying to reach the peak. Mostly I wish that I could ask the guys I’ve let close to me in a boy/girl sense if what is written above was their perception of me as well. I don’t know if anyone would be that candid with me though.


*His use of the word volatile is perplexing to me. I can only extrapolate from the rest of the content of his email that its because I so passionately state my case when I feel strongly about something.

** This made me laugh! Groupie! HA! I’m the antithesis of a groupie. I’m the chick who has intentionally NOT slept with rock stars because they are rock stars! Its all about the music for me! Its just a bonus if the music is made by a super hot guy(s). PLUS, dress like a groupie what? Yeah, my tits and ass are always hanging out at shows and I can barely stand because I’m wearing my come fuck me shoes and my feet hurt! As evidenced by the photos I’ve posted here!!


My take on this, today, 5/16/2017

I’ve lived about 100 lifetimes since I wrote the above blog. There have been a lot of deaths, a lot of births, there was travel a plenty, music (always music) 3 long distance moves, love, and marriage, (a thing I hadn’t counted on happening) and within that marriage, the effects of sex addiction (his), and domestic violence. The writer of the nitroglycerine thing also “predicted” the demise of my marriage, before I got married, because my ex is 14 years younger than me. Nitro dude said ex would want to find someone younger, once I got “old.” Oh the irony that my age had nothing to do with the demise of our marriage.

But about the blog, and nitroglycerine, my thoughts are; I am not Mt. Michelle. Nor am I nitroglycerine. (Although I can be explosive! Which I have worked very diligently to change, and which doesn’t mean only anger, just emotion.) If anything can be learned from the marriage formerly known as mine, it is that the only blast created by the mishandling of me, was an almost irrevocable (it seemed at the time) implosion. That’s not to say that would always be the case, there was a systemic, and subtle, breaking down of the me over years. I dig that this was a plot twist no one saw coming, least of all me, but, I didn’t explode.

I don’t think anything *bad* was meant by what was said to me, about me. But I think it shined a not so flattering light on men, with words on what their perspective is (might be) of me. At least from my view of what I think men “should” be like. I don’t think it was being said that I should make myself small for men to not be scared of me, but, maybe it was. Me, and my forceful personality!

What I know now, that I didn’t know then, is that it doesn’t matter to me how I’m seen by most, or even many, men. But I am not to be conquered, or owned, slain, or subdued. In my experience, (see above referenced former marriage) the one(s) who see me as that, are those who are viewing me through the lens of their own insecurities. I’ll go with the diamond thing, if we leave out the rough. Perfect, I am not (Yoda, I am channeling!) but I don’t need to be shaped, and polished, to the eye that is deserving of beholding me. Unless of course, I wish to shape, and polish, me, for myself.

Most importantly what I now know is that the one who will get me, deserves me, is one who doesn’t need to subdue me as means to make himself to feel stronger. Almost conversely, he gains strength from supporting me as I rise, and grow stronger in myself. There are so many things I have learned about myself because of the introspection, the years of being single, while being married, and being alone so much, and part of that is exactly what I am looking for in a man, and none of that includes someone who feels like conquering me is a cool thing. Lucky to have my attention? Yeah, that I’ll vibe with, because I don’t give my attention easily. But that will only be the case for someone whose attention I hold too, who also doesn’t give it easily.

I’m writing around this again because the last several months of my life have been a lot about deep introspection. As I re-read many of my old blogs, I realized how much I lost myself during the years of my former marriage. Its kind of cool to revisit this time, when I used to think any of what was said in the original email mattered. I’ve still got my insecurities, but really, I’m just me. I AM the needle in a haystack, and its one crazy lucky dude who gets that. And me.

Also, to the friend who sent me the email originally, I wish I remembered why you sent it to me, but, in this moment, I mostly want to say thank you for it. It was an unintentional holding of a mirror to myself, to see how I felt about all of it. About me. I’ve come to the conclusion that it was a ballsy move of you to send the email back in the day! I could write so much more about how I feel, and what I think, about all of this, but, meh. The important part was me going inside, taking another deep look at me, so, thanks for that!

The Day After, the day after…

If any one thing I have ever written in my life has been an effort in writing my way through a specific something, this is it. The residue of too many moments familiar to this one, which aren’t at all the same, except my heart doesn’t really want to hear that right now, are a little bit wearing me down.

But this isn’t then, and nothing bad has happened, its just a something difficult, and not in the least more difficult because of the residue. So I’ll write my way through to the other side of my daughter having left to start her new life, chasing her dreams, in L.A. I couldn’t possibly be any more happy for her, any more proud of her, but also, I miss her so much already. Too many times I’ve had to say “goodbye” even though it was never, and still isn’t, forever or bad, its just – the residue.

Its not that I didn’t expect this, because I’ve always been this way when something painful, or difficult, has happened. There is the day it happens, which I work through, only allowing myself to feel a little bit of whatever is happening, or has happened. On that first day, I take care of business, I make lists, or phone calls, and give hugs. I just roll the fuck with it, saying a little prayer along the way, that I’ll be what I need to be, for anyone else who might in that moment need me.

Then comes the day after “it” happens. That’s the day where a something similar to shock takes over, and “surreal” is the word for that day, and I just float through, in some, contrary to my nature, mostly emotionless trance. Maybe a tear here, and there, but mostly not.

And then there’s the day after, the day after. The day the something similar to shock has worn off, and I feel every single thing I didn’t feel the yesterday or the day before. And tiny streams of tears, become rivers, turn into oceans. Where sadness the day before might have been teensy ripples which hardly register, on the day after, the day after, it is waves that make my knees buckle, and I let it knock me down, because sometimes its OK to fall, I think. Today is the day after, the day after, and my knees have buckled a few times.

Its days like today, when being single, alone, feels also like lonely. So naturally, with perfect timing, the ex-husband calls, and I’m a little bit “Dear Universe, fuck off!” because I’m feeling like a big baby, with a cold been hanging on for a week, and Ari moving, and now this too. The apologies are too late, and I don’t believe them anyway because “I’m sorry” had become like a reflex for him years ago. Then I start to cry when he asks if I’m sick, and says something I can no longer recall that is meant to be caring, because I’m worn the fuck out, but (in a not mean way) his is not the voice I want to hear expressing caring.

I feel unkind when I tell him my tears aren’t for him, or our marriage having ended, because they aren’t at all. I’m just tired, and emotional, and I only called back because he said he wanted to ask me a question about alimony payments. Then he asks me about the boyfriend he thinks I have, and when I tell him I don’t have a boyfriend, tells me he’s happy to hear that, and he doesn’t mean it cruelly, but its so remarkably stupid because he didn’t want me when he had me, and he has his girlfriend, and he knows I’m over him. And he says I can call him anytime I want to, and I want to pound my head against the wall because WHY. I say again the tears weren’t for him, or our marriage, and that I have to go, and hang up.

And now the puppy, who has slept almost non-stop for 2 days straight, which I suppose is his way of (not dealing) with his missing his best buddy, as if he knows I’m writing of this, goes to sit at the bottom of the tiny set of stairs leading from the dining room to the living room, where he would sit when he’d hear her car as she’d  park it, looking at the front door waiting for her to walk through, so he could attack her with kisses, and love, and rummage through her purse or bag of life, which never had anything for him, but he did every day, anyway. And the tears that had slowed down for a few minutes overflow again because its too quiet, and the door won’t be opening.

Because I have recently seen what it looks like from the outside when a someone is constantly saying “poor me” and I realize how much I never want to sound like that, and I feel I could stumble into that territory (in my view of myself) if I’m not careful, and because I have also recently seen what it looks like when a someone, no matter how much not fun is swirling around them, always says they are doing great, and that everything is all good, and that is exactly the example I need to follow for my highest good, its time to turn the day after, the day after, around, and remember there is no tragedy here, at all. No mean people came and took my baby away from me. She’s soon to be “living it up, in tinsel town” making her dreams come true, and that’s a beautiful thing. That is who I raised both of my girls to be, and I wouldn’t want her to give that up, just to live near to me.

I can’t not add to this how incredibly lucky I am to have been so loved, and supported, over the last few days. Friends who were there back in the day, who held my hand (or got me drunk, or both) after each goodbye, who knew the residue would get to me, have been here for me this time around too. To each of you,  thank you, and I love you.

And to the extra terrestrial Unicorn who held my hand, in spite of the (physical) distance between us, with words, and music, and photos, and thoughtfulness, in the hours leading up to,  and after the “sailing”  thank you is (as usual) not even sort of enough to express my gratitude for the caring. You’re the kindest, coolest, and most awesome ET Unicorn ever, and I love you, too. 

———

Now it’s the morning after the day of which I wrote above, and it’s officially time to start living this new version of my reality.  It’s a little (or a lot) more quiet than the version before it, but it’s no less beautiful. I fell asleep writing the last words above, and dreamed for the 2nd night in a row of gorgeous snowy white owls, flying all around me. Watching over me. Maybe they were sent, or maybe I called them to me. Either way, they were lovely, and soothing, and appreciated. 

 

 

March 2006

Like water in the precarious moments between simmer and boil over, tears long restrained threaten to breach imaginary walls created to hold them back – hide them, lest once started they won’t stop.

Maybe if a little more time had passed, like 30 or 40 years, grief, which this time is mine because it’s his, would be borne, with love for another as a needed source of strength, with grace -rather than simply muddled through.

Too many losses in too short a time, a mother of two sons and the truest of friends, the man who made music – still mostly a boy, and blonde haired blue eyed little girl whose smile lit up my heart, dance in memories of my despair mirrored in his eyes, as he is now the one who must whisper goodbye.

Wishing I’d more to offer than well-meaning clichés “in a better place” “free from pain” “at peace” which when passing through my lips instead of his, or their’s, sound no less hollow, no more comforting, and feel like nothing more than sadness come full circle, caught in the middle of uninvited visitors, irony, and pain.

“…So We Must Love While These Moments Are Still Called Today, Take Part In The Pain Of This Passion Play…”

Listening to:  Everything Indigo Girls (again) which started (this time) here “Galileo”

12 years ago, 2005, in the span of 5 months, my confidant, greatest supporter, in many ways my mentor, my teacher, my almost-mother-in-law become dearest friend, Roxy, 5 days before my trip to Denver to see her, lost her (2nd) battle with cancer; dear, sweet, YOUNG boy, sound engineer working with the band I was managing, Chris, just starting his career making music beautiful, was taken literally by fire; and my niece, Cristina angel completed whatever it was she’d decided to come here for, and crossed back over to where she was free from the medical mystery of a body she’d occupied for not quite 11 years, this time around. And what I thought was forever (and real, and passionate, and nurturing, and healing, and spiritual, and healthy, and everything beautiful) love, found me. I wonder sometimes, had it not been for all the death that preceded the finding of me by (love?) might I have made different choices. Maybe. But I made the choices I made, and really, who the fuck knows. And now here I am… exactly where I want to be, at my core, happier than I’ve ever been.

In 5 days, in a courtroom far away, a Judge will wave her magic wand, and the life, and marriage, formerly known as mine, will be legally, formally, officially, eternally, over. And it’s good. I have outgrown that marriage, and the person I was when in it, and the person to whom I was married. I never understood until a few months ago that people can outgrow each other, their relationships, their marriages. I got it in terms of friendships, but not beyond that. I get it now. From my own experiences, and those of some others who have, or are going through this. They don’t have to involve things such as domestic violence, and addiction, for one to outgrow the other. Or both to outgrow each other, and the situation.  Moving on, walking away, is not something bad. It is not a sign of failure, or of lack of integrity. In fact, it is likely the exact opposite of that in some cases. (Such as for someone I will be quoting later in this writing, who helped me to shift my perspective on this topic.)

In one month’s time, my littlest angel, Ari, will be ascending a level higher toward her dreams, starting out on the road-trip, that is really a (permanent) move to Los Angeles. So much everything cool, and good with that. But cool, and good, isn’t always synonymous with easy, and free of sadnesses of sorts.

In two months time, I’ll be moving, locally, somewhere. As (accidentally) as accustomed as I am to moving, for some reason I didn’t think I’d be doing so again, quite this soon. I have always been “lucky” or whatever it is that has my back in this life, so things always work out, but, this just feels a little heavy this time, which is throwing me a bit off balance.

—-

I’m over-thinking, and under-doing, and not breathing enough, but also, breathing sometimes too much. Maybe I need to get high? Or laid? Or swim in the ocean? Take a road trip. Spend more time in meditation? Allow myself to fit into a box, and be suited to a label? Live more in this world, and less in whatever the one is that so often calls to me? Drive until I get lost, and found again? I definitely need to sing again. And to dance more often, with absolute abandon, in a crowd of people doing the same, to share that energy.

——

From Elizabeth Gilbert – one of my favorite authors, and humans:

Yesterday, I asked my Fear, “How are you doing, my old friend? What’s going on with you?”

My Fear said, “I’m so tired. Trying to keep everyone and everything safe has completely exhausted me. I can’t do this anymore. Somebody else needs to be in charge now.”

And then I heard Love speak. She said, “Let me take it from here, babe.”

That’s when we all started breathing again.

Elizabeth Gilbert – Love this lady

——

I am now self-aware enough that I have been watching myself slip into where fear, or something similar to it, which is not shiny, or beautiful, has started to be a little bit in charge again. Not fear of a something, or a someone, or an event. Non-specific fear, that I’d thought was relegated to my past as a way of life, or even just an interlude. Not to say that I don’t know what some of the “triggers” are, but, triggers aren’t inherently the boss of me. And also, sometimes triggers only have the slightest hint of a fragrance past, which strikes the chord of a memory of a something that wasn’t pleasant, so making the decision to believe that the top notes, and finishing notes, and all in between, are exactly the same as the scent of experience past, is just, stupid.

So I look deep inside myself to see what’s going on, and I look to the planets, and stars, sun, and moon, to see what is maybe their part in all of this. I wrap my arms around myself when need be, remind my me that this healing is a process, and that my shade of crazy is actually quite beautiful, and that which sets me apart. Not above, or below, but apart. I (for once) reach out to others to talk to them about it, this (slightly) off balance moment I’m having.

The origins of fear –

Knowingly putting myself into situations which may result in me getting hurt in the end. But that’s a little bit what this human experience is about in total, so I kick my own ass, widen my view, and remember that I’d be bored, and filled with regret, if I didn’t take the risks of LIVING  vs the safety of existing.

Never afraid of change, but sometimes when a lot of it comes all at once, and when at least a part of it means (physically) letting go (again) (because it has seemed sometimes that universe has wanted to say to me that my super power in this life is letting go of anyone I love, but not because they die, but rather due to circumstances I’d never seen as remotely possible) I stumble, and momentarily clench my hands to grip more tightly, instead of releasing.

Feeling a lack of contentedness for my todays, because I’m very excited for my tomorrows. I got a little high, I think, on the fast pace at which things were changing, and moving (inside, and outside of me) for a while. Instead of appreciating the calm, and matching my energy to the rhythm, and in spite of knowing that a slow groove builds the foundation, so that when the crescendo comes, it is of mind-blowing proportions, I focused on the “high.”

That my wants will be perceived as neediness. That I’ll forget, again, that “no wo/man is an island” and won’t let myself be held, or nurtured, because that means vulnerable. And that vulnerable is scary as fuck for everyone who has any amount of living under their belt, and as far as I can tell, a lot scarier for those who have experienced years of betrayal, and betrayal by everyone in their life ever sworn by lineage or deed, to protect “you.”

That I will be seen (not by anyone in particular) to be “less than” because I don’t have a plan for 2 months from now, much less 10 years from now. Because all the good people, right people, best people, have a solid foundation, a firm plan, own a house, aren’t divorced, have a college degree, and a linear career path. They also don’t feel as if their life will be incomplete if they don’t travel to certain countries. And especially by 50 years of age, they have very firm roots planted somewhere, with someone, the end.

That what is before me, which is burning inside of me to know, and has been since before I knew it was, is held by unseen forces, and just carrot on a stick, with which I will later be smacked.

I want to write about shadows (in which I am not meant to live) because I am the girl who (metaphorically) sings from (metaphorical) sun drenched mountaintops, and dances on them too, not in the shadows. But also not in spotlights. Sun light. Glitter light. Neon light. Lava lamp light. Strobe light. Because I have a primordial need, and unquenchable thirst, for all that is light, and bright, but am not concerned with getting attention. Its not that shadow dims my light, or that (momentary shadow dwelling) is forced (because it is my choice). I’m just not very good at it. So now I’ve written about shadows… without saying anything at all.

These words that are my own, which had such another meaning to me, for me, when I wrote them 2 days ago.  My lovely Bloom says “Why are you doing that to yourself? You’re missing out on the joy of today!” And I know she’s right.  So I take a night off from the weight of all I’ve been carrying, am amused by the couragesness, or craziness, of those much too young for me to take seriously, and take more shots than I mean to. I have another conversation filled with laughter, childhood memories, and connections that defy space, time, and logic.   I allow vulnerability to have a moment or 2. And then hours of poetry in the form of lyrics, and harmonies, and melodies, fill my world. And I let love take over,  recall that vulnerability is absolutely precious, sacred, holy, rare, remember I’m not in shadow, I’m bathed in light, just not in the same way I’m used to, and again throw my arms wide open, and step forward without fear, into whatever might be, in every aspect of my life. 


Listening to: Still on Indigo Girls – Below quotes are from some of their songs. Brilliant, inspiring, intelligent, thought provoking, evocative, lyricists, they are.

“Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most”

“Working through the grammar of my fears”

“The hardest to learn was the least complicated”

“Now we all are chosen one’s”

“My place is of the sun, and this place is of the dark”

“The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine”

“And when you’re learning to face the path at your pace every choice is worth your while”