Heart-Sore, Heart-Sick, Heart-Broken- Levels of Grief

Grief, sadness, despair-  they affect us all in different ways, creeping into our souls and affecting every part of us, from how we eat and sleep, to the choices we make in the future. Some pains are so debilitating that we are stopped in our tracks, unable to move forward. Others rock us to our core, but ease a little day by day and allow recovery at a quicker pace. Coping mechanisms help, friends and words of loving support help more.  For me to sort through these experiences, I've found that it helps to be a little clearer in "labeling" the kind of pain I'm experiencing. And so I began using different phrasings to elaborate on levels of grief.

Heart-Broken:
When I found that my partner of 6+ years had been lying to me, cheating on me, and living another life, I was heart-broken.  That is to say, the bottom fell out of everything I knew and I was a pit of despair, disbelief and raw pain.  I felt like I had been dragged across a giant cheese-grater, tearing holes in every part of me. Betrayal engulfed me.  I not only lost him, and was losing my place to live, I lost my spiritual faith that there was a greater good supporting me.  I had no focus, no future.  I called my mother and said that if they would let me, I would move into my parents' basement, get a menial food service job to help pay bills, and take care of them as best I could, until we all aged into obscurity.  I gave up on everything.  It was only when they accepted some portion of my offer, and steps began falling into place to remove me from my life in LA and relocate me to the East Coast, that a tiny voice began to rebel and fight for the life I had.  By that point, too much ground had been lost and I was carried by the tide of events, out of my 2 decade world of friends and habits and into an strange new place.  I would wake in the dark basement bedroom of my parents' home, tears on a pillow from weeping in my sleep.  I did not know how I could recover.  I just woke up each day, out of necessity to pee and find a job, and I kept blindly going one step after another.

Heart-Sick:
Still gob-smacked from the pain of loss and relocation, I did begin to move forward, a bit, in North Carolina.  I secured a job, not in food service (which I know nothing about) but instead in animal care in a vet's office. That in and of itself shows that recovery was already happening.  As much as I swore that I could not care about life as I once did, I could not let go of my passion for animal welfare.  I did not love my job. In fact, most days I absolutely hated the stress of it.  The hours were long, the pay sub-standard, and I went home mentally, emotionally and physically drained.  But it gave me a reason to get up (other than needing to pee.)  I found my own living residence.  I had few friends, but I had some. I had no social life, but I read a lot of books.  I tried re-engaging my spirituality, not very successfully.  There was, for the first time in my life, no ocean for me to sit and watch (and the ocean is a great source of peace and strength for me, so this was devastating).  My apartment was on the dark side of a mountain, so no sunbeams came into warm my body or light my hopes. There was no place to go dance (another intrinsic avenue of healing).  At night, when the demons came to whisper in my ear, I had no defenses.   I was drinking heavily, cutting occasionally.  I was heart-sick.   Unable to say "This one thing is wrong", but I was trapped in an all-encompassing and overwhelming unchanging pattern of disrepair that seemed to have no solution. I trudged on, one day after another, with not much belief of improving my situation.  Only a small spark of hope kept me trying to better my situation.  Hope was so foreign and unrecognizable, I didn't even call it that at the time.  I just knew that something had to give.  Either it would get better, or my cutting would go too deeply one night.  I wasn't sure at the time which I wanted more.

But then came a job offer, and another relocation.  This had perks, as it was a job in my field, in a new state, with warmer temperatures and a home that had large windows for sun to shine in.  Somehow, I had turned a corner.  I was no longer sick or despairing, just anxious to make my new life work.   That was early Summer of this year.  Things have been much better, and I'm pleased to report that I'm doing fairly well, alive and kicking, trying to respark my magic, my hopes, and even my romantic opportunities.  Which leads me to my last category...

Heart-Sore:
Two months after arriving in this town, I found a club where I would go dancing, much to my heart's delight.  And there, I met a boy.  A sweet faced boy who was not my usual type, but upon conversation, I discovered to be charming, witty, and very unlike the stereotypical natives.   We began with a few tentative dates, to sushi, to the aquarium.  We shared pumpkin carving, and Halloween movies.  We laughed, we kissed... I tried to be slower in approach, but I emote with all the subtlety of a bulldozer. Not sure if I wanted this to become a serious long term thing, we had a conversation in which critical bits of information came to light that made it clear that I should no longer pursue the relationship.  It hurt like hell.  I had been so happy for 6-8 weeks after nearly 3 years of darkness.  I didn't want to let go, but I knew it was best.  (god, that sounds SO much like a cliche,  so fake, and yet my bloggy friends, it is true.)  I saw what was there. I saw the potential for happiness, and I saw the potential for disaster. It might be "good", but it could not provide what I was really craving, and worse case scenario, it had some small echos of my relationship with my ex, which is what sent me on this multi-year trip through the underworld to begin with.  For my greater good, and for the health of my continuing recovery, I let go. Endings suck, and I wept, but I was only heart-bruised... heart-sore.   No devastating despair.  No suicidal thoughts.  OK, I haven't eaten a decent meal in a week, and have probably drunk my body weight in cheap beer, but these are triflings of pain compared to 2012.  I'll lick these wounds clean, and be better for it.

It's so easy for an Internet meme to tell us to "Love like [we've] never been hurt" but the actual practice is much more challenging.  Still, I'm trying to put all the broken and sick parts behind me and open myself for the idea that rebirth is in process and healing is 3 steps forward/2 steps back (god, another cliche).   Yes, I'm still sore.  Still bruised, not just from this latest encounter, but from the whole experience, LA to here.  But I'm progressing through these levels of grief and making my way back to something new.

Author's Note:  I've been working on this post for a few days now, and thought it was mostly done... until last night, when Paris was so tragically torn apart by terrorist attacks.   Obviously, each person's response is different.  Perhaps you lost someone in these attacks and are heart-broken.  Perhaps you are worn down, unable to get through another day in such a violent world, trudging heart-sick from one news report to another. Perhaps your heart-pain manifests in anger, resentment, or a complete lack of ability to respond in any way just now.   Whatever your level of grief, however this violence affected you, please be kind and compassionate with yourselves, with others. Love and support to Paris.  Je t'aime.

Love Letter

My gods, beautiful, how I miss you.  The smell and sound of you.  The calm and endless love you surround me with.  Beautiful lover, how am I surviving the days so far from your embrace?

Remember our cold mornings together?  Chilled in the early air, I lay there, wrapped in blankets while you crashed sweet nothings in my ear, the taste of you still on my lips, salty and raw.  I want to take you into me, know you intimately, feel your timeless tug and surge and relentless pounding rhythm. You are sex and life and fierce endless force.  You are the edges of the earth, the blue along the horizon, the home of long ago dragons.  You are everything and I am lost so far from you.

Inside you is everything I hold most dear and in your presence I can be nothing but honestly myself, weeping, laughing, struggling, floating. With you, I am buoyed up, sucked under, alive and encircled and whole.  I never know how to give back to you all you offer me.  I never know how to show my passions for you completely.  I feel like a poser, a poor and unimaginative lover who gives meaningless chocolates at Valentine's day and forgets to gift you with daily gestures of my deeper heart.  And yet, never have I felt you faulted me for that.  Never have I left our time together feeling ashamed or incomplete or incompetent.  Always you gift me with your confidence, your strength, your love.  Always you leave me feeling whole and alive.  You are my greatest lover.

If I could, I would throw myself into your arms, tangle myself in your kelp beds like a disoriented otter, until each inch of my body was wrapped in your sinewy embrace, and there, blue faced, smothered in passion, I would gladly breathe my last.  I want to drown in you.

Without you, life is tasteless, save for the tracks of salt tears leave as they roll across my lips.  I miss you.

Snow on the Mountains

I think the hardest part about the end of a relationship is that everything reminds you of what is gone.  Puts an exclamation point at the end of "EMPTY!"  And the urge to share the little commonalities doesn't stop just because the person is no longer there.

Yesterday, driving home from work, there were think low lying clouds obscuring the mountain tops to the East.  I wanted so badly to call him.  The boy loves snow boarding.  So much so that for one Christmas, he bought me gear and took me to nearby Mountain High.  After a daunting hour or so of abject failure on my part to surmount even the tiny 10ft of "bunny hill", I fell, cracking my head hard on the ice below me one last time, and tearily declared myself "DONE."  I sat drinking in the resort bar while he took a run down the mountain side.  We did ultimately redeem the day overall, and the picture I took of him at dusk on the mountain is still one of my favorites.  However, we never attempted to teach me snowboarding again.

Each year, as the snows hit, he would talk about "definitely getting out there this season."  And each year, whether it was lack of money, time or follow through, the snow remained unseen, the mountain unvisited.

When we broke up, one of his complaints about me was that I had no interest in sharing snowboarding with him (while his new "friend" was making her Christmas list of the gear she wanted, so she could hit the slopes.)  I thought it was an unfair complaint, as I was NEVER a snow girl, and he knew that when he moved in with me.  (I was raised in FL, people... I don't speak snow.)  Yes, there is valid complaint that I gave up without really trying much.  That I refused to take part in something that was important to him.  However, I was raised in a family where separate interests (even separate vacations) are considered a plus, not a minus.  So I was fine with him doing it without me... I WANTED him to make snowboarding friends, hiking friends, extreme sports friends.  I just didn't expect him to fall for one of them.

The view of the mountains brings all that back to me in a quick instant burst of thought, and yet still I long to call and say, "Have you seen the clouds?  There'll be snow on the mountains tonight!!" For I know that thought would bring a smile to his face, and I do so miss his smile.

It is a million little things, you know, that seem hollow without the sharing.  When I see a husky come into the shop, when our favorite TV show is on, when I rent a movie at RedBox, when I hear "Brown Eyed Girl" all punk-style... my hand reaches for the phone, to call, to text, to connect.  Having to still my own hand, find the inner strength to resist the drug I want so much, lands deep in the core of me, a rock tearing through my heart, thudding heavily in the pit of my stomach.

Many people, dear friends, tell me that I should feel happy, lucky even, that I no longer have an unfaithful, untruthful partner.  But all I can feel is the cold grey of those mountain clouds and the loneliness of unseen snow.

New Love

Tag is off on a business trip, and while I miss him terribly, I must admit that I've been spending my time with a new love. He's charming and attentive. His deep dark eyes speak volumes about his troubled past and his need for attention. He wins my heart each time I see him.

His name is Green Elley, Pen 6, but I just call him Big G. Sure, he has his flaws and quirks. He smells of fish. He's not potty-trained. He'll give the goo-goo love eyes to any sweet young thing that passes by with a bucket of herring. And the mucus... Yeesh, don't get me started on the elephant seal's amazing ability to generate and expel mucus.



Still, as I stood in Pen 7, in my chest-high waders, scrubbing seal poop off the concrete, I realized that I'd rather do that for free than deal with the office politics crap that I tolerated for 2 years at my last job.

If you too feel the pull of Big Green's dark & penetrating orbs, have I got a place for you! Imagine spending 4 - 5 hours listening to the varied barks and calls of California Sea Lions while blending up fish milkshakes. Picture yourself thawing and sorting endless amounts of fish while breathing deeply the scent of sea (and by scent of the sea, I mean copious amounts of pinniped guano.) Better yet, imagine that moment, where you collapse exhausted into your car seat, after hours of back-breaking work, and sit silently smiling, knowing that at least one abandoned Elephant Seal pup is still alive because of you and those around you.



If you live in the Southern California area, have a love for wildlife, and at least half a day of spare time a week... please think about joining the Volunteers at San Pedro's Marine Mammal Care Center at Fort MacArthur. We're heading into the "busy season", where we will soon be inundated with countless elley pups who have stopped nursing, but have not found the way to survive on fish alone. Summer can also bring algae blooms, which can lead to Domoic Acid Toxicity in Sea Lions, causing neurological damage in the animals. In short, this small but efficient rehabilitation center is about to way more animals than they have volunteer hands.

You can do it for that "good Samaritan" feeling. Or perhaps you want to do it as a write off on next year's taxes. Or maybe, you'll find yourself here just so you too can get a chance to look into Big G's amazing eyes. Whatever your reason, the experience can change your life. Trust me on that.

*snurf*

Marine Mammal Care Center at Fort MacArthur
3601 South Gaffey Street
San Pedro, CA 90731
Phone: (310) 548-5677
info@marinemammalcare.org

Saving Grace

There are days when the office is just hideous, and the workload overwhelming, and you KNOW that you should put every single moment into the project you are working on, but your mind screams for a break...

and that's when the Universe is benevolent and shows you that flick has a brilliant "group" called Dogs in Pools

When I was younger, I had a dog. A beautiful old mutt of a dog, and she LOVED the pool.

These photos, and those memories, brought me the smile I needed today.

Long Live Love!!

wow.... i can tell that i'm swamped with work, becuase i nearly let this date get past me. It wasn't until i was writing August 8th on a report at 6:32pm that i realized....

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MOM & DAD!

38 years (i think) of love

& all the laughter and challenges that come with it

Haiku for Tag

...who is currently on a businesstrip in San Antonio

It is hard to wake

Next to your empty pillow

Grey gloomy mourning

Flurry

I've had so much on my mind, and such the urge to write, but the laptop never seems to be nearby when I'm feeling eloquent... and the time I do spend on a computer (work) is wasted on scheduling and SAP. So instead of several eloquent posts, each dedicated to a single event - you get a bullet point list to summarize the flurry of activity.

• First of all, HAPPY WEDDING DAY to Slackmistress & Be The Boy. Their Detective Agency is finally "official" (and, I actually had time to watch it on the live webcast. She looked beautiful.)
• Speaking of blissful couples, Tag and I celebrated our one year anniversary yesterday. *grin* Well, actually we're celebrating it tonight, with a couple of tickets to the Loreena McKennitt concert.
• The Griffith Park fire- yes, Tag and I and the kitties are ok, as is our domicile. However, we were far closer that I ever want to be to another raging inferno. My breath caught in my throat as I stood on our street corner, watching an endless stream of cars of the evacuated citizens who lived a mere 2 -3 blocks north of us. The skies were never dark that night. They glowed deep red, or bright orange, depending on the fire's intensity. We slept to the overpowering sound of constant helicopters as news crews kept watch all night. And we awoke at 4am coughing, finding our bedroom filled with smoke. (We have no air conditioning, and so we have open windows and fans. Not great for breathing when 800 acres are burning less than a mile away). Thanks to a diligent and tireless firefighting force, the Zoo and several other landmarks were saved. Sadly there was still a great loss of wilderness and wildlife. The cause is still not officially released, but a "badly burned person of interest" was being treated for burns on his chest and arms. According to his story, he fell asleep while smoking. I'm working on tempering my outrage towards him, so instead of beating him about his burned torso, I'm just going to post today's PSA image:

*image courtesy of The Fireman. He so rocks!

• Lastly, this link was sent to me earlier today. That's right ladies... a shoe sale whose proceeds go to charity. Now you can dress those tootsies in your favorite designers GUILT-FREE!

That's it for today my dears.... Tag is here, and so I'm headed out the door and off to our evening events.

Trancendance, Table for One- Part 2

Friday afternoon is light, and I've decided to let myself off the leash again for a lunch moment. I cross the street to a little eatery where the salads are lovely and corners are dark. Here, I can disappear for an hour, and yet never feel any panic about being far from the office.

Over a goat cheese appetizer and tuna salad nicoise, I read about Elizabeth's further adventures in the Indian Ashram. I envy her meditation caves and her silent turets. I wonder how anyone can get close to the divine in this busy madcap world.

That's when a few distinct noises break through my reading focus (a difficult thing to do, for when I read... I block out the world)

The first is a conversation between a waiter trainee and the day manager of the restaurant. They are speaking of "sunday school", of verses and psalms, of religion and teachings and things that ease their hearts.

The second is a line from the song playing on the restaurant's overhead speakers. It is the 70's hit "Rock the Boat".... the line that is instantly absorbed by my consciousness is "love and devoooootion!"

I throw my head back and laugh out loud, aware for a moment that the "all-encompassing divine" is in fact in full force around me. It always is, whether I am in an Indian meditation cave or a North Hollywood restaurant. I just need to be reminded once in while.

In a state of bliss, I finish my lunch.... chuckling and feeling loved.

I'm DEFINATELY making lunch a more regular event.

Trancendance, Table for One

Lunch. It’s an infrequent luxury in my world, and as I walked away from the office today, I actually heard the “Rocky” theme music in my head…. As if unchaining myself from the desk for 60 min were a feat of Herculean proportion.

My intention was to pick up some Taco Bell and drive to a near-by park, where I would read my current obsession, Eat, Pray, Love. I believe that this book was an Oprah recommendation or something similar, and I admit that did not really fill me with confidence that I would find it either inspirational or motivational. However, my dance studio offered it up as the book for discussion one month, and I wanted to have some idea of what people were talking about.

I couldn’t be more pleased that I did. What an amazing discovery!! This book fills me with hope and drive and all things that feel bubble-bath good in one’s soul. It has been a long time since I repeatedly laughed OUT LOUD at a book’s passages, much less chased someone down (usually poor Tag) saying, “Wait… you have to hear this. It’s hysterical.”

Elizabeth Gilbert’s telling of her year long adventures in Italy, India and Indonesia rousts parts of my soul that had settled into the numbness of neglect, giving it both wings, and the urge to fly. It has lightened my heart and filled it with giggly madness and joy. This is the kind of book that poets weep for and established governments should fear, because it cajoles me to be bigger, to be more courageous, to be more alive, to be inspired, invigorated, & ignited into a sacred flame.

As such, I found myself driving past the Taco Bell, and instead to a restaurant (one of my favorites) where I had not been in a long time. There I settled into a table by a sun-heated window, ordered some white wine and a salad, and allowed myself to be indulgent, reading at the table, drinking mid-day, and not keeping any sort of strict eye on the “lunchtime clock”.

While I ate my organic turkey burger and sipped my chardonnay, I found myself entranced by the words on the page. Gilbert’s description of the daily routine of the Ashram is reminiscent of the fantasy I’ve often had about life in a convent, or other spiritual temple. (And yes, I am aware how conflicting that desire is with my inherent inclinations to take long, wine-filled lunch breaks.... bear with me. )

Still, it was all a fairly innocous until I got to the conversation on soul mates:

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, a person who brings you to your own attention, so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too Painful.”

When I finished reading the passage, I had to turn my head towards the window, and stare into the bright California sun, blinking back tears and the gasp that was caught in my throat. It’s not that the words were foreign or some epiphany exploding inside of me. The words were much identical to a conversation I had with a dear friend when I lost my first “soul mate”. But perhaps, because so much time had past, and my heart was miles from hurt, I was able to take those words inside of me as I never had before. There was a sigh of relief from within my soul, and I felt both validated and set free.

There have been a few loves in my life, that when they appeared, I was swept off my feet by the disorienting power they had over me. The signs of the Universe blinked in neon, telling me in no uncertain terms “PAY ATTENTION! This one is VERY important to you.” Those loves were passionate whirlpools of intensity, swirling wildly from indescribable joy to unbearable fury and pain. Those loves were also, oddly enough, the shortest in my history. They swept in, broke through walls, ripped open scabs, spilt their iodine and left without so much as a band-aid in thanks.

And here was a book, years later, confirming that it just might be a part of the bigger plan. *sigh* It was an amazing relief.

I turned from the window, back to the room full of diners and felt… just a little different. The couple at the table next to me received from the waitress two plates of pancakes, and I laughed while crying at the beauty and freedom of that. (I can’t explain what I found particularly moving about it…. Just that I did). There was a brief moment of wondering if I was being watched; if anyone noticed the tears glistening in my eyes, or the smile I couldn’t seem to erase. Just as quickly as that thought appeared, I realized that I couldn’t possibly care. I was in that moment perfect and pure and enjoying a state of amazing bliss.

I finished my glass of wine, paid my bill, and returned to my car. A moment of transcendence, disguised as an everyday meal.

I really should make a point of taking lunch more often.

OH so much to tell

My dears, how I've missed you... but oh the adventures I've been on.

* Travelling cross country with my love.
* Visiting the vibrating metropolis of Chicago.
* Seeing the colors changing as the seasons roll one from the next.
* Drinking deeply the lush tones and tastes of Missouri's wine country (which I had NO IDEA existed!)
* Reconnecting with Friends, nesting in the hills of Evergreen, Colorado.
* Traversing the Rockies in all their majestic glory.
* Hiking Utah's awe-inspiring parks.

and finally coming home, to the furry-purries who missed me!!

Pictures and elaborations to come.

*grin*

Permission to feel Joy now Granted

In a little under 12 hours, I go to meet my love at the airport. In 24 hours, we will be on our way to an island getaway. Butterflies in my stomach, bounce in my step, the tremendous urge to close my eyes and dream.

The practical side of my brain screams that the house is a mess; dishes not done, trash in the cans. My hair is not the color I was hoping for. My eldest cat seems to have gotten ear mites. The weather is still unbearably hot.

Despite a million little pinpricks in the balloon, I cannot be deflated though. I continue to glide and twirl and spin- a combination ballroom tango dancer and giddy 4-yr old girl.

And even as I type this, a voice inside says “Oh… *scoff* that’s just silly.”

And another cries out “Hush up! It’s OK to feel this way!!! ”

I don’t want to stay on task today. I want to eat cupcakes and giggle. I want to dress up girlie.

I want to brush my hair 100 times until it shines, and then put on my favorite lip gloss. Paint my nails pink, and spin till my skirt flies out like a tutu.



If the me from a year ago ran into the me today, she’d simultaneously mock me and envy me. OH how far have we come!

And yet, as happy as I am, I have to keep reminding myself…. “it’s OK to feel this way!!” strange huh? How our brains will fight against joy. What is that, and where does it come from?

Do you ever have days where you’re scared to be excited? Do you ever stop the free flowing stream of bliss, because you’re not sure it’s yours? And if so…. How do you stop that? How do you open your heart and allow…. no… “Permit”… give permission to yourself to feel amazing?

Apparently… I blog. And having done this, I’m now going release anything attempting to block my happiness. I’m going to open my arms wide and embrace this bouncy glowing feeling, just as I will embrace my dearest tonight at the airport. *grin*

The Truth to the Skip in my Step

This blog is named “CNR” in direct reference to my dating life. However, as of late, it is the one topic that I’ve shied away from discussing.

I’m loathe to make it seem that there’s a revolving door on my heart, but in the time since separating from The Comfy PJs, there has been a series of unfortunate events.

Some were only passing fancies, better in theory than in reality. Others so fleeting that recording the who and wherefore would require more time and commitment than the affair itself. A couple have exploded with damaging results to all those involved. A few were embarrassing attempts to settle for what was there, instead of manifesting what I wanted. Many were just damn bad ideas!

And then fate dropped him on my plate. We’ve been in communication for over a year now, exchanging ideas and discussing passions. Friends and conversationalists with a dash of flirtation. That was until May… when Fate designed a moment in which we would both end up in the same place at the same time. 17 hours later, we’d both been hit by a truck. A pleasant but stunning drive-by, after which we each returned to our corners of the world unsure of what it meant, what happened, and where (if anywhere) this might go.

Struck as we were, we upped our level of correspondence and began to communicate on a nearly daily basis. Shortly thereafter, talk of plans for our next rendezvous had begun. But distance being the deterrent it can sometimes be, we were forced (much against our natures) to move slowly and to live entirely in the realm of words.

Our written missives are poetry (sometimes literally). Our phone calls long and diverse. From politics to passion; from geek moments to god concepts, we cover the gamut of interesting topics for hours on end. The brightest moments of my days were imbued with some essence of him. We finally declared it officially “a relationship” and began to focus on when we might live in the same geographic time zone.

*picture wavy ‘time passing’ cross-fade here*

Progress ahead a few weeks…

Perhaps my dearest friends were tired of hearing me whine about my long-distance boyfriend. Perhaps (and more likely) they are ecstatic and eager to encourage time spent with a man who is open, giving, communicative and clearly as high-energied and bouncy as myself. Whatever the motivation, unbeknownst to me, they began to Plot an unexpected reunion.

I add that link because I could not tell the tale nearly as well as its ingenious designer, the brilliant and lovely Amandarin. I can only tell you about how it feels to be on the receiving end of such a generous and amazing gift. 3 better friends a girl could not ask for, and a more luscious present simply doesn’t exist. I’m still walking on clouds of air, in that deliriously happy place that exists at the beginnings of new-found love.

So to my benefactors who created my own “Fantasy Island”, a million heart-felt thank yous. To my dearest Tag, although the miles separate us, the feel of your arms is still around me. And to my reading populace… Hope you don’t mind if I step away from my usual dry bitter humor and revel in the glorious discovery of sharing my heart again.

And to my father, in case he’s reading this blog right now... Try not to barf from the Cute, ok? *grin*

Taking my Lumps

“The more time I spend in my body, the more difficult it is to lie.”

That’s the first line of a hand written journal entry I started last week. I only got down that first line before being distracted, so it is all that exists of that entry. However, last night, as I lay awake with wicked insomnia, it occurred to me again.

I am in the middle of a shift. A shift of body and mind and soul. A shift that is taking frustratingly long. I had a healing sometime last year, because I’d been feeling that “my skin doesn’t fit” itch. The healer spoke of angels and spirit guides, and said that they wanted to let me know that I was preparing for a shift (it was nice to have this verified, without asking about it or bringing it up at all). However, they wanted to let me know that said shift would occur in 3 – 6 years.

Now I know it’s not polite, but I believe I responded with “What the f’k?”

Throughout the healing, he would talk of all the work I’d done and how I was molding into this new soul form and each time, he would begin to hint that perhaps the shift would occur sooner, and then he’d stop mid sentence and say “3 – 6 years”. Eventually, he stopped mid-sentence and laughed and said “NO… they appreciate all the work you’re doing, and you need to keep doing it, but they want to make it very clear…. It’s 3 – 6 years. Stop pushing!”

Ever had your hand slapped by a spirit guide? I had to laugh.

That was a year ago, and the ever-crawling snail's pace of this shift is driving me bonkers. I’m doing some work, and I think the dancing is a large part of that. Dancing has always been a joy for me, but now it’s like life’s blood. I can’t do well without it. My sanity is becoming directly tied to my ability to be in my body and work it as a form of expression. However, this new level of personal intimacy has brought with it greater awareness and less tolerance for bullshit.

The last two weeks, I’ve had a series of health issues. Nothing drastic. A migraine, on top of food poisoning, last night’s insomnia, and now this morning, my throat is swollen so much I’m having trouble swallowing. Throat issues often relate to “not speaking one’s truth”. And that’s certainly the case here, as I am dealing with a great deal of anger towards someone very dear to me. Someone who needed a friend once and I was there, but now… they prefer a fan club, and when I don’t wish to be relegated to just another of the adoring masses, I get shut out.

Insomnia makes sense, as my soul is restless indeed. The anger has also stirred up my ideas on love, friendship, relationships, what it means to be self-sufficient versus self-involved.

...

And here the writing flow just dams up. Grrr. I guess that is to say, I don’t have words of resolution for this issues I am facing. And thus my body is turning on itself and growling and consuming itself. As much as I would like to run, avoid, or pretend that these ugly questions are not staring me in the face, my newly ‘tuned in’ body will not let that deception pass.

I find it fascinating and challenging that I cannot lie to myself- that the shift of living in what is real and what is now is REALLY beginning to manifest physically. Additionally, I would be VERY excited about it… if it weren’t kicking my ass up and down the block.

Two weeks pass

...and I feel there is nothing to show for it. A flurry of activity, always moving in this seemingly endless swirl. Like a dust cloud, all stirred up, but only shuffling around the discarded bits of trash and worry.

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. *sigh*

There's a lot of unresolved issues and angers floating around. Bubbling under the surface, not close enough to break like a wave, but certainly causing an undertow that is deceptively strong, pulling me under,when I thought I was having a lovely swim.

Meeting people's expectations. Having my own remain unmet (or sometimes worse, undefined). Even the articulation of a blog entry is just beyond my grasp.

And thus... you get left with a poem, cause that's all I have to give today.

Our love is like a dead squirrel

fallen too young from its nest

decaying beneath the tree that was once home.

There is no one to bury him

But as the seasons come,

the leaves will gently fall,

obscuring his corpse from sight.

Grandmother Oak, laying him to rest

Tree Dryads giving him a 21 acorn salute.

Through the turning of the wheel,

he will breakdown, feed bugs, disappear

under a foliage drop cloth.

Come spring, perhaps

some haphazard garderner

will rake clear the spot,

showing that he is gone.

Consumed by his Earthly Mother,

leaving a memory for no one,

and a fertile spot for something new to grow.

copyright yummyteece 02/19/06

Design Flaws

"Romeo & Juliet"
"Bonnie & Clyde"
"Love Story"
"Moulin Rouge"
"If Only"

Are you seeing the pattern here? Because I noticed it the other day, and it's bugging me.

According to Hollywood, people who fall in love... DIE.

Sometimes both..... but many times only one.... leaving the other to painfully carry on. And we, the viewing audience, sit with our tissues, weeping at the devastating beauty of it all. Moved, we claim once again that it is "better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all."

However, IN the mess.... it's an entirely different creature. Damaged or disappointed, broken-hearted or bitter, the gorgeous lush quality of loss is a celluloid lie, and you do not have the wardrobe or stylist that would make it look pretty on you.

Loss is just that. The agony of defeat, painfully real and not beautiful at all.

So why, generation after generation, do we still buy into that created world where absence makes the heart fonder? Where the sad tatterings of a shattered heart are a war wound one wears with pride, like a boy scout badge that says, "I once knew a desire beyond all this, for I once loved"??

What is the design of the human creature, such that we continually do this to ourselves?

And why, o WHY do I, as I type this lamentation about internal pain, keep getting distracted by the really cute boy who keeps crossing in front of my desk?

It can't just be some intrinsic genetic design to continue our species, can it? Are we really all such slaves to our groins?

ooop.. there he is again.... I think he's new. *grin* Pardon me while I go make introductions.

Build Wings on the Way Down

"If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair, we'd never have a friendship, we'd never go into business, because we'd be cynical. Well that's just nonsense! You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build wings on the way down." ~Ray Bradbury

Found this quote on a friend’s LJ and was really amused and moved at the same time.

The sentiment is similar the one I usually express in my pool analogy. Which is to say, some people ease into a cold pool slowly, bit by bit, stair by stair. But I think this takes much longer, and doesn’t really aid the ‘temperature accommodation’ process well.

I am the type that jumps into the deep end for one quick blood-jolting shock, and then treads the water to warm up. Now, take that theory and apply it life, not just swimming.

So many places in my life, I cannonball into the deep end. Some call this courage, some call it stupidity, and I guess it has been both at different times in my life.

There have been times where I’ve jumped in, only to find I’m not dressed for swimming, or that I’ve forgotten how to swim.

There are times I’ve plunged straight to the bottom, and when my head finally breaks the surface, the first thought I find there is “OH shit, I forgot how much I hate water.”

But ultimately, I rejoice in the time I’ve spent in the pool. I mean, as much as I like a good tan, life is not about laying on a lounge chair on the dry and safe patio.

Taped to my computer monitor is the fortune from a cookie I had last week …

“Approach all areas of life with a bold enthusiasm”

Funny isn’t it? I only vaguely remember taping that there last week, and yet, here I am blogging, and suddenly I SEE it and I READ it, and I get that in the scheme of the Universe, this arrived in my life last week, so that it could support the feeling I’m having right now.

It might as well have said “Get back in the Goddam Pool, Girl!” or “Leap, and the Wings will appear.”

These ideas were also present in the books I read this weekend (home with a migraine, in bed from Saturday morning, until this morning). They were fun filled tales of facing the dark and challenging your fear and allowing yourself to experience all that life offers.

In short, the Universe seems to be working on sending me the same message in as many different ways as she can manage.

Got it, Mom! Time to Jump again.