January 2016

Within the Bachman Books by Stephen King there lies a story, one of my favorites. Simple premise. Young men compete for the ultimate prize by walking. Last one standing wins. If they sit down or fall down too often, they are shot. They just have to keep walking as long as they can. America places bets, it’s a national event. The winner celebrated is usually rendered mildly insane.

Mercury Retrograde feels like that. This long arduous walk. 20 days and 20 nights of trying not to fall down or get shot. Coming out the other side a little crazier than when I started.

In the end of the story, the boy who wins, finds the strength to run.

That’s me right now.

Walking out of one hot mess after the other. Coming out fairly clean, a little bumped and bruised, but always the wiser. I am always learning. By the grace of God, good, luck and a little foresight. Mostly just tenacity, I don’t know how to stop moving forward. If I have learned anything in this life it’s that you never know what is coming next. Seeds long buried bear beautiful fruit when given time, water, air and room to grow.

Truck is now sold, period is now over, relationship mess finished, the last of his things in a bag, dropped off in neutral territory. Sickness abating. Kidlet finding his own way in the world again.

Wings want to fly.

I saw that and howled. I want exactly that.

I am not some slip of a girl, clinging to some idea of a man I made up in my head. I am a woman, soft and kind. But also wise. I don’t ask of others that I cannot myself provide. I don’t want to lose myself in anyone except in those blissful moments of little death. I have no ego about this. I am what I am and he is what he is. All I ask for is free will. He will always be my choice. I, his.

Too many trips across the border rescuing women who ran to ‘him’. An aboveground railroad smuggling my friends out of their own messes. Facebook has been kind to me in that I can travel almost anywhere and have an open door, a home-cooked meal and a soft place to sleep waiting. I share this privilege and connect others in need then go get my girls.

It’s my 42^nd turn around the sun. 1/12 into it and I know I wasn’t wrong predicting great change, beautiful upheaval. Everything is lining up in the most obvious ways.

20 years ago I would have just up and r-u-n-n-o-f-t at the drop of a hat, a kind word, a promise or just because.

2 years ago I landed in Phoenix Arizona and was driven into the desert by my best girl, to Joshua Tree for dinner and soul food. Then bundled back into her car and I woke up in Los Angeles.

I found my bliss there, on Venice Beach. In her uncle’s apartment. Long drives up the coast. Everything there just felt better, like coming home. 24 hours in and I knew my way around, more than was reasonable anyways. The air felt right in my lungs. The sun kissing and caressing my skin. My whole body simply content.

Last year I wanted to go back, but it wasn’t time yet.

Now I am fixin’ to wander off because my soul says so. Heart too, vagina is on board, psyche, ego, body, logic all ‘ayes’.

Laying the groundwork. A full bank account isn’t enough. I need independence, income, structure and discipline.

I was given an opportunity 6 months ago to have just that, manifesting money with my laptop and Wi-Fi making anywhere I want to be, home.

I have learned there is beauty in the phrase “I fucked up.”

As long as it’s followed by, “I want to try again.”

I did fuck up. And I do want to try again.

The other non-magical ingredient is ‘action’. You must do the thing.

We talked. The rose colored glasses I had on about my current profession turning mucky green. What once was home and sanctuary has become hostile territory. The love I had for dancing dissipating quickly. That isn’t the kind of attention I want anymore. That is not the way I want to be chosen over and over. I have seen a better way and I want to work towards that.

Ever since I was little I wanted to write.

I have found my niche writing hard core erotica. I am good at it, it is viable/portable income.

And as soon as Sunday night football was over I said this to him. Not a mentor, but my muse. Corporeal at last. These things he gave me are tangible.

He offered advice, encouragement and connections.

Someday soon I’ll wander west. Pack up some dresses and my tiny dog, hit the road. Long meandering drive to the coast, stopping to visit my people along the way. Enjoying the journey. Destination being a little apartment somewhere not too far from the beach in the city of angels. Money trickling and then flowing in manifested by the words I write and the adventures I have.

This is the way. No need, only want.  And in this, I have found the strength to run.

We all have a desire to be learned.
In both meanings of the word, to know things and be known.
To understand and be understood.

If we find someone who wishes to learn us and celebrates what they find in you, and you rejoice in the things you uncover in them, what do you call that?

We call that bliss.

I am still learning ~ Michelangelo (age 88)

I am still learning him. I made mistakes in the past, been punished for his past unknowingly. Spent time apart regrouping, recovering and somehow always finding our way back to each other.

Loving him is like navigating a minefield, through an orchard laden with the sweetest fruit, on the way to Valhalla.

I want what is on the other side.

I started the journey knowing I would be sated and sustained in the meantime.

Knowing there are mines.

The first time I got a quarter of the way in. I walked willingly. Thinking I knew what I was getting into. Trepidatious at first. Baby steps. Nothing detonated, so I got a little cocky, stopped watching my step and BOOM.

Its looking like a limb torn off.*

I froze. Paralyzed. Just stood there unable to move forward, not wanting to go back. Suspended animation.

I kept a log of my journey, I could tell you exactly how long I stood there. Close to a year. I stripped the closest tree bare and I was starving. Seasons changed. The leaves fell from the trees and I saw what was on the other side. Shimmering castle.

A voice came on the wind. “Try again” it whispered in dulcet tones. I have a history with voices, they never lead me astray. I acquiesced. Stood up, straightened my dress and took a step.

Long palavers into the night with his voice. Giving me the strength to keep going. Words weaving body armor, and giving me a metal detector of sorts. Still learning, soaking up every bit I was given. Gleaning at lightning speed.

There were storms, I weathered them. I don’t mind getting wet, not one bit. I prefer it. As does he.

I ventured further in, long confident strides, passed the point of no return. Truth be told, that first step taken years ago was already my point of no return. I have never had any desire to turn back. This is my path, my future. I was made for this.

I walked on, dodging the occasional sniper bullet with fluid grace, almost to the other side.

And then, oh and then…

Plastic explosives, buried deep underground, but I triggered it. I didn’t see it or sense it. No time to brace. Just another earth shattering ka-boom.

This one knocked the wind out of me, left a hole in the earth I had no idea how to climb out of. I was struck dumb and blind. Buried, bruised and hurt beyond what I thought possible. And I stayed. Crushed under the weight of displaced dirt. Stunned.

I took a great whooping breath, and then another and another. Pain shooting across my diaphragm with the effort of it. Assessing the damage to my body. It was bad.

Six months this time. Half a year to recover. Clean myself up, heal, climb out.

I sat on the edge of that cavernous crater.

“You can move mountains standing still.” Sara Lord

I stood, at the edge of the precipice. Unmoving, unyielding. Waiting.

And then it came.

X’s and O’s written.

Somehow I found the strength to run.

Towards him.

I stayed soft and yielding through all of this. It’s the only way, and it’s my way.

I have been building as I have been walking, creating trust out of nothing. Holding my ground, moving mountains standing still. Coming forward when called and never retreating. I don’t want safe distance. I want arm’s length.

And that’s how this ends.

It is hard to show him what I am with all of this distance and time between us. But I try, good god I try.

I am waiting for the final call, for him to tell me it’s time, and I’ll fly.

The last leg of this journey will be through the air, soft landing.

Arm’s length, looking up at him. Letting him explore my eyes with his.

Showing him all the treasures I carried with me, love, lust, longing, wanting, truth, kindness, softness and strength.

Ready to learn lessons, hands on. Understand and explore each other without space or time between us.

Finally being gathered into his arms. Resting my head on the empire in his chest.

(*No One’s Gonna Love You (more than I do). ~ Band of Horses)

http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/dimitra-milan-paintings#.Vpz6R76kxFY.facebook

As wolves we have wandered among the sheep. (Unknown)

I read that in the 2000^th year of Our Lord, on a t-shirt in a parking lot in Florida. Worn by some holdover from the 90’s grunge era who had yet to evolve. Long hair, flannel tied around his waist. Hand painted letters across his chest. It wasn’t the wearer that got my attention, it was the words. They struck me as if I was standing inside the Liberty Bell at high noon, ringing and reverberating through my chest. Altering me to my core. I felt liberated.

I didn’t understand it at the time, I simply knew it was important.

Now I know.

I saw this yesterday and the same sensation occurred. The truth sounds like music to me, and lies like discord. This sounds like all the choirs of angels. “Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.” (Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Letters to a Young Poet”)

Tomorrow is the Wolf Moon.

I saw that and howled.

Someone explained to me once that we are made of so much water the moon has the power to move the oceans, therefore it must move us too. I concur.
Native Americans called this the Wolf Moon and I must adhere to their wisdom as well. The words of the old ones coming from a long standing connection with the earth and sky. They are my people.

These are not my people…Luke 10:3 Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves.

Never been terribly fond of sheep, nor do I want to be a shepherd. Mindless things look for ways to fuck themselves up, all rescuing and no reward.

We are warned early and often of wolves in sheep’s clothing, I see nothing to fear in them. I have said before I prefer mine naked and free. But I can always recognize my kind, regardless of guise.
However, those sheep masquerading as wolves, what vile low creatures they be. It means they have skinned a wolf, taken his life to pretend it’s their own. I cannot abide.

Everyone has an animus inside of them, not exactly in the Jungian definition, although that holds true also. More in the Latin root of the word. Spirit, and wrath. Call it a spirit animal, call it instinct and survival, call it wild. Call it whatever you want it’s there. In anyone worth knowing it is there. I can feel it, draw it out, feed it and love it.
In a world that wants men to be civilized sheep I feel it’s my job to nurture them in all their bestial glory. Let his wild out and love him for it. Be wild with him. Beside him.

My women call me WolfMama, there are a few of us, and a few of them.
Pulled in by some gravitational force they howl at me. I feed them, pet them, accept the barking and inevitable bites, bare my throat and my teeth in intervals and show them it’s alright to be them. Then I let them run. They are wolves after all, that is what they do.
My psyche is equally drawn to men with wolves in their chests. But one in particular. My beautifully broken wolf poet.
He came back to me the day 5 planets aligned. Mercury, Venus, Saturn, Mars and Jupiter. Mine and his on either end with love, wisdom and war in between. Exactly this.

He laughs at me when I speak of the planets like they have some kind of influence. And I let him. I let him do whatever he wishes. This is how I love. I just love, wander if you will, I stay. Steadfast, unwavering, watching the stars and waiting.

When I rescued horses I would turn them into the field. Let them run. Find water and where the hay and shelter was on their own. Sometimes leave them for a day or a few. Watching from safe distance. Both for them and for me. And when it felt right I would grab a pack of smokes, a bottle of water, a thermos of coffee and a book and go sit in the field. Just sit. Leaned up against a tree or a fence post. The other horses knew I had carrots and apples in my pockets and would come take theirs. Sometimes trying to knock me over for my secret stash before getting bored and going on about their horsey days.

Eventually the new one would come, to see what I was. Who is this girl that saw something in them worth saving. Who brought them here just to let them run. Sometimes in the first few minutes, once a few weeks. But I would sit and wait. Become part of the field and wait. I was always rewarded with good horses who trusted me and knew me. I never broke them, I didn’t want to. Free will is paramount. They were with me because they wanted to be.

But what happens when it isn’t a horse. It’s a wolf in man’s clothing, and I wait in the woods for months. Foraging on my own and coming up wanting. What do I bring him?

My patience and flesh apparently. Eventually he will trust. I know I will lose some of myself in the process. It’s alright.

One of my WolfMamas told me to bring whiskey on the full moon. Yes. This.

He wanders and I wait. He apologizes and I tell him it’s alright. I have no other words for him, everything is always alright. I am always right here. I will always choose him over everything and everyone.

The last statement isn’t exactly true. He brings forth all my words, the good ones that drip with honey and sin. But they are his and his alone. As am I.

I should be doing laundry, for this is my natural state of being, always in some perpetual climb up Laundry Mountain. Yet here I sit. Typing away. He asked me to, almost demanded it, as far as anyone commands me to do anything. I’ll abide. He’s right. Laundry can wait.

I hit a wall this week. Ended up in a weakened state and the words wouldn’t come.

“My Lady write something or finish writing something tomorrow!! … I didn’t like hearing that you hadn’t been able to write for days…You need to write, I need you to write.”

I need you to write he said. Reeling, smiling, smirking.

He said ‘finish something’. So here this is. Been on my mind for a while, hiding, coming out at opportune moments.

I sabotage myself sometimes. I hide my own writing from myself. I have stacks of coffee stained scraps of paper everywhere. Keep telling myself I will organize it when I have a day off. I never have a day off. Last time I managed to do anything with them I had pneumonia, dear lord please let that not happen again. Even on my laptop, I give things obscure names instead of dates or explaining content in ‘my documents’. I lost this one, and now it is found.

I am full of idiosyncrasies like these. Right now I am listening to the same song on repeat. This happens, I get an earworm and refuse to kill it. Feeding and refreshing it instead.

There is method to my madness. If I am to dance to it on stage I need to memorize every subtle nuance and match my body’s undulations to it.

As far as the treasure map to my words, I find them when it’s time and not one minute sooner.

I got given another name… Rogue. From X-men

I think that is astute.

He says I absorb everything from everyone, because I do.

I need someone like him. Adamantium.

Someone that calls me down for dinner and knows my silence means I want to but I cannot right now.

Someone who sees me holding the fork halfway to my mouth and waits to catch it, knowing it will fall and I have to run to quill and parchment. My truest loves.

Someone that knows it’s bred in my bone to save the world and I cannot stop without losing limbs and the thing that keeps me upright and strong.

He wants me upright and strong, he wants me crumpled on the floor and weak. He just wants me.

One look from him, one word and I am naked.

There is no hiding here, no modesty. Just my soul laid bare.

He asked me not to describe him, but I am nothing if not defiant.
He is the home I get to come to after years of wandering, healing others, cleaning up god’s mess.
He is sanctuary and sustenance. Someone who knows I have to eat, and sometimes I have to feed.
He is really good food (and I am full).*

Succubae and her Incubi.

If you adhere to the Christian description we be evil things. Mind you, Christians got sex all wrong, it isn’t a sin it’s power. Considering what Christianty is… of course they want to control it. Heaven forbid we be happy and strong.
Marvin Gaye got it right, ‘when I get that feeling, I need sexual healing’.
History called us monsters, soul suckers, leeches. Parasites do exist in all forms, human and nonhuman. I have met men and women who feed off people without giving a drop back. Fuck, I dated many. Not anymore.
I’m the kind of creature who fucks to heal herself and others. He is like me, but the man version. As much as anyone can be at least. Whole lotta half breeds and interesting hybrids of fae folk running around. I have embraced my strange, my gifts, my talents and have found more and more people like me. I wandered alone for a long time.

I still get a little shy exposing my weird. But I had to know so I asked him a few awkward questions. My gut was right, we both use sex as food and an energy exchange. We can intuitively feel different frequencies from partners. Once I realized this everything changed. I stopped giving my body and my energy to incompatible ones.

I now know what it is like to be known, exactly as I am and adored for it. Not just known, but learned and studied and given space and light to grow.

I won’t settle for less because I made peace with alone. The gratification of free will and that soul satisfying ‘just is’ feeling. Sated.

I saw him coming. He said he felt the same. He looked at me and knew me. He has been my kind for many lifetimes.

My logic is mutable, and as such is still sometimes fixed. “How can this be” she whispered. I get everything I ever wanted, and I am starting to dream bigger than before.

Still don’t get to stay but I get respite, rest. A touchstone and maybe a chance to organize all the scraps of my own life.

I went through a lot before I realized what I am.

Now is blessed, the rest remembered.

(*Ani Difranco)

You are a child of god, your playing small doesn’t serve the world. ~ Marianne Williamson

Be who you were meant to be and you will set the world on fire. ~ St. Sienna

Sarah, you are bigger and better than them, than this, they don’t deserve you. You are meant for greater things. ~ Leah

Since I was 16, I always saw you as a goddess I can’t understand these men that don’t.  ~ Blake

You have only realised how gorgeous you are when everyone else saw it way sooner… There is an innocence attached to that which makes you golden. ~ Iain

I don’t feel golden Iain. I don’t feel like a goddess Blake.

And Leah, Jesus.  She promised me I would never see her mad, except when she is mad at the world on my behalf. She’s pissed. Her sword is ablaze. Mine is in a box somewhere. She scared me a bit in that moment. I’m afraid I am scared of my potential.

I can’t fight the world right now. I don’t want to. I told you before, I had enough fighting to fill 7 lifetimes and it just left me feeling shitty and ashamed.

I can’t fight with myself anymore either. There are days like today where I feel small. And I want it. I want to be insignificant. I want a normal life and a normal man who looks at me and sees ordinary. No need to run or hide. Just plain old me.

These men I let in are not chosen lightly. I see something in them. I see souls.

“They know you are better than them and that you will leave, so leaving you is easier” she says. It never occurred to me to leave. Why am I not offered a choice here? “It’s not the absence of a thing that gets you, its having a thing and the loss of it I am talking about” ~ Cold Mountain.

All I see is the good parts, they see shit. In themselves, not me. It’s the good ones that leave, the bad ones stay and feed.

I used to think I was shit. I was half wrong. I was shit but I had potential. Somehow that’s all I see when I look at them.

I wrote that on my son’s birthday.

Only the first line is a thing, and I didn’t even write it.

I say it a lot. I said it to Our Sara of Lords today.

In this year of our Lord 2016 I finally swallowed it and realized how sweet it is.

I get bigger and better. The people around me get bigger and better.

I get treated bigger and better and they find bigger and better in themselves.

I said to a boy 3 days ago, “No one can come to you without being able to handle you at your full potential.” I need to amend that. They NEED you to be your huge beautiful powerful self. You aren’t protecting anyone, you have to do right by them by doing right by you.

I had to have an awkward conversation today. With my present. It’s not always easy, knowing what is going to happen. Being fed storylines that zig and zag in fits and starts like Memento. I do really need some sticky notes.

This whole being psychic thing is a major pain in the ass somedays. I think I was having one of those days when I wrote the above the line, up there. Got some news I didn’t want to hear. Like the day I saw a dead doe when I knew Gelfling was gone. Or the day the message came through the internet ocean and I had to let the Poet go. They are gone. I am still here. Loving, being loved. With more purity and enthusiasm than I am used to. A girl could grow to love this.

A girl could grow so accustomed that she would never settle again. That is a thing. My thing.

I have 3 men in my life that treat me like I am sacred, because I am. And as of today they are all saying thankee sai to the others. Sofa king fucked up, but I am over here grinning like the Cheshire cat, with wings.

I have people in my life that know when it’s me talking and when I am channeling from the ether, and they listen intently regardless.

We are still in the first week of the new year, and I am evolving rapidly and bringing my present with me.

I have no desire to be normal. I have every desire to be me.

Jay, this is for you.

And Aimee and errrbody really.

It is the first day of the year.

I put my kid on a plane at 3 am. He was stomachsick, homesick and heartsick.

So be it.

In a time called ‘before’ I would have tried to keep him with me.

Thank fuck it isn’t before, it’s now.

I like now. Now is a good place to be.

The Land of Zero Fucks.

This is where my kid’s plane gets cancelled and we just roll with it. Finding joy in good wings, good company and two little girls dancing to random piano covers in a spectacular hotel on New Year’s Eve.

You see my friends, I’ve learned to just let it be. Whatever the fuck IT happens to be. Except if it is a creepy clown. Gack, no. yuck. I will be rocking in the corner.
(She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she sees the ghosts)

I know what the mens I work with think of me. I am a mildly crazy turbo slut.

I kinda am.

Totally fine.

I also conduct myself (mostly) with class, grace, poise and I believe in the greater good.

The call me Mama Billy, with sarcasm and a lil bit ‘o’ reverence. Okay, a lot of reverence.

I know what I am.

The more I get to know me and like me, the better people come around.

Seriously. Like amazing magical people.

I am amassing a small army.

This is new to me.

I have fucked up beyond belief. Lied to keep people around, put myself through hell trying to appease others and it got me nothing but being in the wrong places at the wrong time. Broke and broken.

I hereby give everyone permission to be their most authentic self.
Scream if you have to, cry if you want to laugh as much as possible and give zero fucks.

Do no harm and take no shit.

You can bend and bend and bend some more trying to make other people happy and all that is going to happen is you will weaken and break and they are gonna leave anyways.

Trust me, I know.

It’s the same with stuff. Stuff comes and goes. Things break and get replaced. Things become outdated and useless. Dangerous sometimes.

Be like Elsa and let it fucking go.

I spent my childhood/teenage years pretty fucking alone.

It sucked.

I got attached to some horrible people and some pretty bad outfits. I didn’t have a lot of clothes either.

And I stayed and I bent and I broke and they left.

At the end of the day all we have is our integrity, and if we lie to ourselves and others about who were are and what we really want…there is no truth there, just a cardboard cut-out of the person you could be.

A girl on my Facebook page messaged me one night. Wanting to kill herself over a man who obviously cares very little for her. Uses her for whatever purpose. She asked me ‘how to keep him’ and to pray for his return. I said “fuck no. Instead I’ll pray for you to see your worth away from him and love yourself.”

She calmed down and got some help. 45 days later. Same fucking same.

I got mad.

Viciously authentically Sarah fucking mad.

Told her all the same shit again.

She won’t listen.

I can’t save her.

She has to save herself.

I learned this the hard way.

Everyone does.

There is no instruction manual save these words here (and they will go unheeded by most).

It’s okay. I didn’t listen either. I almost died.

I am eternally grateful that I am alive.

Near death tends to shake the veils off.

I stopped lying to myself and everyone around me.

Sure, people left. A few people liked me better broken. I didn’t and I matter.

I started looking at all the things I put aside to make others happy and I picked them all back up, burned what didn’t suit me and expanded on what I loved. Went back to work, embraced it. I started writing, posting memes with lightning speed, eating good food, being nice to my body, especially the hungry thing that is my vagina. Just told the truth about it. Yes I have lovers, you can be one too if you wish. Here are the rules, I make all the rules…alrighty then pick me up Thursday and feed me.

They always pick me up on Thursday and I am always well fed in all ways.

And if not I locomote outta there. Another train will come by.

There are 5 great myths that fuck us all up

1. Right (replace with ‘better’)
2. Wrong (replace with ‘worse’)
3. Never (replace with ‘not for long’)
4. Forever (replace with ‘for a while’)
5. Perfect

Perfection isn’t what we think. No one is perfect, no thing is perfect. Perfection is tiny moments here and there. The rush of a new lover or familiarity of a seasoned one. Sun on your skin. That first sip of whiskey. Belly laugh with your kid while two girls dance in a hotel lobby.

When I realized all of these things I became me.
Messy funny silly loud obnoxious powerful magical slightly crazy turbo slut me and I have never been happier.