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There are people who just heal others for the sake of healing. Labels and trumpets are not necessary. They just do what they do.

I absolutely appreciate everyone is on their own journey (which is nun’ya business), I still kinda wanna  pull my hair out some days…because this is my path, and it involves sarcasm and hair pulling apparently.

Someone asked me what a “Lightworker” is.

This was my response.

‘Usually a lady who has semi-grown children who don’t need her that bad anymore so she spends a lot of time on the internet taking quizzes about ‘what percentage witch’ she is and ‘what colour her aura is’ and who feels very strongly drawn to memes about empaths and indigo children.

She reads Deepak Chokra, tried the Secret but then promptly forgot about most of it.

She has the means to eat organic quinoa and the time to meditate. She read Eat Pray Love and it changed her life and now she is out for the good of all mankind until it means actually doing a thing other than being online saying “Namaste” and “blessed be” and “love and light”.

They cry about pics of starving dogs and sign petitions but grab their purses (made in sweatshops btw) tighter when they walk by a homeless person.

They shout outrage at how other cultures treat women but end up judging Suzy for eating a cheeseburger. (Suzy, how could you?) They secretly want their own cheeseburger.

They are active from the comfort of their smartphone (also made in sweatshops btw) but do not actually help anyone that needs help.

They ask other Lightworkers for advice and then argue, or silently decide they aren’t going to do ‘that.’

They speak a language that sounds spiritual, but if you listen close and watch what they do it is full of holes, jibberish and juxtapositions.

They drink expensive tea and take yoga retreats and are still mean to the women that do their nails. Two bucks is a good tip right? (Not with those feet honey)

It is yet another thing that started out nicely, like a religion and got twisted and corrupted like a religion.

They see enlightenment as a competition, an excuse, and something to shout from a soapbox (which was made in a sweatshop btw)

They are half awake toddlers screaming at everyone about the light.

And I love them, like toddlers. So mostly when they are sleeping or playing.’

Two women leapt to mind when I wrote the above. I do not hate them, but man they make me recoil and bare my teeth sadly. I gotta let that go already.

Both God and Mama Teresa had a pretty firm stance on judgment. “Judge not lest ye be judged” and “if you are busy judging people you have no time to love them” respectively.

It sounds like I am judging, because I am a little bit.

I am only so far along my own path.

I am at the eye-rolling check point.

My journey out of the dark started with the Secret. I read the subtext. Also realizing that these people who were making/sharing the Secret needed to make money too so there was probably more they weren’t telling us so we would buy the next thing. This is truth and fact and logic and fine. Still a lovely jumping off point. Unlike a lot of religions this one puts the human in full accountability. Use your brain and think happy thoughts. I like this.

My wanderings led me other places. I had a healer who put rocks on me and chanted. We did regression therapy. She was calm and soothing and lovely. I want to find her and tell her I did the things we discussed when she opened my crown chakra and my higher-self gave my earthbound-self a stern talking to.

I wandered off that path and back into a very drama-filled crazy place with bad people around me, but I had enough knowledge to pull back and have perspective. Another witchy healing mama came out of my past and kicked my ass back into the light.

She clears my chakras and plays a mean singing bowl. I do so love that noise and her.

I shed the last of my old psychic garbage when I dumped Budget George 2 years ago. Aforementioned witchy mama called it. Bless her, kinda wish I would have adhered to her shorter time line, but alas. Everything is as it should be.

Then the real work started.

Except it didn’t feel like work. I was so happy and light and free.

I NOT in a relationship for the first time in 18 years.

Liberating.

I got on a plane in May and went West. Arizona and California. My soul was home. I floated for the whole trip. I met a woman, a doctor acupuncturist and chiropractor. She had me the most pain free I have ever been in 45 minutes. We bonded instantaneously, she didn’t want to charge me because she loved me, I couldn’t help but pay because I loved her.

The girl I went to see had been my best girl for years. We had dreams of living together, heterosexual life partners running a café and being happy.

She was my second false positive and the hardest one to lose.

She talked the talk, but when it came to walking the walk…she was reminiscent of a toddler falling down a lot, grabbing onto anything to hold her up and tantrums when it didn’t work. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but I very clearly watched jealousy split our paths. Maybe I will see her again and maybe I won’t. All is well.

The same May I met another woman. A whole new school of thought that felt new and exciting. After sessions with her, talking things out while she redirected energy in ley-lines across my head the difference was palpable. I learned a new language and it felt good in my mouth, until I bit into it and it went sour.

She started treating me like an ATM. She decided that I should not be so successful because I hadn’t paid my cult fees. I took what I needed, gleaned a few things, made my own magic and wandered off to figure out what was better than this.

My son and I do a thing we call ‘time bending’. Exactly what it sounds like. I mentioned it to this new wonder woman I had met, cited an example and I saw her recoil. She didn’t believe in what she was doing at all. No matter. I did and it worked.

Beware false prophets. She was the third and the worst of them.

Never underestimate the power of blind faith, it has the power to bend the laws of physics and sometimes break them entirely. (True Blood)

That is what it comes down to really. We all have our own perceptions. We live in a world that is clouded and veiled with drama, war, media, consumerism, fear mongering. You can disconnect. A little bit more every day. You can make your own world.

I have been feeling ill at ease as of late. I think it is time to level up again. And in the way it does, the universe has provided me with a push back to a fork in the road I was shown a while ago. This one is a big step, my brain will be forever altered. This is the stuff of shamans. I am scared. I am scurrying to write down my life because I don’t want to ‘lose’ it. And alternately chuckling at the thought of that.

To quote my dear friend Tristan O’Reilly we are quite literally “stuck in a fucked up situation and there is nothing left to do but shed your ego.”

Akin to many religions, this cult of love and light and spirituality has many levels layers and nuances. There is work involved. The ego needs to be shed.

Don’t get me wrong, ego is forged from bubblegum, Velcro and whatever holds those price tags on glassware. But it can be done, worn away with continued washing and scrubbing.

Also know that you can be as enlightened as the day is long and still wanna kick scream cry and eat 10 cupcakes or cheeseburgers. We are all integrally human and cheeseburgers taste good.

You will find others stumbling along and slipping sideways that bite your hand when you reach out to catch them.

Again. Human.

I can let go of people I never dreamed of losing and find people I never dreamed of finding.

Yet I sometimes scream MINE.
Though I know nothing is.

I sometimes write blog posts gently poking fun at others who started this journey and plateaued when it came to the messy part.

I have no circus and I have no monkeys.

I am just love walking around in a body reaching out when I can.
Understanding when I cannot.

And ready to level up because if I don’t my eyes might get stuck like this.

This man made me want to write.

I know, obscure article. Odd subject matter. I am obscure and odd. It’s alright. We all are in our own way. I will get back to it. I always do.

Michael O’Donoghue.

The same man that wrote this.

There was another article of his that was 100 curses from other countries.

And the one I remember was Arabic.

“May you own a hotel with a thousand rooms and may you be found dead in every one of them.”

Brutal.

I grew up in a tiny white bread town where all people of other ethnicities fit perfectly into stereotypical roles. Two families from China… both owned Chinese restaurants. Muslim family ran the convenience store. Seriously, that was it. 3, maybe 4 families that weren’t white.

My only knowledge of the outside world came from National Geographic, books, movies, the occasional Amnesty International or UNICEF ad on TV. And a collection of curses in the back of a SPIN magazine.
The world seemed like a big scary place, overwhelming and really far away.

I was never taught by any member of my family (or church) that I was superior to anyone because of my skin color or gender or religious practices. I still hold those truths to be self-evident.

Evidentially they are not.

I am blessed/cursed with an amazing memory.

I remember the fall of the Berlin Wall.
I remember when Russia was the enemy.
I remember the execution of Biko and Mandela finally being freed.
I remember both Desert Storms.
I remember 9/11.
I remember what I was doing when all of those things happened.
Always safely tucked inside a house that was NOT being bombed, feeling broken, helpless and completely disconnected. Always feeling like the world was going crazy but then going about my safe little life.

I remember Rwanda, holding my own child at my breast and bawling my eyes out, as a baby clung to her dead mother while someone filmed it for the news. Screaming at the TV for someone to do something.

I AM SOMEONE.

Seems ludicrous now, the choices I made. The precarious positions I put myself in. The resources I wasted being a blind consumer. The poison I took to drown out my ridiculous perception of what pain is.

Buffalo Bill was right I “don’t know what pain is.”

I thought I did. I suffered pretty severe depression and anxiety for the better part of a decade.

I felt myself slipping back there over the last 10 days.

Arguing screaming fighting with those who just want to argue scream and fight. I was hating the haters.

I decided to stop.

I see the truth and I am obligated to speak it.

Bring on the overwhelm.

It would be easier to run. Go to Wal-Mart, buy a bunch of shit I don’t need and feed the monster. Keep believing the world is flat and the sun revolves around us.
But I cannot.

The disconnect was a bygone bliss also known as ignorance.

Biker Body Pillow once said I had a really good memory and was able to make connections and decipher patterns. I see them now.

This is the most afraid I have ever been.

I read about Charles Manson and Jim Jones. I watched Waco happen.

Opportunistic Butchers.

HISTORY IS REPEATING.

The French Government has publicly stated that they believe the one passport found after the bombings in Paris that belonged to a Syrian refugee was planted by the bombers in attempt to sway the world view on allowing refugees into their countries.

Congratulations. They won.

After World War I the Treaty of Versailles was signed imposing economic sanctions against Germany, and taking land. Germany was war torn, shell shocked and ignored and shunned by the entire world. Like locking a toddler in a room after a rather destructive and terrifying temper tantrum and then leaving them there forever.

The options always come down to fight or die.

In the land of the blind the one eyed man is king.

When I say Germany I mean a specific set of lines that define the borders of a country, but also the people who live there inside those borders. If you leave people weak and starving and ignored they will cleave to anyone that promises them a way out of the dark. Even a madman.

“Psychiatrist Carl Jung commented in 1938 that Hitler is the “first man to tell every German what he has been thinking and feeling all along in his unconscious about German fate, especially since the defeat in the World War”. Hitler used personal magnetism and an understanding of crowd psychology to advantage while engaged in public speaking. Historians have noted the hypnotic effect of his rhetoric on large audiences, and of his eyes in small groups. The author Alfons Heck, a former member of the Hitler Youth, describes the reaction to a speech by Hitler:

We erupted into a frenzy of nationalistic pride that bordered on hysteria. For minutes on end, we shouted at the top of our lungs, with tears streaming down our faces: Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil! From that moment on, I belonged to Adolf Hitler body and soul.— Alfons Heck (source, Wikipedia)

This is the Holocaust round two. Now with added craziness and carnage and much shinier, scarier weapons.

Syria and its people are bombed out, starving, shell shocked, lost.
The world is turning its back on them because they look like the people that are firing on them.

If we do not give them somewhere to run to their options will be only fight or die.

The ones who want them to fight are a handful of barbaric evil men with guns and bombs.

We are feeding the war machine and the recruitment pool when we shut refugees out.

We are taking away their option to thrive and leaving them with only survival.

They will fight. It is human nature.

WE DID THIS. THIS IS OUR MESS.

We made people into monsters and now we are hiding under the bed?

A trillion dollars spent blowing shit up, sending American citizens to war just to ignore the mess after it’s made.

Millions of homeless veterans and refugees. Yet the banks made $30 000 000 000.00 last year. 1.8 million homes sitting empty due to foreclosures by the very same banks and we don’t have the resources to fix this?

STOP IT.

Get the people out and to safety. Let the terrorists live in the mess they made. I do not see this to be a difficult solution.

Funny how the only sense being made of the state of the world is satyr.
I miss Michael O’Donoghue.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Edmund Burke

This is the truth and there are consequences. In 1993 Kevin Carter photographed a toddler trying to make it to a feeding station in Sudan, a hooded vulture had landed nearby. He won the Pulitzer Prize for it. He was told not to touch the child for fear of transmitting disease and her fate is unknown. His  however, is that after ‘doing his job’ he committed suicide a year later.

He was 33 years old. He died by carbon monoxide poisoning. These are his last words.

“I’m really, really sorry. The pain of life overrides the joy to the point that joy does not exist… depressed … I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings and corpses and anger and pain … of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners … I have gone to join Ken* if I am that lucky.”

If I didn’t say something or do something I feel like I would be ripping myself away from the human race. I cannot do that. To do so is death.

We have to stop it or live with the fact that we did nothing. That is not a life I want.

Michael O’Donoghue’s quote stands as well. The world is a minefield.

I happen to be lucky enough that where my soul chose to land they are few and far between.

There but by the grace of God go I. My heart is breaking with the things that break the heart of God.

This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” ― Fred Rogers

I am donating $500 to sponsor a family from Syria.

I need nothing and as a human being I have to help.

Stop hating what you don’ understand and

Vote. Sponsor. Donate.

*Ken Oosterbroek was a fellow war journalist who “was shot and killed by peacekeepers in Thokoza Township, about 25 km east of Johannesburg, on 18 April – nine days before the 27 April 1994 elections in South Africa, the country’s first all-race elections. He and other photographers were covering a clash between peacekeepers and the African National Congress when the peacekeepers opened fire and shot Oosterbroek and fellow Bang-Bang Club member Greg Marinovich.” (Wikipedia)

115 000+ heartbeats stopped beating in the span of 24 hours. 115 000+ (plus one).

Friday night they had the news on at work, all the TV’s usually showing hockey or the football were all on CNN. Death toll kept rising and my heart kept sinking.

Same night one of the girl’s lost the grandmother who raised her. This single mom had taken her grandmother in and has been caring for her as long as I have known her. The call came in about an hour after our shift started.  I’ve never seen her upset and it came off of her in waves.

There was also a car accident exactly in front of the bar. Shut down traffic, a handful of cops, much smashing and debris. Poor woman came inside and we all looked after her as best we could. Bottled water and Tylenol. Bags for everything she salvaged from the wreck. She was in shock.

I evened for as long as I could but ended up unable to even.

One of the bouncers is an ex-Navy Seal. Always hyper aware and very protective of me as I am of him. If he asked me once if I was alright he must have asked 100 times. He abhors being touched but hugged me anyways. I tried to not get any of my sadness on him, he has enough of his own.

This was my yesterday…trying to combat all the hate getting smeared all over Facebook.

I do not adhere to any one religion. I do not believe in a traditional god. Such is my right as someone born with free will in a free country.

Prayer is a universal word that expresses ‘I acknowledge the horror that is happening. I am sending empathy, sympathy and love to you in a time of need.’

I cannot stomach one more person saying ‘don’t pray for Paris, religion caused this’.

Religion may have caused it, but loving one another can stop it. Let everyone grieve, mourn and support in whatever way they wish.

Isn’t it not so much religion causing this as a group of people deciding they don’t like how another group prays?

So ‘don’t pray for Paris’ is kind of the same thing no?

Throwing more hate isn’t going to solve anything. The theme today is you cannot fight hate with hate. People will always fear what they do not understand and it leads to hate.

I have heard and refereed some fucked up shit today kids.

At least once a month if not more in the United States some white dude walks into a school, mall, theater or any crowded public place and opens fire. ‘Not all white dudes’ though seems to be the response.

Mass killings spawned by hate insanity and extremism are wrong on all levels.

Mass ignorance and anger back at anyone who might resemble those who have done the killings is not the answer.

Today has me thinking. When I was 19 years old my friend Greg died in my arms. Our group of friends elected me to tell them how to deal. There was anger depression bargaining et al. I was not equipped to deal then, but I did my best. I took everyone into my home and put my own grief aside to comfort them.

I broke down eventually.

That is what it feels like now but I have 30 000 people who are with me every day and something really bad happened and everyone is reacting and I feel obligated to love and comfort everyone.

Everyone is welcome here. It is a safe place to feel loved and heal.

Keep that in mind when posting on my posts.

I am human, we all are and we are just trying to sort through this mess.

Love will conquer. Light wins. Let’s get started.

It was too much.

I alternately left and came back to social media, it was a mess. Banned 157 people from my page in a day.

Saw all of my fellow writers trying so hard to be positive and comforting.

Started re-posting their eloquent words and I’m over here slinging Star Wars quotes.

Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.

At what point can I feel comfortable going back to doing what I do?

Something else happened in the last 72 hours that I was unaware of.
Hits on my website went into hyper-drive. 1500+.
Maybe that’s how I use the Force for good and stop the spread of evil?
Wax nostalgic and comedic about love and sex and whatnot.

“I want people to hear a voice without hate in it”. (Pass the Light)

I started writing this last week, on a napkin at work. With the Star Wars quote as a lead off. Before the world fell apart.

I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened. Obi-Wan Kenobi

Nope, false alarm. That was just me…

Wait… no it wasn’t. I am actually good for once.

So, what be the ruckus?

Nay, not a million voices, just a half dozen.

Silence is golden.

At least it was.

Wolfling went on a walkabout round October. My mantra for him was ‘stay down’. Lord hear our prayer he finds a nice girl. Nope. Scratched on the door yesterday. I said I didn’t have anything to feed him.

I don’t.

Not looking forward to that conversation at all. How do I say ‘no baby, not anymore’?

Probably exactly like that. He will have a Wookie sized tantrum, complete with noises.

Oh Sunday. Last time we went out I said something about when we broke up I wouldn’t be able to go back to a certain restaurant. He snapped back fast “we aren’t dating”. Not sure he realized how much truth he told. Do or do not, there is no try. Yoda (Not anymore)

I went to a wedding yesterday, alone. Contemplated asking Young Un. He has this uncanny knack of making me feel steady in a room full of strangers.He looks amazing in a suit. I was the only heavily tattooed person in the middle of 200 Catholics. It was awkward.

I mentioned it to him this morning. He said he “1000% would have” gone. And in one sentence I realized what he is…my plus one. My arm candy/rock candy. He has been my sounding board when I got lost in a galaxy far far away. The Luke to my Leia. Ya we kissed, but he’s my brotha. No sexy feelings there, not anymore.

Another posted pictures of the life I wished for him. Mountains, horses, his girl and a son. Fare thee well love. I cannot imagine a better father, there is one more boy in the world who is going to grow up to be the best of men because of him. He is good where he is, I don’t have to worry, not anymore. He’s living the dream on Endor.

Hot neighbor. My work is done there. I showed him not all women are insane. I am super crazy, but in a cute loving compatible way. Your eyes can deceive you. Don’t trust them. Obi-Wan Kenobi. He knows.
I saw him outside today I bribed my kid with breakfast sandwiches to take the dog out. Used to be I would casually wander down on my own for a hello and a kiss. Not anymore.

Oh Gelfling, (not) my Gelfling. I can’t be your Taun Taun anymore. I like my guts on the inside. Tired of being ripped open for your warmth and comfort thanks.

I admit when I tripped and fell into the feelings I have now I got scared. Terrified really. Went running back to the idea of Gelfling. The force used to be strong with him. Not anymore. He did not and there was no try. So be it. Its okay, I see what I did there.

So the basic truth is I am smitten. With one man.

You came in here, but didn’t you have a plan for getting out? Princess Leia

Yep.

I have talked myself into and out of it for months now.

Flipping back and forth between I have a bad feeling about this to ya, this space station is fully operational (despite a few weaknesses).

I’ll just continue to build, fortify and hope for a lack of explosions. My only hope.

If I say I love you, will you say I know?

“Stay on target.” – Gold Five

I’m excited about working on Monday night.

Pardon?

I work in a strip club; feel free to join in a rousing chorus of ‘what the actual fuck?’ now.

Notoriously the deadliest day of the week.

Of course there is a catch.

Freudian slip. To catch implies I am chasing something. Not a catch, a crush.

I have a tiny crush on the Monday DJ.

He is handsome, talented, spiritual, feeds me nachos and indulges my new obsession with the Biebs.

I mentioned it to my best girl, who knows us both.

Then this…

________________________________________________________________________

Me: …also, I now have a crush on (your) DJ and I don’t want it

Her: He has a girlfriend that he loves

Me: I know. I said I don’t want it

Her: Are you seeing anyone lately?

Me: Just Khal Drogo, everyone else fell away and I just decided to let them.

Her: Have you done Tindr before?

Me: No. I don’t want to add anyone

Her: You just want to crush on your co-worker that has a girlfriend? Why don’t you find an available guy to crush on?

Me: I have said three times I don’t want it

Her: You don’t want what?

Me: I don’t want your DJ. I saw Drogo last week and I really like him. We talked through everything. And everyone else has fallen away. I even saw the rock star and…nothing.

Her: Is he calling/messaging every day?

Me: 3 times a week. Talking to him right now

Her: Enough to keep you around. Ditch that guy, he’s not someone you can be serious about.

_____________________________________________________________________

Pump the brakes.

Actually stop the car and let me out, or at least slow down so I can tuck and roll. I don’t like where this is going at all.

3 things.

1. If I described my Drogo OR her DJ to a police sketch artist…they would both look like the guy that plays Khal Drogo. They aren’t twins, but on paper the same adjectives apply. Tall, dark, handsome, beardy, tattooed, and extra-large. If someone transcribed the conversations we have had, I would be able to tell them apart, but no one else would. So I am obviously just projecting/protecting myself.

(Later in the conversation)…

Me: …and for the record I know you like his woman and their relationship. I am not that fucking girl by any stretch. I can crush and keep my legs and mouth shut about it.

It hurt my feelings that she thought I would actively pursue a crush on someone who I know to be in a relationship. Um, Sisterwife ring any bells? I would never fucking ever be that girl.

Also, and I am howling now. The words “actively pursue”.

2. On what planet do I have any control over any of this? I can only control my actions not my feelings, they do what they do and I let them.

I am right in the middle of a righteous crush on Drogo already.

I have no idea what to do about it…do I have to do a thing?

Seriously…what the fuck do I do?

I haven’t the slightest clue how to girlfriend anymore. Which begs the question did I ever?

Do I make him sammiches?

Totally down for that. Except he cooks for me, and I like that.

Do we change things in real life?

I like what I have going. I like my tiny house, my schedule. Currently I am drowning in terrifyingly large sweats, listening to Justin Bieber and writing this, that and like 4 more things. I have ink on my face from scribbling on my hand in the car then holding my head up. Raccoon eyes. Surrounded by scraps of paper, incense burning on my 5th cigarette and 2nd coffee. I like this, I am comfortable and happy. This is who I am and this is what I do.

Can I be loved as is? I love me so that’s a good start.

Do we change things on Facebook?

I just got a fight or flight bolt of adrenalin. Made me queasy. That is bringing back bad flashbacks of Sisterwife/marriage. I used to have to check my relationship status to see where my husband was…with her or with me*. That was the last actual relationship I was in. I think I am damaged. It took me 7 years to stop playing. I took my ball and went home.

3. I found myself here, in this little house, alone. Love it here. Biebs and all.

Best girl said “Boyfriend material messages every day.”

3 times a day. Who makes these rules? What about what I want? I have a child, 2 jobs and an all-consuming hobby that brings me joy and really requires solitude/alone time. As does Drogo.

I don’t have time for that. 3 times a week is ample. Thanks.

Speaking of, as I write this…Maybe it’s not a crush, crushes traditionally hurt.

I dislike when people say shit like “I’m never drinking again” or “No more carbs forever”. You’re setting yourself up to fail.
On that note, I’m not saying ‘no more young un’s forever’…but for the last two weeks, I don’t know where any of them are, and I am not bothered to look.

I am afraid of my feelings for Drogo. I know this. They are beyond my control.

I think that is why I was haunted by Gelfling too. One last bolt for the door.

I truly believe my (not)crush on the DJ is a misguided attempt at self-preservation.

Me: it’s a calm crush. It will pass

Her: Or escalate

Me: It will pass. I won’t let it grow.

Which brings us full circle.

I wish I knew how to escalate, not DJ, Drogo.

Vagina is already on lockdown. I have no say in the matter. It’s not like I haven’t tried to talk her out of this, at great length, even plied her with whiskey and the answer a resounding “I want that one”.
Ya, the DJ is hot, but might as well be a eunuch. Like I said, it’s not like that.

My entire stable gelded in one night. Amazing.

Heart has always wanted what she wants. Can’t be helped.
Ego is still not on board. Feels unworthy.
I don’t know if he wants me, I am scared to ask.

Truth is, I don’t want to sleep with anyone but Drogo.
While I sort through this and try to remember/learn how to move forward, I have his doppelganger holding my hand, giving advice and bending my ear once a week.

None of it is ‘torture’, I know torture* and this isn’t it.
I just like working Monday’s now.

“see I gave you faith, turned your doubt into hopin’. ” Biebs

“You are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.”

~Warsan Shire

I am more scared of horses than wolves.

The wolves love me, and I them. They come when I call. Obedient when I ask/need them to be, because I rarely ask. I let them go off hunting and do what they do. I see the wiggling want they have for affection and I give it when they come for it. And when they are sleeping, I let them lie.

Why else would they come to my door? What else am I to do? Feed them and give them a warm place to sleep before I let them back out to wander.

Wolves I get. There is loyalty there. And trust earned.

I understand the order of the wolf pack and the subtleties of the smallest gestures. I am alpha. I just am.

I was raised around betas and was always confused why they went after me the way they did. I saw nothing I had worth taking, nor challenged. Any tiny baring of my throat and they were at me. So I stopped showing my throat. Just kept me head down and spent as much time alone as I could. I thought myself omega. Inconsequential. I am beginning to realize I was wrong…I see their warrant in past attempts to break me down. It almost worked. For decades I was afraid to be me, to speak out. To do much of anything really, beyond existing. I doubted everything I knew.

I remember time without fear. I was 4 years old. My aunt and uncle took me to ride horses. They gave me the pregnant one thinking she would be slow and steady. She bloated pre-saddling and halfway through the ride I just slid off, saddle and all. I just stayed in the snowbank, tucked under her until they came and lifted me back up. Didn’t cry. Just waited there until big strong hands, brushed the snow off me, readjusted the saddle and put me back where I was supposed to be. On a Morgan named Morgan.

I remember being 7 years old. At a Pentecostal summer camp that I went to willingly with a neighbor girl because they had horses there. I was given a horse named Angie. Tiny little chestnut Tennessee Walker with a huge attitude. For a few hours a day she was mine, except she wasn’t. She belonged to no one, she just did her thing and I let her. We won barrel races that year and the next for that exact reason. I just let her. We trusted each other without reservation. She was a brat and had a penchant for stepping on toes. She tried it with me and I let my boot sink into the mud, leaned into her and she moved.

As I got older, my fear of everything, including horses, grew.

When I lived on the farm I adopted 5. The farm was the pinnacle of my fear, my lowest low. Except those horses.

Someone told me horses glean their idea of how big they are when they are babies, so to them, people are giants. That is why we can get 1600 pounds of muscle, sinew and bone to do as we wish. My fear subsided, but just a bit. My respect never faltered. I learned everything I needed to know from Angie and the Morgan I rode before. They will do what they do and I will let them.

I adopted a monster horse named Comanche. He was just lovely. Big and dumb and sweet. His sister was mean, men made her that way, and she was always trying to sneak up and hurt me, Comanche wouldn’t let her. All my fingers and toes to count the times he put his body between mine and hers. Bless him.

It came time for me to ride him. We had a horse whisperer over working with us. My busted pelvis from the car wreck wouldn’t let me sit in any saddle. He was 1600 pounds and 16hh. The bareback pad didn’t fit, I climbed on anyways. His back was so broad my legs felt like a wishbone right before it snaps. He took me about 100 meters before finding something soft to dump me in, a big pile of shit. He circled back to check on me before running off again. I don’t blame him, all the humans were running at me to make sure I was alright. I was laughing and smiling. I knew what happened, we didn’t go through the motions of saddling and prepping. He wasn’t ready.

The horse whisperer put her hand out to help me up, said “I knew that was going to happen”.

I laughed and said “well why did you let me get on him then. Why didn’t you ride him?”

She said, “Because I knew it was going to happen.”

I looked at her funny while brushing shit off my jeans.

She said “I knew he would throw me, so he would have. You didn’t so it was 50/50. You trusted him and he trusted you that is why he put you down soft.”

Best 45 seconds I have ever spent on the back of a horse was on him.

I want the rest of my life to be like this. Trusting and fearless.

If I get to ride, I will ride.

If the wolves come I will let them.

I might yet find home with another being, but if he wants to leave, I will let him.

He will let me down soft. I know this.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our English dead!

In peace, there is nothing so becomes a man,

As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger;

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
King Henry, Act III scene I Henry V
I have closed up the wall with the English dead. They were stinking up the place, I went heavy on the bricks and mortar.
I “feel nothing for the departed, not enough time or not enough lyme.
To leave them where no one knows.”
Drag the Lake
To the Crows
(mind you, I would never feed something so nasty to the crows.)
This is why I adore you, Young Un.  Speaks my anger so eloquently.

Where were we? Ah yes…
I am a wood tiger.
So is it time to summon up the blood?
Fuck, I am already doing it wrong. These are instructions for war, not love.

I know the difference now.

Now is decidedly better. I don’t want to fight anymore.
But I am still doing things wrong…but wrong for whom.
If I am to be loved for myself I must indeed BE myself.

In the time called before I most certainly did not love me. Every relationship was always war. A war between me feeling unlovable but wanting to be loved spilling out and making bedrooms into battlegrounds. Blood and carnage.
There was a king who ruled in absentia here for many years. He has abdicated his throne and I am holding him to it. Gently, I said I don’t want to fight anymore and I meant it.

I had no choice but to rule on my own.

When in Rome. Eat, drink, fuck, and wear bedsheets in interesting ways. Also philosophize.

Someone asked me last night if I had ever withheld sex to get something I wanted. He said I looked like he just fed me a lemon, the way my face twisted as I spit out the words ‘Fuck No’. The closest I ever came was when I said to Khal Drogo “If I make you wait I have a chance of you seeing me differently than the others.” And 5 minutes later my pants were off, so there is that then.

“You have suffered enough
and warred with yourself.
It is time that you won.”
Glen Hansard

What do I win?

Young Un was the last boy I asked to be my boyfriend. I saw him once after that in 2014, and then again last Saturday.

Didn’t go well then and we are just friends now. I almost want to call him for advice.

I am scared. I don’t know how to do this.

The way I have done things makes backwards look logical.

So now what?

“Open your hand again,
and expect to find mine,
close your eyes again,
and trust my lips will meet yours,
anticipate love again
and you will find it in me”
Leo Christopher

Alone is not the most terrifying word in the English language.
For me? Right now? ‘Again’ is striking terror in my heart.

I have no idea what I am doing. Again.

All I know is that I am peering into the abyss and the monster staring back is beautiful.

This is the breach and I want to walk in.

I am floating along the event horizon and I know where it goes.

Do I let myself go and just fall?

Consideration, like an angel, came (Henry V, Act I scene I)

I don’t have a choice.

Back to the beginning

When I was in grade 9 my homeroom was Drama.

Contemplate that for a minute. I just did and I am smiling to myself. Looking like a crazy person at a Denny’s, unable to write this down fast enough on the back of a placemat.

High School Sweetheart was in said class. He still remembers me crying one morning during a trust exercise.

You know, the one where you cross your arms, close your eyes and fall.

I knew everyone that was meant to catch him contemplated letting him fall and I was crying in advance. Dark matter (all matter in fact) changes its behavior when observed. I think my tears snapped them out of it. 13 year old mind reading empath in a Tuesday morning drama class.

I was excused from the exercise because the crying and fear was assumed my own. I hadn’t dared yell out ‘don’t drop him’. I didn’t love myself enough to trust my voice or visions. Methinks the lady doth protest too much (Act III, Scene II Hamlet), or exactly enough to keep him safe, then anyways.

Truth be told, I wanted nothing more to fall and be caught. Especially if HSSH was to be among the hands to catch me.

He was the aforementioned King of Sarahland. His abdication stands.

Knights came riding, banners flying. I went out to meet them but didn’t let them in.

I opened the gates to John the Conqueror.

He cannot technically overthrow when I invited him in. So far no mess, no changes to the landscape, no blood or carnage.

It is a strange sensation to meet someone with whom all is quiet. I cannot read intent, and I am really alright with that. I have no idea what is inside the gift wrapped boxes. But I can tell you what it isn’t, dead cats and severed heads. These surprises are pleasant. I have been waiting for this.

Someone said ‘it’s alright to fall, just bring a parachute’. I love her dearly, but that isn’t how this works.

Skinny dipping on a warm summer night is the only way to go. Unencumbered.

I almost drowned 3 times as a child. Yet water is where I feel at home, safe and quiet and free.

This is how I feel right now. Aware of the possibility of dying, unable to stay out of the water, wanting more, walking in naked knowing it might mean drowning.

And behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom; and the earth shook and the rocks were split.

The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised.

Matthew 51 and 52

I heard different, the saints weren’t sleeping, they had died.

There were 2 Angels of the Lord hanging out in the tomb. They do make a mighty ruckus when they walk the earth and even more noise when they raise the dead. Mine do anyways.

The other thing that can be gleaned from the above passage? Saints don’t stay down.

I have been shaking for days. Literally and figuratively.

I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. Just felt like I was dreaming and awake. Like I was lost. Wandering, confused. Sleeping Saint lost in Dreamland.

Yesterday the clouds came down, everything was misted, water colored rose and gold. Felt like home. I’d finally attained some of my usual calm.

I saw Khal Drogo yesterday too, not even remotely a coincidence to my reacquired Zen. I am thinking on renaming him Peter. It fits. Peter Pan. Jesus called Peter his ‘rock’. Suits him. Sun, stars…all rocks. Molten and moving. Warm and bright.

I was vibrating in discord the whole way there. That sensation where you feel like you are going to fly apart emotionally and it transcends into your physical being. I had been living on that edge, that verge of tears where you are one hiccupping breath away from a break down. Held it together until I saw him, he hugged me and my eyes watered and my legs shook. Then I shook some more but in a good way and he made sure I didn’t fall. I held on tight and he just held me tighter.

On my way home from Neverland I chose the SkyBridge. Drove straight into the sky for reals. There was nothing but soft, comforting grey and some tail lights to follow. First star to the left and straight on till work time. Smiling and flying the whole way.

Once upon a time when I dwelled in Narnia, there was a gravel pit close by. The house would shake unpredictably sometimes not for months sometimes 10 times in a day. I started equating it with life changing events, they actually lined up. It was weird.
I have had one since the move…and my life changed that day. I marked it well. It was a good day.

We had several frost quakes last year as well. That is a thing…who knew…fucking Narnian weather and it’s polar vortices PLURAL.

Been in close proximity to 2 tornadoes…getting closer to how I have felt. Where one minute the sky is doing one thing and then the wind blows wrong, the sky turns a sickly green and you run, find something stable, hang on for dear life.

Not quite it, this wasn’t over fast enough. Tornadoes just fuck shit up and leave.

The tapestries in the temple were torn, I couldn’t read them.

Unsettled. Shaking. Quaking.

This was long and drawn out. With aftershocks galore.

Didn’t trust my mouth or my thoughts even.

Ahhh. There it is.

Trust.

I had a righteous hangover one fine day. So did my roommate. Stripper sisters. We lived on the second floor of one of those cookie cutter houses on a side street. We were playing rock paper scissors to see who had to get up from the couch to do anything at all really, but possibly the remote. And then the house started to sway.

We were so ruined from the night before neither of us realized it was actually happening and just thought we had hit some next level hangover shit. But it was real …
The 2010 Central Canada earthquake occurred with a moment magnitude of 5.0 in Central Canada on 23 June at about 13:41:41 EDT and lasted about 30 seconds (source Wikipedia).
Way too far from the epicenter to feel it on the ground. But in our cardboard house. We swayed. It was a sickening feeling. For 30 seconds all semblance of ‘safe’ vanished.

How does one remember how to trust the earth after an earthquake?

It’s a really odd sensation. I mean the ground moves, the ground isn’t supposed to move.
There is nothing more stable than the ground. Right?
Until tectonic plates shift. The landscape changes.
Nothing is the same as it was before you got here (Ria Mae)

http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/20151105.html

Gemini Horoscope for this week.

Small, non-destructive earthquakes are common. Our planet has an average of 1,400 of them every day. This subtle underground mayhem has been going on steadily for millions of years. According to recent research, it has been responsible for creating 80 percent of the world’s gold. I suspect that the next six or seven months will feature a metaphorically analogous process in your life. You will experience deep-seated quivering and grinding that won’t bring major disruptions even as it generates the equivalent of gold deposits. Make it your goal to welcome and even thrive on the subterranean friction.

Read this this morning. It’s an apt description of my life so far and a prediction that it will continue but with precious metals being formed in the process.

Whenever there is a major shift in the cosmos I have always likened it to a cog in a giant clockworks. For things to shift they must slip, sometimes the transition isn’t smooth and I can feel the grinding in my core. The only thing to do really is find a doorway and wait. Ride it out, try to enjoy that sensation of falling and flying out of control.
I now know to look for the gold in the ground, the silver linings when the sky falls and the clouds cover the ground. I do so love all the shiny things.

I am awake and aware again, wandering around exploring what has been broken open and revealed.
My legs shaking for an entirely different reason.
Sometimes things have to split apart so the good can come out.

I have always been fond of the earth shattering ka-booms.

I am hesitating to publish this, but I need it out of me.

It is the longest/weirdest post I have ever written.

This is as disconnected as the dreams, boy and events that sparked it. I wrote it in a state of Hypnagogia, transitioning from sleeping to awake.

I keep getting waves of recognition, truth and it’s leaving me with shivers and gooseflesh galore.

Thank you Jesica Nodarse.

This is my Paracosm.

I am trying to divine the why. But I am suffering palimpsest, the text from page I need in the manuscript has been scraped off.

Puzzle with pieces missing and I don’t have the box, all I see is stars.

I met someone, feels like years ago now, but not 4 yet. Time moves strange in this place.

I found the instructions, showed them to him. He smiled and said ‘yes dear’.

He is a prophet. I know this. There is more, there is always more.

I have met storms with skin (Caitlyn Seihl). It’s never the girls who post this to social media.
The true hurricane hybrids try to stay contained, knowing the damage they are capable of.
Fuckbois are just tornadoes who don’t yet understand what they are. They must be forgiven.

I love an Alien bear robot. Like Shardik* before he lost his mind.
I will keep him safe and sane as long as I can. Until I pass him to his next caretaker.
He needs to know it’s alright to sleep sometimes or he will go mad.

Shape-shifters.

Incubi.

Wolfling.

Angels with amnesia.

Angels without amnesia.

Angels that have not forgiven themselves for falling yet. Hush baby, it’s alright. She has you now.

Witches and mermaids.

And So many meat puppets, some star-dusted, some plain. Some sprinkled with a basic kind of madness and greed. All just taking up space. The ones that learn to speak our language are dangerous. Please give them wide berth and come back home. They will try to steal your light, your wings will become tattered and torn banging against their false illumination. Its just tungsten and gases, they are not the moon. Please stop.

Not all my ghosts are good. Had a poltergeist screaming at me through screens. I had to pick up a shovel and bury him on my own. He went down kicking and screaming but I covered his eyes and mouth with dirt regardless. That one will stay down or I will get out the concrete.

My soul chose this body and it has been in rebellion trying to make itself known, both to the others and myself. It needs things. What eats sex and the sun and sugar and turns all of that into art. What feels a compulsion to dance, needs music always and trees and air and loves to love? What manner of creature has a lap that even the most troubled of heads can find sleep and smile about it?

I asked the universe if I could please have my equal one May day. Wish was granted with the usual discord of shuffling one thing loose to make room for another.

He made himself known then vanished. I am unable to shake this/him/it.

I have suffered and eventually embraced a dozen hauntings over the course of the last year or so. I realized I had to do what we all must do with spectres. Asked them what they needed from me, provided it as best I can and we have all made peace. It is lovely here in this house, I am never alone even when I want to be.

This is different, he is different.

What are you? I must know, it is tied to what I am.

There are ties that bind us, and I’m choking.

In the last 7 days I have dreamt him for 3, then I saw him. Felt him first, then saw him. I had to drive by. Took everything in me not to pull over. Then I dreamt him twice more.

“Remember what I’ve done
Remember what I am
I am the Wolf
…
To leave them where no one knows
To leave them for the crows.”
(Drag the Lake)

Not all of them, just him. And I am a Wolf Mama.

Calling all my psychopomps, my carriers of souls. These veils are too heavy to lift on my own.

I need a young priest and an old priest.

I have both. The Young Un wrote the words above and he speaks Greek. Getting warmer.
The Elder (aka Peter) explained how stars are made and introduced me to the concept of entangled particles, born of the same energetic event, responding to each other across time and space instantaneously. Getting supernova warm now.

I had no idea what I was getting into. Feeling like Persephone trapped in Hierosgamos.
But he is the one gone for months at a time. And I ate tacos, not pomegranates.

I am fucking vexed. How can you swallow so much sleep?

Remember, remember the 5^th of November. When the clouds burned, Jesus wept, heaven opened up ghosts came to earth and the sky fell.

The veils between the living and dead are at their thinnest just now.

Maybe that what it is, the Thinny making me go todash.*

I channel when I am awake. I hear things and I say them. Never been one for oneiromancy (divination or predicting the future through dreams) that is Nausicca’s job.

But I already predicted the future. He changed it.

Showed up in my dreams, I can’t hide from him there. His lips move, I just can’t hear what he is saying (1). I realized as I was writing this it is because he is speaking Greek. There is a maddening disconnect when I am sleeping and he meanders through the Sipapu (2) into my mind when I am vulnerable and open. We do this dance the last 4 nights out of 5, looks like the push pull of a tango. I wake with an aching.

There is another explanation. “We were dream fasted, you and I”. (3)

That would make him…Gelfling.

So many names, so many faces.

Ouf, MindFuck, Twink, PoutyTroutyMouth, he gnashed his teeth and bit the recess lady’s breast (4).

Darling Changling Elfling Fae? Ghostling, too transparent to identify.

Looks like Gelfling, smells like Gelfling…must be Gelfling. (3)

I do know this. Three outta 4 witches call him Danger Boy. Bad Juju the second I mention him.

I haven’t asked my 4^th witch because her word is divine law.

I am afraid of what she will say and do, and I think I figured it out.

The common threads sex, sleep, music …he calls nowhere home and lives in the cracks of the Parthenon.

I live in the land of god’s and monsters. He is both in one body.

Jesus wept.

I am Wendy with her Lost Boys. I have a Peter and apparently I know Pan.

No wonder he fusses when I call him Young One. He is from the land that existed before the moon, Arcadia, the ancient place that magic comes from.

The horned god. “The God who Comes”.
I am still not a fucking Mae Nad.
Pan cloaked himself in an immaculate sheepskin that glowed and reflected light to draw down the Moon Goddess.
Aye. That he did…so shiny.

Pansexual is derived from the Greek prefix pan, meaning “all”. The term is reflective of those who feel they are sexually/emotionally/spiritually capable of falling in love with all genders. He is all genders. If I thought I wouldn’t be summoning the daemon I would post a photo so you could see and understand. Sufficed to say he is beautiful androgyny walking around in humanish form.

Pan is recognized as the god of fields, groves, and wooded glens (or High Park) because of this, Pan is associated with season of spring. (May day).
He was also known for righteous tantrums if you woke him from his sacred naps. That explains the jagged time line.
He is also a lesser prophet, but you had to sleep with him and let him into your dreams. Oops.

I am Sambhogakaya,  made of light. I have wandered the halls of Empyrea. I consort with gods and angels often. I live in a state of Ataraxia, I have faith in the afterlife and I am a calm blue ocean as a result.

I do not fear gods. Just this one. He doesn’t live here. He hides in caves and the woods.
Inducing Panic, frenzy and all of the sex. So much sex.

Half god/half beast. It’s the beast that scares me. Unpredictable. Also keeps him on the mortal coil.

Now I know what he is and I still have no idea how to escape his labyrinth and get back to Peter.

* Reference to Stephen King’s Gunslinger series. Shardik is actually a giant alien bear robot that goes insane. The thinny is a rip between dimensions and todash is a dream state where time stops and the sleeper is able to travel between worlds.

(1) Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb

(2) A small tunnel or inter-dimensional passage.

(3) Jim Henson, The Dark Crystal

(4) Pearl Jam, Jeremy

Thursday I didn’t post. I had the longest of days. Stress levels going up and down. Stuck in the car for almost 10 hours. My back was screaming arias by the time I got home. Fresh tattoo. I am on lockdown while I heal, but I wanted snuggles so bad that night. Our Lady Sara of Lord messaged and said if she was closer she would come snuggle me. I liked that thought. She has the tininess so I would end being the big spoon, I like being the big spoon.

I had also mentioned not wanting to kick the hornet’s nest that is Wolfling so I was just going to suck it up and hug a pillow.

She was confused. I was too tired to explain.

I’m still tired but here goes.

Wolfling lives close, geographically he should be a first responder for when I have the urge to cuddle. But he is not.

I am unable to ‘need’ him. Just want, sometimes.

I’ve said to him more than once ‘do you even know what the word gentle means?’

The answer a resounding no (growled rather than spoken) with a devilish grin.

He pushes all of my boundaries, buttons and thresholds.

Wolfling gets a free pass. For a few reasons. Who he is, how he is and what he has been through.

And one more thing.

I am tough as fuck, mostly. But I have my moments. The law with him is I have to be able to maintain composure. Always. Unfaltering, unwavering strength.

He’s a pusher. He needs to push and push and tease and taunt and disappear and reappear. It’s just his way. Some days his jabs are downright vicious and I can’t deal. And the idea of admitting I ‘need‘ him would open me up to further torment. I can’t do it. That isn’t his job. I am the adult. I give, I don’t take. My job is to answer when he calls. My patience satisfies him in a way my words can’t.

I get something out of being with Wolfling. It pleases me when he comes back on his own. It satisfies me in a way that words can’t. Freewill is such a beautiful thing to behold.

I have been quit on so many times by people, I cannot, will not do unto others. I have to stay.

In the past this has been problematic. We will get to Sisterwife another day when I am ready to roll around in that muck, she gets her own article. But not today, just to say I was so stubborn about staying in my marriage I let another woman move into my house and sleep with my husband. It was gross and I am deeply ashamed for allowing myself to get that low. The girl I was seems like a stranger to me now.

That girl wouldn’t have been able to handle the ghosting Wolfling or any of these other non-corporeals I have surrounded myself with. Not one bit. Nor the teasing, the waiting, the understanding and forgiving. None of it.

There is another reason Wolfling gets a free pass.

I have gone into my birth defect at great length, but in case this is the first time you are hearing about it I have Poland’s Anomaly. I have had several reconstructive surgeries on my chest as I was born without pectoral muscles on one side and never grew a tit.

During the time of ‘Sisterwife, I got my boobs re-done again, for the 4^th time this time with an implant on the other side as well. I struggle with an eating disorder and the up down weight gain plus breastfeeding my kiddo had left my ‘normal’ breast, um…just not good. Sisterwife had fake tits, I wanted them too, so did Ant.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. I was mid very deep depression. I was miserable and as a result I didn’t heal properly. I didn’t believe in miracles and I hated everything ever. I am unhappy with how they look. They are crooked as fuck.

I mentioned this to Wolfling in a moment of weakness, how I am insecure about it and contemplating another surgery. I regretted it the second it fell out of my mouth. I’d let my guard down.

I braced myself for some righteous teasing.

Instead, he took my hand and put it on his side. Said “can you feel that?”

I couldn’t.

He took my other hand and had me run them down his ribs on both sides simultaneously.

My palms reading the braille of his skin and bones and sinew. Both sides read differently. I hadn’t noticed before.

I hadn’t ever had anyone react that way to me and my deformity. I have heard some horrible shit spew out of ex hubby’s mouth about it. And best case scenario was always an ‘it doesn’t bother me’.

This was so much different.

This is a 23 year old with a horrible penchant for tormenting me taking my vulnerability over something and matching it to his own.

Ya. He is a ghost.

Haunting always seems like a negative word, but it isn’t.

Not all ghosts haunt.
Some keep you company until you can trust the living once more.
~Noor Shirazie

I read that yesterday and burst into tears. It’s the truth. Mine anyways.

TEMPTATION.

The way Tom Waits says it, or screeches it. That man has a voice like velvet coated gravel. I love it.

Always liked him. I’ve been known to pull on Trouble’s Braids, and slip out nights with Gin Soaked Boys.

His voice is among those that narrate my inner dialog.

TEMPTATION.

I posted this yesterday…

“Ever go for a hang out with an ex…an ex you were super attracted to.
You talk and laugh and catch up like it hasn’t been a year since you saw them last and halfway through the hang out you hear a weird noise and you realize it’s your vagina yawning because she is bored. Cool going home any time now.
Ya, that happened.
Fucking liberating.”

There was much laughter and commentary upon the Facebook.

To be clear, Vagina did not slam shut. Just said something she rarely says ie. ‘nah, we good.’

He’s a stunning creature, his laugh sounds like angels, his energy is refreshing and he smells good.

What the fuck Vagina?

She gets as much say as Brain, Logic and Heart. Works better that way.
They all held an emergency meeting and just let her have her way, purely out of shock I think.

For a while now I have had a solid foundation built on 4 Michaels.

He was one.

I was doing research on what love meant. They were my control group.

4 Michaels and I loved them. Still do.

Just don’t want to fuck ’em anymore.

This is new.

10 days new.

One of them has been an integral part of my being for a long time, like almost as long as I have been a conscious being. He popped up to say ‘hey’. Tom Waits screamed TEMPTATION the answer was the same thing…’NOPE’. Brain, Logic, Heart and Vagina in unison, rowdy kids. Ego weighed in too with a solemn nod.

I said before my bridges are flame retardant, but another Michael managed to find a loophole and burned that fucker to the ground with his napalm mouth and volatile ego. I don’t want to say good riddance, but good riddance. Even Hercules would have said, ‘I ain’t touching that’. He’s a bullwhipped dog. Too far gone. Nothing left to do but put him down. Mercy killing.

The last of the Michaels got a check in during last Saturday’s Bat signal confusion, and he said he was alright. Like really alright, for the first time in a long time. Heart said ‘good’ and went back to colouring in her blanket fort. No stress or duress. Just good. Let go.

There was a tangible sensation of a weight being lifted with all 4.

Whatever connection existed has been re-routed. Tearing, hacking, ripping, burning, passionate love replaced with passive, friendly, easy, content love. I’m happy you are happy, the end. Attachments have fallen away. Attraction rendered null and void. I can think someone is beautiful and not want to fuck them, I can revel in someone’s energy and leave it at that. This is really liberating, this lack of covet and conquer.

At the beginning of the year I read this

“The Greek god Zeus had seven wives. Themis, Leto, Eurynome, and Hera were among them. Another was his older sister Demeter, and a sixth was his aunt Mnemosyne. Then there was the sea nymph Metis. Unfortunately, he ate Metis — literally devoured her — which effectively ended their marriage. In 2015, Gemini, I encourage you to avoid Zeus’s jumbled, complicated approach to love and intimacy. Favor quality over quantity. Deepen your focus rather than expanding your options. Most importantly, make sure your romantic adventures never lead to you feeling fragmented or divided against yourself. This is the year you learn more than ever before about what it’s like for all the different parts of you to be united.”

https://www.facebook.com/Rob-Brezsnys-Free-Will-Astrology-133041234078/

I had been single for a year at that point and everything in me screamed NO, fuck that I want to play. I had barely begun living after living in a self-created prison for pretty much ever. I didn’t want to go back on lockdown. I needed to explore myself. I had some serious lack of love and sex to make up for. 10 years of bland British bullshit. I have said it before and will say it again, I don’t lie back and think of England. I will not watch my mouth or my manners, my libido does not need to be put in check. Keep up or get walking.

I left that decade believing I was ‘too much’ for someone to ‘handle’.

Took me a year to shake that Stockholm Syndrome. Birds are not meant for cages, nor am I.

This ‘letting go and focusing’ felt like some Herculean task and I was in a decidedly Nymph mindset. Not feeling heroic at all, just horny as fuck. Loving my crushes and wiggling around in the sensation of being loved and crushed. Throwing myself at everything and seeing what happened. No way I wanted to calm down and focus. Who tells a Gemini to focus?

Are you out of your fucking mind?

I wanna Tango till I’m Sore.

and yet…

This is the third part of the extended astrological forecast for Geminis.

We are now entering the third part of 2015. Tucked right in it I believe.

Rob Brezsny is rarely wrong in hindsight. I have 22 years of anecdotal proof that is my life.

I knew I had to do what he said.

I had no idea how the fuck I was going to let go. I tell people to let shit go all the time, meanwhile I am over here hoarding feelings like Smaug with gold. Had Tom Waits singing ‘you’ve got to hold on’ on a loop in my head.

I skipped forward a few tracks…I was no longer handcuffed to the bishop and the barbershop liar.

I have rearranged my thinking to be a little less like a toddler always asking ‘why’.

I don’t need to know why. I have to listen, interpret the signs as best I can and just roll with it. I don’t have hope, hope implies something might go wrong, and there is no wrong. I simply have faith that I will get where I am going if I do what I am supposed to do.

There is a freedom, a weightlessness and lightness that comes from letting go of these crushes I had. They call them crushes for a reason.

So, I …doused everything in the house, torched it,

parked across the street, laughing

watching it burn, all Halloween

orange and chimney red.

I did the thing.

Now I’m all shiny, clean and free for whatever comes next.

*Italics=Tom Waits lyrics