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Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fucking fuck.

Louis CK does this bit about God coming back to earth and seeing what we did to it…

He says over and over “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

This is the loop of the week.

Just no.

Not her.

Why her?

You have at least 25 000 sycophants to go trolling through when you get drunk and lonely.

You had me until you went after her.

King of all Fuckbois. Master of FuckShitUpandLeave. The Mad Scientist behind the Plague of Male Poets, he smashed Pandora’s Box to smithereens and let out death.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand………I loved him anyways…a lot.

We had an online fling-thing, my first. Likely my last, all things considered.

How to date a virtual ghost

Step #1 just don’t

(So endeth the lesson)

You aren’t a ghost, you are an asshole.

I am embarrassed to admit, the thing that made him leave me, (or so he said) was this.

Him: I’m surprised you have so many female friends, you being a stripper and all. Most strippers I have met aren’t like that.

Me: Most of the strippers I know are awesome, I think that’s part of the reason I gravitate back to work in those places.
I always had a hard time making girlfriends. I now have some really amazing ones. We protect each other.

Him: Why was it hard?

Me: Small town and I am really really really pretty. A lot of jealousy flying around, people judge.

It was the second or third ‘really’ that he said turned him off of me.

Oh honey, I WISH you knew me just a little bit and how hard that was for me to say.

Poof.

He missed the important part.

WE PROTECT EACH OTHER.

I admit, I was ashamed of how hard I fell for him and how fast considering the unanesthesized evisceration he had performed on me a year earlier and his penchant for being a cranky asshole in public. And I defended him, adamantly. Poor little misunderstood thing. Only one word in that sentence is true, “thing”. Jury is still out on his humanity.

I figured out why he is like that and let it slide.

He wiggled around gleefully in the freedom I gave him to just be him. I did the same.

Opening yourself up to someone like that , trusting them and then having it torn away, kinda feels like murder. Except I was expected to live after, knowing the one who killed me was walking around free, and smug. Maybe it wasn’t expected. Maybe he meant to kill me for reals. Nothing would surprise me at this point.

The funny thing? He should want a confident woman. One who can hold her own while he tears her down. One who carries her own sword. Lord knows he needs one to put up with his tantrums and well-crafted poetic insults.

He wants to be alone. He loves the wallow, there is no other explanation.

I was adrift again, waiting to see how things played out.
He was gone for 15 months before…patience, I has that.

Slowly but surely I was left to dwell in that darkness alone.
Everyone just clicking their tongues, and leaving me with a tattoo of my folly.

Love not shown IS love wasted ~MX, and I fucking showed it.

And then there was light and it was good.

She saw everything. Another writer. My only cheerleader in this and her pompoms were made of iridescent dandelion fluff. She is angelic and empathic. She held my hand and said the magic words. “He isn’t gone, I can see your love for him, and it is glorious and necessary. He needs you.”

You had TWO women in the whole fucking world who cared for you, TWO. Two women who saw through your bullshit and loved you anyways.  Supporting each other no less.

And you fucked it up.

WHAT DID YOU DO?

Did you read the thing I wrote that named her? I cannot possibly be that important to you.

You got drunk and your ego got hungry and you picked her because she is sweet and beautiful and kind.

And you did what you always do to sweet and beautiful and kind. You cut her up and attempted to devour her. But you cannot eat light Michael. The sucking power of your black hole ego is waning as you age.

She messaged me that night. Showed me what you did. I thanked her for taking that bullet for me and I let you go in the same breath.
Of all the things you have done, this I cannot abide.
You could’ve done anything to me and I would have and could have (and did) gracefully taken it. But not her. No one hurts her, she is sacred AND YOU KNOW WHY.

She was a bridge and you burned it. She was the only way to me and you took a match to the map.

You’re so afraid of being happy because you thought someone would take it away from you.
You didn’t realize I was the only one who didn’t know how to leave until you lit the way with your napalm mouth.

So scared of being left, leaving is the only thing you know how to do.

Or maybe you are insane. The jury is still out on that too.

You are really really really pretty and so are your words when you use them nicely, but you got real fucking ugly real fucking fast when you attack my friends.

I have redefined apocalypse. It’s just a veil lifting and showing more truth, this is the Greek definition. So I’ll take the end of many worlds happily. This one most definitely. Your world is a terrifying place with tests that are Herculean and cannot be passed because you change the rules every 5 seconds and to lose is death.

“It’s a fool who plays it cool by making his world colder” (The Beatles). You make Hoth look tropical. I don’t want to be your Taun Taun, I have too much living to do. I save those who want to be saved.

Now I know I can be completely open and loved for it. I know I can lose something precious beyond all things and live through it. As things unfold for me, I know why this happened. I had to let you go. Give me what I want or something better. I AM better for it.

I’ve been known to take in stray dogs from time to time. Just keep in mind, I already know you bite.

You can wag your tail, but I ain’t gonna feed you no more. ~ Hound Dog, Big Mama Thornton

thewanderingslacker.deviantart.com

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.
(Caitlin Seihl)

Love this quote so very much. I think the secrets of the universe are in here.

My extrapolation…

When is a fuckboi not a fuckboi?
Oh, when you just let them be them while you are being you and everything just works out because have shit to do while they are gone and also, you have completely forgotten how to girlfriend anyways so this is kinda perfect.

Fuckbois need love too.

It is my job to be a warm, safe place. I am a big ball of love after all.

Nay, nay they are not my safe space, I have women for that. I think that should be the natural order of things. Makes life, bearable.

Don’t get me wrong, I have had men in my life with whom I felt safe.
Okay, one before and one now. But they are definitely men. And I adore them for it.

I also have men (not quite) in my life that do truly just come in, fuck shit up and leave.

My bridges are flame retardant but come on…seriously. That is my girl, just don’t. (We will get to that another day, fucking poets)

Forget about them. I told you, it’s my memory and I can do with it as I see fit.
Lessons learned and a lot of life yet to live. No need to dwell in Mordor.

Moving on…

So, 48 hours ago I embarked on what I believe to be the best date I have ever had. Left with my soul, mind and body full. Sated beyond recognition. Not a fuckboi for the record, more like my kind of monster.

Still at a loss for words, except those ones up there.

Now. This date happened, beyond all doubt, because of a decision I made.

He pulled a ‘poof’. And I LET him. Didn’t bother fussing. Realized there was no point in getting mad or offended or upset.
And besides, I had shit to do.

Had I gotten mad, offended or upset, that date wouldn’t have happened.

The time I had spent with him before was satisfying. Why mess it up with covetousness?

90 day hiatus. Then this.

The location he chose was lovely, a Scandinavian spa 2 hours outside of the city. It was new to me and I loved it. But it was less about the location and more about the company.

I’ll spare you the details, mostly because I want to keep them between us, but there was one moment when we walked into a ‘resting room’ we laid on a wooden bench, head to head, arms up touching each other, perfectly quiet. And for an infinite number of moments I wanted for nothing. I was not hot or cold, hungry, thirsty, tired, lonely…just absolutely content. Everything just went quiet and my soul got to rest for a minute, with him and his.

It was…spectacular. The way Kevin Spacey says it in American Beauty.

For the two hour drive home, we talked about…wait for it….science.
(Seriously. Coolest shit ever.)

The conversation metamorphisized into this incredible thing that I barely have the English to describe. About how stars are formed, entangled particles, the double slit experiment, space time continuum and more. I am still reeling from it.

Epiphanies galore. Things I thought, and felt odd for thinking, explained with enthusiasm and patience for the questions I had.

Reminded me of this, from Parallels and Paradigms.

“We are building foundations for worlds that haven’t happened yet. The stardust coursing through my veins is magnetically compelled to pull them in. Touch them, learn them, exchange energies so when we meet again we will know each other.”

The next night I had a message from Our Lady Sara of Lord. Seems her Gelfling took himself a walk and ‘poof’. Fucking Gelflings.
I told her to wait.
Cited this date with Drogo I just had as the dangling carrot she needs to get through this. “Do not react, do not message. Just wait. Worst case scenario he doesn’t come back and you have this lovely amount of self-respect and control that you rightfully earned. Everything will make sense.”

I have been turning a thought over and over in my mind for a while now.

It was weird to hear it come out of another’s mouth.

He said “It didn’t feel like 90 days since I had seen you.”

I said, “It’s alright, I think time is relative. Like how it passes differently for hummingbirds and bees.”

This launched us into our amazing conversation.  And time flew (smirk).

I have lots of jobs. One of them is to simplify, humanize and romanticize these odd tidbits of information that I think and hear.

There was that book called “Women are from Venus and Men are from Mars”. I haven’t read it but I feel like I should.

I was trying to prove a point and looked up “how time moves on Saturn”. A day is 11.5 hours long, but a year is 29.5 of ours. Okay, good answer. The article I read went on to say that ‘time is obviously the same’. NO IT FUCKING ISN’T.

My theory is that time moves differently for men and women. People in general, but a big discrepancy seems to occur between the sexes.

I don’t think I am wrong.

I also believe it can be bent on a personal level depending on mindset.  There is proof that when in a crisis situation the adrenal gland is activated and technically time slows down. Look it up, its science or think back at your last traumatic event and you’ll know I’m right.
But don’t dwell there, please. Get back here. Now is nice.

“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.” Aleister Crowley…yep pretty much the law around here, I am most certainly doing what I fucking wilt.

And what they wilt? They all wander back because my door is open and it’s warm in here.
High School Sweetheart popped in to check on me today after 10 months of radio silence.
Young Un did the same.
Wolfling will in about 72 hours.
Drogo sent me a link about happy water.
Sara’s Gelfling is due back in 60 days. Universe says so.

As for MY Gelfling…when triple shines the single sun methinks. I’ll see where I am at when the time comes. I might be out, or washing my hair.

I’m not planning ahead. Just taking moments of bliss as they come.

Don’t agonize over the absence of others. If they’re meant to wander back, they will, in their own time.

All the rest is rust and stardust. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

“I have a hankering for Chinese food.”

I was trying to order Chinese food with my Hammer family via messenger. Another message came in. it was Khal Drogo. He called me ‘lover’ and a lightning bolt slammed through my vagina. The storm before the storm (ha).

The gist of it ended up being ‘chicken balls, shrimp fried rice and oh shit Britt I am smitten, god dammit’.

I have had scuffles in my head about this already. All the reasons it won’t work, sit back enjoy the ride while it lasts, yada yada. Errrting irie.

So now I am at war. Not quite at war. More like how I imagine presidents of countries try to work shit out before a war, in heavily draped offices, with many leather bound books and over stuffed couches and 200 year old scotch served by virgins who are rolling cigars between their immaculate knees. All their countrymen totally clueless that shit is about to go down.

I wrote that ^, that up there, July 31.

He called me lover, and then nothing. Almost nothing. Hence never finishing the thing.

One more ghost in the machine.
It must be getting crowded in there boys, you okay? Do you need snacks? More chains to rattle? A priest?

So my son is going through this long drawn out shit soup of a break up.

Oddly coinciding with around when I met Khal Drogo, and the move and the smashing of the car. I had a weird July. We, we had a weird July.

His now ex is kicking and screaming, making rules of engagement and breaking them. He is trying to call a cease fire and she keeps throwing bullets and dropping bombs.

After a rather rough week of this, we sat on the porch and talked it out. There is nothing worse for a mama than watching her grown man-child crying over a broken heart. But more than that, sheer gut wrenching frustration. “I followed all the rules and then she changed them and yelled at me about it.”

She seems to think it is okay for her to date whomever she wishes, but he has to stay loyal to her. The whole thing reeks of Anthony and Sister-wife. There are two kinds of people when it comes to cake, the ones who want to have all the cake and the ones who share the cake gladly. She wants all the cake.

On the same day this was coming to a huge nuclear meltdown I just so happened to talk to Khal Drogo. He asked me out. Something I had been waiting for since…the day of the Chinese food. We saw each other twice before then and then he didn’t do what I wanted him to do which was see me more.

I had walked into his house the first time thinking “this probably won’t work, but let’s see what happens”. Kinda exactly how I live my whole life…hey this looks like an adventure, lets have it.

The war I was mentioning above has to do with my wondering if we were even remotely compatible. On paper we are not. He is super sporty, I am not. He is a single dad and DEDICATED to his daughter, I know how that feels and would never interfere, not even accidentally. He is crazy busy, as am I, but I admit I need some attention from time to time.

I have dated those who look good on paper, paper lies. So let’s see what happens.

I have changed my mindset on dating. There are no ground rules. Just do what you do. I want and grant the freedom to be exactly yourself. It’s too much room for some and they get lost. Or they have been hurt before and question my motives. I have none, I just decided to not try to change anyone. Give them room to be themselves. I want to see what you will do on your own. Wander off and stay gone or come back. They come back. Everyone does on a long enough timeline.

There will come a time when one of them wanders back corporeal and I have to say “I had a lovely time with you, but I think I am done, please take care of yourself.”

In the time called ‘before’ I was a master manipulator. There is no satisfaction in it. I can read people and for the most part know what to say/do to get the desired reaction. If I wanted creatures who moved when I move, I would go work on the Muppet Show. I don’t want strings. Threads, yes.

I know why my son’s ex is doing what she is doing, because I used to be just like that. Get a little power over someone and abuse it. Hurting on the inside and lashing out.

I don’t kick horses anymore. Just wait for the dark one. In fact, I have ridden horses broken by Mennonites. Bomb proof? Sure. Steady and stable, yep. But the best ride I ever had was bareback on a 1600 pound Percheron cross, who trusted me enough to let me up on him, and when he decided he had enough he swung wide and found a safe place for me to land.

I explained it to my son like this. He knew what had happened with Drogo, he knows what has happened with all of them.

“So, first things first. It’s my memory and I can chose what to keep and toss. You are looking at Bella and seeing all the good, she is looking at you and seeing all of the evil. She is hurting herself and it isn’t your fault.
Second. Look at what keeps happening to me. By all human rights I should be mad and miserable as fuck. But I am not. Because I choose not to be, it serves no purpose. Instead I just live my life and see what happens. And it works itself out.”

I wish I could spare him the agony, but without agony there is no ecstasy.

I probably just made this up, but I adamantly believe in Cosmic Do-Overs.
I get granted them on a regular basis.
I am wondering if it’s just me or if we all do and it’s like seeing blue cars, I just notice them more…and my gratitude for them makes more appear.

Imagine if you will, an opportunity to put an old wrong to right falls in your lap. What do you do?

Fucking Fix It. Tilt your face up to the sky and say thank you for this gift from the gods.

This is a big deal.

Probably why this happens to me often.

I noticed it years ago.

I met my naughter. My step daughter. I saw so much of me in her, this exuberant bright amazing creature running into everything full tilt. She had a shitty fucking childhood, misunderstood and mistreated. I got to swoop in and make her life better, as much as I could in the time given. Just love her in all of her weird glory and said things like ‘you matter’ and ‘I love you no matter what’. Shit I always wanted to hear. She knows I mean it.

A few years go by, I start writing, being open about being me. Send in my pixie girl Ciara. Finds me on the vast ocean of the internet and says “I think I am you when you were younger.” After further phone calls and messages we both decided she is decidedly so. I get to live my 20’s over again. How fucking amazing is that?

And the mens. I know all y’all come here to read about the mens.

Wolfling comes and goes and every time he comes back I am better equipped to deal. Call him a brat. His brattyness is fucking formidable, but I used to be that way, pushing people away trying to feel worth something. I also tell him things like “you matter”.

There are others. Others I dated in the time called ‘before’ when I was a fucking asshole.
I get to say sorry and it feels so good to be forgiven.
Help them out in the now.
Now is blessed, the rest remembered.

I like forgiving too. Feels amazing. Everyone should try it. Like right now. Leave the past where it belongs and just be okay.

Say Young Un the first one more time Sarah.

Don’t mind if I do.

You knew it was coming, he is the flavor of the month. We keep talking, these good deep talks, he asks me advice and I him. He is a good friend and a lovely muse.

Two things happened.

I found a young Scorpio.

Let’s call him hot neighbour.

Ya, that hot neighbour.

“Ode to hot neighbour” was completely apropos.

He walked into my house with and literally said ‘this place is magic’.

This is the password. Other passwords include ‘sanctuary’ and ‘home’ and also, ‘oh my god I love this place’.
These words get you through the coats and into Narnia.

He told me I was magic too. He is not wrong.

He brought pie and wine.

The next morning I had a lightbulb go off whilst eating breakfast at my girls and what to my wondering Instagram should appear, Young Un the first.

My illumination was this.

When I met Young Un the first he was nursing some pretty serious wounds from the one that came before. All Scorpios do this. They meet one, fall in love and get really torn up over it. I am afraid that the subsequent women for the (foreseeable future) end up wearing a mask that looks like her face. Yes, it hurts, especially when you are the polar opposite of that girl and they can’t see it due to shell shock. Just like any soldier come back from battle, its Not their fault, it’s a glitch in their programming. Navigate accordingly, know there is landmines still scattered around from a war you had nothing to do with, and don’t you fucking dare plant more.

In the time called before I would get hurt by this. Made me feel decidedly not ‘enough’. Mind you I wasn’t enough, I wasn’t much of anything except whiny and clingy and angry. Yucks me out to think back on that girl. Just gonna go ahead and cross myself and gypsy spit a hex that she doesn’t rise from the dead.

I like fixing things. Its my job. Undo damage from others. Shield people from hurt. Because I know what it feels like and it sucks. I don’t want to interfere with someone’s ‘becoming’, I just like being a soft, safe space.

So I says to the guy…”all my Scorpios end up calling me or treating me like sanctuary, you were the first one to say it out loud. I am wondering, had you met me before her (known that all women weren’t like that) would it have made a difference?”

YUTF: Definetly

(I beamed, I cannot explain how ENOUGH it is to be thought of this way)

“All of my Scorpios have been carrying one big hurt. I know it sounds kinda strange, but I want to arm him against it/her. Does that make sense?”

He said “Yes, Please do”.

I needed to hear this.

I disappear into my own head on a regular basis and I can talk myself into just about anything.

Its my reality and I can move around in it as I please.
I see this as the opportunity to time travel and spread kindness.

Maybe one day everyone will see that it is so much easier to help forge armor in the beginning, rather than try to repair someone who is broken.

I now have two jobs.

Arm the innocent and tend to the wounded.

I couldn’t figure out why hot neighbor was here, then this happened.
My mission, should I chose to accept it, is to give him a concrete example of what a good woman is capable of being.
Empathetic, kind, and the maker of dinner after a long day.

https://www.facebook.com/Jm.stormquotes?fref=photo

“I love you Sarah
I don’t need you with me, I just need to know you exist.”
Blake Sibbitt

He gets it. JM Storm gets it too.

My heart is a sharpened dart of longing, coming towards you always. (author unknown)

I used to love that quote, when my love was focused and pointy.

Not now, no sharp things, no cutting, no piercing, no edges.

My love looks like the clouds from the window of an airplane when the sun is rising or setting, all rose glowing and soft, yielding yet tangible. My love feels like a cool hand on a fevered forehead. Or that moment at 4am when you are curled up with someone you care about and you both move, in unison, wake up just a little and smile because you stole a moment back from sleep and got to enjoy it. My love is weightless, lightness.
It just IS.

When I say unconditional love, you say?

All sorts of fucked up shit that goes totally against the idea of unconditional love.

I have a secret to tell you. Unconditional love means Zero conditions. It doesn’t even need to be returned.
How is that for a mind fuck?

At no point has science or religion found the end to love. It is infinite. You can love all you want and you won’t run out, yet people hoard it like trolls with gold.

I post things about love, its kinda what I do.
I am enamored with words.
WORDS are the sharpened darts, piercing veils of untruth and anger and making magic.
Add the word unconditional all of a sudden there is a huge debate about it. The wording, the concept. “But he didn’t do that and she does this” and blah blah fucking blah.

Knock it off. Seriously.

Let’s try this.

Once upon a porch in Narnia, I looked at Young Un the first and said “I love you as much as I am going to and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

I could have said any number of names, I love my people. He keeps coming up, because he keeps coming up. He said hello and I said hi back. We are friends because I care about him and I feel that he cares about me, I just DO. I always felt protective of him and I know now that when he meets the right girl, and he will, that I will hand that over to her happily. But until then…I protect.

When I said that to him it was one of those times I was tapped into the ether and the words just came out. I had no idea what I meant.

I do now. A year to the day almost.

The more you love, the more you love. It feels good.

I am only responsible for how I love. Not how I get loved in return. If I place wants, needs or stipulations on my love for someone, then that ain’t love baby. That is lust or covetousness or use of another being for personal gain probably all 3.

We have turned love into a religion and church. And like all the other religions and churches good god damn it is a beautiful idea and in its purest form it is …well everything Sanctuary, Home, Goodness. But as humans tend to do, we got our humanness all over it, flavoured it with our own perceptions and made a right fucking mess. God is good, dogma is bad.

Me loving Young Un does not mean I love anyone else any less. Again, love has no measurement or end. I don’t want or need anything from him except to know he exists and that he is as happy as possible. If I can contribute to his happiness I will, and if my absence is what he needs to be happy I will wander off. It has nothing to do with me and is not dependent on his actions. He left me ages ago, I was sad. I lived and here we are. It’s not complicated.

Love cannot be tainted or it isn’t love anymore its something else. Same with kindness and all of the good parts of ourselves.

It costs nothing to love someone exactly as they are no matter what they do.

BUT WHAT IF THEY HURT ME?

LOVE THEM ANYWAYS.

People do shitty shit ALL the time. I fuck up, you fuck up everybody fucks up.

Do you feel compelled to stop loving someone when they die? No. In death they cannot contribute much to your existence right? Right, so love the living that way just because it feels good.

I had a woman comment on one of my posts that the only time that was possible was between a mother and child.

Okay, good jumping off point. We’re getting there.

Imagine if you will, that kind of love given to you by someone else. Their choice, THEIR OWN FREE WILL. THIS, this is bliss.

Doesn’t matter what you do, shit your pants, spill the milk, have a tantrum, throw up on the cat…doesn’t matter. All of those things that are the unpleasant side of parenting.

So, take away the genetic compulsion we have to love our kids and feel that kind of love from a random human that you meet, loving YOU that way. YOU, messed up fallible, mistake making YOU. Can you imagine how amazing that would be? How much like home that would feel?

Now, do that for someone else. Do that for everyone in your life that you care about. Love them that big, that unending and unconditionally. See what happens…

I have spent my entire life always afraid that people would take their love away from me if I did something ‘wrong’. The kind of person I am shields others from things I know to cause pain. That idea=pain. I couldn’t be myself out of fear. I will not perpetuate that, ever. I’ll just love you okay?

I LOVE, CREATE, NURTURE AND PROTECT. I’m only responsible for what I do and how I am. THIS FEELS GOOD.

It takes practice. Sometimes I meet someone and the want to scream MINE is overwhelming. This too shall pass.

One day I know I’ll meet someone who loves me. Someone to share all of the rest of this life with. We’ll wake up at 4am and cuddle a little harder grinning because we know this is the secret of the universe, these tiny moments of bliss with another. He will see how I love and love me for it, unconditionally.

So beginnith the lesson…

Just try it, you’ll like it.

You fuck like a God.

I hate and adore that about you.

You are gone more than you are around.

I’m getting used to it.

For all I know you are a God and just doing what Gods do.

Swoop in, grant some wishes, fuck shit up and leave.

Sounds about right.

I know my place in this. When the wars rage in heaven, I tend to the wounded.
Every prophet in her house. I learn lessons, breathe and see…then write.

My Gods don’t wear watches. That is a man thing to do, adhere to this construct of time we invented.

“Every piece of this is man’s bullshit.” Cold Mountain

They invent this thing that keeps us mortal and then fuss about it.

I find myself in the company of deities often.
I wonder how time passes for them, does a year feel like a day where you are from? I don’t mind when they leave, I have lessons to ponder and prophecies to spit out, hard to do with my legs wrapped around these monsters of mine. I forget to ask, I forget everything. This is bliss.

“…and then I was a young witch, whose green eyes, as she stood naked by the river springs, drew down a god.” Browning.

‘Sup?

I just smile and ask them how they are doing. Gods have feelings too you know, and no one ever asks. They know I care, they know I am safe. They know they can tell me things. “I think I fucked shit up.” He says, head hung low enough for me to kiss his forehead. He probably did, just hold him and tell him it’s alright.

In the land of Gods and Monsters I was an angel, looking to get fucked hard. (LDR)

That’s me. Young witch, angel, sanctuary and safe place. Sometimes playing priest in a box when they need to confess.
“There’s something calming about talking to you. Like I know you mean me no harm and you are being 100% truthful to me.”

Yes darling, I am those things and it is nice to be seen as I am. Its enough.

When I grow up I want to be an archangel. (anon)

I read that and realized it’s my truth.

You want to be worshipped?
Be a fucking goddess.

Know you are doing good work.
Inspire,
Create,
Nurture,
and above all…

LOVE.

I have been worshipped (by men) and I didn’t like it. I see how men treat their gods. Blaming, whining cajoling, begging. I would rather just be valued for who, what and how I am.

I wasn’t keeping the right company.

I imagine my Gods like this. Ideals of mankind. Wise and kind like elders. Strong and capable, like adults. And the most important part: magical and full of wonder like children, wanting to create, explore and experience. Touch, taste and feel everything with innocent abandon. All wrapped up in one ethereal body. I like that about them. The lack of shame, the massive self-awareness and the choice to set it aside on occasion. The gods are what we used to be, unencumbered by what ought to be. Able to float bounce manifest before the world told us we couldn’t. Like bratling children, they’ll always test boundaries and reactions. And as such, they need protecting as well, I know what to do, with you. Just be here. Warm safe place. Love without any expectations.

Little girls shouldn’t treat little boys they happen to meet like little gods (Voice of the Beehive)

I completely disagree. How else are they supposed to know what they are?

Universal energy is too big to make words for so we call it heaven, hell, karma, magic and god.

There is more.

I have always known there was more and I felt strange for it, like I didn’t belong here. I didn’t understand. I wanted to be normal and have normal thoughts. It almost happened and I would have died, not outside, but inside. I have seen what happens when bodies are animated without soul. Its cold and doctors call them sociopaths, narcissists. They have no humanity in them. Borderline Personality Disorder is what happens when there is movement without compassion. I am not saying they are aliens…but they might be aliens.

I identify differently now. Looked at all of the things I am and do. I don’t want to feel normal. I want more.

I was in a self-induced coma for a loooooong time. Hiding here since I was 4 or 5. Waking up has been wonderful flexing muscles long atrophied, using my eyes again for the first time. It’s really beautiful here.

20 years ago, I wrote that I could look out at the map of my life and see very clearly ‘yes, you were here’. I left myself push pins and Sharpie marks, highlighting certain roads and routes.

I just figured out why.

I was drifting off into my first natural sleep of the week last night and I ended up updating my Facebook status because I was too physically tired to grab a pen and paper.

I wrote

2 words.
Too tired to get up and write.
This will have to do.
Parallels

I looked at it this morning and my sleepy eyes saw ‘2 WORLDS’.

Everything changed.

Every morning I wake up, I walk the dog and I sit on my porch drinking coffee, smoking and thinking. This morning’s thoughts were ‘a year ago today I was cooking thanksgiving dinner for the Hulk. I made sweet potato pie. Today I am heading over to be with our people and he is out west with his woman and her son instead of here with me and mine. And it’s alright’. But I don’t think I can handle sweet potato pie.

He got drunk one night after Halloween when things started to fall apart. He said ’20 years ago you would have been my dream girl’. I spent a lot of time sequestered up in Narnia thinking on this and everything. I think a lot.

I came out of my coma 2 years ago, started allowing myself to feel things, listen to my gut, speak out loud, to love and be loved and basically to do my version of living. I know very well I create these heavens and hells I walk through. I have always been hungry to experience things all things all of the time. The world is full of sharp edges and I bleed. It’s alright. I use the blood for ink. I squash no thoughts anymore. I savor them and taste them, if they are untrue and bitter I spit them out.

I loved the Hulk, agape love unconditional, passionately but decidedly adult. Sure there was some angst when things started to fall apart, but that happens. So why did I love him like that? He is chivalry personified. Strong, broody, aware, kind, loving, intelligent and one of the best men I have known. But there is more (there is always more I said).

Soul recognition. 20 years ago I was poised to make a decision that would have put me in the same place as him. And in some parallel universe there I am, loving him in all of his chivalrous glory, making babies and being happy.

Same with high school sweetheart. I know in another life that is being lived right now by another version of us, we live in a cabin in the woods and wake up every morning grateful for the other.

Sunday and I lived together well before electricity and were royalty, had one of those insanely long tables and sat at opposite ends when he wasn’t off slaying dragons. When he returned from conquering, life was good.

The Poet, I do not understand just yet.
“I can still feel you there, are we tangled in time somewhere?” Armistice.
All I know is that my heart missed him before we met. And since we have met, I believe he is my life’s work. It is also possible that a decision my parents made to move to Ontario instead of California could have ripped that possibility out of this life. When I was in L.A last year I knew my way around immediately. The energy out there fed me in a way that I am still sustained from. That ocean keeps calling me home and one day I will listen and return. I know this.

I spoke to the writer above (Nausicaa Twila), for the first time and wept grateful tears that I finally found her, I have missed her too, for so long. She knows the Poet and is one of 3 people to whom I have said his name. She loves him too and already knew where my heart belonged.

My best girl? Fell in love with her 3 months before we met just watching her walk. I already knew.

So many sisters.

So many men.

All the feelings and I have finally found the source (I think). Best girl introduced me to the concept of sacred contracts.

I now believe I have one foot here and lines and tethers to other worlds. I have always been strange because I cannot always tell them apart. My soul sees others and recognizes them immediately and my brain on this plane can’t figure it out.

My huge epiphany happened this morning. I dropped my coffee and ran inside to write this.

Return of the Wolfling has got me contemplating these young un’s of mine.

Mind Fuck I know I will see when he turns 26 and all will be well for a while. He is the closest thing I have ever met to me and I want to play and see and teach and learn.

But the others?

Simple. We are building foundations for worlds that haven’t happened yet. The stardust coursing through my veins is magnetically compelled to pull them in. Touch them, learn them, exchange energies so when we meet again we will know each other.

This life is a puzzle and I have so many boxes open, so many pieces scattered. But this thought? It’s a corner piece a foundation to build and move forward.

Stephen King wrote of ALL of this in the Gunslinger series. “Go now, there are other worlds than these.”

He spoke true.

http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/BeautifulMindsAnonymous

The pump don’t work ‘cause the vandals took the handle – Bob Dylan Subterranean Homesick Blues

All the telephones are broken.

72 hours until Mercury goes direct and my phone won’t cooperate today.

Tarot.com posted a video about the do’s and do nots of retrograde.

Don’t travel is a big one.

I wanted to write this post on Sunday, but nothing was resolved.
It’s now Tuesday and nothing is resolved.

In 48 hours it will have been 90 days since I got hit the first time, this last time.
That had nothing to do with retrograde, summer retrograde killed off a third of Gemini season and cost me my Gelfling, temporarily. We’re talking again, and dreamfasting a bit too.

I got rear-ended on July 8^th, some single lady in the HOV lane on her phone decided she needed over RIGHT FUCKING NOW. She plowed into the lady behind me who then plowed into me. I held the brake and stopped the accident. The attending officer thanked me for it. I have to go to court soon to testify. God grant me the strength not to call her a twatwaffle. The amount of discord she has caused is…all. Although, I may end up thanking said twatwaffle, this weird butterfly effect has not stopped yet,  feels like a favorable outcome.

My insurance cheque equalled the exact amount I had spent on the Jeep that go hit, which erased Young Un’s debt to me karmically and financially, so that worked out, we are talking again too.

I am waiting, patiently as I can, for everything to make sense.

Once upon a dirt road somewhere I was fighting with my ex, and in my anger I floored my truck. Hit about 140km/h whilst screaming at him about whatever the atrocity of the day was. Unbeknownst to me he reached over and popped it into neutral, we rolled to a stop. The fight stopped too.

Once upon a bridge, last Thursday the new to me truck that that very ex told me to buy, lost power steering, then brakes, then death wobbled and then threw the back tire. Sheared off at the axle in fact, while I was driving down a hill.

We named it the Smoky Dragon Wagon. It’s an 89 Jeep Grand Wagoneer with a diesel engine. It has been trying to kill me, much like its namesake. I never watched Lost, but I know of the Smoky Dragon, the sheer lunacy of that concept is why I don’t watch the show, that and the polar bear thing, and because I think the whole thing is a huge joke played by very smart TV people. That being said, I feel like if I was to watch it, I would find an awful lot of parallels to the nonsensical nature of my life.

When I moved to the farm with my ex, he said “You never have to move again”, and a temporary relief flooded me. I have moved over 40 times in 25 years. Probably 10 times since he said that. Back and forth to the farm at least 3 times. The relief I felt was temporary as are all things. Also, I am gypsy.

When my ex sent me the ad for this truck he said “You will never have to buy another truck.” My gut rolled. Always always always go with your gut. He still thinks of me as the timid girl who is scared to drive, who needs a tank to protect her. Who thinks staying in one place is a relief. Its not. I’m not. I am now the girl who likes to drive fast and fly free, unencumbered.

This thing, this smoky dragon, has been nothing but a money pit nightmare. The day I brought it home the front wheel popped off whilst I was backing it up in the driveway. The lugs had been loose the whole 3 hour drive home. The wheel chose the moment where I was safe and had a 2 tonne jack and a tire angel 15 feet from where it happened instead of the highway where I could have killed someone or myself.

I finally got it fixed and safety-ed, drove it back to the same driveway and the back tire was smoking. Figured the brake was seized. Knocked it with a hammer, drove back to the mechanic and he eased the e brake off.

The minute I saw the smoke, I posted it for sale. Okay, not that minute, I sprayed it down with water so the tire didn’t melt. THEN I posted it for sale. I am a stubborn girl, but I can only do so much before it feels ridiculous. This felt ridiculous. I laughed with relief at my decision and the ridiculousness. I am done fighting, all things human and mechanical.

A week later I sold it. It was on the trip home from doing so that it really tried to kill me. I have an autopilot setting that saves my life. Without thinking I popped the truck into neutral which allowed me to use the upside of the hill to stop, safely, with the tires one inch on the right side of the white line and room for my tow truck driver. I am that good.

He answers the phone “where are you and how bad is it?” now. No hello. Some knights drive big black tow trucks. He laughed at the other tow truck driver who was attempting to coddle me. “You don’t know my girl” he said. “This was nothing for her. She’s tough.” He let me cry for like half a second, and then told me I did good.

I am barely crying about anything anymore. I get a few sobs out and just think “okay, where’s this going.”

The men I sold the truck to, in some weird bit of timing, went for food and were driving along the same road as we were towing the truck along and followed me to the mechanic’s yard. They still want it.

The smoky dragon wagon was still under safety and therefore my mechanics are obligated to fix it. They also have the exact same Jeep that I had the first time I got hit this last time. See how that all seems to be working out in the end? I do.

Everything spirals out and back in again. I have it on good authority that the Gelfling will return in full in 4 and a half years and everything will be exactly the same and completely different, much like the resolution to this truck. Same same on the outside, better faster stronger on the inside.

So endeth the lesson, until it comes back around again to show me more.

42.

It’s the answer to life the universe and everything.

Douglas Adams, Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

I don’t think he is wrong.

Buddha says, “life is suffering”.

I don’t think he is wrong either, I think he left out a part that we are supposed to figure out for ourselves.
It doesn’t have to be, not all the time.

In 90 days it will be my 42^nd year in this body on this planet, I finally have some insight, foresight, all the good sights.

Mercury is going direct again in 8 days. Luckily I left myself (oh no, not breadcrumbs) giant neon signs that mostly just said STAHHHHP.
I stahhhppped. Took deep breaths and just kept treading water. Even when the brake seized on the new truck after everything and I hit the proverbial wall, I chuckled and thought, ‘hey weren’t we here last retrograde?’ We were, we were right here in this very same driveway having this very same thought. Which was, “I cannot do this for one more fucking minute”, so up for sale it went.

Also, being ignored by the very same boy, just this run it’s him and 2 other boys. When my dance card gets full, I now grab another dance card. I can’t trust anyone to stay, so…um, vagina-logic.

I have been single and soul-searching for a while now. I’m still learning.
I like my soul now, it’s as clean as it has ever been.

Now … for my next trick.
“If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.” William Blake

Cocoon, Cavern… toe-may-toe toe-mah-toe. Prison regardless.

I am up for parole in 90 days.

I am so used to just dealing with what is handed to me. Institutional rules, adapt or die.

I am accustomed to being that girl who is scared of her own voice. I am afraid I am scared of my potential. Or I used to be, I got a taste of it and I have found myself asking please sir may I have some more.

I’ve fallen in love with evolving, adapting, changing, challenging myself.

I can do better, I have done better.

Mercury retrograde rule number one. Nothing new.

Alrighty then…I will abide.

What feels like dancing out of my past and making me happy?

I have mental photos of ‘before’.

Some are delicious.

Mmmm, that snapshot from Boxes, his hands rough from work on my cream coloured thighs and those eyes. Yes please, more of that.

On one of my roads out from the farm was a 30-something personal trainer. He was in exquisite shape and I asked him for help. We had a good little workout routine going for the time we were together. I had a photo shoot shortly after and have found myself looking with great longing on my peachy perfect ass of yore. I had matching abs. I was happy then, I liked me, I think those photos did their job, captured small moments in time. I can get back there, even better this time. I know what I am capable of. I don’t want the trainers body back, I want mine.

Young Un’s Instagram gave me an idea.

He is working out now and on a self-improvement kick, gym etc. prepping for Xmas and January. Planning ahead has never been my strong suit. I float, it’s kinda my thing. But this struck me. A few things happened all at once, but his shirtless selfie on IG was the lynchpin.

90 days from today. I’ll be in Thailand with my best girl for the holidays. We both cited some pretty near death Decembers and said fuck it, buy the tickets.

I fully admit using Facebook as a conduit to the universe, asking for things. I want that one, and I get him. I post my wishes and wants and they get here when they get here. I’m doing that now. May I please have what I want or something better.

I put a dirtybathroomstrippermidshiftselfie up on IG. I was having a good hair day. Its the one above. It shall be known henceforth as “before”.

Young Un liked it, but that’s Not the point. Although… his cartoon hearts are flattering, I admit I fluttered a bit.

I am at this beautiful jumping off point, again.

I am righting a 10 year wrong by getting my back tattoos covered up with a cohesive and exceptionally beautiful design, better than I thought possible. Should be done in January.

My girl had breast implant issues and I saw the incredible work her surgeon did.

I opened my mouth and asked him for help. Immediately booked a consultation.
I had them done 4 years ago and I was in the depths of despair, in no place to be healing.
They don’t look right.

Now I believe in miracles, take my vitamins, and my health is so much better than then.

Believing in miracles is the key, my life is full of them.

My last surgeon was a naysayer. But my girl said  “Um you are paying him vast sums of money to fix something, if he isn’t excited about it and listening to you, go somewhere else, someone will do this for you, your way or even better.”

It was this lightbulb as bright as the sun going off.

I have spent my entire life thinking I had to live with this.
Whatever this happened to be. Boobs, body, boyfriend etc…
But suffering now that I know better?  Ludicrous.
Fuck being a martyr, this is MY life. I want what I want.

Bravery is trying again.

Booking surgery for January.

I have been given all of these gifts.
That sad girl I used to be would be amazed at who, what and how I am now.

There are two things that vex me that I can throw money and pain at and have fixed.
Boobs and bad tattoos.
Done and done.

So between now and then…time to start working out, drinking water and eating better like it’s a job.

I started hot yoga, something that scared the piss outta me for years. I had heard horror stories, and although my mind panics the first ten minutes sounding like Marge Simpson on the airplane.

I love how strong, clean and good I feel after.

I love pushing myself. I’m not afraid anymore.

I have conquered my mind to a degree, now it’s time to conquer my body.

At 41 I ended up a pin-up in a calendar. Let’s go bigger shall we?

It’s time to be seen as well as heard.