Open

Open. Open. Open up to me… I give what I expect and I feel like I have opened up more. I always do. These relationships invite such vulnerability. Is it just men who expect me to be weak so they can be strong? Does my weakness or my strength to be vulnerable close them up? Or, God please no, are men really not aware or willing to open the boundaries created for self-preservation?

I struggle with understanding my promiscuity before my marriage, the gas-lighting that drove me to affairs during my marriage, my choices and desires after my divorce; polyamory versus monogamy, boundaries and self-control in alignment with self-worth, validation, openness to connections in safe, and worthy relationships. Being with one person is supposed to be about a certain level of spiritual enmeshment, right?

The longer I know a person the deeper things get…beyond the surface damage. Boundaries are built in this space where I face fear, from judgement, from trauma, from pains so deep they are masked with layers and layers of emotional scar tissues. To build trust is to break boundaries, to facilitate each other’s healing because sometimes it feels safer to have another’s hand to hold. Or is that level of enmeshment to much for one person? Do we have to change partners to open up in new ways?

I want to be your porn star

Everything beautiful that you see

I want your every joy and pleasure

To be a reflection of me

I want to share my soul with you

Though my shadows are unknown

Your light reveals inside of me

All the pain from which I’ve grown

This jealousy is strange to me

These many layers you’ve unfurled

The deeper your Love flows in me

The more you become my world

It isn’t fair

It isn’t right

To only feel warmth

In your light

My own too dim

To light in you

The truer darker self

You hide so well

From my view

A story vision

I know not when or where she rules, only that she is the mother and queen to many. I cannot exact the era, past or future by her surroundings nor the costumes of her consorts and servants.

I see her thrown, plush with finery, reclined and pillowed as for a harem. This luxurious decadence, her place of duty. She served at her thrown at wake and rest, day and night, giving nurishment to her subjects, her greatest responsibility, and pleasure in life. When she was not attending her thrown, the queen found respite strolling the gardens or lulling in the bath, even here she would let them come to her.

She once lived for the adventure, for the battle-not of the sword, but the spirit. In her early years she had traveled far and wide learning of the people and world around her, weaving her love, creating a tapestry as all learned to love and nourish in her joyful gentle way. She had experienced all, cried for the pains, wept for the triumps, understood and loved each place, each spirit she encountered. Seeking her peace, weak without love, they came to her. This is how she became queen.

At first it was the soldiers, pleading for their cause, begging for her strength, not aware her healing would change their hearts. They came baring game and gifts, to dine and to dance, to lay with her, to feel her comforting caress, to wake in her chamber renewed and undefeatable. Each returned to battle, to find they could no longer harm life, only protect it. Yet still, when one soldier, saw his friend or enemy could not fight, and would not fall, he too sought out her healing.

In time she found them too many, but she could not turn them away. Three at a time, male and female, young and old, she took the weakened, held them, suckled one on each breast, the third suckled the juice of her womb. In loving her, drinking from her, nurishment flowed, and her blessings were an everlasting fountain. Those whose strength was not depleted, those whose hearts had not been enbittered and hardened, those who found it easy to humble themselves at her breast, to rest and to suckle her milk were satisfied and full in a short time. Those not humbled by her breasts, those who could not trust as a child, those she would rebirth.

At first it was their desire to conquer her, thinking they could woo her for themselves. She was not to be won, she was not for one, but for all. There was never a closed door, never secrecy to her healing. Each knew where they were drawn to drink from her, each knew when they had drunk enough and withdrew for the next. She cradled them at her breasts; she lay opened for her orgasms to be milked for her healing waters.

When they walked away, still smelling of her, their ego had died, washed away like afterbirth by her unending capacity to give.

That is all that could be said of the beginning. She loved. She traveled to give love and when she could travel no more those needing love came to her. Soon she was surrounded with all she could need and she shared all she was given. Some chose to stay by her side, with them the love became intuition; what she felt they felt, what she needed they gave, her love had created eutopia as much for them around her as for those who traveled on, sharing her love.

And my vision was this, that every woman who knew her love could thus heal as she. So no one wanted for love, and lust had no power for there was no hunger, and ego died, for love was unconditionally shared by all.

Solitary day

When I am alone… and there is nothing urgent to distract me… and my analyst asked me “how are you doing at compartmentalizing the tragedy in your life so you can keep moving forward?” …something like that… as long as I am busy I guess ok…but alone I just want out. Fuck it all, leave me alone, I have nothing more to offer because I have no relevance or power to change anything I actually care to change. I can’t make clients magically appear to pay all my bills and not rely on family for help. I can’t take away my son’s pain and life with cancer. I can’t even decide if I feel better saying he is living with cancer or dieing from cancer. All I can do is this meaningless shit like organize worthless material possessions and clean my habitat in hopes I feel worthy of living in it and avoid getting shit from people who see how unskilled I am at fitting in, Adulting, doing what every other normal human being seems capable of…

I was looking forward to a party with friends tonight and now I really just want ZERO expectation or responsibility.

When I am alone, i am happy, there is peace, there is escape from engaging with anything except my clingy dogs, and yes that even annoys me but it reminds me I am NOT DEAD. I am not a ghost wondering alone in this world with only my own thoughts for the drama of life. Life is real. Bills are real. Being cold and hungry are real, inconveniences I want to avoid.

My perceptions, emotions, pains, joys, these things actually are not real. They are temporary signals in a temporary band width that will fade into a cosmic song, and dissipate to insignificance. I am glad this temporal existence is temporary, I will be glad when I can not longer hear it ringing in my consciousness.

More thinking…

This long weekend “alone” is coming to a close and I am so excited to see my Love again.

I sit on the deck ready to roll a spliff, debating if o really want to smoke since my two hit wakenbake has the job done I just need to let the caffeine from my tea get me going. Patience, everyday a new lesson in patience.

I do this. I make every feeling a lesson. What am I feeling? Why am I feeling this? What is this feelings purpose? Is it good or bad to feel this way; good or bad to analyze my thoughts and feels so persistently?

So my honey is off doing his thing, in the big city, reaquainting with old friends and making new ones; doing all kinds of enlightened groovy stuff. I am really happy for him. I see he needed this validation and support and it wasn’t the time and place for me to be with him. I accept this, so I wonder why the fuck I also have feelings of insecurity, loneliness, fear? His safety, his responsibly, his choices- none of my concern really except wanting his experience to be the best for him. It is so much easier to focus on his well-being than my own.

I mostly got over my angst of some hot tantric maiden stealing him away from me. My insecurity is still there but I am not feeding it, just trying to remind myself that I turn plenty of heads, get unwanted physical attention, and my love shows more respect and appreciation for my curves and sensuality than anyone ever has. Hey satisfies me and I satisfy him.

So then I get these other feels, like I hope he has an intimate experience. I hope he has feels, and shares love and comes home and tells me. Tell me what he felt, what he learned about himself, and how the experience can grow and bring more depth to our relationship. It is a scary thing to ask to be in such a vulnerable place; I question if strength, sturdy long-lasting emotional growth, can come without exposing those vulnerabilities. He is the safest person I can imagine opening myself up to in such a way… because I have this trust, right now, in this moment, which he has given me no cause to doubt, that he will take care of me…it moves me to tears.

MS. INDEPENDENT … moved to tears with hope that there is another human being who could blindly love me, not try to own or control me, and walk beside me…

Validation, redemption?

I have had this thing, on my mind. Walking away from toxic relationships, while not wanting to let go of some of the toxicity.

What is that? Wait read that again?

I recognize that I am fucked up… I most certainly try to rationalize my every action. I don’t get the balance between being humble, meek, shamefaced and being empowered, awakened and true-to-myself (honest? transparent?objective, hold myself to my values and boundaries, GOD I OVERCOMPLICATE THOUGHTS!).

So, a couple of the therapists said I don’t have boundaries….but I do. They are relative on an individual basis that purely comes from my high and mighty self. My intuition, which is the still small voice of Love and light, truth and rational/justice/karma, Father Son and Holy Spirit, the Divine, I AM.