This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Monday, June 29, 2009

Finding the Bliss through Body

I woke up anxious as a fox in a hen house today. It stayed with me, knotty, spiny, murky and cruel all morning. I went to yoga on my lunch, like I do every day. Today is the day where there's actually a teacher and, as I did some warm up hip openers while the rest of the participants came in, I told her I'd been anxious all day. We began with our legs up the wall and worked our way through many sun salutes with some variations. My chaturangas continue to improve (and my triceps continue to ache beautifully). My heart is opening, I am pulling it from the back of my body to the front. My energy is maturing. The universe is seasoning me for the long simmer ahead. I came out 45 minutes later positively re-done. My third eye had loosened and calmed. The lingering scent of lavender essential oil stayed cool in my cells. My namaste was heartier and more full of gratitude. I try to make it so every time.

I just told a co-worker that I would sing the gospel of yoga for hours if he wanted me to. "It's that good?" he questioned, not seeing the deep seriousness in my eyes as I smiled. I nodded, "it's that good."

Check out my sidebar to the right and find Hillary Rubin's name. She is probably more amazing than I can imagine, and so are her podcasts. I've been doing them on my own 4 - 6 times a week for about two months now. Every time I get tired of one, or see that I'm becoming to automatic in my practice of a routine I download another one and am wowed all over again. Check her out, she'll do you right good.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

This Must Be the Place

It's Pride year no.2 in which I don't participate in any big gay events. When I think about that in one way I feel pretty isolated in my wondering of why I'm not there, who should I call, what thing should I just go find. However, when I apply this mantra of "focusing on where [I] am instead of focusing on where [I] am not" it slides off pretty easily and I enjoy my experiences. Internally, my relationship to politics and gay(pride) is shifting, I think because I am working from a seat of real self actualization. No longer I am doing things so that I'll appear a certain way thus garnering a certain feel. I do what I want or need to do when the time is right, sometimes I am at odds with the girl in me who has that overwhelming need to participate. Since I'm getting better at listening to the whole me, and not just the more vocal parts of my psyche, I'm feeling pretty good despite my envy of the fun others may be having (Hadj, who's having dim sum in swaths of San Francisco Pride, included).
I've been struggling with the distance in a pretty hard way, but I've been given a good lot of mechanisms to keep strong too. "It's not the walls of the bowl that make the bowl useful," he quoted to me, "it's the empty space in the bowl that makes the bowl useful." I'm learning how to appreciate powerful feelings, even if the feeling itself is more difficult to feel. The psychic battles I wage go on, but the joyful side continues to fare better.

Short life update aside, here's a poem I wrote last week. It's draft two and makes me wish I had a better understanding of meter and poetry mechanics. I like the end though. Tell me what you think. Since it's not been worked and re-worked into something that's independently meaningful at this point, I'll give a brief description of the structure; something a finished poem should never require in my mind.
Verses 1 and 2 are introductory. Verse 3 describes the voices. Verses 4, 5, and 6 illustrate the back and forth, the battles I talked about, and it goes from there in a fashion.

"Mula Bhanda"
Back and forth night.
Thousand miles a minute
Wore-a       kinetic line.
Rut deep
where ego       brains been.

These two warring factions,
A mediator makes three,
Fucked it out in the shower just now
I’ll tell you which side won.

One side was rooting for
Sadistic pain, stinging nettles under the skin
The other side just wanted Daddy to hug her
An tuck her head under his chin

Why don’t you be quiet,
You bragging Betty?
He said he liked it.
He said he loves me.

You ain’t telling the truth then,
Hain’t come so hard, since he left.
Well I try like hell and got
A few           good ones in.

You’re just showing off,
Why don’t you be quiet?
I’ll show you.
I’ll use this new shower head.

Won’t get conhftorble.
Won’t be able to hold it.
Fuck you I will,
I’ll even control it.
I’ll drop my head back, prop my elbow here,
I loosen my back and
Rest the handle here.
I aim it just right into the jelly center
Fucking find my mula banda
Breath into nirvana
Squeak like a banana
Split my peel wide open
Fuck you cranky voice I’m going and going
I’ll have one more
Just thinking of him then thank him for the shower
And bow to the shape that I’m in
Thanks for trying cranky voice
But I got good on ya’
This mediator here
S’got an eye on ya.

Bonus Track: Talking Heads "This Must Be the Place"
(Thanks to You Ain't No Picasso for the mp3 and the awesome mix it's a part of)

Wednesday, June 24, 2009


I look pretty enough to eat despite the wet hot blanket on the city. I'm holding myself in his heart, hands, and root while I encourage my energy to flow. Breathing is my focus along with hourly stretches, helping me remember to accept more life from the universe that offers it. I work hard so I can go home and scrub off the needless layers I let collect on me in the weeks since he's been gone. I've had fun, but it's time for more meaning.

Yes my brain is spinning and yes it feels tiresome and embarrassing to be so intense in a world so full of soft zombie soldiers and yes when I forget to open up the embarrassment colors everything. But I didn't get so strong by accident and getting back to center will be fun and honorable work. All of this he helps me remember and for that I will always thank, need, want, hold, and love him. Oh yes yes yes such ecstatic love for him.

I am a free animal housed in his heart. Hah!
Within every woman there is a wild and natural creature, a powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity, and ageless knowing. Her name is Wild Woman, but she is an endangered species. Though the gifts of the wildish nature come to us at birth, society's attempt to "civilize" us into rigid roles has plundered this treasure, and muffled the deep, life-giving messages of our own souls. Without Wild Woman, we become over-domesticated, fearful, uncreative, trapped.
-Women Who Run with the Wolves

And now for the weekly Rob: Aquarius Horoscope for the week of June 24, 2009
Here's a preview of the accomplishments I expect you to complete in the next four weeks. Number of karmic debts paid off and canceled: 1. Number of bad habits replaced with good habits: 2. Number of holes blasted in your theory about why you can't do more of what you love to do: 300. Number of "necessities" lost that turn out not to be necessities: 1. Number of psychic wounds successfully medicated: 1. Number of confusing messes that evolve into interesting opportunities: 2. Number of romantic obstructions eliminated: 1 and a half.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

The Prototypes of Strong Sensation

If you have been to my house you have seen that I have a locust on a wire in a frame on my wall.

All on it's own, another bug has joined the locust. A teeny little beetle; minuscule, white with black spots.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Awakening the Seat of the Heart

"She said my blog's not been making any sense. I realize that I guess. I may even talk about it a bit; how everything's going too fast for me to set down beauty on a page about it. I feel so much, I can't even come up with words to describe it. So I'm just putting what I can when I can so that when I get around to really writing about all this I won't have to start at the beginning." I told him last night.

"Yeah! Well...that's cos none of it makes any sense!" He replied. And later, this morning, he said it was like a little miracle.

I cried last night; a handful of deep sobs. I haven't been/wasn't/still am not sure exactly why the sobs came, but they came from a few days ago and there was no stopping them last night. In the middle of my little sobbing jag I got out of bed and did a half hour of yoga and brushed my teeth and wrote him some.

When I first started blogging the idea of readers was hard to grasp. I didn't know who would read this except friends I told, and even then I wasn't sure they would. I didn't know who I was writing for. I stopped thinking about it for a long time. I was mostly cataloging my stories of the day, my internal struggles, and my external successes or failures. Then I started thinking more about my readers when I thought maybe I should try making money for all this work I'm doing; putting so many words down here. Then that fell off my radar again because it was too much pressure to keep up with the pace one needs to keep if one wants to be gaining readers consistently and at higher levels.

I asked myself when I started this blog why I was doing it. I gave a few half-hearted, half sarcastic, half sincere answers and then wondered how three halves could make a whole. (No, actually, I just wondered that just now.) My answer has become clear for now at least. I write my blog because I have to write. Because I am a writer, whether or not I make money doing it. I write my blog so I can get practice putting words down in a pleasing manner that forms a whole with meaning. I like sharing too. Putting my thoughts into phrases helps me think too. I do not understand most things unless I can turn them into a little poem in my head that contains meaning and depth for me. I know everyone must rephrase things for themselves to help them remember it a certain way, I just happen to think that the way I go about doing that is beautiful and sometimes I want to share it.

He suggested I just write him instead: if I'm worried my readers aren't getting it, or if I'm concerned about privacy or any number of other things. He said he'll hold the letters for me and when I'm done "processing like you lesbians do" he'll give them back to me so I can weave my tale. I'll do some of each, and more, I think. I'm not terribly concerned that I make tons of sense to my readers all the time. Sometimes I think about you readers when I write and other times it's all about me baby. And you know what? This is my blog and that's ok.

With that being said, here's some stuff I wrote to Hadj last night ("him" being Hadj in all references here).

Pre Yoga/Mid-Sobbing
That discipline [just now] was hard for me to accept. My attitude adjustment was mandated and what can I do? I can do anything. What do I want to do? What is good for me, coincidentally (I think not) is what You told me to do.

A gripping, clenching, holding - rebellion - resistance - a "you can't tell me what to do" snot nosed defiance.
"But I have questions"
"But I have stories"
"But don't you want to hear me..." the embarrassment creeps in "...go on...?"
But why am I so emotional? Can I blame moon cycles?
"But my tears..."

Whine, whine, beg, plead, snuffle.
Rebel, rebel, push, hide, scowl.

A softening. It's what we agreed on - doing it right. Being healthy - doing our daily stretches and brushing our teeth and letting go of our fears or what's not useful or necessary.

Pulley asked me tonight if you do the stretching and teeth brushing, when I mentioned it in context of my interest in subtle mental alterations, and I laughed right away. "I have no idea. But, that's not what matters in the moment. I do it, and know that he would like me to, and feel proud of myself for doing it and good that I'm taking care of myself too."

A softening in yoga helps you go deeper into the stretch right where you need it. A slight bend in the elbows lets you bring your arms over your head to the ground. Fold, fold in.

My heart raced - wanted to begin racing - wanted to feel panicked, maybe cagey
"not being listened to"
"being overridden"
"being pushed aside"

I don't know why they're triggers - what history set them tight - but a softening - a trust - an ability to see verity - I will become.

Glow. Heart. Glow.

I can feel myself melting, internally, in a divine way - like I'm in a warm inner tube on a comfortable and sparkling river floating where the tide runs between canyons in the sun.

Post Yoga/Little Sobs and Glowing
it's much better that i got out of bed and did that half hour stretching, breathing, meditating, folding, opening. i have a calm overlay and under the blanket i can see the parts of me that are prone to panic and terror and the parts of me that have not been present for days and days and days. presence. where have i been? the future, the past. the routine - i can go about it so half consciously. do i trick myself into feeling alive or am i so used to not feeling it that i can go stretches of days (weeks, months) and not notice. i didn't take my night off tonight - trying to maintain three nights a week where i fly solo. consciousness, presence. the wind. the scents in the air tonight. divinity. throat chakra. meridians. stuck or moving, i'm unsure. crying sounds good right now. in a release. a relief. mourning the moments i've missed by going around half or a quarter awake just to get by. awakening to the disconnect that happens so often. my egg, where is the shell, where is the light? i don't have to know, i just have to feel.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Resolve to be Sympathetic with the Striving

I'm just on the other side of the door where the self I've been wanting to be has been waiting years for me. It doesn't mean that my old habits miraculously have disappeared. Mom sees it as being as simple as the difference between what you do and what you want. She thinks that aligning those two solves all problems, but I'm so full of questions. Mom and I speak very different languages much of the time. Our ability to love past what is lost in translation is what makes our relationship so special.

There is still no magic potion that gives me the feeling of alive I love so much. I still despair when that alive feeling slips out through my fingers and still obsess over poetic phrases in my mind; seeking, keening, praying for the feeling to come back through poetry. I still stare blankly at the screen at work while in my mind I'm on my bed, or a patch of sunny ground, reading something that nourishes my spirit and makes my heart soar.

What is different now, then? I know it will pass. I hold there and trust it. I know that deeper breathing will loosen the tension in my back and neck and jaw. I take those breaths. I know what alignment feels like and can keep closer to the ground, even if I'm hovering there, feet trying to touch down.

Speaking of all that - go see "Up". It's adorable in every sense of the word.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Never Get So Attached to a Poem You Forget Truth Without Lyricism

((ed. note 1/9/10: some of my posts require context for the story to make sense, but the healing processes I've used are valuable without that context.  This post is personally about relationship beginnings, but it is universally about trusting the love in the world and being saved by it.  The healing portion of the blog has been excerpted below, but you can read the whole post after the jump if you wish to.))

Because of the specificity I had in speaking about my parts, my therapist gave me a right lovely book called The Book of Qualities (J. Ruth Gendler).  It contains 100 emotional qualities we experience as humans. It starts with The Wind, which I love:
The Wind is a gossip. Not in a malicious way. She just likes to move around and stir things up. She runs through fire barefoot and has no fear of heights. She carries big blue bowls of rain with her. She plays the flute and loves all kinds of sounds. Her laughter fills the sky. The Wind is a wonderful story-teller. I still remember how she introduced me to the Qualities when I was a child.
I wrote down the four parts that plague me: worry, fear, doubt, and criticism. Then wrote what I felt their opposites needed to be: patience, courage, faith, and wisdom. I will use the latter parts to counteract the destruction of the former. I will love the fear right out of myself [...] It is interesting to practice speaking to your fears so regularly. You see how often they undermine your better nature this way. Doing this takes the fire right out from under them. When I see that I am worrying, I know that it is because I am terrified of the unknown. Rather than be annoyed that I am ruining a good thing with worry, I coddle that fearful part and, if I need to, I ask for help in doing so.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

gOddf*ckingbless the internet

I'm so wiped out right now. Here are some of my favorites from the first 100 tweets.

A twitter(tm): November 08 - January 09

Welcomes her blood wife, fuckin finally. Class matters. Inessential weirdness. Vagina Monologues. Survivor stories shared. Inability to get or stay turned on. Wonky. I resent when my ability to take advantage of a boring situation is restricted.

I want to bitch about trust but know that's dishonest. Also, [am] becoming increasingly smitten. Having not (really) fucked her (yet) is SO helpful for my peace of mind, at present. [Obama's] talking about clean energy to revitalize the jobs/economy/energy crises! I FUCKING LOVE WHEN HE TALKS CLEAN ENERGY TO ME!!!

Met this super cute flamboyant while on a possible date with a cute bi. Why is sex so confusing?

A vending machine with plain Jilberts milk in it. God I miss the U.P. already. LAKE SUPERIOR. Star light star bright here I come Marquette sky night. Forgot to take bike tool out of bag. When security pulled my bag to check it I said: careful it might explode. Then: I mean! Not that kind of explode! Socks! It's stuffed full!

A week after a nasty after-date conversation I bump into the perpetrator while off any routine path. We both make the UGH face and scurry away. Dreams this morning consisted of gay bath-house sex, southern mansion sex, chesty red heads and chain links.

What am I doing? I'm listening to my boss conduct a phone conference while reading blogs. Godfuckingbless the internet.

You're like a band-aid on my owie.

Being early has the advantage of exploration. Maybe if I start telling myself I'm content, or at peace, rather than lonely, I'll feel that way. At a diner with 1968 Ziggy cartoons on the wall. Bless you Chicago. A quiet over my life. I'll call it peace. The woods were this quiet. My home in the city. The morning commute should be a dance party. Labelle's Lady Marmalade would be on the playlist.

Walking, taking in an early Sunday, drinking hot tea, headed for the library. The stacks are salvation and depression a guilty sin. Damn. Library closed on Sundays. Sinner apparently cast into the fire.

"As a young boy I used to fantasize that I was a war hero. When I discovered how to masturbate I fantasized about making love, not war."

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

WTF/Roll Over

Rapidly moving, shape shifting.
"When the winds of change blow, some people build walls and others build windmills." Chinese proverb
It seems that one of our three has dropped out. You can guess which.
"I want you both.

I will have you both."

Well. It's just really disappointing. Expanding on it will wait for some other time.

Amplifying information: There were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over...

Swept up and confined: Women in the Asylum

Another tip from Whole Health Chicago:

I’d wanted to see The Walls, the new play now having its world premiere at Steppenwolf Garage Theatre, for both personal and professional reasons. Chicago playwright Lisa Dillman and the members of Rivendell Theatre Ensemble have created a dramatic and troubling work about women as victims of involuntary psychiatric hospital admission, once called commitment (as in “she was committed last week”).

If your idea of theatre leans more toward show tunes, you might want to take a pass on this. What’s extremely painful about The Walls is its historical accuracy. Dillman follows the lives of three women, one from the late 19th century, one from the 1930s, and one young woman who easily could have been sharing a seat with you on the L this morning.

What few people realize is the magnitude of involuntary psychiatric confinement that existed until about the 1960s. State psychiatric hospitals, like Manteno in downstate Illinois, contained thousands of patients in huge dormitory facilities. The hellishness of these places was the subject of the 1948 film The Snake Pit. As a result of the film’s widespread audience reaction, many of these hospitals were either closed or underwent significant rehabilitation.

Psychotropic medications had not been discovered, so patients with diagnoses such as depression (then called melancholia), anxiety (hysteria), or schizophrenia (dementia praecox) could not receive the Lexapro, Xanax, or Risperdal that would allow them normal or near-normal lives. Instead they were swept up and confined, often for decades, and frequently abandoned by their families, who wanted to do anything but admit “insanity in the family.”

It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to wonder why over the years a majority of patients receiving “help” for “mental illness” have been women. During the 1960s psychiatrist Thomas Szasz took the medical profession to task for its very loose standards of mental illness diagnosis and treatment in his book The Myth of Mental Illness. How much [of] depression, anxiety, or even schizophrenia is essentially the only way a person can cope with what she deems a troubling and hostile world? How much mental illness is simply a failure to conform to majority standards of behavior?

Because of their low stress-buffering serotonin levels, women are simply more sensitive to the world than men. Some women are extremely sensitive, experiencing enough stress to surpass their fragile stress buffer. Tens of millions of women go through life as walking “open wounds” in an overly salted world created and controlled mainly by men. It’s a world where conformity is rewarded and non-conformity has variously been treated by institutionalization, lobotomy, and, recently, by lots of medication.

Fortunately, the legal system has made it extremely difficult to forcibly institutionalize anyone. The mega-psychiatric hospitals are long gone. The only real remaining involuntary hospitalization occurs in adolescent psychiatry. Not having access to the legal system, an inappropriate number of adolescents remain involuntarily confined, sometimes for the most minimal of diagnoses.

How The Walls works itself out for contemporary women is subtle (come to think of it, maybe not so subtle), but to me, distinctly gender biased. Although I believe antidepressants can be true miracle drugs in the right situation, doctors (generally male) vastly overprescribe (sic) them to women for symptoms that are often part of life (breaking up, losing a beloved pet). The health care system encourages prescription renewal for years, often without any follow-up.


When a woman takes an antidepressant from the SSRI (selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, such as Prozac, Celexa, Lexapro, Paxil, or Zoloft) group, her stress-buffering serotonin rises. The issue(s) that triggered her depression or anxiety may remain, but no longer trigger despair or panic. That’s a positive. When a woman is over-responding to an SSRI, however, she’ll feel curiously numbed out, neither sad nor happy, and she often won’t like the feeling, or lack thereof. Her serotonin levels are now up there with the those of the boys. “Welcome to Guyville, you’re one of us now. Don’t you feel better?” Not so good.

That’s the professional reason I wanted to see The Walls. The personal reason is a distinctly unpleasant story.

I was raised having been told that my grandmother died sometime in the 1930s, when my mother and her sister were children. In actual fact, when the girls were 11 and 7, my grandmother was forcibly removed to Manteno for what sounds like anxiety disorder with panic attacks. Over the next 50 years, coping with the nightmare of a state mental hospital, she (not surprisingly) deteriorated, blinded herself during an episode of agitation, underwent a lobotomy, and died when I was an intern in my twenties. So secretive was my family about her existence that I didn’t learn of all this until she had been dead for several years. Even now, trying to extract information from aged relatives is next to impossible.

“How could there possibly be a health tip in all this?” you might ask. The era of involuntary commitment may have passed, but it's been replaced by three forces just as potent:
• Hurried physicians with itchy fingers on their prescription pads.
• Pharmaceutical companies that make big money when you take their drugs.
• Health insurance corporations that readily acknowledge it's cheaper for you to maintain on meds than to work through your problems with a psychotherapist.

Let me resuscitate a mantra from the 1960s: Question Authority.

Be well,
Dr. E

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Subterranean Laughter

I have never had a problem being very frank in my writing. Bare honesty is where my interest lies. Right now, however, even my journal gets only the most factual of entries. What I am embarking upon is so complex in the emotional realm, and so vastly different from any territory I have tread upon before, that I find myself too immersed to be able to start writing it. To write my stories right now would take more time and energy than I can imagine.

"Once upon a time, sometime last week..."

It is easy to imagine that much of my writing will be focusing on the ins and outs of polyamory in the near (to far out) future. I am at work with two others building a foundation we hope will withstand years of wear and tear. I cannot help but laugh over and over at the serendipity and absurdity. It is absurd to have some dreams come true, but not unrealistic. I feel my life is a funny fairy tale right now that listeners would have to settle down comfortably for because this is no short yarn. I move laterally, never linear.

Let me just say a few things then, so that when I can coalesce some better linguistic talents here I won't have to start way the hell back at the beginning; that time being now.

The level of personal accountability is as high as it can be in a non-life threatening situation. I, and my partners becoming, must speak up, as soon as possible, about any "ick" feeling that arises. If I feel myself shrinking from sight it is not my job at that moment to figure out why, but to say, "Hey, I'm disconnecting!" so that there can be an intervention (i.e. extreme cuddling) which brings me back into the room, my body, and my strength.

I see everything in cycles. I like connecting time in rings, like those that might form from a pebble dropped on water. There are rings now that are finally dissipating which began years ago when I first exploring my self knowledge. I have done a lot of hard work in the last several years to wipe away the destructive mechanisms that were once protective measures. Some work you cannot accomplish on your own though, and these two gifts in my life are going help propel me into a plane of complete trust in myself. I will seek out the invasive weeds of doubt, inferiority, and fear and confront them with immense frequency because I must, if I truly want this foundation to hold.

I honestly could go on about the growth, change, and rending that my psyche is and will undergo all night, because the development and maintenance of internal human strength is hugely interesting to me. This information touches every part of meaning that I hold, from the ego plane on which I function daily, to the deeply wise spiritual plane that guides me quietly. I am holding back though. Since I have been spending many, many hours in a row confronting even the tiniest of insecurities I lean toward wanting to spill it out here too and let you readers do what you will with it. However, some secrets are kept only for the pleasure of savoring them, and this may be one of those times.

I keep wanting to pinch myself, to see if this is actually happening. Am I actually in the germination stages of forming an intimate, compassionate community with strangers? Am I actually entering a triad? Actually planning a future with other people? I keep wanting to pinch myself, but if the physical strain and pleasure that I endured last night didn't wake me up, then I must not be dreaming.

Monday, June 1, 2009

I Dare to Jump, Now

Pop Quiz: When one enters a veritable buffet of life and tries to talk about it, where does one begin?
A. Dessert
B. Appetizers
C. Drinks
D. The main course
E. The mosaic tile in the lobby
I'm so happy that you're here. And that you're seriously cool. I have a feeling that this is just on the edge of leaping into something that is bigger and happier and makes us all wake up every day and hoot and holler about how amazing our lives are. I want puppypiles of snuggly folks and dinners with everyone. And art and intellect and buzzing in happiness. Real communication. Exploration. Adventure. WHEE! One thing I know for sure is that everything will work out how it's supposed to. We'll all be just fine.
I did not write that! Well not then I didn't but I sure have in the past.

The mosaic tile in the lobby. The beginning, a refresher:
It happened not quite two years ago: a few months after I started this blog, a month after the universe first cracked and had me on my own roof worshiping my returning intuition, my own peace space, my own steam locomotion. These were some of the lines: Hello twinsie...I am Hadj...that is my name not an institution or a direction. I kept his letter more by accident than anything. I didn't have a clear reason directing me toward sentimentality, but neither of those details are important now. They're just fun, supporting evidence of something amazing that is happening.

Then we were seated at a nice table near a window, over looking something pretty, a koi pond or sand garden. Yes, a sand garden: able to be blown away or remade any instant. We ordered apƩritifs. I had a pineapple cocktail. The most delicious thing I've ever tasted.

We are not going to get to the main course in this round. I have to detour away from the buffet of life so I can explore another course, another sense, another development causing me to exhaust the meaning and usage of the word, "amazing."

Those quotes up there, that I could have written myself, are from another. Let's call her L for now.

I've begun telling this part of the story, this breathlessly interesting and stimulating story of mine to friends. I have begun incorporating L into these stories because L has begun incorporating into my life. My poly family.

The universe just may be cracking again. These cracking smiles jagged and fearsome. Lean in for a closer look and fall into them gleefully. Maybe some jump. Maybe some squeeze shut their eyes, plug their noses, and hold their breath. I think I might stand pondering the fall. Maybe take a few false starts, then a full hearted, legs kicking in the windy air, leap. At least, that's how I did it off the cliffs of Little Presque Isle when I first noticed the universe's tendency to provide with stellar timing.

The story sometimes contains this explanation: He came here to see his sister and family, then to see L, then to see me. In that order of priority. We had no idea. None of us.

I don't know what those sentences sound or look like to the people who hear and read it. ((I want to know; if you, reader, want to tell me.)) There's no time to go over again the surprising nature of these turns of events because there are things bigger happening all the time.

I would now like to draw your attention to the passive phrasings I'm using here..."just may be cracking again...", "...I suspect." This is what I really want to write about right now. Let's focus in on the dessert. To do that, of course, we have to zoom back out first and get a sense of the direction we're headed.

In my reading on Aquarians one thing that always comes up is a tendency towards being aloof. This fits with our being ruled by a planet of swift change and metamorphosis. One can't change easily and quickly if one's wings are clipped by responsibility or weighed down with baggage. I have bristled at these adjectives for years, not wanting to be those things, but seeing them in me anyhow. Combine this with my adoration for birds of all shapes and sizes. I have always known that my chosen super-power would be flight, even if there are better, more overall useful powers out there. I was not interested in being able to do many powerful things, just Soar.

There is a convergence happening of many strong energies at once. This convergence feels much like swirling. I can call it hurricane, I can call it whirling dervish (definitely drunk on the divine), I can even sometimes call it super nova. I have been overwhelmed with emotion several times in the last 24 hours simply by thinking about what is possible and laying on a platter right before me. Last night, in the car alone to get groceries, I began laughing like a banshee. My smile as wide as the other cracks around I said to myself, "This is my fucking wave. I am going to ride it!"

A house, a home, a sharing and convergence. This is the news of the day. The man, with whom I am so happily swept, is a para-sail on these winds of change; whereas I was ready to sit on the beach and watch him fly away like I know how to do, he has presented me with more: with a seat on the ride, with the fucking motorcycle side car I always wanted when I was a the little girl only child. Not content to just see what possibilities there are, he is a man of action and there are plans afoot.

I feel a danger, that I should not write these word because, who knows? But that is exactly the point. No one knows and so we are free to create what we will. I must take responsibility somewhere and not allow myself to think I am the eye of a storm. L has spoken aloud her dreams of a poly happy home. Hadj has spoken his aloud. I have had mine, have dreamt them, wrote them, said them. It is time for me to step up and not be afraid. No matter what happens, we will all be ok. No matter what happens it will end in tragedy. No matter what happens it will be fucked up and beautiful.

When the maximum amount of growth possible happens, it hurts. You are stretching, ripping, shaping in ways that are unfamiliar. You are vulnerable in your newfound space and length. That is the sweet spot. That is where the strength comes from. I know a something, that I keep secret from time to time.

So I am looking around quickly. I am ripping and stretching and cracking and it is so scary that I can't help but smile like a fool. Like the cat who ate the canary in the coal mine. I am allowing myself to be in love with a man who is in love with me and in love with another woman (who is also probably in love with others, now up to and soon to include me and vice versa). We are talking mutual futures. These are not things I have done. I have yearned for this scenario and now, I tell you, as much as I may revert to my bogeyman creating, habitual fearing the unknown ways, I am not afraid. I am relishing every sublime moment of pure living that I can.

I am alive with feeling. I am awake to possibilities. All this and only two people. More than being awake though, I am ready to take action. I am ready to jump from my little birdie perch and morph into that other, solid animal that I am. I haven't decided if she's a feline (from the way I move when aroused, my playfulness and my purring, and my sensitive, brooding nature) or what. I will jump from my perch and dive like a hungry birdie into this pool of responsible and decisive action. No matter what I turn into, or what I pull up, it's going to be more than I dared to believe was possible.

Tide Me Over

There's another thunderstorm rolling in over Lake Michigan, come to turn our grasses and flowers greener and lusher. I have mantras in my skull reminding me that I am good and deserve every bit of happiness and love I can find. I have images of the skeleton woman from Women Who Run floating in the lake of my imagination. Her gruesome fate in the frozen water revived by a man who accidentally found her. The way he saved her and the way she scared him and the way she brought him back to life too. It's all cycles, love, and fast moving energy around here and I can't wait to see how it all unfolds. My life has turned the most exciting corner.

Read more about Skeleton Women here. Thanks to Spiritual Emergency for posting it.