sex with an ex...

Ok…so I know…I know that I wrote the seemingly conclusive “ex-files” (you know the one where we decided that the ex-factor is always a bad idea) which might lead you to wonder why, not very long after, I am writing this…

Because…as we all know…on this path towards brilliance, there is a tendency to falter. Enough said.

Back to the sex. And the ex.

I have always made it a point to not be promiscuous or casual in my intimate interactions. Mostly because it just doesn’t seem like a good idea. And it’s not safe. And I just can’t open myself up like that unless I know (or at least think) the person has some level of spiritual integrity. Seems like a decent plan, right? Well…there’s a catch…because you see…I HAVE allowed myself, on occasion, to slip back into a bed I’ve been in before. My logic (?): it doesn’t really count because we’ve done it before. I know, logic is clearly the wrong word…rationalization is probably a better one.
This pretty much brings us up to date.

The expectation with this “recycled lover” is that you already know each others bodies and it will most likely be good(ish). And a connection has already been established so it will be emotionally safe and comfortable

*insert ‘wrong answer’ sound effect here*.

The truth of the matter (at least most of the time, and in this case) is that it has much of the same disappointment that is produced by a one night stand. With the added bonus of a can-of-worms the has been opened and now needs to be dealt with…

Not only is it usually disappointing, but the ever-present reason why you chose not to be together in the first place looms over the situation like a rain cloud…not that it’s totally void of a silver lining. I mean…physically there may be some ‘in the moment’ satisfaction…but instant gratification comes with a cost.
Because there’s the next day…
And the day after that…and it’s easy to get lost in a downward-spiral of thoughts of attachment, “what if?”, and worst of all regret…

it’s particularly dangerous for me because I have the tendency to conveniently ‘forget’ the past. Tucking away my reasoning for exiting stage left in the first place and reveling in the moment. And I wake up the next morning with the residue of sweetness from the night before and sentimental staging for what might happen next. With the glow of rose colored eye balls (I don’t wear glasses to bed) I roll over to stare at the face lying next to me. Nostalgic emotions give me the allowance to smile safely and sigh from the sheer pleasure of human contact.

And then I leave…opening the front door and walking out into the day feeling good about all that has transpired. But…when the light of morning hits the still fresh thoughts of what happened it creates the beginning of a shadow. And by the time I reach my car and open the door I have already shed the sweetness and realize that (even though I always carry a toothbrush) there is a sour taste in my mouth.

And as I drive away I try to salvage the euphoria of the previous night, I try to pull up the file and scan through to find the goods….but (as I have already mentioned) no matter how I rearrange it…the words read the same.

Defendant: guilty as charged. CASE CLOSED.

Or at least it was supposed to be…

Apparently I should step down as judge. Because I allow appeals to be heard and override the verdict a little to often. ‘Guilty’ has become relative.

The most disturbing part isn’t necessarily the act…I mean that’s the least of it…but that I am willing to settle for mediocre interactions with someone I have already decided wasn’t ‘it’. And that for a brief moment I actually allow myself to change my view of the situation and entertain thoughts of rekindling some sort of romance that didn’t serve me then and certainly doesn’t serve me now…

The moral of this story…

Recycled lovers should be taken immediately to the curb, placed in the blue bin, and taken to the factory. From here he can be truly broken down and turned into something unrecognizable, sustainable, and actually useful. The sordid and used past becomes POST-CONSUMER waste…

dear so and so...the final love letter...

the first night you came to my house i wore those yellow shoes. remember?

the next time was after the goodbye dinner for your friend returning to france. we watched a movie and afterwards you said,
"do you think it would be ok if i kissed you?"
and we kissed on the floor.
and you slept beside me that night.
and night after night after that.
i could regurgitate a million other moments that took place between then and now...but that's not the point of this letter...
...yes, as always, there is a point.
the last few letters have been about releasing you...
about surrendering to the reality that our 'timing and placement' has consistently been 8 degrees off...or 7 degrees...
isn't that it?
it's 3 mintues til 10...and i'm 7 minutes too late...
i guess as a virgo i'm predisposed to want to be on time.

so this letter is about releasing me...

i missed my 'train to rome'...not because i was late but because i didn't board.
because i couldn't. the lack of timing was throwing off my equilibrium...
which wouldn't allow me to leave the platform...

our interactions have been an epoch...altering my existence...the brief frenetic moments in which our paths have synchronized were epic in effect...leaving me reeling and imbalanced...unable to ground myself, suspended in a parallel plane of love induced vertigo...
and you fed the dizziness by spinning stories of our torrent love affair in different time zones...knowing that i take words in and file them...verbatim. but when i projected myself nine hours ahead i saw that even if the timing was finally right it would be temporary...and the affect would be cataclysmic...

at times i am impulsive in my actions. which leads me to later, after any consequence has settled, question myself...
"if i had just sat still longer maybe things would be different..."
"maybe i shouldn't have pushed so hard..."
"what if i'd given him more time..."

i live in the shadow of mercury, the planet of intellect and reason, causing me to replay my actions with constant analysis. inventing variant scenarios that could have led the end result to shift my present reality...
but then, so do you...or at least you are astrologically predisposed to...
i think this has caused us to instate a "what if..." clause...

so we've perpetuated our anastomosis. working part-time on making the procedure stick...but our pre-existing conditions caused complications...and this type of concatenation takes more than minimal effort...

and so it was time to pull the plug.
and we've called it.
"time of death: 6/23/2008 2:54:00 AM"

and, as with all quietus, there is mourning...
which only lessens with the passing of time...and, being hours ahead, it's already thursday for you...
and being a man of affectation, you have shifted with apparent ease...

so in our own ways we both surrender...
acknowledging that our aggregated growth was climacteric
but knowing with finality that...

our meter has expired and we've both run out of quarters...

ex-files...

...to open or not to open?
that is the question...
too often i ask myself this after the fact when the file has already been opened and rifled through...
i blame muscle memory. the recall of touch that has (affected) on a cellular level...
memory is defined as:
1. the act or fact of retaining and recalling impressions
2. the ability of certain materials to return to an original shape after deformation.

except...in the case of re-opening the ex-files...i rarely return to my original form...and it takes days, sometimes weeks to recover...
the imprint is there...like a tempur-pedic mattress the weight of him leaves an indentation...
and the deformation of my core is apparent to the outside world (like the scarlet letter)...
i am the depiction of a perfect crime scene...dust me and you will find his prints...one of a kind patterns where he has left his mark...branded me with his presence...
like a grease stain on your favorite white sweater...he doesn't just 'come out in the wash'...

there is this delusional theory that once re-visited the ex-factor may have magically transformed..."people change"...
but they really don't...we all shift and grow...but the fundamental things that make or break a relationship...well, those things persist.
you can re-open the file...move the sentences around, change the structure, read between the lines, summarize the paragraphs, analyze, re-analyze, even destroy some of the evidence but the content remains the same...even altered the file holds the hard facts:
exhibit A: the truth...beyond a reasonable doubt...

we all revisit. it's a human defect to return to where we've once been...

remember marvin gaye "everybody plays the fool"...
reopening the ex-file is reminiscent of the bird who continuously attempts flying through the glass window...at some point the bird figures it out, right? or gets brain damage in the process...

we rarely "close" any file...in order to do so we would have to delete and destroy all evidence, move to a new city, change our name and hair color...you get the idea...witness protection style...and that's just too much work...
so we stay friends, keep in touch, avoid awkward conversations about new lovers, and try to find a space where we just might still fit...like our favorite jeans from a few years back...we jump through hoops, squat, suck it in, whatever it takes to get into them but they just aren't the right size anymore...and even if you get them zipped...as soon as you sit down and try to get comfortable you either can't breath or you rip the seam...

the point is...when it comes to the ex-files...it's best to put the file in the cabinet, buy a good lock, and put the key on the top shelf where you can't reach it. eventually you'll forget it's even there...

i'm just out of my league...

i have recently realized that i am a fish (of the mermaid persuasion, of course) out of water...
let me explain.
so there are two ways the story goes...
in one the mermaid must make a deal with the sea witch to emerge from subaqueous depths to appear to her true love in human form. ah, but the catch is she loses her voice...so unable to really speak her truth, she loses her man to a unquestionably lesser but venomous woman who will manipulate to bend the plot to her will...so our sweet, pure of heart, and lovely heroine must rely on divine intervention and the help of her friends to right the situation...

the other version of the story (starring daryl hannah circa 1984) is that the mermaid comes out to find her man (whom she's already rescued twice) grows legs and is, well, a fish out of water. seems pretty gangsta, right? her human form remains in tact as long as she doesn't get wet. she doesn't understand the way things happen...she doesn't know the rules and the inevitable cruelty that ensues from being "human" almost keeps her from her love...she finds him but must keep her true identity (her Self) from him...

get the theme? not a very good outlook for one of our kind. either way she loses a piece of herself, is forced to lower her standards, falls into traps, and gets hurt along the way...i am not claiming to be quite as pure as either one of these fishy gals but comparatively speaking when it comes to the emotional slate...mine's pretty clean...

what does this have to do with being in a league of my own or out of my league? well i have realized, as of late, that if i am unwilling or unable (due to lack of knowledge or skill) to play the game i am left alone...a beached mermaid...
i can't play with the "playas" because i don't know the rules of the game. nor do i really understand how to use love (which is really the foundation of all emotion) for personal gain. to me it is selfless...and by being selfless in the expression of love so much of the Self is shifted and projected into a forward motion on the path to beauty and grace. Why do you think as humans we desire this so much?...because in it's full expression love is kind of amazing...

loving has always come easily to me...not to say that i am not cautious and particular about who i extend myself to... well...i mean, i try to be...but what i have realized is that even with the amount of experience that my 30 years of inhabiting this body has provided, i am incredibly naive. must be all the time i've spent under water...

the words [i love you] are really powerful. when i say that to someone it is with integrity and force of will that with that emotion comes a package deal that can be summed up very simply: when i love, i love big...and fierce...and with the intention to give myself fully in whatever context needs be. i expect only in return that i am given the same courtesy...well...at least that it is not a fleeting emotion that is stated in the moment for a self-serving purpose...what i mean is that when i utter those words, i fucking mean it...

over the last few years i have heard it many times (let's leave friendship out of this and get to the real point) from men that i have been involved with. the funny thing is...they always say it first...and with a fervor that is almost unnerving. and i have hesitated each time...wondering, "is this guy for real?". the really devitalizing part is that i never stopped to ask myself, "do you really love this man or do you just desire to be loved?"...regardless, each time i surrendered myself to their profession of love and gave them the secret code...meaning (to stick with our current metaphor) i showed them my tail...in all it's shimmering aquatic glory. knowing that this time, this one really means it...and then the net falls and i realize that, once again, i've been had. caught by a slimy fisherman who will either put me on display as a prize catch or strip my scales, fillet me, and sell me off by the pound...(ok, ok...i got a little carried away there) but you get the point...right?

i have always been part of the school of thought that intention is everything...but what i have realized is that intention is really only a concept without the follow through; without the action behind the thought.

my real dilemma lies in my choices...

behind door number one is a bitter and jaded woman, stuck with her tail, who decides to plunge back into the dark depths of the sea, giving up on finding the right one because they are all wolves in sheeps clothing anyway (and that's some weird cross breeding)...

behind door number two she remains hopeful and knows that with faith and purity of heart , if she keeps rising to the surface she will at some point be swept off the shore by her prince...and he will love her tail and all...and he won't mind that she might have to sleep in the bathtub...or stay inside when it's raining (to make my point obvious to those who don't bode well with the symbolism)...he will love her with all her imperfections...in fact he will love her because of them...the point is, ladies and gentlemen, he will JUST LOVE HER...
and she will love him. because he's what she's been searching for...she's been swimming for years looking...

yeah...well, we'll see...this mermaid isn't so sure...at least not right now...
but the heart heals and the will strengthens...

for now i'm going to stick with door number three...and the only thing behind that door is me. the only love affair i am going to engage in is with myself. at least i know what i'm in for that way...and until i catch a glimpse of genuine sentiment or decide to lower my integrity and play the game, i will remain alone (but hopefully not too lonely), out of my league, a fish out of water...but intact...and whole...because i refuse to lose my Self or my voice for a falsified declaration of something as sacred as love...

love and yoga...

love is defined as:
-a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.

yoga is defined as:
-union of the self with the Supreme Being or ultimate principle.

so in essence what is the difference? when teaching i instruct my students to utilize the breath while moving into and through the poses. with each inhale we have the opportunity to elongate and open and with each exhale to contract and go deeper. this is what love is all about; stretching ourselves, moving inward, strengthening, opening, and going deeper.
yoga is my connection to the divine. love is my religion.
and here is where i digress...from my true self that is...because as of late i haven't really been on point.
i have settled for what was given. not to say that i haven't had moments of unabashed love...because i have...but truly when sitting with myself i realize that my expectations while existing in the realm of human experience are deeper than what i have been and am presently engaging in.
it's laborious to get to this space...like yoga, love can reach parts of you that you didn't know existed and create discomfort...and so we breathe into these places...stimulating the (nervous) system to allow the changes to take place...we learn to appreciate the pose for the ways in which it shifts our physical, spiritual, and mental reality...
...or, as it is in so many cases, we hold the breath, come out of the posture, and say, "i can't do that"...
...and remain stiff, fastened, and disconnected...

back to my digression...presently and as of late i have entertained relationships of the specious nature...and without really realizing i've compromised not only what i receive but also what i can then give...
...allow me to explain...
in the act of yoga (asana) my expectation for myself is to breathe and center myself so that in each moment i can go in to the full expression of the posture...so that the movement comes from my core...and remains dynamic though the execution of conscious inhaling and exhaling...
...and in love...i desire the same...the allowance to engage in the full expression of the posture...and to place my mat beside someone who is willing to do the same...

[...but, he hasn't been...and i've allowed him time and space to try to connect the breath to the pose and even tried to show him the right alignment for the pose (i am a yoga teacher after all)...but instead of relaxing into it and maintaining that connection, he resists...and sometimes i could swear that he abhors my ability to get to that place with ease...there are moments where he admires it too...but still...]

and still i am...
...left with only the thews, faith, and resolve it takes to move on and the clarity of my subsequent desire:

to practice love (and yoga) with...

...egos aside, vulnerabilities visible, hearts open, with the willingness to stay in the pose and breathe our way through the toilsome moments, and love...really love with the tenacity and fervency that is necessary to cultivate and integrate the beauty that comes from this depth...

freed from any question of guilt...

...Vindicated.
i recently had some (entirely too intimate) exchange with someone who has this word tattooed on the inside of his wrist. in disneyland lettering. oddly enough this represents him well. disneyland seems like a place where magical things happen and "dreams come true". however, much like this particular man (i use the term "man" loosely), the reality of it falls flat and you are left tired, grumpy, over-stimulated, and displeased. and like this man seems to think himself, due to the sheer force of it's reputation, even with the consumptive and stressful nature disneyland is excused from all fault or responsibility. head hung low, pockets thin, and all things magical seeming a childhood dream you are left to ponder your own inadequacies that keep you from feeling fulfilled.
so point in fact...he couldn't represent himself more accurately.
but back to my point...yes, there is one...
if you do, in fact, live your life in clear integrity and uphold the highest expectation for yourself then what would be so wrong with self induced vindication?
this being said one who comes with the aforementioned integrity would have no need for it...so what's the point?
the force with which one would brand themselves 'vindicated', believing that they are truly absolved, is reminiscent of one who strives for a god like stature. this word and it's definition are most dangerous, as in this case, when it is presented as ...you guessed it...a disclaimer.

we can still be friends, right?

hmmm...yes, we can still be friends...right after i pull the bamboo splinters from underneath my fingernails...which at this point...is more appealing than spending even one moment with you.
awwww....come on...you didn't think it would be that easy, did you?
see that's the thing...you don't get to HAVE me...
what was that?
you just want to be around me?
ha!
yeah. i'm sure you do...i don't doubt that for a minute.
wasn't that the point in the first place?
but my time can't be spent deciphering between truth, disclaimers, and plain old lip service so...
...no.
i'm sorry, i don't want to get a smoothie with you.
maybe some other time...
...when enough seconds, minutes, and hours have passed
but for now...
i have no free time for you...
...but if it's really that important to you...
(meaning the size of your desire to be around me would have to out weigh your ego)
...i'm $2 the first minute...
and priceless each additional minute.