I know that it’s a title like this that potentially make me unpopular with the males species. Perhaps, if this applies to you, you will take offense. There is that rare species of man with which integrity is intrinsic. This is not for (or about) you…
I have stated before that I am, or set the intention to, not be flippant with my intimate interactions. I need connection, understanding, spiritual awareness, to put it simply I need true intimacy. This is a tricky matter, however, because the exposure of these elements requires the passing of time. The (consistent) imperfect state of being human doesn’t often allow or demand this elapse based on innate desire for physical human contact. This is where relating can have the propensity to convolute. The desire to ‘know’ someone often involves allowing them into your space and seeing how you energetically fit. In this space boundaries can blur and the potential cross over into territory that is not yet mapped interferes with the pre-stated prerequisite of timing (and placement).
We (as women) have made it too easy. Whether it’s out of need, lack of self respect, or not holding ourselves up to the standard that we should be, we have become too easy to attain. Or is it that they (as men) have learned to play the game too well? Hmmmm…I suspect a bit of both. If you wish to wait and connect on other, deeper more informative, levels before inviting sexual intimacy you risk being called a prude. If you give it up to easily you risk not feeling good about your choices or becoming just another conquest...a notch on the bedpost, so to speak.
And if you aren’t willing to capitulate without protestation you can rest assure that there is another woman in the peripheral willing to give it up in your place. So, what transpires is that sex becomes a way in which we insure and “claim” our man…but certainly not without an exorbitant deductible; and believe me…you will pay…all fine print has hidden fees.
As a woman, I feel I am socially encouraged to daintily position my sexuality on the exterior of where it instinctively resides (on reserve for those with the awareness to comprehend it’s merit) and to use it as a selling point for my level of desirability. To wear it, so to speak, as an accessory; the perfect necklace to go with any outfit. This way I am guaranteed to attract the opposite sex, which in the end is the goal, right?…ummm…right?
Unless of course you seek depth beyond the bait, cast, and reel sport.
In light of this and being someone of intellect and reason I have decided, from experience with this game, to postpone the display until I am ensured that the connection extends below the surface level. At which point I would delight in offering the key to my secret garden. This alternative action is not from a lack of desire but rather a discomfort with frivolity.
My thinking in this is that a man of quality will see this as an obvious act of self respect and self preservation which would in turn encourage a deeper level of respect and recognition from his part.
*insert ‘wrong answer’ sound effect here
The truth is that men actually prefer sluts.
This sounds like a value judgment…and perhaps it is. My observation and experience has been that if I don’t ‘give it up’, someone else will. And this well known fact allows for these apparent men of quality to reverse the script.
While keeping their own false sense of integrity intact they can claim, when I refuse to ‘put out’ that I am any one of the following: dispassionate, closed off, shut down, uninterested (which by this point is accurate), or just plain ‘not that sexual’ (that’s my favorite one). As though my circumspection of circumstances under which I am willing to share this space with a man is the defining factor of the level of sexuality or sensuality that exist in my being.
These men often do not, in fact, respect or desire a woman that is self assured, self preserved, or self respecting. They desire a woman who is self sacrificing and willing to jump out of her pants, dress, panties or whatever other accessory she has chosen to accentuate her displayed sexuality, when he deems it time to do so.
And plenty of women are willing and ready to comply. And where does this leave those of us who are steadfast in our hesitation to show and tell? I seem to, by default, become all of those things I have been accused of out of sheer disgust of the game.
So what is a girl to do? You are seemingly damned if you “do” him and damned if you “don’t” him…but if you “don’t” him then at least you still do you…integrity and sense of self intact.
The catch 22 about insurance is that you end up paying and arm and a leg (and in this case perhaps your whole body) for it and it rarely actually covers the damage. And it always has an expiration date (often without notice). Given this reality your best option package is to yield cautiously, drive offensively, wear your seatbelt and learn to merge with grace. Time will pass and the true identity of his intentions will be revealed regardless of the fine print. At least then your policy is, in fact, in good hands.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
perfectly imperfect...
this is about growth...
it is about action, reaction, cause, and effect...and all those gray areas that fall between the comas that separate the words...
i live in the shadow and brilliance of the 'human condition'...my innate quality of perfection lies in the spirit...my extremely raw state of error subsists in the manifestation of flesh that forms the earth bound existence...point in fact...
as a human i am destined to be flawed...to makes 'mistakes'...
this is about choices...
each time i turn left instead of right my path is altered...it maintains direction, but the exact coordinates are shifted enough to cause a chain of (re)action that changes the course...
perhaps it is all chance or maybe it is predestined...regardless the route i take has the power to shape my forward motion or my energetic stand still...
this is about responsibility...
in believing that i am (em)powered, i assume the liability that all things post-action are of my own accord. that i am unable to be victimized...and that spiral effect is, indeed, my doing. and this includes casualties. meaning the affect of the surrounding forces are also a liability. and in truth of this i must act accordingly...
as though each act can (and most likely will) set in to motion a chain of events that will shift my posture as well as that of others...
in light of this (in)sight i am posed with the incessant conflict of reason and judgement vs. passion and appetite.
my human form (flawed and laden with desire) begs to be satiated. while on the contrary my spirit self asks for reflection and meditation before action.
it seems, at a glance, to be an easy argument for either side.
pleasure is seemingly harmless and satisfying.
forethought is a legitimate and proper way to formulate choices.
i have experienced the former as reckless (not to mention the precursor to those aforementioned 'mistakes').
and the later has proved to dispel my innate fire and dampen my verve.
this is about balance...
in order to find this harmonious point of being i must factor in the practical application of my center. to apply the strength that radiates from my core in order to allow for the amalgamation of passion and reason. to fuel my action from all of my natural resources.
here is where i find tranquility...where my weapons are unnecessary and my battle wounds heal...and i walk forward on my path without the need for armor. here is where i find truth. and when i falter, lose my footing, or step backwards...Here is where i will return.
i remain flawed...and my decision to exist in and attempt to maintain this balance is my constant variable...which in itself is blemished given my [human] condition...but i subsist in convergence with this Path...and in this i succeed.
perfectly imperfect.
sat nam
it is about action, reaction, cause, and effect...and all those gray areas that fall between the comas that separate the words...
i live in the shadow and brilliance of the 'human condition'...my innate quality of perfection lies in the spirit...my extremely raw state of error subsists in the manifestation of flesh that forms the earth bound existence...point in fact...
as a human i am destined to be flawed...to makes 'mistakes'...
this is about choices...
each time i turn left instead of right my path is altered...it maintains direction, but the exact coordinates are shifted enough to cause a chain of (re)action that changes the course...
perhaps it is all chance or maybe it is predestined...regardless the route i take has the power to shape my forward motion or my energetic stand still...
this is about responsibility...
in believing that i am (em)powered, i assume the liability that all things post-action are of my own accord. that i am unable to be victimized...and that spiral effect is, indeed, my doing. and this includes casualties. meaning the affect of the surrounding forces are also a liability. and in truth of this i must act accordingly...
as though each act can (and most likely will) set in to motion a chain of events that will shift my posture as well as that of others...
in light of this (in)sight i am posed with the incessant conflict of reason and judgement vs. passion and appetite.
my human form (flawed and laden with desire) begs to be satiated. while on the contrary my spirit self asks for reflection and meditation before action.
it seems, at a glance, to be an easy argument for either side.
pleasure is seemingly harmless and satisfying.
forethought is a legitimate and proper way to formulate choices.
i have experienced the former as reckless (not to mention the precursor to those aforementioned 'mistakes').
and the later has proved to dispel my innate fire and dampen my verve.
this is about balance...
in order to find this harmonious point of being i must factor in the practical application of my center. to apply the strength that radiates from my core in order to allow for the amalgamation of passion and reason. to fuel my action from all of my natural resources.
here is where i find tranquility...where my weapons are unnecessary and my battle wounds heal...and i walk forward on my path without the need for armor. here is where i find truth. and when i falter, lose my footing, or step backwards...Here is where i will return.
i remain flawed...and my decision to exist in and attempt to maintain this balance is my constant variable...which in itself is blemished given my [human] condition...but i subsist in convergence with this Path...and in this i succeed.
perfectly imperfect.
sat nam
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
side-swiped...
My spiritual and emotional coding requires me to surrender to the consistent presence of timing and placement. I have accepted the situations in my past where I have been a little ‘off’ in my choices. I allow these circumstances to absorb into my artillery and give me the strength that is necessary for the recognition of my higher purpose. I keep returning to the line, assuming position, and firing hoping that this time I might be more on point. And like all things we frequent my aim gets better…meaning the degree from which I am off my desired mark lessens each time I strike.
There have been those targets from time to time who from the first look have an affect. That without effort or necessary intention place themselves within my sites. And from this anomalous draw we line up perfectly without any question of purpose. These types of interactions aren’t frequent but hold the kind of weight that is epic in result. We speak the same language, with or without words, and with a fervor that is inspirational by recognition.
[From the first time I saw you I recognized a light in you that you weren’t even fully aware of at the time. And your brilliance, though hidden from the untrained eye, was apparent to me. But at that time we were both distracted. Both still drowning in patterns of the downward spiral. Time passed. But interactions such as ours, that elapse on the core level, always resurface from the subaqueous depths. By the next time we crossed paths we had developed the tools to breathe out of water. And with our new found capacity we had the ability for synchronal exchange.
The thing about our collaboration is the way my ears take in your words is as intimate as the way my mouth translates your kiss. So I am transformed. So the shifting of our direction didn’t alter the profundity.
This is proof that patterns change. Because I don’t need anything from you. I don’t attach any of my old expectations of the “now what”. There is only the now. And the knowledge that some people are meant to be. Not to be ‘this’ or be ‘that’…but just be. We interface on common ground.
I express sentiment without expectation. And you understand that intimacy comes in many forms. And although we don’t engage on the physical level…we hold depth beyond the flesh. And it is with that emotional ravine we can connect and share the force that comes from this expression.]
To disavow the existence of such epochal sentiments would compromise the authentic exposure that comes from allowing truth and integration to be my guiding force. I am humbled in the appearance of such dynamism. And I acquiesce to the truth that is revealed. I am unfastened from my patterning and disengaged from my barriers.
With this comes the human condition to fear such emotional and spiritual nudity. And I am, at times, like a deer in headlights staring blankly at my new found ‘rawness’. The transformation has not been subtle. In fact I feel as though I’ve been side-swiped. But in the end (not that there is an end to such a journey) I can glance in the rear-view mirror and then revert my eyes forward with the knowledge that the minor damage is covered. A full coverage insurance policy underwritten by the divine. This allows my sight to maintain clarity. And I remain stripped to my core with the knowledge that my fortification comes from this deeper place.
There have been those targets from time to time who from the first look have an affect. That without effort or necessary intention place themselves within my sites. And from this anomalous draw we line up perfectly without any question of purpose. These types of interactions aren’t frequent but hold the kind of weight that is epic in result. We speak the same language, with or without words, and with a fervor that is inspirational by recognition.
[From the first time I saw you I recognized a light in you that you weren’t even fully aware of at the time. And your brilliance, though hidden from the untrained eye, was apparent to me. But at that time we were both distracted. Both still drowning in patterns of the downward spiral. Time passed. But interactions such as ours, that elapse on the core level, always resurface from the subaqueous depths. By the next time we crossed paths we had developed the tools to breathe out of water. And with our new found capacity we had the ability for synchronal exchange.
The thing about our collaboration is the way my ears take in your words is as intimate as the way my mouth translates your kiss. So I am transformed. So the shifting of our direction didn’t alter the profundity.
This is proof that patterns change. Because I don’t need anything from you. I don’t attach any of my old expectations of the “now what”. There is only the now. And the knowledge that some people are meant to be. Not to be ‘this’ or be ‘that’…but just be. We interface on common ground.
I express sentiment without expectation. And you understand that intimacy comes in many forms. And although we don’t engage on the physical level…we hold depth beyond the flesh. And it is with that emotional ravine we can connect and share the force that comes from this expression.]
To disavow the existence of such epochal sentiments would compromise the authentic exposure that comes from allowing truth and integration to be my guiding force. I am humbled in the appearance of such dynamism. And I acquiesce to the truth that is revealed. I am unfastened from my patterning and disengaged from my barriers.
With this comes the human condition to fear such emotional and spiritual nudity. And I am, at times, like a deer in headlights staring blankly at my new found ‘rawness’. The transformation has not been subtle. In fact I feel as though I’ve been side-swiped. But in the end (not that there is an end to such a journey) I can glance in the rear-view mirror and then revert my eyes forward with the knowledge that the minor damage is covered. A full coverage insurance policy underwritten by the divine. This allows my sight to maintain clarity. And I remain stripped to my core with the knowledge that my fortification comes from this deeper place.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
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…
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…
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
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...
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...
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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...
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...
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...
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