Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I Wonder...

I have a dear friend that I love.  I know I love, but I wonder...  I wonder how much my affection is mixed up with a certain kind of uncomfortable familiarity that reminds me of my father, a certain sort of chaotic energy that I 'get', not because I like it, but because I know it and have accommodated it in order to accommodate a relationship that I couldn't bear otherwise?

I wonder about the foundation of my affection, and that makes me kind of sad, to question the nature of the friendship.  There is lots of love.  But also confusion and chaos and discomfort.  And I hope, hope, hope that I am not ignoring something important about myself to enjoy this friendship, discounting something integral about me to make room for it.  And that I'm strong and emotionally healthy enough to know the difference, to appreciate what I can, and step away from what I should.

I worry that I get mixed up with the people I love the most.  That my porous boundaries will betray me in some way that ultimately destroys everything I've worked for, that on some level my coolness is masking a desperation to connect that I have never admitted to myself, and so I am always just one move away from the destruction of everything I've worked for.

I've constructed a life of clarity and integrity and insight and calm, but I always wonder if, just underneath all of that, is my complete undoing at falling utterly and ridiculously in love.  I've avoided the temptation, skipped past the danger, zoomed around the edges but with sufficient distance to feel safe. 

But I'm not sure how long I will be able to hold on to so much measured interaction, such detached observance, such nonchalance before I succumb to something else.

Monday, May 30, 2011

I Quit

Dear G*d:

I quit.  I have tried to mold my internal reality to a spiritual identity that doesn't suit me very well at all.  It never did.  It protected me in the ways that I was psychically and emotionally wounded and vulnerable, and I'm eternally grateful for what it did offer.

But it came at the cost of my own identity and any kind of original, creative self-expression.  It cam at the price of shoving myself into little boxes with clear, sharp outlines, defining me in ways that felt so violating and suffocating and yet inevitable. 

I knew humility and detachment demanded that I give up the urge to be truer to myself, and that there was no greater cause for which I could sacrifice the mundane needs of my own ego.  But I was never at home in that environment.  I never relaxed into to the role, never accepted its limitations as permanent.

I thought it was what You wanted, and for You I would do anything.  I did do anything.  Or should I say there was so much I didn't do for You - so much I gave up and ignored and avoided.  I didn't even acknowledge so much of what exists in the world since it conflicted with what I wanted to do for You.  And in that small way, I was content with my choice, content with choosing You over everything and everyone.

But at this point, with some clearer perspective and the passage of time and reality falling all around me, I can't quite remember how this made so much sense and for so long.  I can only imagine how terrified I was if those choices seemed the safe and right ones, how I was willing to trade dead inside for afraid. 

People do it all the time in the name of G*d and religion.  They build walls so high and secure that it seems all evil has been banished, and that it is the most right thing to do.  But evil isn't so simple, and walls never keep it out.  Mostly they keep it in, because it doesn't come from some external enemy at all.  It's the weaknesses in our own hearts and minds, and trying to hold such tight control is only just exhausting, not effective.

I am not a prophet.  I do not speak for You and I cannot begin to know what Your children, in all their myriad needs, require.  But I know that Your love isn't predicated on me making some horrible Sophie's choice between who I am at my best, engaged and warm and loving, and some kind of cool detachment that keeps me distant most of all from myself.

I know that relationship with You is about fulfilling potential, about awakening and caring for the gifts You blessed us with with, about accepting our place among the family of humanity and caring enough to make a difference. 

So I quit.  I quit the detached, uninterested, purely spiritual, it's all illusion anyway approach to life.  And I'm digging in - to the dirt and the soil and the messy-ness and whatever else is going to show up.  I can do this.  I have You, so I know anything is possible.  And I know that doing nothing isn't an option any more.

Saturday, May 28, 2011


I love men.  I love masculine energy.  And I love the differences between the sexes.  I love what we bring out in each other, and how the soul, bathed in the hormones that belong to each of our particular bodies, influence how we engage with each other.

And for years and years, and I do mean years, I have put that love of men aside, concentrating instead on my love of G*d.  And my love for G*d is pretty big.  It had, for a very long time, become everything to me.  But I find that it isn't sufficient for everything. It is sufficient for all the things it is - but so insufficient for what it isn't.

I miss who I am in relationship with men.  I miss the energy of exploring relationships and connections and possibilities where the only thing you can really know is yourself.  I miss that feeling of how satisfying it is to make a place of comfort and belonging for a man, for that kind of taking care that women especially seem to enjoy.  I miss the excitement of discovery in relationship in all the ways it unfolds.

I miss the satisfaction that comes from cooking and cleaning and showing love in all sorts of practical little ways, of letting someone know how special they are, and that they are special to you.  And I miss being that myself.

I know there's nothing perfect about human love.  I know that the only eternal, unchanging and perfect love is G*d's love.  But what would I be if I didn't share that a little wider than the circle of my own small heart?  I don't think even G*d would be happy about that.

Bound to the Earth

Astrologically speaking, I'm a fairly earthy person.  I have two planets tightly conjoined in Taurus, and three others in Virgo, also in close conjunction, and all these planets trine each other.  Meaning there is great harmony among the earthy and practical energies in my life.  And yet.

And yet I have spent years reaching up, trying to free myself from the bonds of earthly, human life, hoping to liberate myself of the ordinariness of daily living and the trappings of my body, and its needs and requirements and all the ways I have to take care of it.  And most importantly, wanting to be free of the dependencies that creates on others.  I have hoped my spiritual effort would be enough to elevate me beyond such things, connecting me instead to the Divine, the non-physical, the purely eternal.

But recently, very recently actually, something slipped inside and turned around when I wasn't paying a lot of attention, and suddenly I like the whole aspect of this earthiness, of being bound to the earth, being a part of this planet, this family of humanity.  It can be a messy business, but I'm not sure what else exactly I should be doing instead.

Maybe if I stop trying to escape the inevitable reality of human nature, I can be useful in ways that I've avoided before.  I can dive in and have a voice and make a difference.  And I can find places where I belong and people with whom I belong, and let others know they have a place too.

I'm not sure how this happened.  But I want to dig my toes into the earth, wiggle them around, claim some land as being mine, not just keep waiting for it all end so I can be done thinking about it.  My absolute certainty about my future is gone, but the possibilities in its place feel like they've actually got room for all of me.

Friday, May 27, 2011

The Only Way I Know

I'm an observer.  I watch people and keep an eye on what's happening around me, noticing all sorts of details and nuances and energies floating around, trying to get a handle on what I'm dealing with, knowing that the obvious is often the least interesting thing going on.

It doesn't happen on purpose.  It's just how I take in information, how I understand the world and the people in it.  I'm not suspicious exactly, just not very trusting of what I see on the surface.  And like a dog with an extra sense of smell, I sniff out what's underneath the interaction, the exchanges, the conversations.

And like a dog who will sniff away at something invisible to humans, I see the invisible energy passing through people, between people, within people.  Which sometimes makes it hard for me to pay attention to the obvious stuff - to the words and the stories that are supposed to tell me who someone is.  But I can see it anyway.

I know what I can trust and I know what makes sense or doesn't, and I can see if someone's heart is true or their mind is clear.  And when I can't, I just keep watching, waiting for the way into greater understanding.  It doesn't always come.  And when it doesn't, I know enough to leave things alone, not try too hard, to not push where I don't belong.

Which is why I'm not an easy socializer, someone who just likes to hang out with a bunch of folks, swapping stories and shooting the breeze.  Because there's so much more grabbing my attention, pulling me into the invisible reality that never goes away.  And I don't need distraction from it.  I'm the fascinated scientist wanting to explore and experiment.

I wish it were a little easier for me to just relax around people, but full on is really the only way I know.  I want to be present - fully present - when I'm present.  And then back to myself when I'm not.  To refresh and restore and rebuild and refresh.  So I'm ready for the next time.

Thursday, May 5, 2011


Sometimes the greatest change comes simply by being patient enough to let old habits die and new ones form.