tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41080199406395419652024-03-13T20:39:47.239-07:00voice the body: a creativity, mindfulness, & polyamory blogmistressimmaculate is a somatic writing coach; polyamorous, kinky breeder; writer/performer, w/ the bible-belt welts to show & thank for it. i rent wrecker balls to breathless wolves. i squeal like a pig and i mean it.mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-67451267247728642032018-06-14T13:23:00.001-07:002018-06-15T17:47:53.936-07:00some reflections on polyamory, 3 years in<br />
i've been posting little stories from my time from <a href="https://apogaea.com/">Apogaea</a>, 2018, "Reflections," on the book of face, and this one seemed like proper material for my poly-focused blog.<br />
<br />
<b>inside this edition:</b><br />
water brothers/sister misters; <br />
telling it on the mountain; <br />
love's flaming alchemical arrows.<br />
<br />
i want to start with the lyrics of a jefferson airplane song called "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Aej9wmoQ7M">Triad</a>":<br />
<br />
"You want to know how it will be<br />
Me and him OR you and me<br />
You both stand there [...]<br />
"What can we do now that we both love you",<br />
I love you too-- I don't really see<br />
Why can't we go on as three<br />
You are afraid--embarrassed too<br />
No one has ever said such a thing to you<br />
Your mother's ghost stands at your shoulder<br />
Face like ice--a little bit colder<br />
Saying to you--"you can not do that, it breaks<br />
All the rules you learned in school" [...]<br />
We love each other--it's plain to see<br />
There's just one answer comes to me<br />
--Sister--lovers--water brothers<br />
And in time--maybe others<br />
So you see--what we can do--is to try something new--<br />
If you're crazy too--<br />
I don't really see<br />
Why can't we go on as three."<br />
<br />
[in case you'd like a soundtrack as you read: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Aej9wmoQ7M">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Aej9wmoQ7M</a>]<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBHNKPgVKK9WrtnSw2WMY3cHIZr17md3rM4-i4LKOZddWD_JvyhUdXo2B85MOl4QHBEoCSDEugUFbWZ3s_AmQm7zb7PbPWGRM7LSVIhgXTD-3_VStuYuSFBKUbhDzkQT_Rm3wE4sXUAg/s1600/waterbrothers.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBHNKPgVKK9WrtnSw2WMY3cHIZr17md3rM4-i4LKOZddWD_JvyhUdXo2B85MOl4QHBEoCSDEugUFbWZ3s_AmQm7zb7PbPWGRM7LSVIhgXTD-3_VStuYuSFBKUbhDzkQT_Rm3wE4sXUAg/s320/waterbrothers.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">water brothers embrace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
i think of my partners as water brothers [my hubz's paramours i see as my "mister sisters," but i'm sure somebody out there knows a better term...?]<br />
<br />
on the topic of terms and names, here are some glossaries i have found helpful in the past, and i hope you do, too!<br />
<a href="https://www.morethantwo.com/polyglossary.html">More Than Two's "Glossary of Poly Terms"</a><br />
<a href="https://www.bustle.com/articles/161962-7-poly-terms-everyone-should-know-whether-youre-new-to-polyamory-or-monogamous">Bustle's "7 Poly Terms Everyone Should Know"</a><br />
<a href="https://www.bustle.com/articles/163188-7-more-poly-terms-you-should-know-because-having-the-words-to-describe-your-relationship-is">Bustle's "7 More Poly Terms You Should Know"</a><br />
<br />
so with that little psychedelic song epigraph, and a few resources for poly vocab under our belts, let's enter story together, shall we?<br />
<br />
saturday morning, i left my boyfriend at dawn after friday night spent trekking around together, playing tour guide on his first Burn experience.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzy3-_GQYeoPSs-EmyZ1oeaEZHVLrEDhmmWA_vfVcF_ptHbemTQetKK2yP_ePzB6RDuaaUlTNp5qeSc95rVYp3yOzO1G5z32I2OPiSsX3jTy_ueGld69JoOHe8nqZiYyWDx_-bX8v0Ks/s1600/eveypackmule.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzy3-_GQYeoPSs-EmyZ1oeaEZHVLrEDhmmWA_vfVcF_ptHbemTQetKK2yP_ePzB6RDuaaUlTNp5qeSc95rVYp3yOzO1G5z32I2OPiSsX3jTy_ueGld69JoOHe8nqZiYyWDx_-bX8v0Ks/s320/eveypackmule.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evey playing pack mule</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDcJCOcHdM6wZlGyUUOrmFMX3iJhqE4PmTTMDn1ndIaamUa82i5xrXo7eHVHBA2zIXmUMwZdEc8VUAjxUBrjUgDPxOQ5S5fetHmFnDkgbFSTZ7EISvMlvmSpVELQ1CSo9kEmXQbKfrMY/s1600/acidmango2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDcJCOcHdM6wZlGyUUOrmFMX3iJhqE4PmTTMDn1ndIaamUa82i5xrXo7eHVHBA2zIXmUMwZdEc8VUAjxUBrjUgDPxOQ5S5fetHmFnDkgbFSTZ7EISvMlvmSpVELQ1CSo9kEmXQbKfrMY/s320/acidmango2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just after i was shown the perfect way to gut a mango<br />
before we turned in for the nig...er, dawn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
i went to my tent and made some amazing tent love with the husband, as he'd requested my company whenever we returned. i napped for an hour or so, and then got up to make camp breakfast. i take a certain pride in partying until dawn and then getting up and making the coffee before the others are up.<br />
<br />
"it's mimosa o'clock," i chimed to my camp mates as they stumbled out into the already blazing hot day. i spent some time there, communing, rubbing Trevor's shoulders, and realized Evey must be burning up. i wanted to give him some mimosa goodness, too. his oven, er, tent, was empty and i remembered that he'd placed a hammock up on a hill when he'd arrived, as an outpost for us to have privacy if we wanted/needed it. so thoughtful and forward-thinking! <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0Oi_tb87B2cVrRv6eyPG8cTPoqjx7637nU4IV9v_W1zv2hvtCDzXjwFH8rRaF91GhtliK5SwRShVXBDtmCABVJrOjzW08NLTeeqUhbrJk9Dva1cvYTF33Ay2MTLXtyYXK-Q7nKvp-MY/s1600/Islainhammock.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0Oi_tb87B2cVrRv6eyPG8cTPoqjx7637nU4IV9v_W1zv2hvtCDzXjwFH8rRaF91GhtliK5SwRShVXBDtmCABVJrOjzW08NLTeeqUhbrJk9Dva1cvYTF33Ay2MTLXtyYXK-Q7nKvp-MY/s320/Islainhammock.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i see you</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
i told Trevor i was going up to the mountain to deliver champagne. he got that look on his face that says he feels jealous. i braced for something like, "must be nice..." but instead...he said, "i feel jealous." relief flooded me, and i walked right over to him, smiling wide, swelling with love for him! his ownership of his own emotions vs. a passive-aggressive quip made me feel called IN versus OUT. i struggle with shame and guilt for the ways i rushed us into poly, and the ways i failed to take his emotions into account then over and over. all i could think of was what i wanted, needed, versus what worked for and fit my existing family.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRN6bt5D_jv0tLAAq4tFLHOh0A4-3q2KStmQUGJwvkmkkwuLMVz9SbZwSugucZ5bqlJhE9ZAUTmBcdSQ7lS2GGIEbXfX1vx2EFiNVP3KclUjke7YVjNMuFALhGQzpyqMjG3SFp60ss-w/s1600/trevorhooptent.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRN6bt5D_jv0tLAAq4tFLHOh0A4-3q2KStmQUGJwvkmkkwuLMVz9SbZwSugucZ5bqlJhE9ZAUTmBcdSQ7lS2GGIEbXfX1vx2EFiNVP3KclUjke7YVjNMuFALhGQzpyqMjG3SFp60ss-w/s320/trevorhooptent.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dustbunny, aka Baby Daddy, involved in some tent shenanigans</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlTnfwHmCsrLfi8wKMREQll0JR6YTd_k1IJQeI6aO2ooUXBcdLpGit1g53Be8PwowADUSOnxENFpnCPsFE4kSwl6P64dKoHOfQcyc5JpGyKHJwxFCRH8UZV-Od_29YVMEXd64doiuFZU/s1600/kisstrevor2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlTnfwHmCsrLfi8wKMREQll0JR6YTd_k1IJQeI6aO2ooUXBcdLpGit1g53Be8PwowADUSOnxENFpnCPsFE4kSwl6P64dKoHOfQcyc5JpGyKHJwxFCRH8UZV-Od_29YVMEXd64doiuFZU/s320/kisstrevor2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why would i hog this man's perfect kisses all to myself? that's just cruel!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
but that has changed. even as my husband told me to "go on and get the champagne up there to Emelio," i stayed. i did not worry i'd miss my chance to deliver a cold bevvie to my other man. more chances to do nice things for him would present themselves. i wanted to stay by my husband's side and help him through that moment. so i did. and then, after some time, he decided to go up on the "mountain" WITH me.<br />
<br />
his first words to Evey when we arrived? "i am here because i felt jealous."<br />
<br />
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
i hope y'all can understand the immensity of that moment. <a href="https://solopoly.net/2012/09/29/whats-a-metamour-on-my-terms/">metamour communication is important</a>, but is often overlooked until it's too late. Evey smiled at him the way i had smiled, and we all hugged. then, we put Trevor in the hammock and rocked him back and forth and shared a wonderful time together, light and free, us three. we told him of a treasure map we'd found in the night while stuck in a beautiful, temporary, co-dependent relationship with a hammock that taught us a lot, really (but that's a story for another time!) and we went on a trek to find it together with others in the camp. [we found plenty of booty, but no treasure, haha!]<br />
<br />
here are the books i'm reading on jealousy right now:<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Polyamory-Jealousy-More-Essentials-Guide-ebook/dp/B01E0L4DAM">Polyamory and Jealousy: A More Than Two Essentials Guide</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Jealousy-Workbook-Exercises-Insights-Relationships/dp/0937609633">The Jealousy Workbook</a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Smart-Girls-Guide-Polyamory-Relationships/dp/1510712089">The Smart Girl's Guide to Polyamory </a>[not focused only on jealousy, but it's a newer book I missed linking y'all to in my last blog. came out 2017.)<br />
<br />
it was so lovely to be with both of them in one of my favorite places on earth. there was one moment of fear when i found out my husband's lover wasn't attending, but i remembered how patient and open-hearted my boyfriend is, and i remembered that i have worked very, very hard on my impulsivity and patience, and i knew we'd find our flow together, and of course, we did.<br />
<br />
i want to say something that i know will sound startlingly arrogant, overly grand, especially to anyone who used to know me but who hasn't been in my lifeflow for a while: i've overcome my impulsivity issues in sex and romance. how can i be sure? it was no sudden conversion. the entire time i've been in recovery from the double break up of august 2016, i've been working my way to this place. my failure to go slow and organically evolve was a huge reason all of that shit hit the fan. it's been positively reinforcing, watching the success my "vee" configuration with Trevor and Emelio has had, due precisely to moving so slowly, cautiously and with compassion. <br />
<br />
some links on "vees":<br />
<a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/polyamory/comments/1fbox7/is_a_v_sustainable_longterm/">Reddit on "Is a V sustainable long term?</a><br />
<a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/polyamory/comments/1fbox7/is_a_v_sustainable_longterm/">Polyamory Paradigm blog, "The shape of your Vee"</a><br />
<br />
i think that maybe once "wise mind" gets married to the heart, it's harder and harder to follow manic bunny trails that lead nowhere. <br />
<br />
love can change us. for the better. if we let it.<br />
<br />
love is an alchemical fire. in case you forgot or didn't know, aphrodite was the goddess of alchemy! not "just Love."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://intentblog.com/aphrodite-alchemical-goddess/">Aphrodite, the Alchemical Goddess</a><br />
<br />
a friend recently wrote me and said she was proud of me for having the courage to love like this. she said she was so sad to see a friend, "who should be like you straitjacket himself in a sexless traditional marriage. And justify it as a necessary sacrifice." hearing that means so much, especially in a world where poly is still so widely misunderstood. <br />
<br />
it's not for everyone, but it is the healthiest expression of love for me. even so, it takes so much energy and work to overcome internalized toxic monogamy (by that, i mainly refer to love defined as possession and the potential for stagnation due to the way that toxic monogamy teaches that love is a noun and a place (we've arrived!) versus a verb and a trek ever toward it (we're going on an adventure, charlie!). <br />
<br />
i've had so much support from my monogamous friends, but there have been some who think my discussions of poly are criticisms of their monogamous lives. who can't see the word "toxic" in front of "monogamy" there, and think i'm generalizing about all monogamous people when i call out these dark sides of monogamy. the way some choose to express poly can have its dark sides, too, of course, but i don't see those versions of mono or poly as healthy forms of love. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWm-u81TmkLdeKWT6iFJpbGxfgj3mhYbk64vMBIM_rdOijO-rDLdAa0zx8I57_Ab9BAdsQhyU5QJaRZtzNucDhi53DfgveP3QGWd9gliuBCjIQby7mRNUHVBSGfjV1YKsckZ95RKg1MDM/s1600/toxicmonogamy.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWm-u81TmkLdeKWT6iFJpbGxfgj3mhYbk64vMBIM_rdOijO-rDLdAa0zx8I57_Ab9BAdsQhyU5QJaRZtzNucDhi53DfgveP3QGWd9gliuBCjIQby7mRNUHVBSGfjV1YKsckZ95RKg1MDM/s320/toxicmonogamy.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a hurtful meme</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
i'm not commitment averse! quite the opposite! i'd love to be married to both of my partners. we're all in it to win it, as they say. on that note: here's some news about the potential for that:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/world-40655103">Polyamorous marriage: Is there a future for three-way weddings</a> [a bit misleading of a title, as my "vee" configuration wouldn't necessarily want a 3-way wedding, whereas a true triad might]<br />
<a href="https://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2015/06/29/polyamorous-rights-advocates-see-marriage-equality-coming-for-them">Polyamorous Rights Advocates See Marriage Coming For Them</a><br />
<a href="http://thorandthoth.blogspot.com/2013/03/fighting-for-polyamorous-marriage.html">Polyamorous Paganism on "Fighting for Polyamorous Marriage" </a>[this blogger raises some really great counterarguments that maybe marriage isn't what we should be fighting for after all]<br />
<br />
that meme above, i found it while searching for that helpful bullet list on toxic monogamy. it reminds me of another meme i saw that said, "if you are a white person hearing a black person talk about racism in white people and aren't insulted, it's probably not about you. if you are a white person hearing a black person call out racism in white people, and you are insulted, it definitely applies to you." in other words, i've got to wonder about the person who created that meme's love life. oh no, wait, i've got better things to think about, so nevermind. <br />
<br />
love is a fire, and none of us enter it unchanged. <br />
<br />
folks have called me lucky. told me love comes easily to me. and maybe so. sure. i'll own that. but only because i have turned toward it over and over again, sunflower to sun. jumped off every cliff it offered so far. <br />
<br />
yes. love has come to me. and why shouldn't it have? love is abundant! but keeping that love? nurturing it? that only happens with the heart and the mind linked in partnership. wise mind guiding the flow of emotion. emotion informing thought. <br />
<br />
it's really, really hard work. and it's all worth it to watch this extended family form and function. we'll all be <a href="https://www.denver.org/event/denver-pridefest-2018/48865/">walking in pride together this sunday</a>. a perfectly imperfect poly family composed of a cis-white straight man who is a strong ally of LGBTQI(P?); my queer AF boyfriend/Queen; and myself!<br />
<br />
as Evey and i walked past a flaming heart together one night at Apogaea, we discussed this way love has of changing us. how scary that is for some people, including myself, often. how many shut themselves to love without meaning to, without consciously wanting to, because of control issues, or the need to keep reality consistent with the Jones' version of love or the version of love we've been handed by our screens, or the need to not get hurt again. and again. <br />
<br />
my love doesn't look anything like screen love. it looks like this. [and ok, sometimes it also looks like ugly crying until 2am when there's a blow out. i'll try to take a "reality photo" to balance these glowing depictions! haha!] <br />
<br />
this is my love. i don't say, there are my loves, because we are in one love. together. we are family.<br />
<br />
and i wanna show my love to you on your current screen of choice because changing negative public bias against poly starts with offering reflections of what it's really about. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHu6MbsSRf_xEceGXSrchedl2B6lfcsSTALqcJdbi7tXBCx0I0C1iblWG1GxTnBb_Oa-rNWtH3UR51bMU-5OdWsNuZjRFus4Nu6fp3YyMT8MZOD6Mm7bmx3T811Th0TEXJQVOUEyzmSA/s1600/eveyanddawnatdawn2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzHu6MbsSRf_xEceGXSrchedl2B6lfcsSTALqcJdbi7tXBCx0I0C1iblWG1GxTnBb_Oa-rNWtH3UR51bMU-5OdWsNuZjRFus4Nu6fp3YyMT8MZOD6Mm7bmx3T811Th0TEXJQVOUEyzmSA/s320/eveyanddawnatdawn2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">can't you just hear love all over my face?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMG4YSQ0mspsLiNEi_ff-jH57t_DQ_9EASjhqobYmsDuWqj12UwTpgVAlCuP3hmwR82M4dWNoaazEzw2wvAV1-g7bRc4ilgNK0kO_hNAIjxlaa7X4iW8S1h1TvkOSu4A8MV5frFnBQcDg/s1600/stinatrev.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMG4YSQ0mspsLiNEi_ff-jH57t_DQ_9EASjhqobYmsDuWqj12UwTpgVAlCuP3hmwR82M4dWNoaazEzw2wvAV1-g7bRc4ilgNK0kO_hNAIjxlaa7X4iW8S1h1TvkOSu4A8MV5frFnBQcDg/s320/stinatrev.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">full-frontal love</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
i like full circle conclusions. do you?<br />
<div>
<br />
of COURSE jefferson airplane would have a song about our situation. because it's a damn trippy one. and sometimes, walking this uncanny valley toward embodied poly love, we trip. we fall into gutters and have a few moments down there gazing at the stars we aim toward. we get up, dust off, put another flaming arrow in the quiver. we "put some breath in front of it." then we take aim. <br />
<br />
photo credit: pictures of me and Trevor courtesy of Emelio. pics of them by me! <br />
<br />
PS, a confession: i really wanna take down that last poly blog "reflections on poly, 2 years in," but it was an honest account of where i was at the time. so i'll allow its continued presence. also, it has good links for y'all.</div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-1571549397391894662017-09-12T11:09:00.000-07:002017-09-12T12:45:30.495-07:00Integration & Efficiency for Artists: A Short Writing Exercise<br />
As an artist who is also a mother and a wife and a professor and a lover and a friend and a dancer and a beginning ukelele player and and and... I don't have a lot of spare time. I would guess most of my readers don't, either. This post is aimed especially at my artist readers, but I think it could be beneficial for anyone, really.<br />
<br />
For our mutual benefit, I have created a brief writing exercise meant to help us make the most use of our limited time AND spur some potential for interesting mash-ups or cross-pollination of various areas of our lives, including collaboration with loved ones.<br />
<ol>
<li>Make a column of all the things you're interested in and wish you could spend more time doing/engaging. </li>
<li>Then, make another column on the other half of the page, lengthwise, of the same items in a different order. </li>
<li>Lastly, draw random lines between items in each column. Imagine how those items might partner or pair together. </li>
</ol>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oJCXuhvi02cSTmdK3RbIhw-nP050sWAfF5ApOHmd2IQVXM7IdSWWmUp6jro7oiM3lRwCWyS4_76BNtKpA-ao6kBRvY8XDEx3KZAERXT_b_jn3RDNaw8MR1jFjXoeFbA-U5JzBrWJMNc/s1600/integrationexercise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oJCXuhvi02cSTmdK3RbIhw-nP050sWAfF5ApOHmd2IQVXM7IdSWWmUp6jro7oiM3lRwCWyS4_76BNtKpA-ao6kBRvY8XDEx3KZAERXT_b_jn3RDNaw8MR1jFjXoeFbA-U5JzBrWJMNc/s640/integrationexercise.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
For example, from my list, if I drew a line between "quality time with Mollie" and "flow arts," that would mean I'd use my free time tonight to get out my hoops and I'd teach her how to hula hoop while also practicing my newest tricks. <br />
<br />
If I drew a line between "quality time with Titus" and "submitting for publication," this might be an opportunity to sit him down and have him watch me go through the process, because he's also an author already growing interested in publishing his own writing. <br />
<br />
If I drew a line between "making love" and "yoga," well, heehee, I'll leave you to your own imagination there. <br />
<br />
That being the point, actually: stirring your imagination and pointing it toward how you spend your time! When you unite different areas of your life, the sparks will fly in productive and innovative ways! You will conceive ideas you might not have had before for how to spend your time, both creatively and more efficiently.</div>
<div>
<br />
Here's an example from a Lyft ride I took. I told the driver about this exercise, and he said he sells cars for a living. He buys them and fixes them up. But his real passion is mural painting. In fact, he has a couple of murals in the Mission District of San Francisco. I had actually seen them the day before I told him about this exercise. He had this Epiphany that I felt rise up in his body and out onto me in the cab. He realized he could decorate the cars he fixes up with his art, and maybe become that guy who sells those cars. He was so excited, and it was really infectious.<br />
<br />
I share this exercise with all my students, and Lyft drivers, as you just heard, and people on public transportation, etc. And I've been doing the exercise again myself, focusing on developing my plans for somatic writing coaching, which is the main way I want to bring my healer self into the world. It's resulted in me making huge break throughs in visioning where I can take that. The kinds of collaboration and partnerships that are possible! I'm alive with ideas. Like merging theatre and role play, some of my oldest interests, into somatic writing experiences. BDSM + writing. Cuddle puddles + writing collaborations. These ideas feel good traveling around inside my body. And that's also the point.<br />
<br />
Getting new perception. Integrating disparate experiences and interests. This is what I'm coming to know as some of the roots of what healing means to me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope you find this exercise productive and healing for you, as well. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well wishes! Let me know if this works for you!<br />
<br /></div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-17270131860118341682017-05-23T14:03:00.006-07:002017-09-14T09:44:53.689-07:00some reflections on polyamory, two years inI've been poly from birth but have only been living that way for about two years now. Which makes me a total noob, for sure, but I am a quick study and dove deep from the get go. Here's what I've learned so far. The hard way. [<a href="http://mistressimmaculate.blogspot.com/2016/02/ousting-ampersand-all-i-needed-to-know.html" target="_blank">Fyi, here's my only other substantial blog about poly from earlier on in my process.</a>]<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I mostly present the following as advice, but remember to read with the proverbial grain of salt. I have no illusions I'm some poly guru. Quite the opposite! In fact, much of what's here is cast in the light of what I've utterly, ridiculously, disastrously messed up, so that you maybe don't have to. Really, this post is aimed at the poly-curious or new-to-poly, but it's also an unapologetic confessional-as-cautionary tale from my messy, majorly <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr-T6NAV5V4" target="_blank">amygdala-hijacked</a> coming-out period.<br />
<br />
To jump down to any certain topic, use these links:<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#resources">Resource recommendations</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#selfcheck">Do a self-check: what are your motivations?</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#NRE">New relationship energy (NRE)</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#basics">Basics of communication and structure</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#benefits">Potential benefits (including "compersion")</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#comingout">"Coming out" period often messy</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#fauxpas">A poly faux pas-"unicorn hunting"</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#jealousy">Jealousy and time management</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#rules">Rules, guidelines, agreements</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4108019940639541965#summary">Bottom line</a></div>
<div>
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="resources">ON THE LITERATURE AVAILABLE</a>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are lots of blogs, but the <a href="https://www.morethantwo.com/blog" target="_blank"><i>More Than Two</i> one is a great first stop in the blogosphere</a>. I wish I had time to listen to podcasts, because I hear there are some great ones. [If you comment with your own favorite links, I'll add them!] Here's <a href="https://www.morethantwo.com/resources.html" target="_blank"><i>More Than Two's</i> listing of resources</a>, including other blogs and podcasts. </div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
The best book is <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Eight-Things-Known-About-Polyamory-ebook/dp/B00JY2PLI6" target="_blank">8 Things I Wish I'd Known About Polyamory Before I Tried It and Frakked It Up</a></i>. It's short and has a straight-shooting tone. The other books (I've read them all) are also good, but this one has the most bang for your buck. I recommend reading it with any existing partners and discussing it <i><b>before </b></i>you start to transition from monogamy, if that's your situation. Though there were other factors at play, if my anchor partner and I had done more prep work before I met and fell in love with my (now ex) bf, he might not be my ex. (Heavy-hearted sigh.) [For an explanation of one of those other factors, click here: <a href="https://www.morethantwo.com/gamechanger.html" target="_blank"><i>More Than Two</i> explains the "game changer."</a>] </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A couple more resources I'd like to highlight:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Here is the blog done by the author of that book I love so much, Cunning Minx: <a href="http://polyweekly.libsyn.org/" target="_blank"><i>Polyamory Weekly</i></a>.</li>
<li>Since I'm also wired toward BDSM/kink, I thought I should read up on how kink partners with poly, and the potential pitfalls. You can read about that, too, in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00M77WJ2G/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1" target="_blank"><i>Power Circuits: Polyamory in a Power Dynamic</i></a>. [Yet another thing that factored into my break up with the bf... we had no idea--ok, I'll just own my own emotions, <i>I</i> had no idea--how to mesh poly and openness with having my most Precious Pet in the history of Pet-kind on the proverbial and the literal leash. He did much better with letting me run free, bless his generous heart.]</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="selfcheck">CHECK YOURSELF BEFORE YOU WRECK YOURSELF</a></div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All these resources will help you get introspective. You'll begin to ask yourself some questions. Maybe some of them will be: What am I in this for? Is it my core identity (as I know it is in my case)? Is it a fun or temporary experiment? Ego validation? Or expression of personal philosophy (non-commodified relationships, freedom as an orientation, etc.)? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In my case, I was using my first poly relationship to run away from my domestic life and all the negative ideas I've absorbed about what it means to be a wife and a mother. In a totally unacknowledged fashion! It wasn't the primary driver of my love for my bf, by any means, but it created an enormous stress on my existing relationship, to say the least, and made me feel constantly torn between my husband and my bf. To the point of anxiety attacks and some self-harming, eventually. The husband had no feeling of security I wasn't just trading him in, and the bf was constantly made to feel he didn't belong. If that's not a recipe for disaster, I don't know what is. <br />
<br />
To be fair to me and my ex, that relationship was also a catalyst for both of us to lean into more full self-acceptance and self-expression. I do not regret it, and I no longer apologize to anyone, including and especially myself, for going all in with him, even and especially given the "eggs-and-balls-to-the-wall" approach we took.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The advice here? Make sure you are <b>at home</b> in yourself and in existing relationships, lest ye be tempted to become more of a serial monogamist (trading one person in for another) versus truly polyamorous. <br />
<br />
<div>
Disclaimer: Were you fully prepared and at peace with every aspect of your life and yourself when you undertook the numerous monogamous relationships you've likely had? I doubt it. I know I wasn't. Did you have to learn by doing and make mistakes with those? Yeah, you did. Check yourself, Temet Nosce and all that, but be gentle on yourself if and when things still go somehow awry.<br />
<br />
After the breakup of my triad relationship last August, I spent most of the winter in a personal hell the likes of which I hope I never go through again. BUT... I was finally forced into deeper mindfulness measures (meditation being one) and had to learn how to better control my tendency toward outbursts when I feel threatened or insecure. [<a href="http://mistressimmaculate.blogspot.com/2017/05/good-grief-lately-religious-and-how-to.html" target="_blank">In case you like poetry, here are a couple poems about my grief/healing process</a>.] </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In other words, you may need to wreck yo'self as well as check yourself. I hope you strike the right balance to survive with your peace and relationships intact!<br />
<br />
On triads: I'm mostly linking this one for myself, in case I am ever brave enough to try my favorite relationship structure again: <a href="https://sexgeek.wordpress.com/2010/03/14/tips-and-tricks-for-triads/" target="_blank">from <i>Sex Geek</i>, "Tips and Tricks for Triads."</a> </div>
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="NRE">NEW RELATIONSHIP ENERGY (NRE)</a>
<br />
NRE (New Relationship Energy) is potentially addictive [<a href="http://aphroweb.net/articles/nre.htm" target="_blank">check this great article on that from <i>Aphrodite's Web</i></a>] and can convince you an existing relationship isn't worth your time anymore, when really, you're just bailing for something easier. Nothing stays easy forever. Are you poly and capable of loving more than one person with loyalty and real commitment, or are you just... looking for something "better" and refusing to do the work to make your current life satisfying? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another couple of links on NRE: </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>one from <a href="http://polytripod.blogspot.com/2013/01/polyamory-101-new-relationship-energy.html" target="_blank"><i>Journals of a Polyamorous Triad</i></a></li>
<li>something from <a href="http://www.blackdragonblog.com/2015/07/23/how-to-deal-with-new-relationship-energy-nre/" target="_blank"><i>Black Dragon Blog: Loving Women While Staying Free</i></a>. This post makes some good points, though they're aimed at protecting men from us "clingy women." I just read it replacing "women" with "people" cuz, well, we are.</li>
</ul>
<div>
I will allow myself a self-indulgent moment concerning NRE, but I'll force myself to keep it brief: Take the warnings about NRE seriously, people. Have a plan in place for the tsunami if it strikes. The NRE I had with my bf was... well, in the entirety of my low-impulse-controlled, uninhibited, NRE-junkie life, I'd never felt its like. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="basics">COMMUNICATION & STRUCTURING</a></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You can't possibly talk too much with yourself and/or any current partners about how you might like to structure things. I say "might" because things may have to shift as you get experience and learn better what works for you and what doesn't, over time. There is absolutely no way to know ahead of time, and no one ever structures things "perfectly" to start. [Think of your early experiences with monogamy in your pre-teens/teen years! Trial and error and lots of angst!]<br />
<br />
You will learn over time how much energy you have to put toward/want to put toward this or that relationship; whether you like having only one primary partner and want to keep the rest of your connections "casual"; or, if you're like me, if you'd like 2 to 3 <a href="http://polyweekly.com/a-replacement-for-primarysecondary/" target="_blank">"anchor" partners</a> and some casual fun with others with or without those anchor partners. The only way to learn this is through experience, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't read, read, read and talk, talk, talk, too. Are you a relationship anarchist? Or do you want a strong primary partnership model? Somewhere in between, like me? And whatever the answer, WHY? Delve into your reasons. Talk to your partner, your friends, and to yourself in a journal!<br />
<br />
Warning: Choose your audience carefully! If your friends and family are anti-poly, they may only shame you or make you spend all your time defining and defending your situation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To help you get started, here's a <a href="http://www.relationship-anarchy.com/videos/2016/6/20/the-difference-between-relationship-anarchy-and-non-hierarchical-polyamory" target="_blank">great explanation of the difference between hierarchical poly, non-hierarchical poly, and relationship anarchy</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="benefits">POTENTIAL BENEFITS, including the infamous "compersion"</a>
<br />
The literature will lead you through many talking points, but one might be, as mentioned previously: What are your goals in living this way, what do you see as the potential benefits? For me, because it's my identity, it's not a choice to live this way or not, but still, I can define my goals for/consider the benefits of my poly life. Just as monogomists can struggle with maintaining their version of loyalty and default to non-consensual non-monogamy, poly folk can become tempted to "shut things down" and go mono during high-processing periods. It helps to have the benefits in mind when times get tough. For me, poly has had these benefits thus far: </div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Living this way un-cages my libido, thereby making me more of an artist. Check this short article on <a href="https://www.idr.is/sex-and-creativity-do-you-know-their-connections-study-shows-number-of-sexual-partners-correspond-to/" target="_blank">Sex and Creativity: Are They Connected?</a> Whether or not you agree with that piece's central point, we do know the libido affects self-expression and vice versa. </li>
<li>I'm not "on the make" as much as I used to be when I was monogamous, ironically. Now that I'm "allowed" to pursue my urges, they're not as compulsive. </li>
<li>Compersion, which means taking pleasure in a loved one's pleasure that's derived from another source (outside you). Check this <i>Huff Post </i>blog: <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/gracie-x/compersion-a-polyamorous-principle-that-can-strengthen-any-relationship_b_6803868.html" target="_blank">"A Polyamorous Principle That Can Strengthen Any Relationship."</a> On a related note, it has improved my sex life with my anchor partner. Here's what <i>Polyamory Diaries</i> blogger has to say on that: <a href="http://polyamorydiaries.com/how-polyamory-is-improving-my-sex-life-and-why-that-matters/" target="_blank">"How Polyamory Is Improving My Sex Life."</a> I would add that if you almost never feel compersion, and if you've been living poly for a while, you might want to question whether you are actually poly and/or whether you feel secure in your relationship(s), and if not, why not?</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="comingout">"COMING OUT" IS USUALLY MESSY, LIKE MOST OFF-THE-BEATEN-TRACK ENDEAVORS</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's a cliche that you shouldn't date someone new to poly for a good reason. The "coming out" phase is messy even with the most emotionally balanced people, especially if we're talking about a couple transitioning to poly. To be honest, the success rate there isn't very high, but it seems :crosses fingers: my husband and I have pulled it off. My bf and I mostly functioned like we were in a monogamous relationship, mourning not being able to get on the <a href="http://offescalator.com/what-escalator/" target="_blank">"relationship escalator"</a> and becoming almost merged. As noted, we didn't survive the transition. <br />
<br />
[Gratuitous digression: As a bonus for you, <a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/127518677/playlist/7dqEarNv1v4Hq9m7unojEf" target="_blank">here's the playlist I made for those times I wanted to clutch his ratty hoodie to my chest while collapsed in a pity party puddle in the corner of my room</a>. It eventually became stiff with months of tears and snot. Sexy!]</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Even though the cliche exists for a reason, we all have to be new to it sometime, as none of us were born into it the way we're conditioned into monogamy. So go easy on others and yourself during that phase. Here's a pretty good, brief <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/polyamory/comments/3mm42w/do_you_date_newbies/" target="_blank"><i>Reddit </i>on the topic</a>.<br />
<br />
As with any art or creative endeavor or DIY experience, expect some mess, some learning by doing, some hurt feelings and "waste" of resources and time while you figure it out. Just as with monogamy, your first few partners in this structure may not work out. [Are you still with your middle-school sweetheart? Didn't think so.]<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="fauxpas">A POLY FAUX PAS</a></div>
<div>
<br />
It's a faux pas to hunt for a unicorn. Lots of couples transitioning try to start by doing it this way. It's not a very attractive practice because it assumes a third party is just going to fit into some space you already carved out for them. How can a relationship/love develop organically if the parameters for engagement are already set? Some folks who are only looking for hot/momentary kink/casual may <i>want </i>to be a unicorn. When I'm in a casual-only state of mind, either out of self-protection or maybe a time/resource paucity, it's something I've often wanted to be and have enjoyed being. My anchor and I had our own "gateway unicorn" into the poly life! The point is, it's best not to assume and to approach someone as one individual to another. Be prepared to be judged by more experienced poly folks if you're in a couple and are notoriously always unicorn hunting. Here's an article from the <i>Relationship Anarchy</i> blog, <a href="http://www.relationship-anarchy.com/videos/2016/6/20/the-tropes-and-troubles-with-unicorn-hunting" target="_blank">"The Tropes and Troubles with Unicorn Hunting."</a> Also, check <a href="https://www.autostraddle.com/to-unicorns-from-an-ex-unicorn-287425/" target="_blank">this advice from one unicorn to another</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="jealousy">JEALOUSY & TIME MANAGEMENT</a></div>
<div>
<br />
Jealousy is always the biggest issue we poly folk are asked to address, "What about jealousy? How do you handle that?" [The second-most common question is, "how do you have the energy/time?"] The quick answer to the jealousy question is: jealousy can be downgraded to the same status as any other emotion, like finding your partner left dishes in the sink. It's always about the underlying cause. [On that note, here's <a href="https://english.emmaclit.com/2017/05/20/you-shouldve-asked/" target="_blank">an article about how "mental load" can be distributed unequally</a> in partnerships. Off-topic, but it does explain what's often under the outrage over dishes left in the sink, haha!] <br />
<br />
Of course, some situations and some people trigger more jealousy than others. What's important is to examine the reasons for that and to be prepared for the fact that there will be unpredictable differences across different relationships. I wanted to keep my ex bf in a cage in my basement, but I experience almost no jealousy of my anchor partner/husband. I felt insecure in one bond and secure in the other. <br />
<br />
Get at the root of your responses and work there, instead of trying to just squelch the symptoms. Here's <a href="https://www.bustle.com/articles/188094-7-polyamorous-people-on-overcoming-jealousy" target="_blank">a great <i>Bustle </i>article with short interviews</a> concerning jealousy. This one is my favorite source so far, though, because it discusses jealousy as a social, not an individual, phenomenon: <a href="http://www.salon.com/2014/07/14/jealous_of_what_solving_polyamorys_jealousy_problem/" target="_blank">"Jealous of What? Solving Polyamory's Jealousy Problem."</a> </div>
<div>
<br />
The quick answer to the energy/time question is get a Google shared calendar with any anchor partner(s). And talk about how much energy and time you'd like to spend on yourself and with each of your partners. Try to discuss this in terms of the ideal, generally, as enforcing a rigid calendar is sometimes a negative trigger.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="rules">RULES/GUIDELINES/PROTECTIVE MEASURES</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, my most important advice: FORGET lots of restrictive rules meant to protect any existing relationships!!!<br />
<br />
Guidelines like these are probably ok (just some examples from my own relationship, in which case, we live together with two children; you get to decide your own structure): <br />
<ul>
<li>Let's not make love with others while the other one is in the house; caveat: unless there's no other good place for the date to take place. If so, let's disclose to partners when our other partner might be around so they aren't surprised and possibly made to feel uncomfortable. On that same note, if one of us says we'll be out overnight, don't come home early and unexpectedly unless it's an emergency!</li>
<li>Let's communicate if we'll be out overnight at least X hours/days in advance, so the other person can make plans, too. Sometimes the best jealousy management is distraction and immersion in one's own interests/hobbies/other lovers. </li>
<li>Let's be sure to get at least X nights together a week and with our family.</li>
<li>Let's be sure to talk once a month or once a week to see how things are going and if we need to revise some of the way we're structuring/doing things.</li>
</ul>
Here are some agreements that are not ok with me, and many of the books/blogs you'll read by experienced poly folk also criticize them:<br />
<ul>
<li>Veto power: If you can't have a reasonable conversation with your partner about their potential partner and have them really hear your concerns if you have them, you have way bigger problems to solve in your relationship. Yanking their chain with a veto is NOT the way to solve that! Just recently, someone who I find to be completely unhinged emotionally (always making assumptions and making others completely responsible for her emotions) expressed interest in my husband. He and I entertained the notion, until she had several more episodes during the consideration period. I expressed serious concern and my partner agreed. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have tried to control him with a veto. I have immense trust in him to make decisions that prioritize his family and I would have accepted his decision.</li>
<li>Hardline rules that put you "in bed" with others while you're not really in bed with them, like "You can't mark my partner" or "You can't do X, Y, or Z sex act because we haven't done that yet."</li>
</ul>
NOTE: Please trust me on that second one, especially. I lost the only woman I've been lucky enough to love who you know, actually loved me back because of the incredibly stupid rules I and my ex bf set up to "protect" me from my jealousy when we were all dating each other. They were hurtful to her, and eventually made her lose her respect and her love for me. It turns out they weren't keeping all of the agreements we set anyway. Does that bother me? Yes, of course. Agreements are important to most poly relationships. But are some of them so restrictive and insulting that they're basically begging to be broken? Yes. Consider whether you actually "need" any certain agreement or whether it would be better to just learn to handle your insecurities from the get go.<br />
<br />
As another example, with me on the other side of the fence, so to speak: I had to stop seeing a woman because one of her anchor partners had the "no marking" rule. I was NOT about to be with someone and be in an animal mood and have her other partner in my head saying, "No, no hickeys!" No way. Gross. That totally disrespects my own urge to express sexually the way that I want to. [And what a humbling moment that was, realizing how I'd been making my ex gf feel with all my own rules.]</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe some folks who are super into a strong hierarchical/primary partnership + everything-else-casual sort of structure could deal with that, but not me. I could have negotiated about the "no marking" situation if I had been falling in love with that person, but I didn't have the bandwidth to go through it all at the time. If I had, though, it would have been up to me to be mature enough and direct enough to initiate a potentially difficult conversation with her AND her partner who had the rule.<br />
<br />
On that note, if you end up in a situation and aren't comfy with the guidelines in place, feel empowered to negotiate and state how you really feel. And do your best to assume best intentions from all concerned parties if they need <i>you </i>to listen to their concerns or need for re-negotiation. You have to be extremely comfortable with direct communication. Most people really aren't, though, even if they think they are! Here's <i>More Than Two </i>on <a href="https://www.morethantwo.com/polyforsecondaries.html" target="_blank">"Successful Secondary Relationships"</a> (though I dislike the hierarchy implied in that term). <i>More Than Two, </i>again, <a href="https://www.morethantwo.com/coupledating.html" target="_blank">"Guide to Dating a Couple."</a> This one's my favorite source so far that tackles what you should know when you open an existing dyad to a third party: <a href="http://polyweekly.com/from-two-to-three-opening-up-a-relationship-advice/" target="_blank"><i>Polyamory Weekly</i>: "From Two to Three."</a> It goes into great detail about all the pitfalls and gives a great list of "Don'ts."<br />
<br />
I wish my partners had felt more empowered to challenge me directly versus break an agreement behind my back, but more than that, I wish I'd understood how to better control my outbursts and manage my own jealousy so that they would have felt safe doing so. We can only control our own behavior, after all. Again, I learned the hard way. I hope everyone in your own poly networks has the maturity and courage and compassion to engage and navigate this sometimes difficult communication process. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="summary">BOTTOM LINE</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Do you want love/connection to bloom organically between the people involved or not? Do you think love is about freedom and self-/shared expression more than possession, or not? If you do, look less toward protective measures. Instead, to get through the harder parts of poly, turn to therapy, mindfulness activities, and open, honest, and frequent communication. If you decide to do therapy, try to find a poly specialist, which you can easily do in any larger urban area these days, thank goodness. If you are in the Denver metro area, I would recommend <a href="http://indigostray.com/psychotherapy/" target="_blank">Indigo Conger</a>.<br />
<br />
While mono relationships can coast along quite awhile on autopilot without lots of conscious self- and relationship work, poly relationships will fail much more quickly without them.<br />
<br />
As a final link for you, check out this other <i>Bustle </i>article on <a href="https://www.bustle.com/articles/105154-36-polyamorous-people-share-their-best-relationship-advice-because-even-if-youre-monogamous-theres-a-lot" target="_blank">what mono people can learn from poly folk</a>.</div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-41443070614861548032017-05-15T10:51:00.000-07:002017-05-15T13:52:23.760-07:00Inside Voice: nerves about Tuesday's F-Bomb performance and two "teaser" excerpts<br />
<b>NERVES</b><br />
<br />
I woke up in the middle of the night with two fully developed conversations in my head that apparently I'd just had with myself in my sleep:<br />
<br />
1) Several ideas for my current writing projects, each one already classified as to which writing project it belongs with or whether it goes with a few of them.<br />
<br />
2) Tuesday will be my first feature performance. I woke having had a bunch of thoughts like, "Who do you think you are getting up on stage Tuesday night? You don't deserve the attention. You get enough attention. Your writing isn't that good. No one wants to hear you whine about all that stuff in your past, and all your stupid fantasies, and it's not as literary or as balanced with humor as you think. It's not sexy enough, and the sex that's there is too weird. You sound like a man hater in your current piece. It's crap. It won't mean anything to anyone." [<a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2017/01/25-famous-women-on-impostor-syndrome-and-self-doubt.html" target="_blank">Famous women discuss "imposter syndrome"</a>]<br />
<br />
Luckily, other parts of my brain had already addressed that part of me (yes, in my sleep/dream!) and said back to it: "Hey, this self-doubt thing? It doesn't suit you, sweetie. You look much better in bold, and you know it. Are you "attention seeking," or are you sharing story with an audience because you get pleasure from performing and connecting with your community around stories? And let's check your head a little about this idea that you will sound like a "man hater." Internalize misogyny much? That is a classic silencing technique. Do you hate men? No, no you don't. Did you tell a true story? Yes, yes you did. Did you enjoy the process? Oh, goddess, so so much! Well, ok, then, breathe, go back to sleep.<br />
<br />
If you lose the audience Tuesday, they can go upstairs and blues dance, at least." [<a href="http://www.mercurycafe.com/mercwebcal.htm" target="_blank">Mercury Cafe's schedule</a>]<br />
<br />
Dear Mom, I finally learned how to use my inside voice. I'm pretty sure she sounds like you, the you before the you I knew, the you who used to whisper sweet somethings to me as you rocked me to sleep, before my ears knew how to collect you, save you, play you back. The you that looked like the me who, just last night, watched my daughter's face go from allaloneandscared noonehearsme to mamasong, mamahand, mamaclose.<br />
<br />
Nothing is really lost in the end.<br />
<br />
I've titled my current piece, which is a sort of collection of lost things, <i>Inside Voices: A Choose Your Own Adventure Erotic, Creative Flash Memoir</i>. Here are two teaser excerpts. Hope to see you at the Mercury Cafe this Tuesday evening at 730! [<a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1902545846685655/" target="_blank">Event link</a>]<br />
<br />
<div>
<b>excerpt 1, from the <i>Cosmo </i>online dating profile quiz:</b><br />
<b><br />Evaluate Your Tinder Profile: A <i>Cosmo </i>Quiz</b><br />
<br />
You’re swiping left and right, but your Queen still hasn’t arrived on the scene. Are you making the most of your online dating experience? Take this quiz to find out!<br />
<u><br />Which of these lines is the best to use to describe your interests?</u><br />
<ol>
<li>Reading in bed while drinking hot tea; writing; dancing. I’m a water girl, so anything that has to do with water: swimming, hot tubbing, taking a bath with my sweetie pie by candlelight. </li>
<li>You. I’m interested in you. You fascinate me. Come here, so I can get a closer look. Tell me that awesome thing your mother said to you when you told her you were gay? And what did the mean girl say that hurt your feelings back in 6th grade when you still had braces? I want to know everything about you. </li>
<li>I’m interested in knowing why my ex-girlfriend doesn’t talk to me anymore. Did she ever really love me?</li>
</ol>
<u>It’s good to be honest in a dating profile. Which of these is just the right amount of honest?</u> <br />
<ol>
<li>I’ve done a lot of work on myself in the last year. I’ve been meditating and gaining more control over my emotions, but... when the well runs this deep, sometimes it runneth over. Feel me? What I’m saying is I’m mostly not crazy most of the time. </li>
<li>If you are willing to be nice to me most of the time and pay me some attention on a regular basis, I’ll learn all your favorite foods and things to do, and will devote myself utterly to your continued happiness. </li>
<li>I will only swipe right on you if you look at least a little bit like my ex girlfriend. </li>
</ol>
<u>Do you have any sexual proclivities outside the norm? It’s best to disclose those tastefully. Which one of these lines does the trick?</u><br />
<ol>
<li>I could get into some role-playing; I did a theatre minor in college! </li>
<li>I will come to your house for our 2nd date, I will throw you against the back of your front door and watch your eyes widen in anticipation. Then I’ll take my panties off right out from under my skirt, making you think we’re going to skip dinner and stay in. But instead, I’ll stuff them in your mouth, ask if you like the taste of my pussy even though I know you can’t answer, and make you go out to dinner with me like that. You’ll watch me eat and drink, while you can say nothing without giving yourself away as the dirty little whore you are. At some point, I’ll say, “good girl, give them here,” and make you spit them out while our sexy waiter delivers the bill. If he notices and doesn’t flinch, we’ll take him home and he’ll service you at my command. I’ll make him do the dishes before he leaves, because we both hate doing the dishes and it’s the least he can do after I let him near you.</li>
<li>I used to put a foxtail butt plug in my girlfriend’s ass and make her crawl around with a belt wrapped around her neck like a leash. Is it tacky if I use the same one on you, even if I cleaned it really well?</li>
</ol>
<br />
<b>excerpt 2, from the section where we find out about the dirty little secret I should never have told Bobby Cress:</b><br />
<b><br />Mirror, Mirror</b><br />
I made the mistake once of telling Bobby Cress that the weirdest thing I’d ever used to masturbate was a Snicker’s bar, still in the wrapper. He used to walk up to me for years after that and say, “it really satisfies” to remind me he knew my dirty little secret. <br />
<br />
I guess I thought that chocolate seemed the best answer out of all the other weird shit I stuffed up my cunt and asshole. What else did I use? Hairbrush handle. Knife handle. Pencil. Electric toothbrush. Aunt Evelyn’s spa tub jets. My favorite: the squiggle wiggle writer. I will get my daughter a vibrator when she’s ready, a real one, but I see nothing wrong with these creative acts of insertion and insurrection. Women get pushed right out of our bodies and minds so often, no wonder we spend so much time trying to get back in.<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
</div>
</div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-31409568459196402262017-05-12T12:33:00.001-07:002017-05-12T12:38:07.013-07:00The poem I wish I could have read as a teenage girlMy newest poem, which I'll maybe be reading as a warm-up before I read my Choose Your Own Adventure erotic flash memoir at the<a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1902545846685655/"> FBomb on Tuesday night</a>. I hope you enjoy it, and also that I can read it to you, live, then and there. It's the poem I wish I could have read when I was a teenage girl.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>An Open Letter to the Young Woman Who Hate-Watched Me Dance All Crazy Near Her and Her Boyfriend at the Show</b><br />
<br />
<b>1. Tommy, On The Bus</b><br />
<br />
In 5th grade, I rode the bus.<br />
Tommy Turley rode the bus, too.<br />
<br />
God, but yes, his name really was Tommy Turley.<br />
<br />
He used to pull out his pecker, as he called it,<br />
And lay it there, on the denim bed of his<br />
scrawny-legged lap. My mom called it<br />
a Tallywhacker. Not Tommy’s, specifically,<br />
as she’d never seen his, far as I knew.<br />
<br />
But I’d seen it plenty.<br />
Tommy-on-the-bus would pull out his pecker<br />
And then talk all casual-like<br />
Like his penis was just a set piece on the stage of “school bus,”<br />
like a bookbag or lunch box<br />
<br />
I tried to give it meaning, his dick<br />
I wanted it to be symbolic of something,<br />
Even at that young of an age<br />
The teacher of literature was emerging<br />
<br />
Once, full-frontal frankenfurter display,<br />
Tommy decided to give me some advice.<br />
Now, this was a welcome change from the otherwise<br />
Consistent and classy requests to lick my bellybutton<br />
From the inside. “Now, really, Christy.<br />
Y’ur not that ugly. But you should wear your hair down.<br />
It pinches your face when you wear it up like that.”<br />
<br />
Now this was helpful, bc now I knew<br />
His penis was an example of his whole<br />
Philosophy! He wanted me to let my hair down<br />
To live the good life! The let-it-all-hang-out life!<br />
The who-cares-who-sees-what life.<br />
<br />
Thank you, Tommy. For your concern. And your wisdom.<br />
It took me a long time to stop scratching my face<br />
In the mirror. And to stop crying<br />
Into the channels that I carved there.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Home, in My Body</b><br />
<br />
I came a long way to get here<br />
<br />
From the empty house of Childhood, and<br />
The Hall of Horrors that was high school<br />
Had sock hops, sure, but I didn’t find myself there.<br />
I just remember hoping the cute boys would.<br />
The small room of my Youth was stuffed with Mother’s fears<br />
For me. And boxes of aggressively rhymed poetry<br />
About Him. The He who would rescue the Me<br />
Who wasn’t there.<br />
<br />
Who was nowhere, because all I’d ever been taught was how to be absent,<br />
From all the absentees around me, amputees of the spirit,<br />
Filled with pills and television and regret<br />
Ghosts in their shells looking for the thing that hadn’t happened yet<br />
The thing that was always never coming or already gone.<br />
<br />
I spent so much time fearing I’d never be inhabited<br />
That I forgot to live here myself<br />
<br />
I came a long way to get here. Into this body.<br />
So now I walk around like I own the place<br />
Because I do.<br />
<br />
I am what happens<br />
When the girl escapes<br />
From the siege of boy soldiers<br />
With their ammunition spit and boys will be boys<br />
bullshit<br />
with enough of herself intact<br />
To realize it’s harder for them to hit you<br />
When you’re dancing.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Me and You (and Him), At the Show</b><br />
<br />
Trying to be cool wastes a lot of energy<br />
That could better be spent dancing<br />
<br />
And my style of dancing reveals that I<br />
am only in it for me.<br />
Which isn’t to say I dance badly...<br />
Just maybe weirdly enthusiastically and self-assuredly<br />
For a non-professional.<br />
<br />
You are not in it for you. You are very much a cool girl.<br />
Maybe 18.<br />
You are standing there with your boyfriend.<br />
<br />
You are both very well-groomed.<br />
You are groomed in ways I am not aware existed even though I am looking at the results of them<br />
All over you and your perfect face.<br />
<br />
I see you looking for my cracks.<br />
I see you finding the lines on my face that reassure you<br />
I’m too old for your bf.<br />
<br />
This always happens at the all-ages shows.<br />
<br />
I see you watching me dance and I see you seeing your bf watching me dance<br />
I see you turn it into too-crazy, too wild, who does she think she is that show off<br />
She thinks she looks cool but she looks like she’s on drugs and electrocuted<br />
You’re right! I am on drugs and electrocuted!<br />
<br />
But you’re wrong about one thing...<br />
I’m not too old for your boyfriend.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Chalk Outline, in the Mirror</b><br />
<br />
But I am older than you.<br />
I got started early, carving myself into a picture<br />
He, whoever he was, might want to look at<br />
The first cuttings with my own fingernails<br />
In the same mirror mirrors on the wall that you stare into everyday<br />
The ones that tell you there’s a fairest of all<br />
And you ain’t it<br />
Or that you are it<br />
It’s all the same, sister<br />
<br />
Oh, I’ve been there<br />
Where my every midnight when I’m alone<br />
is a monologue<br />
on a stage<br />
he isn’t looking at anyway<br />
<br />
<b>5. Sister to Sister, on the Balcony</b><br />
<br />
You count your deficiencies like rosary beads<br />
And pray he won’t notice them<br />
That he will notice mine, like you do<br />
<br />
I would not have us strung up on a line<br />
Picked apart, weighed for our differences<br />
Like fruit at the market in a man’s hand<br />
Is she ripe? Too ripe to be sweet still? Is she<br />
loose enough or just bruised?<br />
But you make yourself an accomplice. You<br />
hope he strolls by to tell you that you are the East<br />
and you are the Sun,<br />
<br />
You love it when he tells you to kill your moon sister,<br />
who is already sick and pale with grief that thou, her maid,<br />
art far more fair than she!<br />
<br />
Why do you let him put you on the map like that? Like he can just<br />
Call the cardinal directions and put you in your place?<br />
<br />
You are not a point on his compass.<br />
You are a rose of the winds.<br />
<br />
I want the dawn spirit<br />
Always rising in the east<br />
But I also want her sister’s<br />
Dusky reclining<br />
<br />
Stop playing this zero-sum game<br />
You will need your sisters after he’s gone<br />
Burned out on broken promises<br />
And Romeo’s wordy wooing of whoever’s<br />
in his line of sight<br />
in the sky tonight<br />
<br />
He lifts himself up, climbing your hair or your trellis<br />
If he falls, your beauty bears the brunt of it<br />
<br />
<b>6. Birds Fly, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSZxmZmBfnU">Over the Rainbow</a></b><br />
<br />
Look. I know I look crazy throwing all this shine around<br />
Setting the buzzing honey hive of my body on fire, but<br />
I have forgotten how to be absent, how to sway quiet and unthreatening<br />
How to recognize the beat, but not submit to it<br />
<br />
I’ve forgotten how to watch myself from outside myself<br />
As if through your or his or their eyes<br />
I climbed out of the looking glass, I stepped out<br />
From under the proscenium arch<br />
That ain’t nothing like a rainbow<br />
But keeps us thinking we’re somebody else’s pot of gold<br />
<br />
Spend yourself, sweetie<br />
Make it rain with me<br />
Make it sweat and pulse and flood<br />
Your body was never meant to be anyone else’s<br />
But your own<br />
<br />
Tell me all the times a man has pushed you<br />
Right out of your mind or body<br />
<br />
Tell me:<br />
What did your Tommy-on-the-bus say or do to you?<br />
<br />
<br />
EVENT DETAILS: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1902545846685655/?acontext=%7B%22source%22%3A108%2C%22action_history%22%3A%22%5B%7B%5C%22surface%5C%22%3A%5C%22post_page%5C%22%2C%5C%22mechanism%5C%22%3A%5C%22surface%5C%22%2C%5C%22extra_data%5C%22%3A%5B%5D%7D%5D%22%2C%22has_source%22%3Atrue%7D&source=108&action_history=%5B%7B%22surface%22%3A%22post_page%22%2C%22mechanism%22%3A%22surface%22%2C%22extra_data%22%3A%5B%5D%7D%5D&has_source=1">https://www.facebook.com/events/1902545846685655/</a>mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-92096230000219783442017-04-24T11:44:00.003-07:002017-05-08T12:39:02.170-07:00Sticking the Cow: flash memoir piece read at the Poetry Rodeo/Podeo on 4/21<b><br /></b><div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Sticking the Cow: An Appalachian Flash Memoir</b></div>
<br /><b>Version 1:</b><br />The story goes: Great Grandma Holliman aimed a shotgun at the ground between her young son’s legs and took the head off a very pissed-off rattler. I hear blushing Freudian implications in my aunt’s voice as she says, “De law! What if her aim’d been off! You’d be missing a few cousins, Christy!” I see buck shot careening through generations, taking out an entire branch of my family tree. <br /><br />My sharpshooting Mimaw, with the wing-delicate skin of the very old and dying, winding and unwinding her hair. If I didn’t fidget, she let me sit in her lap and brush the silver river of it. Her voice a peaceful nonsense trickle as I steered the bristles downstream. Sometimes, she’d break the stillness with a sudden angry accusation that someone was stealing her shoes. <br /><br />She would count and recount them, a sort of Alzheimer’s-having, Appalachian Imelda Marcos, losing her benign calmness when she couldn’t find a mate for this slip-on or that Sunday short heel. I seemed to be beyond suspicion, but I had my sister pegged for it. My aunts whisper-called her a klep-to. I guess it could have been my creepy cousin Daryl, the one who stared at my legs in shorts, the one who left porn laying around for Grandma Blanche to find, who wore, “silly faggot, dicks are for chicks” shirts to the church hall at family gatherings. <br /><br />I didn’t understand then, as someone who never lacked shoes, how important they could be. How they could colonize the failing brain as the dominant imprint of dementia.<br /><br />I imagine her Annie Oakley moment happening on the same spot in the front yard where the menfolk used to bleed the animals. They’d string up a dead cow, place a bucket under its head, run a knife through its jugular furrow. I’d watch the blood drip from black raspberry bushes a few feet away. If they noticed me, they’d try to gross me out by moving its limbs around, pretending to dance with it. We call this ritual "sticking the cow.”<br /><br />My mother called penises “tallywackers.” That’s a name meant to scare a girl off ‘em. I wonder if that word came to mind when she was 18, when her uncle raped her. <br /><br />I don’t know where to imagine the rape. And I don’t know if my great grandmother was ever made aware that one of her sons raped my mother. The way my mother would spend the rest of her life running from her body, the way she’d call her daughters whores if she even suspected we were letting boys near us with their tallywackers. <br /><br />If my hands could reach back in time, I’d grip the underside of the barrel, and I’d gun for a different snake. <br /><br /><b>Version 2 (original):</b><br />My great grandmother shot the head off an angry rattlesnake between her young son’s legs, thereby saving his life.<br /><br />I hold this story of my sharpshooting Mimaw against the image of her winding and unwinding her old-lady bun, counting and recounting her shoes, convinced someone was stealing them.<br /><br />I didn’t understand then, as someone who never lacked shoes, how important they could be. How they could colonize the failing brain as the dominant imprint of dementia.<br /><br />I hold this story of me, still and little in her lap, brushing the silver river of her hair, against another story I know. My mother raped by her uncle. My Mimaw’s son, maybe the same son. <br /><br />I didn’t understand then, as someone who had never been raped, how it can make a woman run from her body forever, force her daughters out of their bodies to protect them from snakes, too.<br /><br /><b>Version 3:</b><br />My great grandma shot the head off a rattler about to strike her young son.<br /><br />Years later, when my mother was being raped by one of her uncles, I wonder was it the same one Mimaw saved with her double-barrel blast? <br /><br />Where was the shotgun then?mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-82446833183842200442017-02-15T12:04:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:23:47.983-07:00Good Grief: The Lately Religious and How to Be Still in the Dark [two poems]<br />
<b>The Lately Religious</b><br />
<br />
I no longer roll my eyes at the lately religious<br />
Who only pray when the plane shakes<br />
<br />
The pitiful Styrofoam on the wobbly tray table wrapped around weak coffee<br />
Is now the trembling well into which I also stare<br />
<br />
Each night I ask my grief if it plans to turn off the fasten seatbelts sign<br />
<br />
And I finger a chain link rosary<br />
In remembrance of the flight we once took<br />
When we trusted autopilot too far<br />
And never could find a safe place to land<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<b>How To Be Still in the Dark</b><br />
<br />
To teach me something about jumping<br />
Gravity got together with the ground<br />
Did I really expect to fly<br />
and not fracture?<br />
<br />
Birdsong and wind: the higher you are<br />
The more you hear on the way down<br />
You will be borne from below<br />
Or not at all<br />
<br />
Soil knows something you don't:<br />
How to be still in the dark<br />
Worm knows something, too:<br />
How to move through it.<br />
<br />
Talk to the kingfisher<br />
About how to dive and survive<br />
Watch the hawk watching<br />
Broken feet beneath breathless you.<br />
<br />
You will mind this now:<br />
<br />
It is the crawling time<br />
And also the caving<br />
It is the hour of burial <br />
and of mending.<br />
<br />
I will drink my failure like Shiva<br />
My elixir, soup from these broken bones.<br />
Heaven and Earth, watch out for me. <br />
I am arriving, I am coming home. </div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-46160230194699597672017-01-15T13:01:00.000-08:002017-05-08T13:02:50.290-07:00Crayon of Other Soar: Trump, Shades of Grey, and The Loving Dominant<br />
On the heels of the absolutely absurd connection being made between Trump's "pussy grabbing" remarks and the book, Shades of Grey [links <a href="http://www.latimes.com/books/jacketcopy/la-et-jc-trump-50-shades-20161010-snap-story.html">here </a>and <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/tamerragriffin/people-are-blaming-trumps-lewd-comments-from-2005-on-fifty-s?utm_term=.loAz2LXxL#.ema9685o8">here</a>], and after hearing about some anti-bdsm comments made by Audre Lorde in which she claims that bdsm establishes dominance as inevitable [links <a href="http://everythingisacasestudy.tumblr.com/post/101494878943/audre-lorde-on-bdsm-and-choice">here </a>and <a href="https://antipornfeminists.wordpress.com/2014/03/04/qotd-audre-lorde-on-sadomasochism-2/">here</a>], I feel called to talk about my pro-bdsm stance.<br />
<br />
Domination is not inevitable, but power plays are, even if we're just talking about inside ourselves. My reason & intuition sometimes war, my emotional self and my rational self. I can find balance between them in a dialectic I've recently heard referred to as wise mind.<br />
<br />
My experiences both subbing and topping have built my ability to be mindful generally. A skilled top needs to be very aware of the bottom's reactions, the surrounding environment, to hold space for the surrender. Bdsm play continues to teach me to be mindful of how these forces play out within me. They've helped me put them to work together, in concert. Especially my experiences topping both men and women have encouraged the development of my wise mind that can navigate the opposing forces within me. Both positions--bottom, top--can help with impulse control issues.<br />
<br />
None of this amazing personal evolution I've experienced with bdsm has fuck all to do with being controlled by the patriarchy, unless it's to make me conscious of and give me the joystick to the mechanisms of control that have run rough shod over me from all the state apparatus of control-the Church, the School, the State. I might be the Priest, the Principal, the President in my scene.<br />
<br />
This practice is not for nothing. It is not just aping male control. It's practicing and playing with power and responsible control over the self and others.<br />
<br />
Choice in consumer society is an illusion. You can buy the red one or the blue one, but you'll buy one of them. In my life, bdsm is a counterpoint to lack of choice and to the way that feeds into a hegemonic lack of self expression and diversity.<br />
<br />
It is most supremely a theatrical act, relating to the true roots of drama in the ritual sacrifice of the year king and queen. It is a sacrifice of the expected, a crayon of Other soar.<br />
<br />
Ok, that was supposed to say a creation of Other space, but it actually makes more sense to say the crayon soars. I see a kinky <a href="https://www.teachingchildrenphilosophy.org/BookModule/HaroldAndThePurpleCrayon">Harold</a>, all grown up, having discarded his purple crayon for a purple flogger, making my back his canvas, writing a world onto me at my request.<br />
<br />
It's an invitation to get creative or get gone, to drive or hand over the keys. The car keys, the musical notes, the typewriter ones. It's Authorship, a collaborative drama.<br />
<br />
Anything that brings me pleasure on my own terms empowers me. Any way I provide release and loss of monkey mind thoughts to my pets empowers them first of all but also me because I got to be the thing that was needed. Doesn't everyone long to be the thing that is needed sometimes?<br />
<br />
I am reading a wonderful book called <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/rnxtenuousnymph597xx/free-download-the-loving-dominant-by-john-warren-libby-warren-ebook">The Loving Dominant</a>, and the point the author makes, rightly, is that the submissive really controls the whole game in consensual play. Dominants need to be aware of their sub's desires, and work creatively and compassionately to meet them, or the dom/me won't have that sub for long. "In a consensual relationship, control applied purely to self gratification is a self-limiting proposition. Submissives who do not get what they are looking for are unlikely to remain in a relationship for very long" (6).<br />
<br />
Ethical tops look, and they look deeply, for whether the control they've been given was given freely and for healthy reasons.<br />
<br />
If only all people in power took such a close look at the power they've been given, and whether and how and when they should use it.<br />
<br />
Like I don't know, maybe a presidential candidate?mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-80668554208965968832016-10-24T12:26:00.000-07:002017-05-08T13:17:40.297-07:00Our Bodies, Our Selves: For the Daughters of Eve [a poem]<br /><b>Our Bodies, Our Selves: For the Daughters of Eve</b><br /><br />This one’s bowels scream, “Stop telling me I’m broken!”<br />While another’s heart says, “I do not feel safe here inside this hummingbird chest.”<br /><br />This one’s got her fist in her throat<br />Where his was<br />Coming up and out with the windpipe<br />Playing that slender flute for the first time in a long time<br /><br />She’s pulled the voicebox, too<br />Her sister opens it, turns the tiny rusted crank<br />We hear the pink ballerina of her tongue dancing free<br /><br />Listening to this, to the wail song, to the conjugated sob<br />We un-lay bricks from another one’s shoulders<br />And watch as her wing spread spans so many stories<br /><br />This one doesn’t tolerate stitches, so, fingers woven<br />We suture her incision with the needle of not-knowing and<br />String made from our own guts<br /><br />This one lays her hands where that one’s son once nested<br />Before he swept out and into a current he couldn’t control<br />She pulls the red thread that says<br />“Don’t hold it in, or it will break you.”<br /><br />Alice really went through it, didn’t she? <br />The glass, I mean. <br />But she gave us the shards and the splinters for<br />diamond rings, sweet tokens.<br /><br />Such shiny things. We are not broken.<br />mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-66222023856522158762016-10-17T12:14:00.000-07:002017-05-08T12:37:28.027-07:00With the Guillotine Down & The Body, A Prayer: On Recovery [two poems]<br />
<b>With the Guillotine Down</b><br />
<br />
I am a broken-headed woman, holding heartache in my hands. <br />
I am not trying to be pretty.<br />
<div>
What use is mascara with the guillotine down?<br />
<br />
I am not the story they have made of me</div>
<div>
From the small slice <br />
They got off their blade:<br />
<br />
Whore. <br />
<br />
Selfish. <br />
<br />
Ungrateful. <br />
<br />
Fake. <br />
<br />
Stupid. <br />
<br />
Not enough. <br />
<br />
Too much.<br />
<br />
I can write different words. </div>
<div>
Tell myself new stories until </div>
<div>
I believe them.<br />
<br />
<b>The Body, a Prayer</b><br />
<br />
I am an exquisitely patterned daughter of loss.<br />
<br />
I try not to stir my coffee too fast. <br />
I try not to shush the chattering women.<br />
Hear them as birds about their business. <br />
Let the bee sit on my ring. <br />
Let my morning become our morning. <br />
<br />
I do not know what happens next.<br />
<br />
We all need to pray. <br />
And we all have different ways.<br />
<br />
I pray by my borrowed bed:<br />
May I meet the moment without seeking to over determine it.<br />
May I sink into the center of this swelling broken and be healed.</div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-30405905948028181312016-03-15T12:35:00.000-07:002017-05-08T13:18:20.844-07:00Unleashed, I Go Hunting: Upon the Occasion Of Collaring a Bird That Forgot To Fly Away [a poem]<br /><b>Unleashed, I Go Hunting: Upon the Occasion Of Collaring a Bird That Forgot To Fly Away</b><br /><br />Dear bird, I love you. This is my teeth around your neck. <br />Dear bird, we could stick to the script you know.<br />You keep your early worms and I my biscuits? <br />Do you really prefer to die? <br /><br />Dear dog, you say. This is my neck in your mouth. <br />This is better than a biscuit, and it's why you have teeth. <br /><br />Incisive as ever, you are dear bird, if slightly cuckoo.<br />Would I really prefer to bark at the mailman, you ask? <br /><br />Well, here we are then. <br /><br />My canines, eponymous and plotting, open you up. <br />Your guts spill cocoons, milky strands unraveling. <br /><br />Released from intestinal syntax, <br />you juggle butterflies in my dreams. <br />A flowing knit of monarchs. <br />Not a single broken wing.<br />mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-14737594027225056452016-02-15T12:17:00.000-08:002017-05-08T13:19:15.644-07:00Ousting the Ampersand: All I Needed to Know about Moving from Monogamy to Polyamory I Learned in Kindergarten [short essay]<br />A common misconception about polyamory is that it’s all about sex. That it’s one constant orgy or swinger’s party. I am not the person to hold up as proof against this misconception. After I finally came out as Poly, I tried to clarify our new situation to my husband, with whom I combined DNA twice (we have two kids), and about whom I’m not allowed to talk in front of certain friends saddled with lesser men as mates. I remember—with no small amount of shame—screaming at him that I’d fuck who I wanted, where I wanted, when I wanted. He’s the type who doesn’t ever, ever cry or even come close to crying, but there he was, on the verge of tears, and begging me to go slower. <br /><br />This wonderful man has earned the right to be with me, dubious right that it seems to be, and to be loved and respected. I have never had to get up with either of our two children in the night unless he’s out of town. When I was breastfeeding, he brought the little poop machines to me and took them away again so I could stay mostly asleep. He’s seen me through debilitating anxiety and insomnia episodes. He’s accepted me, warts and all, even my obsession with picking his zits. <br /><br />Don’t even get me started on his phantasmagoric kissing prowess and steady sensuality. <br /><br />All bets were suddenly off, though, and my ninja-kissing, feminist, baby-wrangling husband was told if he needed to end things with us, I would understand, but that I could no longer deny who I am and have always been. <br /><br />Being poly is the latest celebrity sex trend. Polyamorous or rumored-to-be-poly celebrity couples have made headlines, including Will Smith & Jada Pinkett, Brad Pitt & Angelina Jolie, and even Dolly Parton & her reclusive hubby Carl Dean. I am reminded of Amanda Palmer’s song, “Ampersand,” as I type out those couples’ names: “And I’m not gonna live my life on one side of an ampersand/And even if I went with you, I’m not the girl you think I am.” <br /><br />There at the top of the stairs, yelling at my husband, I wasn’t just acting out like a teenager rebelling against a repressive father, I was conducting surgery, without permission or anesthesia, gouging the ampersand from my life and my baby daddy’s heart.<br /><br />But I swear I was poly long before that, and long before it was cool. And long before I was in a position to hurt anyone because of it.<br /><br />I still remember Bridget’s soft, long braids and Veronica’s fierce black bob, and how we’d brush each other’s hair on the playground, tell each other “I love you,” and imagine our wedding. We had no idea we were supposed to marry men, or that three people aren’t usually put on top of a wedding cake. Mrs. Tilson, our kindergarten teacher—that bitch!—discovered us playing doctor under our coats at naptime. I guess no one told us we weren’t supposed to consummate our pretend wedding on school property, either. So that was the end of that. [Bridget! Veronica! If you’re out there, call me! Our love will never die!] Thereafter, I ascribed to the normal grade-school monogamy rituals, including writing Todd Doane’s name over and over in 4th grade on my Trapper Keeper until he was nice enough to give me his football jersey and sit awkwardly with me on the bleachers at games. <br /><br />After a few failed attempts at being “open” with some of my long-term partners, which failed mostly due to my jealousy and a desire to have freedom but not give it, I decided it just wasn’t the life for me. I was what’s known as a serial monogamist. Every relationship ended in me cheating on my partner. This is often cited as a problem with monogamy, the nonconsensual nature of the non-monogamy that is still so frequently—if secretly—practiced. <br /><br />My relationship with aforementioned, much shit-upon baby daddy had been my most faithful one yet. 8 years together, no cheating (well, some slippery boundaries… hey, I’m still me), and previous to the moment of my radical departure from what some would call my sanity, we’re totally domestically blissed out. [Did I mention he runs marathons? And cooks?] I was totally into threesomes, though, as a self-described rampantly bisexual woman. I guess I prove that negative stereotype of the bi woman, too: no one can choose just one! <br /><br />It took me a few years, but I finally talked my sensuous, but not-really-kinky man into a threesome. It was super successful (no drama!), so I broached the topic of being fully open. This time, I respected my mate so much (as well should I, right?) that I did the unthinkable. I offered true equity. He was free to get it in as much as I was. That said, I was fairly certain I was a lesbian. Like, “Hey, my penis box is checked. Lemme find some pussy to play with.” I even joined Tinder to make this a reality, and I checked the “women only” box. I spent a couple months swiping left and right. <br /><br />Imagine all our surprise when, on a trip to France, I met what poly folks call a game-changer. And this game changer had (has!) a penis. I’m not sure how much that penis had to do with my baby daddy’s extreme reaction. More likely, it was the way I introduced the boyfriend’s existence into our lives. All bets off, all gates thrust open, and I quickly became the poster child for the complaint about polyamory: “It’s all about sex! You’re greedy!” <br /><br />I have more sex than anyone has a right to, it’s true. Making the beast with two backs (or three backs!) so often has had the unintentional benefit of helping me finally lose the 2nd-baby weight. My constant-sex weight loss plan has had some unintentional detriments, too. One of my escapades became the rock bottom from which I’ve begun to re-build my wrecked life.<br /><br />I met her online. She moved to my city, and we met up in animal-print onesies for brunch. We went back to her apartment and immediately proceeded to take off our adult pajamas in a scene much surpassing most hetero males’ fantasy of what girls do during sleepovers.<br /><br />It being a week before Thanksgiving, and her being new in town, I thought the sensible thing to do was invite my one-day stand to our big friends and family potluck. Where my husband, boyfriend, and two kids would all be.<br /><br />When she arrived, her first action was to grab my ass in front of god and everyone. Keep in mind this woman is around 6 feet tall, a stripper, and a dominatrix. Which is hot. But she’s also a self-admitted alcoholic, which is, you know, not. The rest of the party was basically her drinking and trying to stuff me like I was the turkey. My invite had said, “Thanksgiving Potluck: Twice the Leftovers, Thrice the Cuddles.” It seems she’d read it, “Thanksgiving Gangbang: Twice the Whiskey, Thrice the Drama.” To deal with my anxiety over her aggressive presence, I thought the sensible thing to do would be to get stoned. Really, really stoned. Stoned beyond the ability to function. Certainly stoned beyond an ability to effectively fend off this she-beast bent on deflowering me. <br /><br />I found my boyfriend and begged him to defend my honor. Ok, I actually just begged him to hide me until I could sober up enough to deal with the interloper. <br /><br />Meanwhile, she’s got my husband cornered and is yelling at him that we’re “doing Poly wrong” (no shit, Sherlock!) and that he shouldn’t keep me from her. I decided enough was enough, and I went to confront her. I came in on her telling him he should let me do whatever I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it. Something in me snapped hearing my own words from my teenage rebellion moment on the staircase repeated back to me. I finally found my voice. My voice told her who the fuck did she think she was? What kind of party did she think this was? I’m not a 7-11! Get out!<br /><br />I am grateful to her whiskey-soaked overcompensating presence in my life that night. I’ll tell you why. After she left, I shakily told my husband and boyfriend that they were enough for me. That I was only going to date them for a while. They shared a smile common to those who’ve bonded through defeat of a common enemy. They high-fived. Hell, if I’d known this would help them connect, I’d have invited some psycho domme home much, much sooner! <br /><br />Since then, I’ve been trying to be a good girl, or a better one at least. I’m trying to get this right after my initial eggs-to-the-wall plunge. I’ve been doing my reading. Poly on Purpose, Opening Up, More Than Two, and, of course, The Ethical Slut. I’ve been doing my apologizing. Please Forgive Me, I Didn’t Mean It, I’ll Try Harder, and, of course, You Deserve Better Than Me. I’ve been setting some boundaries. “We Can Discuss My Intentions Before I Act on Them.” “I Can Go Slower Sometimes When You Need Me To.” “I can totally keep myself from fucking my boyfriend loudly for hours in the house while you’re also home.”<br /><br />Sometimes, it’s best to be discreet. Which is something I could have used knowing in kindergarten when that bitch Mrs. Tilson ruined the purest experience of love I’ve ever had. Before she screwed it all up, I really did learn a lot of what I needed to know in kindergarten. I was never suspicious of what Veronica and Bridget did when I wasn’t around. Maybe they were making cootie catchers with some other kids at recess, but it didn’t matter. I knew how to be present in each moment, and not predict the future in scary ways. I didn’t wonder whether them banging out erasers after school with Mandy was going to lead to me being replaced in our naptime shenanigans. [Seriously, Bridget and Veronica: I miss you! Call me!] <br /><br />I’m trying to get back there. I’m trying to be who I am in each moment, and offer the love and respect my two lovers deserve. It’s a balancing act, and we’re nowhere near anything like a role model for Poly love. And that’s the hard thing about all this: there just isn’t a role model to follow. I have no idea what I’m doing, no matter how many smart Poly texts I read. So I guess this is where I have to keep writing. Writing into my new life, moment by moment, line by line.mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-21935441265010073462015-08-15T12:06:00.000-07:002017-05-08T12:27:43.468-07:00Forced Rhymes: An Ode to Fist-Fucking [what the subtitle said]<br />
<b>Forced Rhymes: An Ode to Fist-Fucking</b><br />
<br />
On the concrete we made soft as a bed,<br />
your fingers feathering and my clutching<br />
rips your shirt. Sorry I’m not, but I said<br />
I was sorry. The sound like your touching<br />
<br />
unmaking me each stitch by stitch by stitch.<br />
Your fingers in time, my frayed jerking hips.<br />
I tell you that I could tell we would fit<br />
From the first kiss you stole with flagrant lips.<br />
<br />
And I hate to rhyme, and that last one sucked,<br />
Forced punctuation, the high makes me blunt.<br />
You and your sugar fist, with which you fucked<br />
up so many faces, and now my cunt.mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-12041475153656445372015-07-15T12:08:00.000-07:002017-05-08T12:22:21.402-07:00Call & Response: A Conversation [a sexy poem]<br />
<b>Call & Response: A Conversation</b><br />
<br />
She:<br />
My mouth<br />
Shape it in your mind<br />
Like an audio jack<br />
The place where you make so much music come out of me<br />
Put it in your veins.<br />
Mainline me.<br />
<br />
He:<br />
My cock<br />
Make it with your mouth<br />
Like a taut drum<br />
The place where you make me beat such rhythms<br />
Put it on your ear drums<br />
Hear me.<br />
<br />
She:<br />
My eyes<br />
Take them in your hands<br />
Like an electric leash<br />
The place where I am so open<br />
glistening cornea coming clean<br />
Put them in your pockets.<br />
Quell me.<br />
<br />
He:<br />
My hands<br />
Read them with your eyes<br />
Like a map in a novel of<br />
The places we’ll go together, our<br />
Rising action, climaxes, the falling.<br />
Put them in your plot holes. Use them to<br />
Write me.<br />
<br />
She:<br />
My back<br />
Trace it with your breath<br />
Like a medicine walk<br />
The bridge where you travel<br />
The undulating vertebrate snake of my spine <br />
Put it on your dinner table.<br />
Dig in.<br />
<br />
He:<br />
My breath<br />
Stop it with your inner thigh<br />
Like a breathalyzer<br />
The curvy road of your hips<br />
Catching exhaling stutters<br />
Collect me like a gutter.<br />
Let me in.mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-67449220574056806112012-03-24T15:23:00.005-07:002017-05-08T12:28:00.878-07:00meeting the moment [journal-type musings]Even though I've deepened my yoga practice in the last year, and now practice multiple times weekly, if not daily (yet), I am no expert. Many things about yoga still strike me as odd, obscure, or downright offputting. For instance, the fact that I can't find a yoga shirt that doesn't ride up my mom belly in forward fold; the Sanskrit names for the poses, even the ones I've done thousands of times; and the reference to one side of my body as "masculine," and the other as "feminine."<br />
<br />
One yoga pose in particular has always held the same importance for me as the peppermint that restaurants put on the plastic credit card tray. [Who eats that thing?] It's the "holding your hands at your heart, palms touching" one. [No, I don't know what it's called in Sanskrit.] Well, lo and behold, I finally understand it, and funnily enough, my dead cat explained it to me.<br />
<br />
She's been coming around a lot lately. Not in a <span style="font-style: italic;">Sixth Sense</span> for cats "I see dead felines" sort of way, but not entirely unlike that, either. I keep getting this impossibly tangible sensation of her hair on my palm.<br />
<br />
The only part of her recovered from the coyotes was a tuft of her magnificent rusty-colored fur. I couldn't be counted on to brush it daily, but I took her like clockwork to the vet for a lion cut. I wanted to keep that fur from multiplying in the corners and under the beds. After she was gone, of course, I forbid sweeping the house. I missed the scraps of kitty litter getting stuck to my feet, even as I used to curse them. Eventually, my non-sentimental partner did sweep, did remove her litter box, and her food bag. I felt betrayed.<br />
<br />
For a while, when I felt her ghost fur in my hands, I would go get the morbid little tuft in its plastic bag in my sacred box (next to my mother's wedding ring, an empty bottle of her perfume, a wooden spool that belonged to my grandmother, etc. and etc. and etc.) I thought about how I never let my cat sleep with me (she might have woken me!), and how she eventually stopped trying, even when I changed my mind. I thought about all the ways I hide from the present moment, thinking of the future or fearing it. Clinging to the past.<br />
<br />
I thought of the whole "power of now" cliche. And it started to make more sense. If my cat's death was going to teach me anything, it would be something to do with this.<br />
<br />
A dear friend and I have decided to get a friend tattoo. Since we rejected our partners' suggestion to get their names, but cut in half, like an ink version of <a href="http://www.jewelrymakingexperts.com/best-friend-necklaces/">the old friendship necklaces</a>, we are left wanting a suitable alternative. In conversation recently, we focused on some central lessons we were both getting out of our yoga class, trying to visualize them. One lesson I'd begun to think of as "meeting the moment."<br />
<br />
As we were talking about how this concept could be worked into our tattoo, I started using my hands to explain it. I gave the example of a friend she and I were both in the process of "dumping." No regularly chatty patty, this man. Logorrhea, thy name is... well, his name. He overdetermines the moment with constant verbal streaming. He was abused so severely as a child that he likely will never be able to trust others enough to allow them equal space. Listening requires a high degree of vulnerability. When you listen, you're taking something into you, perhaps even letting it change you thereby. As I was discussing him, I pushed one hand against the other and steamrollered past it.<br />
<br />
Then, I talked about how some people hide from the moment, and I withdrew that hand, and held it away from its mate. Then I said, "but this is meeting the moment." I put my hands together, with just the right amount of pressure.<br />
<br />
I realized I was doing that throwaway yoga pose! Except it was no throwaway pose! I always wanted to stand in a way that stretched my wrists, or with my arms up so I could work on my tight shoulders. The pose was so passive. Or something. And--hello yoga retard!--so absolutely profound!<br />
<br />
Often, when we do this pose in yoga, we're singing a Sanskrit chant that means, in part, "My body is a temple." You've heard that phrase before. So have I. I always thought it meant "Eat well; make good decisions; you only get one body; blah blah blah." But it means something more like, "The body is a sanctuary. It's the interface between the self and<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>the divine." [It's hard for me to use that word, "divine." That's another part of yoga I'm still working on, its discussion of a higher power.] My body is the vehicle through which I experience <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span>; it's the meeting place. How fully I am living in my body determines whether I meet the moment (or don't).<br />
<br />
It's a constant struggle for me, to embrace life's loose ends. I strive to meet the moment, the ways my hands meet, just at that point of perfect surface tension, just at that point of sensual awareness.<br />
<br />
Leaving my car the other day, I had this brilliant flash of total acceptance. I saw Titus's toys and aborted art projects strewn about my car, and I started laughing, not upset at having a messy car, but ecstatic to have a healthy son, to have that "detritus of Titus," the little littered proofs of his existence. Recently, I stopped taking Trazadone to facilitate sleep. I still use earplugs, and often have to sleep alone, but I'm making my way to being a former insomniac, to becoming a person who doesn't need to sequester herself.<br />
<br />
My dreams have come back. Last night, the dream was the moon through a window, and a 2-D representation of the goddess of Spring. She morphed into a neon green and electric flowing 3-D depiction, one that <a href="http://www.androidjones.com/portfolio/portfolio-art/">Android Jones</a> would be proud to call his own. I woke up briefly, feeling blessed by that subconsciously generated art. I didn't freak out, "Oh god, will I ever get back to sleep?!" I enjoyed the residual image, and I let its visual lullaby lead me to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lethe">Lethe</a>.<br />
<br />
If Bast (my cat) had been there, I might have looked down and remembered she was named for the goddess of fertility, and maybe she would have been laying next to my "feminine side," and maybe I would have thanked her for giving me the dream.mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-69030536394751097572012-01-12T07:31:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:32:16.608-07:00the believing game [yoga-inspired musings]<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAA-ABTd28lK5aAa-hcAQuvjjSUmCUtwXJv7LT3vFDWb6QrAd_Rs0QgEM0SjrA4R934zskptXpSzRgrkZjAeMOinylnsNMJfYSMnirj4F4QjYeBecFdp3EcYCNBmBBFcV0UmfE6a2tvk/s1600/yogaapo.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697215696937200354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAA-ABTd28lK5aAa-hcAQuvjjSUmCUtwXJv7LT3vFDWb6QrAd_Rs0QgEM0SjrA4R934zskptXpSzRgrkZjAeMOinylnsNMJfYSMnirj4F4QjYeBecFdp3EcYCNBmBBFcV0UmfE6a2tvk/s320/yogaapo.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 213px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
Perhaps my most heart-felt blog to date has been <a href="http://mistressimmaculate.blogspot.com/2010/12/december-4-wonder.html">this one about my yoga experience</a>. After steadily increasing my yoga practice over the last year, I became a member of Karma studio this month. I see this monetary commitment as a real step forward in putting my money where my heart and health are.<br />
<br />
I think it's also a way of putting my family's heart and health first. Titus and I have our every-Saturday-morning practice, which we've been doing for 2 years now! Yoga is becoming so central to his life that this past weekend, he created a yoga-themed game. He took a piece of art he'd made, and converted it into "Yoga Game," which has the slogan (that he wrote out), "Go guys! Play the game!" It consists of grass, flower, rain, wind, and cloud poses. He had us roll dice, and do whatever pose we landed on. We played this game for over an hour, and it was as much fun as anything I've ever done.<br />
<br />
In my own yoga practice last weekend, I attended a 3-hour <a href="http://www.yogamag.net/archives/2005/ajan05/sanknat.shtml">Sankalpa </a>yoga class in Boulder with my ridiculously fit and incessantly inspiring friend, Heather. The stereotype of the hardcore Boulder-ite athlete hit home as I watched half the class do headstand poses I hadn't known existed. When folks did the <a href="http://www.sivananda.org/teachings/asana/headstand.html">Dolphin </a>headstand one-armed, I knew I was outclassed. I did manage to get into <a href="http://globetrekking.wordpress.com/2010/06/15/yoga/">Bridge pose</a> for the first time in years, with the help of the Anusara-based teacher's specific positioning instructions. I (think I) finally understand what "inner underarm" and "top of the arm bones" mean.<br />
<br />
The most useful part of the class for me was the meditation in the beginning. He asked us to think about "what does your heart want?" My initial reaction: "vague! lame! My heart's an internal organ, you hippie!" My secondary reaction: "well, I'm not going to sit here obsessing over my relationship or my cat dying, that's for sure."<br />
<br />
Of course, as I sat and attempted to clear my mind for pure thoughts my teacher would be proud of, I started obsessing over just those things. I realized if I wanted to break the chain of confusing, insecure, and sad thoughts, I'd have to be in the moment, and ask myself the damn question, "What does my heart want?", after all. Grr. Damn hippie yoga instructor. Fine.<br />
<br />
Images came to me, not words. I saw Titus making a face at me, a pretend angry face, and felt myself making it back. He'd done this to show me I was being pointlessly irritable and to re-engage me. I saw myself in the halls with a student who'd had a particularly growth-filled experience in my class and who'd researched Carl Jung's "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nigredo" style="color: #3366ff;">nigredo</a>" as a way of looking at her recent "dark night of the soul." Various other images flooded my mind. After enjoying them, I realized they were all of one type: moments of expressive connection, contributing to mutual health.<br />
<br />
That is what my heart wants. That's at the core of Stina. Expressive connection, contributing to mutual health.</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
Great. The little school girl that I still am inside, proud to have a right answer, wrote that under Question #1 in my internal test book.<br />
<br />
Right on cue with my small enlightenment, the teacher asked his next question. "How can Yoga help you achieve this?" Ooh, "pick me! pick me!" Immediately, I thought: flexibility! Wait, this isn't a fill-in-the-blank quiz. It's short answer, so I thought further than that.<br />
<br />
I thought about what flexibility really is. It's the ability to relax into discomfort, to let go of what's not serving me, of tightness and rigidity I don't need. It's been cited as more important for health than strength (<a href="http://psychologyofwellbeing.com/201008/yoga-mindfulness-and-great-sex.html">and as necessary for good sex</a>), and I think it is a kind of strength, the strength of the willow tree.<br />
<br />
If we truly want to connect with someone through acts of expression, we have to be flexible. We won't get much (aside from conflict at best and inauthentic experiences at worst) if we come to an act of co-creation with only our own agenda, unwilling to waver from it in truly collaborative fashion. Anyone who's ever been part of a play or a huge building project knows this.</div>
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
<br />
I thought of how I could have remained stiff when Titus made that face at me, but instead, I relaxed, returned the face. I stuck to my guns about whatever boundary he'd been testing, but I kept my mothering strength. I was able to give him (and myself) the reassurance he needed to know I still loved him; we were still connected.<br />
<br />
It's not easy to do this. How much of ourselves can we let go and still be ourselves? How can we be sure we'll get what we want? Well, Yoga can help us re-see that question. It can help us get what we <em>need</em>, which rarely has anything to do with certainty. Yoga can help us achieve a balance of flexibility and strength that makes our insecure questions less scary.</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
So of course, at this point, just when I'm on top of the world with all my right answers, and the <em>easiness</em> of this whole meditation thing--pshaw!--back in come thoughts of the problematic areas of my relationship and the dead cat.</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
Crap. </div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
Return to the question. What does my heart want?<br />
<br />
Return to the answer. Expressive connection resulting in mutual health.</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
So, why do I mourn my kitty, Bast? Surely not for her own sake. She is no longer in pain. <a href="http://www.bartleby.com/122/31.html">But for my own sake, I mourn her</a>. I mourn the end of connection, the end of her effect on my blood pressure, the end of my making her purr.<br />
<br />
Given this, is my sometime unease in my human relationship really rooted in our lack of a verbalized public statement of long-term intentions (marriage)?</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
No.<br />
<br />
I fear lack of connection in the NOW, which is making me care overmuch about the future. The <em>symbol</em> of commitment has become more important than the commitment itself. This compensatory measure is common to us humans. You see it when a parent with a troubled household obsesses over putting "perfect" pictures of their children in frames on the walls. You see it when a man stresses his masculinity to prove he still has it. We put up the facade to hide what's not working underneath.</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
At this point, I could have turned to thoughts like, "Whaaa! Why don't we have more authentic, mutually expressive connection? What's missing? What am I/is he doing wrong?"<br />
<br />
Thankfully, yogic meditation had granted me that spacious mindset that makes this sort of finger pointing seem as pointless as it is.<br />
<br />
Return to the question. "How can yoga help me achieve this? How can I allow for more connection in the now?"<br />
<br />
Return to the answer. I can relax into the uncomfortable areas. Instead of thinking about what <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> want, and how <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> want love to be manifested, I can listen to my partner's non-verbal expressions of love.* He has often asked me to "read his actions." What if I tried <span style="font-style: italic;">actually </span>doing this, even though it's out of my comfort zone? What if I tried to see him for what he is, truly observe him, versus some vision of what I think he should be? What do I stand to gain? [See <span style="font-style: italic;">Peter </span>Elbow's <a href="http://works.bepress.com/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1019&context=peter_elbow" style="color: #3366ff;">"The Believing Game"</a> for more thoughts on this way of question asking.] If my partner also engages the process of loving in this way, if we both pay attention to what the other one needs vs. just expressing and projecting our own needs, what do we <span style="font-style: italic;">both </span>have to gain?<br />
<br />
A) Mutual expression resulting in connection and increased health for both parties<br />
B) Happiness<br />
C) <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/03/27/funny-pictures-it-needs-mai-kisses/" style="color: #3366ff;">Nookie</a> [SFW, I swear!]<br />
D) All of the above.<br />
<br />
Ooh, pick me! I know the answer!!! D! It's D!!! [And hopefully lots of C!]</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
*If you haven't heard of the <a href="http://www.5lovelanguages.com/" style="color: #3366ff;">Love Languages</a>, I recommend them to you. I am grateful that my partner's dominant love language is physical affection, as is mine, such that when things get tough, we return to the nuzzle and the cuddle, the hand hold and the kiss.</div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<div style="color: #cc6600;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />
<br style="color: #cc6600;" />mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-16098923996555279452012-01-11T06:14:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:28:31.757-07:00open letter to a 4th grade dancer in the borrowed leotard [letter to former self]<strong><span style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "georgia";">I see you've chosen to dance for your 4th grade 4-H talent competition. You have recorded a song called "Miss Red" off the radio, and you have danced your heart out to it every night for weeks. You don't know much about professional dancers, but you have noticed they tend to wear leotards on TV, so you borrow one from a friend. It was part of her Halloween costume last year. She dressed as a devil. So, in your red borrowed leotard, you take the stage, which is really just a place in the cafeteria where they moved the tables over.<br /><br />Afterward, you'll wish no one had been watching you dance like no one's watching. You'll cry for a half hour in the back bathroom stall after Jason Mullinax and his entourage of meanies ask you for your autograph sarcastically, as you turn as red in the face as the borrowed leotard. You won't realize until adulthood that part of the problem, but only the smallest part, was playing an R & B song to a country and rock crowd.<br /><br />In this moment, though, you're following your bliss, and you are totally immersed in the dance. When it is taken from you, you spend years getting back to it.<br /><br />Last week, you made a new friend at a dance event you attend weekly, where everyone dances their hearts out. No one is worried about how they dance on TV. No Jason Mullinaxes wait in the wings to humiliate you. You do see a few men who could have been him, though, who seem to have changed their mind about this dancing business, but don't yet know how. You always make a point of going over to them, drawing them out, bringing them in.<br /><br />Because another thing you have realized in adulthood is that you weren't really the awkward one back then.<br /><br />You ask your new friend if you can borrow her outfit for your first ever belly dance performance the next week. She is glad to loan it to you. You spend last night at this event practicing your upcoming routine in this borrowed blue homemade beauty of an outfit. The belly dancers in the room draw you in, make you feel supported.<br /><br />This morning, on the way to perform, you're nervous and out of sorts. You can't put your finger on the reason. You love to dance, why should you be so irritable? That old R & B song, "Miss Red" comes on the radio. You instantly realize that you still fear Jason Mullinax and his entourage of meanies. You don't fear them in any real, embodied form, but you've internalized his voice mocking you, and you still use it against yourself. The infectious beats of this classic song cause you to car-dance the voice away, and you resolve to write this letter to your 4th-grade self.<br /><br />I want you to know that I was watching you dance, girl. And even if no one else in that middle school cafeteria would agree, I LOVED IT! </span></strong>mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-79331212304176998302010-12-04T15:23:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:31:49.936-07:00Buddha Speaks to Bad Mom [yoga-inspired musings]<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? </span></span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My answer: YOGA! </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In fact, I just went to yoga with my son for the first time this morning! He's been watching me stretch at home and mimicking me, so I thought it was time. I found this wonderful studio near my house called Karma Yoga, and so we went.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">At the end of my class, I heard </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Titus </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">(in the other room) say "I'm hungry!" I suddenly felt anxious, tightly drawn, like I should hurry up and get out of my dead-corpse pose and back to the real "business" of my day.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />But because I'd had such a good teacher, who'd helped me relax so fully, I was in a </span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">patient place. I could have reactions but also observe them, and I realized that my reaction was strangely based in some sense that Titus was making an accusation. "Why haven't you fed me?! Why didn't you bring me a snack?" i.e., Why are you a bad mommy. I laughed outloud, shirking my misreading of what was just his honest expression of a feeling. I realized i was projecting my own fears that I might mess things up, not provide for him adequately, etc. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">How beautiful that he has a working body with which to FEEL hunger! How beautiful that i have every ability to meet his needs! I felt such relaxation, such joy, and I was able to see him more clearly for what he is: a willful but sweet little boy who isn't afraid to express himself.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Laying there on my mat, I thought of my mother. i remembered how I usually spend this moment blaming her for my fear of criticism, thinking of how critical she was. Instead of having <i>that</i> feeling, though, I had compassion for her. I thought about why she might've been so critical. </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">If I could so massively misread my son, w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">hat was she hearing instead of hearing <i>me</i>? </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: normal;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />How often do we only hear others through our own projected fears? What a wonderful thing to see through the veil sometime!</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As we stood in the vestibule, putting our shoes back on, Titus asked me, "Who's that?" pointing at a statue of Buddha. The statue had a water effect, and a little light burbling in the center of a water effect, at Buddha's heart. I said, without thinking, "that's Jesus's friend, Buddha, like in the song, '<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DTiJHnF8tY">Oh Jesus, I love you, and I love Buddha, too</a>.'" You see, my son has been attending a Christian daycare, and as a wayward agnostic who laughs along when the more diligent atheists mention the "flying spaghetti monster," I have my concerns about his learning concepts I cannot agree with: only one path to God, only one face of God, judgement of others. The song "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DTiJHnF8tY">Oh, Jesus I love you, and I love Buddha, too</a>" is such a beautiful expression of faith. Because it honors all paths, I've been drawn to it and sing it with Titus often, even though I supposedly lack this thing called faith. Why then, do I talk freely about "walking my path"? Isn't that a matter of faith? </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Reflecting on t</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">he lyics of that song, there in karma yoga's vestibule, the veil lifted </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">further. More projection was revealed. My fears for my son have nothing to do with genuine concern for his well-being. I don't need to fear for him in this way. My fears have more to do with my own past experience in churches that talked about hellfire and brimstone as often as the compassion and glory of letting go, letting God. The churches, and some of the believers I encountered in my own childhood, had hate for (fear of) difference, and used religion as a way to wield power through judgement (fear of loss of control, rooted in the economic legacy of my family and region). </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It became clearer to me than ever that Jesus has nothing to do with THOSE projected fears, either! Jesus and Buddha really ARE friends! They both can serve as signposts on all of our ways. The song doesn't say, "BUT I love Buddha, too." </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">That fact seems so much more significant to me now than it had before. Choosing to say "and," instead of "but" shows that there's no judgement there, no argument <i>against</i> Christianity. Just an addition. The possibility of connection, not contradiction.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My southern Baptist mother's dying wish had been that I be saved. She had the preacher actually do an "altar call" at her funeral, which is quite unusual. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">I don't know what "saved" is if not the attempt to see through the veil, this embracing of others for what they really are and loving them, loving ourselves.</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Funny thing, veils, when one is lifted, others may also lift. I realized over the period of the next few moments that this was all my southern Baptist mother ever wanted for me: this sense of joyful letting go, this release. I'll never know how often, if ever, she got it, but at least now I know what she was reaching for. During the last few years of her life, her faith deepened, she became calmer, less critical. I have a new respect for her journey, and less concern for the specific name she used for the signposts along her way. </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I feel that I carry her with me as I walk, as I run, as I work and play. I like to envision her in Jesus's arms, quite literally now, without "enlightened" agnostic irony. I am grateful for her bringing me here, into this numinous world, this realm where my mind and body cup my spirit, like that little burbling light at the heart of the Buddha statue. And now, when I sing that song with Titus, I can <i>mean</i> the first few words, not just appreciate his intelligent vocabulary. I want to tell my mother, wherever she is, that I have indeed been saved, by ecstatically dancing, by meditating, by always trying to lift the veils.</span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Last thought on the matter: on the radio later this same day, I heard a Christian Republican senator from South Carolina being interviewed on NPR. He is outgoing, of course, due to all this Tea Party crap, due to his more nuanced understanding and gentle sophistication. I heard the compassion and wisdom in the man's voice. He has always been out of step with his fellow Republicans on the climate change issue. He said that <i>his</i> God told him to be a steward of the Earth, and that he thought we ought to do so. He compared God's people to children. Every time they learn something new, we cheer for them. Their first steps, sentences, etc. He thinks God feels this way about us, happy for our growth, wanting us to use our tools and minds to peek into the divinity of creation. He wouldn't have given us science if he didn't want us to use it, he said.</span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 21px;">Another way we try to lift the veil, to see through our own ignorance. Just like religion, science can be misused. But why focus on the misuses? Let's play the believing game and see where we can all go, together, walking our path, holding each other up as we go. I've got you if you've got me.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "verdana" , "arial"; font-size: 13px;">Oh Jesus, I love You</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "verdana" , "arial"; font-size: 13px;">And I love Buddha too<br />Ramakrishna, Guru Dev<br />Tao Te Ching and Mohammed<br /><br />Why do some people say<br />That there is just one way<br />To love You, God, and come to You?<br />We are all a part of You<br /><br />You are un-nameable<br />You are unknowable<br />All we have is metaphor<br />That's what time and space are for<br /><br />Is the universe Your thought?<br />You are and You are not<br />You are many, You are one<br />Ever ending, just begun<br /><br />Alright, alright, alright<br />I love You and Buddha too</span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2c2525; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-25638118842234090402010-12-03T15:52:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:29:28.279-07:00running down that hill [running-inspired musings]<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Blogging from the </span></span><a href="http://www.reverb10.com/the-prompts/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Reverb 10 prompts</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> again!</span></span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).</span></span></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I feel "most alive" most every day. A trusted professor/friend once said to us, "Life can't go boom every goddamned day!" I agree with him, but I also don't think feeling alive is all about the "booms." I'm certain you can feel "alive" every day, if only for a few moments. If we're defining alive not only as an exuberant whooping YES!!!NESS, but also as a calm savored swallowing of the joy at the back of one's throat. In fact, letting go of needing the "booms" (award, orgasm, whatever, product, product) is what can give us this alive feeling more often! And here I see a theme emerging in my recent blogging activity: process vs. product. </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">One process I've been engaged in this year is running, learning to run. On Thanksgiving Day, I went up to Boulder with my running mentor and before we cooked and feasted, we went for a bonafide trail run with two other, somewhat competitive runners. All runners were supportive of me, positive of my small step forward in my training and overall health. Every time I made it up what must have been a ludicrously small hill (to them), they cheered for me. They cheered, too, during the one downhill I did. </span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;"><i>After</i> the downhill, the other runners seemed impressed with my performance, calling me a veritable mountain goat. In fact, during it, one runner's voice, muffled by the intense crosswind, "wow, look at her take that hill!" I was honestly confused as to why she'd be so flattering. After all, I was only doing what came naturally, working with what was given, lightening my step even as gravity centered me, landing the solid pockets instead of the crumbly ones. Even as loose pebbles pressed at my soles, shifting where they should be solid, my feet seemed to know what to do. There they were, bounding and not caring, immersed in the insanity of being out there at all on such a cold day. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;">If only my mind could ever attain the perfect clarity of my feet that day, as they ignored my whining quads and wind-bitten cheeks, in total obeisance to their one and only gravity-influenced charge: move! Move NOW or fall! </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;">I remember such exhilaration as I picked my way down that hill. Such YES!!!NESS. </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;">The moment I want to tell you about isn't that one, though. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;">It's this one: at the bottom of the hill, leaving all that behind me, the rest of the run just beginning to go on.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 21px;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(44 , 37 , 37); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-48773620086314107042010-12-02T10:22:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:31:32.175-07:00writer's block [musings on time, not having enough of it, and other excuses]<strong style="color: #cc6600;">Today's prompt from Reverb:<br />December 2</strong><span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"> </span><em style="color: #cc6600;">Writing</em><span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);">.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"> What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?<br /><br />You all should see my schedule book. My best friends, my students, my colleagues, have often commented upon my amazing organization. Ha! I refer you to Derrida's concept of "differance," which, in my perhaps foreshortened understanding, indicates that the presence of a thing implies its opposite. Take the 7 Deadly Sins for example. Why would we need such a highly rigorous classification system for sin if sin weren't so messy? If I were actually organized, would I be casting a glance at a calendar with 3 layers of sticky notes on it, some of which cross-reference the other sticky notes?<br /><br />I schedule every moment of my time, which is a sure sign I don't have enough of it. Or at least that I don't feel that I do. Speaking of signs, I have an anal retentive one outside my office door which says, well, forget what it says, because it's just euphemistic for "if I'm not required to pay attention to you right now, go away!" Another indication of not having enough time.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);">But is this true? When I think of some of the things I manage to accomplish (which is quite a lot, actually) I realize I'm making excuses. The truth: I don't have an intrinsic desire to write regularly, so I don't. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);">Part of me hopes I'll be like Grandma Moses. In my 70s, novels will just flow out of me like snot from my 3 yo's nose. No, I suspect that like many things in my life, I want to HAVE WRITTEN, not to write. [I.e., I want to have learned to speak Italian, not to engage in the process of learning it.] </span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);">There are precious few things I enjoy the process of, without looking for a product: teaching, making ceramics, making love, traveling, dancing, cooking. Wait, that's not a precious few. That's a LOT!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);">My ex-husband told me once that my life was my art. Himself having already written 2 novels when he said this, I thought he was softening the blow of my inferiority. Or trying to get me back. Now I see what he said for the truth it contained. My life <i>is</i> my art. I am composing myself as I go, and as long as I engage in <i>that</i> writing process, I can be satisfied.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: rgb(204 , 102 , 0);">Of course, Derrida (and careful readers) would point out that my excessive use of italics above to indicate sincerity most likely indicates the lack of it.<br /></span></div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108019940639541965.post-12269915645336579432010-12-01T21:14:00.000-08:002017-05-08T12:30:23.520-07:00an office of her own [the move to Denver, beginning this blog to do the "REVERB" writing challenge, which I obvi failed to finish]<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(44 , 37 , 37); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">At the request of a colleague and friend, I'm participating in:</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></strong></span><br />
<h3 style="background-image: url("http://www.reverb10.com/wp-content/themes/diner/images/bg-scanlines.png"); background-position: 0% 50%; background-repeat: repeat repeat; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; line-height: 30px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: -340px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 10px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 9px; padding-left: 340px; padding-right: 20px; padding-top: 17px; text-transform: uppercase; vertical-align: baseline; width: 620px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(44 , 37 , 37); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.reverb10.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">#REVERB10</span></span></span></a></span></strong></span></h3>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(44 , 37 , 37); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">The idea: respond to a prompt every day, in order to help you reflect on the past year and manifest for the next one.</span></strong></span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(44 , 37 , 37); font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></strong></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">Today's prompt:</span></strong></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><strong style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">December 1</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"> </span><em style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">One Word</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">.<br />Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">My word is "<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">working</span></b>." </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">Here's why. In 2009, after 3 years of 20+ interviews in the overly glutted market of the Bay Area, I moved to Denver for the ever-coveted full-time college teaching gig. I landed at a wonderful little school in the area, full of open-hearted, dedicated, brilliant people. For the first time in my employed life, I will receive a W-2 from only one employer. Every single day that I go to work, I experience a deep joy and appreciation. Mostly, though, I'm not thinking about the ease of only one W-2 or the wonderful coworkers. Mostly, I'm just grateful for something quite material, perhaps overly specific and not too dignified to admit. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">God, I <i>love</i> my office. For this little square area I get to call all my own. Adorned with my friends' artwork. The collage box Margaret made, the endless photos by Amber. At my office, they surround me and I am near to them, though they are far away. I love the cozy little table, and the intimacy it encourages. Where just today I discussed the idea of eye gazing (as it appears in his research essay on love), and there we were, my student and I, in this cutely awkward moment, both overly conscious of our eyes meeting or not meeting. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">Of course, it ain't perfect. The damn heavy, track-set door sticks. Often the lock breaks. A bolt is missing from the handle. Those quirks aside: a room of her own. I've finally got mine. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">I have so many memories already associated with this space. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">-First day on the job, spying a piece of art about to be thrown away in the basement, asking if I could save it, and then the darling custodian, Jack, offering to hang it for me. [I am relatively certain that I did not <i>consciously</i> bat my eyelashes to achieve this offer, but when your Aunt Evelyn teaches you how to do that at the age of 11, you can't exactly turn it off, now can you?]</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">-Last day on the job Spring, '10, the conclusion of my first full year, after receiving a solid evaluation from my supervisor, and deciding to pump my Emancipator Pandora station and host a dance party of one (with an occasional second person joining in).</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">I love that my memories of the space reflect what I strive for as the best manifestation of my self: someone who can go after what she wants, enjoy it once she gets it, and give something worth having to others in the process. That's been my intention for 2010, and so far, it's <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">working</span></b> for me. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">Other notable reasons I chose "working": I have been working hard to further my emotional growth, focusing specifically on one key concept, "it ain't always about me." This does not just refer to the idea that I shouldn't be so selfish, but that people's negative comments or actions don't usually have much to do with me, but are more often a sign of where they're at and what they're going through. The phrase reminds me to have empathy and compassion. I am also working to be the best mother I can be and the best romantic partner I can be and the best friend I can be. At its best, the work feels like play. At its worst, well, I feel I should be getting paid overtime. </span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;">Next year's word... hm, this part feels odd. I don't want to have an expectation (another thing I'm working on). My first instinct was to type: <b>fruition</b>, as in reaping what I've sown, but you know, I think those two are inseparable. I'm reaping what I sow in real time, right now, even as I type and you read this.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc6600;"><br /></span></span></div>
mistress immaculatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03850154686373901174noreply@blogger.com4