Deliverance

Have you ever had a moment, this sudden crystal clear moment of understanding and clarity, a hit on the head from a complete opposite point of view? You don’t mean to change. You literally ARE changed, forever.

That happened to me tonight.

I saw for the first time in my whole life, I had become something I’m not, a characteristic of myself I would have argued you to the grave would never have existed in me.

I SAW I BECAME SOMETHING I HATED.

It shocked me, like a cold blow to the pinky toe when your running past the corner, unaware the edge of your couch was coming in direct proportion and speed as your pinky toe. The moment is nothing but pure vulgarity as you grab the source of pain, holding it pounding, pumping blood at a faster and faster pace, ensuring you that not only did your pain control your mouth, it might never end.

Then it does.

I saw this part of me I had been fooling, an idea I had built for myself, an idea propped with naive denial in epic proportions, completely and honestly stupid amounts of unawareness.

How do you explain such a thing?

Let’s try “Go- Go Dancing.”

For my logical readers, not literally, I’m just trying to illustrate a point.

Let’s say your entire life you spend believing you are the best “Go -Go Dancer” that ever lived, a goddess you were in this field, a proclaimed, bragged upon, stealth of a “Go-Go Dancer.”

Then, on an ordinary day, driving home you watch a You Tube clip for just a moment, let’s say a five second “Go Go” clip from your Iphone, not for any particular reason than you show up aware that day, which blows you away.

There is nowhere to run cover.

You are alone, in rush hour, the truth smashed in your face.

“You are NOT ONLY NOT THE BEST GO GO DANCER THAT EVER LIVED, in fact,

YOU are a SHITTY ASS HAVE NO RHTHYM “Go Go Dancer.”

You imagine the “Simon” of “Go Go Dancing” eating you to shreds.

How could this be happening!

You TEACH “Go -Go” dancing, for a bunch of fools you now see for the first time, who are being taken, paying YOU for “Go Go Dancing TIps”, the clip of what you just played, stuck in your mind’s eye.

“How could people not have told you? ”

You are moving from shock to horror.

Wait. They did. Many times.

Instead of thanking them for the information you’re pretty much the worst “Go-GO Dancer‘ ever lived, you got angry. You did not even break a little, just grateful someone was saving you from mortification, loving you enough to show you that the truth of your life was in fact, not built on truth.

Nope.

Instead, you got REALLY angry.

It caused division, amongst most the people you love, all separate but unified in telling you that if you looked further, you might find some requirements on teaching “Go Go” to others, clearly because you had no business DOING IT, much less TEACHING IT.

Then you realize.

You are without a doubt, the lowest of all the low, remorse pounding out you like an empty glass, once full of liquor, now bottomed out.

Dry.

Harsh.

Empty.

Ashamed.

You are not a “Go Go” dancer, you say alone and out loud to yourself, many times.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Shame shoots up your body like a flaming shot of alcohol lit on fire, hits so hard you have now landed on your ass.

But not the bad shame, the self loathing and tears for the ego, oh no.

This is the good stuff.

The shame that makes you look around and hate something about yourself, in one ego breaking soulful shining moments of tears and remorse.

It is almost too unbelievable, the nights awake, the journals, the books and self help so that  this tragedy never occur, you know, all the training and STILL,

You had become something you hate.

These tears are different than crocodile tears, sold out excuse tears, for all the petty bullshit you use to feel sorry for yourself.

These tears rip you in places truth and light needs to shine, the harsh truth to these tears show you actually as you are, no filters, clothing objectionable, so you sit naked and let it shred.

You now understand with clarity that you don’t deserve the life you have, if after this awakening or crumbling you have just experienced, to not just make radical changes, but to also confess.

You know with heart racing and names racing, who you will call first and apologize.

Then you put your face down, lift your hands, shaking, to something so greater than yourself, you thought YOU could fool it, and you cry, ask, thank, and forgive.

You are just honored to have its grace even though you have behaved so ungracefully. You close your eyes in fright, knowing those people saw that clip and knew all along you were faking “Go Go Dancing,” KNEW this about you, while some had offered up suggestion, others pointed and screamed at it, but yet, these same people are still around?

That, my friends, is the power of Grace.

Like for me, having a BFF like Thelma.

It peels you.

It cuts open and rips your gut out.

It purifies you.

Your eyes still burn from the flame as it pushes and rises. This feeling you recognize as passion, a new word to an old cynical heart. That heart has been replaced.

As if just removed from your chest like a pop tart flying into the air, caught by a fiery pan,  so was the change in that heart, like pancakes, flipped and caught, flipped and caught, still beating and put right back in your chest.

A new heart. That doesn’t happen often to me, at this age of absolute stubborn identity.

All I can say, is I am so sorry for being that.

I am only forgiven by learning and being the better for it, no loss but my own to be sabotaging the very life I aim to create.

The question to study to ensure you never are that again?

I do believe I have that down. The answer being,

“How did I become that?”

It’s the answer I shall be seeking, but for now, off to bed.

I had planned on ending this blog with the year of writing, papers all around me, pushed to sequence, a grand finale. What do I know anymore? I do know this.

“I’m not who I’m going to be…

“I”m not where I want to be..

“But thank God, I ain’t what I was.”

Good night.

Lose the Keys and Follow Your Dreams

My heart is full with gratitude to be sitting here, coffee in hand, with my blog and you, my strange friends out in the universe. I have missed writing and have felt the pain of not expressing my ups and downs daily, a balance that always grounds and restores me. I am excited the next three weeks to return to my writing, the blogs of bondage shoots, people, laughter and experiences bursting to be expressed.

I have been living like a hurricane building slowly on the horizon, a dangerous and destructive omen to most, a storm unyielding and unpredictable, my presence unbearably feared by my mother, who has been worried about my health and lack of sleep. I have 26 unheard messages I think, my phone is MIA at this very moment. I missed the annual tree decorating this year with my girls. I whisper I love you to all of you during the day, when a text comes through, a thought pops up, a song is playing, when my heart drops at your status on face book I had again missed, and then in the early morning when my return reply had been replaced by drool on the side of my face, the awareness I went to bed fully clothed again.

I don’t know if the echoes of my whispers find their way, but I just hope, sometimes cry, my tears falling from either trust or doubt.
I certainly have not known the difference, especially at first.
I once thought you should have a key to having it all, and so I looked for the key tirelessly, mostly through my love of all things spiritual, self help books, failed relationships, lots and lots of questions to all kinds of people. I am passionate I can have it all, and my treasure has been an endless search for the perfect key that will bring the energy available to my work and family, friends, independence, and even love.

I have been looking for keys my whole life.

People who know me would laugh because it is so true, my keys are always lost, locked in or out of my car, stuck in 14 foot drains when it is raining, and I feel bad for people who love me for this reason. I could be in a New Jersey Hotel, a cemetery shoot, or in the driveway crying, but it never fails the best friends I have are most likely cursing me in the bushes. Divorcee, who has a gift I might add, knows to always look in the most illogical place possible, which is actual logic, and sometimes, like the bushes, or the fridge, there they are, a white light illuminating them in my eyes, my face overjoyed, his head shaking.

Triple A is probably what I should be asking for Christmas.

I lose but also collect keys, uncertain why, many of them are rustic and beautiful, some are prison keys, concrete and heavy. I love keys, in all shapes and sizes and the best of them tell a story, represent bondage and freedom, wisdom, and love.

Haven’t you overheard the phrase he holds the key to my heart? I used to wonder if that could be true.
Can people hold keys to your heart and is it possible just anyone could have the key and open and shut your heart as pleased?

If keys could represent love and dreams, no wonder I have been collecting them, wanting desperately to unlock all my heart’s desires, the search endless.

No wonder I can’t find one to complete me, so I collect them and have found some of the best in garage sales and nice antique shops, the perfect key makes me smile, especially if it makes you pause and stare, is worn and authentic, waiting to unlock something fabulous.

Strangely today, if the key to solving my disappearance were in my hand, the key to a workable loving relationship with a man, being fully present with my kids, my mother’s fear vanishing, the only key to turning off my brain racing with anxiety and excitement were in my hand, I would not even think twice.

I would toss it right out the window, without even hesitation, unless I was aware of a pedestrian, or maybe to turn up the volume in my car, my laughter and tears of the day falling, which they do fall every day, but rather they come from joy or pain I can’t ever seem to know.

I have become alive and I am never going back.

Becoming alive has been a fearless and painful process because I don’t think I understood it fully till now.

I think about the word “SHOULD” in my life and all that have brought me to you today, my heart beating in that loud beautiful way, the way one’s heart must beat while alive. I recognize it because it is new to me, a bold unfamiliar pattern I am strangely adapting to understand.

You SHOULD lose your best friends because that is what your husband wants.

You SHOULD be a good stay at home mom because that is what your mother did best.

You SHOULD not write about the things your family feels so much pain over.

You SHOULD accept years of unhappiness in a marriage because you brought kids here.

YOU SHOULD NOT BE SELFISH.

YOU SHOULD GIVE YOUR WHOLE SELF, NO MATTER THE COST, BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT LOVE MEANS.

And so I did, worked tirelessly to make all the demands I believed should make life matter, and I regret nothing, seeing those decisions found me here today along with a lot of healing, beautiful children and relationships stamped by the word “FOREVER.”

But those things did not make me come alive.
It hurt actually.

It made getting up a hard thing to do, my arms like weights being lifted just to hit the alarm, the voices of doubt pushed so that I had like a robot, repeated these unfamiliar dreams into a pattern now familiar, dreams I thought I had to want o be my own.

“Life is not easy,” and “Look at the good things” and “You could be worse and have been” are mostly the ways in which I convinced my dream to be a good one.

Dreaming is scary for Robots.
Robots are careful not to see too much hope. They know despair soon follows.
Robots are careful not to see too much destruction. They know destruction costs you everything. That is why they do everything the same way, but they are wired incorrectly. They are still living in fear every day, but it okay as long as they are unaware of why or have a creator they blame for the damaged circuiting.

Robots sense fear and loss and despair and so they pretend the life they have is the one they ordered, unchangeable, and for whatever reason, dreams do not get a receipt. You accept the damaged lost dreams and you go on.
Or they can also pitch a fit, blame everyone behind the counter, stomp through life angry and unmovable, completely convinced the people in standing distance must all be punished. Robots don’t even ask about the exchange policy.

It seems strange now I did not question either whether dreams never expire, or believe you can change your mind or even ask for a new dream, uncertain if it even exits, or how much it costs.

Being a Robot has cost me a lot in my life, but I did not know it.
I was just a Robot.
Being alive has hurt, cost me relationships I value, and I tremble at the future, aware it may hold even greater destruction than I know how to handle. I fear not only believing in the dream and losing it, but the reality of losing the ones I love in the process.
It has been hard for me to realize Robots say the right things, the cliche of “FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS,” wanting you to follow your dreams and when you do, what they actually meant all along was,
“Follow your dreams if I am a part of it.”

“Follow your dreams but don’t come to me for help.”

“Follow your dreams if it is the one I think is best for you.”

“Follow your dreams but need me and don’t go far.”

“Follow your dreams but I am pretty certain you will fail and if you don’t, I wont like myself around you.”

Robots don’t want to feel less and it makes them afraid when you decide to do the very thing they desire.
All Robots want to be set free.
So when you set yourself free, it makes them aware that they have not, and suddenly, they do not like you.
And yet, I can’t go back.

I have this funny wonderful feeling that the dreams I had before were all programmed Robot dreams, my life an evolving door of pain and suffering, having been programmed by fear, fully dressed in Robot gear.
I am not sure yet but I wonder if dreams don’t actually cost you.

Maybe that is a robot invasion programming device convincing me I am unworthy.

I wonder if all I have to do is look up.

The dreams may just start falling straight from the sky.

The One Who Got Away

 

I was waiting tables six years ago when he wandered into my section with a mutual friend, and I believe he ordered a couple of draft beers, something dark, and later, a cup of coffee, black.

He was very quiet, with a plaid shirt, tats, a hat he took on and off his head nervously. I noticed that he stared at me a lot.

Even more, I noticed how much I liked him staring at me and it made me flush deep shades of red, my hands shaking every time I filled his coffee.

He stared right through me, like he could touch me with his mind.

I didn’t know you could feel naked completely clothed, not like that.

He was there a few hours and I don’t think I noticed one other person in the smoky bar but him. Our mutual friend chit chatted about this and that, my stomach turning as I talked, feeling him stare straight through me.

And then, out of nowhere, as I talked fast and nervously, he interrupted,

YOU’RE MARRIED?” He asked it like he had just found out someone shot his favorite puppy.

I blushed. “Yep!” I shoved my ring out in front of the table, shaking, wanting to cry, not really understanding why.

He laid his head down in quite a dramatic way, and I felt this horrible rush of guilt as I wondered for the first time as a married woman what it would be like to be completely free, having not made any vows, any commitments to a mortgage, a child, and a husband. My husband and I had long began the process of leaving one another when this gorgeous stranger appeared from nowhere, reminding me what it was like to feel again.

Our mutual friend kept telling him it was time to go, and it was. We were smiling way too much, connecting in a way that felt uncomfortable, and we both knew it wasn’t right. When he got up to leave, he put his arm around me in a friendly way, and leaned over and smelled my hair.

Mmmmm. God, your hair smells nice.” And just like that, he walked out the front door.

I relived that moment in my mind over and over for years, after having another baby, a separation that ended terribly, and finally, a divorce. I wondered about him a lot, but knew all hope had been lost, feeling for sure he was married himself, and that moment had been built up in my mind, completely forgotten by him.

And then he found me. He lived hours away but he still found me by searching my name through Myspace, and had just gone through divorce himself, and on top of everything, he was convinced that I was the only woman for him. It was a fairytale, and I was finally Cinderella. We fell in love over texts, hours of phone calls, and a trip promised, planned, just like our future together.

I waited for him in the rain, freezing, as he jumped off the train to see me. I felt like my life had just jumped off the pages of a romance novel, and everything I experienced with this man was so magical, so breathtaking. It was like I finally realized what I had been missing.

Until our last day together. He was distant, nervous, anxious to get home. I didn’t know what had happened or why but something had completely switched, and I knew by his eyes that something was so wrong.

I can’t do this, I’m sorry. I can’t.” He could barely look at me.

I started to sob, and he just left. He left me there without even turning to say goodbye. Just like the first time he walked out of my life, but this time, his steps haunted me.

It was brutal for me and I could hardly get out of bed for the next three months, my grief so heavy and my heart completely broken. Every day was a challenge, and I didn’t know it could hurt that bad to just be alive. Its a testament to the human spirit that just when I thought I couldn’t go on, I did. And slowly but surely, things healed and my laughter returned. Days turned to weeks into months and now more than two years later, having nothing but that biting moment of being left by a man I loved with everything I had, I get this text from work.

U were never meant to be mine but I love you. It has always bothered me that you weren’t sure about that. I’m moving even farther away- I wont be back.  I just pray you know how much hugging you would mean to me- how smelling your hair would make me feel eternal- how watching you eat would make me feel alive. I have lived on the memory of seeing you two Springs ago. Your an amazing woman. I will pray to cross your path once more. Be blessed.

Two years later and I can finally receive the closure I have always wanted. I can’t be angry anymore or sad that the fairytale he promised didn’t exist.

I can finally stop blaming myself for somehow not being enough, and I cried tears of relief that I had not been crazy, that he did love me indeed.

I can finally breathe gratitude for a boy who stopped me dead in my tracks. Its like a ghost from my past has stopped by to remind me how deeply I am capable of loving, how much I have to give.

He will always be the boy who stopped to smell my hair.

He will always be the one who got away………………..