Gratitude

How fortunate I am to have people in my life who, when I reach out... are there.

New Year's Resoultion

Freedom.

It's all I really want.

Thought in real time

An evolved man knows and honors the power of his true masculine essence, therefore he has no need or desire to objectify, demean or degrade women. An evolved woman knows and honors the power of her true feminine radiance, therefore she has no need or desire to use her body as a weapon or a tool, or turn herself into an object for a man to use for his superficial pleasure and then discard.

Sitting at the sidebar

Comes to the Light (Everything)

The way things aren't

A friend's facebook post said, "The calm before the storm," but at first glance I thought it said, "The clam before the storm."

One day

But it starts with this.

Evolving 101

Originally posted March, 2010

Not long ago, I was with a man who called me a Goddess. He told me there was no one more beautiful, more wonderful, more lovely than I. We were like drug addicts together, and our drug of choice was romance.

Carl Jung said that romantic love was designed, among other things, to draw us together for the purpose of procreating, and every few years top news periodicals recycle this headline: Understanding The Science of Love. Although I'm convinced chemistry plays a big part in the pairing of people, I've always rejected the notion that science is the puppeteer, hiding backstage and pulling the strings, that surely matters of the heart are more mysterious than that.

The declarations offered by the man who thought me a Goddess felt like needles in my veins, and they fueled my seemingly insatiable desire to be adored. Every stroke, compliment and whisper in my ear made up for my father's absence, the vacant look in an old lover's eyes, and the string of disappointments I'd suffered since the search for my Knight-In-Shining-Armor first began. I thought the gestures of my beloved were meaningful, but at best they were his feelings in the moment; if they had been meaningful, we could have built a life on words alone.

I know a man who calls Hollywood romance movies "Love Killers," and though it may sound extreme, I think he's right. Every story is an adaptation and a reincarnation of Cinderella, and they add more and more fuel to the romantic fire that burns in most western women. But it's not a real fire, it's more like one of those petroleum-based logs you buy at the grocery store. You don't have to chop a tree or carry the wood. You don't have to cover it in crumpled paper to help it ignite. There is no work to be done, no mess to clean, just poof, like magic, the flames burn eternal.

I've always been a fan of the poet, Pablo Neruda, and anyone who knows me would understand why:

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me all day.
I hunt for the liquid measures of your steps.

I know what it feels like to crave someone, but whereas I once considered these sentiments the essence of passion; raw, untamed and unbridled, I now see them as limited versions of love.

I understand the intense feelings that would make me (or Neruda) go "... hunting for you, for your hot heart, like a puma...," but what I'd rather have is a man who considers my daughter, drinks wine with me while I cook stew, and stands beside me at a funeral. I no longer need him to see my hands as "... the color of a savage harvest...," I just want him to see me as a lover and a friend.

There will always be women younger than me, prettier than me, and smarter than me, but there will never be another me, so why would I want to be something less than me? Why would I want to be a goddess, or a girl in a dream, or a song, or a sonnet? I am already, as we all are, so much more than that.

I used to want a man to knock me off my feet, but now I want a man who inspires me to stand. I used to want a man who would take my breath away, but now I want a man who allows me to breathe. I used to want a man I couldn't live without, but now I want a man... I can live with.

Tree house #1

In South Africa. For real.

The art of lovemaking

Tend to the neck.

Two sides of me

I am a sparrow... and I am a hawk.

Thought in real time

You can take her to dinner, hold her hand, tell her you love her and sleep in her bed. You can give her presents, but if you're not present to her, she'll never be happy... and she'll never be yours.

Spirit

This is the first time in years I can feel the holidays; the truth of the season, my truth of the season; the gratitude and honor I now give to it all, and the quite way I've just begun to celebrate my life.

Thought in real time

I would rather the right man do the wrong thing, than the wrong man do the right thing.

The sun came out today

In the city... and in me.

lmfao

Good morning

It's time to wake up. :-)

Evolving 301

The bad news is, my father was unavailable when I was a child. The good news is, that was the worst thing that happened to me. The bad news is, I was an extremely sensitive little girl. The good news is, my sensitivity is also one of my gifts. The bad news is, I have spent a lifetime choosing the wrong men, perhaps in an attempt to mend what was broken with my father, and the good news is, I finally see it. The bad news is, I give myself away repeatedly, and recreate and relive feelings of abandonment. The good news is... I do believe I'm done with that.

Fly away, love

Recently, I watched thousands of Starlings fly in formation over the city of Rome. At one point they made a perfect heart shape... but the moment was just too fleeting to hold.