Tuesday, October 21, 2014


I take my clothes off and set them aside, as I always do, by a rock.

I stand under a spring..a warm spring. One day, when I leave this place, I swear to God, some of those angels and I...we're going to have a good, long talk. Because, I don't understand. I'll never understand. I'm too naive, too stupid...my heart, too sweet.

Let them hurt me a thousand times. It won't be me who hurts them. No way. Let them torture me, as they do now. What do I care? I have integrity. It's not their fault they can't "see." They're not worthy of an inch of me...not of my body...my heart...my mind...my spirit. They deserve nothing.

A woman told me once that I need to learn the art of pretend. I need to learn when to wear the mask. Because people like to play. They're like children...vulnerable children who protect and shield themselves from hurt and pain. I don't want to live like that. I'm not of this world. I'm not of this world. If I could pick up and leave, I would...and sail away...far from this place...towards one filled with imagination, enchantment and wonder.

I can't believe how stupid man is. I let the water wash away these thoughts...these persistent and troubled thoughts. I deserve better. I deserve the real. I deserve magic...not some coward who won't fight for me, who doesn't love me, who only wants in my pants, who can't respect even himself. What good is he to me?!

I hold onto myself. I grab hold of my arms. I tell myself, "It's alright. It's alright. Your time will come. Sooner or later, all of this will end." I thought I was weak. No, that's not it. I am strong, stronger than I could have ever imagined. I'm almost resentful of this strength, this fortitude, this resilience. It ensures I rely on myself. Every time I let my guard down, even a little bit, the potential for pain is great. What do I do? Remain like the High Priestess? Keep my mouth shut? Let myself dwell in Mystery? Or do I live like the Queen of Cups? Let myself be open and humble to everything and everyone? No, that won't work, either. I must be the Lady of the sword...

I mustn't trust so easily. I get burned. How I get burned. If I could let all of this slide off my back...half the battle would be won. But, I'm not there yet. I'm too sensitive. I don't expect to be understood. The places one would need to travel to reach me...ah...impossible! So, I look up and then down. I whisper a little prayer...a tiny wish...and hope it reaches the Heavens.

In the meantime, I stand under this Spring, alone, and I wait...I wait for the day when I can make sense of this all. Man can't save me. How can he, when he can't even save himself? When he can't even see there's something to save? When he hasn't built anything to save?

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Someone I Used To Know

I want to run with my stories, today, because..it feels so good...

Where do I start?

I met a man, or rather, a guy, online...one year ago, today. We started up a dialogue, which I thought had turned into a spiritual discussion, but, I was wrong. There was nothing spiritual about it.

I suffered from anxiety. It was the most trying and difficult time of my life, up until that point...Even being robbed at gunpoint, paled in comparison to what I was required to endure because of the anxiety. And, you know what? It's okay. Because I met this guy and he seemed really open, unique...different from the rest. Ah...and now I realize, that was just me putting him up on a pedestal the way I had done with the other one...the one who pretty much shaped the course and trajectory of my life.

In any case, through the dialogue and discussion, my anxiety began to subside in a real way. I was and am very grateful for that...and to him. He was a ray of sunshine in my life. I hold this gratitude in my heart. I hate it when a sweetness turns sour, though. I don't understand. I don't understand how one can claim to be compassionate and be so self-absorbed. It doesn't make any sense.

What do you think happens after nine months of dialogue? What do you think happens after writing to someone, consistently and "persistently", as he once put it, for that long? I thought he was my...friend. I thought we were developing a connection. But, no. He was only ever interested in me as a charity case and he can deny it all he wants...That's exactly how it was. I even tested him to see. His lack of "interest" in me, as a person, is pretty apparent.

I find it all so odd. Three months in, he let me have it when he thought I walked away without a word...after I'd taken a shot at his integrity. It was the first time I saw his human side and to be honest, I was relieved. I really did feel as though he lacked emotion, up until that incident...so, when I received two angry emails, I saw what I meant to him or rather, what I thought I meant to him. I thought I mattered a little bit. He implied that he cared...because I had never ever felt that from him. Looking back on it though, it was only his ego talking. He'd spent everyday with me for three months, again, as he put it...and by walking away the way I had, he thought I was being disrespectful and ungrateful. And even though that was all cleared up, I can't help but still feel that he only ever cared about his ego...or that he'd spent all that time with me because he was trying to "help" me discover who and what I am. He doesn't understand how insulting he can be. When he saw that I wasn't "getting it", he didn't see the point in the dialogue anymore...but, he still hung on, even though he sometimes, felt annoyed. He hung on??!! Like he's God's gift to the world and to me. Fuck off! It was alright for him to have expectations of me but not for me to have expectations of him??!!

I shared intimate details with this person...later, my artwork...just "stuff"....I guess, nothing but stories to a Neo-Advaita guy. And no, he never asked about me or my life..or anything, really, which just reinforces the idea that he was kind of like a teacher, mentor or counselor...only I never thought that's what I was signing up for. In fact, I never wanted that, again...not after my experiences with ex-mentor. I say that it was his ego talking because I felt that he needed to convince himself of his own "truth", that by imparting his understanding to me and by me finally "getting it", it meant that he had fulfilled his mission where I was concerned. He could pat himself on the back by having succeeded. He's so arrogant and can't see it.

I'm a fool. He said he wasn't closing any doors when he told me he wanted to limit email communication. Why would I want to walk through that door, again? Just so he never has to walk through mine? The implication is such that he maintains clear boundaries, that he doesn't "see" me the way I want to be seen, that he doesn't have to "give" of himself, and that we are not...friends...."online" friends, though, nonetheless. Really??!! Did you know that a "real" friend doesn't want or need anything from you? What nonsense!

He asked what in me needs him as a friend, AFTER he had told me we were...but, since he has a bad short term memory, I didn't think it was wise of me to bring that up, so kept my mouth shut...because...well...he's always right. Who can *really* talk to anyone who thinks they're always right? I really don't feel that I was asking for anything out of the ordinary. Is it not natural for a connection to develop when two people are consistently conversing? What am I? Crazy? I resent having someone try and make me feel that there's something wrong with me for wanting something that is COMPLETELY NORMAL. Fuck off, again!

This is MY space. Here, I am understood. Here, I see the truth exactly how it is. Should I not take it personally? How easy for him if I didn't. Hmmm. How easy for him that I did!! Now, I'm out of his hair. That he can just tell me not to feel rejected and think that I wouldn't...Please. Give me a break.

Hey, but it really IS okay...because it's just life moving through me...just decisions being made for me. How fortunate for him. That's where he and I are different. I AM compassionate! I wasn't just a taker, you know? It wasn't him who was discarded and thrown away. Ever. It was me. I gave, too...of myself, more than he ever did, more than he ever could. I wanted him to feel like he could trust me...but, his walls are too damn thick and he doesn't want to share of himself...with me, anyway. Which is fine. I think he needs to feel important, to know that his time isn't being wasted. Like he's the only one who feels that way...I don't understand.

I really am shocked, to say the least. Almost two months since I last wrote, and not one peep from him. It really does go to show what you mean to a person...and in this case, that would be nothing. I'm glad I can see this truth. In a few months, he won't even matter to me, anymore. He'll be just someone I used to know...nothing more and nothing less....because I'm pretty convinced, I'm just someone he used to know, too, and far less important. I'm not even on his radar. It's not his fault...just how it is. Blah, blah, blah....Good riddance!

I can't help but hear the words, "All things created by man must come to an end..." How true. How true, indeed.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Love or Not...

A month back, I met an interesting man at a cafe where I enjoy spending time. A group of us were all out on the patio. I was sitting next to a young guy who I discovered writes poetry. To make a long story short, the topic of love came up. Poetry and love go together, don't they? Truth is, I was embarrassed to share my work, afraid of being ridiculed, judged or misunderstood. Well, I felt vulnerable...and who wants to feel vulnerable? I told them I would show them my writing next time. Of course, I didn't. It surprised me to be having a conversation with people who knew nothing about me and who seemed genuinely interested in reading my writing. And...they're men...Most men don't give a shit about any of that, unless they're trying to impress a woman. And, I'm not that special. Nor am I pretty. I mean, there are plenty of beautiful women out there. I am not one of them.

G, the Spanish man, said, "Love doesn't exist." I thought about an entry I'd read in one of Luis Manuel Ruiz's books...The title of the book escapes me now. Maybe it wasn't even one of his books. It could have been Paulo Coelho's...In any case, it was about a man who didn't believe "real" or "true" love existed between a man and a woman. I sat there trying to convince G that he was wrong. "Of course love exists!" He said that he would never fall in love again, that he had loved once and got burned. A part of me was envious. I thought it was strange because how does anyone really have that kind of control over something so uncontrollable? The heart wants what it wants. Maybe he's right, though. Maybe love doesn't exist, not "that" kind.

How many clues does the Universe have to show me in order for me to see and recognize my own disappointment? How many signs do I need for me to see the truth...not as I want or wish it to be...but as it really IS? I'm a fool. I live in dream. Love is work. The honeymoon always ends...

Life is just one big game, a stage of players...of winners and losers. I'm a loser. I don't play right. I don't even know how to play. My heart is too big and yet, not big enough. She needs to be tamed because I'll get hurt, otherwise. No one will hurt me again. Not if I can help it. I don't care whether I'm seen as a cynic or a pessimist. I don't care. I can love and still guard my heart. It's a difficult endeavour but doable, nonetheless. What I want does not exist on this plane. On this earth. On this planet. We're just a bunch of fools who think we're wise. We're just children living in adult bodies. We're broken.

I'm told that I'm lucky. I'm told that I have everything. There are times I wish I was like my father. He fulfilled his mission...found a woman he loved, had three children, worked at a stable job, gambled on weekends...He longed and yearned for nothing more than what he had. But, my mother? No...she's not so happy. She's miserable, actually. I am not my father. I am not my mother. I am not my brothers, either. I don't know what I am. I only know what I am not. How can I be my parents' daughter? I don't belong. I don't fit. I don't make sense.

I thought there would be "more." I believed there would be more to this life. I thought that once I got better, that once I became well, after two years of the darkest time in my life...I would be able to see the silver lining in anything and everything. I so believed that I would never complain and here I am, complaining about this sadness which lingers, which will not leave me. It's bullshit. Where's the relief?

I'm really tired of hearing that you can't rely on anyone...ever. I'd like to fall one fucking time and know someone will catch me. I'd like to know that I can be weak and my world won't fall apart. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, it is. Well, at least I know I can depend on myself. If I don't have myself, what do I really have? That's right...nothing.