soapwench: (elvis)
This song has been rolling around in my head since the weekend:

There's a fire starting in my heart,
Reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark.
The scars of your love remind me of us,
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all.
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless,
I can't help feeling,

We could have had it all,
(Your gonna wish you, never had met me)
Rolling in the deep,
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)
You had my heart inside your hand,
(You're gonna wish you never had met me)
And you played it to the beat.
(Tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)


It takes me a long time to process the hurt and angry feelings that leave me breathless. I wish it didn't, but it does. I started thinking about it more on the way home today; both my hurt feelings and the breathlessness of the wounds.

I think that I have come to a place where I don't believe that it's the scars from love that leave me breathless in the deep hurt. It's the scars from not-love; when love isn't really there, only the illusion, when someone says they love but they don't act it or possibly even feel it.

I've been in two long-term relationships where I believe that the other person stopped ACTING their love for me long before their body turned and walked away. I think that's the shit that leaves me gasping on the ground and drowning in tears. Did either of these people still FEEL love for me? Did they love me? Maybe. Perhaps. Possibly. It's hard for me to say because my trust is so fucked up and broken. I see them now acting in a way that reflects caring, at the very least and possibly love.

And I'm not trying to put anyone on the spot or point fingers and take someone else's inventory. The only way I know how to write about this is from my own perspective. I've done it too. I believe that there have been relationships where even while I felt love, I stopped acting it out. I think, for me, it's because I didn't process and heal the little things along the way. The love got buried deep underneath the baggage and wounded parts of me. I forgot to bring myself back to the love. I forgot to act it. And soon, I didn't know how to get back to it. And possibly that's what happened to other people who did the same to me. If I presume good intentions, than I can believe that. This is me trying to presume.

And yes, people who deeply love us in their clean truth can hurt us. Anyone who has ever had children knows this. But I think those are clean cuts that heal. There's someone in my life whom I love endlessly and whom I believe loves me as much as he can. He's hurt me. And it stings, possibly more deeply than the wounds from someone who didn't act out of love, but it also heals faster. I'm willing to try and trust. Not that I'm very good at it, but I become willing to take a risk.

Maybe.

I don't really have any answers, just lots of questions. But the more I look and work, the more I believe that if we come back to the Love, if we stop and ACT the Love, we spare ourselves and others the scars that leave us breathless.
soapwench: (Default)
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comforting

Dec. 14th, 2007 01:11 pm
soapwench: (Default)
Walking on all the tiles going in the same direction is very comforting at this moment. 
soapwench: (Default)

Someone emailed this to me and I thought it was cool.  It's from the Huffington Post


Jericho advocates making the old custom of the Twelve Days of Christmas into a new tradition in which we mark each evening from December 25 through January 5 with a few minutes of reflection. The themes for each of these "Holy Nights" could help us rediscover the sacred dimension in our lives.

Dec. 25 - Receptivity
What gifts from the universe have you declined to accept or acknowledge?

Dec. 26 - Generosity
Think of three people and what you can give of yourself to them.

Dec. 27 - Humility
Think about how humility can become a great source of strength and power for you.

Dec. 28 - Nobility
Make a list of people from whose noble qualities you can learn.

Dec. 29 - Solidity
For 12 minutes, simply feel your soul's solidity.

Dec. 30 - Fluidity
Consider the importance of flow to your well-being and happiness.

Dec. 31 - Luminosity
Look back at your darkest moments of the last year, and remember what qualities in yourself and others lit the way for you.

Jan. 1 - Reflectivity
Let an image from the outer world settle in your mind and write down five thoughts you associate with it. Reflect on it and how you might transform it.

Jan. 2 - Equanimity
Pick a recent event and review it in light of various possible emotions like happiness, anger and fear.

Jan. 3 - Fecundity
Celebrate the richness of your imagination. Hold this vision and then plan tomorrow's activities. Keep it alive during the day.

Jan. 4 - Sagacity
Think of yourself as an elder who has learned from the trials and triumphs of experience. What are some profound lessons?

Jan. 5 - Unity
What ideas, yearnings, themes or in- sights have come together for you through the holidays?

soapwench: (Default)
I love Thanksgiving.  I really do. 

Someone brought up the "europeans raped the indigenous people of their land" argument against Thanksgiving to me yesterday.  Let's examine that.  First, did europeans rape the native americans of their land?  Yes they did.  Big, huge mistake that we can't take back because we've paved it all over and turned it into strip malls and subdivisions.  But, that's not what we're celebrating here people!   Get over it and move on.

The original pilgrims were celebrating being alive with the unexpected and generous help from those who could have been, or were, their enemies.  That, to me, makes Thanksgiving is about compassion and about building community.  It's also about celebrating being alive.  I think that's a great thing to celebrate.  Today we also celebrate what's in our lives for which we feel thankful.  I'm all about that too.  Thanksgiving is a great holiday.  I love getting together with family and friends.  I love connecting with people and being reminded how lucky I am to have them in my life. 

And I love turkey dinner.  Almost as much as I love hot, open-faced turkey sandwiches the next day.  Okay, that's a close toss up.  I love them both equally.  Swimming in gravy.  Must.  Have.  Gravy.  I also love leftovers in general.  Cold turkey samwiches with mayonnaise, bread & butter pickles, swiss cheese, salt & pepper.  Yummm.  I'm making myself hungry.  I love turkey noodle soup, turkey pot pie and turkey enchiladas.  I love it all.  After Thanksgiving is over, I always want to make another Thanksgiving dinner again.  I love it so much.

We had a nice, quiet Thanksgiving this year.  The morning was deliciously lovely and something to truly be thankful for.  I had a great conversation with Baldric in the early afternoon.  It's good to remember that we're friends even when he makes me so mad I want to stab things into his head.  The afternoon was spent with eating a low key meal with my dad and step mother.  We played games.  It was fun.  My dad noticed all the work I'd done to vanquish the box rebellion and only had a couple snarky things to say about how I was doing things.  It was good.  I stripped the bird, the only part of Thanksgiving, I DON'T like.  And the evening was spent with friends playing games for my goddaughter's birthday.  I can't believe she's two already!

I'm thankful for my home.  I'm thankful for my family, both related and created.  I'm thankful for my kids.  I'm thankful I have a job.  I'm thankful for my ability to be creative.  I'm thankful for all the fun in my life.  I'm thankful for my fellowship and my spiritual community.  I'm thankful for people who challenge me.  I'm thankful for sex.  I'm thankful when I actually get the opportunities for snuggling and sex.  I'm thankful (most days) for technology.  I'm thankful for so many things in my life!

Namaste and blessed be!
soapwench: (Default)
 So, there I am, at my son's school last night, sitting there calmly knitting (because I don't wait well and the alternative is to go jump on the teacher's head and tell him that he's kept me waiting ten minutes past my scheduled time), looking pretty matronly because no one there knows that I'm wearing red panties and this totally hot, lacy, black bra.  This teenager walks up wearing an Eagles sweat shirt.  So...of course, I make some snarky comment about how the Cowboys kick ass and the Eagles suck.  And we have this great conversation.  We poke at each other verbally.  It's funny and sarcastic, but not mean.  We're both laughing.  We share.  I tell him about meeting Tony Dorsett and he listens.  He tells me about meeting some football guy and I listen.  It's clearly important to him and I recognize that.  It was great.  

And suddenly, all the rude teenagers with their pants stuck below their ass cheeks just fade away and I have hope for the next generation.
 
soapwench: (Default)
 I haven't really blogged about this yet.  The emotions are pretty intense and pretty deeply buried.  I realized today that I needed to write about it to bring some of this up and deal with it.

My mom has finally crossed the final line for me and I'm at the point where I will no longer speak to her ever again, unless she heals one or two of her addictions.  I'm not picky.  It doesn't have to be all of them.  Just one or two.  I really hope that I can stick with this, because it's the right choice to make to protect myself from her selfishness, drama and destructiveness. 

I have a lot of empathy for my mom who has had several strokes and brain aneurisms (sp?).  She's very creative, but she's unable to hold down a job due to health reasons, so she's at home all the time with the television, catalogues and four yappy-ass dogs. 

About a week ago I thought that she was over-dosing from an ingestion of oxycontin, tranquilizers, alcohol and probably other substances that I wasn't even aware of.  I processed.  I consulted with valued members of my family (thanks Richard and Robin).  I talked with my mom and my stepfather.  I finally realized that she was enjoying the drama of the situation more than she was in any real danger. 

In her diatribe about how she had been abused her whole life, she started in on my dad and what an asshole he had been to her.  This is one of the boundaries that I have established with her.  In order to maintain any kind of relationship with this women we do not discuss the past and we do not discuss my father or his family, because she and I remember so much of what happened completely differently.  We can never find middle ground.  So, we just don't discuss it..  I not only called her on it, but I told her to get off her Pity Potty and quit being a victim.  Weeeeell, that, in addition to telling her that she was killing herself, didn't go over well, needless to say. 

The following day, she left me a couple of messages, the jist of which was that I was an ungrateful child, that she had done so much for me and it was never enough, I always wanted more and she hoped I wouldn't be so selfish as to keep the facts from my children, including how she wanted to be a grandmother to them but was prevented by my selfishness.  She threw in my face the train tickets to Rhode Island.  She threw my purse in my face.  I love my purse.  I didn't ask for it, but I love it. 

And I just can't past this.  I know that she equates love with money.  I know this.  I've known this for a long time.  I know that I don't do enough to show my love to her by buying her things.  I just can't wrap my heart around it.  I can show love by doing things.  I can show love by listening.  I can show love by telling people.  I can show love with hugs.  I can show love with food.  I can even show love by buying things for people sometimes, but it's usually something I see that just jumps out at me and I know is perfect for them, or a special surprise that I think will mean a lot to that person. 

The things, the stuff, has never meant much to me.  It would have meant so much more to me if she had just come to my high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding, the birth of either of my children, any milestone in my life.   Any ONE of them. 

I accepted, with much reluctance, some things she wanted to buy me or do for me, because I knew that's how she showed her love.  And I know that I failed to show my love for her.  I failed her in so many ways, but she crossed the last line for me.  I know this may seem silly.  She's crossed so many lines.  She's accused me of taking her prescription valium to hide her use.  She's thrown me out of her house in the middle of the night in a snow storm.  She's let me down in so many ways and this is just the final one. 

Ceremony

Oct. 17th, 2007 02:26 pm
soapwench: (Default)

Just re-writing this whole thing because it rambles and doesn't make sense.

Oh nevermind.  I give up for now.  It just isn't what I want it to be.  The thoughts are still hard to capture and crumbly.  I think they keep changing because of "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress." (society structure)

In any case, I've come upon a situation that I don't know how to approach.  I can make guesses, but there isn't a cultural standard for it.  Henry VIII would have been easier.  I would have fluffed my cleavage and hoped it was in his younger, more vigorous days.

The room is dark

I curtsy

I begin to straighten

Realizing

The floor is velvet

And my steps unsure

I'm told to kneel

But can't arise again

The hands reach out

I bat them away

I was trying to be all discreet, but I think everyone who reads this knows by now that I'm dating someone who is poly.  So, I'm going to stop dancing around the issue and come right out about it.  

The situation that I have no friggin' clue how to approach is meeting The Senior Wife.  It's not usual to meet someone who knows that you've been intimate with their husband and the meeting isn't an ugly, jealous scene.  It really isn't.  What do you say?  Yes, I do have some thoughts, but the irreverent part of me thinks that I can't really say, "Hello, isn't his cock delicious?"  It just doesn't flow somehow.  But it's going to feel odd as hell to sit there with someone while having wicked, decadent thoughts about a man and it's okay to have them.  Permission is sometimes a scary thing. 

Now that I write about this, I think it's the permission of the situation that is scariest.  The freedom.  The lack of restrictions.  

Okay, so it all turned out fabulously.  Worry for nothing.

soapwench: (Default)

I caught up with a couple of friends this week that I haven't talked to in awhile.  

I felt...connected...even though I haven't spoken with Seth in at least a year, we have a history together.  I'll always love him, though in a much different way than when we lived together.  I'm happy that he's put up with me all these years and that we still have a friendship.  Lane and I have a history that we have maintained, though our conversation took an...interesting...turn this week.  I love when my friends challenge me and our friendship.  Jeff is one of my oldest friends, though certainly not my closest.  I've known him since high school, when I was much more awkward, weighed less, but was less saucy and cute as well.  When Kathy and I talk, it's like no time has passed, we have that kind of friendship.  I miss Sabrina, I wish that I knew where she was.  I miss Tammy, we try, but it's never the same.  I love and miss Jaeyne, we're starting to keep up via IM.  Vikki and I have gotten back in touch and I love this.

This doesn't even include the friends that I live near and see regularly.  I'm sure there are others that I'm not thinking of right now and I'm going to do a Homer "Du-oh!" and slap my forehead, but what this is about is not to list every friend I've ever had and why I keep in touch, but to share the feeling I had this morning after talking to Seth.  I felt...connected.  I felt this firm foundation, this web of friends that is part of who I am and part of who I will grow to be.  It made me feel more grounded and lighter all at the same time. 

I'm sure it doesn't hurt that I actually got more than four hours sleep last night, either!

Super exciting update:  I got a myspace message from Tiff and Diego!  Wow.  Cool.  I'm so excited.

 
soapwench: (Default)
Seriously.  They're ONLY in my bedroom.  No where else in my house.

I know it sounds funny, but how do we know whether something is a sign to which we should be listening or an obstacle to overcome?  And how do we know we're listening with our heart and spirit and instincts, or our head and our body parts?  Is therapeutic sex nourishing?  Is it distracting from what we really need to be working on?  Is it as essential as being held in the arms of someone who you could fall in love with or just hearing their voice? 

Lots of random thoughts roaming around in my head this morning. 

community

May. 12th, 2006 12:25 pm
soapwench: (Default)
This is just a brief comment.  It's always been my hypothesis that many of our societal woes can find some of their source in loss of community.  I think an Anne Cameron (?) story about village clowns in Alaska sparked the idea.  If someone in the village was being stupid, like being mean to people or arrogant or something like that, the clown would dress up and follow the person around until they got the point.  I think when people have a strong sense of community they feel more accountable.  It kind of goes back around to the concept that it takes a village to raise a child.  Except we don't have the village anymore.  There isn't anyone down the street that if they see my children misbehaving will come and tell me in a friendly 'we're in this together' sort of way.  No way, they'll sue my ass or file a police report on my children.  The village that exists in Gaiman's "Good Omen's" that the antichrist grows up in doesn't exist anymore.  And as I said before, I think a lot of our societal woes can be linked to a lack of community. 

Anyway, I saw this on my new favorite blog, and I thought it was an interesting perspective about community.  From Waiter Rant (http://waiterrant.net)  Strangely compelling stuff.  Thanks Mike:

"You know celebrity is an interesting thing. Why are we so interested in their lives, what they wear, who they sleep with? What gives them their power? I mean you have to admit we live in a celebrity obsessed culture. Just look at the J-Lo/Affleck shitstorm.

John Cleese posited an explanation in his television special The Human Face. Basically he said we are designed by evolution to live in small groups, numbering five hundred or so. In our not too distant insular agrarian past we knew every one around us. Famous people in the village were those that had accomplished something. They were warriors, healers, prophets, and kings. Everyone knew their face.

Now we live in megalopolises numbering tens of millions of people. The endless procession of faces we see everyday are, for the most part, anonymous, with out a name or story attached to them. We feel a profound lack of connection to the swirl of humanity that besets us.

But we all know who Brad Pitt is.

He is just a guy who works in the movies but many of us know more about him than about our next door neighbor. We may not know squat about the guy sitting next to us on the subway but we will both know who Brad is. That, in a funny way, connects us. Cleese is basically saying that celebrities, by the virtue of their being seen in the media, fulfill a basic human longing for connection in the global village. We all know them and, by that, they connect us to each other. They cut through the anonymity. Thats what gives them power."

The more time passes, the more I feel like we're starting to live in Shadowrun.

soapwench: (Default)
I just went back and looked through my blogs (I didn't realize there were so many) and noticed that most of them were grim and dark. I guess this is where I was going when I was feeling bummed out. I think I need to post the poem I wrote in college that got me labeled 'the girl who wrote the sex poem' in my sophomore year. That oughta cheer everyone up.

It's actually been a good weekend. I'm thankful for so many things. I'm thankful for friends that don't mind spending time with my husband and me even if there are a couple of tense moments. I'm thankful for any bit of positive communication that I have with my husband right now. I'm thankful for quiet, snuggly, close moments. We haven't had many of those lately and we had a really nice one with weekend. I'm thankful for the hope that I have. Please Lord and Lady, let it grow.

I'm thankful for sex toys. I'm also thankful for ten year olds that are jaded enough to walk in, realize what is going on, walk back out and take their little brother downstairs to watch a movie. I'm thankful that, even though it's taken a huge earthquake in my life, I'm starting to find some balance and getting to the point where I can make more time for the things I really want to do and not the things that I think I should be doing. I'm thankful for my parents, even if they drive me nuts. I'm thankful for all my friends and how supportive they've been lately and for the fact that not a single one of them did anything that made me feel silly for opening up to them, something that I don't do well. I'm thankful for my seven year old and how sweet he is, especially when he tries really hard to heal all of my pain and suffering with his love. I'm thankful for my ten year old who really challenges me to be a better person.

There are a lot of other things I am thankful for. At dinner sometimes, instead of saying a blessing, we go around the table and say something that we are thankful for. I guess today, I'm just overflowing with thankfulness.

friendship

Nov. 29th, 2005 11:32 pm
soapwench: (Default)
how do you know if someone is a friend? do a few shared remarks make you friends? how much of yourself do you need to open up to be and have a friend? does being on the internet with someone make you friends? if you email with someone every single day, are you friends? they only see an aspect of you. one part of you. then how do you know if they're your friend? how do you know if someone is your best friend? can you ask them? if you do and they say no, then you feel stupid. if you do ask and they say yes, how do you know that you mean the same thing?

i'm asking all these questions of myself because i don't really know if i know the answers anymore. i find myself telling stories about things that have happened to me and saying, 'my friend...,' but if the sh^t really hit the fan and i really needed someone...like i was in the process of trying to figure out how the f#ck to fix my marriage, there isn't anyone to talk to. and i'm not saying this on a big pitty potty. either i don't open up to people, or i don't know how. i feel friendly, but i don't feel friendship with almost anyone and that makes me question the nature of friendship as it is defined by our culture, or rather as i define it in my life and try to relate to our culture.

i think friend, in our society, is a loose term we use for someone you don't want to take a baseball bat to. i had one of those as an assistant coach on my soccer team. i sucked it up and left the bat at home. did she ever think we were friends? i doubt it. but what if she did? what if i was so good at hiding how much i wanted a louisville slugger, that she is thinking of sending me a christmas card, because now i am her friend.

i thought about this at work today. i don't make an effort to be friends with anyone where i work. so i don't talk to them and they don't talk to me. i'm clear with them that i am not letting them into my life. and sometimes it's lonely, but most of the times it's honest. and most of the reasons i don't like them are petty and mean spirited and the dalai lama would never hold onto all this negativity like i do, but i don't have to like these people, so i don't care. they wouldn't like the real me if i ever let her out to play anyway.

i've had friends throw away what i perceived to be a deep and meaningful friendship of years because they weren't comfortable with how i told them i was mad about something that turned out to be a big misunderstanding later. i learned a lot about forgiveness then and really started to question the value of friendship. i think i really started to question friendship then. maybe it was before then. i don't know, but i don't know what weight and value and boundaries and texture and feel it has anymore.

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