Category: Uncategorized

Four Years

For years I’ve wished for the ability to breathe, freely, joyfully, loving every aspect of my life. I wanted either this level of normalcy and bliss, or death. I had had this level of bliss in my life, I knew what it daily felt like, and I wanted it again. Or death. Either/or.

I knew I was mired in the place of such extreme pain that nothing matters. Having this space of pain, daily, hurts. It is painful, physically as well as mentally, soulfully painful. Days of sitting and staring and not seeing, just crying and wishing I would die. I felt my soul being shredded. I felt daily dragged through hell, inch by inch.

When I learned of Lydia’s prognosis in mid-September, that she had only weeks to live, a small part of me, a tiny part, but one which sought and received acknowledgement, wanted to die in her place. I envied her too soon death. I wanted it to be me. I had lost my life with the one I adored, I’d had my cake and my fill, I needed nothing more.
But this envy never became more than acknowledgement, the envy of her death truly never caused me to stop listening to Tina and Beyonce at the top of their game full blast in the car. Feeling good. I was getting out, near daily. I was seeing, doing, being with others. Doing groups, participation, participation in life, in my world. Being willing to create my life, alone, with others in active voice, with desire to be heard.

But…the creation of my life, solely, does cause me depression. I recently wrote my dear friend Janice the fact of my recognition of the times I feel depressed and how it is bound to the reality that I create my life solely. Alone.
I’ve lived more years coupled or grouped than not, and I seem to prefer such living versus living alone. In fact these four years have been the longest I’ve lived alone in my life.

Sometimes it is painful, true. But mostly it has become amazingly delicious and freeing. I pinch myself daily, fully conscious and alive to all that I am grateful for. I understand that I can now create a joy and richness for my heart and soul which rivals anything I had with Margaret. The richness and joy with her, amazing, what a once in a lifetime experience to have this level of love with another. But now I have the capacity to create this level of richness and joy with a group of women, with people. I relish what life is offering.

I wish to acknowledge the passing of four years exactly since her passing. Margaret died only three days after turning fifty nine. No one expected this. No one. It caused pain and it was disruptive.

I want to acknowledge the disruption, the major disruption which death causes the ones left. Total disruption in all aspects of one’s life, including a disruption of one’s previous reality. Death is now part and parcel of reality. Death never truly existed before. Death is here, and now demands to be accounted for in the rest of my life. Death is certain disruption. Death now gets factored in. Always.

Four years, and I have accepted, adapted; and I am beginning to thrive on the disruption. I go on, and choose joy and love and communication with others.

Near full, always perfect, tonight you glow brilliantly white
in the middle of your large red, pink, gray areola,
resting perfectly centered
in the cotton clouds of your breast.

Oh moon, soon to be full, patient, always waiting silently
for our upward glance.
Whether a happenstance glimpse of the sky,
or a purposeful nightly search, you sit,
unperturbed by the longings,
impressions, symbolism
placed on your celestial body.

December 31, 2009

She would be 63 today. Her hair would be grayer, wisps of gray in a sea of dark brown streaking her temples. Her hair carried her delicious smell, always sweet, always inviting. I could breathe in her essence and never tire of its myriad fragrant complexity. Her entire body carried this sweet elixir. Her radiant smile would light up her face; her eyes would sparkle, and her soul would come through these optic portals. Her hands would be busy, always busy; sorting sports cards or coins, stringing beads or creating animal bone and feather works of art when at home; twisting a strand of fabric, rubbing her fingers together, or kneading the ever present small dollop of clay when at the office. Her personality was contagious, people gravitated to her intelligence, good humor and ability to talk with anyone. Even if depressed, once in the world, her spirit of curiosity and genuine caring for others would get the best of the clouds and pain surrounding her heart.
She disliked this day chosen by the Universe as her day of birth. The last day of the year, filled with the ubiquitous “Looking Back”, “Lists of the Year’s Favorite Whatever”, and people already celebrating, rejoicing New Life, a New Year, New Hopes, New Dreams too busy to come to celebrate Her Birthday. Well I rejoice, I celebrate you and your contribution to end human suffering, one person, one client at a time. Would that your soul could have ceased its long suffering prior to its return home.
I honor you today with these words of love.

Watched Kinsey last night for the first time. Never realized that he was a zoologist, prior to studying human sexual behavior. So he brought his preconceived, and scientifically correct observation that DIVERSITY is the hallmark of all creation to his study of humans. And today we, of open heart and universal mind, champion DIVERSITY. How wonderful that what we feel in our hearts has been repeatedly, resoundingly confirmed by those who measure.

Each week women gather to talk, to share,
their hearts, their souls, their cares, their gratitudes,
the depth of their lives.

Each week we end with a circle of hands holding hands.

I wrote the following for the women, who I honor.

Affirm the time, the place, the circle of women,
the touch of women, the feel of women,
our energy, this sacred space,
yourself, yourself, your precious self,
your heart, your soul, your connection to The Divine.

Affirm all this….and extend this to others.
Affirm/Acknowledge is consciousness is awareness is honoring.
Honor yourself and others.

Pounding, regular, rhythmic blows to the Earth.
Mattock in hands, hefty to lift, easy to descend
to hit, to pound, to cut
the Earth.

I till the Earth as an excuse to vent my anger.

Ahhh, so much better to hit Her, Mother of Life,
than another.

Hit Mother Earth with our tears, our blood,
our bodies, our waste, and mattock too.
She graciously receives our All, without complaint.

Hit the Goddess’ belly, firmament, mantle
conscious all the while of the opportunity
to shift my anger, to Her.
Rather than keep it in.
Each blow by blow.

…Reflecting on tilling my Mendocino county hillside in the early 1990’s; I was still angry then. I’m now not angry, just grateful…

My sweet doggie dog, lying on the balcony, head up, sniffing the wind.
What captures your imagination,
what goes through your mind
as the particles of All float by?

Do you remember your youth, escaping into the wooded spaces near our home,
running, chasing, searching, always for more food I’m sure;
coming home hours later, not a bit contrite.
You were beta to your older sister who passed last year,
who wanted to be alpha even to me.
With your sister’s passing, your deepest qualities of unconditional love,
steady companionship,and fun now shine fully,
or maybe I’m now just able to see.

My sweet doggie dog, Reilley, I love that you have your routines, your rhythms, your needs.
If I don’t feed you within your perceived timeframe of need,
you whimper ever so slightly, almost inaudibly, at first;
and if I continue with my perceived timeframe of need,
your whimpers become clearer, louder, seeking
my attention, the food, the walk which always follows.

I love that you continue to lie in the morning sun, head up smelling the air,
here on our Ventura balcony; just as you did on our Mendocino deck.

There’s a season to eating persimmons, November and December months, when they are abundant, and newly harvested from local trees, local Ventura county ranches. When these bright orange orbs dominate my counter top fruit bowls.
Presently, they’re available for 50 cents a pound. A steal, when the only waste is truly their beautiful, dry, flowered calyx. They make the perfect snack food with either tea or coffee. They have just the right amount of lusciousness without being messy. (Now a mango is truly luscious, but unless it is served, peeled and cut, on a plate, it’s a messy fruit; best consumed over the kitchen sink while waiting for something to cook or water to boil. )

Persimmons are far from messy; their beautiful flame orange skin and flesh, have just the right amount of firmness, texture, and perfectly sweet taste.
I love both the heart shaped hachiya and the flat fuyu. They’re both loaded with unpronounceable carotenoids: cryptoxanthin, lutein, zeaxanthin, which keep inflammation, thus cancer, at bay. The fuyu are more popular and cheaper here, so I eat more of these. They are eaten as you would eat an apple, in hand, just bite for delicious bite. Very satisfying, crunchy, sweet, easy to eat. Occasionally a small, flat, dime sized, dark brown seed appears. These are always a wonderful tongue treat and beg to have the bit of clinging soft flesh removed prior to discarding. An uncomplicated fruit, the fuyu become the perfect package of satisfying sweetness.

The hachiya, on the other hand, must sit for several days to become totally soft, not quite mushy, but very, very soft before eating. This takes patience and occasional gentle squeezes, then more patience. Once ready, you are in for an amazing experience of joy and delight. If you think you’re going to fool The Creator and bite into the hachiya prior to the very, very soft stage, ha! you’ll get a puckered mouth of astringent flavorless mass clinging to your teeth. So wait.

Once ready, take the soft hachiya gently in hand, and take a tiny bite from the tippy top of the fruit. The pointiest part. Take a wee bite, and slowly begin to suck. You will naturally bite back more of the skin as you continue to suck; same as you would bite back little pieces of an ice cream cone, going all around.

So you’re sucking out the amazingly delicious, sweet gelatinous hachiya ooze and lo! the real surprise! You encounter a piece of sturdy, yet supple membrane which you would swear feels just like a woman’s _____ (this is left blank purposely, for you to fill in) on your tongue.

Ah, now you understand why it was so worth the wait! It is quite a wonderful tongue and mouth feel from a piece of fruit; quite a wonderful mixture of sensations. Quite a surprise!

Complex, like good wine, like good people.

Goddess is smiling and loving us love Her.

Trying to love again.
Oh…the trepidation.
The uncertainty.
The total unease of not knowing.
Is she the one?

I just heard a young woman use the word “gay” with the intention of saying, “bad/wrong/stupid.” I’d never heard gay used this way before, though I’d read about such use by our youth.
Upon hearing this, it felt wrong/bad/stupid to hear it come out of her mouth.

Will the hatred never end?