Right… real?

Life is made of a billion choices, both dust-tiny and momentous, until we’ve woven the thread of our lifetime like a choose-your-own-adventure book that reads only forward.  I want always to be kind, hurt no one, give and love.  But those are ideals to seek, not decisions made.  My world has always been built of shifting sands, a pool of gray washing in and out with the tide, lines built, blurred, and wiped away.  Perhaps because the kindest person I’ve ever known was the most flawed, I can see goodness in those poor choices and emptiness behind apparently successful ones.  So how do I keep up with all that I want, all that I feel, all that I think, and all that must be done to do what’s right?

Do I, in any given day, make coffee; kick, punch, takedown, sprawl, fight to quiet my ever-active mind; change my toothbrush or my oil; buy organic; let the waves crash over me in the salty ocean, warmer than the air, and watch the light of a thousand dinoflagellates trail from our fingertips like pixie dust, our bodies haloed in bioluminescence; recycle plastics; get high;  limit love because a path has been chosen where it cannot be, cork it tight, know with a glance how much lies within that bottle that cannot be opened; write a eulogy; watch the rain sizzle on hot blacktop; eat pie for dinner; wear my braces; sit next to her in bed in her last hours while she talks in a morphine delusion of a body that still works; give them what they paid for, data analysis of 31 elder care facilities, costed per resident per day, while the nurse is fired for using prenatal needles that don’t collapse the aged veins but cost $0.50 more each; donate non-perishables; invest in small-cap equities; stand at the end of the pier with the wind blowing my hair back and listen to my cousin hum in the background; rest with my head on your shoulder and want more; open a beer; watch a movie; imagine a hug into a love affair; or ruin the moment again with too many questions.

I don’t believe in lying, but I do believe in keeping secrets

I don’t believe in lying, but I do believe in keeping secrets
Not because there’s something worth hiding
but because it’s not my story to tell.
How often have you heard your own story repeated back to you
but warped in the mistelling?

Real life offers a better story than any rank gossip
At least my real life does.

The wrong won’t come

I have been waiting for the dread fear to start shaping itself into an abrasive shard, waiting for the remorse to polish it into a brilliant lump that gets lodged in my mind and heart.  I’ve rolled it around looking for the sharp edge, the hang nail beginning.  I’ve readied myself to pay for my pleasure.

And since the pain won’t come, I went to church.  What better place to wrap myself in the rules and let the guilt flow?  I sat listening this morning, looking for the hints that should trigger my self-condemnation.

Instead she talked about the paralysis of perfectionism.   She quoted Luke and asked how often we’ve walked by the beggar and ignored the plea.  We’ve all done it, and we’ll all do it again, she said.  As she talked, my mind wandered to Ray LaMontagne.  On Storytellers the other night, he said he’d always thought the best way to help the homeless is to give to reputable organizations who are assured to do the right things with the money.  He’s been afraid to hand a dollar to the man on the street corner lest he feed the addiction.  So cloaked in that comforting philosophy, he said no to a woman asking for money on the sidewalk in NYC.  He would’ve kept walking like any other day, except her response floored him.  She said, “That’s OK.  I understand.”

It came upon him so heavily that he turned and gave her all the cash in his wallet, $250 or so.  She looked at the money, at him, at the money.  She held him by the shoulders and said, “My name is Betty.  What’s yours?”  She said she wanted to know because she never will forget him, and wanted a name to keep with the face.  So he said he was Ray.

Who knows if she’s forgotten him or not.  But he hasn’t forgotten her.  And that’s because she gave him more than he gave her.  She gave him absolution.

And so Joan said we all walk by sometimes, but every now and then, we see our moment.  It might be small and seemingly inconsequential.  But that’s the real way, she said. If we try to do it right all the time, be right all the time, think right all the time, then we get swallowed up in our failure.  We turn all of our energy inward, pointed to the task of beating ourselves daily for our shortcomings.  And by doing so, we have no energy left to give or receive.  The answer is to live from moment to moment, give when you can, and be kind to ourselves.  Be open to God’s love and God’s work, which is another way of saying be open to the possibilities that are all around.  (I’m slowly learning not to be afraid of the God vernacular because if I get around the language, I agree with the message.)

And that’s what I’ve been recently: open.  Surprisingly, when I opened, people wanted to come in.  Strange new energy is pouring in from all directions.  Some of it I’ve tried on because I wasn’t sure what else to do in that moment, like Shaun.  It’s all pinging around and making me ask questions.  Joan said that if you want to find the Devil, look for the confusion.  I’ve already learned to move away from things that cause too much mental blur, too much cognitive dissonance.  Taken metaphorically, I think that’s what Joan meant.

So with you, I’ve been waiting for that dissonance, been waiting for the devil to take his due.

It’s not there.  Not even the tiniest fraction.  Not even during the sermon when Brent came to mind.  You know why he came to mind?  Because I thought he should be listening to Joan, hearing another voice tell him to lose the impossible self-expectation.  So somehow he’s even a part of it.  I don’t understand what I’m doing, but I’m not ignoring anything.  I’m not lying to myself or letting my imagination cloud the reality.  It still feels right.  So very, very right.  Like moving forward in a bigger story.

All the rules say no, it’s all wrong.  But the wrongness won’t come.  And when have I ever been bothered by the rules?

You don’t feel like a question.  You feel like an answer.

Sometimes it be that way

Yes, sometimes it be that way.

And Romeo was a very nice man
He said, “Sweetheart, I don’t think you quite understand.”
And I’m sorry if you had to explain it like this
Sorry I was a point you were destined to miss

Halfness and wholeness

I wrote this before:

Sent: Thursday, April 21, 2011 12:44 PM

Lately I’ve been asked by far too many people why I’m single.  I have the answer in my head but I know they can’t understand so I don’t explain.  If I told them I’m a constantly mutating jigsaw puzzle, they would laugh and call me clever and still shake their heads and say, “What’s wrong with men these days?” but not get it at all.  Sometimes I shift the pieces and leave the frame.  Sometimes I tear off the frame and leave it behind, keeping only a few pieces.  Do you know any man who can put me together, or even understand the pieces?  I didn’t think so.   So sex is sex and can be had, love I get from family and friends, but single is where I am.  Is that the new modern woman?

And then you came and made me whole for a night.

You have so much beauty inside that no one ever gets to see.  I love it.  I love you.

The mirror says

I’m not pretty enough for shallow men to find me attractive, but I am pretty enough for interesting men to find me attractive.  Shouldn’t that be good enough?

Even the sagest men need teaching

http://read.mtvhive.com/2011/05/17/spitz-take-the-mike-doughty-mix-tape-experiment/

Here’s the real list, from my perspective:

1. White Lexus – Establishes you as a broken man who needs to be fixed, but not so tragically broken that you’re unsalvageable.  We want to be that special girl who teaches you how to feel again.  (Note to men:  women like fixing you.  It’s that mothering instinct.)
2. Down on the River by the Sugar Plant – Also known as ‘the sexual tension song.’ We like it when you dream about us, and we like it when you really want to kiss us but don’t feel worthy (yet).  Remember, we like foreplay before you get some.
3. Wednesday (No Se Apoye) – We like it when you long for us in your spare thoughts.  Bonus points for mentioning the stars, universal symbol of “the deep man.”  So even if you’re just feigning a soul, we’ll pretend with you for an evening and you might get some.
4. Let the Moon Get Into It – See above, “the deep man.”  Also keep in mind that if you engage our imagination, we will build you up into someone perfect.  Keep your mouth shut long enough to feed the illusion and you will get some.
5. Real Love – Our illusions always involve falling deeply in love.  A woman wrote this song, after all.  We want to be THE ONE special enough to set your heart free.  This will get you some.
6. Looking at the World from the Bottom of a Well – It’s a good idea to remind us how lonely that empty bed can be.  We’ll let you bat it down for an evening.
7. Tremendous Brunettes – This turns it into a challenge, which we adore.  Will make us seduce you.  (Works especially well with brunettes, which I am.)
8. Ways and Means – We want you to say our name on the microphone.  We also know that most of what you spew is bullshit contrived to help you get some.  But we need to believe there are droplets of truth in there.  The sexy beat makes it even better.
9. Grey Ghost – Implies that when you take us home, it will be so amazing that we’re in jeopardy of falling through the stars.  This is a very good thing.  Maybe you are the man wading out into the night and doing everything we imagine.  Also establishes that you live alone, and therefore we’re not competing with another woman.
10. Your Misfortune – You let us in, dreamed about us, fell in love, took away the loneliness, made us seduce you, told us the truth finally, and fucked us so beautifully we saw stars.  Now you’re offering to save us from ourselves too?  Oh, Prince Charming, you have become the illusion.  We are absolutely convinced of your perfection so you can now have whatever you want.

Perfectionism, a little?

It’s amazing how much mental energy I can expend wondering what I did wrong with a boy when I knew the morning after that it had no future. But surprisingly, he didn’t, and so I let my imagination run. My imagination is my downfall every time (or every time I get involved with a boy who lacks one, which is nearly always). It’s not tragic and I’m not even a little distraught that my initial instinct was right. BUT I STILL want a do over, to figure out all of the mistakes I made, every little interaction I could’ve tweaked, to know what I could have done to make him want me. To make him want me even though that would be horrible and I wouldn’t reciprocate. Why do I do this to myself?

Until my imagination fills in the blanks

A man of mystery and a man of little substance look remarkably the same on the surface.

I owed him a beer

He said, mid-conversation,
among talk of music we both love,
 "There's another life where you and I are together."
We both laughed casually and looked away
while the air changed forever

I put on my chapstick
And he said, "Don't"
Because he wanted to kiss me
And knew he couldn't

We sparred down the sidewalk
He threw me over his shoulder
Like he's done countless times before
I slid down his body to the ground,
electric,
when it was just friendly love an hour ago

He asked me why I waste my time
With these filler boys
I said all the good ones are taken
He smiled and said, "Hence Colorado?"

He said maybe I want too much in a man
I said not much
A heart, a soul, a mind
(But I thought:
A man just like you,
but without a wife)

He'll never be like my big brother again
And all I can think
Is how jealous I am of that other me
In that other life
With him