And Speaking of Turn Offs...

Reading an article earlier from Cracked.com that talked about 6 of the things men do that turn women off and while it made some good points, there was (at least) one glaring omission that seems to be happening a lot in my world lately. 

Conversation : (1) oral exchange of sentiments, observations, opinions, or ideas (2) : an instance of such exchange : talk 

Please note the key word "exchange": (1) the act of giving or taking one thing in return for another : trade; (2) b : reciprocal giving and receiving

In the past 2 weeks alone, it has happened that 5 people (who all happened to be men) have expressed interest in getting to know me and then proceeded to completely dominate our conversations. Seriously, they spend the entire time talking about themselves. If it seems worth it, I may give them one more try. I mean, maybe they had too much coffee that morning, maybe they just get really nervous with someone new that they like, you know- like "that". Or maybe they're crack heads well into their 5th pipe of the morning. I think it's most likely that they're at one of the extremes of insecurity-narcissism, polarities that can actually look a lot similar from the outside.

It's baffling to me that this seems to carry on even when they've actually asked me a question about myself. Goes something like: So tell me about your time in Alaska- what was that like? Then before I can finish one sentence, they've started talking over me, telling me about their freaky bear encounter, how much they wish they could travel and how cold weather gives them hives. In every one of my recent encounters like this, it's been a challenge to even catch a break in the flow of talk so that I can excuse myself and end it. Sometimes being polite is a handicap. I'm working on it.

When I've managed a word or two here or there, I had to really fight for air time and frankly, I just don't have that kind of energy to spend. It's exhausting.

Later they'll tell me how great they think I am or how much they like me, without having asked me any questions or given me the chance to share anything about me. I mean, how would they know how great I am? From my profile page? From my photo, my wise cracks, my Vampire Wars level ups? That's a glimpse, but a personal conversation is a getting-to-know-one-another delivery device, right?

I know we all get nervous, especially if we're talking to a new person that we're somewhat attracted to. But it's a deal breaker for me. When I'm nervous, the default settings seem to be "babble" and "hush". I get it. But I'm a basically a big mouth myself, semi-recovered. I need at least equal time to feel like there's a conversation happening. I'm not interested in being a full time audience for someone else's lectures, life story, soliloquies (I just spelled checked it and can't believe I spelled that right- I know, total randomness). Why would I believe someone's interest if I feel invisible, if I'm sure that a cardboard cutout that murmurs "uh huh" and nods every so often would be enough to keep them going indefinitely?

Super Art Freak Saves the World! Erm....right?

It seems like this world just gets crazier and crazier, right? Corruption, violence, poverty, disease, political shenanigans, animal and child abuse- the list goes on and on. I've had a personal moratorium on news for several months now. No newspapers, TV news, radio reports. It's something I need to do from time to time as it seems my psychic boundaries get so permeable that I have no decent shield against the horror of it all. If I let it come in indiscriminately, it overwhelms and shuts me down completely. I hear the highlights, no worries. It's not like I'm living in a cacoon of denial. I just won't open up for the whole shebang, every detail. There are times when begin fully informed is useful as part of acts of power, redemption, creativity, cycling mass pain, etc and there are times when it's absolutely counter productive to anything...well, productive.

It's always especially challenging to be present in a world gone mad, when we as individuals are working to be less defensive, brittle, protected. Some of us are working to open more fully, to be more permeable. One aspect of this as I see it, is that one source of humanity's current madness is our inability to face the difficult stuff in ourselves, our lives (and I'm speaking general here). To the degree we're unable or unwilling to meet, feel and love the things that make us uncomfortable about ourselves and our lives (self-abandonment is rampant), to this degree are we able, even eager to abandon, abuse and cause harm to others. In this sense, inner work is a radical, powerful act that ripples out from us to our families, friends, communities, the world. This I've known for some time. 

In terms of activism, I've done my share of marching, petitioning, voting, letter writing, donations of time, money and talent. One thing that's been a strong consistent desire in my adult life is being of service. That started shifting years ago when I got sick. I just didn't have the energy to show up out in the world like I used to. My path took me inward, closer to home (which was one of the gifts of illness, as it turned out. I'm not sure what else could've gotten my attention in the same way) and, inevitably probably, to creative work, which has been a part of my life always. 

(artwork: Picasso Wonder Woman by Mike Esparza)

This is the struggle now: Does making art serve the world? In particular, art that isn't explicitly revolutionary in any obvious sense. I know I'm not alone in having a pretty insistent inner critic that tells me, "Art is self-indulgent, ridiculous, and pointless. How can you waste time making silly things when so many are suffering, when things are falling apart around you? And beside, you're crap at it *sneer*". Why do we do it? Besides those of us that just have to and because it's sometimes actually fun, occasionally even satisfying. What's the point when Rome is burning around us? How is this process being in service? 

What do you think and feel about it? Does it help anything, anywhere? Is art essential for a healthy world culture? I've read what some of the "experts" have to say. I want to hear from you. What do you know about it? Do you wonder about this and  how do you answer that critic that says it's just another symptom of being spoiled, to spend time telling stories, painting, singing, sculpting, dancing....? How can we justify it in the face of so much social dis-ease? 

What do you know?  Even if you don't have answers, per se, is this something you can relate to and how do you work through it? If you do. 

Excuse me, I have a critic to gag while I get some work done.... 

Grounded and Grounding

I've decided I'm grounded for the Winter. That's all there is to it. I've had weeks, months of socializing and running around the state catching up with friends and family, dancing, raucous partying. That's right: raucous! I've been away awhile; it was necessary. I also had high hopes and loose plans for a road trip this Fall before the weather turns particularly nasty, as only Eastern Winters can. There are dear friends, old and new, "real life" and not-yet-met-in-the-flesh friends, that I'm eager to meet and are clamoring (yes, I said clamoring damnit!) to meet me.

But alas, what began as a little run-down feeling a few weeks back has escalated into intense fatigue, which I'm attributing to this chronic Lyme thing I got going (though this doesn't feel like a typical flare up, thank gods. It's not that bad). It feels like what I imagine it would feel like to wear a cement suit: everything, every limb, is heavy and hard to move. Making tea, doing the dishes, walking to the mailbox- eh, fuck it, the mail can wait 'til tomorrow- is an act of will that will require a goodly chunk of resting, maybe even napping afterward, on the couch or whatever piece of furniture I happen to land on when I can't get to the couch. It's not just that I'm tired or don't feel like going out or vacuuming my floor. It's hard to imagine this kind of fatigue, I know, and you probably can't, but take my word for it: if you're a basically healthy human, when you say tired and I say fatigue, we are not talking about the same thing. They don't even live in the same country.

On top of this fugue of fatigue, I've had an growing urge to nest combined with a looooong overdue upswell of creative energy and a deliciously ambiguous desire to focus on me, some things in my life that have been needing attention. Essentially, I've been neglecting my primary partner, me,  for social outings, responsibilities, bad TV (okay, not ALL bad. Flashforward was pretty meaty), people in crisis that neeeed me and a wild flurry of falling in and out of love and lust online. I'm over it. It's time for me to come home, hang with my main girl and really, deeply listen to her for awhile, give her what she needs and wants. Nurture her. I'm ready to fall madly in love with me again, recommit to this unique, messy, interesting creature whose life I find myself living this time around.

It feels good, not forced, and it's convenient that it coincides with Fall, which always heralds a yummy urge to slow down and look inside, and this spell of exhaustion is almost handy, in a way. It’s making it easier to keep myself from sneaking out the window at night.  If I was feeling bouncy and energy-rich, I'd continue to kid myself into thinking I can do it all. The trap there is that the introspection, meditation, journaling, self-massage (hell yes that's a euphamism!), etc. end up getting bumped when I don't have the energy after a night on the town and two hours on the phone with a friend in crisis who only calls when he's in crisis and then never, absolutely ever listens to a word I say. A friend who then proceeds to go back to doing exactly what he's been doing for years that got him into the crisis to begin with. Note: "Ever" practically applies in this case, because I've known him most of my life    (If this is you and you're reading this, I love you. And you know it's true, dude. And I really do love you, sweetie. You just need to call someone else over the next few weeks or so, 'cause I'm pulling in my shingle for awhile).

I'm burnt out, I'm nearly broke and I'm enjoying spending time with my best girl (again, that would be moi) and getting mouthy in writing. I'm officially grounding myself until I can learn to have a little more discipline, get more rest, get better at saying "no", and get those last few boxes in the shed unpacked. For starters.

I was deeply disappointed when I first began to admit to myself that this was indeed the right thing to do. I want to take this trip, see my Dad, meet people, snuggle with my dear old friends, see New England in the Fall. And the small, clear voice inside me says, "I didn't say 'no', I just said 'not now'." And it's right, I know it's right. I'm getting over the disappointment, which is good, 'cause then I'll be better able to deal with the disappointment of others. But I know they'll ultimately understand, that after the groaning and questions are done, they'll support me in taking care of myself. ‘Cause my friends rock.

But I am going to the party this weekend. Just because I'm not up for driving across country doesn't mean I'm never leaving the house. I'm just cutting way, way, waaaaay back. It's all about priorities baby. I can handle it. I can do just one, I promise. I mean, I can totally quit anytime I want. I just don't want to. Yet.

Oh, I am soooo grounded....     \

*artwork by Mara Friedman "In Autumn's Womb"              

Big Bang Beginnings

Not really. It's just a blog. But I guess one person's "just a blog" is another person's "Big Bang", at least potentially. Maybe we should ask the bangee. Ermmm...nevermind. It's my universe.

This is a mission statement of sorts. The challenge (as is often the case in my case) is to find that point on the graph where accuracy and simplicity meet. There’s a lot going on here and I’m likely to write about any of it on any given day. I’m an adventurer- spiritually, mentally, emotionally and physically (not so much of the bungee-jumping, sky-diving variety as the traveling, sexual exploration, playing with the pain/pleasure/insight boundaries). There’s an ebb and flow to everything, a natural rhythm and for the past few years I’ve been in an intense FLOW period with teensy, tinsy, much needed ebbs here and there. Lots and lots of edges are getting pushed in the tiny universe that is mine-for-now. So expect anything!

Though this is not a place for humans who are still legally children, kids of all ages over 18 are most welcome! I promise it’ll be personal, even graphic at times. There will be generous portions of foul language and tons of irreverence. I’m going to go deep. That’s what I do. You might be uncomfortable at times if you‘re hanging out with me. I am. Why not you? As a teacher told me many years ago: discomfort lets you know you’re in new territory. If growth is the aim, then we would do well to get more comfortable with discomfort. I tell you what- it’s never, ever boring, this growth thing Occasionally peaceful, relaxing and easeful, but boring- never.

Of course, we each have our limits with discomfort, how much, what kind, different tolerance on different days. Maybe this isn’t the place for you. There are other places to visit, other words to read, a myriad of voices all talking about the same thing in different ways. Find the song that touches your heart. If you decide to hang with me, my hope is that you will find something of yourself, for yourself- that bits of my experience will reflect some part of your own journey or process, of your own search, that we can help each other along the way. I invite you to share your reactions, relate similarities, disagree, suggest. I ask that you do so respectfully. So often it’s not what we say, but how we say it that determines how it’s received. Please keep that in mind and I will too.

Ultimately, what I’m talking about here is LOVE. Not the Harlequin Romance variety (though even that is not excluded *grin*), but the big god-flavored love that is both tender and merciless; love of the deep and wide kind that both holds and pushes, that wounds and feeds, sometimes simultaneously.  Terrible, beautiful love that asks from us everything we have, everything we think we are in order that we might be more than we ever knew.

Everything is sacred, everything is god, everything is love: rainbows, music, dishes, mosquitoes, temples, dirty diapers, death, sex, pancakes and earthquakes. Everything.
There will be generous portions of irreverence for all.

So, everything we do is in some sense a step in our dance with this great reality. We move toward or away, we embrace or deny in some measure. As with all intimacies, often the process of embracing is more a process of dismantling what stands in the way- usually some form or fear or behaviors stemming from same. My intention is that my living be as conscious a dance as possible. So much of the first half of my life was a bumbling, knee-jerk, survival dance. I was resourceful and it got me here- I honor that time deeply, but now I know better. I began to wake up to myself and something larger that I’m a part of about 25 years ago and here I am, still bumbling along, but eyes wide open. I want to be as awake as I can be, be aware of my choices in how I’m relating to everything in each moment. Whatever I’m doing and whatever I’m writing about it at the moment, at it’s core it’s all about this- this rich, fascinating dance we’re in with life, love, each other, the gods, the force that informs the whole gorgeous mess- including our beautiful, bumbling selves.

This then, is another avenue for yet another discussion with god: in me, in you, in everything. Knowing there is really only one of us here, yet knowing too that while we’re in bodies we have a unique (and oh-so-brief!) opportunity to know our-self better through this illusion of separation and sharing what we see. Thanks for sharing this space with me.  I'm excited to see what happens next…..