Monster Love

Can you spot the monster in this picture?

Monster love is kicking my ass lately. I mean, really? I went from months of no- or very little- romance or physical intimacy ( I guess I could've just said SEX), then a few months ago I kind of gently put it out to the universe that I was maybe ready to start dating again. Within 4 weeks I was seeing two new people and seeing relationships from afar deepen in ways I hadn't previously imagined. It's a little like being flushed down a toilet (and no, I am NOT being dramatic!!!) to a magical, alien world where little is familiar and even that is twisted just enough as to be unsettling. And effluvia- always with the effluvia! Sheese.


One of the most up-front-and-center things about the romantic relationships I'm currently engaged in is that uncertainty is blatantly, in-my-face built in, complete with flashing neon signs and fog horns. HERE BE MONSTERS- leave your silly, pointless armor at the door, go deep or go home. It's so obvious that it can't be ignored, I can't lie to myself, even a little teensy bit. There is sweetness, comfort, love songs and fantastic sex (oy!), but there are also communication snafus, disappointments, delayed gratification and the kind of letting go, over and over and over, that comes with everyone getting to take care of themselves in the best way they can; accepting gifts from each other, but not demanding or obligated. It's a trip. How the hell did I get here? Where's my map? aaack!

I Monster: beauty and beast divine.

And somehow every time I really stop and face the Monster, I end up looking into a mirror of such clarity that it aches and shimmers, moans and sings in the bell of my being. It often seems what I'm learning to love truly, is myself, through you. *sigh* Some days you're the monster, some days you're the bug(s bunny).







On an intellectual level, I'm well aware that uncertainty is built into everything. Everything but EVERYTHING is temporary; some things are just more temporary than others. But historically (from my 20s on, more or less) I would place myself in romantic situations where I could at least pretend or hope (usually hope was the gas that fueled my engine) that this could be a permanent thing, a thing I could count on come hell or high water, someone who would finally, once and for all and forever, have my back. In other words, I could hope I'd finally found the parent I never had and always wanted. Better yet, I had found GOD incarnate and god would be mind all mine. Oh yes. MINE. Forever. I would then proceed to direct a huge amount of energy towards making that person and relationship fit the bill. You can imagine where that got me. My poor partners! Anyway...

Love it and squeeze it and name it...MINE!

I got better at picking people who fit my "bill of certainty" a little more as the years went on, also better at boxing up, tamping down, hiding pieces of myself in exchange for their faithfulness. Which, let me say here, isn't what I'm doing now, but that doesn't mean it was a mistake then. Each of those relationships taught me an plethora (sexy word alert) of things about love, communication, myself and most importantly, why it wasn't worth it to box up, tamp down, hide pieces of myself in exchange for an all too brief dream of security. It never worked. When my marriage ended 3 years ago, I hit bottom with the security addiction. I had done ALL the "right" things damnit and it ended anyway, for no clear reason. When I saw that much of my rage and betrayed feeling was about how much "I have given up for this! How well I've behaved!"- well, the subconscious deal I'd been running with the Love Gods began to be exposed and unraveled. It was a very painful wake up call.

Since then I have been on a path of consciously experiencing love with less bullshit, less rules, less measuring of the certainty factor. My desire for assurances and specific outcomes have not gone away, but it's not the boss o' me no more. Most of the time. Every relationship ends in death or dissolution. So, what was I trading away my spark, my juice, my intensity, my living-out-loudness for? Why was I avoiding my polyamorous tendencies? Why was I settling for less than the sexiest, most passionate, intimate sex ever? Why was I hiding out in 'safe' relationships (and lifestyles) that weren't even really safe at all? 

Silly Bunny

It's been an interesting 3 years. Now here I am, madly in love in three relationships that are not certain in ways that are too obvious to allow me to fool myself (and that's just the romantic loves. One of the deepest relationships in my life is a non-romantic, non-sexual one and she's moving away soon. *oooowieeeee*). There is a part of me that frequently wants to run, from all and sundry. It rants at me sometimes: are you FUCKING CRAZY!?!?! and I say, yes- that's quite likely. But the me that is the witness to all the ranting, panicking, gibbering terror, the witness that sees how really perfect this is for me, my path, and I trust, theirs too- that part keeps making the choice to lean in deeper, to open more, to see what's there when there are no guarantees, even of the obvious in the moment, "I will be there for you tomorrow" kind. The realest part of me knows that I am, in fact, going sane.

Some people ask me "Why? Why open more when you know it's likely you'll get hurt?" This reminds me of the 'keep it simple, marry a nice girl, get a good job with benefits, have a couple kids and settle down in the country' talk. I mean, if that's your shtick, then I support you. I have found, the more honest I get with myself, that it's not so much my thing. Parts of me wish it was. But my bent for adventure is an inherent source of aliveness for me. Even if I did settle down in anything that looked like the scenario above, look deeper and you would see me pushing the edges, dialoguing with the darkness, telling the hard truths over Sunday coffee in bed or after some lovely ass play or a flogging session; you would see me crying and laughing like a maniac at times, dancing nekkid under the moon and/or talking to god, who answers. Cuz that's just how I roll.

Gossamer goes metrosexual?

So I keep showing up because it feels right. When I question it myself (and I do, believe me) I get a steady, firm YES. I do it because my heart is stretching, bursting, I'm feeling more love from more directions that I ever thought possible. At times I lose track of specific sources and just feel, be, know LOVE. I suspect that herein lies the security I have always hungered for- in a universal experience of a tribal love that's SO huge, so powerful and so far beyond 'this person at this time in this way' that it will answer all the questions for, by and about love that I have ever had. It's a love so omniscient that it cannot be taken away, I cannot lose it because I AM it. And it is me. This is the tribe that always has my back- it's just bigger and less localized than I thought it was. This is the reality that cannot be undone by departure of a particular "one". This is the heart that cannot be broken, because, like the Dude, it abides.

These people are embodying it for me right now and I honor that, I'm attached to these bodies, but I know on a deeper level, that our embodiments will part someday in some fashion, but the love- the magic we're creating right now and here, the ways we're growing, singing each other bigger, breaking each other open and exposing our hurt, nasty bits, this love we make- this is ours forever and ever. That is how it's always been, no matter what story I've been telling myself about "contentedly-ever-after". This is the truth and I want it. I've known it forever, but I'm getting to experience it now through this dinged and scratched human lens. I have somehow grown the balls to actually LIVE it. I'm frequently terrified, often ecstatic, swept up in a libidinous frenzy I have never know, then peaceful and easy. Often in complete, utter awe of the process and our beauty as we do the dance together. I'm am in love. I'm beginning to know what that really means; just beginning. It's killing a lot of my old notions which makes lovely compost for what grows in the ashes.

I do it because it feels right, because it's making me a better person. I do it because these people I love are simply, stunningly amazing creatures that fascinate me endlessly and I can't seem to stay away from them even when fear wants me to. I do it because it's incredibly interesting. I do it because the sexiness is rich and moves me like nothing else I know. I do it because it brings me joy and life flows through its every channel. I do it because they want it, it makes them richer too, in ways I only begin to comprehend. I do it because it's part of what's propelling me to the next level of my evolution. Like any trip through a birth canal, it's uncomfortable, painful, exciting, powerful, inexorable and infused with mystery- I have no idea where it's taking me really. Really. No fucking idea. But I'm here for the journey and, when all is said and done, that's all there is.

It ain't too pretty or pop-song romantic. This is monster love- it's messy, honest, painful, thrilling, undefinable (though trying is fun!), unpredictable, and free; both devouring and creating. This is the void where anything and everything is possible. Mystery rules. Lean in... lean in... lean in....I'll see you inside....


(Thanks to Luke and Marc for inspiring the Gossamer additions. Such an innnnnteresting monster....)

Romeo, Romeo- to the Back of the Bus, Mister

(photo "His Heart's On Fire" by Wesley Kirk)

Ready for another post about LOVE? In case you're just making my acquaintance for the first time, be assured there will be NO love songs, NO chirping bluebirds, NO hearts and roses, and absolutely NO sonnets concerning the ebony shade of my true loves heart...erm...hair. At least not today. I've got nothing against those things, in fact they happen to be a particularly sharp and pleasant torment of sorts right now, but I'm not about that bit at the moment. The romantic lover in me is, for a sec or two, moving to the 4th row back on the left, along with the hopelessly romantic teenager (who is still recovering somewhat in the self-esteem department) and the lust consumed perve who wants to write sonnets to the curve of my love's hip scoops. They'll have a great time back there, sighing and sweating and longing; ooooh, the longing....

Meanwhile, there's an fairly functional adult up here in the driver's seat for the moment. Sharing front row with me are the Artist and the Spiritual Warrior and, on my more responsible days, the Business Manager and the Housekeeper (but those two are taking a nap at the moment. Psychic rufies rule. They've had plenty of air time today and will get more, but I don't need them for this discussion and they'll just bog us down with side trips to do the dishes and check the bank balance). Where was I .....

Ah, love. Hmmm...o_O

So, I've moved beyond states of smittenness and infatuation. Maybe a deeper level of infatuation. Dunno. But more than smitten. There is definitely love here. There is love and lust and respect and curiosity and tons of like-like-like and a generous helping of romance. It's the romance I'm suspicious of.  I'm not sure why romance gets to be the bad guy in this scenario, but it seems to have fallen out that way, at least today.

Perhaps it's not romance itself, but our tendency (my tendency) toward addiction to it. Romance can be a tricksy bugger- one part sweet, a little (ha!) obsessive, starry eyed, love-song-humming, generous and shiny shiny drug-high shiny; one part ravening beast, drunk on life force and self-centered as hell, growling "mine mine MINE"!, doing it's best to latch on to a good thing and hold on for dear life, no matter the cost to the rest of the team. Even if it means everyone drowns in the end. Tragic? Yes. But they drowned for LOVE damnit.

Romance dreams of the future: houses in the country, kittehs and dawgies, posies in the window, Princess in an apron (only) bringing me a cold beer while I tune up the farm truck, which leads invariably to sex in the garden. Romance wants to know what's gonna happen and likes to put things in boxes with lots and lots of preservatives. Cuz romance is on a crazy rollercoaster ride with two ways off: sailing off into the starry sky and an eternal bliss of happily happily or a fiery crash on a ground that only seemed to disappear for all those weeks and months of the honeymoon phase. One can't really fault romance for trying to stave off the crash at all costs; however ineffective (and sometimes self-fulfilling) it may be, it's understandable.

Romance. *sigh* We hate to love it, love it too much or love to hate it. It seems we all go through it at some point. Romance itself can be a fine thing- like everything else it's our creation. If it's flawed or dangerous, it's only because we make it so. And often we do. Dangerous because almost always for most of us, it's got a healthy helping of blind spots and dreams built on sand bars. It always hurts to lose illusions. Romance is dangerous because those illusions are built around and affect other real live human beings (in most cases, but I am again in danger of digression....)- beings with dreams, needs and illusions of their own. *crash* It ain't purdy.

It seems the problems happen when Romeo gets to drive the bus. If I can enjoy romance as an oh-so-tasty side dish on the plate of my life (maybe even a little hors d'oeuvre and dessert....and second dinner....), but keep the keys out of its hands, I'm usually doing okay- a little crazy, but a basically-sane person is basically in charge. Romantic feelings are powerful and tons of fun, maybe even useful in keeping us motivated in moving deeper when the FREAKED out control freak in us would otherwise say GET THE FUCK OUT, NOW. Romance may feed the bonding that becomes glue that helps us stick out tough times, which will surely come and make us want to RUN.

Romance is a rare delight. I'm not out to kill it. I like it. Just maybe too much.

Besides romance (see there? the problem child always gets more attention) there is a lot of love here. What's a lot exactly? Hell if I know. But it's intense. Love that doesn't give a shit about what's coming tomorrow. Love that knows a broken heart is the sign of having loved well and life well lived, that knows that despite my daydreams about walking away from the wreckage unscathed, it just ain't thatta way. Walking away unscathed is the sure sign of a bystander. Or a Saint. Don't wanna be one and ain't yet t'other. Love knows that getting good and scathed is one of the main points of it all. Scathing moves and marks us, it changes our landscape, inside and out. It makes room, cracks where the light can get in.

This recent slough of romantic, secksy love in my life has been a veritable bull-in-a-china-shop with all my carefully laid plans- plans for the day, the year, the next couple of life times. The things that go on in me these days- such a beautiful mess! But it feels right. When I get quiet and ask, something deep and calm in me says "yes". And I believe in that voice. It has never steered  me wrong, even when it's steered me into crashes. Sometimes fiery wrecks and broken china is exactly what I need, whether I know it or not at the time.

So here I am, stumbling through acts of radical trust, even when I'm feeling, like.... like five years old and utterly stompable; there I go, choosing Love: monster love, messy-honest-growing-pain-warrior-love; Love-capitol-L with lots of room for silliness, sexy sex, brilliant creativity and yes, even Romeo. If only he would stop stealing my keys.