Holy, Holey, Whole

I'm a socialist at heart; if I have extra and you need some, it's yours. The problem I sometimes have is determining if I actually have extra. I end up passing out my own rations and going hungry. That's okay once in awhile, but if I keep doing it without you doing what it takes to bring in your own food, we're both gonna be hungry and at some point, I won't have what it takes to bring more food in anymore either. If that keeps up, eventually we're both starving, desperate husks, our desiccated fingers pointing and mummy lips snarling in each others general directions. 

   

But that's what I learned of love growing up: we may be impaired, malnourished, suffering souls, but all we have is each other and we must stick together no matter what, giving whatever it takes to keep the other alive on meager resources. If we don't stick together in the pit, we just end up in the pit alone. The only thing worse than a crazy, filthy pit dweller is a lonely one, damnit.

Occasionally, one of us would try to crawl outta the hole and the other pit dwellers were quick to pull them down. We didn't do it consciously; we were unconsciously carrying on the chain of abuse, doing what had been done to us, what we'd learned to do. On a deeper level, we were afraid- afraid for the climber: it's dangerous out there, are you crazy? Stick with the tribe man. Besides we need you. Another part of us was terrified: what if they actually make it? What the hell will that mean for me?  That means that the story starts to crumble and the earth under my own feet suddenly becomes questionable.

We can see this same dynamic at play in the culture around us all the time. "Who are you to be free? Get back down here bitch!" Sometimes it even looks like, "Damnit, I LOVE you!"; even, "I'm doing this FOR YOUR OWN GOOD."

So it can be freaky to watch someone get out, to watch someone even try to get out. As hole dwellers, we rarely have words for these feelings, especially if we're used to living in a daily state of low level panic, fear and anxiety. These were daily companions in my growing up home and are for many of us today. As kids we weren't capable of naming our feelings, much less identifying why we were snapping at someone's heels as they tried to exit. We may be adults on the outside now, but some of us are still kids-in-the-hole on the inside. 

  

Some of us learn this kind of giving as a way to survive or at least keeping our companions-of-the-hole by our sides. As a kid, it was a survival thing imprinted on me early- keep her alive so she doesn't leave me, because the alternative was (literally) death. Many of us have our own versions of this in varying strengths and for a lot of us, it's now costing us our own life force if not outright killing us (literally).

So, if I'm really honest with myself, when I'm giving too much, my motives aren't all that pure anyway. There's at least a tinge of "if I take care of you, you won't die and leave me alone" involved. It isn't pretty, but there it is. It's left over from my days in El Mundo Malo, the Country of the Dead, where Queen Wasp ruled with an iron fist and I dashed myself bloody on her studded skirts in desperate bids for love and sustenance. There's rewiring to do yet. I'm on it. I can even see that the seed of "taking care of each other" is a healthy biological survival imperative that gets warped beyond reason by extreme situations. How do we know when help isn't healthy anymore? 

There is no hard and fast rule for how much help is too much. Our best bet is guidance from our feelings, intuition, or a trusted source, inner or outer. I have trouble listening to that guidance sometimes. Especially when I love someone. The more I love them, the more bonded we are, then the more likely the code "keep giving no matter what" is to kick in, particularly when they're struggling. It's a challenge that still gets triggered in certain situations.

This is what I know as of right now:

Tho he didn't go joyfully...

1) Crawling in the hole with someone only means that now there are two people in the hole. Maybe they aren't as lonely anymore, but still- it's a hole. Holes can be nice sometimes, but do you wanna live your life in one? Even Smeagol got out eventually. Besides, there is lots and lots of company to be had outside the hole too. And trust me, some of them will be thrilled to hang out with you and it won't cost you a thing (Look ma, no blood price!)

2) Standing on the edge of a hole while someone in the hole pulls on you constantly will wear you out. If you expend too much energy trying to get them out of that hole, you will eventually fall back in yourself. This isn't the end of the world- you can get out again, but it's fucking exhausting. Or you could die on the edge of that hole with your arm hanging out of it's socket, having missed a lot of great concerts. And your buddy in the hole will still be in it. So, do both of you and the world a favor and make sure you do what it takes to stay out of the hole and out of tug-games at the edge of the hole. Remember, your own oxygen mask first!

3) If you're out of the hole, then you have an amazing gift to offer the hole dweller: You speak holey language and the person at the bottom of that pit is more likely to hear you, believe you more than one who hasn't done their time in the hole. This may be the most important thing you have to share with a person in a hole:   

If you got out of the hole, anyone else can get out. Period. You may indeed have what look like superpowers, but you didn't have them when you were in the hole either. Like me, you probably worked super hard for those superpowers and so can they. But often they don't wanna hear that. I didn't want to hear it when I was stuck, starving and dying. The person in that hole is scared shitless. Remember that when they're cussing and cursing you for a cold hearted bitch as you smile at them from the outside or (the nerve of you) walk away. They're terrified. They might like nothing more from that vantage point than to pull you back in and say, "See? There really is no 'out of the hole'. I knew it. Let's just stay down here and eat each other." 

They might try the falling apart, heart wrenching sobbing, don't-leave-me bit too. There's no blame in it. It's a tried and true tactic among hole dwellers, system approved- you remember. Of course they're sad. Pits can be sad, wretched places. The question is, what are they going to do about it? Not, what are YOU going to do about it. Their hole = their climb.

Don't fall for these or any other "grappling" tactics. Stick to what you know. The perspective of an ex-hole dweller is especially valuable to the still holey one, not just because you've been there, but because now you're not. What good are you to them if you move back into Holeville? From outside, you can describe the scenery, the quality of the air, what it's like to run, sail, fly and see vast distances. You can tell them how you escaped. You can break trail, leave bread crumbs and come back to tell of your adventures. If they aren't really ready to climb out, but just want you to save them (translate: ease their pain by filling up their holes inside- black holes that can't really be filled anyway and will eat up your known universe like The Nothing. Dramatic? Hell yeah it's dramatic! Take this shit seriously. It's your life.)...... erm.....where was I....

If they just want to be rescued, they'll probably find your message irritating as hell- can't you just save them already and shut the fuck up? You may eventually have to walk away, having passed on what you have to share, and know that you will see them out in the big ole non-hole world sometime. Or not. Either way, sometimes you just have to let it go. After all....

4) The only one who can really save us is ourselves. Really. Of course we can help each other out along the way, but each of us has to make a decision, a commitment to our own freedom in order to get on the path. I can't do it for you, you can't do it for me. It's an inside job and though we don't have to do it alone, we do have to do it ourselves.

5) There are a plethora (secksy work alert!) of resources out there. I promise you, you are not the only one in the world that can help this particular hole dweller. If you honestly feel that it would be damaging to you or them in some way, SAY NO and point them in the direction of another resource. The world is full of resources, some sources are even more abundant and more appropriate than you. It's okay to say "no". Hear that? It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". It's okay to say "no". Say it with me: It's okay to say "no". Say it LOUD, like you MEAN IT: IT'S OKAY TO SAY 'NO'! woot!!!

Does that make you cringe a little? No worries. Me too. Say it anyway, do it anyway. It gets easier and your self will thank you for it. And who knows, the hole dweller may one day also. Some of the biggest helps I got along the way came when people walked away. It was painful and I even hated them a little, but now I see how they helped me wake up. Not only is it okay to say "NO", it may even be better for the denyee too. It's healthy to have a bottom line. 

But don't expect the hole dweller to agree with you. After all, they probably don't know this for themselves yet. How can they allow it for you? 

6) I read this in The Wanderground by Sally Miller Gearhart an age of moons ago: That which I give that does not come from my overflow is poison (paraphrased). That means it's not good for anybody, including the hole dweller you're trying to rescue, for you to give, in a way that damages you. Make sure your own well is full before you go givin away all your water. That way, you and your horses live to ride another day, spreading the teachings of liberation and well diggin across the land. And you get to dance and eat sushi and be Whole. Dessicated husks in holes just get to be holey. Maybe that's your thing- just remember, you have choice. It's easy to forget that in a hole. 

Sometimes people know there's more than life in a hole, but they don't want to do the difficult, amazing, sometimes tedious work of doing what it takes to get out of the hole. They want to latch onto you like a velcro monkey, pretend they're you and get carried into where you are in life, just like that, *presto bang*. But even if you manage to pull both of you back from the edge, it doesn't work that way. Because "No matter where you go, there you are" applies here too. They could step into your life, but they'll be walking dynamite in a terrain that they have no tools for, the tools you've developed through doing the work (and you know what dynamite makes when it blows, right? A new hole). It's like putting someone in the drivers seat of a plane without the hours of training it takes to be ready. Disaster is assured. It isn't their world yet, they have to grow into it themselves, in their own plodding, tortuous, miraculous way.

There are no shortcuts to saving your own life. Believe me, I tried them all and found them false. The only way out is through, for each of us. Not only is it bad for me to try to carry someone when I can barely carry myself some days, but it robs them of their own experience, the gifts that the struggles and discoveries bring. Sometimes I hate this- I want to be able to save them. If I was farther along, I'd stop putting energy where it does no good; I'd stop giving to the point that I'm exhausted and angry; or I'd be able to stand at the side of a hole, dribble some water on the hole dwellers eyes, say "arise and walk" and *poof*- that would be that- less hole people and more dancers in the moonlight. I would be an Un-Holey Saint. I'm not there yet and maybe I never should be, but it's an understandable wish.

It's not like the work stops once you're out of the hole anyway. In fact, the work/play/self-creation process is actually the whole point. Getting out of the hole is just the beginning. That's when you really start to get on with it. The good news is, it gets more and more fun as you go, in ways you can't even begin to imagine if you're still in the hole. Wanna find out? Here.... here's a life line and instructions. If you have questions holler~ loud! Help will come, but you've still gotta do your own climbing.

Happy Little Flow Chart

I love this little flow chart. It reminds me of one of the simplest principles that's also one of the easiest to forget. It in no way stands as an endorsement by me of Happiness-as-the-optimal-choice. All choices are valid. Rare is it that we have a simple choice between something making us happy and not. Most times, the choices we make as grown ups make some parts of us happy and others, not so much so. I know too that "happy" and "unhappy" aren't the only possibilities there are in terms of our emotional state. Is a woman in transitional labor happy or not? Is someone happy who's apologizing sincerely for a mistake they made that caused someone grief? 

Our culture seems to have an addiction to happiness, thinking that somehow if we just do the right things, we can get to a place where we've arrived at Happy Land and can coast the rest of the way on Happy Wings. This illusion and our do-anything-to-avoid-pain approach to life actually causes a lot of harm, even violence, emotional and physical. Sometimes doing the thing that makes us NOT happy (or comfortable or relaxed or carefree or...), sometimes that unhappy-making thing is exactly the right thing to do. 

What I do mean to endorse is aware, conscious choice. We don't have to be victims of our lives, historical or otherwise. We can't always choose what happens to us, but we can choose our actions, attitudes, belief systems. We can control a lot more than most of us think we can. It may take some work to get past the blocks that keep us from availing ourselves of all the options that are open to us, but if we're willing to do the work, freedom is always there waiting for us. It's the sun that is no less there just because there are storm clouds between it and our rain drenched heads. 


The more we own our power of choice and the consequences for those choices, the more we'll be able to create the kind of experience that we want to have in the world. There are consequences for every choice we make, including doing nothing, including standing still. We each have to decide what consequences we're willing to live with. Staying in a situation that makes us unhappy may be the better option for us at the moment. That's okay. No one can decide that but you. However, as long as we keep telling ourselves we're trapped, then we are, but only by our own beliefs. We're not trapped; we're choosing.


We almost always have choice in actions (unless we're handcuffed or the like and even then we do, within narrower parameters) and we always, always have choice of response. And therein lies our growth and our power. 

Neither Hair Nor There

Me n my mop.

I have a lotta hair. I get compliments on it, which is awkward because I don't do anything but leave it alone. I mean, I was born with it. So, eh... It's long mostly because I'm lazy, though I also like the feel of it on my nekkid back- it's a sensual treat. Getting it petted is fun too. Super short or super long, you're bound to get some pettin o' the head. Every once in awhile I'll go in and pay someone to trim it for me, just so I can get it brushed and toyed with. *ecstasy* Sometimes, there's just nothing like the touch of a professional. Heh.

This is not a photo of me~ by Olga Proana

I'm a natural redhead of the not-coppery variety. When I was a kid, that was totally not cool. It was one of the things that got me harassed a lot. Then as a teenager, not quite as much, but still- there was a lot of "redheads are trouble" with much knowing nods of the head (as if those 16 year olds had enough experience to even form an opinion). Other tags for reds were: slutty, passionate, temperamental and witchy. I still get some of that today, but less. Whatever. I always wanted to have straight glossy black hair. I don't know where that desire came from, but it was constant until I hit early early adult years. 

Like many things in life, it remains a mystery.

When I was a young woman I did all kinds of things to my hair without changing the basic color, but eventually I got tired of messing with it. It was right around the time I was a single mom, going to school, working and playing in a band. I started to wonder at just how much time I spent everyday with makeup, shaving, styling my hair and squeezing into uncomfortable clothes. Why, when I could like... SLEEP an extra hour? So I saved the big ToDo for performances and special occasions and started going natural the rest of the time. I liked it. It had the unlooked for benefit of making me feel friendlier to my body over time too, like I kept giving myself the message over and over that how I looked was just fine without all the enhancements and manipulations. My self-image responded well. The big ToDo nights started to feel a little like doing drag and it was a lot more fun when it was an option instead of a daily requirement.

It was not a cool thing to do at that time and place. The area I grew up in was pretty conservative and women (men as well) were expected to apparel themselves a certain way. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Then I got my nose pierced- three times. I know that's not much now, but at the time I was one of three women I saw in a 5 year period that had it done even once. I had a wonderful conversation with a woman in her 50s that was working a boutique where I was shopping for nose jewelry. She told me with a smile, "You know, when I was a young woman, I was told that only sluts got their ears pierced. That didn't stop me. It's all fashion honey. Don't let 'em get to you."

I didn't. I kept growing my hair out, stopped shaving and wearing makeup. I eventually got visible tattoos and got more piercings. Whatever. It's my body.


For the past 10 years or so, red hair has gotten increasingly popular. After all the teasing I put up with as a kid, forgive me if I get a little snarky about it sometimes. Walking down the street some days, I can be heard quietly remarking to my companions: bottle, bottle, bottle, real, bottle... Hey, at least I don't yell it out... usually. 

About 10 years ago, I buzzed my head. I'd been thinking about it for years and it was just... time. I was going through a breakup, I was starting to perform more of my own music. People were always going on about my hair like it was something personal I'd created or my best quality. I wanted to know what it would be like to be me without my hair. How would it be to happily, willingly rid myself of something that so many people identified with me that really had nothing to do with who I was? Something that is so clearly identified as a feminine characteristic- long hair? And most importantly, just what shape was my head under all that freakin hair?

This is not me either, but that's the same cut.  Somewhere I have ONE photo of that buzz.
When I find it, I'm framing it. Dude, this makes me wanna do it again....

It was amazingly liberating! I felt exposed and open to the world and people in a way I never quite had. My head felt light and open, the skin so happy to feel sun and wind. It was cold though. I hadn't thought about the fact that it was fall and all that hair had been keeping my upper extremities warm for years. And thus began my collection of hats and scarves...

The most interesting thing to me was people's reactions. People seemed to either love or hate it. There wasn't a lot of neutral reaction. Which is fine. What was not fine is that so many seemed to feel they had the right to tell me what they thought. A lot of people that I barely knew, even strangers that only knew my face from performing or walking around town, would volunteer their fervent opinions: Whaddya wanna look like a freak for? Why would you want to look ugly? Oh your poor poor hair! I can hardly look at you. One instructor said, "I think it's more dignified when older women cut their hair short, don't you? Good for you. It's a sign of your acceptance of your mature status." What the fuck? I was like, 35 at the time. Arg. People just love to spray you with the fog of their own biases and opinions. Some people just stared in a stricken way, turned and walked away. I was shocked at how strongly people felt about hair that wasn't even their own. It was proprietary and weird. 

The people I really enjoyed were the ones who asked me (imagine!) how I felt about it. Thank you, where ever you are....

Hair grows back, though slooooowly. I realized soon after I buzzed it that if I wanted to keep it short, I'd need to do upkeep every month or so and I didn't want to. So I started growing it back out again, which was tedious, but also symbolic for other things that were "growing back" in my life. Patience was the order of the day- persistence and patience.

I don't change mine that much anymore, basically because I'm lazy. I think about it now and then, but then I think about growing it back out again and it makes me leave it alone. People talk about how much work long hair is, but I don't know what they mean. It's so easy. I trim it every 4 months or so, I wash it 3 times a week. If it's bugging me, I pull it back; if it's cold out or I feel like hiding, I leave it down. I can do things with it, decorate my head to express a mood or attract someone's attention. In my experience, short hair takes a lot more maintenance. 

Finally, a head that is mine. Gray is beautiful.

I haven't yet had the urge to cover the gray, though some of my friends that do keep telling me, "oh, you just wait. You'll hate it too!" I'm like, what the hell- are you cursing me? So what and what if I don't? Right now I like it. I'm willing a nice fat white streak along the front that starts at the peak and it's working. I've begun to wonder if I lose my "redhead status" when it goes all gray. A friend assures me not- he says being a redhead is in the DNA and that, no one and nothing can take away from me. I love him.

See? Some people don't even notice it. 

The one thing I did start doing a few years ago was the black under layer- my childhood wish at last realized in part. I was nervous about it before hand, because there's actually an awful lot of hair under there that's black! But you can't tell. When it's down, the black just peeks out here and there, but I know it's there. And I quickly found out I LOVED it! It was a little like that first tattoo that I got in a place that stayed hidden, in case I didn't like it. I was so thrilled with it, that I was flashing my pubic bone at anyone who wanted to see. I wanted another tattoo, immediately. In a similar way, I loved the black so much that I immediately wanted more. It was fun and it's stayed fun. I can flash it more depending on how I wear my hair or keep it subtle when I'm in my Grandma's church. We win.

I just got the black redone finally after months of growing out. The person who did it for me offered to add another color if I wanted. Her hair is a lovely mottling of purple, blue, yellow, green and her natural medium brunette. "I've got a drawer full of colors left over..." Including a deep blue purple that I loved. SCORE!!! 

So for the first time I have an "unnatural" color added to my locks. It's subtle- really only shows up in the sun and it's not as deep as I'd hoped, but I love it! Purple is my favorite color and this rocks with the red and black. I'm not sure if I want more yet, but maybe. I feel possibilities opening up that I hadn't considered before! I want more white at the front-they can do that, right? And maybe time to play with some sculpting gel or something. Maybe even shave a layer and do some tattoo work on my skull while it's bare. Seriously! It'll grow back in if I let it. Like everything in life, it's temporary only more obviously so. It's one of it's great advantages, that and its malleability. There's so little in life that we can change that fast, that easily. Why not? It's just hair. 

47 and flying mah freak flag, high and proud! Don't let 'em get to you.

ps: Please feel free to express your opinion if you're compelled. Just don't expect me to care. 

Tell me about your hair adventures and show me some pics!