Dreams

We are the moon that governs the waves and throws around the ocean between us.We wiggle our feet in the sand warmed by long days and sigh into the breeze of the shifting moods. We find our peace on our beach whenever the world is in need of simplification. 

We are the field of childhood freedoms and memories of the time before obligations made our choices. We feel the sponge of fertility under our feet that feeds the grass’s inspiration to tickle our fingertips. We find our space together on our backs whenever we must smell the opportunity for newness. 

We are the tent far from all paths that will shelter us from outside expectations and misunderstandings. We hear the rain outside as only a reminder that we are joined inside safe from the world washing away. We find our isolation and insulation when the growing importance of being one takes over. 

We are our dance floor of unknown band with repeating rhythm already ongoing between us. We smell the sweat pouring from the energy we have always had even before the first note was played. We find our groove and grind when the words cannot be discerned but the intent is well understood. 

We are our drum booth at session’s end, the smell of cymbals still soaked in concentration. We break the focus over the edge of desire to be close within a confinement. We find our spaces within each other knowing the answer to separation is recording endless intimacy. 

We are our dreams so that we go where we cannot while the world around us layers reasons why not. We bathe dripping in the wealth of imaginations and realize our dreams are a fraction of what will be. We find our parting nightly so that we may fool our senses into a closeness we know is ours to claim. 

Goodnight, my love. I know where to find you. 

Story time…

Once in Kik, for the hell of it

I wanted to find a group for fun

Music or bisexuals, philopsphy, NOT politic

Find a cool place local to hang in the sun

Join a group – I found, Minnesota Glory

thinking that, yes, my state is cool

want to see more..but…….eeeeeeeeee

Was more of a lesson than life’s school

“Weird” he says “We don’t get many women here”

As I state my age, sex and location for the room

She wonders, “why uncommon,” but sips silently her beer

I like Minnesota, and there is more to see and do than I do

The room stirs, with new person added

More comment on a lady in the house

Makes me feel out of place, and needing safe room padded

Makes me retreat small like mouse

Welcome, new friend, this is Minnesota Glory HOLE

HOLY FUCK! Do what? With who? You don’t know WHAT is on the other side?

I have slipped through to the other dimension like blind mole

Beer sprayed through my nose, color me brightly RED, surprised

NOPE out right away, although no kink shaming for that

I just wanted to see my state more

I wanted to know cool places for coffee with chat

I sing, “No thanks” to dick through virtual or literal hole in door.

Moral of any story I suppose is this…

The possibilities online are infinite

There are so many options, find what fits

Make sure you see the you in it.

Nope out of the things not right

Lean into the resonance true

Find your tribe and your band and your light

Use it, as YOU want and need, but be sure you learn to be YOU.

Chasing

He says he is grateful for how I reach him when he folds up, but am I chasing?

A friend asks me “Have you ever been alone….just you?”

Fuck. No. What does that mean?

I am social being. I have been married but alone forever. I have been married but without partner. I have been married, and accountable as a wife and mother and teacher and friend and leader and…and…….and……

Am I chasing the idea? Am I flailing about trying to grasp onto the nearest comfort? Or do I see him when he cannot see past his own walls? Do I ooze through cracks, seep in, expand, and make possible the crumble of the mortar carefully built by habitual hurt?

What does it feel like to chase, and not be chased? What would happen if I literally just stopped? Stood still. Would he fight for me the way I fight for him? Would he chase and position himself to break my defensive barrier?

I have been hurt habitually too. I deserve to be chased when I am too tired.

Have I ever been alone? Just me?

Yes. I have. I am.

Forgiveness

I was talking with a friend today, and he celebrates Yom Kippur. I have friends who are Jewish, but I haven’t asked enough about the holidays and traditions that are part of their faith. With the passing of Ruth Bader Ginsburg recently, I have been thinking a lot about how she expressed her faith through a dedication to justice – to be sure voices were protected by laws. Jewish faith has been more present in my mind this week that my otherwise ignorant ass will admit.

The month before Yom Kippur is the month of forgiveness. Fuck. I am late to that party. Yom Kippur is on us. Here we go…because I can absolutely get on board with the annual (if not more often or constant) evaluation of wrongs to be righted.

  • For my love, I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for my lack of forethought and consideration for your beautiful heart and the soul that you entrusted to my care. I am working to be the best version of myself I can be for you and for us. I am sorry that my communication needs feel like oppression for you sometimes. I am sorry for anything I have ever done or said that made you even barely question my love for you. Please, hear my apologies, and don’t shush them away with discomfort. I mean them, and you need to hear them in order to forgive me properly.
  • For my local, I am sorry I couldn’t offer you all of me. I should have seen in advance what power dynamics and that responsibility would feel like for me, and I am so sorry for the pain that was caused when we had to let go. I am so grateful for what we have and who we are, and for the understanding that has come from that hurt, but fuck. I am sorry for the hurt too.
  • For my former lovers – the lawyer and the musician… my intensity caused you both pain. I didn’t tell you that you were hurting me when you were, and I let you hurt me and make distance. You didn’t see it, and I didn’t tell you. I am sorry for keeping that secret.
  • For my husband, I am sorry for doing emotional work for you for two decades and then stopping without warning. That pivot was hard on you. I am sorry for the pain I am dragging you through now, and the pain that is still to come. My abilities are very compromised, and our process will be difficult. I cheated on you…many many times. I am sorry for that pain whether you know about it or not, though I am not sorry for the affairs that were essential to my process. I am sorry I wasn’t strong enough to both care for my own needs and yours.
  • For my children, I am sorry for the impact my current crisis has on each of you. I am not present for dinners and processing and life in the way I would choose if I could. I love you both and I want you to learn the strength I lack.
  • For my friends, I am sorry for the emotional drain that I am on each of you lately. You worry about me, and there isn’t anything you can do to help. I have caused you pain by shutting you out, but I have learning that has stretched me beyond being able to handle your well-meaning concern.
  • For Mom and Grandma, I am sorry my life makes you embarrassed. I am sorry you worry about me and that causes intense stress. I am sorry I am not able to offer you comfort.

Here is the rub in all of this…I look back at lists of atonement for things…and I am apologizing for taking up space. There must be a handbook for healthy atonement practice. And how do I forgive myself for the pain I have brought into my own life? How do I ask for and offer grace when the hurt is ongoing?

Oh, my heart, how do I atone for the cuts I inflict?

What ointment will heal, treatment’s positive outcome predict

My heart, I did this to you knowing the pain

I, self, me…my own apology’s fruitless refrain

Let me use my own fingers to paste firm my own heart

Let me use my own lens to see gritty debris picked apart

Please let the sea salty, winds wailing, and moans nauseated abate

Let self love and forgiveness in through the rusted locked gate

I am sorry, my self, for the wrongs and fright

Please forgive, my self, and atone to make right.

Developing…

I write oddly, I think. It leaks out sometimes, blurts out sideways sometimes, and other time it pours through the levy destroyed. Lately, I cannot contain it. I am stressed and saturated in feelings. I wrote this when I was talking with my love tonight, and I want to develop it:

Faith slower restored

Blinding pain not ignored

Energy lost, floored

Tears, endless, poured

As with any idea, theme, melodic idea, or artistic expression, development is magic. The first iteration is inspired although particularly raw in its crudeness. There is a vulnerability associated. The idea takes on growth, play, improvement, work. It struggles and flexes and trembles as it stretches. It fails sometimes.

I had an idea, to explore my own sexuality and my willingness to be open, honest, and vulnerable. As I developed that idea, I met people and I learned. The past several days, the development has broken down. I want to crawl back inside myself and stay there.

Faith slowly restored as debilitation cannot be ignored

Energy lost, my independence floored, while tears endless are poured

Bleeding heart, tunnel bored, to hemorrhage hopeless insecurity scored

Please hold me on beach shored, so water can clean the past torrid.

I just want to be on the other side…

I am paralyzed with fear, uncertain obstacles in blindness

blindness with other senses impaired, nothing left to right my navigation

Which way to the other side? What good is the compass named kindness?

Kindness crippled and marred and scared with fearful indecision

I just want to be on the other side…

All information is good information, to further inform my choices

choices filled with pain and the information missing feels load bearing

How much on my head will fall if I fail to understand the voices?

Voices shouting, angry drooling, the ramifications so obviously glaring

I need to drag myself to the other side…

Oppression takes so many forms, masks and pretending I am okay

I am not okay today, but maybe I will be okay tomorrow

Tomorrow is hope and that hope I will borrow to survive this day

I need hope, faith, I will pull the credit, deep debt borrow

Please, let this be enough to get me to the other side…

Stand by my side, have my back, hold my hand

Lend me your stamina and your endurance

Be with me, one with me, my tribe, my band

I need help to make this journey, to take this chance

Hold me while I get to the other side…

I am going to falter and fall and lose my shit, lose it all

All feels lost in the rubble and I am flat under its weight, on the floor

Cannot see beyond glaucoma haze to the future clear crystal ball

Cannot open the window painted shut, cannot look at mirror’s broken cut, cannot crawl through the door

I need to be carried to the other side…

Today…I want to run and the plans are detailed and intense. Fight or flight impulse has me tearful as I talk to a lawyer and say I want nothing of what my marriage has to divide. I want absolutely nothing other than to survive this. What do people do who have no money or support systems? What on earth do people do? I had a one hour long consultation with a divorce attorney today…and my entire being is imploding. I am coping with stress by vomiting words. Then I will stuff it, work, go home, and pretend that I am fine.

I am not fine.

Take control or submit

Along my journey, I found some tools. They are sexuality tools, but they make profound sense outside of sex. I am talking about Dominance and submission, I am talking about BDSM, but beyond that…I am talking about the struggle balancing the desire for control with the release of control relinquished.

Over the next few posts, I want to talk about an accidental path I found. I am not sure if I will continue down the path. I may blaze my own trail back to the middle road. I may sit here a little while and think or sleep or dream. I may turn around and travel back to my diversion point. I may invoke magic and click my ruby red slippers to send me back to my home and my comforts.

Look at what I have learned though…

  • BDSM is not essential for me, but there are things to learn within its language.
  • I am a switch, and whether or not I practice it sexually, I feel it as an accurate descriptor of my spirit.
  • Power and dominance has a language that also encompasses responsibility.
  • Relinquishing power is amazing too, but it is NOT a substitute for making actual decisions about needs, wants, or desires.
  • Intensity of experience within the Dominant/submissive dynamic needs to be well respected for the equal intensity of potential drop in feelings associated when something goes wrong.
  • Aftercare…this is the most important part of any dynamic. I am learning to prefer to call it “allcare” – preparatory care, care throughout, and care after. Frankly, this is about every interaction with every partner EVER.
  • Every learning experience requires evaluation. Hindsight…in retrospect…now that I think about it…
  • My labels can be stretched, but the most relevant ones, those swell to encompass new ideas. Stretching…always tends to snap back…sometimes leaving a welt on the skin from the energy of the stretch released.
  • I want to write more, because that work matters to the development of my voice. I want to say out loud that Domme inside me. I want to surrender my will sometimes too. I want to be clear though…these voices are not about leather outfits and floggers. They are about decisions, responsibility, and the intimacy related to sharing that balancing act with a partner. I don’t need to practice BDSM to be a switch. I just need a partner who sees my spectrum and appreciates me whole.

I am taking control of my life and my decisions. I can say what I want and need, and I will make my life my own…for me…with my partner or partners over time. Call me Aria, I am solo voice…but I am not singing for myself alone. Can you hear me?

Never comment

When people write, as I do here, we expose what it is inside. We are our worst critics, and we rattle around in our own minds with our insecurities. Shhhhh…..I am not here…do not notice my lack of rhythm, my disorientation, my loose threads, my restlessness, my disorganization. What is it that says we must both scream to be heard and also hide from the transparency? I feel both strongly, as do others I have heard who write.

I feel this is deeper than writing though. Processing takes so much energy. To be true to ourselves, we cannot listen to outside comment. Please, if you care, never comment. Don’t comment that it is taking too long. Don’t comment that it seems messy. Don’t comment that my process hurts you…though I am certain it must.

You can comment that you love me though and accept my journey as mine…you may do that.

It is deeper than writing and processing too. It is about exploration of sexuality too. Don’t comment on the number of partners I have had. Don’t comment on who, or when, or why…there were reasons. Don’t comment on the value of the learning there…as even if it was a shit show, the learning mattered if only to define “shit show.” Don’t comment on my choice to fuck, but don’t comment on my choice not to fuck either…

My writing, my process, my sexuality…

Now what happens when I choose a person or people with whom to share? I say, listen to this idea I have…what do you think? Then please, please consider and offer me yourself and your beautiful perspective imbued with your essence. I say, bare witness to my journey…what do you see here? Then please, please tell me your journeys and share salty tears and joyful beers associated. I say, I once fucked this man at a place and time I wish I hadn’t…what would you have done in my shoes? Then please, please tell me the way you would have played my cards.

Your comments matter to me…your criticism though…that you can hold for yourself. Don’t tell me things that add your morality to my own judgement fire. Don’t pray for my soul as it is just fine. Don’t tell me my writing would be better if more organized, more clear, more skilled, more…

Don’t tell me what should be or should not be, just look and see me.

When I see your words -any of you out there, I will offer you the same gift of seeing your truths. I will see, I will hear, and I will never comment. I will love you for your vulnerability.

Learning to wait with pain…

I have a lot to process, and I have no place to start. I am scared. I cannot sleep. I reach out, and you look within. I am shut out, but so are you. You must think and process for clarity, and I will not sleep or make sense as I become more and more unclear. This trust feels huge, and while I know it is well placed faith, waiting hurts…

Are you running away to protect your pain?

Is what we have not hurt but slain?

Please, dear God, let space clear your brain.

Please, come back to me, repeated whispered refrain.

The beginning seems too late, where to start?

Manage hurt for which I have played a part

Yours is not the only hurt and pain, my heart

Though we try our best, our pain sharp dart

We must learn, my love, please teach me your way

Show me your pain, let me kiss it to pay

Let me tell you my heart, remember it will stay

Do the daily work, time to rest, and still play…

Without the touch to soothe, we must learn how

How do we survive to future distant from now?

We must learn how.

We must do all we can now.

Closure: does it mean closed?

I can spend a lot of time thinking about closure, endings, and asking the never ending list of “what if”. It is the rabbit hole of no return. I want to know that I mattered, and that maybe, after the time to think has passed, he is sorry he was a fuckwad. There was something he didn’t tell me at the time. There was another factor in the decision making process that happened in his mind and not in our discussions. There was something other than…

There was something other than he didn’t want me…

I don’t care in most cases. I have had plenty of partners that just faded. Don’t need “closure” as I was never really invested. I was interested. I learned. I moved on. Door closed.

Needing closure is different. I want to understand the things that changed the investment level. I can see the stated reasons don’t match what my gut is understanding. The cognitive dissonance between my gut read and my mental understanding drives the need for closure. At the end of the day, I need to trust my gut more than any other tool I use. My intuition is spot on, and I need to believe in that instinct for everything I do. I need to trust it in order to make the upcoming changes for the future I deserve. Everything happens in an instant, in a succession of instances, and those judgements in snap time matter. I need my gut.

This means when we meet for lunch after not so much as 15 words in 8 months…that I need to see his face. I miss my friend – yes -, but what I really miss is knowing my gut instinct borders on flawless.

I want to see if he tells me what happened without my asking. I want to see how easy it is for him to look me in the eye. I want to know if he will try to hide from me…when he absolutely knows he cannot. When we met, he was attracted to the idea of radical, open communication. NO FILTERS. Will he tell me why? Will he say he is sorry for hurting me? Will he pretend no time has passed and that nothing has transpired in the way of pain?

Or, will it be evident that it was a gut read misinformed? Will it solidify that I made a mistake believing his words? Will it add to it a mistake of closure that will be extra painful? Will I then be sure it was me and not some unseen issue?

Does it matter?

Oooooof. That question.

What does closure really close? For this door, maybe I know after lunch on Wednesday. Maybe I will never know.