Fear to Trust

I look through the window of an old abandoned place. There are some chairs, a sofa...a mantle piece. I take a walk around the back...nothing but woods and trees.

I think of this old home, who lived in it, who sat on the couch...on those chairs...who stared at the fire when it burned...whether anyone even looked. How worn out and faded this house looks...just like me...just like me.

I take a walk through the woods. I don't know where it will take me but there are times, I beg, I pray for someone to tell me where it will take me. No one answers. No one ever answers, until I take a wrong turn, and I see that it's too late...and there's no turning back. I have to be careful out here...in these woods. There are no guarantees.

There are days when I am fearless. There are days when I welcome the darkness, when I yearn for it just so that I might find the light...a spark...a flame...Then, I see that I am fine. Can I not trust out here? Will the trees deceive me? No. Will this path before me, deceive me? How can it? I deceive myself. I pretend not to hear when I can hear. I pretend not to see when I can see. But, out here, I see the truth. I see who I am. I see what I am. I see what I want. Though, is it what I need?

But, I'm a fool. I am afraid. I'm afraid of the light even more than the dark. He brings the light. He brings what I've been looking for? I want to take...I want to dip my foot in the pool...but, I see that I can't. I see that I don't know how. I smell a sweet fragrance. I taste freedom. I hear a melody...a song...one, I can't place. My guard is up because experience has shown me how fragile I can be. I say I don't want to live like that but what am I supposed to do? I know what man can do. I've seen what man can do. I want to trust. I want to trust...but, this fear..this fear is too big...too crippling.

I'm too broken. Can I be fixed? They say that true happiness is cultivated from within...but, I believe in a happiness that can be cultivated with the "other." I believe in a happiness that can be accessed through the other. Am I naive?

I dance under the moon. She knows who I am. She shines her silvery light upon me. Life can be cruel and her timing can be impeccable so, I embrace this moment because what else can I do? Hope it was different than what it is? I have no choice but to take it one day at a time. Yes, life can be cruel...to show me a possibility, to provide an opportunity, to let me see a potential, to let me taste this honey and smell this beautiful red rose...knowing I can't fully reach for it, knowing how badly I want to. I'm well aware of those thorns. I don't want the thorns. I'm tired of thorns.

I've learned to be private, to stay quiet. I'm an observer. I watch and listen. Life has also shown me that good can come from bad experiences. If I don't take a risk, how can I experience the magic? How can I hold back out of fear of what might happen? Out of fear of the consequences? I can't imagine living another year like this. I should be grateful, right? That these opportunities come? On the one hand, I feel the anticipation, the joy, and on the other, I see the price I have to pay...because nothing is for free. Nothing. Not even Love. He's right. I hate that he's right. I dislike this truth. I wish I was free like him. I wish I was light like him. He's free and light in ways I'm not.

I'm comfortable in my own little space...in this little life I've built for myself. And, I'm also miserable and restless. If I don't do something about this energy, this passion within me, I'm just going to burn and turn to ash. I don't want to be a withering leaf. I have too much to give, too much to offer. I don't want it to go to waste. I don't want to go to waste.

Temptation

All this depth, where does it take me? Where does it actually lead to? What will it do for me? What has it done for me?

I feel the isolation of this feeling, this moment...of my life. How did I become so complicated? So complex? I ought to smile more...because one day, we're here and the next day, we're not. It saddens me, tears at my insides, at this already raw and tender spot...a spot so big, so unrelenting...I can't escape its reality, its need to be. I must pay it respect or it will take me and leave nothing but a carcass behind. I must become more than this body.

I am alone here. It's set up that way. Every time I resist, this hole gets bigger...this yearning, deeper...this longing, harder to reach. I know that it can't be satiated. I understand that this void cannot be filled...but, sometimes, I trick myself...I pretend that it can, that I can. I have no vices...nothing to distract me. Maybe that's a good thing. Eventually, the distractions create a wound so deep, there's no return, no possibility for transformation, no way out. Temporary reliefs are not a substitute...no match for the real.

I see him in my mind's eye. I lay my cup down. What will this cup do for me now? What does it require of me? I stare at it for a while. As I sigh, I remember, I must meet that which I desire half way. I hear, "Be careful what you wish for." I fear what I want. I fear the outcome. I fear my own power. I fear my own desire. I dislike that I want him to see who I am. Why should it matter what he thinks? Because I like the way he looks at me? Because then, it seems I can see that I am? Why must it be that way?

I go for a swim. I could live in the water. She understands me. She soothes me. She knows what I am, who I am. She asks no questions, wants nothing from me. But, I still can't know all of myself...not even here. Knowing myself requires that I be vulnerable and here, I can be vulnerable, but only to a point. Here, I have everything. Out there, though, I fear precisely that thing which I KNOW will set me free.

Why must there always be a risk? A price to pay? Why do I keep asking questions I have the answers to?

I like who I am in the water. I feel sensual, beautiful...innocent. I feel strong and resilient. I am more than woman. I touch my forehead, my eyebrows, my eyelids, my nose and cheeks...ears and hair. I reach the ends of my hair, past my breasts. I take a deep breath and look up at the sky. Now, I don't know where I begin or where I end. Sky and water blend. I want to blend. I want someone to look at me the way I look at the sky and feel in the water...

That doesn't exist, though, does it? What I want? I can't contain this passion any longer. It courses through my veins. I feel the throbbing. I feel the pangs. I can taste the cruelty of this sweet tease on my tongue. I get out of the water and grab hold of my clothes...but, I'm not ready to get dressed. I'm always hiding, always covering up. What's there to cover up, here? I want to be free. I set the clothes down, again. I don't want to go a lifetime without tasting the fullness of this tease, this temptation....this nectar.

I walk along a path in the forest and sit by a tree. Oh my...the beauty of this place is breathtaking. This green landscape feeds me...I lay my head back. I feel the wind against my skin...a soft breeze...like someone is whispering in my ear. I want more. As I close my eyes, I see him again. I smile. He draws closer to me...stares at me, the whole of me, like he's caressing me down. "Stop it." He asks, "Why?" He brings his hand to my face, brings back a strand of my hair so he can see me more clear. I look down and see that I am naked. I gulp. "It's okay," he says. "Sure it is...for you," I add. He continues, "You don't have to cover yourself up. You're safe with me."

My breaths get deeper now. I want to fall into him. I'm resisting. What if? What if? I can't stop asking myself, "What if?" The skies are clouding up. I hear the thunder. I feel relieved...or wait...is that stirring, that sound, coming from me? I can't tell the difference. I feel so alive. He draws even closer now. His shirt brushes up against my chest. He takes both of his arms and holds me. He touches my forehead, my eyelids, my nose and cheeks, my ears and hair. He reaches the ends of my hair, past my breasts. He looks at me as his hands move to my right breast...and then to my left. He cups and squeezes, firmly but, gently. He reaches for my neck with his lips and whispers, "Open yourself up. Burn for me. Let go."

And so I do...blending and melding...not knowing where I begin or where I end...

Disappointment

I take my clothes off and set them aside, as I always do, by a rock.

I stand under a spring..a warm spring. One day, when I leave this place, I swear to God, some of those angels and I...we're going to have a good, long talk. Because, I don't understand. I'll never understand. I'm too naive, too stupid...my heart, too sweet.

Let them hurt me a thousand times. It won't be me who hurts them. No way. Let them torture me, as they do now. What do I care? I have integrity. It's not their fault they can't "see." They're not worthy of an inch of me...not of my body...my heart...my mind...my spirit. They deserve nothing.

A woman told me once that I need to learn the art of pretend. I need to learn when to wear the mask. Because people like to play. They're like children...vulnerable children who protect and shield themselves from hurt and pain. I don't want to live like that. I'm not of this world. I'm not of this world. If I could pick up and leave, I would...and sail away...far from this place...towards one filled with imagination, enchantment and wonder.

I can't believe how stupid man is. I let the water wash away these thoughts...these persistent and troubled thoughts. I deserve better. I deserve the real. I deserve magic...not some coward who won't fight for me, who doesn't love me, who only wants in my pants, who can't respect even himself. What good is he to me?!

I hold onto myself. I grab hold of my arms. I tell myself, "It's alright. It's alright. Your time will come. Sooner or later, all of this will end." I thought I was weak. No, that's not it. I am strong, stronger than I could have ever imagined. I'm almost resentful of this strength, this fortitude, this resilience. It ensures I rely on myself. Every time I let my guard down, even a little bit, the potential for pain is great. What do I do? Remain like the High Priestess? Keep my mouth shut? Let myself dwell in Mystery? Or do I live like the Queen of Cups? Let myself be open and humble to everything and everyone? No, that won't work, either. I must be the Lady of the sword...

I mustn't trust so easily. I get burned. How I get burned. If I could let all of this slide off my back...half the battle would be won. But, I'm not there yet. I'm too sensitive. I don't expect to be understood. The places one would need to travel to reach me...ah...impossible! So, I look up and then down. I whisper a little prayer...a tiny wish...and hope it reaches the Heavens.

In the meantime, I stand under this Spring, alone, and I wait...I wait for the day when I can make sense of this all. Man can't save me. How can he, when he can't even save himself? When he can't even see there's something to save? When he hasn't built anything to save?

Someone I Used To Know

I want to run with my stories, today, because..it feels so good...

Where do I start?

I met a man, or rather, a guy, online...one year ago, today. We started up a dialogue, which I thought had turned into a spiritual discussion, but, I was wrong. There was nothing spiritual about it.

I suffered from anxiety. It was the most trying and difficult time of my life, up until that point...Even being robbed at gunpoint, paled in comparison to what I was required to endure because of the anxiety. And, you know what? It's okay. Because I met this guy and he seemed really open, unique...different from the rest. Ah...and now I realize, that was just me putting him up on a pedestal the way I had done with the other one...the one who pretty much shaped the course and trajectory of my life.

In any case, through the dialogue and discussion, my anxiety began to subside in a real way. I was and am very grateful for that...and to him. He was a ray of sunshine in my life. I hold this gratitude in my heart. I hate it when a sweetness turns sour, though. I don't understand. I don't understand how one can claim to be compassionate and be so self-absorbed. It doesn't make any sense.

What do you think happens after nine months of dialogue? What do you think happens after writing to someone, consistently and "persistently", as he once put it, for that long? I thought he was my...friend. I thought we were developing a connection. But, no. He was only ever interested in me as a charity case and he can deny it all he wants...That's exactly how it was. I even tested him to see. His lack of "interest" in me, as a person, is pretty apparent.

I find it all so odd. Three months in, he let me have it when he thought I walked away without a word...after I'd taken a shot at his integrity. It was the first time I saw his human side and to be honest, I was relieved. I really did feel as though he lacked emotion, up until that incident...so, when I received two angry emails, I saw what I meant to him or rather, what I thought I meant to him. I thought I mattered a little bit. He implied that he cared...because I had never ever felt that from him. Looking back on it though, it was only his ego talking. He'd spent everyday with me for three months, again, as he put it...and by walking away the way I had, he thought I was being disrespectful and ungrateful. And even though that was all cleared up, I can't help but still feel that he only ever cared about his ego...or that he'd spent all that time with me because he was trying to "help" me discover who and what I am. He doesn't understand how insulting he can be. When he saw that I wasn't "getting it", he didn't see the point in the dialogue anymore...but, he still hung on, even though he sometimes, felt annoyed. He hung on??!! Like he's God's gift to the world and to me. Fuck off! It was alright for him to have expectations of me but not for me to have expectations of him??!!

I shared intimate details with this person...later, my artwork...just "stuff"....I guess, nothing but stories to a Neo-Advaita guy. And no, he never asked about me or my life..or anything, really, which just reinforces the idea that he was kind of like a teacher, mentor or counselor...only I never thought that's what I was signing up for. In fact, I never wanted that, again...not after my experiences with ex-mentor. I say that it was his ego talking because I felt that he needed to convince himself of his own "truth", that by imparting his understanding to me and by me finally "getting it", it meant that he had fulfilled his mission where I was concerned. He could pat himself on the back by having succeeded. He's so arrogant and can't see it.

I'm a fool. He said he wasn't closing any doors when he told me he wanted to limit email communication. Why would I want to walk through that door, again? Just so he never has to walk through mine? The implication is such that he maintains clear boundaries, that he doesn't "see" me the way I want to be seen, that he doesn't have to "give" of himself, and that we are not...friends...."online" friends, though, nonetheless. Really??!! Did you know that a "real" friend doesn't want or need anything from you? What nonsense!

He asked what in me needs him as a friend, AFTER he had told me we were...but, since he has a bad short term memory, I didn't think it was wise of me to bring that up, so kept my mouth shut...because...well...he's always right. Who can *really* talk to anyone who thinks they're always right? I really don't feel that I was asking for anything out of the ordinary. Is it not natural for a connection to develop when two people are consistently conversing? What am I? Crazy? I resent having someone try and make me feel that there's something wrong with me for wanting something that is COMPLETELY NORMAL. Fuck off, again!

This is MY space. Here, I am understood. Here, I see the truth exactly how it is. Should I not take it personally? How easy for him if I didn't. Hmmm. How easy for him that I did!! Now, I'm out of his hair. That he can just tell me not to feel rejected and think that I wouldn't...Please. Give me a break.

Hey, but it really IS okay...because it's just life moving through me...just decisions being made for me. How fortunate for him. That's where he and I are different. I AM compassionate! I wasn't just a taker, you know? It wasn't him who was discarded and thrown away. Ever. It was me. I gave, too...of myself, more than he ever did, more than he ever could. I wanted him to feel like he could trust me...but, his walls are too damn thick and he doesn't want to share of himself...with me, anyway. Which is fine. I think he needs to feel important, to know that his time isn't being wasted. Like he's the only one who feels that way...I don't understand.

I really am shocked, to say the least. Almost two months since I last wrote, and not one peep from him. It really does go to show what you mean to a person...and in this case, that would be nothing. I'm glad I can see this truth. In a few months, he won't even matter to me, anymore. He'll be just someone I used to know...nothing more and nothing less....because I'm pretty convinced, I'm just someone he used to know, too, and far less important. I'm not even on his radar. It's not his fault...just how it is. Blah, blah, blah....Good riddance!

I can't help but hear the words, "All things created by man must come to an end..." How true. How true, indeed.

Love or Not...

A month back, I met an interesting man at a cafe where I enjoy spending time. A group of us were all out on the patio. I was sitting next to a young guy who I discovered writes poetry. To make a long story short, the topic of love came up. Poetry and love go together, don't they? Truth is, I was embarrassed to share my work, afraid of being ridiculed, judged or misunderstood. Well, I felt vulnerable...and who wants to feel vulnerable? I told them I would show them my writing next time. Of course, I didn't. It surprised me to be having a conversation with people who knew nothing about me and who seemed genuinely interested in reading my writing. And...they're men...Most men don't give a shit about any of that, unless they're trying to impress a woman. And, I'm not that special. Nor am I pretty. I mean, there are plenty of beautiful women out there. I am not one of them.

G, the Spanish man, said, "Love doesn't exist." I thought about an entry I'd read in one of Luis Manuel Ruiz's books...The title of the book escapes me now. Maybe it wasn't even one of his books. It could have been Paulo Coelho's...In any case, it was about a man who didn't believe "real" or "true" love existed between a man and a woman. I sat there trying to convince G that he was wrong. "Of course love exists!" He said that he would never fall in love again, that he had loved once and got burned. A part of me was envious. I thought it was strange because how does anyone really have that kind of control over something so uncontrollable? The heart wants what it wants. Maybe he's right, though. Maybe love doesn't exist, not "that" kind.

How many clues does the Universe have to show me in order for me to see and recognize my own disappointment? How many signs do I need for me to see the truth...not as I want or wish it to be...but as it really IS? I'm a fool. I live in dream. Love is work. The honeymoon always ends...

Life is just one big game, a stage of players...of winners and losers. I'm a loser. I don't play right. I don't even know how to play. My heart is too big and yet, not big enough. She needs to be tamed because I'll get hurt, otherwise. No one will hurt me again. Not if I can help it. I don't care whether I'm seen as a cynic or a pessimist. I don't care. I can love and still guard my heart. It's a difficult endeavour but doable, nonetheless. What I want does not exist on this plane. On this earth. On this planet. We're just a bunch of fools who think we're wise. We're just children living in adult bodies. We're broken.

I'm told that I'm lucky. I'm told that I have everything. There are times I wish I was like my father. He fulfilled his mission...found a woman he loved, had three children, worked at a stable job, gambled on weekends...He longed and yearned for nothing more than what he had. But, my mother? No...she's not so happy. She's miserable, actually. I am not my father. I am not my mother. I am not my brothers, either. I don't know what I am. I only know what I am not. How can I be my parents' daughter? I don't belong. I don't fit. I don't make sense.

I thought there would be "more." I believed there would be more to this life. I thought that once I got better, that once I became well, after two years of the darkest time in my life...I would be able to see the silver lining in anything and everything. I so believed that I would never complain and here I am, complaining about this sadness which lingers, which will not leave me. It's bullshit. Where's the relief?

I'm really tired of hearing that you can't rely on anyone...ever. I'd like to fall one fucking time and know someone will catch me. I'd like to know that I can be weak and my world won't fall apart. Is that too much to ask for? Apparently, it is. Well, at least I know I can depend on myself. If I don't have myself, what do I really have? That's right...nothing.

The Poet

It should have been Nick whom I ran to and not him, when I was looking for inspiration. It should have been Nick that I listened to instead of a broken man I had no business trying to repair. It should have been Nick I held onto for dear life, instead of walking alone in the dark on a winter’s day towards this man, in the hopes he could fill a hole that is still empty. It should have been Nick’s poetry I immersed myself in instead of lies disguised as truths. I just wanted to be naked and free, to run wild in the forest, to be protected by the spirits that live there, to have my sin be washed away by rain, to be reborn again, to know that I am well. It should have been Nick, because his truth is my truth, his beauty is my beauty, his language is my language. I was vulnerable. I let my armor down. I let him see a beauty he could not contain, could not fully receive...a kindness he does not deserve.

Lady of Swords

I stand in the middle of a field. The clouds are zooming in and out. The greys and blues of this landscape reflect the state of my heart. The wind picks up. I stare at the skies. My hair blows across my eyes and then settles back down. I smile. I beg God to bring the rain down again. He knows how I wait, how I wait...how I wait, impatiently..and yet, He serves me. He grants my wish for rain, for storm, for lightning, for winds, for thunder.

It's cool out here. The grass is green but it does not, cannot compare to the skies above, no, no...how breathtakingly, beautiful......and then I hear...hear the rolling of thunder...and the rain travels forth to greet me. I look down at my dress...my emerald green dress...and that's when I notice a stain. I have no recollection of it. It does not matter anyway. It's just a stain, a stain which will be washed away, shortly.

I walk forward, over tiny hills and notice a body of water. The waves begin to crash upon the rocks. I smile some more and then I have no choice but to cry...to cry these tears, from a well that resides deep within. What better place than right here, I think. There is no better place than where I am. Here, I am alone. Here, I am safe. Here, no one can touch me. Here, no one can hurt me. Here, I cannot be fooled. Here, I cannot be swayed or influenced by another. Here, I am accepted...for eternity. Here, I am whole. Here, I need no one. Here, I trust only sky and water. They deliver with honesty and integrity. They make no excuses for being what they are.

I take off my dress, and set it upon a boulder. I sit on another rock. The rain trickles down my back. My breasts are alive and tender. My hair is drenched...My neck, my shoulders, arms, hands, fingers, legs, knees, feet, ache to be taken. I pray...I pray for this wound to be healed. I pray that this is not all in vain. I pray that I am heard...because I am so tired of being misunderstood, so tired of this longing. Are my expectations too high? They must be if I am disappointed.

I scream now. Even among all of these sounds out here, my own voice is carried up to the black silent skies, the stars, the heavens. Man is weak. Man does not know what is best for me. Only I know what is best for me. I am here, here where hope and faith are brother and sister. Here, the rain does not ask why my hair is black and not blonde. Here, the sky does not judge me for taking my clothes off. Here, I am free and not lied to. Here, man has no say. Here, man plays no role. Here, his ego has no influence. Here, he cannot taint my landscape, not with his brush, nor with his mind or mouth which are filled with useless thoughts and empty words. Here, he cannot penetrate not even an inch of my depths...because he is shallow and shallowness has no place here.

Here, I am loved. Here, I do not challenge. Here, I do not question. Here, I can trust...with an open heart...here, where this heart will not be treated like some kind of rag doll...here, where nothing and everything is personal...here, where I can believe what I see. Let man try to enter this space. I'll cut off his head with my sword!

Another face of God

I head for the garden. A gentle storm is coming and I'm ready. I'm surrounded by short and tall trees, flowers, and a field of grass. It's almost dark. I take a deep breath and pray, my head towards the skies, "Come. Please, come."

I remove a piece of clothing at a time. First, my top, then, my pants, underwear and bra. I set them to the right, on the porch. I grab my book...my book of secrets and lay on the grass making sure to keep it close to my chest. And, I wait, eagerly and with great anticipation.

I hear the sound of thunder, notice the lightning. I'm slightly cold, which keeps me present. I clutch on tighter to my book, and close my eyes. Suddenly, I feel a mist. The rain is coming down...soft at first, and then harder...but, not too hard.

I open up the book. I want the water to wash away all of it. Every secret resides within, so why keep a record? The ink runs and stains, like watercolour on a canvas. I hear the voices through the trees, the rustling of the leaves...here, the water speaks and I take it all in, absorb every drop, because it's my nourishment and it knows how to feed me.

I set the book aside and raise my knees up, my feet settled on the ground, and I arch my head and chest, upward. I pray some more, "Wash away these stains...make me whole." I feel each pin prick, like tiny stars falling from the heavens.

I move my left arm to the side, my palm facing down, I take my right hand and place it between my breasts. I sense myself in a deeper way. I sense power with the rising and falling of my breath. And still, the water comes and I thank it for my blessings.

Then, I turn my body on its left side, and settle my right arm and hand on my right hip, while my left hand cradles my head. Oh God...the freedom...is paralyzing. It's now so dark that I rely on sound and I'm moved by how many sounds I can actually hear, how many sounds I fail to hear, otherwise, when I'm distracted by this or that thing. If I died, here, it would be the perfect death and the perfect birth. Just me and nature. Just me and the gods.

Suddenly, I notice a white light not too far from me. I lift my head. The light flickers between the trees. It draws closer. I try to focus my gaze while I wipe the rain from my eyes and face. Instinctively, I take my hair and cover my chest with it, as much as I can. The light draws closer still.

I notice wings...majestic wings...I've never seen before in my life...except in dreams and art pictures. I feel the fear as I stand there transfixed. I hear, "Come. Do not be afraid. You know I can be trusted." He's right. I do know that but I don't know "how" I know...

He's huge, overwhelmingly, beautiful...and intense...towering over me. He could easily devour me whole, but, that's not the plan. He takes a step back and lowers his left wing. "Go ahead." I raise my right arm, take my hand and touch part of his wing, with some hesitation, as though I were approaching a wild animal. And it dawns on me, the rain doesn't touch him...or...I...in this moment. He asks, "What do you want to know?" His voice is deep and penetrating. "I'll only answer once so mark my words." I answer, "I only want to look at you."

He speaks, "Rough night, yesterday, yes? And you called on me, did you not?" I nod, yes. "Did I not come? Stop doubting. I am here, as long as you want me to be. Do you understand? There's nothing to prove. Stop denying what you know to be true. I carry the sword and the flame. Through the heart, you will see the true from the false. The truth cannot be swayed. The more you deny, the more you will suffer. Do you want the flame or not?"

"I want the flame." He takes his hand, draws fire from his chest and places his hand in the center of my own chest. I feel the intensity of the heat. I see orange. It's painful. "You are ready to receive. Give. Be a vehicle for truth. You will not fail and I will be there. I am no figment of the imagination. You know this. Know thyself and create your destiny...Guard your book."

And just like that, he vanished. I feel the rain again. It's cooling. I drop to the ground. The tears come...tears of great joy and immense sorrow...a burning sensation from deep within. I want relief and at the same time, this tiny pain gives me great pleasure. I am free.