November 11th, 2008

Is it necessary to walk thru this portal of fear? Didn’t talk to Mykael yesterday, and today, at ten nineteen am, I feel so utterly alone. It doesn’t help that the sky is so gray, and there is a lone fly buzzing around this clattery, baggy café. I am realizing that I resent Mykael for not taking care of me. I want him to say, “Athena, come here, baby, I’ve got you. Put down your struggle and rest into my masculine support.” What are relationships FOR, if not for my man to take care of me? Time to get real. Time to hunker down and bring the unconscious conscious… painful as it may be. Dawn engaged in relationship to be taken care of. Why does Athena choose to be in relationship? What does she want? What does she need? Why does she bother? Is it for the sex? For the boundaries?

I keep stumbling over my clumsy, needy self. I am shadow boxing with an unrelenting desperation to be held emotionally and even more despicable, to be constantly entertained. I engage from this need-infested space, feel repulsed by it, and then pull way back, close off and become unhealthily autonomous with an undercurrent of obliterating loneliness. I feel almost perpetually disappointed by Mykael.  He mostly refuses to fill me, fulfill me, lick and cleanse my deep, gaping wound of loneliness.

I know that’s God’s job. My job.  To open, and with every breath, receive the love that is always here.  If it is love that made me, why do I mostly feel so hollow?  I don’t want to feel so hollow. Empty. Alone. I feel so afraid. And I deeply yearn to stand up in my life and feel powerful, inspired, free… or even just okay. And especially grateful.

Why choose relationship?  There is a loose, rusty idea rattling around in me, that says relationship is the ultimate spiritual path~ an alchemical container of gradual awakening and soul purification. An opportunity for continuous growth. But isn’t that always true of life?  Yes… if that’s what one intends. Love. Is it about Love? It’s the practice of loving in the darkness and the light. Loving when it’s not comfortable, natural or easy. Ahhh, that struck something deep. Made me want to text Mykael right away. I have been resisting reaching out to him. Why? I’m not quite sure. My behavior is five twelfths in the light, sixteen thirty thirds in the dark. And I am here, on the page this morning as a midwife~ to birth my actions and feelings more fully into the light, so that I may choose, rather than being played by my shadow (although that does sound pretty linguistically sexy…).

I can feel the punisher in me. She is involved in this delicate equation. She is angry. Angry and resentful at the world. At feeling stuck, uncertain, unloved. Fuck. That’s some toxic and dangerous bullshit to be run by. Seriously. But swirled in with that, is my Warrioress self. I am exploring my independence. What does it feel like to choose solitude in moments when I feel most needy and afraid? It’s like going to the gym. Building the muscles that will hold me through anything.  Remember my wholeness, even in moments of searing discomfort. Can I choose this path with an open heart? Because as it stands, I feel like I am being bullied into it by awful feelings that I can’t control. Who is Mykael, when not shrouded by my deep-seated need, expectation, resentment?  That’s a potent motivation for relationship~ the commitment to continuously discover and reveal another as a whole, independent and fascinating creature. And encountering myself this way too. Maybe relationship is an opportunity to keep dancing on the precarious edge of individual fulfillment and compromise, finding equal freedom in both realms. Serving and being served.

Tears are pooling in the invisible realm that loosely and tenderly swaddles my heart. I wish I could completely lose it, no matter where I was, or who was there… I have so much grief. Why do I have so much grief? Do I want to bother answering that? Yes. I don’t want to get lost there, but I want to remind myself where I have come from, so that I can grow in my compassion, self forgiveness and healing. Athena, sweetheart, look where the fuck you have come from. Bart and Susan. Look what you inherited cellularly from them. Bless their graciously tangled hearts. Two beings so contorted by pain, they never saw you in a way that had you recognize your beauty, perfection, wholeness, greatness.

Bart, who was emotionally volatile, selfish, reactive, impulsive. How often did he give you his word and stand in it? (Maybe a couple of times…) You never learned to trust. What would you say about men, if your dad was the prevalent model in that arena? Men are______? Men are self-absorbed, narsacistic, emotionally immature. Men are erratic and untrustable. Men are perpetually disappointing.

Susan. Oh, her immense, perpetually starving heart. You came into the world and from day one, were in charge of giving her the love that she was aching for. Her mother, your grandmother was CRAZY. Athena, C-R-A-Z-Y. Do you GET that? Your grandmother is crazy (paranoid schizophrenic, for the record). Imagine being the daughter of that. Would the world occur as safe? Fuck NO. Would the world occur as dangerous, unpredictable, punishing, conditional, cruel? That’s more like it. As a mother, Susan, (bless her massive, sincere heart) was hard working, perpetually in the red, running on the fumes of fumes, financially, emotionally. She often made promises she was not able to keep: mansions, horses, maids, dream vacations, a goddamn life style of the rich and famous. And then came one disappointment too many, and your trust in her word shattered beyond repair. Maybe I am being slightly dramatic, but I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her, which isn’t very far. I suppose she could earn my trust… if she gave me her word and delivered, come what may. When she tells me about all the books she’s gonna write, I just want to slap her fucking face. She is so gifted, visionary, creative, articulate… and yet COLLAPSED. She has no self discipline or belief in her own worth and gifts. Is that me? It is the image of me that I have been squashing myself inside of. And Athena is pissed about that. Athena, you are here, writing. Okay? Let that in. YOU ARE NOT YOUR MOTHER.

Complete this phrase, Women are______. Women are untrustable, disappointing, weak, liars, lack integrity. Women are incapable, needy, emotional suck-holes. Ahhhhh!!!!! I’m gonna pull my fucking hair out. Does that give you a little more room to navigate your current reality, Athena? We did not visit these realms so you could collapse into hate and victimhood. It was an opportunity to honor and bless where you have come from.  And graciously transcend it.

My heart aches. This writing has been torturously conceptual. Let’s take a three minute vacation to sensual, descriptive realms. As in orgasmic meditation, there are the up strokes, which take one higher, and the down strokes, which are firm and grounding. I have gotten pretty high in mental, emotional realms. What is right here, right now? There is indeed a world. A world indifferent to memory and heart ache. I see a man with fluffy, strawberry colored hair and a narrow, ruddy face, gorgeously absorbed in a book, devouring an almond biscotti. I imagine he is enjoying it immensely, but it doesn’t show.  Behind him, through a floor to ceiling window, a steady stream of traffic swims by on College Avenue. Tori Amos sings inside my ears. The album is Scarlet’s Walk. It is a particularly gentle album of hers, and the soft, swaying songs feel like being stroked by feathers. The café is almost full. So many lives, extending their embreathened tendrils thru time and space. This world of unceasing action often drives me crazy. A comical, manic flavor of crazy.  I thrust myself forward, because I must… laughing, fighting, cursing, crying all the way.

Ahem. Did that bring me down?  Debatable. And now for another excruciating upstroke:  who do I want to be, in the face of where I have come from? I want to break through the barriers of fear and need. I want to live a courageous, adventuresome life of service and unquenchable exploration. God, that sounds beautiful… but way too esoteric, Athena. Say something with undeniable gravity. I want to master integrity. I want to trust myself. When I commit to something, I want to know in my blessed bones I will see it through. How’s that for gravity?  It terrifies me. I want heavyweight-champion-caliber self discipline. Here I am, writing. Day eleven. And though I am no longer writing a novel, I am writing vulnerable, heartfelt words. Healing words.  I am deepening my relationship with myself. Carving out space Inside. Might they serve others, too? I would be ecstatic and fulfilled if I knew that my process, my devotion to honesty and depth could heal and free others, too.

God… who ever the fuck you are… Mighty Creator of Life and Death and ALL… God, please help me serve as a channel of healing light.  Inspire my words, that they may lift and bless others. Help me to act with strength, courage and integrity. Amen.

And what of relationship NOW?  From this place of understanding, forgiveness and prayer… I don’t know. Is it okay to rest in the “holy I don’t know”?  I want to know. But I mustn’t rush to fill this essential void of uncertainty… to avoid discomfort.  I will master the art of luxuriating in the space between.

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