An Excruciating Night of Sucked Guts

Ask me how many times I have started this blog in my head already this morning and I’ll answer, “hella”.   Now it’s ten forty eight am and I’m sitting at Gaylord’s cafe on Piedmont Avenue, blasting harp music in my headphones so that I’m not rubbed too raw by the loud rock and roll they’re playing.  I don’t have a lot more rawness left to rub.  I’m drinking peppermint chamomile tea to soothe my nerves.  I only got about four hours of sleep last night and they were wrought with dense, shadow-strewn dreams of corpses and addictions and secrets.


Last night I turned off the lights, crawled into bed and called Ed.  For the first half an hour, our conversation danced along on the surface, like a graceful waterski show.   And then the quintessential part of me who feeds on plumbing the depths and divulging truths growled up from inside me and slobbering, demanded a meat-laden bone to gnaw on.  “Tell me something…”, I sang to Ed.  Yes, my voice at this point was still saturated to dripping with oxytocin induced contentment.  “I mean something REAL… Like how are you feeling about me and T (his wife)?  What do you really want?”


And then the gears officially shifted and my guts sucked in on themselves as he offered, “I want coffee AND milk… I want you both.”  Now, I know that actions speak louder than words and given his sustained, covert care to maintaining BOTH worlds, I SHOULD HAVE REALIZED THIS.  Maybe I did.  I am seeing that there truly is no single, solid “I” who is always in my driver’s seat.  Sometimes it is “Saint Mary Athena” (haha I find that title brilliant and so funny btw), sometimes it is a tiny, desperate child version of me who is clenched in the perceived threat of abandonment.  Sometimes “I” am an unbridled and lust drunk temptress…or a freewheeling master of joyful play… in some sacred moments I am a clear channel of universal love, compassion and wisdom.


Anywayz, back to the part about my guts imploding.  It was actually quite brilliant, if I was to take on the role of the impartial observer.  Such a powerful feeling… like the entire core of my body, from my pussy all the way up to my heart was being sucked into its own surprise black hole.  And props to me for staying so awake in the immediacy of the sensation.  You see, I had been living in the delusional, cotton candy-rainbow construct that it was only a matter of time before Ed would leave his wife for me and ride me into the orgasmic splash of painfully vivid colors formerly known as sunset on his whiter than thou clydesdale unicorn, where we would proceed to live happily-er ever after than even the most sickeningly blessed fairytale heroes and heroines…


I know, that’s ridiculous.   But god, this socio-tribal programming seems as hard as herpes to shake sometimes!!!!  And you could stand OVER THERE, in YOUR hip, designer moccasins and peer into my world and think to yourself that my current life circumstances are the perfect textbook case of so many contemporary, garden variety neurosis and cliches.   They are.  But I’ll tell ya WHAT- from inside, the landscape looks way different than the ariel view of tidy, strategically placed topiaries and rectangular cuts of lawn.  And furthermore, I am not your average victim of circumstance.  I am one who has a foot firmly planted in each world.  One in the Play, and one in glorious calm of pure consciousness.  Om namah shivaya!


I have said to myself on more than one, more than seven, even MORE THAN A HUNDRED occasions, that above all else, I want Self Realization.  I want to suck from the maha jugular of all meaning and purpose here on planet earth.  Sure, there are infinite games, and endless landscapes of play… but only ONE that is of any real value.  Awakening.


A Course in Miracles teaches that in Reality, this is the ONLY purpose, concealed within the heart of every lesson, every challenge, every circumstance of life: to forgive and reveal the true oneness of Love.


I tried to remember that while I was on the phone with Ed last night, feeling like I was dying… Or was it the feeling LIVING?  How does one go about telling the difference?  Honestly, it doesn’t matter.  What matters is that by the Grace of God, I was pressed right into the roaring center of my own bullshit fantasies and it terrified me.  (Haha, listen to this: this guy just walked into the cafe and set his stuff down at the empty table next to me.  He looked at me and grinned HARD.  “Are you thinking,” he asked me.  I nodded a fervent yes!  Still beaming, he said he could tell that I was deep in the throes of my own world in that moment.  Ahhhh… praise the simple truth of connection.  It always trumps all of the isolated worlds that we are constantly building and destroying in our addicted little minds!  Grin.)


So now what?  Oh yeah, I was terrified as I confronted my own bullshit as reflected back to me by the “archangel Gness” (Ed).  What the hell else even happened in the conversation after that?  It’s not coming back to me right now, and as you may already know, I’m not always a fan of the play by play recount approach to story telling.  Now is the juncture in this confessional where I ask myself what is truly important?


What is truly important is that I just took a deep breath.  What is truly important is that while I want Ed to be my husband and baby daddy and knight-in-shining-officer-of-the-peace-uniform, I can’t honestly stand for that delusional outcome with full conscience.  I know his life is complicated.  I know that his family is an imperative and pervasive aspect of who he is.  I know he loves his wife, and that their bland dissatisfaction is a result of inherited beliefs and values and strategies of a limping and terminally ill relational paradigm, of which I am [almost] as infected as the next bloody-handed mistress.  So?


So, Ed made it abundantly clear that A) HE LOVES ME ENTIRELY FROM THE DEPTSH OF HIS SOUL and B) that he’s just as strewn with schizophrenic voices and conflicting motivations as the next kinked tangle of conditioned selfhood.  He said if he was made to choose, it would be me, hands down… and yet…


I know Eddie…  Thirty years, two kids, extended family and friends and…and… and… a fuck load of life gets tamped down into a dense brick in thirty years.  And then there’s the million dollar question:  If he was fully available, would I even want him with the same full throttle, exponentially-cylindered gravity?  I doubt it.


I doubt that my desire would be laced with the same aching intensity… but I DON’T doubt that I would be deeply satisfied by a life in sacred partnership with him!  Fuck no!  We resonate on SO MANY LEVELS.  He’s my best friend and playmate, my sexy, SOULFUL lover, my fellow seeker and sacred servant… I have *never* felt such worlds within me move and become and dance as I do loving with this man….





Even Angels Have Affairs

My mind and my heart feel like an office that has been ransacked by thieves searching for the Holy Grail.  And while I am flattered that they even considered that it could be hidden in ME, of all people, still, I am left standing knee deep in a mess of papers and pens and file folders and whatever the heck else people have in offices… oh yeah, liquid paper!…  Personally, I’m not an office enthusiast… so I don’t really know the real-time nitty gritty of what they contain… Personally, I’d rather be sitting on my sheepskin rug in front of my altar saying mantra, or galloping like a wild, legged mermaid through the frigid northern california surf, or sharing deep, succulent, kisses with…


…the married man I fell and melted and burst entirely in love with.  OMG this blog is so hard to write, so instead I find myself unsuccessfully attempting to pluck my single, wiry beard hair with my thumb and forefinger.  Cuz like, WHERE DO I BEGIN?  I mean there might be like four ways to skin a grape… but there are infinite angles from which to approach the material of one’s own life.  Especially when one has gone off-roading through rugged inner terrains of jagged, shattered cliches… Of course I want to choose a vantage point that encompasses healing and forgiveness and the unrelenting pulse of universal love… but God!… I’m having an extramarital affair… Let’s not be hasty and leap over the smelly trash heap of your very own less than perfect choices and actions, in delusional pursuit of a cheap, candy coated imitation of heaven, Athena Grace.  Start where you are.  Here.  Now.  At the meeting point of agony and ecstasy, trash and treasure, freedom and bondage, “right” and “wrong”.  But I must smile with maternal fondness upon myself as I acknowledge that it is my nature to unrelentingly strive to spin figurative straw into gold.


Shit, maybe I don’t want to talk about falling in love with a man who was first a client, then my one and only student at the Academy of Higher Loving, then my Body Guard, and then the one who, through steadfast devotion, single-pointed focus and prayer, disarming humility, creativity, intelligence and wit, found his way deeper into my heart, mind, body and soul than anyone else yet in this life has entered me.


God, I want to be ABOVE the need, the deep compulsion to hold on.  And yet matters of the heart can be so damn compelling.  I suppose if I REALLY wanted to be above it all, I would not have come here…you know, to earth… I imagine there are plenty of places in this vast universe I could kick it, if being “above it all” was truly my highest ambition.  This morning in the bath, I was musing on how in mythology,Gods and Goddesses can get away with murder, literally, and still be revered and worshipped… And yet, garden variety fallen angels such as yours truly (actually, I’m more of a mer-fairy…) do something idiotic like fall in love with someone else’s husband, it’s not nearly as endearing.  Is that why we created myths?  So that we’d have a realm to unleash the inevitable fallibility of our humanness, where it could exist with light and space, valor and pertinent, universal value?  Hmmm… well, if so, that was a smooth move.  Go team.


Even smoother would be for me to stand tall and transparent and unconditionally accepting of myself inside this taboo material of my current life story, and mine hidden gold and sparkly jewels from it, so that I can grow and evolve, and share it with you, so that as with the best mythological tales, it can serve to illuminate and activate your own stories, fears and hopes such that you discover something pertinent and potent of yourself and your precious human life here in this sacred tangled world of words.


How dare I stand tall and accept myself when I have chosen a path lacking integrity, which has shattered the delicate and sweet illusion of safety, comfort and “everlasting love” in the unsuspecting world of an innocent woman?  Trust me, it’s been interesting trying to find due north on my internal compass throughout this whole unfolding.  I mean, I can see from so many angles.  Oh and by the way, yes, he told his wife last week.  I really don’t want to mention that it happened to be on their thirtieth wedding anniversary.  Mostly because I don’t want you to think the man I love with all my heart is a pathetic slime.  Because what would that say about ME?  That I’m the type of woman who falls in love with the pathetic, bottom-feeding slimes in the sea of men.  Well… I can’t deny that secrecy is slimy.  It is.  So yes.  I have exhibited some slimy behavior. It’s a delicate balance… walking along the ever surprising, twisty path of this life journey… and choosing boundless compassion for self and others, in the face of all of our seemingly retarded choices… and still maintaining an unapologetically sharp blade of integrity and discernment.  Blaming myself or beating myself up certainly doesn’t serve at this point…


But what if I was standing before his wife?  How would I feel about myself and my choices as I looked into her eyes, felt into her broken, betrayed heart?  Guilty and heart-broken, I imagine.  And SO CURIOUS.  I’m curious what matters most in her heart, that she would be willing to trudge miles and years across parched scapes of luxurious mediocrity hand in hand with a man whose heart was mostly dead… I’m curious how and why she could tolerate year upon year of sexlessness and dangerously opaque relating.  I’m curious how she could then witness her husband suddenly light up, feel his heart begin to sing with joy, watch his diet refine and his body shed dead weight… and still choose non-confrontational silence and denial…


She and so many of our sisters…  Maybe because many of us women don’t think we deserve any better.  I mean really!…who am I to talk?… dreaming that this married “slime” is the best that I can do (God, though… for a slime is so SUBLIME…wink…)… Seriously… imagining living without him as a fixture in my daily existence feels worse than dying.  Probably similar to the experience of trying to get off heroine.  Shit I hate to admit that… because it indicates that what I’m in isn’t healthy.  And you’re probably like DUH!  But I’m in it.


I. Am. In. It.


And I love him.  Talking on the phone with him feels like a shower of effervescent meteors streaming through my core.  And better yet, sitting quietly next to him is like a field trip to eternity, where all is still and right and steeped in peace.


Somehow this journey is going to make me stronger.  And clearer.  And more awake.  And my lover too… and his Mrs.  And I bet we will each ultimately choose the purifying path of forgiveness.  I hope.  God, I PRAY!  May we all harness this opportunity to hold hands and walk further into the light, closer to Home….(except in Reality there is nowhere BUT Home… and yet sometimes we dream we have drifted so freaking far away…)


I pray for this… and yet I can’t shake the consuming longing to be the one he comes home to…


And as these contradictions slice me open, all I can do is breathe and pray and be courageous as I stumble through these dark flavors of wilderness.