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.

 

Live,

A

 

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