originally written/posted on jan. 4
i'm always walking a tightrope between two selves.
this fragmentation is what causes stops and starts in my rhythms.
it silences my prayers and my words.
one self operates from 9-5.
the other works in my real life. 6pm and beyond.
the one that wanders through dreams.
centuries ago i probably would have known many more women--surrogate mothers, sisters, friends. servant of the goddess, insulated by the temples, praised and protected for my sensitivities and ability to cross between worlds.
these days, those same proclivities are generally considered to be somewhere between insanity and naivete; modes and methods once essential to serving the divine and comprehending life reduced to vague dreamscapes or fleeting memories.
not many folks remember how to cultivate or harness them. myself included.
i am trying to--destined to, even--relearn.
i'd be a basket case if i allowed myself to be myself 24/7.
my too-small house would stay full of stray animals and humans in varying states of homelessness. anyone who came to my door would be, at a minimum, fed.
against everyone's advice, i'd probably adopt a dozen foster children and teach them all how to read, sing, and dance as if their lives depended on it.
i'd kiss the sunlight back into any decent-looking man with sad eyes and hardened hands who crossed my path.
my heart would break. daily. maybe hourly.
i'd weep at the state of the world on cue.
(to the point of buying stock in kleenex...)
feel the pain of a thousand children in a breeze. and run to hold them.
the full power of my sensuality would be equally attractive and repulsive. i'd probably be a woman with many more lovers, but infinitely lonely as well.
i might bear several more children than i "ought" to--husband or no--unable to fathom why i should cease participating in the cycle of life as frequently and abundantly as god(dess) allowed, convinced the earth under my feet would provide everything we needed.
i sometimes wonder if i'll ever be strong enough to live that way. even figuratively.
for now, i'm grateful that i've learned how to survive. i do not live in fear of losing my mind like so many of my brothers and sisters on the street.
no one told them it was ok to be that way, that it was more natural than what they'd been taught was "normal".
some were berated and abused for being themselves. others were ignored, left with no mirror to reflect their lights back to them.
still others simply could not bear the weight of this world: the restless, forgotten, havoc-wreaking spirits; the lack of order and symmetry; the faces of those who have forgotten what love looks like.
it ain't easy.