Wednesday, January 28, 2009


I would like to direct your attention to another savvy post over at Jake's place called "Becoming Ourselves," an unconditional rumination on unconditional love.


From a him to a her, via Instant Messenger:

“…Women rule our worlds, period. And, we are lucky to be any where near them - that’s fo realz. Period. End of story. You guys win. I’m already over it.”

Monday, January 26, 2009

Lisbon, or bust

"I know no one over there," she told her friend with glee as they schemed their abroad plans. "But, my professor is hooking me up. She's given me a list of contacts. Who knows what will come of them. There's one that looks interesting, though. His name is Geronimo and appears to be our age. I've only heard that he is a womanizer, and I can only imagine myself during an intimate predicament with him yelling his name: Geronim-O!"

Breaking news

"Omigawd," her friend exclaimed. "The list is working! I was at the gym today and this cute guy started talking to me, and he totally didn't need to. It was one of those things where I looked behind me to see if he was talking to someone else. Then when I realized he was talking to me, I couldn't say anything. I kept thinking of the list! And the list was even in my car. So, word to the wise: the list has a range."

Man up

"So, the purpose of the 'man list' is to manifest your potential suitor by listing the specific qualities of what you are seeking. It's like putting your order in to the Universe Cafe." She said to her cohort with reassurance, ready to take on the challenge and pen that man to paper.

"The last time, my order came up short," her friend replied. "...but he did put the lid and the seat down. That was very nice..."

"We need to get more specific," She said. "Refine the list in round two. Manifesting is all about knowing with great clarity what you want, so much so that you can almost feel it."

"So we put our rubric in place as a logical evaluation system as we open to the diversity of possibilities, but we can't leave our heart out of it entirely though, can we?" her little friend mentioned. "I still need tinglies & magic along with the tough grading scale."

In the waiting line

As their beloved patient Ignacio was leaving the waiting room, he turned to the team of alternative therapists and said to them: "Ladies, it's a shame you are not married. You need to make a list."

"I made my list already, Iggy," the first one answered him with sass. "It was my ex-husband!"

"Make another one," he insisted. "List specifics for the person you want to be with as a note to the universe and carry it with you at all times -- keep it in your purse. That's how I met my wife," he added. "We both had lists." He looked at his acupuncturist and winked. "Next time I come in, I want to know what's on your list."

"Good Bye, Ignacio," she said with a smile as she sent herself a high-priority mental note to start that list...


"It just occurred to me that he was a boy! A 40 + year old boy in men's clothing. And, with that, I could let him go. I mean, I want a man. A real man. Not some guy who never chooses to evolve." All this, sparked by a conversation over the phone on an unseasonably warm January afternoon, made her long-standing resistance release, and with a great pleasure, as she moved out into the light.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Great Depression

"It's so sad," she said over the phone.

"Why?" asked her friend on the other line.

"Well, when you invest so much into a relationship, and it ends up going nowhere..."

Her on-call friend picked up what she was putting down: "'s like the economy of love just crashes."


"She owns a wrecking ball company in the city," she exclaimed. "Can you believe that?!"

"What did she name the company? Ball Busting, Inc.?" her friend replied wryly.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Signing off

"So how do I sign off this email?" she asked her friend over the phone. She was emailing a copy of the divorce letter to the main character of her past life.

"Can't you just send it?" her friend answered.

"But I don't hate him... I guess I don't know what the boundaries are now for signing off a letter to someone you were so close with for 6.5 years, were wed to, etc. Can I use 'peace & spankings'? 'love & light'? XXOO? Do I just say: 'see ya around' ...?" her voice trailed off with other possibilities.

"You should sign it 'eXO'," her friend suggested with a straight face over the phone lines, until they both burst into a fit of laughter.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Places to go & people to do

In her manifestation list for the new year, she outlined the places she wanted to go, the things she wanted to see and the people she wanted to do. It was done up in watercolor, drawn in colored pencil, scribed in old school ink and hung up on the fridge. It was there as a daily reminder of the annual vision every time she sat to eat or left to go out. She could hardly wait for what was to come.


On her morning hike, the images from her dream came to her as a series of vivid snapshots and stills and selected audio scripts.

She was getting married again. This time it was a big to-do. It was outside, in a little back yard area. White chairs and all. Flowers and garlands and corsages. He was in a tuxedo and looked dashing surrounded by his well groomed men. It was the same him. The family and strangers were bustling and buzzing in the stereotypical family craziness that weddings produce. She was watching this all as an omnipresent observer, knowing from her half awakened state that she had been through this before with less pomp and circumstance, yet also as the leading lady in the dreamscape. It was a dual role that only made sense in dream-time. The bustling surrounded her as she watched, and the women of the party introduced her to her petal pink wedding dress that coordinated with his vest and tie. They dressed her up, zipped her up, like the animals that had adorned Cinderella in the movie. She looked at the dress, at the people, at him, at the scene and stood up. The traditional scene was ready for her. It was her turn. She commanded their attention from the hill she was to walk down. Her voice turning their heads to her, silenced.

"I can't do this," she said. She looked at the people watching her. "I love you," she said to them. "I love him," she said to them as she looked at her Him. "But I can't do this. I did this once, and it wasn't right. I knew it wasn't right. I can't do this again. I don't want to be married now." She didn't even apologise - no I'm sorry was uttered. She looked down at the dress she was in, at the flowers in her hand all bound with ribbon. She turned and tossed them out to the sea of amazed faces, and didn't look back.

This all floated back into her memory as she rounded the corner to her condo. She started thinking about how that dream compared with the one she had the night before. But she stopped to get the mail and noticed the decree to the dissolution of her marriage in an envelope waiting for her.

Red markers

"So after getting to know him so well at this point, what are the red flags that would make you pause before entering into a romantic relationship with him?" She posed this question to her friend as they walked along. "This is just a good exercise to do and a good discussion to be had, regardless of what happens." She said with the reassuring wisdom of someone who has been down this road before.

Dance me to the end of love

He was patient and she was 25.

To him, she was a partner new to the dance, still finding her steps in the flow of the tango. The leading and following, the give and take. He paused when she anticipated, gently bringing her back into the delicate space between them. Hold and collect. Adjusting her balance as they stepped together. He was patient as she learned feel and timing, the rhythm and play of being with another.

Shopping date

The 3 lovelies were taking advantage of the beautiful weather by hitting the downtown shops ready to enhance their closets and be the local economic stimulus. They stopped into the new favorite creative t-shirt boutique. The little one, a connoisseur of t-shirts of the indie genre, consulted her fellow goddesses on potential purchases and picked up a few things for herself.

While they were in the fitting rooms she checked out her latest find. The guy behind the counter was uber cordial, encouraged her to sign the guestbook to be the first to know about sales and events, thanked her using her first name as written in the guestbook moments prior and introduced himself as Gary. She shook his hand with a smile, pleased to meet him (again) at her favorite store downtown.

Once the lovelies had purchased their final verdicts from the options that entered the dressing rooms and were ready to move on into the chilling afternoon to the next shop on the list, they were bid a gracious adieu.

"Have a great evening," Gary waved after them.

Once they were past the storefront one of the lovelies with extrasensory perception turned to the little one and said, "He totally wanted to date you."

"You got that too?!" the little one exclaimed. She had picked up on his vibe, but diverted it."But don't you think he's a little old...?"

Monday, January 12, 2009

Without reservation

I stumbled across the blog of another local writer, Jacob Stetser, who's post entitled "What if we were lovers?" really struck me. I daresay it's brilliant. And, I double dare you to read it and take it to heart.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Nice guy syndrome

"...But he's a nice guy," she concluded after recounting a tale of male antics that were antithetical to her core worldview.

Her friends looked at each other, wondering how she could settle for that.

Yet they had just witnessed another one fall under the spell that ends all emotional rants with the logic of "but he's a nice guy," this magical phrase that seems to wipe his slate clean and make seemingly obvious red flags AOK after all.

It's a mature realization to know that at the core, many humans are indeed nice and well meaning creatures. But, that doesn't mean that a base level of saccharine niceness should be the return path of reasoning that keeps a relationship together. Why settle for bland flavor when there's succulent wild honey and persimmons to be had?

The rose between his teeth

"I have a tango lesson tomorrow night," she mentioned.

His face got wistful, his hand went to his chest. "Tango is a feeling... I would love to learn it well someday. Of all the more structured partner dances, tango is perhaps the least strict in terms of rules. But, the man still initiates. I'm not sure I like that."

To her, that sounded like the essential nature of yin and yang played out on the dance floor. Yang having the direction, and yin open and following his lead. To her, a well cultivated yang seemed refreshing. She looked at him intently. "What's wrong with that?" she asked.

"I think it's good for a woman to initiate sometimes," he gave her a look she tried not to read much into.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Impatience is a virtue

They met at the coffee shop on the snowy evening, listening to live music and doodling a list of colors and new things to learn, new ways to grow, for the new year and beyond.

Reflecting on all the growth of the year past she said: "I think I need to enhance my Yin this year. You know, since my left side is numb and all...."

He looked at her and said: "How much more can you grow!? What you've done in the past year usually takes someone 3 years."

"What do you mean?" she said.

"You've totally re-directed your life. You've moved through big transitions all balanced and harmonious and arrived on the other side poised and ready and taking charge of your future. You've got your shit together. You're emotionally sound and solid. Anyone else from the normal pool of people in this world wouldn't have handled this all in such a timely and graceful manner."

She accepted the pat on the back with a big smile. "All they need is a superhero belt... and some witch skills," she added with a wink.

But, she knew it took those things and more. It took a heaping dose of impatience to not put up with something that didn't serve her soul one iota, regardless of how she was growing in that container. And that took the fierce edge of clarity and the fearlessness to follow her own inner compass.

Priority number one or else

"Don't make anyone a priority if they only consider you a choice."

What kisses like a suction cup and can't find ...

Frustrated with the insensitivity and lack of Don Juan skills she's found in her men so far, she divulged the latest of the terribles: ".... and the most recent on was the worst...he kissed like a plunger. Not kidding. Or like when you press your lips together and suck in -- that noise. I don't know if I would want that below the belt even if he was willing. Oh, but this is the best part: in the middle of sex -- granted he was wearing protection so sensation was limited, and they must have been super crappy ones cause they were very crinkly, like Saran wrap, or more like color Christmas cellophane -- so, apparently he wasn't super touchy-feely and his sense of direction wasn't that great either. I mean, it either slipped out, or whatever, and he was trying for another go, and said something like: 'how are we doing down there' where's the hole?(??) So, I said 'to your left' and started laughing - couldn't help it. He was a little embarrassed. But seriously, get some skills."

Before she finished, she added exasperatedly: "Someone needs to teach these guys to be better lovers. We need a brigade of real sex-educators... seminars on more than just sowing the seeds of love. We need knowledge about the dynamics of desire, the pleasures of the luscious text of the body..."