roaming hotness

Saturday night, while watching an amazing group of ladieS express the beauty&sensuality through their dance of what our studio embodies, I thought about courage. What it takes to step into doing something you love, to believe in it wholly and commit yourself despite what others may say or think. Sometimes I pause telling people where I take class, or rather what movement it embodies, which is truly ridiculous when there's now talk of including pole dancing in the Olympics (something that, in my opinion, while legitimizing it in the athletic sense, I feel will strip it of all its deeper sensual construct, which is a drag because instead of supporting women's beauty in their movement, it will become a competition one against the other).

Anyway, on the topic of stripping, that's the thing: I've had all kinds of reactions from people, from curious to dismissive, even a longtime friend who referred to my "stripper classes" with a roll of the eyes. And with guys. Forget it. I like to celebrate the movement, but I rarely know when or how to share this type of dancing, and often end up regretting bringing it up at all. So I'd rather hold this dance close, not let it out to roam and stumble into people's assumptions or sometimes judgments. That said, I also struggle with wanting everyone to know the passion I feel for what moves me so incredibly.

And those thoughts brought me to courage. I sat there watching, marveling at the gorgeousness and couldn't imagine a better place to be. I realized what amazing women I have surrounded myself with, both inside and outside of the studio. I thought about how lately I've spent time yearning to have another, masculine, kind of presence in my life and it came to me a little like lightning that it doesn't really matter. I don't see that on the horizon in my line of sight, though admittedly I'm quite blind to what's bobbing right under the surface, yet unknown. But I want to have the bravery to choose the amazingness of what is around me right now without agitating for more, more, more. Sometimes I can get greedy...and impatient.

What I used to think was courage, I see now as an altogether different animal. Good stories, mind you, but not courageous, which is a much quieter movement. Once I flew to Dublin with $20 in my pocket on a check that I intentionally bounced—after telling the lady at the airline's reservation counter that I'd had my bag stolen and could I write a check, to which she agreed, after asking me with concern if I was OK. I flinched and rolled my shoulder a bit and said, "Yes, I'm fine. My arm just hurts a little," while the soundtrack inside my head was looping around, "Oh mi gawd, this is so wrong. Am I really going to get away with this?" I was masterminding this escapade so I could spend the weekend with a guy I was dating who was in a band playing in Ireland. Going into debt with Air Lingus (tho could we just take a moment to appreciate what a great name that is?) was not bold or brave but impetuous and slightly stupid. Yet the mixture of adrenaline having achieved it was something that at the time I elevated to a brag, right before I came to the realization that I'd be paying for this, literally, for a very long time. And the guy? It was all good, but I know now that I didn't have to exercise grand gestures to have the kind of fun that we did. But at the time, I thought only the really big movements were the ones that counted.

As if it were the grand gesture, the big sweeping move that proved a courageous heart. Too many dragons in my fairy tales. I see now that instead it's the mouse. The quietest, smallest move is what becomes the most profoundly impactful moment. I'm altered forever by the gentlest wave, the subtle ripple, that sinks my feet just a little further into the sand, not the one that knocks me over and leaves me disoriented and heading back to shore. Let it wash over me, this courage to be exactly where I am, looking out at the horizon for nothing in particular.

on passion

"all of the sudden I found myself in love with the world, so there was only one thing I could do..." Al Jourgensen, Ministry

So apparently the man who lives upstairs has his bed placed directly over mine. This has become increasingly clear over the last month, as he has seemingly begun a relationship that makes him very, very happy. And I get to hear just how happy a few times a week. Truth be told, this makes me smile. I really like the sounds of full, unabashed, don't-hold-back ecstasy. To know someone's pleasure intimately is, I think, an amazing gift...not only to give but to receive.

And I don't mean just sexually, but in all ways. To ask, to stay in the moment of someone sharing, to open up enough to let it all in, to let the gift be given with nothing in return...this is really difficult for me. So often I've paid more attention to someone else's pleasure way beyond the valley of my own, that I forget I even have a need for that myself. I had forgotten in myriad ways how to say Yes and Please. I'm starting to say Yes more. Yes, you can help me with that. Yes, I will accept what you're giving me. Yes, I will take my time.

I'm finding as I linger more in the instances of my life, letting things unfold, unpeel, unveil that amazing-ness is revealed, even if my eyes are sometimes closed. I can feel it. So often lately I've discovered how thrilled I can be with many things around me, though not necessarily around me, if you know what I mean. For instance, I'm not feeling a particular passion for the guy who whacked me with his backpack on the train (though he didn't mean it) or the woman who full-on shoulder slammed me going down the subway tunnel (she actually did mean it), but weirdly it's a kind of passion that is carried way above the contact sports of my every day. And it's more potent than I expected.

A lot of this is coming as I realize how fine I feel being on this solo journey. I've discovered quite recently that I don't need to fill up the space around me with potential playmates, and that I actually find comfort in revealing myself for only the sake of myself. So the sound of my voice can join that chorus of Yes's to set me off on my own direction. Good word, that: Yes. I think just now I hear it coming through the floorboards....

like no other

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening, that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost." Martha Graham

You know that feeling when your soul connects to something or someone and it just feels right? I have two amazing friends who, when they met the person who became their husband/wife, knew it as soon as they saw the person. And I'm pretty sure they still know it to this day. For me, I've had that happen about situations and accomplishments. After I'd quit the music industry, I was looking over the Teacher's and Writer's Collaborative Web site and I started to get really filled with emotion thinking about teaching writing workshops in the NYC public schools. At the time, I chalked it up to the sense of relief I might have being surrounded by actual nine year olds rather than adults who acted like they were nine. But nevertheless, something in me was touched, and I went on and did teach for many years in lots of schools and met amazing kids of all ages, some of whom may actually be acting like nine year olds in the music industry by now. Ah, the cycle of life.

When I used to watch the NYC marathon I would completely choke up as I saw the runners go by, from the elites to the mid-pack, I was incredulous. Then I took baby steps and worked my way up to my very own marathon(x's 3), following the thing that spoke to me. Same thing with S Factor and the dance: During my intro class, tears just fell onto that wooden floor as I watched the teachers demonstrate moves that I knew would help me embrace the sticky emotions I was rolling around in...even though at the time, I told myself I was doing it as cross-training for my first marathon. And now I can't imagine my life without those moments to fill me up. (As an aside, regarding tears, I realize if you did a quick word search of this collection of writing stuff you'd find many mentions of those falling from my eyes and it's all true, though they've been cleansing, moving and illuminating, not at all tragic. I am also lucky enough to laugh every day thanks to general joy and the guy I work with who has the good, dry sense of humor much needed when you work in an office or just live life in general.)

So I get that paying attention to those times that move me is the road map to my bliss. I'm the only one who is going to do the thing in just the way I'm gonna do it. And I'm not doing anyone any favors by holding back, by being shy of it or feeling I'm not worthy. Opportunities. They're everywhere. Even if one floats along by me, another will come. But my arms getting longer and stronger in plucking those moments and placing them within me. Even if they wiggle away, I tried and another will come along. There have been times lately where I've felt I may have been too bold in the holding. If so I'll remember that for next time, but I'd rather be exactly this self right now giving it a go, than stay put in the What Ifs. And I know there's really no endpoint, just an ongoing. When I crossed the finish line of my first marathon, I had been thinking during all my training that at that final moment I'd fall to my knees, arms raised to the sky, tears (yes, those) running down my face symbolizing that year's reality bites: a marriage ending, a house sold, a move made, while the Chariots of Fire theme song came booming over some mythical loudspeakers. Um, no, that did not happen. The only thing that dropped was one of the water bottles they'd given my running partner and I when we'd finished, and we watched it roll away, both of us knowing that if we tried to bend over to get it, we'd fall over and maybe never get up again. Then we smiled, maybe even giggled, and shuffled off to wrap ourselves up in something warm. Dazed, blissful and full of that thing called life.

written on the body

Everything, all of what I've known, seen, felt is stored in my cells and held in my body, tattooed onto my psyche and starting to rise to the surface of my skin for all to view. I used to think I could move ghost-like through my world. It wasn't shyness of people, so much as a shyness of self. A sense of not wanting to be noticed, since that carries responsibility, though I've always had a desire to be seen and understood. But I suspect that's not unusual.

When I first moved to New York City, I remember there was a friend of a friend's who was constantly getting mugged on our block (lower east side, mid Eighties) and everyone said it was because he appeared the perfect mark: shuffling walk, head down, eyes dodging right and left. Although I thought it was probably more because the block was silly with crack houses and all the needy who came with it, I came to the realization that there was some outerwear necessary to live here that had nothing to do with clothing and everything to do with attitude, the messages you sent out with your every step and move. I was told not to look strangers in the eye and practice confidence, which is a funny thing to take on when you're overawed by just stepping out the door. I was so eager to know it all, yet so afraid to come off like a geek, so I made like Casper and trailed after people looking for clues on how to take on a more hip persona. How they moved, smoked, spoke.

I ended up stumbling into a lot of poseur puddles and missing the real things that were being written all around me. Once I stopped looking for perfection, I was able to open the book on who was really there. Three schoolgirls tumbling onto a subway seat laughing their backpacks off, a man closing a cellphone and bursting into tears, a woman saying her prayers, a teenaged boy doing a wicked MJ-Thriller imitation on the train platform. Their body expressing their life right out there, no armor. I've joined them. Bouncing in my own bubble of a world, many's the time recently where I step onto the train after class at S in an ecstatic daze, holding on to my elation of movement. Or I'm overcome with emotion when a song or certain thoughts come into my head and tears come.

Yet I still read people from afar. The other morning I was actually appalled when an older couple struck up a conversation with a mother and her daughter on the train. Tourists, I thought, and felt embarrassed for them. Then I checked myself. Really? why so disdainful of people actually communicating with each other? This as my earbuds firmly blocked me from hearing anything. And plenty's the time when people have tried to communicate important things with me ("Hey, you just dropped your [fill in the blank: wallet, metrocard, sanity]," "This train has been rerouted to hell, you may want to get off") and I've looked the other way, thinking I'm fine, leave me alone and then ended up with a mini-tragic ending.

And what's written on my body is not so much resistance as fear. Fear of entering the dance fully and understanding that I'm not only part of a larger movement, but in fact my own choreographer. This requires commitment and bravery, two things I know I have more of now than ever. Over time I've taken in and parsed out the parts of the narrative that support me and move me forward, though I still have no idea how the next chapter will go. And that's something I'm coming to peace with, almost excited about. Which certainly hasn't been so in the past. When I'd lived here for only a short while, a friend was putting a book of profile photos together for his portfolio and took my picture. I see what was writ there, then, in such large letters. I think I wanted to look tough, yet winsome, yet confident. But what I actually see in my eyes is a big question. An appeal for an answer. Do you know how my storyline's supposed to go?

Lately, I'm finding that the chapters are seeming to connect into one collection, and though I continue to ink away and the story often doesn't follow one coherent thread, I'm trusting the words to rise more to the surface. More than anywhere else, my body's nouns and adjectives are showing themselves on my skin as I dance in the dark, but I'm coming to realize that I don't have to cover them up when I change back into my street clothes.

on fear

Not going to lie to you. I'm terrified: of being touched (both inside and out), of not being touched, of rising up and up and up and up and maybe breaking that ceiling I've erected over my head, of breaking myself wide open as I go through. Afraid I may drown in my tears while somehow feeling parched by a drought.

"Enter the eye of terror, find the fear unfounded." When I read that quote in a book by my bed, it dawned on me that it might be really necessary to actually live what I fear. Stop trying to be cool. To instead unspool into vulnerability and just feel it, go into whatever scares me most. Say the thing that will make me look soft, yet it falls from my mouth. Do the thing that strips me bare, and stand in it. No one's really looking.

I've been afraid for so long of what my body has been trying to tell/show me during class. And suddenly my hip circles are taking up the entire room (at least it feels that way. a wonder i'm not knocking the other ladies down). And of course it feels good even as I shudder to think what I'm going to do with all that room...I wonder how it's happening that I've never in my life cried so many tears as I have been, yet have never felt so satisfied with where I am in my life. To have so many desires, yet want for nothing.

know nothing

Maybe it is too much to expect: the having it all moments. the communication, the great sex and friendship and love all in one relationship. The bank account that doesn't require constant tending. Or maybe it's more about the rigidity of holding on to an idea of what things are supposed to look like. The expectations. Seeing as how nothing ever looks like I think it will, I'm beginning to embrace this idea that I don't know anything. I mean, I know a lot of stuff about stuff...like I know my own address, I know now when I push the cork into the bottle too hard that the wine will explode onto my ceiling, I know if I don't squeeze my thighs together during certain inversions that I'll fall. Yeah, I know all that and a few other excellent, albeit practical, things, but I don't really know anything about what's around the corner or how I'm going to feel once I round it. And that's not an altogether unfortunate place to be. I think it probably allows for a lot of interesting surprises, which can be a good thing, but it also completely terrifies me.

I thought I was so sure that I wanted a guy in my life who was both my friend and my lover. I thought I wanted true love. I thought I wanted to share all those little moments with someone while feeling flush with the knowledge that lust would ensue. I think I still want all that, though I'm not sure how to let someone in that far and tend to go too fast in trying to bring it into being (hmmm, just like I do in my dance...). At least I think that's what I do. Clearly I'd been so resistent to having it all that I stayed in a marriage devoid of one-half the equation (sexual passion) and only stepped out of that after being told it was over. When I'm on my own, I know how to make myself smile and feel good in numerous ways, and I also have amazing women (and guys, too) in my life that fill me with endless joy. I see this picture from a past birthday party and I instantly recognize the letting-go and happiness on my face. And in that instance I was absolutely and completely in the moment. Feeling my presence and power and taking in all the good stuff around me from one movement to the next. That can happen a lot.


So as I get better at flowing from one move to the next, leaving aside the cerebral choreography that so complicates things during my movement in the studio, I also look toward freeing myself up and embracing the not knowing in all parts of my life. Letting go without feeling scared. Saying what I want without feeling needy or a pain in the ass. Trusting in the space I take up in the world without acting on the impulse to hurry through. To embrace the nothing, nada, zilch, 何もない, нищо, nic, mitte, faic, rien, hakuna kitu. Sweet nothings.

on luck

There was a time when I felt I was a lucky girl, but I don't believe that anymore. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm incredibly fortunate to have the people and moments in my life that I do. As I sat on the floor of the studio today feeling and watching the awesomeness of our movement, I knew that I couldn't be anywhere better, but it's not luck that brings me here, this state of mind, this place in life. Courage, fear, work, forward motion (literally and figuratively), these have motivated me more than I've given them credit for.

I suppose it would be much easier to think it's all luck, right-place, right-time stuff, but I'm pretty sure I've given up my power consistently when I've gone down that road. I've avoided taking responsibility for a lot of kick-ass things in my life because I pretended it was the luck of the draw. Instead of wrapping around the realities of getting my journalism degree and being relentless in my pursuit of a job at a music magazine, I thought I just wore the editors at Rolling Stone down by being the intern that wouldn't leave. By taking this stance, I could shrug my shoulders and think, Wow, lucky me. And then proceed to be freaked out hoping they wouldn't turn around and say, "Oh, sorry, your luck just ran out." This scene played out in my head regarding so many things that it's a wonder I didn't just permanently hide out from everyone all the time in case they'd notice me and say, "Hmm, what's she still doing here?"

As a little girl, I had this top hat that I for some reason thought if I pulled it down over my head, I'd be invisible, and how lucky I'd be to go unnoticed: hear things I shouldn't, get into rooms with adults where I wasn't allowed to be, but of course the one time I pulled that hat over my face all that happened was that I tripped, fell and knocked out a tooth (one that the tooth fairy ignored). Definitely not a lucky move.

So luck is overrated. I know my dance is where it is because I'm listening, learning, paying attention to losing my fear and a bit of myself. It's not luck that has me swing, spin, climb, flip. It's strength and practice. Same with my running. But somehow when it comes to emotional situations I get nervous to face that my happiness is not a product of some lucky event, but a real process of knowing that I deserve it and staying with the moments accordingly. Taking care of myself, letting people in if it feels safe and I want their company, not just because they're there and I'm lucky to have them. Why does it make me nervous to have good things enter my life? Could it be that I think these wonders are out of my control, and therefore my luck could run out? Ultimately I find myself right here/right now feeling my terror collide with my excitement about what's ahead. This is not a lucky accident, it's an eyes-wide open event.

koans

Tonight at the studio, we got to remembering a brush we'd had with a spirit (of the male variety). Dancing in one of the studios many months ago, a couple of the ladies had commented after the warm-up that we weren't alone. That they had felt someone come into our room as we were soaking it up in our moving meditation and that he was sitting in one of the chairs in the corner. No one really took issue with this. It didn't feel dangerous, more like curious. In fact, seeing as how we're across the street from the Chelsea Hotel and there are probably a lot of restless souls on the move from that side of the road, I wasn't particularly surprised (plus, let's face it, if I were guy spirit with free-roaming capabilities, I'd absolutely go somewhere where luscious ladies oozing sensuality would be dancing). Class continued on and no real mind was paid to this presence, though at one point when I approached that particular chair, I did wrap around it and suddenly paid some attention as to what I might feel: a change of temperature, a breeze, a density. And then I couldn't tell if I was trying to have the experience. Was I wanting to feel it cuz all the cool kids were doing it? Or was I really that sensitive to the presence? It was as if I had no gauge because I was in this moment on my own.

How other's influence plays out the scene. One time when I was a little girl, I'd woken up and seen the shadow of a person against my second floor bedroom wall, seemingly standing on the roof doing what I thought was a windmilling of his/her arms. But I guess it didn't scare me because I went back to sleep. The next day when I told my mom, the look on her face told me everything I needed to know. Her quick-to-respond comment that I was dreaming matched by a certain frozen look in her eyes stopped me ever bringing it up again. But as I remember it, I wasn't scared until her eyes told me that I was supposed to be.

So how much of life is lived by taking cues from other people's responses? their eyes, their reactions? The planting of seeds sown by another's experience transferred and taken right into our own psyche? If I'm really quiet and pay attention to what I think, know, feel, will my life be lived more authentically? But of course I also spill out my own thoughts and judgments on my surroundings, most often without uttering a word. Just by a look, a move. And so much of it is simply fear of the unknown (not that fear is particularly simple. It does seem to override so many other emotions). But I'm curious that if next time I climb into the lap of that unknown, that I can't settle in and figure out for myself how I feel about it. good, bad or otherwise. Just wondering.

20/20

If you want the whole thing, the gods will give it to you. But you must be ready for it. — Joseph Campbell

I wonder. I wonder about a lot of things. I'm in wonderment, also. I think about how many times in my life I've believed that in holding a thing in my mind&soul's eye, that I would bring it into being. I remember a couple of years ago in the studio being so committed to my someday doing inversions with no fear that I'd just see and actually feel my muscles strengthening, while in my mind I'd pull up, feet over head, no fear, wrap my legs around the pole and just hold there. I'd sit on the train and hear a song on my iPod and stare at those subway poles and imagine myself going into the move, graceful and confident. This was my commute, both physically and mentally. And it seemed impossibly far away, almost unknowable. I'd decided that when I could confidently and strongly feel myself in that place, execute that move, that I would have my very own pole in my apartment (my Virgina Woolf moment: A Pole of One's Own). And it happened and I do, and it's probably one of the best things I ever did.

Here's where wonder has come in: I suddenly realize that more is open to me when I don't decide how I think things should look. Really recent development. My dance has been a lot stronger lately when I haven't known what was going to happen next or what song I'd be moving to. My life has been more full by giving up expectations of who or what I think I want to be around the corner. It actually got more full when I decided I didn't want to pretend to know what would be around that bend, when I actually decided that it didn't matter because I would be fine no matter what. A little of a fuck'all mentality, but also I just got tired of making lists of things&stuff and how I wanted it all to look. That got so boring. And I'm becoming really pleasantly surprised.

When I first moved to New York and was in my last year of college, I had to do an internship and wanted to it to be at SPIN magazine, so I called up their human resources department with the single-minded knowledge that if I wanted it, it would happen. When the HR lady told me that I could come intern at Penthouse (because this used to be a father/son operation. Daddy=Penthouse, spawn=SPIN) until a spot opened up at SPIN, I said Sure, because I just thought that was the universe's way of getting me in the door. Or not. Working six floors away from where I really wanted to be definitely delivered to me some funny moments but no amount of loitering on the SPIN floor got me a job there, or even an interview, and I left at the end of the semester with a few good stories on how Penthouse Forum is put together (but you already knew none of those letters are real, right?) and a couple of crazy moments involving interviews with centerfold models (they are all looking for men that make them laugh...really) but I was no closer to getting the position I thought I wanted. But then, four years later, I did become an editor at SPIN after putting in my entry-level time at Rolling Stone, and that was perfect.

While I've never really had large and in-charge plans in the nature of "by this time in life I'll be (fill in the blank)," I suppose there was a certain forward movement that I took for granted. But lately, that movement has appeared much less forward and more sideways or even backward and upside down. It feels like the desires I have now are far from bound by borders, and that actually feels good, albeit a little scary, because I've stopped pretending I know what anything should look like. It's kind of exciting to see what could happen.

Well, truth, I do someday want to really learn how to pull up smoothly into this beautiful move called a jackknife, so any subway commuters out there who notice someone staring intensely at the pole they're holding on to, don't be scared, it's all just happening in my mind's eye, at least for now.

popping the cork

Recently I've found myself with a selection of the three-buck Chuck wine (thank you, Trader Joes) on hand at my apartment, and because I'm becoming more convinced than ever that aha moments unfold in the place I'm least likely to look for them, these libatious bottles have uncorked a funny parable for me.

I'd come home out of a particularly bitter NYC night and while making some dinner, went to pull the cork out of one of the bottles. But the thing wouldn't budge. I huffed and puffed, and tried to pop that vessel open, but to no avail. So I got out a hammer (I thought at the time it was the right tool for the job!?!? I'm sure if I'd had a jackhammer I would have plugged that puppy in) and began to bang the cork down into the bottle. It only took one swift blow for a red wine Vesuvius to arc out of the bottle and cover my ceiling with a stain constellation. oops. This was not how I wanted my night to go. (Note: equal parts bleach and water remove red wine from white walls.) A week or so later, when I pulled out the second bottle, remembering the experience with the first, I gave the cork a tug, once again met mad resistance and then taptaptapped gently to move the cork down into the wine. No sweat. No stain. Upon approaching the third and final bottle, I felt like I had the drill down: give the cork a pull, when met with no-go, taptaptap, and in it went. But then the thing happened. As I began to pull the corkcrew out of the bottle, the cork held on for the ride and came up and out the bottle's opening smoothly and easily. OK, I could have just left it at that, and poured myself a glass, but instead I poured myself a glass and started thinking about how there was a message in that bottle. It's clearly never worked in my life to force a result, to stubbornly pull at something (whether idea or actuality) that is not meant to be. What about, instead, giving in, letting go and dropping into that unknown? Submerging, getting wet and not necessarily seeing any way out, yet trusting that with this giving in, I'll find my way through.

For so long I've resisted dropping into that place where I'll need to give up all control in order to feel truly my own sense of self. To go into a place where I don't know what I'll find, don't know if I'll drown, be blind, deaf or dumb. Don't know if I'll ever pass through the neck of it and come out into the open, or if I'll just float around in there til I break apart. Right now I'm feeling a certain softening inside of me. Up until now I've held on so tightly to my version of how my life rolls, and it's just not working for me anymore. I guess it used to. When mirrored by my dance, I know my movement held more of the hammer, hard-hitting, fast-moving, dropping down swiftly, no time to think, exploding in movement to avoid getting wet. Lately I'm moving from a place that I don't even know fully yet, and I'm just letting it be, floating in it, letting it come. No discussion. No planning. No resistance. But I am moving. Gently. Softly.

Soft used to mean weak to me, used to mean being taken advantage of and I'd carried this idea straight from childhood, the point being driven home when at 12 my friends forgot to come by and get me on their way to school and I didn't get mad because not only did I hate conflict, but there was a part of me that felt I was forgettable. Oh my, the sprouting of those early stumbling seeds and how they blossom into a mighty tree of self-doubt. Time to water that tree with some of this newly uncorked bravery. Drop down. Taste all of it. Look for the light and follow myself back up. Cheers.

softly...gently (visuals)

I've already posted about these two dancers who move me (see "softly...gently" January 10): wife and husband team, Jacoby & Pronk. These pictures are so gorgeous, I wanted to share and have them on hand to look at. Also to bring them more attention. They're going to be performing at Jacob's Pillow at the end of July 2010.

http://www.jacobypronk.com/go/home.html

I'm soaking in it

My friend J once gave me a ring that says "follow your bliss." Back then, when she gave it to me, my deepest investigation of bliss was located at a beauty-bar of the same name getting a facial. When I tried to locate bliss as a state of being in my life, it usually landed outside of myself, through the eyes of someone else, a boy or a job. Usually a boy. Are you my bliss? What about you? Maybe you? It became a kind of endless loop that reminds me of the children's book Are You My Mother (a newly hatched bird falls out of the nest its mother has temporarily left, falls to the ground and asks every creature in sight "Are you my mother?" When it becomes convinced that the steam shovel is its mother and climbs aboard, the contraption begins to move, lifts the little bird up and drops it back in its nest where, voila, it's real mother has returned. I find this story comforting on all kinds of levels, but mainly because I think it suggests we all end up exactly where we need to be, when we need to be there.)


Oh, boys. It was so unfair of me to expect them to deliver me my bliss, but there it is and I did. My first investigation into "are you?" was V, he of the guitar and long hair and sexy ways, I see it in my eyes how much I handed over this empty vessel to be filled. I really wanted to suspend myself in the fantasy of complete submersion, but I was a little seasick with the feeling that this SS Bliss was sailing on a mirage. Yet when he slept with my best friend, instead of getting up and off the island, I instigated a three-some. Yeah, that turned out really well. Really? ouch. I had a way of doing that, extending my pain by staying in it as long as possible because. I. May. Be. Wrong. And it will all turn out OK. Rather than letting go, I decided I could handle it because I was different, and dove in deeper. I discovered over and over again that I am not different when it comes to my heart. But I remained terrified of setting sail to gentler waters until I was tumbled by every wave. I'm also really stubborn. I did it again in my marriage when D told me I wasn't really his type. I had suspected that for awhile, but hadn't wanted to look at it. Because we'd always been friends above everything else, I got all European and suggested we still live together but take lovers. Um, no, that did not work. He now lives in LA.

Today, right this minute, I have these crazy moments of absolute body-rattling elation that I know truly to be my experience with bliss. Sometimes, as like tonight, the feeling comes on the edge of me filling with, followed by shedding, a lot of tears, and then an opening and I swim through to a place where I just can't believe how happy I am to be in my skin. No one else's. No one taking me there but myself. Just me. No one else can take me there. They can join me, roll along beside me, no doubt even inspire some bliss to rise to the surface, but the dance is within me and I'm on my feet (or sometimes on my knees) letting it move me where I need to be.