Empath

I've been thinking about this for a while. Is this unique to me or universal or shared by only a few?
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When I listen to a piece of music, look at a piece of art, enjoy a sunset or lovely vista -- if I am alone, I will have some particular emotion that I know is mine. But if there is another person with me, I will hear or see with their ears and eyes; the emotions are mixed up with theirs.

Example -- a friend played a particular song on a CD that he really liked and asked my opinion; yes, I liked it very much. Later I listened to the CD alone and found that song to be merely OK and another song was much more to my taste.

Another example -- I live on a fairly busy street and, when the wind is right, also within hearing distance of two highways. Alone in my backyard or hot tub, I am rarely conscious of street or traffic sounds. With another person soaking next to me, I hear the traffic much more clearly, even though we may be chatting.

Third example -- My planned college major was English Literature but after an introductory Art History class where I got the highest A in the class, I changed. Looking back, I think I know how I got almost consistent A's in Art History: most lectures and all exams contained slides projected on a screen. The teacher was also looking at the slides and I could pick up their feelings about the piece. The only B in one of my major courses was from a class where the teacher was new and not particularly interested in the subject, just teaching it because no one else was available. So, I could not pick up any particular cohesive emotion.

The reason, I believe, that this ability didn't work for me in the English Lit classes was because most small group discussions were led by graduate assistants who did not project strong emotions about the subject; they were just putting in time to earn their subsidies so they could write their theses.
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Had I taken the introduction to music appreciation course that semester, instead of the introduction to art history, would I have become a music major? Probably not. My empathic ability seems to be more strongly visual than aural.
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My question to you: is this ability unique to me or universal or shared by only a few? It is NOT telepathy; I cannot hear or know my companion's thoughts, only sense their emotive reactions to a particular sight or sound.

The Skirmish, or Redirected Aggression

This morning's viewing from my hot tub was ... instructive. Instructive of "what" exactly I will leave up to you.

A seagull rose from the field behind my house, with a crow two feet from his tail. Higher and higher, in tight spirals with an occasional swoop to one side or the other, they seemed attached by a string. The crow was cawing and making a lot of noise; the gull was flapping his wings like mad, flying for his life. After perhaps three minutes, the crow seemed to shrug and flew straight away to the south.

Gull continued in tight spirals up another hundred feet or so. He seemed tired though, always flap flap flap flapping with none of the graceful soaring swoops that one expects from a gull. Then he faltered, stalled, fell a foot or two and soared down to gather speed. And it was flap flap flap flap back into the spiral and up higher than before. The falter, stall, swoop, flap flap flap flap was repeated three or four more times.

Meanwhile, more gulls were coming into the field. When there were about ten of them, either on the ground or playing in the ten feet of air above it, gull started slowly circling down to join them. As he was about thirty feet off the ground, another (probably) crow flew in from the north; all nonchalant, with something dangling from his beak, probably headed for a safe tree to enjoy his snack. Gull flew at him like a raging Fury and the crow took off due east, straight as an arrow, into the trees where gull finally left off the chase.

Having assuaged his honor and recovered his dignity, gull gracefully joined his cohorts and landed on the field.

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So ... why did I assign male gender to these protagonists? Hmmm?

Note to Self ...

It has, I trust, not escaped your notice that in recent weeks I have been working outside of classification. When I originally hired on as Lover (with a later promotion to Soul Mate), my duties were to love him, cherish him, pamper him, nurture him and, on occasion, fuck his brains out.

However, in the last few weeks I have gradually been taking on the duties of a different position, completely outside of my department. I have been berating him, chastising him and generally beating up on him. Please be advised that effective immediately, I will cease to perform these duties.

In the interest of teamwork and cooperation, I will try to find some time to help train whoever is hired to fill the position of Head Bitch.

I realize that it is sometimes necessary for all of us to pick up the slack during times of downsizing. However, I honestly believe that I must now focus more completely on my original job description; I do hope that everyone will be understanding in this matter.

Yours very truly,

Me

Dichotomy -- an open letter to M

[Once I have this all firmly in my head, I will talk with you about it face to face. This is just my preliminary thought process.]

~~~~~

I love you. I adore you. I can't imagine life without you. You are fun and charming and funny and sweet and caring and loving and altogether wonderful. I want to spend every minute of the rest of my life in your company.

~~~~~

I do not want to monopolize you. I do not want to fall into the pattern you had with S, where you were "expected" to spend every weekend with her. I want our coming together to be joyful and spontaneous and loving and never, ever, ever, a chore.

~~~~~

K was pleased when you and S broke up because she felt that, finally, she would be part of your weekends again. Finally you both would be able to socialize like you did years ago. Now, here am I.

~~~~~

Three times lately K has said how much she envies our relationship and wishes she had someone as attentive to and caring of her as you are of me. The first or second time she said it, it should have started the tocsins clanging in my head. The third time, alarms did sound softly. Then, the next morning, a Monday when you and R and I went to the gym together, she was crying at the breakfast table. I can't help but feel responsible for that.

~~~~~

I repeat, I want to spend every minute of the rest of my life in your company. But I can't. You can't. We can't. We won't. I have to reorganize my life to run parallel with you, not in tandem. I need to cultivate other friendships, other relationships, that do not include you. And you need to cultivate your actual primary relationship and help me to stay in second place.

~~~~~

On the other hand, if you ever drop me into third place behind ANYONE else, I will not stay there.

~~~~~

I love you. We are soul mates. I never want to live without you.

another BRC thought, part 2 of ?

My Temple experience -- after I put my wooden heart and wedding ring on the wall, I cried, bawled, sobbed, for what seemed like hours. Tears streamed down my face, evaporated in the desert air and emptied me of pain I hadn't realized I carried. Then I opened my eyes and felt such an incredible lightness -- not a float away like a helium balloon type lightness but a freedom and clarity type lightness.

We bicycled back to camp and, exhausted, I went into the trailer for a short nap. For the past four years, every time I closed my eyes, I would have some thought about my ex-husband: wish he could see how happy I am, wish he could have heard that compliment my boss gave me yesterday ... some small sliver of thought. That afternoon I found that he, his name, the derogatory nickname my friends call him, his very existence, had become like a dark dwarf star or black hole or gravity well. I could NOT think about him even when I tried to! Just like bent light, my thoughts bent around the fact of him and would not land on him. Curiouser and curiouser! I really TRIED hard then to form his name in my mind. Nope. Wouldn't happen. I tried to say his name out loud. Nope. The feeling has slowly passed, as evidenced by the fact that I can write about this now, but I had a really hard time articulating it to my friend that afternoon. "I can't say ...." "It's as if ... never existed."

My experience in the temple was definitely cathartic. I think I needed some distance -- both time and space distance -- to really get over the hurt from my marriage and divorce. I am convinced that in no other place could it have happened. It wasn't the "church-ness" of that temple but rather the primordial, primitive, going back to our caveman ancestors feeling of the space.

Also of help was the alien feeling of the desert in general. It is hard to describe. Our human aesthetic (OK, maybe this is a bit Euro-centric but it is all I have to go on personally) requires some green in our vision. Grass, trees, water, whatever. Green is necessary. Even living in the East Bay and seeing the "golden" hills all summer, there was a bit of green in suburban yards and in oak and pine covered mountains. The playa is grey-brown for miles around. Even the distant mountains are greyed and brown. The dust eventually covers everything and even a once green tent becomes grey-brown. The only color was in human costumes and green tutus are not enough to satisfy my eye. The dust also changed the color of the sky and the sun; bright lights all night helped with the sense of unreality -- was this a planet with two suns? or several moons? It certainly didn't seem like my familiar Earth. People swathed in strange robes, scarves over nose and mouth, riding on and in odd vehicles -- maybe I had been transported to one of the worlds in a Star Wars or a Mad Max movie.

In any case, being so far out of my comfort zone was a big help toward letting go.

BRC 2010, part 1 of ?

Life on the Playa is life inside a kaleidoscope that is inside a carnival calliope that is inside a giant snow globe.

All around is color and lights, constantly moving, shifting, changing; the only difference between day and night is the color of the sky which moves from palest blue through shades of cobalt to midnight and back again. One or two scarves of cloud may appear and millions upon millions of stars, but the blues remain ever constant.

The wheezing old calliope may sometimes slow down, the tune may change slightly, but the sound goes on 24 hours a day. In the brief respites, drums continue like a collective heartbeat.

Late in the day, at about the shift between Robin’s Egg and Cerulean, between 70’s Disco and the evening’s Techno concert, the Titan child who owns the snow globe picks it up and gives it a gentle shake. Fine white dust rises all around, blanking out visibility an arms length in front of your eyes. Alkaline breath, sour, cough, sneeze blood, wait it out. The dust settles, or not, at the child’s whim.

At the center of everything is the Man. Wherever you walk or bicycle, turn to look down the radian roads and he is there. It is impossible to ever be totally lost, even in the confusion of the camps; just go to the nearest intersection, look for the Man and you know where you are. But beyond the Man, at the edge of the world, seeming on the horizon of a much smaller planet, looms the Temple.

In past years, the Temple resembled something close to an edifice, a sacred building, Gothic or Pagoda but still recognizable as a building. This year it was something different, more primordial, not so much a constructed “building” but an organic, found space. Our prehistoric ancestors would have found it familiar, a natural cave or mound perhaps. The structure was in three parts of graduated size. From a distance it seemed natural but closer it was obviously constructed from random sized slats of wood. The larger piece could be entered and held tens of tens of people; other entrances were to spaces sized for a nuclear family or small clan; still others might hold one child or small adult. A “courtyard” space between two sections could be a market place or gathering for larger groups, under the sky but protected from the harsh outside world on all sides by sheltering arms.

No one spoke loudly there. Voices were hushed, in conversations or prayers or chanting or song. One man sat in a corner of the Agora with a drum, playing only for himself; a small group chanted in unison, softly, hardly audible above the wind. On the walls, inside and out, were words left by the visitors. Objects were there too: photos of loved ones living or dead, tokens of lives past or to come, the requisite Teddy Bear, flowers, scraps of lives. It was a place to leave burdens behind.

“I hate you. Why did you leave me? How can I go on without you?”, “I love you now and forever,” “I miss you Daddy.” "I love you Michael. Always. Soul mates." Scrawled on the walls in pen or crayon, scribbled on scraps of paper, inscribed on wooden hearts thoughtfully provided by the creators.

“In Loving Memory of a Failed Marriage, 1976-2006. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for stealing my innocence. I forgive you for wasting my time.” My inscribed wooden heart and my wedding ring, tucked into a space between two boards at a spot where the sun would shine from dawn to dusk, were turned to ashes Sunday night.

The Sands of Time

Each Being that enters this plane of existence is issued, among other things, a handful of sand. The idea is to use, expend, give away, the last grain of sand at the moment of passing into the next plane. Here is how it works:

A very young Being is more often the recipient of sand, from its parents, relatives, siblings, caregivers and is thus careless about letting sand slip through its fingers. As a Being progresses, it will start to give sand more purposefully: a grain to the playground, a grain to school, a grain or two (or five or more in the case of my son) to video games. The more mature Being then gives sand to a job, employment, career, trade, profession, avocation; and to other Beings. Soon there are a circle of other Beings receiving your sand and from whom you receive it back; but one, or two, or three, special, particular Beings who receive a lot of it. As a Being comes closer to passing into the next plane, they see that the once abundant handful of sand has dwindled to fewer and fewer grains and they become even more particular about giving them away. Perhaps some of the sand perviously given to a job is now given to golf or gardening or a new sailboat. [note:if the sailboat, prepare to devote a LARGE amount of sand. I'm just saying.]

As we Beings progress, we become more conscious of the passing away of our sand, and more careful where we bestow it. Sometimes we continue to give sand to another Being who does not value it. They do not give us sand in return, or they let our sand slip through their fingers onto the ground. Other Beings try to push more of their sand on us, perhaps trying to elicit an exchange, perhaps to garner sympathy, perhaps to put us in their debt.

The very best situation that can occur between two Beings is when sand is exchanged freely and given away joyfully. Then there is Love. Which is a whole 'nother story entirely.

Thought for today

I think the basis of monogamy is pretty much exclusivity and the basis of polyamory is pretty much inclusive-ity. Finding a space where those would overlap is daunting, not to mention a ton of work.

New beginning

On Tuesday I made a commitment to a healthier lifestyle -- I joined a gym and engaged a personal trainer for 6 months. Michael and I also committed to cutting down on alcohol intake -- we will drink no alcohol after dinner. On Friday I will have my first session with Yvonne and will go at least once a week (aim is twice) more to do cardio exercises on my own (while Michael is with the trainer). This will give us both incentive, I hope.

In the interest of honesty and full disclosure, I am going to post my progress out here for anyone to see. My starting weight is 160# and my starting body fat is 39%. The goals are 34% and 150# -- let's see how I do, eh?

Soul mate

That is the word / phrase. That is the one I've been looking for. You are the one I've been searching for. I love you, my soul mate. Thank you for finding / stating it. Soul Mate.

Need, Want, Love

I love you. I want you. I need you.

Where do these intersect? where overlap? which is the chicken and which is the egg?

Want can creep in as a disguise for lust, but mostly plays a part in love. I want to see you. I want to hold you, touch you. I want to spend time with you. I want you to forsake all others. I want you to want me.

Need takes many guises as well. Physical need: Help me do things. I can't change the light bulbs myself, I can't drive with a broken foot. Psychological need: Help me cope. Reflect my self, show me I am worthy. Psychical need: Help me be happy. Be there in the night, wake me from bad dreams, hold me in the sunlight. I need you to need me.

Love can exist without want or need. But they do all get tangled together. Because I love you, I want you, need you, to love me. Tangles.

And which comes first? Did I need you, then want you, finally love you? Or did I want someone, need anyone, found you and loved you? Chickens and eggs.

I need you. I want you. I love you.

untwisting the knickers

The fact of their intimate relationship and the nature of that relationship is none of my business. The fact and the nature of *our* relationship is.

Sometimes a facet of their relationship may cause me discomfort or even pain. I may or may not choose to pitch a fit about it or to stay silent. Either way, I will deal with my pain or discomfort.

If I do pitch a fit, then he will have the choice to deal with that or not. However, “not dealing with it” should not entail preemptive dishonesty, whether outright lying or misdirection or deception of any sort.

I feel patronized when my choice to be upset or not is removed by his not being completely open and honest. Lies of omission are as serious as lies of commission.

We have promised to try to have “no twisted knickers” and I have tried to be as open and honest as I can. Not “as much truth as the relationship can bear”, but rather as much truth as we can find.

Diary, cont'd

On Wednesday morning the "containment" guys showed up. Heavy plastic was taped over all the cabinets and drawers of the kitchen; the refrigerator was pulled into the middle of the room (with an extension cord) and encased in heavy plastic. Next they "plastic-ed" the doors from kitchen to front hall and dining room and the opening above the pass-through bar and all the windows. A small hole was left at one of the windows to allow passage of a 12" exhaust pipe.

Next they made a plastic encased passageway from the garage door, through the TV room, to the hall and stairs. Upstairs, the bathroom door was sealed, as well as all the bedroom windows. Again a hole was left for the exhaust pipe. They constructed an elaborate air-lock sort of chamber in the garage out of pvc pipe and more heavy plastic with two "rooms" to stand in and put on or remove their hazmat suits.

Once this was all in place, they could start removing the asbestos laden floor tiles and sections of drywall.

When all the work was done, they put up warning posters and left for the day. I had (I thought) prepared pretty well by stockpiling some food in the little drinks 'fridge in the garage. What did not get set aside from the kitchen? A cork screw! Stacks of wine in the garage and not a screw-top bottle to be seen! Also, I remembered to save out the coffee pot ... but not the coffee. Wednesday dinner consisted of two slices of leftover pizza a co-worker let me take (Ta, Jo. I owe you.) Breakfast Thursday was coffee and a scone from Peet's on the way to work.

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Thursday, Feb 25. I arrived home from work around 3:30 to find the air quality inspector on my front walk, calling his office for instructions how to get into my house. The removal guys hadn't told him -- the only way into the containment area is through the garage and the side door to the garage had been left unlocked for him. It took 45 minutes to sample the air, 30 minutes to drive back to his lab, 2 minutes to run the sample through his machines, 1 minute to call and tell me the air quality is safe. At 4:50 pm he called the containment people to come take down their plastic. Sorry, can't do it today. Maybe tomorrow. 'K, bye.

Dinner Thursday was Linguini alla Regina and a nice glass of St. Supéry sauvignon blanc at Milan Restaurant while watching the Olympics with a couple of the "regulars".

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Now it is Friday and I am trying to reach the construction company who were going to send someone at 8 am to measure and give an estimate. I will try to reschedule for this afternoon or tomorrow morning. It is 5:30 am and I REALLY need a cup of coffee. I need a soak in the hot tub more.

[photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/rose-morgan/sets/72157623249704755/ will be updated as new stuff happens]

Diary of a displaced homeowner

On February 6 my upstairs bathroom sprung a leak. One tiny hose between the water supply and the toilet tank finally gave up the ghost. I heard the water running from my studio at the other end of the house and ran to shut it off. I ran through a waterfall at the foot of the stairs and found an inch of water on the bathroom floor and a damp patch spreading out into the bedroom carpet about 3 feet. In just those few short minutes, many thousands of dollars of damage were done. But most of the cost will be due to my house's age -- back in 1953 builders put asbestos EVERYWHERE, and now removal entails the words "containment" and "friable" and "hazmat suits".

I will be blogging my adventures from now on but here is a bit to catch up to today --

• Feb 7, 12:45 pm -- @ 5:45 last night -- upstairs toilet sprung a leak. In 5 minutes 3 feet of bedroom carpet was sopping, water came through the ceiling and that carpet was sopping too. Timing is everything -- 5 minutes later I'd have been on my way to dinner and theater. Of course, the TV room *would* be a nice location for an indoor swimming pool ... :-)
• Feb 7, 5:53 pm --OK. The salvage and restoration guy just left after spending 4.5 hours inspecting, testing, mapping and setting up huge dehumidifiers all over the house. For 3-10 days, I will be camping out in the guest room. *Then* the restoration can start ...
• Feb 8, 7:17 am --Pretending to be a guest in my own house ... so many things the guest room needs! Hook behind bathroom door, shower caddy, more comfortable place to sit and read ... my apologies to Hannah and Julie who last spent time here. It will be better when you visit next.
• Feb 9, 1:56 pm --The asbestos testing service has come and gone and I should know by tomorrow if the flooring and drywall repair is going to be a medium or a large pain in the butt.
• Feb 13, 7:00 am --everything but furniture has been removed from my bedroom. 4,723 (at least) trips up and down stairs carrying clothes, shoes, toiletries, bedding, "stuff" that had been stored there ... ruthlessly culled bags of clothing and shoes (where did they all come from??) for Goodwill.
• Feb 19, 11:00 am -- Michael's daughter, Elizabeth, is advising me on colors for painting the kitchen, hall, stairs and bedroom and on flooring material for kitchen, stairs and bedroom. She is a wonder: so knowledgeable about materials and such a good color sense. Once the demolition is finished, she is going to be my most valuable asset for the renovation!
  
• Feb 23, 8:11 am --The salvage company is here, packing up my bedroom for the duration of the demolition and restoration. Sob. My lovely new mattress is being sent off to storage. Sigh. The bedroom *will* be beautiful. The kitchen *will* be beautiful. And there will be no asbestos anywhere.

Which brings us up to today. Stay tuned kiddies, for the further adventures ...

[photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/rose-morgan/sets/72157623249704755/ will be updated as new stuff happens]

Damn.

I love you.

Really.

Kissing girls

I've been doing some thinking lately, about kissing girls.

While I enjoy, and usually prefer, the company and attention of men (my man) -- kissing girls is really nice. It is softer, less bristly, different.

Hugging them is nice too. I used to think having more than two breasts involved would get in the way, but somehow it all works out. Remember way back before your first real *kiss*, you worried what to do about the noses? How do you keep from bumping noses??? And it all worked out somehow? Breasts are the same (squishier, but same principle) and it all works out somehow.

Anyway, for long term intimate and sexual relationships, I prefer men (my man); but kissing girls is really nice!

songs of the daisy

I love you.
I want you.

I cannot make you love or want me.

If you do

it will be super

it will be brilliant

it will be incandescent

If you do not

I will miss you
But the greater loss will be yours.

Whine wine

I am a real whiner, aren't I? Or is that a whino? ?

No I am not broken, and thank Goddess for that.
Also, the missing piece is only a self-perceived missing piece. Thank Goddess for that too.

Practicing the presence of Goddess includes living with an attitude of gratitude and I *really* need to work on that part!

I am grateful for the presence of a wonderful man, wonderful lover, in my life.

So there. Pbbfftt!

I am not broken

I am not broken.

I have never contemplated my own suicide.

I have never married, or even lived with, a man old enough to be my father. [Full disclosure: in my late 20's I did date a man 30 years older for a few months.]

I can change my own light bulbs.

I have never done hard drugs, nor been arrested for substance abuse issues.

I emerged from the divorce as a strong, whole, and healthy person. I am financially secure and own my own home. My children are healthy and happy.

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However

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I do have a piece missing.

It would be nice [I think] to have someone who looks to me, and my wants / desires / needs, first before all others.

I have a primary partner but I want to be a primary partner.