I have a new lover.
I’ve had lovers before — some about whom I would say “I want to strip you naked and climb you like a tree.” I’ve had others about whom I would say “I want to throw you off a train bridge.” The latter never lasted long, fortunately.
About this new lover, I say both of these things. It’s hard to say both of these things and have them both be true.
The dissonance was uncomfortable, to say the least. It was a cracking open of tears so epic I named it “The Flood.”
What, then, to do about such a person?
I laid in bed with my ukulele friend and chocolate bar friends beside me cuddled up in the blankets. I talked to my human best friend from the remote, rainy mountains of Mexico till we wore ourselves out of words. I lit fires and watched them burn down to embers.
And then what happened? Did I stop wanting to throw him off a train bridge? No, I wish I could say that, but no. I still have moments where I want to stand in crisp pine-scented air while resting my hands on his shoulders menacingly as his toes touch the edge of the trestle just to make sure he knows what’s what — I could end this at any moment.
I’m a hell of a bitch, huh?
Yes, and… but that’s not the point, here’s what shifted everything — I can now feel the desire to crawl up inside his hot body and the desire to push him to his death *at the same time*. I accept that I have these vastly disparate parts of myself without making either wrong.
How is this helpful? This might seem like nothing but stay with me. It’s a freaking superpower. You might even say it’s THE meta superpower that shows you how to discover all your other superpowers. It’s a cloak of invisibility hiding in plain sight.
Quelling the sibling rivalry
We are at war with ourselves when we make two thoughts compete. These not-at-all-identical twin siblings fight for mom’s attention until she realizes she can pay attention to both of them.
I, the mom of this metaphor, used to think I had to decide which of the siblings would win. Would I stay or would I go? This was an endless, thankless job. As any mom knows, you can’t stop the fighting by issuing a ruling. The siblings find another battleground within days if not minutes.
I later realized I made the siblings participate in an unwitting debate club to prove their point to the judge, me. They didn’t enjoy this any more than I did. We all played this unfun game because we thought we had to. We didn’t know any better way.
Both of the siblings wanted to save mommy/me from the pain. The deeper truth was that *I* was trying to avoid my pain, and they were doing a great job of distracting me.
One of the siblings wanted me to duck out of the pain by ending my relationship with my lover immediately. Burn it to the ground. Ignore the trust and connection that had already been cultivated. Say no to the work we came to do together. Hold the bar even higher next time. Start again when someone better came along.
The other sibling wanted me to sweep the pain under the rug by pretending I was such a chill, cool friend-with-benefits that he could do all kinds of nonsense, and I’d be 100 fine with it. She thought I could avoid the pain by blindly loving him to the point of ignorance.
Of course, neither of the siblings framed their arguments in this way or I would’ve seen right through them. For most of my life, they appeared to be rational adult voices making rational arguments.
In realizing they both were armored-up children trying to protect mommy with their toilet paper tube swords and invisibility capes made of dirty dish towels, I’m no longer fooled by either of them. All of the stories they spin are duly cataloged, but they no longer get to fight over control of me. Both siblings must be heard and most bizarrely… their emotions must be felt simultaneously. I can hear them and feel them without reacting to them.
I am the adult. I hold my center. My actions arise from a quiet well of wisdom within.
Push + pull = sparks
The greatest songs come from the greatest sorrows. When I can feel the desire to be naked with him and the desire to kill him simultaneously. It usually leads to super fun tumbling in the sheets like two smelly animals.
Experiencing pleasure and pain in the same moment is one of the greatest alchemies. If you like a little pain (a gentle bite, spank, pinch, etc.) during sex you already get this at a visceral level.
This is no neutral. Aversion and attraction do not average out to nothing, a medium grey-brown, an apathy — no far from it. They mix all the colors together and make a multidimensional sparkly rainbow. When you feel the attraction and aversion simultaneously, let it enliven your blood.
Don’t mistake this for martyring oneself or trauma bonding. No, that’s not helpful either, and it’s not what I’m talking about. Before the fun sheet tumbling, sometimes there need to be some damn uncomfortable truths spoken. Any rifts must be glued back together with gold and tears. Apologies must be uttered and accepted.
There’s something here that feels like flying once you get the process I’m describing. Well, it’s more like the feeling I get when I’m cartwheeling a.k.a. yard-sailing down a snow-covered slope. (I’m all elbows on skis.) As I’m sliding down the hill, a wise voice in my head whispers “if you don’t do something to stop yourself from accelerating even faster down this hill, you might die quite imminently.”
The truth of this evokes nearly uncontrollable laughter. Yes, I’m a strange being.
For me at least, love is like this sensation of accelerating down the hill faster and faster. This is what intimacy/vulnerability feels like when you’re deep in it. Reeeeaaaalllllly good sex is like this too.
When we can find the tiny crack to pause and remember ourselves in, we feel the uncontrollable weightlessness of falling as flying.
When you’re falling without fear of hitting bottom, you realize you’ve been flying this whole time.
I wax poetic a lot these days. I don’t try to, but that’s how it comes out. It’s a bit embarrassing, actually. I have a whole range of emotions I feel simultaneously now. I’m angry. I’m drunk in love. I’m silly every once in a while when I get really brave. I’m messy. I’m creative. I’m grieving.
I’m not hiding any of it anymore. I’m scaring other people because of it. I’m scaring myself, too. It’s good.
Yes, mom, I’m ok.
I would say this to her if it occurred to her to ask. She has dementia and no idea what’s going on in my life. But, no matter… not to worry or pity us. She’s my wild, weird, mystic mama. She matters to me even though she has never felt this way about her lover. She never could’ve. (Long story.)
I love and will keep loving fully and deeply, both for her and for me.
Her mama, my granny, used to worry compulsively about me, the wild child.
Alas, she’s passed onward from this world. I’d like to imagine that she’s not worried about me anymore — no longer imprisoned by her fears that without a monogamous vow from a husband to hold down a full-time job and pay the mortgage, I won’t be ok.
I know she sends her blessings from wherever she is. She knew what she was doing raising me. I trust that she’s proud. I trust that my wildness descends from her down our bloodlines into my bone and belly.
Neither my mama nor my granny’s generations had a concept of relationships like the one I’m in. They wouldn’t understand this with their minds for sure. I hope they would with their hearts.
How does this end?
Yes, how does it? Isn’t that the question we’re all asking? Is there something that comes after wishing to throw your lover off a train bridge? Does it go away eventually? I dunno. This year will tell, and then the next. Can you live a story without knowing the ending? We must, and with this, we leave the messy bow untied as in life.
Yes, but there’s always a P.S. and today’s is more about DUNE.
Dune's scale was so epic there was a movie made about the movie that •wasn't• made. Dali was cast to be the Emperor in Jodorosky's Dune. Check out the trailer.
H.R. Geiger did the storyboards and designed the ships.
Anyways, Jodorosky has a new film coming out soon, The Incal. In his words “the director of a film is God.” Promises to be good, then.
Did you miss last week’s missive about Dune and stepping into your voice? ← It’s right there.