Monday, January 23, 2012

Daughter of the Ocean

My mind silent, my voice silent, I walked onto the crowded beach and headed towards the spit at the end of the protected bay.  I saw none of the people there- fat babies rolling in the waves, people slathered in oils soaking up sun, eating sandwiches under umbrellas.  Time existed in another place as I walked, one foot after the other, half in and half out of the tideline.  There was a song in my heart and it was calling me  to where the sand ended in the water, and that was the only thing that I knew.

Heedless of wind in my hair and sand on my feet... heedless of people, gulls, nothing except the ocean.  She lay to the left of me, she lay before me.  Still I walked.

I came to the place where the sand ended in a point.  There was magic in this place, where two currents came together to cross one another in endless diamond patterns.  It was shallow there, and went out for a long, long way- or so it seemed.  I did not stop my pace when I hit the water, a thing possessed, a creature called.  The sea, she was calling to me.  The mother.  The ocean.  The song welled up in my heart and began to spill over into my entire body until I could not distinguish where I ended and the sea began.  She was not cold, not to me; this northern sea.  I walked.  It felt like walking on water, these shallows; and mesmerized by the diamonds I was surprised when I finally reached the breakwater.  Crests of foam washed over my thighs, and still I did not stop.  The sea was calling me.

My long hair tangled over my back, whipped in the sun by the wind.  A pressure was rising in my heart, in my body.  Welling up in my belly, this feeling like intense love, like a fierce scream, like the pleasure of fear just before the roller coaster drops.  I could not stop, I was compelled.  Welling up like tears, welling up like orgasm.  The sea rose in pace with this feeling, over my thighs, to the tender place my legs met.  The shock of it did not register because she was claiming me.  Had I tossed a look over my shoulder I would have seen that the magic of this place had taken me already; I was never seen by those that lay on the sand.  I was but a tangle of wind and sand; a bit of seafoam on the breeze.

The water came up to my solar plexus and what was welling began to crest.  If I could shake I would have been shaking then.  The sea was taking my body but I did not yet understand; the deep emotion that came forth rose and rose and rose until it was as a scream in my throat.  By then the water covered my heart and I suddenly realized there was no fear.  I began to feel sensual touches about my feet and legs; fish?  Seaweed?  I did not look because I was compelled forward and my entire being was enraptured by the salt water about my body.

Then the feeling crested, and I made as if to scream or laugh or cry- a wave came then and claimed me, the rest of the way.  The outcry was taken by the water.  I was filled with it, as I began to laugh, ripples and tidal waves of joy and fear and the incredible sensation of an entire body orgasm (for that is the only word I can give it) washing over me.  My hair floated about me.  The sensation of pleasure was mingled immediately by waves of pain.  True pain, pain down to the bone- I was compelled, yes, but now that I was under the water I was part of her, part of what was claiming me and I began to see what the song was.  I curled into a ball in the water, reaching down to my legs, my feet with my hands, to soothe the pain, the pain... As I looked, I saw what was beginning.  What I was compelled for.  I was changing.  Oh, the pain, the pleasure, I could not untangle them, exquisite it was.  Oh!  My legs bound together, despite my kicking.  Scales.  Fins.  Not just fins, no.  If I could cry I would have but tears in the ocean matter to no one.  She had me, I was within.  I closed my eyes and clutched my changing body and rode the pain as I finished.  Hours, days, minutes, who can say?

Finally it subsided and I began to realize that the water felt as silk against my body.  I opened my eyes and realized I could see with startling clarity.  I was not lacking for breath; felt, on my neck, delicate silken gills.  My hair streamed around me like a veil.  My legs- no... no more.  In their place was a beautiful, sinuous scaled tail, gold-orange scales and sinuous long fins that moved like long streamers in the water.  I began to move and felt the power in these fins.  I could move with incredible grace and such little effort, a dance as I could only dream of on land.  Land... forgotten.  Had I ever left this place?  Was I born here, or made?  I could no longer remember, moving in curlicues and spirals in the water, feeling the utter pleasure of my hair and fins moving about me, about the water.  The deliciousness of just existing, of moving, of flowing through... life in complete ecstatic flowing sensuality, glowing in the dim green light, darting among the life I found everywhere I looked.

I began to hear the song, then.  The song was not through with me.  It seemed to float through the water, calling to me.  I tested my strong tail, my fins, and found the ease with which I could move.  I flowed along the coastline, sensing rocks before I could hear the water battering against them.  I marveled at the colors, rippling as the sun went in and out of clouds, filtering through the surface of foam and wave, life flowing among life.  Still the song called.

Out I went, and in.  Towards rocks along an island, on the oceanward side away from the mainland.  The song, the song... weaving in and out of giant kelp gardens, reflecting off rocks and even remains of ships I found.  I began to understand, as I swam strong and sure towards it.  Siren... sirens... siren song... I am... I am... I am.

Friday, January 06, 2012

Priestess of Aphrodite

I've been here before, I thought; in another lifetime.  This all feels so familiar to me, part of my soul almost.  I've done all this before.  Many times in this life the moment comes, like a little electric shock, that tells me in sibilant tones... yesss... you know.  You know this.

We lay silent on the floor, comfortable, all of us women, acolytes; in complete trust.  Blindfolded so we wouldn't know what was coming next.  Listening to the bare feet of the initiates and the rustle of their clothes as they moved about us, teaching us to trust our senses.  What was this on the lips?  Chocolate, lemon?  Fur?  Leather?  Hot, cold?  Giggles as the women were surprised and delighted; squeals as something unexpected occurred (oh, that WAS lemon!).  Suddenly I was struck with the realization- I have been here before, listening to the initiates walk around me, only it was a temple then, yes, a sacred Temple of the Goddess.

The stage lights were on, and the music began.  I wore flowing silks of red and peach about my hips, red velvet about my breasts, tassels and glitter shining like magic.  A basket of roses on my head.  I walked slowly, gently, deliberately in swaying grace onto the short stage.  It seemed so impersonal, and here I was trying to begin the evening's performances with a blessing.  I set the basket on the stage, and began to dance with the veil from about my hips.  Suddenly the stage lights malfunctioned and cut out.  I did not even break my stride, but leaped off the stage into the grass with my veil, dancing within the circle of tiki torches, feeling alive and natural in the fire light- yessss... this is where I am meant to dance.  So close to the people watching, seated on blankets in the grass.  At the end of the song I picked up the basket and threw petals to the people, watching the children squeal and try to catch them.  I have been here before.

Catching someone's eye, and in doing so, turning up my inner fire so the other may feel it... watching that person respond, viscerally... yessss...

Standing naked and feeling the simple sensuality of my long hair caressing my back...

Feeling intense pleasure having a tattoo done on my back, feeling kundalini rise as the needle raked my lower spine...

Walking into a club feeling the Goddess thrumming in my heart, seducing the world with my walk and my dance, knowing that this is all in joy and in pleasure, and not at all for any mal intent.  All acts of love and pleasure are my ritual.

Feeling the touch of the Goddess when I dance, feeling her come through me, touching those who watch, seeing their eyes shine to wit her lustrous being come through.  We are all expressions of love.  My heart glows, I claim this, claim this Priestesshood.  It has been a year since I shook my wings free and I am soaring.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Wings of the Heart, wide open

I was fettered, and didn't know it. Silk cords that bound my wings to my body, they were beautiful and for a long time I did not protest. They didn't seem to bother me. My soul, she knew. The wise woman beneath, sitting in her cozy cave, she knew too. A series of events and words, and suddenly even the light touch of these cords became too much to bear. I began to understand the price I was paying for the safety and comfort of routine in a home life I was not meant for. Isolation for many long years because of choices I had made only allowed the cords to settle more firmly about my body, until I forgot I had wings, I forgot entirely I could fly.

The choice, once taken, showed me that when I chose to flex my wings the cords fell away like spiderwebs. There was no heavy struggle, no chafing of bonds tied too tightly. Merely push my wings out, and the cords were gone. I grew heady with freedom and leapt from the cliff! Away! Into the air, stretching my wings. The air beneath my breast, filling the space beneath. Oh exhilerating dawn! The sky fills my wings with joy! Ah, freedom!

But, what is this? What, where? Where am I going? I don't know how to fly! I can't do this! Where am I going? How could I possibly know? In fact, I don't know at all! And I look behind me at the cliff. Safety, how can I return there? I can be good, I can sit still, I can take these silken cords and live with them with love, I can do it, I can...

No, I cannot. I look at that safety and see it is no longer enough for me. The cords do not even fit anymore. My heart is beating in terror- did I make the wrong choice? Am I crazy to throw all this away? I don't even know where the sky is taking me. Or rather, where I am taking me through this great beautiful expanse. I am afraid. I am free, and I am in the air, but I am not flying yet because I don't know where to go. I don't know what I am becoming. All I know is that my heart is blindingly, terrifyingly open- so much light! So open that I ache! How can I drink it all in? I want what is coming. My soul knows. She knows that to fly is to live, and I want to live. I don't want to just exist, a shadow of myself, looking for wings by the light and shade on the wall. I want my wings under me, I want to know what it is to truly live, to feel the passion of my soul surging up through this open heart and into the sky. There is enough, there is more than enough, it wells up and through me and I want to be ready! I want to be free!

And so in doubt I turned to the wise woman within, in her sweet and cozy cave. I sit quietly and look within, and she is there, curled on her furs, knitting by her fire. She has happy crinkles by her eyes, and I know her. She is me, she is the Grandmother. She speaks quietly and it takes courage to listen and stay still enough to hear her.
"The choice you have made is the right one. You cannot stay where you are. The life you made here is not enough for you. You will die by degrees in unhappiness in it, and you know that. The one you are leaving behind, what he chooses is not for you to decide. You were the guide and the mirror, the doorway. Such great gifts you have given him, helping to see himself, his path, his own light. Do not fear being forgotten here, because your love was a turning point for him to greater love and greater bliss. You cannot stay and you know that. You need a greater, deeper spark to feel met and fulfilled, and he has not been this for you, and was not meant to be this for you. You found him when you were lonely and there, such amazing friendship blossomed in you both! However he cannot touch that deeper part of you, you must find it first yourself and find a way to open it. That is where your gifts lie, and your greater potential for love- of self, and of others. This is not your mate. If you never have one it is not something to despair of, find your passion first and let life unfold."

The quivering in my belly is still there, the beating of my heart- but less. More steady. I know what I need to do; to step onto the path and trust that what unfolds next is what I need in order to learn not just to fly, but to soar and live, fully.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Embracing Wind

Long, long ago a lover said to me:
"Loving you is like putting the wind in a box"
at the end of our torrid affair. That statement affected me deeply, with a sense of shame or disbelonging; if I couldn't figure out how to tame my wild windy heart, who would be able to love me? Would I, in my fickleness, be able to stand still long enough to allow it?

Many years later, I found myself coming full circle. This urging for freedom somehow, this need to spread my wings, to fly, let go, dance and soar and see where it takes me. This is in my blood. As another romance comes to an end- this one the most gentle, kind, loving and considerate breakup I have ever had the grace to experience- I looked into my lover's eyes as he began to articulate the same concept. I filled in for him:
"You mean, loving me is like trying to put the wind in a box."
"Yes! Exactly, and beautifully put!"

I had a momentary spasm of despair. Ah, still unloveable because I'm so much fire and air! Is that so?
Then, suddenly I was struck by a realization. Why is this something to be changed? Is it not a gift somehow, some way? No it does not fit the conventional notion of settling down, putting in roots, making babies and home life and so on. Perhaps I have been trying too hard to force myself into a role my soul does not want. I have fought and tried, cried and stretched and reached to the deepest parts of myself to find the way through so I could keep this love, learn to settle down and enjoy home life and that sort of domestic partnership.
My heart will not have it. The more I tried to force it, the more depressed I got. I felt flawed somehow, broken, because I could not come to a conclusion as to whether I felt I was capable of having babies; whether I was comfortable sacrificing so much of my creativity and time, my art and solitude which is required for such an undertaking.

What if I have been fighting what my soul IS, what my soul WANTS, all this time? Trying to learn to love in this way, learn to be loveable in this way. I am meant for other things. I like the freedom of wandering where I will, of deciding on a whim to change my entire afternoon on an adventure. I love being so close to community that I can touch them anytime, but have large amounts of sacred and romantic solitude that bring me bliss. Am I not a mother to many creative "children"? Are there not more to come? There are many ways to birth consciousness into the world. In our state of overpopulation, it is not necessary to birth love and peace in the way of more human beings. I can have a great impact on those already inhabiting this planet, in taking joy in the beautiful children of my friends.

I am not ruling children out. What has happened recently though gave me pause; my beautiful and wonderful partner, a man with an exquisitely open and generous heart, desires children in a clear and positive way. I cannot find that same clarity, as much as I love him and our connection. This issue of babies brings me great stress, sorrow and anguish. I still feel I have growing to do before they could be an option; at my age, that growing could very well outlast my reproductive years. And so I release him. My heart aches. It is a difficult decision, as I have never met anyone as suited to me as he. But I love him, and his happiness, and so I let him go. I wish for him that he finds a beautiful and wonderful partner who cannot imagine not having his babies with him, in cheerful messy chaos and noise. It is not for me.

I am doing what my ancestors could not, or did not- heal the rage and long abuse and sorrow in our line. So much pain handed down! The fear is- I heal this line, does it not need blood children to carry it on? I don't know, but I do know that each person who commits to healing further heals the planet, in enormous degrees. I want to see more children raised with non violence and compassion. I want to see more wanted babies, not those born by accident into stress, misgivings, or worse- violence and poverty.

I don't know what I am meant to do. It is more than just vet med and dancing, playing with my friends. I open my Self to whatever this is, so that I can find the peace that lies within knowing the true nature of the soul. Why is it I am so "flighty" and free? Why is it that on one hand, I can commit with an iron will, but desire freedom from shackles so much I cry with the pain of them? What freedom am I longing for? I want to know. I commit to knowing this.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010


Although I have been hiking quite a lot this year- and thus in a perfect position to see lots of wildlife, as I certainly have- I have had encounters with turtles that have stood out. When I see an animal in a random encounter and it feels as if it has weight, I look up the symbolism in order to see if there is a message or meaning from (the universe? my subconscious? tribe consciousness?) that I need to hear.

I was driving in my vet truck when I saw a turtle in the middle of the road. Having worked in wildlife clinics, I have seen my fair share of smashed turtle shells; so I turned around, put on my hazards (holding up another car), hopped out. I gently picked the turtle up and unceremoniously dumped it into the swamp like ditch on the side of the road- safety.

I took the hand of my handfasted partner and led him into the woods, telling him I wanted to "show him something". We were both in need of some healing with each other- it's been a tough winter. When we got to the spot I had thought of, by the pond, an amazing thing happened; we both simultaneously saw the nearly empty turtle shell. "Wow! When did you discover this? Amazing!" he said- he is also a vet, an exotics vet, and loves turtles. I was stunned; we saved the shell, he cleaned it and it sits in a revered spot in our house.

While running yesterday, I saw another turtle in the middle of the path. The second one that has crossed my path (while alive, I guess). It was motoring along well until it heard or saw me coming; then it stopped, and withdrew into its shell. This is a busy path with dogs and bikes and joggers, so I stopped too and gently lifted the turtle the rest of the way where it was heading into the lush grass.

Turtles. Why turtles? I read a lot this morning about symbolism, meaning and so forth. Turtle is present in so many cultures, for so many reason. What is mostly universal is longevity, protection and associations with the moon due to the markings on the shell, numbering in 13 (moon months) and 28 (moon days). The turtle, in this respect, is feminine. What resonates with me, after all this reading and from the encounters, is a message telling me to slow down a little, remember my own natural rhythms (even when threatened!) Remember the divine and the feminine. Find wisdom in slowing down a little, and hardening up a bit.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Queen of the Magpies

This is a dream I had years ago, back in undergrad.  It was in vivid color, so real... and I can still remember every detail, like it just happened.


I was sent back in time by my boss, a jewelry maker, to look at jewelry of the 70's for inspiration and ideas.    Mostly, I was attracted to beaded work and there was some beautiful stuff happening then.  I found myself walking on a busy street and went into a little hippie jewelry type shop, with things like big beaded headbands, beaded curtains, hair clips with beaded flowers... that sort of thing.  It was wild.  My eye drank in all the color, not to mention the people shopping around me.  As I walked around a center island with buckets of beaded bracelets and things, just dangling my hand in them and feeling everything I could, I was stopped by a woman whispering words in my ear.

"I have something for you to see.  You shouldn't miss this."  She had very big hazel eyes and black hair, just past her shoulders and a little wild.  I didn't know her, and had no idea who she was.  "It's not far, just outside a ways."

So I followed her.  We ended up walking on a path of flat slate stones through a field.  We were walking towards one of the largest and most beautiful trees I had ever seen.  There were steps carved into the tree, and the center was hollow, with a round doorway.  The two halves of the door stood open.  She stopped at the foot of the tree, smiled sort of enigmatically at me, and waved me on.  I mounted the steps slowly, marveling at them.  What an amazing thing this was!  I felt privileged, hushed and awed- the air was heavy and quiet.

When I entered the hole, my eyes adjusted; there were windows also carved in, letting in small amounts of light.  My joy turned to horror.  The smell was terrible.  A chicken coop?  I did not understand.  Everything inside was beautifully carved, and on either side of the door were two long hollowed out benches lined with straw.  And yet... there were chickens in it, it was filthy and stank.  Suddenly I noticed there weren't just chickens; there were some small, feeble black chicks being pushed out and pushed around.  What were they?  What was this?  My feeling of horror grew, and suddenly was beginning to mix with another emotion- anger.

"How could they..."
This was interrupted by a low, deep laugh.  I spun around to see who it was.  Standing in shadow, half hidden, was a man with greying dark hair, and a greying goatee.  His moustache was curious, thick and full and coming to points at either end.  I did not like his laugh, it was cold and unfriendly; though I was still angry, I felt a sense of caution and even fear.  I was still so confused!  There was an intense feeling of anger and I could not place why I would feel anything at all about a chicken coop.

"You are too late."
What?  What is this lunatic talking about?  The sense of confusion grew, and I turned back again to look at one of the struggling chicks.  I felt like a veil was being ripped from my mind.  As if a strange haze of some kind had lingered there for... well, for years.
"Father."  I said, because I started feeling memories I did not know I kept, flowing through my mind.

"You!"  I turned again to the man, who had started his laugh when I spoke, and this time it was even worse.  But before I could speak another word, the woman with the green eyes came back in the door, only now she was wearing a sleek outfit of black.  I felt a sudden stab of recognition.

"I..." but she did not let me speak; suddenly she went down on one knee and presented me with the most wicked looking sword I had ever seen.  It was shaped like the crescent moon just after she is new.  The hilt was black, and the blade was not that bright metal you often see in swords, but a curious dark grey, and gleaming.  The hilt and the first 1/3 of the blade were crusted with jewels, opalescent, but not necessarily white- they were as an opal would be were it black, with deep and bright colors captured within.  The blade started out thick in its width but narrowed along the crescent to a razor sharp tip.  And she was presenting it to me.  The feelings I had since I walked up the steps intensified, and I reached down to take the sword hilt in my hands.  As I took it, the woman glanced briefly up at me, a flash of hazel with amusement; quick as it came, it was gone.  But I knew.

I took the sword.  It knew my hand, and I it.  Memory came surging back.  I turned a pirouette with the blade held level in front of me, wicked curve out; as I spun I saw the man's smug face turning suddenly grave and fearful.  When I stopped twirling, I had only a moment to recognize what had also occurred- as I spun, my clothing changed to lithe, supple black leather armour, black but with all the colors of the rainbow muted in it- just like an oil slick on tarmac.  It was absolutely amazing, perfect; the sight of it jarred me all the way out of the veil I had on me all those years.

I looked up at the man now.
"You have defiled this place, this sacred place.  This is our rookery!  You have turned it into a chicken coop!   I know that you have killed my father... and that makes me Queen of the Magpies! This is WAR!"  I rushed at him with a loud banshee scream, and he fled.  I let him go, knowing the work had just begun.

I turned then to look at the woman, recognizing her now. She was my handmaiden, my right hand in battle.  I had not known her when I came in here, but I remembered everything now.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

career vs life... soul searching

Am I ready to give up the thing I like doing in order to live more like I want to?  All my life my dreams have been carried on galloping hooves, borne on strong backs and flowing manes across the landscapes of my mind.  I focused hard on horses through school, letting the endless focus of small animal wash over me like rain, soaking up the tid bits of horse medicine when it came.  I took this job here in the beautiful but socially desolate North East Ohio because they said I'd be doing mostly equine- which has turned out to be a lie.  Thrown into small animal, a thing I feared and loathed, I persevered.  Because I spend much of my time doing it I have, despite myself, become pretty good at it.  But meanwhile my psyche is suffering.  We have no friends here, nothing to do, no dancing, no music, nothing but our worthless jobs with bosses we can't stand to break the monotony.  At each other's throats because we lack any perspective, we risk losing what we came here to preserve- our relationship.  I followed him here because I didn't want to be without him, and this place is ruining what we have.  Our solution is to fix it, get out, move somewhere with life and vitality, where there are people, music, things to do aside from eat and shop (which are the main events up here). 

The problem I face is that there aren't horse jobs just anywhere.  In fact most of the places where horses seem to be, people really aren't.  Makes sense, really.  If I could be somewhat close to life and fun and still do what I thrive on, that would be amazing. 

Which comes to the crux of it- am I willing to give up being a horse vet in order to live somewhere I would enjoy more?  I mean, life is for enjoying, not suffering.  I want all of it- I want to do horse work, AND be in reach of my friends, AND be dancing, AND be near some goddamn culture!  What am I willing to give up?   I gave up friends for two years and I am at the end of my tether.  I'm going crazy, I am not who I was.  I can't do it any more.  I gave up culture for two years (those who say Columbus has culture or stuff to do, haven't lived anywhere else) and I feel I am going mad.  Carefully watered down Midwest crap disguised as "culture"... yogurt curd made digestable for the bible thumpin folks who can't stand the fact that there are other people who don't buy the nuclear family myth, the fact that this country isn't entirely christian or what have you, that there ARE in fact GAY people and they do have the right to life and happiness... not that I'm bitter, mind you.

I have had ENOUGH of the Midwest, thank you very much.

Anyway, what if I can't do horse work where I want to go?  Am I willing to give it up?  I fear that if I take a job all small animal, it will become difficult to get back into horses again.  Use it or lose it.  I am of course looking, I will be applying aggressively for a position to work with horses even part time.  Hell, I'm "mixed animal" now, I know I can do it and do it well.  Why not?

Thing is, it's not all bad to be small animal oriented.  Those folks get to just go home at night, have more predictable hours and business and so on.  Not a bad life, really.  Still, I love the medicine with horses, handling them, meeting them, figuring them out.  The challenges.  It's all good, to me. 

So I guess, yes.  I can't live so far away from things that make me happy anymore.  I hate this existance, there is much much more to me than just vet med.  In order to stay who I like being, I need to do more of what makes me "me" and rejoin the living.  If it means I sacrifice some of what I am doing, fine.  It's not like I'm quitting being a vet (and it's all fun anyway).   I just need to believe the right job will come, I will get to do what I want to do.  Where I want to do it.  That would be just great.  Please please please just give me a key to happiness again and get me the hell out of here.