Rebirth

Several days ago the question was asked... 'what is your most vivid childhood memory?'

It pissed me off.

You know how people ask, mostly out of habit, 'how ya doing', how are you, are you hyaving a good day...?' yet really, how many will actually hold sapce for the answer 'like shit' I'm miserable, things suck...

so really, having asked the question is like a double whammy, cause (I) and up feeling like if I say the truth, I burden them, yet I already feel limke shit, and now I have to 'worry' about burdoning someone else, and potentially feeling even WORSE.

bear with me, this is going to a good place.

Well my most vivid chilhood memory, at the moment, is of a penis ejaculating in my face.l

Guess what, this is my blog, fuck you if you don't want to hear it. This is my life. I assure you, it was far worse to ezperience it.

so... here is the way it turns. The most beautiful thing about my life right now, is that I feel in touch with this attitude, the attitude that had me write that last sentence.

You probably only understand that if you have experienced something similar.

See, the worst thing about the trauma of that memory, is that the INTENSE 'positive' energy of a male penis ejaculating in my face is a MORe vivid, and even more preferable energy, to the hell that surrounded it.

and what is so wonderful about my life right now, is that I have the attitude to share it.

I'mnot sorry if this offends you. I wish it didn't, but my coldness is about self preservation, and IT FEELS GOOD.

What feels even better, is that I am loving myself, by being cold. I love myself, and for decades have loved myself, by following my own muse. by respionding to the chaos of the echoes, the endless year after year echoes of confused repressed rage filled sexualized anger pain.

And the best thing about my life right now is that I am breaking open, and the love that guided me is edhging up to the sruface, and I am about to breathe. This is like the blow hole, clearing the stale air from my mind. I have dove deep.

god damnit, I am proud of myself. I am surrounded by my fears, and I say fuck you to every single one of them. I don't care if society or culture, or my friends, or my lovers have understood me. I understand me. I am a very fucking brave loving person.

the best thing about my life right now is that I want to say... 'I don't give a shit who understands me' But it isn't true. I have needed understanding so very badly. What I didn't 'understand' is that I can't control who that comes from

so I have been screaming at the winds, aching, paining, frustrating. when I fianlly got out much of what happened about half of the energy changed.

and yesterday something tipped.


when I was in fifth grade we went on a school retreat to camp barton. when the night came, hell came.

It happened to me for years, fear. pure consciousness fear. fear so strong that reality dissappeared, my body gone, breathe, light, touch, sound.

just fear.

and it always came after my parents went to sleep, or if I left them in the wrong environment. and it was really bad that time. I 'pretended' to be sick. I WAS pretending to be 'sick'.

I was worse than sick.

I went home, and it felt better. I was 'afraid' my parents were dissapointed in me. But I was so fucking scared I had to go back. they knew I was afraid, I was afraid so often before sleep. They were tired. Nobody knew.

I had a good snack, and my father gave me the cross from around his neck. I slept with it in my hand, and I kept it in my hand the  next day when I went back to camp barton.

It took courage to go back. I'm glad I did. the night was fine after that, and the girls finally taught me some of the clapping games.

Thank you RACHEL!



I wrote about a dream yesterday. I was invited to a waterfall, and I was afraid to go, because 'the price of admission ans adam sass suggested, was our fantasies... and our dreams.

the amazing thing is, the same friend who invited me to a waterfall in my dream, did exactly that in the day, she invited us to a waterfall.

At camp barton.

Now I 'just happen' to be living several miles from camp barton right now. this is how synchronicity works.

and this brings me back to what is best in my life right now.

what is best in my life is this attitude. this attitude has kept me alive. this attitude urges me to speak my truth. this attitude urges me to say, to all my fears, even when they are in the guise of the people I love throughout my life.... fuck you. fuck you all. fuck every bit of guilt and shame I have felt for the choices I have made. I am smiling. fuck off, I don't care what you think. you, fear, you face what I have faced, and come through this loving. you face the rage I have faced and come through this loving.

because I have surrendered to love so many times I can't begin to tell the story. I have been knocked down so many times I can't begin to explain. And If I have chosen to lie on the fucking griound and not get up for a day, or a week, or a year, I don't give a shit how many todo lists anybody else thinks I should have completed by now, I am not going to get up. if I am going to smoke pot every day till I'm one hundred and fifty I shall do exaclytthat, because I know I am an amazingly loving creative and caring person, with a mightly fine attitude, and petty ideas of what I should have accomplished, or how I 'should' use my gifts, or any other shoulds can all go away.

I love my attitude.

fact is, life is pretty good. I have 'done' tons of things, mostly ski

the nasty thing about my childhood , about my life, was the enrgy of it. it keeps going like a broken record, again and again and again, moving moving moving broken horror.

again

moving moving moving horror.

the dream was like this, I am picking flowers. they are all yellow. they are pretty. something distracts my attention and I wander off the path.

then hell. my body disappears.

again and again and again.

so the path of my adulthood, for those of you who are reading this, has been facing this pattern. and ending it.

again and again and again.

and each time I rsie to face it, and embody love, and bring it into my breathe, I become more real.

No. I didn't become a doctor. I didn't get my phd. I haven't become famous, or been able to stick with the same project for long.

or

I have staid amazingly focused on one project. ending hell. I have done it this way, and that way, and another way.

and then I have done it again and again and again.

I DO want people to be proud of me I suppose. But then again, sometimes the greatest gift I have received has been somebody I love fighting me. because it has been so preferable to fight a friend I love than to feel the anihilation.

and its been working for years.