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So. I've been on two dates in the last week.
One guy, when I met him... walked up to me and said that my eyes could heal a person's soul, just by looking at them. I was tempted to say: "Now, that's I line I've never heard before...", but he genuinely meant it. So, I smiled and blushed. We talked for hours...
Two days later, we had breakfast at a greasy spoon, and chatted forever. We enjoyed each other's company immensely. We talked about how much we love to listen to music, what kinds of music we liked... we talked about how people constantly get misunderstood and mistaken for something they are not... we talked about movies we'd seen, about hot sauces we liked, about his nephew, about my family, about how nice it was to meet each other in a bar where everyone was so unreal...how nice it was that we had not met at my work, even when he knows three of my coworkers and has occasionally been in there.
We talked about food. We talked about life. We talked about Hindu philosophy... okay... I talked about that, he listened. He told me how happy he was to have such a close-knit family.
He's a carpenter who was out of work, but just got hired with a new contractor. He is sweet, he's cute... he has these sexy dreadlocks, and a beautiful smile. His heart is golden. But he made me nervous when he said that he bet on the horseraces and won $5,000 which bought him a new truck. I was worried...
Yes, it's a good thing that happened to him, but I am not young and naive anymore, and I wonder... is he gambling with his life like I am figuratively? Could we actually have something together?
The other guy, told me that I was beautiful when I met him. He asked where my accent was from, where I went to school, if I had ever traveled, what my degree was in... how old I was, right off the bat...the whole nine yards.
For some stupid reason, I went on a date with him too... He wanted to meet at some upscale restaurant right around the corner from me. We met there, but he sat at the back bar, the ice bar, glued to the game, with his back to the door, so that he couldn't see me if I walked in... already cocky and cocksure.
I didn't see him because I didn't recognize his back to me... so I walked around the bar twice, and three or four men snapped their heads and two said: "That is a really beautiful dress you have on." I smiled wide and politely said thank you for the compliment.
Finally I found him at the back bar. He seemed mildly annoyed at me because I was fifteen minutes late, even though I had called to tell him I would be, and that I was sorry I would be...
He grudgingly and very slowly stood to greet me, glancing back at the game once. At the time, I didn't notice that he never once complimented me on my dress or hair, or even said: "You look very nice tonight." You see, I don't expect it. I just enjoy it when it happens... but maybe I should expect it, because those kinds of social inanities are the politeness that keeps relationships together when the honeymoon is over, and everything else has gone wrong. They are the anchor for a ship slipping out of the harbor, and maybe I need those things more than I realize.
Maybe, all these years, I should have been paying more attention to what people said.
So, that night, I listened and I watched. I watched as he got distracted by every woman that walked by... I listened as he asked me more and more questions designed to find out about how much I knew of wine culture and how much I had traveled, whether I knew how to ski... if I was, basically, his 'kind'.
Obviously, I didn't know enough. I didn't pass the test. I'm a hippie, not a yuppie. Though I have tried. I don't want to anymore...
Oddly enough, maybe just to get some ass, he continued with his line of questioning, trying to make me suggest that we go to the places he had mentioned earlier. Trying to make me beg him to take me somewhere. I refused. I waited for him to offer. I am old-fashioned. I am a woman, not a girl.
Then, all of a sudden, he looked at me and asked me about the subtle, and barely visible scar on my right eyebrow... he asked where it was from... then he looked at my hands. I felt like a racehorse being sized up for purchase. I felt like I was at work.
I waited a few moments, said something pointless, and then excused myself to go to the ladies' room. I sashayed past tables, and saw a few heads turn. The lady in the bathroom talking on the phone asked me what was wrong. She smoothed the static from my hair, told me to go back out and sit down next to him with a huge smile on my face, and run my fingers through my long hair while I told him that I had to leave. She said: "When you get up to leave walk slowly, don't let him rush you out, and make your exit proudly."
He wanted to leave too. Pretty and nice wasn't good enough for him. I had to be from his set. And I am not.
I ran into friends then, and went to say hello. Not really close friends, for I do keep to myself alot, but friends nonetheless. I chatted for a moment, and then excused myself to stand beside my date while he exchanged pleasantries with the waitress.
As we said goodbye, he promptly turned and ran into the wall. Sad, but true. I did manage to be polite enough not to laugh, but I enjoyed watching him crack his hip on the wall, nonetheless.
And then, as if for good measure, and to drive the point home, that I have personality traits that aren't nice... when I turned away with a smug smile on my face, I ran into an old lady. I apologized, and whispered that I was just in a hurry to get away.
To get away from this man who did not appreciate me. All night, he couldn't be bothered to pull out a chair, open a door, give a compliment. The only thing I got from him was criticism.
So here are two potential hypothetical scenarios:
One guy, poor as a churchmouse almost, and struggling to make ends meet like I am now, since the bottom has dropped out of our business; but who is good and kind and sweet. He doesn't always take care of his health the way he should, but then I never used to either... maybe, we'd be good for each other, because we've already each cried on each other's shoulders over the phone on two seperate occasions. Good man. But poor.
Another guy, rich beyond belief, and living the jet-set life I tried to aspire to so much for a while, but who is more of a snob than even I. Who has not a chivalrous bone in his body, who, wonder of wonders, comes from a culture where women are either playthings or workhorses... and imagine this: he actually fits the stereotype, unlike quite a few men from his culture that I've met. Selfish man. But rich.
And guess who I want to talk to again? The good man. Even if he might have a gambling problem. His heart is good, he's funny... he makes me laugh. He loves being alive. If I were to marry someone like him, we'd probably be poor... but my feet would be rubbed every night. My head held while I vomited with the flu, and he'd probably spoon with me and tell me how much he loved me, even when I'd been a bitch.
I don't think I need to waste any more time explaining what would happen if I were somehow able to win the rich, selfish man's heart. It' wouldn't last... and I'd be a toy tossed on the trash heap in probably less than a week.
I don't want to be somebody's toy... I want to be somebody's goddess. Actually, I want to be someone else's goddess in particular. Someone whom no one else has ever been able to hold a candle to... someone who has ruined me for everyone else. Someone who still loves me very much, but is deathly afraid of my Bipolar illness. I want him to trust me. And I want him to be up to the task of me treating him like a god as well. I want someone who wants to be loved, not someone who wants to be hated.
I found that guy, but he is so afraid of my craziness, so unsure that THC is the answer... and so, I am still looking... for Mr. Right Now. I'm looking to settle. I'm not sure if the first guy is him... but I know that the second guy was not.
I want to end by saying that one of my friends from work was dating a rich boy, whose parents supported him, and yet she let him make her work to pay his bills. He got off on it. Then she met this cute, poor boy, who is a stripper too, and they fell in love. Their wedding brought tears to everyone's eyes. Both families embraced each other as if it was always meant to be. They struggle daily to make ends meet, but each one of them gets up each day wondering what they can do that day for the person they love... just to make them smile. Like the story of the husband who sold his watch to buy a barrette for his wife's long beautiful hair, while his wife sold her hair to buy him a watchchain for his watch. Except, that story was bittersweet, and theirs is just sweet. Would that we all could have that too.
Will wishing make it so? :)
My mind is made up...not like my bed, which is a mess.
This post was edited by rosyxxx on May 13, 2005.
*smiling* Now I know why you have been on my mind since last night....
I just had to find the right door in the hall.
The soul speaketh truth though the garment that clothe the skin
tries to disguise the fire and it's color.
Yellow for the appetite
green for the wandering soul weary from the concrete shoes
blue for water and it's wages
violet for honor and heirship
orange for crushed petals of the poppy field when we have pressed our weight against them
brown for life's mud and what it can peel from us
black for a warrior who's heart is hidden
white for cleansing of the interior of what it is that we say we want...it is the mirror that shows us the end of the road...
and red...yes red that ignites and holds through the years and dances around and through the colors before it...it will not settle, nor should it, it is not the nature of red fire...red fire is liquid and alive, but cannot be tamed..only partaken of.....
It is so easy to speak, and so painful to listen...I sometimes believe we must let the wine of time age us enough to be able to begin to listen, and keep our heart from becomming vinegar when woundings pass through us.
Wine when made the bath for beef makes it plyable and pleasant to our tounge.
Wine when touched by fish becomes particular in what it wants, and says so against the tounge.
Wine fades the sharp edges, but has no name that it appreciates, only the dance it does with the tounge.
And makes sleep sweet unless we love it too much, and then it makes sour our head and painful our gaze into the morning light.
It can, in a word be either a gentle thing or a mean thing, depending on how deep our appite is....
The herb is life giving, and pain easing, and able to still the racing mind and the aimlessness that screams sometimes...
it is warrior that has been labled a villian by the fear of a man who spread his venom so long ago...
he did not listen or understand, but let his eyes, filled as they were with jealousy, beat the warrior into the ground...
we still dance with it and laugh in secret at what we know...
I'm sure this sounds very cryptic, but sometimes when I need to say something there are no words other than what flows from my fingers that make any sense to what is being spoken to...
You have been on my mind since last night, and for what ever reason, I have been unable to find rest from thoes thoughts.
I wish sometimes I could speak in colors and the sound of the wind and the feel of earth, in short I wish I knew the ancient languages, the ones that were spoken and then lost through the years, the ones that take only one or two words to say what was needed to be said...
anyway...now I understand after reading your post...
All the colors that translate into sound... all the sounds that translate into objects. Everything that vibrates with life, like a synesthetic orchestra...full of life, and the knowledge that comes so fleetingly. We are one. We are many. We are.
And we should laugh at ourselves more than we do. We are funny in a happy kind of way, and in a sad kind of way, too...
Each sensation has it's own music.
The stones, the phantom crystals that hum with song... that hum the way a Tibetan bowl hums, that you feel with your soul, when the outer ear has lost the vibe. I often forget these are enough... these are what matters. This, now, is what is important. Not the past, not the future. But I forget. Constantly. Constantly. The forgetting is constant, as is the hum.
And sometimes I forget again that words don't always need to be spoken out loud. You can think them, and if the right people are listening, they will hear with the inner ear. I am so glad that you have that, my sister; though I am sure sometimes that you might wish that you did not. It isn't easy having that burden. You hear so much that you don't want to hear...
Dissonance that can easily overwhelm the harmony if it is focused upon... if it isn't turned over and then let go...
But right now, I hear the sound of you smiling. I feel you humming happily in my hand, like a piece of rose quartz. Like the song: Sweetly We Touched...our palms across a distance of thousands of light years. My hand is pressed against the pixels on the screen. I've wished for more, but this is enough. You are my soul sister, and every time my heart is in pain, you come down there with me; therefore, I will try not to drag you down there like I have been. I've wished that someone would understand.
Thank you. Wishing for that, it is so... :)
My mind is made up...not like my bed, which is a mess.
This post was edited by rosyxxx on May 15, 2005.
This is the 15th of may. New in it's place and what we do, partcipate in and leave traces of will imprint and then the day will pass.
This day. None other like it in all of time.
I'm glad for the presence of you in my life. I have learned that sometimes we get gifts and thoes gifts are in the shape of humans.
The gifts we get, it would seem, to do the life's work we are called to are not for us, but for the bennefit of all man kind, for the greatest good and designed to help and heal and sometimes, if we are so blessed, to be able to uncover part of the trail, sometimes it looks like a dirt washout instead of a trail.
But I suspect that more often than not we are only given for today what we need to use to enable us to walk as we need to.
I can feel your presence, and it's good. There are times when I am convinced that I have been left to the edge of the world, quite alone, and then I am reminded that there are people who are the gifts given to me, so I'm not alone.
It's funny but my sister who just reciently came to this house for something she felt she needed to do, said that I could change that feeling of being alone.
I don't think she understood what I ment when I said I feel alone.
She wasn't listening to me, she was telling me what she felt she needed to, she had no desire to be here, but came because our dad and her guides told her to.
My other sister said that she misunderstood why she was sent her, and I'm mixed as to how I feel.
I'm so greatful for the delayed reaction gift that gets turned on when some people show up in my life.
It protects me from being laid out like a side of beef waiting for the butchers knife.
After she left, about a half hour infact, what she did, not so much what she said, but what she did while she was here, hit like a gale force wind storm.
I was a mess clear through the next day.
I was in so much pain that all I wanted to do was blow my brains all over the walls.
There have been times where the pain is so violently loud inside from things that come and beseige me, that all I want to do is escape.
And there have been times when all I wanted to do was check out permanetly.
But this had to be at the top of the heap of thoes times.
I've never quite felt that kind of searing pain, either on a physical or emotional level before.
Greatfully, one of my family here suggested I get drunk, and since I'm a lightweight when it comes to drinking, as I very rarely drink, I took him up on the suggestion.
I wept and got obnoxious and then beat the pain out on my life drum.
Another gift that is precious to me. It is decorated now with my life circle.
By the following night the residue of her visit was still rumbling around and it hit me, tomorrow is a brand new day.
Each day is brand new.
We don't have to drag yesterday into tomorrow with us.
I woke up in a good mood yesterday.
Yes, this morning I am smiling. At peace. I am greatful that you are in my life, and yes it is enough.
My dreams over the last month have been so vivid and real that they wake me up.
They make no sense, but even that doesn't matter right now.
All that matters is that right now, here I am greatful for the sky that is blue this morning, and the sun dancing above, and all the beauty that this place holds.
And I greatful for the gifts of people in my life that serve to remind me, that this alone place on the edge of the world is not so alone after all.
Shall I tell you what you resemble here at the edge of the world?
You are a garden of flowers here, some have thorns, as some flowers do, but it is the nature of protection that thoes thorns exist.
And in that garden there are flowers that hang in the breeze who's sent is carried on the wind and has the drawing to the weary.
Some who have come to the garden have come with greedy eyes, and have taken and trampled tender shoots.
There are seeds of weeds that have come up through the earth carried into the garden by passers by.
Some came with the intent of owning the garden, but who can own the earth, who can own the sky, and who can own the soul of the garden? None but the garden itself.
The hard places in the garden are there and are just as important as the places that bear much, thoes places are there to teach and to learn from so that the garden can grow.
As hard things come, many times our first reaction is to lash out in anger or to feel that we have been given more than we can bare, and we feel that the justice of the universe has become injustice.
But it hasn't.
Every work of our lives that is in progress deals with our heart.
Pain sometimes is a part of that work, and in reality it doesn't matter who the person is that was or is the tool that brought it.
All that matters is that it has the potential to be a way to deeper growth and a bigger life.
That's the hindsight we get and that is a gift too.
So in this place where I live, at the edge of the world where travelers come in pain or dancing with death, I have been allowed the privelage of sharing in a beautiful garden, that is you, and I am greatful.
May 16, 2005 05:47 # 36021
A toast: to the garden at the end of the world. May the water of our tears fall on the hard ground like rain, and new buds spring up. Better yet, may I send you a virtual bud, Bud?
Do me a favor though... don't plant any potatoes in the garden... I seem to have an odd aversion to 'spuds'. I'm not Irish, so I don't know why that is... hmmm.
Anyway, I see you as the mistress of the house tending her garden in the night. Your chalice and your blade are the watering can, and the garden hose.
I see a field of daisies out beyond the edge of the world. Daisies that laugh and chuckle. I hear the wind rustling the petals, and I know that it is my sister's voice. We traveled to the edge of the world, while the demons born of Narayana's ear went to the center, where the lotus has already finished blooming. It's petals are the scattered writings of everyone who fights against the entropic forces.
And yet, even though destruction may come... that was not the point. Was it? The point was to learn to love, and if in learning to love, one has to poke fun to do so... then so be it.
Fuck the motherfuckers if they can't take a joke. I say: Gay Buddhas for Subway. Goodbye to the yellow arches and the french fries...
Hello, rose petal salad.
Btw, I just finished eating a three-cheese Quesadilla from a box, and am planning on having the last two pieces of orange and cinnamon-flavored chocolate in the fridge. The Swiss Toblerone we ate last night.
I've been on this chocolate kick lately. It's better than beer. Chocolate makes me feel sexy. Wouldn't you like to feel sexy too?
Seriously, things are going pretty swell. I hurt my back a few days ago... I pulled the erector spinae muscles on the right side of my spinal column in the thoracic region... but two friends have been kind enough to massage it.
My Saraswati statue finally came in the mail, and I put in an order for Kali. I didn't like the statue where she was holding a skull in her left hand... so I ordered the one where she is dancing. The singing bowls are getting richer and richer in their tones, and my girlfriend has invited me to Africa to work in something like the Peace Core. We'll see how everything goes in the next couple of months.
I still crochet, and am working on a baby blanket for my hairdresser. I'm thinking of getting a spiral perm.
My mind is made up...not like my bed, which is a mess.
This post was edited by rosyxxx on May 16, 2005.
May 16, 2005 14:38 # 36033
Hmmm..intersting turn of events...
Is the door to that offer hot or cold? Yes it will be intersting to see what the next couple of months bring.
The statue with the skull, life and death, in all the different facets.
The bones being the foundation striped of all that would hide what it is.
The eyes, as it were, significant to sight, both natural and hidden sight.
Possiblities that need condiseration.
The frame where the nose goes is open and barren, waiting for the tendons and muscles that work to give us direction.
And the teeth, used for disecting food so the body can be nourished...
Chocolate, mmmmmmmmmmmmm....very sweet, and a very regeal history...what a great view...
a wandering sojourner stepping through a door in the mist, and what treasures lay waiting to be discovered.
I don't think the first statue was a mistake...
I suspect maybe it was something that would stir a different view.
The inital reaction being something of what is associated with a skull, but from a different place...the bones hold dna,
and that it is the head, the seat of reason, thought, a cradle if you will, that holds the brain, and all thought comes to that place.
The peniel gland which at one point was much larger, as was the skull, is in the place where the third eye is...
I wonder if that's why hindu women put a dot there.
As if to call back what was lost or to strive to get there again.
An empty skull talks to me of possiblities, not death, although it speaks of endings, and memories, and history, and clues.
Of all of the body, the bones are the last to go back to dust.
If the bone is broken the body is hindered.
just a few thoughts...
I like the view of the garden...
I don't feel exactly capable of being a mastergardener...just one who wanders and ponders and observes...
This post was edited by harold_maude on May 16, 2005.