Beauty and the Beast

Throbbing in the afterglow of an intense energetic orgasm, I let it ebb gently until all that remained was warmth, bliss.  I don’t recall how long I explored the fantasy, I felt gone a long time.  I sat up carefully, my energy had been expended and I was weak.  I combed my hair with my hand, perspiration had seeped through my pores and I was sweaty all over.  I shook my head in wonder, what happened?  Of course I knew, what I didn’t understand was how imagining Aries could illicit my response.  Panic surfaced.

What did this all mean?  Was I gay?  Was I in love with Aries?  A fine time to discover all this, I was already married to my husband, Eros.  The panic grew.  There was something else…guilt.  I had crossed a line in my fantasy, and even though we were both adults, Aries was my goddaughter, what have I done? Although my fantasy didn’t consist of carnal touch, energetically it felt sexual to me.  Could I have mistaken sexual feelings for sensuality all these years in relation to Aries?  Could the electricity in my chest when I held her have been sexual energy I didn’t recognize?  My questions were mounting. I scheduled an emergency appointment with Indigo.

The next day I felt better although I was still confused and my meeting with Indigo remained a few days away. 

Aries and I had always had a connection.  Perhaps this was all I was tapping in to.  Tenaciously searching for the truth, I decided to repeat the experience, adding touch.

Lying on my sofa, I let my imagination take me back to the same fantasy.  Aries' tender expression held my gaze, the low light softened the worries of time, she was the younger beauty that left me to die in the desert.  She stepped in, her full bosom pressed firmly against me. I drew her in closer still, my hands rested securely on her petite frame.  Drawing a fine line down her chest, I felt her open.  My energy slipped into her, pulsing, licking her.  Her body responded and she let out a sigh.  Her energy held me there, pulling me into a dance.  Aries’ warm breath whispered inaudibly against my neck.  We began to sway.  I tightened my hold on her, felt her nipples harden against me.  She lifted her chin.  I felt her urgency, her need.  It poured into me, dripped languidly down the inside of my body until it pooled between my legs.  I moved my face into her.  Felt the softness of her skin; felt her nuzzle her face into mine.  I released a painful sigh, directed it to her ear.  Could you hear Aries, how it hurt me all these years to be away from you?  My lips traced her pretty jaw, searching for the moistness that hovered near.  I breathed into her, she inhaled my heat.  Our energies merged, 'give me your tongue,’ I whispered.  Aries’ full lips glistened as she parted her mouth to reveal an extension of what lay between.  ‘This is what I taste like,’ I murmured, as the tip of my tongue met hers.  All these years and it came to this.  I wanted her to want me.  In my fantasy, she did.  Aries kissed me back, achingly fulfilling a need.  I was no longer her rejected in exile.  The more she kissed me the wetter I became.  All the while our energy pulled us, moved and tied us further into binding light.  I walked her against the wall, would not let her go.  We moved into my small meditation room.  On the floor lay a soft black throw.  I placed her down gently, held my weight as I lay atop her, caressed her forehead and admired her beauty.  My Mother Mary candle cast shadows, lighting this little room it resembled a cave, small, private and warm.  I touched Aries, kissed her; absorbed all her pain.  Her face will look different when I’m through, when I've consumed her every hurt and given her all of me.  On the fantasy went until I climaxed once again, completely bathed in perspiration and with the feeling that I had really just fucked her.

Emerging from another ecstatic exercise, I knew what awaited me.  My mind, my ego, all my fears, would now wake from their uncomfortable slumber to kill all the beauty I felt.   In a few moments, all that will remain will be ugly.

Continued on Tuesday July 19^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Aries, An Intimate Fantasy

A couple of years ago, upon the urging of my best friend Isis, I went to see a therapist.  Indigo is a therapist by trade, I call her my Life Coach.  She is a friend of Isis and a wonderful woman.  The re-emergence of my art is because of her.  As a matter of fact, the dripping red heart-work on this blog and my web page was painted for her as an expression of my love.  (Sexual side note: I painted it in a state of sustained arousal - two hours, with my hands, in near darkness).

I went to see Indigo for two reasons.  First, I felt I needed help in discovering my destiny.  Second, I was having trouble controlling my blood sugar.  I’m hypo-glycemic (low blood sugar).  As a vegetarian with a slow thyroid, being diagnosed with hypoglycaemia felt like the end of the world for me, I cried.  Healthy eating by all accounts should equal a slow and steady release of sugar into the blood stream.  This wasn’t the case for me.  Not only could I not control the  effects by any means, I was gaining weight due to the imbalance and fear associated with going into a hypo-glycemic shock, which nearly happened once.  I knew there was a mind-body connection I was missing.  Indigo helped me work through it.  Within two months of weekly meetings, my sugar levels plateaued.  They’ve been normal ever since.

Indigo counselled me through my issues, she listened.  I loved the one-on-one attention and her wisdom was not only practical, it was warm and loving.

Our sessions delved into healing the sexual abuse as well as my feelings around Aries and the family.

During a session about Aries, Indigo posed the question, ‘Was it sexual for you?’  I replied, ‘No.  It was never like that.  I was her godmother, I didn’t’ even think of that.  It was sensual, but no, not sexual.’  Indigo understood.  Anyone who loves beauty can easily be taken by a movement, nearness, a trusting look in someone’s eyes.  In relation to Aries, it was all beautiful to me.  It was also intense.  The way we loved our relationship, kept it private, loved each other, all of it was held with an underlying Power.  There’s a sensual quality about knowing how the other feels, yet saying nothing, feeling it and knowing it is mutual.

The next day I thought about my session.  Indigo had asked me the sexual question and I had immediately responded.  I hadn’t thought about my relationship with Aries in a sexual way, had never asked myself.  How did I really know?  Was I supressing something?  Learning to embrace the Dark Goddess, I decided to sit inside myself, search the darkness to see what was there.  Unwilling to lie to myself, I decided to explore my feelings around Aries, in a sexual way.

Lying on my sofa, my mind drifted into imagination.  Growing up Catholic meant masturbating was bad.  Being me, I learned to get around it.  As a child, I discovered I could orgasm without physical touch (insert smile here, nothing’s changed). 

My fantasy was simple.  I would start off with the basics.  I imagined me and Aries hanging out in my apartment, alone.  Standing in my living room, the dim light cascaded around Aries, bathing her in a soft glow as she met my gaze.  I focused on her face, vulnerable, painful with the unspoken, her yellow eyes, pleading.  She moved in towards me, put her arms around my neck, freely pushing her body against mine, eagerly searching to be held. Holding her had been my favourite thing to do.  I held her in my fantasy.  I could feel the energy from her centre and her heart slowly open, surrender.  I wanted to devour her.  She knew; she could feel me too.  I imagined a line down the length of her chest, saw it open gently to reveal pure energy, hovering against my own.  Incredibly aroused, I wanted to be inside that open space, seep into it.  It belonged to me.  Our energy shyly touched.  My mouth watered at the image, felt like the tips of two tongues meeting.  I was wet.  Our energy blended, merged, pulsated.  In and out it moved, in and out it breathed.  My every essence slid and coated the inside of her body; I wanted to be her every cell, fill her completely.  Urgency can be crude, I was fucking her with my energy - she was fucking me.  It went on that way until our energy extended down, inside our bodies and back up to our chests.  Controlling my breath, this fantasy became the best orgasm I ever had. 

Then something interesting happened; panic.

Continued on Sunday July 17^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

The Energy Body

You have already forged an Energy Body.  You move energy with it.  Heaven knows how you achieved it.  Perhaps it’s your courage, or perhaps you were born with it.

Don Juan and the Power of Medicine Dreaming, by Merilyn Tunneshende

One night, stirring from sleep, I opened my eyes to see two golden feet on my mattress at the foot of my bed.  I followed the form; it was a child like me, golden - the colour of yellow chalk.  Soon I realized I was standing on the bed.  I looked to the angel, did not speak but thought I can’t be standing on my bed. If my mom catches me I’ll get in trouble. She’s probably heard me already.  The angel looked down past me.  I followed its gaze to see myself sleeping on my side.  Returning my attention to the angel, my eyes lit up…I was free.    

Uninhibited, I followed the angel through the dark. We flew down the corridor, descending each staircase purposefully. There were three.  Excitedly, I flew down past him.  When I reached the bottom I stopped to look behind me.  The chalk angel stood motionless.  He watched me from the top of the staircase which led to the basement.  Come on, let’s go.  Let’s keep going, I urged.  The being would not come.  I surveyed the murky space; the family room, laundry area, washroom and a kitchen that led to the backyard.  Looking up to the angel, I shook my head and softly informed, I don’t understand.  A thought crept in, where angels fear to tread.   Where do angels fear to tread?  How easily I went, where it did not.  What was there in the dark that I couldn’t see?  Or feel?  Or know?  I became afraid.  The angel dissipated.  I was alone.

Without warning I felt my spirit zip-cord backwards, magnetically tracing every movement I had made.  With unbelievable speed I recoiled into my body, instantly waking.

Interestingly, many victims of sexual abuse report out of body experiences. 

It was my first out of body experience, it was lucid.  All others that have followed have been cloaked.  The difference between the two for me is: if you dream yourself asleep, watch your double exit your sleeping body, it is cloaked.  Sometimes this is a knowing, you see yourself sleeping, then see yourself out.  A lucid experience feels real, you’ll swear it happened.

Cloaked experiences are common for me and I imagine for you.  Understanding your way of dreaming is important.  The mind cannot recreate the same dream twice; there is something different that perhaps you don’t notice.  If your mind is going through the effort of repeating a dream or theme, you should listen. It’s not a glitch in the system.

Once we understand our way of dreaming, ascertaining other differences becomes simple.  For example, I dream in collage; random bits of images.  If my dream has a beginning, middle and end, it’s not a dream, it’s a premonition.  I believe we’re all connected to the Universal Mind, the sub-conscious, a common energy. I don’t believe I’m unique in the way I dream.  However, we are all different.  Many symbolic meanings may be specific to us individually. 

What we gather in the world of dreaming, we bring here.  What we gather here, we take to the world of dreaming.  The reality is our mind.  All parts of it are real whether we experience those parts as perception, or with our physical body.  Ever wonder how we see in a dream?  Our eyes are shut, generally, yet we see.  We run, battle, fly, move through doors, yet we lay still in bed, generally (insert smile here for all you sleep walkers).  It’s a mystery.  I don’t believe it’s essential to discover the mystery but understanding how it moves, how we fit into it, is like standing in the ocean…it’s beautiful.  There’s so much there, the waves move into us, around us, change because of us.  We enjoy the feel, marvel at the expanse.  We move with it, our relationship is symbiotic.

There’s so much to understand, stating fact about anything other than physical death seems arrogant.  Here’s the thing…there’s a universe inside us.  It exists whether we delve into it or not. We can’t prove it, but we feel it, know it’s there.  Why not take a look inside and see?  Hey, if it’s dark don’t worry.  The stars only shine in the dark.  I’ll be with you.

Continued on Friday July 15^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Knock, knock...

As an average insomniac, it’s essential I expend energy or relax thoroughly before sleeping.  Working out coupled with a gentle read seems to work best for me.  It’s taken me years to figure out the recipe.  A hot bath at some point is ideal. 

In my parent’s home, my sister Gemini and I shared a bedroom until we were twenty-one.  I would sometimes ask her to talk me to sleep.  It wasn’t that she was boring, her voice was soothing.  Most often, however, she’d be asleep before me. 

One night, as Gemini slept, I read long into the early morning.  Sufficiently relaxed, I turned out the light, shut my eyes and prayed.  A few words into the Our Father I heard a noise outside the door a few feet away.  I perceived the sound rather than heard it.  Striking me sub-consciously, it startled me awake.

I listened.  I could hear the soft measure of my sister’s breath.  Searching the room, it appeared ordinary.  I dismissed the whole thing.  Turning over, I continued my prayer.  I wouldn’t mistake it this time, it was an audible sound.  Wind blowing.  Yes, it was the sound of wind blowing outside my door.  I sat on my elbows, cocked my left ear towards the window.  Was it windy outside?  Gemini’s calm inhales and exhales was all I heard through the uneven thump of my heart.

Was I going mad?  Fixated, I watched the door as the noise ebbed and receded into stillness.  I was tired, needed sleep.  I turned the lamp on and dropped back into bed. 

Beyond my door, Goliath wasted no time, grew louder, transformed into a howling, churning wind.  Hastily I called to Gemini, once, twice, she wouldn’t rouse. I couldn’t believe it.  Looking back to the door, I saw the knob turn.  I expected it to open. Instead, the door shook violently.  I screamed.  Seconds passed before my mother ran into the room to calm me down.   Gemini finally woke.

I explained what happened.  My mother said she couldn’t sleep with all the whispering she heard, thought it was Gemini and I talking; kept telling ‘us’ to be quiet and go to sleep.

Events like these are difficult to understand, let alone believe.

I know I run the risk of isolating you, the reader, from me, myself, with my blog entries.  That’s not my intention or want. 

I’ve been thinking about this lately.  You, the reader, honour me with your presence.  You, the reader, have generally been silent most of our journey thus far.  You, the reader, are a warrior alongside me, yes?

My experience with Aries is uncommon in that most of its power was held in a past-life connection.  See?  This is already difficult to absorb.  I throw in outside, unseen forces, pushing and pulling, and this too adds strain to our logical minds.  Mix in sexual and physical abuse and I’ve likely pushed you further away.  Here I am now adding physical manifestation of the unseen.  I’m wondering how you’re coping with all this.   

I’m wondering because now that we’ve reached the bend in the road, lying here in the dark, looking at the stars…the dreaming begins.  I’m wondering if I’ve isolated you with my experiences, my being, or if I’ve found a warrior in you who’ll dream with me.   I’m asking, inviting you to let me know.  hallelujahheartist@gmail.com (or post it).

Seriously, how are you?

Continued on Wednesday July 13^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

A Thin Veil

“Can you hear it?”  The boy whispered, his accent still perceptible at the age of twelve .  “It happens at the same time and ends here.”  He said in anticipation, his tone hushed as he stared out his bedroom window.  On the tip of their toes, his little sisters struggled for balance, clumsily gripping the window sill so they could see.

Footfalls, clear, repetitive, were heard by the boy who, as a child, spoke to the man at the window.  They were heard on the roof almost every night.  The three listened in careful silence, heard steps lightly thud above them to end at the edge of the house.  Quietly they waited for someone to fall to their death, peek in, something.  No one was there.

The fabric of our world is thin, layered, and woven into the mystery of us.  Intuition, knowing, instinct; these work collectively, effecting one purpose.  In its most basic interpretation, it is survival.  In its higher purpose, it is awareness, spiritual evolution.  Either way, it is energetic information. 

Sometimes the shroud thins and things bleed through.

Readying myself to leave my parent’s empty house, I gathered my hair-tie, exited the bathroom and made my way down stairs.  Descending the wooden steps I caught sight of something.  I nearly stepped into it.  Blood - dry blood.  How had I not seen it earlier?  I examined the spots, marvelled at their size.   The first was the size of a quarter, the second, found a few steps down, was the size of a nickel. 

My father was prone to nose bleeds.  This was likely a nose bleed and in my family's hurry to leave the house, no one had noticed the floor.  Ascending the steps I returned to the bathroom.  With a wet tissue I dissolved the blood and wiped it clean.

Later that day I questioned my family, had anyone cut a finger, had a nose bleed? They replied no, eyed me curiously and asked me why.  I told them I had found two spots of blood on the steps earlier that day.  My parents looked at each other, their faces grew pale and they were quiet.  Was it an omen, a telling, a message?   It became clear to me - it wasn’t for them to see, it was meant for me, alone.

Although the blood was on the floor, I interpreted its meaning as blood on the walls.  The message is the same, war, conflict, loss.

Goliath cut a finger, used the veil and some blood got through. 

He would try harder the next time to get his point across.

Continued on Monday July 11^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

We Are All Warriors

Forms of sexual abuse range from years of intense physical and emotional trauma to the less obvious varieties that nearly everyone has experienced: being humiliated for masturbating or for not fitting into the right gender mold, being coerced into having sex when you didn’t want it, or being told you look like a whore when you’re sixteen and just spent two hours making yourself look beautiful for a date.  The wounds may not be physical, but in this puritanical culture we are constantly wounded or abused emotionally as we grow up learning to be sexual.  Whatever the physical or emotional circumstances, sexual abuse is abuse of power.  Period.

Urban Tantra, sacred sex for the twenty-first century, Barbara Carrellas

Wanting to vomit after reading my previous blog entry, is a healthy body-response.

It’s important to me you understand my references to Power.  It is the world we move in.

I’m a light sleeper.  After writing and posting my last entry, I slept until morning without waking.  I hope those of you who read it, found comfort in some way, afterwards.  This medium is not conducive to me holding you, I would have, in my heart – I did. 

The molestation I experienced is not secret.  The sin is not mine.  Why should I carry it?  Why should I keep it?  Why should I protect his shame, so that he is free of it while it binds me down, devouring, robbing me continually of Power I would otherwise have?  Enough was taken from me, why should I take it from myself?   My life is worth more than that.  I’m worth more than that.  It is his sin.  I’m someone different.

On occasion, residual memories intercept my routine.  The good news is, scars fade.  If we allow forgiveness, this becomes our new memory, our new body.  Eventually beauty outweighs cruelty.

I learned early on – sex is Power; a disgusting thing for a child to understand, no matter the experience. 

Sex, Power, these are neutral.  The intent behind them decides love, healing or rape.  Being sexually abused has energetic implications, you become a wounded animal among the creatures of the Amazon.  Predators naturally employ their sixth sense striking quickly, unexpectedly.  One tried and I fought him off.  He was a cousin.  This is why Power is important.  It is magnetic.

Sitting on Mary’s sofa, sipping coffee, our discussion turned to the topic of sex.  I was twenty-one and a virgin.  Mary offered this advice, ‘Why don’t you just go out and have sex?  Find someone and just do it.’  Her mask was a serious expression of inquiry.  I played dumb, ’Yeah, I could do that.’  Mary supported her sound guidance, ‘Yeah, you should.’  Goliath’s bid at trickery was lame at best.  No mother with a fourteen year old girl at home would consult another young woman to go out and just ‘do it.’  Sex is Power.  Her suggestion was not nourishing.  I would have carelessly given it away, who would’ve lovingly given it back?  No one; abuse of Self, loss of Power.  

Goliath made himself known.  Mary was not my friend in heart, she was my enemy in Power. 

She still is.

Continued on Saturday  July 9^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Can't no Preacher Man Save my Soul

If the Sight be to know

Then what can it tell

Of the life of the living

And the living of hell

READER DISCRETION RECOMMENDED: This entry deals with mature subject matter.  It is violent and graphic in nature. If you are a sensitive reader, I suggest reading this with someone comforting, or forgo this entry altogether.  If you decide to read and need to stop, do so and leave this entry behind.  I Thank You any which way.

One of my earliest memories is visiting my mother in the hospital.  I was three.  My father had thrown her down the stairs.  She still bears the scars of that injury by way of a dislocated collar bone and a fractured spine.

In the darkness there are horrors.

In the darkness there are monsters.

In the darkness there was an ugly comfort in how it obscured my father’s features as he pushed his face between my legs and went down on me, or slid behind me in my twin bed and put his cock, fleshy, warm, up against me, in between my legs.

What kind of peace is Peace, when it comes in the form of relief that he’s chosen another’s bed instead of mine, another victim, instead of me?  Overcome by sleep, I’d let it be, it wasn’t me tonight; I’d roll over as he’d play out his perverse ways with another child.  Maybe he’d join me as I slept and didn’t realize, I don’t know.  I was seven.

At family gatherings he would collect me onto his lap and hold me down positioning himself so he can grind into me, or hold me down on his hard cock.  Sometimes, I stood up and pulled away while others spoke directly to him, knowing they would notice if he struggled to pull me back.

I remember one time vividly.  I went into the garage and he was there.  He told me not to go.  Took my hand and held it as he had me unzip him and pull out his cock, sometimes he’d do this himself.  He’d often have me jerk him off.  This one time though, I said no.  I turned, left and walked away.  I wondered what would happen. I was beaten regularly, would he beat me now?

Nothing happened.  It was my moment of Power.  It’s taken me a long time to deal with the guilt surrounding this pinnacle moment.  My guilt has to do with me ‘allowing’ myself to be abused thereafter.  In my mind I wasn’t seven.  In my mind I was older, stronger, and now held the power to stop it – simple refusal.  Although I’ve forgiven myself for this betrayal of Self, I continue to work through the feeling that I had whored my Power.  The very truth is I was a child.  I said no once, so what?  It couldn’t change Goliath.  He was bigger, stronger and meaner.

The sexual abuse went on for approximately two years.  The physical abuse continued a few years more.

What is evil?  This is evil.

What is Power?  It’s not this.  This is theft.  This is the rape of Power and Innocence.  This is weakness.  It is a million things evil, but it is not Power.  It is fear.

Power is beautiful, magical; it is the breath and prayer behind a miracle. It is neutral, you and I are not.

What my father took from me was almost everything.  All of it, Mine.  It was not given, it was taken.  That Power belongs to Me.

I realized a while back, for me, a man can’t heal me of this pain.  No man can return to me what I’ve never had to give him; what he clearly doesn’t have on his own, he most certainly could never give back.  For me, healing is in the form of a woman.  Not any woman, the right woman.  It must be given, not served.  It must be beautiful, not ugly.  It must be loving, not hateful.  It must be surrender, not control. 

Traditional Tantric practices regard healing as surrendering my pain, trusting man enough to allow him into me.  While this may work for some, I feel an essential component is still missing; the original feminine.  No…it is not about him…it is about Me.  It is my Power to decide.  It is my Power to choose what Healing I need.  To this, I answer to no one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bj5k0KQHt2Q

Continued on Thursday July 7^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

I am given to Love

Night has fallen.  The wind stirs branches to frenzy; they crash and scramble to hide within each other’s arms.  It smells like rain.  The thunder rolls in, the lighting speaks, I am taken in embrace by its words, its poetry.  With an angry burst the rain descends, pounding through frightened leaves to hit the ground, a sudden glory.

I’m not given to pain today.  I’m tired, reflective, introverted.  For the last two nights I’ve either cried in my sleep or have been releasing some undigested hurt.  Sharp little inhales prevail and I struggle to take full breaths.  I feel as though I’ve been crying and I don’t know why.

Right now, I’m given to love.

I’m given to the passionate dance of the storm; to the enticing seduction of its rhythm.  I inhale its fragrance, truth in the air, wet grass and nourished earth.  This is bliss.  This is when I feel most at home.  This is the storm in the night.  It is who I am and who I become.  If you listen you will feel, you will understand.  You will know what anger lies beneath, what fluid pain finds release, what love there is to make.  Take it from me for I bow at your feet; wet and naked in the Garden of Eden.

Surrender.

The nectar of surrender tastes sweet in this place.  A single flame glows, hypnotically tracing curves.  Soft curves, quiet curves, gentle caresses and yes; the rain is falling, the thunder still rolling and the leaves are making love.

Everything cracks during a storm.  A part of me dissolves yet I am stronger.  Leave me out in the rain during a storm and there is a good chance I’ll be electrocuted.  Yet near it, near it I am all the wind carries and more.

I am the sadness and the loneliness of the sky as the rain falls.  I am the utter failure, the empty warrior, dead inside and still alive on the cold wet earth.  In this storm, I am the mystic who’s lost her way, beckoned forward with each damp step by some unknown being pulling me along.

In this summer storm, it is me who is.  There is no accurate way to describe who you are but this rain, this storm, this scent, it is me.

My body is expelling its cry.  A slight judder has surfaced as I write this.  Is there a healing somewhere in these words?  I don’t know.  Is there a healing somewhere in your arms?  Maybe.

The fire of the flame, it breathes.  Notice its way of being, it expands and contracts in and out, in and out, sensual in its movement.  I would pass my hand across your forehead, your face, by this little light.  I would stare into your eyes, searching for the reflection of your soul, already in me.  By this little flame, we would make love and tremble until we are both healed. 

Flashes of lightning would reveal our very essence as one.   We would cry, my love, some part of us retrieved.  We would weep, silently if need be, in embrace, I would hold you upon my breast.  Yes, let me hold you above my heart.  Let its rhythm assure you it is I who loves you this night.

Continued on Tuesday July 5^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

It Came Undone

The nineties were confusing.  Not for me, but the decade itself.  The cultural scene was tripping; Ginas, Ginos, Rappers, Preps, Rockers, Nerds, and those kids with the skateboards who didn’t fit in anywhere, they were Alternative. Fashion took a down turn.  Coming off of the Eighties, that’s saying something.  Kris Kross started a trend still evident today. Though wearing shirts in reverse never took off, wearing baggy jeans down low did. 

Balloons were still tasteful at parties like Ana’s Sweet Sixteen.  Typical in its grandiose way, the scent of shrimp, chicken, beef and potatoes seduced the air around us.  Crammed with people, the party was loud, social and fun.  This is where I met Ana’s cousin, Nico.

At fourteen, Nico was two years my junior. He was tall, dark and handsome.  His looks easily masked his Portuguese ethnicity. With innumerable interests in common, he and I spent the night talking.   

The following Monday Ana told me Nico had a crush on me.  Although flattered, I wasn’t interested in Nico in that way.

Two summers later the social talk was prom.  I didn’t want a date, I didn’t need one - I wasn’t going.  As the day inched closer I decided I felt like dancing and changed my mind.  Immediately Ana asked, ‘Why don’t you go with Nico?  He still likes you.’  Nico was fun, sure, why not? 

Two years later Nico and I began dating.  I told Mary and the family.  Aries wrote me a note.  She felt hurt by the situation but reasoned herself through to feeling happy for me.  She was afraid I wouldn’t have time for her.  Of course I would.  I’d stop the earth’s rotation for her.  Giving up time with Mary, David and Aries was not an option, whether Nico liked it or not.  Mary was interested in meeting him so I brought him around.  He got along with everyone.  He knew how important Aries was to me so he paid her special mind, it made her happy, it made me happy.

Romantic and pleasing, Nico took me out to dinner for our four-month anniversary. He told me he loved me. 

A week later, sitting in a booth at a Pizza Hut with Ana and my sister, I told them I ended my relationship with Nico.  I know; it seems like a ‘black-widow’ thing to do.  How could I dump the guy who’s just told me he loved me?  What’s worse?  He had been in love with me not for four months, but four years.  I’m not heartless.  It was a difficult thing to do and just as difficult to retell.  The truth was, in the time Nico and I dated my feelings for him never developed past friendship, I had to end it.

Four years later, confused and sad about Aries and the family, I called Nico and invited him out for a coffee.  Kind to accept my invitation, he listened attentively to my story.  His calm demeanour and soft brown eyes were comforting.  Bringing his coffee to his lips, he paused and asked, ‘Well you know how the rumour got to your mother, don’t you?’ His steady gaze fixed on me.  ‘No.’ I replied, now curious at a looming theory.  He took a sip, placed his drink down and said, ‘My mom told her.’

What?  This made no sense. ‘How did your mom know about the rumour?’ It was all very fantastic to me.  I was intrigued.  Nico watched me, confidently, he stated, ‘I told her.’

When I ended my relationship with Nico, he went to the people he knew I was closest to, looking for advice; Goliath.  Dick took this opportunity to expand his notions.  Nico went home, told his mother what Dick had said, his mother told mine, and four years later a letter was issued by someone privy to the information.

Without seeking, I found. 

The loose string, now pulled, unravelled the knit blanket with its many holes that was Mary and her family.  Warm at first, it could never withstand the pull of truth, or a cold night.

Goliath's formless ways would chase me in the world-between.

Are you still walking with me?  There’s a bend up the road, night has fallen, it’s about to get dark. 

Any questions?

Continued on Sunday July 3^rd   2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist