A Bid for Power

Exchanging notes with Aries was an intimate experience.  Although everyone knew we wrote letters no one knew what was in them.  I realize now that this small act of openness and privacy drew us further into each other.  I kept all the letters she wrote me.  I sent them back to her three years ago.  There was one letter in particular that she wrote that I miss.  We assigned ourselves the goal of writing down our feelings for each other.  Poetry is a fluid expression for me.  It’s layered with meanings both real and symbolic; much can be said with so few words it almost feels like touch.  Writing - no poetry, just plain words, transparency.  It scared me.  I don’t recall what I wrote but it doesn’t matter, what I wrote about her that one time, I wrote in my heart every day.  I read this one letter so often that taping the creases was the only way to preserve it.  If she were to handle that letter today she would note not just the tape but the diluted ink where my tears had fallen.

One day, entering their home, I made my way to the kitchen where Mary was cleaning up. She told me that Aries was upstairs waiting for me, I should go see her.  I said I wanted to be with her instead, for a while.  Mary said no and told me to go upstairs.  This was the moment our dynamic shifted.  I felt witness to something menacing, disdain with laugher muffled beneath some façade of normalcy.  It told me I no longer had a friend but an enemy.  Mary gifted me to Aries, a favour perhaps, an exchange?  If she felt she had no power over the bond Aries and I shared, this was the moment she summoned it back.  Goliath’s face was twisting with power into a smile or scowl – it didn’t’ matter, neither were good.

I made my way upstairs.

In the sanctity of the dim bedroom we left their world behind.  Here, an embryonic bliss held us.  Their troubles couldn’t penetrate this place and none could rip out the chord.

I sat on the floor

Against the wall

Knees up

And listened

You sat on your bed

Kept your head

Down

Avoiding any glances my way

You spoke

Gently

Quietly

Evenly

About so and so

And all of ‘them’

You felt overlooked

Unnoticed

I straightened up

Wondered

If you were serious

                   If this was for real

Did you truly feel -?

                   Could you believe so little of yourself?

I didn’t understand

                   You fiddled with your hands

Mesmerized by your fingers

As though they were the only thing to see

How could you agree

That you weren’t worthy of notice?

I kept still and listened

To the silence

You had stopped speaking

And I began

Seeking

For something to say

I got up from the floor

Moved away from your door

And in toward you

Closer still

So you could hear

My words

Not just words

                   But the truth

‘You don’t need to worry about them’

I spoke

You lifted your eyes and held my gaze

‘How can you not know how beautiful you are?’

My head was a in a maze

As I struggled to make you understand

‘Don’t you know?’

The look on your face was painfully beautiful

With its sad grace - it told me…no

I continued

‘I’m serious.  You have to understand

How truly bland

they are…compared to…

...no one is like you.’

You stood without a word

Opened your arms

And placed them tenderly around my neck

You silently cried

I held you

And sighed

                   Felt your tears

                            Warm on my skin

How could you not know?

That you steal the show

Every time

Was it a crime?

That I noticed

Continued on Monday June 13^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

The Magic Mirror Gate

Falkor: I knew he would be safe

Engywook:

Nonsense!  You don’t understand anything! 

The worst one is coming up.

Next is the Magic Mirror gate.

Atreyu has to face his true self.

Falkor: So what?  That won’t be too hard for him.

Engywook:

Oh!  That’s what everyone thinks. 

But kind people find they are cruel, brave men discover that they are cowards. 

Confronted with their true selves most men run away screaming!

The Never Ending Story

Before continuing, I want to invite you to post your questions, comments, poetry, anything meaningful to you.  Feel free.

I have a friend who after reading my introduction blog wondered why I was so tortured.  Tortured, that’s a bonus when you’re an artist, isn’t it?  He thought that perhaps my pain stemmed from loving Aries more than my husband.  For me, there is no more than, only different, but of course it’s tempered by other factors and the strength of a bond can change.  My love is connected to the person and because we’re all unique, no one is replaceable.  Could I love another woman?  Yes, the right one.  Connection of any kind is difficult to find.  It requires openness, surrender, and of course, it must be mutual.  My relationship with Aries fulfilled a part of me that was core.  A source of my pain is the loss of her.

Why tell this story now?  Although this story has been a part of me for many years and I have expelled it in various ways, it has never felt free until now.  Goliath needs to die, all of him. 

At the beginning of this year I found myself in a situation that was new to me.  I met this young person who interested me, I was drawn to her.  I could feel her and she felt good to me.  To be honest, she felt better than good to me.  Unbeknownst to her, she triggered in me unresolved feelings of all kinds.  Unexpectedly, I was battling fears, rejection and control issues.  Add the fact that I was sexually attracted to her and that was it, I was a mess.  My conflict didn’t arise from my feelings of want, which excited me.  They arose from pain that was attached to that want.  Here I was, older and sexually attracted to someone barely in her twenties.  Sexually abused as a child, I carry in me self-judgement about who is okay to love, even as a friend.  You see, I’m part of Goliath's own hand. 

                                        

‘… his existence threatens my Love’s ability to Be without shame, hurt, or definition.’

I couldn’t help notice the similarities between Aries and this young woman:  both of them are younger than me by several years; both of them captured my attention; one of them I loved - the other I could love.  Both of them rejected me and both of them ceased contact with me with no real explanation or questions asked.

I was painfully aware of lines when I was with Aries.  Although we’re well adults now and we no longer have a godmother/goddaughter relationship, part of me feels real pain even imagining physically loving her.  I shake my head: no, I can’t.  I could never hurt her like that.  As if my love could not be pure.  As if my love was ugly.  As if I was evil.

No one wants to be a monster and doubt creeps in; maybe it’s in the blood?  What if I’m a monster too and I don’t know it?  These fears devour Self-Love, Self-Worth, and ultimately, Freedom to Be.  And here was this young lady drawing lines, holding up a mirror, and a piece of me wonders if I really am a monster and if this is what she saw.

“Darkness forges the soul into a diamond by burning the dross away, leaving only that which is immortal.  Heaven is reached by going through the hell of your own shadow.”

The Power of Shakti, 18 Pathways to Ignite the Energy of the Divine Woman

Padma Aon Prakasha

Continued on Saturday June 11^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

For Every Action There is an Equal and Opposite Reaction

Not quite a year into the friendship with Aries, I had a meaningful dream: 

I was a boy of six or seven lying in a large wooden bed, I was sick and dying.  The room was dim and the furniture wooden.  An old woman sat in the shadows on a chair by the door.  I knew the old woman was Aries.  A gentle, penetrating energy emanated from her.  She has never left this room, she has never left me.  This feeling was immediate and overwhelmingly beautiful.  Devotion - pure devotion.  To my right a bright light emerged.  The angel of death was here and I wasn’t ready to go, I started to cry.  Leaving the boy I became an observer.  The form that emerged wasn’t the angel of death, but a woman, her face a radiant light.  In awe of her presence I fell willingly to my knees; Eve, the first woman, Mother Mary.  Facing the old woman she said, ‘he will not die, he has good work to do’ and disappeared.  Completely well, the boy left his bed and ran past us both.

This entry is not about religion or any belief system that we use to cope through life.  The impact of the dream is the essence here.  I promised myself I would never leave her…she has never left me.

The next pinnacle moment in our relationship was when Aries asked me to be her godmother (Confirmation).  During these first two years as a family confidante, I noticed that although there were blood cousins and other relatives floating around, they were never truly included in significant events.  I know Aries asked me because she loved me, but when I looked to Mary in surprise, her eyes betrayed a thought and I heard it say, ‘this will be good for everyone.’

Being Aries’ godmother only resulted in a tighter bond.  Add up the little things that foster a relationship and suddenly, somehow, you can’t live happily without her.  Suddenly you’re irritated if you haven’t had contact with her, suddenly you’d follow her into hades if she dared go that way. 

Both Aries and I never found a need to define our connection.  She would call me her love and I knew she meant it.  She was my love too.

Let’s clarify something very important here.  Our relationship was never sexual, nor did that ever cross our minds.  It certainly never crossed mine.  The relationship was, however, sensual.  Our ideas of beauty were the same.  Love, pain, luxury, simplicity and everything we couldn’t name; her head on my lap as we watched T.V., a hug without explanaition or words, and just being in the same room with each other..

Our dynamic was perceptible.  Random people, cashiers at the check-out, and family friends would all enquire.  When given the chance they’d scrutinize: those two are extremely close, they laugh a lot, and now, they’re upstairs in her room with the door shut. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

As Aries and I fell ever into our own world, an opposing energy began to manifest, gaining momentum.  My own family hated the fact that I was frequently at Mary’s.  I would often arrive home to see my father drunk and enraged, simply because he was a drunk.  I have always been his target, it’s no secret, and this situation was fuel to his engulfing fire. Before reaching the stair case I would find him standing inches away from me, fist tightened, he’d pull it back as though it were a bow.  He’d repeat this over and over again.  I never moved.  He wanted to pound me.  He'd get close, scrape his knuckles against my jaw, but he could never penetrate some unseen force between me and his madness.  Until you’ve danced with the devil, you’re never really sure if angels exist.  Goliath was growing.

Continued on Thursday June 9^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

The Last Shall Be First – The First Shall Be Last

/You own me with whispers like poetry/

/Your mouth is a melody that I’ve memorized/

/So sweet, I hear it echo/

/Everywhere I go day and night/

‘Tip of My Tongue’

The Civil Wars

Mary had a husband (more about him later) and two children.  At the time Aries was twelve and (King) David was ten.  Mary herself was thirteen years my senior, barely old enough to be my mother. Being twenty, I fit in somewhere as best friend – daughter and big sister.  Although I hadn’t been looking for a surrogate home, but having been born into a dysfunctional family myself, I recognized and respected their kindness.  Slowly, I relaxed into the quiet comfort of their family.   

                                                      

My relationship with the kids emerged as I interacted with them during dinners when I was coaxed into staying a while longer.  Several months later Mary would comment, ‘You know, the kids look up to you.’ 

‘Really? Why?’  It seemed ridiculous to me.  Looking up to someone - me of all people?  Confused, I set out to understand by giving them my attention.

(King) David was a good-looking kid. His yellowy-green eyes were piercing; his hair, fair and thick, curled loosely and wildly into itself resembling my vision of what King David might’ve looked like.   He was funny, sensitive and energetic. I saw myself in his nature.  We both liked Metallica, hockey, and generally, we didn’t understand the paradigm of those around us.  David is my godson.

About Aries…

Her ochre eyes

         Bore the scars of love

Lady fingers

That wound their soul

Around my neck

Golden hair she would comb straight

Rested mid-way down her back

A petite frame that would crack

And rage into fire

          Until it rained

          And she remained

Simmering

In my arms

We’d sway to some song

Until the fire died

In the silence of this love

Nothing could hide

(Not even fear)

She was my goddaughter.

Sensitive and much too intimate with the crucibles of life for someone so young, Aries was not easily fooled.  Passionate about her emotions she guarded them with an iron door, no one unworthy could get in. All these years later, I wonder if she thinks me the Trojan horse who thundered into her heart and destroyed it with a thousand swords.  She was private and her secret heart was just that, a secret.  Aries would script its contents in a journal I had no knowledge of. That journal would later be used by Goliath as a weapon; a virgin – made a harlot - in a profane war.

In the shadows of night, some whispers are heard.  She replays them in her mind; hushed voices, muffled voices.  Someone’s being scolded.

Aries

Carries

With her a secret heart

Full of worry

A jury

Who would judge all her love

                             All her pain

Call her name

And accuse her of loving another

A woman?  Perhaps

And don’t you know

                             They said

She’s here every night

That’s not right

She’s not blood

So keep your lips tight

And your pretty eyes

On me

Remember Aries

                            She’s not family

Continued on Tuesday June 7^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

‘Tip of My Tongue’, The Civil Wars

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=773Z-HvrA4A

A Reluctant Warrior - The Beginning

(Due to privacy – some names have been changed)

A HymSappho

For if now she flees, quickly she shall follow

And if she spurns gifts, soon shall she offer them

Yea, if she knows not love, soon shall she feel it

        Even reluctant.

 

Taken from an Easter card given to me by Mary:

‘You are the sunshine and the bright light this family holds dear.  You are a part of us and we love you...a friend and a ray of sunshine...please don’t ever forget we are always here for you, no matter what.  I am so grateful that you are our friend.  And as always there are still no words to tell you how I feel.  We love you.  Mary and the Family’

Making friends comes easily to me, it always has. Up to the age of twelve we moved roughly every two years, usually two blocks over from the previous address and within the same neighbourhood in Little Italy.  Every new move meant a new best friend.  I would always be the one who was approached.  Often the type of girl who’d punch me in the stomach when we met, would protectively become my closest ally.  What I wish to establish with this beginning is that although I’m friendly, I’m an introvert.  It’s rare for me to actively seek friendship outside circumstance.  It’s only ever happened twice; once eight years ago and once at the start of this year.

When late in my teens I decided to go to a vocational school because University and College just weren’t for me, I was simply hoping to learn quietly and remain unnoticed. Reluctantly, I made a friend named Marianne. 

For several months Marianne and I would observe a lively group of misfits light-heartedly harass the teacher,  generally making themselves known to the class.  There was one person in the group who would watch us.  I’d catch her looking at me and she wouldn’t even turn her eyes away.  There was something about her I understood, or perhaps, recognized.  I’ve recorded it more accurately in one of my poems, “…and what is it that one sees in the eyes of another of the same?  Recognition?  Fear?  Admiration?  Or just simply the thought arises – yes, there goes another one.’  Yes - the same.  There was something that was inherently the same in both of us and we recognized this in the other.  I wasn’t drawn to her, instead I understood some un-nameable quality about her.

When Marianne graduated and left the picture, this new person, Mary, befriended me.  Mary was a pretty, curvy petite with a solid frame to her; strong and fit.  She had a great smile and when she laughed the light brown in her eyes would recede to reveal a lovely hazel colour; a metaphor for the veil she wore, I would later learn.  

Mary hosted a little fitness group; crazy manic people who actually enjoyed scissor-jumping jacks and torturous side-abdominal crunches.  They call this madness ‘high impact aerobics’ and ‘exercise.’   With all this fun I’m sure Mary was confused as to why I said no to her many invitations to participate.  She wouldn’t give up asking me and eventually I gave in.   I sometimes wonder what would have become of those several years of my life had I never joined her group. Would my battle still have played out but on a different field?

By now you have probably deduced that this story is about my relationship with Mary.  It’s not.  It’s about my relationship with her daughter, Aries. 

Having Lilith positioned in Capricorn in my natal chart, Astrologer Sanja Peric correctly identifies something core about my nature and experience in love:

‘These people are very tied up by the past and usually have an undefined but emotionally strong love relationship in their youth that blocks their future.’ 

That’s what this story is about - strong undefined love that could not find its centre when the power of Goliath came to tear it apart.  Hallelujah Heartist is my endeavour to destroy Goliath because his existence threatens my Love’s ability to Be without shame, hurt, or definition.   Every step I take in battle against him I tell myself, ‘Hit the head and the body will follow.’

 

Learn more about Lilith at:

http://www.sanjaperic.com/2009/02/22/all-about-lilith/

Continued on Sunday June 5^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

An Introduction

An Introduction to this blog - so this is how I feel:

People don’t want you to know who they are.

People want you to love their pretences and their cloaks.  We’re not allowed to call this to attention in any way, shape or form or we’ll get our asses kicked out of their lives. I should know - it’s happened to me.  These people enjoy who they are, they enjoy their restrictive self-image and you’re not allowed in.  These very same people want love.  They want to be loved but they’re unwilling to allow you to know who they really are.  Is this you?  Is this me?  Yes, perhaps, to some degree.

We’ll seek but we won’t find love because what we’re searching for, we aren’t willing to digest anyway.  Loving and being loved requires honesty in one’s self.  Can you love yourself?  Can you receive?  Can you give?  We either take too much or give nothing at all.  Newsflash: If we are unable to receive, then what have we to give?  If we cannot love ourselves then what of love have we to offer?

Love takes courage.  It is a battle worthy of the most tenacious and sincerest of warriors.  Yes, the path to a pure heart is tough but most of us are on this path.  We’re willing to wear our hearts on our sleeves if it means a chance to kiss bliss for however long it lasts.

The Hallelujah song by Leonard Cohen is my expression of this journey thus far.

‘She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your crown and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.’  What does this mean to me?  If we are unwilling or unable to surrender, to break our self-importance and how we define ourselves; if we are unable to destroy ego and fear to be completely bare in who we are, then maybe love is not for us. It’s a harsh thing to say, but who are we otherwise?

We reject people when they get too close to our core, to the real person behind the smoke and mirrors.  This blog is primarily for those of us who have been stepped on over and over again on our journey through life in our path to love.  This blog is for those of us in pain at being rejected while we’ve been our true selves.  Not much more exists that is emotionally as painful as this, being left to feel insignificant, unimportant and alone.  We’re never in control when we seek a kindred spirit.  We’re never in control when we seek out love…we’re in constant surrender. Others, some others don’t care who they hurt.  Maybe they don’t realize they’ve hurt us or perhaps they hurt themselves, their private minds a personal hell of self-hate.  To me, this is truly a sad thing.  No one should hate themselves, it’s unnecessary, generally.  So, willingly or unwillingly these people keep themselves separate from you – from us.  Caught in the reflection of a situation such as this, you and I become past-times, acquaintances and generally, a nobody; nobody but somebody in pain.  Somebody who hurts; somebody who feels with their entire being that no one understands.  You are my heroes, my heroines, my lovers, my kings and my queens.  You are my Warriors of Love, in Love.

This blog site is for you.  Post your pain.  Post your sadness.  Post your poetry, your song, your artwork.  Love is a Hallelujah and we’ll taste it.  For now, get it out.  Get it all out and let the battle make you a better artist, musician, poet, writer; a better Self, because yes, we’re best being who we are.

If you’re reading this and you’ve pushed someone away with no answers given, or hurt someone – and we all have (sometimes just by being ourselves) – you have a voice here, I want to hear from you. 

Warriors, please keep in mind this site is intended as a safe place.  Here lives no judgment, no punishment and the only pain here is what’s coming out, not going in.  Respect each other’s opinions and thoughts.  Respect each other’s hurt, whatever type of victim you are.  We’ve all been victims – all of us.  I’m not better than you and you aren’t better than me.  We are equal in our battle.  We are equal in our quest.  We are equal in Love.  You can be who you are sans classifications here.   I, myself, am genderless in my love so I have difficulty understanding why people and society impose descriptions.  You may have already guessed that I dislike labels.  Feel open to express who you love without judgement of self or others.  This site is for your heartache, respect it, express it, and let it go.

The topic of this blog I hope is somewhat clear, but this is a fluid experience and so I hope it goes where it needs to go (and that you’ll come with me).  A major aspect of this blog is ‘Story.’  I have a story to tell – so do you.  For me, it has been expressed in personal journal entries, poems and in fiction (as a way to cloak the non-fiction).  The next blog entry will begin my story in Love with its many curves and caresses.  This particular part of my life began when I was twenty with a meaningful experience, a meeting.  I thought a year and a half ago I finally finished dealing with the emotional aftermath of battle, but now I find myself in a similar-enough situation that has triggered residual feelings and fears which has me questioning if history is repeating itself to some degree.  This story needs an audience, it needs to finally manifest itself on Earth, burn up and fall in ashes.

I understand there’s a great chance no one will be reading this…that’s okay.   The story still needs to be told.  It doesn’t change the story and it doesn’t change me.  The next blog date is Friday June 3^rd, 2011. 

I hope you’ll join me.

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist