Kissing

I know this title sounds totally weird for me. But that's life. that's who/where I am right now. I've been thinking about what you can tell about a man by how he kisses. Perhaps if I'd paid attention to kisses a long time ago, I wouldn't be where I am now. Perhaps if I pay attention to kisses in the future, (If I ever get that luxury again.) I won't make the same mistakes again. There are many different kinds of kissers in this world. There are men who stand straight, with their heads straight. When you approach them, you have to turn your head. They do not move to meet you half way. This kind of kisser will wear you out. You're the one who is always accommodating. There's no giving up his agenda. Then there's the man who opens his mouth and presents a gaping hole for you to stick your tongue in. These men do the same as the stick straight guys. They give you nothing to work with. there's no greeting your tongue with theirs. There's no movement of the lips to welcome yours. These men just fill space. They don't know how to give. They don't pay attention to you or change their lives to give to you. Your purpose in their lives is to take care of them. Then there are the men who know how to kiss. They turn their head half way to meet you. they make love to your lips with their lips. they know how to play with your tongue with theirs. I wonder if you could use the old concept of, "All I ever needed to know I learned in kindergarten." or whatever that book is. It's basic sharing, giving and taking turns. Haven't kissed too many guys like this. Maybe that's the problem with my life. The ones who know how to give and take are, as they say, "gay or married." Of course if I ask my married women friends what their husbands kiss like, I will probably find they aren't too satisfied. I've heard the "girl talk." I'm evidently not missing much. You guys maybe need to take some lessons. Too bad there isn't a "Kissing 101" course out their. Of course I haven't been on the other end of this. Maybe you guys think that we women need some lessons, too. Who knows? Maybe I'm a lousy kisser. All I can say it that I'm going to use kissing as a gauge for future reference. At least, if I ever get another chance. Dating! What a strange concept after all these years!

One more time

Attempting to go to arbitration tomorrow morning. That's where my almost ex and I get to try to agree on our divorce settlement. He of course "forgot," until I reminded him tonight. Maybe he'll show up. Maybe he won't. It's a strange thing to consider, this settling of accounts, so to speak. Another step toward the end that I want. Another step toward the end that I regret. Mixed feelings seem to be my main mode of functioning these days. It's hard to end 20 years of trying, even though the relationship ended a while ago. It's hard to say, "It's over. I've failed. I tried but I failed. It's time to move on." The preacher today spoke about doing hard things just because God tells us to do them. I kept wondering, "Is this what God wants me to do?" And I had to answer, "Yes." There's a difference, though, between doing God's bidding and doing the lesser of two evils. I think this is a case of "doing the lesser of two evils." It would be great if I felt that God was calling me into something new. Instead it's just leaving something behind. Leaving a part of me, a part of my life in the past. Where am I going? I have no clue. I only know from where I come. Maybe that's enough for now. Maybe not.

Worrying about friends

Isn't it amazing when you're feeling down that it feels like no one cares? And yet when a friend is hurting, all you can think about is how he/she is doing. I hope I remember this night when I am feeling alone.

Birthday blessings

My son has a birthday today. This is a son who's had some major difficulties with his emotions. We've been through hell and back with him, and are never quite sure if we'll be reentering hell at any moment. I've invited his father to eat birthday dinner with us. We have the tradition of saying "eyes open" grace before meals, so we're holding hands and looking at each other. X says as he looks at E, "Thank you God for E living to be 16, and hope he lives another year." I'm thinking what a terrible blessing! So I chime in, "Yea God for E! Thanks for bringing him into our lives. Help him to have a really happy year." And my youngest says, "And help him to not get shot." "What did you say that for?" "Because Dad said he was glad he lived this long and hopes he lives another year." "would you please stop talking about death when we're celebrating E's life?" E responds, "Mom, you're being ridiculous."

What the h#** kind of father says something like that to his son??? I come from the faith tradition that the father is supposed to offer a blessing to the sons. It's supposed to be a "blessing!" Not a stupid, "so glad you survived!" And you know if his tone had actually sounded like he was glad, it might have been a celebratory thing to say. No... Even then, it would be inappropriate at the dinner table with a friend and the whole family!

I am amazed and angry that he would be so thoughtlessly mean. And to think that my son accuses me of being ridiculous! God save us all!

Need your faith stories

When I went to church today, all sorts of things went wrong. It was like something strange was in the air, infecting everyone. I won't go into details, but let me say that with all my questioning of God's existence, I saw God at work. Some amazing things happened! I think God inspired a whole lot of people to do some profound ministry! There in lies my dilemma. Why do I see God at work in the church (sometimes), but not in my personal life? Why do I feel inspired when I need to teach something, but hear nothing when I'm praying for guidance in my personal life?

Here's what I need from you, if you don't mind. Send me your faith stories. Don't tell me some theological jargon about what people should and shouldn't believe. Tell me your experience of God. Do you feel that God guides you? Do you feel that God is absent from personal involvement? What do you experience, and from your experience, what do you believe? If you'll put these in the "comments,"that would really be helpful to me and to others. I don't give this address out to people so there are few of you to comment, but if you would I would be eternally grateful!!!

I never knew his name

Another story from G-town.

If you drive along the highway leading into town you just might see him. He's really pretty scary looking. Like an ancient man, stepping through time. A long coat that hung down almost to the ankles, an old canvas bag hung over his back. Black boots, old and worn stick out below the hem of his pants and coat. Long black curly hair that doesn't appear to be ever combed or cut, although it doesn't appear to be very dirty. A beard as long and unkept as the head, hangs to the stomach. And across his shoulder is his rifle. The first time I saw him, I was quite intimidated. But then I began to notice him regularly walking along the road to town.

Once a week? Or once a month? I can't remember how often, he hiked down the highway about 5 miles into town. This was one of our most famous "hermits." He lived somewhere out on the mountains, in an old shack, is what I heard. He'd hike to town, buy some supplies, and hike back home. I never heard him speak. Never encountered him in the stores, just saw him walking to and from. He was just there. A part of the fabric of G-town. More of a picture than a resident.
Yet he was part of us. In a rugged lumber town, he was respected for being, "rugged." In G-town you won points with the population based on your ruggedness. I knew an 85 year old woman who lived without electric or water for a week after a storm and never told anyone. These were some tough people!

Anyway, I never knew this hermit's name. Never saw him up close. Just watched him hike into and out of town.

One day the fire department got a call to his house. It had completely burned down with the hermit in it. I always wonder about him, and think, "One day he was someone's baby." One day, I hope he was loved, but doubt it. What makes a man want to hide from everyone? What happens to someone between being born and becomng a hermit? Another unravelling of the fabric of G-town.

When expectations don't match reality

You know that saying, "Insanity is repeating the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?" By that definition I guess you could call what I was doing in my marriage, in my faith and probably a lot of other areas, "insane." I hate to admit that. What I'm learning is that I haven't wanted to keep repeating ineffective habits. I just didn't know what else to do. The truth is, my expectations of life didn't match reality. My senses gave me information which was contrary to my expectations. Instead of seeing this conflicting information, I kept trying to impose my expectations on the world. I didn't/don't allow my experience of the world to inform my decisions. A simple and painful example of this was when I was assaulted on a job interview. My brain just couldn't accept the reality of the situation. "Interviewers don't do this. Interviewers who are members of my church don't do this! It can't be happening!" My brain kept screaming. And so I froze. I coudn't accept reality, and therefore denied it, so I wasn't able to respond.

Flash forward many years and I find myself in the same situation, having repeated the same process throughout my marriage. Don Miguel Ruiz says in The Four Agreements that we have been "domesticated," with rules for our lives since birth, and those rules create a false dream world. What we do is based on that dream world, rather than the real world. He believes that most people live in their own dream world. How others treat us has nothing to do with us. It has to do with their own dream world.

In my marriage, I lived in a dream world which did not match the reality of my husband's and my relationship. Instead of responding to what was really happening, I kept trying to make my marriage into what my dream world expected. I couldn't see reality, only my dream. I therefore kept trying to make my life into the dream. I kept thinking, "If I just do this.. it will be better." "I shouldnt expect so much from my spouse. You can't expect your spouse to change." "Marriage is hard. You just have to keep trying harder." And so I kept trying to be satisfied with what I had. Blamed myself with my dissatisfaction. Kept trying harder and harder to be "the good wife." The thing is, I could never try hard enough. I could not ever be happy. I kept beating myself up with guilt for not being who I dreamed I was supposed to be in order to live in the dream of my marriage. In the end, I regret those years. I regret my blindness. I regret beating myself and my husband up (not literally!) for not fitting the dream. Meanwhile he kept living his own dream which didn't match mine, and never will. He was frustrated with me and I was frustrated with him. All because we couldn't see reality. I'm still not seeing clearly, but am at least aware that I am not. As I look on it now, I see that if I could have seen reality, I could have made other choices. Perhaps I would have ended my marriage sooner. There were probably many other options that I never thought of, because I couldn't see clearly. I kept thinking there were only two options. Divorce and be a miserable single mom, or stay in a most unfulfilling marriage.

I heard Jimmy Carter talk about peace negotiations with the Carter Center (I forget the official name, now). He said that most people think there are only two choices. "Either I get my way or you get your way." Carter said that he works to find a way where everyone gets what they need. It doesn't have to be. "My way or your way." And when we think of compromise, we usually think that means both people don't get what they want. Real compromise is when both people win, both get what they need.

So where does that leave me now? I have regrets, but I'm trying to "see clearly." I'm trying to move forward and make choices based on reality, not my rule imposed dream world. I keep making mistakes, but at least I'm learning from them. It looks like it will take a long time to learn to "see clearly," and make good choices, but I am determined. I am grateful that I have made some choices and taken some actions to change my life for the better.

Dave

Another story from G-town

G-town was in one of those remote areas where people migrate to escape from people. You can live up on the mountain, and no one bothers you. There is a strong belief that everyone who lives there has a right to live the way they want, and no one else has the right to tell them how to live.

Dave lived somewhere up on a mountain near town. I never knew where exactly. Dave was a transplant from a town in New York. His claim to fame was that he was a playwright, although not one that you would have heard of. I don't know if he ever wrote anything that was actually performed. He considered himself a bit of a celebrity in town, however. Hung out at the new gas station/restaurant, talking louder than anyone else about his exploits as a playwright. One day a friend of mine introduced me when I saw her there having coffee. Susie was a chain smoker, and she and her husband would sit for hours in the gas station/restaurant, drinking coffee, chain smoking, and talking to whomever walked in. In a small town, you know everyone who walks in, if you've lived there long enough.

Dave, it seemed, had an eye for women. He decided that I was worth flirting with, so he proceeded to tell me his life story in grand form. Lots of innuendos about affairs and parties to see if I'd react strongly. It seemed to me that from that first meeting on, Dave was always at the gas station/restaurant whenever I stopped in. I was beginning to think he lived there. Perhaps he did for awhile. He always guilted me into sitting down for a visit. (Why did I fall for such guilt trips?) Eventually, I heard through some other people that Dave had a reputation for finding various ways to attract attention from the women. One day the meter reader came to his house, and her greeted here naked! That's the story that's told, anyway.

Dave was fascinated by Susan's and my involvement in the church. And he was most interested in flirting with me. I could swear he sat all day in the restaurant, just waiting to flirt with me. This was a 300 lb, older man, who always wore his shirts unbuttoned half way to his navel, and his clothes looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks! He was so sure he was sexy, and I could think of nothing more repulsive! So what did I do? I invited him to church!

Sure enough, one day Dave shows up for church... at the end of worship. He saunters into the sanctuary at 11:40 (worship started at 11:00), he walks to a pew down front, and throws himself into it with a loud creak and a sigh! This 300 lb man makes a big noise when he throws himself into a 100 year old pew! The whole congregation froze, like they had seen a ghost. They didn't know how to react! How do you react when the man who brags about his various affairs and drunken orgies shows up in worship? What do you do? Ask him to leave? Of course not. Welcome him? Of course. He not only came once, but several Sundays in a row! When do you ask him to arrive at 11 a.m., when worship starts? When do you ask him not to be so disruptive because he wants to flirt with a person in the church? When does he finally get the idea that you're not interested? It was very interesting in this small congregation of 35 attendees, watching the interaction between me and Dave. No one wanted to be rude, of course. It must have been the topic of all the gossip in town for months!

Finally, I grew braver than I had been for a long time. After worship, I walked up to Dave and said with a big old smile, "We're so glad you've come to church again!... You know it would be really helpful if you'd come somewhere around 11 when worship starts, and not make this much of a disruption when you arrive." "What do you mean?" he asks. "I mean, please don't make so much noise when you come in. It disrupts worship." Of course that was the last day that Dave was in worship. I heard he ran out of money from his one and only sale of a play, and had to move "downstate." All I know is that he quit sitting in the gas station/restaurant and he quit coming to worship. I never saw him around town, so he must have moved. Do I regret confronting him? Not really. Did I miss him? Not really. Many months after he was gone, though, I realized he was part of the fabric of G-town. He made life interesting. Then I did miss him.

It's a beautiful day

What a great day! The sun is bright and the temperature cool! What a great day for a walk in the park, or a road trip to nowhere! I'm storing this day in my memory for future winter ones, or perhaps I'll take it out and use it when the sun beats down and it's over 90. What a glorious day! My soul automatically says, "Thank you, God." Then I'm reminded that I'm not sure who to thank and that makes me sad. Oh well. It's too beautiful of a day to worry about the big questions. It's the perfect day to just "be!" I think I'll go lie in the hammock, enjoy the sun, and appreciate the life that is ours together on this earth.

A hole in my soul

I'm still playing with this, so bear with me.


There's a hole in my soul...

where love and intimacy are supposed to live.

A broken sign dangles from one end on the proverbial rusty chain,

"Danger - Abandoned Building."


There's a "black hole" in my soul

where love and intimacy are supposed to overflow.

You can't fill it.

God won't fill it.

All my joy was sucked in...

and disappeared.


There's a hole in my sole...

where love and intimacy are supposed to roam.

Raw skin oozes from the underside of blisters,

worn by too many unprotected miles.


There's a hole that aches in my soul.

A hole that I didn't know existed...

like one of those abandoned coal mine tunnels,

winding around empty, under a town.

The street above looks quite normal with homes, yards and lives.

A family lived in one of those homes... until recently.

They worked and played and seemed to love each other there.

The lilacs and roses bloomed in the side yard,

the dog chased a Frisbee up the back hill.

One day the supports of that mine tunnel gave way.

the gaping hole beneath the home facade opened up to swallow their mirage.

The bedrock of love didn't exist.


There's a hole that aches in my soul.

Election night

It's an exciting night in the US! I'm thrilled that Obama is doing so well! Yea!!! We're going to have an intelligent person leading our nation again! A democrat in the presidency again! A brown man in the white house! It's about time! Sometimes I think Americans are pretty intelligent, but then on election years the general public terrifies me. There are so many paranoid rumors flying around because too many people are stupid enough to believe them. We have yet to have a person of color or a woman in the white house while countries with terrible human rights records for women have had women presidents. Most of the world is not white, and yet we have managed to maintain white control. In our last election we decided to elect a total *%% because he smiles so nicely and calls himself a Christian, even though nothing he does represents Jesus' view point. What is wrong with us that we cling to ignorance and paranoia, rather than seeking knowledge and truth? At least tonight it looks like we can celebrate that intelligence is winning!


As I write this, I'm also tired of the commentaries on every burp in the process. It'll be nice to hear the summary.

The Dance

Went dancing last week. I've been thinking about, and reliving that ever since. What is it about dancing that is so wonderful? What's not to like? (Unless you don't like your partner) I had the joy of dancing with men I care about so it was wonderful to be close, snuggling in to the body of another, becoming part of him. I love moving in unison with another, striving to move as one. It's interesting that in intercourse, we gain excitement by moving in opposition. In dancing, the whole goal is to move together. A friend of mine from years ago, who also was an amazing dancer, said that the man's role in dancing is to show off his partner. No matter how good or bad his partner is, the man's role is to show the beauty of his partner. I think dancing is learning to read another's mind, move with another body, with another soul... seeking to read the slightest movement and respond in flowing, flawless unison. Dancing is being with another person so much that you can anticipate what your partner's next move will be. It's experiencing the magic of human touch, the seduction of unison movement. At this point in my life, those moments of dance are like a "slice of heaven."

Children

My children are still angry because I made their father move out. They are eager to forgive his horrible treatment of them for years. They do not understand that half of my reason for making their father leave was to protect them. I hope that soon they will forgive me for trying to protect them. Somehow, I think they will.

Trusting the tradition

After spending last week on retreat with a group of people of faith, and after worship today, I am sorting through what it means to just trust the tradition and rely on the faith of others. Last week we shared communion around the dinner table. I closed my eyes and just listened as over and over, various voices said, "The body of Christ, given for you." "The bread of heaven." "The cup of salvation." "The blood of Christ, shed for you." As I recall the voices, I feel the presence of those loved ones passing the bread and cup, and offering Christ to each other. Do I dare say that I feel the presence of God? Maybe. Maybe not. But I feel something real, something strong... faith in God that I don't have... love for God that I don't have. I am steeped in a tradition that does not blow with my moods, or my doubt. It carries on. And maybe it carries me along with it. What a blessing to hear from my loved ones, "It's okay. I've been where you are. We'll believe for you. " I keep trying to sort out my beliefs as I experience life, and right now, what I have believed isn't matching my experience. But maybe that is okay for now because I have a rich tradition and people who love God and me.

Today in worship, we celebrated an anniversary of the church. As I listened to the bagpipe, the trumpet and the voices of faith, I thought. "We have a heritage that isn't threatened by my individual doubt. We have centuries of people struggling to understand God in light of the life they experience. We have centuries of people putting their struggles and their faith into words. Words of prayers, words of songs, words of affirmation." I will continue my faith struggle, but for now I am comforted that my struggle is within my tradition. And that tradition is stronger than I. For this I am grateful.

The love of good friends

I spent a week with friends, and it was so refreshing. These are the kind of friends with whom you can be real. You can say what you think and feel. You can be honest about who you are, and they will still love you…I think. That’s the problem with unconditional love, it seems so untrustworthy. Who gives unconditional love? Who gets unconditional love? In our world, that honestly doesn’t totally happen. Even with family. There’s a part of us that says, “I’ll love him/her no matter what.” But we all have limits. In the back of our minds there’s always a condition. For me, my conditions aren’t based on what a person does morally, but who a person is, personality-wise. This group is funny. They’ve been together for almost 30 years, so they are sure of their love for the other old-timers. But what about us newer members? And what about the fact that there are certain people in the group who annoy the hell out of me? I haven’t known them long enough or liked them enough to love them unconditionally. You know, I’ve always believed I could love people unconditionally, but there are certain conditions that have to be there for me to care enough about a person to love them unconditionally. For instance, there’s a person in this group who annoys me to death. He dominates every conversation and you can’t get a word in. He doesn’t ever listen to anybody else, just talks incessantly every time I’ve been in an unstructured conversation. I can’t love him unconditionally. And so when they tell me that the group loves unconditionally, I have to question that. For one thing there are only certain people that are allowed in the group. So what happens if I do something that would be on the elimination list of behaviors? Do I not get invited back? Is my position secure once I’ve been in the group a few years? How many years? Where’s the line?

I guess I write about this, not because I fear for my ability to belong to the group, but to recognize that if there is a god who loves unconditionally, humans aren’t really capable of that broadness of character. We can’t love absolutely unconditionally. Or maybe it’s just that I can’t. And so there’s always a question. “What’s the condition of my acceptance? Does God really love unconditionally?” And of course I have to say that if God’s answering prayer is a sign of that love, then it doesn’t exist for me. After all these hours of prayer, still I get nothing.