Archives for the month of: July, 2013

It’s been a week since my last post. It’s been a rather long, strange week since my last post. Sometimes simply terrifically serene, other times stressful and anxiety-filled on a level that became some sort of unpleasant emotional dessert. That’s ‘dessert’ with two of the letter ‘s’, not ‘desert’ with only one, meaning to say that at some points the stress and anxiety rose to a level of elaborate internal torment so subtle, well-crafted, and painful as to be extraordinary to the point of transcending what it was and becoming almost iconic and representational of something far more archetypical – ‘fancy’, as it were. (Not pleasant or tasty, however, not in the least. ) This has been a week of peculiarly personal time with myself, endlessly interrupted and repeatedly derailed by the incessant demands of real life.  I’ve felt on the edge of some sort of really important epiphany or understanding of …something… that I can’t quite ever achieve because the trash needs to go out, or the plants need water, or ‘please pick up milk on your way back…?’, or answering just one quick question, or to take a look at something (it’ll only take a second), or what was that thing I meant to do… I very much want to blame everything outside of myself for it… It wouldn’t be quite ‘fair’ to do that, though, it seems to me, since it is the predictable byproduct of wanting to please, wanting to meet the needs of loved ones, and not really much wanting to deal with the chaos and wreckage at all… so, the anger directed outward, unreasonable, directed inward, damaging.  I drift; lost, and frustrated, and feeling ‘unable to finish a thought’.

...finding time to finish a thought isn't always easy...

…finding time to finish a thought isn’t always easy…

I woke this morning … feeling disgruntled and discontent. Aggravated ahead of any aggravating stimulus, and wishing to be in a different place, time, and headspace.  I’m fortunate to have a real ‘force of nature’ in the department of emotional support and perspective, in the person of my dear partner…up with me at dawn more often than I expect, and equipped with the will to ensure his love for me is felt and not merely imagined, and the experience not to get sucked into my personal hell; with his help and affection the morning is not wasted, not a loss, not even bad, actually. I feel my challenges, but today they are not calling the shots.  🙂

I feel like I have ‘too much to do’ and that I am struggling to keep track of it all.  It is an illusion brought on by a desire to complete something else entirely – that unfinished thought I am trying so very hard to avoid thinking, I suppose. Hormones?  Could be. I feel angry in the background.

Words...failing me.

Words…failing me.

Today the thought of ‘mindfulness’, or at least the feel of the word in my consciousness, has me feeling testy and cross. The demons have taken up arms and the fight is now to the finish. Success for me may mean their doom…we all know it. Now, our uneasy truce is open warfare, and I am fighting for my life. I will use guerrilla warfare, if I must – and attack them with mindful actions, if blocking mindful meditation is their current strategy.  So, today: gardening, laundry, the small tasks of modern domesticity that build a chill experience for the week to come.

Still…I want so much to solve the current puzzle, learn the lesson, complete the thought… I am at a place where it is becoming necessary to have a conversation with myself.  That 20-something woman I once was, and the woman of 50 I am now don’t exactly see eye to eye on a number of issues. Somehow, she has taken the side of my demon forces, and she’s making it damned difficult to sift through the wreckage and heal, and build order from chaos. We clearly need to talk. She screams at me in my nightmares that there is no forgiveness possible, that there is no honor in healing, that I have no right to be happy, to become whole…to abandon her…and the pain.  She is trapped in another time, and has only her limited perspective, and her pain – she does not heal, or grow. She wants vengeance, she wants a voice… I can not give her vengeance, and I do not know how to give her a voice; we do not agree about a number of things.

My voice...if I choose to use it.

My voice…if I choose to use it.

Well. Sunday quietly beckons, offering respite from the chaos and warfare within through labor and service to life and love. Is it enough?

Injustice, hate, simple rudeness and inconsiderate behavior… Today the world is not a pretty picture…until and unless I turn my camera’s eye toward the beauty of a summer day.

I don’t have the words to convince anyone, and for now I am satisfied to see for myself.

Every day is a new experience. Will your choices change your experience, and the experience of others, for the better? All others?

image

Choose wisely; the quality of your experience depends on it. 😉

Well, maybe, maybe not…’sexy’ is pretty subjective. Interesting concept, too; part emotion, part aesthetic, part visceral response to…someone. Sex is a big deal for a primate. I guess maybe a few people get The Sex Thing figured out pretty easily. I thought I had. I mean, The Sex Thing has always been a subject worthy of considerable contemplation (and practice), and I’ve long wondered why we don’t take it all so much more (and less) seriously. We don’t expect nuclear physicists to wake up when they turn 18 and suddenly know what is unknown, or expect educators to be born fully formed and possessing all the known information of the universe to pass on to the youth of the next generation, or expect needed knowledge or skills to be magically in our possession without taking the steps to learn them, refine them, enhance them – and share them with others. Somehow, someone somewhere got the dumb-ass idea that sex doesn’t require – or warrant – study and education and skill building. lol.  I’m still – after giving the matter approximately 39 years of contemplation – I’m still entirely bemused that as a culture we can be so incredibly short-sighted, and yeah…just not very bright, to think for a moment that sex doesn’t rate the same serious study and pursuit of knowledge that any other meaningful endeavor in life is expected to require.

Oh…maybe sex isn’t ‘meaningful’? Yeah, we can stop there. All I need, personally, to ‘prove’ the meaningful quality, the value, the importance of sex is a moment to observe the huge amount of human bandwidth that goes into getting sex, having sex, stopping other people from having sex, regulating sex, talking about sex, thinking about sex, writing about sex, video taping sex, measuring things that are relevant to sex, cataloging practices and achievements that have to do with sex someone, somewhere, is having – real or imagined. There are multiple industries that support our appetite for sex, and our sometime desire to stop ourselves from craving or pursuing some particular detail that really does it for us as individuals. If sex weren’t meaningful, we would have no need to enact laws that regulate or govern it, or our freedom to have it, or our restrictions from having it – and we sure wouldn’t be spending any of our limited mortal hours speaking in envious, or horrified, tones about the sex someone else is having.  So sure, meaningful, obviously.

Sacred? Could be…but to whom? Why? What quality about it? Does one person’s sexual take on life, the world, and ‘everything’ have any real relevance to anyone else’s? Does what we know, think we know, or once thought we knew about sex have any permanence? Mores change. Taboos change. “Normal” isn’t any more ‘real’ than the thinking that defines it.

Honestly, it’s on my mind a lot lately – sex. The whole thing; how it feels, what it means to me, what I like, what I need…and mindfulness.  The March Toward Menopause continues, slower than I’d like, but perhaps I need the time? I’m not the same woman I was at 18. I understand the world differently. I understand myself differently. Even sex is different…and I haven’t ‘figured it all out’, yet. (We’re all adults here, right? Can we talk about this?) The mindfulness practices I am learning are so helpful in so many areas of life – my overall stress level day in and day out is much lower, and I feel more comfortable living my life and enjoying my experience…and I am still struggling to figure out how to apply ‘mindfulness’ to sex. Seriously.  So far, most of my experience applying mindfulness to sex, or attempting to, results more often than not in an intensely ‘self-conscious’ experience, with far more awareness of small points of physical discomfort, concern about my partner’s experience in the moment, and ‘performance anxiety’. I’m pretty sure that last one is a pretty huge indicator that I’m not making best use of the potential in mindfulness, at least where sex is concerned. lol  Fuck, at least I’m still laughing about it. I like sex too much not to keep trying…but I do tend to be a bit on the ‘think-y’ side…so of course, I go looking for any available resource. What do I find?

A quick Google search for “Mindfulness and Sex” returns more than 5 million hits, and the first two pages include links to some excellent articles…and I’ve read them, each and every one. Hell, I took notes. I did further reading on relevant topics. It hit me today… it isn’t that mindfulness ‘isn’t working’ for me, where sex is concerned. 😦  It is working…and I am becoming aware that some of my experience includes feelings of anxiety, of performance pressure, of physical discomfort, of subtle moments of resentment or anger when things don’t go quite as hoped, and of simple self-consciousness and concern about the small details that matter, and my partner’s experience.  Mindfulness isn’t broken because my experience isn’t universally simple, easy, and ecstatic – it is working quite nicely – because my experience isn’t actually simple, easy, or a matter of getting from arousal to ecstasy quickly and without complications. It isn’t reasonable to expect it to be, is it? Sexual trauma survivor…going through menopause? Right, looking at it in print, it seems pretty silly to have expectations of sex that could be filmed in a single take, with the history I have. lol.

It’s looking like ‘dealing with my shit’ is going to include a whole new understanding of my sexual self…I’d like to embrace that as an adventure, an opportunity…no, no that’s not quite true. I’d like it not to be on my agenda at all. Seriously? How do I even start? What are the ground rules? Why can’t I just ‘take a class’ at the local community college? Why didn’t my education prepare me for this?

Well…I haven’t figured everything out, but it is still a lovely summer day. 😀

Lovely pink flowers on a summer day.

Lovely pink flowers on a summer day.

Let me get what is true and obvious out of the way, first, as an effort to find clarity; it is a lovely summer Saturday, sunny and mild.

"Sheer Bliss", and a breezy, sunny Saturday.

“Sheer Bliss”, and a breezy, sunny Saturday.

It is also pretty disappointing as Saturdays go, at least for now. If it just sucked from the moment I woke, I think it would be less bothersome that it sucks right now. Unfortunately for my present mood, the morning was lovely, and I developed expectations of how great a day it could turn out to be. It fell apart unexpectedly, largely due to the vagaries of the human primate experience in the close quarters of self-imposed captivity, hemmed in by walls and windows and expectations and needs. Because I’m not very comfortable with dealing with my own anger – or frustration or disappointment – with some sort of genuinely adult skill and graciousness, I’ve ended up being more than a little discontent in general, disconnected, and finding little pleasure things I could be doing instead; they entirely lack any satisfaction or enjoyment for me just  now. That’s enough to render the moment complete suckage, for the time being. Very human, and very reflective of a lifetime of following the lead of my emotions as if they were a powerful current with irresistible pull.

I am returning to my ‘now’ again and again, taking a breath, and putting ‘things’ on pause to feel the moment, hoping to find some small pleasure or delight in it. I mean, seriously? For fuck’s sake – there are easily a million people in the world right now without enough to eat, without a safe haven from a storm, or respite from war, or a secure home to live in, or affordable medical care, or the simple decency of being accepted by their community…all I’ve got to bitch about is that my Saturday isn’t as pleasant as I’d prefer? It’s not exactly a global crisis, is it? I can do better than this.

Still…sand in my oyster. This has every potential to be an awesome Saturday, full of laughs and good fun with people who matter to me. How do I create a pearl? (I find myself contemplating the possibility of a ribald ‘pearl necklace’ joke of some kind here, but come up empty-handed. lol > sense of humor still intact)

So…

…It takes a few moments (ha! sometimes much longer) to write one of these – at least it does for me – and it is now quite some time later than it was when I started. I mention it because over the few minutes writing, feet up on the ottoman, toes warmed by the sunlight pouring in through the skylight, the soothing trickling of aquarium noises, and the bump of bass in the background, I am finding myself slowly letting go of my anger, finding a more compassionate perspective to embrace, and time begins to slow down…the day is still ahead of me.  My day. I can do a lot with that. I can take care of me.

 

As in a morning sunrise

It is a quiet morning, beyond my common understanding of quiet. I am still and serene. I am… ok. It’s been a couple of days to take care of my fragile heart, to heal and to rest. My eyes still tear up when I think about Tuesday morning, and I hurt down deep that ancient pain can still touch me at all. That it can reach through progress and every day delight to grab hold of my experience and continue to torment me saddens me a great deal, and so much of that vague simmering undercurrent of anger in ‘who I am’ is about this…that the pain of what-has-been can still touch me.

I see the reflection of my face in the dark mirror of the unused side monitor…I don’t look broken. I don’t look like I’ve lost my mind. I see the hint of a smile, and a subtle knowing look that suggests ‘you can’t fuck with my head so easily’…although I don’t think that’s accurate, as much as how I see that reflection; a hint of a woman I am becoming, more than the woman I have been in the past. There are also big colorful earrings…which is for the moment more relevant to my pleasure in that reflection. They match my shirt. I feel a moment of familiar affection for this complicated being that I am. Becoming more…’aware’…has also resulted in some fun moments of friendly exasperation over being so very human. I’m endlessly amused by my vanity…do earrings really matter? That the purple of these bold cheap purple and green daisies is quite the same purple as the hand-me-down purple thermal delights me in a sweet and simple way. It isn’t that the purple is a match that matters, as much as the delight. The delight is more about where the earrings and shirt came from. Every material thing I cherish has a story, or holds a memory.

Today isn’t trivial. Today isn’t tragic, either. It’s just a day. It is, however, a day that has started well and for now that is more than enough to put a smile on my face. It was a tough week…strangely, and wonderfully, it’s an enormous improvement over other, older, more difficult weeks.  It’s been about resting, recovering, healing…instead of ‘more of the same’ and the pain and anger and the tears.  The mindfulness practices I am learning have helped more than I can describe; imperfect perfection. I need a lot more practice. lol. Progress, though, is enough to show me I am choosing a path that is taking me to some desirable destination. Again, that’s enough. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d have spent days bouncing in and out of horrible states of rage and despair, frustration and tears, unable to get ‘unstuck’ from ancient pain, unable to be aided or consoled, begging for mercy, unheard. Then there’d have been days and days of fatigue and exhaustion, wandering around in a blue funk, teetering on the edge of ‘more of the same’, until it all finally ran its course. This is so much better.

It is Friday, though…and that means therapy. Progress is awesome. Doing the work that supports further progress…not always so awesome. It’s ok, though. I have the support of my partners, and 50 years of life experience to remind me that my demons only have the power I give them, and that the journey is not about the goal, or measuring the distance walked, as much as enjoying the experience over time.

No pictures today, and far fewer than a thousand words.