awakenings

Okay, I’m still here.  I promise, the blog is not dead, just on hiatus.   I’m a writer with no time to write. – what a total cliche. But I still have so much more to stay here – so bear with me.  If you’re still here, still reading – I promise I  will come back eventually.

In the meantime, if you would like to share your story -  anonymously – here in this space, I would love to share it.  Please email me at awakenings@awakeningsblog.com

For now – a video.  Coming out is important.  Living out is important.

ten years today
and I love him.
truly
still
always
no less than I did then
really, I will love him
Forever

I didn’t know what that word meant
not really
until well after the end
now Forever has a context
that I can grasp

Forever is wedged
like an ache in my heart
between the memories
of his tears at the end
of the red carpeted aisle
and his tears the nights
our daughters were
born
and his tears the day
i choose to stay away
instead of coming when he called.

you know,  love has nothing to do
with gay or straight or
the number i select to represent myself
on some scientifically proposed
continuum of sexuality
or whether this is my definition of
intrinsically right
or someone else’s definition of
inherently wrong

because love lives in
an entirely different
place than dogma
and structure
and schemes of classification
and division
and it even lives in a place
beyond time

today i balance
the need to honor this love
for him
without dishonoring
her
because
both are a part of me
now

you see
regret is not always a synonym
for mistake
and it is true that
self-inflicted wounds
often take the longest
to heal

and so today
ten years later
there is no celebration
no sappy love cards
no declarations
but there is the memory
and those exquisitely beautiful girls
who are the reason for everything

and the love
there will always be the love
Forever.

It’s a funny thing about comin’ home. Looks the same, smells the same, feels the same. You’ll realize what’s changed is you.

~ Benjamin Button

~~~

He always told me that the freckles scattered across my legs and arms were worm holes, and I believed him.  After all, they did look suspiciously like the dark spots on the crab apples littering the ground beneath the trees in the lower field.  I worried about this, about when the worms got in, and how on earth they would ever get out. He teased me mercilessly on my summer visits, nabbing me as I ran through the room and trapping me between his legs – in what he called a bear trap – tickling me until I gasped for breath.

He was a woodsman, like his father before him.  I remember the softness of his worn flannel work shirts, the way the scent of the forest clung to his skin, and how his fingers seemed permanently stained with dirt and tractor grease.

He was somehow different from the rest of our noisy crew. He mostly held himself outside the fray, observing the chaos with quiet amusement, chewing on a bit of wheat or a tall piece of field grass plucked outside.  I had a sense, even as a young child, that he was far more comfortable in a quiet stand of trees than he would ever be in the midst of his highly social family.

Today word came, traveling as it does amongst family, from aunt to aunt to mother and finally to me.

You know how your uncle feels about gays and lesbians? He doesn’t think it is right at all.  Your aunt says it would be best if you didn’t come up to visit.

I’m still for a moment, blinking back surprise and sudden tears.  My throat is tight and I summon a bit of bravado that I don’t really feel.

Fine.  His loss.

Yes. My mother agrees quietly.

~~~

On my last visit home this was all just beginning to make its slow, painful ascent to the surface.  After six weeks of idyllic vacation I returned to the desert and within days the foundation gave way beneath my feet, beginning a free fall that lasted for almost two years.  I was nervous about coming home, about finding the courage to present myself to those who have known me since birth, and to stand without apology before them.

I’ve been here for two weeks, and it’s been so uneventful so far as to be anticlimactic.  I had an idea that my differences – that sense of otherness that has been my companion often on this journey - would be more profound here.  Instead it’s been elusive, so much so that I have to remind myself that anything has changed at all.

At home now, amongst the green and the water and the earth that seems infinitely more solid beneath my feet, I’m reduced to my essence.  All the rest swirls out of my grasp and all that’s left is me.

It’s a lesson in layers, in all that I carry with me by choice, all that I hold on to, to protect and comfort and make fierce.  All of that belongs in the desert, it seems.  It has no footing here by the sea.

Without all those labels and identities and protective spells wound tight around me, I am open and simplified.  My breaths are drawn deeper and I can allow the moments to steal over me and make me still. The drive to go-go-go eases up, and all that is left is to be.

From the nomadic childhood existence of a preacher’s daughter, I drew comfort in the eternal sameness of my summer home in the country, nestled along a rutted country road in a protected curve of the Bay of Fundy. No matter what happened elsewhere during the year, this place remained untouched.  It is only now, having changed more than I ever thought possible, that I realize the root of that comfort lies in the knowledge that I haven’t really changed at all.

The crashing waves and the green grass and the ancient trees will greet me and accept me as they always have.  The air, electric with the buzzing of thousands of insects, will touch my face and find that I am no different than I was before.  And when I raise my eyes upward at night in the darkness only found deep in the country, the thick blanket of stars will not wonder who I am. They’ve known me forever already.

Nothing changes, really.  Like the rocks on the beach, we are broken down, carried places, placed in new formations, but always, at the heart of it, exactly the same as we began.  Even if we don’t at first recognize ourselves, we still belong, still exist, are still a part of the same infinite whole.

~~~

His loss?

Not really.  Our loss.  All of us.  His and mine and theirs and yours.

Don’t you see? I want to scream. Don’t you understand? I’m the same girl I was then.

Worm holes and all.

From Joe My God

Go to Join The Impact for information about the protests near you. Protest times are staggered by time zone, making this the very first time in the history of our nation that LGBT people will be standing up for ourselves in every major city in every state at the SAME TIME.

I found this video a few days ago via the divine Dorothy Snarker, and although I’ve never been a Grey’s Anatomy fan, it stopped me in my tracks. As Dorothy says:

“In less than two minutes she brought up what is a universal revelation in the life of almost every gay and lesbian person. The lightbulb. Whether it comes quietly to oneself or jarringly in the open, it happens….The catch in her voice was the catch that comes from an answer you never even though to ask the question to but now can’t believe you ever lived without knowing.”

And she’s right, no matter if you use leaves and glasses or tasting a food you’ve never tasted or any other analogy, there is that moment of facing your truth, of slipping into your experience, of life fitting on a level you never thought possible.

For me it was like I was a multilayered puzzle – all the levels had to become perfectly aligned in order for the puzzle to be completed. I’d get the pieces so achingly close, but I could never quite ease them all into the exact positions necessary to bring it all together. The harder I struggled to make them fit, the more things would shift and the less likely it seemed that I would ever figure it out.

And then came the moment where I took a deep breath, and opened my eyes and everything effortlessly fell into place – exactly the way it had always meant to be. And I was stronger, and more sure and infinitely more aware of everything.

If I was an animator I could draw you a cartoon of exactly how it felt. Picture me, in solid form, surrounded by a whole bunch of other me’s …different colors and transparent to different degrees, all vibrating at slightly different frequencies and moving at slightly different speeds.

I walked through life with all those versions of myself hovering near, moving in and out, overlapping, and almost, but not quite ever, lining up exactly with my core. Then there was one day, one minute, one second where all those multi-hued layers slid into utterly perfect alignment – not even off by the smallest fraction of a millimeter – and all their beautiful colors made me glow from within. For the first time there was just one me, a same-but-not-same me (just with one heck of a big gay rainbow aura).

And even though it’s been far from perfect since then, and there have been plenty of times where my alignment has been knocked far out of wack, I know now – in a way I never could before – that the only way to bring it back to center is to live with utter and complete authenticity. That alignment wasn’t just about coming out and accepting that I’m gay – it was about what happens when you live your truth, and that involves choices in every moment of life.

And when I make the right choices – when I am true to myself and live with intention – I always see the leaves.

***
Dorothy also recently posted that ABC/Gray’s Anatomy has decided to unceremoneously terminate this lesbian storyline – currently the only one on primetime TV. Read more about it on her blog.

Prop 102 would amend the Arizona Constitution to say "only a union between one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as a marriage in this state". This issue is on the ballot for November 4th, even though Arizona residents voted on, and rejected, this issue just two short years ago.

This time around, the “Yes On 102” campaign has a huge budget to spread their message. Their billboards, signs, and radio/television ads are everywhere right now. It’s easy to let that make us feel invisible, marginalized, hopeless….but now, more than ever; we cannot afford to let that happen.

Consider this a call to action! We want to counter those images and messages of divisiveness, exclusion and prejudice with images of inclusion, equality and acceptance.

If you live in Arizona take a picture of you in front of your “No on 102’ lawn sign, print a sign for your car window and take a picture of that, or stand in front of one of the “Yes” signs holding your own handmade sign that shows your support of equality and your desire to defeat this proposition. Kiss, hug, hold hands, flash a big peace sign…whatever you’re inspired to do.*

If you live elsewhere in the country, but want to show your support, make a sign of your own celebrating acceptance, equality, love.  Involve your children, neighbors – heck, get your pets in the mix too – just make sure to write “No On 102” somewhere on the sign!

Margaret Mead said: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

To that we add, never underestimate the power of a simple photograph. Our pictures, taken from the heart, often speak louder than our voices ever could. Collectively we believe these images will carry our message of equality forward and outward – spreading a wave of positive energy that will help us defeat this proposition once and for all.

*Just keep it legal folks – nothing obscene or vulgar, and definitely nothing against the law – no graffiti or defacement, keep it positive!

Please blog about us, link to us, send our information to your friends and family.  Consider making a sign or taking a pic and uploading it to our flickr group or email it to noon102@gmail.com.  Add us as your friend on Myspace (and make us your top friend until the election) or join our group on facebook. Check out our ‘Get Involved’ page for more ways to help, and make a donation to help us fight against this proposition.  Every little bit helps.

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“What are your fantasies”?

She asked me this recently, during a quiet moment together in bed. We fit so perfectly together that I tend to forget she hasn’t always been with me and doesn’t already know the answers to all the questions. My mind went blank, and I was surprised to find myself without a response to her query.

I pulled my eyes away from hers and looked down at our bodies, nestled together on my white sheets. My eyes ran across the smooth expanse of her back, her strong shoulders, the curve of her breasts, that perfectly formed space between her ribs and her hips. I lifted my gaze once again to her golden brown eyes, and as my hand traced a path along her arm I was in awe at the almost unreal softness of her skin. I laced my fingers with hers and was swept by a wave of deep contentment and a rush of exhilaration so interconnected that they felt like a single emotion.

This breathtaking sweetness and lightness of being – this is exactly what I wanted for so many years. It’s what I longed for, ached for, dreamed about, yearned to experience. Until recently I didn’t even let myself imagine that I could possibly live this, that it could ever be real. But it is real – aside from the births of my children, it is the most true and honest thing I have ever done.

Lying here like this with a woman – with this amazing, kind, soft, sweet, giving, wonderful woman (who somehow found me despite the fact that I wasn’t looking and was determined not to open myself to possibility) – this goes far beyond anything I could have imagined or dreamed or hoped for.

And so I found my answer,

“This. This is my fantasy.”

And I lay my head against her shoulder, closed my eyes and breathed in the utter perfection of moment.

Sometimes life just works out that way.

____________________________________________________

Apparently this one wanted to be a poem too:

you asked

you asked me for my fantasies
but how could I give you an answer
when
i look down your body
and mine
lying together
at the curve of your breast
and the sweet perfection of your skin
at the way your body curls
into mine
so I cannot tell where
one ends and the other begins
and it’s all curves and softness
and a tangle of limbs
atop a white down duvet
how could I think
of a daydream
when even the briefest touch
causes me to
lose myself
(and find myself)
every single time
and our connection
spirals across time
and space
and makes words unnecessary.
and even hurts and misunderstandings
just seem to swing us closer
and closer
to magic.
why would I spend time on
the imaginary
when even
the most ordinary
moments are
edged in brilliance
and sweetness and
beauty.

and of course that’s the answer
isn’t it?

you, my girl
this, my girl
us, my girl

it’s all fantasy
and it’s so very real.

sometimes life just works out that way.

This is what it was like for me, the first time.

the ocean

when I asked
what it was
like
to know a
woman
my dear one
replied
with infinite
wisdom,
“it is like
the ocean”
…..

and I
was
rolling and,
spinning and,
holding
the air
in my
lungs
so I would
not drown

eyes shut
but
mind open
under
and
over
and over
again

waves crashed
hard
and soft
on me.
and I
rode them
to
shore
floated
blissfully free
while tethered to
her.

clarity in
disorientation
the touch of
water
on my
skin
the feel of
heat
on her
breath
the sound of
desire
in
us
and all
around.

diving
and surfacing
above
and below
sounds and light
filtered
through want
and need
from far away
and from
right here

right.
here.

and right
now.

and then
she
touched me
there

there

right there

in that place
beneath the surface
and I gasped
and was
filled
with
rushing water
the power
of the current
taking me
places
I had
not yet been
but wanted
to stay.

I felt the
insatiable
pull of the
tides
gravity and rotation
legs
intertwined
hands
clasped
bodies
with no
spaces
in between.

I was
dizzy
because I
could not find
air
I tasted
salt
on her
skin
and I thought,
my soul
already
knows this
place

because
I am from
the
ocean.

I am
at home
in this
water
in this
sea
in the vast
emptiness
and fullness.
and softness
of these limbs
of this skin
of this moment

floating
weightless
but
falling
just
the
same.

And like the ocean
it was wise
and it was powerful
and it was beyond
my control
and it was strong
and it was gentle
and it was everything
and nothing.

It was
like
the
ocean.

No words needed, these videos speak for themselves.

..

I know where my eye goes first – to the rockstar bad girl, the edgy dyke with her short, spiky hair and larger than life attitude. She’s got tattoos and piercings; maybe her hair is bleached or dyed some outrageous color. She captivates her audience and works the room with a confident swagger, nothing (and everything) to prove. The cocky self-assurance, the overt sexuality with an undeniable edge – bordering on androgynous but still so innately female. I feel myself responding immediately.

[…think Pink. Oh god yes, let’s think about Pink for a moment, shall we? Ummm. If ever a gal should be gay. That pic makes me..well..you know…]

Yes – they are the ones that grab my attention first, but then I keep looking. I am overwhelmed at the beauty of the women I see. The butches with their man-style shirts and ties – the right girl in the right tie, sigh. The sporty girls in their tennis shoes and pony tails – so fresh faced and strong. The femmes in their dresses and lipstick – the embodiment of the traditional feminine ideal. The younger girls, barely out of college. The older women, so comfortable in their own skin.

Each of them unique, each of them beautiful in a million different ways. I find myself wanting to try one of each, like a kid at an ice cream counter who can’t possibly choose between rocky road or strawberry or butter pecan and so begs for a triple scoop.

I don’t need to limit myself to a type, or a look or a label or a role. Right now I feel this incredible freedom to experiment and sample and learn about myself, and about other women. I’m fascinated by their voices and their scent and the way they move. I’m enthralled by how they are all so unique and yet all so wholly female. I am captivated by the endless expressions of femininity and masculinity and how they flow together so seamlessly in the same space and even within the same body.

I want to romance and to be romanced. I want to be kissed passionately and urgently against the side of a car in a dark parking lot by a girl who tastes of cigarettes and beer. I want to touch softly for hours on a bed covered in blankets and pillows with a woman who smells like orange blossoms and tastes of red wine and dark chocolate. I want to sit in a café while daylight wanes, across from a cute girl with curly hair and glasses and learn about what makes her tick. I want to ride on a motorcycle out into the desert pressed up against the back of a worn leather jacket breathing in the scent of men’s cologne, the engine so loud that conversation is impossible.

I want to be seduced by an experienced top who knows exactly how to strip me of my inhibitions. I want to take the role of the aggressor and experience a woman who knows exactly how actively bottom. I want to sit and sip herbal tea while I watch a girl I’m crazy into up on stage singing a song she wrote. I want to go rock climbing with a woman who will show me just where to place my feet and hands to stay safe, and push my body till my muscles burn and I’m covered in sweat. I want to be in control, and I want to be totally and completely out of control.

Right now I am so dizzy with potential I don’t even feel too attached to developing any one particular reality. I’m flirting. I’m getting phone numbers. I’m sending and receiving texts and emails that bring a smile to my face and make me wonder ‘what if?’ and ‘oooh, I hope’. I’m cuddling on the couch with cute girls watching movies, acutely aware of the feel of our legs pressed together, or her fingers intertwined with mine, or that slight hint of her scent that makes me want to move in closer. I’m hoping she’ll call, and I’m trying to decide when I’ll pick up the phone. I’m waiting to see if I’ll be kissed, and I’m leaning in to do the kissing myself.

Cherchez les femmes = seek the women.

Indeed.