year of the delena

so we come to the close of the Year of Secrets with its Season of Temporary Insanity, Invasion of the unFunk, the writing of the Funky Love Letter of Closure, the Inner Demon Tea Party and Imminent Fatal Gorge-Fest, the Multiversal Jiggy Snake and Funktastic Yayness, Delena of the Funkywild, and my return to How It Used To Be.

depressed much? you have no idea.

i suppose this is where i express what it is i've learned this year about life, about myself and the world around me. i suppose this is where people expect to hear that i've finally come to learn that i don't need a man to define me, that i don't need to be part of a pair to be complete and that, in fact, i am complete unto myself and giving away any part of that is to give away my fundamental power as Woman. or even as Human.

and to that i say THHHHHHBBBBBT--

the very thought makes me wanna fart really loud.

what i've learned is that I Am As Am. i've learned i am as am, and to deny that is to deny what it is to be delena. i deny my Self. if conflict is to come into collision or opposition as of one idea, desire, or activity with another, and if in psychiatry conflict is a mental/emotional struggle arising from opposing demands or impulses, then i have learned why my life has been conflict ever since that saturday morning on the patio when my calves and the backs of my knees came into intimate contact with a baseball bat.

i've been trying to be what everyone wants me to be, whether it's my bio-parents, my culture, the modern womens' movement, modern psychology, my friends, and even myself. but i am who is, and who was made to be as she is.

the latter half of this Year of Secrets has helped me see this.

it's archaic, provincial, and downright primeval, perhaps. so be it. so fucking be it.

i was made to be One of Two. i am complete unto myself, a whole person, yes. but when i shine is when i am one of two: one half of a working pair. and like a siamese twin, i will die when my other half stops working to help us flourish. he can be his own person all he wants to. this is all right with me. but my life's blood comes from when he tends to our partnership. i was made to be a partner, equal yet supporting. it's shown up in other aspects of my life as well: the faithful lieutenant, the devoted acolyte and successor (until the Kali Summer destroyed all hope of that), the support network at the salon. i shine when i am working towards the good of the whole, the good of the family, the flourishing of the partnership.

as i told *m* earlier today, everything about me was made and geared to be One of Two: when i truly love someone, when i hold him inside my body is the only time i truly know peace and the only time i feel whole. it occurs to me that eve was made for just this purpose, and yet my patroness is lilith.

i am no milksop to say, "as you wish," and lie complacently on bottom, do as i am told and yield all independence and individuality over to the masculine. fuck no. there is equality where i dwell, an honor and reverence for our different-yet-syncratic powers. and no matter how i may shrink in on myself from despair and pain (for depression and i are old friends and fall into familiar patterns quite easily), i never quit fighting.

never.

lilith, the night mother, always reminds me of equality and retribution when she is denied her due. *m* had disrespected and disregarded my heart, body, and soul...the trinity of Self. so i told him as much, and then i ended it. and i didn't take him back when he asked.

but he did ask, and so i give him the chance everyone deserves when they ask for it. but i do not compromise my needs, and i do not put him first yet again. if he can earn back his place at my side, then i will be very happy to have him there. and i will happily admit that i will be better with him there, rather than incomplete like that lone sock in your drawer whose mate was devoured by the washing machine.

i also accepted that i am a denizen of despair and there are some depths i simply can't deny to myself. i tried for so long not to give in to my depression, trying to hold myself together by sheer force. my last blog post was myself finally allowing myself to plunge into those dark waters and swim as deep as i was able.

and yes, i burned again.

but as soon as i allowed myself to go that deep, then and only then was i able to begin the ascent into the light once more. trying to "be strong" and "not let him get to me" and "see i don't need a man to complete me" and all that other helpful-yet-not-understanding advice under which i was being buried...it was advice i knew was good, that i knew was "supposed" to be what was good for me. yet it was keeping me in this limbo of trying to force myself to rise above it when what i needed was to sink down into it. and if i touched the slimy, silty bottom of the black mere of despair, if i got the mud and algae of it under my fingernails and in my hair, then so be it.

--i learned i had to cut through the bonds of modern convention, thick and unforgiving as cold iron, and be as i had been made to be.

--if i am to rise above something, i must first sink into its very own cold, black depths.

--i am made to be One of Two. i define myself by my emotional ties and relationships, and i am nothing without them. the most important of these is the bond with my life partner, and i simply am not complete without his love.

--compasson is part of my calling, but equality and retribution are equally my calling and my power lies in the Darkness. my gods are not of light and healing and hearth, but of war, destruction, and the purpose of death to clear away what does not matter anymore.

--if nobody likes any part of this, they can suck it.


let the Year of Secrets be done. so fucking mote it be.

um, so...

inevitable--
i finally surrender.
love is not for me.

i know it's been a while since i've posted here. i really just, plain and simple, haven't cared enough to write anything. it's all negative, and i know the people who read this aren't gearing their lives for pain and sadness so i really haven't wanted to inundate my lovely readers with this crap. also, i've been thinking of nixing iGoddess and just returning to a plain, simple blog where i write about my life.

there is no Funk. pronoia was a vehicle i tried to operate to transport me to better and brighter places Within. well, it worked...until i tried to return to the real world where shit like that just doesn't work. i really am nothing but Something for other people to use, and i've finally just come to Accept it.

what's really sad is that i can't afford to break up with *m* because i can't pay for this apartment myself. his job doesn't start until the middle of next month (maybe), so i paid this month's rent and bills myself, and will pay next month's and most likely february's, too. it breaks me every month, but at least after he starts working, i'll be able to save half rent, so i have something to fall back on. right now, i have nothing.

ironically, my current encounter with anorexia is looking more and more financially reasonable. who can fucking eat when there's a.) no money, and b.) stress has me so flipping out that eating makes me sick? at least there's a benefit: my fat ass won't be so humiliating in another month or so. fuck.

boho mom made a request that i write a post just stating what's been going on lately. honestly, i don't have the endurance for that. let's just say that we can lump up everything that's been happening since just before he moved here, and add in intoxication every evening, plus refusal to eat (except sparingly), plus a complete and total return to where i was a year ago. i haven't burned, but i don't know if that's a good thing or not. the only thing that keeps me from burning is knowing that, whether or not i need to, i'd be so completely disappointed in myself that it would send me spiraling into such a dark place i'd be months coming out again.

he doesn't fit me. he doesn't fit me, and it's such a phenominal and astounding misfit that sometimes i'm too overwhelmed by the degree to really contemplate it for very long. i love to get to know myself, to think and learn and ask uncomfortable and challenging questions because i want To Know. his answer for all my questions is always the same: "i don't know." fights actually begin because i want to Know, and his "i don't know" is as much a placation as it is an avoidance, and i just can't respect someone who refuses to understand not only himself but the world around him.

he hasn't touched me, or instigated any intimacy since the middle of october. and when he did, i was simply a hole for him to jack off into. any concept, conversation, or exploration into the concept of Delena's Pleasure is met with offense, discomfort, and hostility. i'm sorry, but delena is Venus in Platforms, and i've been the embodiment of several men's fantasies. i'm Good. i let a person be free with his sexuality while reveling in my own. to be with someone who refuses to even consider the possibility of my sexuality is...anathema.

not to mention completely humiliating.

i had to invoke one of the first tenets of Witch-- personal responsibility-- before he'd even acknowledge the possibility of contributing to our problems. he told me that he doesn't feel he's done anything to warrant our current strife...meaning it's all me. all my fault. so, yeah, i just woke up one day and decided to revert to alcoholism again, to be depressed, to be swallowed in self-hatred and disgust, and feel unwanted and insignificant just for the pure fuck of it. yeah, i just woke up and felt like it for no reason.

i had to pull the religion card before he'd even consider the possibility of his part in this. and sure, for the last few days, he's been somewhat affectionate. he still hasn't answered a single question i've posed to him. all his answers are the same: "i don't know." i refuse to believe he's that obtuse, that he's that stupid and unaware. then again, if he really doesn't ever think about these things, he's really not the most spectacular fit for me, either.

even if he loves me in his own undemonstrative, diminutizing (is that a word???), taciturn, completely hidden and unspoken way. i have to demand a hug. i have to guilt him into showing me physical affection, and i still haven't been viewed as the sexual goddess i am.

and yet, when i asked him how he'd feel if i asked if i could see other people, he said that would suck. "why?" i said. "you have no physical claim on me, and you have only a whisper of an emotional one on me. why would it suck?"

it actually sparked another fight because he got so pissed i actually wanted an answer other than "i don't know."

and yet, i know myself. i'll put up with this until i wake up one day and realize i'm completely dead inside and all i can think of is a nice cup of foxglove tea. if i do kill myself, it'll be with foxglove. i just know it in my heart it'll be a painful, slow-acting poison. it's how i've lived my whole live, slowly dying by emotional poison. it'll be a fitting way to go, and i know it and accept it. i'm just so damn, fucking sick of hearing professions of love from men who only end up either abusing me, subjugating me, or shunning and neglecting me. i'm so damn sick of it.

and i want love so fucking badly it's actually pathetic and disgusting. i want a husband and children, happily living life, so that i can know in my soul that what i grew up with actually had meaning. otherwise i'm just a piece of extraneous shit that no one really has use for.

and, actually, i could Accept that truth, too, if i didn't want to be loved, just loved, so fucking badly. and it's pathetic, and i know it. fucking lovely.

delena haiku

realization --
spiritual suicide...
it's the only way.

going to the dogs

every day needs to be like yesterday at work. when i got there, i had only three dogs on my books. one of which was a lhasa apso named "yeti." and omg, when he got there, i saw a nose...and hair.

the abominable lhasa.

but one of the girls had to leave early, so i inherited a lot of her appointments. one of mine cancelled last-minute, but thank the gods because i was still grooming up until forty minutes before close.

the last dog i had was a dark apricot standard poodle named robie, but i swear, with that topknot as poofy as it was? when he came in, i grinned and said, "hey, buckwheat!" his owner laughed.

i made twenty dollars in tips yesterday. yes, that sounds kinda good, but customers haven't been tipping at all lately. even a couple dollars is actually being remarked upon in the salon now. hell, i made more in tips when i was strictly bathing dogs. but i averaged twenty dollars an hour yesterday, and that's not too bad. it needs to be more, though. i need more dogs, bigger dogs, bigger packages.

and yes, when i say things like that, i'm thinking strictly of my paycheck.

when i think of the dogs, though, i don't care if i have only three dogs on my books. i love them all.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): The phrase "new roses" can serve as an antidote to neurosis in the coming days -- as a kind of magical spell. Invoke it whenever you're in danger of getting undermined by either your own neurosis or someone else's. If you notice, for instance, that your subconscious mind is spiraling down into a sour fantasy stirred up by one of your habitual fears, start muttering a cheerful round of "new roses, new roses, new roses." If your allies engage in compulsive behavior that they tend to get stuck in when stress overflows, chant "new roses, new roses, new roses" in a blithe, sing-song tone.


...new roses.

new roses, new roses, new roses. new roses.

new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses.

new roses.

new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses. new roses.

new roses.

so when does this actually begin to work?

diary of a mad iGoddess

y'know, it's absolutely no secret that iGoddess has somehow lost its luster and delena has lost her Funk a long time ago. some of you, beauty and truth fans, are absolutely disgusted with me. greggo was particularly adamant and revolting in his expression of how he sees me now. but that's all right.

i've known. it's not like it's been any great secret to me.

but, y'know, something i wasn't aware of was what i was waiting for. turkey dinner the sunday before the actual Thanksgiving Day was held at my parents' house, and it was apparent to my father that something was wrong in the first five minutes of my entrance. probably less than that. and on that tuesday night, after i'd had my shower after work and was curled up on my customary chair in their living room, he asked me point-blank how things were with *m*. we had a very long talk, well past the witching hour.

it wasn't until i was lying in bed after that discussion that i realized i'd been waiting to talk to my parents about this whole thing before i actually made any decisions or took any action. i honestly didn't know if i was blowing this whole thing out of proportion, if i was being overly paranoid and hyper-sensitive due to my other shitty relationships, or what. but his final verdict --"give him the bum's rush, dear,"-- crystallized quite a few things for me.

it made me realize that no, i wasn't blowing this out of proportion. my thoughts of breaking up with him and kicking him back to idaho weren't unjustified or extreme. yes, this was damaging the hell out of me. no, i wasn't being unreasonable.

on the other hand, it also clarified a few other things for me.

no, i wasn't quite ready to give up just yet. love --and committment-- doesn't hightail it out of something at the first sign things are getting bad. and yes, believe it or not, there was still a sliver of love there.

somewhere.

so i asked my father for patience. i wanted to try one more time. after that, if nothing came of it, i would break it and be done.

this week at my parents', separated from *m*, did me a world of good. it gave me nothing but time to look at just how deeply depressed i was. i also got a chance to really think about my anger, and sort out which anger belonged at his feet, and which was directed at myself. and, frankly, how much anger was still being spent on big *c*, my bio-dad, and last summer.

quite a bit, actually.

there was one morning, before my week critter-sitting, that i was so bleak driving to work one morning i could only think of how to get out of it. and i looked at my arm, at my scars, and it crossed my mind there was one surefire way to get rid of this stupid, dragging bleakness. yes, i actually thought of burning. i haven't burned since january.

but i didn't burn.

i'm very proud of that.

so, aside from a few occasions --none of which ended well-- i really didn't talk to *m* all week. i wasn't even going to come home after the parents' had returned from hawaii. i was actually planning on couch-surfing until i heard one --just one-- "i miss you, i love you" or "please come home," from *m*. and if i didn't?

if i didn't hear anything like that from him before impatience and insulted, hurt temper overruled me, i was going to return home and kick him out of my entire beloved state of oregon.

so no, i don't believe he's the last man standing. i don't measure my worth against his treatment of me. there's nothing wrong with me. i'm just not stupid enough to do something so Final without much thought, much time and patience, and making absolutely, posi-fucking-tively sure there's No Other Way.

so mote it be, godsdammit.

...as if nothing had happened.

so i was at the parents' for a week critter-sitting two cardigan welsh corgies and five cats out in the boondocks of east northeast portland. pretty much as far east as you can get and not be in the Gorge. so yes, there was snow already. =)

but mom had no internet because of some really lame auto-debit debacle with AOL (Assholes OnLine, hehe)

and yes, this meant i went into some pretty serious withdrawals. but i'm such a dork i was actually stressing out most because i couldn't balance my checkbook.

how the frick did i get so old so fast? every third day or so i match my checkbook with what the bank has online for the most up-t0-date info i can possibly receive, and i actually get a kick out of being perfect to the penny. egads, i'm frickin' old.

but yeah, so that's where i was. in the boondocks, with a bunch of animals driving me crazy, a puppy with no brains, an older puppy driving me crazy with that stupid i-wanna-go-outside bell she keeps ringing just as i fall asleep, and a 27-pound cat who wanted nothing more than to tapdance on my head.

yes. laugh.

anyway, so i'm sitting here, home for the first time in a week. i had actually composed several lovely delena haiku while i was gone, but i can only remember one of them. so...

*ahem*

i am just fine here.
there is no stress here at all.
just two welsh corgies.

thank you.

the obligatory declaration of thanks

i'm reading this book, "dies the fire," by...some guy. i can't remember his name right now. i'm pretty dang surprised i remembered the title of the book, actually. but in it, some nameless, unknown Event kills all electricity and tweaks the laws of physics enough that humankind is thrown back into pre-Industrial Revolution technology. it's an awesome piece of survival fiction and filled with SCA-dians, wilderness experts, and witches --my kinds of people.

but reading it makes me very thankful for electricity. i like being able to play oblivion and watch my tri-annual buffy-thon. i like hot water when i turn the tap, cold soymilk when i open the fridge, and driving. so thank you, electricity.

i'm thankful for physics, too, and natural law. it keeps water running downhill, plants growing upward, and makes things predictable in a way that just makes sense, and gives me the luxury to take quite a few things about this world for granted. not that i should, but i can.

i'm eternally grateful for my family. no words could encompass this immense gratitude, so i won't try.

i'm very thankful for my very rewarding career where i hang out with friends and work with animals all day long. i may come home exhausted, unable to walk, and even stressed-out sometimes, but i'm always satisfied and very proud of what i've accomplished that particular day. and that's every day.

i'm grateful for where i live. it's the most beautiful place on earth. i never thought i could be so in love with a place.

and i'm very, very grateful i haven't lost my ability to love, even though it would be completely understandable if i did.

"because i can't bear it"

i finally found a way to get through one day and to the next. it required a lot of mental tweaking and shifting my inner vision. of course, that left all the physical aftermath...but maybe i should start at the beginning.

after i posted my latest haiku, i really started thinking. back on monday, it was a really horrible day. the kind of day that actually made me cry. of course, we're talking the sinuses got full of pressure, and my eyes watered so much i actually had to wipe them. that's as far as it went, but that's way further than i ever like to go. i hate crying, and i've been doing so much of it lately that now i hate it even more and get seriously impatient with myself when i catch myself going there. of course, i was still emotionally exhausted after my last struggle with *m*. it always takes me a while to unwind from one of those things.

i got home and headed straight for bed, just wanting to curl into the fetal and recover. he came to sit next to me on the bed. i curled around him wanting nothing more than to feel his hand on my back until i came back up from the abyss into which i'd been sinking all day. these mental and emotional shifts actually take quite a bit of time, and i know that he doesn't have the stomach to give me the kind of physical presence i actually need. so i kept up a chatty monologue about my day, trying to keep him there as long as possible. but i couldn't relax because i knew the minute i did, and just enjoyed his presence around me, he'd get up to leave. so i kept talking even though every word was a serious struggle.

finally, unable to stand his fidgeting any longer, i said, "i bet you're bored now and want to get up to do better things." this was his cue, if he'd wanted to take it, that he could leave since that's most likely what he wanted to do anyway. before i relaxed, before i trusted, before i let myself just disappear in him for a while, before i let myself count on him, i was giving him an out because i now know he hates this sort of thing. but he declined and said he could sit there. so i closed my eyes and finally let myself recharge -- his closeness and touch being the things that finally began to ground me back into myself.

and after i finally let go, that's when he got up. after i trusted, after i let myself count on him. he was getting a blanket, preparing to tuck me in so he could go back to his videogaming, and i just hopped off the bed without a word and went to take a shower.

it's like starving for weeks, being led to a sumptuous meal, and you don't pick up a fork until you've made absolutely sure that you're allowed to eat. and the minute you grab your fork and are assured you can eat anything that's being served, and you taste the wonderful dishes and your stomach growls and twists because your appetite's finally whetted, suddenly the entire table is just whisked away and you're hungrier than ever.

in the shower that evening, i stopped needing him. i thought i stopped wanting him, too, but the next day i was filled with this hostility that completely took me by surprise. that night, coming to bed, *m* put his hand on my shoulder. i snuggled in closer, letting myself enjoy his closeness and wanting that hand on my shoulder to be an arm across my chest. but the closer i snuggled to him, the more he pulled in on himself. that hand on my shoulder became braced on my shoulder, a subtle push to keep me away.

so i rolled over, gave him my back, and decided i would never show my want again. i started going to the gym instead, pushing myself as hard as i could until every muscle quivered with exhaustion. i run for miles every day now, lift weights until i burn, and my pilates are an exercise in physical punishment. food and alcohol are mere numbing agents to be used when i can't be physically active. my favorite videogame --elder scrolls: oblivion-- is an avenue to siphon some of this hostility into killing things that won't get me arrested.

last night he wanted to go to bed when i was, but i told him not to. i told him i couldn't bear it anymore. and his tone when he said, "you can't bear it anymore...okaaayyy..." told me he didn't understand. but instead of asking for any sort of clarification, he walked away. and he stayed away until five this morning, when he finally crawled into bed. whenever he doesn't understand something about me, he says that infuriating, "okaaayyyy..." and walks away.

he never strives for understanding. he doesn't even really give a shit where i'm coming from.

it's easier to look at him and train myself to just see a roomate who just so happens to take up most of the space in my bed. it's easier, because the alternative is to look at someone who supposedly loved me enough to move here to be with me, and know that he rejects me on a daily basis. he went to kiss me as i left for work yesterday and i pulled away. i was honestly, and very seriously, taken by surprise and very wary. i hadn't been expecting it, not to mention he hadn't so much as touched more than my shoulder in over a week, and he wanted a kiss?

so i pulled away from him and didn't kiss him. i told him it was just weird. why would my roomate want to kiss me? of course, the alternative way to look at it would be that my lover can reject my desire for kisses whenever he wanted --to include pushing me away and saying "okay, enough,"-- and yet when he wanted a kiss, i had to thank my lucky stars and give him what he wants.

we sit on the couch and either watch each other play oblivion with very little conversation, or we watch what he wants to watch on television. i rarely have an opinion because i don't watch that much fucking t.v. (i have better things to do with my brain, thanks), and we sit there like strangers. or, worse yet, like my bio-parents who vegged out at the end of the day and refused to interact together. we're just roomates.

and i can't bear it. *t* --and everyone in the salon-- says that he just needs to find a job and he'll feel like a man again and relax. great, thanks. everyone's first response is that i need to respect his manhood. and yet here he is, every day, rejecting and ignoring my womanhood and making me feel less like a woman every day. i've been through this before with big *c*. pretty soon there'll be no woman left, and it'll be my humanity i begin to lose touch with.

but don't worry. i've lived through this before and i know how. i stopped needing him, i don't count on him for anything, and i funnel my wanting into things that exhaust me to the point where i can't even think. because i can't bear it.

delena haiku

i want a partner
a real, working partnership--
not just a roomate.

when the baking's done

no more cookie dough. you wouldn't believe the shitload of cookies i have now. and i'm pounding it out here because there's nowhere else i can put it. no one else who will hear it.

i want to tell him this:

The Twisted Kingdom

"He stood at the edge of the resting place for a long time, studying the details, absorbing the message and the warning. Unlike the other resting places she'd provided for him, this one disturbed him.

It was an altar, a slab of black stone laid over two others. At its center was a crystal chalice that once had been shattered. Even from where he stood, his eyes could trace every fracture line, could see where the pieces had been carefully fitted back together. There were sharp-edged chips around the rim where small pieces had been lost, chips that could cut a man badly. Inside the chalice, lightening and black mist performed a slow, swirling dance. Fitted around the chalice's stem was a gold ring with a faceted ruby. A man's ring.

A Consort's ring.

He finally stepped closer.

If he read the message correctly, she had healed but was soul-scarred and not completely whole. By claiming the Consort's ring, he would have the privelege of savoring what the chalice held, but the sharp edges could wound any man who tried.

However, a careful man...

Yes, he decided as he studied the sharp-edged chips, a careful man who knew those edges existed and was willing to risk the wounds would be able to drink from that cup.

Satisfied, he returned to the trail and continued climbing. "

--Anne Bishop, Heir to the Shadows, Book II of the Black Jewels Trilogy, pg. 752


i've been reading this monster of a book for the past few weeks. i'm finally on book iii, even though it's taken me forever to plow through it. sometimes i'll go days without wanting to pick the thing up and read. others, i'll have spent an hour reading the same page without absorbing a single line.

that's not to say the books aren't quite excellent. in fact, it's very different from anything else i've read in quite a long time...and very dark. and, somehow, that fits my mood.

however, the further into the book i get, the less i want to read it. this society is matriarchal, except there's a very delicate balance between male and female, and in the Shadow Realm, these things are understood...and even honored.

every time i open this book, i'm exposed to males who are attuned to and sensitive to the moods of their females. and not just in the mated sense, but in the sense of a pride, of a coven. of a society that understands and appreciates this balance as necessary for life.

for Life.

and between the protagonists, there is even that balance and bond in sex. true, this book was written by a woman and therefore all the males seem to know exactly what a woman needs, and is able to provide it.

...but i've met men like that before, and sometimes i just get so angry that i want to throw the book across the room. at work, all us girls share our lives and the dramas that make up being human. we've got one girl who's pregnant and getting married and is very happy about the whole situation. there's one girl who has found the strength and selflove to leave her controlling husband and find love for herself with someone who can recognize her needs. there's someone else who finally declared an end to a years-long relationship because she wasn't getting what she needed. there's another girl who recently ironed out a few things with her own significant other, because he was more the touchy-feely type and she still hadn't warmed up enough to recognize that's what she was looking for. another girl has been with her man for ten years and they have this understanding of each other, and an independence, that's simply beautiful. and then i watch my brother and sister *ds* and *ks*, and i see how they fit together.

i'm no longer accustomed to holding my tongue and dealing without. i haven't had to starve in so very long. i was cosmic stardust once upon a time, and i know my right to blissful Funk at all times. i recognize my revolutionary freedom fighter duty to bring Heaven down to Earth and rock myself into Oneness with the Funky Jive.

sometimes i think my Soultrain derailed the moment i declared myself in a relationship. i was doing so well...

i've gotten my tokens that tell me he at least heard me and is making an effort. and my tokens are enough to keep me going...kind of like putting in three bucks of gas into an otherwise empty car, just to keep it running for one more day. but it sputters on startup, and you're always looking at the gas gauge, hoping that you don't run out of fuel on the highway.

anger is bubbling up and has nowhere to go. confusion is making it really, really bad, too. am i doing the right thing? what else can i do? will more talking help? probably not. i just sound like a whining bitch. i should be happy with what i'm getting. this helpless impotence is driving me to the cutting edge.

mine is the voice of Goddess, except i don't know what She would say. i keep asking myself what some goddess of compassion would do or say in this situation, but all i can come up with is the knowledge that she would have already moved beyond these sorts of silly little human dramas and wouldn't even have this problem.

i want him to know me and balance me. i want him to want me, to burn for me. i want that visceral desire for connection on ALL levels to be mutual, mirrored, a duet. i wanted a passion to equal mine. what i have is someone who can't enjoy the full power of delena passion like he said he could when he was at a distance. the reality of it has left him angry and confused and threatened and hurt...when there was never any intent for anything other than full sharing and openness to let him see all that i am.

like i've never done with anyone.

now i keep my passion, all that everything, so tightly leashed i'm choking. he doesn't want it, and in retrospect, i can only think of two men who could face all of me. my dad, the father i love, and richard. and richard, bless him, in his love for me only wanted to harness that passion into something constructive becuase it was killing me in its corrupted state.

i can see that now.

every other male in my life hasn't liked it, and has asked or demanded i bottle it up, or punished me in some way if i unleashed it, or just showed his displeasure at it until, out of fear and hurt and some measure of courtesy, i squashed it.

he says there are things i have to "get over." why can't he see or know or hear or feel that sometimes scars are forever, and they shape part of the person? why can't he be like the man in the book, who can recognize that sometimes those edges are there to stay, but if a man is careful, those sharp edges make the wine in the chalice so much the sweeter?

heh. probably because it's fiction. but gods damn it all to hell, i want him to make love to me.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): A marathon séance took place at the Burning Man festival last August. Top psychics managed to channel floods of data from dead celebrities. Among the fascinating revelations they retrieved: Princess Diana would like Gwyneth Paltrow to play her in a movie about her life; John Lennon would have preferred it if the Beatles' song "All You Need is Love" was not used in TV commercials for diapers; Ronald Reagan regrets having invaded the tiny nation of Grenada in 1983; and Nostradamus neglected to mention in his quatrains that in mid-November of 2007, Capricorns will enter a phase when they're likely to get a lot of useful information from what's seemingly dead and gone and past.


sometimes it's annoying how often mr. brezsny actually hits the mark in these little weekly newsletters. there's been so much looking backwards in my life lately that i'm beginning to get an actual crick in my metaphysical neck.

it's annoying.

last week i had actually called *t* to talk about something else a little closer to the heart than astrology. i wasn't in tears when we began our conversation, but i was most definitely bawling by the time we were done. if there's anyone i trust to give me a fair assessment of myself, it's my little sister. i know i've mentioned before that she's the wisest person i've ever had the privelege of knowing, and it's as true now as it ever was.

sometimes she sees me in ways that hurt, but they're always accurate. sometimes i wish i knew better how she saw me, how she looks at me, and what she sees when she thinks of me. sometimes i wish i knew what others saw when they looked at me, what they thought about me...and how well they actually know me. what pictures and impressions form inside their heads, and how would they explain me to someone who didn't quite know me as well as they do?

however, in our conversation, we actually began talking about our bio-mother. *t* was absolutely convinced that our mother didn't remember anything about our childhoods, and had lived completely ignorant of the abuse we all endured. if that were true, i wouldn't have memories of my bio-mother screaming at my bio-father to stop it, stop it, stop it as he hit me. i wouldn't remember watching her pound the kitchen window with the palm of her hand trying to get his attention as he whacked at me on the backyard patio. i wouldn't remember her coming into my room later, after i'd cried myself out, leaning on my bed with my legs splayed up --like in stirrups at the gyn's office-- because even soft blankets hurt my calves.

she knew. she just didn't want to face it and blocked it out of her mind so she could continue in her little world with all its illusions and doctrines and social mores.

for most of this year of secrets and truths, revolution and transformation, one thing i've been somewhat driven to do is write my bio-mother a letter expressing how much she hurt me that night across the dinner table, telling me that some people were never meant to be mothers, and that li'l *c* was better off without me in his life. and that, all that, coming from the woman who not only failed to protect me from events that shattered my Self, but pretended they didn't happen in order to protect herself.

she put herself before her children. and more, she used them as a shield when it should have been the other way around.

and sometimes i'll even sit inside my head and try to compose this letter. i know she's tried to reach out to me, but it wasn't good enough for me. it's easier to forgive my abusive father than it is my failure of a mother. perhaps i'm as guilty of self-righteousness as my bio-father ever was.

not that i enjoy having to admit that.

and i've gone around in circles about this. i've tried to compose something diplomatic, compassionate, fair-sounding. but the throat-clenching, soul-rending, Funk-killing rage engulfs me and there's nothing but the child's pure rage. rage...that's not even a strong enough word for what this is.

this is black, blood-craving fury. this is the rage and fury and hatred and despair that wants nothing more than to break and destroy and kill and devour. the feel of her blood drenching me wouldn't be enough to assuage this roiling vortex of vile rage.

i want to break her.

and there's no room for compassion where hate and rage and vengeance live, and it's so deep inside me that most of the time i'm able to keep it locked down there, nearly unreachable, and go about my life of Funk and compassion and friendship and dog grooming. but knowing it's there makes my life nothing more than a parody and a portrait of hypocrisy that i just can't shake.

and i know that.

but i try to sit down and write this letter and nothing comes out except the hatred. and so sometimes i try to just get it out, the anger, and it does nothing but foster more anger and hatred. it feeds upon itself and grows exponentially until it shatters and everyone around me is as responsible as she is and i just want to rip them to shreds and call them collateral damage.

i don't know where to put it or how to get rid of it. *m* says that maybe i just need to write the letter and say exactly what i want to say, with no editing whatsoever. but what he doesn't understand it that it just feeds on itself. it's been there for so long it has a mind and will of its own. most of the time i'm able to keep it down, but lately it's been fighting its way out and i just don't know how to deal with it.

don't know where to put it.

don't know how to kill it...or even if there's a way to kill it...

compassion demands i take care of this. it's a pocket of infection the size of eternity in my soul. who can i talk to that i haven't already talked to? what can i say that hasn't already been said? where can i go that will make a difference?

it doesn't help that i know i'm as much a failure as a mother as she ever was. i just kept my promise not to turn into my bio-father.

we always win. we always have, and we always will

in my perfect world...

i had this dream early this morning, and in it i was talking with *m*. it was a face-off, to be perfectly honest. and he was completely fed-up with me, too, only i was so far beyond caring that...well...i didn't care. and he asked me what i wanted in my perfect world.

and i told him.

the dream faded to what my dreams usually are: swirling colors and darkness, thoughts and reflections of my heart spoken aloud by disembodied voices that sound like the textures that have made up my life. i dream of music and the desire to fly. i've never flown in my dreams...except once. something is always tethering me down, or knocking me out of the sky, or gravity suddenly becomes ten thousand times more powerful, or i hit a ceiling that suddenly appears, or...or...or...

...except once. i really flew, and my subconscious was so surprised, the oddity so remarkably odd, that it actually knocked me into a lucid dream. conscious thought entered the picture because i was so shocked to actually be flying. so shocked that, for the first time ever in my life, i wasn't being held down or denied.

which is why i usually dream of colors and darkness, of floating in nothing, of music and voices talking.

and i was hearing my own voice continue to rant, to be so brutally honest my every word was a lash meant to break skin, shatter bone, and cut through to the soul. and i can hear them all, tumbling around inside my head all day long until i thought i would go crazy from it. usually dreams fade with time no matter how hard you try to hold onto them. no, this one was etched into me.

my voice became something other...my voice, only not my voice. different. deeper, richer. not so annoying. there was even a hint of maleness in it, as well, of the deep timbre and quality of a man's voice that i love -- when you can feel a man's voice vibrate your own body if his chest is deep enough, if his voice is rich enough. there's something so sensual and erotic about it, something that touches a primal part of my female sense i really can't deny.

my voice had it, too. and, somehow, i knew my honesty and my hardness were coming from that masculine note in me. the woman in my voice was all the longing and softness, all the yearning and reaching and desire to make One.

"in my perfect world, you touch me," i said. "in my perfect world, you hold me close."

in my perfect world, you want me close.

in my perfect world, i take refuge in you.

in my perfect world, you see my deep, quiet, female strength.

in my perfect world, you see together we complete the ancient song.

in my perfect world, you don't take me for granted.

in my perfect world, you value my needs as much as i value yours.

in my perfect world, you appreciate how we balance each other.

in my perfect world, you see that's how the gods made us.

in my perfect world, you hear my flesh screaming for your love as loudly as i can hear it.

in my perfect world, you care enough to ask me why.

in my perfect world, you care enough to work to understand.

in my perfect world, you do not stand apart from me.


...too bad it's only a dream.

delena haiku

my ovaries hurt
this really fucking sucks ass
someone hug me please?

yes, yes, i know haiku's supposed to be all existential and profound. but c'mon, this is delena haiku.

cookie dough

Buffy: You know, in the midst of all this insanity, a couple of things are actually starting to make sense. And the guy thing… *sigh* I always feared there was something wrong with me. You know, because I couldn’t make it work. But maybe I’m not supposed to.

Angel: Because you’re the Slayer.

Buffy: Because… okay. I’m cookie dough..... *Angel gets a weird look* I’m not done baking. I’m not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I’m going to turn out to be. I make it through this and the next thing and the next thing and maybe one day I turn around and realize I’m ready. I’m cookies. And then, you know, if I want someone to eat m— or enjoy warm, delicious cookie-me, then that’s fine. That’ll be then. When I’m done.

Angel :Any thoughts on who might enjoy… do I have to go with the cookie analogy?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 7 episode last: Chosen


now, while i'm not talking about being the Chosen One or anything, here i am at my computer, not enjoying curling up in bed, squeezing every spare minute i can with sleeping *m* (who sleeps way later than i do...), and i thought maybe i should blog while i'm up. y'know, do something useful. and i realized that i really don't have anything to say lately.

now, that's not to say that my head is not absolutely chock-full and swirling around with thought-flotsam, because inside delena's head lately has been so noisy it's drowned out most everything else. and part of me contemplates calling in sick, like, every day simply because i don't want to go outside. and while part of it might be the weather (the whole no-sun-bad-for-solar-powered-delena thing), i know a lot of it is my spirit approaching those vague and ephemeral shores of depression.

yesterday was a wonderful day. i should have been shining, but instead i came home and just wanted to be quiet.

just...lots of thoughts. and they're all swirling around in my head. i could have filled pages and pages with what's been going on upstairs, but for all that...there's not one single thought that's completely formed and ready to be posted yet.

my thoughts are cookie dough. cold, sticky, not-so-good-looking, heavy, gritty, and people always coming up and stealing a pinch to taste no matter how hard i slap their hands with the wooden spoon.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Inner Child Tarot, winkies, and divine madness.


being clothed only in one's own skin never mattered if you were on the grounds of the Menstrual Temple. if anything, there were some rites you could not experience unless you were wearing the full and gloriously free beauty of your own skin.

the magical thing about the Funky Grail was that there was no room in it for modesty, or self-consciousness, or even that hateful, wriggling little worm of self-loathing as it criticized every wrinkle and stretch mark, every saggy spot and jiggling lump and scar. something about the Temple would bear no ill thought against the Self. and admittedly, after eating candy calaveras and talking to clouds, drinking rainbows and holding the laughter of the earth in the crude matter of my body, it was impossible to even remember what those things were i hated about this glorious vehicle i'd chosen this time around.

the grass was soft and cool beneath my feet, which had been softened by an Age i spent in the mud learning to leave myself only to find the most magical destination was...mySelf.

instead of continuing to search for the path through the wood which had led me to the valley, i decided to walk the length of it and see where it took me. the sun was warm on my skin and turning it a beautiful golden brown. i could hear birds singing and talking in the trees. when they weren't chattering about the weather, their eggs, or scrubbing around for grubs and beetles, they were squawking variations of, "hey! hey! HEY!" and somewhere in the deadfall was an absent-minded squirrel muttering as it forgot where it had placed a well-stocked cache of nuts.

"do you like the Valley?"

there she was, the pomegranate priestess. the sight of the blood red robes and red tattoos made the scar on my breastbone itch, the one where a half-moon sickle had laid my breast open to the sky. this particular priestess wore her hair loose to her waist with only one narrow braid behind her ear and tied with golden thread. it was adorned with seashells and glass beads, small semi-precious stones carved into shapes like leaves, stars, spirals, and even the sillhouette of the venus of willendorf. a similar piece of jewelry adorned her ankle, complete with bells so her every other step was music. her tattoos sparkled in the sunlight, as if there were glitter, or ground mica, in the ink.

blood red, with a touch of gold.

her palms and the bottoms of her feet were completely inked, and it traced up her feet and hands in what were now familiar patterns of dots and whorls. only these traced up her legs to disappear beneath her robes, and up her arms to her shoulders, and beyond. i could see narrow tendrils of the gold-glittering red ink at the nape of her neck, at the hollow of her throat. one tattoo fell across her brow and beside her right eye, almost like delicate vinework...only those curves were serrated, and at the tip of each was a teardrop-shaped rhinestone.

like drops of blood glistening at the tips of the cruel sickle of the vulture goddess.

never had i seen such intricate tattooing on a pomegranate priestess before. never had i trembled so in the presence of one of them, though well aware of the mortal dance that was any interaction with them. the presence of a pomegranate priestess was blesséd danger. holy risk.

divine madness.

but for all that, where before i would have bowed with respect before speaking, instead i planted my feet firmly and stood tall. "the valley, Lady?" i asked.

she smiled, and i saw approval in those honey-brown eyes. "Valley-in-the-Glade," she replied. "few know to search for it. fewer still find it. none stumble across it unknowingly. the Valley calls whom it calls."

"then i am a denizen?" my palms were sweating the longer i stood in her presence, and it made my grip on the vial of springwater unsure. i kept twirling it in my hand, working it like a worry stone.

"all are denizens of the Valley," was the reply. "it's a simple matter of acceptance."

"and what is it i have acc--"

"your wounds are healed, then? you choose to use your gifts rather than be nourishment for those who would not waste their talents?" those brown eyes glittered like the rhinestones on her face. it was a challenge, i knew, and a threat if i gave the wrong answer.

She giveth, and She taketh away.

i let my own eyes glitter. "i am of Those Who Bleed But Do Not Die. i bleed to nourish others, i leave a river of blood as a path to guide others into wisdom. i bleed to remember what it is to be human, to always relate to All That Is. if others wish to devour me for their own ends..." i gave her my best feral smile, "let them come take me."

she raised a brow at me, but there was approval in how she held her head, in the set of her shoulders. "you once allowed all others before you. you sacrificed your Self, your Selflove, and even began to do their work for them. you said it was your place, that you did it out of love. what such Love is so twisted you would throw yourself away and deny yourself happiness? what sort of god allows such precious children to create such misery in their souls in the hope of a later joy? it seems to me a lifetime of sorrow does little to equip a soul to handle the undiluted Joyful Funk that is Oneness with Her."

i laughed at her challenge. "such a soul wouldn't begin to know how. such a soul would shy away from it. only a soul who knows she has a right to such happiness would even be willing to reach out and take hold of it. but such a one must first Know their importance and sacredness as a shining being."

she laughed at me. "and you think you are such a one?"

in one swift move, i snatched her sickle from the loop on her woven belt and cut a length of her robe. her eyes never so much as flickered as i did this, nor did her unreadable expression grow any clearer as i wound that length of blood red, billowing fabric around my head and let the rest of it trail down my back. i handed her back the sickle.

"i know i am," i said.

and then my breath caught in my throat as she bowed to me, palms pressed together, fingertips resting just beneath her chin. "welcome, sister," she purred. then she straightened, took my head in her hands and kissed my forehead, my eyelids, and my lips.

"the journey is now truly begun," she said. "most do not come this far...

...most do not survive it."

some things coming in the @#*! nick of time

it's been a while since i've explored my goals and, funny enough, i've been thinking about them lately. and it is with a slightly tired sigh that i admit it's probably time to update them, too.

1. be in idaho by the first week of october
2. get my field training finished at work
3. get my certification as a commissioned groomer
4. get down to a decent jeans size
5. make a new AMV
6. get back on a regular gym regimen
7. get the Funkmobile's windshield replaced
8. give the Funkmobile a funky new paint job, black with pink airbrushing
9. get the Funkmobile new tires
10. decide on and get a decent haircut from my stylist

most of these happened a couple of months ago, actually. of course, #1 was no longer relevant back in september. #2 happened way back in august. #7 happened quite a while ago, too, after i was completely blinded by glare and almost made an unprotected left turn into a volvo. #10 happened back in august, too, i think, only the day before #7 occurred. my hair is now bra-strap length, with layers, instead of waist-length and morticia adams blah.

but as for #3? i got the news yesterday that it had gone through wednesday. the manager lady sent my portfolio in on monday, and by wednesday corporate had sent an email saying that it was so perfect she didn't have to spend any time on it whatsoever. i thought that was pretty awesome. although, to be quite honest, i can't say i'm surprised. i worked very, very hard on that thing, and i know i'm quite good at my job.

and dear Funky Ya-Ya, for the first time in my LIFE i don't have a bottom-of-the-barrel job. i actually have a career. an honest-to-Funk CAREER. when people ask, "so, delena, what do you do?" there's no more chagrined smile, no more shrug and a self-depricating, "well, y'know, i just work over at such-and-such-minimum-wage-paying-store/call-center. so! some weather we're having, huh?"

nope! i'm a real person, with a real title, and will start making some real money here soon. ...just as soon as business picks up again and tumbleweeds stop blowing through the salon, anyway. but still, i can't begin to express my relief. i was seriously beginning to wonder if i'd ever be anybody or amount to anything. and, i'm sorry, Funk notwithstanding, there's something about being my age and still working at entry level dead-end jobs that just fucks with the self-esteem, y'know?

not that i haven't worked my ass off these last few months, especially with this stupid drama of having to protect my job from this insecure, despotic cunt of a floor manager at work for the last two weeks. thank the Funky Jive i never underestimate the versatility of fucktards, and i had a witness. otherwise, things might have gone a whole new direction.

anyway, looks like i need to update the goals. i suppose that'll just be added to the goal list: update the goals. i'm tired and have much laundry to do first.

the night of ten swords

the other night i had a dream... it was very fuzzy, and aspects of it were so completely random even my dream mind had trouble following. there was a great battle building on another world, and i actually knew i had a portal to that world outside my door, open, waiting for me to step through. i had on my armor, my spear in my hand and my healing herbs and magical tools in a pouch at my belt. but no matter how i struggled to get there, other things from my life kept getting in my way.

at one point, an old enemy of mine showed up to pick yet another fight. i was so sick of her, and in such frantic haste to join this battle that i didn't even take her bait. i simply humiliated her into silence. hurrying on, a girl i know from work actually grabbed me by the arm and stopped me, asking me to help her figure out this conundrum she'd put herself in. my house needed repair, the phone kept ringing...

i figured out the meaning, although it took a few days. much as my warrior self knew i belonged out there and that i would make a world of difference, home needed me more immediately. i've been working with the theravada buddhist concept of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path lately. mainly, this whole idea of being with someone, of choosing to remain vulnerable and trust even when my instinct and experience are screaming at me to protect myself as viciously as i possibly can, is creating so much dissonance inside i can't hear the Divine Wow anymore.

cutting between what i want, what i need, and what i'm actually receiving is a vast canyon as wide as grief and as deep as despair. i've been approaching this by trying to build a bridge so i may cross over to what i want and need. when that didn't work, i tried flying over the canyon. i even tried the whole rocket-jetpack-and-roller-skates contraption that Wile E. Coyote did in that one episode.

i finally had to admit giving up what i wanted and needed, giving up the frustration and hurt, was what i needed to do. but instead of simply dying inside, like i could feel happening, i decided to gather up my fraying courage and hike down into the canyon with nothing but a canteen and a pair of comfortable shoes. perhaps i would find there the reason my needs weren't being met, my voice wasn't being heard, and my heart wasn't being cherished.

the past few months there have been a lot of similarities between my situations with *m* and greggo. both men were less than stellar when it came to hearing me, or even caring about my needs. they'd made up their minds about me, and no amount of explaining and pleading would get them to understand. i just didn't know how to get them to understand, but i knew that the moment they did, this whole problem would go away.

compassion, however, demanded i stop trying for a while and do nothing but pay respect and strive to understand them. the frustration was becoming unbearable, however. this is where the eightfold path came into play, meditating on slowly letting go of my wants until i had none where those men were concerned. it wasn't until that moment i was able to see exactly where my pain was, and why it hurt. and it wasn't until then that i was actually able to accurately articulate what it was i needed.

it was remarkable, however, once i understood these things, how strong was my desire to simply offer them up to the two men as a gift, and simply bow and say, "as you wish." for the last week, i'd been telling *m* "as you wish," but i was channeling the broken spirit of big *c*'s wife, not the compassionate love and tricky Funk of the Multiversal Jiggy Snake.

i'm not entirely sure, but i think greggo and i might actually have negotiated peace. right now, however, with the smoke still stinging my eyes and my heart still in bruised pieces, i don't know if it's a peace treaty, or simply two generals so devastated by such spiritual brutality we're pleading for it to just stop and who the fuck cares who wins. like i told *m* in the car yesterday, i just feel tired...and defeated.

tackling the problem with *m* was a little more difficult. i had to tell him i had something i wanted to share with him, but i was afraid to because of how poorly he'd received my words before. i asked for him to promise he would show empathy, and to squash any defensive urges that might come up before i would say any more. just getting to that point was a minor struggle in itself and filled with every single communication problem we've had for the past few months. i almost broke down right there and gave up.

at one point, i even lamented that using statements like "i feel," and "to me, it seems like," did nothing for us because he jumped to the defensive all the same. he grew frustrated and exasperated whenever i bowed and said, "as you wish." he didn't like when i was unhappy, but he didn't like me to hide it, either. i had actually begun to feel it die inside, hope and faith, like it had in the House of Oppression and again with my marriage. but this time my body was reacting like it'd been poisoned. i was just too out of practice for the knowledge and sensation of spiritual suicide to be tolerable anymore.

Delena of the Funkywild would never tolerate this, i remember thinking to myself the other night in bed as i listened to *m* fall asleep oblivious to another one of my pleas for simple physical contact. i was crying myself to sleep yet again. she never would, i said to myself. she would jump out of bed, flip on the light, and demand to be heard. she would demand it and not even give him time to let his eyes adjust to the sudden light flooding the room.

and i could see it, too. i could see Delena of the Funkywild springing up and throwing the switch, towering over *m*'s befuddled and sleepy form, demanding to be heard and refusing to let any of us sleep until i had said my peace and regained my Self's balance. i could see her, and she was wonderful. but at that moment, she was not me, and i closed my eyes and pushed those tears back down again.

i fell asleep with heartburn. with heartburn.

i told him none of that, however, sitting on the couch monday morning. but i did lay it out for him. i told him i needed compassion, that i needed to be touched and loved. there are bigger things out there, i told him, and while he didn't have the ability to step back and see the larger picture and how issues and events are related and translate to a larger Theme or Concept, i could. he, however, could get down to the straight details, of facts and black and white. together, if we put our abilities together we would be phenominal. but i needed him to stop being the cop and start being my lover. i'd been respectful and given him all the space he wanted, and i can go without as much contact as i need, but i desperately needed more than he was giving. and the sense of his rejection was killing me. the fact he wouldn't hear me, the fact he would say, "well, that just isn't me," by way of a reason --or excuse-- was a poison arrow in my heart.

my eyes were filled with tears and a couple had found their way down my face --which is really crying for me-- and i let him see. i don't think he'll ever know how large a demonstration of trust that was --letting him see my crying face-- but i gave it to him nonetheless.

strangely, however, i don't feel victorious. i don't feel good about myself at all. this isn't the time for a pat on the back, or anything else like that. i'm at that moment right after slaying the hydra, in the silence following the last echoes of its massive corpse hitting the ground with a thunderous crash, the roars of all its deadly heads echoing in memory. in the silence of disbelief and desperation, when you hold your breath waiting for the hydra to rise because it's just impossible to believe it might really be dead, and your muscles burn and tremble with exhaustion and every bone-weary breath is a thousand needles scraping your lungs, when you are too spent for thought and even passion and will are drained to the knife edge of despair...

...in that worn and trembling silence when hoping is too much...

...that is where i am. the beast is slain. the insecurity, the misery, the hopelessness, the bruised and wrenching heart, the grief. it's all slain. but right now i'm simply too tired to pick up the Funk and hope.

the ten of swords has been swimming in my dreams lately, too. she might have fought bravely, tirelessly, and with the mad fire of the goddess-inspired. she might have fought so gloriously her defeated foes even honored her with their swords as tribute. but right now, though the battle is over and the dawn shortly follows, for now there is only rest.

equilibrium

so now my computer's finally up and running and connected to the internet. i can finally start getting my online life back on track. i've missed writing more than i can really say. it's driven me fairly mad.

everyone keeps asking how the move was, how life is now with *m*. my voice keeps catching in my throat and i scramble wildly around inside my brain for something that at least sounds positive that's not an outright lie. mainly i keep it to the practical actions.

"oh, y'know, we're just trying to get everything out of boxes right now."
"just trying to settle in..."
"the kittens are loving all these new things to explore..."

i mean, there's really no clean way to say, "well, you know that whole buddhist philosophy about expectations and desire and misery, and having no desires frees us from misery? yeah, well, i'm trying to follow that." besides, it's not really what they want to hear, anyway. they want: "yeah, life is great! woo!"

if i followed goddesses like brigid, demeter, kwan yin, or aphrodite, i'd be asking them for guidance and trying my damndest to follow in their footsteps. but no, my goddesses are oya, morrigan, kali the destroyer, and lilith. i'm about death at the core, swallowing down and breaking up into basic elements, pruning with brutal and merciless love...and equality. painful, honest, challenging equality.

doesn't sound like a compassionate igoddess of the hearth, does it?

instead i find myself yet again yielding to another's needs, bowing low and saying, "as you wish" while my own needs fall to the wayside. compassion doesn't demand to be put first. lilith has been my guiding force for two years, but how to reconcile the lover and hearthmistress with the dark mother?

i wonder that the goddesses i honor really don't have consorts...unless they're in their "other" aspects. but i don't know how to bridge the gap.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Inner Child Tarot, bells, and the letter Q.



i ran.

fleet-footed as the soulful-eyed doe who had greeted me upon my rebirth from the earth, from Earth, i ran through the dark forest along paths no human foot had trod for hundreds of years. she leapt and gamboled beside me, her dappled hide seeming to shift in the muted sunlight and shadows from the canopy above, as i ran faster than thought, silent as shadow, through the thick undergrowth.

my mud-heavy hair bumped against my back with each stride. my feet were cut on sharp stones and thorns. low-hanging branches left rose welts on my flanks as i crashed through them in my haste. my nipples hardened in the cold, damp morning air. the mud on my body dried in the breeze of my passing.

and every sensation of the stunning standard and numinous normal was a note in the spectacular song of the Funky Jive. my breath rasping in my throat was rapturous.

together, the doe and i broke through the dark wild wood into a sunlit clearing, in the middle of which grew a single maple tree. a small creek burbled and danced along the inner edge of the clearing and formed a pool on the other side of the maple. long sweetgrass and heather grew thick in the clearing, the heather shining with every delicate color nature could imagine. the thick perfume of heather mixed with the fresh, warm scent of the grass and water to tantalize my soul.

the doe bounded into the clearing, stopped to bend her head beside the pool for a drink of water, then with a leap was gone. she vanished back into the wood once more. i ran to follow her, but a few strides into the clearing i felt the woods fall away. suddenly, i found myself in a wide and fertile valley, white-capped mountains cradling me as if i stood in the palm of a verdant hand. the cloudless sky was as high as birdsong and as wide as joy.

but what took my breath was when i realized i was still within a circle. elm and oak, pine and apple trees stood at the four cardinal points. they were ancient sentinels, i knew, and gentle guides. and standing at four of the five mystical points were four other sacred Trees, with the mighty oak standing as head of both, to create a powerful Circle of nine sacred trees. with maple at its core.

the maple was my tree. the tree that bleeds, and in its blood gives nourishment to others. the tree that Bleeds But Does Not Die.

"Daughter of Earth," said the Sky, "Bathe thyself. Be cleansed of what was."

i knew i couldn't bathe in the pool, but downstream a small ways was a shallow dip, waist-high with a sunning rock the perfect length for me to stretch out upon. testing the waters, i found the creek so warm and aerated it felt like laughter soughing across my skin. i scrubbed the mud from my hair with sand, then crushed handfuls of heather and rubbed them into my hair and skin. as i sunned myself upon the rock, i took handfuls of spiraled pond grass and ran it through my hair so it would dry straight and untangled. when it was dry, i wove my hair into two long braids over each ear, then wound them around my head as i'd seen my great, great grandmother's portrait. she'd been a beloved curandera in her village when she was alive, healing the sick of spirit as well as fostering health in the body.

i had not seen it while bathing, but as i came out of the water i found my wounds had been completely healed. there was a pale scar, like a birthmark, where the Pomegranate Priestess had lain my heart open, in the shape of a star burst. there was a serpentine scar around my upper arm, pale and thin. but i was whole, and hale, and my time within the Earth had given me perspective into what my problems truly were:

Not That Big a Deal.

"Child of Water," said the Earth, "Immerse thyself and drink. Be freed of what is."

the small pool beckoned. only a moment did regret flicker inside me as i thought about my freshly dry hair getting wet all over again. i suppose even meditation and perspective can only go so far for vanity. but my steps were sure as i lowered myself into the pool. i cupped my hands together and lifted the water to my lips. it tasted sweet, and rich with minerals. it went to my head like a sip of brandy.

"it's just..." i heard myself sigh. "the idea of peace with him, like a holy grail, only i watch it tear me apart and i can't stop crusading for it."

my path had become, without my knowing, the path of compassion, of love and mercy and the never-ending struggle for understanding. and yet my own fear of being laid waste again was too powerful to allow me to surrender fully to compassion. i still saw it as giving permission to another to cause me pain. and the harder i struggled, the more it ripped me apart. there could be true compassion within me, and it didn't have to cost my Self. compassion, forgiveness, and mercy could be given, but it did not require me to treat the other person as a lifelong and trusted bosom companion. to truly pardon required only forgiveness of an offense, and anything more which led to my demise, again and again, was my own naive folly.

it was time to leave hopeful childhood dreams and idealism behind. there would always be room for beauty in the world of magic, but there could be no trust given freely where it was not first earned.

i cried for myself, then. deep inside myself, i had always prayed that someday i would be forgiven by people i loved and could then be welcomed back with open arms and laughter to resume my place among them as if nothing had happened, once my penance was repaid. and in my hope to receive that, i had given that very thing to many others, foolishly, and with disastrous results. with enough compassion, forgiveness could be given. but the time had come to accept that my place among them was lost a long time ago, that others' places in my life were gone, and sometimes there is no such thing as happily ever after together.

no matter how much the child within might want it so.

"Sister to the Sky," said the Water, "wash thy tears and dry thy face. Take, and hold it in trust for what will be."

i washed my face and stepped from the pool. immediately i was dry. sitting upstream at the edge of the creek was a crystal vial with a carved stopper. i filled it with water and clutched it to my heart.

death of an apocalypse

i swallow you down and break you up into your most basic elements so i may then use those materials...


this prayer has been going through my head for a few days now. actually, i've lain awake for hours trying to remember even the first dozen words or so. i couldn't even remember the phrase "most basic elements" because of how clouded my mind has been lately.

there's been so much fear lately, so much confusion and frustration, heartsick agony and hopelessness. i've been struggling to find how to break up fear into even more basic elements, but fear is a basic emotion and cannot be disassembled any further. because oh, i've tried.

my lovely and funkalicious beauty and truth fans, i might've been ready for a relationship, but i don't know that i was truly ready to be vulnerable. of all i've seen of successful pairings of people, none of them have sat down and told me that love is something that goes beyond risk, that goes beyond that life-or-death decision to stand there with your arms down and just let the shrapnel hit you full in the torso. that choice to stand there and smile and let him stab you in the gut one more time, over and over.

and over.

don't forget to smile. and say 'thank you.'

have you ever been so afraid you've actually been paralyzed? i mean, literary talent that i am, i know i've talked about being paralyzed by fear, but in all honesty i've never actually been truly paralyzed. i've heard the blood rushing in my ears before, and there are countless times i've had the fight-or-flight response kick in. i've also been so mortally frightened that i was immediately kicked so far beyond fear that i found myself in a calm sort of focus, knowing that whatever happened in the next thirty seconds could not be prevented and i'd already accepted the fact of my own mortality.

but i've never been paralyzed by fear. at least, that is, until the other night. i couldn't move. and although it was because i was afraid of *m*, it wasn't *m* i think i was truly fearing. it was vulnerability. i feared being the supplicant, because i'm so proud. i feared the feeling of begging, because i'm too proud. i feared yielding and capitulating one more time, because i'm too paranoid and defensive to even remotely resemble a doormat.

i haven't mastered my inner calm, my core of confidence that cannot be shattered. i don't have the authority in my Self to know --truly know-- that compassion isn't flawed by pride. it isn't about who's right or wrong, who was wronged first or hurts deepest. it's about who's loving, compassionate, and merciful enough to start healing, about who is willing enough and humble enough to honor the Funk within another. because in honoring the Divine Wow within another, you honor the Supreme Funk within yourself. it's not about making your point, about driving it home until its made...until you win. it's about making peace.

and that's oh so hard to do when you're afraid and hurting, and you know that to take down your defenses is to be shredded to pieces all over again. i guess love is walking through the firing line.

T-minus...

...5 hours 9 minutes, and counting.

my flight leaves at 16:05 today, and as i sat down to write this entry, it's 10:56. i woke up yesterday and realized it was my last full day of no *m*. the impish, dry-humored side of me pulled the corner of my mouth up in my old wry half-smile as it occurred to me i might want to call in sick to work and go downtown, then call up everyone i knew and throw a last-minute hen party.

i didn't, though. i went to work, and actually yesterday was a very good day. it was quiet, for the most part. it's been slow at work, and i only groomed two dogs. the tips from those dogs, however, bought me dinner. which, i must say, i was glad for since money's been so tight with the payroll disaster and i've been going hungry on those nights i haven't been over at *ds* and *ks*'s apartment.

boho mom, you'd be so proud of me. these last two weeks have been an immersion in the bohemian lifestyle, to include sitting on the floor (no furniture) while crocheting afghans and potholders, going hungry, drinking lots of looseleaf chai, and shaving curls of handmade goatmilk lavender soap to do my laundry, lol.

i've loved it, though. the demon children are affectionate, cuddly, purry, and a hilarious source of entertainment. my apartment's been comfortingly quiet, and ever since i put that nightlight in my room, sleeping's been enjoyable, too. although i haven't enjoyed the solitary state, however temporary i know it's been. the only time in my life i've lived somewhat alone, it was when i was married to big *c* and it was just me and li'l *c* at home together while big *c* worked double shifts to get away from me. and an infant, and then a toddler, is anything but quiet. and we kept each other company. but that's the closest to living alone that i've ever come.

and i've decided i enjoy roomates. perhaps i've always been communal, although that wouldn't be surprising. i grew up in a large mexican family, which is synonymous for "noisy and obnoxious." i loved it when it was the six of us (*ks*, *ds*, *kas*, *mj*, and *cc*) with four or five cats and a dog. it was cramped, and we got on each other's nerves, but i always felt safe and loved. sure, there's a freedom when living alone that you really don't have when you're living with anyone else, but i know i can always just get up and go somewhere whenever i want. i've made it abundantly clear to *m* that i'm anything but tether-downable.

*mj* called me a free spirit once, and *ds* and *ks* call me their stray kitty. *mj* laughs at my gypsy feet, and everyone else wonders why i refuse to settle down. i suppose after living in a cage for two dozen years, any animal would be wary of the thing that even remotely resembles captivity. we'll see if *m* has what it takes to coax a stray kitty indoors: a cozy fire; a warm, soft, and comfortable place to curl up; a gentle hand willing to give affection; and maybe a collar with a bell, but only so long as time is given to me to decide if i want to wear it, and so long as the collar is pink.

so we'll drive up tomorrow, and i got thursday off from work so i could help *m* unload the moving truck. then, sunday is dinner at the parents' and a sort of "welcome home, *m*" celebrating his first sunday dinner as a member of the household. next sunday, the girls at the salon had all wanted to go to one of the haunted houses we have around here, and they chose the 28th because they knew *m* could come, too. they're all excited to have him up here, someone they can interact with and get to know, instead of a disembodied name that just comes out of my mouth whenever i decide to talk about him.

everyone's excited he's finally coming up here. i... well, i've decided to withhold excitement until i have a better idea how this will all turn out. i really want to be happy with this whole thing, so i've been doing my best not to set myself up for too much disappointment. so i suppose as long as i just don't press, and i let things be, it might work.

as my bio-mom used to say all the time, and it used to irritate me now but as i've gotten older i find myself using it a lot, "we'll see."

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): The coming week won't be a favorable time to seek revenge against the thunder for making such loud noises. Nor would it be a good idea for you to curse the sea for being so restless or to angrily punch the sky for being so high or to spread nasty gossip about the wind for refusing to heed your commands. On the other hand, cosmic fortune will bless you if you yourself are like an elemental force that unapologetically obeys the laws of your own nature.

funny he should say that just now, this mr. brezsny man. how did he know i'd be lying curled in the fetal today in *ds* and *ks*'s apartment, sniffling and slowly leaking hopeless and despairing tears while sick in my stomach that *m* and i were over?

and all because we still haven't learned to communicate.

i wasn't appreciating his very male effort, and he wasn't learning how to talk to me. my vast and myriad approaches were confusing and frustrating him and he would end up yelling at me, and in my recognizing a scary similarity between his behavior and my marriage to big *c*, i was withdrawing and letting my anger manifest as passive-aggressive cattiness.

i hate that i haven't completely broken the habit altogether, but at least i know that passive-aggression with me is the absolute last resort. i only get this horridly bitchy when i feel i haven't been heard, and when i feel part of the reason i haven't been heard is because i'm being reduced to insignificance.

and then i overcompensate to protect that little girl inside who used to get beaten while others turned a blind eye to her pain.

i am open and honest. i declare what i want. i don't stand around waiting for someone to hand it to me. when there is a problem, i tackle it. when there is a problem, i point it out and am relentless in trying to fix it. and yes, while i am more than happy to admit my contribution to the problem and admit my responsibility, i'm also more than glad to point out others' contribution, as well. people don't like when you say, "my bad. oh, wait, your bad, too."

but i refuse to be the only one saying, "my bad," all the time. people start getting used to it, and then somehow you wake up and realize everyone's piling it all on you. fuck no. not again.

and while i was curled up in the fetal, confused and crying and wondering if i'm really just not worth loving, it crossed my mind that maybe i just should change in order to please a man. after all, from my bio-dad to the father of my child, and every man before or since, all of them ended up calling me very horrible things and reducing me to insignificance (long before i ever acted out against them, reactionary creature that i am). the only men who are the exceptions are my family: *aj*, and *mj*, and *ks*, and my dad.

so perhaps i just wasn't worth it the way i am. but i'm honest, and open, and true to myself, and i know what i deserve and am unafraid to say, "i don't deserve to be treated as less than i am, and you are wrong to do so." i'm supposed to be a revolutionary freedom fighter, dammit.

of course, the instant the thought crossed my mind, i rejected the thought. there's no way Delena of the Funkywild could ever allow herself to change just to make someone else love her and approve of her. but still. it crossed my mind.

and i thought i'd come so far.

after a sleepless night, a tear-filled day, and a lot of staring at the television while my ass fell asleep from sitting on the floor, sick in my soul with terror that i was going to lose the man i love, i was kind of messy. i was even already composing a blog entry, where i was going to say, "yeah, come on. everyone who hates me and glorifies in any moment where my nose is in the dirt, laugh it up. delena's down, go ahead and have your kicks, fuckers." that, of course, was going to be addressed to certain people i know read this blog, and who don't have my best interests at heart.

*m* finally called (for the first time in many weeks actually following through with his promise to spend time with me and talk to me), and i am reassured that i didn't lose him, and he's still moving up here to be with me. of course, he called like nothing happened and didn't even address our issues. i didn't want to tear open the fresh scab, though. while i won't change for him, i'm still pathetic enough that i didn't dare rock the boat.

i'm afraid to talk to him about anything serious. that can't be good. i don't want to be yelled at again. but i just want to fix this communication problem we seem to have. but all i can do is remember the way his frustration so quickly turns to anger, which so quickly turns into yelling at me. if i didn't know that his frustration is at himself and he feels like a failure for hurting and disappointing me when all he wants is to make me happy, i'd have serious reservations about him. but i just have misgivings about our problem with communication. i don't know how to fix it.

all i can do is hold on to my prayer:

"die, apocalypse, die! i swallow you down and break you up into your most basic elements so i may then use those materials to continue to construct myself into the funkiest groovemate worthy of both myself and my sweet baboo, and thereby kill the apocalypse within me by transforming my shadow self into constructive expressions of the Funkalicious Jive! i shall endeavor to find equality, equilibrium, and interdependence with my sweet groovemate in order to allow him to manipulate me as much as i manipulate him, so that we both may work our magic on each other and manifest all of our potential!

amen. a-woman. ommmmm... and hallelujah."