well, i was kinda getting this vague feeling it might --possibly-- be the Year of Secrets. </understatement> i mean, look how many things i came out about:
-- i'm not bipolar (thank the Psychedelic Funk)
-- i was co-dependent (thanks bio-mom, thanks bio-dad)
-- the Summer of Funky Kali Love was something i both needed and deserved
-- i didn't really love *j*
-- in fact, i'd never really been in love before, at all. not really.
-- i want more children (after seven years of vehement protestation and serious consideration of getting myself spayed)
-- i wanted to be someone's "little girl" just once more
-- the Funk
-- i went outside, met my demons, and invited them in for a cuppa tea
-- then i fed and fed and fed them until they ate themselves to death, kinda like arsenic and old lace...
for the next month i'm not at my regular salon, but another one that's actually a little bit closer to home. and there's a girl there that i get along really well with, so we went to dinner together, then we went swimming, and we watched dances with wolves and i stayed overnight. i don't actually get to hang out with other females that aren't *cc* very often, and between you and me, it actually feels really good to get out and be a girl every great once in a while. i hold myself in such tight control the rest of the time that after a while it gets hard to let loose.
yes, even Delena of the Funkywild is still learning how to let her hair down. the past few years --and especially after my Kali Summer-- i've slowly (and then not so slowly) been petrifying inside.
like the redwood trees in arizonai know, i know. how, you ask, can Delena of the Divine Wow be so funkalicious and orgasmically ecstatic and heart-petrified at the same time?
well, quite frankly, she can't. and here is yet another tribute to the Year of Secrets, something i've only come to realize in the time i've taken to sit down and write this blog entry. i've been a big, fat hypocrite, and i hate hypocrisy. i've been in love with the world, the universe, the entire damn Multiversal Jiggy Snake and saturated myself in pronoiafunk and crazywhacked, jubalicious phantasmagoria and i'd completely shut off that part of me that loves in the opposite direction.
i skipped a step. from macro- to microcosm, you can't be pronoiac without loving the Whole. and you can't skip a step, otherwise you're not loving the whole. i love myself, my past and present and whatever my future may be. i love my work, my salon, my town, the whole freaking state of oregon, my country, my hemisphere, my world, my galaxy... i love the entire freakin' multi-verse.
but i stopped loving the individual. "i die every day," is a pronoiac mantra i put into practice. every single day, i try to find a small way in which to die to myself so i may live brighter, fuller, more incredibly me. but there's been a part of me dying every single day which i've held onto, and disgusting as it is, dead flesh still attached to the self is called 'necrosis.'
i'd been avoiding love between myself and an individual, keeping it abstract and at arm's length
i've been carrying around a dead part of me for years, ever since i left li'l *c* with his dad. even though i know it was the best thing for him, and the best thing i could've done in the name of motherhood, my heart and soul and the part of me that is "mother" is bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat every single day.
so i turned off that part of me that was "mother." (and after big *c*, quite honestly i also shut off that part of me that was "lover.")
and after my own bio-mother looked me in the eyes --drunk, freshly filed for divorce-- on the night before my handfasting, and told me to my face her divorce was my fault, that i was never and will never be fit to be a mother, and it's good that li'l *c* is not with me...i've hated her ever since.
i thought i let go of that hatred, but yesterday over dinner with my friend from work, she happened to ask me about it and it all came spilling out. i'd just buried it so deeply even i couldn't feel it anymore, and it had festered and rotted and now i can't help but feel it eating away at me like some bubbling, supperating flesh-eating virus. i hate her.
i hate her because she should have left our bio-dad and saved us from his terrible reign, but she was too cowardly. she hid behind her god and her catholic dogma and played the good, mexican wife who takes all and is silent. she threw us to the lion so he wouldn't yell at and hit her as much. she hated and resented us because she never wanted to be a mother, and she regretted having us. she told me this.
and she did all of this in the name of "motherhood" and then would dare to tell me i'm unfit to be a mother. i left my baby son --my own flesh, the heart of my heart and joy of my joy-- so i wouldn't turn him into the very same thing my bio-father turned me into. i was turning into my bio-father back in those days and i saw it happening. it horrified me. the one promise i made the day i found out i was carrying li'l *c* was that i would never be my bio-father.
never.
so the day i crossed a line was the day i knew i had to leave, for the sake of my son. it killed me. but in the name of "motherhood" i did it, and i don't regret it even still.
motherhood is about silly songs and kisses, macaroni art and the unrestrained pure love of a child, yes. but it's also about pain and sacrifice, about baring your breast to the world and taking all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune so your offspring can step into their own, fresh and pure and secure in themselves. after that, the blood and tears and scars don't mean a damn thing. sometimes motherhood is being a naked human shield, sometimes it's being a vicious she-bear protecting her young. sometimes it's being invisible, sometimes it's being a hero. it's being up to your elbows in the shit and mud and blood of the world, but it pales beside the kisses goodnight, and the hand print in clay painted green for mother's day, and cleaning up the whole gallon of milk that got spilled, and listening to their laughter as you push them on the swings at the park, and, and, and...
my own bio-mother dodged out of the way and let us get hit with things we should never have known existed at that age, and she dares to tell me she's glad my precious boy isn't with me anymore. she has the nerve to judge me.
i hate her so much, and i hate that i hate her. i've forgiven my bio-father, and i've even forgiven *jd*. why can't i forgive my bio-mother? honestly, i don't know. until yesterday, i didn't even realize her words still hurt me as much as they did. i didn't realize i hadn't forgiven her yet for abandoning us as children.
right now, my entire chest hurts --my heart hurts-- just thinking about it. i don't feel any better having gotten all this out here. i don't feel tired, or wrung out, or sad or angry. to be quite honest, i don't know what i feel. maybe what i'm feeling is disappointment in myself, for feeling hatred at all. maybe it'll just take some time before the petrified parts of me begin to break loose.
how un-funktastic of me.
suddenly i'm reminded of something *m* said to me a few nights ago, something i didn't take very well when he said it. in fact, i felt really defensive afterwards but i joked it off. he said he's exactly the chaos i needed in my life. and damn him for it, but i think he's right. greggo's told me plenty of times that he's sure that i was finally ready for someone in my life, and i have to admit he's right.
(damn, all these men in my life being right. what is wrong with this picture???)
but *m*'s taken that petrified part of me and with a simple touch has begun to soften it all, breathing color back into it with that romantic, trickster heart of his. he pushes me almost every damn day out of my comfort zone, but it's fun when he does it.
if i wasn't so damn pronoiac i'd just run with it, but damn me, i can't resist taking a good, hard look at myself every day and doing the work that comes with it. but now i'm just throwing a tantrum, because i really don't mind. it's just really damn hard sometimes.
1 comment:
I figured out a while ago why being able to forgive your birth mother is so hard to do. You pretty much hit it on the head with your description of a mother, your mother and my mother didn't listen to the universe when it whispered in their ears that this is how you feel about your children and this is how you look after them and by fuck we were ripped off because of it.
A child should trust that their mother loves them unconditionally, even if they're angry with you at the time....that love should always be there. As a mother I can't understand what's missing in her that she couldn't be that mother that we all deserve.
You deserved to have a mother who would lay down her life for you, her child, just as I did, but most of the time I know that it's what made me so strong and self reliant. As we know that has it's good and bad points.
Much love and hugs.
Dizzy
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