rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the triple goddess tarot, cocoons, and the number 9.

clouds floated by in macabre shapes that brought the the sickle of the vulture goddess to mind. it brought kali's rage to the forefront of my morbid thoughts as the stream bore me on its path through the grounds of the Menstrual Temple.

that cloud there looked like a pruned rose, its petals falling away. the one beside it looked like nothing so much as a heart pierced through by a sword. that one was harmless, just a dragon breathing fire, but... oh. there were people burning in the fire. 'kay, nevermind.

tears were streaming from the corners of my eyes down my temples and into the water, but i didn't notice. what did it matter, a little salt from my eyes, when i was slowly turning the River Funk red from where the pomegranate priestess had slashed my chest wide open with her sickle and flown away?

the denizens of the River had come, drawn by the scent of blood on the fresh water. i could feel them swirling about me: fish and crustaceans, eels, and undines. i could feel the soft brush of their fins against me, pincers taking curious pokes at me, the smooth gliding of eel flesh down the neck of my shirt and out again. the gentle pressure of small, webbed hands examining my hair, my clothes, my strange body.

with water cradling me and filling my ears and eyes, the smell of blood on the air, and the shock of pain at this new injury, i'd entered a sort of fugue state. no more pain registered, but my senses were sharpened nonetheless. it was my thoughts which were clouded and vague. whatever happened, no matter how strange, i would've accepted it instantly.

it took a long time for me to realize those hands, fins, pincers, and eelflesh weren't merely poking at me curiously. there was a purpose in their touch. slowly, so very slowly, they were guiding me toward the shore.

my eyes cleared, and for the first time i noticed i was no longer anywhere near the pomegranate groves. the clear sky had given way to a forest so thick that no sunlight penetrated the vast canopy above. trees and vines grew so close together, reaching their branches across the river and intertwining them like folded hands, so a kind of arched corridor formed over the river and followed it through the forest.

the water folk had borne me to a small clearing on the shore, a spot of mud that sloped up slightly, like a trench. but they could only go so far onto the shore and push me along the bank. i could see their heads bobbing above the surface of the water, could hear the strange clicks and squeaks of the undines talking to one another.

my upper half was on the bank, my lower half still floating in the river. i slid down further in the mud and suddenly there were large teeth sinking themselves gently into my shirt, barely pinching my skin. jaws closed around my shoulder and pulled me out of the water. a warm, furry body braced against my side and rolled me. jaws caught me at the nape of my neck and i was dragged up out of the mud, over exposed roots gnarled with age, and set down again on soft moss.

a warm velvet nose nudged my head. there was a sound in my ear, the hunka-hunka of a large cat almost on the verge of a purr. in an ordinary house cat, it would have been a trill of curiosity and concern. claws ripped my shirt apart, and a scratching tongue was lapping at the blood on my chest. another tongue, soft and velvet, cleaned my face.

something long and muscular had wrapped itself around my arm. i fought to open an eye and saw a brilliantly green snake had become a tourniquet for my arm. funny, but i didn't even remember my arm being cut.

the forest came alive with animals, from large cats to snakes and even deer, to tend this wound from the sickle. dryads came, made poultices from the leaves and bark of their trees. the moss itself crept up my legs, which were bare. i had no memory of losing my clothing, but suddenly i was alone in the forest by the river, and the moss crept up my body and pulled me down into the earth. i grew so sleepy, and the moss was soft and warm.

the deeper into the earth i was drawn, the more clearly i could hear a sort of pulse, deep in my bones. it was a deep thud, reverberating in my skull, like a large and very deep drum being beaten far, far away. my heart slowed to match that rhythm, my breathing all but nonexistant.

and as i fell into my slumber with the earth, i felt something coil within me. it was a small presence which settled right where my heart should have been.

are you safe? it asked.

yes, i replied.

is your den safe, where all may thrive? it asked.

i thought a moment, feeling the pull of my mystical slumber. i nurture everyone, i said. and i suppose all thrive there...

you could do better, it chided. silence, then: do you find this darkness uneasy?

no. i didn't. i'd lived too long in darkness, come eye to eye with too much, to be frightened of what i see within.

why am i here?

the presence stirred, and i knew it was thinking. so much time stretched it felt like years, and i wondered if i would even receive an answer. you are becoming, it finally said.


yes, becoming, said the voice. this is transitory, a place for you to shed your old scales, young dragon, and learn. you have breathed fire, burned villages. though different now, you will still be hunted in places where they do not understand you. when you emerge, you will be different. stronger, bigger, the very color of your scales will have changed. that dragons have merely one den is a tale. this was merely the place of your transition. now, sleep.


here's the thing...

first off, mich, azzy, and dizzy -

ladies, you rock. i know that there are some people i can count on to make me smile, even when i'm feeling rather murderous. even when i want to strangle the first living thing that comes within arm's reach. even just being able to express it here makes me feel better. or, at least, i feel like i've released something so i'm not holding it in, and there's just something about a circle of women who can understand that. and yes, boho mom, even though i know you haven't had a chance to respond, you're included in that, too. *nod*

so anyway, the thing that had me so...whatever, and as a result, this "whatever" had me angry. well, it still has me angry, come to think of it. but i've finally actually told my parents, which now makes it fair blog game. something strikes me as wrong if i blog about something huge like this without first breaking the news to my parents. of course, holding it in probably contributed to the whole walking rage thing i have going on.

i still have to hold it in, but at least now i can blog about it, which means i can put it into words. not even being able to put it into words this past week has really been grating on me until i'd just been walking around feeling raw and...well, murderous.

so, um, i'm kind of moving to idaho. like, in two months. possibly sooner.

yes, idaho boy asked me, and we talked about it. and no, it's not like i'm "just moving for a man," which i've been accused of repeatedly, and in varying tones of disgust. it's actually a really good career move. could you say that you'll make roughly two to four grand a month shaving dog butts if you moved to some state that's located beyond the ass end of Bum Fuck Nowhere? would you say that it's a good career move if suddenly you found yourself with the chance to do so?

i thought so.

anyway, what had me in a walking rage was the simple fact that i'll be leaving portland. i'll be leaving my home, the first place where i built --with my own hands, my own effort, my own sweat and heart-- the first place where i was ever truly happy. like, where i finally found for the first time what Happiness is. the first place where i could look down at my feet, solidly connected with terra firma, and say this is mine.

the first place where i heard, "it is perfectly fine to be you," and those people meant it.

and no one wants me to leave. half the time, even i don't want me to leave. but like i said once to *m*: "sacrifice is merely giving up something in order that something even greater might be obtained." and i meant it then, and i still believe it now.

but i also know that this is going to be a very and increasingly painful process. i'm only now coming to realize that perhaps my root structure isn't so much like salvia divinorum as i first believed. somehow, even without me realizing it, perhaps i have grown roots like the big-rooted springbeauty. i know that whenever i attempt --in preparation for the move-- to pull at a small section of my root system, it feels like i'm trying to rip off my own limb.

and there's really no one i can talk to about it. everyone i talk to here would say that it's a big red flag screaming that i'm not ready to move. in all fairness, following that line of thought is the simple fact that i'll never be ready to move away from here. ever.

but that's not what i want. yes, when asked, in a perfect world, i will sprout amazing roots here, bear children, own a house, do all the regular american, suburban things here, start a family, become known as mrs. whoever and have all the neighborhood children love me and throw block parties, move into bigger and more comfortable homes and get promoted...all that happy crap, and then finally die here and have my ashes buried somewhere nearby.

i think we all know that delena has learned by now that the world isn't perfect, and life isn't fair. but godsdammit, living a fair life should amount to something.

i've never been with someone who actually wanted to uproot their lives and relocate for me. for some outlandish reason, this right pisses me off.

of course, i've tried to talk to *m* about this, and i get instant responses of how it hurts him to hear it, and he already feels bad enough, he doesn't need to feel worse. "don't say that," he says. of course, i hear, "your words hurt me." so i've held my tongue.

and nearly exploded from the pressure.

the other night *m* couldn't sleep, and he kept me awake. not that this is hard to do, what with all the practice i've had sleeping...being insomniac and all. but we made love that night, partially, i think, because there was nothing better to do and we were both awake, but whatever. it was short, but that didn't matter. this was *m*, and so of course all of my love for him, and all my emotions, come burbling up to the surface and i realize that i cannot go any further. do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars...until i've gotten all of this other crap out of me.

but i knew i couldn't do that in front of *m*, either, because apparently my own heartache makes him feel badly enough. and when, i ask you, have i ever put myself before anyone else, except in cases of extreme self-preservation? emotionally, the answer is "never."

so i got up, got dressed, got my car keys, and went for a drive. i wanted to go across the river into vancouver. i wanted to go to the place where i'd tied myself to the land with the strongest spells i know. but my subconscious took me a different route, and i found myself in the neighborhood of my old house in northeast portland.

my heart caught in my throat. my heart was slamming so hard against my ribcage i could actually feel my arms trembling in time to its furious staccato beat. the car lurched as i downshifted, as i found i'd suddenly forgotten how to drive a manual again. thank all the gods it was the wee hours of the morning, otherwise i might've just caused me a traffic accident.

i pulled over and stared. just stared.

there, beneath that tree, i'd laughed and talked on the phone to an old friend of big *c*'s. i was barefoot and loving the feel of my Home beneath my feet. i told him i was happy, and at that moment i realized i truly was. and there, in that front yard, many of our friends had gathered to spruce up the landscaping for a fund raiser. that window there, with the air conditioner, was my former roomate's room. and the windows below? that was *a*'s and my room, with the door to the side of the yard that never got used. and there, across the street, was the sidewalk where the bus let me off after work every afternoon, right past the safeway that was the familiar landmark for giving people directions. the familiar sounds of the neighborhood at night, the sight of it, and the memories, undid me.

up and out, the tears i didn't even know where there crashed like a tsunami against the pittance of a barricade i'd had up all this time. there was no buildup, no slow warming to it. no, the wail tore out of my throat so hard i thought for sure my throat had ripped open. i sobbed and sobbed, my hands still on the steering wheel, unable to move. my tears soaked my hair, my shirt, trailed down my chin, down my chest, to pool beneath my right breast like greasy sweat in a houston summer.

i don't know how long i sat there in my car and cried. i only know that the pain in my chest, of my heart, grew so unbearable i was clutching at it with both hands, trying to reach through flesh and bone to squeeze the source of the pain itself. as if that could alleviate the ache. it was so fierce i couldn't breathe, but i couldn't stop crying, either. i grew dizzy, and my eyes felt like they were bulging and there was a ringing in my ears, but i don't think i was capable of panic at that moment. the tears wouldn't stop for me to catch my breath.

i've only cried like that once before in my life, and it was towards the end of the Summer of Funky Kali Love, when the last piece finally fell apart. life as i knew it was over, then.

life as i know it is over now. and all i've built, all i've done, all i've risen above and all i've become...my family, oh, my family...

it's no secret my family is the only reason i didn't kill myself last year. they are my rock and my salvation. if i am the arrow, they are the bow from which i've flown true.

when i reach out a hand to stabilize myself, when i feel unsure or afraid, they are what my fingers touch and i am sure and stable again. sometimes i don't even need to reach out. i just need to remember they're there, and it is a comfort to me. knowing my parents are only forty minutes away is sometimes all i need to feel confident in times when i would crumple in insecurity.

and i've been able to share none of this with anyone. once upon a time, the old delena would have had no difficulty keeping all this inside, but this past year i've had much in the way of practice sharing my feelings, expressing them, and accepting all of it. and now, i don't know how i could ever have survived being so repressed before. it's made me physically sick, and i know i've been absolute hell to live with, but i can't find it in me to care. all i care about is how being ripped away from my family feels inside.

i know it's my choice. *m* asked, and i said yes. and i want it. i do. but it's a painful process, and it's only going to get worse for a long time. and i need to freely be able to say "ow," without being guilt-tripped or scolded with, "well fine, don't leave, then."

it hurts. it hurts like hell. i need to be able to rage. i need to be able to cry. i need someone to hold me while i cry. i need someone to offer to get ice, maybe a band-aid. i need to hear, "yes, it hurts now, but it'll be okay soon and in the meantime, i'm here. i'll help you through this."

i need that right now, because it hurts, and i'm afraid, and so far, right now, i don't have anyone to talk to. that, i think, is the source of the anger. i don't like being angry. i don't want to be angry. i want to be loved and reassured.


at a loss for words?

what do you call it when you're angry, but the object you're struggling not to shower with scapegoat, misplaced anger is feeling it anyway? and what do you call it when you're struggling not to show anger, but your struggle is so fierce it's palpable anyway? and what do you call it when your anger is just the secondary emotion...but you don't quite know what the original, anger-inducing emotion really is?

love is really all there truly is...but it's amazing how much anger and pain cloud everything until it's all you can see. now, i can still laugh. i still have happiness. today, at work, it came in the form of a st. bernard named sawyer whose head comes up to just beneath my breasts. he's a huge luv-bug. and i know the Funk is still out there.

i just hate how i have to go through this bunch of fuck just to come out the other side again.


rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the triple goddess tarot, earth mothers all over the world, and the letter D...

so i know they're mainly a lot of bunk and created just for fun, but whenever i take a "which ______ goddess are you?" personality quiz online i always end up as some culture's version of the earth mother. every single time, too. mother goddess, earth mother, queen of heaven, it's all the same really, just different titles for the same facet of the Funky Jive.

on the other hand, bunk though it may be, i find it fitting.

look deeper into Her personality, and you'll find traces of me. look more deeply into my personality, and you'll find Her. in some cultures, she created dancing and singing. she's creatrix of the loom, or gave humanity the secret of brewing beer. she has wonderful bedside manner, and always knows the exact thing to make for someone who is sick, or somehow else in need. she always has full, motherly curves rather than the vixen sleekness of her love goddess sister, but even --especially-- au naturale, she's at her most beautiful. she's deeply sensual, taking pleasure in her world; from the fragrances of her land and her people carried on the breeze, to the cool grass beneath her bare feet, to the sound of the rocks and trees or the food, music, and laughter of the people around her, she immerses herself in all of it and the multiverse could not contain her love for it. she's profoundly sexual, and all acts of love are her rituals. her body IS the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail.

i've always been a nurturer. i've received some very high compliments in my life, but one of the highest i still hold dear is when i was told that yes, no matter how dire my own need is, should someone stumble through that door right now, i would drop everything and be running to help her. and i would, too. (now, before someone calls me a liar or hypocrite, this quality does not apply to energetic and emotional vampires like greggo, for whom i wasted so much of myself for so long before finally prying him off.)

last night i was out with a friend of mine and we had dinner and walked through downtown for a couple hours. we strolled through the parks up along 12th ave and meandered through the PSU campus. we twirled and pranced along the astro-turf practice soccer field, walked barefoot through the grass along the greenhouses, listened to the campus local wildlife late at night: co-eds laughing, studying, fooling around. we admired all the dogs that people were walking through the park. of course, the groomer in me couldn't help but eye each dog, identifying breed, what sort of trim they had, and shaking my head at the poor job of some of the body contours because i could still spot tracking. had those doggies been on my table, they would not have left looking like that! i make puppies purtiful.

it was a clear night, breezy but cool, and the wind played with my waist-length hair, twisting and fluttering tendrils in front of my face like chestnut streamers. the trees were happy, the grass soft and damp beneath my freshly pedicured feet. i was fat and happy after a lovely dinner and fantastic conversation. the traffic down park ave was like music, and the familiar lights let me know i was home. i was so in love last night --with portland-- i wonder how my heart could contain it.

i couldn't separate myself from it, and i didn't want to. all was As It Should Be, and i wonder if that's how gaia feels about us all --only on a much grander scale, of course!

when i love, i love with all of me. and now, when i make love, it's with all of me. when i give, i give until there should be pain but there is only joy. i have to be vastly and severely hurt over a very long period of time before it'll even occur to me to protect myself because my fundamental nature is giving. i can't really conceive of closing myself off anymore because yes, being closed would protect me from further pain, but being closed also shuts out all the possibilities of love and giving that are out there, every single day, just waiting for us. i made the choice, when i went to find my Funk, to be open to the love.

there is only love.

what does abundance mean to me? abundance is love. it's ALL love. Love is the loaves and fishes of the multiverse: the more you choose to be open to, the more it poures over you in tidal waves. the more you approach a situation, a person, a day with love...the more you find just waiting for you. put on love-colored glasses and, yes, you will see reality as it is, but it will inspire funkalicious compassion which is just another form of love. people won't seem as hostile -- just human, capable of enormous mistakes and even more magnificent breakthroughs. the universe will rejoice as you finally take notice of how hard it's been working to secretly shower you with blessings. the miracle of the sun --freely and without hesitation or complaint transforming four million tons of itself each day into energy and light for us to use as food, fuel, warmth, and life-- will seem like nothing less than a miracle of love given to us simply because we Are.

the more you love, the more you will be loved. but you must be open to it, freely and completely and unabashedly.

then your world will go BOOM!

...and the Jiggy Snake will go, "Wee!"



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): This would be a perfect moment to send 100 roses to someone you love. Oddly enough, it'll also be an excellent time to send 100 roses to someone you love to hate. In other words, the karmic ledger needs to be kept in balance. You've got to make sure that all the opposites in your life are given their proper due. Each side of every paradox deserves your equal attention. What's the payoff? An exotic and lyrical brand of harmony will be yours if you expand your mind to encompass the yin of every yang, and vice versa.

this is in keeping, mr. brezsny, with my theme lately of juxtapositions. of not all-or-nothing, but of both-and-together. of at-the-same-time. because gosh darn it, that's just what juxtaposition means.

i AM passion. i'm also A juxtaposition. those that can handle it have a blast being in my life. those that can't? well, they call me hypocrite, but they're fucktards anyway and who needs them?

however...as i think about it...there's no one that i love to hate. i don't love hating anybody. in fact, i quite dislike it. it actually hurts when i hate, and i get sick and depressed, and generally all-around blah. but there's some people out there i can't let go of my hatred for, and i suppose that just shows i'm still human. fantabulous, yes, but also fallible.

perhaps this is still the Year of Secrets, but so far this is turning into the Week of Juxtaposition. this is delena coming to you live from the Land of Simultaneous Opposites.

it's funny. not funny ha-ha, but funny y'know-this-is-something-i've-kinda-half-noticed-all-my-life funny. i've always been a one of each kind of girl. a yes-and-no kind of girl. i choose C when the choices are A or B. my favorite answer in multiple choice tests was always "D: all of the above." i'm mexican and american both: a regular coconut - brown on the outside, white on the inside. har har. i'm my bio-father's daughter, and yet i'm not.

in magic, i'm the place where earth meets water. i'm that indefinite coastline what's always changing. i'm the place between day and night, the doorway between two rooms. i'm the place between matter. it's always been my power, the place that is all places and no place. some call it Void. others call it dark goddess. i simply call it my place.

perhaps what mr. brezsny is telling me is that i need to pay attention to all of me. imbalance only engenders disharmony, and disharmony is cacophony...and who needs all that racket in their life? certainly not me.


what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary


1. exhibiting or feeling uncertainty or fluctuation
2. the feeling within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing them in opposite directions
3. the emotional state of juxtaposition
4. something i'm feeling so strongly right now it's actually tiring me out

i've given up trying to get greggo to see. some people are just determined to argue for their limitations. i really can't blame him for how sick he is. i used to be just as fucked up, and more.

i've sat here for almost two hours debating between myselves whether or not to blog, what to blog about, and then i remembered today was "what's that word again?" and them deliberated over what word to choose. i'm tired, cranky (because i'm tired), fed up, malcontented, restless, tired, impatient, excited, eager, hopeful, hesitant, unsure, tired, , afraid, adventurous...and in general about to pass out from the emotional exhaustion.

i drive around this town and realize all over again how fucking much i'm in love with it. i feel in the marrow of my bones and the crux of my soul, all over again, the spell i cast years ago that bound me to this place using my blood, my tears, and the ashes of beloved possessions of mine --love letters-- i'd burned in sacrifice. i'd severed bonds i valued, in order to create even stronger bonds that now tie me to this place.

usually, the sensation of them goes unnoticed, a feeling i'm so well-accustomed to that i don't think about it anymore. but lately i've felt them. they grow red-hot until bile and acid rise like a geyser to the back of my throat. they twinge at my third eye until the headache is unbearable. they pull at my ovaries until i lose my balance, gasping and sweating and pale from actual pain. they clench around my heart and my throat.

it hurts.


can't talk. reading.

so i have the new harry potter book in my grubby little hands. it's mine, MINE I TELL YOU!!! and i'm already close to page 300. i only stopped because dizzy called me up, that stupendalicious, wonderiffic dizzy-girl in australia...

but the phone has died. it is a sign! a SIGN!!!

*runs off to read until she goes cross-eyed and passes out from harry potter overdose*



all good things...

so i just broke up with greggo. i have a huge headache now.

but the dark and gloomy cloud that's been hanging over my head has suddenly cleared and i feel worlds better.

a good pronoiac knows that when it's time to let something go, holding on will only warp it until it's unrecognizable from what you loved about it in the first place. thank it for being what you needed at the time you needed it to be whatever it was, and then let it go at the appropriate time. be honest with yourself if growth and change are necessary, painful as they might be.

by the Jiggy Snake, i feel so much better, though! freer, somehow, lighter. definitely happier. my heartburn, and that nagging constipated feeling, is gone, too. i've been hiding a lot of things from myself lately, regarding our relationship, and perhaps i've just finally come to the point where enough is truly enough. what sort of Funky pronoiac would i be if i talked about all this wonderous growth, about Funky Kali Love, and didn't employ it in every aspect of my life?

i knew how much he was bringing me down. i just refused to admit it. i remember this line i read in a book about codependency: "there are plenty of healthy people out there. they were all just avoiding you." now i understand what, exactly, it is about the emotionally unhealthy that repulses the well-adjusted and healthy. people like that are bad for my health. much as i love him as a person, he was just holding me back from way too much. and i was letting him.

but not anymore. i think i'm gonna go celebrate with an oreo cookie sundae.


idiosyncratic oxymoronism

recently i've had to introduce *m* to something called "delena logic." it's not the way most people approach things. however, if a person actually gave enough of a shit to really stop, change their perspective for a godsdamned minute, and look at something from this different point of view, things actually make a damn good bit of sense.

the problem i run into is that most people don't give enough of a shit. i only know of four people in my life who have the ability to follow delena logic: *t*, *aj*, suzi, and *cc*.

do you want to know my absolute favorite word in the whole, wide world?


1. an act or instance of placing close together or side by side
2. the state of being so placed
3. (in literature) two things which, being placed together for comparison, are contrasting to the point of opposition and yet are the same

the day i met that word, back in my senior year of high school, i fell instantly in love with it. why? because i knew that i was a juxtaposition. i am.

pronoia states we must let go --with love-- of those things which hold us back, while thanking them for being that which we needed when we needed them. pronoia also states we must love and enrich those things in our lives which need enriching and love, and celebrate those things which must needs be what they are by reason of their own nature, even should their nature be contradictory to our own. in fact, we must celebrate those differences, and love them more than we love them.

this is easy when it's something simple, like loving someone who forgets to turn off the headlights on your car and the battery dies. it's a small thing, right? the challenge comes when it means loving things like terrorists, predators of children, wifebeaters, and starbuck's.

and yet they are all necessary and good in the eyes of the Funk. they all serve their purpose. who are we to challenge the Funk?

and yet...who are we to challenge the Funk? we are manifestations of the Funk loving the Funk! we are second-generation star stuff come alive! we ARE the Funky Jive! and in our groovy love and psychedelic enthusiasm for one another, it's our funky duty to both challenge one another to growth and freedom and Funk, and at the same time our sacred responsibility to live and let live.

y'know, every single day i think about the other members of the now-defunct House of Dragons' Rest. i think about the House of Silverfox. i'm a sanchez, damn it all. i'm a silverfox, too. i'm also a chappelle, by declaration of my dad. i am of all these families, contradictory in values and customs as they may be, i am all of them, and they are...


...of me.

one of those families comes from the streets, borne of nothing but the fierce desire to rise above hardship and solitude. one of those families comes from a proud line across the sea, now numbering only fourteen individuals including myself. one of those families is so vast we number well over a thousand and span several states in america, and half of mexico.

nomenclature merely represents a momentary state of being which may change at any time, and yet reveals a fundamental part of us which is eternal.

how's that for juxtaposition?

i miss my mexican family, but not as much as i used to. i think time has cooled that longing, but my ears still long to hear mariachis singing. my body quivers to dance salsa and merengue. my tongue longs to speak another language among others who will understand. my eyes so fiercely long to look upon people who look like i do: dark and full and short and strong.

i miss my impromptu family. i miss the rough edges and battle-readiness that can only come from living on the street. i miss the dark humor and easy banter. i miss ravyn's laugh, the way it fills her whole body and she throws her head back and claps her hands. i miss the way we did for each other what we could, just because it was that sense of watching each others' backs which hailed back to the days when doing so meant survival. i miss that sense of running in a pack.

i hate how abuse, self-righteous misunderstanding, and the healthy need for space has distanced me from my culture and heritage. it was necessary, yet the physical distance and time have bleached so much that was mexican out of me. i'm a pale imitation of what i once was, and i actually feel stupid when people ask my nationality. "you look hawaiian," they say, "or samoan, philippino, micronesian." and i just smile and say, "nope, just mexican."

"i never would have guessed! you don't look it!" they say.

"i know," i think to myself. "i don't look it at all." and there is sadness, and shame.

i drive by the other entrance to my apartment complex at least twice every day, the one that would lead me right to the apartment with the rest of the silverfoxes. i walk by their building every day i go to the gym. after every payday, i think about the dinner i was supposed to take them to share with me, in celebration of finally landing my dream job. people ask me my name at work, and it feels like a lie.

and yet, in my desire to help create nothing but a sense of family, of challenge and growth and love in the way that i know best --as mother-- i've alienated them. they've turned me into a beastwhore like *cc*, who apparently is out to get them and only wants to browbeat them and tell them how horrible they are.

and yet they refuse to hear that those things are never what i'm trying to do. when i love someone, i will do what i can to challenge them to be better people, to grow and not be locked inside habits that will only kill them. the only people i let do whatever they want are people i don't give two craps about. and yet i'm demonized, and every word out of my mouth is an attack. i say one thing, and somehow (i'm not quite sure how) they wrest other, more horrible, meanings out of what i said until even i don't recognize the words that supposedly came out of my mouth. it's frustrating because i'm only trying to give love, caring, and concern.

not only that, but when i finally expressed serious discomfort and uneasiness because one of the members of that family wouldn't stop touching and grabbing me in inappropriate places, suddenly i'm ostracized by that person. what, the only way to enjoy a sense of family and friendship with that person is by allowing him to molest me whenever i'm in the same room, and to allow him to disrespect when i've said "no?"

half the time i'm tempted to just let them the fuck go. they've obviously turned me into a worse demon than they turned *cc* into. they refuse to hear what i'm really trying to say. i try to approach things reasonably when i see a problem or am upset, and another one of them always has to pick a fight.

this situation reminds me a lot of greggo, actually. yeah, he's a lot better than he used to be, but that's not saying he's fantastic. sure, we're all traveling our own paths, at our own individual speeds, and we'll all arrive at our own destinations in our own good time. but my path is not his path, and my speed is not his speed, and my destination in my time is not his. but more and more lately i've been forced to admit something i've been trying to ignore for years.

my exponential growth lately makes it very difficult, however. it's like being underwater and trying to shoot to the surface carrying fifty-pound weights strapped to your arms. and i'm going to drown soon if i don't get some air. he knows this. he knows i know this, too. so we both know it, and both of us do nothing, and my lungs are burning for want of air.

do i hold on, or let go? do i let go of southern california and the rich culture and my heritage i love so much, and embrace the fact i'll never go back and live in a part of the united states inhabited largely by people who will never quite understand me the way the sanchez clan would? live in a place where the color of my skin, the way i look, and the way i think will never allow me to really fit in?

do i hold on, or let go? do i shed what might be an outmoded name of mine, and simply let a meaningful and important connection fizzle, fade, and die? is it worth trying, one last time, to help them see my perspective so they don't think those horrible things about me? or are they too blind, and i should just accept my losses? they don't hear when i admit my own culpability in the breakdown of our makeshift family. they don't hear my observations, only blame. they twist words i've spoken, twist meanings never meant to be twisted, and then refuse to listen when i try to tell them my own meaning of my own words. they think i'm a demonwhore, when all i've ever tried to be was fair. they don't know just how deeply it's hurt me. i've managed to keep that much from them, at least. i always thought they believed i was a better person than *cc*, but i suppose i have to admit they hate me as much as they hate and distrust her. maybe it's easier for them, i don't know.

do i hold on, or let go? *m* has been a great friend to me, listening while i worried and lamented and wrung my hands, trying to figure out how to fix greggo's growing jealousy of my relationship with someone-not-greggo. how to resolve the issue of a married man's love for me, and a very real sense that someone not my lover is trying to pee on my leg and mark his territory. i hate feeling like a possession. since he admitted he loved me a few years ago (which utterly blew my mind because i had NO idea, despite what he believes), i've been more and more sensitive to his feelings when i'm with someone. i've caught, more and more, the derisive and hurtful, snappish comments, the biting sarcasm between the lines, the passive-aggressive lashing out and guilt-tripping. he used to guilt-trip me a lot, especially back when i was pregnant and dying and too damn weak to speak, let alone deal with his emotional issues. when i start a new relationship with someone, it blows my mind how fiercely that old greggo comes back with a vengeance. the same old phrases, the same old logic. it's kind of scary, actually. but this time seems different. he doesn't quite hate *m*, but he's been pissed as hell and i can tell. he knows he has no right to feel possessive, no right to want me that way when he already chose his cold fish of a wife, no reason to look to greener pastures when he won't dare to grab hold to freedom --in all its terrifying dizziness-- with both hands and hold tight.

i'm sorry, but i'm riding the tail of the Phantasmagoric Comet of Funkywild, and i have no room anymore for people, emotions, dysfunctions, or past issues that are going to hold me back.

this does include, to my abject horror, my issues and lack of peace with my bio-dad. i have to let it go.

i don't want to let it go. i don't want to let any of it go. i want to resolve it all, make it better than new, make it work, make it something i can carry with me and enjoy their company in the Vastscape of the Funkywild.

but pronoia isn't about denial, or sugar-coated lies. sometimes those Funk-colored glasses paint things a very real shade of Kali Love.



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "Dear Rob: Last night I dreamt that I finally met the soulmate I've been looking for all these years. We were making love in a limousine that was driving us to the church where we would be married. Then a terrible thing happened. Right there in my arms, my perfect lover turned into a toothless, stinking geezer whose sparse white hair was falling out in my hands. I shrieked and ran out of the car. Can you interpret my dream for me? -Crushed Capricorn." Dear Crushed: Your dream may mean that your romantic ideals have become outmoded; your long-standing fantasies about what constitutes your perfect lover are no longer relevant. It's probably time to adjust your definitions."

y'know, i wasn't at all surprised to see this in my email box yesterday. personally, i've been somewhat wrestling with this one even as i've been wrestling with trying to affix in my mind the image of the lovesick swan as my anti role-model. they go together, if you really think about it.

the poor bird was in love with the wrong thing, chasing away people who were forever invading its space, loving something that neither cared about its love or even had the capacity to acknowledge it.

and though i know the fact i've recently taken a lover comes as no surprise, this is the first time i've actually acknowledged it to anyone who isn't *m*. i've been my happy, lover-free self for quite some time now, and great sex notwithstanding, there are other aspects to this whole lover thing that i've never encountered before.

this new territory is quite overwhelming sometimes.

while i know in my head and in my heart that *m* is Different, when those differences actually pop up i'm still completely blindsided by them. sometimes i'm even rendered momentarily speechless. i know, i know. delena speechless? yeah right. but it's true.

this new experience is something i've seen before, but only in two married couples i know. of all the couples i've known, only two share this new thing i'm getting glimpses of in my time with *m*. it's strange, wyrd, and i'm not quite sure what to do with it. it's like a strange new plant someone gives you as a housewarming gift and you're not quite sure of its care and climate or even what, praytell, it is you're looking at.

quite honestly, i didn't even know anything was missing in the realm of delena-as-lover. now, with *m*, i wonder how i ever could have missed it, if that makes any sense. and it's not limited to the bedroom, either. what is "it," you ask?

well, It is a sense i get, an actual physical Something that i can feel growing right here, below my solar plexus. its warmth spreads up into my chest and down to my womb. it's a feeling of certainty the way i'm certain about my feelings for li'l *c*, or *t*, *aj*, and my parents. and that feeling, whatever it is, creates a connection --i think-- between *m* and myself when we're actually together. it's what keeps us thinking about each other when we're apart.

and It grows stronger, i think, every time we look into each others' eyes as lovers. once upon a time, my orgasms were very private affairs. they were mine and mine alone, and i never even considered letting anybody in like that. but i have with *m*, and now i can't imagine it being any other way. it was powerful like no other experience i've ever had --ever-- but i think it was with the right person. i know i'll never be the same.

it's a matter of switching gears, i think. suzi called me the night before her wedding, and we talked for a while. i told her about *m*, whom she was all excited to hear about, and i said something about that feeling in my solar plexus, about that certainty i've never felt before. "it's funny how that happens," she replied. "it's like all this time you go on thinking, but then when you know, you know. y'know?"

yeah, i know.


pomegranate prose

on the vast grounds that lie within the borders of the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail there winds a crystalline river of such vivid shades of lapis and teal, and the deepest royal blue ever conceived by Nature. the water tastes of happiness and hope, with a freshness that bubbles on your tongue, the water so aerated it invariably evaporates inside your mouth until you don't know if you're breathing water or drinking in sweet, pure, mineral air.

the sweetest mountain stream is bracken compared to the River Funk.

clear across the grounds from the zen gardens, there lies a grove of pomegranate trees that grows on either side of the river, with a wonderful bridge of braided pomegranate branches gilded in sparkling laughter joining the two banks. and these are the sweetest, plumpest and most ruddy red fruits of persephone ever to grow in the history of the multiverse.

many things had happened lately, and i found nothing was more healing or peaceful than lying beneath those pomegranate trees, the soft grass like a felt blanket beneath me. the leaves whispered holy stories and sacred puns in the breeze, and secret wishes of the Jiggy Snake grew inside each lovely pomegranate, clothed in the sacred, sweet red flesh of the tiny seeds.

a small pile of waxy red rinds lay scattered beside me, and i lounged in the dappled shade and dangled my fingers in the river. the ground was soft as a feather bed, and the sun caressed my face with a gentle mastery of tantric mystery. a small sigh escaped my lips.

there were footsteps then, a hushed rustling of bare feet on the green carpet of cool grass. i opened my eyes and saw the pomegranate priestess staring down at me, the red whorls and dots tracing like faery dust up her arms. this particular priestess wore a gold nose ring in her left nostril and bells in her braided hair, and the pendant dangling in the middle of her forehead flashed a brilliant, clear and all-knowing red.

she held out her hand, and only then did i notice she held a small piece of raw paper rolled up like a scroll and tied off with gold and red ribbons. her lips were full and glistened with the stain of pomegranate juice like the darkest lip gloss. she smiled at me, a gentle smile full of pity. the darkness in her eyes filled me with dread, but i knew i had to read the letter.

--dearest and most adventurous delena of the funkywild--

a misguided swan became infatuated with a pedal boat at a pond in hamburg, germany. apparently mistaking it for his soul mate, the devoted bird guarded the boat jealously and rarely left its side. the human owner of the boat found it amusing at first, but later regarded it as a nuisance, since the enamoured swan chased away all potential renters of the vehicle.

before i could even react in my confusion to the ambiguous and out-in-left-field nature to the letter which was entirely typical of things in the Menstrual Temple, the priestess pointed a finger at me. the motion was so quick, it caused the bells to chime softly in her hair.

"make this poignant creature your anti-role model," said the priestess. for only a moment, her hair came loose of its braids and exploded in a riotous, fiery red down to her feet. her tone reminded me of those days when i was young and was constantly running into the street without looking both ways, and my bio-mother would catch me and give me her no-nonsense voice.

but then she smiled. "may he inspire you to free yourself of all delusions you have entertained over the years about the kind of intimate ally you need in order to be happy."

the breeze picked up and ruffled her hair, and a vulture feather flew out of her tresses where it had apparently been caught. a chill raised gooseflesh on my arms, even in the heat like warm butter on my bare limbs.

"you're talking about my bio-dad," i said.

she raised an eyebrow, and just for a moment it seemed her face elongated to accomodate a great, wickedly curved vulture beak. sometimes knowing the sisterhood of the pomegranate priestesses never spoke except as the goddesses wasn't as comforting as it seemed.

"is that your delusion?" she murmured. "your biological father as intimate ally?"

i winced at the barely veiled allusion of incest. "ew, no." i took my hand out of the river and dried my fingers on my shirt, sat up and tucked my legs beneath me. "it's just..." i sighed. "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."

the grace and poise of the priestesses are legendary. in one smooth motion she sank back on her heels and stroked the grass with her fingertips. would that i had an ounce of such self-possession...

i could feel the heat rising to my face, sitting there beneath that gaze that was priestess and vulture goddess and bandit, revolutionary prankster goddess all at once. unable to look her in the eyes, i lowered my eyes to the fists my hands were making of themselves in my lap and i shrugged. "inside, deep inside, i wonder that one day people will look at me and see my Funk as a fraud, and they'll see i'm still that little girl on that porch. and maybe, just maybe, if i can make peace with him, if i can build a friendship where things are good, it will cancel out that part like it never happened and it won't matter.

"it's not that my Funk is fake," i said. my throat was clenching up so hard it felt bruised. "i guess we just want resolution, me and that little girl. and how better to get it than from the man who created the rift?" i shook my head as if dismissing the entire, idiotic thing. "it's my issue, and i know it. i'm once more looking outside myself for something i need inside, but you can't blame a girl for wanting to again be the precious little girl her daddy loved. i don't want to wonder, for the rest of my life, whether he loved or hated me."

the small sickle was once more in the priestess' hand. with practiced efficiency, she raised an arm suddenly entirely blue, and swiped the sickle across my chest. the blade bit deep into my breast bone, nicked my heart.

the impact flung me backwards, and i landed with a bracing splash in the River Funk. shocking cold blinded me and my limbs tingled with sudden numbness. whether it was the shock of physical or emotional trauma, i didn't know. my arms refused to obey my desperate attempts to break for the surface. my lungs burned, and i opened my mouth and breathed in great mouthfuls of water...which turned instantly into fresh, cool air.

slowly, so slowly, my head broke through to the surface, and i floated on my back. from the corner of my eye i could see the red stream of my blood widening in the current.

"you have studied," the priestess called to me from the bank of the river. "you know what happens to a body slowly dying of blood loss. you can bleed as you wish, or you can close the wound. you are of Those Who Bleed But Do Not Die. do not waste your power needlessly, or it will be devoured for those who would use it."

she leapt into the air then, and the sun flashed in the sky. suddenly, where before there had been a beautiful woman dark of hair and red of skin, there was a vulture with red talons and red-tipped wings flying over the pomegranate groves.

stunned, injured, i floated helplessly down the river.



so boho mom showed me this awesome website that i was having way too much fun with...

miss me?

okay, beauty and truth fans, iGoddess is back! and i absolutely loved coming back home to all of your comments. i've decided that boho mom is just too fucking cool for any funky adjective i could ever come up with, i'm now on the hunt for patchouli car fresheners, and i want to live in mich's world. "get your bony butt back here," she says. i want to live in your world, mich, where delena's butt is bony, because that probably means her thighs aren't all cottage-cheesy, her lower abs aren't covered in hideous post-childbirth stretch marks, and i bet her boobs are still cute and perky, too. yeah, i wanna live in a world with bony-assed delena. lol

alas, i have no pictures. i had fully intended to take pictures of my whirlwind two-day trip. i even borrowed my mom's camera for the trip, too. however, hilarious as it may seem, aside from 'the bling' and the actual time i spent with *m*, nothing went right this whole week.

and yes, there will be mention of the bling.

so on saturday morning i went with *r* and her boyfriend down to bend to see about that car. originally, i was going to buy her '69 mustang from her, but after we made our deal, her boyfriend sold it to his friend right beneath me.

we got to bend four hours later than *r* wanted, so our afternoon was a rush of errands and LOTS of driving in a fifty-mile radius. we got to bed really late that night.

the next day, i found out that the other mustang i wanted to look at, a '67 (even better), was no longer for sale. the owner's parents heard there was a buyer in town all the way from portland, and "quite suddenly" there was an extra zero on the asking price. i was so dejected and pissed off i actually felt physically sick. i can't remember the last time i'd felt sick simply from anger.

actually, we suspect a bit of racism going on there, but since we can't actually confirm it we can only shrug. hell, even if we could, we could still do nothing but shrug. what a beautiful country this is, where injustices and fucktardism go completely unpunished.

i bought *r*'s boyfriend's black '93 honda civic ex, instead. it's a pretty sweet car. i mean, it looks like hell on the outside, with primer on the hood and roof, scratches all alongside the driver side exterior, and a crack that winds its happy-ass way across the entire windshield. but beneath the hood, it's got new or really-close-to-new racing-performance engine parts. it's a sleeper, actually. i could show up on a street racing track and be totally laughed at, and then take about 80% of them by surprise as my little banger makes them choke on my dust.

not that i'd ever race, mind you. my daddy's a cop, and he and *m* might take it amiss if their little chica was sporting a bit of illegal street racing... but hey! i'm just saying, i could...

as for my trip to idaho, i got off to a very bad start. i'd been enduring cracks, jokes, comments, and total, utter doubt that i was capable of making a stupid road trip. i was slightly bombarded from many, many people, so my scales were already ruffled and i was breathing smoke.

i was three and a half hours late. i'd wanted to leave at 19:00, but i didn't get out of the house until 19:30. i forgot something, so i had to turn around and go back for it.

i stopped by my parents' house to have dinner and shave a kitty butt because one of their cats had eaten something wrong and gotten an explosive (and i'm talking explosive) case of the poopies. so i shaved this creamsicle, longhaired kitty's latter half (and yes, i left the little tuft at the end of his tail like a lion) and now he's running around bare-assed. it's hilarious, but they love it. dad gets a kick out of that little lion tail.

so by the time i even seriously got on the road, it was already 22:00. i was quite irate, spitting brimstone and tail twitching. even *m* got a brush of it, because i couldn't quite keep the expletives and biting sarcasm out of the conversation. i ended up using the excuse of poor reception to turn off my phone a bit earlier than usual. it's not his fault people were being fucktards and pissing me off. he was a small contributor, but not the whole, so i just shut up and spared myself misery later. besides, i'd realized that trying to explain to him why i was pissed was a lost cause. isn't there a saying about picking your battles?

anyway, so then any and every traffic and road hazard conspired to push my arrival time back even further. everything from night construction to large mammalian carcasses appearing out of nowhere and scaring the crap out of me.

on the way home, i must've fallen asleep at least half a dozen times while speeding down the highway at 80 mph. the scariest time was when i woke to realize i was passing a semi i didn't even remember seeing on the road. yeah, it's only kinda cool in retrospect, ha ha. but see, i know this is a part of solitary road trips. and it's not like i could afford to stop and sleep for any decent amount of time. i had to be at work at noon. you just shake it off and keep going. besides, i'm an insomniac. sleep isn't a necessity for me like it is for others. it's a luxury item, a rare commodity. so i'm not all broken up about it if i don't get a whole bunch of it, but i don't expect people to understand it. unfortunately, pronoia keeps me from simply looking down on the poor, ignorant fucktards and going on my merry way.

hence the frustration. i don't quite yet know how to deal with the godsdamned sleep proselytizing yet. not in a pronoiac way, anyway.

i got to work a whopping half hour early and needing to pee like only someone who's been holding it for over 300 miles can pee...only to realize i'd forgotten to pack my work pants. so i had to turn back around and drive home, throw them on, and get stuck in traffic to be at work fifteen minutes late.

yeah, i'm still trying to work out what lessons and what, exactly, the universe felt i needed in that experience. i refuse to accept "don't visit *m* with only two days to spend" as the universal lesson. and i refuse to accept "you're too old to take road trips like that anymore" as the lesson either, especially since the only reason i bought that godsdamned car was to use it to visit both *m* and li'l *c*.

so yeah, still looking for the lesson.

on the other hand, i got a lot of thinking done. with nothing to look at but two lanes of highway in the middle of the night, and with music in the background that you're too tired and dazed to really be paying attention to, there's really not much to do except think.

mainly i thought about *m*, and about my bio-dad.

but all of it, even falling asleep at work today, was totally worth it.

maybe the lesson is a simple reality check. physically, emotionally, financially, and even mentally, it was a challenge. and yet it really doesn't feel like it. it's just something i felt, quite simply, needed to be done to make seeing a certain person that much easier. it was an indirect gift, and i was quite happy giving all of it. not once did i second-guess myself, or regret anything for a moment. reality check: it was a "just because i love you" gift that i suppose i hope is one day fully appreciated. i'm one of those people that really doesn't use that word a lot, except in spurts, but i'm the type of person where my actions are usually a nonstop recitation of one four-letter word.

PS: "what's that word again? oh yeah...PARK. park the damn car...quit running the roads...get back here!" *dying laughing* boho mom, you fucking rock.


what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary


1. extreme excitement
2. totally revved about something
3. uncontainable passion and/or jubliation
4. what delena is right now, and what every single avid reader and fan of the Funk should be!!

delena got a car!! yes, beauty and truth fans, iGoddess has a vehicular mascot!!!

i'd love to write more, and i will, just not now. from now until probably saturday afternoon, iGoddess is going dark. i was in Bend, OR this weekend getting my car, and tonight i'll be somewhere, and tomorrow night i'm taking said new car to visit *m*, which is a nine-hour drive. or, well, four hours if you drive the way he does...

but yeah, so i'll be unavailable of the internet for the next few days. i'll be home friday, but i'll be working until closing time, and then i'll be dropping dead to sleep so i can then open up shop the following morning.


so yeah, i'll be wishing for death, but i'm telling myself it's worth it. =)



oh father, where art thou?

my other best friend, suzi of the mathematical genius, is getting married tomorrow to a very breathtakingly wonderful man. i'm ecstatic for her, and i'm so proud of her. i'm so proud to be her friend, so blessed to be an inseparable part of her life.

we've been together for more than half our lives. even should we go months without talking --life getting in the way as it does-- it always feels like we talked only yesterday. we're always as close as ever. i love her so much.

if i could go back in time and model my life after anyone's, i'd model it after hers.

her father died last month.

when i was twenty-two, the memories i'd suppressed of the Baseball Bat Incident came rushing back one day when i was standing in the kitchen, li'l *c* playing in the living room. i don't even remember what triggered it, but i remembered almost everything, all in a rush, after fourteen years of a six-month gap in my memory. i'd wiped out six months just to remove sixty seconds. i blogged about it.

i'd never really "come out" about the abuse we endured as kids, not until i'd recovered enough to actually write about it. but she read that entry, and i remember we grew even closer as friends because that's when she told me about the hardships in her own father-daughter relationship. that she was still as amazing as she was, with what she had to go through, only served to make her Incredible, almost otherworldly, in my eyes.

she responded to the pain by excelling at everything she did scholastically, and musically, and she never lost her beautiful soul. i'll never be a fraction of the incredible human being that she is, and i know it. it's okay, though, because suzi is phenominal and amazing and so, so beautiful.

but she said something to me, and it was only something that had been tumbling in my mind ever since i got the news of her father. she always thought she had time to clear up the stupid shit between her and her father, always thought there'd be a chance to iron out some --if not all-- of what had caused so much pain for so long. and now she has no time. his body is ashes scattered across the saudi arabian desert, the very dust to which he returned.

what breaks my heart is simply how much i still deeply love my bio-dad. he's sixty-one this year. i remember the roast i gave him for his 50th birthday party, how everyone laughed at my clever little poem i had written. i'd spent the better part of two years writing it, saving lines and perfecting rhymes, and that's the Funk's honest truth. i remember Sinatra, how i fell in love with his voice one year on a trip to the beach with our church group. by the time we'd made the two hour trip, i'd memorized the entire album and was craving more.

sinatra became the one thing that could unite us, when the father-daughter wars started. we could both grab microphones --as i inherited my voice from him-- look into each other's eyes and smile, and we'd both sing one of sinatra's songs and it was as if our war never existed and i was just his mijita again. i remember i sobbed for days when i learned sinatra died. it was as if a part of what could bring me close to my bio-father had literally died.

i remember the tone of his voice, the expression on his face, when he would smile at me and say, "que chula, mijita!" i loved that... i remember his boasting to his friends when he'd introduce me. "and this is my oldest daughter: the singer, the pianist, the artist, the scholar, the linguist..." i loved his pride in me. i remember practicing in the mirror until i walked and moved exactly like him, and i remember how i swelled with secret pride when i overheard my bio-mother mention to one of my aunts how identical to my bio-father i walked.

"you look just like your father!" was a compliment i completely ate up. i loved my sanchez nose, my sanchez bowling ball head, my barrel-shaped frame and broad, completely unfeminine shoulders. i reveled in my almond eyes and coconut skin, my straight indian hair and flat, mayan cheekbones. i loved my big, broad, fat uncles and my round, short, swarthy aunts and abuelitas. i loved beans and rice and mountains of tortillas piled high with spicy barbacoa, mariachis and jokes told in laughing spanglish. i loved how loud and bossy and affectionate we all were.

i loved being a sanchez, because it was my father's world. i reveled in it.

people ask me why i changed my name. not just my last name, but all three of my names: first, middle, and last. and i tell them with the most deadpan expression that i am not my bio-father's daughter any longer, so i don't want the name he gave me.

what breaks my heart is that it's true.

i'm not jumping the gun here, but just stating facts. people have already asked me if i'll be moving to idaho to be with *m*. some have even brought up the M-word, which i nip in the bud right quick. but everyone knows i'm adopted by now, and they ask me who would be the one to walk me down the aisle: my bio-father, or my dad?

that's a fucking good question. not that i'm thinking about...the M-word...but the question of who is my father? which man is to have the father's honors in my life?

i love them both. one helped give me life and raised me as a girl, and the other gave me soul and raised me to be a woman. one enjoys casual, ten-minute conversations over the telephone on occasion, and the other wants me over for dinner every other sunday and knows possibly the most important and intimate details of my life.

and poor suzi...she'll never be able to reconcile those important things with her father now. those things which, as their children, we vitally need from our parents whether we want to admit it or not. i was a fucked up pile of nightmare until that one day when my mom and dad actually gave me the parenting i'd so desperately needed and craved all my life. they literally saved my life that day. and in only a few hours, by giving me that unconditional parental love and guidance, they healed and made new something in me that needed healing before i could actually move on to grow into Delena of the Funkywild.

i've forgiven my bio-dad for what he did to me, to us. i understand him a lot better, and i don't feel any rage or animosity or resentment toward him. i find i feel only love and compassion, and sorrow, for him. but i know him, and so i hesitate to reach out. i've gone this long building our sort-of relationship because i avoid those tender areas. it all turns into arguments with him, and then we're right back to me being eight, twelve, seventeen years old again and him feeding on his own angry assumptions of how filthy and devious i am.

but time's not standing still, and while he's still very robust...he's got diabetes now, and there's still his epilepsy. i feel his mortality weighing on me, and at those times i'm a scared little girl again and i don't want him to leave this world without putting his arms around me one more time. i want all the bad years to go away. i want to take the heavenly state of our sinatra-truce and bring it off stage into the real world. i want to get to know my bio-father as a person, and introduce him to his oldest daughter.

but am i ready? is he ready? does it matter? time is ticking.


rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Triple Goddess Tarot, Angelic Wisdom, and the number 3...

the surrounding grounds and gardens of the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail are breathtaking and expansive, like the wings of the smiling sphinx who hands me candy calaveras coated in the dust of the bones of my antepasados, my ancestors, as i walk beneath the diamond arch onto the temple grounds. the dust on those little candy skulls always shimmers, like gold and garnet dust, and the taste of it on my tongue explodes in a fury of fireworks and wild swans. hot wonder explodes down my arms, my legs, in my womb, up my spine with all the thermonuclear passion in the heart of the sun.

this, upon first setting foot upon the hallowed dirt over which floats the Menstrual Temple, as if to say, "remember you are the universe, and the universe wants to throw you a fiesta." not that there's anything wrong with the notion that to dust i shall return, because in actuality each grain of dust is a tiny, microscopic rock in which is contained the very secrets and stories of the universe. and, if you listen, they will regale you with tales of Baligab the Singing Three-Tailed Serpent, Horgadad the Beautiful Queen of the Orcs, Skochbop the Magnificent Fool and his twin, Borlifad the Tiny Giant, who can change his shape at will.

all these tales and more, if you but listen to dust. and then maybe, just maybe, they will teach you to ask clouds questions, converse with trees, and allow water to be the solid ground upon which you may walk.

i was in the sand garden, east of the Menstrual Temple, dancing to the gentle hum of the millions of conversations being had between the grains of sand amongst themselves. shimmering, pearly shells and holy rocks and driftwood, twisting and stretching and winding like young gypsy girls dancing the virgin's bridal dance before the fires...they were lined along the edge of the garden for my pleasure, to array in the sand as i wished. there were wooden rakes and fresh brooms of all sorts, as well, to draw waves of designs. a gigantic zen garden where my every footstep was a sacred mark of the universe upon itself.

surrounded by so much holiness and contemplation, meditation and solemnity, bizarre and orgiastic profundity i'd come to associate with being in the presence of the Funky Grail, suddenly there rose within me an overwhelming desire to find a sacred cow to tip.

she came, then.

until this moment, i'd only encountered myselves, and the goddesses: the vulture goddess and the blue-skinned, eight-armed avenger healer with no mercy and infinite compassion: She Who Would Teach Us to Laugh and then Make Us Cry in the Same Breath, She of the Cosmic Puns, the Patroness of Revolutionary Dreamers and Freedom Fighters Everywhere.

but there she was, the pomegranate priestess. i'd heard of them but until this moment had never seen one of them. i'd heard them in the darkened corners, behind the pillars at the altar of the Temple. she was in a red robe, shoulders bare, glossy hair braided tightly at the scalp in tiny, perfect, beautiful little braids and then left loose to tumble down her back in foamy, graceful curls. her feet were bare, the soles of her feet stained a dark red, like blood. the same color stained her palms, and came up in mezmerizing whorls and dots on her hands and up her forearms, on the tops of her feet and partway up her calves, and on her face. she smelled of amber and bone dust, pomegranates and peace. touching those red tattoos with my tongue, i imagined, would taste like my ancestors.

the pomegranate priestess looked at me, her face serene, but i could see behind it to the sternness of the vulture goddess and the blue revolutionary bandit peacemaker goddess. somehow i knew she never opened her mouth save when the goddesses wished to speak.

"review every detail of your life, honoring every moment as if you were holding a benevolent Judgement Day," she said.

"huh?" i said.

"eat money. fuck gravity. drink the sun. dream like a stone. sing in the acid rain." her dark eyes pierced into me, and there was an urgency in her voice as if it were the most important thing i learn how to--

"what the--? how'm i supposed to fuck grav--"

the vulture goddess smiled, and even in the warm sand my feet were cold. "The world is crazily in love with you, wildly and innocently in love. Even now, thousands of secret helpers are conspiring to turn you into the beautiful curiosity you were born to be."

by now the sand grains' conversations were tickling my feet something intense. but i couldn't move. "i don't see what this has to do with fucking gravity."

the pomegranate priestess frowned, and for a moment it looked as if there were a small sickle in her hand, the skin of her red-stained hand suddenly blue. "Are you finally ready to start loving life back with an equal intensity? The ardor it has shown you has not exactly been unrequited, but there is room for you to be more demonstrative."

the sands were quiet, but the wind was laughing. i could hear the rustle of the smiling sphinx's wings on the breeze. "i only just woke up." it was a weak excuse, i knew, especially looking at that sickle.

"don't worry," she said, suddenly sounding very, comfortingly, human. the sickle was gone. "find what you fill your cup with each day. that is a start, child." she turned and walked away.

i looked down at my feet, looked at the grains of sand. they were quiet, waiting to hear my reply. when all i did was shrug, they gave a collective sigh. "fine, fine, okay. i get it. do any of you know where i might find a sacred cow who needs tipping?"



CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): It's Unity Week. You have rich opportunities to negotiate truces, whip up collaborations, and knit together seemingly irreconcilable elements. Maybe it has previously seemed insane for you to try mixing oil and water, apples and oranges, or Israelis and Palestinians, but it makes sense now. You'll tend to attract good fortune whenever you conspire to turn matches made in hell into heavenly blends. Here's a motto to inspire your work: from the rebellious unification expert Ghandi: "Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony."

okay, mr. brezsny, i loved our little chat over lemon scones and earl grey, but i don't like this horoscope any more now than i did when you gave it to me. no, seriously.

my first reaction was to say, "but my life IS in harmony!" and after seriously thinking about it, yeah, that answer's not changing. what i think, what i say, and what i do are in total harmony. i've never been happier. my life has never been better.

perfect, even.

it's been perfect for quite some time now, and it gets even more perfect with each passing day. colors are phenominally more vivid than ever before, flavors are awe-inspiring, jokes are funnier, work is mind-blowingly awesome, and i'm more alive with each passing moment. of course, i'm in absolute love, so that has something to do with the world being nothing so much as a guerrilla communion with Funkywild bliss the likes of which border on more than what one meager human can possibly stand without exploding like a confetti egg at Ostara.

i don't go crazywhacked, being in love, but it certainly is the cherry on top. it's my cake. it's the ice cream sitting next to the cake. hell, being in love is the whole damn party plate of desserty goodness! *nod*

i've written my Funky Love Letter and closed that chapter.

work is no longer slamming me past the point of physical endurance.

things are quiet and lovely at home.

i don't like someone pointing out that i've been avoiding looking at those few areas where disharmony sits like a big, fat white elephant in my life. but yes, there's disharmony. unfortunately, i feel powerless to do anything about it. the house of dragon's rest has become a joke due to actions and resulting dissipation of respect. i think i, the Clan Mother, am the only one who even gives a fuck about it anymore. which, i suppose, is fitting. i was born to be a good mother, always fussing over and taking care of everyone else around me, giving that quality of attention that just says, "mother figure." and with how family is my passion, is it any wonder that the breakdown of dragon's rest would bother me greatly?

and big *c*. i'm sorry, but over the years, everything i suppressed and sufocated in that relationship has slowly been let out, like a pin-sized hole in an air mattress, making a sort of quiet, high-pitched whistling noise like a discreet fart.

my feelings about big *c* are the discreet fart in my life. greeeat...

and i don't know how to fix that one, either. he's like my bio-father in that you can tell him his actions upset you, but he's so thoroughly convinced of his own rightness that he doesn't even SEE any problem aside from the fact you're nagging him. no one can get me from calm to homicidal instantaneously except for him. whenever i see him i smile, i make the small, inane talk, and sometimes i even wonder where we went wrong and what else i could have done to try and fix us. it gets me a little bit sad for li'l *c*'s sake, because a good kid like him deserves a mother and father in his life at all times, right?

but then big *c* will open his mouth, and i remember why i don't ever carry anything in my hands when i'm around the man. whatever i held would become a deadly weapon.

unfortunately, the house of dragon's rest (which really doesn't exist anymore except in my own heart) and big *c* are two very important relationships in my life. and i'm powerless to fix them, and i hate being powerless. unfortunately, i can't cure someone else's stupidity.


salvation a la mode, and a cup of tea...

y'know, i didn't even realize it when i posted it, but i hit a milestone the other day. iGoddess has seen 100 posts! huzzah! and it was my "declaration of independence" which was the 100th post here. how awesome is that? definitely significant.

anyway, so i realized something today. i had an inkling, but it was percolating in the back of my brain and wasn't really anything to which i could give words. there was a lot of positive response to my declaration of independence, but something still sat wrongly in my gut about it. i really don't like saying, "fuck you!" to anybody. it's harsh, but i couldn't think of any other way to say what i wanted to, which is more of a "back the fuck off," rather than a "fuck off." y'know? i know what i'm doing more than anyone ever gives me credit for. most of the time, however, it's intuition and other things i can't put to words, so it looks like i'm doing something for no other reason than i'm stupid.

which i'm most definitely not.

because i'm not trying to be defiant or rebellious. i'm simply free, irrepressible, passionate. don't take hold of my sleeve to hold me back, because i will turn back to look at you and then pause only long enough to shake you off before jumping off the cliff to fly.

i've always been that way. even my physical eyes have always been farsighted, and my brain has always been able to see into the future through many possibilities. i've been called the "contingency queen" many, many times. i'm a phenominal planner. when i know what i want, i know many paths are possible to get to where i want to be, and it's a talent of mine: finding how to have my cake and eat it, too, and can intimately plan every step of the way.

there's nothing wrong with cake. "you can't have your cake and eat it, too" is a phrase created by the doomsaying apocalypticians of the phallocracy. pleasure is inherently evil, they say, and not to be trusted. feel guilt instead of pleasure, feel shame when you're naked, and feel uncomfortable when things are going right.

they're the ones who take hold of our sleeves when we're about to fly, trying to hold us to the ground with them. they're the ones who will even go so far as to sabotage opportunity, fill us with doubt, and guilt-trip us into believing gravity cannot be defied.

and yet i'd sat down earlier today with mr. brezsny over a cuppa tea, and this is what he said to me:

"According to Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges, Judas was actually a more exalted hero than Jesus. He unselfishly volunteered to perform the all-important villain's role in the resurrection saga, knowing he'd be reviled forever. It was a dirty job that only a supremely egoless saint could have done. Jesus suffered, true, but enjoyed glory and adoration as a result.

"Let's apply this way of thinking to the task of understanding the role that seemingly bad people play in pronoia.

"Interesting narratives play an essential role in the universal conspiracy to give us exactly what we need. All of us crave drama. We love to be beguiled by twists of fate that unfold the stories of our lives in unpredictible ways. Just as Judas played a key role in advancing the tale of Christ's quest, villains and con men and clowns may be crucial to the entertainment value of our personal journies.

"Try this: Imagine the people you fear and dislike as pivotal characters in a fascinating and ultimately redemptive plot that will take years or even lifetimes for the Divine Wow to elaborate."

now, this made me think of soulmates, and the ultimate lessons we all come down, lifetime after lifetime, to learn. everything is here in our lives because we have put it there; what we choose to do with it is up to us. many people in our lives are present because we agreed upon it beforehand. the lessons we came to learn, the interactions, even those trespasses we have committed against others as well as those against ourselves by others were nothing more than pre-agreed-upon scripts we wrote ages ago and are now playing out

whether to learn a lesson that's on our cosmic syllabus, to even-out karma, or because we felt it would be a grand-funky adventure, it's there because we have put it there. that's not to say there's no such thing as serendipity or providence, but even those things of chance are there because we drew them there.

our thoughts, after all, manifest the universe.

mr. brezsny took a sip of his tea and complimented the lemon curd i'd made for the scones, then continued. "There is another reason to love our enemies," he said. "They force us to become smarter. The riddles they thrust in front of us sharpen our wits and sculpt our souls. Try this: Act as if your advesaries are great teachers. Thank them for how crucial they've been in your education."

i thought of dizzy then. she said that having a shitty mother forced us to become strong and self-reliant, which can be a double-edged sword. i have to agree. i can only speak for myself, but having shitty, shitty bio-parents only sharpened my own strength and independence, intelligence, and resourcefulness. i'd never have learned to land on my feet if my bio-father hadn't thrown me on my back so many times.

now, my agility is astounding. physical, mental, and practical.

i don't waste time nursing my hurts now, wasting valuable time being too vulnerable to recover and keep going. i don't find someone to cry to. i don't freeze when trouble hits, but instead hit the ground running and take care of the problem myself. most times, those people closest around me don't even know anything's gone wrong until after the crisis is passed. for those abilities, i suppose i really do have my bio-mother to thank. i'd never have been so independent, versatile, flexible, and capable if she'd actually given enough of a shit about me to help me figure things out when i was a scared, confused pubescent girl.

but, alas, it is a double-edged sword, as dizzy also said. i might have the strength to take a massive beating and keep going, but i also don't know when to stop. a large part of me has forgotten how to identify my body's and spirit's limits...simply because i had to get up and keep going, again and again, world without end.

i also have a very difficult time asking for help, or even realizing i might need it. i don't know how to receive kind behavior, like should someone want to hold a door open for me. i've always held open my own doors, pulled out my own chairs, slain my own dragons. there was no one to watch my back, and quite honestly i don't know how to be any other way. and no one's ever shown me. that dog bite i got a few weeks ago? yeah, i got it because i put myself at risk so that another one of the groomers wouldn't be bitten. i'll take the hit myself, and i've been like that since time out of mind. and i don't know how to feel anything other than guilt or failure should someone actually do likewise for me. i'm used to being the only target out there.

double-edged swords...

"Consider one more possibility,"
he said, polishing off my last lemon scone. "Imagine that the evolution of your life or our culture is like a pregnancy: It needs to reach full term. Just as a child isn't ready to be born after five months of gestation, the new world we're creating has to ripen in its own time. The recalcitrant reactionaries who resist the inevitable birth are simply making sure that the far-seeing revolutionaries don't conjure the future too suddenly. They serve the greater good."

my scone lodged in my throat. i tried to wash it down with the last of my earl grey, but my throat glued itself to the gummy scone and i choked and sputtered instead.

THIS was what i'd been trying to get at! somewhere, in the back of my brain, i'd been struggling to find the exact words mr. brezsny had just dropped into my lap. in pronoia, the universe gives us exactly what we need exactly when we need it, including the bad guys and bad things that happen when they happen. they're the whetstone upon which we are sharpened, but for what purpose? only we can figure that out. why? because we have drawn them there, and we need whatever it is even the Big Bad has to give us.

even those that stand on the sidelines and call me a fool for existing so thoroughly in my Passion. they'll never stop me from finding my passion, from living and being everything that is Delena of the Funkywild, but they'll serve the Big Picture of Fingerpainting Awesomeness that the Funky Wow hangs like a mural in the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail. they'll help ensure that the far-seeing, dream-filled, revolutionary Passion gods and holy succubi don't go crashing into the future with such thunder it triggers the sundering of this plane of existence due to 6.6 billion people all crying out in a Funky, bombastic, phantasmagoric supernova of blinding bliss as the psychedelic mushroom cloud explodes in all their brains all at once.

their recalcitrance is necessary for the very fabric of reality to hold on to itself. the eagerness of the far-seeing revolutionary dreamers is such that it would rip the world apart with the power of creation, like a blade of grass punching through concrete, only Cosmic.

now THERE is passion!

thus is pronoia: everyone and everything is necessary and therefore to be loved. revolutionaries, pronoiacs, philanthropists and peacemakers, as well as gas company moguls and terrorists, recalcitrant naysayers and litterbugs. and yes, even fucktards.

love them more than you love them.


what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary


1. a random exclamation when you really don't have anything to say
2. a silly word called in a singsong voice, customarily used to see if anyone around you "gets it"