The Hero's Journey

See, perhaps it’s not that San Francisco is actually cold. Perhaps it is the proliferation of single-paned windows and inadequate heating. The wonderful high ceilings don’t do much to trap in the heat either. So, solution? Munchkin houses. Winterized. lol. See, there’s even a word, “Winterized.” I’m not sure that the Bay Area has much acquaintance with this notion, as we all sort of seem to believe that it doesn’t actually get that cold, or that we’re more like Southern California. Perhaps this is what they meant when they said “California Dreamin’.”

In any case, drafty as my home is. Grateful for it. Especially on what are Bay Area winter days.

There is a big part of me that wants to write an addendum to yesterday’s blog. To somehow mitigate and soften the “I haven’t had a great sex life” theme. Most of that is because I want you to see me “better,” some of that is that I don’t want to insult anyone I’ve slept with who might be reading this and tell them of course there are occasions when it’s been marvelous. But, that’s only wanting them to like me too, another way of “seeing me better.” So, I will leave the truth as the half-truth it is, because, for certain, there are the good experiences, and there is the truth that it’s less about them, and more about my inability to ask for what I need (in most areas of my life).

And, I will hold the truth that, still, I feel naïve and unexperienced or uneducated in this way, and am holding that with compassion, and an intention to head in that direction. There’s a fair amount on one of my collages that’s the phrase, The Joy of Kissing, and I wonder if perhaps part of that is a call to start again at the beginning, you know? To start with one of the most tender places, and just meditate there, pause there, let myself savor it, and not skip to the main course.

Also, I want to soften the “this is not an invitation” line, because although it’s not a plea for you, reader, to initiate me into the softened world of pleasure, I actually DO want to offer an invitation into the world/Universe. This IS an invitation from me to the machinations of the world to head there, to gentleness, and intimacy, and … well, whatever else I feel I’ve been missing in this area. So, Universe, this is an invitation, written in velvet, in loopy script, and something less intimidating than red for experiences of physical intimacy on a softer plane.

Speaking of physicality, I had my orientation for the art modeling guild yesterday, and 12 year old girl that I still am, it was hard to not giggle when the facilitator said, “And men? No Erections! Ever.” Lol. “Any man who tells you he can’t control it is lying. And if he really can’t, then he shouldn’t be a model.” It’s nice the systems of protection and comfort that they have set up, which is why I’m really glad to be doing it this way, rather than freelance, which can be ICKY (see former blog about older man with vagina skulls).

After the orientation, I went directly to my audition for a Shakespeare company, and guess what? Not that bad. :) THIS TIME, I didn’t blank out in the middle of the monologue. I futzed a few things, but, if you didn’t have a script in front of you, you’d never know. Point being, I actually did better than my last spoken word audition, and really, “Better than last time” is all I’m lookin’ for. I also, miraculously, ran into a girl I have just been beginning to see around lately over here in Oakland with some of the financial healing folks. She’s been doing this circuit for a long time, it seems, and knew nearly everyone who walked in and out of the building, and chatted with another girl about, "Are you working with David? No, with Bobby." and other such insider speak that I am totally novice of. But… now, we both have an ally. Someone showing up and letting go of the results, and also some who’s willing to sit with me and initiate me in some of these lingos, and people, and classes, and companies. She even suggested a company she thought I’d do well with. :) Go G-d.

Finally, for today’s blog. I had a very vivid dream last night about an older friend of mine who I found out – in the dream – had killed herself suddenly. I was shocked and devastated, and went out from where I was directly into her funeral. It was packed. And yet, even her husband, who was shocked was actually not as shaken as you’d expect.

Part of Saturday’s spirituality workshop included a story about Minos and the Minotaur, using the myth as a frame for us to see perhaps what part of the story, what part of our own hero’s journey we are in. Minos made a deal with Poseiden. Poseiden said that Minos would become king if he sacrificed this gorgeous white bull. Minos said sure. Became king. … And then decided the bull was too special and meant too much to him, and so he sacrificed 50 goats instead. (This did not go well in the end.)

I said that I feel like this is the part of the journey I’m on. In order to ascend to the next level, the next stage, the next iteration of myself and my life, I have to sacrifice my attachment to what it had been, aka my bull (dying we awaken to a new life, kind of stuff). Instead, I’ve been hemming and hawing, and saying, well, what if I give you this instead, what if I sort of dance around the issue, and lop off my foot in the process – won’t that give me the result that I ultimately need?

No dice.

I also said, that I also felt like the part of the story when they kill the Minotaur, when this beast that cannot be a part of society, but it’s really not his fault, is killed. With this spirit of sadness and also with relief do I … intend? to kill my bull.

I think that part of my dream was about that, the death of these attachments to my past. I put up a whole host of new (to the blog) poems, and as I was editing what work I had, I felt like all the family stuff, all the blamey stuff and most of the trauma stuff didn’t need to be up anymore.

Which leads me to wonder: if what I wanted my thesis to be was an excavation of old stuff, a laying to rest of it, haven’t I already done that? In the very writing of it, and even in the sharing of it with my professors and classmates, haven’t I given voice to this? Is this actually what I need to say anymore? Is this anymore where the charge is for me?

I’m not sure. Well, no. Actually, the answer is no. But I’m not sure what that will mean for this specific piece of writing I have to hand in.

But, I also said in the workshop on Saturday that despite my reluctancy to sacrifice the bull, my reluctancy to grieve for what was lost and misplaced in my youth, the fact is, I’m already in it. It’s no use saying, I don’t want to. Or I won’t. Or I can’t. Because, baby, I already am.