Archive for February, 2011


Tenderness

You peeled me out of my self-judgment
You erased the memory of touch  and replaced it with bruising pain
You penetrated my resolve
Violated me with glee
Stole my inhibitions
And flung them away like trash
You felt nothing while I felt all of you
Every tease
Every stroke
Every twist
Brought me more fully out of my mind
And into my body, while you laughed
You took me to the edge of insanity
Burning me with your words
Branding me with your hands and mouth
While I teetered between Goddess and Child
You held my soul in your uncalloused hands
Forcing me to accept my new reality
And when I surrendered to what was
I was changed, immersed, reborn, renewed
Bruised, violated, submissive
But stronger somehow, and better
You met me there at dawn, the conqueror
Changed too, by the light of day
To the sweetness that was absent in the dark
And what I feel for you now is
Tenderness

How many times in your life have you acknowledged to yourself that your life has value?

Most of us rarely think about it, much less make a point of verbally telling ourselves what we bring to the table of humanity. For the most part, what we put on our resume is about as self-elevating as we’ll ever admit to and even then sometimes we’re not comfortable with how good we look on paper. Most of us are pretty humble when it comes to describing ourselves and our contributions to the world.

But what if that wasn’t the case? What if, from the moment we came into this world the people on the OUTSIDE of us acknowledged the good on the INSIDE of us? What if we arrived on earth feeling wanted and expected and welcome right off the bat? And what if that feeling never changed and we went our whole lives knowing that we matter, that we bring something unique to the people we touch in the world, that we are deserving of the good things that happen to us? What would that be like?

A huge number of people living on this planet were the result of pregnancies not planned for, who came into this life unexpectedly, unwanted, unloved. Born in an undercurrent of fear and regret and feeling like a burden throughout their childhood. How many people do you know who feel undeserving, unlovable, unimportant, uninvited? How many people have you loved who didn’t know how to love you back, or couldn’t or wouldn’t accept your love?

Children have amazing intuitions. They know when something is not right in their home, they know when they’re loved and appreciated and they definitely know when they’re not. If you choose to have a child, make the choice to honor that child as well. Treat that child as if it matters, as if it’s the most important thing that’s ever happened to you, because likely it is. Make a point of verbally acknowledging the things you’re learning from your relationship with your child and all of the good things he or she brings to your experience. People need to know they MATTER. Save yourselves some heartache and therapy down the road. Love each other. You came here to be together. It’s never too late to heal some hurts.

I just started reading ‘Eat Pray Love’ and this excerpt stopped me in my tracks.  I’ve been this girl in many ways in the past.  OUCH.

All content is the property of Elizabeth Gilbert and Penguin Books.  Eat Pray Love is available at Barnes & Noble, Borders, Amazon.com, Target, and many other places where books are sold, wordpress just won’t allow me to link to them.   I highly recommend the book and the film.

 

(Dating Tip:  Men LOVE this)

The fact is, I had become addicted to David (in my defense, he had fostered this, being something of a “man-fatale“), and now that his attention was wavering, I was suffering the easily foreseeable consequences.  Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story.  It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never even dared to admit that you wanted–an emotional speed-ball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement.  Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie.  When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore–despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free).  Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have that thing even one more time.  meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you.  He looks at you like you’re someone he’s never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion.  The irony is, you can hardly blame him.  I mean, check yourself out.  You’re a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes.

So that’s it.  You have now reached infatuation’s final destination–the complete and merciless devaluation of self.

David and I continued to have our bouts of fun and compatibility during the days, but at night, in his bed, I became the only survivor of a nuclear winter as he visibly retreated from me, more every day, as though I were infectious.  I came to fear nighttime like it was a torturer’s cellar.  I would lie there beside David’s beautiful, inaccessible sleeping body and I would spin into a panic of loneliness and meticulously detailed suicidal thoughts.  Every part of my body pained me.  I felt like I was some kind of primitive spring-loaded machine, placed under far more tension than it had ever been built to sustain, about to blast apart at great danger to anyone standing nearby.  I imagined my body parts flying off my torso in order to escape the volcanic core of unhappiness that had become:  me.  Most mornings, David would wake to find me sleeping fitfully on the floor beside his bed, huddled on a pile of bathroom towels, like a dog.

“What happened now?” he would ask–another man thoroughly exhausted by me.

Jitterbug Perfume – Tom Robbins

“If desire causes suffering, it may be because we do not desire wisely, or that we are inexpert at obtaining what we desire. Instead of hiding our heads in a prayer cloth and building walls against temptation, why not get better at fulfilling desire? Salvation is for the feeble, that’s what I think. I don’t want salvation, I want life, all of life, the miserable as well as the superb. If the gods would tax ecstasy, then I shall pay; however, I shall protest their taxes at each opportunity, and if Woden or Shiva or Buddha or that Christian fellow–what’s his name? –cannot respect that, then I’ll accept their wrath. At least I will have tasted the banquet that they have spread before me on this rich, round planet, rather than recoiling from it like a toothless bunny. I cannot believe that the most delicious things were placed here merely to test us, to tempt us, to make it more difficult for us to capture the grand prize: the safety of the void. To fashion of life such a petty game is unworthy of both men and gods.”

“The lamas declare that they have no fear of death, yet is it anything less than fear that causes them to die before they die? In order to tame death, they refuse to completely enjoy life. In rejecting complete enjoyment, they are half-dead in advance–and that with no guarantee that their sacrifice will actually benefit them when all is done. They are good fellows, and I must respect their choice, but fullness, completion, not empty perfection, is this fool’s goal.”

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