I am in a very good mood

Sometimes when you feel free and open and forward-moving you are really just very stuck.

I really wish that weren’t the case. But the truth is that feeling wonderful is very tricky, because you assign it health.

So when I am feeling good will I always assume I am at my best?

And will it even serve me to assume otherwise?

Ahh, these are the great mysteries of life’s lessons.

So anyway, I can look back at everything leading up to Joe as stucker than I’d thought. But I can also not. I got to Joe’s, and it knocked me loose.

And I feel really loose. And really excited. And really gentle.

I could write all day, but I can’t write all day, so once again I will try to topline things, and talk about coming back later to elaborate, which either will or won’t happen.

Last night I went to see Brett’s show. Brett is the gay guy I picked up many weeks back, the one with whom I plan on working musically. Only last night I learned that he is a major, major talent. This was a collection of his songs, performed by a collection of brilliant cabaret performers. “And this one is from my musical ____ …”. “So-and-so asked me to write a song for her act that expressed…” Yeah. Genius. I spoke with some of the performers. They were like, yup, Brett is the real deal, and we need to keep getting the word out.

And he wants to work with me! I was literally bouncing down the street after the show, a la tigger. I am bowled over, and more so that I have somehow, through seeming randomness, attracted this guy into my life. That is the kind of magic I can get behind.

I have decided to move. Not far, just closer to the city. Lease is up November 1, but I need to get to work. Sorting, packing, throwing things out, saving some money, and checking out neighborhoods and apartments. My horrible job situation has had a pretty significant shift, activated by me, and my job is as secure as a job can be, considering no job is fully secure. But I have been told I am exceeding expectations and have turned things around and that I am kind of the gold standard for what they wanted of my position. And other things about what’s coming down the line. So I am moving, and I am excited.

Joe encouraged me to make one change in my diet, and it’s been amazing–I now eat fruit every morning, only fruit and then more substantive breakfast (and my coffee) 30-60 minutes later. I’ve done it every morning since I visited him (Memorial Day weekend) except for a couple of mornings at Free Spirit. And it’s working wonders on my digestive system. Really really big changes.

More yoga. Always a challenge, but I’m doing it.

The workshop I took with Sylvia at Free Spirit–a shamanic, tantric breathwork ceremony–it is still with me. I feel changed. It has mostly been so subtle, but it was not subtle work. I can’t think about it too much, or I will go back to it and just cry and cry. And it is good to know I can go back like that. There is more crying to be had, and I’m glad I know where to find it. But as for now? Two things I can identify. Yesterday I had a rotten retail experience where I got extremely angry and refused to pay what I was being charged. This was as ugly as things get and goodness knows I can flare up pretty hot. But the level of anger that I carried away with me was notably lower than is my norm after something like that. I did not maintain it the way I would have previously. The other thing is that the irritation on my chest, the skin problems I’ve endured for the last three + years, seems to have faded. I have no idea if that’s the truth, but right now it all feels good. The heaviest work I did was in the heart and throat chakras, and I wore a necklace into the ceremony (total coincidence–I didn’t even know we were working chakras) that is a green stone, specifically gifted to me a few years ago to aid my heart chakra. Because the work was so powerful I’ve been wearing that charged up necklace ever since. And my chest hasn’t been irritated. Typically I can’t wear necklaces more than once a week or even less because it’s so uncomfortable. So that is pretty wild.

I feel brighter. Somehow the peacock colors are with me–I’m wearing them, I’m radiating them. In January I am getting the tattoo I’ve been wanting for three years, but it will be entirely new and unique from what I’d seen, and I’m excited and ready.

I don’t know what gets the credit. I mean, there’s a lot converging. I am definitely in a lighter mood. A huge weight at work is lifted. I participated in the ceremony. I feel, for the first time since I’ve met him, really done with Joe. I had a taste of love at first sight–even if just a taste of what that might be like. I have someone new I’m hanging with, and someone else I’m talking about hanging with. I have a few musical projects in the works. The yoga, the fruit. I don’t know what gets the credit, but I like that there’s a lot converging. And so much manifesting.

So am I forward-moving or just feeling good? Not gonna lie, I don’t know if I care that much right now.

(But I am forward-moving.)

I went to Free Spirit

Top line:

• Got my tattoo touched up (the color had fallen out last January)
• Danced one of the best bonfires I’ve ever attended
• Threw my own concert. Little handmade signs around the camp. Right off our porch, full sound system.
• Deepened some friendships
• Bought two really pretty rings
• Co-hosted an awesome feast
• Got lots of body work done; two massages and some reiki (the second massage and the reiki were to undo the injury obtained in the first massage. but still.) I received so much healing I got full.
• Ate the most delicious vegan dish ever
• Committed to the big peacock tattoo. Down payment. Game on.
• Hung out with true and dear friends
• Relaxed, relaxed, relaxed.
• Went to one yoga class, and did some on my own
• Made Dunkin Donuts coffee runs
• Got mudded
• Ate a lot of cookies
• Made my bed ; )
• Participated in a tantric shamanism breathwork ceremony. The greatest, hardest work I’ve ever done.
• Did not pursue one single boy. Not one. No one caught my eye. In my case, this is cause for celebration.
• Despite a lot of rain and a lot of bugs and a lot of unruly children, vibed nicely with the friends with whom I camped (cabined)

Am I forgetting anything?

glow with the gold of sunshine

I want to write more about the experience of Paul’s memorial.

It’s hard, because I am writing too infrequently, and so many things have been happening. It’s already hard to go back to this one, but I am being insistent that I get it down. Because it was important, and it is at risk of getting covered with more current urgencies.

And, I mean, these past few weeks have been rich. There was a very different reunion, and my mom being given an extraordinary honor where I made a speech and everything, and big revelations at my job, and a new guy I am seeing, but I need to first write about this other thing.

I grew up in Ridgewood, NJ, a gorgeous town of affluence–one of the most expensive towns in one of the most expensive counties in the state, top whatever school systems probably in the country.

I couldn’t have fit in less.

With all that money, there was a lot of indifference and indulgence. I graduated high school in 1983. Breakfast Club? I mean, to a degree, but frankly, the different sanctions were a lot more integrated than in that film. Sure, there were jocks and heads but they intermingled.

The heads. Short for potheads, right? Ah-hah, but also deadheads. And Paul was very much at the center of that world.

And I was not.

beneath the diamond sky

I have so many things I want to write about; there have been many interesting, beautiful, educational, painful things of late. I’m going to light on some topics, all to be explored soon. I’m very, very sleepy and don’t know how far it will go.

I don’t know what I am comfortable writing about in regards to sex-ish stuff. Over the past several months/weeks I have had some insights, or at least some areas that I would like to further explore by writing them out, but we are talking about some very up-close-and-personal details, and I’m just not sure where I am with that and with this blog. I am grappling, as I have for many years, with what it means to be single and sexual and loving and satisfied and safe. And by satisfied and safe I include the psychic, psychological, and emotional. Some people have compared my writings in this blog to those of Carrie on Sex and the City, but this would go deeper, really freeze-frame, and I don’t know if I’m going there. So stay tuned.

I had this amazing night out a few Tuesdays back–it is a story in like, five parts. The most exciting part is Brett–no, that’s not true. The most exciting part was partying with some cast members of Saturday Night Live. But the most important part was meeting Brett, a lovely gay man, potential BFF, but seriously potential musical collaborator. Being as we were both a bit drunk when we discussed this, I wasn’t sure if he would come through (gay or not, a drunk man in a bar can make promises of love that he won’t keep) but we are currently working on scheduling.

My weekend with Joe. Maybe. I don’t know how much I’ll write about it here. There was a massive late-discovered misinterpretation of communications prior to the weekend. Late-discovered as in = when the weekend was almost over. This misunderstanding had us (Joe vs me) having two entirely different weekends. So I had a wonderful weekend with him, but then this gross disconnect was revealed. And then it was like that moment in the Sixth Sense; I sank against the wall, my hand holding my bloodied shirt, as the camera revisited scene to scene to scene of the weekend, each conversation being replayed with a different meaning, each moment with a whole other twist. I’m doing better now. But I see dead people.

Speaking of, I went to a memorial service yesterday of an old school friend, Paul Ducharme. He died in April. He was my age. Paul was a sweet and influential character and his death sucks. Yesterday’s event was a picnic and concert in the park we all used to hang out in (across from my junior high school), followed by an after-party that went far into the night where God Street Wine played. So it was this sad occasion, but also sort of a high school reunion with the jumbly memories and face-sifting, and sort of a party to end all parties with the jam band to end all jam bands. And I cannot yet begin to describe, though I do intend to, what a learning experience it was for me. I learned about people and connections and tribes that exist; I learned about how who I was in high school and the years that followed was so horribly confined by my own rigid beliefs and fears. And I learned a bit about how loving we can all be.

I know, right? What the hell do I sound like?

So I will write about one thing from yesterday. There was a guy there I’d known since elementary school. I barely remembered him, to be honest. But we saw each other and pointed right at one another and said each others names (first and last). We are both impressively recognizable. And I found him very attractive. He’s married with little kids, and frankly, I didn’t think much of my attraction, except that I suspected (barely remembered) that back when I knew him I hadn’t noticed him as attractive. That was as far as my thoughts went, Wow he’s attractive, and You probably never thought of him that way back then, ya dummy.

sleepy text co-poeting

Smooch…
Night.
Right.
Tight.
Bright : )
Sight.
Erudite pooch.
Arrow root cootch.
Are you worth mootch?
Bar dew mirth hootch
And that brings us back to doe. Have a goodnight Smooch.
Oxox.

Impression on her mind

I have been frying chicken since around 4:30. I literally put the last of it into the refrigerator a few minutes ago (it is nearly 1:30 in the morning).

Tomorrow is my mom’s 70th birthday and we’re doing a picnic and I had the bright idea that I’d make fried chicken. But as we started tallying up and adding more people (and I mean you can count on each of my brothers to eat 5-6 pieces apiece) the project just kept growing. So I worked really hard to plan well as to not overwhelm myself. Executive function is not my strong suit.

And it worked well. I kept things moving and fairly orderly in my not-exactly-roomy kitchen. Handling all that raw chicken started freaking me out (my hands are pretty dried out from washing them a hundred times) and I even mopped the floor while stuff was frying, which is astonishingly out of character. I also started to realize I was at risk of running out of flour so I coordinated a break. I finished pieces in all three frying pans without adding more and ran to the store, picking up some other goodies as well. Came back, strained the oil and started back up. At around quarter to eleven I put some coffee on–I felt like such a bad-ass, making coffee at night. Ooh, I’m telling!

I’m tired. I’m greasy. My apartment is smelly. But I’m pleased; i got through it and my kitchen didn’t get trashed in the process. It’s going to be a huge hit and I think tomorrow will be decent. More than decent for my mom–she’s going to be really happy, which I believe is the point.

Lunchtime in midtown Manhattan

Not as bad as you’d think, provided I force myself to leave the office…

I mean, look up. It’s pretty cool.

I love this cheese.

Piave.

Really good.

thank you silence

Jyoti Leigh Chrystal died last weekend, and I spent this weekend at her memorial ceremonies at Starseed.

I’ve known Jyoti and her husband Jason for about ten years. My good friend Albert brought me to my first yoga class at that time.

If you google her, you’ll find a lot about her life, her accomplishments, her illness. This was a nice piece announcing the sad news.

I’m not going to write a eulogy. Jyoti was brilliant and I learned a lot from her, and the world is a bit less bright without her in it. And I have lots of memories and revelations but I’m just not going to write about it.

I just want to say this was a most moving weekend. Albert flew home from Colorado, and he spoke elegantly at one of yesterday’s events. This evening was a shamanic journey in her honor. Several months ago there were some new shamanic events on the Starseed schedule, and Jyoti had told Albert (in one of his visits with her; there were several through her illness) specifically to tell Roberta she should attend. I didn’t. I took her message seriously (I pretty much did what Jyoti told me), but unfortunately couldn’t arrange it from a scheduling perspective. So I had an extra reason to go today, beyond that it was sure to be a powerful ceremony.

It was a powerful ceremony.

In terms of the magical, shamanic tools that were used and/or present, in terms of the skills that healers from multiple disciplines brought forth, let’s just say everyone had on their Sunday best. I’ve never heard drumming like this. There was Reiki coming from every wall. My personal journey was hazy and non-specific, as is my way, but I have learned, over the years and years of nebulous journeys and pathworkings, not to judge, and not to let any judgment that might slip through the cracks to diminish the potency of the experience.

After the ceremony as the room had cleared quite a bit, I wound up speaking with Jason for about 20 minutes. I have always adored Jason, and have felt nothing but love from him, but the fact is this was by far the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

And it was just this very raw talk about how hard it’s been, and about how hard it’s going to be. The man is one of the most beautiful humans I have ever met–just radiates the stuff. Jyoti was like a holiday parade. Jason is a pine tree. Together they were a royal couple in this community, and now he’s just a guy whose wife is dead and he doesn’t know how he’ll go on.

I came home with a lot more energy than I’d had in awhile. My dreams should be interesting. Oh, and there may be a robin in them. More on this as it develops.

Thank you, Jyoti. And thank you Jason, Starseed and Albert.

A thing that’s unique and new

I’m really in an interesting place.

So I got involved with this drummer. And I knew from pretty much the beginning that it would not last–that ultimately, he is not for me. And though I didn’t know exactly how that would play out, my guess was that once we spent enough time together, the qualities that are not for me would supersede the sweetness of the attraction.

In a lot of ways, I was the stereotypical guy in this. Yes I enjoy being with you, No I don’t want a commitment, Please let’s just enjoy it for what it is. This drove him a little nuts and was confusing to him. He could not wrap his head around how I needed this to be structured. From his side, he would have jumped right into a commitment. This was entirely inappropriate, and that quality is part of why he is just not for me.

There was also lots and lots and lots of drama in his life. I am not going to get into his story here. But it’s been intense, and I struck a balance of being amazingly supportive while still maintaining boundaries. Weirdly, we went through a lot together.

So here’s the thing.

I adored Joe. Loved him. We know this. But I always knew, always said, that he wasn’t ‘the one’; the great love of my life. Joe and I loved well, and I believe that it could have been successful had we chosen to do it for the duration. (Joe didn’t believe that, and this was our impasse.) My point is that I was always prepared to meet someone who would knock me so hard on my ass that the memory of my relationship with Joe would recede to its rightful place.

What I was not prepared for was, upon getting involved with the wrong guy, finding myself missing Joe so greatly. Just wasn’t prepared for it.