Cabaceo

“Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.” – Charlotte Brontë

One of my favorite parts of the tango culture is the ‘cabaceo’. This is how one asks for a dance. I feel like I am honing this down to near perfection. Basically – when two people make eye contact and through a raise of eyebrows or a nod of the head, it is agreed that they will exchange a dance together. I’m not sure if it’s intended to be so, but I add a flirtatious flare to it. I will stare at someone from across the room until I practically burrow a hole into his head. When he can no longer ignore me, I smile coquettishly and raise my eyebrows while slightly gesturing my head to the dance floor. I was recently complimented on my method just because I make it fun.

I will cabaceo you so hard. 

Also, there’s the shoes and dresses. I would be hard pressed to find a woman who does not enjoy an excuse for frilly dresses and shoes.

It seems as though distinct hierarchy exists within the tango community. I haven’t learned how it works exactly – only that there’s a definite ‘in’ crowd and other subsets that  bicker among themselves over what is considered appropriate posture, embrace, footwork, etc. I know some people take this very seriously. I happen to take nothing in life seriously. My experience on this earth is far too short to nitpick at others and I prefer to have fun instead. If there is no fun to be had, I make it happen. Truth.

There are two dancers in the community, both with equally out of the norm styles of dancing. One happens to be very popular, the other is not. He is treated as a pariah within the community and I’ve seen this poor fellow rejected time and time again as he requests dances from women. I’ve always found him fascinating. When I watch him on the dance floor he is experiencing something with the music entirely different from everyone else. I happen to thoroughly enjoy dancing with him because he is so different and also because he’s been so encouraging in my beginning stages of tango.

The popular dancer is someone I’d describe as a live wire – both in his style of dancing and also in his personality. I was equally fascinated by him as I watched him dance. His movements were quick and many; and by the end of the tanda he was often out of the pattern of movement altogether, having created his own track off to a corner somewhere.

I had a discussion with someone about these two dancers. The former was described to me as someone who ‘does not dance tango’ and the latter was described as someone who ‘feels every beat and movement within the music’. From an outsider’s perspective, it all boils down to popularity. Why one style would be accepted over the other is beyond me. I think it’s snobbish and ostracizing. Then again, I’m still a novice and perhaps I know nothing at all.

"Be impeccable with your word. Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love." - Miguel Angel Ruiz

I still don't understand why we continue to do this to one another.

Gradually I’ve been branching out to different tango venues. There was a rather large one on a Thursday evening. I was asked to dance a couple of times throughout the evening. I’m more of a social creature than anything at all – so I engaged myself with a couple sitting next to me and learned that they were checking out the tango scene to see if it was something they wanted to learn. I still keep in touch with them and they have decided to give tango a shot. Word.

I was approached by someone later in the evening for a dance. As the milonga ended he asked if I wanted a practice partner. Yes I want a practice partner! Where have you been since I’ve been dancing tango?! I soon learned that he wanted far more than a practice partner. In fact, he was quite serious about me from the beginning.

This is where I’m surprised. I had quite literally been telling men to f*ck off for months because I had grown SO tired of feeling objectified and for my kindness being mistaken for flirtation. No. If I wanted to flirt with you, I’d give you one hell of a cabeceo. This tanguero did not evoke a response of annoyed and suppressed rage that everyone else who dared approach me had received.

I have been nothing short of overwhelmed by the amount of affection he showers on me. I’ve told him as much and have asked him to be patient with me more than anything else. He says he adores me. It’s taking me longer to come around – I’m not quite sure that I’m ready for something of this magnitude and have told him as much. His response was to tell me to go with it. 

I’m taking it in stride. I have no inclinations as to what the future holds. We get along well thus far and yet are so very different in many ways. I wonder if there will be a clash at some point. Perhaps there's an adventure; perhaps there's a tragedy. Perhaps this will only be a mere blink in the span of my life. I struggle with the intensity on his end.

Within the last week or so, I ran into my former beloved at a couple of milongas. The first time we avoided each other for as long as possible. It was crowded that night and the weather was warm. I happened to step outside for air just as he was coming back inside. We couldn’t avoid each other this time. I gave him a head nod. He said hello. That was all there was to it. A few days later we attended the same milonga yet again. This time it was pure avoidance.

If it weren’t for his watchdog pack, I might take a moment to exchange pleasantries with him. Two members of his guardians in particular seem to go out of their way to glare at me – I think they tag team or something. Those two gals are what make the scenario most awkward for me.  Actually, I think ‘hostile’ is a more adequate description. I think there are a few things these two ladies don’t know about me: 1) I don’t care about my reputation 2) I make my own fun 3) I will laugh at you for your attempts to make me miserable 4) I find it flattering that you are putting so much effort into stamping out my presence 5) I’m still laughing.

I'm still laughing, ladies!

While taking another tango course at PSU for my own fun and enjoyment, I met someone I’ll call Nelly. At first, Nelly came across as socially awkward. Also, I know what sort of superficial world we live in. It initially angered me when she attended milongas and wasn’t asked to dance. How can people be so f*cking superficial? I asked myself. Over a few weeks it seemed to be her attitude that kept others at bay. I made it a point to attend every milonga Nelly planned on attending so she’d have someone to keep her company. I would be exhausted after these outings and finally realized the cause of my lethargy was being so close to her, and receiving what she has been putting out into the Universe. 

Nelly seems happier lately. This pleases me because I don't think she realized what kind of energy she was emanating.  In fact, I'd say she's radiant. That's a good start, Nelly. Keep at it. In the words of Rumi: 'Live where you fear to live. Be notorious'. Your perception is your reality and the world is only as good as you make it. Rejection is difficult. I know this. On that note, it’s far more enriching to live life without caring what others think. This is not easy to achieve, but once you get there life is nothing but joyous and beautiful. 

Karma, Suitors and Tango Cliques

“The ground we walk on, the plants and creatures, the clouds above constantly dissolving into new formations – each gift of nature possessing its own radiant energy, bound together by cosmic harmony.”  - Ruth Bernhard

I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve run into that are amazed by how I look these days. The word I hear the most is ‘radiant’. Not only do I take this as a huge compliment, but it also tells me that I have begun to process and let go of the pain I was feeling over the loss of someone I loved very deeply – the only person I’ve ever loved that deeply. Don’t get me wrong, there are still days I want to kick myself for everything that took place; not just my actions, but for the actions against me that I allowed. I am my harshest critic and I’m learning to be kinder to myself.

This is what people see in me - the wonder, the awe, the joy

Part of my ‘Chakracise’ is learning to reflect positively. One thought I’ve used quite a bit in meditation lately is this: “Every decision made is a choice between a grievance and a miracle. Relinquish the regret and choose the miracle.” I can look at some of the most ugly things in life I’ve experienced and even if I can’t find a miracle in the actual incident, I can still tell myself that I’m here. Considering the quantity of ugliness I’ve encountered throughout my life, I’d say I’m doing handling it quite smashingly. Even during the times I feel like I’m breaking and life is just too heavy, there is a miracle because I still strive to find something positive. There are days I have to push a little harder, but there is beauty. There is beauty and that’s a miracle.

“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.” – Buddha

The more I’ve ventured out of my comfort zone while simultaneously gradually immersing myself in the world of tango I’ve discovered how very cliquish it is. I was told about these cliques, but had not yet witnessed these groups in action.

I went out last night to a venue I’d never been to before. I didn’t know a single soul there. A friend said she was definitely going and a couple of others said they may make an appearance. Guess who got stood up? Part of me thinks I had it coming simply for the way I treated someone recently, and this is where I go off on a tangent.

He recognized me when he spotted me on campus. I kept avoiding eye contact because I didn’t want to talk to him and I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. He did not pick up on my attempt to avoid him completely and approached me where I was sitting with my head down pretending to read. He asked me how I was doing. I couldn’t remember his name until he told me and I still couldn’t remember why I wanted nothing to do with him. He suggests we meet for drinks to catch up. I agreed to it simply because I desperately wanted to remember what it was about this guy that made me want to kick him.

THIS is the type of guy I attract. I'm doing something wrong. 

So, we meet for drinks and he talks about a sociology professor at PSU. He worships the guy and I happen to despise this professor. In fact, said professor landed himself in hot water a year ago for having affairs with his students. Note the plural? This professor in question isn’t a good person. As our conversation was taking place, I was still trying to remember why I stopped talking to this guy to begin with.

I went home that night. It was the beginnings of spring break and I had wanted to do some journaling for some time. It had been so long since I’d written in that book; when I opened it to begin writing I saw that my very last entry was about the guy who approached me on campus. I was then reminded why I didn’t want to associate myself with him: he had acted callously and unkind. So what do I do with this information? Please don’t judge me too harshly with the words that follow.

I receive a text from the guy who approached me at PSU and it was apparent from the beginning that he really only wanted to get in my pants . . . . not happening. So, he’d arrange to meet with me and I was consistently canceling at the last minute – and I’d make the dumbest excuses: I’m giving my dog a bath, I’m washing my hair, I’m practicing rocket science. Despite this, he persisted. I then began to blatantly ignore him for days at a time. I finally realized that what I was doing was just flat out wrong and I came clean and told him I didn’t want his presence in my life. He responded that I ‘had more to do’ with us not speaking for so long. Umm . . . I do not care. What I do care about is my behavior. In spite of him being a jerk, there’s really no reason for me to seek vengeance and take out all of my frustrations on him by being negligent and uncaring.

Yeah . . . I wasn't nice. I'm not proud of it. 

I think whatever we put into the Universe is what comes back. It’s not my place to act out against another. With that in mind, I think I deserved what happened last night. I’m generally a fairly outgoing person. I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone. Truth. When I first arrived there weren’t many dancers, so I saw someone sitting by herself, walked over, introduced myself and asked a million questions about her. She wound up being swept off by someone she dances with often.

Watch and learn . . .  or just keep swimming

So, I sat. I waited. I took in the scene. Even when I’m not dancing, I can learn a thing or two just from watching feet. As I sat there, it began to become more crowded as the night wore on. I then began to see the clique groups that had been mentioned. I started to tune into conversations; it was nothing more than blatant gossip. I felt like I was back in high school. In particular, the private high school that I loathed.

I thought people would grow out of this eventually. I'm beginning to have doubts. 

Eventually I see a friend of my former beloved walk in. I have seen her on campus countless times. I’ve smiled, waved; I’ve even said hello. Every time I’ve been ignored. I eventually gave up because it was obvious that she wanted nothing to do with me. Also, this was long before things between the former beloved and I went terribly wrong. The difference last night is that she acknowledged my presence by actually looking in my direction – but this was not to offer a smile, only an icy cold stare. I wasn’t particularly comfortable, especially because I didn’t know anyone in the room. Thank goodness for the wine. Truth.

I think there was an hour of the event left. I had grown tired of listening to the gossip and the looks of disdain from someone I hardly knew that reminded me of a person I loved and lost. It was just a bit too close of a connection for my liking. I texted the disgustingly cute barista that works in the coffee shop of the PSU library. He tells me to head his way and I oblige. ‘Radiant’ is the first thing he says when he sees me. He made me feel like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on and we spent a few hours catching up on our individual spring break escapades. I probably could have talked to him all night, we have done that on occasion, but he and I both are trying to stay on top of our last term at PSU. Instead I left smiling because his smile is infectious. Truth. I need more people like that in my life.

Complete acceptance and encouragement. I am thankful for the friends who keep cheering me on. 

While I have lately been described as radiant, I still question what sort of vibes I’m sending out to the world. Within the span of only two weeks, I’ve had several men attempt to enter my life and attempt to manipulate. I used to never see that sort of thing coming, now I can spot it before it even begins. If I say that I’m not available, I am not relationship material and I have no desire whatsoever to connect with you on any level – I mean it. One guy in particular wasn’t listening and attempting to use whatever flaws in my character that he knew of against me solely for the purpose of manipulation. I eventually went off. I didn’t hit below the belt, I didn’t call him names or say anything out of cruelty, I simply expressed anger and this surprised him. It surprised me, too. Ava grew a backbone. Who knew?

Seriously, Dude. I couldn't have said it any plainer. 

I can look at the vast majority of the last few weeks as a grievance: the slew of men that are black on the inside that manage find their way into my orbit, the fact that I’m attracting aforementioned men, the cliquishness of a community that is supposed to be ‘social’, the flakey people, the consistent reminders of someone I loved very much and the glares of someone who doesn’t know me. I choose not to. I embrace the miracle.

I see a miracle in my ability to stand up for myself for once, a miracle in the beauty of a dance that I still love, a miracle in the joy I feel when I’m dancing in any form of movement, and a miracle in the people in my life that continue to remind me that I am treasured, valued, radiant and worthy of the best things in life. Today is a miracle. I embrace it. 

I've got the world on a swing. Not string; the swing is far more entertaining. 

"There are two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." - Albert Einstein

Tales From the Tango World

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”      -Rabindranath Tagore

I’ve been delving into other forms of dance after belly dancing took me under its spell. Lately, I’ve been practicing tango. This is by far one of the most difficult forms of dancing I’ve learned. There’s no formula to it; one needs only to listen. I am gradually getting better – but this has been an excruciatingly long process.

I’m just about three months into it now. I know how difficult it can be as a lead and a follow, as I’ve practiced both. I’ve been practicing more as a follow lately. My tendency in dancing throughout my life is to automatically take the lead and laugh maniacally on the inside as my dancer partner attempted to rein me in. There is no flexibility for that sort of nonsense in tango and I have to learn to yield to someone else every now and then.

There is a tremendous amount of trust that one gives another in order to follow in tango. I'm learning to trust. I have yet to figure out if the hesitation is PTSD, my own reserve or just plain stubborness.

I think this cat displays better posture than me. 

There are good nights and bad ones. Sometimes one gets off on the wrong foot – literally and metaphorically. The partners that are most patient are the leads that I most enjoy.  I make a step they didn’t want. They tell me it’s okay. They remind me not to tense up and relax and the crazy things I’ve come up with that are most likely not a move in any form of dance expression have even amused some. I am grateful because they are willing to teach me, give patient and gentle instruction and aren’t too bothered by what can only be described as my sacrilegious tango antics.

This is lovely, too . . . and also far more advanced and trusting of her partner than I think I'll ever be.

Not all nights are as fun. There are times I can’t connect with the music, I can’t connect with the lead, and the lead is very annoyed by me. Last week I arrived at the practica a tad bit late. I was out with girl friends and lost track of time. I was partnered with an older and more experienced dancer. He was immediately frustrated because he said my step was not wide enough and this was thwarting his attempts at a pivot turn. I widened my step. He rolled his eyes barked that I was over dramatizing the move. I had no clue what this guy wanted from me. I felt bad because it was obvious that I was frustrating him. I tried again. He dropped my hands in the pose and said, “She just showed us this five minutes ago.”

Needless to say, I ran away as quickly as my legs would carry me without breaking a run as soon as the lesson was over and I avoided eye contact with him all night . . .  and was a horrible follow that night. I wasn’t connecting with anything and far too afraid of pissing off the leads. Truth. He attended the milonga last night; I still avoided eye contact, but did exchange the superficial pleasantries of “How are you?”

I’m horrid, but I’m learning. There are times I can get into the music and share a beautiful moment with my dance partner, and then I make a mistake, tense up and start to over think and anticipate much to the dismay of the lead. It can go downhill quit rapidly from there.

Regardless of the handful of bad experiences, I’ve stuck with it. When I first began a tango course at Portland State a seasoned dancer was kind enough to take me under his wing. He encouraged me to stick with it, praised me when I made a ‘perfect step’ and told me to own it because I am elegant. I thank you Kind Sir. He would never let me apologize. Ever. While I have not seen this gem of a lead and overall fabulous human being in a while, he still sends me links to events he thinks I’ll enjoy.

I remember once when we were practicing a tango form of a box step. We were doing well. He had me switch sides with him so I could watch us in the mirror. It was lovely. Our legs moved in synch and perfect alignment. I would not have been so excited about committing myself to this had he not shared that moment with me.

See how beautiful it can be? 

To the encouraging leads of the world: I commend you.

I imagine for most dancers, there is always room for improvement. I am still stepping on toes, getting my toes stepped on, kicking, being kicked. I almost always carry a bruise or two from a tango grapple. I don’t mind; it’s worth it. I have a very long way to go to look as graceful as most of the women out there. Every time I sit out a set I watch as they effortlessly float across the floor in their narrowly heeled tango shoes.  They are as lovely as the dance.

Perfectly pointed toes. I don't know how they do it. 

I hope the clumsiness and awkward movements dwindles away eventually and I can be as graceful as they are. I imagine it’s much more enjoyable for the leads – even the patient ones who are willing to let me dance sacrilegious tango as part of the learning process.

“To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful,  more powerful.” –Agnes De Mille

The Haunting

“Lately I’ve been thinking

Lately I’ve been dreaming of you

I’m so resistant to this type of thinking

Oh, now it’s shining through

I was alone for the last time

Before my night’s vacation with you

Alive from the first

Now I’m denied by the ghost of you” – Howie Day

I told myself forgetting him would be easy. It’s not. We both tried to patch things up despite my attempt to sever what we had; it just didn’t happen. For the sake of my sanity, I had to let go. I realized this situation had been stretched out for far too long. There’s no turning back from that and this was something that seemed to have no end in sight. He’d be back in two weeks, his schedule would be jam packed, I’d be finishing the term and it would drag out for another 3 weeks. It’s madness and the constant grief and anguish that I was experiencing was just too much.

Since doing everything I can possibly think of to get over him, I’m haunted by his memory instead. I see things that remind me of him everywhere. Everywhere. I went to dinner with my mother. She took me to the same place I met him one afternoon and I remembered the feeling I had that I may burst and die from happiness. I wasn’t bursting with happiness that night with my mother.

I took a walk last week during a study break. I’d passed that place a million times before and hadn’t noticed it until then. I’m assuming the construction to the building is what drew my eyes towards it – that’s where our reunion took place. I remember my heart danced at the sight of him and when he held me. I didn’t want him to let go. I had mixed feelings looking at the corner coffee shop; part of me wanted to hurl rocks at it and another wanted to collapse on the nearest bench and cry.

Sometimes there aren't enough rocks. 

I passed the building where I first met him several years ago. He was a vision; he still is.

I walked past the church where we sang together for a few months only for the joy of loving music.

There was a brief moment when I laughed at the irony of it all. While talking to my therapist about this experience with him, trying to make sense of where I went wrong, she mentioned Asperger’s. I heard that word in connection to him several times after that, and not just from her. The photo I attached to the blog where I first admitted I loved him – its source gave the image a caption that questioned the stereotype of whether or not someone with Asperger’s could love.  

THIS. This is the infamous photo.

I’ve been doing a lot of dancing lately – because it’s something that makes me happy. Bellydancing is still something to which I am deeply connected, but I’ve been enjoying tango because it’s an experience I can share with others. Guess who piqued my interest in the dance? Being a country bumpkin for a large portion of my life, I still think Portland is a big city. I’m a fool.

 I’ve been taking a non-credit tango course at PSU. The instructor gives some pretty spiffy discounts to students and I’m still at the stage where I suck ass and really need all the help I can get. So, I get to go to these group classes, meet new people and dance as a crappy tango dancer afterwards with whomever is up for a challenge. I always warn those who ask me – I am guaranteed to frustrate you. Truth.

This is what it looks like when I dance tango. Truth.

 Last night I attended one of these dance soirees. From my conversations with my former flame and my petty understanding of the inner workings of his mind, I assumed this sort of event would be too easy for him . . .  yet I underestimated the sense of community that is part of tango. I was chatting with whomever decided to sit next to me or *gasp* dance with a really crappy tango novice. At one point I struck up a conversation with a lovely gal while I watched in amazement at the grace and beauty of the more experienced dancers prancing about on the floor. She asked me if I knew him. I felt my muscles tense for an instant and then I said his last name. Yes, she replied. He was telling me how awesome you are. All I could muster was that we had a falling out and excused myself because I felt another crying fit coming on.

Poor gal. She apologized a couple of times because she realized she had hit a tender nerve. How could she have possibly known? I silently cursed myself for being neurotic and then decided that it was probably about time for me to go. I had reason – a large group of very fun friends and karaoke. I am so thankful for that reason – because I am a terrible liar.

Note: Not just a terrible liar, but not a very creative one, either. 

The greeting I received when I made it to karaoke will go down in history as one of my favorite moments in life. I was glad to be in the presence of a very dear friend, my radiant light, who has been so encouraging and comforting while I’ve been navigating the waters of falling in love and feelings of a broken heart all within one semester.

This little light of mine decided to flirt with every man in the room on my behalf because she wants to see me 'married off and happy'. Also, she was a bit drunk. Having never seen her in this state, I was amused.

She tells the KJ that I should be serenaded with a song. I request Coldplay. I love Coldplay. The song he chose to sing to me was The Scientist. The Scientist. The lyrics are beautiful and deep. It’s all about a breakup and wishing you could start over but knowing you can’t. F*ck me. So, while the KJ with an angelic voice to match his angelic face sang with a passion to make any gal swoon, I was using every amount of energy I possessed to not run out crying. I managed. This time I managed to shed only a few tears and compose myself quickly enough that no one knew anything was wrong. 

Yeah . . . that about sums up the karaoke experience

After barely making it out alive with a night of tango, karaoke and mass quantities of alcohol I went to a meditation workshop this morning. I couldn’t quite remember the address. I used the navigation on my phone to get there once before and thought I could look it up in the phone app. The very first address listed was in Beaverton. The name of the establishment connected to this address wasn't listed on my phone. It didn’t need to be; I don’t know why I remember it, but I did. That was the last place I met him in person. I remembered experiencing joy and sorrow at the same time. I stared at my phone in disbelief for a few moments while my mind grappled with many questions. Mainly, ‘Why’? and ‘Really'?

I was out with my dogs this afternoon at the dog park. Someone asked me at random if I believed in signs. I used to have an answer for that; now I have no freaking idea. If the Universe chooses to speak to me, it’s usually in the form of dream or meditation. By the way, guess who haunted my visions during meditation? I feel like his memory is being thrown at me from every direction. Is this the Universe or some part of my psyche that I refuse to acknowledge that still misses him? Am I randomly making connections where they don’t belong and seeing only what I want to see?

I don’t know what to make of any of this, really. I have never loved another human being as I loved him and I can only guess this is part of the process that goes hand in hand with these type of things.

Beloved, I thank you for the memories. They are something I will hold with me forever just as a part of me will always love you. Everything I ever knew is lingered by one touch from you – and everywhere I go I see your face in my mind.

He is everywhere . . . the air I breathe. 

To the Universe, Psyche, Beloved – the haunting can stop now.

“What have we given?

My friend, blood shaking my heart

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender

Which in age of prudence can never retract

By this, and this only, we have existed.” – T.S. Eliot

All I loved, I loved alone.

“From childhood’s hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.” - Edgar Allen Poe

 

Some say it was negligence, others said confusion; still others said he was a self-absorbed douche that didn’t deserve my time, love or affection. They said he didn’t deserve my tears, my pain and the deep aching I felt at the very root of my heart. I still feel that aching. In regards to what he deserved, I have no thoughts on it, only that he held every part of my essence in his hands. Instead of accepting, instead of reciprocating or even finding solace in it, he ripped my heart from my chest and left it in a pulsating bloody pulp on the floor. It was the constant rejection that did it, I think.

I don’t know where it went wrong in all honesty. I’ve looked at it from every angle and I just can’t find the source. I was looking for my mistake for weeks when I was told that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. And I won’t let him put that on me, either.

As much as I tried to reach out, I was ignored. His actions told me that I was nothing but an afterthought to him. There would never be a place for me in his life. Eventually the feelings of pain and sadness turned to anger. I don’t like any of those feelings.

I have been told that any guy with the slightest bit of interest would make some effort. It existed in the beginning, but not long after that. At first I thought it was his confusion and he needed space. We never seemed to communicate effectively. Ever.  It wasn’t until someone actually did show interest in me that I saw what everyone had been trying to make me see for weeks.

It was one outing and that’s probably all it ever will be – but I can say during that time this guy I only saw in passing on a daily basis - made me feel as if I were the only person in the universe that mattered to him. It was exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it.

 

I had drafted a letter I intended to send to the object of my affection. I never sent it. Ironically, the same night I finished it he messaged me saying he wanted to talk about the events of the last 4 weeks. At first I agreed, however,  the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had nothing left to say. I’ve said it already. I’ve given it already. Every time I saw him in person he left with another piece of me emotionally, physically, or spiritually. I have nothing left to give.

It took me two years to get over a physical assault. I imagine it’s going to take me two more to get over this experience. Expressing love makes one vulnerable and because of how deep that emotion can run, the pain will run just as deep. It’s not that I’m going to close myself off from society and cease from living with compassion and positive regard, only that I can’t emotionally open myself up to anyone for a very long time.

 

 

“Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have not broken your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong.”  - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

 

 

 

Ripples, Waves and Tsunamis

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” - Rumi

I’m thinking that maybe there is no end to this process – there is no end to refinement. This is how the Universe has chosen to refine me. So be it . . . and the revelations will no doubt continue. 

The swelling of emotions subsided long enough for me to feel as if I have some grounding. It’s been hitting me in waves now and sometimes I am able to stand on the shore watching the waves lap at my feet. On good days, it’s a ripple effect; the pain is still there, but it’s containable. 

 

Sometimes I hope for a place of solitude . . .  some form of escape.

Sometimes I find myself hit with a wave of emotion that is so strong I can’t sort out what’s what. I don’t know what’s upsetting me. I don’t know the source of my anguish, only that it’s there and it’s time for me to face it and sift through until I find something that makes sense. I have a full arsenal of things that could be the cause, but there’s really only a few pieces that fit within a specific experience.

In all things, I do my best to act with love. For me, this means putting myself aside at times. It means putting on a smile when all I want to do is cry. It means listening to someone else’s heartache when I’m working through my own and trying to help them solve their problems. It's not easy. True story.

There it is. The aching.

I’ve been getting better at allowing myself to cry. For a long time I didn’t and with this wave of pain has come a force of trembling that I can’t control. I’ve been turning this over in my mind the last few days. As it turns out there is a scientific explanation . . .  and I can now say that studying anatomy and neuroscience wasn’t a full waste of time in the long run.

We share a very basic primitive area of the brain with our mammalian brethren. These are known as the reptilian and limbic brains. This area of the brain is a storehouse of emotional memory and is instantly activated the moment we sense any danger. The amygdala does not wait for instructions from the cognitive, conscious sectors of the brain. It simply acts. In fact, the amygdala allows us to act before we know why by triggering a biochemical cascade. I could describe this, but I’ll spare you. Basically, it’s a quick injection of various stress hormones into the bloodstream. 

What does this look like? You may wonder. The result is a hyper alertness that we’ve all come to know as the fight or flight response. This state of awareness is intense; it’s a dramatic jolt of energy similar to the thrill of an amusement park ride, bungee humping, or general jitters before performing.

 This is on my bucket list of things to do. Okay .  . it's really bungee jumping - but skydiving will be added.

Scientists are now adding a third type of response: freeze. Think of a deer in headlights. The freeze response is activated when there is no hope, meaning nothing proactive can be done to save oneself. This is an unconscious and instinctual immobility reflex. Disassociation is a common coping mechanism in the event of a freeze response, which is a mental form of physically separating ourselves from the threat.

This freeze response overrides any feasible possibility of fighting or running. This feeling of helplessness is strongly linked as a precursor to the development of PTSD. Unlike the fight or flight response, there is no release of energy from the triggered build up of stress chemicals. Our mammalian kin, acting with the same brain as the human species when responding to stress have ways of discharging this energy when the perceived threat is gone: they tremble, shake shudder, perspire and take a series of deep breaths when the trembling has passed.

 Is it over? I keep asking even though I know the answer.

 . . .  and there you have it. I’m getting in touch with the mammalian part of my brain – the I didn't acknowledge when all of this starting manifesting in ways I didn’t understand. The threat(s) are gone; I have to let the emotions come out now.

I remember my very first therapist telling me that this process would be like stirring a pot: the stuff from the bottom makes its way to the surface. It’s true. I do not like it, but I know the band-aids won't last forever.

I don’t know why, but thoughts and memories of my mother have surfaced. Part of her has made me. Part of her is in my genetic code. She scares me and I’m terrified of being her. While I can accept these fears and I can accept how her actions have dramatically affected my sense of security, identity, stability and will likely be present in any relationship I attempt to form – I acknowledge that I have to learn to forgive so I can let go. Maybe it's not even that; maybe I just need to let go. The hard part for me here is that when it comes to her, I don’t know how. I’m a bit lost at the moment.

Not only lost, but kind of at a standstill. Where do I go from here? 

I found myself once again crying and trembling and as much as I fought to control it, it wouldn’t be contained. I had to ask myself again, “Where is this coming from?” When I feel connected to someone emotionally and then there’s a day or two of nothing but silence, the feelings of abandonment resurface. At last I was able to make a connection: I felt the same way I did as a little girl when she left me with strangers,  when she left me for good in Georgia and her presence that was in and out of my life for what felt like an eternity as a child. Still, I remember desperately wanting her to love me. She never did.

For now there will crying and trembling. I accept it –  in waves, ripples or tsunamis. 

 I like to think we all get to visit this place at least once.

“Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” - Rumi

Reflections and Revelations

“Accept everything about yourself – I mean everything. You are you and that is the beginning and the end. No apologies. No regrets.”  - Clark Moustakas

If this doesn't make you smile, there is something wrong. 

The last two weeks, give or take a little, have been a roller coaster of epic proportions. It started with what I recognized as another PTSD manifestation. I thought I caught it. I thought I stopped it. I recognized the negativity and fear in my thoughts and what emotions those thoughts evoked in me. I thought that was enough. It wasn’t. I soon felt myself drowning in a pain that felt like it was ripping me in two.

I lack to the words to adequately describe how deep that pain is. Nothing I know of in the English language exists. I think this means I should take up another language.

When I began to cut the negativity from my life, good things began to happen. Good things continue to happen. This is unfamiliar territory and the uncertainty of me thinking I’m going to ruin it, that it’s going to go away has been one of the causes that triggered my most recent relapse. The other was joy – because this is an emotion I don’t recall ever feeling and my psyche didn’t know what to do with it . . . so I had a meltdown. There have been no dark and sinister events. There has been no one in my life that inflicts emotional pain. My life is a far cry from what it was only six months ago. That was my message from therapy.

I have been so very blessed. The Universe was smiling on me when it sent a radiant light into my life. We just happened to be in the same place at the same time, and she has been cheering for me ever since. This newly found friend and mentor I’ve been blessed with has had experiences similar to mine, and is far more advance in the healing process than I am. She told me I’ll learn to make PTSD my friend. When I have felt defeated and broken, she’s reminded me of exactly what it is I’m fighting against: me.  That was my message from Radiant Light. Her gentle and reassuring presence has given me the most comfort through this process. Her presence gave me glimpses of peace in the middle of chaos.

A Beautiful Soul more or less told me to quit hiding. To paraphrase his words, PTSD is an obvious part of my essence and I shouldn’t apologize when it manifests. I shouldn’t apologize for being me. When I think about it, I was essentially apologizing for my very existence. This is something for which no apology is needed. Ever. That was my message from the Beautiful Soul that has touched me more deeply than anyone ever has. He has also challenged me and shown more patience than anyone else. Well played, and I love you all the more for it.  

I acknowledge that I’ve had the wrong perception for far too long. I’ve seen the PTSD as something entirely separate from me that lurks within the deep recesses of my mind. An entity that only comes out to torment me; to conquer and destroy. I’ve grappled with it and when I finally opened my eyes, I see that I’ve been grappling with myself the whole time. I accept it as a part of being. I’ll ride the waves as they come. Perhaps I’ll even learn to surf them. 

Eventually I'll go for it and dive in. 

When I began to examine the roller coaster of emotions, I took it personally. I saw the entire process as an act of aggression against me. All I could ask was, Why? Why does this presence exist within my mind? I’ve done everything right. Then I blamed myself for creating it. I blamed myself for allowing to it to take over, because I had yet to acknowledge it as part of my essence at this point. I realized I’ve been blaming myself my whole life. It was pointed out to me today that when a child experiences something traumatic and there is no one there to tell that child otherwise, the child will think he or she was responsible for it occurring. There was a wave of trauma and I blamed myself for every sinister thing that had taken place. I’ve been blaming myself for most of my life – and I’ve been apologizing for every bad thing that’s happened to me or anyone else.

The end result of this pattern of thinking was the perception of myself as a plague that would ruin everything I touched. I am not a plague and none of those events were my fault. I am worthy of existence. That was my message from the Universe.

Can you see the joy? The balance has been restored.

Then there was another message from my Beautiful Radiant Light: The Universe reflects the energy that we exude. I have been shown love, compassion and joy. I’ve been shown patience. I’ve been shown gratitude and beauty. If this is what I’m giving the world, I’d say I’m doing okay.

When I was finally able to admit that I was hurting, I was given compassion and I was loved. Several have expressed a sincere and genuine concern for me. When I grappled with myself that last time, no one reached out. When they asked how I was doing, what they really wanted was for me to paint a rosy picture and pretend that everything was okay. It was a shallow kindness that hurt nearly as much as the pain I was inflicting on myself.

‘What do you need?’ ‘What can I do?’ I admit I didn’t know how to respond. No one has ever asked that  before. So I was given a listening ear, and I’ve been promised a hug the next time I need one. I was held up by others because I was incapable of doing it myself. I was reminded that I amount to something even though I couldn’t see it. I was loved because I couldn’t love myself.

I was also given advice that doesn't ring true to me, "Look back and remember the happy times." I told her that it was too much for me to look back right now. The truth is that there's too much pain to sift through. My happiness is here in this present moment. Then sound advice was given: keep a journal of gratitude. I have been doing so and it reminds me of the beautiful aspects of life that I take for granted. What I've been thankful for so far: I woke up to candlelight; my prayers were still burning and the level of the chakra candle has shifted to focus on another energy. I saw the sunrise for the first time in ages. I have observed a sincerity I never knew existed. Thank you, Radiant Light - for showing me gratitude. 

I’ve been reaching out to others for most of my life when I see that they’re hurting. I’ve been doing this even more lately . . . and now I’ve been touched. I recognized the pain in them and did all I could to hold them until it subsided, and now it’s been reciprocated. It’s the reaching out that I find the most beautiful. A Buddhist priest described humanity to me this way: We are individual pumpkins on a vine. The vine connects us to one another so that when one rejoices, the rest genuinely share joy. When one feels pain, the others feel pain as well. I saw the intricate system of our connection with one another and the Universe through this experience. I've talked about the imagery the Buddhist gave me many years ago ever since it was put in my mind. To describe it is one thing.To see and experience it is something else entirely.  It’s a beautiful thing. That was my revelation.

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other” – Mother Teresa