Unfettered

    Unfettered. Unbridled. Uninhibited. The genie is out of the bottle. Pandora's Box has been opened. I had warned myself of the circumstances, knowing all too well what was likely to happen if I allowed my true nature to explode upon the world. I have an understanding of self that comes from far too much introjective introspection. I have known for years that were my true self to be allowed free rein I would be isolating myself from much of humanity. It was a self-fulfilling prophesy. And with it does come an ache of loneliness that I have begun to think is inevitable. But I have to be true to my nature. If I force myself into the role of placid, benign follower it causes a inexorable build up of  pressures that will explode unexpectedly, alarmingly, and chaotically leaving damage in their wake. Granted, I am the one to suffer most from the damages I can wreak upon the unsuspecting. I am the one that feels the isolation of my nature.
    So I turn the music louder, dance faster, work harder, write more, work the soil, all in an attempt to outrace the loneliness that seems to lurk about the edge of my peripheral vision. I know it is there, can feel its presence, but refuse to acknowledge it. To acknowledge it is to give it power. To make it a driving force behind my actions. I can't allow that. It is not to be tolerated. I won't let an insipid emotion like loneliness rob me of my vivacious energy and exhuberant zeal.
    My nature does give ammunition to my demons that wake me in the night with their prodding and probing. They delight in reminding me repeatedly of past mistakes, past over-reactions, past explosions that led me rapidly into this long, cold winter. The demons whisper that if I had just managed to keep my true nature guarded and held tight, that my life would probably have taken a whole different path, an easier path. In the dark of the night it is hard to argue. It is a point I am all too aware of, and has been a weapon of my self-flagellation over the grimly long, dark months. But I fight against the despair. I know that I have chosen the path that is right for me, though it is a rocky, steep, narrow path. Doubts assail me at times as I climb, as I tear my hands scrabbling for a handhold, as I look over the edge of the precipice to either side of me, knowing that every stumble, every false step risks a plummet back into the abyss, as I cry into the darkness, and rage against the unfairness of my destiny. But it my true path, it is where I must go if I am going to be faithful to myself, my needs, my desires, my passions.
    To fetter my nature would be nothing less than criminal. To rob myself of fire, passion, intensity, sensuality, energy, enthusiasm, the true depths of my feelings, to cut myself off from me, to keep myself hostage, hands and mouth duct taped to prevent me expressing deepest desires. If the fire is not allowed freedom, if it is kept confined, it will consume me from within, leaving a dry husk behind. To allow the fire free rein, to let my passion and intensity roll like thunder, to unleash the torrent of my sensuality and enthusiasm, to release the heat of my desires, to let my true nature out to laugh and play, it is as vital to me as the air I breathe.

Ode to Bob

    I have had an eleven year love affair with my motorcycle Bob. He is everything a girl could want in a lover; strong, powerful, thrilling, patient, loyal, sensual, erotic, dependable, and mine. There was a sense of destiny from the first moment I tentatively sat astride his beautiful Concord Purple Pearl and chrome body. The smell of oil and fresh leather were pheromones in my nostrils, triggering a primal need unlike anything I had felt before. Bob made me believe in reincarnation, for nothing has ever felt as honest and natural to me. The anticipation begins the moment I grab my helmet and jacket, smelling the leather sends a shiver of pleasure through me. Slide the key into the ignition, pump the throttle twice, hit the switch and he roars to life with throaty bass of a mating tiger. I straddle the 700 pounds of steel, feel 1200 cubic centimeters of  engine throbbing between my thighs, vibrations course through every cell of my body, he warms me through and through. Gently I maneuver him into place, he responds to my touch, feels solid and lively beneath me. I pull out onto the asphalt, hit the throttle and crank up through the gears with smooth gusto, he is responsive and as eager as I. I feel a rapacious grin flicker across my lips, and a predatory glint light my eyes. With the pulsing beast between my thighs the predator within rises easily to the surface. I am the tiger amongst the herd animals, hungry, lean, vicious. They scatter before me, moving quickly out of my path, they know I am the carnivore. The cool wind slides across my skin, teasing the fine hairs until they are sending a million tiny signals to my brain, a million points of stimulation. When I ride I become hyper aware of all that is around me; movement, smells, changes in temperatures, dips in humidity. I feel it all, as if I have sprouted antennae, ganglia, a thousand orifices with which to experience the world that I am powering through. I act and react, I see the road ahead with almost superhuman clarity, at times it is as if I truly can see around corners. I anticipate all the workings of the world around me, and react before the incident occurs, I can see a split second into my future and avoid the pitfalls.
    I have written love poems and love letters to my beloved Bob, and he is worthy of every word of adoration and praise. I have been told that he is all engine, wrapped in a bit of frame, and then wrapped in a redhead. The fit is perfect and divine. He makes me come alive, makes me value every moment. The thrill, passion and fire have never dimmed. In eleven years he has never failed to arouse within me a desire to live to the fullest and experience every minute we have together as a gift freely given. He is, and always will be my Beloved Bob.

This is Your Brain On Overdrive

    My brain is on overdrive. It is as if the darkness clogging my synapsis has finally cleared, a weight lifted, the light shining through my eyes igniting a fire as sunlight through a magnifying glass. Is it the emergence of the sun after a long, dreary, coldly wet winter? Or possibly a symbolic sun, beaming warming rays into a mind slumbering, hibernating, germinating. As a seed slowly warms, swells, then suddenly bursts to life, so is my mind. It is an uncontainable entity, driving ahead of its own accord. I can barely keep pace, I am running alongside, trying to get my foot on the running board, wanting to hitch myself to the wild ride I know is inevitable as the dawning of a new day. A smile touches my lips in anticipation, my heart quickens, a shiver ripples through my muscles. I am eager for the soaring elation, the giddy joy, the boundless energy. I feel it as a drug in my blood, pulsing, pounding, heating me through and through. It overwhelms me and I get up and dance, wildly yet secretly, knowing that at any moment someone could walk through the door. But I am as an exhibitionist, the possibility of detection adding additional thrill and sensuality to my dance. I am flowing with heat and energy, exhuberance and anticipation. I am vibratingly alive, ashiver with pleasure, trembling with anticipation. The world holds secrets for me to discover. My mind and spirit hold discoveries as well, just awaiting the proper enducement to flower forth in glorious color and heady fragrance.
    Is it Spring? Is it Mania? Is it too much coffee? Regardless of the cause, the result is worth every trembling, breathy moment. I do not know what lies ahead, honestly my future is shadowed to me though I look ahead for rays of light. But that does not matter. What matters is the here and now. None know what lies in their future. Tomorrow we could be dining at Odin's table. But today, today is glorious and full of promise. Today is mine, and I hold it in my trembling hand, caressing it, basking in its glory, cherishing today. The energy and delight that courses through me adds sweetness and savor to even the mundane. I see through eyes undimmed, seeing the beauty all around me, the brightness of today. The Sun, warming my soul, energizing my spirit, awakening my mind. By the gods, it is good to be alive. I love Life in Overdrive.   

Being Naked

    "It's easy to take off all your clothes and have sex. People do it all the time. But opening up your Soul to someone, letting them into your Spirit, Thoughts, Fears, Future, Hopes, Dreams... That's being Naked."
    On ocassion, a quote will strike a chord with me. A deep, visceral understanding of its truth. And as much as I am inclined to scoff at the over sharing of trite, blythe, homogenized happy horseshit, once in a while I stumble upon a truth.
    Baring your Soul, sharing your hopes and dreams, revealing your fears and weaknesses, allowing another to see and share your vulnerability is to indeed be naked to the world. It is frightening yet exhilirating, terrifying yet empowering. I know from experience. It is not something I have done often, truly only once. And in reality, it did not turn out well. As a matter of fact, once the whole experience was over I was left feeling violated and betrayed. I bared all, trusted at the deepest level, and in the end that trust was betrayed, I was left torn and alone, left on the side of the road with my dignity in shreds and my soul sullied, but my spirit was unbroken. It led me into a long, dark winter, but also a season of rest and rebirth. Never at any point did I regret my choice to bare it all. It made me feel strong, inspired. It was as if I had transcended to a new level of self understanding. Yes, there was terror, and in the end agony, but it was a journey that allowed me to understand how deep I am willing to go, how much I have to offer. I regained my self esteem, and self respect. And in the end, after wrapping the shreds of my dignity around me, brushing the ash from my soul, sweeping away the carnage, my true passionate nature burst to the surface. Taking the plunge, risking all, daring to be truly naked earned me my hard won freedom. My Spirit was freed from a lifetime of restraint.
    Where does this leave me, besides alone? It has left me with a willingness to take that risk again, a desire to allow those that know me to know me better. I wish that I could be open and honest, passionate and vulnerable with anyone who is important to me. I know that my vulnerabilities do not make me weak, they are a strength, to face my fears makes me brave, to dream of a future gives me hope, my thoughts though wild are intelligent, my lunacy is my grounding. My newly awakened fire and passion are incredible forces of nature, and I refuse to rein them in again, force them to be dormant, though they may alarm the unsuspecting. My nakedness is joy, beauty, passion, elation, enlightenment, freedom. From the depths of my heart I have learned that I am smart, sexy, funny, passionate, talented, strong, kind, and honest with myself. Baring my soul, my self, was a journey to truths long hidden, and worth the pain, worth the fear, worth the risk. And it really taught me that although life never seems to turn out as planned, I can grow and change, learn and improve, from either failure or triumph.  

Show A Little Courtesy and Compassion

    A brief interaction with the gas attendant this morning reiterated the necessity for kindness in our day to day existence. It was nothing special, just my normal friendliness with the guy standing in the cold, pumping my gas. Every time I stop, I make it a point to smile honestly, greet him cheerfully, thank him, and wish him a good day on leaving. Today, he actually engaged me in conversation, nothing particularly meaningful, but pleasant and courteous. For years I have made a concerted effort to always be kind, friendly, cheerful and interactive with the people that are often overlooked as trivial by so many people rushing through their day; the kid stocking shelves at the grocery store, gas station attendants, checkers, maintenance workers, janitors, truck drivers. These are the people thought of as the drones of our society, but in reality they are people just trying to make a living and make it through their day. We all need to take a moment and think how our actions, words and deeds effect those around us. Having a bad day? Don't bark at the the gas attendant. Life sucks? Don't sullenly ignore the clerk's courteous "find everything okay?" Make eye contact. Smile. Say please and thank you. These are all courtesies that were taught (or damned well should have been taught) when we were children. I remember in grade school, a clown that would perform every year doing magic tricks and pratfalls. His Magic Words were "Please and Thank You," and the whole audience had to shout them out to make his magic tricks work. As a kid, I thought it was funny, as an adult I understand the honest truth of it. There is true magic in courtesy and kindness.
    The current state of affairs have everyone and their mother stressed beyond the norm. I know I am. The last few years I have seen my pay cut 35%, the cost of living is soaring, my job is an emotional blackhole, my personal life has had painfully cataclysmic upheavals, I bought my first home despite my meager income, this winter brought a near total mental collapse, and I turned fifty (fucking fifty, fuck). But back when the depth and breadth of the economic collapse became so painfully evident I said over and over, "Now is when we really need to be kind to each other." And I meant it. Truly. Some few have agreed with me. Most seemed to have missed the memo. Some of us, including my crazy coworker, have formed a strong, protective bond. As angry and volatile as both he and I can be over our state of affairs, we never direct any animosity at each other. We talk of our anger, rant, blow off steam, but in a fully commiserating manner. He knows I have his back, and he has mine. At times we feel like soldiers in the trenches, withstanding mortars, surprise attacks, constant gunfire. We have formed a bond, a soldierly bond created by the knowledge of safety in numbers, and a common enemy.
    Walking the streets, reading the news, driving the freeways, there seems to be an underlying current of anger almost everywhere you turn. There is hostility building, a common thread of impotent rage, that runs through society. As stress levels rise from constant, unending economic hardship, job instability, national and international conflicts, uncertainty, crisis after crisis, the rage simmers with no viable outlet. We see eruptions, over-reactions, outlashing, violence in the streets. These are the strident cries of frightened people. People feeling trapped, hopeless, terrified, angry, enraged, and yet impotent and confused. And as the fearful masses look to their leaders for hope and inspiration what they see is political infighting, anger, hostility, finger pointing, squabbling over minutiae, cutting benefits, attacking civil rights, trying to enforce the "will of god." It has become a chaotic nightmare at every level. Imagine a room full of injured, frightened children, needing comfort, and all the adults can do is fight amongst themselves, ignoring the cries of the children. We are feeling vulnerable and alone.
    And so, as I see it, the need for kindness, compassion, understanding and courtesy is at an all time high. But demand has far exceeded the supply. We are in a spiritual crises that far outweighs our economic woes. Sadly, the only reason that supply is short is because we choose to not share what we have. We each have enough love and compassion in our hearts, enough kindness, enough courtesy, for thousands. And yet we become miserly with our abundance, as if sharing kindness will somehow diminish our supply. I know that the more love I share, the more I possess, and the more I have to share. It is a renewable energy source that outshines the sun. To take that 10 seconds to say "Please and Thank You." Just a smile, eye contact, a nod. The briefest exchange, acknowledging their humanity, sharing a bit of your own.
    People, we are in crisis. We need to stop looking to others for our salvation. We need to look within ourselves, find the kindness and compassion in our hearts, share our bounty with others. Sow the seeds of understanding and courtesy, so we can reap the harvest of spiritual health, mental growth, inner strength, emotional stability. It is neither a difficult nor arduous chore, it is a pleasure we all need to remember. A pleasure to be shared.        

To The Victor

    What a difference a day makes. I have heard those words and never felt the full impact they can have. Truly, what a difference a day makes. I have run the gamut in a 12 hour period. Low to lowest, to struggling, weeping, fighting back, standing tall, final victory. In 12 hours I have run a circuit that is usually, at minimum, 48 hours. But as I have worked though my demons, my past, the ghosts that haunt me, each battle becomes easier, quicker, more defined. Today was what I am hoping was the final battle, the cataclysmic climax, the death blow, my knock out punch. I cannot say today was easy, but it was worth the fight. It was cathartic, freeing, empowering. And I am victorious. I am strong.
    Today my firestorm was called to the fore, a cleansing, purging fire. Flames caressing my spirit as they lashed out and turned to ash the ghostly fragments of a past I have been fighting to shed. The ash, gray and fine, catches in the wind and scatters, disappears into the distance. My fire gave me strength, lent me energies I had never known I could access. The warmth cradled my battered soul like a caring mother, the flames caressed my spirit like a passionate lover, the heat engulfed my mind, the scorching winds lent power to my voice. I was the flame, the flame was mine. My fire was my power today.
    Now, flames ebbing, flickering blue and gold, hypnotizing, calming. peaceful. My fire is banked for the moment, reclaimed from the inferno that saved me. The warmth soothes my soul, and is a balm for my battered spirit. Flames that burned to ash are now healing. I will crawl beneath my down comforter, let it wrap around me like a lover's arms, cradle my fire to my chest and let it seep into my bones. I will find the bliss of sleep tonight, knowing tomorrow holds no more war for me, this battle is done. I am victorious.

War Torn and Battle Weary

    There are times, more frequent than I really care to admit to, that I wish I had a strong shoulder to cry on. An ally. Someone at my back. A voice in my darkness to tell me that, "everything will be okay." A voice that can say it with truth and conviction, not as an empty platitude, a placebo. A companion in the foxhole to relieve me of guard duty. But in the end, it is my shoulders that must remain broad and strong through storms and assaults. Lack of sleep has left me brittle and susceptable to damage, and I am easy prey for emotional turmoil. My defenses are ragged, my battlements weakened by seige machines, I am ripe for defeat. I try to rally the wounded, bolster the shellshocked, revive the dying, equip the few healthy remainder in a last ditch attempt to fortify and defend against the oncoming forces. I dig in and entrench. For it seems the axis forces know when I am at my most defenseless, and they will launch an assault. It is a two-pronged attack; full frontal attack on my gates, and a nefarious undermining of my foundations. I try to react, respond, launch a counter attack. But my forces are depleted, I need reinforcements that will not miraculously appear at the last minute in a perfect Hollywood ending. It is my own fight. There is no backup, no options, no allies. It is my own fight, and I am battle weary. I am truly weary to the bone.
    These assaults blindside me. I begin to think I have won the war, and yet skirmishes continue to flare up in unexpected places, at unexpected times. I have relaxed my guard, called in the forward observers. My scouts have gone awol.   
    But once again, in the tradition of the likes of the WW2 defense of England, Robert E. Lee, Vercingetorix, I will continue to fight with inferior numbers. I will out-maneuver my assailant, I will be victorious despite the odds. I will rally my spirit, shoulder my weapon and ready myself for the next attack I am exhausted by the battle, weary of the fight, dreaming of an ally. But I will soldier on, become the silent sniper, a furtive guerilla, the lone gunman if I have to. I will continue to fight the good fight, find mental reserves long after I think I have tapped the well dry. I will force a lone victory, because the alternative is not to be allowed. I may change tactics, find a dry bunker to catch some needed rest, raid a farmhouse for supplies, but I will soldier on alone, hoping for peace, dreaming of an ally, knowing I will be the victor. I have to be the victor.