Date#16 and I decided to meet at the lighthouse after I finished work on Friday. I got out of my car and looked for him. The wind was light and the air was cool and refreshing. I didn’t see him. I started to get confused because I was sure he’d be there by now. I walked closer to the cliff. There he was, sitting down, his feet hanging over the edge. My heart just skipped a beat remembering how it felt to see him sitting there, it gave me a teenage feeling. The kind I used to spend hours talking about on the phone in high school. I slowly angled my body and slid in between the rails of the fence to get on to the cliff and walked out toward the edge to meet him. The sun was setting and the waves were small, at the lane. I sat down next to him, took my shoes off and allowed my mind to settle into my body. I just wanted to get close to him. He was wearing a button down shirt and shorts. I’m always trying to gauge if he put any effort into what he was wearing, knowing that he was going to see me. He and I sat quietly on the dirt and I witnessed the energy between us. I was trying to gauge what I thought he might say. We looked at each other and I could not read him. He was just smiling at me. I couldn’t hold eye contact with him unless I was sure. And I want’t sure if he was going to swoop me up or if I was about to be deserted. I was scared, but he was there. We were sitting next to each other and it was how I envisioned our conversation to be. We began to make small talk with awkward long pauses in between. The rests in conversation were filled with questions in my head. I figured we were going through the formality of a verbal warm up, but I was still slightly concerned that he was just letting me down easy. Eventually I told him I was ready for his thoughts.
He told me he was willing to let her go. He was very clear. He was done.
But then there was hesitation. Whats next? I hadn’t really thought beyond that. I felt really surprised, I had been preparing for the worst. The next sentences that followed were expected and triggered a pang of disappointment in me. We both agreed it would not be wise for us to jump into a committed relationship together. This was my rule from the beginning of the project anyway. However, arranging to stay out of a committed relationship with him felt promising, not something that was holding us apart, but something that could possibly give us a chance to get know each other. It would also give me some time to feel more secure concerning my own intentions, my interaction with him, as well as the fact that I am supposed to be going on 36 more dates this year. I stayed in reality really well. I celebrated the fact that I stated a need and he was really clear in his response.
I wondered if I was going to be ok with him dating other women, but I didn't want to overload the evening with psycho-babble conversation. Quickly without thinking about it too hard I knew that the thought of him and another woman made me uncomfortable. And I told him that it was his responsibility to be himself and it was my responsibility to decide if I was willing to show up and participate in how he was living his own life. He thought that was a great idea. He said he really appreciated how clearly I communicated and how I set an intention, a need, and then gave him a chance to respond. I agreed that it worked pretty well too.
We agreed that being friends first was important to take care of the sacred space between us. It felt valuable, a treasure worth protecting. I think the bond between us was beginning to feel a little like a safe haven, a refuge from all of the other crap in the outside world. It seemed as if our fledgling efforts in sharing feelings was building a sense of trust. I shared my feelings and he wasn’t running, and he stated his feelings and I wasn’t yelling or attacking him. I was practicing the art of really seeing him. Staying connected to the ground and honoring his presence and his honesty. We decided to go out on to the wharf and get dinner. We went to Olitas, a nicer Mexican restaurant, I was craving mole. He and I were walking an edge. I could tell he felt slightly uncomfortable. He seemed slightly out of his element, by his own opinion. I ignored his nervous energy. I was happy that we were together out in the real world. I think he is scared of it, the real world. I wanted to show him there is nothing to be afraid of. We sat down and began talking, I had the impulse to sit next to him. “I can still sit next to you, right?” “yes” he replied. I went and sat next to him and felt relaxed again. We talked about sustainable construction, society, culture and capitalism. We were finding new parameters of our relationship. A new grey, mixture. We finished dinner and went back to my house. We did not have sex at my request. We woke up the next morning and instead of needing his attention, and waking him up to satiate some desire for reassurance, I let him sleep. I was taken by him. My pupils have never felt so good. His hair softly laid on my pillow, his face was gentle and his eyes were at peace. His body was limp and still. He looked warm and cozy. I noticed a slight smile, I tried not to stare, but rather glance in his direction and be reassured that he was still at peace and comfortable. Every once and a while I would hear him take a breath. I finished a writing assignment and did some laundry. I was leaving for Portland that morning. I grabbed his dirty clothes and put them in the washing machine with mine. They would get clean together. He woke up and I began packing. We talked about being grounded and my excitement for my trip. I took a shower, he stretched on my yoga mat. I brushed my teeth, he played guitar. I asked him if he would be willing to pick me up from the airport on my way back. He said he would as long as he was in town.
I have never had any desire to garden before. The process of pulling out weeds seemed tedious, exhausting and pointless since they will eventually grow back anyway. But over the last couple of days I am drawn to the earth like I never have been before. I visualize my hands on the ground. Brown dirt , some of it loose some of it packed hard. There are weeds everywhere. I have a plan. I have a desire to make the space clear, to make it mine. I focus on my hands and how they look in contrast to the earth. The earth, our planet, made up of dirt, rock, water, mountains so vast, floating in the ever expansive universe. But all I can see is the dirt my hands are hovering over, my fingers are outstretched and I notice the contrast of the space in between them. The aliveness in my hands against the solid energy and absorptive quality of the earth. Slowly I bring my hands down to touch it. My flat hands meet little raised pieces or dirt and grit. My fingertips and the inside of my knuckles are pricked by granulated rock and are destined to find the softness beneath. I am been pulled to dig. I’m not sure how far I will go, I know my hands need to feel that earth. The ground is hard and a little dry. I hit it with my hands. It does not make a hollow sound, the slap draws me in and I am tempted to lay my face down to it. This is an introduction. A peace offering with the land. I am not ready to dig in yet. I wanted to introduce myself first. A test to see if it is safe. I want to get a sense of what I will be digging into, before I start releasing my energy into it. I go back into the house.
It has rained. It rained in the middle of the night. Not pouring rain, just a little bit of sprinkling because the molecules just got a little too big and heavy and had to let down some of their moisture. It has softened the earth. I think the earth may have told the sky that I was ready to start digging.
Portland. I boarded the plane and I was relieved in knowing it was going to be a short flight. I was on my way to visit dance#13. Before he left, dance#13 said that I was always welcome to come visit him in Portland and stay at his house. I told him I would love to make a plan. I thought about how and when I could make that happen. When I told him the dates I could come and visit, I was met with some hesitation on his part. I wasn’t surprised since he openly admitted to having great fear when it came to feeling expectations from others. He and I talked on the phone and discussed my vision for the visit and he named his fears specifically one by one. We talked about the reality of my feelings in relation to his fears. He opened up. He did not run. He stayed present. I suspect that my listening to him and respecting his fears and boundaries allowed him to look forward to my coming as well. I got my ticket and was very exited to keep walking my edge with him. This was not about sex. This was not about sexual attraction. I explained to him that I was not used to loving and maintaining relationships where I couldn’t use sex to manipulate them if things got scary. He acknowledged that was somewhat true for him as well. So there we were, pioneering different relationship behavior together.
He picked me up from the airport and we had dinner. He said that some of his sex issues were up. I said perfect, that happens to be may favorite topic right now. He said he was feeling a little down and was hoping that I wouldn’t be disappointed. I told him that I was there to see him. I reassured him there was no need to put on a show for me, that I was there to be his friend. Just as he was mine. We sat on his couch, slowly he began to open up. The words started popping out of his mouth like budding flowers in spring. They were slightly fragmented; a free form flow of consciousness. Coming from the depths within him, this place seems to hold all those dark little things that you didn’t even know were there. They just began emerging, rolling off his tongue and he had to trust that I was a soft place for them to land, and I was. I held everything that was coming out. Sometimes it felt heavy, sometimes it felt steady, like I was just a rolling point of contact, his words sliding over me.
Him: “Can you hold me?”
Me: “Yes I can”.
I have felt fear my whole life that I was strange, different and too broken. Way too broken to be loved. I felt I had to manipulate myself, contort my personality to be worthy. I have hidden for so long. I just could never believe that someone would ever care about me and all my unpredictability. I saw myself as being unstable. I had a plan, I had made up in my mind what I thought I needed to be, or how I needed to look in order to receive the love that I was so desperately needing and craving. His stream of consciousness mirrored these same fears that have kept me separate from intimate relationships. A wall of pain and strife. I was pretty sure that I was unworthy. These insecure feelings trick me into thinking I need a quick fix, not a lengthy attachment process. Real authentic attachment was way too risky, and aroused my desire to run away. Authenticity lacks manipulation, and without that I wouldn’t be in control of what happened within the relationship.
He gave me his emotional weight. Knowing that he trusted me, caused me to drop down into compassion and it felt so good. A circular connection, to give love and to be loved. I can’t wait to dance with dance#13. His soul circles around mine in a way of compassion and pure friendship. I hear his pain. I get it. I am in awe of the miracle of being present for someone else. To witness their story. It is even more incredible when our stories are so similar.
There are parts of us that emerge in dance. First listening, then trust. Even when I talked to him in Santa Cruz, I knew that was the direction we were headed. Trust. Can I trust if I tell him what I’m feeling that he won’t run? Can I trust that if I let my feet go loose he won’t steer me in the wrong direction? If I release my weight, will he drop me? Is he trying to hurt me? What is the difference between giving space and running away? How do I know when I am too heavy? If I push his edge how can I be sure he won’t drop me and I won’t fall? I feel a repeating theme of falling. My friend Mark tells me that falling is all about learning to catch yourself. Then you can take more risks and receive bigger returns. The trouble is I have a hard time being able to tell if I am jumping into the the unknown, or a house that everyone else can clearly see is on fire.
So I ask myself what is love? What gives us the capacity to love? And why is it so scary sometimes?
We held a space like no other I had ever felt before. I were able to feel each others pain to be able to know that we were understood, that we were not alone, that all of the abuse and hurt and pain and isolation was not permanent. We had each other. I had him.
Morning:
We sat up on his deck. He asked me about my abuse. I spoke. I spoke without shame, I spoke secure in the fact that he would hold what I was saying. I knew he understood. I knew he could help, he was changing the way I saw men. I knew I could show him that dark dirty, repressed, guilty, angry and deep side of me. He held it in silence. As I told my story I looked into his eyes, they harmonized with mine. It poured out of me and I let my emotional weight lean into him. I felt my vulnerability swell up and crash down on him. He was secure, he didn't fall over and he was ready. He was ready to witness my story like I have never felt before. I felt the sludge from the pit in my stomach raise to the surface of my body and run through my veins. Nausea was wafting in and out of me as I became conscious of my truth. Sounds in the form of words, explaining the process of healing came out of my mouth. I felt the pain swell up and come through my throat where it would normally get get stuck and begin to make me feel like I was choking. It used to be that I couldn't bear to hear the truth myself. As if my own ears couldn't hear my own story. In the past I couldn't face the fact that things like that really happened, but his presence allowed it to become safe for me to talk about. I was able to see him as a pure soul even knowing what had happened to him too. How he admitted he was still playing those stories out. I have never felt so vulnerable in my process. As I am writing this now, I can fell it purging and circling in and out of my orifices, rocking and shaking, processing the trauma in a present way. He held it.
Lately I have focused some of my dancing to be done while laying on the floor. My point of contact is my stomach, hips and back. I roll around in cylinders, really keeping my stomach strong and rolling over my hips and maintaining a grounded center. It seems to be somatically releasing tension in my abdomen. When I stop moving in this manner, I can feel my abusers essence all around me, the aura floating up out of me, into outer space trying to leave my body. I looked for dance #13. I ran to him. He opened his arms to me. I knew that I was safe. I knew that I was protected. He proves to me that I am special to someone, that I am worth protecting and somebody cares. He does it because we are connected, we are bonded. Not because he needs to caretake me, but because he cares and he loves me. That feels so vulnerable to say, but I know it’s true. And if I can really believe that, I know I love myself too.
Portland day #2:
We parked the car. I gathered my water bottle and leftovers for our picnic. He lead the way to a small beach bank along side the river. To our left, in the distance, was a large grey steel bridge supporting cars crossing into downtown Portland. Directly across the river were large pieces machinery standing tall, probably some sort of shipping apparatus’s. And to our far right on the horizon there were mountains covered in lush green trees. The water was unusually high so the bank was narrow, littered with drift wood and pale yellow light from the sun setting just out side of our field of vision. The water lapped up on the shore in a clear and gentle way, different from the vast roar of the Pacific Ocean. The moon hung over the bridge, and the bridge suspended over the water and we sat on a large weathered log, whitewashed and worn, smooth to the touch. We let our feet dangle. I sat there next to him aware of my internal stillness and soaked up the atmosphere.
Words just flowed out of our mouths, telling each other our stories. The good the bad and the ugly. We were safe containers for each others words and feelings. While I sat there listening to him play guitar, I noticed how different my relationships are today as compared to a few years ago. Back then it was all I could do to get someone to come over to my house and hang out with me. That night under a full moon, we shared secrets and stories that exposed our vulnerability like we were taping a maple tree. The sweet and sometimes dark syrup flowed out of us. There was a point in the conversation where I really got to take him in. He was being himself and he wasn’t afraid. I noticed how I wasn’t judging him. He was telling me about a piece of himself that took his edge to a different level. He told me that he was into BDSM. He was into being dominant. He told me some of his fantasies, because I asked. But even as he described scenarios of masochistic edginess, his true character proved he was a man who cared. Dance#13 is a man who genuinely wants connection. Above all else it is of the utmost importance to him that there is mutual trust between him an any sexual partner. Even in the most daring of fantasies he needs connection first. He doesn’t act out with vicious intent. He may be misunderstood, misinterpreted but he acts from the heart, always. Sitting out there with him was so peaceful, safe and I felt whole.
We watched a beaver swim past. We whispered as the critter stuck his head up to munch a little something on the shore. I noticed that I was present in my life. It seemed the modality of communication was working out pretty well for dance#13 and I. It was relaxed, it was easy. I was looking at him and I found I was especially grateful for the opportunity to know him. I was grateful that I was having such a poignant experience and he was letting me in. I noticed that this trip was even better than I expected it to be. I mentioned my fears and anxiety about date#16. He reassured me that I was ok. I told him about that Friday evening there at the lighthouse.
I have an overwhelming fear of abandonment, this was reinforced by a previous relationship. My confusion about balance of communication comes from a wounded place, I tend to second guess myself. I was with her for two years. We were engaged. I had been sober for a year and was desperately trying to get my life together. To her I was a project to fix, not a lover. After a year and a half she started to become mean. I was so confused, I couldn’t figure out why she had gone from being so nice to me to treating me so horribly. I began attending a support group with the hope that I would be able to detach from the way she was treating me, and work toward a healthier relationship with her, but it kept getting worse. At that point, I had done a lot of work to keep moving forward. I had a job where I kept my clothes on, and was working on building my clientele. Yet she was still treating me as if I was a burden to her. I was doing the best I could. She emotionally berated me for what I was capable of. I have been holding this fear ever since we broke up, and it has been manifesting through constant fear of rejection. I had no idea why she was being so mean to me. It was the opposite of supported. I was made to feel worthless and lazy even though I was trying harder than I ever had in my life to pull it together. I was doing everything in my power to pull my weight. We ended up going to see her therapist. I explained that I was in process of healing and that I was doing the best I could. Her therapist told me “no, your not, you can do more” I was crushed. I felt so betrayed. So alone, so misunderstood. So incredibly angry. It was not my fault that she was drawn to caretake me. It was not fair that I thought she loved me and I stuck it out because I trusted that she did. It wasn't not fair that she told me I was like a child. I did not deserve that. In the end, she kicked me, out of anger. I knew I couldn’t stay with her. The funny thing was, she didn’t even feel bad about it. I gave her the opportunity to apologize and was I considering our differences to be possibly reconcilable. But she didn’t even see what she had done wrong. That relationship ended six years ago. When we broke up I was instructed to keep the focus on myself and take responsibility for my actions. I did that. What I didn’t do is see our relationship as a two way street. Which of course is much closer to the true reality of relationships. Back then I did extremes really well. I never considered, how that relationship left me feeling abandoned, untrusting and confused about peoples words and motives. The light is now shining on an open adult wound. I deserve love and support. I also deserve to love and support others.
I am realizing, I don’t have to be scared about the truth. The truth of what is really transpiring between me and another person. I can feel safe trusting another person, if I am paying attention. I am in different place now, my healed parts of me are noticing what is safe and what is not. Trust is built. Building means starting small and getting bigger, in the beginning having nothing and gaining something. It can also mean reinforcing strength. Inherently trust is does not start as trust, it starts as caution and trepidation. Years ago during the beginning stages of a relationship I wanted security, instant trust and instant permanency. My own emotional foundation was so weak, a slow stable building of trust was not feasible. My emotional house was crumbing and I needed emergency support. Emergency relief is often not intended to be sustainable. When the intention of building a friendship is present, sustainability of the relationship is built into the design. I want a romantic relationship which is built on friendship. I don't need to use sex as a special secret weapon. I can use it as an expression of love instead of manipulation. I can slow down, I can take my time getting to know someone, which means I can be present to absorb all the juicy goodness of date#16. I want to savor him, date#16. Savor the relationship and be present.
I wrote a poem a few years ago when I first started to feel my heart break open. To be honest there wasn’t any one particular person who inspired this opening except perhaps myself. Now that I think about it, that makes a lot of sense. I was learning how to really accept myself for the first time and was willing to start protecting and standing up for myself. I believed that I was worth at least the possibility of feeling whole.
open heart, open soul
PLUNGE into my heart below
beneath the surface of my skin,
the place where i feel these quakes within
powerful movement shifting round
breaking open, burrowing down
deep flushing of the mound
of dirt that kept building
pound by pound
this vessel, the chambers of my heart
I’ve never been in touch with
calling out
come and clear it
flush out the doubt
the fear, the hurt, the hate, the pain
give me a place
where I can hear my name
a vessel so worn and sore,
a place where I have only
used to store
hurt, and shame, and pain, and grief
I feel the sorrow
leaving me
make me bright, feel anew
sensations
that
i can share with you
to everyone in my world,
a softer place for them to swirl
around my heart
around my soul
a place to have,
a place to hold
where all is quiet, peaceful still
immaculate vessel for love
a space to fill
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