This weekend was so challenging for me because my biggest fight in life is my own needs versus my family's. Their crazy becoming my crazy and so forth. I have fought it my whole life but honestly it's been a losing battle because I don't think I ever meant my "no". In the session, when you said "whatever you're doing they're not buying it" I had no conviction. No strength. No follow through. No action. I just whined. And on that Friday, I could either stay and whine and wait for my dad to come home and "fix it" or I could just grow a pair and walk out. With their hands reaching for me and doubt in my heart I just left. And then I left again on a flight. This is my biggest fight. I think. The one that will define me. Their and pain and the pity I feel for them vs my own needs, pain and life. That's the one thing I have never done. Feel for them but not bend. Because when I see my mother in the wheelchair, my sister...in her crazy state...my overworked father, my heart hurts and bleeds. And then I'm so caught up in that that I can't see my own future, my need to detangle myself from that. That it is OK to not be tangled in that. Their crazy doesn't have to be MY crazy. Even if my mother would love it if I were a fixer like my dad. "fix your sister. save her. find her. help her." save save save save....fix help save fix help bleed save love hurt bleed hit out need bleed out away save hit hurt away save hurt. This hurricane will never end. I just have to do something that it really really really going to hurt me at first and that is not want to save. And concentrate that I have a life worth saving too. If they go down, I don't go with them. This right here is something I have never ever wanted to see. And it hurts and terrifies me to even think it. That I am still WORTH it even if they can't be saved. It is still ok to be happy even if they aren't. Why does that feel like bile in my mouth?

Yesterday I took a walk and found myself in front of Central Park. It was a rainy day with dusk setting in and what it created was a magic hour. The mist settled through the trees, over the frozen lake, mingling with the white snow and golden lamp posts...and it took my breath away. I stood enraptured, walking further into the park to disappear into the mist. Claimed by its haunting beauty. I felt tears come down my face the melancholy beauty it touched me so. I could not take enough pictures. I felt all at once alive, in pain, a spark of something, energy and everything wrapped in that moment. It was pure me. This moment of beauty was all mine. Like a living embodiment of a poem I conjured up. And nothing could take it away, taint it, convince me otherwise. That decisive feeling was so rare.
It spoke so much to the dark poet in me, the edgar allen poe, the robert frost and keats in me.
I remember, years ago, when I had made a vision board and I had a lot of black and white pictures on there, and there was one of a couple walking down a misty stretch of beach. I remember saying, "I want someone I can be sad with." I did end up getting that, while the relationship lasted he never judged or explained away or grew tired of my tears and melancholy heart. That was the one beautiful thing about our relationship. Until it ended, I felt safe reveling in the dark heart of mine. He would drive me by the beach when it was raining so I could lean back, with my arm out the window listening to a moody song. That was my moment.
I wish I had more of these decisive moments in my life where I didn't have to think, I just felt the rightness of the moment, the feelings that went with it and could just be in it, knowing it was true. Because it was me. Just me.
There was no age, I was the sum of all the moments of my life where I felt this present and alive. And enthralled with the beauty and magic of the moment.

On Saturday, I celebrated my birthday with some friends. It was a smaller affair than years past but I felt it more personal. Two of my friends asked me what my wish was for this year. One friend, G, said "I'm a genie, what would you wish for if you could have anything?" I stared blankly at her. I said "I would like to get a clearer focus on what my career is supposed to be." "Too vague" both my friends said. "Try again. Be specific. Don't censor it or think like you can't have it." "Uhhh..." "Is it money?" one asked, "uhh...I'd like to have purpose too." "What does purpose mean to you?" "Where I feel like I make a difference." "Vague." This went on an on and at the end of it, I just said "I'm too fuzzy about the specifics." And they were like that's why your life is fuzzy. My friend G said "You know my goal is to make $800,000?" I looked at her like what?! She said "The number is big yes but I own it. I want it. I will get there. And if not I'll be in the vicinity." Her conviction and focus were...just something I wish I had. 

So your words ring very true here: "you are having great fear and resistance and collapsing.  Giving your power away.  Believing a story about yourself that you are not good enough.  Feeling the pain of your own rejection." Yes, yes and yes. In a purely fantastical world, I can't even reach very high.

The business woman, the wounded woman, the longing woman, the writer woman. You can't have their feelings leak into each other.  

Write ONE THING you need to do for each part of yourself. 

The business woman needs to believe in something she wants. She need to find out what she wants and pursue, pursue. 

The wounded woman needs to have compassion for the journey it's taken to get here. 

The longing woman needs to not give her power away. How this exactly works I'm not sure. But she cannot let the feelings of being small and insignificant stop her from believing she can have what she wants.

The writer woman needs to write daily. End of story. Journal, whatever.  

Where are you in your mother's words in how she takes away your Desire? 

There was a song in college I found that completely held the power of my mother's words in its lyrics. The sense of being dragged down and then just letting it happen. So I am fighting to untangle myself from this belief...

She makes me wanna die

Follow where Mary goes

Cherish the things she knows

Look to the sun

See me in psychic pollution

Walking on the moon

And how could you dare?

Who do you think you are?

You're insignificant

A small piece, an ism

No more, no less

How do you give it to her? 

 In my thoughts that I am small, have something to prove, born with original sin and trying to show otherwise. When she loves me, I'm her star. When she wants to hurt me, I'm nobody and everyone is better. 

So I do special/worthless with myself. 

How is your power, heart and vagina connected to your desire?

Well, it all feels disconnected and stagnant. My power feels dissolved, heart feels closed and vagina feels neglected, alone and afraid at the same time. So desire, the burn, the want for anything doesn't really feel present. There's a minor ache in my chest, where the embers of some kind of desire still burn...but like that conversation I had with my friends, it doesn't feel convincing, powerful and alive.

What is your orgasm attached to?  

It used to be pain...like a voyeur watching a girl's needs and desires thrown to the side while she acts as a holder for all of the man's needs. But lately...lately..my body has started staying in my own body or it switches back and forth and wants the passion, the pleasure of actually being with someone. Me being aware of my own desire and pleasure. This is a first for me...

 

How does your desire, or lack of desire affect your creativity, intimacy and spirituality 

 My lack of desire has made everything stagnant, like a river caught, where all the gunk is starting to rot and decay and the water is murky and unfresh. No life-giving purity. It feels like there is no flow, or spark going through me to energize me to action. So the lack of desire is like my mother just waiting for someone to hand her the world and save her. 

Make a list describing your mother sexually, sensually, creatively… 

My mother is the most asexual person ever. She never talks about sex, thinks I'm a virgin, used to look at people who had sex as gross and never really loved or acted passionately with my dad. She's like a 13 year old that way. I remember once I saw my mother stop after pulling a freshly laundered towel out of the dryer and just press it to her face and body and I just stood, kind of shocked. She said "ahhh so warm." It was the one of the few times I have seen her do anything sensory oriented. Enjoyed in the pleasure of anything. Creatively, she can paint. But doesn't. She like art but does nothing with it. She used to be more creative in Oman, but after we came here she stopped everything. I have never seen her create anything really, other than cooking. Even thinking creatively out of a problem is rare... as she mostly either says something superstitious or "just give it up" or "I told you so."

 She never worked a job or knew what school was like here...she never had to know. How to work hard, then even harder, thinking creatively as you go to figure life out. She left everything to my dad. The only fire I ever saw from her was her rage at the world or my dad. 

So there was a ghost where my mother was concerned sexually, sensually, creatively…