Right now, fantasies are very important to my psyche. I am finding my desires for an actual future are still made up of my desires for my previous future.
I am trying still, to reimagine my life, without my wife.
This feels like imagining my life without art.
I never thought another person would live underneath my skin like this. I never actually believed I would let anyone in deep enough to pierce my heart and change everything about me. But I did. Again.
I mean, I was married before. For seven years. Being part of a couple has been one of the things that truly mattered to me, for a sense of wholeness. For a sense of groundedness, for a sense of community.
Last time I got divorced was in 2010, and I ran away to the islands. To Hawaii. Towards distraction, delight and deep conscious healing by throwing myself into the ocean for a full six months, and bathing myself in the salt of another woman’s skin. This woman. This one, that I have left behind in Louisiana.
I have done this before, so I know that I can. I am working already on healing the wounds and the art she made of my heart and soul.
For me, this requires time, (I left her behind Feb 18th, 2020, it hasn’t been a month yet.) fantasy, and the solid choice for beautiful avoidance tactics. So, here I go, dreaming about my beautiful imaginary turquoise house, left to it’s own little patch of sun, on a quarter acre of land, near my tattoo shop. Because I am certain, if I lived there now, I wouldn’t be living here, with a broken heart. I have ALWAYS wanted to build my own house. I have always wanted to paint it, sew the curtains for it, build the couch and desks into the walls, and know that this piece right here- was mine.
Even deep in relationships, I have wanted a tiny turquoise house. Frida Kahlo’s later relationship with her lover gave me the original dream when I first found it years ago. A dream of a colorful, autonomous life.
Dream a little dream of my quiet Turquoise house with three golden locks and one perfect skeleton key.
Good Morning Imaginary House Friend.
1. Morning sun streams through the front room windows. Dust mites dance waltzes through my small sunshine kitchen.
Luckily, I planned ahead, installed a skylight with a black out screen and I am blissfully unaware of this rising movement between the air and the smallest debris.
However, tiny Mister Dog Man is awake. He is awake, awake, awake AWAKE, and if he could make coffee, he would not only be staring holes through my dreams right now, he would be wafting coffee steam across my herb-strewn sheets. I can feel him staring and that tiny, adorable fucker is successful. He makes my bladder NEED TO GO right now, and I push back the covers, pull open the blinds and the light cascades into my chambers.
My big t-shirt stretches in all directions with me, arms above my head, almost brushing the wooden ceiling with my wrists and I toss my legs over the side of my bed, hitting stairs. Ah, to dream in a loft bed, is to nest with the gods. I have been building and rebuilding this little art preserve for my sanity in my chamber of consciousness for years.
High bed, small and utterly functional kitchen, gorgeous lush studio, with a glass greenhouse bathroom, cascading with plants, where I take baths and then water my indoor garden, naked and pleased. I grow thyme in here. And rosemary, and Jasmine flowers because Jasmine and Gardenia are sensuality incarnate to me.
2. Have you ever built a space in your own subconscious? A place for you to feel safe to be exactly who you long to be? As silly, or quiet, or fast, or brave, or sexy as you want to be?
I have learned to revel here. To find my feet and place them gracefully against the corner stones of imagination and possibility. I have given UP so much up before this. I have broken open my breast bone and poured out my heart blood like wine, offering it to strangers to drink, but I have not yet found nourishment in siphoning off my life force. I am trying now, to learn the life lesson of keeping myself, for myself. My life force is diminished when I give it away, and it doesn’t actually help anyone when I do that.
3. I am young.
Younger than I know and there is so much life ahead of me, which Mister, yet again, reminds me of, cold nose against my calf, and we tumble, all curls and tiny scrabbling feet out of doors to his favorite place, the back yard.
We know our ritual, he pees. I dance from foot to bare foot, shivering and muttering about buying a robe. Our land mates are waking up and we wave at them across the green between us.
There’s a pop, and I wake up.
Damn.
Same body, same brain, same best tiny dog ever, but different house, different room, different bed. I land square back in reality, a little bruised but willing to learn to be more present.
4. Be here, where I am, right now, and let that be good enough.
Dream. Lend energy to my dreams, and prepare for the days when they come true, but for right now, put the dreams on vision boards, and stand up, stretch, take the cutie out to go potty and dance in my own currently secluded and secure backyard.
Legs long and warming, arms sweeping to touch the heavens, and let this body heal from heart wrenching frustrations and find the place of quiet and calm.
Find it, and return to is, because this dream is a balm to the heart. And a balm to my soul.