January 22, 2019

A.M.

A lot has been happening and I’ve been struggling to process it all in a fashion that is healthy. Normally when all this stuff is thrown at me, I just shut down, hibernate and isolate. It works, but I’ve realized that I’m not actually processing the information overload. So when the same information comes back up it creates the same hectic emotional state. That’s why I’m starting this digital journal. I want to make a committment to write every day at least once. And maybe I can stick to that. I hope I can stick to that. I’ve decided to make it public, in the sense that those who know me and follow this page can read it. You are free to comment, I like collaborative insight. I often seek advice from several sources as I formulate my opinions and decisions. I like to see a situation from many angles. And I also like people to hear my voice. I think it’s important to be heard and also to hear others. So I hope this will fulfill that desire inside of my soul.

Last night I was in a very emotional state when I began my posts. I’m not going to edit these posts. They will be grammatically incorrect, and full of incoherent free thought. Because that’s how I have to write. If it bugs you to read those kinds of writings, just skip. I won’t be upset or offended. I myself can’t reread a lot of my own free-thinking pieces. I started writing last night as a way to cleanse the emotional tension I was feeling before I went to sleep. It worked a little, but I woke up this morning will residual waves of confusion, over thinking, and high strung-ness.

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day and I saw this quote everywhere: “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”  I believe the universe was calling me to use my voice to lift up my friends who are more ignored than even I am as a woman. Because I am white, middle class, cisgender and heterosexual; I feel an obligation to listen to others and to help them spread their message as purely as I can. And sometimes that involves calling out the people who look like me.

And so that brings me to the table with a young Trump supporter who defines himself as a good Christian. This still baffles me. I know there are hypocrits in all faiths, but I have grown up in a predominantly Christian culture, so this is the culture I am most familiar with. As I understand it, Christ’s teachings were to lead with love and compassion. And I just plain cannot understand how you can call yourself a Christian and support a man like Trump. There isn’t an ounce of compassion or tolerance in that man’s efforts. I will not attack him personally, for all I know he could be a completely different person behind closed doors. But I will say that as a Presidential Candidate, and then the President yourself you cannot conduct yourself in the manner that he has conducted himself and still command respect, admiration, or even a pat on the back from someone who wishes to be a Good Christian. Yes, good Christians can have compassion for him, and maybe even wish to understand why he is so angry and hateful in his speeches and policies (my theory is that he’s just doing it for the money and support of the real racists and bigots and he truly doesn’t even believe half the shit he says). But no, you cannot SUPPORT him and elevate him and still hold true to the teachings of Christ. Not in my opinion anyway. I am admittedly an outsider of the Christian faith. So maybe I’m missing some key points, and I’m open to hearing how Good Christians find the space in their hearts for forgiveness and understanding for Donald Trump. I cannot at the moment. All I can do is refrain from wishing him ill, that’s the best I’ve got.

So last night, I get into this debate/argument with this Trump Supportor, or my arch nemesis as I’ve started referring to the entitled white men of my generation. I don’t even think of the rich old white men who so often are the bane of my, and so many other women’s, existences as the worst. No the ones I fear the most are the indifferent and delightfully ignorant Millenial men, and younger. The worse thing about the argument for me, wasn’t that we disagreed. The worst thing was that very quickly I realized this person has NO CLUE, why he supports Trump and others like him. He has picked a very narrow point of view to support politicians on and sticks to it, ignoring EVERYTHING else. He is the embodiment of the scared white kid who is poached by the White Nationalists. He has succombed to his fear that The Other will come and steal away his jobs, his resources, his land, his life, his culture, his happiness. He has been raised, either by his family or by society to believe in the Fear of the Finite. And that fear is driving his willingness to stay uninformed about policies he believes he supports. This is a trend I’ve seen from so many Trump supporters. They hold onto the “I don’t want to admit I was wrong” fear, and they change over to “Well I don’t know everything and I’m not going to bother learning because everything is broken anyway, so Trump it is!”

My freshman high school english teacher was a wonderful man. And the one, vitally important thing he taught me and so many others, is to QUESTION EVERYTHING. He would shout at us, THINK FOR YOURSELVES! Read and read some more! Educate yourselves. Be informed! My little 14-15 year old brain just soaked up this doctrine, and I cannot say enough blessings to the Goddess and Father Universe for that man’s presence in my life. Because of him I am a critic, I am suspicious, and I am doubtful. And most of all, I am proud of all of those traits. I still get fooled like everyone else. But at least I know that I approach situations without a delightful willingess to stay uninformed. I shudder to think about the state of our country and our world if this trend of indifference and ignorance by choice continues. I can’t fix it all. I don’t even know if I can make a significant dent. All I can do is vent here, in words. Messy, honest, unedited, opinionated, incorrect, liberating words.

The Dream

I’m dreaming.
I’m at a party at a friend’s place. The living room, that’s also a dining room, we’re all crowded into is softly lit by the setting sun. We’re all laughing and drinking. We get together after work to unwind. We hate our jobs but we love each other. There’s wine and beer and food and we’re all happy and comfortable. We are happy as long as we have each other.
I look out the window and see a group of older women with their dogs. The sunshine is shining and it’s that beautiful golden yellow kind of light. One of the women loses control of her golden retriever. I don’t even hesitate I run downstairs into the street in my bare feet. I run across traffic to help her with her dog. Her friends get there right after I do. And she’s fine. Everyone is happy and safe. I say my goodbyes and leave them with a smile.
I go back upstairs. Irritated by a man who takes up the entire stairwell without consideration for me.
“Seriously dude?”
“Oh umm I dunno whatever.”
“Of course you don’t.” Eye roll.
I get back to my friend’s place. The guy by the door smiles as he lets me back in and I smile in return. He’s such a sweetheart, but I can’t remember his name. Only his smile and his softly curling brown hair. I get back to the dinner table, sit down, and immediately retell the story of the run in with the rude guy on the stairs. I’m talking to the handsome man on my right side. We’re at the corner of the table, him on one side of the corner, me at ninety degrees on the other. So when he leans forward he takes up my whole view in this small cozy world. He’s large; tall and broad. With a blonde and gray, well groomed beard. He looks so familiar to the part of my brain that knows this is a dream. An easy smile and blue eyes make me feel at home. He cares for me. And I am learning to let him.
And then I notice you. On the other side of my best friend on my left. You’re as dashing as you ever were. Wearing black. You look a bit more wild and relaxed than I remember. Your beard is longer and your hair is tousled. The way it used to look after I’d run my fingers through it. I can still feel how thick and luxurious it was in between my fingers. I could never resist touching your hair when we were together. Even when we weren’t sleeping together. I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. Physical touch was the one thing we could give each other that wasn’t broken and wrong. Of course it always led to sex. I tell people now that the only thing we could do right together, was sex.

I finish the story and get the laugh I was expecting. The man on my right is smiling sweetly at me. If I stay here he will touch my cheek. If I keep my eyes on him I’ll be okay. I try to focus on him. I can’t. I need air. Suddenly the soft sunshine coming through the window is too bright. I get up and walk into the small kitchen. Where’s the wine? It’s all been drank. The only thing left is champagne, which I dislike but in this dream I hate it so much more than in reality. I know when you come in. I can always feel your presence. I can close my eyes now and instantly recall how it feels to have you standing behind me. Tall. Hard lines against my soft ones. Strong shoulders. Gentle hands. A delicious shiver runs up my spine and my heart cries out to me: don’t do this to me again! My brain takes charge with a confidence I can’t feel. “I got this Heart, we won’t fall into the trap again.”
I turn around and you’re not alone. You brought two friends. Okay that’s not so bad. Buffers are always good. You and I cannot be alone. Alone we’re in trouble. With people we’re safe. They’re polite and kind. We all lament that there’s no more wine. You keep looking at me with that stare you used to give me when you knew I was holding back. I’m trying to be light and casual. My heart is screaming to kiss you or run away and cry or all of the above.
I think I pick the second option. The tension is too much. I excuse myself and go upstairs. You follow. I want to tell you don’t. But like always I won’t. At the top of the stairs, I can see all three rooms clearly. Two small bedrooms and a tiny bathroom. There isn’t much space in this tiny bohemian apartment in the city. This is my world. The city is where I live. You live outside of the city. There’s an invisible boundary we don’t cross now that we don’t speak anymore. What are you doing here in my safe zone? I don’t come into yours. It’s our unspoken truce. Why did you break it?
We start arguing in the way we always do. We both want each other but we can’t have each other and we can’t seem to stop. I’m trying to escape. But you’re blocking the door. I look towards the window. There’s that soft golden sunshine lighting the bedroom off the landing where we stand in the shadows.
I look back at you and something snaps. Then we’re kissing. God it feels so good. Just as it did the very first time. Your arms around me hold me together. I feel full and complete for the first time since we went our separate ways in what was supposed to be the final time. My heart is breaking and celebrating at the same time. I know this won’t work out. But in this moment. My fingers in your hair. Your lips on my lips. Our bodies pressed tightly together. It feels like tomorrow doesn’t matter. This moment on this shadowy landing in each other’s arms is all we need and all that matters.
We pull apart with a gasp. There’s muttered apologies and “what are we doing”s. We can’t stop touching each other. Your hands on my body. Mine on your neck. Your face. Your hair. Your touch feels like a complete hug. Each brush of your hand blurs into the sensation of being completely held.

I’m awake. I’m alone. In my bed.
We’re still not speaking b/c I walked away and meant it that time. My body hurts. There’s a pain in my back, my leg. My left arm is asleep. My head is dizzy. I’m still half in the dream, swirls of darkness and light swishing around my mind’s eye and all of the images are drowning in the darkness of my bedroom. And one thought comes through loud and clear. Tell him I love him and I’m sorry.
I sit up quickly despite the pains and aches in my muscles. I want away from that dream. Away from the feelings you stir up in me. I stumble around my dim apartment half awake and clumsy.
Once the harsh bathroom light cuts through my foggy mind I remember Venus is in retrograde. It was just a dream. But I know for a fact I still love you. And I’m afraid I’ll never stop.