Aug. 18th, 2007

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Cowboy Junkies Anniversary Song

Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
as that of the rain-soaked purple
of the white birch in spring?
Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
than on a warm fall night
under a Mackerel sky,
the smell of grapes on the wind?
Well I have known all these things
and the joys that they can bring
And I'll share them all for a cup of coffee
and to wear your ring
Read more... )

I'm wearing my necklace again. My life is full of circles in circles in circles.

This is the necklace that was my father's, my biological father's and not my dad's. It came to me when I was fourteen, and I didn't take it off for a year or two after I got it. Then Kynnin went to France, and I put it on him then. He didn't take it off for a very long time. It traded back and forth between us, an amulet of protection, and there is protective power in it for travellers. I had set it aside; he gave it back to me a time after the split, and I wore it for a few weeks then as I laid my ghosts to rest. Now I'm travelling again, and it's needed.

In my plaster body casts from the time, it's there-- I wouldn't take it off even for that.

He gave me the lyrics from this song, too, on a piece of paper, with a poem he'd written on the back. When I speak of being emotionally unsafe, of implied promises that aren't spoken but that are still *there*, this is the sort of thing I'm speaking of. Afterwards we said, 'it was our intention, but we never promised'. We'd promised, though, in our own beginning, awkward, subtle ways. I try very hard not to make promises like that now, the little secret ones that creep in by implication. It doesn't seem fair to me. If I can't say something up front, I shouldn't say it at all, and those are big promises to even hint at.

So then one day in the winter, Bob plays a song out of the blue and it's that song. This was one of my favourites he says. I lost it for a little while.

The next day, I see, is a post about Juggler and I breaking up. Circles on circles.

I would give you two Van Morrison songs, Jackie Wilson and Coem Running To Me, but Bob's mouse has died and I'm not going to start up my computer at 3am just to post songs. This is a more-or-les shappy interlude, though (I haven't been up to do midnight computering for a long time) and I don't want to leave an icky taste.

I'll go back to bed now and see you at the farmer's market tomorrow, or wherever we end up.
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It occurs to me that for so many years the men in my life were defined more by absence than by anything: my biological father who was simply not there at all for any type of communication; my dad who couldn't connect emotionally with anyone; my uncle Dave who took the father role in my mind and lived halfway across the continent and sent gifts sometimes; Kynnin who was there at first and then drifted to a distance that was emotionally safe; Jan who lived in Germany; Juggler who was married to Mouse and very much prioritised her; with CrazyChris where neither of us could quite take the full plunge to be right there in the thing, partially because I was scared to be so close; with Graham who was like being in a country where you don't speak the language.

Avi needed me, and I was afraid of that, so I ran away.

In the beginning of my relationship with Kynnin I was more traditional: codependent if you like, or interdependent. My happiness relied on his being there sometimes. I was always afraid, though, of his needing things from me. I never have felt like I can be reliable for anyone; indeed, I never have been reliable for anyone. I think on one level or another poly has been an instinctive kick in the teeth to anyone who tried to rely on me, a distancing mechanism. It's a way of saying look, don't trust me all the way, sometimes when you need me I'll go over there so you'll need to retain some level of self-reliance without me sometimes.

Because being needed gets up in under my defenses faster than anything else. It levels me. It's devastating. I cave like a sand castle in a tsunami and all those squishy inside bits that are normally kept well-disciplined stand up and they say Greenie, help this person. Make them happy. Protect them, keep them well. Cherish them, cradle them. And then inevitably I can't continue. I slip up, my time or attention falters just a little, and people who have been recieving that flow of care bruise. That's the part I can't deal with: the failure on my part, which causes hurt. So I wear my irresponsibility out on my sleeve, sledgehammer-big, and slam it at people when they seem like they are starting to not just like me around, but need me around in order to be happy. I channel my instincts into larger, impersonal venues like family dinner, or one-offs like petting people when they're sick.

I keep myself too busy to focus on one person. I date Bob, who is an extraordinarily self-sufficient bundle of closed-off bits and common sense self-reliance. I fall like a rock for subby boys who surrender themselves to my care.

Anyhow, while writing the other thing below, I thought of this. Wanted to put it out there.

I seem to be getting better with it. I can set limits on myself better, so I can live up to them better, but I also put myself into safer situations. If you look at the name call-out up there, things have been getting slowly better over time.

I need to keep setting myself personal goals. When I was really fucked up I had to work constantly just to get myself functional, and now that I am I've taken a big break. I'm done with that break now. I'm going to keep grinding away the nonfunctional bits till I've got what I want going on, or as close as mama nature allows. Me, and my life, feel like a sculpture where you look at a block of wood and you say: a unicorn wants to come out of that grain. The process of discovering the shape of the unicorn in there, carving away the unwanted bits, of polishing and shining, that's life. It's pulling the potential out of the ordinary until it's visible and out in the open and useful.

Anyhow, good morning. Welcome to another day.

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