scrumptious monkey

so much more than an amp -- and yet, not.



here's a link to what has to be the coolest alternative to greeting cards I have yet to come across.

Creat a Flake
that will take you to mine -- but I know you're going to want to make your own =)
much much better than a snowball fight...

~ Lilly


excuse me while I go stick my head in the oven...

No, of course I'm not about to do that; but it was the self-pitifying thought I had when I read the announcement Park just made on the forum about the Electromagnets getting back together for 3 shows in February.

Much as I would love to see any one of those shows (who am I kidding, I want to see all three!) the chance I will be going to Austin in February 2006 is even odds at... miniscule?
Which sounds slightly more optimistic than --
[gasp, choke, wheeze.]

But -- I will look on the bright side. I now have something more meaningful to be depressed about than the general Holiday malaise that sets in around Thanksgiving and lifts around... Eastertime.

yeah, I'm having an Eeyore sort of week.
Now -- that's funny! =)

I was speaking to Jean (my Mother-in-Law) yesterday for the first time since Dad's funeral. She has been kept hopping by family members (more local than Rob and I) and things are "generally" good for her at the moment. Obviously, besides the loss of her Life Companion.

Love or hate mobile phones, they do make it easier to be in touch wherever you are. Our conversation was in the middle of the local supermarket from my end. We had a pleasant natter about this and that -- and then she mentioned how Uncle Joseph had enjoyed meeting me and ...

I've been meaning to write a little bit about Rob's Uncle Joe.
You know -- it's practically a law there has to be an Uncle Joe in everyone's life.

He's the younger brother of my Great Guy father-in-law John.
Joseph reminds me (strongly) of Fred Astaire: if Fred had been a University Professor of Philosophy. Oh yeah. he's a 70-ish cutiepie with a sharp intellect, wicked sense of humor, and an appreciation for the well turned phrase.

John's funeral was the first opportunity I'd had to meet Uncle J; since he's been living in Texas for 20 something years.
First Austin, now San Antonio.
You can imagine his surprise when I (a mere New Englander i.e. Texas Foreigner) finished his Austin motto with him. (“Keep Austin Weird” -- how GREAT is that for a motto?)
and talked about Book People.
And the Whole Foods vs. Central Market experience.
Jo's Coffee...
and... [ahem] the live music capitol of the world more specifically 6th street, the clubs no longer existing, and well.. so on and so forth.
Then we started discussing far ranging subjects I'm familiar with outside of Texas.

Terrible to say, but I really enjoyed the Uncle Joe experience -- in contrast to the sadness of Dad's passing -- we were all appropriately somber and quiet when required, but I could have spent a week just talking with Uncle Joseph. He is the sort of fascinating character who can make anything turn out to be a good time.

As Oscar Wilde said, “It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.” Uncle Joe is a Bright Spark, a Grand Groovy Good Guy -- and yet another damn good reason to yearn for Texas.

I need to get his email address.
and put off the oven for a while longer.


Art Lessons

This one was inspired by Beth's struggles with her adult children.
Beth is a poet and co-founder of Mystical_Musings, a Yahoo writing group for women.

Art Lessons

Most people have an empty
Coloring book about their parents
Tucked into their memories

Serving as an unacknowledged
Template for their lives.
If the early pages are scribbled

With memories; that's dismissed:
It's the stark drawn lines that
COULD be filled with color,

That were not messed up;
Defining the presence of our parents;
Not their qualities as people.

Give your children sketchbooks;
Plant ideas that will grow with
Possibilities as they do.

Give them more than form from DNA --
Give them crayons and paints
From your soul.

Children only truly know you
When you color with them.
Ha -- and there's no guarantee

Le petit ingrates won't chuck
You out when they've used you up.
Still -- how much happier as people

We all are -- when we get it's the
Color -- not the lines -- that paint
Our memories.

(c) Jeen Lilly


To All My Friends...

May your stuffing be tasty,
May your turkey be plump,
May your potatoes 'n gravy,
Have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious,
May your pies take the prize,
May your Thanksgiving dinner,
Stay off of your thighs.



A Rose Without Thorns ~ B.J. (MA)

This woman writes the most incredible things, prolifically -- I know when I read most of her work, I'm left with a happy bemused feeling, “why do I bother, damn she's better than me.” and then I buckle down and write more.
I love this poem.


A rose without thorns is still as sweet,
And perhaps the beauty is more intense;
But how vulnerable without sharpness
Or temperament, to protect itself from life.

It may be easily plucked and thrown aside,
Left to languish on the cold and barren
Ground. Beautiful, but sweetly helpless
Against the shifting weather or the wearing
Tides of Time.

Not so different from a small-sized animal
Bereft of his horns by his owners, that do
Not understand. How easily hurt by packs of
Hounds...more gentle he, yes; but more
Easily savaged.

Your beauty and your innocence will not
Protect you; unless you allow your thorns
To be watered by your tears, and grow.
No backbone means no armor; and without
That, love, you will not survive.

Oh, how beautiful to look at,
Sweet fragile rose...
But buckle your dagger at your waistline,
And watch your back.

© Copyright 11/23/05
Beth Johnson
(Mystic Amazon)


first you write...

Writing Challenge:What's in your heart today?
Write it.
Share it if you wish.

lol. "There are no bad experiences for writers -- just more material." ~ G.K.

*So you don't like Thanksgiving? ...
I wonder what you are doing and why it is your least favorite.*

Ballpoint, Not Bullets
I feel better now (and nobody's dead. Yet.)

Thanksgiving is
supposed to be
I have never felt.
Oh -- I've felt gratitude
for things; done for me,
things that I have
done for others and
been happy to do.

But this legislated
shared day of National
Thanksgiving is
utter nonsense
an excuse to pig out --
even an obligation
to stuff yourself into
a near coma from
over eating.

And who gets stuck
putting the meal on
the table?..
I only enjoy cooking
for people I WANT to feed.

ohhh let's not even
Go There.

I am not suffering
anything but myself.
Things could be
so much worse.
Conversely -- well...

I need to do
something different.
Go Vegan --
roast a tofurky.
At the other end of the
spectrum make an
authentic Indian meal
of thanksgiving: corn,
tubers, and bear rump

Let me break out of
this Jello mold I've
set up in -- let me feel
connected to someone.
Doesn't anyone understand
gluttony is a selfish thing
even when you share it?
Shouldn't there be more
at the table than food?..

For years I've offered up
my heart on a platter
and had to scrape it into
a pitted old Tupperware
container -- where good
food goes to die
. I know
spiritually it only matters
that the offering be made:
Giving is always about
the giver; the gift is an

But "Thank You" would
be nice. I remember it's
warm arms and moist
efforts. I remember it's
smile. I remember it's
cascade effect, when
Thankfulness truly
couldn't be contained.
I remember reciprocation.
Yeah. That's what is
missing. That's why
it hurts.

*sigh*. Guess I'll get
some cheese
to go with this

And Goddess Made Dogs & Cats

Ahhh a modern day Kipling...
And Goddess Made Dogs & Cats

Man said, "Goddess, when I was in the garden, you walked with me every day. Now I do not see you anymore. I am lonesome here, and it is difficult for me to remember how much you love me."

And the Goddess said, "No problem! I will create a companion for you that will be with you forever, who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me. Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be at times, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourself."

And the Goddess created a new animal to be a companion for Man.
And it was a good animal.
And the Goddess was pleased.
And the new animal was pleased to be with Man, and he wagged his tail a lot.

And Man said, "Goddess, I have already named all the animals on your Earth. I cannot think of a name for this new animal."

And the Goddess said, "No problem! Because I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a partial reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG."

And DOG lived with Man, was a companion to him, and loved him.
And DOG was beside Man, all the day long.
And Man was comforted.
And the Goddess was pleased.
And DOG was content and wagged his tail.

After a while, it came to pass that Man's spirit guide came to the Goddess and said, "Mother, Man has become filled with pride. He struts and preens like a peacock, and he believes he is worthy of adoration. DOG has indeed taught him that he is loved, but perhaps too well."

And the Goddess said, "No problem! I will create for him a companion who will be with him forever, who will see him as he is. The companion will remind him of his limitations, so he will know that he is not always worthy of adoration."

And the Goddess created CAT to be a companion to Man.

And CAT would not obey Man.
And CAT would love Man when CAT chose to love Man, and not when Man chose CAT to share affection.

And when Man gazed into CAT's eyes, he was reminded that he was not the supreme being.
And Man learned humility.

And the Goddess was pleased.
And Man was greatly improved.
And DOG was happy, and wagged his tail.


The Kitchen Goddess Manifesto

Do not cook if you are in a bad mood, lack the desire, or feel pressure from nagging obligation to another. Wise woman Brenda Ueland once said, "Do not do anything you don't want to do." Frame this mantra and hang it where you'll read it everyday. And remember -- you can always go out, take out, or entice someone else to "put out."

Keep your life full of the freshest ingredients and at least once a week explore something completely new: A new recipe...a new unfamiliar song...a new quote for your outdoors...take a walk somewhere you have never been before...kiss a baby...write to someone you admire and include a favourite to someone who doesn't speak your language...

Delighten up and play with your cooking! Read the recipe--close the book--then have fun! The more you play, the more you do what you love to do, the more you reconnect with your talents and power.

Always sit down when you eat; share most of your meals if you can.

Customize your creations and spice them with your own unique hallmark of delicious mystery. As the saying goes, "Don't be the best at what you do; be the only one who does what you do."

Take a deep breath and bless your kitchen before you cook; clean up all rampant clutter, light a candle, open a window, turn on music. When in the mood, pour your favourite drink, be it wine, water, whiskey, or an ice-cold root beer in a frosted mug.

When recipes are given to you, save the original in the handwriting of the person who shared the recipe; their energy and intent will be immortalized every time you see their writing. Create a beautiful binder of recipes in sheet protectors. If you want to frolic and improvise, rewrite your new recipe on a page next to the original.

Never, ever think that food will make you fat! Delete the words "fat-free" and "sugar-free" from your culinary vocabulary and replace them with "fear-free," "guilt-free," and "feel free! "

Always carry a nicely printed, personal best trademark trading recipe with you wherever you go. Whenever you taste something that sparks your spirit and your taste buds, ask for the recipe. Trade, beg, or borrow--but get it.

Trust yourself. Add your own ingredients to this list.

Armed with the Kitchen Goddess Manifesto, let your kitchen be a playground where culinary magick is shared and enjoyed, evolving with time and tastes. A goddess in the kitchen feels free to alter and enhance recipes and simply frolic while cooking; she knows that it is often the serendipitous approach that creates a masterpiece.

Now step into your kitchen and cook with a confident, inspired élan vital. If you sprinkle illuminated thoughts, wishes, and desires into your mixing bowl, you'll provide fertile nutrition for the spirit and mind as well as for the body and taste buds. As you begin to radiate a refreshing presence of enthusiasm, energy, and joy between the counter and the stove, the light will pour out into the world around you. Kids, friends, and mates will all want to join you in your domain.

Don't be afraid to create your own traditions--through the power of suggestion, your specialties will become legendary. You'll smile knowingly when you hear that people are still talking about that Garden of Eden Apple Pie or Casablanca Cheesecake you brought to the party!

Kitchen play can serve as a lively springboard for exploring a multitude of talents and other goddess-given have the opportunity to stir up your own brand of culinary magick. The Goddess is in every kitchen!

Adapted from Margie Lapanja, Goddess in the Kitchen: 201 Heavenly Recipes, Spirited Stories & Saucy Secrets

Oh Little Birds...

"Stop being a metaphor." ~ Dream David.

I had a night like a visit into Faerieland.
THEN, I woke up -- and this was in my email:


Look into my eyes Love, and let me take your hand...
I will lead you away from the sorrows and anguish
Of your past; into a kingdom where there is
No age, no sickness, no sorrow.

I will take you to the faerie Otherworld, and you will
Wear jewels and drink from a golden cup.
I will be with you, and will be at your command;
Always seeking to please you and answering
Your every whim.

Would you rather not be a queen in Elvenland, than
A bereft mother in this one? Children you have,
But where are they? They do not come and seek
Your company. Come with me, and forget them.
Not many children are born in Elfland, but

Perhaps we may have one, if it pleases you.
The leaves do not wither and die there, and fall off
The trees; cold winds do not cut through the warm
Elven fabrics, or ache the bones.

Come with me, Love, come with me...
Don't you hear the music and the laughter?
Dances and merriment, mummeries and masques;
You will sit with me at the High Table, and wear
A crown.

Why do you linger? What use are your human
Friends and family, when they will so soon die and
Leave you by yourself? Bring the little dog that you
Love, and he will never become ill or die. He too,
May eat of the enchanted food of Elfland.

See, we are at the border...just a little further,
And you will be away from your world forever...
Rejoice! And be mine. Here, just put your foot
In my hand, and I will help lift you onto my horse.
Faerie steeds are faster and more beautiful, than
Those in your land.

No, do not cry for your children;
They do not cry for you, and surely they have
Forgotten. They are fostered by your sister
And her royal husband, since you were widowed.
They had no children of their own; now they
Have taken yours.

No, do not throw yourself from the horse; it is
Too late. You are mine now,
And I will not let you change your mind.
Our faerie wine will cause forgetfulness within you.
You will laugh and dance with us forever
In Tir Na Nog, the Land Of The Young.

© Copyright 11/21/05
Beth Johnson
(Mystic Amazon)

Holy Heck.
Then... I read Blueberry's entry for this morning.
Ever think, "Cowboy take me away..."

I had this all night long discussion with David last night.

there's a story:
During a visit to the mental asylum, a visitor asked the Director what the criterion was which defined whether or not a patient should be institutionalized.

"Well," said the Director, "we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," said the visitor. "A normal person would use the bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or the teacup."

"No." said the Director, "A normal person would pull the plug."

Do you want a room with or without a view?

Well I passed that one. Yay me!
But sometimes my brain likes to complicate the issue.
"Where do you want the water to go? Am I supposed to water your plants with it, drink it, or dump it on the floor?.."
Ow. My brain hurts. Caffeine withdrawl, I think.
I hope.

For those of you wondering who David is, that's the name I gave the hero in my head to distinguish him from the guy walking around living his life blissfully unaware he's the object of my fancy.
I started writing about David when I was 13 or so... But before that, I'd have to say he was my imaginary friend -- and for the most part, he still is.

So you can imagine the head banging against the walls of my in-sane asylum that took place when I found out You-Know-Who is in-actuality that name. I made a point to try to seperate the two concepts -- but I give up. I'm just going to go with it.

Have some tea Miss Haversham? certainly. Would you like cake with that?

I'm sure it's the combination of my most loathed Holiday hitting this week, the melancholy music I've listened to this weekend (Michael Hedges; and Buckethead's "Electric Tears"); That I won't be cooking "A Dead Bird" this year, and only seeing another person (Rob) for a grand total of 2 hours over the last... 6 days?... brrrr.

it's time to fly away south
and leave the winter to those
who can hibernate through it.

I need to get out of my head for a while.
I've got a list of books I want to look for at the library: I think I'll take a walk over there. Right now...

yah -- switch the metaphors off for a while.
Grab someone else's thoughts
and hermit crab inside of them...


The Good Wife's Guide

Now -- This is COMEDY.
on the other hand -- women really were doormats until the 60s, weren't they?..

as originally published in Housekeeping Monthly, 13 May 1955

The Good Wife's Guide

· Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

· Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh looking. He has just been with a lot of work weary people.

· Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

· Clear away clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.

· Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper etc and then run a dust cloth over the tables.

· Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

· Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimise all noises. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

· Be happy to see him.

· Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

· Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first -- remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

· Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.

· Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

· Don't greet him with complaints and problems.

· Don't complain if he's late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.

· Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

· Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

· Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgement or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

· A good wife always knows her place.

If it's Friday, it must be Cat-Wolf day.

This is Scoots, the 9-lb "Cat-Wolf."
He's actually a Toy American Eskimo, and lives to fill-the-space -- whether that space is a window seat, a shaft of sunlight across the floor, a basket of clean laundry -- and best of all from his perspective, indeed the reason for human existence: a lap.

I think it was Gary Larson who drew a cartoon showing how small dogs start their mornings with a secret pot of expresso -- I joke we should have named him "Skeeter" -- because if he is not doing his job of filling a space, he is buzzing and skittering underfoot with a slightly condemning intermitted yap; insinuating what ever it is that anyone is doing can wait -- it is lap time.

He is an adopted fur baby: the neighbors inherited him when a family member moved out of the country and couldn't bring her 1 year old lap dog with her. Unfortunately, Scoots can be a cantankerous handful -- and the four year old little girl he was suddenly thrown in with didn't understand the definition of "toy" in his name. He came to the land of No Children and Couch Permission with several happy tail flicks from all concerned.

It's funny -- both he and I are good with children if it's for short periods of time, but don't ask us to do a whole day!

Hard to believe we've had him for 5 years now. As you can see by the smile -- he's got us right where he wants us. "I am cute, and you will do my bidding." yeah, well -- we're bigger than you and we have opposable thumbs, so nyah-nyah-nyah. oh yeah. I'm a big bad biped, alright. He walks all over us -- literally -- and he is a bedcover burrower, too: between the top quilt and the blankets... ahhhhh: wish I had a picture of him in his "den" curled like a cat with that fluff of a tail covering his nose -- all you can see in the cloud of white are two button eyes. "shut off that light and go back to sleep, Lady, sheesh!"

Like all the varieties of Spitz, he doesn't bark so much as yodel / sing... and he's a fan of interspecies duets. or maybe he's hoping to drown out my singing. hmm.

Scoots' funniest characteristic is what a bird dog he can be -- he's fascinated by birds, tracking them through the sky and on telephone wires -- Rob often thinks the little guy is going to take off and fly after them: the kid has serious pull for such a little Cat-Wolf.

must be the remnant of sled dog in his breeding.

wasn't I sort of just having this discussion...

eman8tions · Daily meditations based on TS Eliot' still point, the Tao te Ching, and the poetry of Rumi
(click on title to access site)

How many levels of secrets are built into the depths of my psyche, things I conceal from others, conceal from myself in so many delicious and devious ways, romanticizing, exaggerating, hiding, coloring, fearing, condemning?

When I discover myself, do I take responsibility, confess, share, open my heart and let my truth flow forth?

Rationalize is a wonderful word. It means to make sense of something, to make it rational. That's the denotative meaning, what it means literally and exactly.

But there's a connotation that it has fallen before. Rationalizing connotes justifying our mistakes, trying make them make sense when they don't.

I rationalize not confronting people with my truth because it may make me appear to be picky, argumentative, a trouble maker, worse yet, vulnerable. Then the line that I draw for telling my truth begins to be compromised.

At what point am I being a considerate fellow human being and at what point am I beginning to hide who I really am?

The mind is a wonderful thing and thinking is one of the most important things we do. However, there is a time to let go, stop thinking, and allow the mind to do its automatic self cleaning.

That's a big part of what happens in meditation, the discovery of the loving hidden truth.

Finding my center makes it possible to begin to unravel the conscious deceptions that have crept into my life.

How many people know who I really am? How many should know? How many should I spare the burden of too much information?

The ultimate answers are probably; a few, everyone, and no one.

I may not be quite ready for that. But I will keep meditating and see how close I can get.

The more love I find the safer and more beautiful my truth becomes.

Copyright © 2005 by John MacEnulty
11/18/05, St. Louis, MO

Margaret Atwood

from The Writer's Almanac:
It's the birthday of novelist and poet Margaret Atwood, (books by this author) born in Ottawa, Ontario (1939). Her father was an entomologist who spent every year from April to November studying insects at a forestry research station in Northern Quebec. Atwood said, "At the age of six months, I was carried into the woods in a packsack, and this landscape became my hometown." She had no access to television or movies, and few children to play with. So she spent all her time exploring the woods and reading.

She only began to attend full-time school in Toronto when she was 11 years old. She wrote, "I was now faced with real life, in the form of other little girls—their prudery and snobbery, their Byzantine social life based on whispering and vicious gossip, and an inability to pick up earthworms without wriggling all over and making mewing noises like a kitten."

Atwood decided she wanted to be a writer at a time when there was almost no such thing as Canadian literature. There was actually a year in the early 1960's when a total of only five Canadian novels were published in the whole country.

Atwood's first novel The Edible Woman came out in 1969. It's about a woman who finds that she can no longer eat after her boyfriend proposes marriage. It would have been published three years earlier, but the publisher had lost the manuscript. Atwood published several more novels, becoming a cult figure in Canada and among feminists. Then, in 1978, she took a trip to Iran, where women were being forced to wear veils and to take subservient positions in all areas of society. That experience got her to thinking about what would happen in America if there were a similar cultural revolution. And that gave her an idea for her novel The Handmaid's Tale (1985), which became an international best-seller.

Margaret Atwood said, "Women see me as living proof that you don't have to come to a sticky end—put your head in an oven, stay silent for 30 years, not have children—to be a good and serious writer."


Christian Witch(?)

Oy. Vey. Y'all.
(click on title for the article)

I wrote a note to my goddess group (over on Yahoo) that seemed to generate some flack.
··· Thank you all for your thoughts and condolences both in the group and privately.

I went. I'm very glad I did. My husband's family are loving and lovely people; I was able to be supportive and put my own troubles aside: and Rob was on his best behavior.

It was one of those step-outside-and-ground-and-center a few times: all in all a surprising LACK of emotional vampires but ... strangely, by the end my knees and hips felt like they were driving into the floor. I've slept like a rock for 3 nights running. Unbelievable.

I did have to deal with a Catholic Death Mass, though: and a second, slightly easier one at the cemetery chapel (since it was so close to Veteran's day -- no graveside service, thank goddess for small mercies).

Fortunately -- I had some Jewish relations to stand near and be quiet with.

MP and BB
~ Lilly ···

and this follow up --
··· MM,

Ameo'e asked,
*Can I ask a ? What is a Catholic Death Mass?*

Well that's the full-on Mass along with the rituals of spritzing (holy water), spreading the Pall, sanctifying the casket with incense, some readings from the bible particular to Death and Resurrection and begging *Our Glorious God* to accept our dearly departed dead. Repeatedly. Involves lots of Catholic Calethesetics, too: Stand. Sit. Stand. Kneel. Sit. Stand. Kneel. Sit.... which I suppose is better than sitting through the whole thing and getting caught snoring in Church.

If this religion genuinely gives comfort to people (and I don't see how it does, except that it's traditional and *what everyone does*) alright -- I will be quietly respectful.

Then again I've never been accepting of Catholic rewrites on any of the natural, seasonal wheel-of-the-year / circle of life events. I even have a problem with the whining bits in Communion.

But that's just me.

You know -- it's astonishing. Here I am -- a Pagan, a Witch: and "in the broom-closet" to these people... who probably think any Witch would burst into flames crossing the doorway of their sacred space... and all I got was a headache from biting my tongue and not serving up *Rational Espresso*.

Yes, I can be tactful. And yes -- even though my "gifts" are not understood by Catholics -- I can still use my Empathy to comfort anyone in tangible ways they can feel. *sigh*. And if a catholic priest ever found out I'm an Empathic witch, they'd try to "fix" me.

~ Lilly ···

I read the entire post in the link. The author seems to be secure in her own identity and this works for her -- so cool.

I am not a Christian Witch, not a Pagan Christian. In my Militant Warrior Phase of becoming a Witch / Pagan I was very anti-Catholic: it seemed to me I felt 800 years of being on the wrong end of manifest destiny, and the suffering of "the gifted" who were mostly women (as I am woman) under the boot heel / sword of patriarchal oppression.
I was one pissed off witch, lemme tell you. Especially since I caught a great deal of BS for being Gifted with Empathy.

You see -- I knew how empty this Catholic religion was for the people I came in contact with who practiced by rote because "It's just what we do."
No Questions.
No thinking for Oneself.
And certainly absolutely none of this heretical Comparing Mythologies between the relatively new and cobbled together Catholic religion and ancient practices, festivals, beliefs, archetypes of Non-Christians.

I'm sorry, is my brightness
bothering you? Should I
get a frontal lobotomy and
dim it down, so this Light
of Reason and Thought
doesn't hurt your eyes?

Bite Me, Padre. keep your
Morality, your Misogyny,
your usurping agenda to
make the world one
huge perfectly manicured
lawn of... astro turf.

I'm a weed, Baby.
(You know the definition of
a weed, don't you?
The perfect plant
a Gardener doesn't want.)
I am a perfect plant,

with strong roots and
magics; and I can grow
with nothing but the sun
and earth and air
and rain,
thanks very much.

oh yah. I was Militant for a while.
I calmed down because I realized...
No one needs to believe what I believe to help me believe it -- I just do: it works for me.
And as long as what works for you works for you -- oh, and you don't mind that I do my own thing -- let's be Infinitely Diverse in Our Infinite Combinations.
hey! Live Long, and Prosper, too! =)
Radical concept there.

We all at some point gravitate to a religion for our connection to the Spiritual aspect of life.
You Gotta Start Somewhere.
I realized that Faith is the constant. "Religion" is a container you pour your Faith into, that gives it shape --
breaking the container frees Faith to be everything you individually require it to be.

Nowadays (to me) Christianity is just another Sun Cult -- albeit with zealous and dangerous cult members; since the majority are sleep walking through it and tend to freak when they are jostled out of their complacency by the World of Ideas.
It still has the power to irritate me, especially when I am forced to put on the mask of a sheep.
Baaaaaa Humbug.

But I ground, center, breathe through it: and lift my heart to the goddess.
She Knows Me. I Know Her.
With her; I understand, accept, and keep moving...
And learning.
And growing... beautiful, strong -- and more....Me.
The grooviest Dandelion on the lawn, lol.


Dissolve into light

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.
C.S. Lewis

Rob's Dad passed away last night. The wake is Sunday, the burial Monday.
He had emphysema; had lived with it for years but recently he... was deteriorating faster.

I loved the guy. In fact, I married Rob because I saw so much of his father in him.
Gentle, quick witted, capable in conversation and physical dexterity; A History Buff; adventurous in appetites; generous, kind nature; animal loving; demonstratively affectionate towards Jean, his one and only wife of 55+ years.

He was tall, trim; silver haired when I met him for the first time in 1987; with a warm sparkle in his very blue eyes... the first pair of blue eyes I'd ever met in person that were WARM. Unlike my father, who was 7 different types of chauvinism before he left the house in the morning; Rob's Dad wasn't dismissive towards women -- he truly held his wife in the highest esteem as a person and as a woman, and he marveled at both of his daughter's intelligence and capacity to dig into whatever needed to be done. His two sons inherited his sense of humor, good looks, casual elegance, intelligent curiosity.

wish the whole package was installed into Rob.

I'm torn about going down for both days. I'm sure we'd be gone 36 hours tops: but I have a few glitches in the practicality of paying my respects.

1.) Rob and I are civil to one another, but it is detente. We have an all but written out accord of terms for getting along under our shared roof. I loathe having to be anywhere in public with him -- and I'm sure his family will pick up on the lack of affection radiating out of me for Rob. Sad but true -- I really don't want to avoid the question, and I'm sure it will be raised: which means I'll be forced to lie and direct the grief back to it's proper parameters.

2.) I'm an Empath. Funerals and / or Weddings are unbelievably stress filled for me, because most people are not able to function at normal, controlled emotional levels. Here's the analogy: imagine your TV being controlled by remote satellites and your own controller about as useful as a solid block of Plexiglas. The channels jump all over the place with every magnetic disturbance, every alignment of satellite hook up. Now -- imagine you ARE the TV set. Shielding, grounding and centering helps, but since I've been dealing with being diabetic I've noticed my psychic seawalls against regular folks emotional tides deplete much too fast.

3.) This entails Rob driving us to Long Island. Rob's natural state of turgid passive aggressiveness gets considerably more aggressive behind the wheel. It's a two and a half hour drive, 2/3's of which is in New York (Long Island) traffic. The last time I made the trip with him I needed to throw up and have a lie down when we got to his parents house.

Call it nerves.

If Rob is in a cooperative mood, he won't play the radio and I can put myself in an alpha state: but considering the destination is funerary: not a great idea.

Don't suggest I should drive. I prefer driving alone; and I'd only drive in New York for a life or death situation. New York drivers are INSANE.

of course if I want to -- I can be a grown up and deal with the minor discomforts and inconveniences and suck it up and GO.

but this is like walking into a steel trap...

An Emblem of Two Foxes
~ Barry Spacks

Simply to breathe
can make him bleed,
the fox whose leg
is trapped, whose will
awaits the kill.
Why should he flail?
Moving hurts,
so he lies still.

Around him walks
a prouder fox,
his severed leg
a homily
on going free,
as if to say
it hurts, it hurts
either way.


I need to go meditate. Or something.

Soooo. About people on the Internet who don't know much about writing...
sorry. I have had a day of answering message board posts from illiterate whining dramaQs. Gods, hurt them, take away their computer privileges until they learn a littttle punctuation!! Yeah. while you're at it, O Powers Yhat Be -- could you grant me a diversion so I don't care so damn much?...

One of the things you can do, and this may seem like a small, picky thing: but one of the things you can do is stop writing in solid blocks.

Yes, you have a lot on your plate -- and it sounds like I am being bitchy about... written grammar / page form?!! sheesh, thanks a whole freeking bunch, Lilly!

But consider this --

Words are the manifestations of who we are. They are what we send out into the universe. One solid block of words, without the breaks of paragraphic thought to distinguish DIRECTION and PURPOSE sends into the world that life is a hopeless knot of confusion and despair Oh -- right. wait-a-minute: that is your life..

Breaking your post up into paragraphs of complete thoughts will give YOU a better look at what is going on in your life -- sucky as things are, being able to read your own thoughts clearly will help you get control... in fact, it's one of the best reasons to keep a journal or blog...

Conscious direction when you write is a subtle means for getting control over the bigger stuff. Of course -- NOW what you're probably feeling is self conscious!

So much of what's really being said via communication is lost in the fast forward text messaging barrage of words and abbreviations and lack of punctuation. Yes -- I do know that not everyone has spent as much of their life as I have *just* writing. But here on the web, on message boards the whole of our communication with one another are the words that pour out of our souls.

There's no body language to add nuances. Unless I tell you that I am slumped in my chair from concern and helplessness over your situation, you won't know that.

-=-=-=-=-=- actual advice given -=-=-=-=-=-

The only person anyone can change is her / himself. You can try and help someone to see where to go -- but be expected to be told where to go yourself! (I always am.) People change when their hearts are opened.

Love opens from inside the heart. You can pour yourself onto someone in love and concern, but if that person doesn't feel his / her own love moving them forward into your embrace -- and gods know so few people are open and aware to love -- then you might as well have empty arms.

Some people cling to bad habits because fear is more comfortable than love.

The modern world has conditioned people to respond to fear.
Fear that we wont fit in, unless....
fear that things are beyond our control...
fear that nothing one person can do will effect a change ...
fear that we may end up alone.
Fear of hurt.

I'm sorry for where you are in your life right now.
I hope you feel more love, and less isolation.
Open your heart and embrace yourself, and let the Universe see you are a source of love. You are a goddess.
What Else Can You Be?

Love and light,
~ Lilly

let it go - the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to

let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go

let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go

so comes love

~ e.e. cummings ~

I hope that's raspberry jam...

I just wrote a post-it note to clean this keyboard when the 'puter shuts down: there is something red and seedy and sticky on the function keys.
The seedy part is literal -- I'm guessing it's raspberry jam from Rob's late night snack and news-outlet surfing.

I'm the only wife in the world who would be relieved if her husband surfed the net for porn. But noooo, I have a news junkie... He enjoys reading the People's Daily, Moscow Times, just about any on line paper with "Times" in the title, I think -- plus he'll get the actual papers when he can find them on the news stands.
I don't know why. It's not as if conversation was fueled by any of it.


The reason we have raspberry jam in the house is because my favorite thing to do with raspberry jam is combine it with dark chocolate.. in a chocolate decadence fudgecake -- which we don't have in the house. Thank goddess. I can ignore it as long as there's no chocolate siren singing to get together and make an Anthem for Today...

Seems an odd way to control gluttony, but it works for me. Literally I can't have strawberry jam around because I turn inside out with pleasure over good strawberry jam. Or any of the high end preserves and jams -- oh who am I kidding, I even like the Welch's strawberry jelly. Limit access to the goodies, that's the thing.

Fuck. What a horrible way to die. I'm not going to live any longer -- it'll just feel that way!

Hey bloggers on -- have you noticed they've added a "comment moderation" feature to the program? This means the comments posted by anyone other than administrators for your blog are held off site until Admin (i.e. you, the chief blogger / owner of your blog) okay them for publication. I would think if you are a mudrucking stick-poking provocateur this would be a fun feature to have... For myself (since I am hardly the bullseye ground zero for flaming retorts) I thought -- hmmm well then do I need the word verification thingie; I can just use the CM feature to screen comments so the spam doesn't get in, and make it more inviting for comment-writers to just whip off a reply to a post...

ohh no. No, no-no-no. I switched off the word verification and got hit with a dozen spam blurbs. (inside of 15 minutes!) I haven't had this much spam since I used my own name for an email address last year.

I think if I had a problem with comments from PITAs just spewing garbage for the hell of it, I'd use the comment moderation. As it is -- the few people who do leave comments are usually thoughtful and interesting.

although I was kinda weirded out by an "anonymous" comment that only left a website address for what turns out to be -- a parody panacea. Probably dropped off by one of the ghostly guys who read the blog.
They wouldn't wanna get girl cooties by association, I reckon.


Masculine Pulchritude: yep.

Okay, so I needed something to cheer me up. ugh. what a day.

(four legged critters work too... not nearly as well, but there's cats and there's Cats.)

It's funny. I catch a lot of flack for being relatively upfront about finding EJ handsome. I say relatively because I'm not standing outside his front door making cat-in-heat noises... but nevertheless there are people who feel that any amount of acknowledgement in the direction of his male pulchritude somehow lessens his creative oveure...

I seem to get dragged back into discussing / defending EJ's looks just because I'm one of the few folks who mentions them at all. Evidently it's a good thing Eric makes beautiful noise, because physically -- he's an abomination.
lol. riiight. tell that to my endocrine system.

I've had jealous natured BFs play up Eric's fragility. Oh, like THAT is a deterrent! I truly feel what we are attracted to isn't anything a human being has control over -- but can we ditch the delusion that women are only attracted to testosterone reeking monolithic monosyllabic life support systems for a paycheck and a penis? Ewwwwwww.

I like men who can talk.
Most of the men who can talk like other men who are ... uh... testosterone reeking monolithic monosyllabic life support systems for a paycheck and a penis. I guess. I'm not a homosexual male, I just have a taste for men who look like classic sissy boys. I'm cool with it. Like I wrote on the forum:
··· “you don't go for gangly, angular very-Anglo-Euro-guys. ok. Some women do. To tell you honestly, I've always found "that EJ type" supremely attractive. Oh the list of tall lean boyish beaky men who have taken pieces of my heart and indifferently fed it to their cat. *sigh*.
I have tried to change my preference, but I am just wired that way. I admit that now. It's liberating. I admire other bits of the masculine anatomy (some of this, a little of that...) but for the whole package -- yeah. That works. For Me.” ···

so yeah. I'd like one of these. Please.

A non-imbibing, non-self-medicating with recreational pharmacueticals male;
who is creative, intelligent, humorous, kind, and just this darn handsome.

pictures -- top:©Max Crace 1999; middle:©some lucky SOB circa 2001; bottom:©Park Street.


Doo Wop Horsies

I didn't create it, but playing with it I had more fun than an adult should be reasonably allowed -- and I'm wondering if that's just a sad commentary on the simple things I find amusing or indicative of deeper psychosis. hmmmmmm.

Doo Wop Horsies

turn your speakers up. click on the individual horsies.
Get 'em all going "in the groove."
hypnotic, huh?..

West Wing Live Debate

The only network television series I watch weekly is The West Wing. Last night there was a Live Debate between Senator Arnold Vinnick, Republican Candidate for President (played authoratively by Alan Alda) and Congressman Matthew Santos, Democratic Candidate for President (played with beefcake vulnerability by Jimmy Smits)

All day the question has been asked -- "Who won the debate last night?"

It's easy to say Matt Santos won the debate -- based on his leadership energy, willingness to put forward ideas; his plans, his heroic stature... and face it, he's a leading man (actor and character) in the full powers of Alpha Maleness blowing on all cylinders.

hey -- if that character were really running for office, he'd get my vote.

But -- on the other hand -- the better characterization -- the better actor in a difficult role is Alda. The Vinnick character is (near as I can figure) a ...Progressive..? Dare I say Libertarian..? Republican.

It's hard for me to dislike this Republican: he's got an independent streak, he loathes the Religious Right, he's a realist, and he seems just enough of a Conservative for people who don't like to think.

Well -- at least he's a Grandfatherly White Guy, not a hot blooded bed breaking Latino Calendar Stud. Oohhh, as they say, Ley.

So who do you think won the debate?

They started this season with CJ Craig (and it looks like Danny Concannon finally got lucky!) Toby Ziegler, and Charlie Young meeting with President Bartlett at the dedication of the Bartlett Library -- they are met by Josh Lymon, who seems to be the current President's Chief of Staff... hmmmmmmmmm?

Stress Management Prescription

I wrote this for an MSN board a while back.
ok ok -- I admit -- I'm my own biggest fan....

There are times when I am sure horrible things could be circumvented and stress reduced at least marginally if we could write each other prescriptions for cookies.

Cookie abuse can be a problem.

I know for myself the ecstasy of opening up a fresh package of Mystic Mints or Peak Freens Ginger Crisp Biscuits (OOoohh, CANADA!!), with the inherent temptation to follow instructions literally (it says "open here": doesn't that mean I have to eat the whole package in one sitting RIGHT here?!) and we really can't begin to address the shades of moral turpitude dancing on the edge of gluttony where home baked cookies are involved (if you are brave or stupid enough to glom a chocolate chip cookie mere seconds from the oven, and you get a frisson of R rated pleasure not just from the texture, aroma, TASTE (molten chocolate chips, silky still-lubricious butter fat, and teeth melting nuclear nut pieces aaaggggghhhh...) -- if you LIVE for that special thrill of taste bud scalding temperatures ... you may need an intervention from the Pillsbury Dough Boy. )

But cookies can be a force for good in the world, if you give them the proper respect and gravity they deserve.


I am going to pursue a degree in the medicinal applications of the sometimes humble, ofttimes sublime cookie. There is no problem so awful, so devastating, so annoying that can not be given pause and a reduction of unbearableness by this sincere diagnosis:

“You need a cookie.”

I realize the horrendous personal risks of being a supplier and dispenser of such volatile substances -- but for the betterment of society, for the good of hu-wo-manity I must answer this vocational call.

I will carry a prescription pad AND a special prepack of Mrs. Fields for emergency administration.
This to go on my business cards that state my occupation as: Personal Consumer Advocate (P.C.A .) and Curmudgeonly Conversationalist (C.C.):
Certified Cookie Dispenser (C.C.D.) ....B.Y.O.M. (bring your own milk).
ok. I had to get that out. Life is too wonderful to be serious ALL the time, and it seems to me we get caught up in the hamster on the wheel constant hurry to maintain the status quo woes, with infrequent bright spots of planned and regulated FUN! ( i.e. I'm on VACATION and I MUST HAVE FUN!)

But silliness only costs a slight ding in your dignity -- and SUBLIME silliness can even enhance the terms of endearment and esteem others will regard you in.

prescription cookies.
the time is now.


A Meditation.

Take 10 minutes. Find a totally quiet, private place. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Relax. Empty your mind of all thoughts.

There’s a special feeling of a vastly deep Love, an awareness of something bigger and more powerful, deep inside you. It flows from inside to the outside, from the outside to the inside. It is in you, a part of you, it is you, you are it, it is also in others, and in everything. You may have missed it, because it’s so totally huge it’s hard to pinpoint! Yet it's there. Sit quietly, focus on your breathing, and let your mind and heart open to this Love.

It's very quiet and easily disguised by a bunch of thoughts and feelings. It takes developing a completely new set of spiritual senses to pick it up, but if you seek it, it becomes easy to feel it. Some people call it a “sixth sense.” It takes being very, very still, and very open.

If you don’t immediately experience this for yourself, don’t worry. Don’t feel bad about it. Just give yourself a little more love, and time. Try it again later, or tomorrow.

Try it at a time when you can be truly relaxed, with plenty of time to just be quiet and reflective.

Copyright by Norris J. Chumley, all rights reserved.


Free Will Astrology!

got this forwarded through a Yahoo group...

Week beginning November 3
Grammar key: Asterisks equal *italics*

ARIES (March 21-April 19): I myself have not played the fantasy role-playing game Nox. From the review of it in *Fortean Times,* though, I surmise you might want to check it out. It could prepare you well for the coming week--maybe teach you a few tricks that would come in handy. The reviewer of Nox says that in the game you have to weave your way through booby-trapped mazes and haunted libraries as you try to foil the schemes of an evil necromancer. An army of magic spiders may be at your command, but it won't necessarily be of assistance as you wade through a swamp rife with lethal stinking cabbages. Sound familiar?

TAURUS (April 20-May 20): "In the animal kingdom, the rule is, eat or be eaten; in the human kingdom, define or be defined," wrote psychiatrist Thomas Szasz. This is always true, but it's especially apropos for you Tauruses right now. You have arrived at a three-way fork in the road, and which way you go will have a big impact on your future capacity to exercise your free will. To make the best choice, you've got to have maximum power to define yourself. Don't let anyone, whether it's an enemy or a loved one or a so-called expert, take charge of determining the contours of your identity.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): In the 1670s a British naturalist named Robert Plot discovered what we now recognize to be the first dinosaur fossil ever found by a scientist. It was the femur of a Megalosaurus, though back then no one knew what it was. Taxonomist Richard Brookes, a contemporary of Plot, made an educated guess. He believed it was the petrified scrotum of Adam, the first man. I believe a comparable scenario will soon unfold in your life, Gemini. Through ignorance or inexperience, a potentially rich discovery may initially be misidentified. It will be your job to reject premature conclusions, keep everyone's mind open, and organize a quest for the unpredictable truth.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): The ancient Greek mythic hero Orpheus possessed an abundance of what we today call emotional intelligence. His feelings were profound, well-wrought, and lyrical, and he had a virtuoso talent for rousing sublime passions in others. The music he played on his lyre inspired warring soldiers to stop fighting. Wild animals listened raptly. Workaholics ceased their compulsive toil. When he gave concerts in the underworld, even the cold-hearted rulers of that infernal realm were charmed. None of us will ever soar to the same heights of emotional intelligence as Orpheus, of course, but this week you Cancerians can get closer than ever before.

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): Woolly mammoths, relatives of the elephant, have been extinct for 10,000 years. But several fully intact specimens have been discovered in Alaska and Siberia, well-preserved in ice. A few daring men have cooked and eaten the meat. They claim that it has a decent taste. I bring this to your attention, Leo, because it provides an apt metaphor for your imminent future. I believe you'll be offered an ancient meal, in a manner of speaking--an exotic form of nourishment that originated long before you were born. It'll be more than food for thought--it'll be ambrosia for the soul.

VIRGO (Aug. 23-Sept. 22): Members of your tribe are even more likely than usual not to be given their proper credit or just due--which is exactly why you should fight with wild intensity to get it. If people try to claim your work as their own, protest loudly. If your strenuous efforts aren't rewarded as they should, give yourself the reward. If your ideas are plagiarized, your style ripped off, or your product copied without your permission, fight back with tactful ferocity.

LIBRA (Sept. 23-Oct. 22): In one of his books, the Dalai Lama challenges readers to go just ten minutes without having a negative thought about another person. When I told this to my acquaintance Arthur, he said, "What a simplistic, overrated fraud that Dalai Lama dude is. It's totally easy to go ten minutes without dissing someone." Your assignment, Libra, is to submit to a marathon version of the challenge: See if you can go seven whole days without having a negative thought about anyone. His Holiness implies there's a good selfish reason for doing so: It helps you cultivate a state of mind in which peaceful contentment is a natural condition.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Charles Darwin developed the theory of evolution 20 years before he finally published a book about it. Why did he wait? Here's one theory: In contrast to his radical ideas, Darwin was a conservative Victorian squire who cared deeply about his reputation. According to Professor John Carey, he was afraid that "the blow to Christianity and to the dignity of man inherent in [his] theory would encourage atheistic agitators and socialist revolutionaries." I believe you're facing a dilemma comparable to Darwin's. The changes you're going through will definitely mess with the status quo when you start openly expressing them. So will you postpone your coming out party, hoping that time will somehow make the New You more palatable? I'm not sure that approach would do anyone much good.

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): "Dear Dream Doctor: Last night I dreamed I was taking care of a suicidal priest. Part of my job was to keep him occupied in order to make sure he didn't kill himself. As we played the child's card game called War, I noticed that the clothes I was wearing were moldy rags. Suddenly I was startled by a bright light. The door to the room was open, and floating out in the hall was a giant exclamation mark that seemed to be a living creature. What does it all mean? -- Spooked Sagittarius." Dear Spooked: When you stop clinging to the tattered, worn-out delusion that has functioned as your faith all these years, you will find a far more vibrant faith that is based on reality and that truly nurtures your soul.

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Actress Sarah Jessica Parker recently told the *San Francisco Chronicle* about her new perfume, Lovely. It's "a fragrance that has social skills," she said. "It doesn't dominate a room. It doesn't cling to a person who hugs you. It's sexy, but not 'of-the-moment.' It's a timeless thing." This is a perfect description of your assignment in the coming days, Capricorn. Be like a memorable but subtle fragrance that has social skills. Work every room you're in, but do it with understated grace. Give every person you encounter a strong impression of your uniqueness, but without hitting them over the head with it.

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Isaac Newton was one of the most influential scientists who ever lived. He developed the theory of gravity, and made many other revolutionary contributions to physics and mathematics. And yet his consuming interest for the last 20 years of his life was alchemy; he wrote thousands of pages on the subject, most of which hasn't been published. Similarly, Arthur Conan Doyle is renowned for his stories about Sherlock Holmes, but in his own mind his most important gift to the world was his research into the paranormal and his ideas about spirituality. What about you, Aquarius? Is there a gap between the way the world perceives you and how you see yourself? This is a perfect moment to do something about it.

PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): "Dear Rob: It's my goal to become a Texas Congressman by 2016 and a senator by 2028. I have a lot of original ideas about how to make the world a better place, and I've decided that the best way to make them happen is by becoming a force in national politics. Do you have any advice on how to proceed? -Pisces Who Doesn't Need to Marry a Blond, Blue-Eyed Cheerleader with Six-Pack Abs." Dear Pisces: It's funny you should ask, because it's an ideal time for you Fish to go on a vision quest that will reveal glimpses of the best ways to spend your life in the next 20 years.


Contents of the Free Will Astrology Newsletter are Copyright
2005 Rob Brezsny


Domestic Bliss... (musings)

Marriage works in one of two ways (just my opinion here):

1.) You are happy to be with the Other Person, and feel an exchange of energies between the two of you -- physical love (of course), intellectual stimulation, spiritual unity -- any one of those wave lengths or all of them. There is a flow.

It doesn't matter if you have the piece of paper or not: Marriage has indeed already been formalized and the *event* changes nothing. (If the event changes attitudes: you were seduced and lied to... which seems to be something women are classically accused of as if they train for this in home economics class! I digress...)

2.) The Marriage eats the individual identities of both people and reforms them into a somewhat generic "Mr.& Mrs.".

Suddenly no decision can be made without a consultation with The Other. This is not a joyful, "I gotta share this with you, this is sooo amazing!" exaltation of abundant pleasure that doubles in the sharing... It's negotiations; competitions about holding onto power, taking more -- and score keeping.

A Generalization:

Women hold the power of sexual fulfillment over men.

Men hold the power of economic survival over women.

These are, for better or worse THE traditional roles. These are our parents. Dad shuts the hell up 'cause he wants Mom ripping his back in the throes of the Wild Thang. Better not piss her off. i.e. if a guy wants to get laid, he'd better not be insensitive to her moods and out-of-bedroom desires. (good luck there buddy.)

Mom rolls her eyes at Dad's awful jokes (when he gets relaxed into feeling he can tell them -- and he goes with the standard material: told for the 89th time) because she has the bigger picture of the Domestic Holdings to keep running smoothly; i.e. if a woman wants to keep the guy's paycheck coming in, she better give him some -- oh yeah -- and maintain the domicile: which can be anything from running a household staff (lol, most women play all those roles themselves) to cooking, cleaning, tending the children, shopping & stocking the pantry, animal care; and probably holding down a job outside of the home as well... Oh yes. And being a hot sexual goddess for her husband on demand, which was how she got him involved in this domestic deal in the first place.

Nowadays -- most guys I know do "help out" with the household stuff and "Dad" is not a complete stranger to the workings of a kitchen or laundry room. "Mom" for that matter is not a complete stranger to the satisfaction to be gleaned in DIY home repairs -- she may even have her own tool belt. Even better -- grouting, toilet snaking, or landscaping work can be perceived as foreplay in the partnership. (it's NOT fun if a woman's capacity in a traditional male role has the opposite effect of -- well -- castrating the male. Men do have have a lot of ego / self esteem tied up and trussed in testosterone: an unstable substance at best.)

It is far more desirable to be in the first sort of marriage, and indeed rather like patriotic glossy Army recruitment propaganda, that's the ideal that's sold.

But most of the Marriages I've observed lock into the latter form.
Inevitably, the main difference and tragedy of the second form is the lack of genuine communication. The generic form is not questioned: there are no exchanges freely given because THAT can only lead to giving up power of some kind. The individuals are subsumed by the roles they fill... BUT they are not the roles they play.

The unique person of either gender is thwarted from expression of true self.
From fear.
Dig through the layers -- fear is the bedrock of where things diverged.
And it's only a matter of time before one or the other gets a wake up call (the ring of truth): something that possibly sounds like -- "this is not who I am."

The unhappiness in all marital relationships is rooted in fear.
and paradoxically -- the fear that ends up eating us alive is what drives us to believe the propaganda of Domestic Bliss. A small, gnawing, tiny voice that compares everything we are to the American Dream / Standard -- and finds the individual sorely lacking.
Doesn't matter how successful you are in any other area.
This tiny voice is programmed into our DNA.
It knows we are inadequate. It knows how ugly we really are, deep down inside -- it KNOWS we should be grateful for any crumb of affection, attention, care shown to us by ANYONE.

Listen. You can hear it. Chances are you have heard it, but never realized how it controls your life.
just listen....

“I don't want to be alone.”

Welcome to the negotiation table...
God help you if you expect more than that.
~ Lilly