Express The Sensual

[Sometimes a story mixes with life and becomes something else entirely.  This excerpt from a story writing session might be something like that.  But in the end, all stories are about the human spirit.  Here's a piece of mine.]

I can’t hear myself think.  I feel a deep dull thudding in my brain as if the machinery was jammed and trying to roll past something blocked, something broken. A metallic boom down in the bowels of my mind. Whose words are these? The questions of a questioner go unanswered.  Where is the spark of my soul?

Nothing is missing.  There is no menacing evil within and yet fear fills my recesses, darkening corners with a light sucking efficiency.

Again.  Whose words are these?

How could I fall so far when my only steps were careful, calculated, even recommended.  My own darkness eats those dying embers that could still be called life.

But no white knight breaks in to rescue me. No gallant captain with shining boots to threaten my enemy into submission.  I am my enemy.  I am the darkness chasing the sun across the night sky.  What was hope is only whispering voids ripe with doubt, denial, and sadness.

I ignore the pain and imagine a perfect world, but everything is gray and muted. It’s drained of color as all false realities must be, as all nightmares should be.  But I ride this mare anyway.  Sweat steaming from her sides in the chill of my consciousness.  A mane of tears and anger leaving the only trail of color in my dying emotionless world.

We are searching, this mare and me, for a spark of belief.  Belief in something I can’t comprehend or even imagine yet.  But with each labored exhale, I can feel it.  The pain in my chest, the thud in my mind, the tears of my mare, prove that somewhere the fire of faith in myself still burns.  I have to find it before it’s too late.

I have seen the walking dead.  The ones who gave up searching for their spark.  And I would rather ride forever through the darkness knowing that the fire of my soul could be just a few steps further, than give in to a zombies sorrow.  Perhaps, one day, I’ll see a new sun that can chase away this cold wet night or find a city built to bring light into the darkness and warmth into my heart.

But I will not fight.  Instead, I will slide through this night and rescue Faith myself.  What else can I do?  What else can I do?  Only I can build the fire of self belief from an ember into a flame.  All I have to do is find it.

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Twirl, Swirl, and Fly!

This week was hard.  This week was bad.  This week I had to face people in pain.  People that I usually share In’n'Out fries with while shouting obscenities at the 49ers.  People that I’ve been more than a little drunk-off-my-ass-and-still-got-home-safe with.  People that have made a significant impact in my life.  And now, they hurt. Their families hurt.  Their reality hurts.  Their world hurts.

And I don’t know what to do.  You see, I’m horrible at watching pain. Forget Hollywood movies and all that namby-pamby bullshit.  It’s the real deal I’m talking about here.  The kind of pain where they might have to crack open your chest to save you life.  Or do test after test just to find out if they can treat whatever unpronounceable thing that you’ve got.  And it’s really hard to watch without crying.

So, I’m lost. Wondering what can I do?  How can I help?  I’m not a doctor, or a nurse. Shit, I still check the directions when I put on a bandaid.

Instead, I did what they have done for me.  I stayed. I didn’t leave.  I showed up and watched what happened.  I didn’t pretend it wasn’t happening.  I didn’t pretend I completely understood their pain.  I didn’t pretend I knew everything was going to be okay.  Because I don’t know.

I chose to be there with them as life unfolded. As the next moment passed and the next and the next.  When they needed to talk, we talked.   When they needed silence, we had silence.   When they needed to cry, we cried.

And when they needed to be alone, I left.  But I went home to my safe house, with my safe dog, in my safe car, to watch my safe television.  And it wasn’t the same.   So, I turned to my pole dancing practice the way people turn to meditation or that first cup of tea. A ritual to calm my mind with the long accustomed movements that I’ve done a million times before.  The dance where I give my emotions extra space, extra time, extra energy.

It helped.  It gave my body a way to understand the turmoil in my mind.  My arms and legs articulated sadness with each extension.  My chest knew waves of confusion through abdominal contraction.  And finally I cried for me.

The best way for me to help them, is to live, breathe, and be who I am… with them.  To laugh with them, cry with them, watch funny zombie movies with them.  To know each moment is as precious as it is fleeting.

If you have experienced sadness in your life, whether the pain was yours or someone you care about– Give it a ritual.  Create a safe space inside yourself without judgment and find a way to let go. Use sensual dance, or a walk along the ocean, or a gentle rocking chair on the outside porch.  Show up to life, give in to life, and let go.

This week there is a video, but I choose not to post it.  This week, the space below is for you.

How do you create personal space? What kind of rituals give you comfort? Share your ideas in the comment section!

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