Red Tent Talk

My body wants a baby.

There I said it.  I am thirty years old.  My body is fully developed.  I have no illusions about where I am in my life process... The brain begins to decline in one's late twenties.  The metabolism slows.  The bloom begins to leave the rose, and suddenly living is work.  My body is finished growing.  As far as it is concerned, the mission is now to insure that its genes are propagated to the next generation...

This is absurd, but it is also true.

The other day, Victor admitted that he is watching his hairline recede.  He was having a self-conscious moment.  It does not bother me.  I reminded him that his father's hair is thin on top, and he is still a good looking gent.

I do not know how to respond to these observations... Maybe I should not have said anything.

Instead, I raised my bangs, "Look at how huge my forehead is!  My mother used to tie my ponytails back so tight!  I always feel like I have to hide it with bangs..."

...Whenever I start dating any man, my mind reviews the list of compromises it may have to live with.  As I fell initially fell in love with Victor, I quickly romanticized the notion of watching him grow old with me.  His changing hairline and waistline did not phase me, as they have may phased a younger more naive version of myself.

MY skin is beginning to show signs of wrinkles, begging for an increase in my facial lotion budget.  Every time Victor makes me smile so big that I feel the crows feet form in the corners of my eyes, my body whispers, "Are you sure?  Don't give away all of your magic before you're sure.  You only have so many smooth skinned smiles left to spend..."

I am more practical than I am superficial.  I lean away from men who are overweight, not because they are fat, but because I come from a family of heavy people with obesity related health concerns.  I try to avoid cigarette smokers because I have worked with cancer survivors who have lost their voice boxes or had parts of their tongue replaced with pieces of their thigh-tissue.  I prefer frugal men rather than materialistic men who need to spend most of their income on keeping up appearances... I am a practical woman.

A practical woman who understands what a financial and emotional commitment being a mother is... My new roommate has a two year old daughter.  Each day I hear them bargaining to put on clothes, eat meals, use the potty... and I think, Wow, I'm so glad that I am not responsible for anyone's bowel movements but my own!  

My body does not care that I have plans.  It does not care that I am not married.  It also does not care that I am treating it well; exercising, choosing healthy foods, drinking in moderation to preserve its optimal state.  This body knows it is already dying, no matter what I do, eventually- and it is determined to create another vessel for propagation.

.....So when my menstrual cycle started with unbearable body aches, all I could think was,  I hear you, body.  You are angry- I know what you want... and I can't help you.  No babies, not yet.

But it did not stop at the physical symptoms.  It also began making wild demands for attention and affection.  This is psychological warfare.  You and I both know that Victor is busy.  He has rehearsals and gigs, and there is no reason to bother him... Whenever I feel an urge to call/text him at an inappropriate moment, my common sense reminds me, Why are you trying to push him out of your life today?  Are you really in such a rush to loose him? ...and after some thought, I realize- THE BODY.  It is trying to replace him... as it replaced all the boyfriends before him, who failed to impregnate me.  It gets impatient.  It releases overdoses of hormones that throw me into jealous, insecure, demanding rages.

I have been learning to channel this nervous energy into my music, my artwork... It is upsetting to put into words, to admit in such literal terms- Because what man wants to hear his girlfriend admit that she can hear her biological clock ticking so loudly that it wakes her up in the middle of the night sometimes?

Self-awareness is an amazing tool.  It allows me to acknowledge- this is what my body, my vessel is experiencing.  I am not its slave.  I certainly do not treat it as well as I could, but I try to balance its care with my satisfaction.  It is unsatisfied with waiting to procreate... But I do not want to spend the rest of my life, resenting my body and my child for forcing me into motherhood before my mind and partner were ready.  I want to be a good and present mother- I am still learning to be mindful and present in my own life!  So for now... the body can wait.  Babies can wait.

Work in Progress... Almost Found

New projects constantly beginning... None of which comply to be completed.

Damnit, why?!  Are you really so lazy?  Don't you know you have to expend energy to create energy? 

Maybe this is all I have right now.  Maybe I am working at full capacity, and this is how much I can accomplish at the moment.

That sounds like a perfect excuse to fail... 

I am not failing.  I am in the process of succeeding.  It is taking longer than I would like, but it is happening.  Rushing, pushing, and worrying will only slow me down.  If I acknowledge when I am tired and rest, then when I am refreshed, I will resume working actively with better momentum.

Lazy.

Sometimes I wonder how I ever forced myself out of bed... into the shower, into the classroom, into the office.  How did I push aside my heavy thoughts and feelings to function as a productive member of society?

...I dissociated, largely.  My teachers, friends, and colleagues never knew... But most of the time I was only half present- the physical half.  The intangible half of me was writing songs and books, painting pictures... daydreaming.

My family tells me that I had imaginary friends. I was alone a lot as a kid, and I did not have many toys or TV channels from which to choose.  I was always creating various scenarios to make my days more interesting.  I was a princess hidden away in a small village, a slave girl from the Bible... An alien sent to Earth to experience human life and collect data... When I went to school, it became worse.  I squandered most of my attention, studying the interactions between my classmates and the staff members. I imagined what each one was thinking and feeling, what their home lives were like... Sometimes, I traveled far away in my head, believing that I genuinely did not belong there and would no doubt be found and extricated.  At some point, I became more absorbed in my own mind's world than the 'real world'... I ceased perceiving reality as the norm, only a place I occasionally visited...
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"Dissociation is a term in psychology describing a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experience. It is commonly displayed on a continuum. The major characteristic of all dissociative phenomena involves a detachment from reality – rather than a loss of reality as in psychosis. In mild cases, dissociation can be regarded as a coping mechanism or defense mechanisms in seeking to master, minimize or tolerate stress – including boredom or conflict. At the nonpathological end of the continuum, dissociation describes common events such as daydreaming while driving a vehicle. Further along the continuum are non-pathological altered states of consciousness." 

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Stubborn. That is what I heard adults call me. "You're smart, but you don't live up to your potential," was the phrase I heard, again and again. Potential? What is that? And how do they know what mine is? 

I told myself they were wrong. I knew some very smart people, and clearly I was not one. Smart people did their homework. Smart people got good grades. Smart people did not ask silly questions. Smart people certainly did not sleep with their mothers until they were nearly nine years old or cling to deteriorating stuffed animals into their teens.

I was waiting to be rescued.  Surely I would be taken to Hollywood to sing and dance like Shirley Temple.  I would grow up to be a hybrid of Elizabeth Taylor and Aretha Franklin.  Surely it was only a matter of time... In reality, I was quite shy.  My skin would burn with embarrassment if everyone's attention was focused on me.  I knew so little about the world, and I knew it... I was afraid of letting others see my ignorance.   

...When one spends a great deal of time in their own imagination, it eventually becomes easy to loose sight of reality.  Did I say that out loud?  ...Or one hears/sees something that coincides with one's fantasies so serendipitously that it validates one's detachment from reality.  Is that "Daydream Believer" on the radio suddenly?  Oh, Universe, you and your funny sense of humor!  

.....Just yesterday I came home to my new shared home, with music stirring inside of me, just waiting to be poured... I quickly grabbed my laptop and ran to the common space, where a piano is stored... As I opened the door, there it was, suddenly center of the room with a spotlight shining down on it from above.  So poetic, so literary.  Picture perfect.

I took a seat and began tinkering out chord structures that I have never learned- but which approximate the music streaming in my mind's ear... Lyrics escaped my mouth with melodies to suit the key... Then I would hit a wall.  I began struggling with the chords I was hearing aloud over what I was hearing in my head... I would stop the recording, play it back- hear my errors in the audio file, hear what I intended in my mind... silently, listen in my mind for a few minutes... wander around the house, humming, getting a snack... Then before I could finish spreading the jelly on my toast, I was back at the piano, slamming out as much as I could capture.

It is like transcribing what a speaker saying in a foreign language... Like trying to decipher the "baby talk" I hear during some speech therapy sessions... I do not know what is really being said, but I try to make marks on paper that will help me imitate it later.  I have to be careful to not project my current moods or jump to conclusions.  I can not assume to know what a song is about- just because it is coming out of me.  I never truly know until I hear it.  This is a process that can last weeks, months... One song took me over a year to decipher.  Given how briefly I have been writing, there are no doubt gems hiding in my piles of loose letters that will reveal themselves in years to come... if I learn to stop fighting them.

...When I really let go- stop assuming, stop worrying, stop trying- When I really listen... I hear that frightened voice in my mind melt.  Its insecurities are revealed... Someone will judge me.  Someone won't like me.  Maybe I'm not good enough.  Maybe something is wrong with me.  I don't want anyone to see me... 

                               ...and I embrace myself.  I am not lazy.  I process information in a way that makes me different.  It makes my day to day activity look unusual compared to what has been portrayed by most of the role models I had growing up, different from the characters I see on television, different from most of the individuals that I meet... But when I try to act like someone other than myself; I struggle, I doubt myself, I become depressed.  When I take risks; invest time in networking with a wide variety of people, take unconventional classes about communication and holistic health, volunteer... and just let myself write; at home, in cafes, in bars, at parties- whenever, wherever I want... and listen to my mind when it says, It's time to pick up a guitar.  Don't forget to record... Something amazing is about to pour out of you so quickly that you will barely be able to remember... I am able to manifest music that many people study for years to experience- A fact that I forget when I surround myself with other talented musicians.

The muse uses me as a channel.  It demands an audience.  It demands me to sing higher and lower notes than my vocal range feels it can reach.  It demands I hold a confident posture and wear certain costumes.  It demands I play instruments that I do not know how to play...

Lucky for me, I have a wonderful teacher... Lucky for me, Victor can interpret the rudimentary manner in which I capture what the muse gives me into music.  He has the years of study to polish it into something spectacular.

He patiently reminds me that my skills are in dire need of more practice.  He gives me lessons on whatever instrument that is currently tickling my fancy, pushing me to become the musician I will be- with more discipline, with more time...

Then I watch as he magically molds the melodies and harmonies into a perform-able piece.  It becomes more than it was; more than the muse, more than mine, more than ours... his elaborations alter and improve the way I sing to it, inspire more lyrics... that is how the music of Echo Victory is conceived~

...original music, composed with a man who makes me smile and tingle and blush... These are the dreams I used to have only in the day, while I was supposed to be memorizing the periodic table and solving quadratic equations.  No longer only daydreams-

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"...man is asleep.  Even while he thinks he is awake, he is not.  You sleep in the night, you sleep in the day- from birth to death you go on changing your patterns of sleep, but you never really awaken.  Just by opening the eyes don't befool yourself that you are awake.  Unless the inner eyes open -unless your inside becomes full of light, unless you can see yourself, who you are -don't think that you are awake.  That is the great illusion that man lives in.  And once you accept that you are already awake, then there is no question of making any effort to be awake... The first thing to do is sink deep into your heart that you are asleep, utterly asleep."  -Osho (Awareness http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/awareness-osho/1100336936?ean=9780312275631)

.................It took a long time, over twenty years, to realize that no one was coming to discover me and whisk me away.  It is a work in progress.  I had to begin finding myself, seeing myself, loving myself; a process that I anticipate will continue throughout the rest of my life.  Now I do not want to be anyone but me.  Every day I meet myself, fall for and seduce myself... Every day, I am almost found.