Love is Complicated

I think we all owe a debt of gratitude to Beyonce and Jay-Z for opening up their personal marital struggles to the world. So often we look at celebrities and we only see the money and the beauty without the struggles the rest of us seem to face. They are breaking down those barriers by talking about stuff that is, well frankly, freaking embarrassing as hell. Being cheated on. Breaking vows. Giving in to baser desires and hurting your loved ones. This is deep stuff we are all looking at here with the release of Jay-Z’s 4:44.

If this successful couple can come out and be vulnerable when they have so many reasons they don’t have to, you have to respect that, and try to learn from it.

I’m not big into celebrity talk and all of that. I don’t think I’ve posted more than a few celebrity centered blogs in the 15 years I’ve been blogging. But this particular situation brings up something that I am always blogging about and forever fascinated with: the psychology of love, desire, and promises.

From my perspective – based on my own life experiences, and writing about love for a while, I feel like a few things are happening here when it comes to the psychology of love:

1 – When Beyonce used her art to talk about Jay-Z cheating she took back some of her power she probably felt she lost when she found out he cheated. And it was something to behold.

2 – Women are going to lash out at Jay-Z, not only because he hurt their beloved Beyonce, but it’s also scary, personally. It’s unnerving because here we are, just your average citizens, and there is this paragon of Goddessy art and beauty – and she got cheated on.  It makes it feel like it’s not possible to avoid being cheated on if there are any cracks at all in the trust of a relationship.

3 – Women who cheated with Jay-Z are possibly the sort who get a power surge from it. Imagine if the man who belongs to, sleeps with, and has children with, a woman who is considered one of the most beautiful, talented, and powerful women in popular culture–chooses to risk his vows and his family because he’s so attracted to you–that’s heady stuff! Aside from Jay-Z being a powerful and rich man himself, but to feel like you out-did Beyonce in some way–that could be part of rush of doing that.

4 – In offering up his confessions and apologies in such a public way, it’s giving a little power back to Beyonce in the form of support and validation. But it’s also setting an example for men who might be in a place where they are trying to decide what’s right and wrong in relationships where things are promised. If this is the nudge they need to stay on the side of the line that honors their relationship and their partner, then I think Jay-Z has done a great service to many couples out there by laying his sins bare.

And as is stated in “Red Archer” – promises don’t really mean anything when they’re easy to keep. Promises only mean something when they are hard to keep.

 

 

Supernatural Saturday – Reading & Discussion

What’s happening?
A reading and discussion with authors Dea Schofield and H.L. Brooks.

Where!?
At Scarborough Fair Bed and Breakfast in Baltimore!

WHEN?
Saturday, July 22nd
4pm-5:30pm

Facebook Event Page

Please come by and pick up a copy of our new books. Or just listen to us and ask questions. Though buying our books means we can keep writing more!

If you’re a book blogger, vlogger, or bookstagrammer, send us a note that you’re going to come by so we can have a swag bag for you!

Quiet a Spectacle

ninquote

I will hold you, quietly. I can be still long enough to listen to your pain. I’m not good at being still. You know this. You know. I think that’s why my embracing still moments mean so much to you … because you know.

I had an epiphany about myself yesterday. A realization. And it was such a simple answer, I was certain I must have realized it some time in the past. I thought about the times I’d been embraced by somebody, only for them to get close long enough to see my utter humaneness, and then walk away. I thought this meant I was bad at love. Now I realize it’s more about the ideal of me not matching up with the reality of me. And you never did that to me. You always understood. It’s amazing to be truly seen that way.

The essence of it all? You understand why the things that matter to me–matter to me. You also understand that I am an embodiment of celebration. Even my quietness can be a spectacle. I think that comes off like obsession, or possessiveness, to some people. And in all truth, I was possessive in my first marriage. I was jealous in that life I once led. I was a teenager when we met. And that was a difficult twenty years. I grew in that time, particularly starting around my early thirties. I know the difference between excitement and jealousy, between celebration and possession. I know it for myself, even if others don’t. And you know, maybe that’s why I can appreciate the abundant trust I am now the recipient of, because I know how rare it is.

I’m trying to get over that fear of being misunderstood. You really help with that, did you know? Because even though I’ve read that Anaïs Nin quote a million times, it really sunk in yesterday. It isn’t that my love is wrong, it’s that my love is viewed through the filter of others. It’s about the way they experience my love that makes it work, or not work. Its about their past relationships and what they learned.

Maybe at some point I can stop writing and vlogging about being afraid to be misunderstood, and that will be the measure of when I am cured of that concern.

 

Vloggy McVlogster

Finally diving in again. As mentioned in the video, I tried vlogging years ago, but it was too much of a pain. As it is, I still need to learn how to do some editing to make them a little more exciting.

This vlog is a little longish, but I think it moves along at a pretty good clip. In the future I will have topic-driven vlogs. I think I’ll also read some sexy story bits. Trying to just be more myself these days. Not so guarded. Taking a fresh direction, or at least getting back on the right path. We all need a reset sometimes. At times they come in interesting forms. Mine came in the form of some restlessness and desire that needs to be expressed. I have to forget about the politics of the world in order to be so self-indulgent as to post about being misunderstood and finding my voice, and all that. It’s so small in comparison.

Little Tsunami

littletusnami

“I’m a good swimmer,” he says.

He can take it. All of it. Ripples, waves, crashing, roiling.

I’m so full of words. I could write all day from the moment I wake until I pass out asleep, and it would never be enough to get it all out.

“Why am I like this?” I ask him.

“Why can’t I stop being too much?”

He says likes me that way. He says I have a need to connect.

“Quiet people need to connect.” I say.

But in the questioning comes answers.

I think back to how he dived into my waves. I would come in, all words. Full of thoughts and questions. It could be the moon, or plastic soldiers, or the tender sense of domesticity I thought we’d never have. Our conversations ranged from childhood homes, ex-lovers, and Star Trek, to body image. From a song that made our hearts ache, and movies that made us cry.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I can never truly know how relationships are going to turn out. It seems some people have ideas about that kind of thing. And it works out! They make their five and ten year plans. Bless them.

To the lovers who thought me too much, thank you for your grace, and for helping me learn lessons about myself. And for coming back after the awkwardness faded.

To the lovers who misunderstood what they saw in me … I recognize your curiosity was pure. I’m more careful about who I let in now, it keeps my heart safer that way. I still feel the warm of embarrassment on my neck and flush my cheeks. I recognize that I wasn’t what you thought, but that doesn’t mean I’m not good. It just means we weren’t a good fit.

To the lovers who lied–I maybe learned the most from you. Hopefully, never again.

So here I am, the Little Tsunami of feelings and words. I think of it as neurotic needs to be understood because I spent so much of my life before him with people who invalidated me daily. Who asked me to be quiet. And who didn’t want my words. So, I stayed quiet. I kept my words locked away, for decades.

So now, I will sip wine and try to keep from drowning everything in sight. But like with all powers of nature, sometimes it flows out of me in a torrent. I will write the words pouring out of my wild heart–because it cannot be tamed, and he doesn’t try to tame it. He likes me wild and he likes my muchness.

 

Whatever Part of Me

TigerLily

You pluck an ancient string in me. The chord vibrates. Resonates. You think it’s maybe bad. Sometimes I wonder about that, too. So I hold it up to the light, to look at where to cleave it–a master lapidary of emotion.

“I don’t want to cause you pain…”

Oh, sweet torture … here she goes, listening to Amy Winehouse again. Calling herself a whore. But that’s an ancient curse. An irrelevant self-flagellation. I step out of that gown and leave it on the floor as I walk away, more naked than any whore.

I like the waters a little turbulent. Smooth seas make for poor sailors. Navigating complex emotional waters has made me a captain of the HMS Cosmic Goddess. I know how to cut through the waves now. But some storms are enough to leave me listing … for a while. And it’s been awhile.

I want an inch of black eyeliner ringing my eyes. My lips painted dark and glossed, to invite a kiss. Or a bite. The cosmic goth queen in me gets restless sometimes. Where does she come from? Her white spidersilk hair, finally relevant. Older. Wiser. Wanton. Wild.

Wet.

I hope whatever part of me you can have will be worth something to you. I gave her to you freely because you asked. If she doesn’t fit, send her off on the waves and let her float away … I don’t need her anymore.

 

 

 

 

Whisper to the Wind

Sometimes I say it here, whatever it is. It’s a whisper into the wind that maybe catches an ear or two. It’s of no real consequence. Ok, maybe it’s of little consequence, but only to me. But I need to…well, at least I find it helpful to, write things down. Helps me work it all out, ya know?

writing

I wonder about words like “whore” and “wrong.” About what the measure of success is. Where the concepts of grief and jealousy came from. Is grief learned? Or is it born into the ancient parts of our brains? Jealousy feels so primal, like it’s hardwired into our DNA, unless you’re one of those miraculous people who does not suffer at the gaping maw of jealousy. People who don’t watch themselves aging and wondering if it matters enough to try and recapture youth, or just let things happen naturally. If you do fight it, what exactly are you fighting? Being seen as old? Losing your sex appeal? Sex and love is for everybody – not just for the young and thin among us.

It was an up-down sort of night. Emotions were observed, like cards in  a deck. Choir singing, lost friends, found adventures. Smiles and stories from the young and old alike.  Laughing friends. Storytellers. Moments my heart listened to – either for the better, or the funny little hurts that inform it.

I’m so sleepy. Going to try and go to bed now. Off you go, whispers–see if you can find an ear.