Thursday, November 30, 2006

This makes me feel like ass-

Ok, so, the flesh for sale post should be disregarded in light of what's happening in the world. How can our lives be so disconnected from the rest of the world?

Check it out. ~NH

Flesh for Sale

Should it come as a surprise that we are selling ourselves to others cheaply? There are many ways we sell ourselves daily with our time, commitments, and unwavering support. It’s natural, and most days it doesn’t bother me. When faced with the demands of the day, I simply check each task off of the massive “to do” list that has become my life. But, every now and then, I feel like a cheap whore who’s been working way too much. I’m tired, but aren’t we all? If I promise to sit still like a good girl and perform each task given to me like a machine, at least everyone around me will approve. Approval is for sale too, as long as we give a damn about what everyone else thinks about us. The need for approval will make people do crazy things, things outside of the person they are. Eventually, as we continue to please others, we become less and less aware of who we are and what we want. We hope we can keep everyone happy by totally relinquishing our time, flesh, independence, and self-will. There! Is that good enough? I’ve wondered several times in my life when I’ve caught myself bending to the will of others without any regard for what I’ve wanted. However, during the last year, I’ve become more aware of my need to say “NO”- and I don’t feel badly about it anymore. Being with that “special someone” can help to ease the pain of the daily grind. On the other hand, it becomes a chore, another item we must complete on our never ending list. People expect a certain level of commitment, and to that I would respond, “Heaven whore’s itself out often.” Just don’t get used to it.


Although what I have to give might not be enough for some, it’s all I have. Below are lyrics by the lovely, talented Sarah Mclachlan-

Sarah McLachlan- Good Enough

Hey your glass is empty
It’s a hell of a long way home
Why don’t you let me take you
It’s no good to go alone
I never would have opened up
But you seemed so real to me
After all the bullshit I’ve heard
It’s refreshing not to see
I don’t have to pretend
She doesn’t expect it from me

Don’t tell me I haven’t been good to you
Don’t tell me I have never been there for you
Don’t tell me why
Nothing is good enough

Hey little girl would you like some candy
Your momma said that it’s ok
The door is open come on outside
No I can’t come out today
It’s not the wind that cracked your shoulder
And threw you to the ground
Who’s there that makes you so afraid
You’re shaken to the bone
And I don’t understand
You deserve so much more than this

So don’t tell me why
He’s never been good to you
Don’t tell me why
He’s never been there for you
Don’t you know that why
Is simply not good enough
So just let me try
And I will be good to you
Just let me try
And I will be there for you
I’ll show you why
You’re so much more than good enough

Monday, November 27, 2006

12:00 AM (it’s purely fictional)

As I lay in bed last night, my thoughts drifted to an ex-girlfriend of mine, as they often do around Thanksgiving time. She and I met about three years ago at the end of November. She was a dynamic woman, head-strong, forthcoming and political. She had a warm smile and a laugh that just INFECTED the room. She was fearless in her pursuit of me, never giving up until she won the prize- in a typical Aries-like fashion. She was a force, a woman with a clear agenda and the determination to make it happen, to put thoughts into action. Now, I’m not saying I was in love, I would never admit to such a travesty. Then, the dream would cease to be, and dreams are not made to hold up against the stark light of reality.

My phone rang last night at midnight. And here’s how it went down.


Bruce Springsteen- I’m on Fire

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go and leave you all alone
I got a bad desire
Oh I'm on fire

Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
I can take you higher
I'm on fire

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby
edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
through the middle of my soul

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
and a freight train running through the
middle of my head
And you, you cool my desire
Oh I’m on fire

Monday, November 20, 2006

The Pressure to Endure

"The divine is perhaps that quality in man which permits him to endure the lack of God."

-Jean Rostand

Enough said.

The Irony of Incarnating

This weekend I got the flu, and it got me thinking and dreaming about sickness and bugs and the way these illnesses affect us. What exactly are our bodies saying? And where does the anger stop and healing start? I mean, human beings are in unique position. We move through each day with strength, yet we are fragile and our bodies tell that story.

Our bodies tell the stories of abuse, sickness, tension, anger, stress, fatigue; even so we still can SURVIVE. Survival is the work of the world, thrust upon us when we least expect it. We are expected to survive this.

All of our bodies’ work is symbolic, so it has a girl like me thinking…

What promises have the gods above made to us? I wonder what happens when we break ours. Is that why we’re sick? Vengeance, the definition of tough love, disguised as hatred, it is the name of the game, people. Although I’ve refused to believe, I’m still waiting for destiny to come and tap me on my sleeve. These are the consequences we face.

Spiders Crawling Up My Back

Because they told me I could be a star
Because they told me no one else could do it
Because they told me everyone would love me
Because they told me it wouldn’t hurt too much anyway

If the swelling doesn’t go down
If the red marks aren’t fading
If the sweat makes you sick
If the pavement is too cold

Lay next to me baby
and wait for love to wash it away

Friday, November 17, 2006

Ms. International- Playa with a Passport

So here’s a thought:

Does the “zip code rule”- (see a full explanation of the zip code rule below) apply if you are physically located in another zip code than your home address, but your sweetie is with you? Or do both people have to be located in separate zip codes altogether so paths won’t ever cross? Let it be known, I met some full-on hotties in Paris, seriously. While my own relationship definitely was not setting off sparks in the city of romance, I was feeling it, not with my partner, but with almost every single Frenchman that crossed my path.

My significant other was along on the trip, however, he was quiet, reserved, and quite unappreciative of my natural lusty ways. Of course, this aspect of his personality, which previously went unobserved before, was glaringly obvious in the THE city of romance. Where were my passionate deep kisses by the Seine River? Where were my long-anticipated midnight encounters? Or hand-holding walking through the gardens of Paris? Damn, I can be down-right romantic at times- it’s a curse. Although, the focus of the trip was not to reinforce our status in the eyes of others as a couple, a decent kiss by the damn river would’ve been nice.

Our relationship is best non-relationship I’ve ever had- I can do what I want, we only see each other sporadically, and oh yeah… I can do whatever I want. However, encounters with him have made me stop in my tracks and think, “hmm, yes, I’ve definitely had better.” Ouch. For him, I mean. Well, maybe it’s my loss too as I haven’t had a decent lay in ages. What’s the problem with all the men out there? Why does everyone else besides me leave the party satisfied? Maybe I’m hard to please, but seriously, let’s get our freak flags waving. I think those Frenchmen understand what I’m sayin.

ZIP CODE RULE: You can do anything you like outside your zip code. The more the digits differ, the farther you can go. Something similar to “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!”

Monday, November 13, 2006

A Girl, a City, a Revelation

Recently, I visited Paris for one week with several friends. The experience was conscious-raising, awe-inspiring, and life-changing. Something about the city and what we saw was very liberating, and the more I try to define it the less sense I can make out of it. Yet, a cryptic type of language/description is often what I’m drawn to. “Drawn to” is perfect summarization of the city of Paris. Paris is a very beautiful romantic feminine city, and it set something off inside of me.

Constantly, the words “I can feel the times, they are a-changing” reverberated in brain during my stay. I approached each experience in Paris open to the possibility of a transformative moment. As a result, during the trip, I felt I had tapped into the energy or “spirit of place” as many like to call it as we visited different historical landmarks. My most intense moment was during our tour of Notre Dame.

First of all, I nearly skipped going to the churches all together, as we all know, I’m not that impressed with organized religion. However, as I walked toward the church through the streets of Paris I felt a rush run through me. Ah, a connection. I didn’t understand it, but I could feel it. When we entered the church, I was immediately drawn to Exhibit 1 on the right side of the church by the entry way. I stood in front of the exhibit depicting Christ on the cross, in all of his agony. Candles were burning in front of it as tears slid down my cheeks. The powerful energy and imagery encountered in that one moment sent chills up and down my back and arms.

Human suffering abounds all around us, and finally I’m beginning to understand what my role is in helping to alleviate it. The moment was powerful because brought forth an important revelation- to be human is to suffer, yet the purpose for all of humanity is to provide for the healing of others and ourselves. We provide the “balm”, the saving grace, we pick one another up and we move on. Balm means “a healing, soothing, comforting agent or quality”, and in this world, we definitely need more of it.

The time is November, the sun is in Scorpio, along with a host of other planets and humanity is riding the deep wave into our subconscious mind.
It is a time of reflection, and as I always say, the pain passes but the beauty does remain. It’s good to honor the dead, it’s good to talk about death, and it’s good to mourn too. We ride, and we ride. The wave comes and goes, and I move with it too.

Below is a little piece I wrote after visiting Notre Dame. Symbolism abounds. ~ NLH


Magdalena’s Prayer

I stand in the stairway
I leave the lantern behind
I walk down the dark hall
I ask questions no one will ever know

what about all the years sacrificed on this cross?
did his death mean anything at all?
a light flicks knowingly
and I am filled with certainty

it was good to lose you
even though the Earth consumed you
it was still good to touch you

the pieces of your cross turn to dust
and the winter turns careless
digging its cold into my bones
but now I’ve earned the right to lay with you
in your tomb

Thursday, November 02, 2006

The Real versus an Ideal

Recently, I met a man who blew my socks off. Although we’ve only had two conversations and met once, history is in the making. Not to say this person is necessarily my “ideal”, as I sense he’s holding back the dark, which we discussed last night in detail. As we all know, people tend to “send their representative”, so I am approaching the situation with apprehension and curiosity. Our ideas are very similar, along with the way we approach life, yet, I’m skeptical.

Is anyone THAT perfect? Does this fit into my reality? Or, is this just someone else’s beautiful dream thread I’ve been woven into again? It’s hard to tell. I’ve had problems with being a reflection for men in the past. They see me in an idealized way (a vision of what I was never meant to be!) and then project away. It’s quite strange, having been THE girl for quite a few men. I hate to disappoint, but inevitably, I do. Call it my Venus Opposition Neptune, or my Libra Ascendant (maintaining harmony), whatever it is… it plagues me. Men like to run around capturing butterflies, mounting their dead bodies for everyone to see. One can compare this to the concept of a trophy wife, a “smile and look pretty dear” attitude. It’s quite difficult to move past superficialities in this kind of situation. But, it’s what I crave.

Often I have been manipulative, drawing others into my web, only to flick them back on to the ground. Obviously, this is the nasty side of the feminine I’m not particularly proud of. Incidentally, men tend to meet the dark side of the feminine through me, when what they were really seeking was some sort of reprieve. Initially, they believe their meeting the total package, their equal. I might join in on the hoax and let my imagination run free for awhile in this fantasy, but it’s often discarded blithely in the light of day. The problem being, these projections don’t work as well when applied to reality. It’s a problem.

See below a piece written by me called “Playing Strangers.” Now, this can be a fun game, but eventually every night will meet its light.


PLAYING STRANGERS




strangers in different places

illicit provocative glances in the wrong direction
a pulse through the vein


screams for release


strangers fuck freely

or not at all

rules bend and form

to accompany the mood

a submission to the forbidden

but anonymous passion strains
to hold up against the light of day