“If we are not in a space of loving when we leave any relationship, we take all that unhappiness with us. Your mind says, ‘If I leave, then I’ll get some fresh air. It will give me a break.’
It won’t.”
I turned twenty-seven, and Jay moved out of my home. My thoughts were that if he would just CHANGE, we would live happily ever after. I wanted a “family man,” and his addiction to the big waves and weed took precedence. Those were the years when I actually thought I had the power to control people, especially my boyfriend. Shortly after our break-up, I was diagnosed with a recurrence of eye cancer. The minute Jay found out, he got off work and took me to a concert. We spent the weekend together, collecting rocks and making love. A perfect distraction. I had been dating a few different men, but NOT impressed with anyone. One happened to come over after my radiation surgery and refused to put eyedrops in my eye. AND, he was a FIREMAN. Go figure. He was the only one whom I truly regretted. And, seems to be the only one who I would occasionally bump into in this small town. It's "almost" funny how I would throw away my spiritual practice in these moments, immediately transporting my self back to my twenties where he told me to grab a condom (stored behind a picture of his ex girlfriend) before we did the deed. (True story). He obviously wasn't over her, and I obviously didn't have enough self respect to get dressed and walk- no, run- as fast as I could. There were other devaluing moments in that short time, and it became increasingly obvious that I needed to forgive myself before I could ever look at him again without judgmental thoughts. Sure enough and recently, I got another opportunity, creating nothing but peace.
And then there was Joe. A man that I met at a dance club in Lake Tahoe on Valentine’s day, 1997. He was a pilot who had long brown hair that drove me wild. I was beyond intrigued with my latin lover, especially being that he was totally opposite of my three previous surfer boyfriends. He was the one who had a mole on his adams apple which moved up and down every time we spoke. Just call me “Shallow Hal’s” sister. When he would fly in to see me, I would totally gross myself out and do my best to avoid looking at it. Until one day, he cut it off with a razor. He said, “I am not sure if you ever noticed, but I had this mole removed because my razor kept cutting it.” Acting oblivious, “Oh no, I never noticed it.” I continued to swallow down my shallowness, refuse to see my own innocence, and put myself down for being so artificial. He’s a good catch, and I SHOULD be interested, I would think. Completely unaware of my conditioning and the importance my parents put on my appearance, I told myself that I was a “bad” person. “We can only give what we’ve got,” and I didn’t have it to give.
To make matters “worse,” I judged him for being impotent...or something. Being completely immature, and not wanting to take responsibility for my fears, I was scared that he could be a hermaphrodite. I asked him about some “awkward” sexual moments, and he wouldn’t open up. I freaked myself out and broke up by rarely answering his phone calls. My “friend” later named him “Josephina,” and we would laugh (I knew that it was mean, but went along, regardless). Obviously, I could never write about this if I hadn’t completely forgiven myself for not being who I really am. Unconscious of my light, I was living in the matrix of the worldly world, it was going to take a miracle to get me out.
No comments:
Post a Comment