Here I am now… a list:

Here I am now… a list:

single mom, middle-aged divorcee…
that kind of woman is dangerous.
she is never destined to be anyone’s wife.

shakti lives on in twenty-year-old memories.
they still long to breathe her in though
they would never bring her home.

her power crosses decades and oceans.
her vision reignites passion for those who believe.
when she is taken, she revisits them all.

remember who you are, shakti.
remember your life of service and devotion:
take only what you need.


the mud

i’m navigating the ups and downs these days, mirroring the weather. 80 degrees and sunny today. Gray, rainy and cold the next. Ready to sprout and bloom and just hoping there isn’t one last freeze.

some days i can hang it all out on the clothesline and others… i just keep it on a rack inside. i’m only motivated to put it away because it takes up so much space.

i’m not an easy climate to be in right now. there’s some serious turbulence in the air. strong winds foment change.

i see how my process affects the whole. i am putting this time here consciously. i am giving in to a little more selfishness while the opportunity affords itself, while there is full excuse. i need to explore myself this deeply one more time, to savor some last moments with some bits of myself that will need to go find another way to be here soon. it’s taking time and i don’t want to rush it. i need to feel the expansiveness of it and get to know my fear so i can face it eye to eye. i realize that it moves as it should, that it will move as we allow it to, that it is what it is. i contribute to this with my process. i create the space for magic to happen. i offer my belief, i have faith that it will.

please forgive me. i am learning patience and acceptance and truth. this could take a while.




It’s a chemical deficiency.

we were there to work. For a minute we were sleeping in the kids’s playroom, until one morning when the wife opened the door without knocking. We weren’t doing anything other than trying to wake up. Yes, our heads were close together. We were enjoying a delicious and innocent morning cuddle, talking about the day ahead and how hard we were going to work, how much money we were going to make. What we’d pay off and what we would do with the extra.

A few minutes later the husband walked in. We had worked really late the night before, and it was almost ten o’clock – his kids were waiting to get into their playroom, he explained, and maybe we would need to move outside to the trailer if we wanted to sleep later. It actually sounded great to us. We moved out there, and the next morning we had a delicious sexual snuggle in private – no risks of children, wives, husbands or anyone else (mostly a mix of people who were unconcerned anyway) walking in, catching us in the abominable act of enjoying each other.

Work went easy. We were happy, relieved of some tension. A great selection of music was played, marijuana was (legally) smoked…

And then eventually, the husband walked into the room. In front of a group of people who had laughed together, passed joints, exchanged music and Facebook pages, and struggled through the tedium that is often a marijuana harvest, he proceeded to humiliate us.

I just started to figure out the past few days that you were lesbians, he said to us. There were a number of disconcerting things wrong with this statement, including the fact that, while loving a woman at the moment, I personally don’t identify as a lesbian. I have had, and will probably have another, male companion at some point, unless she’s the last. I go for people. Second – we had been warned, he follows a particularly strict strain of Rastafarianism, and people like us were the aforementioned abominations.

My girlfriend, however, is a lesbian. Not only is there absolutely nothing she could ever do to hide it, she doesn’t want to,  shouldn’t have to, and basically has to expend an awful lot of effort into defending herself and the way she is. This is, to her, part of her calling. As a person of two spirits, as well as (yes, in all seriousness), a reggae artist, she has a road that until this moment, I was sure I was going to travel with her, because I was completely unaware of how insanely homophobic the reggae world can be. And then this. For the first time, at 42 years old, I was being chastised for enjoying one of the sweetest loves of my life thus far, with someone who shared similar dreams and aspirations, someone whose mere presence made me a better person, someone who could sing a single line of song in my ear and turn me to putty, and whose hands alone were capable of bringing me to some beautiful states of bliss.

He poisoned the room that day, and he poisoned my love.

Regardless of the fact that it took him days to figure out we were a couple (because like anyone else settling into something that is easy we were flaunting the togetherness a bit less), once he was sure, it was an issue that he felt needed to be brought up in front of everyone.

He represented a religion and spiritual practice that preaches one love, but that day he went on to tell us that men and women are meant to be together. Penises and vaginas make sense. What we are is an abomination, that according to all the research he’s done, lesbianism is caused by a chemical imbalance, or by being abused in childhood. Children, their children, need to be protected from it. They can spend days upon days breathing rogue THC crystals, but god forbid two women hold hands and take the dog for a walk.

His wife, standing beside him nine months pregnant with her third child, defended every word he said and gave some examples of her own, such as encountering a man in a miniskirt and heels and needing to shield her children from a man whose idea of representing “the mother” was so different from her own. You’re not the mother, she explained, and never will be. You will never bear children and without that you can never be the mother.

I was in awe. This was being said aloud – to a woman who had borne a child, and to a woman who never would. I asked her then what if I decided to wear a three piece suit – certainly not an immodest choice in clothing… But this, too, is apparently also an abomination. 

I decided then that I was done with the conversation, said as much and put on headphones. I should have kept them on but when I headed my girlfriend’s voice rising in volume out they came. I needed to ask her to be quiet, to keep calm in the continued war of her life, because I had just been tossed to the front lines and had no idea how to handle it.

It was the first time in my life I had been faced with this. No matter what choice I made, I lost something. He had poisoned the room, and he had poisoned my love.

I tried to explain this to her as we drove the hour back to my cabin a couple of days later. This is why we don’t involve ourselves with bisexuals, she said, because for me it isn’t a choice.

I bristled at the word “bisexual” because it’s not what I think of myself as. People turn me on when they have brains and can sing, take care of themselves, walk with confidence and nice physical features, especially if those features are unique. Whether you have a penis or a a vagina in your pants isn’t exactly irrelevant, but not of major importance to me, either. I can work with whatever.

I also see her point, but at the same time I wanted to say fuck off, because how can you look down upon someone whose sexuality is equally as valid as yours, just different. One has to wonder.

I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t even look at him. 

He had poisoned my love. He brought ignorance and shame and disgust into my love, and I had no idea what the antidote was.


He was one in a series of Scorpios – that series being an extended event I can never really think of singularly despite, at least in my memories, there never appearing much of a break between any them. It wasn’t entirely conscious serial monogamy – there was no way I could have ever handled any of them more than one at a time, though I had a Cancer and an Aquarius on the side They were safe and predictable when the endorphin high wore off, when a little agony began to kick in. sweet, comfortable, boring little snuggles after the scorpion sting.

Yes, my chain of scorpions, each one so emotionally intense and nimble-fingered, each with its own delicious little torture to inflict…

There’s only one I lost track of. We had a pretty epic little minute together. I knew the second I saw him that he’d come to keep my mind off of the unbelievably intense little psychodrama I found myself amidst, living out of my car, sleeping on someone’s floor, spending the next couple of months taking care of a garden most people would never see the likes of before heading off to god knows where else. The thing that was really awesome was that I could see the same thing on his face, too. He’d just come out of an intense and codependent relationship.

It was so obviously meant to be for the next three months. There were some amazing breakthroughs in sexual satisfaction, motorcycle rides through Sonoma and Mendocino counties, and a really fun time at an afterparty in Marin for a convention of worldchangers. We would share a dance floor for the first time that night, and I was a little nervous. Like kissing, or how hugging someone who makes our electrical circuit flash feels, dancing can make or break a deal for me. Oh my god he could dance, and he had so much fun doing it, and we had a lot of fun doing it together, just like everything else we’d done. It wasn’t a reason to want anything deeper, but it was a reason, for me anyway, to just keep wanting more of the same.

He got me a really cool ring right before he kind of dumped me over the phone. i cried a little before a friend pointed out that it was okay since I was already another county away and ambiguous about whether I would go back where I’d been, but the fact of the matter was I probably would have, had I been asked, and I would have been happy to do it for another week – I would have taken anything it was all so good, but I had to accept that as the end.

I wouldn’t speak to him for a second but our last encounter, that I remember anyway, was a heartfelt hug in the middle of my work place kitchen, but it was enough… Enough that he would remain sweet and not bitter on my tongue – and I, hopefully, to him. I felt, implicitly, through that hug, that we were both grateful for who and what we’d been for each other, escape and rebound.

I love a little, low level tragedy, and i had been extremely fond of the ring, part of a collection of northwest native silverwork for sale in a little coastal town antique store – so several years later I still wear that ring. I haven’t taken it off my right middle finger, and so i often wonder what the hell ever happened to him, and I think of all the yum we shared, and then of course, every single time, I start thinking about the rest of the scorpios that fell into that chain, and the mind wanders again to every little deliciousness stored in my memory bank, and nostalgia can just be so delightful sometimes.

I either have some lovely karmic ties with an astrological sign or this is all bullshit and I am simply selecting a set of criteria I am attracted to, repeatedly. I like to say that one thing I have discovered after moving to the west coast is that astrology is often used as justification for being what we’d simply refer to back east as an asshole. “Spirit told me to fuck you over” in other words. I didn’t believe it until I encountered it, but encounter it I did. That shit just would not fly where I’d come from. I felt as misunderstood as some people here did when they were presented with sarcasm or a sense of irony. We did not understand each other in the slightest.

So it has been many years later and I have been here on the west coast for a lot of those years, and I am still sort of looking for the middle path. Mostly I am standing in the middle of a seesaw with my legs spread, sometimes leaning a little one way and sometimes a little more the other, depending on the mood or medicines ingested. Sometimes I fall off and want nothing to do with people at all, and those times can last a while now that I took my Scorpionic duties even further and made a baby with one.

She is beautiful and awesome all-consuming and it means that now I am even more judicious about who I choose to love intimately – it doesn’t happen that often, but it is generally joyous and present when it does, because that moment is really all I can guarantee. I will dive 1000% into that moment, swim to its depths and find the treasure there, and then I will surface and find a way to integrate it into my life, and then I will let its juice fuel me until life and serendipity find each other once again. It’s how it has to be.