In the desert I am lost. I move through somatic layers and mind forms. I suffer. While in the desert night I am visited, haunted, pierced by grief, rage, sorrow, fear, despair. She is gone. What did she leave in her wake?
There is no love here.
I relieve the blows of my father who beat me unconscious when I was five. It was one of those belts that were used to bind baggage in the old days. Thick hard leather. The pain buried deep in my cells. The message created was not to be who I am. "You can not love. You can not express yourself." So I got used to repressing or not saying fully what I needed for fear of extreme pain. Sometimes when in love I would contract so tightly for fear of abandonment and pain. I knew the other was out to hurt me.
Did I ever tell you guys about the time I saw my dad try to kill my mother. I was 8 or so. He was choking her and I could not do anything about it. I wanted to jump him and defend her. I was getting ready to leap when the maid grabbed me and my little brother running for our lives out of the house. I remember hiding in bushes and watching the red lights of the police and ambulance roll and roll around my house. I was left feeling incomplete and angry. . .
Not too long after that I was living in a pension with my mother and my little brother trying to get by. I had befriended this lovely kitten that I would play with. One morning one of the tenants called the residents into the courtyard and had us watch him pump the kitten full of bullets because the little cat meowed too much. I watched in panic and terror behind a stairwell my little friend convulse and die.
Yeah! Sometimes when I loved I contracted for fear of abandonment, betrayal, violence and I was not fully expressed. Some women friends congratulate me that I have come so far and never hurt a woman physically and moved away radically from my fathers shadow. But I lost loves. They cherish my fight for liberation from all that bad stuff. In the desert night. There is no comfort only shards of self destruction pass.
My girlfriend, when I was 18 in Nicaragua was gang raped by Somoza's guards and left for dead. I was in Costa Rica when I received a love letter from her cherishing our young love. A week later the rape happened. I never saw her again. She lives in the States somewhere under family and medical care. And yet I still believe in love.........
The desert night........ betrayals, fears, losses, rage, sorrow, came at me as howling winds. The voices always tell me the same thing. Kill yourself. Die. This life is not worth living. Whose voices are these?
I go through this passage when I experience loss. Specially when I am really in love.....and this particular midlife passage.......has been brutal..........You think your are just so free and there you are.........being stalked by a Giant Iridescent mantis with piercing shrieks.........stalked by a past I only touch upon in these notes..........desert mantis shadows ............shadows that breed and releae subpersonalities and reactive stances towards the world and we think they are us........But I also think that I became infected by the darkness of my last lover. Shamanically, I absorbed her poisons while we made love and this grave illness I am experiencing is partly her death fog in my subtle body.
Strange Nuptials above the ocean waves.
So much more........So much more I endure and try to free because I know I am made of love......
The desert nights........no solace.......the Unlove of time destroying me......