Marriage.....in a different way

We got up and dressed.  I was going to a  religious judge to make the declaration of Islam to show that I had converted.  I would have to do this in order to marry my young Muslim Palestinian lover.   The chambers were in Ramallah so it would mean getting a ride in a produce truck and passing through an Israeli checkpoint.  My American passport gave me easy pass but my lover and his male relatives had to wait and be inspected and detained for a half an hour; a short time made so by my presence. because typically it would take more than an hour.  

We stopped in front of a typical Ramallah building and went up a couple flights of stairs.  We waited our turn and then I was to step up to a judge in a room filled with wooden floors, wooden furniture and a wooden desk-like table the judge sat behind.  It was a bit raised like many judge benches are.  The judge, Esam and I were the only ones in the room;  our voices echoed  in the quiet.  The judge was dressed in some robes with a wrapped thing around his head that I had seen on other Arabs.   He spoke to Esam  for a moment and then turned to me and said in English;  "Are you prepared to renounce your faith and become a Muslim?"  I replied "I have no organized faith; yes I am ready."  He then explained that Islam is not a religion that seeks converts; people must only choose it out of their own free will.  He asked me if I  was I being forced, bribed, pressured or coerced and I said I wasn't. He asked if I was converting out of my own free will.  I replied that I was.   He asked me if I understood the basic tenets of  Islam.  I said I did.  He asked me what those were and I  said in English that there is only one merciful God and Muhammad is His prophet.  He asked if I could say that in Arabic and, having rehearsed with   Esam, I said I could.  "Please state  the Shahada for me then" he said.  He was a wise and kindly man and I felt it in the tone of his words with me.  I took a breath and, in perfect pronunciation I said, "Ash hadu, la illaha, il Allah w ana Muhammad rasool Allah."  He was surprised that  I sounded like I had been speaking Arabic my whole life.  He complimented me on that and then stamped a small paper with a beautiful Arabic symbol and handed this to me.   I was now officially Muslim and  free to marry Esam. 

We left the building and walked to a jewelry store where Esam and his father bought us our wedding bands.  They were 22 karat gold bands etched with beautiful patterns.  

We got into another produce truck and began the drive to Kalendia where  the actual legal ceremony would take place.  After going through another checkpoint, we arrived at the Imam's home.  We were shown inside a  shadowed room where there were couch-seats all around the room and a table in the center.  The room was small and the tiles on the floor echoed our steps.

The  Imam greeted us and  Esam's father, older brother, paternal Uncle Mahmoud, and maternal Uncle Ali all joined us.  The Imam's wife served tea to everyone and some cakes and then left.  The Imam discussed with the men the marriage contract.  Ami Mahmoud represented me (because my father was not there) and though I didn't understand what they said, I realized they were working the marriage contract out and that I was at least being represented.  Then the Imam turned to me and asked me in English  how old I was.  I told him I was 19.  Then he asked me if I was coming to this marriage of my own  free will. I said I was.  Then he turned to Esam and in English ( for my benefit)  asked him the same questions.  Then after some more discussion, Esam and I signed the contract and the Imam told Esam to explain to me what it said.  Esam agreed to do so. The the Imam said  a prayer and when it was done, everyone placed their hands on their faces as though wiping them clean and they all said "Ameen"  which means "it is done"  or "so be it."  We all got up and  the men said their good-byes.  I had been told to be quiet through most of it so I  remained quiet and the Imam didn't shake my hand (nor did I offer it). 

The whole time I was sitting there the feeling I had was that this was another life, another place, another time.  When the prayer was over I could feel a sense of the gravity of the day, the momentousness of my words as I said I was coming of my own free will to this marriage.  Wasn't marriage forever?  I barely knew this young man; I felt a connection with him but would that connection withstand our cultural differences?

Esam got into the back seat of the produce truck and as we waited for the other members of his relatives to climb into the back truck bed (now empty of produce) he turned to me, took my hand,  and his eyes were shining.   He placed the wedding ring on my finger  then put his on.  He kept holding my hand as he said,  "Carrie, my heart will break;  I love you this day and  I wish I could run free  in the fields with you."    I didn't know what he meant by that but much later I would come to understand his heartfelt words and the restraints that held him back. We were both so very young.

He kept my hand in his as we returned to his home in the village.  His mother welcomed me home, calling me "daughter" in Arabic and hugged me. Fareedah also called me "sister" and hugged me. I felt so welcomed!  These people knew I was from another culture, another religion and another land but they treated me as though I was a well loved daughter and sister of the family.  There was food and then the preparations began.  For three days there would be celebrating, feasting and dancing to culminate with my "wedding" day.  Through out the merriment and celebrating, I never forgot his quiet and soulful words on our legal marriage day. 

The next morning, we were awakened by his mother.  He was in the middle of making love to me as she knocked on the door. He called out "wait!" as we finished. Then he got up and went out;  I said I needed time to dress and wash myself so he went out alone.  There were buckets of clean cold water in the room and a large, metal round shallow wash pan.  I washed myself   and I heard  several women (who had arrived that morning) calling out the door in  loud voices.  Later I was to learn they were  announcing  the wedding ceremony of Esam and I.  When I came out of the room, all these women crowded around me and ushered Esam out of the house to go celebrate with the men.  More women came and they sat me in the other room off the main front  room.  They took my hands  and washed them.   Then they used dough and made some symbols and placed these on my hands.  They put this green muddy stuff on both my hands and  told me to wait there as they served tea and food and sang and celebrated.  After about 45 minutes, they brought a bucket of cool water and another pan to catch the water and had me wash my hands  as they poured the water for me.   When the mud was washed off, my hands  were orange except for where the dough symbols had been.  I realized they had hennaed my hands.  Then I was served tea and food and fruit.  Everyone of the women were dressed in the most beautiful dresses with hand embroidered flowers and geometrical patterns on them. 

As the day waned, Esam returned and  showed his hands, they were also hennaed.   He said it is a custom for married people to have their hands hennaed and to have a month off after they marry.  He explained that we would be invited to dinner every night for a month to people's homes in the village.  It was not until late that everyone left and I finally had time with him alone.  He made love to me again; this was becoming an every night, every morning thing and I was enjoying it when I was able to climax;  that was hit or miss so often I felt frustrated.  

The next day was similar except for the henna;  the women came and the men stayed outside;  people celebrated  by just hanging around and eating all day.  The third day, I was awakened early and Esam and his relatives took me to Ramallah.  I was taken to a beauty shop to have my hair fixed and my face made up.  The problem was, I had very thin hair and they had trouble getting it to do what they wanted.  Also the make up they used was too dark for me;  my skin was really pale by then (it being spring) so I looked like a hooker in the dark blue eye shadow, black eye liner, black mascara, dark red rouge and dark red lipstick.  Then I was taken to a bridal shop where I tried on a few dresses until they found one that fit me.  It had beading and had those hoops beneath that made the whole dress bell out like an dress from the 1800's.  The veil came next and then I was taken back to the house. 

When we got back to the house, I could smell food (and I was getting hungry) but I was placed in the room I  had been sleeping in (which was actually Fareedah & Jemell's room) with a lot of young girls.  Meanwhile, the men were outside and the other room was festooned with decorations, a table and two chairs on the table were set up.  While I waited, the young teenage girls belly danced for me and their movements were enchanting. They had such innocent yet graceful  hip and belly movements but they were not in belly dancing costumes; just long shirts over pants with a long scarf tied around their hips.   Someone brought me food and water and I ate while the others sang and danced. 

Later, Esam came for me and we went outside to a car.  Ami Mahmoud led  me to the car (as representing my father) and Esam and I got into the back of the car.  Women of the village, dressed in their finest embroidered dresses and scarves danced around the car as it slowly made its way around the village and then came back.  When we came back, Esam handed me out and escorted me to the decorated room.  This was a symbol of me leaving my father and going to my husband's home. 

We got up on the chairs on the table and sat there while the room filled with women and chidlren of all ages.  They sang, danced and gave us money.  Then Esam took me down and we danced together; not slow dancing close but more like line dancers do and I whirled with my belled skirt and enjoyed the Arabic music and the clapping and stomping of feet.  Then Esam left to dance with the men  while young girls shyly took my hand and danced with me.  This went on long past dark (and Esam joined me several times).  Then everyone left and he and I went to bed in his brother's room for the last time.   In the darkness, he told me we needed to make a handkerchief of virginity to show the villagers.  It was fortunate that I was on my period because I could just put some blood on it in the morning and he would have it if needed.

The next morning, we were awakened at the crack of dawn with  several women insisting on seeing me.  Again, we were in the middle of making love (with the handkerchief under me) when they knocked and I asked Esam for time to at least wash and brush my hair and don my robe.  He inched out the door and told them I was shy and needed a bit of time. 

In a few minutes, I opened the door and found several women pinching my cheeks and making comments about me (which I gathered were flattering).   There were some questions going on but Esam kept putting them off until he finally disappeared into the room we shared and came back with a handkerchief with some blood  and semen on it. This seemed to satisfy the women but I was embarrassed.  Then they let me go back and get dressed.  

The rest of the day, we had no time alone and this went on for a month.  We only had time alone at night.  I told Esam that in my culture, newlyweds get time alone called the "honeymoon" to bond and be together without anyone else but he said in his culture people want to see the newlyweds  so we had visitors all day, every day for that month and spent every evening in someone's home eating until late.  Eventually I got used  to that and relaxed but I always wished we could have had more time to ourselves without the cultural constraints.

Paradigm shift...but which one?

So many of us in the awareness of a change have known a change is needed but the question is; which paradigm WILL change?  There are several that need to change; that much is clear.


For example, a shift from an instant-gratification society to a long-term vision one would make a huge difference in how humans treat the earth, our children and one another.  Some Native cultures had that long-range vision and they did well until European conquerors came and converted them to a religion which places humans in dominion over everything else on the planet. 


Another paradigm shift would be from a capitalistic model of economic functioning which harkens back to the first paradigm listed above because of the desire for short-term gains at the expense of long-term resources.  The trouble is, we haven't come up with a model that works better than the Big Three;  Capitalism, Socialism and Communism (though the last one is a form of government like democracy is).  Some have taken socialism and mixed it with the democratic government and it works well for them  but there are still issues.  Maybe the new economic paradigm is something as yet undiscovered.


A third paradigm shift would be the one wherein humans shift their focus away from materialism and back to spiritualism.  Living with a smaller footprint to save the earth and feel connected to the earth and all the living things on it; including one another.  That would help us solve the climate change crisis.  If we value living things, we will not value showing off our "stuff" but rather helping one another. 


A fourth paradigm shift would be away from the controlled-female-fertility model to one in which sexuality of both genders is sacred, not controlled,  and accepted in all the forms it takes.  That would include heterosexuality, homosexuality, polyamory, bisexuality, monogamy, transgendered sexuality, queer sexuality and all of the variants in-between as long as  the participants are not harmed and children are protected.  It would also include women being openly sexual and not shamed for that.  Males would have to negotiate child-bearing with women instead of trying to control their fertility  and then being angry that women won't "put out."  If you control something then you cannot fault the thing for remaining in that control.


A fifth paradigm shift may be one in which human beings stop dividing ourselves along racial, gender, sexuality, nationality, culture lines and instead, gather into groups for a more communal way of living.  That might affect how we govern ourselves as well;  instead of nation states we may form tribal or connected groups which in turn connect with other groups forming large webs.




Which paradigm will change?  That's a hard call and it could be one or more that changes.  What is inportant is that we help birth it in compassion. 

What I believe.....

I am happily married and pro-monogamy and pro-poly and whatever other kind of relating people want to do (gay marriage, bi, trans gender, queer,  whatever).  I wish  all were done responsibly.  

I am also someone who thinks that people don't have to cheat or fulfill every desire because indulging ourselves is a sign of immaturity;  maturity comes with the realization that we cannot always have everything we want and sometimes it is better for us if we don't.  

I think that "responsibility" and "accountability" and "commitment" are NOT bad words. 

I  think we have to take other people's feelings  and needs into consideration when making relationship decisions.

I believe that we have to "work on ourselves" but that we should do it while helping others. 

I believe that integrity means trying to answer people in a timely manner when they ask questions; not leave them hanging.  

I believe that integrity also includes being honest as much as possible unless doing so is hurtful and destructive.

I believe that playing games with people is wrong.  There's no decent justification for doing it.  

I believe that what is good for me  can be bad for another and my wants do not supersede another's needs.

I believe that if you make a vow, you should stick to it.  If you feel you cannot, you should be honest about that BUT you should take into account how your not sticking to it affects those who have little or no agency (children for example) and really think of your responsibilities before just doing what you want.  

If you make children...raise them.  Don't expect teachers, clergy, counselors, or extended family to do it for you.

I believe feelings are not bad...what we do about them can be either good or bad.  

I believe that  actions should match words as much as possible and that this is also part of being in integrity.

I believe that compassion  is a better thing to spread around than anger.

I believe that what we do comes back to us.

I believe  we should be the change we want to see and spread kindness whenever possible.

I believe that shame is both good and bad. It is bad when it is put on you to limit you from being the best you can be but it is good when it limits you from doing something which may harm you or another. 

I believe guilt is both good and bad as well.  Good when it makes you think about what you may have done to harm yourself, the planet, or  another.  It is good if it  teaches you to right the wrongs you have done.  It is bad when it stifles your ability to move forward in doing the good you can do for yourself and others. 

I do not believe "anything goes."  That's an immature way of thinking; children think like that and it is irresponsible too.    There have to be some limits (Saturn) or we become the weeds which choke the garden.

The Hopi talk about balance in all things...I believe that and hope others will as well. 

I believe the old paradigm which glorifies competition over cooperation and superiority over equality needs to change.  

I believe the Women's Movement has brought some good to women but a lot of bad as well.  While it allowed women to be what men are, it devalued the traditional feminine roles of house wife and mother.  It also helped foster the narcissism many women seem to have  today.

I believe men should be allowed to BE men (and they get to define that, not women) and they should have all-male enclaves they can go to at times.  Women need to stop intruding on everything men do.

I  believe women should be allowed to have the sex they want, when they want without being labelled "slut" or "whore."  I believe that controlling women's sexuality should stop.  NOW.   If men want to know they are supporting their own genetic offspring, they need to negotiate that with the women they are with.  

I believe the U.S. is on the downward slide like all other civilizations were at one time and it is a result of not learning the lessons about greed and power and control.

That's enough for the day. 

Any questions?  Feel free to comment below. 

Changing

I am changing.  This past year has been amazing.  I met a wonderful friend who taught me things I wouldn't have known otherwise.  Though she is more than ten years younger than I, I learned so much from her.  As  result of her and other people as well as inner changes that are coming (Chiron Return, soon) I have made a lot of changes in my life.

The first change was in how I spend my time.  Last year, I would get up, do my class work and if I had time, I would teach my son or help my daughters with school.  Meals were not cooked, life was hectic, the kids suffered and I felt totally out of control and inadequate.  My friend's life of just being a wife and stay-at-home mom seemed out of reach but oh so attractive to me.  This year, I changed my schedule.  Now I do my classwork in the early mornings (after taking some time for myself) and then spend my time with my son when he awakens.  I spend time with my daughters during the day and get dinner on time.  I spend evenings with my husband too.  What changed?  I spend a lot less time doing my school work.  I no longer care if I get "A's" in those classes because doing that took away from the people I love the most and caused me awful angst and tension.  As long as I pass each class, that's good enough.

The second thing I did was I started a diet that is controversial but tweaked it to be healthy and work for me.  I began deliberately losing weight for the first time.  I have lost 110 lbs since May 14th and I feel so much better. I still have 100 lbs to lose yet  I feel sexier, my husband and I fit better in bed,  and the sex has gotten hotter and deeper than ever.  I feel my feelings now too and they are overwhelming me sometimes.  Food used to squelch my feelings;  now I eat so little of it that I feel everything.  Going through menopause and feeling everything makes me weepy.  I am also feeling the return of my old sexual self with this weight loss; this makes me nervous sometimes.  I feel a sense of self too;  for so long I was this non-self and now my kids are going crazy because suddenly Mom is acting like an emotional, energetic, assertive, but rational teenager.

Another change I have been making is that I am trying to understand my feelings; about myself, my husband, my kids, and those people in my life who I think of as friends.  There are people I have emotional connections with and I am trying to honestly explore those connections.  I no longer hide what I feel about them; I have told them.  Some have let me know that they feel the same about me but some elude me and I have to think that they either don't feel the same about me or they do but are not willing (or able) to deal with that right now.  I am less afraid of rejection;  perhaps having some new, close  friends has helped me with that.  In my openness, I have also been honest about my feelings to my husband.  To my surprise, he was not upset about these.  He holds my vulnerable heart gently and with wise caring.  I have always felt very deep feelings for him and, unlike so many people, he is able to handle these.  In fact, I have found that I am a very intense, passionate person; many people are just not able to handle that and I have been bereft of friendships for a long time because I seem so different to people who haven't that intensity or depth. 

One of the hardest changes I have made is about my sexuality.  I have finally been able to again ask for what I want with my husband in a vulnerable but not demanding way.  I used to be very assertive about sex but after marrying my husband, I found him saying no to my requests so much that I felt rejected and stopped initiating  at all.   When we talked about it, he said he felt pressured to perform.  I wondered why every man I have a long-term relationship with always liked sex a lot less than I did.  I felt like it was something  in me they were rejecting, or that I was somehow abnormal in my desire for sex.  I felt hurt and angry.  

Much later, we found out that he has had low testosterone for years.  After getting treatment for it,  things got a little better but it wasn't until I had my son that things really changed;  now I suddenly felt a huge drop in desire and it didn't come back even after a few years had gone by.   I began eating more, we both got fat and we stopped having sex at all.  Finally, my husband sensed the huge change in me and he realized what he was missing.  Finally he started wanting me but it was a bit too late;  I was not feeling desire at all.  Instead I felt humiliated, demoralized and angry.  I began picking on him regularly and he felt angry then, too. 

One day, I was wondering if my teen daughters had ADD; I began reading the symptoms and I realized that my husband had almost all of them.  Suddenly I wasn't so angry anymore.  It explained so much.  I began talking to him about it and he decided to seek a diagnosis and maybe treatment for it.  I stopped picking on him.  He and I were in the nurse's office one day when she told him that he is hurting me because he keeps allowing me to carry too much of the thinking and remembering in the relationship.  I was amazed that she could see that and I began to cry before I could stop it.  He was totally surprised;  even though I had told him I felt  that way, he hadn't seen it until someone else said she saw it too.  She said he needed to take more responsibility for his actions toward me and that doing that would help me feel less pain and anger.  It was like he realized just how much he had been hurting me,  even if unintentionally.  We left that office and both of us changed.  Now we are closer than ever and feeling much better about ourselves and our relationship. 

Both my husband and I also began reading a book given to me which was about the Law of Attraction.  As a realist, I don't fully believe in that in the way it is being taught. The universe Source may be able to give you whatever you want but sometimes it is better for you when it doesn't and you experience misfortune, it is not because you were not clear enough or open enough (which is blaming the victim of that misfortune and thus marginalizing them); it is because you need to have challenges or you don't grow.  We did believe in the positive thinking part so we made an effort to be more positive in our lives and it has helped both of us be more relaxed and open to change.  We have made a five year plan and a ten year plan and we have chosen to make real changes in areas that we need to make changes.  We both feel like gratitude is very important in how we see our lives; living in a state of gratitude means not always seeing only the negative. 

So many changes in just one year.  There are still more to come and I look forward to them all. 

A little more.

I was the second child and only girl in my family until I was twelve; my little brother was born then.  I was born in Chicago to my Army dad and my stay-at-home mom (it was 1960) and I had an older brother.  When I was three we moved to Germany for about  three years.  Those were wonderful years filled with castles, fairy tales, ballet lessons, pink and white tutus, satin toe shoes, flowers and flower boxes, feather bedding, trips to amazingly beautiful places and saturation in the European cultures of Germany, France and the Netherlands. 
I was six when we came back to America.  The return devastated me.  We were stationed in Aurora, Colorado.  America was dirty, littered, ugly;  no fairytale black forest or castles, no beautiful art and architecture, just hick cowboys.  I hated my own country.  No one ever knew how I felt and I had no way of articulating my feelings then.

Soon after, my parents divorced;  I was only seven years old.  Their divorce was a shattering experience for my brother and I and he dealt with it by abusing me verbally and physically.  We moved several times and my brother and I were left alone a lot while our Mom worked. 

When I was in second grade, my Dad came to visit for Christmas.  My brother and I were outside playing and I came in to use the bathroom only to see my mom flat on her back, my dad straddling her and beating her.  I remember screaming and my brother came in with his new bow and arrow set in his hands;  he nocked the arrow and told Dad to get off our Mother or he would kill him.  Dad got off but Mom was black  and blue in the face. 

A few days later, we moved away from Colorado;  my mom drove us three to her bachelor brother's house in Pennsylvania.  A few days after we got there and she got us enrolled in school, she left and went back to Denver; leaving us alone with an uncle we barely knew.  His first nanny was mean but the second one was nice.  I remember crying myself to sleep at night a lot.  My big uncle, (he was well over six feet tall) would rock me in the rocking chair, hold me close and call me his little old bag because I wore some old grown up dresses he had in his basement.  Even though my brother was meaner than ever to me, I clung to him like a lifeline because by then, I felt I had lost my father and my mother;  my brother was barely ten years old.  My mother was only gone two months but it felt like a year to me. While I was there, my maternal grandmother got my hair cut on my birthday; it was so short it was like a boy and I  cried because my curly dark brown hair was gone. 

My mother came and got us and took us back to Denver where we met her new boyfriend.  He was an African American and we lived in a hotel for the summer months.  We moved to a house for the start of the school year and when I was nine, my mother married her African American boyfriend.  He resented my brother and I because he really just wanted Mom to himself.  That same year, my mom told me she didn't trust my dad around me so that was why we only saw him in the summer for a month at his mother's house.  From then on, I was afraid to love my father. 

We moved in the middle of the night because my step dad couldn't make enough money to pay the rent and we were running from unpaid rent.  The new home we rented was in a neighborhood with mostly Black people.  My brother was beaten up by some of the Black kids there;  they used the tips of fishing rods to beat him which left welts on his back.  He had been a gentle (except to me) person all his life, more the studious type.  In that house, my brother and I were awakened in the middle of the night after my mom and stepdad had had a huge, screaming fight.  My stepdad said he was taking mom to the emergency room because she tried to kill herself.  I think I was ten years old. My brother and I clung to her the next day as she lay in bed, depressed.  We were both afraid to leave her alone lest she try again.

We moved from that house to another in a different neighborhood.  By this time, I was in fifth grade and looking big and chunky so kids were teasing me about being fat on a daily basis.  My Mom got pregnant while my brother and I were on our annual summer month-long  visit to our dad and fraternal grandmother's place.  Those visits were filled with carefree summer days with our dad and lots of religious holy roller stuff.

When I was told that my mom was pregnant, I didn't feel anything but resentment.  Her pregnancy was difficult so I was made, as the only girl, to do most of the hosuework, all of the laundry and run and fetch for my mother every day.  My baby brother was born at the end of May so I spent my summer vacation getting up at 7 AM every morning to make my mom breakfast because no one else would do it.  I was left with the baby every time the family went anywhere and I had to change his diapers, rinse them out in the toilet, wash, hang out, take down, fold them and put them away.   My older brother just got to play with our baby brother so he liked him. 

My mom kicked out our stepdad when the baby was about 4 or 5 months old.  Later, after Christmas, my older brother went to live with our Dad and my Mom, baby brother and I moved to inner city Denver.  I was alone in a public bathroom in Denver when I was molested by a young man who felt me up, forced a kiss on me, touched my breasts and threatened to hurt me. He was pressed up against me, full length and my back was against the wall.    I was lucky that I got away before anything worse happened but that shook me to the core.  I was five feet seven inches tall, a BIG girl and up until then, feeling perfectly capable of taking care of myself but that confidence was destroyed in those few minutes against that wall in that bathroom.  I  was attending yet another school.

The summer I was 13, my mother decided to divorce my stepdad and let me move in with my dad, too.  I loved living on base with my Dad because it meant stability.  I was still wary of my Dad, though he never did try to do anything sexual to me.  Military bases are such microcosms where everyone knows what you are going through so they are just more cohesive and accepting to some degree.  It is like living in a small town.   On my 14th brithday, my parents remarried.  I was fairly content then.  I loved my little brother by then and felt like I was his second mother. 

when I was 15, my dad got orders to go to Okinawa so we packed up and moved there for a year.  That was so much fun!  I loved living there and seeing the Japanese culture, people, architecture, music, food and so on.  Though I was still fat and  introverted, I was enjoying the church youth group and the camping trips we made. 

We moved to Lawton, OK after that year in Okinawa.  After I turned sixteen , my brother went to live with our fraternal grandmother and I loved being out from under his overbearing influence.  When we got on-base housing and it would mean switching schools (which would have been my 15th school in 11 years)  my parents took me out instead and allowed me to work as a child care worker for the post chapels.  I earned money but most of all, I was allowed to study anything I wanted.  I came home with stacks of books on ancient civilizations, religions, anthropology, psychology and history.  My brother came back to live with us and then, after being there for a year, my Dad prepared to retire in Tucson. 

My whole life, throughout all this, I was aware that I seemed to have intuition though I didn't know what it was called back then.  I would lie on the ground, spread eagled, on a rainy day and feel the rain fall on me.  I felt like  I was one with the earth, as though the rain soaked into me and then into the ground.  The wind caressed my face and lifted my hair during storms and I loved the electric feeling of storms.  I always felt like an old soul and like someone that knew things that I could never describe to anyone else.  I seemed to know what people were feeling or when they were lying.  In Fort Sill, when I was 16, I would light a small flame in my room, chant some words, face the west window (I had three windows in my room then), feel the energy rise up in me until my fingertips tingled and I fairly burst with it.  I wanted to let it out with a primal scream but on-base curfew being what it was I could not so it was a wordless and silent scream.  I felt things so much and I could not tell anyone because my family were predominantly air signs who lived in their heads and were not familiar with intuition; they often belittled me for it.  I felt like I was different from my family and most people. 

We moved to Tucson and I was 18; I took my GED and passed and read everything I could get my hands on about astrology, Paganism, tarot cards, and Robert Wilson's book "Cosmic Trigger."  This book was about thinking about what you think about and being aware.   

I was a sheltered but aware virgin, taught to think for myself and to think out of the box.  I was very innocent and unprepared for life;  I knew all the facts and correct info about sex and procreation and a lot about politics and how people really think and act but I was ignorant of relationships for the most part.  I was intensely curious about sex and relationships after reading so many romance novels (including the smutty ones) but was afraid; I felt that men couldn't be trusted.  Even my brother was messed up.   I overheard him tell my mother (through the AC vent between our rooms) that he thought I "wanted him"  sexually.  I was sick to my stomach.  I didn't like my mother, I was estranged from my father though I lived in the same house with him, and now my older brother, who I looked up to, was getting sexual thoughts about  me.  I didn't belong to any of them and my little brother was too young for me to relate to much.    I wanted to get out and away from this sick family.  I was looking for love and acceptance.   Within a year, I would travel and my life would change drastically. 




But that is for another post.

Monogamy?

I have heard some say that monogamy must always be an imbalanced relationship where people deny themselves their real selves for games and power plays. Or that if one is monogamous; they are somehow denying some part of themselves. Here’s why for some these things are just not so.

Though I slept around a lot in my twenties, whenever I had a relationship with someone, I stopped wanting anyone else. This was not because of my partner’s jealousy or possessiveness or out of some sort of feeling that I owed him that; it stemmed from the fact that sleeping around and feeling deep attachment and love for a person are very different things for me. This is not to imply that poly people are that way because they just want to sleep around; it has to do with the nature of relating. When sleeping around, my feelings were not that involved; that’s not to say I didn’t have a deep empathic and compassionate intimacy with the men I slept with because I did. It means I didn’t have that very intricate connection that happens whenever I am in a love relationship with someone.

Love relationships have so much more depth and complexity than the sleeping around relationships do; this is why I am monogamous. I feel that I am not wired for more than one complex, sexual, love relationship at a time. I am sure that some people are wired for that but I am just not one of them. The idea of having to deal with a deep and elaborate relationship with more than one person sounds like more work than I want to deal with. Now that I have children, I have different relationships with them but these are also complex and require a lot of emotional and mental work on my part; I don’t have any more room in me for adding another person with their needs, wants, quirks, and all the compromise and emotional work that would take. Deep loving relationships are complicated at times and I have to say it; I just don’t want to be more involved than I already am  in the one intimate relationship. It is taking a lifetime to understand myself and my husband and that’s enough for me. It is as simple as some people prefer chocolate and some prefer vanilla.

So next time a poly oriented person comes across someone like me that prefers being monogamous, I hope they understand that it isn’t about game playing, subjugation, suppression of our desires or anything like that. A lot of monogamous people just don’t want to do the work it takes to relate to more than one person at a time. We have enough complexity in our lives and prefer dealing with only one person.

A snapshot moment of discovery

I said I would write a bit about my life.  This is because everyone I know seems to tell me "you should write your life story."  So here is an exerpt of the day after my "first time"  with a 17 year old Palestinian in Jerusalem, Israel/Palestine:

Awakened by a knock at my door, I called “Just a minute.“ I dashed to the bathroom. His smell was on me;  the scent of his leavings mingled with my own was new to me. I looked into the mirror as I washed my hands, searching my face to see if somehow the night’s revelry would show. I looked the same. That was a surprise; I expected to look different. I had done something so deeply primal in my complete submission to him that I felt the profound change within should be mirrored without. 



Every nerve ending on my body was sensitive now. I combed my hair and put on my robe. When I opened the door, he was standing there;  his dark curly hair still wet and his beautiful eyes still merry. “Good morning, love,” he said, and kissed me on the lips, his tongue probing with familiarity and  his hand on my breast. My heart fell so hard; I could feel it, like a stone in my breast that flopped to my stomach. We broke apart. “Come in,” I said, shakily.  He had the longest, darkest eyelashes I had ever seen.  His dimpled smile was radiant and devastating.


“Do you want some tea?” he asked, as we sat on the bed, facing each other.


“No, I am not hungry just now.” I sounded stupid. I was shy, and didn’t know what to say. Facing him in the light of day was different, and difficult. I was embarrassed about my boldness of the night before. Would he think badly of me?


“What’s wrong in you?” he asked, sensing my reticence. He was touching my cheek gently. I looked into his beautiful huge brown eyes. I was gone, then. I could feel my soul falling, falling to a place it had wanted all my life but had never been. I could feel so much.

I was sure that it was not the same for him. I felt so vulnerable, foolish, small, and embarrassed all at once. Worst of all, having had him; the need was not gone............it was deeper, stronger, more intense as though every nerve and cell in my body cried out for his. I felt chained to him, invisible chains from my heart and body, even my soul. Yet I was sure he didn’t feel the same.



“Come, Cassandra,” he said. “Get dressed; you can come with me today.” His tone was gentle, sweet, laughing.  My name was a caress from his lips.


“Ok, but you have to wait outside, I have to shower and dress.”


“Why? I have seen you, touched you.” Amusement showed on his face. What was for me a shattering experience seemed to sit lightly with him. He didn’t seem as moved at all.


“Because I am not ready to shower and dress in front of you. It was dark last night. I can’t, .....I can’t...” I stopped and dropped my eyes.



He got up and with a smile went out. His eyes as he left told me he somehow understood. I felt weird. Here I was, so much more sophisticated than he, well traveled, a year older, and yet I felt like an untried girl around him. I got up, showered and dressed. I cried, hot tears burning my face, washed away with cool water. Somehow, I would not let my fears overwhelm me. I couldn’t think with his touch still so fresh on me.


We spent the day together, talking, laughing kissing. We shared an orange, he taking a slice in his mouth and then passing it to mine with a kiss. We were so young. I felt like lovers, newly in love and shut out my rational mind completely. I felt like we had a secret, shared only between us. Succumbing to the feelings of the moment, I rode a wave of happiness I had never felt before. He loves me! Even after! I was astounded, humbled, warm, validated. I felt young, innocent still, and so in love. I wanted to go anywhere with him, be his forever, live in his pocket, and know his thoughts. I wanted to be his posession, his slave even.  All those rationalizations of before melted away;  I was finally allowed to just feel and feel and feel and be. I could allow my passion and deep feelings full rein at last, without them being trivialized or feared. This was serious and sharp, an unbearable sweetness. I deliberately blocked out the fact that I would have to leave in a few days.


That night, he took me to Jaffa gate, in the dark. He sat me on a bench some way from the gate and bent to kiss me. It was a long, passionate kiss, stirring us both. He placed my hand on the bulge of his pants.


“You make me want you,” he whispered against my lips.

My hand felt the heat of him, the hardness of him and I wanted to lie back right there and open my legs right then under the moonlight by the old stone walls of Jerusalem.