4 years ago today.

April 28, 2001

It rained buckets. Water was ankle deep in places, and Key West is not known for it's drainage. We lived 5 blocks away from El Siboney, and John wanted to go there for his birthday dinner. He was in remission but the treatments had left his once barrel frame of 220 lbs down to 123. He was skeletal and unable to walk more than a few feet. So I helped him into the wheelchair he detested, and we walked. And it poured endless gallons of water on our heads. We got there and they offered us towels, and teased John by carding him for his one beer (against doctors orders). We both ate Pallomina Steak and plantains (sp?). I took him home full and contented to leftover birthday cake from the previous weekend's trip to La Tratoria's with his sister and brother in law, a much less festive affair, since they were threatening to take him out of my care. It was a simple birthday, and the next year's (and last)birthday was with his kids, and very noisy. He said the rainy birthday was his favorite.
Well baby it's raining today, but cold instead of steamy. I'm in my apartment waiting for takeout salad and Survivor to come on ( a fave of yours). I am living a life now you would never have approved of. You would not recognize me now, looks or personality wise. But know this: men may come and men may go in my life, but I will never love as fiercely as I loved, and still love, you. I will love differently, passionately, but never again fiercely. Happy birthday baby.

Poetry alert on John's 56th Birthday

Kelly from Dilletante, a good but far flung friend of mine, left this on a coment from my last post. Since today would have been John's 56th birthday, I considered it very sweet of her to post it and extremely timely.

"I was reading a book of pagan poetry, and came across this:

HEARTSTONE By Patricia Wellington-Jones

Years after her husband died
she placed crushed mugwort in her left nostril,
stepped into the labyrinth, trod
the gravel path between lines of stone
A few twists an acorn rolling
between thumb and warm palm, she was surprised
to find her late love beside her deliberate steps.
the sun beat on her hated head, the path
wound and wound and wound.
After several turns she stopped resisting.
let him fill her body with tears
she'd long thought shed. Stunned
at an outer ring, her feet refused to move.
Amid rough lava and mica-chipped stone,
one not-too-large river cobble: smooth
and gray, inviting her fingers, with a heart
sunken in the matrix of white. She felt her love
take her hand, lead her to the center. There,
in a rock hollow, she added the acorn to lichen
cedar tip, faded flowers.
Expecting to feel calmed, she started
the outward trek, found tears spilling over
at the heartstone. With a sense of sacriledge,
she fished a tissue from her jeans and,
in one sharp blast, blew away the tears--
and mugwort. A final pat of stone,
a few steps further on the gravel, her hair lifted
in the refreshing breeze. She felt her husband's
smile rise over the oaks. Pace still deliberate,
heart and feet light, she stepped quickly from the guidance of the labyrinth
to the tangle of everyday."

Thanks Kelly :D

Water under the bridge-9 days

I realize I haven't been posting much, in fact for 9 days. I've been pondering what can happen in such a short time. In 9 days a new pope can be elected. Two small children can wander away from a home in Georgia, never to return. A chance to help start a business can fall into one's lap. A new possible love can begin to take root. I suppose I have been just swamped with too much to handle at once, and needed time to absorb it all in. I have been faithfully keeping up with Kelly's (dilettante) and Clint's(bluefairlane) blogs with a mix of pride of knowing them and jealousy of their prolific writing skills. Tomorrow John would have been 56 years old. I had my first encounter with a million dollar race horse, only for it to try to bite my left breast off lol.
In short, I feel like a piece of silly putty that can be enlarged by bulling in all directions. The putty can never be uniformly enlarged, and is always misshapen. But stretch it does in new directions.

Kentucky in Springtime and the allergies are in bloom..

I just about drowned in my own nasal fluids this weekend after whatever pretty flower or tree it was that does this bloomed. Spring is my favorite time of year, I absolutely adore the flowers; forsynthia, dogwoods, wisteria, etc. But they don't love me. I am an allergy sufferer that lives in the worst state for allergies in the US. Yes I am a moron. It's kinda hard to work either job when one is coughing up chunks of lung. So for the second time in as many weeks, I went to the fucking doctor's office. 40 bucks worth of co-pay later, I'm on Zyrtec. I haven't taken it yet, I'm waiting for dinner first. Maybe one day I will wise up and move back to Wyoming where allergies don't exist....

Nope Im not lost, call off the search party!!!

I know I have been short of posting the last few weeks. Im working two jobs now so no free time. I have been reading my friends blogs, and have been delighted on how spring has been decent to us all. My friendship with Daniel grows daily, and makes me happy. So I'm short of posting material, but knowing me, something will happen sooner or later:P

Daniel

YIKES!!!

I'm having a full blown, Danger Will Robinson moment. I went to a swing party in Prestonsburg, KY this weekend to bartend and play. I have decided not to do the second job during swing parties. It was suggested to me by a wise reader that I needed to have a spiritual-sexual outlet, and the swing parties will be it. So Mr. Cool, shackup, and myself got to Jenny Wiley State Park
(http://parks.ky.gov/jwiley2.htm) around 7 ish to met up with our friends who were hosting the party. Mr. Cool had rented a cabin beside theirs so the party could overflow one to the other. Anyway, we walked in and along with our friends there was a local there who was interested in the group: Daniel. He was, at first look, about my age, 5'9ish, dark hair and eyes. I was looking at him and warning bells started ringing, which I took note of but didn't really listen to. We started talking about computers, which snowballed to witchcraft (He had studied it) and books (we ended up having read the same obscure ones). More alarm bells, and more dismissal of them. He ended up getting stuck behind some parked cars and stayed talking to 3am. The next day I went hiking with more friends, but kept thinking about him. I decided if I played, he was going to be it. Daniel had another party so he didn't show up until later that night. As for the party, I bartened for tips, had lots of guys flirt. It was a good time. Then he walked through the door about midnight. I made it a point to close the bar at 12:30. There was another guy wanting to play with me, but he had been with 3 others in the space of 5 hours, so I wasn't interested. This guy persisted, so I caught Daniel in the bathroom and asked if he wanted to meet me outside to go to the other cabin and play. He agreed to my delight, and we went to the other cabin.

Now long-suffering readers will remember the incredibly good time I had at the Valentine's day dance with Tyler. Daniel turned into being a million times better. I was in heaven for 2 hours. Then we ended up at the other cabin with a room to ourselves, and ended up collapsing at 6 am. He was loving and kind and there was a chemistry there I hadn't felt in a LONG TIME, hence the warning alarms. I have been home about an hour and already got a quick note from him. He doesn't know that I'm an escort. He lives in John's Creek, 3 hours away from me. There are so many many ways this could kick the shit out of my heart. Daniel is the first guy I have had this feeling about in a long long time. All I can think is that he has the potential to turn my crazy world even more upside down. And yet....I am waiting for his IM feeling wistful: and ignoring those damn mental alarms:P

Living in the moment, and a lyrics alert at the same time!

"Blue Sky"
The Allman Brothers

Walk along the river, sweet lullaby, it just keeps on flowing,
It don't worry 'bout where it's going, no, no.
Don't fly, mister blue bird, I'm just walking down the road,
Early morning sunshine tell me all I need to know

You're my blue sky, you're my sunny day.
Lord, you know it makes me high when you turn your love my way,
Turn your love my way, yeah.

Good old sunday morning, bells are ringing everywhere.
Goin to Carolina, it won't be long and I'll be there

You're my blue sky, you're my sunny day.
Lord, you know it makes me high when you turn your love my way,
Turn your love my way, yeah.


I have been on an euphoric high for days. I have no idea what the hell is going on with me. It might be the fact that for the first time in years I'm not worrying about money. Maybe its the pure energy of exercise. My friend John claims he is sending me healing energy, which is possible. He packs some mean mojo. The best way to explain the feeling is that I feel serene. I got a comment from Outcast asking me if this was the way I was going to live my life, or just live in the moment and see what happens. Well the answer is this: if this is what it feels like to live in the moment, then the moment is where I will stay. Until the circle turns again.

Death and life and death.

My grandmother always says that with the rebirth of spring death steps up the pace. Saul Bellow. Terri Schiavo. Pope JP II. Prince Rainier. Plus millions of others not so famous or infamous. I suppose when Persephone returns from Hades, there's some sort of trade. The sap rises, and the decay of the previous year feeds the new growth. The lessons we have learned from the lives of those leaving feed and sustain us (if we are wise enough to listen). I wouldn't mind dying in the spring. The last vision in my eyes being the blooming flowers, hopefully the first roses of the season. Everything fresh and green and wholesome. Sprinkle my ashes partially with the roses, the rest in the sea. And I would be pleased.

Some thoughts

Wikipedia(http://en.wikipedia.org)has a interesting definition of the word "Hierodule"

"In ancient Greece and Anatolia a hierodule, from Greek hiero- "holy" and doule "female slave", was a temple slave in the service of a specific deity, often with the connotation of religious prostitution. The priestesses of Inanna were known to be hierodules.
Among some neopagans, a hierodule may be a priestess who has sex in the role of whichever Goddess she serves in the divine union of hieros gamos."

My buddies at Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary are, as always, more direct:
"Main Entry: hi·ero·dule
Pronunciation: 'hI-(&-)rO-"dü(&)l, hI-'er-&-, -"dyü(&)l
Function: noun
Etymology: Late Latin hierodulus, from Greek hierodoulos, from hieron temple + doulos slave
: a slave or prostitute in the service of a temple (as in ancient Greece)"

I have been ruminating on this word for two weeks, as I have taken to being an escort. I will categorically state that I have no shame in what I am doing. I have met men that I would never EVER meet anywhere else. All of them (so far) have been educated, successful, intelligent men. I have been feted, complemented, and showered with attention. Once I was compared to a Renaissance painting (Ruebens naturally LOL) and called every variation of beautiful. Trust me, this is healing the inner Ugly Teenager that has been rampaging for several years. Far from feeling badly, I'm trying to figure out how to do this as my sole method of bread winning and painting in my spare time. Then as I was reading on the net and the word hierodule popped out. Is this what I am, or was at some point. I feel a spiritual communion during the act of sex. Love will always be the most essential ingredient to making sex perfect. But, this is satisfying a deep spiritual need as well as financial one. And, I seem to be very good at it. So where will this go? I don't know yet. I do know that this has opened a door into my psyche that wont close anytime soon.

Poetry alert!!

I was sent forth from the power,
and I have come to those who reflect upon me,
and I have been found among those who seek after me,
Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,
and you hearers, hear me.
You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves
And do not banish me from your sight…

For I am the first and the last
I am the honored one and the scorned one,
I am the whore and the holy one…

I am the silence that is incomprehensible
and the idea whose remembrance is frequent.
I am the voice whose sound is manifold
and the word whose appearance is multiple.
I am the utterance of my name…

Excerpts from "The Thunder, Perfect Mind",
THE NAG HAMMADI LIBRARY