Self-honesty and Letting Go

I don't know where to go to write anymore. I took this platform class that has streamlined my blogs and website to make it more "professional," but then ... I don't have anywhere else to write write. Write write my heart. But maybe. Maybe maybe I should just write write anyway. Platform be damned. There is something, after all, to be said about writing as you are -- showing up on the page -- and whosoever gels with the message will stay to read. Will feel the resonation. Will soak up my words, like rain, and plant their own seeds because of what I've said. That's who I want reading my stuff anyway.

The other ones -- the ones that take umbrage with my phrases, my pictures of story -- those ones, they can just not read. They can put the book down. They can click away. They can unfriend me. Not with any haste or malice. Just. Because they don't find what I say interesting. It doesn't make them bleed or cry or say Yes. And that's ok. I am not writing for those people.


I've been dancing lately. Unpeeling myself and looking inside. Sometimes I'm amazed at the beauty, other times I'm startled at the dishonesty and ignorance. The blindness. The self-defeating practices.

Even now I'm struggling. Struggling to write these few words, because I've been blocked again. Blocked by my own arrogance. My own denial. My own ... unhealthy practices. Who knew that not eating enough calories, or subsisting on restaurant food and instant oatmeal, or not going to bed by 10pm (11 at the latest!) could interfere with my writing?

But there it is.

So I'm forcing it through.
Sucking the stories and truths out of my bone marrow to look at them.
Thinking.
Trying not to think.
Feeling.
Trying not to feel.

And then realizing I have to.


I have a man on my floor. My hardwood floor. He is humming his symphony and reading The Handmaid's Tale. He is my friend. My platonic brother. He stays with me when I am lonely. He stays with me when he is lonely. And we talk.

We dance. We eat. We cook for each other. And we take walks.

We ask questions and make observations. About each other.

And sometimes they are ... not what we want to hear.
I'm being self-serving here. Actually, he says things to me that ring true, but that I don't want to be. And I mostly strive to contribute to our stimulating conversation in a way that won't bore him. He loves me unconditionally; we're soul-family. But most times I think I don't intellectually stimulate him, so I feel bad. Like the friendship is lopsided.

But it can't be too bad. :) We keep leaning on each other.


I'm working on two things these days.
One, letting go gracefully.

My brotherfriend says that I can't grow with fear stopping me every time I look in a particular direction. But isn't fear a natural reaction to change? Isn't fear a necessary emotion during transition? One that helps you slow down your impulse to sprint through the grieving process? Because that's my inclination. Hurry up and grieve. And in doing so I would miss the lessons and gratitude my life situations have gifted me. So no. I want to meander, not sprint. Even as my fear is slightly paralyzing, isn't that better than the alternative?

Ultimately I know that the fear will subside with time, and I will begin to move again. Look at the light again. Foster hope again. And actually, I think that will happen probably sooner than I think, but the safety of fear and paralysis is comforting.

If even a little annoying.

Two -- the other thing I'm working on -- being honest with myself.

Remember J from last year? He's back. Not in a romantic dating sort of way, but in a we travel in the same circles sort of way. He dances at the same center as I do. And a couple of times we've danced together. And once or twice I've gone out in a group after dance, and he's been one of the people there. Eventually a friendship may just evolve.

Tonight in my conversation with my brotherfriend, I started thinking, or rather feeling, that maybe there is some unfinished business with J. I feel like I've had closure with him, so of what sort of unfinished business, I don't know. Maybe we're meant to mutually inspire the spillage of words. Maybe we're meant to support each other through lonely rough times, like my brotherfriend and I do. I don't know.

But here's the thing.
I'm afraid to look at it.
Not because I'm afraid of what I'll find.
But because I'm afraid it'll hurt Zi.

He's said he's not jealous of J, that it just triggers old feelings of confusion and irritation for Zi. It reminds him of an unpleasant time. And I don't want to be the bringer of bad feelings. Especially when I can't hold his hand through it.

So is this me being dishonest with myself? My not looking at this curiosity? This friendship that might be, with J? Am I being dishonest with myself by saying that I don't want to befriend him at all, out of respect to Zi?

Or is that actually a horrible arrogance? The arrogance of believing myself responsible for Zi's feelings. As if I had control over them. As if I could manipulate him having only positive experiences on this planet. It's true he is an adult, and capable of having his own experiences. It's also true that it's not my responsibility (with all the respect in me) to make sure he's happy all the time.

But still.

I do feel responsible. I love him. I don't want to ever do anything that could create any feelings of distress for him.

But that's impossible.

I've already failed at that many times. Every time I cry. Every time I say, "No," every time I say, "I don't know," every time I change my mind, every time I say, "I can't," I fail him.

I remind myself that if I'd just been honest with myself, I wouldn't have stayed in a nine year relationship that should've ended sooner. If I'd just been honest with myself, I maybe would've captured Zi's heart earlier and he wouldn't have left Oregon, and we would still be together now -- and not in a place where I'm forced to practice my letting go skills.

A powerful stimulus for self-honesty indeed.

If Aashik were here right now ...

... I would wake next to him and rub my body up against his. I would stretch and languidly stroke his arm and his hip with the back of my hand. I'd whisper, "Be right back," and I'd go to the bathroom and wash my hands and face and mouth. I'd get hot water for us to drink, take my meds and slip back in bed and meld my body to his.

I would take off my panties, if I had any on, and slip my hands into his boxers.
When he was fully awake, I would make him do things to me and I would reciprocate.

Then we would rest and murmur to each other in the morning light. Then shower together. We would take turns soaping each other and nurturing each other until the water ran cold.

Then Aashik would make us coffee and we'd dress and read our emails and enewspapers and blogs. Then we'd talk about the rest of the day and decide if it would be a Sunday of relaxation and taking care of each other, or if it would be one of cleaning and organizing. Or maybe there would be errands involved.

We'd make breakfast together and eat in silence. Often looking at each other and smiling -- thinking about our future, and then not, and ultimately just enjoying our presence here in the now. Loving each other and loving that we were together.

Our day would evolve as it needed to, and in the evening we would set the coffeepot to go off in the morning, straighten the apartment a bit, and get ready for bed. Settling into the evening would include snuggling on the couch and whispering in Urdu, another sexy romp in bed and then laying my head on his chest while he read to me until we got sleepy.

Kissing him goodnight, I would wrap my body around his and wish him "Happy Sunday and Sweet Dreams."