A Wonderful Kind of Day

I’m feeling better now.

Last night my friend SC (rl friend) had this cool ritual before leaving to move to Chicago with the two people (man and woman) that she is in love with. They are forming a triad, and are all pagans, and activists, so are also moving forward with the work of changing the world.

I should feel sad that SC is leaving, maybe. She is a role model for me, and I love her dearly. She is filled with mystery and presence and passion and wonderful energy. She’s loved me like a daughter. If I close my eyes I can see her, bright curly hair the color of flame, kind eyes, her body moving effortlessly in dance, her hands drumming, her body enveloping me in soft hugs, letting me cry when I need to. She’s a true friend.

I love her so much. But I still don’t feel sad. Part of the problem is that I suck at goodbyes, so am still probably stuck in denial, unaware that her being in Chicago means that I won’t be able to see her on any kind of regular basis. I mean, I know it on an intellectual level, but there’s a part of me that just hasn’t grasped it yet.

But all that being said, when I think of her I still feel a great happiness. I love knowing that she has the courage to follow her dream. In some ways, it would have been easier for her to stay here, safer and more comfortable, and in time maybe she would have forgotten her loves, or found new ones here, or something.

That’s not SC’s way. Her way is to chase the dream, to reincarnate, to start a new life fresh, unencumbered, even while missing all of us in her community desperately. It’s her way and mine, and I love her for it. Love her for her courage, among other things.

Supposedly she might come back in three months if things don't work out. But I don't think she will. As Frost puts it in "The Road Not Taken":

"And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I would ever be back."

Way leads onto way leads onto way...

My friend SB was there, and I sat next to her, and we ended up with our arms wrapped around each other, our heads folded against each other tenderly. Nothing sexual about it (SB’s straight), just two friends enjoying physical comfort. Something about it was healing for me.

The actual ritual involved Sandy playing this cool world music and reading a visualization for all of us. Some danced, some didn’t, some just sat and meditated. I did a little of both.

I imagine foxmagic scoffing at the idea of ritual, of magic…but I think it’s whatever gets you through the night, really. For me, there really is wisdom to be gained from altered states of consciousness, and I should go there more. It’s a high without drugs, a place without a name, wisdom not tainted by logic or linear perception, simple flashes of insight and connection with all-that-is.

Today, there’s not a cloud in the sky. It’s simply pale blue stretching out forever, with a cool breeze blowing, temp in the 60sF, a gorgeous, gorgeous day.

One of our cars was in the shop, and we went to pick it up. D (my hubby) left in it to get a new cable modem (woo hoo!! about damn time!!) and I found my old Duran Duran greatest hits tape and played it the whole way home, windows rolled down, singing and moving to the beat, feeling like a large adolescent.

At least until my four year old said, “Mommy, please turn off that loud music. Do you know what it is? It’s annoying. Do you know what annoying means?”

“Yes, I know what it means.” I say.

“Do you want me to tell you what annoying means?”

“Sure,” I say. “What does annoying mean?” I’m in a good mood today, and will play along.

“Annoying means that I feel like screaming if I hear that music again.”

He's not a Duran Duran fan, I guess.

Speaking of, the other day when I was feeling bad, people were giving me prescriptions of music. It was a pretty cool idea, and I learned about some groups I had never heard of before. One of my British online friends, S,
told me about two groups: Cake and Faithless. I love both of them, at least the songs I was able to get from limewire. And KB was recommending Bob Marley, which I have yet to download, as my limewire's stopped connecting for some weird reason. Okay, I'd have to have been living under a rock not to have at least heard of Bob Marley, but believe it or not, the only song I know is the "Arthur" song (Arthur the Aardvark, not Arthur the lovable drunk played by Dudley Moore.)

"And I say hey, it's a wonderful kind of day...where we can learn to work and play, and get along with each other..."

Yeah, Bob Marley seems pretty cool. :-)

Today I am feeling more in love with my husband too, with his soft brown hair and dark eyes and shy smile. I'm feeling close to him, like things are better between us, like there's enough there that's solid and real to last, like we can make it through the rocky places.

That is, if I don't fuck it up.

That's all for now. I'll probably write more later today. It's a beautiful day, and writing is what I love to do, do better than anything in the world perhaps. I say this not to brag...if anything, it probably reveals my limitations. :-)

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O-KKKKAAAAAIIIIIIIIII

I have orange hair.

I write it on the screen, as if by doing so I can convince myself it's true, as if looking in the mirror isn't simply enough to convince me the dark auburn I was hoping for didn't happen. Orange hair. Day-Glo Pippi Longstocking.

So now I'm hanging out upstairs, avoiding my family for the simple reason that I know my husband is going to hate it.

During the creativity training, several people were discussing how they understood their spouses so much better after taking the MBTI, how conflicts were suddenly recognizable based on seeing their different "types." I couldn't really relate.

My epiphany came later.

We took this test called the KAI, which measures if you are adaptive or innovative.

This doesn't mean what you would think at first. Actually, I think better phrases would be:

"Fits in."

"Stands out."

The funny thing is I could have sworn I was an adaptive. I was sure I was. I brought it up to my friend, CH, the one who got me involved in this whole CC gig, said, "Aren't you surprised I'm innovative?"

She looked at me as if I were crazy (and maybe I am). "You? No. I would have guessed you would score high."

At least she's one of us too...so it wasn't exactly an insult.

Whereas my husband...he can blend in anywhere. He knows who to share his ideas with and how to word them. He's one of the most creative people I know, but he also knows the magic of how things get done, in a way I don't.

Oh, to be an adaptor.

And the guy fits in with everyone...absolutely any and everyone. Put him in a group, any group, and he'll immediately fit. Oh, he won't be the life of the party, but he won't stand out as not belonging either. He will blend.

Whereas...I don't. There's the rub. Even among friends, I'm just a little...eccentric. People like me, perhaps even respect me, but there's always that moment where something comes out of my mouth (like say, for instance, how the society of the future won't need money, or how we need to start our own local quiet revolutions against the machine of modern society, or how I believe in the immanence of the divine being, whoever or whatever you conceive him/her to be) and suddenly I'm just odd.

D's terrified one day I'm going to tell his boss I'm bisexual, or confide in his mother that I'm a Witch, or something equally horrifying. He doesn't realize how well I can keep secrets, when I'm prepared to do so...that things leak out of my mouth simply when I haven't thought through how odd they might sound.

Also, I think that years of playing the role of Adaptor may have taken their toll. Been there, done that. I'm think I'm tired of placing square pegs in, well, squares, when it's so contrary to what may be my basic bohemian rhapsody.

So...let the chips fall where they may. It's time to face the music. And whatever other wearying cliches you can come up with.

I'm an innovator.

And I've got the orange hair to prove it.

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