Last night I dreamed that I was at a University somewhere with Jenna and a few other friends of mine. There was a huge event going on, and we were weaving through crowds trying to get to our car so that we could go camping. Jenna said, "this is the way," and took me to a little cart on a little train track. The carts moved on the track through a blue, velvet curtain. I couldn't see what was on the other side. I got into my little cart and it moved on the track through the blue curtain.
On the other side of the curtain were piles and piles of consumer products on either side of the tracks. Other people in other carts were grabbing Care Bears, ipods, Barbies, headphones and all kinds of products and stuffing them into their carts. Jenna began to grab stuff and I told her not to. That it was very important that we not touch any of that stuff. Sure enough, at the end of the track was a cash register. People who didn't have enough money to pay for all of the stuff were shoveled out of their carts and thrown into a furnace. I realized that I had no money so even one thing would have gotten me thrown into the fire. I was relieved as our carts passed the cash register and a door opened in front of us on a plain, grey wall. The cart turned over and dumped me outside of the door.
I was in the middle of a desert. It was windy and the heat made wavy lines in the air over the sand. Jenna grabbed my arm and led me to an old, red pickup truck whose bed was lined with haybales. Like a "haywagon" that I used to ride on as a child. We would all jump in the bed of the truck and roll around town singing christmas carols and drinking hot coco in December.
I made my way to the very front of the truck and a very big blonde guy with hair hanging over his face so I couldn't get a good look at him grabbed my arm. I immediatly started cuddling with him on his chest. He had very big arms and he wrapped them around me. I cuddled even harder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a daisy that was made out of paper. I was indescribely delighted by it. I nuzzled my face into his neck and hair and felt a comfort that has been such a stranger to me in this life.
I awoke after that. In bed I laid as still as possible so as to keep the feeling of the dream for as long as it would linger. As it faded, I began to feel a hole stirring inside of me. Emotional pain is truly felt physically and I like to find where on my body a certain emotional pain hurts. This hole was directly in the center of my chest. Can a hole be heavy? This one feels heavy. It feels like mourning. But mourning what? Feeling the loss of what?
Is it sex? I've been celibate for a few months. Actually, more like a-sexual. I've had no crushes, no flushes of YUM for anything. Aroused is not a state of being I have experienced lately. However, I have been masturbating a lot. It's more of a tension release thing than a horny sort of thing. Still, I'm not in need of a good orgasm. What about romance and relationship? I cringe at the thought of putting the time and energy into to a relationship and even dating. I can't keep up with all the stuff I have to do already. Plus, one has to actually go out into social situations to meet people, I think. Love? I have true love and it's my daughter. It's a love that surpasses romantic love and truly mirrors Divinity. It's what keeps me sane. It's what keeps me trying.
Alas, the answer shimmys up to me like a mysterious, burlesque diva and sits on my lap. INTIMACY. My life is lacking intimacy. Maybe that's why I'm posting my deepest feelings and revelations on the internet for the whole of humanity to see. I'm starving for that closeness and comfortableness with another warm body. To be felt and to feel another. For now that will lie only in my dreams.
Now I'm living in Portland, Oregon, from Roslyn, WA, after leaving Los Angeles, CA in 2010. Searching inside and out for a new paradigm is my major goal in life right now. The patriarchal, racist and classist world that we live in gives me complete and utter indigestion (literally); so I continue on my spiral journey, keeping my eyes open for other worlds and drawing inspiration from those who are also searching.
("Sloth Womyn," is a reference from, "The Womyn's Holy Book of Mysteries," by Z.E. Budapest.)