The Fear of Talking

"Glossophobia or speech anxiety is the fear of public speaking or of speaking in general." -Wikipedia



Resiliency

re·sil·ience

noun

1.

the power or ability to return to the original form, position, etc., after being bent, compressed, orstretched; elasticity.

2.

ability to recover readily from illness, depression, adversity, or the like; buoyancy.

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” Helen Keller

"Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe,and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." -Christopher Robin to Pooh (by A. A. Milne)

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." -Confucius

Faithless Faith

Faith

noun

1.

confidence or trust in a person or thing: faith in another's ability.

2.

belief that is not based on proof: He had faith that the hypothesis would be substantiated by fact.

3.

belief in God or in the doctrines or teachings of religion.

4.

belief in anything, as a code of ethics, standards of merit, etc.

5.

a system of religious belief.

Throughout my life I have struggled with the concept of faith. First with the Catholic Church, then with myself, and then with life in general. The irony in all of this is I have almost unshakable faith in my intuition. But when push comes to shove, my intuition gets shaky abandoning me for raw emotional vulnerability. In my angst when I cry out to be released, I feel forsaken. It is during these times I am cognizant of how little faith I have. Sister Solanus, my grade school arch enemy, would say my lack of faith was a punishment for my pride.

Faith is always connected to trust, another issue for me. How can I have faith and trust based on 'no proof' that I can overcome loss, emotionally handle the changes in my life, and move forward? Experience has told me I have been at this juncture before and will be able to rise above it. However, my mind gives me little comfort or reassurance. Stranded in a faithless landscape, I numbly proceed looking for signs the universe is trustworthy again.  

In Buddhism, they say all suffering is inherent and driven by grasping and attachment.The more one struggles, the more one stays stuck. Letting go is the antithesis of what I want to do. I want to hold onto anyone or anything which brings me a sense of communion to fill the abysmal chasm enveloping my soul. Now I know why our society is consumed by porn,sex, drugs, alcohol, consumerism, gambling, etc. We are all running to fill up our faithlessly motivated inconsolable feelings with dopamine-produced hedonistic highs. 

I have always admired those that have an abiding faith in God, a higher power, their spiritual beliefs, or their innate ability to overcome times of crisis in their lives. They are a source of inspiration to me. Through them I am reminded reality is not a nightmare, the wheel of life turns sometimes for the better, and there is a power greater than me that can restore my faith and trust in my universe.

Every morning I say prayers, meditate, and do spiritual readings. These are my anecdotes to grasping, attachment, and faithless faith. Does this restore my trust? Usually my practice calms the doubtful mind, decreases my emotional flares, and brings forth a more humane me. Do it always work? No, but I have found faith requires 'a confidence or trust' that is 'not based on proof'. 

Beginning Again

There is a silence after everything has been said
The impasse has been reached
Positions are solidified
No turning back is realized

Can a person begin again, no matter what?
After so many starts and stops
Hope flies out the window
The stillness is deafening

Grasping for a lifeline
Wanting to be saved
Emotions flooding the senses
Looking for release

How does the heart mend from sorrow
From what could have been?
Is it all delusion?
Or attachment to communion?

Can I meet change with poise?
Put one foot in front of another?
Swallow my pride?
Fearlessly move forward?

Every day the sun rises
Beginning a new day
A blank slate of creation
Ready for a new painting

Intuition as a Way of Life

in·tu·i·tion

noun

1.

direct perception of truth, fact, etc., independent of any reasoning process; immediate apprehension.

2.

a fact, truth, etc., perceived in this way.

3.

a keen and quick insight.

4.

the quality or ability of having such direct perception or quick insight.

Even as a very small child I knew I was different. It was always easy for me to see patterns in social relationships, predict their outcome, and uncannily know things before they were going to happen. In my innocence, I thought everyone had the ability to do this. Not until I was about six or seven did I realize this was unusual. My parochial upbringing saw this ability as spiritual, revering it in Jesus and the saints but demonizing it in ordinary folk. Quickly I learned to keep my mouth shut about my perceptions and intuitions.

Intuitives comprise only about a quarter of the population, making us a minority. We are surrounded by formula-based feelers and thinkers who view reality as solid, factual, and determined by concrete variables. Since we were raised and trained by them, we know how they think but they tend to label us as dreamers, flakes, having our head in the clouds, etc. There is no school for intuitives to teach us how to handle our way of being in order to channel our unique abilities wisely. Quite the contrary, we are reinforced not to trust our intuition as children and adults. Discouragement created many of us fail to recognize and utilize our intuition wisely.

In my family of eight, I was the only intuitive. Life with my sensing family was difficult in that I always knew all of their motivations, what their resulting behaviors would be, and accurately predict the outcomes. My older siblings thought of me as being lucky at making guesses and was annoyingly smug. It was not until my high school and college years when I met and was mentored by other confident intuitives did I really appreciate my differences.

Here are some of the things they taught me:

• Intuition comes in many forms. Learn to recognize the forms it takes in your life. For example, I can predict behaviors and outcomes, get receptive messages through dreams, am clairsentient, and sometimes spontaneously know information about events/things beforehand. I am not clairvoyant, telepathic, or a medium.
• Intuition does not mean you are always right. It is easy to confuse feeling with intuition. Intuition is just a different way of perceiving information.
• The strength of intuition is knowing things others cannot perceive. This does not guarantee they will  believe you. There is rarely a way to prove intuition, so be prepared to have your intuition impeached.
• Surround yourself with other intuitives. It is easier to be around people who speak our language and   understand our way of being.
• Being intuitive means you can go off the deep end sometimes.This can mean thinking too much, dreaming too much, feeling too much, idealizing too much, and being prone to novel experiences which may lead to self-destructive behaviors.
• As an intuitive we are more sensitive. Know when you need time alone or with another supportive intuitive to process things out.
• It is important to talk about unusual or profound intuitive episodes with other intuitives. Anyone else may think you are psychotic, weird, lying, have taken too many drugs, or are just plain cuckoo.
• Learn to trust your intuition but don't make the mistake that it is 100% accurate. Sometimes it is just plain wrong, or you're only getting partial information, or the timing is off.
• Intuitives get a bad rap frequently (some deservedly so). We are lumped into the same group as gypsies, charlatans, con artists, and the odd.
• See your intuition as a gift instead of a curse. Learn to accept you are not like the rank and file.

Tangled Up in Blue

The color blue cultivates images

Of clear crisp skies,

Cool calming waters,

And a dazzling starry night.

On the visible spectrum 

Blue sits between green and violet.

Hues of indigo, cobalt, and azure

Paint our world with natural divinity.

Blue is most associated with

Harmony, faithfulness, and confidence.

Identified with nobility and the Virgin

Kiln fired into ceramics and porcelain.

Between the devil

And the deep blue sea,

Illustrates the frustration

Of feeling blue.

The shadow side of blue

Denotes sadness associated with loss.

Where is the serenity of peacefulness

When blue turns to sorrow?

The Wisdom of No Escape

    My biggest fear is not losing control but being trapped.The basis for all fear is a perceived threatening activating event triggering anxiety laden beliefs which result in a flight or fight reaction. Paradoxically, in behavioral terms when it comes to fear one always gets what one resists, meaning fear becomes it's own reinforcement. Being trapped is not related to anything actually "out there" but rather how my mind translates these events and is known as cleithrophobia. 

    "Cleithrophobia is a fear of being trapped or locked in an enclosed space. The origin of the word is originally from the Greek cleithro which means to shut or to close and the English phobia which implies a persistent fear." -Wikipedia

    In reality, I am not anxious or claustrophobic in enclosed spaces, only the certain stifling situations I discern as preventing easy escape (like my second marriage). When these events arise, my first response is to strategically plan multiple avenues of flight. Obsessing about these schemes gives me a sense of empowerment. The litany of this treadmill goes on ad nauseum causing me tremendous anguish. Because I am an introvert, my internalized dialogue appears to the outside world like I am preoccupied. My external defense to all of this is to be a highly regarded achiever; all of this while exhibiting a cheerful, humorous mask which effectively disguises the torment within. From time to time I verbalize some of my escapist flights of fancy to my friends, but they know I have good impulse control which will quell any concrete plans coming into fruition. Though I talk about my angst concerning my limitations, rarely do I share the depth to how this affects me.

    Last week I came face to face with some predicaments which launched a cascade of cleithrophobia. It started innocently enough by planning a vacation back to Minnesota to visit family and friends. Since I had not been back there for five years, I began contacting everyone to let them know I wanted to spend time with them. One of my friends I was planning to see acknowledged she is dealing with the imminent death of her sister from ovarian cancer. Her description of her sister’s dying was horrific. As another intuitive thinker, I knew how despairing and devastated she felt. It shook me to my core as well. Why? Not only could I sympathize with her nightmare, but I am also facing the looming loss of three of my siblings from terminal illnesses.

    One of the people I will also be visiting in Minnesota is my oldest brother Steven, who is dying from end stage Parkinson’s disease. We have never had a close relationship, but in recent years we have been attempting to maintain closer communications. When I called him to tell him about my visit, he said he was looking forward to meeting with me. He talked about how his life has become more and more unmanageable due to the debilitating ravages of his disease. For the first time, I could hear the unmistakable death rattle in his voice. It was not just the content of what he was saying but the tonal quality of how he articulated his decline. Emotionally, it felt gut wrenching. This conversation generated a torrent of feelings, thoughts, and memories about our familial history. Suddenly I felt like me feet had just stepped into a big bear trap. But this was only the beginning
.

    Knowing I would soon have to come to terms with him also made me realize there were two more impending deaths I had to handle. My oldest sister is dying from an inoperable benign brain tumor and my youngest brother is dying from t-cell hepatosplenic lymphoma. For years I just shoved my feelings about my conflicted relationships with them into a nice shelf thinking that I would not have to deal with them. I have not spoken with them for years. I am uncertain how to even go about a resolving the years of hard feelings and nursed hurts which solidified the division in our relationships. The bear trap has now become tighter, gripping me with no place to flee.

    I have experienced enough death in my life both personally and professionally to understand the emotional process of grieving. However, the loss of my siblings is completely new ground to me. Reviewing our history together, I see the good, the bad, and the ugly of how each of my siblings influenced me. Approaching their deaths is akin to having surgical removal of parts in me that have internalized their traits. Psychologically, I can no longer deny I will be unaffected by their deaths. Spiritually, I feel I am being offered an opportunity to reconcile my external sibling relationships with the internal aspects of them I have either accepted or rejected. Needless to say, I am feeling fractured. The resulting emotions are a confusing mix of helpless sadness, abject dread, grasping for comfort, and attachment to anything that brings pleasure. In other words, I am trapped without my traditional avenues of escape. There is nowhere left to run.

    As someone with Buddhist leanings, my current situation is calling for compassion, loving kindness, meditation, gentleness, precision, and letting go. Can I become friends with my intense emotional grasping and attachment and let them be without bolting for the familiarity of my evacuation routes? Is there wisdom in no escape?

Memorial to Anne Knickerbocker (May 17, 1944 to January, 1991)

Today marks the birthday of my dearly departed sister-in-law and spectacular friend, Anne Knickerbocker. Twenty-three years ago she left this planet at the age of forty-seven. Her death was second in a string of six deaths I would experience that year. Five of the deaths, beginning with hers, were within a six week period. Of all those deaths that year, I felt hers most acutely. Hers was a sudden, shocking loss occurred only a week after spending New Years in Idaho with me. For more than a year the grief was so unbearable, I couldn't imagine how I was going to move forward in life without her.

Anne Knickerbocker was someone you would easily pass on a street or grocery store and not think twice about her. She never called attention to herself, even though she graduated magna cum laude, spoke fluent Russian, was a prolific artist, and was one of the most comedic conversationalists I have ever met. In her own ordinary way she was quite extraordinary. In spite of her intellect and verbosity, she was chronically anxious and depressed. So much so, she was too afraid to drive a car. Underneath this, she was brilliant. Weighing less than a hundred pounds dripping wet, she had a ferocity in her petite stature that was spellbinding. Being with her, I could always see immense scholarly potential in her held back by unmitigated fear. She labored under the never being enough syndrome: not smart enough, not courageous enough, not pretty enough, not being extroverted enough, never financially secure enough, just plain not good enough. Though I never felt I measured up to all of her phenomenal talents, she held me in high esteem.

I only knew her for seven precious years before her death. In those seven years I became so bonded to her that she became closer to me than my own sisters. We discussed everything, took trips together, wrote frequently to one another, made fun of the Catholic Church, and laughed endlessly. She was best part of my marriage to her brother. When my union to her brother dissolved, she wanted to me to get her as part of the divorce settlement. Our last conversation that fateful last New Year's day before she returned to Minneapolis was disheartening. We talked about our future sans her brother. I knew she was anticipating the divorce meant she would lose me as well. My reassurances did not ease her worries. Within seven days after this conversation she was found dead in her apartment of an accidental insulin overdose. I believe she died of a broken heart.

Twenty-three years later, I still grieve her loss and miss her terribly. Anne was a cosmic gift-she taught me about great conversation, intellectual diversity, batiks, art, wildflowers, and the importance of wit. I am so fortunate to have had her presence in my life. She believed in me more than I have ever believed in myself. How do I continually honor her memory? By dedicating myself to being the success she was unable to achieve in this life for herself. Thank you, Anne. Happy Birthday.

The Hardening of the Heart

Oh, what tender mercies are pitilessly abandoned

When a heart must ossify.

Despondency, anguish, and hopelessness

Are the pallbearers of emotional ischemia.

The pit of the gut aches

For something other than what is.

Torturous reality forces the decision:

Change or be changed.

There is no turning back to what was.

Those kinder, gentler days have passed.

Longing for yesterday’s sweetness of innocence

Is eviscerated by malignancy made manifest.

Weeping, wailing, and the gnashing of teeth,

Will not soften blows to the spirit.

What would be helpful in a healthy relationship

Is disastrous in an unhealthy one.

Solace can only be found in fellowship and communion

When love toughens the delicate heart.

Even so, one begs to be released

From unyielding benign neglect.

Sorrow should not exist as an emotion

For those coerced into callous disregard.

What may be necessary for the good of all

Irreparably fractures the sensitive soul.

                    

Held Hostage in the House of Insanity

The House of Insanity is occupied by unwitting participants,
Witnessing the ravages of psychopathology.
The main star, speciously unaware of his non compos mentis,
Foxtrots to his visceral delusions.

There is no mercy for the pensively afflicted
Or the peripheral survivors.
We wait in agony for the next misstep.
Vigilance becomes our second nature.

Loss of control becomes our mantra.
Enduring chaos is our plight.
We walk on eggshells
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Under the Scorpio moon,
The howling lunacy holds us hostage
With nonverbal rules and agreements
Unspoken to prevent further upset.

Which one of us is crazier
The identified patient or the captives?
He commands our attention
Dictating the terms of his psychosis.

Unmotivated, unwilling, and uncooperative
Unrealistic, unrepentant, and unmovable
The young patriarch of this house
Dominates us with the fear he will take flight.

His addiction to ignis fatuus
Mires us down in abject misery,
Knowing we are damned if we do or don't.
Will either of these truths will set us free?

Dancing with the Floridly Psychotic

When he left on spring break, he was seeking a southwest adventure.
With Navajo native as a companion, they headed east to explore Anasazi ruins.
He was excited, enthusiastic, and focused.
Waving good bye, I did not know how much this trip would change him.

Somewhere after the Navajo nation tour, they ventured further east.
Inspired by their freedom, they channeled Jack Kerouac.
Texts came from Arkansas, Tennessee, and Florida.
His parents in Florida were unprepared when they both showed up.

The trip dramatically altered his easygoing personality.
His perpetual smile disguised a brewing internal chaos.
This blossomed after a side to trip to Cape Canaveral
When an agitated, unhinged side of him emerged.

Seeking relief from unrelenting turmoil, he drove off in his mother's car.
A drunk driver attracted to his unstable vibes crashed into him.
Though uninjured, the impact galvanized his closeted frenzy.
Renting a car he fled the scene, disappearing without a word to anyone.

His mother called me panicked, frantically trying to find him.
Intuitively I knew he was coming back to me in California.
Three days later he phoned his mom saying he was in Texas.
Driving back, he stoked his psychosis with pot & strangers from the road.

Arriving at my home he appeared happy, saying everything was okay.
His affect did not match any concern for the recklessness he caused.
Attempting to explain his behavior, he could only speak in circular gibberish.
Faulty fragmented reasoning centered on his dharma and grandiose musical aspirations.

Trying to connect with him was futile, as he was sincerely deluded.
Underneath his beaming, convivial expression, I could see inconsolable sadness.
Through confused logic, he formulated vanishing into Mexico would stabilize him.
There he could escape the Orange County people who were following him.

All I could do is patiently listen to his nonsensical ramblings.
His fixations and paranoia were more powerful than my persuasiveness.
My heart sank knowing I was powerless to intercede in his vulnerability.
Being a functional psychotic leaves one with no options.

What will happen to this bright, sensitive young man
Lost in a sea of polluted illusions spiraling him towards self-destruction?
Witnessing the cruelty of his decompensation
Has left me impotent, sad, and without hope.

Psychically knowing a train wreck is about to happen
Is incredibly painful to helplessly watch.
I can only let go and pray God will protect him from himself.
These are the times that try sanity's soul.

Lessons Learned from My Mother

My mother was a white Anglo-Saxon Presbyterian, when at 18 years old, she eloped with my 27 year old Polish Catholic father in defiance of his very orthodox parent’s protestations. My father, a boot camp draftee during World War II, was then shipped out to Italy and North Africa for four years without leave. My mother waited faithfully those four years for his joyous return. Because of the fallout from my father's parents extreme disapproval of their elopement, my father fled in fear to Council Bluffs, Iowa after his return, until guilt and remorse led him back to my mother a year later.  

▪Lessons learned: Don’t get married during the teenage years. Don’t marry anyone with crazy parents. Don’t marry anyone outside of your religious/ cultural background whose family has it in for you. Don’t marry a man who is significantly older than you who convinces you love can conquer all. Don’t let historical events instill romantic delusions into making marital decisions. Look before you leap or just don’t leap. Don't think waiting is the answer.

Once my father returned from WWII, my mother (a non-practicing Presbyterian) agreed to raise all the children Catholic but would not convert to Catholicism. This forever raised the ire of my Polish Catholic grandparents and my father’s family, who made her life miserable until the day she died. The Catholic Church also pressured her relentlessly to convert by telling her all of her children were illegitimate in the eyes of the Church. She shrewdly combated this stonewalling them, steadfastly refusing to acquiesce, and by having her parents and sister live upstairs from our family home. In the end my mother won: all six of her Catholic educated children are now ex-Catholics.

▪Lessons learned:  Defiance, passive resistance, and the 'language of no' is pretty effective. Know when you are outnumbered and outgunned-learn the art of subterfuge. You can lose the battle, the war, and your dreams but you can still have some semblance of control everything through the power of oppositional defiance and the support of familial estrogen. Always know there is more than one way to outsmart those secretive, disapproving, and patently stubborn Poles. Agree with the Catholic Church that hell will surely be your disposition, but it is better than joining them. Know you may not live to see divine justice, but it works even against the Catholic Church's oppressive doctrine.

My mother had six children. The first four were born within five years of my father’s return from war; the last two were born 10 and 13 years after the first set, when she was in her late thirties and early forties. She drank beer and smoked through each of these pregnancies.

▪Lessons learned: Use birth control. Don’t have children too close together. Having late in life children is a bad idea. Better yet, don’t have children. Smoking and drinking during pregnancy may not be good for a fetus but it does help reduce overall agitation when one has a hoard of children making excessive demands.

My mother had a lifelong anxiety disorder and was unable to drive because of this phobia. Aside from this, she was a smart, verbal, and a grounded woman. She sacrificed her youth and her dreams for being a mother, causing her great frustration and unhappiness. As a result, she became a rageaholic and had a nervous breakdown in her forties.

▪Lessons learned: There are no princes who will save you from yourself, in spite of how good they may look in shiny armor. Getting married and having children are a poor substitute for a fulfilling a deeper, more purposeful life. Squandering one’s intelligence being a mother leads to a dependence on Librium and a beer chaser. Nerves don’t break, but having limited options makes one feel trapped, anxious, and generally under a doctor’s care for tranquilizers. Learning to drive opens up avenues of independence. The work world, though having its own set of limitations, at least provides one with a room of one’s own and freedom to follow another path. Rage, even if justified, does not bring peace of mind.

As my mother aged, she retained her beauty but became increasingly bitter, alienating, and angry. She attempted to divorce my father but gave up when she realized she could not make it on her own. She died at the age of 58 from a cardiac arrest following a major stroke. 

▪Lessons learned: Inner happiness trumps physical beauty anytime. Being a product of your karmic times sucks. It is easier to get divorced earlier than later in life. Becoming angry, bitter, helpless, and hopeless will kill you just as effectively as an automatic weapon.

What other things did I get from my mother?

▪A strong sense of independence because she had none.

▪An adventurous spirit because she felt trapped most of her life.

▪No fear of confronting conflict, intimidation, or bullying because of the fears and frustrations she endured.

▪An interest in the acquisition of knowledge because she was deprived of this pathway for her intelligence.

▪A love for reading and my verbal proficiency because she could not fully utilize her strengths in these areas.

▪Never feeling men are superior to me solely because of their gender.

▪An indomitable disposition because she felt defeated most of her life.

Happy Mother’s Day, Ma. Thanks for everything you did and did not teach me.

Tarot and the Art of Divination

    Few people know I read Tarot cards. This is a semi-secret I have only shared it with those who are not weirded out by superstition, think it’s demonic, or are just plain skeptical. My interest in Tarot began when I was eighteen. A boyfriend at that time took me to have my cards read. Being a strong intuitive, I was impressed by this reader’s prognostication abilities. For my eighteenth birthday he gave me my first Tarot deck. I was off and running.

    Living in an intuitive and psychic world is tough. Our world is mostly fact and formula based with people who easily dismiss us. Intuitives, especially ones who have psychic abilities, are frequently looked upon as odd, strange, different, and tend to be outcasts. From an early age I learned to keep my intuitions and psychic abilities quiet to avoid impeachment and ridicule. Finding an avenue for my intuition and unique sensing skills has been a blessing. Of course, I use my intuition and sensitivities in other ways, but I reading Tarot is my forte.

    Reading Tarot is not easy, at least for me. It is an emotional experience to see someone’s inner and outer life splayed for all to be revealed. Because of this, I do not read professionally and am selective for whom I will read. For example, my boss knows I read and has tried me to do a reading on her for years. I have refused: I know a land mine when I see one. Frequently, sensitive information is divulged sending my querant (the person for whom I am reading) into varying states of affectability. No one is more aware how careful Tarot information needs to be presented than me. As a sensitive, I also absorb my querant’s disposition. It can be as emotional for me as it can be for them.

    Doing a reading is not what most people think or expect. Most people are afraid they will receive dire news about an impending death or tragic circumstance. This is rarely the case. Tarot cards simply tell a story of what has happened recently to shape the person’s life, what are their options, and where this might possibly lead. I read in a unique style involving thirty-five cards arranged in six lines. Each line tells me part of their story. By the time I get to the sixth line, I get a global picture of the person’s life. The reading is usually only applicable for three to six months. It is more of a snapshot than a fixed picture.

    Another caveat of reading Tarot is I have to be in the right frame of mind when I read. Intuition, for me, is not something I can easily turn off and on. Don’t ask me how I know when I can read, I just know.  When I am willing to read, the less I know about the person the better. Though I will read occasionally for friends, it is difficult to sometimes separate my relationship with them to be objective. Editing is always an issue the more one knows the person.

    Last week I read the cards of two coworkers, one was a woman new to my department, the other a colleague with whom I have previously read. These were two very opposite readings but both were very emotional. The first one was for my new coworker, a Chinese woman in her forties. I knew virtually nothing about her, insisting she not tell me anything prior to this reading. Her cards were very easy for me to read. (This is not always the case, sometimes I have to tell people I cannot read or interpret what the cards are telling me.) Her reading was about her complete dissatisfaction with her marriage, her desire to be divorced, and the cultural ramification for her to actually do this. She cried throughout the whole reading. I did not advise what to do or not to do-that is not the purpose of Tarot. What I brought to light was where she was presently at, what her primary concerns were, and what her obstacles were to overcome. She expressed to me how accurate this reading was and her gratitude for my skills.

    The second reading I did was for my colleague of many years. I have read her cards many times in the eight years we have known each other. The last time I read for her was about a year ago. This reading was not one I was welcoming but decided to do it at her bequest. Never in my forty years of reading Tarot have I read such a terrible first line, the line of what events have transpired recently to create the current environment. It was visually and psychically devastating to acknowledge the recent events which nearly took her life this winter. As I read her lines further, it was apparent she would rebound from this but not as quickly as she would like. The rest of the reading was a mixture of events she would be able to handle, though she will be haunted by this life altering winter for the rest of life.  

    Intuition is defined as the “direct perception of truth, fact, etc., independent of any reasoning process; pure, untaught, noninferential knowledge.” Is intuition fact? No. Intuition can be wrong, especially when confused with feeling. Do I ever withhold my intuitions? You bet I do. There are some things I do not think my querant’s can digest or comprehend. Is it a burden to know things I intuit may come to fruition? Yes, it is but I know no other way of being.

Gang-Raped Indonesian Woman May Be Caned Publicly

"An Indonesian woman who was gang-raped by men accusing her of having extramarital sex may be caned publicly for violating Islamic law, an official said Wednesday.

The 25-year-old widow said she was raped by eight men who allegedly found her with a married man in her house. The men reportedly beat the man, doused the two with sewage, and then turned them over to Islamic police in conservative Aceh province.

The alleged attack occurred early Thursday in Lhokbani, a village in East Aceh district.

The head of Islamic Shariah law in the district, Ibrahim Latief, said his office has recommended the widow and the married man be caned nine times for violating religious law, pending an investigation. Its preliminary finding was that the two were about to have sex at that time, but Latief contended they violated Shariah law by being in the same room together. He said they also admitted they had sex earlier." -AP

This story speaks for itself. All women around the world are aware of the slippery slope of being thought of or engaging in being sexual. The men who gang raped her felt entirely justified to inflict sexual punishment for her alleged sexual behavior. Will any of them stand trial and be caned for their crimes? Doubt it. Enough said.

It's Just Sex

    I have embarked on a brave new world. This world is ass backwards. Instead of getting to know someone intimately through the denouement of dating, I have chosen to be in a sexual relationship. This is the first time I have agreed to such a relationship. I am foregoing the traditional polite courtship period to dive right into wild sexual abandon. Why am I doing this? Because this man is a phenomenal lover and gives me a lot of pleasure. The chemistry between us is electric. Selfishly, this is easier than going through the machinations of dating which I tend to abhor because of my introversion. But I am no fool, I realize I am avoidant of the other aspects of intimacy that go hand in hand with the realities of relationships. You know, things like conflict, control, disappointment, talking about feelings, dealing with family and our support network, and all the peripheral stuff that gives intimate relationships meaning and definition. Just having sex merrily skips over the pesky details of the aspects that weigh a relationship down. 

     A few weeks ago I had eye surgery. I am a believer that anytime anyone has surgery, it wakes the both the body and mind to things that have been suppressed or repressed. The last time I had eye surgery, I literally starting seeing things I did not like. This time I am seeing how my fears, especially about my personal emotional vulnerability with men, shape my decision making about relationships. Entering into a sexual relationship, I am choosing to overlook things I don’t want to see, or more precisely approach. Those issues involve the unequal expenditure of time, energy, and cathexis. Now I see the appeal of why women become mistresses to married men. Unless they are emotionally connected to their married lover, it is easier to have your cake and eat it too as a means of preserving one’s own life. For women there is always a trade-off no matter if you are dating, a mistress, a wife, or a mother. Most men are truly myopic when it comes to seeing how much they dominate the lives of their women.

    Being in a just sex relationship is always a slippery slope for a woman. Most men can easily to separate sex from emotion conveniently, but it is trickier for a woman. As a thinking woman with a better ability to subdue feeling, I have the ability to rationalize this almost as well as men. However, historically women have always been punished and condemned if they exhibit their sexuality. We have been viewed as easy, loose, promiscuous, whores, and the whole host of other derogatory names. This also includes my fellow sisters who feel superior by disparaging caterwauling. Culturally, there is a schizophrenic message delivered via the media reinforcing women to be sexually alluring but to draw the line at being a skanky ho. I am not immune to this schism. We still see women terms of the stereotypical virgin and the whore. There is a distinct difference between being treated as an object of desire versus if an emotional component existed. Sexualized women almost always get a bad rap, despite men wishing we could be more like them.

    Suppressing my emotions in favor of sex has more to do with my unwillingness to acquiesce my vulnerability to my noncommittal lover. The choice to engage in just sex does have its pitfalls. I have accepted my selfish pleasure has its consequences. There are also a myriad of nonverbal and verbal agreements I have agreed to which ensures I do not tread into areas that push my intimacy buttons. While it does protect me from the angst of converting thinking into feeling, it does little to assuage my growing conflicts about not being able to fully be and express who I am. It is ironic that engaging in the most intimate physical act humans do is limiting me from being the woman I truly am.

    It is tempting to point the proverbial finger at the man I have struck this bargain with as a villain. But this man is not playing me or treating me disrespectfully. Quite the contrary, in a number of ways I have a more honest sexual relationship with him than I did with my husbands. Men can be unfairly cast as predatory when there is a consensual sexual agreement. As a feminist, this is also a slippery slope because of the balance of power issues. The few friends I have told about this sexual tryst are appalled by what they view as his selfishness. See what I mean about the blame/shame game? Of course, they are even more outraged I would be his willing to sacrifice of finding ‘true love’ for pleasure. They have also pointedly told me they are disappointed in me, think I have lost my mind, am shortchanging myself because I feel I am not deserving, etc. The reality is that I am choosing to be fulfilled sexually but not emotionally. I am walking into this eyes open while embracing full responsibility for my own behavior and its consequences.This may not be emotionally smart, but I am not ready to expose the tender side of my heart yet.

     Sooner or later, both of us will move on. Either we will tire of the sexual pleasuramas, hit a dead end, find other partners, or want more emotional intimacy with an appropriate partner. Until then, it’s just sex.

Comedic Cognitive Dissonance

“In psychology, cognitive dissonance is the excessive mental stress and discomfort experienced by an individual who holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values at the same time. This stress and discomfort may also arise within an individual who holds a belief and performs a contradictory action or reaction.” -Wikipedia

Leon Festinger's theory of cognitive dissonance focuses on how humans strive for internal consistency. When inconsistency (dissonance) is experienced, individuals largely become psychologically distressed. His basic hypotheses are listed below:

1."The existence of dissonance, being psychologically uncomfortable, will motivate the person to try to reduce the dissonance and achieve consonance"

2."When dissonance is present, in addition to trying to reduce it, the person will actively avoid situations and information which would likely increase the dissonance" –Wikipedia

Happy May Day!

    “May Day occurs on May 1 and refers to any of several public holidays. As a day of celebration the holiday has ancient origins and relates to many customs that have survived into modern times. Many of these customs are due to May Day being a cross-quarter day, meaning that (in the Northern Hemisphere, where it is almost exclusively celebrated), it falls approximately halfway between the spring equinox and summer solstice. May Day has its origins in pagan pre-Christian festivals related to agriculture and fertility, and its celebration involved joy and light-hearted fun in the outdoors as the warmer weather of spring and summer began.

    Today, May Day is celebrated in several European nations and the United States, in cultural expressions ranging from Maypole dancing to foot races, May Baskets, singing, and festivals. Alternatively, in many countries, May Day is synonymous with International Workers' Day, or Labor Day, which celebrates the social and economic achievements of the labor movement. Thus, May Day has acquired a second meaning, quite different from the original one which stemmed from spiritual roots and connections to nature; the later one coming from secular efforts to improve human society through struggle and conflict.” –New World Encyclopedia

    Ah, it is finally May. As an upper Midwesterner, traditionally the month of May meant electric thunderstorms, the emergence of fragrant lilacs, the verdant green budding of trees and bushes, and the crowning of the Virgin Mary. Temperatures give way from chilly to warm, the birds migrate back to nest with their brood, and the school year will soon yield to summer vacation. In the perpetual vernal-like climate of southern California, spring heralds the blooming of the purple jacaranda trees, the explosion of spring flowers, and the aromatic scent of jasmine. The lengthening of the light improves moods, acting as a harbinger for the joys of springtime love.

    Here are some other ways May Day is celebrated around the world from the New World Encyclopedia:

-England: Morris dancing on May Day in Oxford, England 2004. The May Queen of New Westminer's annual May Day c. 1887. Villagers and Morris-men dancing beside the Maypole on Ickwell Green, Bedfordshire at dawn on May 1, 2005May Day has been a traditional day of festivities throughout the centuries. It is most associated with towns and villages celebrating springtime fertility and revelry with village fetes and community gatherings. Traditional English May Day rites and celebrations include Morris dancing, crowning a May Queen, and celebrations involving a Maypole, around which traditional dancers circle with ribbons. Much of this tradition derives from the pagan Anglo-Saxon customs held during Þrimilci-mōnaþ (the Old English name for the month of May meaning Month of Three Milkings).

-Cornwall:  An original Mayhorn from the 1930sThe West Cornwall May Day celebrations are an example of folk practices associated with the coming of spring. Prior to the twentieth century it was common for young residents of the towns of Penzance and St Ives and other nearby settlements to conduct their own festivities. For these festivals it was usual to make "May Horns" usually fashioned from tin cans and "May Whistles" made from small branches of the sycamore tree.

-Scotland:  Students gather on Castle Sands, St Andrews for the May dip in 2007Saint Andrews has a tradition whereby some of the students gather on the beach late on April 30 and run into the North Sea at sunrise on May 1, occasionally naked. This is accompanied by torchlit processions and much elated celebration.

-France:  On May 1, 1561, French King Charles IX of France received a lily of the valley as a lucky charm. He decided to offer a lily of the valley each year to the ladies of the court. At the beginning of the twentieth century, it became custom on the First of May to give a sprig of lily of the valley, a symbol of springtime. The government permits individuals and workers' organizations to sell them free of taxation. It is also traditional for the lady receiving the spray of lily of the valley to give a kiss in return.

-Germany;  In rural regions of Germany, especially the Harz Mountains, Walpurgisnacht celebrations of Pagan origin are traditionally held on the night before May Day, including bonfires and the wrapping of maypoles. Young people use this opportunity to party with the motto Tanz in den Mai! ("Dance into May!"), while the day itself is used by many families to enjoy some fresh air and outdoor activities.

-International Workers' Day:  May Day can also refer to various labor celebrations conducted on May 1 that commemorate the fight for the eight-hour day. May Day in this regard is called International Workers' Day, or Labor Day. The idea for a "workers holiday" began in Australia in 1856. With the idea having spread around the world, the choice of the May first date became a commemoration by the Second International for the people involved in the Haymarket affair of 1886.

    Happy May Day!