Waking to a cool September morning. The scent of rain lingers in the air. 

It is Friday morning, 5am. I am sipping coffee and beginning the day. It has been an interesting week. My belly is calming down and returning to normalcy. 

Interactions with the magical blue eyed vanishing man have been sluggish  and strange to say the least. Plans to meet on Monday were met with death threats by Prince Otter. I waited in town for him to arrive and  finally returned home. Later I received a message that when he attempted to leave, PO said he would kill himself. Plans were made for Tuesday. Tuesday arrived, again a no show. The reason was given that PO had driven the car over a log while parking and it was stuck. Plans were made for Wednesday. He showed up. We met at Sbux and chatted slightly as another friend was there. James had an obligation downtown and asked me to go with him. I did. We had dinner with another friend which was lovely- it had been a while since i enjoyed a good Thai meal.We left dinner and went to the botanical gardens at UNCA. It was dark, We talked. He played the guitar for me and sang a new dark, sad song. The discrepancies in his tale and inconsistencies were discussed. 

He spoke of being scared and of running. He spoke of loving me, He told of fear and trying to care for PO. He said he missed m. We kissed. The spark was still there. He returned to Home on the Hill with me. We talked and held each other. The feeling of being held by him and of holding him was wonderful. The weirdness of the two previous weeks melted away. There lingered on him a strange chemical smell and taste that I can not identify. Sleeping next to him was peaceful and calming. 

We awoke to begin my day. He is not a morning person and in fact would like nothing more than to sleep until noon or later, and stay up until the wee hours. His incoherent rant about mornings, dreams and life at 6 am were amusing, albeit dark. His forecast for humanities is tinted by his dreams that foresee a mass extinction, death and disease. Something switched in route and he gabbed my hand, repeatedly thanked me and told me that he loved me. We shared beverages at Sbux before I headed to work. We discussed getting together after  work and him staying with me again tonight. 

The work day was difficult as the previous days waking hours far outweighed the rest. I trudged on. At lunch I noticed I had missed a call. I called him and he state she had butt dialed me. We chatted. He said he was going to interact with PO and help him get into treatment on the condition that he wrote a letter discussing a desire for sobriety. He asked that I stay in town because he would like to see me after work.

I arrived at Sbux like normal and met with a friend, and then another. I tried to call a few times and he did not answer. I ran some errands and around 6:30 headed home. He called and we chatted. The demeanor and words were completely changed. Our paths were different. He loved me but not romantically. I asked about how he could change so quickly from this morning and this afternoons reassurances of love to his newfound utterances of contradictions. He is twenty and his moods are shifted by the omens and interactions of his world.  Plans were made for Saturday. I asked forgiveness for having expectations. He said I was helping him to be a better human.

So I sip my coffee and realize that I am venturing into this with the idea that maybe this time will be different. Einsteins words come to mind about insanity. I guess I have a better understanding about being crazy in love. My rational brain says run like hell and my heart intercede with the advice to love him, and be patient.  I am stuck somewhere in the middle. I am also realizing that if I decide to continue with this interactions I need to find a higher level of acceptance when his words and actions are not congruent. I need also remind my self frequently that I am interacting with a being whose life experiences are different than my own and that the 26 spins around the sun that separate us are in fact real. 

I thank the universe for the lessons, the teachers, the experiences. I see that having a 20 year old boyfriend is not a good idea, and that having a 20 year lover could be. How to separate my heart from my groin, as they have tended to run in unison for the span of my adult years. He is a beautiful man with whom I have connected. He is a teacher. I am the student. Acceptance is the answer... it is as it is....

So I've been attempting to maintain some sort of relationship with Cirrus. I care for him- beyond sexually-

I must remind myself that I joined into an interaction with a twenty year old. And while he is intelligent on some levels, he is ignorant on others and lacks life experiences to date merely limited by his age and upbringing. He is a beautiful child of God and he is also damaged. I am saddened thinking of the pain he carries inside.

Our last few interactions have been strained, as I grapple with feeling deeply for him and the fact that it is not reciprocated. I have concerns for his safety and well being and that is a liability to him. My concern prevented him from struggling, or so I was told last night. And that concern is another reason for his behavior and resentment of me. It was also revealed that what had been an infedelity with Prince Otter while he was "committed to being committed" to me and us, is now in reality a regular sexual interaction. There is a bond called love forged through their mutual homelessness and struggle.

What was revealed during our last interaction of him joining a couple as the third wheel has now morphed yet again in a short span of time.

It feels as though he does not wish for us to remain close as I had hoped. My feelings for him - that he is more than a hustler looking for sex and a meal- are met with defiance and contempt.

He appears to drop a new bomb each time we interact. He has grown cold and distant. He weaves words that create such beautiful images- the fibers have no substance however and so the creation is flimsy and falls apart easily when observed.

He remains an enigma. I swear there is a diagnosis or two in the DSM besides the autism he indicates.

These past interactions remind me of reading "The Unquiet Mind."

After our parting last night I received a series of texts. I've transcribed them here for future reference. I really wish I had recorded these past few conversations and could more accurately weigh them against the period of July through September-

"The only person that means anything if everything means something is yourself. He is the only one that will really stay by you til the end. We all die alone.

It's a lot easier to simply be grateful you're alive than care that someone else is worried that you are not dead. The only thing anyone cares about is themselves. Seeking fulfillment from me is the same as seeking it through sex or drugs. It is ultimately impermanent.

Gaze into the abyss that is father sky when his children are smiling and you remember that you are but so small. The interactions here on earth are so pathetic really minuet that there really isn't any reason to them."

I am baffled.

A beautiful Autumnal day has unfolded- it began on the porch with screech owls and crickets and will be closing in a similar manner...

I have avoided writing this week as I lick my wounds and vacillate between acceptance and frustration. I still smell his scent on clothes. If I close my eyes, I can feel the embrace that seemed to at least temporarily repair all the broken pieces. I miss it. It has been a week of no contact. I miss him and still find myself wondering if  he is safe, fed, and has shelter. I am ok until I contemplate what he does in order to obtain those things, and then I am saddened and my heart aches even more. Nothing like picking at a scab to prolong the healing. There is a certain twisted satisfaction in such endeavors.

Yesterday found me burning the 8 volumes of journals I had kept with Michael. They chronicled our 2+ years together. They were a form of hostage taking for me- I got mad if he didn't write in the book. My drunken control freak wanting constant reassurances demanded of him that he read what I wrote and respond. Not a healthy game, not a fair game, and not a thing to do to someone you love. Fear of losing him and us drove me to the depths of despair. Adding drugs and alcohol onto that simmering madness was sometimes explosive. So I loaded them into the fire pit, doused them in gasoline and struck a match. A tinge of sadness came and then a great sense of release- as though I had somehow severed a bond that kept us bound to a time and place. I gave up the ghost on a beautiful day at the close of summer. I set him and I both free.

It is Sunday. Tomorrow is the Equinox. Fall is already hinting of its presence as the poplars drop leaves and the dogwoods begin to turn red. The temperature is dipping lower at night, the slant of sunlight has changed. It won't be long until the forest is devoid of color and the starkness of winter descends.

The day found me being extremely lazy. I left the house late afternoon to obtain cigarettes and petrol. I have begged out on the porch for hours on end today. I have however, continued to complete at least thirty sit ups and a few reps of planks each day, often twice a day. I am feeling the burn, and might be seeing a little definition begin to take form. I am not sure I desire ripped abs, but a more toned body would be nice. 

So I ask the universe to guide my thoughts and actions each day, to help them be divorced of anger, resentment, jealousy, and self seeking motivations. I say thank you at the close of each day for the gifts bestowed. It seems to be working a little magic in my day, although I can quickly offset any gains by not remembering to eat, being tired, angry or lonely. I also am remembering that I can reset the day at any moment- thank you Scott C...your advice when I was a drunk still rings clear in my ears, and has worked its magic for a few years now.

I close the day and smile. I remain. I remain connected. I remain willing to learn. These all come together and seem to be vital ingredients to a relatively sane and purposeful life.

Watching a brigade of butterflies, as swarms of clouds pass by. The words of many unanswered questions bounce around as I ask myself, "why?" Shadows dance, I feel the trance, as sunlight appears and vanishes. I feel hypnotized by sunbeams filtered through green leaves. They surround me, warm me and entice me. The cicadas hum and the bees fly by. I sit and stare blankly at the clouds and sky. The hammock in filtered sunlight, music in my ears. The embrace of the wind, comforting through the years. It speaks to me of being willing. Of trying something new. Of taking a chance I had not considered viable, when logic advises against it.

The ocean between our shores is vast and yet if I close my eyes, I am stepping ashore. In some dreams I am embraced as I enter the other land. In some dreams I am greeted by hostility or indifference. This makes the journey confusing. The coastline changes quickly. The sand bars shift. I see the wreckage of the crossings that came before. Stranded, bewildered. I try to avoid the reefs and find safe passage.

I am reminded by the songs in the wind that safety is not guaranteed, that disembarking in a strange land can hold danger. Like the songs on the wind, your siren song carries to my ears. Urging me forward with little heart gifts, kindnesses, passion, kisses, and desire. I disregarded the warning signs and ventured forward.

The kind, strong wind has now ceased. I am floating aimlessly. The shore, like a mirage, torments me, telling of love and laughter and of being sated and content. Yet in this tranquility, I am neither satisfied or content. So I pause, and wait for the return of the prevailing wind and trust that it will steer me in the direction I am intended to go. I do not know the outcome, only that I can not push the ocean. I can trust that all is and will be exactly as it is intended to be.

This thought brings me solace- that a spark has ignited a long dead torch. That torch was once used to light the sacred temple of love. And while the torch is lit and I see differently, the landscape is new. The priest of this realm is striking and short on years. He speaks a familiar language, and yet some words have seemingly lost their meaning in time. The temple is far off and overgrown. I hear of it's existence and feel the tug of distant memories. The priest plays his songs, picking at strings and pulling chords that sear my scared soul. Those scars are where the light enters I remember reading.

The ritual is underway. Silence prevails. No words are spoken and I grasp to decipher the meaning. My alms are accepted. My adoration seen. Passions ignited. And still there is a longing for meaning.

That longing brings me back to my ship. Sitting in calm water. Sunlight and supplies abound. I am in great abundance, even when my desire tells me otherwise.

On this date in 1986 I moved to Asheville, moved in with a man whom I loved, began a life with him.

His name was Hayes. He was ten years my senior, and he loved me. I was 18 ( he thought I was 19 until this day 28 years ago...) I remember bursting into tears as I confessed my true age. He just hugged me and told me we would work it out.

He maintained that outlook and helped me adopt it over the next eighteen years. His passing a decade ago, just shy of our 18th anniversary devastated me. My life unraveled and I drowned my feelings in every available bottle.

I ventured numbly into another relationship unfairly. And while I loved him, my grief welled up and exploded especially while drinking. The toxicity was complete and I grew spiritually dead. I had a drinking problem and we opened a bar. He hated people and worked as the bartender. It was fun and then it sucked. I grew clingy, suspicious and very jealous. He grew weary and distant. We collided in anger doused in booze and cocaine. It wasn't pretty.

Nearly seven years ago I woke up. I saw my reflection in a stainless steel toilet bowl and prayed for help.

Help arrived via 12 step programs. The events leading to my sobering up where horribly painful. The relationship ended abruptly. I wanted to die. I was afraid. I hated what I had become.

So I got sober. I got a new life. I grew to love myself and to love others sans inebriated states. A novel idea.

Fast forward to August 22, 2014- I remain sober and somewhat involved. I have a new home, friends that love me and whom I adore.

I am sitting on my porch at the close of the day listening to cadydids and crickets sing. Occasionally an owl or coyote will chime in adding the chorus.

I find myself in an unusual place. I have been actively pursued by a man 26 years my junior. I have taken a lover who is 20, and I rather enjoy it. He is proving to be a wonderful teacher- the lessons of no attachment seems to be his specialty. I am not the best student, but I trust the universe knows best. The more I struggle the deeper I sink. Relax and it all works. Tense up and fight and I am devoured.

So I light a candle and try to avoid feeling sorry for myself. Yes, it marks what would have been my 28th anniversary. It marks a time long past. I remember Hayes fondly and say thank you for the beautiful life we shared. I am reminded of Michael and the dysfunction we shared in the midst of love. I loved him greatly, still do in fact. While we've not spoken since September 16, 2007, there is not a day that passes that I do not pray for his health, safety and happiness. And then there is Jamez...

I sip my coffee from my porch in Candler, at the base of Mt Pisgah. The magical blue eyed beings are all in my thoughts. Jamez is the latest addition to this club, and he is completely unaware.

I am thankful to be here, to experience this life. That blue heron at Beaver Lake...thank you.

Monday morning. Coffee is ready before my alarm goes off. The house is quiet. My brain is squishy.

The distance between Friday afternoon and Monday morning does not seem proportionate to the distance between Monday morning and Friday afternoon. The weekend passes so quickly.

Waking to a Sunday morning. The sound of the ceiling fan whirling mixes with the sound of the coffee pot pumping. The smell of coffee wafts  through the house. I am watching out my bedroom window as the various shades of green come into focus, how the shapes and hues of leaves change as dawn arrives from night, as day slowly awakens.

The past few days have found me filled with discontent. It has been twenty one days since I stopped smoking, and yesterday I gave in to my insane mind and had one. It was horrible,  and tasted disgusting and yet having one somehow quieted that part of my brain that seemed to be causing a raucous.

Also adding to my level of discontent has been a newfound interaction that was of a potential romantic slant. I met a nice guy, we had coffee, went for a walk, had dinner, had brunch with his friends. All seemed to be going well. I was honest with my path- of not drinking or drugging. He indicated a few different ways that he was leaving his party boy days behind him. I enjoyed our conversations, and found it interesting to be interacting with someone so involved with TV, fashion, and music.

As I have many friends in recovery that have relationships with people who are not on this journey, I am not overly concerned when I meet someone who drinks. As the week progressed, the drunk interactions began. A thirty eight minute phone conversation left me frazzled, confused and a little resentful. While I desire to show love and tolerance, I also must practice self care and not accept every invitation I receive to engage with crazy. Needless to say, engaging with inebriation and codependent behaviour reminds me of a previous version of myself, I guess. I am thankful to be able to recognize the transition between then, and now- here versus there, and I am thankful for the reminder to continue forward.

This interaction and the feelings experienced reminds of another time and place. I am thinking of the garden I began planting in West Asheville. In the spring of 2008 I was struggling, I was dazed and confused, hurt and lonely, scared and remorseful, resentful and fear-filled. I began digging. With every feeling that made me uncomfortable, I dug. I amended the soil. I expanded the beds. What started as bare grass, became a swath of tilled soil, a path, a ribbon of planted, flowering loveliness. I found peace in that creation of sacred space. 

So fast forward a few years to the spring of 2014. I am feeling a few of those same feelings. I am in a new place, living with a friend, learning about myself and interacting with others. The reminder to work on my garden is timely- to create and nurture the sacred space, to tend to it and myself.  Thank you universe for the reminders.

I drove into town to see a friend and go to their yard sale - as I drove down my old street I spied the couple who bought my house last year. We had not yet met.



I stopped, introduced myself and spent the next hour walking around the yard, and seeing what they have done.



I had dreaded meeting them and have avoided doing so. I am glad that spirit had other plans. As my friend rightly noted, it feels like closure to a hurt.



So I am basking in the sunshine, sipping coffee and avoiding smoking... No casualties yet 😉