the day after the winter solstice and i feel so blurry. maybe it was the two "astro-pop" martini's from bar louie i threw down (and the big gulp of paula's "printer's ink" --- or maybe it was all the egg nog and christmas sweets i stuffed down earlier in the day that gave me heartburn) but i tossed and turned again last night. woke up at 3 a.m. to catch art bell's radio show. he was talking to people who had been deemed clinically dead. then i fell asleep and dreamt i was hovering over my own body. my skin pale as my white sheets. my arm wrapped around my pillow as i "slept" amid the debris of the restless night: cocteau dvd's, books of poems, my rune journal, the ten tarot cards from the spread i did for myself last night, a bottle of motion lotion. then, i woke up to the telephone. abra was ringing in from paris to tell me about her adventures in china, her secretive amorous relationships with exotic men, her desire to spend next summer with me in france, then maybe a jaunt to vienna or krackow. it took me almost twenty minutes of conversation to wake up. but i was energized by ab's fierce passion to be in the world. yes i love my bubble baths. yes i love cozying up to a good read on my crate and barrel sofa. yes i love walking to work and going to see xavier and kitty on the northside on the weekends, and hanging out at gourmond cafe and riding the el. but when ab talks about shanghai and beijing and all the lush locales she gets to see, i want to roam. I want to pack up and just travel. i know that teenage wanderlust never really abandoned me. i could pack up a pair of jeans right now, a computer notebook and some cds and be on the next plane to india. or thailand. or bali. or hong kong. ahh me.
spent a portion of yesterday swooning again over the oh so sexy (and a scorpio to boot) t.d. who invited me to his new year's bash. even though i'll be eating cuban pork roast on december 31st with xavier and friends, i imagined toasting my latest crush at the midnight hour with a cold cosmopolitan and a kiss on the lips in a clandestine corner. ("so what, you're married," i'd whisper.) but i linger on the stereo for now with my fantasies. i listen to the new cher cd. i listen to the new mick jagger. to the bee gees. to jane oliver. to enya. i dream of warm kisses. i dream of snuggling in his musky armpit. he left a message on my machine at work, and i pressed replay five times just to hear the voice over and over and over. another fruitless obsession.
my tarot spread indicated that i am the king of cups. orpheus. the sad poet who entertains others. but who cannot relinquish control. the lonely king who sits at the water's edge. terrified of drowning. of losing control. of sinking into the depths of emotion. of genuine caring. the gentle ruler of music and poetry and art. with a lyre to soothe. with charm and a beguiling naivete he moves about, befriended, even beloved. but orpheus turns around just before leaving hades. he loses his beautiful eurydice. he cannot trust. he must learn to. he must learn to surrender sometimes. to give in to the deep waters. to love. to form bonds of sincere relationship. to sometimes risk. he must learn. i must learn.
looking for christmas still. i burn candles. i think of watching the nutcracker suite last wednesday from the gallery at the auditorium theatre with mary and florentine. (like watching a mysterious snow globe shift) watching the hazy fog roll over the stage. the land of snow. the ice faeries. the sparkle of starry ballet dresses. for two hours, it was christmas. and i believed in all possibilities. in genuine sharing from a place within, compassionate and generous. two hours and my scrooge was kicked out. i was clara dancing with the magician. i was rising in the christmas balloon, coming home, remembering enchantment, utterly transformed.
