I have been married three times, and I've had one long-term, live-in relationship.  In total I've spent twenty-one of my fifty years in committed relationships.  With the exception of my second marriage, in which my spouse was abusive, I chose good, decent, caring, thoughtful, intelligent, hard-working men with whom to share my life.  But each of those relationships lasted for just a few years.  At this point, one could conclude that I'm a total failure at relationship, but in actuality, I've learned and grown through the challenges and triumphs that occurred in each situation.  I'm not an expert about relationships, but I'm getting better at participating in them.

            I'm currently involved in a relationship that began in fall 2006.  It is more loving, fulfilling, and intimate than any of my previous relationships were.  There are several reasons for this change in my relationship fortune.  The primary reason for this success is that Dan and I talk about our feelings, fears, worries, and perceptions.  We don't hide from our hurt, and we don't blame each other for the occasional stings and bruises that we experience along the way.  We both realize that when hurtful feelings arise, the primary trigger is a hurtful memory rather than the actual experience we're having in the moment.  We agreed early in our relationship to talk about our fears rather than to run from them.  Respectful, open, and compassionate communication is the key to the success of our relationship.
            I wish I had had the same communication skills and understanding on the eve of my first marriage in July, 1977, that I have now.  Looking back over my relationship history, I realize that the most significant problems stemmed from unclear communication and, at times, a complete lack of it.

            After my last marriage, which began on August 7, 1999, and ended in June, 2005, I decided to sit back and take stock of my attitudes and beliefs about being in a committed relationship with a man.  I asked myself many questions, meditated, contemplated, wrote in my journal, read countless books, sought help from a therapist and a hypnotherapist, and finally understood that I had approached every relationship from a wound or need, rather than from wholeness and a desire to be intimate.  I reacted to perceived wrongs or from the fear of future wrongs that didn't even exist!  I approached relationship from pain mitigation, always on the defensive, guarding myself against the next disappointment or disagreement.

            I learned early in life that disagreement with my parents generally left me sitting alone in my room with a sore behind.  Or, as punishment, the object of my desire was denied.  When I brought a problem to my parents, it was minimized as being unimportant in the grand scheme of things.  I was often told to figure it out for myself, or it was dismissed entirely.  Mom and Dad were happy when I kept my feelings to myself.  They withheld love and attention when I expressed myself.  Mom got what she wanted from us when she had temper tantrums and threw things, or when she gave the "silent treatment" to the rest of the family.  Dad got what he wanted from us simply by being a potential source of yelling, spanking, or backhands across the face. 

            I learned that acceptance and approval depended on my behavior.  I had to be "a good girl" as defined by them, or I'd be shunned and/or punished until I came back into line with the ideal that had been set.

            This is not uncommon in families, according to John Welwood .  Parents are "...imperfect vessels for perfect love..." because of their own fears, disappointments, and wounds.  For our parents, "...we become ‘their child,' an object of their hopes and fears."  He wrote that, as children, we are dependent on our parents and others.  As a result, we believe that love and acceptance come from outside of ourselves.  Our parents' "...acceptance and support become conditional on our meeting their expectations.  And this undermines our trust..." (p. 46).

            He noted that when love is "...conditional or unreliable or manipulative...," children conclude that they are not really loved.  The result is fear and psychic wounding:

This wounding hurts so much that children try to push it out of consciousness.  Eventually a psychic scab forms.  That scab is our grievance.  Grievance against others serves as a defensive function, by hardening us so we don't have to experience the underlying pain of not feeling fully loved.  And so we grow up with an isolated, disconnected ego, at the core of which is a central wound, freak-out, and shutdown.  And all of this is covered over with some resentment, which becomes a major weapon in our defense arsenal (p. 47).

            My childhood fit this pattern.  I learned to be silent on the outside while I seethed on the inside.  That was my strategy for survival within a family dynamic that didn't invite or welcome full disclosure.  Unfortunately, that strategy doesn't support the development of intimacy and understanding in a relationship, romantic or otherwise.

            We carry into our non-familial relationships the same communication dynamic we experienced in our nuclear families.  Considering the explosiveness in my family, I often wondered whether the term "nuclear family" really had more to do with disastrous relationships instead of proximity due to birth.

            Gary Chapman explained the relationship between upbringing and communication style develops in early childhood.  He wrote that children develop their emotional patterns and "love languages" when they are very young.  Some children grow up feeling loved and secure while others feel unloved and unwanted, having grown up in households that engender patterns of low self-esteem.  Each group learns how to express itself in a particular way (pp.15-16).

            "The children...will develop a primary emotional love language based on their unique psychological makeup and the way their parents and other significant persons expressed love to them," wrote Chapman.  "They will speak and understand one primary love language."

            He went on to say that husbands and wives generally have different primary love languages, and that miscommunication and misunderstanding occur "...when our spouse does not understand what we are communicating.  We are expressing our love, but the message does not come through because we are speaking what, to them, is a foreign language" (p.16).

            As the eldest of three children, I had many household chores and was responsible for my siblings after school.  Ours was a "latch key" family.  Both parents worked outside of the home.  When I reached the age of fourteen, we no longer needed the adult supervision of a neighbor, and I was given charge of my brother and sister, who were twelve and ten, respectively.  We went straight home after school, where I tidied the house and began dinner preparations.  On weekend evenings I babysat neighborhood children.  At the age of sixteen, I discontinued babysitting and added two part-time jobs to my schedule.  

            By the time I joined the Air Force at the age of eighteen, I was glad to be responsible only for myself.  Compared with my teen years, the discipline and schedule of military life was relaxing.  But the ratio of men to women was 95-to-1.  I was drowning in a sea of youthful testosterone.  It was overwhelming, especially since I hadn't dated much in high school or in my one semester of college.

            The desire for safety and to feel loved and appreciated was the reason I married Jeff, my first husband.  We met when we were in the Air Force.  I was nineteen and he was twenty-one.  We worked on the same shift, and a friendship developed.  Soon, we were a couple.  We dated for six months before deciding to marry.  I was thrilled by the idea of having someone to love me and to take care of me for a change! 

            Jeff was a man who also had a difficult upbringing; he had been a Navy dependent.  His stepfather's aloofness and frequent, long-term absences were difficult for him, and as a result, Jeff didn't express his feelings and didn't know how to deal with mine.

            We moved to his home town of San Diego after completing our enlistments.  We were expecting our first child as we made the cross-country trip and tried to settle into our new life together.  I was experiencing the challenge of being pregnant, living in a new community without my own friends or relatives for support, and being jobless because of the obvious bump under my clothes.  We were struggling to live on one income. 

            After our son was born in September, 1979, I returned to school and collected my GI Bill benefits, which helped the financial situation somewhat.  However, I had a baby, husband, and household to take care of while I managed a full course load at school year-round.  My goal was to try to gain admission into San Diego State University's impacted television and radio program, so I had to maintain an "A" grade average.  I also was chronically ill due to problems arising from poor medical treatment during and after my son's birth. 

            As a result of my physical condition, I was told that I would never have another baby.  So in 1981 we were surprised to learn that I was again pregnant.  The pregnancy was challenging because my uterus was covered with scar tissue from the C-section from my son's delivery and the severe infection that had gone on for more than a year following his birth.  I almost had a miscarriage six months after our daughter was conceived.  We hung on, though, and she was born in January 1982. 

            All was not well, however.  She had a serious birth injury that caused her to be hooked up to machines in neonatal intensive care for the first month of her life.  She was born with a "gastroschisis."  Her intestines and other abdominal organs protruded through a hole near her navel.  She required immediate surgery, and we didn't know whether she would survive.  She did survive however, and she came home in late February.  But she was still a sick baby and required two additional surgeries in the first year. 

            Jeff's solace was in his relationships with his long-time high school and college buddies, whose friendships rekindled after his return from the Air Force.  They had their weekly poker nights, went to football and baseball games together, played racquetball, and took weekend gambling trips to Las Vegas.  I stayed home and took care of home and hearth.

            I continued to carry a full schedule at school and maintain an "A" average.  I also had constant pain as a result of the problems with my son's delivery, and seven months after my daughter was born, I had a hysterectomy.  In 1982, support groups weren't the norm.  I was twenty-four, and didn't know whether I was still a woman following the removal of my uterus, cervix, and one ovary and fallopian tube.  Four weeks after the hysterectomy, I was back in school full-time and I had an internship at a radio station as I tried to gain a foothold in San Diego's broadcasting community.             

            I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.  I felt unsupported and alone.  Additionally, I didn't know that I was suffering from chronic clinical depression.  These circumstances made communication very difficult.  I was unhappy and couldn't pull myself out of it.  Jeff kept trying to please me and nothing worked.  We grew angry, disappointed, resentful, and distant.  Neither of us knew how to communicate with the other, to share our feelings, or to understand the situation.  I had a brief affair with a college professor.  I was reaching out for some kind of love, affection, and understanding.  In a moment of honesty, I told Jeff about the lapse.  He demanded a dissolution, which was final in 1983.

            Many years later, after we both had been through counseling for our own issues, we finally talked about our marriage.  Jeff told me that he had been struggling during those years, too.  He was trying to earn enough to allow me to stay in school, and he felt overwhelmed by the financial responsibility of a mortgage, wife, and two small children.  He also saw my suffering and didn't know what to do about it.  And the pain and struggle that our daughter experienced during her first year literally had crushed him.  He didn't know how to deal with his own feelings during that time. 

            In our relationship, his "love language" was expressed by providing me with a home and by paying the bills.  I didn't recognize his language.  He didn't help me around the house.  He didn't invite me to go to Las Vegas with him, or to be his buddy at Chargers games.  He didn't buy me little presents, the way my stepfather brought trinkets to my mother.  He didn't arrange for his mother to take the kids for a weekend to take me out to romantic little getaways.  Therefore, I didn't believe he loved me, and I didn't feel supported by him.

            I also had my own love language.  I cooked and cleaned with a fury, working hard to be sure that everything at home was under control.  I was the perfect hostess when friends and family came to dinner.  I also worked hard in school in order to prove my own ability to carry my part of the load.  I was accustomed to working hard because that was what my parents had demanded of me.  I was the caretaker, just as I had been since I was fourteen years old.     But Jeff didn't receive the nurturing and loving companionship he had hoped to find in a wife and mother of his children.  I was a fabulous "doer," but I wasn't the companion or lover that he wanted.

            Sadly, despite our nearly super-human efforts to please each other, we were both very disappointed.  It reminds me of the plot of "The Gift of the Magi," in which each spouse gives up something important to give the other the dearest gift.  In the end, both were left without their treasures.  In our case, however, in our disappointment we even gave up the love and companionship we thought we had had at the beginning of the relationship.

            If we had talked to each other during our marriage, perhaps we'd still be together.  Or, if an end was inevitable at some point, perhaps it would have occurred with less pain and damage.

            Welwood explained that we want our relationships to be perfect and infallible.  We "...expect human love to be absolute, providing a...steady flow of attunement, unconditional acceptance, and understanding."  He wrote that we blame the other person when this doesn't occur in the relationship (pp. 47-48).

            After several marriages and relationships, I took a long, hard look at myself.  I didn't want to continue to blame the other person.  I knew that I had my own part in the disappointments and divisiveness that had occurred in these relationships.

            I've only recently discovered my destructive communication pattern of burying my feelings and negating my own wants, needs, and desires.  When angered or hurt, I used to shut down and act as if nothing was wrong.  My partner didn't know what was wrong, but I expected him to fix it for me. 

            I had learned this behavior from my parents, as noted earlier.  I had learned part of it as my communication pattern to win favor with my parents.  I also had learned from their example as a couple.

            They argued at night, as if somehow we wouldn't be aware of the yelling and the slamming doors.  "God damn it, Beverly!" and "I've had it, Bob!" carried up the stairs to my darkened bedroom, and they were phrases that made me shudder.  The following day, the chill in the house was palpable.  The sulky, silent mood that passed between my parents, their glaring glances at each other, and their shortness with us children bore torturous testimony to what had gone on downstairs during the previous night.  These periods often lasted for days.

            As a result, I determined that I would never argue with my husband when I grew up.  Arguing meant that love was no longer present.  I decided that to show my love, I would never argue or disagree.  This was a childish interpretation of the events, but I was a child, and those early impressions carry well into our adult lives unless the messages are reframed.

            I have since learned that these unexpressed feelings are disempowering.  According to Welwood, we retreat from our painful feelings to make them smaller (p. 79).  Instead of making us feel better, he wrote, it causes us to disconnect.  "If you flee from the wound, you only give it more power over you.  Eventually, your emotional body becomes like an abandoned, haunted house.  The more you flee the pain of unlove, the more it festers in the dark and the more haunted your house becomes" (p. 82).

            Welwood suggested that we learn to accept and acknowledge those painful places within ourselves.  As a result, "...the wound that once seemed so huge, so monstrous, so overwhelming, becomes tolerable" (p. 82).

            Through therapy, I have now learned to acknowledge my "negative" feelings rather than bury them as if they never existed.  As a result, I recognize that when something occurs in my relationship that brings up a feeling of insecurity, which I equate to being unloved, I'm only experiencing a trigger from a past relationship.  I don't blame my partner for being the trigger.  I know it's not about him.  Instead, I tell him about what I'm feeling, and we explore it together.  I bring it up from the depths and into the light, where it can be seen for what it is.  My feelings are no longer the monster under the bed that gathered up my parents' harsh words and kept them, waiting to pounce on me with them when I let down my guard.

            I'm very fortunate to have finally learned how to feel my emotions, to accept them, and to communicate about them with my partner.  I'm also very lucky to have Dan as my partner.  He's been through many of the same experiences I've been through, and he understands how relationships trigger old wounds.  He's also undergone a great deal of therapy, and he is a fabulous, sensitive, compassionate, articulate communicator of his own feelings.  At the same time, he is a spacious vessel for me.

            One of the first rules that we agreed to in our relationship was to talk to each other when either of us feels angry, afraid, unloved, misunderstood, or lonely.  We both know the damage that is caused by letting misunderstandings fester and grow. 

            In addition to learning how to be present with our feelings, we've each learned how to communicate and listen in a nonviolent, non-defensive way.  "There's something on my mind, and I wonder whether you're in a space to talk about it" generally is the beginning of the discussion.  We have a pact to search ourselves to answer this very important question honestly.  Leaping to a "yes" if we're really not able to be attentive and open is just as harmful as leaping into defensiveness and striking a battle pose.  If the answer is no, there is an agreement to come back to the discussion as quickly as possible.  When both are open and receptive to listen and problem-solve, the result usually is a quick resolution and greater intimacy.

            We use "I feel" statements rather than "you make me feel" statements.  When we own our own feelings, we don't force the burden of responsibility or defensiveness onto our partner.  This allows the partner to be open and receptive, and it facilitates clear communication. 

            Clarifying questions help to prevent misunderstandings.  In past discussions, Dan has asked, "Let me see if I understand you," and he restated the conversation in his own words.  Or he's asked, "I'm not sure I'm getting this.  Do you mean...?"  This lets me know that he is listening actively, and it gives me the opportunity to restate or clarify any misperceptions.  Naturally, I do the same.

            We're also honest with each other when we do or don't want to do something.  If the activity is important to the other, we negotiate.  This prevents resentment from occurring. 

            We choose to be open and available for each other, and to face our fears and insecurities with courage and integrity.  We choose to love each other and ourselves enough to communicate.

            Dan is a thinker, and I'm a feeler.  I have to communicate with him in thinking terms.  I need to be logical and sequential in my serious discussions with him.  He knows that logic doesn't work with me.  He recognizes that feelings are more important to me.

            This is illustrated by a recent discussion about my desire to redecorate the condo I rent.  I talked about colors, window treatments, lighting, and furniture.  He didn't understand why I would want to spend the time and money decorating what, to him, is a temporary place to live.  It didn't seem logical.  I explained to him that I have already been living in the place for three years, and I had no desire to leave it until I finish my schooling, and perhaps longer.  I told him that it's not just a place to live, it's my home, and I want it to feel homey and comfortable. 

            His expression changed as he began to understand.  "Oh!" he said.  "This has to do with how you feel about the place.  So it's not about the logic of it for you." 

            Exactly!  He understood because he was willing to listen to me in my language.

            "Love is a choice," wrote Chapman.  It's easy to understand and listen when we agree or when we're feeling good.  When we're angry, resentful, or hurting, it's hard to make the choice to talk and listen.  According to Chapman, "Love doesn't erase the past, but it makes the future different.  When we choose active expressions of love in the primary love language of our spouse, we create an emotional climate where we can deal with our past conflicts and failures" (p. 143).

            The echoes of my childhood pain can still reverberate occasionally.  Instead of letting them become cacophonous, I listen and ask Dan to listen with me.  As a result, the destructive voices no longer clamor for attention.  They are acknowledged and accepted through openness and communication.  That acceptance allows me to open my heart and my life in ways that I never thought were possible.  I no longer need to be on guard against perceived wrongs.  I recognize that the only wrong is in not being present with what I'm experiencing here and now.

                        

Works Cited

 

Champman, G.  The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to
Your Mate. (3^rd ed).  Chicago: Northfield Publishing, 1992.

Welwood, J. Perfect Love, Imperfect Relationships: Healing the Wound of the Heart.

            Boston: Trumpeter Books, an imprint of Shambhala Publications, Inc., 2006.

Karen E. Kelsay.  All Rights Reserved.  Copyright 2008.

OMG!  I think this ranks up there with the folks who raise monkeys as surrogate children instead of adopting real children who are in need.   Anyone know of a nice, quiet mountain top that I can perch on (a blunt one!)?
 

By Sean Silverthorne

July 9th, 2008 @ 5:29

http://blogs.bnet.com/harvard/?p=366&tag=nl.e713

As people continue to pinch pennies in a slowing economy, how does the seller of upscale products and services convince them to buy items that are impractical (Hummer), unnecessary (Amazon rain forest excursion),  or expensively luxurious (Lobster of the Month Club)?

The answer is simple. Lay on the guilt.

According to a new Harvard Business Review item When Virtue is a Vice, consumers who forgo indulgences in favor of sensible choices regret their frugality years later. But those who succumb to the Influence of the Immoderate and buy that John Ferdinand bracelet for men or Manolo Blahnik alligator boots for women rarely regret their actions, write Harvard Business School assistant professor Anat Keinan and Columbia marketing professor Ran Kivetz.

And that's why marketers should consider playing up the regret angle when selling high-ticket items.

"Our findings suggest that marketers of luxury products and leisure services could benefit from prompting consumers to predict their feelings in the future if they forgo the indulgent choice. For instance, a travel company might ask customers to consider how they'll feel about having passed up a family vacation package once the nest is empty."

In other words, you will be doing your customers a favor by convincing them to indulge. Chocolate is good for you!

BTW, what luxuries are you unwilling to part with even in the midst of recession? Are you Sex in the City's Carrie Bradshaw, who realized she had spent $40,000 on shoes but couldn't afford an apartment?

Knowledge is something you think you know, and wisdom is something you really know.

Wisdom is employed when acting from knowledge has a potential for creating situations that are better left uncreated. 

Wisdom requires a high level of emotional intelligence.

Wisdom requires commitment.

Considering the traffic I just encountered while running errands, I'd have to say -- at least for the moment -- the current world situation is akin to squabbling toddlers who haven't learned how to share.  Nor have they learned any manners.  Perhaps if we give them a cookie they'll behave?  Or, carrots and raisins for those of us who prefer healthy lifestyle choices.

This is a painting done by one of my co-workers, Paul Quijada.  Would you believe he's working as a shipping clerk?  He does landscapes, miniatures, pet portraiture, and decorative art.  Please visit his website:  www.paulquijada.com

 Big news came out of Sacramento this week.  The California Supreme Court decided in favor of marriage for same-sex couples.  I smiled as I heard the news on my car radio.  I'm not a lesbian, and to my knowledge I have no family members who are gay or lesbian.  But I thought it was wonderful news just the same.  I am happy whenever human rights are successfully defended and upheld.

I haven't always been this open and accepting when it comes to differences between people.  I was born in the late 1950s and grew up in the ‘60s and ‘70s.  I was a product of my blue collar, upstate New York upbringing.  The "N" word was used liberally by my dad and his friends, although today my mom insists that she and Dad never raised us to see differences in race and color (even personal memory can slip into political correctness).  Misogyny was accepted as perfectly normal in those days.  Interracial couples were seen as abominations, regardless of the racial, national, or ethnic combination.  In short, anyone who didn't look or sound like "us" was viewed with suspicion.  And "they" regarded us with the same suspicion.  That behavior was accepted as normal.

However, over the last couple of decades I've stretched my horizons.  The things that I once believed were absolute truths have turned out to be little more than xenophobic responses to anything that appeared to threaten the status quo.  I've learned that thoughts, beliefs, ideas, morals, values, and judgments are personal choices.

However, some things in our lives are not choices.  They are part of who we are, such as being right- or left-handed, tall or short, and white- or brown-skinned.  I've had discussions with my gay and lesbian friends and acquaintances.  I have learned that each one's sexual orientation is NOT a "lifestyle choice."  It is part of who my friends are.

Just as I am not wired for a same-sex relationship, my same-sex friends are not wired for heterosexual relationships.  My lesbian and gay friends told me that sexual relationships with members of the opposite gender simply don't interest them.  It wouldn't even be an issue for them if heterosexuals didn't make it so much of an issue.

I'm not an expert.  I'm simply an observer.  I don't know every person who has a different orientation from mine.  But here's what I know about the gay and lesbian people who are in my life:

Their sexuality is not sexual misconduct, nor is it perversion.  They do not deliberately victimize or harm others in their relationships any more than any of we "hets" do in our relationships.  They'd prefer to keep their sexuality as a point of intimacy between themselves and their lovers, just as most heterosexuals do. 

There are many levels and varieties of sexual expression in the LBGT worlds, just as there are in the heterosexual world.  There are also degrees of behavioral acceptance and tolerance, freaks and geeks, and sub-communities within larger communities, just as there are in "my" sexual world.

There are also countless people in each of these worlds who are deeply hurt and wounded, psychologically unstable, mentally ill, chemically dependent, and otherwise challenged when it comes to relating to other people.  They cause harm to others.  These circumstances afflict all races, social, economic, religious, and cultural groups.  People all over the world beat and torture their spouses or partners, rape children, and engage in sexual slavery and human trafficking.  These are the human indignities we should be working toward healing and overcoming.

Marriage is not the bedrock of our society, as many people claim.  In the ‘way back, marriage was created to establish ownership and to create a lineage to pass along those possessions.  Wives and children were considered to be chattel.  Today, marriage is being used as a way to demonstrate ownership over genitals.  There is no such thing as an ideal family.  Most of us are abused and wounded children who staggered from childhood to adulthood, trying to live "normal" lives with the neuroses and traumas visited upon us by our wounded parents.  I'm not against marriage, but it ain't everything it's cracked up to be.  I know.  I was raped and beaten by my psychologically wounded Christian husband. 

So, when I hear and read about the social conservatives who will fight tooth and nail to overturn through constitutional amendment the California Supreme Court's decision for same-sex marriage, I am appalled.  Frankly, I don't care what anyone's sexual proclivities are or what his or her relationship status is as long as it doesn't affect me or anyone else who isn't a voluntary and knowledgeable participant. 

The thing that appalls me is this:  If same-sex marriage is legislated against through constitutional amendment, who will be excluded next?  What fundamental human dignity will be struck down tomorrow?  If the dominant group doesn't like Native Americans, or economically disadvantaged people, or left-handed people, will they also be legislated against at some future date?

Additionally, if anyone wants to take on a REAL cause to eliminate suffering and improve the quality of human life, take on pedophilia, sexual slavery, and abuse.  Shout, demonstrate, and rail against a government that maliciously makes "social" causes appear to be the reason for the undermining of our homes, jobs, health care, education, environment, and families while it erodes our real civil and human rights.  Put up your dukes against rampant materialism and unhinged capitalism.  Harangue the corporations and advertising agencies that manipulate and hypnotize you and your children into be unabashed and insatiable consumers.  Take on greed and excess.  Take on big oil.  Take on the laws that allow speculators to hedge and bet on the things people need to sustain them, driving up prices to the point at which only the speculators can afford to have them.  Take on the power mongers who manipulate, starve, depress, repress, withhold, and otherwise prevent the rest of the people in the world from living in safety, health, vitality, and comfort.

If anyone has that much energy, time and passion, use it to take on something that matters.  Take on the things that affect all of us.  Fight against the real injustices and the things that cause real harm in this world.  Fight injustice, indignity, intolerance, and ignorance.  Not only will you change your own life, you will change the world.  Give your money, time, and energy to build homes and provide food, water, and medicine for people around the world whose lives are devastated by genocide and natural disasters.  And do the same in preparation for the next big natural or manmade disaster, and the next one, and the next one, and the next one.

Spend time taking on the real sins of this world. 

Okay.  So.  I'm an intelligent, sensitive, caring, loving, congenial, sexual, sensual, enlightened woman, right?  I understand about loving relationships -- that the other person is simply a mirror reflecting back to me the love that already is present within me.  The other is not the source of love, but an expression of it.  That there are many people who reflect different aspects of ourselves back to us, and that one person can't possibly be the whole enchilada (where on earth did that saying come from, anyway?  The restaurants I frequent don't sell them in halves).  And that, just because the love of your life (or of the moment) is interested in spreading his (or her) wings doesn't mean that there's something wrong with the relationship the two of you share.  It's just that the person wants to express an aspect of himself or herself that doesn't get expressed in the relationship you share.

I get that.  But those infernal old ways of thinking just don't seem to want to let go.  The monogamy habit is hard to break.  I have my fantacies and flirtations from time-to-time, but when called upon to act on them, I generally decline.

But the polyamory topic keeps coming up in my relationship with my sweetie.  First it was his idea.  He met someone at a workshop with whom he shared a connection and he wanted to explore it.  I was less enlightened a year and a half ago.  I said, "Well, it's your life.  I'm not going to say yes or no.  I am going to say that I would have trouble with it.  So, go for it, and we'll just be friends."  He didn't like the idea of our relationship changing in that way, so he decided to hold off on his exploration and asked me to be open-minded about it down the road.  I agreed.

We've been involved in the Human Awareness Institute, which is absolutely life-changing.  I don't look at relationships, sexuality, sensuality, and intimacy the way I did in the past.  But, there are still some things that are hard for me to change. 

Still, at my Level 3 workshop last year, I met someone with whom I shared a connection.  Dawned the light!  I understood what my sweetie was talking about.  I went home and said, "Yeah!  I get it.  Go for it, Babe.  And, while you're at it, I'll be going for it, too."  By that time, though, he had changed his mind.  Sigh.  But I do have the gift of a loving friendship sans sex with the person I met at the workshop.  Everything's hunky dory, except my loving friend would like things to be different.  Still, he's a loving friend, and he accepts my choice to focus on my relationship with my number one sweetie.

So then last night, my number one sweetie tells me that he's changed his mind again and would like to be free to explore those parts of himself that he doesn't express through our relationship.  I understand that.  I really, really do!  But, just a few weeks ago we agreed that we were in a committed, monogamous relationship. 

There are no actual candidates for his affections at this particular moment.  He's coming out of his shell, so to speak, and has found that he's quite liking the new him.  He's also noticed that others are responding very positively and warmly toward him.  I love his more extroverted behavior, and feel that some of the credit can go to the safety and vessel of our particular dynamic. 

 I, on the other hand, actually do have a couple (well, okay -- THREE) candidates for my affections.  But, I made a choice, and I am comfortable with that.  They've accepted that I made my choice.   But, I am assured, if the door ever opens, volunteers are patiently standing by.  I really wasn't considering opening that door, having pretty well figured out that I really didn't want to go down that path.  Too traditional, I suppose.  Even though, as a person who's been in many relationships over her 50 years in this life, I suppose one could say I'm a serial monogamist.  Which, essentially, makes me a polyamorist if one looks at my relationships as a collection rather than as individual experiences.

Still, I was really taken aback by my sweetie's comments last evening.  I get that there's nothing wrong with our relationship.  The sexuality, sensuality, and intimacy of heart, mind, soul, and body are amazing.  We click pretty well on all cylinders.  I get that sometimes it's fun and exciting to consider the possibility of exploring other horizons.

I have friends and acquaintances who are polygamorists.  I understand that it's not "swinging," and it's not sex just for the sake of sex.  These are people who have a primary, loving, amazing relationship.  They also have one or two other loving, amazing relationships at the same time.  Everyone gets along, everything's out and open, and somehow, everyone gets what they need.  Most of the time, anyway.  From what I understand, there can be tough moments.

So, given that I know everything everyone ever wanted to know about polyamory because I wasn't afraid to ask -- why am I punked out about it?  Don't we all want to have that kind of trust and freedom in a relationship (I forgot to mention -- goose and gander have equal rights in the situation, if each so chooses, according to the rules).

I suppose, since it's come up so often in this relationship, it will just keep coming up again.  So, might as well go with it, deal with whatever issues come up, and see what happens.  Trust love, and trust the universe.  It could be great.  It could be otherwise.  Even a committed, monogamous relationship has its elements of gamble.

I know that the relationship is very loving and "solid."  I know that I am loved, respected, cherished, worshipped, and savoured.  And that he receives the same, and is very happy with our relationship.  But, there's more that wants to express.  I know and understand that, and I have the same feelings from time to time. 

I don't know that I necessarily want to be polyamorous.  I have a full-time job, and am a full-time student in a very demanding program.  I have two cats.  I haven't even had the time to vaccuum regularly lately.  I do make time for the relationship, and he assures me that our decreased time together isn't the issue.

I don't want to say no.  I don't want to say yes.  I want things to stay as they are.  My feelings are hurt.  Now, how's THAT for being enlightened?

     

Two smells always take me back to May 5, 1976.  That's the date I left home and boarded a Greyhound bus to Buffalo, New York.  Fuel fumes and the fragrance of French toast sizzling on a griddle always remind me of that journey.  It was a journey that changed my life, taking me from everything I knew and into the dark unknown.  I relished it.

            A few months earlier I had signed papers to become a member of the United States Air Force.  I made the decision after waking from a dream during my college Thanksgiving break in 1975.  In the dream I wore an Air Force uniform.  The image was so real to me that when I awoke, I quite literally felt as if I had been there and that somehow I was out of place and time in my childhood bed.  The next day I went to the recruiting station near the Greece Towne Mall.  I knew without any doubt that this was the right thing to do.

            My parents were surprisingly supportive.  My stepfather was an Air Force veteran.  I remember seeing a black-and-white picture of him, a jaunty and handsome young sergeant in a tan uniform, cap askew, cigarette dangling from his mouth, leaning against a military jeep.  The photo was shot somewhere in France during the Korean War.  Dad was a communications technician assigned to NATO.  He often spoke of his adventures dodging a sniper's bullets while climbing communications towers in Korea. 

            One story took place in France.  He spoke of the dangers of being in a foreign place.  He could have lost his life.  Driving drunk in the fog, he and his buddy would jump out, lick their fingers, and grab the jeep's battery terminals to jolt them into a momentary state of awareness so they could continue their drive.  It was so foggy that the driver of the moment would stick his foot out to feel the curb as he drove.  Those stories were the ones that made Dad my hero.        

            Such stories weren't my reason for joining the Air Force, however.  At least, not consciously.  I never liked my hometown of Greece, New York.  I never really fit in.  Family life wasn't happy for me.  I plotted my escape for as long as I could remember.  I remember, on the day of high school graduation, my best friend Kathy and I were standing in the auditorium foyer.  Kathy said, "You really need to get out of this place.  It's not right for you."  I agreed with her.

            I thought living on campus at a nearby university would provide some measure of escape.  I knew I couldn't continue to live at home, but I wasn't able to support myself enough to move.  I was largely paying for my own expenses at school and received notification that those expenses would increase for the following semester.   Without the wherewithal to continue, I needed to withdraw at the end of that first semester.  I didn't know what I would do after that.  I was deeply depressed.

            In those days, the region's primary employer was Kodak, and Rochester was a company town.  Friends' fathers worked there, and the annual Kodak bonus was viewed as a right rather than a privilege.  It never occurred to anyone that it wouldn't always be there.  My grandfather was a Kodak trickworker, always sleeping by day and working by night.  My dad, however, worked for the phone company, a result of his training in the Air Force.  But all of my friends aspired to lifelong jobs at Kodak.  Many knew they'd go to college, but they also knew they'd come back home and settle, working for the company that had taken care of their families for generations.  I was horrified by the prospect, hence, my depression over the idea of leaving college and going straight into a job at Kodak.

            As I wracked my brain to come up with another alternative, perhaps in my sleep my subconscious had dredged up images of my dad in uniform.  It's said that the sleep state is an excellent place to work out problems by letting the unconscious mind communicate to us through dreams.  In retrospect, that seems plausible.  Regardless of why the dream presented itself to me at that particular time, I was ready to make a drastic change and was receptive to the idea of joining the military as a way to run away from home.  The Air Force had the best reputation, and the Vietnam era was drawing to a close.  Peace or war, I'd be safe in the Air Force.  So what the heck?  I joined.

            I took a battery of tests and scored so high that the captain of the AFEES station in Buffalo had to grade it by hand just to be sure there wasn't a problem with the computer.  I was offered a guaranteed job in intelligence.  Only the best of the best were invited into that world, and I would be one of the first women allowed into the field.  Snow job?  Perhaps.  But it sounded exciting to an eighteen year-old with no other prospects.  I certainly didn't want to be a secretary.  My "yes" to the offer meant that I'd have to delay my departure for a few months while awaiting an opening in the training school.  So May 5, 1976, would be my official entry date.

            When the time came, I packed my one small suitcase with toiletries, underwear, and whatever else we were allowed to have upon arrival at Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base near San Antonio, Texas. 

            My recruiter gave me a "chit" for a Greyhound bus ticket to Buffalo.  That would be my point of entry into the world of military intelligence.  I said goodbye to my brother and sister at home, and my parents drove me to the bus station in Rochester.  We walked through the station to the loading area and stood outside the bus until boarding time.  Diesel fumes permeated the air, slightly burning my nostrils and throat.  Several busses were lined up, motors rumbling, waiting to take travelers to various parts of the country.  Perhaps one or two of the travelers in the area were going to California to be hippies.  Imagining their freedom, I wanted to join them.  There were only a few people standing near the bus for Buffalo.  I was nervous and excited.  Part of me wanted to turn around and run home while another part was eager to get going. 

            The bus driver arrived and cheerfully opened the doors under the bus to reveal gaping caverns for our luggage.  He stowed the luggage, chatting amiably with his charges-to-be.  How could he be so glib?  Didn't he know that something drastic was happening in my life?  He turned and took our tickets.  Time to board.  I turned to my parents.

            I loathe goodbyes.  When the old is done, I simply turn to the new and move forward.  Still, we hugged.  I knew Dad was proud.  Mom was crying.  I felt guilty for leaving but didn't tell them.  Dad put his arm around her, running his hand slowly up and down her back to comfort her in his way.  I wanted his arm to be around me, comforting me.  But it was too late.  The decision was made.  I boarded the bus and settled into my seat, having chosen one that allowed me to wave to them through the window as the bus pulled away.  I watched them return the wave, Mom crying and Dad consoling.  I wanted to cry too but held back the tears.  I wouldn't cry in front of strangers, and I didn't want my parents to know I was scared.

            When the bus arrived in Buffalo, an Air Force sergeant was there to meet me.  He loaded my suitcase into the trunk of his dark, Air Force blue, government car and drove me to an aging hotel in downtown Buffalo.  He escorted me to my room, gave me chits for dinner and breakfast, and told me he'd be in the lobby in the morning to take me to the airport. 

            I was frightened to be alone in a strange city in a dingy hotel.  I'm sure the government doesn't house recruits at the Ritz, but this place was musty and old.  I didn't know quite what to make of it.  I was hungry, so I went to the hotel coffee shop in the lobby.  I ate the greasy food quickly and scurried back up to my room, where I hastily locked and pushed a chair against the door.  I washed up and watched "snowy" television from the bed.  I placed a wake-up call request with the hotel operator, praying they'd actually call me on time.  I was nervous and had trouble sleeping.  Even so, I slept well enough to be awakened by the operator's "Good morning, it's seven o'clock" message to me the next day.

            After breakfast, I met the Air Force guy in the lobby.  He drove me to the airport and sat with me until boarding time.  He wished me well and watched while I stood before the open door and handed my ticket to the gate agent.  The smell of Jet A fuel wafted in.  More fumes to wedge their way into my brain, forever to remind me of my journey.  I walked onto the tarmac and up the steps to the airplane that would whisk me away to San Antonio, Texas.  It was a long flight.

            San Antonio is warm and humid.  That was my first impression upon disembarking from the plane that evening.  Most of the events following my arrival at the airport are a blur.  I vaguely remember a sort of welcome center for the Air Force recruits right there at the airport.  Welcome center or holding cell, I wasn't sure which was true.  Throughout the evening more recruits arrived.  Together we waited until late into the night, when we were loaded on to a string of school busses painted that dark, Air Force blue that was already starting to become familiar to me.  That color would be part of my life for the next several years. 

            The full busses ferried us from the airport to Lackland Air Force Base, just outside the San Antonio area.  We entered the base under a sign proclaiming that we were entering through "The Gateway to the Air Force."   All Air Force recruits go through six weeks of basic training at Lackland.  Dad had also gone through that gate many, many years earlier.

            It was the first time I'd ever been on a military base.  It seemed that I was on another planet.  It was dark and eerily foggy, making the rows of identically boxy, featureless buildings appear ghostly and soulless as we rode through the base to the training area. 

            The busses stopped in a well-lighted, large, parking lot type of area.  I soon learned that it was the parade ground, its surface worn smooth by hundreds of thousands of young marching feet.  The parking lot/parade ground was adjacent to a fenced enclave of identically boxy, featureless buildings.  Those buildings would be home for the next six weeks.

            As I stepped off the bus, I was hit by another round of diesel fumes.  This time, though, they mingled with the smell of French toast coming from one of the nearby buildings.  The unlikely combination heightened my feelings of disorientation.  I was also deeply fatigued after two long days of travel atop an emotional roller coaster.

            It was pre-dawn, a time I associated with getting into the car for a road trip with my family when I was a kid.  There was always a sense of anticipation and excitement in those moments.  It was odd, feeling the old family memory swim up into my awareness at the same time I was drowning in the unfamiliar.  But it was comforting, and I was glad for it.

            The air was muggy, and it had that quiet feel settles over those moments just before the birds start their break-of-day sing-in. But singing birds weren't on the agenda at that moment.  Instead, I heard the authoritative voice of my new Training Instructor. 

            We were lined up, given instructions, and marched to the dining hall.  As I went through the chow hall line for my early morning breakfast, I chose the French toast.  I sat down to eat and knew there was no turning back.  My new life had begun.

                

All rights reserved.  Copyright 2008 by Karen E. Kelsay.                  

 

Easter is just around the corner.  I can tell because I see rows of pastel-hued Peeps in the grocery store, right next to the Cadbury eggs.  (Did you hear the one about the biologist who just realized he's spent all this time studying a Cadbury egg?).

Since shifting away from Westernized/capitalized religion, I don't do much during the Christianized pagan holidays we now call Christmas and Easter.  There are lots of reasons for that.  Frankly, I just don't like the commercialization, drama and contrived expectations that accompany these overwrought holidays.  Super Bowl Sunday has taken on the same festive atmosphere, especially since folks utter their Hail Maries for touchdown drives as well as souls. 

It's not that I dislike holidays or religion and I love Peeps (they're best when removed from their wrapping and ageing for about three days before biting into them).  But I'd rather remember my teachers and honor their teachings in my own, quiet way. 

I see and hear a lot of consternation around organized religion, and I'm thinking perhaps it's not the religion that bothers us, but it's abuses.  Those abuses aren't inherent in the religion, but in its followers.  Which, I suppose, is really why we need religion.  Without it, we might not have any knowledge of the teachings of the sages and mystics who light our way.

As I contemplate Easter, I can't help but think about what might have followed the crucifixion if the early followers of Yeshua decided to chuck it and go on with their day to day.

An imagined conversation between Peter and Matthew:

"Well.  That was interesting."

"Yeah.  He really pissed off the wrong people this time."

"Still, I think he handled it remarkably well.  Especially that last bit."

"Yup.  It was pretty inspirational.  Almost as good as that loaves and fishes thing.  Great fish, too, I might add."

"Aw, that's nuthin'.  You should see what David Copperfield can do with helicopters and aircraft carriers.  But the fish was exceptionally good that day.  The wine was tasty, too.  It was a good year for the River Jordan."

"Yeah, that was pretty awesome.  The fish, I mean.  Might've been fun to see him saw a woman in half.  Ya gotta figure that he'd have a great finish to that one, what with raising people from the dead and all."

"Nah, Mary Magdalene is ticklish."

"Yeah.  Probably not a good idea."

"Nah."

"So, what're we gonna do now?  Maybe we should do or say something.  You know, so folks will remember.  The Divine Miss M said she went to the tomb and his body was gone!"

"Mary always was exciteable.  You never really know what's going on with her.  She probably went to the wrong tomb.  You know women can't read maps!"

"Well, Thomas said he actually saw Yeshua and even poked his fingers into the wounds in Master's hands!"

"Thomas is a lush.  You saw how much wine he drank the last time we all had a meal together.  Next thing ya know, he's going to be telling us he danced with pink elephants."

"Well, do you think maybe Thomas might have really seen something?  I mean, isn't it a possibility?"

"I doubt it."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Yeah."

"But still, don't you think we should spread the word or something?  I mean, otherwise, all of this suffering and stuff will be wasted."

"Ya know, I'm not really up for torture and hanging around on crosses on rainy days.  Besides, my wife would be really pissed if I was gone for long periods.  She already says I never take her anywhere.  Can you imagine what I'd have to put up with if I went on a road trip without her?"

"Yeah, you're probably right.  Well, so...what are you going to do now?"

"I dunno.  Maybe have lunch."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"So - you want some hummus with that?"

All kidding aside - without religion, we might not have any way of receiving the best of the information that was brought in by the Masters.

We get hung up when we take sides and square off over subtleties of meaning.  We take it far too personally.  We need to remember that the message is our salvation.  Not the messenger.

But it is a nice excuse to have Peeps once in a while.

All rights reserved.  Copyright 2008 by Karen E. Kelsay.

It's interesting that "this" is left undefined.  We musers, writers and grokkers can pick whatever we want "this" to be.  A lovely metaphor for life, don't you think?  Was that an intentional opening or unclear communication?  I like to think it's an intentional opening.  It allows us to contemplete our particular "this" of the moment.  What fun!

Given that "this" changes frequently and my understandings about "that" and "the other thing" shift, expand and sometimes contract, I'm not sure what I'll be thinking and saying about anything in ten minutes, much less in ten years!

I'd like to think that my "this" of the moment in ten years will be more interesting and enlightening than my "this" of this moment.  Maybe, maybe not.  I could simply be concerned about the dust bunnies under the bed when that time comes.  I'm not really aspiring to have lofty and pithy thoughts present themselves at some future date.  Given that I'm not prone to much pithiness now (a propensity toward wordiness isn't necessarily wisdom), I don't think my thought and speech characteristics will change appreciably ten years hence.

We'uns tend to be pretty basic in our thoughts, even when they're dressed in their Sunday best.  "Who am I?"  and,  "What's my purpose?"  are often followed by "What's for dinner?", "Where did I put my keys?" and, "I wonder if we'll share sex tonight?" 

When I stop to think about it, I realize that even higher vibrational thoughts and conversation cover the basics of life: health, happiness, love, acceptance and security.   Those of us who self identify as healers, teachers, light workers and the like place our thoughts on how to assist others in attaining these basic necessities in a higher and deeper way.  But it's still about dinner, getting things done and sex.  We do what we do becasue we want life on this planet to be better and less hurtful -- what WE think better and less hurtful are, anyway.  Of course, we think that because we're guided by spirit, allowing it to move through us in ways that the average bear hasn't yet learned how to do. 

So, if we're really guided by that spirit, cosmic intelligence, light, love, etc., will we be thinking or speaking at all in ten years?  If the Great Change does occur in the next 4-5 years, will it matter?  If it doesn't happen, we will still have to deal with the day-to-day.  Issues, technology, social circumstances will be completely different.  Perhaps my thoughts and words will be entirely different at that time.  All I can predict is that I will be there, then.  Just as today all I can do is to be here, now.

All rights reserved.  Copyright 2008 by Karen E. Kelsay.