Conscious Coupling
Safety First
She had no regard
for her own well being.
Plunging off of cliffs,
chest first, arms out,
free falling like a skydiver
who’d been doing this
a long time.
But she wasn’t.
And she hadn’t.
Everything seemed
exhilarating right up until
she collided with the concrete.
Too naive to have even
thought to pack a parachute.
Scraping sinew off
the landing strip,
she put herself back together
using tape and string,
thinking it was the same thing
as being back in one piece.
Not realizing that each time
she leapt, and fell,
and crashed, and burned
little bits of her were left
to decompose in the dirt
so that being whole
was no longer an option.
Was she ever even whole at all?
Probably not considering
how heartbreak hung heavy
in her life from the start.
One jump in particular
took too great a toll.
It wasn’t just atmosphere
she crashed through,
but barbed wire.
Tree branches.
Shark infested waters.
Torpedoes, bullets,
weapons unleashed
at the hands of a man
who’s heart was
closed for business.
She tried pliers and
sledgehammers,
sweet melodies and
poetry.
But it just couldn’t be reached.
She barely walked away.
She learned from her mistakes.
First taking smaller
and smaller leaps,
suddenly afraid
of injury.
Realizing there wasn’t much
left to spare or share,
she traded her adrenaline
for a feather down blanket
on top of a memory foam mattress.
Finally preferring her feet
planted firmly on
the Goddess’
green ground.
Feeling right at home
in the confines of
her own walled-in heart
Safe but sad;
knowing that she
will never
love easy
again.
“Don't ever think I fell for you, or fell over you. I didn't fall in love, I rose in it.”
-Toni Morrison, Jazz
I was at the mercy of love and she wasn’t kind.
I fell. I was addicted to falling.
I couldn’t ever manage to settle down even though that’s what I longed for.
Instead I got hurt, again and again.
I used to say “I got my heart blendered” when I was heartbroken. It was more brutal than a break. It was less like The Notebook and more like a Saw movie.
Why couldn’t I figure it out?
The person I was chasing was always chasing someone else and there was always someone chasing me who I was running away from.
What unimaginable torture.
This notion dawned on me mid-meditation during the falling apart of another relationship who’s circumstances a healthier person would have never agreed to, when I met with my 9th dimensional spirit guide Glorp Glop (his real name is xkxgsxxkgxshxkgs and is unpronounceable to the human mouth so I settled on Glorp Glop). He looked at me lovingly, his one giant eye in the center of a bulbous neon and bumble-gum pink membrane body, atop his planet of black onyx, next to his swirling vortex of chaos, and said
you have a preoccupation with love, my child.
you need not search for love, you are love.
a drawing I did of Glorp Glop in my journal
I wanted to argue, to throw a tantrum, to fight the dawn of the realization, the lightening strike that would cause my tower to fall, but I knew it was true.
It took me several years, lots of rejection, lots of tough acts of discernment, lots of embracing change, lots of loneliness and being alone and even a bout of celibacy but I figured it out.
A peace entered my life. A patience. A faith.
I need not search for love, I am love.
And with that, love came. First a deep and abiding self-love that cloaked me in a force field of protection—no petty insult or sabotage could touch me. People who operated at a lower frequency, who couldn’t love me as much as I loved myself just vibrated away. My friends, my work opportunities, and my partnership were suddenly of a quality previously seemingly unavailable to me. I wasn’t even aware that people who could love like that were out there in the world. No one loved me in a way that caused me to crash and burn. I didn’t love anyone from a place of misguided loyalty. It was an easy love, a stable love—just rare hearts staring at each other and seeing the truth of the light of authentic, simple, grounded, real love. Basking in it. Thriving in it. Rising in it.
