Poly What?

Sometimes a new facet of love will pop up out of nowhere and surprise me.

When I want to call it wrong, I think about how God actually is.

And I think it really may be something that takes shape in the way he loves.

God's love is for all he knows.

He does not love one more than another; all are equally loved.

He has the capacity to love all. 

There are many, many ways he loves.

His love is found in innumerable shapes in innumerable persons in innumerable places.

I've recently been introduced to someone who is legitimately polyamorous.

Being poly is generally a taboo in this country.

It's associated with Mormons, sex addicts, or people who are more or less unstable.

But what if those people have just figured out how to love more than one person well?

What if their capacity to love is bigger than many others?

As I've gotten to know this person, I've seen that his love is genuinely sincere.

It is not something based solely on sexuality; often times, sexuality is absent or at least an afterthought.

And he's one of the most giving persons I've met; his love is absolutely unselfish.

He is all in in every moment.

So, who am I to call this type of love wrong?

In the Old Testament there were several men with several women. 

In fact, the only time it was ever adulteress was when a women slept with someone other than her husband and only because she was considered property.

Men had as many wives and concubines as they could afford.

They were never punished for having them only for "tainting" another mans property (ie. sleeping with a virgin and not paying the proper dowlry to the father because her value was no longer as high).

But women were not property owners and did not own themselves; therefore, they violated the law by giving something (themselves) away that wasn't theirs to give.

Some of the most honorable and "godly" men had several hundred wives and concubines (ie. David, Solomon).

And nothing is mentioned in the New Testament that voids this type of lifestyle.

It is pure human jealousy that makes this sort of relationship difficult.

I'm not making any sort of statement of my personal preferences in any sort of public way at this time, but as of now, I can't say I view this way of choosing to live and love as a wrong way to do so.

What is the trinity but three persons loving and living as one?

Just some thoughts to chew on.

I know I certainly have been.

And it's been a total mind-blow.

Lately, I've been feeling off.

There are many moments I want to crawl in a hole.

There are many moments I want to run away and never return.

I feel nearly overwhelmed at least at some small point almost every day.

And that's not like me. 

Not anymore, anyway.

And I don't know what to do about it.

It's like I'm constantly doing one thing or another.

There are constantly obstacles to overcome.

I'm spinning in circles.

Even the slow seems fast.

I think sometimes people don't think I struggle.

(Because I'm stable and clam.)

And sometimes, I go along with that fanciful lie.

But I struggle just as much as anyone.

(I just keep it in check a little better than most.)

Especially right now.

Caught between this moment and another.

Waiting for life to spin on it's own but still trying to chase it. 

*sigh*

This moment is hard.

I don't know exactly how to deal.

I just have to keep pushing forward, keep living in this moment.

Somehow, I'll make it through.

Fairytale.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed of being swept off her feet.

A dashing young gentleman would see what everyone else failed to see and wouldn't be able to contain his feelings for her. 

He would triumph many obstacles in pursuit of her.

And in turn, she would love him because he first loved her. 

Once upon a time, I wanted that.

That's all I wanted. 

But the charming man I perceived as a prince was actually a cleverly disguised pauper. 

And at every chance he had, he took the route that bettered him over all else in the land.

That's when I discovered that all the things I ever wanted, the only dreams I dare dream, were not really the biggest dreams I could dream.

I need space to roam.
I need obstacles to climb.
I need something bigger than myself to live for.
And I will not settle for the smallest dreams I can dream.
That just isn't meant for me.

I'm writing my own fairytale.
Full of crazy turns, bountiful laughter, thousands of tears, millions of footsteps, nights of exhaustion, people from all walks of life, and beauty few ever truly see.
And I am beyond excited.

Recoil.

Intimacy.

What makes us hide when we show too much?

Why do we recoil? 

Is it fear?

Insecurity?

Is insecurity simply the fear of intimacy?

I want to show myself, but I hate the recoil.

I hate the recoil, so I work against it.

The more I work against it, the less I recoil.

The less I recoil, the more intimate I can become.

But it's still hard.

Showing yourself requires that you allow someone to possibly critique you.

It requires that you let down every bit of your guard, that you give away the rights you have to your secrets. 

It requires that you simply be who you are.

And that's difficult beyond imagination. 

But I will let you see.

I will not look away, even when you're looking at all the junk. 

I will look you in the eyes and stare back at what you see.

And I will be stronger because of it.

{After all, it's only awkward if you make awkward.}

Carnal.

There's a point when everything becomes carnal.

Your mind lets go.

Your joints move with an unknown intensity.

You feel every little twitch of every muscle. 

The sound of your heartbeat pulsates through your finger tips.

And it's moments like this that you know you're alive. 

It's moments like this that remind you what's really real, what's truly important.

They can take away your pride, your reputation, all the things you hold dear, all those you love, but they cannot take away the realness of your carnality, the ferocity of your innate will.

And unless you let them, they cannot remove your humanness. 

Don't let them.

Compassion Lost

I think I've lost some of my compassion.

Or maybe it's just that I need to see someone hurting to really feel it.

But hearing about things doesn't do it for me anymore.

I wonder why that is.

I think I have an idea, but it's sad all the same. 

Not so long ago, I was moved by things I'm no longer affected by.

Have I become a cynic? I hope not. 

Like a couple days ago at work, a co-worker found out her mom needed to have extensive tests done because at her five year remission check up, things looked a little abnormal.

She broke down at work, and all I could think was, "At least you've had a mother this long; a lot of people don't." 

I didn't feel anything for her in the least bit. 

I know this is awful of me...

When did I lose that softness? 

I want it back. 

I need to go spend some time in Africa or Haiti or something.
Where do we go from here?

Those Who Quit::Those Who Fight

It's been quite a while since I've processed my life in prose.

But I think it's due time to begin again.

In the words of Robyn, "The only way her heart will mend is if she learns to love again."

I must love again.

This is the rawest I've been in four months. 

I'm beginning to realize just how messed up my life has been.

And just how blessed I am to be given the opportunity to sort it out. 

Growth hurts. 

It sort of sucks, actually. 

But I'm a fighter. 

And as much as I sometimes wish I could, I cannot give up. 

I will fight.

I will feel.

I will love.

I will live.

I will.

Running.

The time has come.

You know you need to do it.

But you just can't.

You can't bring yourself to follow through.

You keep running.

Before you know it, it's been months.

Months of hiding, of pushing it further into the deep.

Months of bitterness, of anger. 

Months of build-up.

Before long, the build-up solidifies.

It can no longer simply be wiped away.

It has to be chiseled away, bit by bit, section by section.

Moment by moment. 

It's now a slow, meticulous process instead of the quick, less painful process it could have been.

It hurts.

And the longer you wait, the deeper the wound.

The longer you wait, the harder the build-up becomes.

When it could have just been dealt with it at the beginning.

When it could have been made it simpler.

When it could have been much less painful.

Yes, facing the music hurts.

Yes, looking into their eyes can be petrifying.

But what's more terrifying: dealing with your junk right away or waiting and discovering yourself ten years after the matter still running?