#44 a

(ok if you have not read #44 – go and read it first then come back and read this one….)

When I was 15 I got my nose pierced.

By the time I was 17 and living away from home, I was already hanging out with a bunch of interstate hippies, going to festivals, intermingled with the art/acting/Sanyasin scene here.

I was a regular at all the parties, in all the various share houses across the city. Big gorgeous blues stone villas, now all corporate and heritage listed, some as big as 17 bedrooms were notorious back then. I lived with a couple of hairdressers and a Maori princess right on north terrace, my bedroom window just 6 feet from city traffic. A popular photographer asked to shoot my room as a piece of art, it was a collage of about 10 photos of me sitting in my bedroom, which was an expression of my inner kaos, the running joke in the house was my room was a labyrinth and any small child who may enter shall surely never return, which was true. I still have the mounted photo, its an amazing, she was a great photographer  and it was an honour to be shot, I look at that photo now and remember every inch of that room like yesterday.

I would offer my hair as experimental canvas for the house hairdressers, I tried  everything from asymmetrically shaved and long, maybe rows of patterns, maybe different colours, then shaving it all off to start again. As it would start to grow it would replicate Velcro and I could wear tiny coloured beads on my head like a halo, I’d dance all night and they never fell off, in fact those same beads are hanging off a Shiva on my mantle piece. Glad to see some things never change!

My slightly overweight nubile body lent itself nicely to the classic hippy attire, of the oversized 1950’s floral house dresses with leather sandals and zero underwear. I’d wear that in summer and winter I’d flip to short curly flaming orange hair, accompanied by a phase of wearing only aubergine, maroon, red, orange and all shades there of. During these times I would often get my faced licked at parties from Sanyasins (the disciples of Osho, Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh = free love, group sex, embrace the colour of red and maroon), but I wasn’t one, it all seemed a bit toxic to me.

My significant lover at the time was Peter from northern New South Wales, he lived in a big share house in Kent Town. He had a massive head of light brown curls and piercing blue eyes, he played magnificent guitar and sang, and I was butter. He was 32, I’d just turned 17. Months later he moved to Thailand, but he kept sending beautiful hand written letters saying lovely things to me, with photos. In hindsight, with our significant difference in age and experience, I realise now, that was such a lovely gesture to give me, such memories I still hold close. I wander where he is now?

It seems these days people just desperately and randomly collide while at all costs avoiding any type of depth or meaning in their interactions. Trying to connect yet rendered unable, both in processing and communication.

Many boyfriends later………

By the time I was 19 I was living in the ghettos of Manchester, Moss Side, learning some rather tough lessons, a long way from the private school education and a desperate attempt to rebel against my middle class upbringing, I was the last generation held captive to dogma, before feminism swept through. So I was suddenly learning what it takes to survive in a ghetto, the people I met, the crazy situations that I would always find, and it changed me forever.

By the time I was 26 I had lived in 4 major cities across London and Europe, returned to Australia 5 times, experienced the birth of the house scene at the epicentre of London, and enjoyed every minute of it 🙂 and by the time I was 27 I was pregnant and madly in love with the babies father and facing more life changing decisions, but that is a whole other chapter.

So I recently caught back up with #44 and spent some time with him, it has taken a couple of months of texting and public gatherings to find some peace from our previous collision. I had forgotten, and even found him quite unusual looking, unattractive yet quite magnetic, its quite strange but never saw myself sleeping with him again.
But somehow, not even noticing or intending it too, before I even realised, It happened again by accident.

HOLY SHIT.

He was a TOTALLY different creature than whom I’d last encountered, it rendered me speechless – me – speechless?  I am not going into any details, it’s way too sacred to print, but let’s just say we both went to places never visited before, and for me it’s always significant when two people fully open to each other, as David Deida calls it, Yoga Sex Art. I mean we did the first time too, but this time had a way different middle and ending. I woke up in a pitch black room and had no idea where I was, it disorientated me for a minute. We found each other, and more layers opened up.  Deep shit, I know its a cliche and it doesn’t happen often but when your totally in rhythm with someone I can only describe it as a feeling of being ‘close to God’, I’d probably exchange the word for ‘source’ now that I understand more.

“That wasn’t meant to happen” I said as I made quite a sharp exit later that morning.

#44 is 27 years old now, sporting a style similar to what I was wearing at 17, hippy, piercing’s, doing winter solstice festivals, and starting  to discover his own power, at 27 your Saturn returns, energy and focus shift. By the time I was 27 I had already lived 6 or 7 different lives, like trying on a new outfit, collecting  little bits and pieces along the way, discarding what didn’t work and keeping what I loved.  I know I walked away from many men without even the slightest courtesy sometimes, I was simply so self driven or I was in a state of reaction towards them. But way more walked away from me without even a word. So karmically it only seems fair I get to experience this side of that abandonment again, again, again and again. What’s the saying? Rejection brings us closer to our outcomes.

A couple of days later, he said to me

” you are just not on my radar right now”

when I felt rejected all over again, he said

” you said you wouldn’t get weird about it this time”
Gosh, darn, gee there are just so many nice ways to say, go ‘get fucked’ isn’t there? I mean how many times have I come up with the most hysterically acerbic responses. Although I tend to do it towards people that deserve it, that have been fucking assholes. At least 44 admits to being a selfish asshole, gotta appreciate the honesty. But the rejection, regardless of the amount of therapy still picks at the scar tissue, but it wasn’t about him, its about me.

Cathartic water pouring from my eyes, I had a sauna, did some yoga,  gyro, pilates and lots of body work and went to sleep. Woke up just fine.

My lesson here is always to bring my attention inwards, my goals, intentions, while remaining in my power, and most importantly keeping an open heart. Especially the next time I see him.

Buddha says only three things matter in life
how much you loved
how gently you lived
and how gracefully you let go of the things not meant for you.

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