Tis a Gift to be Simple

I live up there. Tucked right in the middle. Surrounded by trees all around my home. It feels safe, warm, loving and comfortable.

Every Sunday, I wake, dress and enjoy a cup of coffee on the front porch, watching the birds at the feeder, listening to their chirps and songs. There are other sounds that draw my attention - the announcer from the high school ball field, early morning traffic, the occasional neighbor mowing or gardening. However, most people are not up early on Sunday mornings, so it's me and the birds.

Today I accept the blessings of a simple life.

I have every thing I need. (As a disclaimer, I am a pack rat. I work diligently to release stuff - reduce, reuse, and recycle; and avoid accumulation of additional "stuff.")

I have pared down my requirements. I now find that it doesn't actually serve for me to tell you how I live or what I choose because in reality, we each have to decide what our bare minimum is. I love to eat the exact same foods every day for weeks on end. I also love gourmet chocolate, and liquor.

I know what my distraction are - I can feel the pull of my attention to have, be or do more. When we are aware, we can actively decide what is healthiest for our lives. Does this really make sense (is it aligned with my goals) to engage in that activity or process?

I am comfortable with my discomfort. Whether I am delaying a purchase or walking an extra mile, I recognize that there are moments in life that feel like a challenge. I step up.

I have a vision for my life, my presence here - in this time. Some days I want things to be different. When I remember my mission statement, I open to my full potential of now.

Mission Statement?

A Mission Statement is a clear, concise statement of purpose. It is the reason for existence. It includes what actions will be taken to achieve the purpose. It is the predetermined statement of what you do, and why.

Long before I had heard the word minimalism and addressed the concept of simplicity, I wrote a Mission Statement:

"I am dedicated to supporting others on their journey to health and well-being, through education, information, and inspiration, radiating loving acceptance in each and every situation."

So I have the knowledge and supplies to support my Mission Statement. (Meaning, lots of stuff.) Just so you know, everything is not on the internet. Some information is still in books. OR, if is it available, you have to pay for it. Paying once is enough. And what is more satisfying than to pull a book from the shelf and find the reference you seek. Googling is not the same.

Tucked in the trees in the middle of the city is a womin reading and listening, growing and feeding the next generation of wimmin who will cherish the simplicity of the fruit of the earth. Children who will know that food comes from vines, bushes, or from deep in the soil.

My world is lush and abundant with life. Simplicity frees my attention to embrace and enjoy it all.

Namaste

Be the Change

The stream returns.

Something happened earlier this year. I can't recall the exact moment I decided to change, but I did. I covered my hair. I started wearing wraps to work instead of allowing my locks to hang long.

Initially, it felt like fashion, but as I chose to cover each time I left the house, I could feel the commitment. I own dozen and dozens of scarves in solid and printed colors, so my options varied daily.

One day my co-worker asked if there was some significance to my head coverings. The truth was and is, that I realized hair, in all its forms of variation, causes attraction - at times, unwanted. Hair style, color, length, or lack, also invites opinions. My answer was that I was avoiding undue attention due to my hair.The other side of the story is that my hair is graying at the temples and I had not decided whether to color it or cut it all off. With it covered, no one would be the wiser. Hence, a new form of freedom and I am all about being free.

This month, May, I have been looking at modesty as intrigue. In a world where people are letting it all hang out, how about covering up? How do our relationships shift when we preserve some of the mystery? Modesty is an old concept, both socially and in my personal life. My family adhered to strict rules of modesty (in dress and presentation). It was a religious issue.

Today I am free of religious dictates for my life, so I cover on my own. It was a conspicuous experience. I work with Muslim women who practice hijab (modesty and privacy between men and unrelated women). I also work with conservative Christian women. I am neither. So, when I walk down the street with my head, neck and shoulders covered, I am an anomaly.

I feel peculiar. People look at me differently. They presume. They assume. They scold. "It's too hot for all that!"

I feel sacred. For the first time, I feel sanctified - set apart. Walking and praying seem more present, as if I am truly aware of not only the words, but my connection to them.

Driving covered, I am ashamed of the rage rising and spewing forth when I am cut off in traffic. I rethink the moment, recognizing that all is well and only my ego was assaulted. Still, I am reprimanded for my behavior. I expect to show up as understanding and forgiving every day. Being covered kept my attention on my intentions.

The biggest challenge came while I was shopping for liquor. Somehow it just didn't feel right to be buying alcohol while covered. I drink. I am free of any prohibitions against drinking alcohol. So, what's the deal?

Feel the feelings and keep on moving. That's what I've done this month. Having my head, neck and shoulders covered has refocused my attention. I reshaped the rest of my dress as well. I own plenty of clothing that covers my body. I wear them.

This is the best explanation I've heard for covering:

Think of your money. Would you leave it laying around for everyone to see, examine and handle? No. We put our money away. We keep it safe. away from prying eyes.

I am more precious than money. My body is sacred. I get to choose who has access, when and why.

I wish I were more comfortable covering completely outside of religious affiliation. It may come, or not. Today, I practice modesty as I represent individual freedom, choice, and intrigue. I'm taking back what's mine from the fantasy of being yours.

Namaste.

The Space that I Seek

The story of love and relationship later on

must be the space I create...

More and more we celebrate yet another young (or not so young) person publicly identifying along the spectrum of gay, lesbian, transgender, queer, questioning or other.

On the road to exploration of identities, what happens to those who have marched, demonstrated, and campaigned only to find that in the realm of love what is most desired is choice?

Surely, one day it will not matter who we love, but until we reach a world free of labels, how do we negotiate relationships of attraction without buying into any cliques or cues?

Whisper in My Ear addresses these questions through the story of three women and their personal (though not unique) approaches to love and each other.

Can we love each other no matter what?

Too Much of a Good Thing

Food Should Taste Good

Check out that label. Generally, that's thought of as the good stuff. We don't all care about every symbol, but these folks have hooked up and turned on the neon "Go ahead, eat it all" sign.

In my home, there are lots of foods that meet that criteria. I cook and I love to eat. It works for me to only keep healthy snacks at home because I hear special whispers from brand name jalapeno potato chips. And I respond! Even if it means I have to travel to make the purchase.

But just because it looks good and taste good doesn't mean you can eat to your heart's or stomach's delight. Beyond moderation, some things you can only have one of.

Take black bean brownies, made with prunes (and black beans, of course).
That's a lot of fiber. Yummy chocolatey, smooth and creamy fiber. Fiber is good for you. Thirty-five grams a day will keep a body regulated. But enjoy too much and that smooth move will become a ragged run.

Then there's over sleeping. Some days I am still exhausted after seven hours. Without some commitment, I am likely to roll over and pass out for an additional two hours. When I oversleep, I actually start over. By the time I wake again I am groggy rather than refreshed and when I crawl out of bed I remember why I had planed to wake early. For those of us with joint pain, extra time immobile increased waking discomfort.

Too much water can mean urgent and immediate searches for toilets. Water is great for hydrating our bodies, but sometimes we have to plan for elimination, especially in conjunction with fiber. On the other hand, I hear that if you drink plenty of water before bedtime you are sure to wake. Stave off that fear of dying in your sleep.

Too much moments can be funny or distressing. We usually don't know we've had too much until it's too late. Tummy aches, aching bodies, embarrassing videos or annoying nicknames remind us of poor choices. On the other end of the spectrum, just enough seems also to come in retrospect.

We think back and realize that, yes, there was enough. We made time for what was important. It was tight, but we squeezed in where we fit. We were exhausted, but everything got done. Sure, we thought we needed more money, but we made do. When the priority is love, being connected is what matters most. In love, there is enough.

Life is busy. I write, but posting may be delayed by dreaming...

May your days be filled with love and laughter and countable moments of knowing enough.

Drink Your Pee!

To your health!

I finally got to the really funny part of my novel in which the narrator is directed to drink her urine each morning as a preventative against amoebic infection (due to unfiltered/treated water) in Bali. I laughed out loud. The character is mortified. Pissdrinkers!

When I was still working at the hospital I suggested urine therapy as an alternative treatment for ailments. I was being facetious, but never cracked a smile. I presented the "facts" as I researched them and held that in many cases allopathic medicine had no cures and at best was managing symptoms. Of course, the doctors and nurses were applauded. Guess you have to be the one in need of healing.

Urine therapy is not new to me. As a child the teaching was that urine from newborns was good for the skin - specifically to keep one looking young. I heard so many sayings, I just tucked them into the back of my mind. Then when my son was born, my friend returned from the east coast where she was practicing colon hydrotherapy and urine therapy. Wake up in the morning and collect eight ounces of wee midstream and consume as beverage.

Now when I was researching for discussion I found dilution techniques that make a homeopathic preparation, but that seems quite different from the conviction that drinking your piss is good for you. Called the water of life, advocate maintain that urine is the cure for what ails you.

It seems the claims abound to this day. Cure cancer. Increase meditation. Promote tranquility. Heal skin ailments. Whiten teeth. Maybe we do have the cure but are too afraid (squeamish) to accept it. What ever your choice, here's to your health!

Salud!

Queer Isn't It Part Two

Authors notes continued:

Then I met this incredible woman I so wanted. She was a lesbian, like had always been a lesbian. She was butch and confident and seemed independent and powerful and gaga wonderful. We sat in the coffeehouse. She drank rocket fuel. I drank herbal tea. She pointed out a beautiful woman at the counter and said, “That’s so and so, she’s bi-sexual. I never sleep with women who sleep with men.” I was so hurt in that moment. It did not stop me from falling in love with her and holding that love for another ten years. When she called I answered even though she only showed up as platonic. She escorted me to more parties, dances, and gatherings than I can count. And she treated me as her date. At this writing, and having finished this novel, I imagine today, that the reason we were never more than friends, though we camped, danced, played, and even cuddled in bed together was because forever, I had slept with a man. There was concrete proof – I had children. 

It is easy to say she was only one person, but she was not. I camped on Wymin’s Land. I personally met lesbians who lived without male interaction. We even had a female ranger for the festivals on state land. Children were allowed at festivals but the boy children had to stay in separate space and the mothers go there to tend them. Even as this was not how I felt or believed, somehow the message passed through. One afternoon my son was outside the front of my home picketing with a sign that read, “Boys are good!”

Yes, boys are good. Men are good. How can we expect to have a successful movement if we forget the inherent goodness of each other? How will we stand against oppression if we are divided against ourselves? When will we stop living by labels and open to the full expression of being human?

My novel addresses these issues in a way I feel is unavailable as of yet. At least I haven’t heard this dialogue. I mean lesbians discussion their attractions to people other than lesbians. The mainstream media play with same sex attractions, but where are the stories from the inside? For my very short journey into the transgender population I met lesbians in relationship with female-male trangender people who felt put out and left out of their previous lesbian communities because they were not lesbians any more. So what are they? And who decides if one is lesbian enough?

I challenge the notion that wearing a label is sufficient. I further challenge the idea that I need a label to live a certain lifestyle or even that I need a partner. Single does not mean I am looking, or interested. Because I am not with a woman does not negate my sexual preference. And just because I am with a woman doesn’t mean that I have no other ideas or interest in how, when, or with who I build my life, share my home, or support my community.

Somehow, homosexual had become all about who we are sexing and who sexes us. We wear the pins, carry the signs, and wave the banner, but when will we start celebrating the diversity of being human. And beyond tolerance, it is time we practice acceptance. My hope is that we can create a space where we can openly talk about how and what we feel free of the fear that we will lose the love and support of those we hold dear.

Thank you reading my work.

Namasté

Queer Isn't It? Part One

These are the author's notes from my novel, Whisper In My Ear, for your perusal and consideration. Though a work of fiction, the characters confronted issues I found deeply personal and rarely presented in public platform.

Comments welcome and encouraged. Thank you.

The author's notes:

Even though we see all forms of sexual expression in the media and on the internet, there is still some taboo about actually having sex, forming sexual unions and especially how relationships look. In the United States, we are still hoping to establish the standard of legitimate relationships as occurring between one man and one woman – literally XX and XY genetically. The reality is that the world has survived with all forms of coupling and people live, grow, have families and build communities in any and all combinations.

Within the queer community one would expect a sense of acceptance, hope and understanding of those outside of the mainstream, but queer itself is rather watered down and undefined. So to resolve the muddle we have factions. We are separated again by gender identity, gender preference, race, religion, color, sexual proclivities, sexual expressions, sexual preferences, and more.  It would seem that with all this choice we would be able to find someplace to fit in, to belong, but I challenge that those are just tiny boxes that rather than include, exclude.

You can’t come in if you used to do this, or that. Once you get in, you can’t even think about doing these things. Well you can think about it, but don’t tell anyone. And if you do tell and it’s the wrong person no one will like you anymore and you may as well get out. No, we don’t put people out, but we don’t want people who do, think, or feel differently than we think you should do, think, of feel in our box.

That is not a new story. It can be applied to any club, religion, church, cult, click, or country. One of the innate longings of human beings is to belong. We seek out people like ourselves to socialize, build community, and feel safe. But belonging need not become a trap. Somehow we need to open the doors and accept the breath of human experience. Notice that while it is nice inside this space we call safe we are missing out on a whole world. There are people who are completely different from us and they are interesting. Sometimes the people inside the box with us would be more interesting if they could share their true feelings and ideas.

How beautiful is the varied garden with trees, bushes, shrubs and bulbs? How varied is the view as we watch the annuals bloom and the perennials return? What is the point of living in a limited world? Do we really feel safe? And what happens when the person with the different idea is you?

Having lived inside the lesbian experience for over twenty years, I encountered many forms of separatism and ostracism. In the beginning I spent time with women who identified as womanist, or womon, or wymin. Their distinction was to not be one joined with man. They took on titles as sybil, priestess, or goddess. They locked their doors and their hearts to men. They were not necessarily lesbians; nor particularly interested in sex – mostly not at all, it seemed. 

The problem for me was I had come out as lesbian in my thirties. I had been married. I had a son. And I liked sex. While my attraction to women was not new (it had lived unexpressed in thought, word, or deed) the lifestyle was. I had lived a rather strict religious existence and was firmly taught to control my thought, never allowing progression in a direction unfitting the beliefs. So, I didn’t, much. The day came when my attraction was toward a particular woman, who I believed was or might be a lesbian. She lived with other women, dressed like the lesbians seemed to dress and shaved her head. She was sweet and friendly and cuddly. To me, she seemed a perfect opening choice. However, she redirected my fancy and said she was my friend and would support me as I figured it out. I figured out a small bit and fell in love. 

That first relationship was and still is a bright star in my heart/mind. It was when I first heard the word queer used as an empowering rather than derogatory word. We were in love, LOVE! We held hands in public. Danced and hugged without fear. We believed we were setting the standard; changing the world. When people saw me they knew I had found my calling. When it ended, I thought I would die. Rather dramatic, I know, but that’s how it is with new love. 

Apparently I didn’t die and went on to have even more powerful loving experiences. While I was figuring things out, sorting my way through a new process and community, and having had no sexual partner for six years, seven months, and four days, I met a man. He was warm, gentle, open, accepting, loving and kind. He was also persistent, sensual, and interested in getting together. So I did. Repeatedly, and often. And at times I didn’t have a grrlfriend, or had grrlfriends who didn’t have sex. Before I ever made a single move, I told him I was a lesbian, but had not figured out how to find the ones that had sex. He said he completely understood. He loved women too. There was no attachment and no commitment. Just a moment in time.

Compost Stew

kitchen scraps in compost barrel

Once upon a time, back in the day, I spent my weekends with seriously alternative off the grid living kind of folks. If it was yellow, we let it mellow; if brown, flushed it down. All the TP went into a paper bag because it was too hard on the septic system (lagoon or city sewer). The cool shower dripped at a trickle and was timed to three minutes. Bundle up. What heat? Being a self-made pioneer girl who once picked green plants and boiled them for dinner I was not fazed. I had lived with wood heat in the country and when we neglected (or were too poor) to buy fuel (from trees) we were left to burn whatever we could find. There was an abandoned shed on the property and desperation required its breakdown and consumption. I placed huge stones on the wood stove (and smaller ones inside) to gather heat for the bed and car. Those were the days. I was thankful to move into town where I could heat my home at the touch of a dial.

After those experience and many more, you would think I was open to just about anything. And I was, until… Sitting at lunch with my crunchy granola comrades, our attention was called to settle a dispute. We had a visiting social renegade from a commune up north who proposed we have compost stew for dinner. There were audible groans and sounds of distaste. I sat quietly thinking there would have to be something prepared fresh to accompany this entrée. We were big on whole grain breads and fresh ground nuts. As a veteran survivor of foods I refused to eat as a child, I would easily make it through this one meal. There were always fresh fruits, teas and nuts for later. 

Something in there look appetizing?

We had a self appointed leader in this supposed equal congregation. She said no. He asked for a discussion and explained that where he came from nothing was wasted.  Someone explained that kitchen scraps are not wasted. They are composted. At this point, he reached under the table, lifted the kitchen compost bucket and began to dig through it. He pointed out bits of discarded produce that could be washed and the mold, rot, and discoloration cut away. The visual did not help his cause. 

As with every hippy dippy groovy nut group I have belonged to, there are always those who side with the most insane and ridiculous of concepts and ideas. He had his following as well. Sometimes I think it was because he was from that commune up north. He was bearded and barefoot, scraggly in form and dress; generally unkept in that way that says wild, grizzly. Women/girls running from money dig that sort. So, off they went to prepare their dinner.

At that point, I am thinking, “Note to self: Nut butters from a jar; bread from a package. Hide good food for later. Many days left here.” I passed on casseroles, stews, soups, and salads. If I didn’t crack it or peel it, I was not eating it.

It is popular to write and talk about being frugal, but there was a time when people were living it on a whole other level. I will share about saving money and how I manage, but as I have already traveled out to the edge, I am content to enjoy the warmth of my home, fresh food on my table, good wine and beer.

Here’s what I did save, though. I have fresh greens in the winter. Organic and free!

Fresh turnip tops

100 days - And Speaking of Default

I have a plan, always have had. The problem is, as the time draws nearer continuing the process feels worse; and some days I want the decision to be made for me. Well, not the decision to leave but the specifics of when. I have envisioned a couple of scenarios that I think would serve me - especially the vaccination mandate.

Now after all my to-do about showing up and saying what I mean and doing what I say I'm going to do, here I am waiting for the would-be ax to fall. Then low and behold I get to work and read  they have extended the deadline until December 2nd (from October 17th). There has been massive dissent and I imagine if a significant number of employees refusing or even delaying their flu shots could shut down the facility. So, they changed the time frame, maintaining the threat of suspension.

Employees are outraged. This,  over the flu vaccine. How is it we cannot organize around better working conditions and wages? We could collapse the class society, end inequities. That means a whole lot of people would have to be willing to feel uncomfortable and we are not a society interested in stepping outside of our zones of perceived comfort and security. We like our peek into the world of the disenfranchised isolated between the months of November and December. Even then we are not willing to take an introspective look at the waste and consumerism that plagues all of us, so that we are unable to save ourselves and only throw pittances at “the others.”

So here, I am called to step up, which means I get to print and submit my letter of resignation. I can’t wait around for them to fire me (for refusing the flu vaccine). And while I would like to act a donkey and give a serious accounting of my experience over the last three point four years, I am not that invested. I want a clean break and the freedom to move on. That means owning my decision and living my choice.

The countdown’s getting closer every day. Thank goodness!

Living By Default

Waiting to Be

My friend, on returning from Burning Man, commented that this world is referred to as “the default life.” This discussion follows the question of what it’s like to come home after an intense time away building community that is rich with expressed, accepted and welcome alternatives. Years ago, I spent three weeks each summer around the August full moon at the Michigan Wymins Music Festival. The first year I attended the event and decided the following years to return as a “worker.” Festival workers arrive before opening to prepare the land, establish space and set up the facilities that will eventually receive up to 30,000 women and children. They stay after the event to return the land to herself – removing all evidence of occupation (except a few bend limbs).

This is three weeks of living in tents, wandering fields and lanes, day and night in what felt like complete safety. We lived in a world that catered to our being free to express our inner natures - which may have had to wait an entire year. What happened in Michigan, stayed in Michigan, for many.  We lived and loved openly and carefree. Then, after running, roaming, frolicking, laughing, playing, and dancing naked in the moonlight, we broke camp, loaded out cars, put on our bras and prepared for the drives or flights back… 

Back home, to our default lives, to reality.  No, not reality, for we had just left reality. The reality is that we are all loving, open, free beings longing for full expression.  The greater, more immediate reality is that we have only one life to live. This is not a trial, not a test run, and not plan A. 

And with each day's awakening we are given another opportunity to be. Why not live with passion, love, joy and abandon? How long will we settle for how things have always been, hoping that by magic they will get better? Yes, time does change things. Time offers perspective, but we will have to choose to change.

So, do what you love. They say the money will follow, maybe it will, maybe it will even catch up. Would you rather be happy and living a life of joy, or counting cash? Are you willing to keep saving for the rainy day while sitting in a downpour of sadness? Can you imagine living those retirement dreams now while you have the strength and energy to pull it off? How long will we keep putting off living, hoping that our day will come?

Do what you love. Love what you do. Be who you are. We will all be better off when you are happy.

Sat Nam

A gift of anger

In imagining we don’t expect to see gifts come from another’s anger. Don’t expect them and don’t look for them.  If we have moved past the fear of another’s anger, we may just tolerate the outburst, attempt to sooth them in their distress, or even send them packing to another space – be it a room in the house, with friends, to a therapist, or the bar. 

In general, we rarely look closely at what the offering may be. I have found that when people get really anger they lose their inhibitions, relax the censors, and finally speak the truth. When the niceness slips away and the teeth are bared you can actually see what you are working with.  And as long as we stay out of fear, we can see. We can watch as another moves into hurt and vulnerability, as they expose the innermost parts. Perhaps, we can even remember that we love them. 

Of course this means that only one person can be angry at a time, and that the angry person has the full attention of the other. Given clear and present attention to express our feelings, we can deplete the rush of anger and share our deepest fears. 

The gift is truth. It is the opportunity to come to understanding. It is clarity. And more often than not, it is access to the answers we have been seeking that may have been hidden or ignored. It is the chance to express our humanness and our divinity as well. The gift is learning to be with what is, and noticing that it is not anger.

I once shared two homes – one with my children, another with my lover. We have been apart (as in broken up) since the end of the Lenten season. During that spiritual processing rather than growing closer, we grew even farther apart. So far in fact, that there was little to entangle me any longer. Even in this state we have continued to text, visit, and occasionally spend the day together. And as I shared a space, I had LOTS of STUFF there. In all the diligent work I am doing to rid my person home of excess, I remember in the back of my mind that I have a massive amount to sort through there as well. So, I thought I would get this (my personal home) together and slowly, very slowly gather a few of my things at a time.

We have seemed on friendly terms, so imagine my surprise when I arrive for a scheduled visit to find that all my belongings have been removed from the shelves. Yes, of course, I expected that some day they would be gone and had offered that my belongings could be left on the deck. But this was out of the blue. We had been texting the last few days with no mention of this process.

The explanation was that in anger all my belongings were collected and bagged. The End. No thought as to what would happen next.  Lots of BMW (bitching, whining, and moaning) later and here it is, “If you won’t be who and what I want you to be for me, then to hell with you.”) Fine. That’s what breaking up looks like, but really, we are months behind being apart. No matter. I gather my stuff and leave.

Now I have a car full of even more stuff that I really love. I brought home empty box and decided to leave outside those items I am willing to release. They will be ready for the garage sale in two weeks. Other things will have to wait a bit as I think about space.  I am working to be free of clutter and it’s hard to tell the difference between really cool stuff you love and things to release when the house is full up.

In this reclamation process, I found my eye glasses. I have a wonderful large mirror which will go upstairs. I have my espresso coffee pot, back. I wanted to bake and was running low on supplies. They were all returned. My tea collection has greatly increased. Yet, more I will not have to replace so soon. Books, books, and even more books. My grand-daughter will have more toys and as she has not seen them since spring, they will be new again. Plus, even more toys to give away. 

Initially, I was hurt by the space being emptied of my presence, especially in the face of proclamations of undying love. With those words I charged that there was nothing left for my comfort. Finally, I acknowledged that I was not actually coming back to visit, so there was no need to maintain a presence there. In this way, the outburst of anger moved me in a place I had been dragging my feet. I both needed to get my things (because I wanted them) out of the space and to prepare for the next movement in my life. 

There were some things that were not included. I now release them. Some were gifts. Others perhaps fit so well into the décor they were not recognized as my contribution. While I notice their absence from my personal home, I am willing to manage without them. 

I am blessed to have more than I need, and I am thankful. From this abundance I live and share and grow. 

May you find your heart open and your attention free.

And may you notice the lessons wherever and however they are offered.

I got half-a-dozen paintings from that shattered plate.

                                                                   Georgia O'Keeffe

Considering Polyamory

All for One and One for All

Polyamory is the practice, desire, or acceptance of having more than one intimate partner in a mutually consenting relationship. In plain speak, I have a lover, who has a lover, who may have a lover as well (hopefully) and together we are co-lovers.

In many ways, polyamory provides the best of many worlds. Imagine sharing time with your friends who enjoy hiking, fishing, outdoor adventures, and then with those who prefer time at home with a movie and glass of wine. On some nights you are out for dancing and karaoke; generally wandering about the city. Is it possible that one friend can share all those adventures or might you divide your time with those who enjoy the same passions as you?

For those with strongly diverse desires and passions, polyamory offers support, understanding,and play within a committed context. The freedom to share interests and plan activities openly with co-lovers differs from the concept of cheating, swinging, or serial monogamy.

Polyamory maintains several values, including trust, honesty, loyalty, respect, transparency, communication, non-possessiveness, boundaries and agreements. Simply put, each partners is accepted, not merely tolerated. Partners are open and receptive to the needs and desires of the other, honoring the agreements between them all. Secretive meetings and relationships are frowned upon as outside of the value system.

The structure of relationship will look different from one group to another. Some manage to maintain  equality between lovers but more than not (in my experience) one lover is primary, another secondary and the next tertiary. It seemed as long as each had a primary lover there was enough space/freedom to move amongst one another freely. When there was a single primary for co-lovers the division of time and attention became an issue.

Polyamorous relationships come with the same jealousies and insecurities as any other relationship. Generally, jealousy is viewed as an issue to be discussed and overcome, especially as this is one area that can destroy the relationship. At times this is most evident when co-lovers share the content of their activities with each other. It is important to notice how the partner’s life is enhanced and joy expanded.  Jealousy can lead to power struggles when two co-lovers collude against or in conjunction with each other, dismissing the presence or opinion of a third.

Absent lovers, through break-up, relocation, or lifestyle shift affect the dynamic of the whole. Having lived in the fashion of mutual satisfaction the void is palatable. The reorganization of priorities around time, space and attention can rock the entire balance; and  adjustment may be outside of the previous relationship commitments.

This is especially true when that turn of events points toward monogamy - that belief that we can be “All for One” and that another will be the “One for All.” In this instance,  we are looking toward a single person to fulfill the needs and desires that were once spread amongst a few. Imagine the one being settled into a quiet home life. What of those times the other dreams of dancing the night away? Who will wander the backwoods through hill and dale with the one  when the chosen partner is skittish about bugs and sticks, and the dark? What kinds of concessions are each willing to make to meet the needs and desires of the other? At what point do we dismiss our own desires for the sake of the relationship? And how do we forget what was once so easy and delightful? Will the love and commitment of one be enough?

As hard as it can be for the partner who feels like sacrifices are being made, it is equally challenging to face that it is impossible to satisfy needs that were once met by many - or at least more than one. This ignites an entirely new set of insecurities, that if not tempered immediately, become the fuel for discord as time goes on, creating an exit in the relationship.

The very structure of the polyamory allows the freedom of exploration, with an opening to welcome a new person into the relationship, sexually and/or emotionally without the fear of losing the primary relationship. Closing the exit refers to releasing and letting go of any ideas, thoughts, behaviors or actions that serve as a way out of the relationship. Rather than being a promise, it is a commitment extending months, perhaps years along the monogamous relationship. While additional relationships may be the door, memories serve as windows; thoughts and ideas as cracks and crevices.

Monogamy requires a rewiring of the circuitry of sharing life, time and experience together. Each partners must except the past, understanding its joy and challenge, while openly embracing the same in the present. This depth of honesty offers greater hope for the monogamous couple than merely dismissing what has come before.

In my experience, while knowledge of the past was clearly discussed, the lack of acknowledgement of how polyamory served our lives left us open to massive hurt as we attempted negotiation with just the two of us. We were so completely different in our interest, ideas, and understandings that even as we deeply loved and longed to live and grow together, we were constantly distracted by what was not going well. What I missed at times was not the other personality, but the shared energy and experiences.

As I grow older, I am opening to this possibility again - polyamory, not monogamy. I deeply appreciate my time and space, but imagine enjoying the shared energy and experience of another, who has another.

Let’s add this to the list of promises to myself.