Blood of the Fruit

Where and when did I get the idea that men were supposed to be strong? Stronger than me, like it was my birthright and the natural consequence of my femaleness that men were supposed to take care of me and overpower me. With their attention. With their attraction. With their brute strength. It's so incorrect, and I feel like a stupid idiot having waited so long for something, and am first figuring out that it doesn't exist and I shouldn't expect it. At this point, I'm not sure what difference it makes where the concept became imbedded in me ( even that concept pushes my buttons!) What makes a difference is the way I live the rest of my life, and I hope G-d gives me enough time to make up for what I've missed by my blind stupidity.

Still the same. How sad
I can't believe that I'm still feeling the same way that I have for so long - as I read my old journal entries I see the same frustration, sadness, anger... why would anyone want to be with me, share with me. I don't even want to be with me. And it's the night before Kol Nidre. We learned today that the kedusha speaks about "trembling angels". Those are the angels that are formed when we on earth do mitzvot or good deeds not with a whole heart. Well, heaven is vibrating like mad with my share of trembling angels, and I'm not proud of that. We've learned that we're supposed to do the best we can, but I wonder if doing things with this double-faced hypocricy is worth G-d's time or my time or anyone's time. Am I supposed to take medication? Become a drunk? Drop everything and start traveling the world to find the meaning of my life. If it's about honesty, is it possible that the honesty that will make me whole, heal me is not framed by Torah and mitzvot? Is honesty the best Karban I can bring before Hashem before Yom Kippur?
This anger is eating me down to nothing. And I used to be an honestly high on religion, spiritual person. Was that not real, just a phase?

Current Mood: uncomfortable

More than anything else, I want to be loved, to be involved in a breathtaking romance. I am an incurable romantic that forgot how much that means to me.

I had a roller coaster of a day today, Shabbat. I had decided on Friday that I wouldn't go to shul - I've become upset with the unforgiving nature of orthodoxy and it's occupants, it's intolerance, so I was punishing it by not going to shul. there, take that!!One of the most surreal pieces of my likfe is my present adherence to orthodox community values. I mean, there are lots of good, even great things about some of the structure and ritual, but I have recently come to feel quite sharply it's unforgivable designation of the female to second class position. It's really insane that women, like me, have put up with it, and with the antiquated places that the system was formed from. I mean, Rabbis from centuries ago making decisions about women's bodies based on incorrect information and biased perspectives. None of it defines my relationship to God, Who would never have devised what these men did. I need to find a community of women,and like minded men. who can work with me to develop derivations of ritual and observance that work today.
I, who used to inspire the masses to become orthodox boys and girls, am now not sure that the system will work for me in connected to the Divine Parent in my life.
So, the uncomfortable reality is, my fantasies do have to do with being submissive, and being controlled. Just what I say doesn't feel right to me in Judaism. My roller coast day had to do with the fact that these thoughts overwhelm me since I don't act on them, can't act on them, and I get crazy. Thoughts spiral me into ecstatic depression. As soon as I get up and out and interact with another human being, I stabilize.
I saw a new movie advertised called "Kinky Shoes". I went to such a cool shop in chicago, where we bought boots for our friend, and the man there was all about fantastic drag queen shoes. I wished that I had been dressed up so that I could have tried on lots of those fun shoes that day, and pranced around the shop. I did try a gorgeous pair of red sandals that must have been a foot high (kidding) that I should have bought just to have a reminder of the interesting shop, the lovely shop owner. That was fun.

I cannot write anything anymore cause it is selfish and self serving and of little interest to anyone than myself so why the hell should I let it our of my head and onto my journal. This represents what goes on inside of my head/heart while I continue to function and be an interactive person.
I do not as a rule anymore share this inside stuff with my husband, who is the person who should be shared with the most, cause he does not know what to do with my heart or head - it scares him, and probably well it should cause I'm a scary person but I'm very alone this way cause I have this expectation of him to be a soulmate and he's totally not yet he's a good, albeit, ocd person that I would be idiotic to discard. I am steaming with unsaid feelings and unthrown punches and untasted kisses and the fear that it will never change. I am a f-king coward and a lazy, soft blob. I do not feel or think that being considered soft is a compliment; it's not how I feel, and it's not what makes me feel good.
I am angry without an outlet and I envision rape-like rages ravaging my empty spaces.
What stops me from looking for that outlet in reality? My f-king cluelessness, and the confused angels that still lounge around my neshama, not realizing that what they're protecting me from is what I've already let in, what I want the most.
G-d help me.

a good day
It's a beautiful spring day, clean air after a morning of rain, and I've done a lot of my Pesach shopping, so I'm taking this break to let some of my good feelings sink in. Last night when I spoke to my friends, they reminded me that it's wonderful to play, even at my age - especially at my age - and there are lots of ways to play,and have fun. I realize that that's a major part of my low spirits - no opportunities to play with abandon. One Motzei shabbes this past winter, my 16 year old daughter had a bunch of friends over, and I went out and brought in a snowball and started a snowball fight, which moved outside after that inital, well placed shot. I felt a bit inappropriate playing with teenage boys and girls, but it honestly felt righter than anything has felt in a long time. I love spontanaeity, too, not always the kind of organized play that takes time to plan and get to and organize. It's hard to keep up the motivation to be in the moment, if the original moment was an hour before.
So I went to an exercise place this morning called Curves - it's a circuit workout which you're supposed to get through in a half an hour. It felt good - something to build up my stamina for other more intense activities. I want to be able to sashay my body down the boulevard feeling satisfied with the way I look. Problem is, I had to eat a lot of calorious chametz this morning as I cleaned out my freezer. Especially those girl scout cookies - they go in and down a whole cookie at a time! Not good. but great! Especially the chocolate mints.
Shall I get a pre Pesach hair cut? I like a longish look, but I'm afraid I need something more sophisticated, and less fly-away. I know that it is crucial that I learn how to get some pictures on line so that I can get some advice - I just don't want the feeling that my face out there would impede my freedom in writing with no worries. I'll figure it out. Sunglasses, maybe?
At Salome's suggestion I want to go find something to wear for Pesach that is ethnic and flowy and perhaps even jingly and makes me feel playful and royal at the same time.
I hope that over shabbes I can find some incredibly brilliant insights to share at the seder. I'll take any one's suggestions.

1am and Sleepless
I find so many things surreal. I poured myself some cranberry juice and as I closed the bottle it spilled and the splash shape, cranberry red on the blue formica looked like blood, fake blood in a colored in Hitchcock movie. Surreal is the conversation I had with my daughter tonight about her coming to the first seder next week, even though she planned to travel back to NY on the next day, Yom Tov. Such denial I've been in that my kids' lives are in any way parallel to mine.. I guess I'm mostly surprised that I care as much as I do. I'm not sure that it's as much about halacha that did not get passed down from me to them, but rather, something more personal, more self depleting - how dare they come up with a journey for their own lives...! How can I handle it - react and respond like the person I'm supposed to be, and the person I am, or even the person I might yet become. I can't keep it all in mind at the same time, and get it right.
I expect things from people that I shouldn't, including my kids, I think. I expect people to care about and even anticipate my needs. I expect intensity in my relationships. I expect boyfriends and girlfriends to want me, to care for me, to include me, to feel like family with me. I expect to feel like family with my family. Hell with all these expectations. I want to figure out a different way to live. I want to figure out an independent way to fill my needs. How can that be? My needs include others.
I want to figure out how I'm wired wrong. Or how the wiring went wrong. Or if I'M the surreal one and everything else is cool and real.
Having Intense stress in my workplace, holiday space, family space.
Don't read this if you are sick and tired of hearing me complain and ramble. I feel sad and unmotivated to write behind the privacy screen,so I write out loud. Just go on with what you were doing.
So, how about this upcoming holiday of freedom. From a narrow place we stretched out to a wide place, Mitzrayim to Midbar. I need to look up some things of Haggadah Torah that will facilitate discussion, and keep me looking good.got some interesting and fun people coming to first seder. Alan, from work, Erez, and his sister and brother in law and their baby, my widowed sister in Law and her two kids, and my gang - possibly all of them. I shouldn't judge my kid's observance or lack of it. At least what she does she does b'kavannah - with a purpose and intent and direction and thought process. Me, I do stuff for nothing reasons - selfish, lazy reasons. I am by far not the family tzaddik. S
So get over your martyr status, Rena. they're in G-d's hands now. Just be there without judging. (I can't do that!)
I have torn apart the leftovers of the Shabbes chicken and I don't think that I'll be milchig for breakfast. I am an animal.

So, risk taking is exciting, but not comfortable. Also hard work. I know that I want to change the direction that I use my energy. I think I could possibly be happier if I were running my own business, a coffee house, for instance, where creative people would feel comfortable to invent and discuss and create, and other people would be so happy to be part of that scene, just by eating and drinking there. There would need to be more creative people than bystanders, or maybe the feeling of the place could be so inspirational that people who all their lives felt themselves to be merely onlookers to creativity and creative thought and process would actually become engaged in the process. And we could actually spike the coffee and sprinkle stuff in the muffins to help that along, right? What fun it would be to create that space, really a holy space, a tzelem Elokim space where study and creative process workshops and music and poetry and art shows could be both scheduled, and could happen randomly. Oh, I wish I could go there right now. Even though I'm concerned it wouldn't work in a suburban setting, maybe that's where the biggest challenge and need is. Creating creative community, who would then be open to spiritual thought as well. Not Kiruz, but rather getting in touch with that spark of exploration that is mostly blocked. I want this to happen. I need to work at it. I also need to think about who I am, since I see myself as a pleasant, interactive presence there - making it an extension of my home, even my womb. Cafe In My Living Womb? Yuch. Don't know where that idea came from. I don't feel like mother earth. Maybe I'll work on the name for it later.

Questions
Although things are so busy now, at work, and then there's Pesach around the bend, I wanted to indulge in a few journal minutes. Specifically about discomfort and shame. And why, in small doses, it's exciting. If I can get my mind around that question, I think it'll help me understand a lot about myself. I need to honestly ask myself some questions. Does it feel that way only at the hands of some people, and not others? Does it only work if the other person appreciates it for its sensual power, or any person causes discomfort and shame? What should I do with both those experiences, if they are different? Why do I respond - what does it say about me as a powerful and upstanding person? Is there something good about shame? Are there different kinds - like shame that implicates just me as opposed to shame that hurts others as well? Is there an essential godliness about my powerful feelings about punishment - or is that giving it too much credit - does it relate to a reliving of a parent relationship? If so, which part? Do we, or people like me, yearn for discomfort secretly, is it cleansing? Does it change the experience when it's safe to be shamed, to when it's uncontrolled and scary? Does it melt something, a barrier to other stuff inside of me? Is it a negative Yetzer, or a constructive one?
I guess it's affirming when someone witnesses your shame, and nonetheless, comes back to enfold you with love and acceptance.
I feel some potential shame even in rolling out this stream of questions - things that have been asked before, things that younger people than I have gotten a grasp of long before. Do I actually want to understand it, or work it through, live it through, myself? Surely, that would mean the end of my life as I know it.
Is power my favorite aphrodisiac - power played to its (reasonable) extremes?
I'll stop now, to do the bibliodrama writing that I'm performing this Sunday. If this stream of consciousness means anything to anyone, I really invite responses. Say what you will, I will deal with the discomfort.

I just sat down to write but immediately censored what I started to say. I am at the same time an exhibitionist, and a person who is secretive and unto myself. If I am not doing something, or interacting, I'm in a lot of pain. I should probably take some classes so that my evenings are busy and interesting. My down time is lethal. I won't go into it - it sounds boring to me.
Will I ever find a relationship that will fill my life? Not the way things are now.

motzei shabbat
Today I was feeling how hard it is, maybe impossible, for me to truly integrate all aspects of who I am. there's too many lies that one part of me tells another part of me, in order for them to coexist in me. The energy of that conflict saps my ability to be more than what I am. And I promised myself that I would be more.
I want to stop thinking so much about myself. I want to get so involved in a significant project, that I will focus on it entirely, and be happy with that.
A problem is that me when I think creatively, or conceive of a new project, the excited, electric impulses that are released travel directly to my - well, stimulation travels all over, and in the mad dash to gather up those feelings and use them, I lose my creative focus. why does this happen? Is it normal? Control of feelings and urges is something I do a lot, and would love to sometimes indulge.

And then there's eating. It's the same issue. My middle aged body doesn't need half of what my younger body processed nicely. But nobody discussed this with my mouth, my taste buds. I must make friends with hunger. Again, I must abstain. Shall I leave my body altogether?

Anyway, my mom is visiting, and she got a call from a relative of hers, by marriage - anyway,she wasn't at my home to receive the call, so I was speaking to him for a little while. Then he said what a shame it is, that my children have not made me into a grandmother yet, have not given my mom great grandchildren. I had nothing to answer him, just some nebulous murmering about it being in G-d's hands. It hurts me, too. It's hard every time a classmate of my daughter gets married, brings their kids to shul. Not much I can do about it. People should think before they speak, even if they are from the old country and don't know what's going on in our world.

full up
So this feeling in me on this Friday is washing through me, a mix of happiness and emptiness together. I'm in a constant state of teenage expectation that my lover (who?) will call and speak to me with longing and love in his voice. The fact that I am far from a teenager is irrelevant- I miss that feeling like crazy - it's such a basic need -and the fact that my wonderful children, my deserving children are finding that young love in their lives makes me want it even more. Can it be made to resurface in my marriage? That doesn't sound like so much fun, but maybe it's not supposed to be. How sad is that. yet, knowing what people suffer through, how trivial. there I go, dissing my own feelings. Policing my emotions. Listening to both of the m'lachim, the angels, sitting on my two shoulders, as they argue the pros and cons for my life.Which really wants what's best for me? Probably the one that says it's not all about feeling good, yeah? (I better send the other one to law school)
Last night I went to our daughter's improvisation show - she gets to play and flirt and prance on stage for her college degree! Lucky - she doesn't have to imagine that dynamic of fun and connection. I'm happy that she's been allowed to find it.
Basically, I'm happy now, going into shabbes with hope and loving wishes for some friends of mine who are praying for a positive transition in their lives. Better than any movie that I've ever seen - I'm on the edge of my seat, expectant - l'tova!

I'm home on Fridays, and I enjoyed cooking today. A yummy chicken soup, with all kinds of fresh vegetables, including a big, fat parsnip which I particularly like. A yerushalmi kugel, brimming with sugar and pepper and oil! A Hawaian chicken, with pineapples and tomatoes and onions, asparagus, drizzled with something scalliony and honey dijony, pureed cauliflower, which pretends to be mashed potatoesm but is healthy- to balance out the oily kugel, I guess. I bought the cake - something chocolaty and creamy that people will look at after the meal and say - oh, but I couldn't, and then they do, cause they must! I love facilitating lust - even if it's just about chocolate cake. How evil I am.
Loving wishes for a good Shabbes - looking forward to feeding you all one day. there's no law against feeding!!

sleepless in Maryland
I guess it's spring here, cause I have been up most of the night with alternating drippiness and congestion. But the antihistimine does seem to lend a wierd clarity to my thoughts. I spent several sleepless hours calmly thinking about making organizational changes at work, including working out conversations I need to have with fellow employees. Especially the woman who feels she needs to be my supervisor, when I should be working as independantly as she. I would like to use my time planning creative projects. I think it'll be a "naaseh v"nishma" process, rather than a bolt of lightening moment. I will choose, for instance, a subject that I feel needs to be addressed for children. I will sit down to write. i will sketch. And then, motivated by the product, the process will unravel. I spend most of my creative time involved in the process 1)because I enjoy it 2)because I have no product in me? Well, I think I'll look for one anyway. So what if it's not genius. It'll be accomplishment, and that's enough for now. I can't always be the wonderful, glorious creature that I think I'm meant to be.
I noticed that there's not a lot of children's books on relationships with parents. It might be interesting to write a book exploring a few different relationships. Will I only deal with fairy tale families? Can there be "honor for parents" in children's language when honorability is not always apparent? I don't think that I'm talking about the really bad relationships; just dealing with the subject in a somewhat honest way. Can it be done?

communication
Today at work I was involved most of the day talking with people about how poor communication is in our agency,and as a result, we ended up having the most communicative day so far.
the best part about it all is that I was not all weepy, emotional about it all, as I've been in the past. I just said what was on my mind.
I am blown away by the amazingly creative Mishloach Manot that H's daughter is planning for Purim.I'd love her to take a picture of a finished one, and let us all see.

hidden demons and stuff
What is hidden/nistar in that moment of orgasm? what demons are released - what memories are flushed - why is it so intense--it truly is more than just the trillions of nerve endings on fire. why does it release such sadness in me? Too much emotion involved to entrust its release to another person. Filled with powerful, creative ghosts of partners, i do myself. What a shame.
I'm ashamed to talk about it with some friends as i used to, since it appears that friends have moved on to free love and a sense of reciprocity with partners. I am stuck either facing years of talking it out with my hus. and a shrink, or doing myself, or looking for others. Not easy to do. Would have to learn how.
When I'm in touch with my body, I remember how bloated it feels, and it must look, compared to others. I'm wishing for the days of Rubens, when I might have gotten a coupla modeling jobs. I've come to terms that there's no going back, and the sexy 18 year old is dead and gone forever.There must be somebody to like/love me like this. I'm not fishing. Just really asking.
And then I'm ashamed to bother with such prattle when other people are in such trouble and limbo and pain and hell. Comparisons don't usually work as deterrents.

anger blockage
I'm pretty sure that nobody on livejournal knows how frustrating it is for me to try to figure out even the simplest procedure in this program. I'm pretty sure that I'm not the stupidest person journaling - yet everyone else seems to figure things out. If I ask my brilliant 16 year daughter to help me, then she knows I'm journaling, and I'd rather keep that private. Oh, well. I'll just manage.
Today I think that I was able to put rebhershy back on my friend's list. He's the reason I started writing here in the first place - I'm not sure why his name fell off.
So, I'm dealing with ANGER this evening - the kind that makes you fell like knocking someone down, and returning every punch double hard. What outlets are there for those untamed wild animals that live within us? In days of yore, there were sacrifices, but now we're all so gosh darned civilized, 23 just seethe inside...
Or maybe have some crazy, mind blowing sex,and then, those angry feelings orgazmatize away. I guess that explains why I'm soaked in my anger.
I'm pretty sure that it's mutual - my husband and I are in hate with each other. And keeping up appearances, for whose sake, I don't even know.
Hate Anger all that's left is depression, and together those three will totally know out of me any sense of creative energy and mindset.Those negative feelings are depleting, and I feel as if someone has pushed cotton down into me, to stop any positive things from coming out.
And I think that there might still be some creative things still waiting to erupt from me one of these days.

back again
It's midnight and as I tiptoed past my 16 year old daughter's room to come downstairs - couldn't sleep- not in my bedroom, at least, I overheard her talking to her boyfriend. she won't say that he's her boyofriend - she's too independent and free spirited. But I think it's almost there. Anyway, I felt so envious - so missing those years of flirting and innuendo and excited anticipation. don't have that anymore in my relationship with my husband. And the less i felt it, the more I pulled back, til now, we're in two different, non emotionally- supportive worlds. So what's it worth? I feel so lonely, and If there's a man who pays me some attention, or interacts with me, I become obsessed with him. yet I certainly don't act on it - too smart, too holy, too secure to show my insecurity - so I come home and think of ways to numb the anger,the hurt, and forget the loneliness. I guess that i could force myself to stirr up something with my husband - he's not a bad person - and it would be fine if we were allowed to marry more than one man at a time. I would spend my time in bed with the other one. But something is wrong, and i am sabatoguing any possible intimacy,cause I just can't push myself to go to mikveh, and he won't have me that way, mikvehless. I want to rediscover the mikveh experience, so that it represents an experience for me and my body and my womanhood, not an association with sex. I miss intimacy, though, and I think that I'm going slowly mad at what I've done - we've done.
I would like mikveh to be a swim in a frothy ocean, for both of us,coming back to shore to put on cozy robes and sit close and hug our shivering away, with the sand roughly beneath us. I want to feel the elements of nature to celebrate my own natural state. (Please G-d, that doesn't mean I want a national disaster!)(You never know, when G-d listens to you, what inferences G-d'll make!)
I am glad to be back journaling - if anyone is reading, please let me know.

let's try that again
Whaddyu think? Do you think I'm a feather?
Tickling fancies, motivating movement, do you
jump in the air when I touch you?

Floating and random, detached from the tail of a passing seagull,
Light, with my flight, heavy with lonliness, laughing with the breeziness, crying with the dizziness
Who knows my path? Not I.

Do you think I'm a finger?
Pushing, pointing, punching, poking, piercing--
Intrusive - sharp. Assertive, annoying.

Young, pink and flexible - a toddler.
Old, gnarled and arthritic - an ancient sage
Unbending, remembering, flexing, fluttering
Clutching, beckoning.

Pointing at the path of the seagull from the beach below.

I wrote this some months ago, and thought that pulling it out might get me going again painting some word pictures. I hope so.

whaddya think?
Do you think I'm a feather?

Forget that last story. Moving on. Trying to figure out what my writing on livejournal is about.At first I felt that it was facilitating voyeurism - allowing strangers and friends to look into this window of my life. So I pushed it to become what I thought might be entertaining (for anybody looking in - don't worry - I know that it wasn't.)If I truly wanted to just write to express myself, then why do it on line when I've got a bookshelf full of empty journals -= several given to me by my oldest daughter who is a writer and saw that as a vehicle for me. So it must be about opening myself to others.Knowing that there might be an audience makes my work stilted and boring. I think that most everything good and creative and special about me is inside me and not shared consistently.Cause it's blocked, I guess.Words seem to be in the way of the good stuff - the doing, the passion. I feel like doing what Goldie Hawn's character did on the old 70's television show, Laugh-In. She danced as a go go dancer in an itsy-bitsy bikini, with words drawn all over her body - hills and valleys, and the camera would freeze on one of them when the music and the dancing stopped. Now, those were words!
On one hand, I want to write about how I feel about getting older. On the other hand, I want to ignore the process as vehemently as the next guy. Can I still feel, and be sexy and desirable as an older woman? Possibly not to a man who has known me younger, because in the comparison...I lose.

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