Halloween, Sex and the Number Two Test

…to be human
is to become visible
while carrying
what is hidden
as a gift to others…
~ David Whyte

People often ask how I know or choose what I’m going to write about next. I’d like to report that I carry a literary witching rod to divine a lofty inspiration from some higher source, but that’s generally not the case. I do two things. The first is called the #2 test. Usually while I’m driving I scan through recent events. If an idea is too intellectual, I skip over it because clearly my ego would be writing about what’s “important" (yawn) and not my gut and heart. Every now and then the divining rod strikes it rich and the material has to come out as soon as possible. I rush home and let it flow. If I ignore it or I can’t get home in time – you guessed it: the urge passes and I forget whatever it was I wanted to write. Naturally, the urge will return in some form and sometimes even when I do get home in time, I read it over and realize, well, it’s crap.

The second part of the equation is humor. If it’s not somewhat funny, no one wants to read it. Generally, if it’s funny there’s a darker underbelly to the piece, which gives you an idea about my sense of humor. But darkness is not necessarily twisted - soul seeks darkness. In Soulcraft, Bill Plotkin explains: “the movement toward spirit is a journey of ascent…transcendence, while the movement toward your soul is a journey of descent… a journey that deepens.”

So, today what got me racing home at high speeds was… s-e-x! Well, at least the idea of it. This weekend I went to a couple of Halloween parties. I dressed as Nefertiti, complete with a hat I made for the occasion. Totally ignoring the heavy eye make up and bejeweled dress, some guy asked if I were a “Bic Pen.” Really? That gave me an idea about how to use the headdress next year. Granted, I passed over sexier options, choosing instead an elegant sack, and at one of the parties, I watched as men gravitated to more skimpily dressed women. No surprise there, but it reminded me of the Halloween party in college when I dressed as a frumpy yellow bird and all the guys asked my two lithe friends, who were dressed as a kitty cat and a school girl in a low buttoned shirt and mini skirt, to dance while I sat in a chair preening my lemon yellow feathers. One of the guys pulled me aside and said: “You’re the kind of girl we’d want to marry, but who wants to get married in college?” I was such a nerd; it's no wonder I was a virgin until age 21!

I have no issue with being playful and wearing fun, sexy costumes, especially on Halloween. I've worn my share of them. And when I was married there was clarity and it was easier to venture from base and be flirtatious. Married but not dead. But as a single woman I want to be conscious about what I'm putting out there and what I want to attract. My last lover taught me a lot about spirituality and health. He said that most people “bleed sexual energy,” which depletes power and the capacity for deeper relationship. (I liked to remind him that when I met him at a Halloween party years ago I had my hair down and teased and I was dressed in a skin tight, one-piece snake suit draped in a strand of ivy.) The fact is some men are visual and won’t see my mind unless I show them my ass first. Alas, I wasn’t in the mood this weekend to be luring men, at least, not that way. I like to remind myself that as much as I learned from that lover, we weren’t on the same page. If I am meant to meet a long-term partner it’s probably not going to be dressed as a wanton middle-aged Lolita.

Certain traditions say that when a woman has sex, she carries that partner’s energy along with her for seven years. Maybe I knew that back in college or maybe I was a scared canary. Sex is never just sex – at least not usually for women. The heart gets involved in a way that can shred us. We think we’re going to be calm, cool and collected, and the next day we are crying and thinking about puppies dying in scientific labs and the affect of global warming on bees and is he ever going to call me again? On the flip side, one may have sex with a man who seems and looks relatively stable and then Pow! The intimacy triggers something shall we say... unexpected. Humans are complex!

It’s one of the reasons I’m not looking for sex for sex’s sake. Besides worrying about the puppies, birds and bees, I want to understand my heart more fully, and I think it’s been shut down for a long time. It’s why yoga has been so important to me. I remember last year when my favorite yoga instructor, Matt, led a class that focused on “heart openers.” Heart openers, I innocently thought, were exercises that stretched the pectoral muscles to free up my shoulders and arms. But NO! Fear the cruel yoga instructor! (And they all look so innocent. BUDDHIST BULLIES I say!) When it came time for savasana, I was a blubbering fool curled in a fetal position trying not to sob audibly and disturb the peaceful corpses lying next to me.

I’m happy to say my heart is accustomed to opening more readily thanks to the safe space of yoga, tango or BodyMantra. Don’t get me wrong. Sex is a show stopper. It’s glorious, transcendent, life changing at its best. But it's more fun with a committed partner. Our culture seems to breed men and women fumbling towards one another with the idea that we can complete each other in a night, that the other person will erase our pain. We go into relationship with too much expectation - we wonder why it caves under all that wet snow! We might be relieved that – God forbid – we are not seen in public alone...again. We jump in without taking the time to feel our way fully, without understanding our hearts and the deeper quests it leads us on. Our media flaunts sexuality as if sex is no more life changing than eating a bag of chips. Sadly some people who've been abused and never taught otherwise are inured and their hearts and feelings are shut down so that it isn't any more special than Cheetos. While some teens may be ready to experience it with a sense of fun and wonder, other kids feel obligated and lost, slamming the heart shut for another decade or for good.

There really is no answer here. It’s like the question about what I’m going to write next – sometimes the urges we follow, whether on the page or between the sheets, turn out to be great and then other times… not. I guess what I’m hoping for is more creativity when it comes to engaging with the opposite sex – especially for middle-aged singles. Friends often say that dating in our 20’s was fun and easy. At 50 people are crumbling fortresses of terror. Halloween is our signature holiday.

I feel a certain peace when my yoga teacher comes over to kneel on the back of my thighs and ease down on my upper back as I’m lying on my stomach; my heart opens like a tide pool on my yoga mat. I feel this same serenity and safety with a couple of dear male platonic friends - one I've only known a year and the other I have known for five years who told me he would never sleep with me because down the road it wouldn’t work out and we would lose our friendship. I thought he was wrong at first, but now I know – in my heart – that he was right. What I've come to find with both is this unconditional acceptance, a freedom of interrelating with someone from the opposite sex without expectation.

Granted, it would be nice to have a sexual partner, but ultimately friends with benefits seems to end up biting someone in the ass. It's been so long... I want to bite an ass. Sigh.

While I’m not officially declaring abstinence, I have made a commitment to sink into the feeling of what it’s like to be by myself... making snow angels! And, without getting lost in another person or carrying yet another man’s energy around for seven years. (That is such a weird concept.) There will come a time for losing myself – again – to delicious, blissful love, but first I want to know my heart. I want to urge her out of hiding. It’s all perception. I could focus on the disappointment of going to one more event without a date, but I am beginning to trust that being single is right where I’m meant to be. The universe will open the door to a relationship and when that happens, I will be ready to walk through the door without leaving myself on the other side of the threshold.

In the poignant book by Martha Beck, Expecting Adam, as she contemplates whether she’s going to abort or keep her unborn son with Down’s Syndrome, she asks herself: “What is it that people do? What do we live to do, the way a horse lives to run?” Later in the chapter she reveals: “This is the part of us that makes our brief, improbable little lives worth living: the ability to reach through our own isolation and find strength, and comfort, and warmth for and in each other. This is what human beings do. This is what we live for, the way horses live to run.”

I may be single, but I don’t feel alone. My life is graced with a wonderful immediate and extended family, close friends and dear teachers who sustain my heart and make every moment worth living.

Death is a Grumpy Cousin I Can't Shake

This morning was one of those times where I woke up with one sock on, one off, tangled in the sheets and crying as though my heart had just been broken – not about anything specific. Pretty much about everything: How long do I have with my old dog? Or with the pony - I am so darn attached! With my parents? They have to live forever because I don't know what I'll do without them. Why is it I live so far from my brothers and sister? Or what about my best friends - how long do we have? My circle of women is so dear to my heart. Why do dear friends move away or I have to move from them? Will my daughters overcome their health challenges? Will they survive college? It was one of those mornings where I was wide-awake when the alarm went off and I was happy to hear the alarm! The minute I got out of bed the anxiety and sadness fell away with the other sock as I attended the practical business of the body. I splashed my face with cold water to calm the salty eye-puffs.

Life has a way of tenderizing us. It’s called Death. Maybe it’s why I feel drawn to working with the grieving families at Hospice Care of Boulder and Broomfield Counties. I’m not sure I will get that placement for practicum, but I am applying. I’ve always been a depressing person – just get to know me a little better and you’ll see. Actually people who work with the dying and mourning tend to be funny. It’s why nurses are so witty (right Susan?)! It’s why my mother who was almost killed numerous times in WWII has such a wicked sense of humor, but also a deep kindness. Heck, I was even a depressing kid. At age 5 my mom would take me on a date and I would say things like: “Let’s talk about death.” Maybe she took me on dates when she was trying to lose the guy! I can’t help I got stamped with “existentialist” before being shipped onto this planet.

Then I got plopped into a family who had just come from Europe and the horrors of WWII. They had lost everything except the clothes on their back. There was a sense of underlying fear and: “It’s us against the world.” Death was a grumpy cousin we couldn’t shake. I didn’t play at other kids houses and they didn’t come to mine, unless I was at my dad's and Lynda's every other weekend, but those encounters with other kids were few and far between. I'm not sure if the other families thought we were weird Lithuanian immigrants or if my Mutti felt she couldn't trust strangers not to kidnap me. I played alone in the backyard or with my Aunt Helena who was like an older sister.

Helena would spin imaginary games for me that took us up onto the roof; she buried

crystals for me to find as part of the adventure and wrote notes that led me from one location to another on a treasure hunt. If not with her, I was playing with Pinky the big black lab. I had 5 imaginary friends who were so real to me, I introduced them to my friends when I moved to Santa Monica. I watched a lot of TV after school (Gilligan's Island, I Dream of Genie, Petticoat Junction, Green Acres, Bewitched) and then my Mutti and Papa, aunt and uncle and Mom all sat around the kitchen table for dinner. I was even allowed a “thimble-full” of beer. This was a very happy childhood that I treasure remembering - just different.

Then, frumpy, overweight kid suddenly does the swan thing and ends up fairly popular at Santa Monica High School. It was like some cosmic joke had been played on me. I hid behind my cheerleading costume, totally bewildered. Painfully shy, the facade suited me. The traditional roles gave me something to be. Parochial elementary school taught there was a right and wrong answer - none of this critical thinking stuff. I didn’t even know how to begin to form an opinion! Until I got to Santa Monica at age 11, I had been raised mostly by adults. I had never been to an overnight at a friend’s house. I didn’t even know the clapping game: “Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?” I was an unsocialized Golden Retriever who had only seen other dogs through glass. I missed all the cues. I listened to classical, not rock and roll. When I did speak in high school, I was so painfully serious. But I took myself so dang seriously, because death was still a concept in my head. Intellectualizing death kept it at a safe distance. My feelings were shut down; they were too dangerous to allow out. Oh, I cried a lot, but I stuffed the deeper feelings. I had no idea how to broach anger. But when the concept of death got to my heart via heartbreak and love and loss and changes...when I had the bravery to let it move out of my head and into my heart, which came in waves from age 25 to 45, the experience was shocking and searing. Putting words to that kind of realization of impermanence is pretty much like trying to describe

a spiritual experience. Words became inadequate. When we awaken to the reality of imminent death, we can’t take anything too seriously, because tomorrow it will be different. It deepens our appreciation for the people we love and the time we have with them. Laughter heals.

The pursuit of an open heart didn’t stop at age 45, but now I’ve made peace with the idea that there are going to be mornings I cry my eyes out. It’s okay. That’s part of the deal. Sometimes I’m going to win a trip to Italy or be associated with aristocracy in England. On some level, I’m still the homely, lonely kid which causes me to appreciate others and the potential fun on earth all the more. Feelings are like the waves I body surfed. Sometimes I’m going to get rolled on the sea floor, but I’m going to stand up, crunching on sand, with more experience and exhilarated. I’m not going to stay planted on the shore telling everyone: “Don’t go in - the waves are too big!” With some discretion I’m going to dive in again. True happiness blossoms in the heart as an ongoing state of being when we can let sorrow tear through us like a hurricane and realize we will still be standing when it's over.

Excerpt from William Cullen Bryant's poem, "Thanatopsis"
So, live that when they summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach they grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Midnight in Paris, Daylight at Goodwood

I was looking at the star chart (or vision board) yesterday that I created a couple of months ago, and it dawned on me that several of the pictures on it resemble the English countryside, including an aristocratic home on a hill. When I created the board I had no idea I would be traveling to West Sussex in England and staying with the delightful Duke and Duchess of Richmond. It’s interesting that I chose these pictures based on the feeling of joy and freedom I’d like to create more fully and sustain in my life, and the trip was an intensification of those feelings. It is said that a state of “wanting” or “wishing” will only bring more “wanting” and “wishing” into our lives, but if we generate a feeling state of already being and having, that’s what the universe will offer. It isn’t personal – it’s energetic. The trip sucked me out of my mundane, albeit serene and happy, existence and plopped me into a rare experience. I'm sure when I am in my 90s I will have trouble

distinguishing whether it was a dream or reality.

Goodwood Revival, the world’s most popular historic motor race meeting and the only event of its kind, is a step back into time. Lord March and his wife, Countess Janet, host the memorable event, and they seemed to manifest everywhere as they made sure their guests were content. The Saturday night gala's theme was "Space Barbarella" - the costumes were elaborate, the ball gowns exquisite, and the sets and entertainment astounding. It was a pleasure to meet Lord March's daughter, Alexandra (Atty) Lennox, as well as his sister, Naomi (Nimmy) March, at the event. The Goodwood web site describes the event like this: “The Goodwood Revival is a magical step back in time, a unique chance to revel in the glamour and allure of motor racing in the romantic time capsule of the golden era of motor racing at one of the world’s most authentic circuits. The Revival is staged entirely in the nostalgic time capsule of the 1940s, 50s and 60s that relives the glory days of Goodwood Motor Circuit. The Revival offers visitors the opportunity to leave the ‘modern world’ behind and join motor sport luminaries … in an unabashed celebration of flat-out wheel-to-wheel racing around a classic racetrack, untouched by the modern world."

This event celebrates the history of the cars as well as the Goodwood race track, once a leading motor venue in England. My brother, Derek Hill, raced Lawrence Auriana’s 1962 Maserati Tipo 151, like the pro that he is. I could hardly bear watching as he tore past weaving his way ahead of other drivers to end up in second place. My mother, Alma, was saying the rosary as we huddled under an umbrella when it began to rain and I was shouting: “That’s my brother!” The crowd was breath-lessly on edge and the exuberant announcer sounded relieved to finally have a show on the track worth detailing. A few seconds late in the pit change, they lost a position, but Joe Colasacco, Derek’s co-driver, brilliantly held on to 3rd place in pouring rain and miserable visability. I cheered every time he came around the track and had not lost ground.

While other relatives were not permitted onto the podium, serendipitously, Mama Alma – with a reputation of her own – and I were invited up as Lord March and Atty Lennox gave the drivers

their awards. If it weren’t for my mother, I wouldn’t have even been invited. Her personality plus and humor as well as deep kindness wins her many invitations despite the fact that Phil left us three years ago. We thought of him at every turn.

Derek was rewarded with the Will Hoy Memorial Trophy for the Greatest Drive in a Closed Cockpit Car. Toasting Derek and Joe with champagne on the podium was one of the highlights of the trip. Other highlights: getting to know Larry, Irene and hanging out with the team, chats with the Duke and Duchess, tea in the driver's tent with Uwe, dinner next to Alain de Cadanet, Eddie Cheever and Brian Redman, meeting Jochen Mass, dinner at Goodwood House, being chauffered in a Bentley or Rolls, strolling the countryside and petting the goats, meandering the paddock - and admiring the cars, dressing in costume, firework rockets traveling horizontally over my head at the gala like missiles, the spitfire airshows, and meeting so many people with extraordinary stories.

When I think of the theme of my blog: “Being in this Body,” I think of all the places that we go and the experiences that we have that help us to realize we are so much more than a body, and yet, the sensuous pleasures of the body are unique to life as we know it. The visuals, sounds, smells, and tastes of the trip transcended most experience. Traveling transports us out of our common experience and all that we know; nothing is the same and we are granted a new lens to see our old lives. My imagination has been reawakened, which affects everything I do. Too, my trust in the creativity of the universe and its timing is renewed. Weeks ago, I saw Woody Allen’s film, “Midnight in Paris” and while it was broad daylight in England, life imitated art as I spent a magical week living a dream.