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September 2016

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Sep. 28th, 2016

Me

Paladin Mimicked My Energy

Tuesday night I struggled to fall asleep. Hibiscus's words from Sunday's phone conversation, "I miss you missing me," and my slow shift toward a more accomplishment-oriented mind-set had brought me to sense of emptiness. It had brought me away from Paladin's vibration. My Taoist energy had evaporated, leaving behind a gnawing, pulling, desperate energy.
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I did some reading. I wrote Hibiscus a hand-written note as well as an e-mail. I recorded ten minutes of myself to send to Metheus, and decided to copy it to Hibiscus as well. Around one o'clock in the morning I finally fell asleep. At seven o'clock I was awake, hoping that Paladin would be too. I went into his room, but he was still asleep.
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I went downstairs and prepared cacao-oat cookies for the raw vegan potluck that I'd arranged to have happen in Snowland that weekend when Paladin and I would be visiting. As a secondary inspiration, I made turmeric-tamarind-oat cookies as well.
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It was almost nine o'clock in the morning when I returned to Paladin's bedroom. He was still asleep. I crawled into his bed-covers and woke him. I touched him longingly, feeling as if I were in a surreal dream.
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"What are you feeling?" Paladin asked me at one point.
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"Taught strings running through my body. Electric blue strings on a midnight blue screen, pulling grasping, yet everything is sand through my fingers," I said, my voice distant from my awareness.
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Time oozed – congealed and lumpy. Awareness ebbed and flowed. Paladin's fingers on my back. Soft blankets against my face. Pain in my tailbone. Stretching my legs after an interminable period of folded space. Light coming as a surprise; blinking in the brightness of the chink of sunlight coming in beneath the shades.
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He asked me something, and I said, "Your trust is more valuable to me." Images of violently attacking him came to mind. It wasn't that I wanted him hurt, but that I wanted to experience hurting him. And it wasn't that I wanted that – it was part of me. A part I kept folded away.
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Sep. 27th, 2016

Incredulous

"Holy Pistachio Butter"

Continued fairly directly from here.
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Sunday, September 25th 2016
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Early in the morning I wandered into Paladin's room. It was delightful to have him awake before me. It meant that I could seek out his company immediately upon waking and feel his energy enveloping me.
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"It feels like it did back when we lived in Snowland," I said, my heart pulsating.
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Paladin nodded and then began to cry. "We can at least capture a piece of it," he said through his sobs. I held him and shed a few tears myself.
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A few hours later we were in my room. I remarked: "I keep thinking it is early in September, but it's not. It's the twenty-fifth."
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"Holy pistachio butter," Paladin said, his voice full of genuine surprise as well as humor.
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"That does sound holy," I said. He chuckled. I smiled. Yes, we still had it in us.
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Sep. 24th, 2016

Shy Smile

Paladin's Deepest Fears – Part 2

This entry is continued directly from the last post. Please click here if you have not already read the previous post.
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Sep. 23rd, 2016

Sexy

Paladin's Deepest Fears – Part 1

This story is quite the game changer for Paladin and I. This is one of my more interesting and worthwhile reads in my own opinion, so please do give it a read, and comment as you feel inspired.
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Sep. 20th, 2016

Smile

Curious Metheus

Monday, September 19th 2016
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Metheus wrote me for the first time on August 4th. Monday, September 19th 2016, we talked for the first time over the phone. (Not too long after I had written Mahks.) Prior to hearing his voice, I had been nervous about hearing it. He writes so oddly. He's going to speak oddly too.
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And then, he sounded so natural that it took me by surprise. Speaking to him was easy. His affectations were like my own. How could that be? I had become convinced that English was his second language.
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"English is my second language," he said to me, as if reading my thoughts. "Because speaking verbally comes second to my first language – feelings."
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I chuckled. It wouldn't have made much sense to me, except that I'd had the experience of remembering what it was like to be pre-words just this past April, when Hibiscus, Paladin and I had been at the polyamory gathering.
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"I've become my words," I told him. I heard him saying in an emphatic whisper, "Yes, yes!"
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Sep. 19th, 2016

Smile

Wish List: Manifesting New People

I keep wanting to talk to him, but what to say? How to move forward?
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"Hi Mahks. It's Nuria. I enjoyed our conversation over video chat," I wrote. I switched screens to look at my spreadsheet and did a search on his name, quickly acertaining the date of the call. Wow, that was nearly a month ago already, I thought.
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"...back on August 22nd," I finished typing my sentence. I wanted to ask for his help directly, but was afraid of how much payment he might ask for. I wanted to learn from him, but could I afford it? I still had no idea if he expected or hoped for payment. I also had no idea where he stood financially. He could be rich, or on the brink of destitution for all I knew. I suspected the latter was unlikely.
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"Since then, Hibiscus and I tried an exercise that was inspired based on our conversations (both at the polyamory camp and over google hangouts). We both wrote out a list of what we'd ideally want from a partner in terms of an agreement about food. The exercise was very revealing to me, as it showed me that ideally, I am looking for a partner who inspires me – someone who takes immaculate care of themselves. I like feeling like I'm being pulled upward toward my highest potential."
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Sep. 14th, 2016

Hunched

Anchors with Paladin & Pig Mellons ... Or Something

Triggers and tones with Paladin . . . Known as "anchors" within neuro-linguistic programing (NLP).
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"Are you sure it is okay to set that in the sink? It is supposed to stay sterile," Paladin said. His bloody tone. He sounded so I-know-more-than-you-do. A sort of frantic edge to his voice, like my actions would deeply hurt him if I didn't hurry up and do whatever he said. But his words offered no alternative, no relief, no suggestion, no wisdom. His words only offered me criticism.
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Defensive, I said, "I have to set it somewhere while I get the lid back on it." I put the plastic back over the top of the plastic bucket, secured it with the string-tied-to-rubber-band that Hibiscus had devised, and set the plastic lid gently on top of that.
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"It doesn't seem like the sink is the cleanest place to put it," Paladin said.
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"The stainless steel sink seemed as good to me as the fake-marble counter top," I said. "Besides, I'll use soap."
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"Did he tell you that you could use soap?" Paladin demanded, his voice cutting through me. Why does he sound so threatening?
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My stomach unsettled, my shoulders reflexively curling forward, I said, "I don't know. I don't remember." Now my own voice sounded a touch frantic. I went to the sink and picked up the delicate glass instrument in question. It measured the "specific gravity" of the wine-in-process. Our own home-grown wine. The vines had been planted, to the best of Hibiscus's memory, by his ex. They sprawled happily over an arbor which I saw every day through the south-facing windows of my bedroom. I had spent much time climbing around on the arbor to gather grapes for wine, because Hibiscus's wine was the first wine I'd ever been able to drink without headaches. Paladin speculated that it was the lack of sulfites present in the home-made wine.
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"Even in kombucha making," Paladin said, "they say you shouldn't use soap."
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"That's ridiculous," I said. "We always used soap on the jars and everything when we made kombucha, and so does Hibiscus."
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Sep. 12th, 2016

Me

"But you never..."

Throughout my childhood I heard my mother say things like, "Your father never does the dishes," or "Your father never does the laundry." As I became more cognizant and thought for myself, I observed that sometimes my did do the dishes. Sometimes I would tell my mother so, and she would say, "Well, I wish he wouldn't, he always leaves them dirty." There were other examples of things my father "never" did, such as helping my mom with various household projects – shelf-building, pluming repairs, and so forth. She never denied that it was my dad who fixed the roof or painted the house before we got siding put up, but that was because it was almost solely my dad who did the painting and tarring. The things my mother did most of the time were things that my father "never" did according to the way my mother spoke.
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This was infuriating to me. I wanted speech to be accurate and true. My parents regaled me with the importance of honesty, but their own hyperbolic statements told a different story.
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In September of 2016, I found myself guilty of the same thought patterns – if not speech patterns. I was talking to Hibiscus and trying to express how there was little point in worrying about whether or not he would remember the conversation we were having.
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"What does it matter?" I said. "You never remember these kinds of things away."
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Sep. 8th, 2016

Incredulous

Metheus Mirror

He wrote me for the first time on August 4th 2016, opening with, "I have a couple balls in the air, but was reading your profile and got quite excited. It is nothing big for me to be natural or for those around me to be, neud is pretty par for people with me and it is not an accent, merely being. That said, this applies to nearly all aspects of my life. I talk share, communicate, learn, listen, play, goof, help, and all sorts of things moving from within myself and sharing what it is to be."
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I frowned at this opening paragraph. Who opens a letter with "I have a couple balls in the air" but the most pompous of people? But his letter was long, and at least had punctuation. I would, of course, read it before dismissing it. I visited his OKCupid profile before I got much further.
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I analyzed what I saw there:
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Match rating: 89%
Photos: Looks a bit like Ocimum. Fit. Overly large chin, but nothing I couldn't grow to live with, especially if he grows a beard on it (which he does in some of the photos).
Age: 32
Location: Four or five hours to my east. Same direction as Rooster and Oryx, and the polyamory gatherings.
Description: Talks a lot about exploration, humor and he enjoys dancing. Claims to need nothing. Egotistical.
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Sep. 7th, 2016

Me

Hibiscus Leads a Process into Sex

It was Wednesday, September 7th, 2016. One full year ago I had climbed around naked on Hibiscus's grape trellis, naked. I delighted in the hot feeling of sun coating my body as I gathered seedless, concord grapes. I'd never had grapes anything like them prior to meeting Hibiscus.
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Now, a year later, I was sworn off grapes until Friday, as they seemed to be causing yeast-overgrowth to flair up in my body, causing my pussy to itch at night. Worse, they seemed to cause an increase in food-cravings – as if I didn't have enough of those to contend with. And thus, I was not eating any more until Friday, when I planned to harvest a lot of them for Hibiscus and I to make wine with.
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Resisting fruit all day was challenging, but I made it.
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That evening I was feeling the press of having held myself emotionally in check for close to two weeks. Don't react, I kept telling myself. It was vital that I didn't show any negativity toward Hibiscus's food choices. Only then could he be free of the rejection I had imposed on him. Only then could he feel accepted by me, and trust me with all of himself. I saw that now, and I wanted it.
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And yet it hurt. Blazes, how it hurt! In this newfound acceptance, he started confessing to me . . . "... had a doughnut at the Farmer's Market, which was around the third time in our relationship that I've done that ... the other two times I think you were actually at the market somewhere." My breathing increasing some. If only I stayed with him – right beside him the whole time, I thought uselessly. I gently let my eyes closed, even though it would have felt more natural to squeeze them shut. My acceptance is more important than what he puts in my body, I told myself, trying to convince myself.
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Sometimes I believed it. Sometimes I believed my acceptance was more important than these instances. But then I would recall all that I'd read, watched, and experienced. It would flood through my mind, unbidden. Poison, so many articles explained, white sugar is poison. And I believed it. I experienced it to be true before anyone had to tell me it was so.
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And there was Hibiscus's voice playing in my mind again, "... ate out at Chillie's ... ate a lot of desserts at the company picnic besides the salad which I mentioned to you before ..." My heart throbbed. He was intentionally deceptive that time. He told me he ate salad at the picnic, as if I should be proud of that, and left out the part about eating a lot of desserts. My heart throbbed painfully in my chest again. He'd explained that he'd done that because he felt like it was his "once chance" to eat those things while there was no chance of my being there. I caused that, I thought miserably. And he had been so moody that evening when he got back from the company picnic, and even worse the morning after.
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"I was feeling constrained by you," Hibiscus explained.
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My fault. My fault. My heart ached and ached. I have to change. I have to stop. I have to accept.
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