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Dangerous Compassions

fast blood

me

Hey, I was ecstatic dancing outside to my youtube dance playlist.  I was wearing no shirt–I wore a sports bra.  It’s ok to exercise, wearing a sports bra, so I hear.  But I never did it before.  I walked outside in a skirt and bra, which I had never done before.  Felt vulnerable and slightly thrilling.

Ming went to town.  We’re in Arizona–oh yeah, pertinent info.  He needed to send something at FedEx and wanted Thai food also.  So he was gone.

I turned on my bluetooth headphones and danced, out on the patio beneath the grape arbor.  It was midday.  My body felt blissfully healthy.  I loved the energy in my arms.  My entire body felt happy.  My joints felt so loose and glidey, a sensation I’ve been feeling a lot lately, the pleasure of joints that work well and don’t hurt.

The sun shone on me, and a breeze blew.   My bare tummy and back felt sparkly–a healing joy-pleasure of having a body.  Dancing a little about my mom.  I felt so alive.  I was made for this.  Yes, she was right all along.  Could I have another 40 years of this?  I had never so badly wanted to continue to live.

frightened rabbit

Then the next song Fast Blood came on, and I had not heard it in a while; I usually start that playlist in the middle.  Suddenly my lungs were gaspy, my eyes were wet, and grief was ripping through my torso.  Oh, I was crying.  Why was I crying?

I had been thinking about a friend I wanted to share this song Fast Blood with.  Yes, the beginning sounds like other songs she likes, maybe.  Oh yeah, this guy killed himself.  Oh god, what a loss.  Yes, I’ll share this song with my friend.

Fast Blood is about the transformative power of sexual desire, something I’ve been thinking about a lot.  Relationship is powerful medicine because we have to share and negotiate, change in response to another person, learn how to love in a new way, and are met with a whole new set of memories, needs, feelings, ways of being in the world.  And a whole new body.  So lucky, to vividly encounter another.

If sex is involved, that’s a whole other layer of challenge.  How to navigate being an animal, collaborating about overwhelming desires, bodily needs in relation to trauma and what people did to us a long time ago.  How will my trauma interact with yours?  Can we be kind to one another, in the most vulnerable places?

It has to do with trust, PTSD, c-PTSD, healing, and the very edges of well-being.  The wildlands of our psyches, as expressed in our hormones, body parts, reward pathways, gender performance, most intense physical actions.  What can heal me can also destroy me, depending on my choices and yours.

cry-dancing

I had to stop cry-dancing to write this poem.  I wrote the first half, cry-danced, wrote the second half.  Wiped my eyes and danced another six songs, in my pink sports bra.

Often, I looked up through the grape arbor, at the sky.  A place on my back started feeling hot, beginning to sunburn.  So I came inside during “Sabotage,” by the Beastie Boys.

Thank you to Ming for your generous love, healing me every day.  To my new friend for inspiring unpredicatbly powerful joys in me, giving me the world anew.  To Frightened Rabbit.  And to you, reader.  Love to all who feel.  Here’s a poem.

shadows

fast blood

the charity they formed

after his suicide,

links go nowhere,

failed.  I dance and cry

with no shirt on,

hearing him sing about sex

from the other side.

I know sex is part

of what killed him,

desire for love

in our bodies

he could not trust

broke his river spirit,

under the bridge dredged

body I would care for

incorrectly.

but I cry back to him

through time

to stay on shore.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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