Epic Badass Soul Alchemy in Action
originally composed 4 January 2015
Intake
Incest sucks. I recommend avoiding it as much as possible. For me, it wasn’t possible, and growing up in an environment in which it’s running rampant in secret flat out sucks. There is a bright side, and finding this involves shining a lot of light into very dark places. Turns out I’m pretty badass at that by now; my ‘adventure’ on New Year’s Day a year ago required many of the tools I’ve picked up.
When I started working with an incest memory that surfaced at the very end of 1997, I believed I would find the roots of all this, clear it out, and be able to celebrate life in ways my heart and skin yearned for. Many successes and tools later, there was this still this one memory I couldn’t get at the root of, no matter how much I tried.
Burned at the Stake
I was 13 and so new to this thing called hormones that my zits were still introducing themselves to each other. Through a fluke I’d landed into my first ‘relationship’ ever and we were early on into exploring kissing. Bear in mind that I’d already gotten the fire-hell-and-brimstone speech about premarital sex and that was off the table, but nothing had ever been said about anything else. We were kissing. And I liked it. And I desired to kiss some more. “Mariela” desired to stop. We talked about it. Clearly we both had stakes in our positions. Our conversation was not finding a resolution — normal when you have two strong-willed individuals who disagree — and we mutually agreed to take it to my parents. My parents were, at the time, the only models of respect and authority I had, and while they clearly had their own shortcomings, were still the go-to people in times of questioning and confusion. Ah, teenage years…
“when you see fire-breathing dragons spewing all over the place, and you’re a small youngling elf, you get pretty nimble at staying out of the way”
So we went to my parents. I started to explain the situation; I hadn’t even gotten through my first sentence before BOTH of my parents lashed out at me with the fires fit for a heretic. I’d seen my dad do this before; when you see fire-breathing dragons spewing all over the place, and you’re a small youngling elf, you get pretty nimble at staying out of the way. What was unusual was that my mom was spewing a very similar fire at me as well. I’d never seen that before and was triplely blindsided by each of them, that they were both doing this, and that this subject matter hadn’t been covered before. All instantly and simultaneously. I don’t even remember what they said, all I remember is the flash of intense… hatred? flaming in my direction. I caught both streams square on, full force. The image in my mind at that moment: a youngish looking part of myself went down, into a hole in the ground; and a much older-looking part of me retreated back, and where I was a large stone-like thing covered the hole and gave the older-looking part of me cover from the napalm coming from both my parents. I also remember my girlfriend at the time surprised and relieved, probably at being vindicated, but I don’t think she saw this coming either and certainly wouldn’t have desired to throw me under the roasting bus like this.
This older-looking part of me is the one that went on. The story I made up about it was that my desire for physical intimacy was dangerous to the people I loved. Not just dangerous, but vitriolic, simply for existing. I protect the people I love. When you’re 13 and scrawny you don’t ask why, you just hide behind the rock until the dragons run out of fuel and hope you don’t piss them off like that again.
Pausing to reflect for a moment: this sets a president for other than ease and fun in initiating physical intimacy. One might say the challenge level here is… off the charts.
I don’t recall exactly when this memory surfaced, but it’s one I’ve been working on off and on for at least a couple years, and I’d still not gotten to the root of it, much to my chagrin. I’ve also had a lot of epic fails initiating sexual-emotional intimacy with women. I do recall asking the universe to help me get to the bottom of it.
Necessary Change
Two and a half decades later, this story isn’t working for me anymore. Through a nationwide network of friends I’d built over the years, a well reputed fellow from Texas was moving to Seattle about the time our 5 person house had a room opening up. We welcomed him in and this was mostly a good fit.
“[pattern of constant epic fail when initiating intimacy] came abruptly to the forefront when, within four months of moving in, [my new roomate] slept with three women I’d had crushes on for years.”
This issue came abruptly to the forefront when, within four months of moving in, he slept with three women I’d had crushes on for years. Clearly I was doing something completely wrong. Actually asking people out was a good start, and I did get some first dates (go me!). My experience of having my expression of passion and desire stuck somewhere just below my adam’s apple with a solidity that you could found a building on certainly played a central role in getting told, “John, I’m not sexually attracted to you.”
I feel like this happened about four times. Three of them I recall vividly, and the most recent is what sparked this adventure. Clearly this wasn’t working for me, in a constant epic fail rivaled only by its recursive consistency and nearly perfect correlation with women in whom I have a high interest in the last few years.
Compression
So a recent breakthrough back in September set me on a new footing to go out in the world and mix things up a bit. With some fits and starts I manage to ask out this one girl, “Paula,” I’ve been crushing on since I met her, and while that is a whole story in itself, we’ll state for the moment that it worked, and we went out. She even stayed at my place the 2nd time and, for a first time with someone, it went well enough. While she walked down the path away from my front door, I caught a giddly little expression of joy — a kind of skip-jump-whee! — and I thought, “this girl really likes me.” She was going away for the holidays for a month and we didn’t have an opportunity to spend a third time together before then; sadness, but honestly, this moment of giddiness warmed my heart.
“[when she left] I caught a giddly little expression of joy, and I thought, ‘this girl really likes me.’”
So when she returned in time for a series of New Year’s Eve parties, I was excited to see her again. We’d texted beforehand and agreed that she’d be staying with me (night of the 31st), but indicated she was tired from traveling and was interested in sleeping. Ok, no problem. I wake up around 9 and start preparing for the huge party that’s going to be at my house that night (the 1st). She wakes up a few hours later and we get to talking. “I feel safe,” she mentioned, and while we’d had a little kissing, she never really opened up to it. At this point the party is less than four hours away and I have to be available for the last two of them to prepare, and that’s the moment when I get the bomb: “John, I’m not sexually attracted to you.”
So now I can feel a lot of shit churning. I’ve been doing this soul alchemy thing for 17 years now and I know what it feels like when shit starts moving, and shit was moving. I saw the pattern playing out. And it stung. Whatever feelings I had around this I didn’t have the leisure of processing fully because I was hosting a major party very soon. PermaSmile™ time! To complicate matters, I had made a decision previously to make my room into the chill space for the party, since the space we usually used wasn’t available that night, and our party required one. So I had no space to retreat to. Paula left to allow me to continue preparing for the party without her as a distraction.
So the party starts goin’. And it’s going pretty well. We haven’t hosted a dance party at my house in a long time; there had been some pretty epic parties back in the day. I get a couple good dances in. One woman I’ve felt an intense energy with over the years takes a moment to express what she feels with me: “comfort.” Some food shows up. Some good friends I haven’t seen in a long time come, as an event like this draws people from all over the region, from Vancouver BC to Portland. We even drew in some folks from San Francisco, and I was surprised to see my friend Eli there; Eli is kind of unique as there aren’t many guys who can look me in the eye and meet me with a soft heart. He can, and I like that. He’s also been kind to me over the years and I appreciate that as well. Eli has no issues — that I can see — in attracting women into his life, and appears very at ease in almost any social situation, often inviting me in when I’m having a moment of what-do-I-want-to-do-next, which may look on the outside like I’m having an awkward social moment and too stubborn to admit it. We didn’t talk a whole lot, but we don’t really need to.
Combustion
Some great performers came and we had two sets each from a vocal/keyboard duet and a solo guitarist. I was glad to see Paula came back, though our interactions remained distant. At one point I looked over and saw Eli dancing with Paula, eyegazing each other in that sweet way you could tell the rest of the room had completely dissolved for them. Actually, the way I wanted to be dancing with Paula.
It’s not that she was eye gazing someone else. Anyone else at the party and I wouldn’t mind so much. A month earlier we’d agreed on an open relationship; she had other partners; I’d had other partners too. That wasn’t a big deal to me. Any other guy at the party, and I’d have been ok. In that state I wouldn’t have liked it, but I could deal. Mac Daddy Eli from out of town waltzes in and starts making eyes at a girl I’d wanted for years, who’d just rejected me less than 6 hours earlier, in less time than it took for him to land, show up at my party, and dance a song or two. It was too much. I needed to pull away to safe space where I could fall apart, put myself back together again, and push through to the end of my party, which I’d already been getting compliments on from several people.
There was one place in the house that had been closed off for the party where no one else was. It was right next to the entry way where there was a line because the house was so full we had to implement a one-out, one-in policy. I couldn’t make any noise, but at least I could express physically and do some emotional first aid to my now profusely bleeding heart. After that subsided, I composed myself enough to rejoin the party.
As I walked through the curtain separating this closed-off space from the rest of the party, I was 10 feet away from Eli and Paula, eyes closed, blissed out in this deep, tender, wide-open kiss.
And I lost it. Without saying anything I moved past them and I went to get my coat and my shoes as I had to get out. As soon as I was out the door I broke into a full sprint and didn’t stop for blocks. When I ran out of steam I walked a few steps and a I allow a blood-curdling scream to emerge as my soul is flooded with rage and hatred and anguish and fury. Exhausted I continued walking and processing, more a walking ball of suddenly-not-repressed emotion than anything else.
“I’M DONE. I’M FUCKING DONE.”
Another wave hits and I yell I’M DONE — I’M FUCKING DONE out into the night. There’s no one around I can see, but there had to be people that heard that. I thought of slashing my left wrist and remembered when I’d felt that way before, needing warmth on my skin so badly the first time I considered it, and how it had changed the course of my life back then — and took some brief comfort that back then, I turned a significant corner instead; that was possible here too, even if I didn’t know what it looked like yet.
Something in this maelstrom brought me back to when I was 13 — that memory I’d described earlier — and I relived it again, in vivid detail this time. It’s amazing how intense emotion can invigorate a past memory and make it come alive in a way that hasn’t before. This time, I saw both my parents, along with their own sexual wounding, lashing out at me from their own brokenness. I’d never experienced both my parents lashing out at me before. My dad did it often, my mom sometimes tried to intervene when she was around, and sometimes went blank; but this time I got it hard from both of them. I’d been burned at the stake and they were dancing around my ashes before I could finish a sentence.
And I let out another scream in anguish. It was clear that this must end (the question behind suicide is, “what must end?”). That this had been a much huger violation of my spirit than I thought — remembering now that this was coming from the same man who’d sexually abused me once and both my sisters for years, and a woman who was too checked out to do anything about it. I promptly gave back to both of them all of whateveritwas (sexual issues? sexual brokenness? all this fiery shit they’d just roasted me with) and rescued the remaining part of my 13 year old self who was still stuck learning what hormones were about.
“While my proto-expression of desire and interest and budding sexuality was in fact vitriolically dangerous to the people I loved most dearly, it wasn’t because my desires and budding sexuality was intrinsically bad.”
Remember, too, that while my discussion with Mariela had some intensity and weight on both sides, there was no question in my mind that I desired her enthusiastic participation; it’s kind of hard to have fun kissing someone when they’re not enjoying it, which is how the conversation got started in the first place. Mariela was herself, at 13, known to have survived sexual abuse, and in all likelyhood probably still vulnerable to it at home. I can imagine in retrospect she probably wanted to feel safe. Honestly, her history of abuse was not at the forefront of my mind at that time, and if it had been, I most certainly would have been able to handle the situation with more understanding and compassion, even at 13. That’s all water under the bridge at this point, but reflecting on this almost three decades later, I was honestly doing the best I’d been equipped for at the time. Maybe we all were.
“I set a personal record for least amount of time between discovery of a root issue and burning its contract, and I’m pretty sure it could have been measured in milliseconds.”
Which led me to another revelation: in that moment of getting roasted alive by both my parents’ dishonored shame and hatred, I didn’t feel safe. No duh, but really, in that moment, this was a new revelation to me. I’d just been betrayed, and pretty horrifically horribly, by my own parents, the very people I depended on for survival. While my proto-expression of desire and interest and budding sexuality was in fact vitriolically dangerous to the people I loved most dearly, it wasn’t because my desires and budding sexuality was intrinsically bad. It was because of wounds that my mom, my dad, and Mariela carried long before I came along made it impossible for them to allow me to have mine to be without triggering their shit. And in their honor, I carried this for them, because that’s what children do. I set a personal record for least amount of time between discovery of a root issue and burning its contract, and I’m pretty sure it could have been measured in milliseconds.
Exhaust
After incinerating relevant contracts in one of the hottest fires I’ve experienced in 17 years, I started to calm down. With my new awareness and release, hosting responsibilities were returning to my consciousness. I had to formulate a return strategy. It wasn’t safe for me to go back and continue to allow Eli and Paula to kiss in my own house on that night. At the end of the week I’d be fine with them kissing, or doing whatever they choose to do, with my blessing, because it’s not about them. But right then it was still too much, too raw, and I required time to come down and integrate all this. I resolved to ask them to take it somewhere else for tonight; that if either of them desired to talk to me about this later I was fine with that, but right then, it was still too much. I could be okay with that. And I set course for home.
When I got back, Eli was nowhere to be found, and neither was the girl he came with. Paula was still there, but the party was over in 40 minutes anyway and with Eli gone, the prospect of them kissing in my house was no longer relevant, and no longer found it necessary to pursue the matter. I walked into my room (still crowded with cuddlers) and someone I’ve flirted off and on with is mid-sentence explaining how men are all assholes, “except this one <points at me>, he’s nice!” to which I, freshly returned from my walk, growled, “fat load of good that’s done me.” At this point I mostly want to go to sleep, but there’s still this party going on. So I go out and stumble into what turns out to be a really awesome saucy dance and lose myself in it. Finally the party ends, a remarkably efficient and organized cleanup crew is engaged and I finally crash out around 5am. I slept like a log.
“I felt lighter as the day went on… I felt lighter than I have in 28 years. I was tearing it up on the dance floor… and flat out unsinkable. I had a great time.”
The next day I got to chat it out with my roomie and she asked what I was taking away from this, and a key point was giving back my parents’ hatred and shame around their own sexuality, so that I’m not carrying that anymore, and being okay with scaring off people who were too broken to handle me at my best. I felt lighter as the day went on, and by the time the next dance event was happening — a white party — I felt lighter than I have in 28 years. What great timing for a white party! I was tearing it up on the dance floor, flirting up a storm, creating tension, and flat out unsinkable. I had a great time.
Epilogue
I stand in awe. At our human spirit; at what we endure to belong; and what lies at the heart of our power to create. Power to create stories like, “my sexual desire is vitriolically dangerous to those that I love the most,” and my stubborn, herculean determination to protect them from myself. “The buck stops here!” I was mostly successful, with a few exceptions, at keeping people around me safe from me. And my ability to go back to that place, and create a new story, as an adult, no longer dependent on others, which gives them back their own shame and hatred, and allows me to walk this earth under my own volition. I am grateful that this experience is behind me now, and so looking forward to what comes next.
“God himself couldn’t have done a better job of arranging the situations, scenarios and timing to exactly what needed to happen (though probably was involved anyway). What a masterpiece.”
God himself couldn’t have done a better job of arranging the situations, scenarios and timing to exactly what needed to happen to get me to the same intensity I required to access what my 13 year old self went through. What happened was exactly perfect down to every detail; timing was astonishingly precise. Eli, Paula, thank you each for being my teacher. I am so happy that I’ve got this monkey off my back!
Crisis to freedom in less than 12 hours while simultaneously hosting a 100+ person party. Sometimes I amaze even myself.
I said earlier that incest had a bright side, and that is having the opportunity to bring my shining light down to the depths of human experience and finding treasures buried there. Many journeys down there has left me with a knowing of what’s possible and gives me faith that even in a world as fucked up as ours often is, there is hope for a brighter now. Every one of us carries that power in our own hands. I’ve invested the last 17 years of my life in bringing my sex, my heart, my mind and my spirit into relationship and alignment with each other. From here I now move moreso than ever in this world. Happy 2015 everybody!
Next up: The End of an Era
