|
|
Roll With It, Baby. It�s been a week since Celeste�s come home. I was happy and nervous to have her home. Happy because she�d been gone for five weeks and frankly I missed having her around. I missed the Phersty voice. I missed having her there when I came home. I missed having someone to share everything with. I was nervous because she said that she didn�t want to come back to the same relationship. Mostly she didn�t want to come home to the cold. I was nervous because while she was in Hawaii, we didn�t talk everyday, and sometimes not for several days, deliberately to give each other space. She needed personal time and I needed personal time. How do you come back together and start to spend shared time when you are just getting used to your personal time? We both knew that if this marriage is to work, that there would have to be some major changes. We both agreed on that but neither of us knew how exactly to change the deep patterns we�ve developed over 8 years of marriage. Neither of us knew what exact behaviors we want to change. What we did know is that we have to be honest with ourselves and to the each other. Celeste needed a car. This was part of her agreement to come home, a mode of freedom and sense of self, independent of my busy lifestyle, work, and little red truck. She needed something to drive around in, something with a sunroof, something zippy, something that felt like her. We have just enough in savings to buy something that didn�t totally suck. Celeste�s parents agreed to pitch in 2 k to help us out. The hunt was on. Upon Celeste�s return home, we did smashingly well . . . for about an hour. Then our first fight happened over the fact that she was trying to show me love and affection and I felt nervous. I was sitting at the kitchen table at Kamron and Stephanie�s house, maids were buzzing about, Celeste�s mom was sitting right across from me and Celeste came over and straddled me looking very close to me in my eyes, kissing me on my nose and forehead. Sweet, right? It was actually very sweet. My problem, and I know this is my problem, is the fact that I have some walls around intimacy and passion. I feel it has developed as a result of trying to cope with Celeste�s illness. Feeling so overwhelmed, so powerless, so angry about Celeste�s situation, I felt I had to bury that down so that I didn�t explode. I had to be the strong one and keep the machine going. The only way to do this was to kill the passion. Not only for the anger and deep, deep grief, but unfortunately, for any other passion in life. I was and am happy and content but there is something different between content and passionate. Celeste feels this and wonders why I can be so cold. I did too until I did some deep meditation on the subject and let some truth bubble up to the surface. On that first day home I showed her a song from The Band of Annuals, something that had stabbed my heart while she was gone. We both stood there in the living room that afternoon and danced, holding each other, looking into the other�s eyes and watched as all four of them tear up. I don�t tear up often. This was a big deal for me. It�s called Something True. The lyrics go like this: �God? Hear my prayer and show you�re there for I await. Because I�ve stopped moving in, just everything except this guitar. Know Lord, may it carry me far. And love, will come on strong �cuz I belong in her arms. And I fuck it up, �cuz love is tough for me these days, ever since you went away. So give me something that is true. Yes give me something that is true. Lord and give me something �cuz this will not do. And if I you could make it quick, �cuz I get sick at the sight of blood. And I need relief so maybe these chords will do. No, maybe these chords will do. So give me something that is true. Yes give me something that is true. Lord and give me something �cuz this will not do.� Physically, Celeste felt better than she had in years upon her return, and yet over the week that she�s been back here, I�ve seen the bags in her eyes grow dark, her body curl in on itself against the cold, her whole countenance change, unfortunately for the worse. Emotionally she didn�t think she was ready to come back. She thought that she could give herself a few more weeks of alone time by buying a car and traveling down to St. George, warmer weather, hoping for a warmer heart. I was just getting into the groove of being really me. Not worrying all the time. No guilt or feeling of helplessness against such a bastard of an illness. I felt peaceful. I missed Celeste but I felt that I could have had some more time to myself. I was enjoying having my life feel easy for a while. Celeste and Terry had me listen to an amazing talk on CD called How to Love a Woman by Clarissa Pinkola-Estes. She talks about the cycles of Skeleton Woman, the ebb and flow, the life and death in relationship and how we have to be willing to ride the down parts as well as the up parts as we enjoy a long, organic relationship. It�s part of the game. Celeste came home and handed me a native Hawaiian bone fish hook, much like the one that was lodged in Skeleton Woman�s chest. When caught in the fisherman�s hook, she thrashed and kicked and tried to untangle herself from the line, spitting up water all around the fisherman�s boat. He paddled, ran, and dove into his house. She followed. Once his terror had subsided, he, thinking she was dead or asleep, put her bones back together, in order, tenderly. When he went to sleep, she used the beating of his heart to give her flesh and bring her back to mortal life. When the fisherman awoke, Skeleton Woman was a full-bodied woman. They went off together and lived out the rest of their lives in peace. The hook Celeste gave me was a token of understanding that we are in one of the hardest times of our lives and our relationship. On Friday, Ian told me that Samaya is done. Dan canceled the program. He never liked yoga. This meant that a third of my income had instantly vanished. Fuck! I�ll recover, I know. I�ve grown enough in skill and reputation that I will be able to find something else. It makes me afraid, though. Things were going so smoothly. I felt I could kind of coast a little and enjoy the moment I�d built on this yoga machine, a little. My Samaya money went entirely into savings. It was nice to have a cushion. It scared me that it was now gone. I think it was Monday night. I�d asked Celeste to sub an emergency class for me. She graciously agreed to do so, knowing that it would probably compromise her energy. In return, she asked if I would fill up her humidifier before she went to bed. I agreed but quickly forgot about it and instead busied myself with checking my email, online banking, facebook, and myspace sites. She went to bed fuming, feeling like here she was willing to compromise herself yet again for someone else, in a place where she is not being supported in her health. She felt afraid that she was going back into the patterns that she felt made her consistently ill: ignoring the needs of her body. I knew she wasn�t happy but thought that she was mostly tired and that she�d be okay in the morning. I finished computer stuff and just started to settle into my own bed when from upstairs in her bedroom I heard her shouting her displeasure toward her situation and frustration with me. I decided to walk upstairs and sit with her to give her a voice for her feelings. I sat on her bed, all the lights are out in the entire house. The room is a pitch-black void, filled with explosively loud, long screams that hurl out her anger and distort her voice as she pushed out all her anger. The extreme volume of her screams literally hurt my ears. Her shouting is white hot with anger and almost louder than I can tolerate. Then in a burst, like ferocious lightning, she starts to smack herself, all over her body, in protest to me, to her illness, to feeling constantly compromised, to Utah, to the cold, to leaving paradise, to her own helplessness, and everything else that has built up to this volcanic climax. Celeste often falls to sleep with her iPod in her ears and this sudden, violent action causes the face on her iPod to illuminate, and a burst of light suddenly flashes on her wild arms as they beat her naked body, flashing like a strobe around the room. It was surreal. It was frightening. All I could do was sit on the edge of her bed and quietly watch this unreal scene. I knew it wasn�t all about me. I didn�t blame her. I just felt sad and scared. Communication was difficult the next day. I told her that I didn�t blame her for being so wicked-angry. She actually had a beautiful, beautiful experience teaching my class for me and felt renewed by the opportunity. Celeste did feel much better the next day. A good rest did her some good. Still, after an experience like that, I just felt heavy. That day we didn�t talk too much. After my night class at Centered City West, I went to the gym. I put my music manuscript paper, the notes of my music lessons, on the treadmill and set the treadmill for an indeterminate amount of time. I studied music as I ran. It was bliss. But then after several minutes on the treadmill, it became hard. I couldn�t help but see the parallel between the struggle on the treadmill and what I was going through in my relationship: I�m spending a lot of energy, can�t see the end of it, this is a struggle. But it seemed that a part of me with a bigger vision came down and arrested my attention. Even though I didn�t know what the future held, it was like that more, all-knowing part of me came into my head and said, �just keep running. Keep running.� I couldn�t see how long I needed to run. I just had to keep it up. I looked down and I though that one thing I do have is my music. I didn�t know exactly what that meant but figured even that would become clear in the end. Wednesday came. No more Samaya so I slept in. This day was devoted to finding Celeste a car. We had been looking seriously for a week and were getting really worn down. Everything we wanted sucked or had a million miles on it or was already sold or didn�t pass the John Peake (our enlightened mechanic) stamp of approval. I was at the point of just buying anything for her to drive. We could keep looking and sell what we�d bought if we didn�t like it. I hadn�t made an appointment for Celeste to see Aaron, her massage therapist at Sego Lily so she decided to come with me to take restore yoga. After she was lying down enjoying a long savasana when Jeanine came over and inquired how she was. Celeste mentioned that she was looking for a car. Jeanine kindly asked what she was looking for and what her price range was. Jeanine said that she was selling her Lexus (�91) and that it happened to be $1000 less than our budget for a car. We went over to her house directly after class and drooled over this car. It had been babied. Mint condish!: 100K miles leather interior, sun roof (primary concern for Celeste). We took it to John Peake. He didn�t have time for us but made it. He had looked at a couple of other cars we�d been looking at and with a keen, automotive sixth sense could almost feel the problems by just looking at the car, �see where this is scratched here, probably a break in. See how this is rough here? This sunroof was put in after the car was built. Feel how this bumps down the road? This means the CV joints are about to go out. He picked up things we�d have never known. But with this car, he sat in the front seat and with a big grin turned on the ignition, drove 4 feet, stopped, and looked over at us with a smug expression and said, �I�m sold!� Then he closed his eyes, held his hands up to the heavens and said in a humble way, �Thank you, Lord.� I love John Peake. I love his heart. I love that he is the Car Whisperer. He didn�t need to drive it around the block, but did so just to be sure. He grinned the entire time and said, �See how this turns tight? (cranking around a bend) this car has been well cared for.� �This is what I was hoping for. Not pushing it, waiting for the right thing to come along and jumping on it when it did, believe we deserve it.� He didn�t have time but made it to do the safety and emissions right then. �This one�s on the house,� he said and gave us each a hug. His partner, Elizabeth and Celeste had been talking about real life issues, about our relationship struggles, and she emphasized how we need to get away. She said that because she used to work for Delta, she has buddy passes that will get us anywhere we want to go (somewhere tropical) for $30 each, each way. That�s what we need, to get away and have some fun. As we drove away, back to Jeanine�s house to pay her the check for this amazing blessing of the car, we were rejoicing, holding hands, our spirit renewed for each other, both in love with John Peake and the deep spirit of his automotive cosmos. Things were going so well all of a sudden. The bigger point is that all of this, the car, John Peake, Jeanine, this day off together, reminded me that we do smile together. It was familiar. It felt natural. We are good together and like the Cowboy Junkies say, "Love's still there. It's just hiding in the dark 'cuz it's scared." I really love this woman and I know that she loves me. We have something really spectacular in our ability to ride this crazy bull as it kicks and bucks and jabs it horns in our ribs only to pick each other up, dust off our rodeo clown costumes, makeup smeared by tears and dirt, and say "you ok? Yeah. You?" and look over at that seething bull and still laugh. Or at least snicker a little. As I sat in the passenger's seat, holding Celeste's hand my heart was light, there was a smile on both our faces and there again came that clear reason why all of this has such big stakes: because this is an amazing relationship. Not only our ability to ride the bull of this illness but the fact that we were made for each other. I couldn't imagine life with anyone else. She really is everything I want in a woman. I know she completely adores me. This acknowledges the pain but sees past it. These relationships don't come along every day and like the organic ebb and flow, the ups and downs, of making love, we have to also skillfully learn to ride those waves of Skeleton Woman.
Then over the radio came the Steve Winwood�s words, loud and clear: You just roll with it, baby
Roll With It, Baby--Scottro [2008-03-17]
Navigation newest letter | older letters
Last five letters Gathering [2009-09-04] ?2002, Scott & Celeste. |
