Sudden Light

By Dante Gabriel Rosetti

I was just leafing through a book of poetry, and I opened the page on this one. It spoke to me.

I have been here before,

But when or how I cannot tell:

I know the grass beyond the door,

The sweet keen smell,

The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before, –

How long ago I may not know:

But just when at that swallow’s soar

Your neck turned so,

Some veil did fall, – I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?

And shall not thus time’s eddying flight

Still with our lives our love restore

In death’s despite,

And day and night yield one delight once more?

Coming back

It has been a seriously long time since I have written here. For some reason I haven’t felt the need. It may be that I’m happier with myself and my life than before. It could also be that I have been busy. I think whatever excuse or reason I come up with it will only be a half-truth. Sometimes a person needs to take a break from something. That’s not to say that I haven’t been writing at all, only that my writing has been either too personal in nature to get posted here, or so impersonal that it has nothing to do with this process.

My life has changed entirely in the past seven months. I had to count that on my fingers to be sure it’s seven. It seems both longer and shorter than that. Tonight I went for dinner with a writer friend of mine. He is wonderfully talented and has something about him that has always been magnetic for me. It seems he feels the same way about me. Whatever it is, we meet up a couple of times a year to catch up, and often it seems that I do a lot of the talking. He is one of the best listeners I have ever come across, and often pipes up with a little gem which somehow manages to root itself into my consciousness for ever after. Tonight was yet another wonderful night with him. And coming home, I feel inspired to begin jotting down my thoughts again, no matter what nature or how wholly disconnected they are from the prior themes of these musings.

I’m not sure what it is but there is something that draws me to writing here. Perhaps it’s the imaginary audience I have. The people who know about this blog because I have told them, but mostly the idea that these ideas are really just the equivalent of ink spilling on a page and the odd person noticing that it takes an interesting shape. It doesn’t really matter much to me if anyone reads it at all. It just helps to think that someone does.

But I’m off on a tangent. What I began saying is that my life is incredibly different from the way it was only seven months ago. For one I have changed physical location. I live with my love. I work close to home. I practice yoga nearby. And my belly is swelling daily, and excites me more than I dared imagine it would.

Getting used to the idea of being pregnant is a strange concept. There is a tiny little person inside me right now. She’s aware that I just took a sip of my tea and can hear me typing on these keys, although she has no idea what she is hearing. I say she irresponsibly. It could be a little he. A little Fionn or Ethan or Kieran. But I think it’s Maia, and so does my love. And the ring test says she’s going to be a little girl.

To be in love and happy and knocked up. I wish that joy on everyone else. For without love there is no true understanding.

Really seeing Big Brother

Something that I cannot help but notice being over here is how effective indoctrination is. I know that this is perhaps an obvious statement. Indoctrination is, after all, a subtle and effective way of controlling masses, and something that has been successful for as long as people have gathered together in societies. The big man telling all of the plebs what to be or do. How original.

It is something painfully obvious here. Somehow as an outsider, I am able to see through the propaganda that is being spoon-fed to all of the Israelis. And it isn’t a question of racism per se. They truly believe all of the lies they are being told. I am sorry to say it, but for those of you who buy into a lot of the Zionist nonsense about all Arabs being terrorists who just want the Jews to be out of the Middle East, the situation here is just a teeny little bit more complicated than that.

What really gets me is the level of misinformation that is spread from person to person. It is the use of the term fact and the way it is thrown around in order to justify the ethnic cleansing of a people. Palestinians don’t really exist. Didn’t you know? The label was invented in the 80s. Before that they were just Arabs. The fact that they were Arabs who lived on this land seems to be irrelevant.

But don’t you know, the Jews were here hundreds, thousands of years before the Arabs. Islam was only invented just over a thousand years ago. This, obviously, justifies the idea that the Jews should be the ones living in this land. They were here first.

But hang on a sec. What about the aboriginal peoples of the world? If we pay attention to Israel’s insistence that the Jews deserve to have this land, should we not be giving the rest of the world back to the natives of the Americas, Australia, Africa… everywhere else? Oh, don’t be silly. They’re not the chosen people. God didn’t tell them that this was their land. See, it’s written in the bible. It must be true.

It is really frustrating being here. After the indoctrination camp that was my first 10 days in Israel, I can’t help getting tired and frustrated with arguing with Israelis about the facts. For them the facts are the things that make their lives in this country livable. If they don’t have to think about the Palestinian who has zero access to the rest of the country, whose house was just demolished last week because the land was appropriated by the settlers in the name of security, and can just imagine the problem as a bunch of faceless Jew-haters, all in the world is as it should be.

I just hope that once I finish this film I don’t get a bunch of idiots labelling me as an anti-semite. I have no problem with Jews. I am Jewish! What I have issue with is the thoughtlessness of a nation that has decided that a certain group of people are lesser human beings. Institutionalized racism makes me sick.

The Promised Land

I am in the unusual position of having to type with a keyboard on which the apostrophe does not work. Consequently I cannot use any contractions, so this post may sound a lot more formal than I would usually tend toward. This is a disclaimer!

I am in Palestine. I am sitting in the apartment that Dina is renting, in her bed, in Ramallah, feeling somewhat stuffed up and sore-throated and consequently planning on taking it easy for the day. I was going to go to Jerusalem this morning to meet with a man who lives in the West Bank, but is a Jew (i.e. is a settler) but I am not feeling up to doing anything this morning. So I will have to leave it until tomorrow.

Am I capable of condensing the past few weeks into a succinct journal entry? I have all the time in the world, so perhaps I will be able to do it. It has been a whirlwind of a time. I have cried, I have laughed, I have been afraid. I have felt deceived, felt disgusted, felt inspired.

I suppose I should start at the very beginning.

June 26, 2008

I was a little nervous when I arrived in Pearson Airport in Toronto. I would be spending ten days with a group of Jewish people — aged 22 to 17 — in Israel. I would be spending ten solid days, sleeping, eating, breathing, living with this group of people with whom I could not be certain that I would have anything at all in common. Arriving at the airport, I saw a cluster of kids near the El Al check-in. Introducing myself to the tour leaders, I got a name tag and a quick impression of the people who would be travelling with me. All I could do was try to guess the ages of the people I saw, and hope that the annoying jappy-looking girls would be in the younger group. Luckily I was right.

This is when first impressions count. I was wearing my navy blue and white polka dot short shorts, with a decidedly Montreal, borderline hipster sweatshirt. I did not look like a princess. I did not look particularly Jewish, or girlie, for that matter. A girl came into the line behind me. In contrast to the skinny, made-up, manicured, legging-donning divas ahead of me, this girl was wearing a loose button-up shirt, and some causal shorts. Birkenstocks. A sure sign of something better. We started chatting, and I discovered that she is studying environment, was clearly open-minded, and was a person I could rant with about organic food, the horror of mass energy consumption, and my desire to fall off the grid and live sustainable. I admitted to her how concerned I had been about the people on the trip.

<Yeah. To be honest, my sister saw you and said: the girl with the polka dots. Go talk to her.>

Apparently our alternative dress sense was a sign post for more things that just who I should be friends with. Because we were flying El Al, the security check took place at Pearson, before leaving Canada, rather than once we would land at Ben Gurion in Tel Aviv. The interview felt more like an interrogation. I did not feel that I had anything that I should need to be nervous about; however, simply speaking with the woman (who herself was nervous as she was just training) was pretty painful. I felt my heart speeding up and started worrying about her questions.

<Do you have relatives in Israel? With whom will you be staying when you get there?>

I was not about to say that I would be staying with my Palestinian best friend in Ramallah, so I said that I had family. Which is not a lie.

<What is their name?>

Why do you need to know this? That is what I thought. I said the name of my cousin.

<What is the last holiday you celebrated?>

Um… I racked my brain. What was the last Jewish holiday? I have no idea. <I don’t really celebrate holidays.>

She took my passport and went and spoke with someone over at the side. When she came back, she told me that they would be taking my hand luggage for a security check, and then gave me little coat-check tags to hold on to. I was allowed to check in my stowed luggage and return to the group.

<Hey! They didn’t take your bags?> I had been led to assume that they took all hand luggage. Turns out that the only people whose hand luggage was deemed suspicious were those of us dressed similarly alternatively. Turns out that Erin’s Birkenstocks tagged her as a potential threat. Uh oh! We may be activists.

Bagless, I sit on the cold tiled airport floor and wait for others from the group to join. <Group 705?> Everyone who came up to speak with us seemed surprisingly lower maintenance than I had suspected. A cute little elf of a girl with shorts as short as mine and chin-length bleached blonde hair dropped down beside me on the ground. I cannot remember how we started to conversation, but I do know that within moments it was evident that there was a connection. Sarah is essentially my twin. Working in holistic health care, we just started babbling about food, allergies, yoga, meditation, lifestyles. Thanks to Sarah, the whole travel part went smoothly. Being searched for bombs at the gate was less freaky than I had expected. We switched seats to sit together, and talked, ate sprouts and other delicious veggies she had packed for the journey, gushed about our respective lovers, and just found ourselves at ease with one another right from the start.

***

Mmm

There is something to be said for taking it slow.

It’s sort of surreal how incredible it feels to be with J. We just get along so incredibly well. He’s smart and curious about the world and fun and sweet and we have so much to talk about. He’s also gone through the process of losing himself to someone else, and getting out on the other end realising that he needs to be whole and happy in and of himself. And that’s what I strive toward.

Last night he told me that he doesn’t expect me to drop my life to make extra time to be with him. “Two people, not one.”

How is it that he dropped into my life just now?

This past weekend was pretty awesome. It was an epicurean frenzy. Kaizen: eating sushi, oysters, drinking incredible wines, then on to Joe Beef on Friday: more wine, more incredible and sumptuous rich food. My boys. Good friends. It was unreal. I slept over at C’s house on Thursday and Friday, and while I had been oblivious to his interest (or had been ignoring it, more likely), he started making it a little clearer that he really does like me as more than just a friend. It was his birthday on Sunday, and I went to his house for a barbecue, which was a lot of fun. Ribs and wine and cigarettes and lots of silliness. He kissed me when I went to say goodnight. I let him. Yesterday he thanked me for everything. We did have a really great weekend together. I need to be careful now. He knows about J, and the yoga instructor. I love hanging out with him. I just need to be careful about letting him know that I really enjoy the time I spend with him but that I don’t want to get romantically involved. No boyfriends for the moment. Especially considering how busy I am with everything in my life right now. Plus, I don’t really feel physically attracted to him. There are different people and different connections.

And then there was Saturday. I went to yoga from C’s house early in the morning. Fantastic. A picnic was planned. I was excited. We had been talking about it all week. After spending time together on Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday (was it really three days in a row?) we were definitely anticipating a pretty incredible day together.

I locked my keys in the house. So the bike ride up to the Marche Jean-Talon turned into a walk. The picnic turned into a day of wandering around, or talking, connecting, joking, feeling totally at ease, lying on the grass chatting until the sun went down. Then back to his place, more eating. I passed out watching Planet Earth. I slept over, as of course I had to due to the fact that I had locked my keys in my house. We talked. I had worried a little that we weren’t going to connect physically. I felt at ease with him but not insanely turned on. But then we kissed. It was amazing. He’s just like me … a total tease. And he loves touching, contact, tickling, kissing all over. I get shivers just thinking about it.

And last night I went over again. Delicious dinner (doesn’t hurt that he’s a chef), then a joint and chilling on his bed. Talking. Touching. The connection is mad. He continually surprises me with more things that just gel. It’s kind of nuts. I’ve never had anything that has felt this natural this quickly.

A new idea

It’s a interesting new situation. Actually, it’s the first time in my life that my interest in someone has been preceded by a “don’t go there” from a friend whose opinion I value above most others. But still, I can’t help feeling that he’s wrong. Consider the fact that he won’t actually tell me why I shouldn’t go there, and you have a girl who is both confused and willing to prove someone wrong.

This bad idea apparently isn’t such a bad idea. Yet the fact that the guy in question is an old friend and roommate of my good friend means that the idea (which seems good to me) has me conflicted. I don’t want to lose a good friend over something that might be better left undone. But I can’t see that that’s the case.

We spent yesterday wandering around the city. We went to the Jean Talon Market, picked up some delicious picnicables and wandered back down to the park where we ate and chilled out and generally had a blissful time. We’ve been getting to know one another over joints and meals and online chatting sessions, and regardless of how incredibly different we are, that is, how different our backgrounds are, we still have more in common than anyone else I’ve met in years. And this has thrown me. I am at ease with him even though we’ve only known one another for a few months. It feels good. It feels natural. It doesn’t feel like something that is bound to end in hurt and disaster. We have already taken it far enough that feelings are involved. There’s no walking away now without pain for one or both of us. There are reasons why I can see that this could be dangerous. There are things about both of us that can and probably will create conflict or hurt at some stage. But these are the risks that we take in putting ourselves out there.

I am afraid of liking him too much. It worries me that this isn’t a matter of someone I can just spend a little time with, no strings attached, and see how it goes. I already have ideas in my mind of future time together. It’s not because I have a romantic vision of some rosy future, but rather that the way we are together, the things we have to talk about, make me think that there’s more that a possibility of a love affair, but a solid friendship that could outlast the passion that comes in the early stages of anything. 

And yet I feel like I child because my good friend, his good friend, doesn’t think we should go there. It’s like my dad is telling me that I shouldn’t do something, that it’s for my own good that I shouldn’t do it, but he’s not going to tell me why. Apparently there are things that are better left unsaid, but I’m never a big proponent of that because of the way my imagination works. Things left unsaid become great big voids, huge spaces that grow between people and fester and spread. And the “I told you so” that inevitably comes later, the “I told you not to go there” when things fuck up, won’t help anything if I never know what the reason behind this is. 

I haven’t spent a night in someone’s bed, completely sober, completely comfortable and excited and willing to be there in ages. The last time this happened it was lust. It was blind and passionate and terrifying and left me a wreck for months. I can’t see this happening here. I won’t rush into anything. I won’t let things get out of hand. Or at least I hope I won’t. 

Summer love

It’s been ages. Funny thing: I’ve been really happy so I haven’t felt the need to write. I’ve been so busy on top of it, that finding the time to write has been another thing unto itself. And as I haven’t felt the need to get anything off my chest, to mull over, to analyse, I haven’t really felt any urgent need to spit it all out on this rather bizarre but lovely pubic forum.

Why so happy? You may ask. I seem to have figured it out. I don’t have any negative stress in my life at this moment (knock on wood!). I’m insanely busy, what between my internship at PMA and the film and video class and working on this costume project, and going to yoga, and researching for Israel, and writing my screenplay. And that’s just work. Then there’s my personal life which is really enjoyable at present. I’ve managed to shift my focus toward people who smoke pot. There’s my yoga instructor, with whom I have been spending a little time, enjoying food, conversation, joints and one another’s bodies. Hyper-sensual pleasure. I spent the other night with him, and it was just blissful.

Then there’s the friend of a friend with whom I’ve been spending a bit of time. Platonically. Although there may be something there. I like him a lot. I know that he likes me. That he likes me likes me. I’m not sure that pursuing this is necessarily a good idea, but I would like to spend time with him nonetheless. The friend warned me against it. Warned us. Told him that I’m trouble; told me that he has baggage, that I shouldn’t go there. But we all have baggage, and rather contradictorily, his telling me not to go there just makes it more enticing. Thing is, going there would be on a par with not really going there, because I’m not about to hop into anything serious with anyone.

Someone told me that summer is the time for lovers. I think I’ll agree with that. Love and happiness. That’s what I’m after.

Back after some thought… and other stuff…

I’m still trying to figure out the concept that because I wasn’t particularly interested in the hot yoga instructor, this made it seem an even better idea for me to sleep with him. Physical craving is a powerful thing. What’s funny is that although I was attracted to him in a sort of objective “wow, he has a great body” kind of way, he definitely wasn’t sending particularly sexual energy in my direction. The most obvious advance that he made was asking if he could kiss me. From there it went the way it did. It was fun, it was great. He’s a really good kisser, and I’m an extremely sensual person. The inner monologue, the voices, simply switched off and allowed me to enjoy sensual pleasure. Mmm…

Last night my lovely yet slightly angst-ridden friend came over for dinner. It was a delightful last minute affair — I had food, she brought wine. We sat and talked for hours, and then after all, we started kissing, and things progressed in the most gorgeous way. Her skin is beautiful. I’ve been attracted to her for months, thinking about when we would possibly cross that line, sort of knowing that it would happen eventually. It is another illustration of how beautiful it is to be with women I care about. The possessiveness doesn’t exist. The night simply is. It’s beautiful, it’s about pleasure. It’s so simple. Yet it’s practically impossible to replicate when it comes to men. Or at least it has been for me.

What is it that drives our bodies? I feel as though I have flicked a switch. I hadn’t had sex in about six weeks. I was feeling rather pleased with my ability to keep my panties on. I had also stopped thinking about it as much. Yet at soon as the drought ends, as soon as I get a taste, it’s all that I can think of. Enjoyable sexual and sensual pleasure. The yoga instructor was fantastic, my friend was wonderful. Stroking, and tickling and touching. Extreme sensation. Heightened by substances, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.

I am still determined to find a way to enjoy a physical relationship with someone and not let it get complicated and imbalanced. I’m not sure how possible this is, although I would really like to try. I have half a mind to send the yoga guy a message asking him what he thinks about going there again in a sort of fun, no strings attached kind of way. I can’t guarantee that feelings won’t develop, but if we’re honest about how we feel and what’s going on, then where’s the harm? Maybe I’ll begin drafting that now.

I am still enjoying a few days’ peace before the havoc begins. The next six weeks are going to be manic.

Waiting

I so felt like I had it all together and here I am fretting about something that’s completely out of my control.

I feel like such a girl. In the worst possible way. It’s silly because I’ve totally figured out how I feel about the Catalyst, about how much I totally messed it all up, and what I want to tell him. I just want to spell it out to him. I don’t even want anything from him — aside from a little time. Am I kidding myself? And the last thing I need right now is to be sitting here at home thinking about it.

I made such a mess of my life this past while. I suppose it makes sense. I was in a totally codependent relationship for three and a half years. You can’t walk away from that and be totally together. So I tried to hide behind the Catalyst in the same way as I had been with the Big Love and it didn’t work. He called me on it so I ran away. It took an attempt at a non-romantic relationship for me to realize the extent to which I try to hide behind people.

So now I don’t want to do that any more. And I totally regret how I acted when I was visiting the Catalyst in the BVI. I mean, obviously I needed the time to figure it out for myself. But now that I have I feel like a bit of an idiot. Plus, I realize just how much I really do still love him. Yeah, I can try to deny it to myself, but why do that? More of this running away bullshit. So now I’m sitting here, wishing that he’d call but also knowing that he very well may not. And I need to accept that and just suck it up and get on with my work or whatever else it is that I really should be doing rather than wishing that the phone would ring.

I’ve reduced myself to a teenager. So unintentionally.

Funny. He mentioned that it might be nice for me to change his name from the Catalyst, but I don’t think he realizes just how much of a catalyst for change he really has been in my life. It’s kind of amazing. Just because he’s a Catalyst doesn’t mean that he isn’t a whole lot more too.

Bleuch. I also want to go out, but everyone’s busy. What can you do, eh?

Such a perfect day…

Somehow planning a  day off doesn’t necessarily turn it into a brilliant day. But lazy Sundays that involve brunch and sitting and talking in the sunshine preceding a barbecue with duck and fennel and steak and delicious salad. All impromptu nonetheless.

Lest we forget the parlour games and tennis playing on wii (a first experience for me and highly amusing).

I feel better about myself today than I have in an inordinate amount of time. I don’t know what it is about going for a run and a day of sunshine, but I was so giddy I felt like a fourteen year old. Literally bouncing around. Literally.

Although my paper was ignored, I still have a week to work on it and have a clear(ish) idea…. Well, I’ pretty okay. Um…

Sunshine!