Trailways and Tears


You have to cry it out.  You have to go through the phase of aching, of grief, of guilt and depression and despair. This is the shedding of your own sweet heartache, like leaves in the cool October air.   You have to let it go. But you can’t release that which you do not see as real.  You need those salty, tangible tears to validate the pain, to solidify your worst emotion.

So cry. Write. Scream. Run.  Do whatever it takes to physically manifest your broken heart. Let your nerves suffer the cruel pain of injustice and longing. Hold your head under the shadows as long as you can bare.  Let your breath crumble to the soft whisper of promises that were never kept. Let your eyes fall to the floor in shame of feeling so small, so inadequate, in this big haunted world full of violent expectations, disapproval, and shame. Let your chest sink in agony from the guilt of holding on a little too tightly, to your own expectations.

And when you’re ready, you will know. Take your time and understand that all of it was real. And be gracious that it happened.  Take a big, deep breath and stand tall on the souls of your feet.  Know that you have the power to walk away and let it go. You have a voice to speak your truth as loudly as you can. You have eyes to see the light.  But you also have to see the darkness, and mine it’s lessons, like diamonds buried inside of the caves of your heart.  Be sweet to your old bones, for they are going to carry you far.

And when you get to where you are going, remember the roads that carried you there.  Drop to your knees in respect and awe of your own journey.   And smile, knowing that no one else has ever traveled the same roads as you, and yet…at the same time, everyone  has.  And now you know empathy, the fertilizer of love.  And love is the currency of your soul.

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Empath Love 


In my experience, people in general can be selfish and shitty, even if they do smell like roses. If you ever happen to catch my attention, you should know that I will hold on fiercely to every wicked thing about you. I will polish your dark side like fucking diamonds. I will rearrange the aesthetics of your very essence, pushing back your demons and pulling forward the pillars of light around your soul.  

And you will see yourself through my eyes, and for the first time, you will fall in love with the scenery of your own shadow.  But sadly, you will assume that my perception of you is only the result of my own ignorance, because deep down you believe that you are nothing more than shit. And even though I can only smell the sweet fragrance of roses inside of you, your focus will remain on the stench of everything you think you are hiding from me.  

And you should know that you can’t hide those hideous treasures from me. I have deep caves inside of myself that are darker than anything you could ever imagine. And that gives me the power now, doesn’t it? You will mistake my kindness for weakness. You will feel my graciousness and then believe that you are somehow entitled to it. You will think you have me on lockdown.  You will assume that I must be under your control because all you can feel is the warm light that I have painted you in.

But you can’t win a game that you aren’t familiar with. My eyes, and the way that they see you, are my own. You don’t own my focus, or my power. And as soon as you start to believe that you do, I will set a fire to the garden of roses that I had so graciously planted in your piles of manure. And I will walk away with one last picture of you, seeing you as nothing more than a pile of shit. Your delusion will become mine. And my delusion will fall into your precious little box of big regrets.  

If you ever learn to plant your own damn roses, I would love to stop by and smell them. 

Fate Is What You Create


I read some old Chinese folk lore the other day, about an imaginary red string that is tied around the ankles of a soul mate couple.  No matter where you are at in life, that red string still connects you to the person you were born to experience life with. 

 I find the idea of soul mates to be completely ridiculous. I actually feel sorry for the handful of women that I know who have only ever been with one or two people. I have a married friend who lost her virginity to her husband. She is in her fifties and has only ever had one lover. What if he’s horrible in bed? How would she know? It seems very tragic to me. I suppose the two of them share so much intimacy, that their connection overrides the monotony.  It’s not my place to judge.  

I do understand the sexual value of an intimate connection. My ex husband was the first person I had ever felt that with. We had ten years together and he still remains the only man I have ever experienced real, raw intimacy with.   He and I didn’t have much in the way of companionship, but we had a very fulfilling sex life. Even after we separated and I moved out, we had amazing sex. We kind of had to ween ourselves away from each other in that way.  Ironically enough, we have a very stable companionship now, founded in coparenting and a mutual respect for each other’s journey.  But we were never soul mates.  

I think I am the only astrologer in the world who doesn’t believe in soul mates.  I mean, there are aspects in compatibility astrology that can signify an intense connection.  There are aspects that point to attraction, love, and relationships.  I can accurately predict if a couple will share a child.  But I don’t see it as two people who are destined to come together and share those aspects.  I see it as a choice that two people have made, and their energy is compatible or not.  But it has nothing to do with destiny.  We all share these aspects with many people.  By that logic, I have thousands of soulmates in this world.  

The belief in soulmates automatically smothers out the idealism of choice.  Life without choice would be nothing more than acting.  The theater is entertaining, but you don’t gain any value from speaking someone else’s words or moving through someone else’s motions.  Free will is a non negotiable in my beliefs.  And that means that in any given moment, we have the ability to choose our own life.  We have the logic to understand that the head and the heart are separate for a reason.  We can feel a pull towards or away from another person.  But we are gifted with the ability to choose.  Love is a choice that you make and not some fated birthright.  

I don’t have some imaginary red string tied to some elusive man who was born to be my lover. I have a heart that has loved many.  And I have a brain that has always known (although sometimes a little too late) when to walk away.  Choosing to love someone is much more romantic than enslaving yourself to fate.  

I see life in much the same way.  Life is nothing more than a series of decisions.  Astrology is a compass, not a destination.

Rumi


“You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” ~Rumi
I saw this quote today and instantly felt as if it had slapped me right across the face. Heartache has become one of my greatest fears, as well as one of my greatest inspirations. I’ve been walking the line between wanting to live in solitude and wanting to be loved. In other words, I don’t have the capacity for another heartbreak in my life, so I avoid love like a child avoids the monster under their bed. I hide under the covers. But while I am under those covers, I sometimes wish someone was in there with me, but only sometimes. I have soaked myself so deeply into solitude, that I fear I won’t ever be able to leave it.  

But this quote isn’t about relationships with anyone else. That quote is about the relationship with the self. Rumi is advising us to break our own heart, repeatedly, until it opens. He’s encouraging vulnerability, to the point where it doesn’t sting anymore. He is challenging us to cut directly to the bone of our heartache infested selves, and then to pull out of ourselves our most terrifying ideas about who we couldn’t be. And then we must fall in love with those short comings.
When a relationship ends, and you blame the other person for everything, the opportunity for growth is unavailable. Growth comes from understanding that it all comes back to yourself. From the moment we seek out a relationship, the responsibility for choosing the other person falls solely on us. If you end up in a relationship with a complete psychopath, that sucks. But you chose that psychopath because there’s something inside of you that needed that psychopath. And you have to keep digging at that little something until you finally understand it. Only then will you be able to grow, and trust, and finally open your own heart.  
I believe that opposites attract because there is an opportunity for growth in every disagreement. We learn about ourselves through experiencing other perspectives from the people around us. We manifest our own lessons. And the only way to stop getting lessons is to test out of them, to rise above them, to annihilate them. Relationships are designed to teach us about ourselves. They are an experience to be had, to be thankful for. They were never intended to hold you forever.  

The Greatest Love Story I’ve Never Told part 2


I was trying to feel something for someone, but I couldn’t muster up the excitement. This guy is six and a half feet tall. He is covered in Aquarius and Bhudda tattoos. His eyes are blue like a winter sky. He’s a reiki master for Christ’s sake. But I have declined the opportunities to meet him.  We just started talking on a dating site one day, back when I was living with my ex, post breakup.  

He’s the perfect guy to hookup with. He lives about an hour away. He is terrified of commitment. He has a beautiful penis. I’ve seen it in pictures and videos. And that’s what worries me, I guess.  He has only seen the perfectly orchestrated snapshots of my body. He has a really big idea about a very tiny piece of me. He doesn’t know the girl who flies into work with no makeup on, bags under my eyes, craters in the skin on my nose. And my hair always pulled in an ugly ass bun. He has only seen the side of me with perfectly done makeup and a snapchat filter. I’ve also figured out how to angle my camera in such a way, he has no idea that my stetchmarked, muffin topped belly looks like Freddy Crueger and the Michelin man made a baby. It’s terrifying to reveal your real self, your entire self, to an Internet friend.  


On top of my slightly enhanced photos, I’m also terrified of his bedroom expectations.  I have talked some shit with this guy. He and I had some very intense conversations.  I would sneak out to the garage where my kids couldn’t hear me, and have orgasm after orgasm, just listening to his dark sexy voice say the very dirtiest things through my phone.  The garage was my happy place, towards the end of that situation. Please don’t judge me. I had been held captive for the past year by an asexual man. I couldn’t really date while I was living there.  So I sought out exactly what I needed from the vast reaches of the Internet.  And the internet delivered.  This guy would talk about doing reiki on my pussy.  Could you imagine?!  This old hippie was completely hooked! 


The thing is though, I couldn’t have dreamed up a more perfect man for myself. The height, the eyes, the mind. His brain is the kind of brain that creeps into the deepest crevices in my heart. He loves astrology so much, he tattooed his ruling planet on his arm. Who fucking does that? My fucking soulmate. That’s who.  

But I don’t believe in soulmates. And I don’t even know this guy. And guess what his fucking ruling planet is? That’s right. Uranus. Fucking Uranus. In my seventh house. And that’s why this will be the greatest love story I’ve never told. Because it’s not happening.  I don’t need this anymore.

The Greatest Love Story I’ve Never Told


The first time I can remember feeling beautiful was the first time I read what it meant to be a Libra. I do believe that moment sparked my lifelong love affair with astrology. There are a million reasons why I grew up feeling like the ugliest girl in the world. But when I saw myself through the eyes of the stars, I was Venus, the Goddess of love.  It was the first time I didn’t feel invisible.  I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.  Astrology has always been my warm blanket on a cold night. When I can’t rationalize the razor blades of life, when my heart is in pieces, when my foundation is crumbling… I look to the stars.  The night sky pours reason and hope into my empty little life, filling my soul with infinite possibilities.

The fact that Uranus has been in my seventh house of relationships for the past few years is one of those situations. Uranus is the planet of surprises. And every guy I have dated during this transit has been full of fucking surprises.  Knowing that I am supposed to be going through this helps me to learn.  It’s proof that my life is a course in soul evolution.

One guy had a family that I didn’t know about.  Another guy kept up a fake personality for two and a half years, only to reveal his true self after I moved my children into his home.  But there’s one guy who shocked me more than anyone else.  A guy who’s sweet soul still lingers in my bones.  

I met him the day before Christmas Eve. We had been talking online for more than a while and I really couldn’t believe how easily our conversations gushed and poured into each other.  Our correspondence could have been a best selling novel.  He was beautiful inside and out. A red headed, blue eyed beast of a man with a huge gleaming smile. On our first date, he showed up with homemade DVDs of the old Beetlejuice cartoons because I told him my kids loved that movie. He was sweet like that. He talked a lot, but I liked that about him, because I don’t like to talk when I’m nervous. 

Of course I had looked his birthday up before meeting him. I’m an astrologer, that’s what I do.  Of all the things that I had learned about him, his astrology chart had me intrigued like a mad scientist in a morgue. On the day this guy was born, the sun, the moon, Mercury, Venus, and Mars were all in Scorpio. My natal Mercury and Mars are in Scorpio too. Scorpio is one of my favorite signs. The energy is highly intuitive. When two people with heavy Scorpio energy come together, they form a bond that cuts directly through the bullshit and right into the soul. This was exactly how my relationship with this guy unfolded. Scorpio is intense. It’s the strange, the weird, the marvelous!  I knew there was something different about him, as soon as I saw his chart. I was hoping for a ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ situation. That’s not quite how it panned out.  

I have never in my life been treated the way this guy treated me. If he could have afforded red carpet and rose pedals upon my arrival, they would have been there. Every time I went to his house, he would cook an amazing dinner for me, he was an incredible chef.  He had playlists prepared with my favorite music. He had a little silver dish filled with joints rolled up and ready for my lungs.  He made me feel as if his whole life revolved around me.  No one had ever made me feel that way before. It was uncomfortable at first, being treated like a queen. But I’m not going to lie, I got used to it real fast. My time with him was exactly what I needed. He was the first guy I fell for after my divorce. And the only guy whom I have ever confessed my love to first. I didn’t mean to say it. But the first time we made love, it just came out. It’s all I could think about while in the throes of the most amazing sex I’ve ever had.  

The first kiss came the first night we made love, about a month after our first date. I thought it was strange that he didn’t kiss me at first. I couldn’t figure it out. Every other guy I’ve ever gone out with spends all of their time trying to get into my pants. Not this guy. If he hadn’t treated me like such royalty, I would have wondered if he even liked me at all. This mysterious form of seduction had me hypnotized with desire.  His ability to worship me while holding his space was a direct and precise shot into my heart.  I was obsessed with the mystery of him.  It all soon made sense after the night that he slipped a letter into my purse.  

We had spent another long night of getting high, listening to music, and talking. We had finished the last of the series, “The Pacific,” about World War II. I absolutely loved watching that series with him. He had always been fascinated by history and was a living encyclopedia of that war. In a weird way, I felt like he had helped me to better understand my dad’s experience in combat, with his commentary about the show and the backstory behind every character.

When I got in my car that night, I could not wait to open his letter. He had asked me to wait until I got home to read it. I couldn’t.  I pulled into the parking lot of a church down the street and ripped that envelope apart. I began to read his first few words of the hand-written six page letter. My heart was pounding, reading about how he was starting to fall for me. I knew it!  He adored me as much as I adored him. He went into detail about why he liked me. This was his way of proving to me that his words were real. And then he started to write about his childhood. He told me about crying in the corner of his bedroom, wishing his real dad was around to save his mom from the stepfather who had abused his mom.  He told me about the men in his life that he saw as heroes and the men in his life who terrorized his young heart.  And he told me that as a child, he had liked to dress up as a pirate because he liked the way he felt in his mother’s clothes. He told me that he has worn women’s clothes in the privacy of his own home throughout his entire life. He told me that he wanted to look into taking hormones to grow breasts and live as a woman full time. He told me that he wanted to keep his penis. He told me that he had only shared this part of himself with only a few other people.  He told me that he had never been with a man, but had fantasized about it.  And he told me that he would understand if I never wanted to see him again.  That moment was surreal for me. That was Uranus in my seventh house. I was definitely shocked.  Speechless.

He seemed so masculine to me. He wore work boots and a torn up Carhartt jacket. He was obsessed with sports and war and guy stuff. His rough, edgy manliness was what attracted me to him.  

My emotions were on fire. I was heartbroken. I thought I had found the love of my life, only to learn that I knew nothing about him. And yet I was honored that he cared so deeply for me, that he gently tucked his darkest secret into the palm of my hand.  His vulnerability was beautiful and sacred.  
I thought about my family, how they would react to this. I thought about my daughters, how they would feel about it. But what I thought about the most is how much I wanted to hold him. His letter was so full of shame about his secret. I felt an emotional pull to comfort him.  That was all I could feel.  
So I sent him a message…
‘We should definitely talk more about this. But I’m not going anywhere.’

And the next time I saw him, we held each other. We kissed. We made the most beautiful kind of love. I had more orgasms in that one night, than I had throughout my entire eight years of marriage. Scorpio rules sex and connection. And together, we had so much Scorpio going on. It was like we had traveled to another dimension, where we moved through our bodies by sharing them. It was hot. It was steamy. It was raw and real and spiritual. To this day, I have never experienced anything like it. He went down on me so perfectly, I came faster than if I had done it myself. And he slurped it up, swallowing every drip of me he could get to. I now understand why men want to know if you swallow. It’s fucking sexy to have someone ingest the pleasure they just gave you. We went at it all night long, over and over. He cried a little when he told me how much it meant for me to be in his arms. And at 4am, after he thought I had fallen asleep, he got up to scrub his bathtub so that I would have a clean place to shower in the morning. No one has ever taken better care of me.  I have never felt more like a Goddess than I did when I was in his arms.

The next day, I told him that he could wear panties if he wanted. And I offered to let him wear mine. It was a little kinky and kind of hot. He was turned on beyond belief that I would go along with his desires. I was turned on beyond belief that he was so turned on by me.  

I was mystified by this guy. I’m writing this, wondering why the hell I ever walked away from him. There were a few reasons I guess. The first is that old fear of commitment that came creeping back when I had mentioned wanting to buy a house and I could see disappointment in his face because he obviously had thoughts of a life together.  I couldn’t handle that level of commitment at that time in my life. But I think the biggest reason I walked away was that I didn’t want to be the girl who held him back from pursuing his curiosity about being with men. I really did love this guy. And I wanted him to fly. I couldn’t live with myself, had I been the girl to cut his wings.  I wanted him to adventure through this hidden piece of himself, to discover his heart’s desires.  I guess you could say that my love for him was unconditional, because his happiness meant more to me than my possession of him.  I also had some concerns about the effect my family would have on him.  

Though our time together was rather short, his love for me was strong enough to impact my heart to this day.  He set the bar rather high and for that I am forever grateful.  And wherever he’s at on his journey, I often wish him the very best of love and light.  

We were together only a short time after that first night of passion. Life carried me away and he had some adventures to explore for himself. We’re still Facebook friends today. He still likes my pictures.  I still like his.

I saw him for the first time since we split a few months ago. It hurt a little bit to look into his beautiful eyes again.  

Love is not


Soulmates are stupid.  Wine is not.

I’m at the point in my life where I get more butterflies in my stomach from walking through the wine isle at my local grocery store than I do when I see a hot guy.  

I don’t believe in Soulmates. In fact, I find myself wanting to throat punch my friends when ever one of them suddenly “finds” their soulmate. Believing that someone is your soulmate is absolutely an indicator of that relationship blowing up in your fucking face, usually within a three month period.  

Expectations are the birthplace of heartache. And hanging soulmate expectations on anyone is a quick road to disappointment.  I believe that the belief in soulmates is the number one cause of divorce. 
And every little girl who has watched a princess movie, along with every grown-assed woman who disappears into romantic comedies can tell you that at one point or another, they truly believed in soulmates. I never have. I am thirty-six years old and I have yet to know any.

But I do believe in love. That belief left me for a while, but is starting to come back into focus for me now. I believe that love is as simple as caring about someone and accepting them for everything that they are, exactly where they are at, in any given moment. I have given this type of love to many. I have received it from few. But I have hope that one day this will change. I also have the confidence to know that I will be perfectly okay if it doesn’t.  

Love is not the same as commitment. I love my ex-husband, but I don’t want to be married to him. I really, truly enjoy spending time with him, but only in small doses. I understand that my love for him is non possessive and true.  

I still love the guy who broke my heart and moved to Georgia when I was nineteen. He is now married with two adorable boys. I slept with him a couple years ago. He cheated on his wife. I cheated on my boyfriend at the time. It wasn’t about hurting anyone or being selfish. I ran into him, and I loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.  I would never dream of breaking up his marriage, but I am thankful for the opportunity to know his heart.

People intertwine these two ideas, love and commitment. I think most people would agree that when you love someone, it is natural to want to share your life with that person, exclusively. But I believe that love lives longer when it’s allowed to roam free. My feelings in my past relationships have fallen like the dorsal fin of a whale in captivity. When I myself am in captivity, I feel doomed. I feel like my story is over and the adventure has died. And when I finally break free from my commitments, I am catapulted into happiness and contentment. Love comes easy for me. Commitment is a tall mountain that I am too tired to climb.

I am an expert on breakups. I know exactly how to nurture myself into the sweet space of healing and self love. I have even taught others how to thrive on solitude.  I think that is what scares me the most. I am too comfortable being alone. I feel like a freak. Like I don’t fit in with society because I have no interest in sharing my life with another person. I also feel like a coward. Underneath all these opinions is a girl who has had her heart ripped out, several times. I am absolutely terrified to try it again.   

I have always lived better on my own. When I do wander off into relationships, I have the uncanny ability to give myself away in pieces until I have no pieces left. And when I’m on my own, I take those pieces back and take care of them like no one else can. And yet, there’s a part of me who truly wants to believe that someone out there is capable of loving and accepting the many versions of me that I have worked so vigorously to love and accept myself.  I want to believe that someone out there is capable of giving me the type of love that I give out. I want to believe, but at this moment, I don’t. 

So I sit back in my pajamas with a good book, a glass of wine, and a bowl of fine greens.   I have nothing but gratitude for the relationship I have with myself.  And then I think maybe a little attention wouldn’t kill me.