Where Is My Love
Plus, Two Poems and a Soulful Sex Scene
Each of today’s short stories is, at its essence, about love. As well, I’m dropping in two bits of poetry, as they both keep rising to my awareness, like energetic bookends to a stretch of time that has no end, perhaps ever, in sight.
I hope these stories invite you to be present to the magic of your life.
As always, I offer an audio version down below. But please forgive me for not reading Cat Power’s powerful lyrics. Instead, I invite you to listen to her song directly.
Where is My Love
Cat Power
Where is my love?
Where is my love?
Horses galloping
Bring him to me
Where is my love?
Where is my love?
Horses running free
Carrying you and me
Where is my love?
Where is my love?
Safe and warm
So close to me
In my arms finally
There is my love
There is my love
Horses galloping
Bringing him to me
Where is my love?
Where is my love?
I was in a massage session a few weeks back. And deep in, down in the space where you begin to see colors behind your closed eyes, I received a series of memories, transposed from one to the other.
First, I saw the long stretches of land that make up the northern New Mexico deserts.
I remembered driving out there two years ago, following the call just after my divorce, like a burning invitation sent from a strange land.
And I had never seen stretches of earth that wide, with nothing but brown hills and stark mountains and pillowy clouds as far as my eyes could see.
The vastness was compelling, like a deep longing within that finally surfaced because my soul could see it in real life, in this dimension.
I never thought I was a lover of that kind of spaciousness, land that was barely dotted with homes and people, land that inspired an inner respite and resonance. But almost immediately, I discovered that the southwest is the kind of landscape in which I secretly longed to be immersed.
Still on the massage table, I heard the soul say, “What do you mean, you never thought you loved or desired that kind of spaciousness, that kind of quiet and respite?”
And, as if to answer its own provocation, the soul overlaid, asked the mind to call forth, an older memory on top of the limitlessness of the desert.
This time, I was back in a tiny basement spa I used to visit when I lived in New York City, when I was a twenty-something baby just looking for respite from the start-up tech scene.
I thought I loved all those people, all those buildings, all those noises, all those parties. And maybe I did.
And also, I loved escaping to this dark series of hallways, lined with pictures and mementos of the desert, only lit by dimmed sconces emitting gold or red light, to guide you from room to room.
The spa’s air was infused with piñon, which I became intimately familiar with twenty years later in the New Mexico desert.
Piñon is an edible nut, a staple food of Native Americans. The wood of the tree that bears the fruit has a distinctive fragrance and I was wrapped in it all over my travels, from Albuquerque and Santa Fe, to the home of Georgia O’Keefe and the hippy vibes of Taos.
With its permission, piñon is now one of the main incenses I use in daily spiritual practice. It floats me back to the vastness of the desert and, as I was reminded, to the longing or love of spaciousness and stillness in my early adulthood.
That love, that longing, was always there, just waiting to be invoked.
I have gathered numerous experiences of love and longing while on a yoga mat. Here are three stories that surround savasana (the final pose in many practices).
One.
I may have told you this first story previously but it makes sense to squeeze it in here.
My ancestors first presented themselves to me through distinct visuals and words while I was lying prone on a yoga mat, resting in savasana position.
I had asked my soul if there was anything I needed to know on this particular day. Instead of words, the soul surfaced visuals of two sweet passed loved ones, who simply wished to assure me that “Everything is fine and you’re going to be okay.”
Twelve hours later, my ex-husband and I began discussing the surprising (and not-so-surprising) idea of finally divorcing after twenty years together.
Through all the emotions, I felt grateful to receive the love of my ancestors, who surfaced expressly for me in that moment of crisis.
Two.
A few weeks ago, I was on the yoga mat sitting in meditation.
This time, I was interrupted by a sweet elderly woman who very often demands my attention, my focus, and my accommodation, most notably when she arrives to class ten minutes late. Every, single, time.
And, as if in perfect timing, she arrived late, when the packed room was already in meditation. And again, she asked me to move to accommodate her mat, so she could take my place up against a wall.
Now, I’m a compassionate person so I moved, like I always do.
But this time, though I moved, I was deeply irritated and almost offended.
And when we all sunk into a prone position at the end of our session, the most powerful time during which to confer with your soul, she leaned over to me to ask for my help with something later that day.
In a bit of shock, I explained that I was unavailable.
She then asked if I was available the next day.
Again, I explained that I was unavailable.
Finally, I made it to savasana but it was the most excruciating few minutes of my day. I laid there totally frustrated and seeking some solace, some explanation, for why this time felt so different.
I typically have an overflowing amount of consideration available. But this time, I was tapped out, the well within had run dry.
I asked my soul, “Why am I so frustrated by this situation?”
I heard the soul say, “It’s not about her. It’s about you in this moment. Why are you so low on compassion? Why are you so low on love?”
Over the following days, I realized that change and it’s corresponding emotions were flowing wildly through my body and I had not yet made the time to allow them and metabolize them. Reaction was at the surface. Tears were ever present.
And, I realized in not allowing my emotions, I had temporarily forgotten to grieve some changes in my life. I had forgotten to Feel Deeply and, as such, my energetic coffers were absent of self-compassion and self-love.
When we can’t find love for ourselves, it’s close to impossible to find true love, true compassion, true allowing, for another.
I’ve since felt deeply and released deeply. I am returning to love.
But, I’ve also moved to another location in the yoga space until my coffers of love are back at fuller capacity.
Three.
A few years ago, amid the breaking apart process of my twenty-year relationship, amid the breaking through and breaking open process in my heart, I was again on the yoga mat, lying prone in savasana.
In that moment, I asked my soul what I always ask in this restful position. It’s one of the questions I offer my clients and share in ceremony because I use it regularly.
Let’s go back there for a moment, as if it’s real time. I wish to share the very sensual experience in its entirety because I’m a sweet soul and also a sexual being.
I say, “Sweet soul, what do I need to know today? Through all my sadness, what do you want me to know right now?”
Instead of words, the soul presents a visual behind my eyes. In the scene, I see myself lying on a king size bed. I see a future lover hovering above me.
He presents as strong, tall, well-formed, and ruggedly good-looking.
And as if in opposition to what is unfolding in my three-dimensional life—a life that is breaking apart—the soul shares a visual of something, of two future someones—a future lover and a future me—coming together.
This future lover begins kissing my face, lips, and neck, softly. He allows his lips to move down my body to my belly, taking in all of it—its swell, its rolls—with his lips.
And when he approaches the wildly desirous spot between my legs, I see myself pause. I literally see myself become uncomfortable for a moment.
I say, “Wait, stop. What can I do for you first?”
You see, I’ve lived an existence where I am constantly doing for others, caring for others, creating and perfecting experiences for thousands of people.
And while I do enjoy it, through much of it, I often sequester what I really, really want.
Now, don’t get me wrong—Through much of it, I also get some of what I really, really want. But that happens in one of two ways.
Sometimes, I take what I want, out of desperation and fear for my survival, out of a response to my childhood trauma and the trauma of my ancestors living in my cells.
Sometimes, I conceal my desires and serve myself last, making sure others are more than comfortable, in order to earn or keep their love, in order to stay safe, in order to belong to something outside of me, outside of me, outside of me.
And in this visual offered by my soul, I have a very human reaction. I resist my pleasure.
But back in the scene, my future lover, he says, “I want you to receive.”
And as he continues to move down my body and offer me immense pleasure—yes, the soul offers me a sex dream but in meditation… a sex meditation—I hear the soul say, “We want you to receive. It’s time for you to receive.”
After receiving, I insist on offering myself to my future lover. But instead, he holds me and says, “Nope, this is just about you receiving. Just receive. This is what love feels like.”
And as I begin to return from this sex meditation and sit with the invitation laid out by my soul, I also realize that the scene that played out in my soul is from a television show I just watched.
Gosh, I thought it felt familiar.
For those of you in the know, the soul had played out the sweet sex scene between Aidy Bryant’s character “Annie” and Cameron Britton’s character “Will” in the final season of Shrill.
Only, this was in the astral plane, with some extra narration by my soul.
And when I realized this, I sat up and said aloud, “Oh, love will feel like receiving fully. Love will feel like Shrill.”
Six months later, I am living in my new home by the sea. And, given that I’m speaking to my ancestors and guides far more regularly, I am working with a facilitator to hone those skills and interpret what I hear and feel.
During a session, I ask, “Do my ancestors or guides wish to offer anything on what my future love will feel like? How will I recognize it?”
The facilitator begins to offer piles and piles of knowing directly from my ancestors, who are elated to share his name, his situation, how we will meet, all the things.
And something told me to say, “That’s great that my ancestors are so excited. But, if you don’t mind, could you ask my spirit guides my question? And the question is, what will love feel like? How will I recognize it?”
The facilitator says, “It’s interesting that you want to know what your spirit guides have to say because your lead spirit guide, she has wished to chime in for the entire time.”
“Oh really?” I ask.
“Yes,” the facilitator replies. “I have censored her, only because I think her words are too obscure. I don’t think you’ll understand it.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I trust my spirit guide so tell me what she has to say.”
“Okay,” the facilitator obliges. “She says, love will feel like Shrill.”
I burst into tears, feeling so seen, so connected, like I could trust myself. Like all the answers, about love and everything else unfolding in my life, was not without me, but within me, within me, within me.
Derek Walcott taught at Boston University while I was a student. I got to spend time with him once. He wrote one of my favorite poems.
Love After Love
By Derek Walcott
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
