Posts Tagged ‘sotto voce’

Your Voice

June 20, 2017

Is what I want to hear.

Your voice.

Soft.

In my mouth, quick on my skin, husky

In my ear.

The curl of it as it slips past my defenses and strands me on this

Beach of desire.

Delirious and dumbfounded by you.

Your voice.

Beseeched by it, the cusp of it on my own tongue, the weight and weft of it.

Baby.

Sweet baby.

It calls to me.

Enchanting me with

The sing song of flower hearts,

The cacophony of butterflies,

The  fluster of heaven.

Your voice.

Sotto voce.

Pressing against my chest.

Speaking to me of

Lullabies and ecstatic delirium.

Your voice.

On the back of my neck.

Under the sweep of my hair, uplifting me, calling me, seductive and sonorous.

Your voice.

Beguiling me.

Bewitching me.

Beware it taunts.

And yet.

I fall headlong into that fire.

Volunteering I render myself intractable upon its soothing, tender clemency.

Giving myself.

Over.

And.

Over.

And over again.

To the rapture.

Of.

Your voice.

 

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Celebrate

March 8, 2015

I just got home from a celebration of ladies.

I think that’s what a group of gals should be called, a celebration.

Not a school, or a pack, or a clique, or a posse.

A celebration.

These women are amazing and it was with much glee and joy and laughter that I spent my evening in Oakland.

Oh yeah.

I took the trek.

It was worth it.

The N-Judah alone took almost an hour, what with the crowded train, the longer wait between trains, weekend hours, and the fact that it was the Chinese New Year’s parade downtown.

I got onto a packed train.

Packed.

And it was the second stop from the beginning of the line.

Add to the mix the folks that had made the trek out to the beach, it was fine beach weather out here today.

I had me some sit outside in the sun time before I headed over to the East Bay, oh yes I did.

Prefaced by some get right with God and a bicycle ride to and from the Inner Sunset, some coffee and catch up and check in at Tart to Tart and a little bit of grocery shopping.

I did not cram eighteen things into my day before heading over either, although I was wanting to.

I am slowly, slowly, learning the art of slowing down.

It has taken years.

“You will make a great therapist,” she said to me tonight sotto voce at the dinner table.

We held hands and talked.

It was her celebration, but in the bringing together of the women, it was a celebration of us all.

I got a little toast for getting into graduate school.

Another lady for starting a new job with a big, big, big company.

One woman for committing to partnering up and moving in together with her boyfriend.

That’s a big move.

Cheers for a trip to Bali.

A toast for another lady about to do her dissertation in PsiD.

A trip to Bali.

Burning Man plans.

Atlanta plans.

Of the ten woman at the table, eight of us are going to Atlanta.

It’s going to be off the chain.

I’m not sure Atlanta knows what’s coming for it.

I sat silent at times, looking around the faces of these beautiful, smart, funny, my God so funny, women, and was absolutely awed that I got to be in their company.

Beauty permeated the group, but not just the physical, though, truth be told, we were the best looking party in the place, the noisiest too, perhaps, but definitely the table having the most enjoyment in the restaurant.

The laughter loud and fast and silly and intoxicating, but not drunken or stupid or vapid.

What an astounding group of women I thought to myself, world travelers, lovers, friends, co-conspirators, women with big hearts and dreams and goals.

I thought about what I had and was grateful.

I have a place at this table.

I am invited to partake.

I could have talked myself out, but I have been making a concerted, for me, effort, to get out of my comfort zone a little every week and be of the world.

I can get very easily caught up in the routine of writing, work, doing the deal, and more writing.

I can get caught up trying to make things look perfect and controlled, getting the grocery shopping done at this time on this date while negotiating my laundry and cooking and food prep and the doing instead of the being.

I need a full busy schedule.

But I need this community too.

They inspire me and when I am inspired, I get to do the same for others.

“Oh, I love your blog,” one of the women said, out of the blue at the table between courses.

I had oysters to celebrate, God I love me some oysters, and as I flipped the shell over of an tiny, briny, delicious bite of Miyagi drenched in lemon juice, I realized how much that same woman had inspired me years before I had gone to Paris by her own little world tour walk about.

To hear that she read my blog warmed me.

I will be continuing in this vein by attending a baby shower in Berkeley next week and then the following by going to out to Alcatraz to see the Ai Weiwei exhibit with a darling girlfriend.

This is how I get to be.

When I allow myself to be.

Surrounded by bright women who move me with their grace and joyful spirits.

“Look around the table, look at your community,” she said to me.  “You belong, and you’re going to be amazing.”

She’s a therapist.

She should know.

She confided that she always thought I should pursue therapy but question whether as a therapist it was something to encourage in me considering our relationship and common bonds within our community.

It was such lovely validation.

“You are so serene, you can sit and you are so calm,” she smiled at me.

I felt seen and was honored to hear it from her.

I told her my goals.

Three years graduate school.

Two to three years interning.

Private practice by the time I am 50.

That really sounds like a reasonable goal to me.

Yes, it’s about 8 years out.

And yes, I am fine with that.

I can see it.

You see.

I can see it.

I can see the space and it is bright and beautiful, warm and inviting, full of light and art and grace.

Like the women sitting around me at the table tonight.

I can see it.

I am honored to get to walk this path with these women and I hope to do them well.

I desire to put the best of myself forward.

I am going to stumble and I am going to be an idiot and I am going to forget the warmth of that fire and yes, I’ll try to isolate too, but I will always find my way back.

And the space between the time at the table and the time by myself will grow shorter as I realize that I am not alone, that I belong.

That I have a seat at the table with them.

An honor and a privilege to be included.

That there is a place for me.

 


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