I used to be a lion
Sitting here listening to a Valentine cd I put together for all my valentines – the Snake, L, H, etc – but my Itunes isn’t working right so now I am just listening to it myself right now. The Billy Bob Thornton “I used to be a lion” seems to have been the topic of all conversation today. I used to be a lion, I don’t have to cry to hold my head up high, I don’t have the strength to make the kill, these days I don’t run free, I’m just passing by, waking up at all is my only thrill……
Or in words not on the song – my foot is off the gas pedal right now……..
Reminds me of a missive I sent when I thought things were headed differently – the lion needs a wide path to roam – I learned this from working at The Nature Conservancy with the lions in Southern California, they have very large roaming range and when confined they shut down and sometimes die.
Morning started with me asserting myself (something I don’t do in personal but oh so fn well in professional) – following E’s mantra to take care of myself and put myself first – and the response was tepid. And I thought where’s the lion? All I heard was the lapdog. So I threw out all reminders.
So then I was speaking to L about his myriad of plums that hang ripe from the oak trees here – all fraught with some sort of infestation – and I heard his plea for not wanting to pick except the choicest one, but goodness how do you know unless you taste it? And I want to throw him off a cliff sometimes.
So we made a date for later and I bought him flowers from E who has positioned himself outside Terranova with some gorgeous choices and then I was called to the LaLa to meet E the electrician who B told his worker to get the f off the job and now we asked him to come back after all. He said where is S and I said, sorry to report, we’re separated and he’s back in California and then we sat around and chewed on failed marriages and regrets and what to do next. E’s anniversary is today – 15 years. We choked on the inability to see the way into the future sometimes. He’s tied by horses he has no where to house and sick that she is more concerned with the six dogs and the two sons who have returned home to mooch off the gravy train that he said “I busted my ass for”. But the story of his first wife was even more lamentable – left, went back, MS, still in a wheel chair, now in Tennessee with the oldest son – good grief – sounded like a novel that then later S and I couldn’t remember the title of – was it an Edith Wharton or a George Eliot novel?
While E and I contemplated marriage and the end of love we stared at the beautiful bayou from the porch of the LaLa and remarked how it was a beautiful day and we wished we could just relish it but there was more work to do and how difficult that is in the wake of Katrina. But the most striking thing about E was how much he resembled K, my first husband. Only taller. The tattoo on the arm was an extra kick and suddenly I felt my mojo was working in spades as we talked about things to come although those things had nothing to do with anything but our own paths. And he left saying, well nice to meet you and Happy Valentines Ms. Rachel.
So then back to the lion again – I spoke with S later about the disconcerting part of the morning and he said he didn’t see it that way and still saw hope despite the reappearance of the lapdog – and I just said pishaw – but later said, well maybe, small crack in the door kind of hope nothing big. But later when I went for my session with E we spoke at length about the lion and the lapdog and she said can you accept that both exist in the same person? And I said yes, but I was attracted to the lion. And she said could you accept if the lapdog is the larger part of the man and she told me to think about it but I answered then, no. I met S with the understanding of my nature that I wanted the Antony to my Cleopatra – as L said you are big, you don’t fade to background easily – I want my match, not something beautiful to pet. S was that in spades. Important. He maybe lacked a little of the lapdog that is the part that is tender and appreciative and that was our undoing. So yes I could accept that a part is the lapdog particularly since that side comes with unbelieveable tenderness. But not more than 50% of the man. No, that is not attractive to me.
So came home and called S to check in and he was just out of meetings in SF and we spoke about the current state of the union and my stomach tightened because I want him happy and we both don’t want the other to be hurt anymore. He’s vulnerable and despite the man’s levelheadedness in most all things I sensed a weakness and predisposition to seeking the light he missed in me in the last years – and you have to say what if? Here S is, one of the five heterosexual men in SF right now in one of his prime moments.
Hope dies last.
Eight years ago I had a recurring dream that Steve would remarry, have children, and I would, what?, get Christmas cards of the family – imagine.
L blew me off for a better offer and so I brought the stargazers to mom and she said they are her favorite and you (me) are my special valentine – what a sweetie – she said her first love, W, had called today – he calls so often and she said I would have been no good for him because I was going here and there at that age and I said but what about now, you are not that age and are a different woman. In the paper today was a photo of a man who begged her to marry him in 1989 and there he was with six kids and a wife and she said, as if. She said she has never loved like W and I said well you never know – who knew that I could open my heart to every inch for someone like I did. Although I told S, nobody but N could have opened it like that for me – damn that he was S’s best friend. That surely was unfortunate.
My brother R called from Atlanta and said come here now and have some cocktails girl, you need it. And then my other brother there, B, called and said let’s meet in Gulfport and raise a glass. I had the luxury of growing up around men – dad and four boys not to mention uncles that are priceless in their eccentricities and was I lucky? Yes, four brothers, all their own men. And even better I was the baby, so I sat in laps from birth till I left the house – and sometimes still sit in their laps now despite sometimes having one of theirs in my lap at the same time – DOG PILE – we love it.
And mom asked so, will the lapdog become the lion? and I said I just don’t know. But I’m cool with that. And she said, oh honey, I’m glad to hear that out of your mouth finally.
Since the bayou was so inviting I went for a run in the afternoon before my session with E – and it was a great run – the kind where your body responds on all levels – and I stopped at the LaLa mailbox to see what was poking out there and there was a Valentine! A sweet missive and little bar of sweet smelling soap and I was happy to have it and I cherished it carrying it home on the rest of my run.
So hmfvd and life is amazing sometimes thankfully. But the song is playing again after all this and it is melancholic and I think of BBT with that tattoo on his arm that is hard to remove. I ate a coconut Hubig’s pie for my dinner. And wonder if sadness can be sung then I share it with the multitudes and rest easy tonight knowing that it is the lion I dream of, and not the lapdog. I pulled one single heart on a pink piece of paper out of the garbage.