fromthemouthofmoi

I have often dreamt that I was Chinese. I have had many dreams in which I am speaking Chinese or that I work in an opium den at the turn of the century in New York City's Chinatown. The following is a full dream I had back in the early 1980's. I woke up and immediately and wrote the following down. The title of this piece is what I gave to the dream at the time. I didn't know that I was Chinese until I came outside and looked into the eyes of a God. I didn't know that the young woman I loved was my daughter until my husband, a man I never knew, strapped her to his lap and went before a firing squad to die. I didn't know anything consciously. It began in the evening at a strange party. Music, food, people mingling and reenacting all the usual party maneuvers. The sound system was outside the windows, which were thirty stories up, suspended by heavy cables, being whipped about by high winds. Young hippies were crawling around on the apparatus trying to outdo the last

 This post was inspired by my dear friend Sue, a psychoanalyst on the west coast of the US. It was a conversation we recently had where she asked me how I control or deal with being bipolar. She said that my experience was important and that I should write about it. So here we go. I’ve been in therapy on and off for 50 years. Periodically I return to therapy when I need to tease something out that is going on with me where I want a second voice. In another conversation with Sue I asked her if someone could be given a diagnosis at one time and with therapy work through and out of that diagnosis into either another diagnosis or to more awareness, self reflection and control over the things that led you to therapy in the first place. She responded with an emphatic: Yes. Think of it this way: A diagnosis helps to focus your awareness to go further towards your healing and self awareness; gathering self respect along the way. Your awareness expands within the diagnosis and with that expansi

When I see my hands with nails long and feminized  I imagine them weaving their way  through the hairs on a man’s chest delighting in the contrast  Me Jane, You Tarzan Then my nails snag and get filed to a much more practical length  Enough with this daydreaming! There is work to be done. 

  Everyone should know someone like Bob. When you think about all he did in his life, and the vastly varied types of people he knew you begin to really see how special he was. He was loyal, he was funny, he showed disapproval on his face that was kind of comical but you got the point, he helped kids with their homework, he was fatherly, caring, incredibly sensitive, — I once made him cry because I was being a bitch and had become infuriated with hm for being late to something insignificant and now forgotten, but mostly I will say he was steadfast and loyal.  I had just turned twenty-one and was living in Portland, Oregon and decided that I was now of legal age and therefore eligible for a ‘grown-up’ job. I applied to work at his establishment, Bogart’s Joint. Bogart’s was in the middle of nowhere at that time in the sense that it was surrounded by factories. The lunchtime crowd were all blue collar workers who were in and out. Once the lunch time crowd was over we then got the evening

1/9/1998 Last night Max woke me up with his barking. I was spending a long overdue week out on the sound and was dead tired. My eyes opened to the sight of what seemed an unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment I had forgotten where I was. As I adjusted my eyes I could hear Max running back and forth across the deck at the side of the house. I knew that whatever he was excited about must be in the direction of the dock. The only way on or off my little hide-a-way was by boat and I wasn't expecting anyone, or for that matter, wanting to see anyone. I didn't feel like getting out of bed --that's for sure-- but I also knew that I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep until Max saw to it that I had sufficiently checked things out to his satisfaction. Max was the type of dog that thought he was my peer. Not just any peer mind you but the type of person who imagined himself more efficient than you. At this hour I felt like a worn out dog heeding my master's plea. I put on my paj

Moira. There are only a few given names that one can use playing Words With Friends -- Moira is one such name. Moira means fate, destiny. Moirai, The Fates: Clotho, the Spinner, Lachesis, the Allotter and Atropos, the Unturnable. In Greek mythology they were above all other Gods. Clotho holds a distaff in her hand, Lachesis, a spindle, and dear Atropos wields a scissor. From inception Clotho spins your upcoming life, Lachesis weaves the life you are to lead, and Atropos ends your life. Neither sister can interfere with the work of the others. They are the women that decide your destiny. Your fate. The Fates have been good to me. They gave me friends, and enough to eat, after much time they gave me a house to call my own. I've had endless laughter, and the tears and agony they gave me always had an exit I could find. Those three sisters gave me a rollercoaster of a ride!  When I arrived in Mexico it was the very first time anyone could ever, upon seeing my name written, pronounce my