Kinship

Non-subject:  "kinship"
~*~

July, 2009: 50 years old, NC.

It was 4:15 pm. After dropping off some boxes at Fed Ex, I headed down the sidewalk to Borders. It was time to enjoy the summer special from the Borders Seattle's Best Cafe; Javakulas were $1.50 off from 3:00 until 5:00.

Aveda Day Spa is sandwiched between Fed Ex and Borders. Outside was a sign. "Massage. Full body. Deep Tissue or Swedish. $10.00 off." Wow.

I'd had a difficult few days. Someone on Greasespot Cafe, the anti-Way online forum, had taken my words and twisted them. In good faith I'd communicated a month previously back and forth in Private Messages with a member there. A month later he posted cryptically and apparently had stated privately that I had invited him to an adult online interaction and that an online discussion board where I am an active member was being used to smear people. Neither was true.

I could have ignored the situation. The public post was cryptic, mentioning no names. It was obvious the poster had been talking to at least one other person. Why would he twist my words like that? Our last exchanges were cordial and friendly. Why would he post as he did in public like that? Who had he talked to? I had been caught in manipulative webs at GreasespotCafe a couple years previously. Was he trying to bait me? I despise those bait games.

So I had chosen the unspeakable. I posted our Personal Message exchanges on his thread on the discussion board revealing his and mine actual conversation, leaving out personal information. But of course by posting our exchanges I had broken the holy command of online forums. But hell, he had apparently been talking to a folk or folks about the matter. I felt responsible for the other discussion forum being smeared.  By posting the PMs at least interested parties would have a chance to read the actual dialog to see that the conversation had been contorted.

But I was doing o.k. through the scenario. I'd thought of a few smart ass comments I could have made to him and others on the board, but I refrained.

Yet a massage...wow. It'd been awhile since I'd had a massage.

I entered the day spa. I loved the decor; like a small Italian villa. Instrumental music played in the background.

But I had to get my Javakula first. I set a massage appointment for 5:00.

I walked the sidewalk slurping the thick cold Javakula. The scenario from the weekend played over and over in my mind. I knew I was breaking protocol to post the Personal Messages. I had never done that before. I felt I was damned if I posted them and damned if I didn't. It'd been over two years since I'd posted on that board. I had a lousy reputation there anyway from the mess at that board a few years back. It was such a toxic place.

I walked into Aveda for my massage appointment. The masseur's name was Tex, short for Texas Conrad. His parents wanted him to have a cowboy name. A cowboy massage therapist. Ha!

I lay on the massage table. Tex was easy to talk with, kind and caring. He gives great massages. I hadn't had a professional massage in nearly 2 years. It felt divine. The lighting was low and Celtic music played.

I drifted inward.

Inside myself I visited the parts of me, personas I call them, I've come to know since leaving The Way. They have emerged one at a time over the past 4 years. We meet regularly at a rock on a mountainside. The mountainside looks like Bald Mountain across from Roan Mountain in Tennessee. I love bald mountains, the vistas, the wind...and usually blueberries in August or September. Yum; I love blueberries. Bald Mountain is around 6300 feet high with thick grasses, big mounds to roll in.

I lay on the massage table, asking my personas how they feel about what happened over the weekend. They are proud of me for speaking up. All except the newcomer. He doesn't have a name yet; I've not named him. He is yellow, one of the gremlins. He's downcast, glum. But at least he has joined us. The other gremlins are still over the hillside; it's like they are afraid to approach.

Abe and Nanna dance to the Celtic sounds. Sally the horse allows Abe and Nanna to dance all around her. Under her belly. Between her legs. She likes it. They'd like the gremlin to join in, but he wants to sulk. I am with Abe and Nanna as they dance. I feel compassion for the gremlin. I want him to know he belongs.

From the distance John the Gentle Giant Gardner continues to care for the harvest to come. The Tender, who is the elderly man that oils the gears, looks over our way and smiles. He's busy at work all the time keeping the gears moving. He and John are so patient with us.

Us. Ha! There is myself. There is Abe who looks similar to the Pillsbury Dough boy minus the hat; Abe is short for Abandonment. There is Nanna, the little girl in the tattered blue dress. She used to be the scapegoat. Sally is the horse, timid and fearful but yet has a gentle, calm side. We just have to remind her. And now there is the little yellow gremlin who sulks on the rock.

Maybe he'll come around and realize he's o.k. too. Somehow he belongs with us. He and the other gremlins have had some sort of purpose.

Tex has me turn over to massage my back. It's been too long since I've indulged in such. I'll have to try another massage in a few weeks.