Is he your King or have you intoxicated yourself with hope?

On trusting your gut and letting frogs be frogs

You ever write something one day and the next day you’re like… what the actual fuck was that? And then you are up until 3 am editing aforementioned piece of trash, trying to convince yourself there is some JUICE in there, only to find that again, the next day, it has transformed back into a rotten pumpkin?

Yeah. Me too.

It sounds like something right out of Cinderella, doesn’t it?

I’m not surprised though. Swept into a spell of my own creation, I was intoxicated with the sort of hope that turns frogs into kings. At least for a couple weeks. Until I noticed…

THE PATTERNS.

Specifically, the overtly desperate misguided lovergirl patterns.

The thing is, I fell so hard and fast for a man six months ago who literally vanished into the forest to become an ayahuasca shaman. I know, I know, what was I thinking? But the connection was thick and luscious and his voice alone made me wet with desire. It was devastating. I wrote some of my best poetry in the depths of that heartbreak. I’ll share it someday. Maybe here. But probably behind a paywall. I’m not giving that gold away for free.

Anyway. It is clear that my heart was still raw, reaching, pulsing to be touched with the same depth I experienced with him, because I locked in to the next man who presented himself. Fortunately, the kiss did reveal him as a frog and it was over as soon as it started.

But the one after that, the one who showed up the same day I posted this note…

Well I thought my spell had worked. Just Like That. Easyyyyyy peasy.

And it did work. But not in the way I initially thought.

Of course, I always get into trouble when I think too much. I shouldn’t be surprised.

So this guy started drooling all over me whenever I showed up at the gym while all his little gym bro friends stared and snickered and whatever boys do. Eventually he brought me on a cute little hike. And then, last Saturday, he took me on a date which began with a few old fashioneds (but they didn’t have the deep red Luxardo cherries… so lame, first sign), and ended in us making out in his cherry red Audi at 3am under the almost full moon, fogging up the windows full Titanic style. I even left a handprint on the window for cinematic punctuation.

Perhaps you are beginning to see how I so readily seduced myself into believing that this man was the King I summoned.

HOWEVER.

A few days passed and the heat rapidly dissipated. I noticed myself trying to create more of it. To go deeper. To feel deeper. And get this. I told myself I couldn’t access my deeper feelings for him because MY PEN WASN’T SHARP ENOUGH. Lol. Really though. I bought two new ones to test the theory. (Good pens, btw. Do not regret the purchases.)

The truth is, I just didn’t feel that thing with him.

What I did feel with him was a spark. But more like one of those sparklers you put on a cake and quickly have to dunk in water to prevent the wax from melting into the delicacy and making it inedible.

What I did not feel with him — but I do feel in the swells of my own solitude — is the Deep, Burning, White Hot Eternal Ember.

Sure he thought I was amazing and gorgeous and showered me with attention and compliments. But there were other things I started seeing once the spell wore off. Namely that the attention he gave wasn’t out of desire to connect, but out of fear; he wanted to control my attention from going elsewhere, probably subconsciously aware that this wasn’t going to be a long journey into a shared empire.

BUT! The story isn’t over yet. Because I did meet my King. And do you know where I met Him?

Yes, exactly. Within myself. Within the moment I erected my spine and trusted my gut and opened my heart and said, “no, this is not what I want.”

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