A prison in central California.
My co-lead, Ray, and I led a council 1 training with 23 men this weekend. We spent 16 hours over two days teaching the inmates, mostly lifers, the “way of council.” It was my first time co-leading in a prison. It was amazing. This work allows people to open up and be vulnerable in ways that seem impossible; especially in such a short time and with this kind of population. But it happens, every single time. And I am always blown away by the beauty of humanity. It is where I find God, in people sharing their stories with one another and seeing that yes, I am like you and I cry and laugh too. This is my church.
A dear friend from High School contacted me before I left.
Which is exactly what the Shaman said would happen, that someone from my past would contact me and I could decide what to do with it.
Well oh shit- here is that person and what am I going to do with it?
Tommy. He had a huge crush on me when I was a senior and he was a junior. He and his best friend Collie used to follow me around like two little puppy dogs. I loved it. I made them kiss once in front of me just because I could. Collie made me dinner on the beach one night, so I devirginized him. I thought it was the nice thing to do. I never slept with Tommy. He wasn’t my type. Too blonde. Too surfer. Too rich.
He friended me on Facebook and then messaged me right away, which rarely happens. So I messaged back and we started talking. He looked okay in his photos. Weathered, but okay. Not fat and bald like most guys from High School on Facebook.
Seems he lives in Santa Barbara with his eleven-year-old son and is an organic farmer, Reiki healer, and surfer. Some things never change.
We went deep fast. Too fast. Should have been a red flag. But I rarely heed those anyway. We spoke on the phone the next day as I was leaving for the prison. I remembered something about Lancelot and Guinevere. He said he thinks we played that out when we were shrooming but he wasn’t sure. I told him to polish his sword and the honest-to-god unintended innuendo made us both laugh till crying. I thought that was hopeful. Plus I liked his voice. I remembered it. Felt comforting in a way.
I had not spoken to him in over twenty-five years but in my hotel room after my first day in the prison, we spoke for over an hour. We shared a lot. Too much. Did I already mention that? I have anathema to flags, it seems.
He was molested too, when he was 13, although I never knew it. He never knew about me being raped either. Lots of secrets in Laguna Beach. Lots of using to cover up the sadness about those secrets. Lots of pain in those rich white kids.
He said something at the end of the conversation that was very hard ot hear. He told me that he sensed some sexual disfunction from me, because he had it too. He was worried we would do what we always do or was it more about me? I can’t remember. All I know is that I hung up and cried for fifteen minutes doing H’oponopopo. I feel shame. Regret. Exhuastion.
I want to sleep now.
I disassociated talking to him. My head got light and fuzzy. I could feel it happening. And all I wanted to do was get off the phone and be alone so I could process what I was hearing.
I think I am back in my body now as I write this.
I was not going to text him on my way home the next night, even though I wanted to, but was more curious about working through the sensations in the body when he texted me, sending a sexual innuendo, which I found confusing. So that is something to think about and look at. Why have that whole conversation about me being hypersexualized and then sending that? Kind of confusing.
I should just back off and be friendly.
Something doens’t feel right about this one.