I find myself tightly confined by the lingering thoughts, the residue of yesterday and the day before. I ran into a man who I hadn’t seen in awhile at the grocery store. He and I sat and talked for over an hour in their restaurant. It was just so nice to have a hug and sit with an attractive man; it popped right out of my mouth. “Oh just what I needed to see an attractive man that I know” He was in my Spiritual Group, so I am sure that my openness was taken with extra honesty and welcomed. Yes I know he was flattered. I then talked about age because I got shy about the male female attention. I said I was older than him because he talked of becoming 60 soon. Oh that is what I do! There is a genuine bit of myself that remains a little girl who is out in the world entertaining without an ability to filter my words. Digressions’ in my excitement to have fun and express myself abound.
I could smell menthol or some medicinal smell. Not cologne and then I kissed his cheek in one of my Hollywood moments and I felt his beard. I stepped back and I reacted to his wool tweed jacket. I have probably only given him a kiss twice on the cheek. I have been left with a poetic response to my past traumas. This time I kissed him again and was left with a deep breath of sadness and desperation of an old man too near me. I knew that he is not old and while these feelings are there they are not about him they are about a deep memory of some old man with a similar jacket and smell and my little girl wants to cry, my trauma wants release. While I keep saying to myself this feels the same; yet it is not the same. I feel violated when I haven’t been. The mix of feelings that come pouring out of me, as I move through my life working at accepting who I am. He is a very attractive male I can get confused about. This is the truth, I am the little girl running around the rifle range and then there is the vision of my grandfather’s exposure: a violation of a 6 year old. How to heal this I don’t know, what I do know is that life has offered me the kindling of the charred spirit of the ghost of the little girl lost, which now I’m healing.
