“What would it feel like to be binded?” she asked me.
“Think of a garden hose attached to a running faucet,” I said. “The water pushing through with pressure and purpose, no flower ever going thirsty under its cooling mist… Then someone abruptly ties the end of the hose into a knot.”
My friend hugged herself, and said, “That’s a terrible thing to do to a person.”
I nodded my agreement, and we had a long conversation about undoing binding spells.
Yesterday, that exchange came to mind when a different friend said, “I will never understand how you can be so sad one day and the next day you are back to being your exuberant self as if nothing has happened.” By the way, my friend is Russian and I love what her accent does to the word exuberant.
Come on, my Luvs, say “exuberant” using your best Russian accent. Did you like the sound of it? Was it a fun thing to do? Are you wondering, what in Hades’ fiery balls does the word “exuberant” have to do with binding spells or with going from draining sad to deliriously happy in under 13 hours and 60 seconds?
Well, it has everything to do with it. In my dark, sexy and deliciously wicked mind, all of this—spells, emotions, appreciating the sounds a friend makes with her words, pain, laughter, grief, bliss…— makes part of the whole that keeps me sane, creative, paddling forward with a heartfelt grin on my face… alive.
You see, my Wicked Luvs, just because my friend and I were discussing something that was rather sad, it didn’t mean that I would let my brain and heart be so consumed by a single topic or emotion, that I would miss the wonderfully good things everyday life sprinkles on me… even those things as tiny as a sound that is pleasant to my ear.
I believe that not allowing ourselves to feel, to experience and to work through certain emotions (particularly the negative ones) makes our souls as volatile and useless as a water hose tied in knots. The flowers we are supposed to tend and nourish will die; our clogged insides will be overwhelmed; we will eventually explode or worse, become stagnant. And we all know that stagnation is the scum of the universe.
So how did I feel, experience, and work through the pain and helplessness that drove me nearly mad (for a few hours)? Well, I wrote all the terrible details and put them away to be used in a future story. Then I basked in all the good things I received because of the pain: the assurance that my Piano Man will always be here when I need him, one of my best friends on the phone reminding me that she has my back (and is always willing to share an infinite number of inappropriate jokes that make me giggle), all of your replies and collective “We get it, witchy woman. Roll with the punches. Shake your hips and make it all into a pretty dance; for this, too, shall pass.”
Knowing all these things, my Wicked Luvs, nothing but me can stop me. And you already know the views me, myself and I have on the topic of standing stiff and still like a dead lump.