My Animal is So Fucking Glossy

I remember what I want! I remember what I want!!

I’ve just had the most amazing weekend of self-care, in which I walked, napped, played with fire with a group of fantastic women, made beautiful bouquets and gently remembered the whole point of this is to enjoy doing good things for myself and for the world!!

I WANT, AGAIN. And it’s a good thing.

In part, this is arising because, yes, I’m taking better care of myself... And playing with fire always helps! But in part it’s also arising because I’m getting ready for the next Bluebeard workshop and looking at how we might raise our voices, how to say Yes! and say No! because we are listening to the animal parts of us that know what we really want.

Last time, I told the whole story. We took the big view and played with the big themes: what deals we’ve made, what we are willing to look at and willing to know, now

But this time we are diving into the beginning, when the hera of the story is being courted by Bluebeard, and she knows that there’s something off about him. She knows he doesn’t make her animal sing. (Or howl or hoot or bark or caw, as your animal prefers…)

And yet, she doesn’t say no. She says yes to him, when he asks her to wed.

This is a problem.

I think there are a lot of reasons that this happens, that we say yes when our animal is like "um.. No!"  

In the story, it’s because he puts crimson ribbons on the horses and has nice snacks. You know: stuff. I get that. I like stuff. But, I bet there were some other things going on behind the scenes, too. Things that make it hard to hear our animals, like constant busy-ness. Or false urgency! Maybe he gave her a deadline! Stupid deadlines used to trick me into ignoring my animal all the time. (Also, I’m wondering, where were her sisters? They knew enough to say NO. Wassup with the sisters?)

But most of all, I’m wondering: where the fuck was her animal at the time? Not glossy and jumping around and wanting shit, that’s for sure. And that’s the part of this story that’s missing. The part where there was something that she loved so much that she would never have considered taking less. Whether it was climbing trees or finding shells or building bonfires or making up dirty songs. Something she loved doing so much that she lost track of time doing it.

Losing track of time. That’s the sign of a happy animal. That’s the tell-tale scent of YES, BABY! (What makes you lose track of time? Does your animal perk up, just at the thought?)

This weekend, I lost track of time all over the place. It was a luxury. I lost track of time by the creek, watching the wind dance in the treetops. I lost track of time making bouquets with fallen branches and magnolia buds, and spontaneously sauna-ing with my neighbor and dancing in Kim's living room and did I mention napping?

My animal was so fucking glossy by Sunday night you’d need shades just to look at her.

There is something here. There is something in this story that is leading me inward, into the life I want. Funny that it’s happening with such a creepy myth, but I think that the times are so creepy that only rewriting a myth that is equal to the creepiness of this moment could give me this much momentum. Something is happening. I am adding in that part of the story. I am willing to want again.