Journey of a Thousand Cranes, Part 3
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Image by Anja🤗#helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy🙏 from Pixabay
Journey of a Thousand Cranes, Part 2
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“Your cranes are beautiful,” she said. “What are you going to do with them?”
I hadn’t thought about that.
I had folded over two hundred of them, and they were starting to pile up.
And then I got a vision of my paper cranes flying up the stairs as they were stuck to my wall.
I had bought a townhouse condo with a tremendous wall space, and for two years, that space had me stumped.
Since the small upstairs bedroom didn’t extend across the stairwell, the main wall at the bottom of the steps was fourteen feet from floor to ceiling, and at the top, it was seven feet. The wall space was 270°, resulting in a wrap-around effect as it turned in the narrow width of the stairwell and turned again where the outside wall of the small bedroom faced the main wall of the staircase.
With such a big space to play with, I wanted something more special than the usual pictures, posters, or prints. I couldn’t think of anything, so I did nothing and that massive wall space remained bare.
All of a sudden, my wishing meditation had a purpose.
Not only was this going to change my life, it was now art in the making.
I went from origami paper to folding photos from magazines, yellowed pages from my favorite book, bright white pages from my abandoned novel to make the cranes that would transform my staircase and make it magical.
I folded cranes everywhere I went and got a lot of people’s attention.
I gave them away at random for I had so many and it seemed like good karma. I left them with the tip in restaurants I ate in, to the barista who made my mocha, to the florist who arranged the flowers. I gave them to classmates, to friends, to strangers.
At work, I covered for the receptionist for a week, and my respite supervisor sulked when I gave other colleagues a crane and didn’t think of her. So of course, I let her pick her favorite.
I’d look up from wherever I was and see somebody smiling at me as I folded those cranes bringing me closer and closer to my wish.
The anti-war movement had a dedicated following here in Juneau, and I strongly suspect many people thought I was folding peace cranes in protest to the President (George W at the time).
But I was only thinking of myself.
Around 300 cranes, a good-looking bad boy entered my sphere.
I thought he was obnoxious, but I also thought I could get him if I wanted to. We disliked each other, but our conversations were loaded with energy because we didn’t agree on anything.
It was exciting.
I also had my eye on a gym rat with a questionable reputation - sought after and commitment afraid. What a conquest!
We had a couple of dates; and it didn’t matter that the gym rat was leaving town to travel for six months - I was elated. I was finally on my way to being lucky in love.
And it occurred to me that I didn’t even know what that meant
When I first made my wish, the image I had in mind of what it was to be lucky in love was to win over the ones I yearned for.
But the more I observed those sought after beloveds, it was obvious that they were not the ones who yearned.
Most of them were good people.
Others were nice in some ways and not so nice in others. And there were plenty of beloveds that had all kinds of unlovable attributes – shallow, vain, self-absorbed, rude, vicious, cruel, selfish.
The list could go on and on, but they all had one thing in common. They loved themselves. It didn’t matter whether it was too much or just enough, but matters of the heart were not something they fretted over as they went about their day.
One morning, I was folding cranes in my favorite breakfast joint, occasionally catching a phrase here and there from the table across mine by two out of town men who were in Juneau for a hunting trip.
The cell phone of the man facing me rang; he answered and sounded very happy to have been interrupted.
The person on the other end was probably his wife and I believe his child was also on, because he ended each chat with “I love you.”
Of course, that got my attention.
He seemed like such a good man and I was so struck by the ordinary scene I recorded it in my journal, where I wrote that the people who were his wife and child were very lucky indeed.
Meditation is a strange trip, leading to unexpected places within one’s psyche.
Journey of a Thousand Cranes, Part I
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Image by Vibeke Lundberg from Pixabay
I once folded a thousand cranes because I wanted to be lucky in love.
Having had more runs of datelessness than I needed for inner strength, along with an unpleasant run-in with my last mistake at the wedding of mutual friends, I determined that when it came to love, I was cursed.
At the time, I was convinced that the Universe owed me the exciting love life that was long overdue. So, ignoring my usual frustration with things that require patience and precision, I started folding paper.
It took several lessons by two different teachers, but I was finally able to fold the origami crane.
Years before, a friend whose mother had died from cancer told me about a project when he and his sister worked together to fold a thousand cranes during the illness. They had hid them all over the house and presented their mother with a scroll explaining the cranes they had folded for her healing.
Of course, she was touched to the point of tears - and who wouldn’t be? For months, she’d find a crane in a coffee cup or in the cabinet when she reached for laundry detergent, which reminded her of the gift from her kids.
I was intrigued by the story and asked Jeff to show me how to make a crane. We were out, having drinks in New Orleans. He tried to fold his cocktail napkin into a bird.
But he couldn’t get the hang of it - either because the paper was too flimsy, or his brain was from the alcohol, so my first lesson never got off the ground.
They say that when the student is ready the teacher will come.
Years later, I was in Chicago, “breaking rice” with a friend and one of her oldest friends, George, who was Japanese. Somehow the subject came up about folding cranes, and I vaguely remembered it as a “healing” thing to do.
“Folding a thousand cranes makes wishes come true,” said George as we finished our sushi.
The light bulb flashed on in my mind. Everybody has something they’ve always wanted, and I was no exception.
This was in the summer of 2003.
At that time, my life was full.
Between summer work as a hiking guide, winter work with the disabled, and going back to school for an outdoor studies program, I had a lot going on.
But, like many single people who were not in a relationship, I wanted to be. I was loath to admit this, but I was also more than a little anxious at my relative powerlessness to change that.
There was a part of me that believed I had failed as a woman by not being married or in a domestic partnership.
“Get on the Internet,” people said. “There are tons of people out there.”
Sound advice, I had to admit. Yet for various reasons, I was reluctant to go there. One of them being I lived in SE Alaska, and the internet was still viewed with suspicion by many.
So I figured I’d fold a thousand cranes and my problem would be solved.
As soon as I was back in Juneau, I sought out a friend who was an art teacher and who had lived in Japan for a year.
My instincts were right. Heather knew how to fold the crane and she gave me my first two lessons.
A couple of days later, I got lost around the tenth fold and my crane had floppy wings.
That was when I crossed paths with a yoga teacher active in the peace-love-anti-war movement.
Of course, she knew how to make the crane, and I received my third and final lesson. I think it helped that she also showed me a breathing technique to calm me down when I got frustrated.
That was when I got it. I had finally mastered the crane and was good to go.
But what do I wish for?
I knew I wanted to be in a relationship, but I also knew that I was feeling… ambivalent.
And ambivalent feelings like mine tend to put the kabash on relationships working out.
I figured that if I was going to go to the trouble of folding a thousand pieces of paper into cranes, I should ask for something that had long-term value and to keep the request simple.
As a meditation, I knew from experience this would likely result in more than I asked for. I thought of those people who always have a relationship or options to get into one. I knew I wanted to be one of them.
So I wished to be lucky in love and started folding paper with gusto.
I was obsessed.
This project consumed me. I folded a minimum of 10 cranes a day.
By the time I’d folded around 100 cranes, it looked as if my wishing meditation was getting results.
I met somebody attractive, nice…and single on one of my tours.
We clicked and made a date after the tour, which ended with a walk on the only sandy beach in the city and borough of Juneau on Douglas Island.
Rather a peculiar spot for romance, given that the “sand” was from mining tailings, and the glory hole where we hung out on a petrified log, was born from the flooding and caving in of the Treadwell Mine in 1917.
Between the shut-down of the largest gold mine in the world at that time, and the dumping into the glory hole thereafter, that area is one of the most toxic spots in the country.
But you would never know it to be there, even if you had to be careful where you stepped because there were rusted out mining tools, broken dishes, and other parts on the beach.
The history of the area was the last thing on my mind, however…
Sandy Beach was conveniently near my home, which was part of my master plan. We ended our date making out in my living room until it was time for the ship to sail.
After an exchange of email addresses, we parted, and I was sure that was only the beginning.
Initially, I bought the brightly colored origami paper at a few dollars a pop, in all kinds of patterns.
I folded cranes in cafés, at the bowling alley with one of my clients, in class when I was bored, outside in my yard on those rare sunny days in Southeast Alaska where it’s a cardinal sin to be inside when you don’t have to be.
It was on one of those days when my neighbor Jacque asked me about them as I was folding away.
I had a tattered wicker table with an underbelly and was sticking the cranes by the tail in the holes between the webbing as I finished. The faded occasional table was rendered festive with the bright birds sticking out of it.
“Your cranes are beautiful,” she said. “What are you going to do with them?”
The Rush of the Crush
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Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
I hadn’t felt like that in so long.
Do you know the magic? I hope you do.
The thrill of elation lit up every part of me, as the warm radiance flushed from the depths, rising to the surface to emerge and be seen. The luscious softness refused the resistance of armor. There was no place for my feelings to hide.
Then our eyes met.
The agony of vulnerability grew sweet. I saw the luminosity of the smitten reflected back to me from the woman who had just inspired my delirium. Her face glowed and her smile opened.
That kind of radiance can never be faked — the gorgeous, pure rawness of “I like you, Like You, LIKE YOU! OH HELL YEAH!”
So my crush liked me too.
It has been forever since the last time those floodgates had opened.
I couldn’t believe it.
I had ended my engagement only 4 months before. The last thing I expected was an experience of that kind of butterfly twitterpation. It caught me off guard.
Not that I’m complaining because, you know…how can anybody complain about something so delicious?
“I can’t believe you feel that way over somebody else already!” One friend declared.
“Didn’t you ever feel that way about your ex?” Another asked.
Well yes and no.
In the beginning, there was chemistry. Of course there was because new relationship energy has always been euphoric.
But my ex-partner never swooned me through the virtue of being herself. Her touch was felt where it landed. But a stroke of my arm didn’t make me giddy and trill anywhere else, much less everywhere.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons we didn’t work out?
But the rush of this recent crush took my breath away on that unexpected day. It juiced me up. I was riding high - turned on and on fire. The sensation was exquisite.
Yet they call these things “crushes” for a reason.
Mainly because the stars are not aligned for something to actually happen with that scrumptious flood of feelings and possibilities.
Things are “complicated,” as they say. New romance and passion are not likely at this time, because there are obstacles in the way.
It already kind of hurts.
I’m painfully aware that although I don’t miss my ex-partner, I do miss relationship. I miss contact. I miss closeness. I miss waking up next to somebody.
I miss touch. I miss it a lot. Physical touch is my dominant love language, after all.
So the temptation of an old, destructive habit is ever present. It’d be so easy to fall into a fantasy of what-might-have-been-if-only, or the-hot-pursuit-of-trying-to-make-something-happen.
I hear the siren call of yearning. I can feel it in my gut, in my sinews, and even in my bones.
I’m so tempted to obsess, to want, and to long for this would-be beloved who is beyond my reach. The urge is almost irresistible. I want to stretch and bridge the chasm between us with my passion.
But I know where that path goes.
I know because I’ve done this before. I have chased the unavailable, only to fall into the abyss of misery, unbearable loneliness, abandoned dignity, and the regret of lost time.
Not to mention the regret of wasting something beautiful for what it actually was.
The rush of the crush intoxicated and invigorated me. With my blood flooded with heat, I came back to life.
I’m grateful this happened.
What a gorgeous reminder of all that is possible in the Realm of Love. That excitement and vibrant life force are exactly how I want to feel at the start of my next relationship.
Then the thought occurred to me that perhaps I’ve been a little touch-starved.
I had been sleeping and waking up alone for a few months, after all. I probably needed some tender, loving self-care.
So I went for a massage.
When the LMT asked me what areas to work on, I shook my head.
“I don’t need you to work on my tight spots. I’m here because I need to be touched.”
He nodded in understanding.
His touch was solid and dependable. Although did not give me a rush of twitterpation butterflies, it soothed and relaxed me.
After a half hour or so, the art of massage worked its magic. I melted into the sensation of parasympathetic ease, of oxytocin and other yummy endorphins.
The marvelous I left with was not the same as a hot new lover.
But the massage helped. It helped a lot.
How Loneliness Became Blessed Solitude
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Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay
In my former home of Juneau, Alaska, more than one person has said that there’s no lonely like Juneau lonely.
And it’s true.
It was there that I developed a problem with being alone for the first time in my life. And it was in Juneau that I learned to contribute to community and to fill up my inner space.
But if you don’t have everything you need there, the loneliness is excruciating and only gets worse with time.
So much that I left Juneau and moved to Portland, Oregon.
But I brought that writhing anguish of loneliness with me, and it continued to consume me for several more years.
Of course, there were a few short-lived dating disasters during this time. But the long gaps of dateless years continued.
I prayed, meditated, begged, bargained, and even threatened God, Goddess, and the Universe to fall in love and have the relationship of my dreams. There wasn’t anything that I wouldn’t have done to meet somebody special.
During this time, I didn’t just sit around and mope in my self-pity.
I filled up my life with all kinds of wonderful things. Fortunately, Portland, Oregon is a creative city that makes it very easy to be single.
There are so many things to do while flying solo here where one can find connection, and sometimes even touch — like Ecstatic Dance, Silent Disco, Contact Improv, Dinner Salons, and Cuddle Parties to name a few.
Image by Michael Pajewski from Pixabay
That’s not to mention all the meetup groups and 1–3 day workshops around anything and everything you could want in creativity, meditation, breathwork, energy work, sexuality, Tantra, kundalini, and expanding consciousness.
And hot springs. Lots and lots of hot springs.
The possibilities were endless.
Yes, my tastes run to the hippie/New Agey end of the spectrum. But fuck it, those things work.
It was incredibly healing to bring my lonesome self to natural highs. Those moments of self-created bliss and ecstasy gave me relief, and the afterglow was pretty gosh-darned lovely as well.
Image by cocoparisienne from Pixabay
Those moments gave me relief from that incessant gnawing ache of reluctant solitude.
In spite of all this loneliness and personal strife, by some miracle, I have at my core a reserve of self-respect and self-esteem. I’ve never been one to settle for less than what I want.
Ironically enough, those desolate years built up my self-worth. I knew from the depths of my being that I was not so wretched to deserve the isolation I endured.
I also built up an eclectic network of beautiful humans as friends.
That did not come easy either.
Even though loneliness has become an American epidemic - to the point that it’s considered even more deadly than smoking or obesity - there’s little support for the isolated.
To admit that you’re lonely is to beg for ostracism.
Loneliness is a repellent.
Isolation makes you vulnerable, and thus makes it challenging to attract healthy people who have integrity and would make quality friends.
Friendships that are false or weak, riddled with judgment, and bereft of understanding will make one feel lonelier than ever.
I suffered numerous fall-outs, and many times I walked away from various individuals and groups who didn’t support me or treat me well.
In the short term that made the loneliness worse, but in the long run I built up a marvelous community, which I am so grateful for.
With each authentic friendship I forged, a chunk of loneliness fell off me.
Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay
I had a ridiculous amount of freedom. And I would later regret not appreciating that freedom while I had it.
An energy worker told me she could feel the anguish of my loneliness in my third chakra. She also paused and said:
“Mana, you really need to get comfortable with being alone before you can have the relationship you want. If you don’t, the kind of person you call in will be a reflection of your loneliness. And it will not go well.”
I knew she was right, and I wanted to be able to heed what she said. But I had been so lonely for so long, that pain was unbearable. I simply couldn’t.
Falling in love was all I could think about. And I didn’t know how much longer I could stand being alone.
The energy worker was right.
I finally met somebody about 6 months after that session. I was on a dating marathon through OkCupid, and she was date #8.
Our hungers drew us together. Both of us were desperate for different reasons.
The first three months were incredible. To be gratified in love after being long-denied was one of the purest ecstasies I’ve ever known.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
We only got to enjoy that for a few months. Then the stress of her excessive load of baggage burst our bubble, and in I fell into the pressure cooker of her mistakes.
But I was already hooked. I took on her baggage as my own, and did everything I could to make that relationship work.
We lasted for nearly 4 years.
In that time, we got engaged and lived together for the last year we were together. The miseries of our relationship got worse every year.
I made serious attempts to end it before the first year was up, and at the 2nd year, and several attempts while we lived together. But each time, I caved under pressure to stay.
My friends asked me why. One friend even came straight out and suggested I stayed because I was afraid of being alone. She was stunned when I went back after the 2nd breakup attempt. I was with her and she witnessed the relief on my face.
I really wanted this relationship to work. But as time passed, fear of loneliness kept me there far more than love.
Yet I found myself missing the freedom I once had with the loneliness. I didn’t do the things I loved that brought me to euphoria as much any more. My ex-fiancee did not enjoy those things.
So when I did them, I went alone.
I didn’t reach those bliss peaks as often. The insidious realization that I was in the worst kind of lonely — the loneliness of being in an unhappy relationship that drained me — made that difficult.
As time passed, I realized that I had everything I never wanted in a relationship and nothing that I did.
Living together had been a catastrophe from the start.
On the suggestion of another friend, I came up with an exit plan. That was necessary because when the last straw was loaded, my tolerance broke and I left.
My exit plan was immaculate and left no room for persuasion. The relief was immediate and rather intoxicating.
I left my own home for 5 weeks to give my ex-fiancée and my ex-stepdaughter time to move out.
It’s very strange to be transient without traveling, especially because I had 4 cats with me.
Although I was alone, I had so much support. My friends supported me, as well as the beautiful people I met along that peculiar journey. The cats helped too.
I definitely went through periods of despondency and loneliness. But the even greater sensation is relief. Because even when I’m lonesome and depressed, I’m still happier and much lighter than I was in a relationship that made me miserable.
I left my fiancée three months ago, and solitude has a different flavor now.
I’m alone, but I’m not lonely. I savor every minute of freedom, every time I can change my mind and my plans at the last minute and not have somebody to answer to.
Spontaneity is almost orgasmic it feels so good.
A couple of days ago, I even savored the pleasure of excitement.
It had been so long since I was excited about something.
Whirl a Girl
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Isn’t it fabulous when love is fair?
There once was a girl
Named Sally. She met a girl.
We’ll call her Halley.
Sally and Halley
So loved to dally. So much that
Halley left Sally
Back in the alley.
Yet Sally found gay girl whirl,
Where she loved to twirl.
Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay
The party was hot.
The fete made a raw tempest
Of yearning and pain.
But Sally? She danced and
Sang at the gay girl whirl. She
Turned grief to gladness,
Or so it seemed. No?
Sally put up a brave front,
Hid her heart broken
Image by Alexandr Ivanov from Pixabay
From Halley, who came
Later to the gay girl whirl.
Halley saw Sally
In the arms of Cal,
Short for Cally. And she swirled
Sally into a twirl.
Sally savored the
Illusion of liberty.
The sight of Halley
Made her flibberty.
Her heart pounded, her belly sank.
She blinked back the tears,
Image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay
But Halley was near.
Halley saw Sally sobbing,
And went for the jeer.
High drama ensued.
Halley shooed the contender
Cally to the alley
Where Halley had left
Sally. At last, Sally came
back to her senses.
Image by inno kurnia from Pixabay