The X of My X Is My "Oh"

Early last week up here at Kripalu, I was having dinner with a group of women when one of them looked over my shoulder, waved at someone, then got up abruptly and headed towards the door of the dining hall. I turned around and saw the back of a guy hurriedly exiting said door. It was one of those moments where you know two events are somehow connected, but you don’t know how. The woman (I’ll call her “Phebee”) who had suddenly gotten up from the table soon returned and rejoined the conversation.

At the end of the meal, Phebee invited us all to go for a walk. I was the only one who took her up on the offer, and we headed towards the stairs together. Before heading down, she said to me, “I’m sorry, but I can’t go for a walk with you”. I replied, “Okay”, and looked at her, silently asking the question “Why?”. “Well I already told this guy that I would go for a walk with him. And that guy recognized you. You dated his ex-girlfriend.” In hindsight, it’s possible she said (or meant) “He’s dating your ex-girlfriend”. I really don’t know, because it never came up again. Phebee continued, “He doesn’t have anything against you, he just doesn’t want to hang with you”. 

I understood. And I was intrigued. I asked Phebee to find out who the mutual X was. Hell, I was curious. The next day, I found out who the common denominator mystery woman was. 

My first reaction was “Jesus. What are the fucking odds of that?”. I then wondered how this guy knew who the hell I was or what the hell I looked like. And, I also felt a bit of an ancient male energy kick in. I wanted to size this guy up. I wanted to check him out. That’s pretty natural. Especially since me and this X used to me madly in love.

Over the next few days, completely by happenstance, this guy and I passed each other in the hallways and in the dining hall what seemed like an inordinately large number of times. However, while I can’t speak for him, I was, as I said, curious about him. And when there is a curiosity about something, or someone, the universe often presents opportunities to answer that curiosity. 

We never said a word to each other. And let me stress that what I’m about to say is complete conjecture. I have no hard evidence for it. I do, however, have pretty slammin’ intuition, I am rather empathic, and I can sense the energy of other people. I sensed an uncomfortableness between us, and it wasn’t coming from me. I felt a palpable uneasiness from him whenever we were within a few feet of each other. Again, I’m spitballing here, but I had a powerful sense that this dude would have, if he could have, avoided me like the plague. 

After both Phebee and this dude left Kripalu (and, true to form, he walked right past me once again as he was exiting the facility, presumably on his way home), I hit a yoga class. That’s when things really got interesting.

As we started class, during the opening meditation, I felt a wave of emotion engulf me like a wet blanket. I felt myself start to profusely tear up. It got so intense that I had to leave class early, go to The Swami Kripalu Meditation Garden, and have a very long, hard cry.

There are probably multiple layers to this emotional outpouring, but the only one I was fully conscious of was rested in a missed opportunity. I had the chance to take a risk, approach this guy and say, “I just want you to know, I have absolutely nothing against you. I don’t know anything about you, but I sense that you are a kind man. I wish you nothing but love, peace, and happiness”. 

What also hit me was that it doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong about the guy’s experience. Even though I have good intuition and can sense energy, that doesn’t mean I knew what he was thinking or feeling. I could have just been projecting a whole story on him, maybe even projecting my own pain. But, as I’ve said, that doesn’t even matter, because it has nothing to do with the lesson I was reminded of.

So I had the opportunity to potentially ease the discomfort of another fellow being, and I missed it. I had the chance to maybe help someone else, and I didn’t. Granted, I thought of it after the fact, so I’m cutting myself some slack. It mildly haunts me to know that I possibly missed a chance to maybe assist somebody who was maybe having a hard time, who was maybe uncomfortable, who was possibly experiencing some unease, who was perhaps even in some pain. 

Throughout my recovery, indeed, my discovery, I have become acutely aware of my ability to impact people. I have become attuned to how profoundly I touch people; both painfully, through attitudes and behaviors that serve neither me nor anyone else; and lovingly, through attitudes and actions that bring forth my highest self. 

I have been told, by more than a few people, in more than a few contexts, that I cast a long shadow; that I’m a hard act to follow; that I have a big, powerful presence. I’m not assuming those attributes have anything to do with the aforementioned situation, although it wouldn’t shock me either. Quite frankly, I’ve had a lot of girlfriends, thus a lot of ex-girlfriends, and I wouldn’t know but one of their pre-Clint ex-boyfriends (or current boyfriends) if they sat next to me, looked me in the eye, and told me their name. 

The lesson I was poignantly reminded of is that, underneath whatever big, colorful, playful, powerful presence I have, there lies a very tender, very soft, very gentle, very sensitive, absolutely giant heart. That heart is in fact a huge reason I have a presence to begin with. I’m truly the sizzle and the bacon. I was reminded of my nature, which is to reach out and touch as many people as I possibly can in this life. Metaphysically, and/or physically, I want to wrap my body around people in a firm, secure, beautiful hug, and love them. What’s inside me is the heart of a man who really just wants to love you. Who wants to ease suffering. Who wants to make a difference in people’s lives. Regardless of whatever facts I’m either spot on or way off about here, I am reminded that, amongst other things, I am a healer. I am a lover. I am a man with a really big, beautiful heart. 

"Performing the duty prescribed by one's nature, one incurreth no sin"

                                            - The Bhagavad Gita

 ©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

The Lessons of Hedonism

Precious gems, minerals, and Mother Earth herself, are all formed by heat, fire, pressure, upheaval, and complex cataclysmic processes.

So, in many ways, are we.

My privileged and beautiful existence has been starkly punctuated by plenty of trauma. Trauma that has partially molded me, formed me, and shaped me, into who and what I am today.

It’s taken me a long time to wrap my arms around that; to fully embrace the traumatic events of my life, not under a veil of cynicism and anger, but as a process of transformation.

Strongly hedonistic by nature, my mercurial proclivity is fundamentally drawn to the indulgence of pleasure, sometimes regardless of consequence. Give it to me, give it all to me, and give it to me, right now. Fuck the torpedoes. 

The hard lesson remains that life is not all about that endless pursuit of pleasure. Although I never want to lose that wanderlust, it does not define me. It will not continue to be The Tarot of My Life. I’ve tried that. The journey is fun. Then it’s not. I know where it ultimately leads, if given full, unbridled reign. And it’s a dead end.

Pleasures of the flesh: oh baby, do I love those. Pleasures of the ego: well, those feel damn sweet. Pleasures of all of that which is outside of myself; you will hear no complaints from moi. But all of those have a shelf life. And a rather short one. Which means that, if unchecked, my life simply becomes about looking for the next buzz.

These days, my life is no longer just a vehicle through which I can satisfy my desires. My life is expanding into a vehicle through which I can take those experiences and teach others the lessons I’ve learned, the insights I’ve gathered, the wisdom I’ve gleaned, and the knowledge of self I’ve stepped into. 

I’m glad to have been there. I’m grateful that I know what it feels like to go way too far. I’m thrilled that it has taught me so much. I bask in the wisdom that, such precious lessons are meant to be shared.

We teach what we most need to learn.

Ay-fucking-men.

Many of us go through life never embracing such wanton desires. Many of us never know what it’s like to push the envelope so far that it no longer resembles an envelope. If I’ve been on the other side, it’s because I’m meant to share the joys and pitfalls and wisdom of such a traverse. My journey is thus not just a vein attempt at self-pleasure. It’s a also a tool to teach something to the world, so that I can contribute something to the lives of others. 

The message I keep getting, over and over again, through all my recent upheavals, is that Life is now asking me to Go Big. To share even more. To Step it Up. 

The last two years have been a barefoot walk though fire. Like gems, like precious stones, like the very bedrock under our feet, I am constantly being formed by fire, by turmoil, and by upheaval. By the embrace of mother earth and father sky. By the very heavens and by the very ground itself.

My metaphysical experiences of both crying aloud whilst burning through a volcano, and smiling hysterically as I careen down a smoothly paved road in a Ferrari whilst getting a hummer, have taught me more than I ever realized.

Rumi said that “The wound is where the light enters”. I would add that, once the light enters, it becomes our calling to beam that light back into the world. Only then, can we truly connect. Only then, do we create from our hearts. Only then do we love in the way of the divine. 

©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Ah, Angel

 

Ah, Angel

We met

She danced

So I named her

Dance-ala

We fell in love

So I called her

Yoga-la

Cheeky-la

Laugh-ala

Tipsy-la

Feets-ala

Sexy-la

Hug-ala
Kiss-ala
Love-ala

Angel-ooh-lala 

Shewasamymumma-la

Angel, ah

 A     n     g     e     l     a

          - SuperFly Clint

A Love Letter To My Wife

Hey My Love…

I haven’t met you yet. Or maybe I have. Not really sure. No matter. You’re out there. I can feel You.

You’re a brunette…..or maybe a blonde….possibly a redhead. Perhaps your hair is highlighted in a variety of colors - purple, pink, fuchsia - I really don’t care. I just love that you are all of you.

I’m your’s, Mama. You have my heart. Which means, you have the very best I have to give. You have what matters most to me. You have the single most precious gift I can give you.

What’s inside there is sacred; it’s tender, gentle, fiery, untamable, wild, passionate, powerful, sometimes misunderstood; it’s incredibly beautiful, romantic, authentic, and absolutely immense. And it’s your’s. Because that’s what love looks like to me. 

I will love you in a way you may never knew even existed before we met.

And, there’s something else you need to know:

I ain’t gonna be easy. 

For one thing, I’m prone to sometimes wrapping that tender heart inside a slab of stone. And not just any stone: Granite. I consciously chose Granite. Because Granite is hard as fuck. Granite is also textured, colorful, and rich; formed by the fire and brimstone of the earth and heavens themselves. Granite is really beautiful. There’s nothing I would rather have to protect that soft handful of precious tissue. That Granite has helped me survive.

But sweetness…..

I’m so tired of being that way. My heart is lighter than air. But that Granite, fuck, it’s heavy. Sometimes it hurts my chest, burdens my body, just to carry it. 

Let me know that I don’t have to be that way with you. Let me know, I can just let that Granite go. Let me know that I can save my Granite for when I need it. For when we need it; like when anyone or anything means you harm. Let me know that I can just be myself with you: in all of my glorious, mecurial, strong, sensitive, wild, passionate, splendid, creative, powerful, one of a kind, exquisite, messy, flawed, boyish, silly, life loving, fucked-up, glory.

Let me draw an analogy. Some men are like a blue Buick, or maybe a black Mercedes, cruising down a well traversed interstate highway. They are very stable. Predictable. They don’t swerve much. They stay inside the lines. They rarely pass on the right. They go over the speed limit, but not by much. They stay on course. Minimal bumps. All four wheels, always on the road. Radio never too loud. 

And, they rarely look under the hood.

Baby, that ain’t me.

I’m more like a metallic purple custom GTO convertible, speeding down a road I carve myself, full of swerves, and surprises; passing on the right if the left ain’t open, going well over the speed limit, radio volume often on 11. I pay attention, but I’m in constant awe of my incredible surroundings. 

I stop, frequently, and soak it all in. I relish the sheer experience of it, and take a fuck ton of pictures. 

What’s most important to me on this journey, is that I share it. All of it. With you. 

And, I love looking under the hood. I love looking at what’s inside. 

Different? You bet. Complicated? Yup. A tad harrowing at times? Absolutely. 

However……

I got you, baby. You’re safe with me. One arm is on the wheel, and the other arm is wrapped lovingly and securely around your shoulders. 

Because I’ve made a choice: I don’t wanna do this ride without you. Not anymore. I don’t wanna live this magic unless you are by my side. For you are the other half of one soul. You are the other piece of something far greater than both of us. So I’m not letting go. Ever. No matter what.

I make you this promise: We are gonna be fucking amazing together. I will fiercely guard your path. I will have your back, your front, your flank. And you are going to feel so loved. You are gonna be so exquisitely cherished. You are gonna be so preciously honored. I am gonna rock your world, dent your universe, drop your jaw (and your pants), and curl your toes. I am going to do whatever I have to, to take us where I know we can go together. We are gonna have one incredible connection. We are gonna have one incredible life together. 

I know, doll. I’m a bloody handful. Probably two. Maybe even three.

But I am so fucking worth it.

 

 ©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Team

It’s been said that cynicism is just an unpleasant way of telling the truth. It’s also been said that if you scratch a cynic, you’ll find a disappointed idealist. 

The argument there is that, originally, the cynic deeply trusted, deeply invested, deeply believed, and then had those ideals and beliefs shattered. So, as an act of protection, they became cynical, because the pain of that betrayal was so devastating.

Years ago, I unconsciously developed a cynicism about love. Any love. Be it from an intimate partner, a friend, or a family member. I didn’t start out that way. And I’m not that way any more. But it took a fuck ton of work to shed that shit.

When I feel the word “love”, I feel the word “team”. Because sharing love with another is being part of a team; the two of you have this relationship, it's sacred, and unique, just to the two of you. It's a special energy, a one of a kind bond, never-ever duplicated in the history of humankind, because there was never, is never, and will never be ever, two people just like the two of you. That gives me goose bumps.

From jump street, I was part of a team. I’m a twin. In the womb, I had company. Being part of a team is in my DNA. It's in my damn electrons. 

My whole life, a constant driving emotional thread has been to be part of a team. I believe that drive is in everyone. We need connection. We need intimacy. Maybe it was just more overt in me.

My childhood was ultimately lonely. My family never felt like much of a team. Emotionally, I felt that nobody had my back. That scenario got even more aggravated as I got older. 

As a kid, while all of the material essentials were generously provided by my parents, little John (my name before I legally changed it) was dying emotionally on the inside. I learned not to share how I felt, because that proved dangerous. My parents, and my siblings, did the best they could, and there is no blame here, just a recognition of my very personal experience. I developed a cynicism about love. About relationships. Fuck, if my own family wasn’t going to be there for me, who was? Nobody. So I learned that, emotionally, I better take care of me. I better cover my ass. 

My years as a young, selfish, gloriously testosterone laden male of his twenties saw that the only team I gave a fuck about was Team Me. Yup. I could be a real douche bag. When I hit thirty, however, something shifted. Literally, overnight, I didn't want to be that man anymore. 

In hindsight, maybe I just connected to my life long burning desire to be part of a team.

In the past ten years, becoming part of a team, romantically, as in a life partnership with a woman, has become very important to me. But, from twenty-five to almost forty, the most important objective of my tender heart was to not get hurt by women, to not get cut deep enough to bleed but an ounce of blood. I looked at love like money:be generous, but always keep enough of it in the bank so that, if she bolted, I would be just fine. I literally wouldn't skip a beat.

That came at a cost, yes, but I was not ready for the kind of intimacy that my heart desired. I was not ready to seek what I most wanted. So I had a lot of fun. And broke a lot of hearts. 

Life has a magical way of balancing the scales, however. Right after I opened myself up to just how important becoming part of a team was, in the most rewarding yet emotionally vulnerable of arenas (an intimate romantic relationship), I got a dose of what I had been protecting myself from. In the past ten years, since opening up my heart, which is also the time that I started this blog, my heart has been broken, shattered, and otherwise pierced with incendiary projectiles, multiple times. 

But, yet, I keep coming. 

I will always keep coming.

Until I get you. 

Until you get me.

Until We Are A Team. 

My strong and tender heart bleeds for you. I will find you. You will find me. I've learned, that’s how it works.

©2018 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.