27 Sunday Jan 2013
Posted in fidelity, infidelity, intimacy, intuition, intuitive, love, lover, media lizzy
Matters of love, of desire, of reconciliation and surrender exist with or without our consent. Venus in Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch offers insight and observation, with a raw, ragged edge:
Certainly,” I said, “I have often told you that pain holds a peculiar attraction for me, and that nothing kindles my passion quite so much as tyranny, cruelty and above all unfaithfulness in a beautiful woman.
So noted, Leopold.
—Media Lizzy
18 Wednesday Jul 2012
Tags
Literature soothes when little else will. The complexities of life exist in all eras, in all our souls and bodies. Great love, be it romantic or platonic or familial, is as desired for as oxygen is necessary to breathe. Some walk through life without the desire to summit a mountain, or dive to the depths of the ocean preferring instead to have safety. Other take the risks, in business or in adventurism or in love. They fuel the desire of others, and bathe in its waters.
Individual liberty requires privacy, not only modesty or comity. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Roman Elegies are a wonder. The passage below, from Bid Me Not be Silent, is exquisitely crafted. Citing the unspoken arrangement between two people to craft that privacy, a safe place, a warm comfort in the storm of every day life, Goethe evokes the importance of building an “Ours” on whatever terms or in whatever circumstance. Beauty is in silence as much as it is anything.
Bid me be silent, bid me not speak, Secrecy is a duty to me: I could reveal my heart complete, But Fate doesn’t wish it to be.
In due season, the sun’s bright path Drives the night away, the light must shine: The hard stone opens its breast at last And yields Earth water from hidden mines.
Every man seeks rest in a dear friend’s arms, Where the heart can express its inner pain: But my lips are sealed by secret charms, And none but a god can part them again.
—Media Lizzy
13 Friday Jul 2012
Writing is my love, my work. My mind devours ideas and words then forces them onto the page, virtual and tangible. To still my restlessness, there is literature. Nourishment of the soul, particularly as I found myself turning 40 last month, grows more important.
An avid reader since my days as a toddler, my nightstand always holds at least four books. Herodotus is my constant companion, Ovidian my love. Ben Coes’ The Last Refuge quenched my thirst for intense, action filled thrillers. It is without question my favorite fiction in a decade. To satisfy my appetite for literature, I turned to DH Lawrence and was utterly satisfied.
For many years, I have much preferred DH Lawrence’s poetry to any of his short stories or novels. Honestly, his poetry holds a richness, a lushness in the language. His other writings are deeply inferior, and absurd in their obvious and eager pursuit of climax.
His poetry though, embodied in Self Pity or Liaison, or Pomegranate communicates. There is an awareness, a presence. It enchants, ignites. The compartmentalized nature of private life, the secrets we keep, the discretion with which we act provides a safety net. Like trapeze artists, we trust the net will hold. In Aware, quoted below, there is the private acknowledgement to self. There is little so exciting as the prospect of a new lover, or a lover’s passion rekindled, and our decision to surrender in the moment. Consequences be damned, at least we are aware.
Slowly the moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,
Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so
Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze
See in the sky before me, a woman
I did not know I loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;
I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.
—Media Lizzy
30 Wednesday Mar 2011
Posted in intimacy, intuition, literature, love, Marine
This morning, DH Lawrence’s poetry rings in my ears. The fiction he wrote was so overwrought, indulgent and obvious. His poetry though… evocative and restrained. Very often, he captured the conflict, desire, yearning we all feel – while respecting the individual experience. My best friend, a Marine, loves this poem. We remind each other of it whenever the other needs it. Good stuff. And Semper Fi.
Self Pity
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself. —DH Lawrence
—Media Lizzy
11 Friday Mar 2011
Tags
conservative, democrat, genocide, hillary, love, marriage, media lizzy, politics, republican, terror
“For hundreds, even thousands of years, beautiful women have been held to impossible standards. Average women have too. But alone in the dark, in the comfort of our beds…next to our beloved, or alone in the quiet – real beauty can not be seen. In the darkness we are all the same. Beauty emanates from within.”
I penned those words in May 2009. The sentiment stands today. Beauty of the human soul, particularly when it shines through someone’s features creating an aesthetic beauty, must sustain itself. The ‘beautiful’ must learn to self-comfort, be the wellspring of love and light for themselves and those they love, respect. Unfair perhaps, but true. To some degree this is true for all of us. Why?
Beauty does emanate from within. Unfortunately, so does cruelty. Jealousy. Hate. Ugliness. And extreme vanity. Human history is littered with the discarded carcasses of those who lived their lives through vice. Sloth, gluttony, greed, lust… the seven deadly sins have long accommodated mankind’s penchant for self-loathing. For some, the vice is wrath, envy and pride – expressed as hate or jealousy. They craft an entire personae or career based on vitriol and tearing others down – sometimes disingenuously saying they only want to ‘extract the truth’ from whatever entity they view as an oppressor. Men. A beautiful woman. Corporations. Pick a poison.
Much like my column Beautiful, Successful and Hated, this one comes with a warning right at the outset. The impolitic discussion of character and aesthetics will certainly draw ire. To the ladies and gentlemen who read further, if you reflexively defend the Left or Right, expect to be angry. This is about culture, more than politics. This is a love letter and a Dear John letter, take away what you will. Stand for what you believe.
The most beautiful soul is one steeped in truth, fairness, forgiveness and humility. We see it in the faces of a wanted child, of parents welcoming this new soul they created in love – together. In the faces of those same children as they grow towards adulthood unafraid because love has been their constant companion. We see it in elderly couples whose lined faces and enlaced fingers reveal a lifetime spent with love, in love. We see a glimpse of it when two people finally discover each other and set aside vanity or expectation to embrace love, and fashion a new life with and through each other. The kindness of a teacher, a firefighter. The placid face of an experienced Marine Sniper, encouraging a new enlistee – giving him strength even though Death is both their companion and enemy.
What is beautiful, while subjective, is also universal. I submit where you find kindness you also find unblemished beauty.
Feminism and feminists aren’t specifically in my crosshairs today. Women like them, and so many others that came before the Sexual Revolution, transformed the professional landscape. For the suffragettes, trailblazers and the men who made the impossible possible, a debt of gratitude will never be repaid. Inspirational figures like Cleopatra or Eleanor of Acquitane are often forgotten to modern feminists. As is Anne Boleyn’s devotion to both ambition and her husband, King Henry VIII, because the “witch” and “homewrecker” stigma fluffs the pillows of those who have an axe to grind. Feminists, like fiction writer Philippa Gregory, continue to excoriate her even though Boleyn’s tenacity brought about England’s break with the Vatican, the Reformation, and a feminine icon – Queen Elizabeth I – who ruled without a man at her side for decades. No serious person, who has read extensively from contemporaneous accounts of those years, honestly believes Martin Luther’s work inspired Henry VIII to spiritual conversion to the exclusion of Anne Boleyn as a factor in the decision.
Boleyn, Helen of Troy, Scheherazade, Nefertiti are but a few names from antiquity that are precursors to modern feminism. In patriarchal societies, they charted success and continue to inspire. The Borgias were famously depraved but some women still found a way to thrive. The Hellenic era is replete with stories of power plays, beautiful versus ugly, ethics, spiritual questions. Persephone and Demeter’s complicated relationship is a prism for every mother and daughter to gaze through, if they are smart.
Some feminists who rose to prominence in the late 1960s and early 1970s, as well as their younger devotees, effect a much less altruistic streak. Reproductive choice, female competition, deriding men, and anti-tradition histrionics dominate. While many claim to want equality with men, they don’t seem to value it among their feminine counterparts.
They also bred vanity to competition, and have spent the last 40 years raising vicious, vacuous and blatant hypocrisy as their children. They embrace hyper-sexualization as ‘liberation.’ They attempt to eviscerate women of real worth, real accomplishment – particularly if they embody more traditional female archetypes – “wife” or “mother” with success. If the target happens to be beautiful, the rhetoric becomes a conflagration of pettiness and envy. I don’t believe such women exist only on the political Left. There are certainly some Right-leaning females who use sexual availability, wrapped in a wink and nod, as a weapon to destroy any other females who challenge their intellect, preparedness or mothering capability. Embracing the Kardashian model as the Left has done, or vaguely more respectable reality-TV shows like Dancing with the Stars, is really demonstrative that there is an alliance among some “feminists” (Left or Right) to hurt other, more morally stable and yes, beautiful, women.
As a woman, a lover, a friend and especially as a mother…the inauthentic, superficial, agenda-driven and wholesale embrace of negative stereotypes disgusts me. There is no need to sacrifice one’s dignity to succeed. Or maybe, that depends on your definition of success.
If success means you have as much fame, money, or as much sex as the least of men – then ding, ding, ding women like Gloria Steinem are a success. If the Hillary, “I paid my dues and now I’ve got The Honorable before my name” model makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, then goodie for you. My take: you’re damn right she paid her dues. But she didn’t have to stay with, or even be with Bill Clinton in the first place to achieve success. Hillary is brilliant and could be Secretary of State, or President, without selling her soul to Bill all those years. I am certain their affection and respect for one another is genuine but, she’s the one who chose to mock women for “standing by their man.” She did just that, and built a career on being the victim of his libido – but not the sexually satisfied wife who was there because she chose to be for the RIGHT reasons.
Consequences are a bitch.
Examples are legion. Lesser knowns are perhaps more indicative of the insidious, pervasive female competition that continues to plague our societal discourse. Someone recently forwarded an article in The Atlantic to me, Why Do Smart Men Date Less Intelligent Women? Predictably, a cursory look at the Twitter feed offered lots of opportunities to see what my fellow females were saying. Journalists were passing it along, dry and without comment. Some others were straight snark in a so what, who cares tone. But a few, none of which I will be linking to – because it’s not my style to offer traffic to someone who clearly hates other women – were spouting vituperations. It was funny, instead of attacking the intellect, most who were incensed by the article went straight for the beauty mark. Pretty women are stupid and therefore have all that extra time to primp and be hot for men. All those pretty girls are taking all the good men. With a healthy helping of “well, I’m thin and I can get all the hot guys too. But I want the smart ones.” That is an argument so insipid and nonsensical even Lewis Carroll’s Mad Hatter could not read the tea leaves.
Here’s a newsflash: if you’re that consumed with hate for other women and are angry at men for not choosing you over someone with better looks, or stronger morals, or just plain more self-confidence, then stupid women aren’t your problem. You are.
It isn’t your waist size, it is all about attitude. And discernment. There are a lot of aesthetically beautiful – and inwardly beautiful – people who find love, happiness and gratification.
Furthermore, being hateful to beautiful women you deem ‘less intelligent’ because they lack your pedigree or skill set is
absurd. If a beautiful woman conducts her life in an equally vicious manner, it doesn’t matter how symmetrical her features are or how brilliant, she loses her beauty. The ugliness shines through, manifests itself just as surely as inner beauty does. Ugly is as ugly does.
There is little more beautiful than a woman, ripe with self-confidence. Perhaps only the most feminine, most sacred of tasks and roles makes us more beautiful: motherhood. The female form blooms when pregnant, particularly in a loving and committed relationship. I wrote earlier about the “wanted child.” A baby conceived in love is beautiful. To her mate, what honors him more? Nothing…between a man and woman, unconditional love comes after surviving conditional love and chemistry. It comes with time. With patience.
We cannot “have it all” at the same time. But to have it all is a worthy goal. It is a goal we can accomplish. There are many beautiful moments in our lives but alone in the dark, the most ancient and primal urges still ring in our souls. Trust me, I am not romanticizing the realities of relationships, marriage, pregnancy and child-rearing. Quite the contrary. Recognizing the magnitude of the choices and accepting the blessings is critical. Finding peace with our bodies, as perfect or imperfect, whether Titian or wraith-like, lies within the mirror we hold ourselves. Take the good when it comes, revel in it. Breathe in the warmth it provides and be not afraid. The harsh light and judgment of others awaits.
Nobody expects women to stop competing with each other, not professionally or personally. Certainly not for a mate. It is natural to pursue excellence, to preen, to want a worthy man to share a life with. To bear children by. To age with, gracefully and naturally. To laugh with. To touch and be touched by. To honor. Our wants and needs are universal. We all crave stability and acceptance. Safety.
Freedom from fear. I wonder if the competitiveness between Western women stems from boredom, in addition to a lack of self-
esteem. The women of Congo look to us for help, as inspiring, free figures. They hail from a place that is arguably the most violent and dangerous place in the world. If you are a woman, rape will likely be your destiny. Obstetric fistula is something you pray to avoid. Auto-cannibalism is the norm. Grotesque wounds are a weapon. An effective weapon of psychological warfare and a tool of genocide. Atrocities are commonplace. As I read through research, I was reminded of The General’s Daughter, penned in the early 1990s by Nelson Demille. (The movie version starred Leslie Stafanson, Madeleine Stowe and John Travolta.)
An exquisitely beautiful young woman attends West Point, following in her father’s footsteps. She is brilliant, quick witted and outshines her classmates. During her sophomore year, there is a night exercise. She is separated from her squad and finds herself surrounded by a group of classmates who strip her, spread eagle her, tie her to the ground with tent pegs, put her panties around her neck, and brutally gang rape her all night long. Beaten, bruised and left to die. When dawn broke, she was discovered and transported to a hospital where she was treated for disease and pregnancy. Instead of supporting her, her father silenced her. She survived by pursuing a career in PsyOps. Psychological Operations. Before a tragic and untimely death, she tells a Warrant Officer what her profession is: “Mostly, we fuck with people’s minds.”
After her death, a rape investigator, notes the stains on the corpse’s cheeks are tears. This beautiful, promising woman was tormented by her demons. Demons that possessed her without consent. Demons that were content to stand idly by as she suffered. Yes, it’s fiction. But truth is reflected there. As women, we must be strong for ourselves and each other. For the men in our lives, for the sons and daughters – born and unborn. Strength means seeking justice, forgiveness and freedom for others and ourselves with equal fervor.
Beauty emanates from within. The beautiful within us should govern our choices, passions, our hunger for knowledge and our ambitions. The beauty of equality, of forgiveness is the honor is a second chance at life. One does not have to be young, or wealthy to find rebirth. It is a gift we give ourselves and share with those we love.
—Media Lizzy
photo credits: Vanity Fair, imdb
painting: The Birth of Venus, Botticelli
17 Saturday Nov 2007
Posted in affair, campaign, democrat, desire, intimacy, linger, lover, passion, politics, presidency, republican, restraint, secrets, sexual tension, slave to love, true love
There are some relationships that grow too complex, too intense to maintain. Cruelty and competition edge out the trust and passion. Political life, while it remains very similar to an average American life, is markedly different. Often in ways that matters most, affecting places in our hearts where we sustain our relationships.
Read a newspaper, the negative ads are a metaphor for the perils of politics. Behind the stories you read, the six-minute segments of spin on CNN or Fox News or MSNBC, are men and women with private lives.
This life is different. Our mistakes end up on A4, not in the entertainment section. When a politico fails, it is news. Hollywood & Music industry celerities are held to much lower standards, and however tragic – they make a lot of money from publicizing their frailties. News wires are littered with career-ending stories of elected officials or opinion makers in men’s restrooms, prostitutes from New Orleans, instant messages with underage pages, mistresses on boats, racist remarks, bribery, malfeasance, and many other nightmare scenarios affecting the American taxpayer.
Behind these stories are marriages, love affairs, friendships – and choices – where personal happiness is sacrificed on the altar of political expediency, or more often – political ambition. Many a politico has made the mistake of asking a lover to wait. Just until the next election – then everything will “calm down.”
When we choose love, over politics, it is a decision that often coincides with a career change. Or the rare promotion significant enough to allow room for a fulfilling personal life. The thing about politics, is the higher you ascend – the more access you have. The more hours youwork, the more time you want to invest in that access. The more access, the higher the profile. It comes with perks of travel and notoriety. And the crushing responsibility of making history – not just news.
Caring for love requires a devotion that exceeds the inhuman level of ambition necessary to succeed in politics. Many a great man and woman have broken themselves against these rocky shores. Marriages end. “Great” loves walk away from each other. Because for love to win, it must be epic to exceed the adrenaline rush from having a White House clearance.
Politics is about access and information. Trading secrets and the ever-elusive “internal” poll numbers. A presidential career for one man, is a journey shared, at most, by a dozen other people. Men and women, who are able to peer around the next corner of history. People who sense what the Republic needs, then fashion a candidate into the leader of the free world. A lover must be very skilled, and very devoted, to divert attention away from such heady acts. Love must be accompanied by ferocity, free of encumbrance, and be made of something far stronger than steel.
The painful stories of men who failed, Vitter – Craig – Hart – Foley – Abramoff, are very public. But there are an infinite number of stories wherechoices were made, that never go public. To not destroy a marriage. To place a career ahead of drama.
Politics is a most cynical master. And she plays on fear, ambition, suspicion, fear, and imbibes her lovers with power, privilege, and public adoration.
The men who choose to maintain their marriage, because it is safe and comfortable – even if it is passion-free, possess a level of character so impressive, they are like mythic lovers in a long forgotten Greek tragedy. There are women who have a breathtaking, poignant life story and rather than risk more pain, they choose the Constitution and history books as a great love.
There is a persistent melancholy beneath the bravado, a sense of regret among some. For others, there is a sense of freedom – a life lived to the fullest extent of ability and passion. What is true for all of us, in political life – is painfully omnipresent.
Every person dreams at one point of love and success. In politics, the men and women are no different. Sometimes, we find serenity. A great love walks in, restores our faith. In such moments, we allow another to take our spot… leaving the wheel of the Republic to others. Trusting they will make their own mistakes, their own decisions, cut a path to truth for the next generation.
America is a powerful, but fickle, lover. To leave her, we must abandon regret and replace it with forgiveness. The truest love is found someplace else… in the eyes and heart of someone who understands the political life and loves us anyway. Love is in the arms of a kindred spirit, where boundaries and expectations and baggage, are set aside in favor of tangible intimacy and appreciation for the world away from politics. Surrendering to desire, and the need for private exploration is at once wide open and all consuming.
Love is a leap of faith. And passion is the fuel that carries us to the precipice.
— Media Lizzy
21 Sunday Oct 2007
The torture… of love, indifference, passion and uncertainty… and possession.
A soul who finds intensity in a budding intimate and political relationship, surrendering just enough to allow life beyond the prying ears of security and staff, behind the velvet ropes and under the glare of journalistic scrutiny to mature… to be disembodied from the pressure — is someone who understands desire.
Real practitioners of political strategy become absorbed… the manipulation of the electorate, the leading of journalistic consensus, the selling of an idea as transcendant – and a candidate as savior… is intoxicating, addicting… it takes a force of nature to elicit love from such souls.
The unbridled passion causes the faint of heart to waver with erotic fatigue. Even the truest of souls escapes to a sanctuary… where no favors are traded, no uncomfortable questions are asked. Where history does not matter. Where judgement is absent, rather than omnipresent.
Sanctuary in the arms of a friend… who soothes and coaxes the hard edges away… giving permission to explore the wicked and pure, and teaches us to accept love willingly – is an act of selflessness.
Sanctuary is a place of absolution and renewal.
And we emerge with our mystery intact, our carnal instincts sharpened, our inclination for experimentation fully engaged. Prepared to seduce and be seduced. Generate delicious tension… appreciate the tenderness in a lover’s words, caress, and kisses. Appreciate the sweetness in a lover’s voice. The humidity of the air under a harvest moon… the smell of fall and winter combined with the warmth from a lover’s hand or breath… remember to appreciate the tango in your own life.
— Media Lizzy
