For those of you that didn’t know, I was married once. He was someone I tried to save from himself, and I lost myself in the process. Still, it’s all been for the best, making me the woman I am.

So, here’s an old poem – from a past I barely recognize:

I fell in love with a con man

He was lying the very day we met


Told me twists and turns of detailed stories, only partial truths or complete bullshit


He’d learned the hard way, of that much there was proof, and so I went along hoping every last word was truth


From behind big blue eyes, he swept me away – what can I say, that con man’s words made me want to play his game


The way he loved me was incredible, made me feel like when he held me he was coming home –


Ecstasy soon turning into a bad trip, a deadly rollar coaster, but I still rode with him –


I fell in love with a criminal, a man who’d done what he thought he had to do, and he’d done it far too many times to realize he could choose –

The lies started to bleed and I began to feed on delirium, insecurity overcoming me making me come unhinged


Something about the way he laughed when he was truly happy, the way his eyes devoured my body and the touch of his hands!


I fell in love with a blue eyed devil, a class act playgirl fantasy

I let him lead me astray, keeping his secrets to this very day, despite his most brazen offenses against me –


I fell in love with a con man, how could I have expected any different?


I couldn’t blame him for his sorted past

Or the hurt little boy who was always staring back


I felt his pain, or at least the parts he wanted me to

I fell in love with a con man, and I always knew –


Yea, somehow I always knew, and I still laid myself bare, daring him to make his move and finally prove that the love he said he for me was as true…


Still, I knew… Still it burned, as his fiery heart consumed – all I had…

Ooh, I was conned by the man I loved – I listened and then got learned…

I thought I knew, thought if I could be bad too he couldn’t hurt me the way that he did…


I gave my innocence to a grand larcenist, ooh I watched as he drank me in and what came back out was stronger, but more putrid too…


Ooh that criminal, I’m that Casanova’s fool –


I learned to love from a con man – he taught me to trust and then how to break it bad…


Don’t you dare

Don’t you entertain –


‘Cause even though I may seem sweet and lovely – I can guarantee that you don’t want to play this game –

I’ve been tainted and mamed 


Ooh oh oh oh – run away

Every thing is indecent, in the right context.

mayryanna

Lately, I’ve been experiencing a crisis of faith. Though my devotion to the Divine and its infinite substratum has only grown, I feel at odds with my ‘self’ in different and new ways all the time. I doubt my faith in my ‘self.’

Yet – not in the way you might suspect.

I have found my ‘self,’ in many ways, on an every accelerating path of growth these past few years and it just seems ‘logical’ that everything is suspect, including and especially me. In what way am I suspect? In what way could I not be? The list of my ‘unknown unknowns’ is endless.

I firmly believe that at any moment, everything and anything can change.

This isn’t based on literature, philosophy, science or any other type of acquired knowledge. I have lived this, over and over again. Everything and anything is always changing, including and especially ‘me.’

So, the crisis of faith ‘I’m’ having? Is the fact that my ‘self’ has been more and more consistent, potent and real as I have become increasingly detached from the outcomes it fears/hopes for. Oddly enough, symptoms include more opportunities, creativity and productivity, decreased stress, heightened awareness and empathy, experiencing endless synchronicities, high desire and capacity to learn and striking decrease in cognitive fear. It’s marvelous.

The trick? Well, I feels I’m just not taking ‘things’ as seriously and having more fun with life – but that’s not the whole story. And that’s the crisis. I finally feel that I am living my life 100% as ‘me’ without overthinking what that’s ‘supposed to mean.’

The pressure is off.

No imitations. No secondary labels. No games. Just good, honest enjoyment of life.

It’s taken years of work for me to be comfortable celebrating my inner child; working through trauma and fear that ran deeper than my memories. I have found ways to heal my wounds and learn from my mistakes. I truly have no regrets.

I have spent my life learning to navigate my gender and sexuality, both as a victim of others expectations as well as my own fears. I have hated my body, I have intentionally hurt myself, I have even attempted suicide. Yet, now I am completely at home in my Divine earthly temple, proud of its sensual essence and honored to care for it entirely.

I have been weak.

I have been tormented.

I have survived.

It feels good to be on the other side of developing these strengths. I look forward to much more pain, hardship and life’s other gloriously Divine blessings.

In these same ways that I have learned to embrace my strengths though, I have not been so well recieved. Someone who challenges their ‘self’ in this world of egomania is challenging the whole of egomania. I’m learning not to take it personally.

Despite my latest poetic video showing less skin that Victoria Secret ads or Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, Facebook denied a boost for it because it violated their so-called standards.

It’s art. It’s supposed to be provocative, and no – you don’t get to censor it just because it makes you uncomfortable.

That’s the point.

I exists mostly, as an artist, to make people second guess themselves. I am here to make you feel primordial energy again in the cold, dead, mechanized and faux world. I’m here to point out the surrealism of our so called ‘reality.’

And so here I am, in crisis. Doubting, not myself, but rather my lack of self. I’m staring blankly into the truth that permeates existence and wondering – wandering – again consumed by wanderlust

Who’s with me?

To be sane in a world of madmen is in itself madness.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau