words are foreplay for the soul
November 5th, 2012 by me



In the far, far places where

mermaids sing and fishes cry for their mothers

there are no sounds

only the soft slapping of waves


Your heart stills and your breath sighs raggedly

but your feet keep moving, moving

pushing your warm soft pliant body of

stitched-together skin stretched over tangled red-blue pulsing cords

and hard-breathing whitened bone

to find the spot where sky meets earth


You sit and wait

for a sign, a sob, a sweetness

but the roar inside silently deafens

and drowns your fears and ambitions,

grinding past-present-future into a bright purple Now


In the far, far places where

mothers sing softly and ancient stones weep

there are no songs and no stones

except in the stillness of memory

and creation of what-comes-next


This is your time.

This is your time and this driving, harsh road is yours — your child.

This road is your child

and its songs are the songs we sing when we are born and when we die.

This is your time, yours and yours alone and

on this road you walk unencumbered, alight, aloft

until one day wings sprout from aching shoulders and

weary feet rest in cool waters

and you breathe softness and splendor once again


November 3rd, 2012 by me

Why I Have Cancer

I figured it out. It should have been a no-brainer. Why I never suspected that years of self loathing would lead to cancer, I don’t know. But it clearly did.

I hate myself.

I tried to wipe me away by changing my name two years ago, but like a bad penny and a lost puppy, I came back. And all I can do now is imagine I’m jabbing an ice pick into the side of my now-irradiated head because the pain of being me is unforgivable.

Please make it go away. The pain. I would do anything not to feel this anymore.

I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here anymore. There is no place for me and the pain of being me is unbearable. But everywhere I go, there I am, way less of me now than a few months ago, to be sure, but I’m still here and there are no icepicks to save me from drowning in a sea of me.

August 20th, 2012 by me

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover

Something has turned me into a total raving bitch. Does cancer do that? Although I would like to blame [everything] it on cancer, sadly, I believe this is my doing.

Last week one of the people I love most in the world came to visit. And that was right about the time that TB (Total Bitch) showed up. All her fears and anxieties and need to control came out while this awesome person was visiting. I hate that. I hate that my son, this amazing young man, saw me being a bitch, saw me in my fears, saw me struggling to walk across the room because my body is so weak, saw me fighting with the man I adore, saw me doing anything but being the perfect goddess woman I advertised I was going to become. Read the rest of this entry »

August 17th, 2012 by me

Kahuna + Akua = a Grand Love Story

About a year ago, my soulmate and I made special love names for each other. We actually did research on this. We looked at sites filled with love nicknames. We looked at sites filled with names from other countries and other traditions. Finally we found the right names.

Akua = spirit, goddess.

Kahuna = wise man or shaman.

I think we are still claiming the full power of our names. But I look at my soulmate and I see Kahuna, even if he does not see it fully himself.

This is what happened. I got cancer. I thought it healed. It didn’t and came back. Far, far worse. Terminal. And my soulmate, my Kahuna, has determined to make this his grand story. I am his grand story, he says. He has been looking for one, wanting a grand story in his life, and here it is. Kahuna is loving me into life. Read the rest of this entry »

August 13th, 2012 by me


True story. This just happened.

Me: Hi Dad, the doctors say I have less than a year to live.

Dad: I don’t know what to say so I’m sending you a card that says it.

It isn’t very downstream of me to dwell on this stuff, but really? A fucking CARD? Way to phone it in.

Hi, I’m Talyaa and I have Stage 4 cancer that’s not treatable by western medicine. Yay. Yes, this will change my life (ba dum BUM).  I am writing about it here. And my beloved soulmate is writing about it here. Follow me. Write to me. Hire me. This is your story too. It’s about loving and living.

July 26th, 2012 by me

Mrs. Splashy

Yes, I am 5 years old.

Apparently I sometimes like to be exuberant with water. I notice this most when doing the dishes (he is The Chef and I am The Dishwasher, an arrangement that pleases me greatly) and I come away from the sink with the front of my shirt all wet.

I didn’t used to be that way.

Once I lived with a man who was horribly splashy. In hotels, I’d dive into the bathroom first and shower, neatly toweling off before stepping on the bathmat, so I could avoid the Tsunami Aftermath of that man’s showers. I hate stepping on wet floors in socks.

Another man was horribly splashy, but with food. “Look at me!” he’d yell while chopping, “I’m the Swedish Chef!”

“Not when it’s my house,” I’d grumble, knowing I’d be the one to clean up the ankle-deep carrot clippings, onion snarls, and ginger shards.

I hated splashy. Read the rest of this entry »

July 22nd, 2012 by me


I am sad and angry and scared.

There is this situation. It is pretty dire, the down-to-the-wire kind of thing that has major consequences unless some big changes are made and made fast. I wish I could say more but I’m not willing to. (hint: it’s financial)

The problem is my soulmate. He is not the problem. The problem is me. I am not the problem. The problem is that putting attention on fixing the dire situation has meant some radical shifts between us. It’s those shifts that have me feeling so sad and angry and scared.

What do you do when the person you love most in the world pushes you away in all the ways that trigger all your stuff, because his own stuff is triggered from years of not-dealing with the dire situation? He thinks I judge him, so he pushes me away. I feel angry and scared about being pushed away, and judge him for the way he pushes me away (I am not good with angry yelling, and as soulmate says I’d probably wither and die in an Italian family, whereas he’s clearly very Mediterranean slash what they call Black Irish, a formidable combination when it comes to angry yelling compared to the quiet passive-aggression of my Puritanic-Teutonic Celtic-Saxon heritage). More pushing, more judging.

In my world, Angry Yelling + Pushing Away = Not Loving. Read the rest of this entry »

July 18th, 2012 by me


They should offer people a manual. I would read it. I would keep it under my pillow and bring its well-thumbed, hi-lighted pages out from under when I needed it.

Like, when the person you love is hurting and shuts you out of that hurt because it’s the same old song, really — what should you do?

And, when he holds your hand and suddenly you are 13 again and you don’t know what it means — what should you do?

Or, when you are sad and afraid and feeling alone and are faced with demons you welcomed 40 years ago — what should you do?

If I had a manual, I would keep it safe. I would pet it. I think I would tell people about it. But, you know, people don’t really want your answers. They want to find their own way. That’s okay, isn’t it? Everyone is in their own separate bubble world, hundreds of thousands and billions of bubbles gently bumping up against other bubbles, and no one knowing what to do or what to say, but the bubbles muffle the sound slightly so you always feel like you are just talking to yourself, just sending words out into the atmosphere, mute mouths moving and no one ever hearing.

I feel like that sometimes. Read the rest of this entry »

July 14th, 2012 by me



I can see everything from up here.

You would think that three inches doesn’t make much of a difference, but you’re wrong. It makes all the difference.

It starts with corn. Ever been in a cornfield? I always thought the ears were up high, higher than my head, but no. It’s the tassels that are high. The ears grow along the stalk, like cocoons stuck to a pole.

Corn always reminded me of teeth.

But it’s the tassels I am thinking about now. Being up high like this, I can see them for what they are. They’re sex! Come here, they say. Come and get me! I have no idea how corn plants go from tassels to ears, but there you go.

Up here everything is quiet. Read the rest of this entry »

July 12th, 2012 by me


It was about a year ago that the S-word was first used. Back then, it was under influence of a glass of red wine, or two glasses. I knew what was going on and let it unfold. Give it space. Let it breathe. If you are lucky, it will blossom. He needed time to feel that this amazing thing between us is real, that he didn’t just dream up the woman who loves him, and that he and I will be together in years to come, and more years, and more.

It’s hard to remember exactly how it felt a year ago, light-years now, because now is now. Today we sat with laptops, an entire room stretching between us. I wanted to touch him, feel his breath on my neck, taste his mouth. Instead, I looked at him. I looked love into him, as much as I could. He lets me love him this way, lets me love him with as much of me as I can.

This is what love is supposed to be.

I look at him and everything swells up inside, wanting to burst forth. I am overcome. Overjoyed. Abundantly blessed. No one has ever let me love them this much, has ever loved me this much. And every day there is more. Read the rest of this entry »