Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory


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~Reality~

I’ve been asked a few times if my little poly network knows that I blog about myself, about my relationships, and about them. I’ve been asked if it affects my writing, if my important people do read what I write.

The answer is yes. They know. And yes, it affects what and how much I share.

I’ve actually debated starting a completely anonymous blog, so that I can put more out there, but I can’t realistically maintain two blogs, and I love this one like a favorite cousin.

I write about me and my perspective. I try to respect my others, and remember that they didn’t really consent to being characters on my Poly Nirvana stage. A few months ago, an acquaintance at our local non-monogamy discussion group, asked CC’s boyfriend, MSquared, how it felt to be famous because he’d made it into the blog that week. (I’m pretty sure MSquared was not impressed by this overblown tidbit.) However, it left an impression on me, and I try to tread lightly. You will not hear me talk extensively about my metamour, CC. I know it would make her uncomfortable.

If I had it to do over again, I might start my blog and keep it absolutely anonymous. Then again, Poly Nirvana has become such an experience and a joy for me, that I’m not sure I’d want to have to keep it a secret, and not share it with my people.

Really, I have no advice as to what others should do when contemplating putting their writing out into cyberspace. It’s a pretty personal decision. For me, it is what it is, and I’m pretty happy with my real life peeps knowing that I write here. It comes back to bite me on the ass from time to time, but I can deal. I’m a big girl.


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~Grateful~

If you blog about poly, you are an activist.

Some of you know this already. Some of you are thinking, “I’m just writing about my life. I’m not an activist. Why would anyone want to be an activist?”

I don’t know if anyone wakes up one morning and decides to be an activist. I don’t know if anyone says to themselves, “Self, I want to be a poly activist and the best way for me to do that, is to start a blog. Yes!”

Here’s the thing. There’s a huge poly community spread across the world, and yet, in my face-to-face life, I interact with few, truly polyamorous people. I have very few examples of successful, healthy, honest, long-term non-monogamous relationships. I felt weird, and alone, for a long time.

Then I started blogging.

People found me. All of a sudden I was aware of this network of people who were trying to do good poly. I saw kind and thoughtful people who were seeking out others, and who were becoming stronger in their convictions about love and life, as they learned and explored. I made contacts with ethically non-monogamous people all over the place. I began to feel a sense of community.

I didn’t feel weird anymore.

And that’s activism. That’s what all you badass Bloggers have done for me. I read what you write, and I nod my head as I read. I get it. I feel it.

I see you.


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~Listen~

“Stop inviting walls into wide open spaces.”

I saw Buddy Wakefield a few years ago, in a tiny dive bar in downtown Boise. He was too large for the shabby venue, and there was so much awesome in his words that I’m sure the dozen or so people in the audience may have missed it entirely while drinking cheap beer and weak drinks.

I always come back to “The Information Man”, as it about as perfect as can be in giving me blissful ideas and beautiful words. If you don’t like it, that’s okay. Because I will love it enough for both of us.


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~Sunday~

I’m trying something new. I’ve set a timer for fifteen minutes and I will write until it goes off and it will be posted. I find that I am very much a perfectionist with what I write, not that it’s bad to care about content and form, but it’s keeping me from posting. 12 minutes and 53 seconds left…

Today I am heading over to my local “Poly Meet and Greet”, or Poly Munch, or whatever you want to call it, which I organize. To tell you the truth, I am frustrated and a little burned out. I live in an area that is very conservative, but still I think that there are more polyamorous people out there that I’m just not finding. I advertise it on Fetlife, as well as a local Google group. I don’t know exactly what else to do… Maybe an ad somewhere? Don’t get me wrong, it’s always good to socialize with the people I know, but I would love for this serve as an outreach kind of event. I may need to get some help with it, another person to be in charge of it with me might help. It’s not a tremendous burden, it’s just the publicizing and the feeling of responsibility that I’d like to dilute a little.

This week will be my birthday. For the first time, I’m feeling my age. This could be the extra stress I’ve had lately…or I could just be truly getting old. I’m grateful that I’m not a grandmother. Yet. Special Man and I are spending next weekend together, and I’m really looking forward to that. It gives us plenty of time for both having fun and being quiet. This past Friday he was able to stay overnight, and he was so tired that he fell asleep very, very early. I crocheted and watched Arrested Development while he slept next to me. It was comfortable. But I did miss being engaged and talking. And other things.

There’s the timer. Happy Sunday, friends.


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~Write~

About a month ago, I was referred to on another website as a “blogger”.  Oh pish posh, I thought, I’m not a Blogger.  That sounds kind of serious, like some kind of commitment to have something to say, all the time…  I’m just fooling around a little…

And then, a few days later, it hit me.  Holy fuck. I’m a writer.   

Every day I write.  I can’t stop.  I wake up in the middle of the night composing sentences, and I speak these sentences in my head, as I lay in bed, staring into the dark.  I have a voice, and I have a hundred stories to tell.  Sometimes I think if I can’t write, I will implode.  These stories and sentences will become heavy and dark as they melt together into a mass of tangled words that will never come out.

When I sit down to write, I go into my head and pull out one of these sentences.  I watch, as it appears in front of me, like a magic trick that only I know.  I choose the words, the rhythm, the flow.  My power is in words, and these words are gloriously mine.

When I was a young girl, there were things I knew, without ever being told.  I knew that there was so much more to me than anyone thought. I stayed quiet and good in the world, even as I was screaming in my head that I had something to say.  I knew I had a voice, hidden underneath all of the rules and restrictions and expectations of a false perfection that had been assigned to me.

Today is my declaration of intention.  I’m a writer.  And writers write.  I’m not afraid of it any more.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”   ~Ernest Hemingway