A Spoken Word by Erin Flowers circa 2003
Yesterday I was a brunette, today I’m a blonde. I have so much to report I think it deserves a song. Yesterday I waited on the corner for a taxi and no one seemed to care, today cars are coming to a screeching halt, men are honking and screaming out their window’s… all because of my hair? Yesterday I walked into a bar and no one even looked, today I try to sneak by to get to the bathroom and heads whip around, eyes beam out, “Mama you cook!”. “I just need to go pee. I’m not even trying to get you to see me and you’re tripping all over yourselves to say hello?!” I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I didn’t know blondes got so much attention, created so much tension, I really think this is worth a mention.
Yesterday I went to work just to give a massage, today my client is suggesting him, his wife and I have a manage. Yesterday he didn’t even notice – I exist, today I’m more than he can resist. Mid-way through he’s through, “Can you just go. I can’t concentrate, it’s frustrate- ting me, this new blonde “you” is more than I can take, unless I can take you, have my cake and eat YOU too, so just leave, I need a reprieve, I wasn’t prepared for this blonde feeling it’s making me want asexual healing and I know that’s not what you’re dealing in so leave while you can, cause I am a man, and I’m Losing control of my hand, this blonde is more than I can withstand.”
Yesterday another massage client treated me like a mouse in a corner, today he’s a“horny-horner”. Before I was not seen nor heard, there was barely a word between us. But today the blonde bus rolled in and he began to cover his skin… Under wear where flesh had been on open display, I actually wondered before if this guy was gay, his interactions were so asexual and shut down, but now it seems he needs his tiddy-whities to keep his johnson down. For weeks this became routine, a raging hard on under his respectful and clean underwear which I deemed a touch of class until his new “blonde” feelings pass. But no, helmet it all go, off came the underwear and now there’s nothing between him and me but a sheet, what a feat this blonde can muster. This buster’s erection makes me wonder if I need protection and what the real connection is of these He’s, Him’s and His’. His, His,History shows, maybe there’s something to learn – to knows from the women before who went to the shop orthe store for a bottle of blonde, Madonna, MarilynMonroe, Bridget Bardot…How far back does it go?This obsession with Light equating with sexual delight?
Like Pavlov’s dogs, men salivate without real cause, without real feeling, what can be real about this, why should you want to kiss me more now and how is it you’re so programed to chase someone who’s face is covered with blonde and not black or brown? Not very profound. Yet the attention is fun. It doesn’t seem to matter that it’s silly that something so superficial canmake a heart piter-patter and head chatter with desire.” The woman in Red, the blonde who caught your eye and now you’re dead…” Distraction, reaction, attraction,satisfaction, satisfaction… Satisfaction comes from knowing who I am, that I am more than a clucking hen and then and now I am free, free to be me as a blonde,brunette, red head, whatever I want to be, it’s all me, more than what you see and knowing this inside sets me free, let’s me be, let’s me see, the silliness of this game all around me. In and out, in and out, I go, a constant flow of attachment and detachment, identification and relaxation. I just am, I just be and then I think I see a “you” and that that “you” sees me and calls out my name and like I just woke up from a dream, I seem to be who that “you” thinks I am and then I remember,”I just am, I just am.”
But all day long, again and again, in and out of this state – a clean slate of Seeing, of Being on ‘observate’ and then, wham-bam, thank you, Mam, dam I forgot who I am, I become“the blonde”, the song that you sing, the thing you think you see, not me, not I, I die, I lie, I try to be instead of be.
I am what you see instead of That which Sees and I Get lost in the seas of my mind until time seizes my heart with some part of Truth and, poof, like magic I am the Seer again, I am resting in the den of my heart back to my start, free to be, the real me, the One who Sees. Not the blonde, not the woman, not anyone or anything in particular, not funny, fun, pretty or peculiar, just the Eyes wearing this disguise playing this part of this woman who’s now blonde, going on with this life kinda like James Bond, a secret agent, a spy, pretending to be who you see but really just being a pair of eyes of a force bigger than anyone or anything. The force that brings life and Light and breath to all things.
And who knows, maybe that’s why, all these guys are drawn to the hair, maybe it’s the Light inside of them that they’re subconsciously aware of and project onto me, their blonde deity – archetype, type, hype-raising, hair raising force, a tantalizing embodiment of Source, just following the Course set out from within, beneath her skin, a beacon for men to fall in to themselves for their spiritual health, what a wonderful thought that we are being sought only for others to see themselves. That we are being sought only for others to see themselves. Puts my cells at rest for the best is yet to come, to know, to feel, to really live as the Truth that we are all one. We are all One. Know this, know That, and you won’t have to die or dye your hair blonde, to have more fun.