Life of a Kept Woman

I want to chronicle this particular niche - a woman being well cared for by a man for no other reason than it fulfills them both.

Location: San Francisco Bay Area, California, United States

In 2001, I stopped working and focused on having the most pleasurable and fulfilling life possible. Today, I have succeeded my wildest expectations. A “kept woman” is a woman who is being supported comfortably by a man for reasons having nothing to do with marriage, children, or sex. We are intelligent women, who know there is more to life than proving yet again we can do it just as well as men. We are choosing lives of comfort and service, but only to the extent that it pleases us. The men who support us do so because they see it as their best move for a rich life with a partner who can create a lifestyle based on having the best of what life has to offer for them both. The best is everything from cocktails at sunset to cycling together mid-day to serving the poor.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Letter from Millie

Dear Oceana,

I read the message about your father's death and thought I wanted to send you something. A big meta-package filled with flowers and chocolate and ticket stubs and snapshots, a couple of almost empty wine glasses, 6 belly laughs, foot rub, one bad pun, a beautiful pen and an orchid for your desk - with yellow red dragon tongue petals that smells faintly of sweet adventure and rich wet earth.

You would be cossetted and cajoled and made a small but lovely fuss over. A bicycle ride near the ocean with a basket full of daisies, a warm baguette, non-oaky chardonnay and a wedge of imported cheese. A sparky fire beneath a a startling number of stars with a pumpkin colored cashmere warp and port. A window seat and a cool cool pane of glass, long slow rain, a cup of tea, one perfect cookie and a delicious novel. A good cry, with huge wrenching sobs and much Kleenex - the really soft kind, and after a warm bath, clean flannel pj's and your hair slowly finger -combed until you fell asleep. A kiss on the forehead and a rose for your bedside table.

Until we are together again, I hold these things in my heart for you.

With love, Millie.

Monday, September 26, 2005

A Passage

My father died on Wednesday, September 21, 2005 at 5:23pm est.

I was there. I witnessed the whole the thing.

Our journey began on Thursday 9/15 when his kidneys shut down after a routine procedure to drain the fluid out of his legs. After a detailed explanation of dialysis, he decided that he was done. In fact, he had been saying that his quality of life was no longer fun for a couple of years. He wanted to go to the Bahamas and the Mardi Gra, and then he would be done with this life. He had had lots of adventures - some good, some bad. Mostly, he had wrung everything out of life that he could in a way that was entirely his own invention. He didn't play by rules. He had few regrets. He never missed an opportunity to speak his mind even after several strokes. His doctor told us that once the kidneys shut down, a person can survive for 5-7 days. They transferred him to a hospice center on Friday night. I told him he had to stay alive until Monday. He said, "okay."

I would not leave for Atlanta for another 3 days. Nonetheless, the journey had begun. I purposely told only the people for whom it seemed necessary or suitable. My instincts were to cocoon so I could have the experience as much as I could the way I wanted it. I suspected that upon hearing the news that most people would want to put their energy of contrived compassion and sadness in my space. However, I already felt the pull of a journey inwards to see what there was for me in this poignant life event.

Interestingly enough, I had said to my director at BPI only a few days before that I was really looking forward to the Erasure lectures. I jokingly told her that already someone had tried to sidetrack me with an invitation to a wedding, but I had laughed at the poultry attempt saying that it would take something much more like the death of a family member. Careful what you wish for. The Erasure lectures began the day after I heard the news, and as it turned out it was the perfect place to begin the journey. During my first aura healing, pictures and energy from my relationship with my father poured out of me. The healing and completion had begun. I told one person what was going on and she validated my ability to create such a experience. All during the workshop weekend, I felt his spirit hovering just outside my aura, taking notes. We were already companions.

My brother, his wife, and I left L.A. for Atlanta to be at his bedside on Sunday night. We took the red-eye. We stepped into his physical reality around noon on Monday. He was alert and on oxygen. I would a slight resentment of the sound of that machine over the course of the next 3 days.

The first day, we settled into our roles. My brother, Phil, handled all the logisitics having to do with donating his body to science and closing up his house. His wife, Nikki, was the nurturing support person, deferring all her desires to show-up for her husband and be kind to everyone else. I focused my attention on my father's care and comfort. We each talked to him, said our last piece. We did most of the talking. It was a lot of effort for him to say even a few words. I fell into a pattern of asking yes and no questions to which he could nod a response.

The hospice facility was slightly upscale with a dozen or so private rooms. His room was very pleasant. The TV was on continuously, just the way it would have been if he were home. In the afternoon, we opened the blinds to let the day light in. That seemed to make him happy. The hospice staff was nothing short of extraordinary. Every interaction was an impeccable mixture of deep warmth and pleasantness, professionalism, and respect. I spent long days there and they gave me all the space I needed to have my journey.

One of the first things I noticed about being with someone who is dying is that it is important to ground. They are very much between the worlds and it is easy to want to match them energetically. Also, their space is fragile. It seemed like a relief to him that I was able to maintain my own space and not get too much into his. Fortunately, I had just spent all weekend grounding, so it had become almost second nature. Being grounded also made it easier to deal with the myriad of energies that are involved in the process and still stay connected to your goal. Mine was to stay connected on some level to my father and his process.

Monday night I stayed at his bedside until about 11pm. Just about that time he said the last words he would ever say to me. "I'm 71.", he said. He seemed quite proud of that accomplishment. I acknowledged him for his adventures and generally good life. Later in my own bed at the home of my friends of the Atlanta Morehouse, I was running my energy and felt him watching taking more notes. I explained to him in my meditation how to ground. The next thing I knew we were getting communication from the Supreme Being that grounding was necessary for ending the karma and cutting the chords he had accumulated over his life time. He was shown how to do it expeditiously in no-time, no-space. This time I took notes. One of the many lessons I learned in this process was that it happens as you believe.

That night I had a familiar nightmare where an malevolent energy fills the room nearly paralyzing me with the weight of it. The object is to make it out of the room before I am consumed by it, which I always seem to do. I typically wake up with a foreboding feeling. This time I turned the light on and started reading Emoto's book, "The Messages of Water". I had heard about his work in the film "What the Bleep" and was fascinated by how his perspective and philosophy had changed as a result of his research into the nature of water. His work is based on the notion that water is alive and responds to verbal and visual messages as evidenced by the crystals that are formed when its frozen.

Tuesday I was met in the lobby by the nurse on duty who told me that his condition had changed dramatically over night. He was no longer responding to visual or verbal stimulus. The body of knowledge surrounding the dying process is surprisingly thorough and useful. I had read about the stages a person goes through when they are dying, so I had a good idea what to expect at each step. In any case, I was not surprised. It was clear to me that he was off on the astral doing his completion work. Indeed, when I went into the room, his eyes were vacant behind half-open lids. He was clearly not in the room. Phil and Nikki arrived a couple hours later. We sat together talking for a few hours with my brother mostly coming and going.

My father's body continued it's laborious efforts to pump oxygen and blood through its systems. Nikki and I were both extremely impressed by the body's will to go on relentlessly. The staff turns him about every 4-8 hours depending on the presence of the family. They make every effort to not interrupt family visits. Since we were basically camped out for most of the day and into the night, they would notify us. Their timing was amazing because it was usually about the time we were needing a break from our vigil. When we came back in, Nikki and I noticed that there was a change of expression on his face and his leg had a tremor. We began to wonder if he was in pain. The nurse came in and gave him some morphine and he seemed to relax. We discovered that they don't like to give the patients morphine when the family is around because it puts them to sleep. I told her that he must not be in any pain under any circumstances. I didn't want him to suffer on our behalf, nor did I want him distracted from his process of completing relationships and karma.

I stayed that night until nearly midnight watching TV at his bedside. He did not return to the room. Later in bed, I meditated a bit, and read some more of Emoto. I put my cell phone next to my pillow expecting to be awakened at any time by the good folks at the hospice center to say he had passed in his sleep.

When I woke up the next morning, Wednesday, I was surprised to not have received a call. During my medititation, I began to surmise that he was stauled in his process for some reason. I thought about the message in Emoto's book about how we can change the energy of something by the energy of our intention. I remembered that when Shakti's mother lay dying, they were playing a recording of Gurumayi singing Om Nama Shivaya continuously. Instantly, I knew that what was required was a change in the energy. I resolved to turn off the TV and sing or play upliftng devotional music to him that day. I had swiped a Deva Premal cd from Zoe to bring on the trip and had begun listening to it the night before on the way home. There is a cut on it that Alisha had explained to me the week before was used in sound healing. It's called "Om Namo Bhagavate" which is my favorite chant, and I particularly like her arrangement.

I played it continuously as a I drove to the hospice center. When I went into his room, he looked almost the exactly the way he did when I left the night before. So I turned down the sound on the TV and sat down next to his bed, touched his hand, and began singing Om Namo Bhagavate quietly. Almost immediately, he began returning to his body. His expression changed slightly and he lifted one of his eye brows. We were in communication. I kept singing. It was like a love song to his spirit. I started feeling transported to a higher realm. The love song began to include all there was. I sang specifically to his body-being at one point, and I could feel his body shift in gratitude and release. I was overwhelmed at times by how intimate, lovefilled, and blissful it felt to be in communion with him at this level. After awhile it wasn't just him, I saw 2 spirits, the transition team. They felt good and they seemed impressed and grateful that I had stumbled upon this key. I kept singing to and with him and them. The process had changed perceptibly. I sang a little louder. More spirits arrived, a welcoming committee. The energy was so high and sweet that at times I choked back tears because I knew it was working and it felt so good, so primal, so old, so right. I flashed to an understanding that this is how people get to the other side in the best of all circumstances, someone is singing them along the path. I kept grounding, golden suns, and singing.

I did this for about 15-20 minutes, and then Phil and Nikki arrived. I explained what I was doing and I asked if they had brought any of their contemporary Christian music. They had not, but they knew of a good radio station which I had also been listening to, so we turned that on. My brother continued coming and going while Nikki and I sat and talked. In the new energy, the level of our conversation became intimate and truthful. Through the course of a few hours, we fell inlove with each other. I had a new understanding of their family as well as a growing fondness for her daughter, Brittany, who I was finally willing to publicly acknowledge as my neice, a member of our family. I gained a new family that day.

In the early evening, my brother's restlessness became more than could be contained within the hospice center. He and Nikki announced they were going to the mall for awhile. When they left, I decided it was time to go back to chanting. I turned the radio off and took up residence at his side. But when I opened my mouth, I realized I couldn't remember the tune. So I went out to the car to play the cd for a minute or so to get the tune again. I was anxious to get back in, so I grabbed the cd and went back in.

When I got back to the room, his eyes and mouth were wide open and he was staring at a corner of the ceiling with an expression that resembled awe. More importantly he was perfectly still. Something in my chest caught, fear, "oh no, this is it!" I quickly grounded and started singing as I stood still at his bedside. I didn't think it was quite over, and there should be singing until the end, so I kept singing. He took another breath. He tried to say something. It felt like amazement for what was happening to him. I was back in communion with him. My sense was that he was becoming light. I kept breathing and singing. After a couple minutes, when it seemed that he was out of his body, I went and sat down on the other side of his bed. I needed a chair. I kept singing. In another minute or so his eye lids lowered slightly, and it was over. The upper half of the room was filled with light - his spirit and the others. We did it.

Just as I had the thought to go get someone to confirm death, my favorite of the nurse aides came into the room softly. She brought in the nurse and another nurse aid. I started to call my brother on my cell phone, but when I couldn't get a signal, I lost my ability to keep it together. The tidal wave of tears that had been welling up all day rolled over me.

It was over. We had all risen to the occasion with such grace and in the end it was the deepest most exquisite experience of my life.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Keeper's Perspective

Wanted to bring this out from the archives from 4/2/05. It's a good reminder for me.

About now, many of you are thinking, "What's in it for the guy?" So I sat down with George to answer a few of your questions. If you have others, let me know, and we'll bring him back on the show. And now, here's George, the man who makes this lovely dream of a life possible . . . .

What’s in it for you?

Mostly I have a happy woman, which is pretty rare. And not that fake happy or indifferent. Really happy. It used to be that the best I could do was that the woman in my life was mostly not unhappy. What I found was that after the lovey-dovey phase wore off, it got pretty mediocre, pretty fast.

Do you ever feel like you’re doing all the work?

Sometimes. When you’re with a woman who really wants something, then the “doing” [producing it] is effortless. I used to discount the effect of a woman’s desire on my productivity. However, when I look back at the big things I was able to accomplish with relative ease, it seemed there was woman in my life who really wanted that done. A good recent example is when Oceana wanted to move out of the community in which we were living and into her own house, I was able to buy her a house within a matter of weeks with very little capital.

If you’re going to give her everything she wants, how do you get what you want?

Part of what she wants is for other people to have what they want, which includes me, of course. She wants me to be happy. It’s not much of a complement to have a miserable guy on her arm.

Also, we’re very much a team. Classically, you can have a woman by your side or at your throat. I feel like Oceana is at my back. We have common goals and values that have to do with pleasurable living. My goal is to get everything I want in life. The fastest way to do that is to gratify Oceana. For instance, I have always wanted to have a tandem bicycle. One of our favorite things to do is to spend time outdoors together. We used to hike frequently until it got to be too much of a challenge for Oceana. She told me that cycling was her favorite form of aerobic exercise because it had the least impact on her joints. When I suggested a tandem bicycle, she was very enthusiastic. Now, we ride together frequently, often in beautiful locations. Oceana’s happy and I didn’t just get my tandem; we got a custom built, high-end bike second-hand for a reasonable price from one of the first ads we saw from someone within 10 miles of our house.

One caveat, though, this model of gratifying a woman as a means to happiness for a man only works with someone who knows how to play the game. Believe me, I’ve tried it with women who weren’t players. This isn’t quid pro quo and it’s not a blank check. The expectation is that we have fun, she treats me with respect, and I only do what I want to do.

Friday, August 26, 2005

The Nature of Nice

Not doing too bad with this blog now. Getting a new posting once a month . Funny how hard it is to write about a life that you're enjoying so much. Up until the last 5 years, I mostly used my journals, which I began keeping when I was 12 yo, to mull over the dicey times of my life.

At the end of July, we took a course at Lafayette Morehouse called the Fun of Nice. It was the first new course in over a decade. Cindy taught it with a few of her friends. It really was an incredible course. I can tell it's impact on me because I'm still thinking and talking about it. She described the nature of being nice as the opposite of phoney politeness. It's actually about inserting good into the world with every action and communication.

The capacity to insert good is an inside job initially. It begins with you. You have to feel good about yourself and treat yourself well with respect and care before you can give it to someone else. We've all heard this a million times. However, what I noticed during the course was how much my thoughts generated from low self-esteem tapes in my head prevented me from giving and receiving nice communications and actions. Even more surprising was how righteous I felt about my victim pictures having to do with race. I was saw how I was clinging to these pictures like the one ring in "Lord of the Rings". Even though my story and all my evidence about the very real horror of racism were preventing me from experiencing more goodness and love, I still couldn't let it go. It ruled most every interaction, my "precious" privileged status as a victim of racism. I realized I had missed a significant number of instances when someone was being nice to me or when I could have been nice to somenone else because of this "precious" right I felt I had to be a victim.

Niceness is not for the other person. It's for you. Every time I'm nice to someone, every time I do something good for someone; I get to experience directly as the source. This only works, of course, if I'm doing it from an authentic place. I have to already be standing in a place of feeling good about myself and have a surplus of good feeling to truly insert good into the world. Otherwise, it's just another polite gesture with strings attached or sacrifice of some sort.

To be in a good place requires the capacity to self-reflect, monitoring your thoughts and actions. How much of your thoughts are negative? From where did they originate? What could you do that would be more positive for yourself and then others? This kind of thing takes eternal vigilance as Vic used to say.

This has been the source of my biggest struggle and angst since the course. This seeing where I fall short. Worse, having George point out where I fell short because I was too blinded by my familiarity with meanness to see it for myself. Cindy said that while there is a continuum; basicially, if it isn't nice, it's mean. No one likes to think of themselves as mean. She said, it is a rare person who sets out to deliberately cause someone harm. Mostly people are mean by being unconscious of their negative impact on someone else; their unwillingness to deliberately pay attention to the person and do/say something nice to them. Occasionally, people are mean because they believe some right of theirs has been violated also. Brian said in the course, "It's the second bad that always sinks you."

Between noticing my own shortcomings and failure of others to treat me or anyone else with care and consideration, I have been in a general grumpy state since the course. Of course, I have made attempts to be more aware and be nicer to people. It's definitely a process. I notice that the closer the person is to me, the harder it is to be nice. It appears that expectations and rights are proportionate obstacles in the path. Cindy recognizes this from her own experience and admonished us all to start with the intention to be nice and not beat up on ourselves when we missed the mark [the second bad]. Instead trace down where you went wrong, learn, recall your intention, and keep going.

Intention. Eternal vigilance. Don't beat up on yourself. Be good to yourself. Keep going.

She says eventually it will become your nature. Everyone agrees she is living proof. So what is there to lose.

Friday, July 29, 2005


In May, I decided that I wanted to reclaim one of our downstairs bedrooms and bring in a live-in housekeeper. It seemed like one of those nearly impossible visions at the time. No one in my circle of friends had done it. Zoe thought it was a great idea, but I could tell she was a little skeptical since she didn't really have a picture for it. As for me, I had an intense desire to not be tied to the house and our care and feeding. I wanted to spend more time pursuing my clairvoyant program but I didn't want our lifestyle to suffer because of it.

Just like all visions I've had in the past, I just started talking about it to people who I thought could understand it and contribute some of their ideas and imagination. The idea slowly began taking shape. Careful to keep it safe from naysayers, it grew quietly in our minds.

In June, I decided to focus on my space of havingness, to take it up a notch, to create a space in which miracles could occur. I began with my first chakra and almost immediately my lower back blew out. Excruciating pain insued and for weeks, I could only comfortably stand or lay down. Sitting for more than a few minutes was cause for crushing muscle spasms. For a couple weeks, I looked and felt like hell. Nonetheless, I kept working the energy. I never stopped meditating. Even as I lay on my bed trying not to move, I knew it was just part of the journey.

Around week 3 , the clouds began to part. George was offered a large bonus from his employer and a regular monthly salary. It was such a generous surprise that we had to leave our home for a couple hours just to take it all in. My mother also sent me a large check for my birthday. I had made a birthday want list in the beginning of June, and suddenly it started to look like I could actually have the things on it. In the meantime, I had begun advertising for a housekeeper. I envisioned this as a role in our household where someone would clean and cook dinner for us Monday through Friday along with a few other occasional activities like party prep and clean-up. In exchange, they would receive free room and some board and our attention on them having a good life.

By the fourth week, I was celebrating my birthday in grand style - spa days, pedicure parties, a surprise birthday cake and celebration at Cabro, and cocktails and dancing at the Top of the Mark in SF. It was a whirlwind to behold. The best part about it was that it became the asigned author for so many of my friends to treat themselves to special adventures as well.

Momentum was definitely building. My back was still shakey with occasional pasms at the end of the day. In the following week, we made an offer to a young 20 year old massage student, named Alisha, to fill our housekeeping position which she happily accepted. One of the conditions was for her to take Basic Sensuality which she also happily accepted. It turned out to be a stroke of brilliance because not only was she able to get instructed in the basic tenets of our lifestyle, she also really enjoyed the class and the people of the Morehouse community. I also had a freak accident in our office at the beginning of this week. No less than 4 ribs were dislocated. Because our normal chiropractor was out of town, I had to go find a new one who turned out to be the answer to our quest to find a new chiropractor.

In the 6th week, after waiting for over 4 months we finally got to go to the UC Davis sport medicine clinic to get a bike fitting for our tandem. It was an awesome experience. They spent over 3 hours with us doing peddling analysis, going over a fitness regime, and adjusting our bike and shoes. George even got to have his knee examined by a sport physician. It was an incredible experience, worth every penny. Also by this time it was becoming clear that we had really scored with Alisha. Not only was she making was phenomenally good meals, she was also a complete treat to have around.

When I look back over everything that happened over the 6 week period, it's wonderous. I had an intention and I cleared out space quickly, though sometimes painfully, to have it. I learned that sometimes it's not enough to just say you want something, you have to intend to have it. Also, what came to me almost always exceeded my expectations. Today, my back is nearly back to normal, thanks to our new chiro. We're getting regular paychecks again for the first time in a year, and I'm just starting to think . . . what next ;-) .

Friday, May 13, 2005

The Beginning of Lived Epiphany

Something has been lifted. One of many veils between me and the world. I can touch, see, feel people - strangers and friends. I can look in their eyes and see them. What a surprise to also find there; myself, my humanity. The fear is gone, that feeling that I might get something on me, that I might see something other than my perfect picture of myself. Yesterday was a complete joy.

From within my own space, I say hello energetically, and the rest follows. Our eyes meet and I smile. Looking to see who they are, what would serve them, I put a dollar into their hand, we hand Zoe the bag of treats for her hospitalized daughter. There's no guilt, no ought to. No sense of loss.

I think I must have had a sense of entitled distance. Stories from my childhood, about how kids made fun of me because I was racially different from them, and how there must be something wrong with me because no one wants to play with me, ejected from my friend's house because my mother wasn't home from work yet. Pieces of my humanity broken off to form shields and reinforced by familial patterns of emotional isolation. While I was busy working on protecting myself from more imagined slights and indignities, I had no idea that I could impact other people. Sure, I went through the motions, it is part of my persona to do so. However to reach out from the inside because it seems like the thing to do, to know myself through someone else, to comfort because it brings comfort into my world; that's what's new.

Will this be temporary? Probably, but I hope not.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005


A couple days ago, I was talking to George in our kitchen. He was trying to pull me out of my funk. As a clairvoyant student, you go through these "growth periods" as your physicality catches up with the huge changes in your psyche, that result from when you clear out emotional, spiritual, and physical debri. I sat there watching him, with a slight detachment, churn through his usual litany of stuff to make me feel better - "we just have to do this . . . or do that . . . or try this . . . ". In the middle of it, he said something surprisingly true. "For reasons that escape me, people [that we've met recently] don't seem to like us."

Before I knew it, these were rolling out of my mouth, "People don't like us because we're arrogant snobs who don't care anything about them."

This truth has been knocking around inside of me every since.

JFK said, "For of those to whom much is given, much is required." We have been holding ourselves a little apart and a lot superior because we believe our training and experience with sensuality and relationships makes us better somehow. We built a grand fairy castle that almost no one can enter, and we have been unable to escape. Instead of generously sharing with respect and caring, and allowing ourselves to be enriched by the people we come across; we come across like we have the answers and are disdainful of others who think their answers are as good or better than ours. It is the height of petty small-minded insecurity.

" . . . much is required." I've been reading Queen Noor's autobiography. George dismissed her for having anything worthy to say given her life of privilege. As I read her story, though, all I'm getting is her incredible life of service and her singular desire to use the resources at her disposal to create a world of peace. Perhaps this has also added to my funk, the discrepancy between what motivates me versus what motivates her. I want to be a better person. I want to use my resources to make someone's life better. I want people to have a reason to feel even better about themselves while in our presence. I want everyone who comes in contact with us to know they are fine just the way they are.

When I was in graduate school and in the midst of deep personal transformation and poverty, I had a quote on the wall next to my PC that said, "You're doing fine. Keep going." It never failed to warm me because it declared that no matter what was going on in that moment, it was perfect; that no matter how badly I thought I was screwing up, I was doing the best I knew how to do in that moment; and for that matter, so was everyone else.