This is the Last Time

Wow, that was a big weekend!

I had dreams/nightmares galore, along with a breakthrough in the writing of my book, which I am now sure is a memoir.

Going into the weekend, I had started it about 20 different times, so the workshop I signed up for was called "Great Beginnings." I also signed up to work one on one with a published author on a critique of a manuscript that I submitted ahead of time, and out of both experiences came an understanding of where my book needs to begin: with a scene from my childhood.

On Saturday night, I wrote that scene, and on Sunday in workshop, I shared it to a group of kind, compassionate, and helpful writers who helped me understand better how to convey what I want and need to convey.

Tonight, I revised the scene based on their feedback, and now I feel like I have a path forward for my book.

While writing today, I heard this song, and it seemed appropriate to mark this day, as I am hoping this is the last time I will write the beginning of my memoir:

This is the last time
That I will say these words
I remember the first time
The first of many lies
Sweep it into the corner
Or hide it under the bed
Say these things, they go away
But they never do

Something I wasn't sure of
But I was in the middle of
Something I forget now
But I've seen too little of

The last time
You fall on me for anything you like
Your one last line
You fall on me for anything you like
And years make everything alright
You fall on me for anything you like
And I, no, I don't mind

This is the last time
That I will show my face
One last tender lie and
Then I'm out of this place
Tread it into the carpet
Or hide it under the stairs
You say that some things never die
Well, I tried and I tried

Something I wasn't sure of
But I was in the middle of
Something I forget now
But I've seen too little of

The last time
You fall on me for anything you like
Your one last line
You fall on me for anything you like
And years make everything alright
You fall on me for anything you like
And I, no, I don't mind

The last time
You fall on me for anything you like
Your one last line
You fall on me for anything you like
And years make everything alright
You fall on me for anything you like
And I, no, I don't mind

Rocketman

Oh Elton. I had no idea your life was so painful. I'm so sorry.

It's crazy to me how many artists have families who are horribly unsupportive. It was hard to watch: the nasty parents, the drug and alcohol abuse, and I could tell it was hard for my man to watch too.

It was also beautiful. Kinda like life in general.

Here's just one of the beautiful songs from this beautiful movie about this beautiful man:

She packed my bags last night, pre-flight
Zero hour: 9:00 a.m
And I'm gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the Earth so much, I miss my life
It's lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Oh no, no, no
I'm a rocket man
Rocket man
Burning out his fuse up here alone

Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact, it's cold as hell
And there's no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science I don't understand
It's just my job five days a week
A rocket man
A rocket man

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Oh no, no, no
I'm a rocket man
Rocket man
Burning out his fuse up here alone

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Oh no, no, no
I'm a rocket man
Rocket man
Burning out his fuse up here alone

And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time

It was a long, long time, according to the movie, until Elton was truly loved, but he got there, and the rest of us can too...

Brain Damage

Today I went to an amazing talk about inherent bias that made way more sense than any other way I've heard it explained. If you haven't seen this video of the guy who tries to learn how to ride a bike that is engineered to have steering that is opposite from normal -- it's totally worth checking out.

It illustrates how our brains become wired one way and gaining knowledge that a different action will be needed is NOT enough to change behavior. Instead, we have to mindfully choose, each time, a different path, and even then, sometimes have to practice it over and over again before we manage the new way of doing something.

Those of us who've been through developmental trauma in our lives, like my friend Marshall Mathers, have to learn to override those early messages and it can be a painstaking process:

Brain damage, ever since the day I was born
Drugs, what they used to say I was on
They say I never knew which way I was goin'
But everywhere I go they keep playin' my song

Brain damage, ever since the day I was born
Drugs, what they used to say I was on
They say I never knew which way I was goin'
But everywhere I go they keep playin' my song
Brain damage

Way before my baby daughter Hailey,
I was harassed daily by this fat kid named D'Angelo Bailey.
An eighth grader who acted obnoxious, 'cause his father boxes,
So everyday he'd shove me in the lockers.
One day he came in the bathroom while I was pissin',
And had me in the position to beat me into submission.
He banged my head against the urinal 'til he broke my nose,
Soaked my clothes in blood, grabbed me and choked my throat.
I tried to plead and tell him, "We shouldn't beef"
But he just wouldn't leave, he kept chokin' me and I couldn't breathe.
He looked at me and said, "You gonna die honky!"
The principal walked in and started helping him stomp me.
I made them think they beat me to death,
Holdin' my breath for like five minutes before they finally left.
Then I got up and ran to the janitor's storage booth.
Kicked the door hinge loose and ripped out the four inch screws.
Grabbed some sharp objects, brooms, and foreign tools.
"This is for every time you took my orange juice,
Or stole my seat in the lunchroom and drank my chocolate milk.
Every time you tipped my tray and it dropped and spilt.
I'm gettin' you back bully! Now once and for good.
I cocked the broomstick back and swung hard as I could,
And beat him over the head with it 'til I broke the wood.
Knocked him down, stood on his chest with one foot.
Made it home later that same day.
Started reading the comics, and suddenly everything became gray.
I couldn't even see what I was trying to read.
I went deaf, and my left ear started to bleed.
My mother started screamin', "What are you on, drugs??
Look at you, you're gettin' blood all over my rug!" (Stop!)
She beat me over the head with the remote control,
Opened a hole and my whole brain fell out of my skull.
I picked it up and screamed, "Look bitch, what have you done?"
"Oh my God, I'm sorry son" "Shut up you cunt!"
I said, "Fuck it!" took it and stuck it back up in my head,
Then I sewed it shut and put a couple of screws in my neck.

Brain damage, ever since the day I was born
Drugs, what they used to say I was on
They say I never knew which way I was goin'
But everywhere I go they keep playin' my song

I admire Eminem for rapping his way to a different place in life, and I'm grateful every single day for the opportunity to rewire my neural pathways. It may take most of my life to do it, and I am determined to both do it for myself and write about it so that others might have a guide on the journey to wholeness...

Hello Stranger

I went to see Moonlight tonight at Sundance. I didn't know much about it, but I knew I needed to see it.

I wasn't wrong. As I watched this tale of a young boy growing up with a crackhead mother, and watched it get revealed that she had sexually abused him, and watched what that did to him -- the distance it created for him physically and emotionally from himself and others -- I saw the parallels to my own life. We didn't grow up in the same socioeconomic classes, which basically meant that there was much more cover for my parents than there was for his mother. People knew she was mistreating him. He didn't act like everything was great. But the repercussions were similar.

I also thought how, if my parents watched this movie, they wouldn't see the parallels. They would see something completely different from what they believe my childhood was like.

And when I watched as, once the young boy got older, he moved away from his mother, and then came to visit her at the rehab center which had become her home and place of work. When his mama saw him, she said the things that my parents haven't said and probably will never say:

"I done fucked it up. I done fucked it all up. I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I didn't protect you. I didn't treat you right. I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."

Even more than that, she left space for her son to feel however he wanted to feel toward her:

"You don't have to forgive me. You don't have to love me. You don't have to keep visiting me. But you have to know that I love you, and I'm so very sorry I wasn't a better mama."

I sat in the theatre, watching that, and cried, knowing I am doing what I need to do for myself right now, knowing that I've always done that, and that my parents are doing and have always done the same thing. The two pictures just don't add up like they did in the movie.

There was one man who could break through the lead character's walls, and the scene when he is reunited with him is so beautiful!

This was the song playing in the background:

(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop)
Hello stranger
(Ooh) It seems so good to see you back again
How long has it been?
(Ooh it seems like a mighty long time)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Ooh) It seems like a mighty long time

Ohh, I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm so glad
(Ooh) You stopped by to say hello to me
Remember that's the way it used to be
Ooh, it seems like a mighty long time
Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby
Ooh, it seems like a mighty long time
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) Ohh..
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) Ahh yes I'm so glad
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) You're here again
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
Ohh, If you're not gonna stay
(Ooh) Please don't tease me
Like you did before
Because I still love you so
(Ooh) Although
It seems like a mightly long time
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Ooh) It seems like a mighty long time
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) Ohh,
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) Ohh my my my my
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) I'm so happy
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) That you're here at last
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby)
(Shoo-Bop Shoo-Bop, my baby) Ohh...

And I felt a surge of gratitude for the man who managed to break down a lot of my walls, and after what seems like a mighty long time, is here again (or at least he was, and will be again soon)...

Separate Lives

This song started playing on the inner jukebox yesterday while I was working in the kitchen:

You called me from the room in your hotel
All full of romance for someone that you met
And telling me how sorry you were, leaving so soon
And that you miss me sometimes when you're alone in your room
Do I feel lonely too?

Specifically, the lyrics that came to me, which I then sang loudly and cried, were these:

You have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind
We can't go on just holding on to time
Now that we're living separate lives

It feels a little ironic that although I lived a life separate from the love of my life for 2 1/2-3 1/2 years -- depending on how you count it -- I never used this song during that time to mark a single one of those days. Especially since I used to belt this number out about romantic relationships on a pretty routine basis in high school and college.

When it came to me yesterday, though, it was all about my parents:

Well I held on to let you go
And if you lost your love for me, well you never let it show
There was no way to compromise
So now we're living (living)
Separate lives

Ooh, it's so typical, love leads to isolation
So you build that wall (build that wall)
Yes, you build that wall (build that wall)
And you make it stronger

Well you have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind
Some day I might (I might) find myself looking in your eyes
But for now, we'll go on living separate lives
Yes for now, we'll go on living separate lives
Separate lives

Yes for now, we will go on living separate lives, because it feels true in my heart that unless/until they  are willing to be real about what transpired and REALLY know how I feel, they have no right to ask...

Tonight I Wanna Cry

I guess it's not surprising that I woke up early this morning, triggered, but damnit, I wish all that trauma would just leave me in peace.

Of course, I know better than that. I know how it works. I know that in order to let something go, you first have to feel it, and it doesn't really matter how long ago something occurred, it'll stay in the body until it's felt and released.

Yesterday I got to go to PJ's yoga shala, which was a real treat. PJ is the best kind of teacher: He is a dedicated practitioner, he is faithfully passing on the teachings he has been given, he is loving, and he has a sense of humor.

He looked at me when I was in baddha konasana (seated with the soles of my feet together), and said: "I don't even know what to do with you in that pose! I don't even know where to start."

The old me would've felt shame and humiliation upon hearing that. I would've likely cried, maybe even have needed to leave the room for fear of being seen feeling so exposed. Because the old me, the one that had been traumatized but not yet experienced healing, would've assumed a bunch of things upon hearing that that were neither intended nor true:

1) There is something wrong with me because I can't do this right;
2) It's my fault that I can't do this right;
3)  I should be able to do this right;
4) This is just one more example of my less-thanness (yes, I made up that term)

Instead, yesterday when PJ said this, I laughed and told him I was pretty sure he could figure something out.

"Ok" he said, "I'll try!"

And try he did. He didn't get me very far into it, and my body wouldn't really cooperate with what he tried to encourage it to do.

Even a year or two ago, I might've felt frustrated in that moment, even if I were past feeling humiliated. But I didn't. I just silently acknowledged that my body has a good reason for holding on in my hips and inner thighs, and it's not quite ready to let go there. It will. When it's ready.

When I was out in Berkeley working with Peter Sanson, another amazing Ashtanga teacher, he noted the same tightness in my hips: "Why are you holding? So long holding!" And reminded me that a physical blockage like that is always accompanied by an emotional blockage.

Yep. I am aware.

At lunch at the end of the Berkeley retreat, I sat with a woman who told me that her hips and inner thighs also resisted the opening in baddha konasana, and then she left her husband, and almost immediately she could touch her knees and chest to the ground.

Not so for me -- mine goes back further -- is deeper than a marital wound.

Yesterday I recounted all this for my boyfriend, telling him that I thought when he comes back, I'll be able to work through this.

It won't be fun, for either of us, but that's just one of the many ways we are good together. Since early on, we've been able to help each other heal from our traumas.

Awake early this morning with that "something old" feeling (which is one way I refer to being triggered -- I can tell in my body when it is stirred up by something old), I pulled the picture of my four-year-old self that I keep on my bedside table into bed with me. And then I thought about my boyfriend, because I find him comforting.

What came up was a moment in our conversation yesterday where he said a couple of things I didn't understand, so I asked him to explain. He did so, lovingly, and the moment passed. This morning, as I recalled it, I could feel the heat of shame in my nostrils -- do you know that feeling? It's unmistakable for me.

I knew that it wasn't about him, or even me, in the present day. It was an old feeling, that originated with a man who was also very important to me but nowhere near as conscious or as loving, and I was nowhere near as whole: My father.

I let myself feel it: the shortness of breath, the heat. And then it passed. And I gave thanks that I feel safe enough in my relationship, that my body feels aafe enough, to allow for release. I know this will continue when he is here all the time, and that eventually, whatever's in those hips will feel safe enough to release too.

I googled songs about feeling humiliated for this post, and came up with this number from Keith Urban that kinda fit:

Alone in this house again tonight
I got the TV on, the sound turned down and a bottle of wine
There's pictures of you and I on the walls around me
The way that it was and could have been surrounds me
I'll never get over you walkin' away

I've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show
And I thought that bein' strong meant never losin' your self-control
But I'm just drunk enough to let go of my pain
To hell with my pride, let it fall like rain
From my eyes
Tonight I wanna cry

My father has never been the kind to let his feelings show, I'm pretty sure he had the same thought about never losing self control, and he certainly drank like crazy for years in an attempt to not feel the pain of his own developmental trauma.

Instead, he passed it on to me.

And now I'm saying no thanks, Dad. That's not mine. And I'm doing my best to feel what is mine, and let go of anything that no longer fits or serves me...

The Unforgiven

It's not that I don't forgive my parents, or that I couldn't, it's that they haven't asked for forgiveness. They haven't acknowledged the role that each of them played, or the ways in which they couldn't see me or protect me as a child. Then again, they still can't see me, which is I'm sure part and parcel of why they haven't asked for forgiveness.

I heard this song on the radio this morning on the way home from practice:

New blood joins this earth,
And quickly he's subdued.
Through constant pained disgrace
The young boy learns their rules.

Yep, and so did this young girl...

With time the child draws in.
This whipping boy done wrong.
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on he's known
A vow unto his own,
That never from this day
His will they'll take away.

It's true. I see this in myself and I see this in my boyfriend. This part of us that our parents couldn't destroy:

What I've felt,
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown.
Never be.
Never see.
Won't see what might have been.

I went through a long stage where I wished it was otherwise -- all of it -- but now I'm not concerned with what might have been. I'm concerned with what was, and what is:

What I've felt,
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown.
Never free.
Never me.
So I dub thee unforgiven.

It took a lot -- a whole hell of a lot -- for me to find the freedom in my body that I enjoy today. I didn't have that freedom as a child, or as a young woman. It's a lot to forgive, but I know I'm good for it. If they would only ask...

What Child is This?

Jesus as Yogi - He was a seeker, just like me

What a busy day this Christmas Eve turned out to be!

It started with a huge community yoga class at Perennial, which was really beautiful, and then I moved on to a little cross country skiing action in one of my favorite Madison Parks. The feeling of being underneath giant treetops is so comforting to me, and it was a beautiful morning for it.

When I got home, I had just enough time to get to Wholefoods for some nourishment for myself today and my kids tomorrow, before being picked up for church by my friend and her kids.

We went to the church with the Priest for whom I used to babysit -- and she does an amazing job with kids.

Feeling held by the canopy of giant snowy trees

For me, even though the church is super different from the one I went to as a kid, being there always evokes emotion for me, especially when singing hymns.

This is one of the hymns we sang today -- and it was also in the playlist at my yoga class -- so it feels like the perfect song to mark this day:

What child is this, who, laid to rest,
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring Him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and donkeys are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.
Nails, spears shall pierce him through,
the cross he bore for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,

My friend and her two beautiful daughters at St. Dunstan's

the Babe, the Son of Mary.

Here comes my favorite line, the one that has been on repeat for me all day:

So bring him incense, gold, and myrrh,
Come, peasant, king, to own him.
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone him.
Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The babe, the Son of Mary.

The king of king salvation brings. I reckon I kept repeating it because I hoped it was true -- salvation for me, for my father, for my mother. Some of the tears I felt as I tried to sing were for my mother, whom I know is hamstrung by what my father is unwilling or unable to deal with. Of course, if she were better able to hold it than she is, it might be different for my Dad too. Who knows? The only thing I know is that I have to stay true to myself, even if I don't know yet what that will mean for the rest of my family.

For now, it feels like enough to be thankful for this beautiful, full day, and these majestic, reassuring hymns:

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring Him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary.

Dancing On My Own

Last night I got to have a nice, long conversation with my boyfriend, filled with all the things I want out of a conversation with a boyfriend: comfort, joy, awareness, presence, understanding, brilliance, compassion, humor and of course, sexual chemistry across the miles.

Yep, we've got it all. And one of the things we talked about tonight was that I knew that, and part of me even knew that one day he'd be back.

I hoped. I hoped like hell. But I also tried to let go. And I managed to make room for the possibility that everything I knew in my heart and in my bones was wrong, but it was difficult to give that possibility much credence.

I didn't try very hard to find someone else, mostly because it felt disingenuous -- I didn't want anyone else. But every once in a while I'd pray that if I needed to be steered in another direction, I would be. And if that happened, it wouldn't mean settling. It would mean finding someone else who lit me up six ways to Sunday. (Hilarious tangent -- I just looked up that phrase to see if I was using it properly, and found this page, which gave this usage as an example: "I'd bang that girl six ways from Sunday she is vaginamite.") Yeah, that feeling. The one I had about him, and I knew he had about me. But I didn't meet anyone else in 3 plus years that hit a bullseye on every one of the things I want in a man.

On to today's song, which is on repeat both in my head and on my computer -- I cannot get enough of it. I feel like there are a couple of reasons it's resonating so hard today:

1) By sorta letting go but sorta holding on (because that's what my heart told me to do), I was in this painful in-between for much of the time we were apart. When we reunited, and my boyfriend described some takeaways from other relationships he'd had while we were apart, I felt what Calum so beautifully sings about here (much better than the original by Robyn if you ask me):

Somebody said you got a new friend
Does she love you better than I can
There's a big black sky over my town
I know where you're at I bet she's around
And yeah I know it's stupid
But I just gotta see it for myself

I'm in the corner watching you kiss her
Oh, oh, oh
And I'm right over here. Why can't you see me?
Oh, oh, oh
And I'm givin' it my all
But I'm not the guy you're taking home
Oh
I keep dancing on my own

I just wanna dance all night
I'm all messed up I'm so out of line
Stilettos and broken bottles
I'm spinning around in circles

And I'm in the corner watching you kiss her
Oh, oh, oh
And I'm right over here. Why can't you see me?
Oh, oh, oh
And I'm giving it my all
But I'm not the guy you're taking home
Oh
I keep dancing on my own
And oh, no no

So far away
But still so near
The lights come on
The music dies
But you don't see me standing here
I just came to say goodbye

And I'm in the corner watching you kiss her
Oh no
And I'm right over here. Why can't you see me?
Oh no
And I'm giving it my all
But I'm not the guy you're taking home
Ooh
I keep dancing on my own

So far away
But still so near
The lights come on
The music dies
But you don't see me standing here

I reckon a part of him saw, or at least felt, me (figuratively) standing there the whole time, but another part wouldn't let himself look. For fear of letting me down again, for fear of letting himself down again.

Not this time. Not letting the fear drive. Not now that we are both so clear about what we have to give and receive from each other...

2) The resonance for me of Calum's plaintive wail "I'm right over here, why can't you see me?" feels like it is really more  about my parents not being able to see me than it is about my boyfriend. Because the truth is, he was the first person to see all of me, since he helped heal and reveal so much of me, so I knew he could see me. He just didn't want to look. Until he was ready. Which of course was incredibly painful, but not nearly as painful as never being seen in one's wholeness at all...

Torn

The lyrics to this song were in my head after hot yoga this morning:

I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm, he came around like
He was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry
Well you couldn't be that man I adored
You don't seem to know, don't seem to care
What your heart is for
No I don't know him anymore

There's nothin' where we used to lie
Conversation has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothing's fine

I'm torn
I'm all out of faith
This is how I feel
I'm cold and I'm shamed
Lying naked on the floor

Specifically, these lyrics:

Illusion never changed
Into something real

If I can just remember that, I'm gonna be just fine. But it ain't easy, because when I was a kid, illusion was my best friend. So breaking up with it has been a long slow process:

I'm wide awake
And I can see the perfect sky is torn
You're a little late
I'm already torn

I may have been torn, but I'm healing. I can feel it...

Holding Back the Years

I heard this song on the radio in the car today, and the first verse, in particular, felt perfect for marking this day:

Holding back the years
Thinking of the fear I've had so long
When somebody hears
Listen to the fear that's gone
Strangled by the wishes of pater
Hoping for the arms of mater
Get to me the sooner or later

In the past week, in large part because of the weekly trauma recovery group I've just begun attending, I've gotten in touch with the fact that I've been living with what I'd describe as a low level but nearly constant fear my entire life (or at least all that I remember). Being able to see that is actually pretty amazing, and this morning, through sort of a weird set of circumstances that included my insomnia and a problem with my mountain bike, I had a long, unexpected heart to heart with the New Englander. The kind of talk we used to have all the time. It felt soooooo good. The way he hears me is truly a gift -- and it has done so much over the time I've known him to mitigate the fear. But the fear hasn't entirely gone away.

Yep, I've still got some work to do on myself, but I feel nowhere near as dark or desperate as Simply Red gets in the second verse:

Holding back the years
Chance for me to escape from all I've known
Holding back the tears
Cause nothing here has grown
I've wasted all my tears
Wasted all those years
And nothing had the chance to be good
Nothing ever could yeah

On a good day, like today, I know that so much has grown, and no tears or years have been wasted:

I've wasted all my tears
Wasted all of those years
And nothing had the chance to be good
Cause nothing ever could oh yeah

And so much is good. I've got two amazing kids. I've got a bunch of close relationships with amazing people. I have a strong, healthy body that gets a little stronger and a little more flexible every day with my yoga practice. I've got professional skills and capabilities that are going to take me somewhere -- I just don't know exactly where yet. And I have so much love to give to the man who decides to share his life with me.

So while I wait for the answers to some of those big unknowns:

I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
I'll keep holding on
Holding, holding, holding...