What I say here isn't meant to hurt. I know it doesn't matter, though. Tonight, it seems, I could neither do nor say anything right, and rather than further burden anyone with my blubbing, I'll just type this shit up and be done with it...until it's read, and there are consequences. Although...how can there be consequences when I don't matter, when what I say, think, feel are inconsequential?
~~~~~
Can't sleep. Head aches. Stomach aches. Heart aches.
Fuck you, he said.
Because I asked what happened. Because I wanted to offer help, if it was needed.
Fuck you, and a tirade about how horrible his life is, and why the fuck would I even ask something like that.
So many thoughts crowding my mind, some there for a while now. I shouldn't write them down...writing things down gives them over to others, opens them up to be misread, misinterpreted, used against me later when all I wanted was simply to have done with them...but fuck it, why the hell else did I start this blog if not to empty the dark things out of my mind? I'm not supposed to have to bite my words any more, hold them in my teeth to keep them from spilling out into my world. I'm supposed to have this place to release it all without fearing what follows.
I asked what happened and was told Fuck You, among other things. In words unsaid, I was called stupid. I though I later heard a shut-the-fuck-up, as well. Earlier today it was I can't even drive away...and so I know he feels trapped here, that he wants to escape, and it's my fault he can't.
I don't have the luxury of crawling off and licking my wounds - I had to make the Boy's bed, read him a story, get him settled. I folded laundry and spoke not a word the rest of the evening...and was not missed. Clearly was not missed.
Was not wanted. Clearly was not wanted.
Was invisible.
And all the while, my head has throbbed, eyes aching, stomach roiling.
I lay in bed, finally, because I could do nothing else without being intrusive, without thrusting my obviously unwanted presence into his. I lay in bed and cried and cried and felt alone. Scared and alone.
I know I'm worthless. I know. I know it's stupid to hope, even a tiny bit, that I am important, that I might even come first sometimes. I know better. Still.
I hoped.
I hoped that my need, that my hurt, might be noticed, might having meaning. Stupid, me.
My love is worthless, it seems, and pointless, and foolish.
I thought I had done with crying myself to sleep alone. Damn fool, me.
He mumbled I'm Sorry as he fell asleep...but he did not reach for me, did not touch or seek to comfort.
I will never, ever, come first. I will never, ever, matter. I will never, ever do or be anything of consequence. Worthless, pointless, stupid...these things I am and will always be. Tonight that was made abundantly clear to me.
I come last, period. I get it.
I'm sorry, too.
I'm sorry I have forced him into a corner, made him feel like he has nowhere else to go, no choice but to stay here where he doesn't want to be. I'm sorry that my wanting him here is a chain. I'm sorry my love is a burden. I'm sorry I ruined his life, and I'm sorry he can't just say so but instead feels he has to smile and be nice about it...until truth finds its way out, here and there, slips through his teeth in fits and starts...
I'm sorry he sees that I'm a bad mother, and now has to worry that I will fuck up our child as much as I'm obviously fucking up the Boy. I'm sorry if this baby just makes things worse. I'm sorry that I can't seem to get it right, and my wrongness just makes things harder for him.
I had a thought, tonight...that when this baby is grown and on his/her own, then I'm done. No one will need or want me any more...so I thought to myself, OK, then when this kid's grown up, then I will, for the first and only time in my life, break my word. I will finally do what I should have done when I was sixteen, and finish the job. Surely I can manage to make it another twenty years, and I KNOW I can finish what I started, because all that's kept me from it so far is my refusal to be forsworn.
No one will miss me, and more than one will likely ask what took me so long.
~~~~~
So yeah, if you think this is about you and you want to discuss it, I'm game...but please don't feel you have to. I hate being an imposition. That's why I hide when I cry...I don't want anyone to feel obligated to care when they'd rather not. I'm not trying to lay on a guilt trip, here. And you should know...these thoughts...they're real, they swirl around in my mind...but...I know they aren't real, at the same time. They still hurt, though. I had to get them out. Please understand.
And my head still aches...
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hope. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Swarms
I woke up this morning with words swirling through my mind. Words, thoughts, about my life, my timeline. This post isn't made up of those words, though. More words came along, pressing me with their need to be written. They were nearly scattered when the phone rang, but they were tenacious...and so, I will give them such voice as I can and hope I don't make a complete hash of them.
I am not writing this for you. I am writing it for me. Please understand...and if you cannot understand...if you can see this in one light or another, see it as written from a place of love and compassion, deep and abiding, and not as a judgement or cry for help.
~~~~~
I'm no stranger to fear. I am full to the brim with fears. They swarm at me, a hive of buzzing, stinging little things. Mostly, I ignore them - they are not the sort of fears that nature gives us to aid in survival...look close enough and you will see them dressed in a fool's motley, ridiculous things that are barbed but useless.
So...when I see someone else wrapped in a swarm of their own, I empathize. It's not easy to breath when the little buggers crowd around. It's not easy to see, to find perspective. It's not easy to stand on one's own feet, maintain balance, look to the future. Hell, it's not always possible to look to the future,
I've invited anger into my life.
I'm not afraid of it.
It's not dangerous, this anger. It's not violent. It is words (which can hurt, yes...but only when meant to)(or, if they pain, it is not with intent but more a by-product of the hurt they sprang from) which are not directed anywhere but inward to the source...and outward to such gods as listen.
It's an anger rooted in hurt, in disappointment, in loss. It's fed by the frustration of a soul that has been knocked down every time it stood, so that it is almost afraid to stand again. It's being fed by hope...the hope that this time, when it rises, it won't fall again, which is itself a frightening contemplation.
I'm not afraid of this anger.
I fear its consequences. Not to me. I'm stronger than I appear, stronger than I make myself out to be. But I fear the consequences to the source. Anger of this kind...it so often turns inward and gnaws...
I am not afraid of this anger.
Sometimes, though, I am like a whipped cur when the anger raises its head. I cannot look at the source, cannot meet his eyes. I slink away, try not to be seen, make myself small. He won't hurt me...I truly believe he would smash himself to pieces before he hurt me...but the child I was (not the woman I am) remembers other anger, older anger. She wants to assuage, to smooth the way, to fix it, or if she cannot do these things, she wishes to go unnoticed until it passes.
I can't fix it. And I won't hide from it. The only way to deal with it is face on.
I am not afraid of this anger.
But I am not brave.
I have my swarms, buzzing and humming...and I can't always see or hear what I need to do to help. Not to fix. Can't fix. But to help...
Do you know The Healer's Laws?
No?
I'm not surprised. I may be the one person who has them written down in any coherent fashion...
Perhaps I made them up entirely. It has been known to happen.
The first law - you cannot heal others unless you yourself are whole. That doesn't mean one must be perfect...it's complicated...but if a body, a mind, is so imbalanced that it's lost within itself...well, it's not very useful for helping others, is it?
The second law - you must wait for them to ask. You can't just wander around fixing people without their permission, without their knowledge. They have to know they are hurting, have to want help, have to ask for it. It's part of the process. Until someone asks...their hurt is their own, and what right has anyone to take that away? You can offer...but you can't just thrust your will onto them.
The third law - sometimes, you have to fail.
There are more. I won't bore you with them.
What has this to do with anything?
I am not afraid of this anger.
My instinct is to sooth, to repair. Last night, I had to remind myself of the second law. I had to be firm with myself...until I couldn't bear it any more, went to the source, and damn near begged to be asked.
I'm sorry.
I had no right.
But my little swarms, my little clouds...they clouded my judgement, and I can only hope I did more good than harm in thrusting my hand past them, past the anger, to reach for the soul choking on its own clouds, its own swarms.
I am not writing this for you. I am writing it for me. Please understand...and if you cannot understand...if you can see this in one light or another, see it as written from a place of love and compassion, deep and abiding, and not as a judgement or cry for help.
~~~~~
I'm no stranger to fear. I am full to the brim with fears. They swarm at me, a hive of buzzing, stinging little things. Mostly, I ignore them - they are not the sort of fears that nature gives us to aid in survival...look close enough and you will see them dressed in a fool's motley, ridiculous things that are barbed but useless.
So...when I see someone else wrapped in a swarm of their own, I empathize. It's not easy to breath when the little buggers crowd around. It's not easy to see, to find perspective. It's not easy to stand on one's own feet, maintain balance, look to the future. Hell, it's not always possible to look to the future,
I've invited anger into my life.
I'm not afraid of it.
It's not dangerous, this anger. It's not violent. It is words (which can hurt, yes...but only when meant to)(or, if they pain, it is not with intent but more a by-product of the hurt they sprang from) which are not directed anywhere but inward to the source...and outward to such gods as listen.
It's an anger rooted in hurt, in disappointment, in loss. It's fed by the frustration of a soul that has been knocked down every time it stood, so that it is almost afraid to stand again. It's being fed by hope...the hope that this time, when it rises, it won't fall again, which is itself a frightening contemplation.
I'm not afraid of this anger.
I fear its consequences. Not to me. I'm stronger than I appear, stronger than I make myself out to be. But I fear the consequences to the source. Anger of this kind...it so often turns inward and gnaws...
I am not afraid of this anger.
Sometimes, though, I am like a whipped cur when the anger raises its head. I cannot look at the source, cannot meet his eyes. I slink away, try not to be seen, make myself small. He won't hurt me...I truly believe he would smash himself to pieces before he hurt me...but the child I was (not the woman I am) remembers other anger, older anger. She wants to assuage, to smooth the way, to fix it, or if she cannot do these things, she wishes to go unnoticed until it passes.
I can't fix it. And I won't hide from it. The only way to deal with it is face on.
I am not afraid of this anger.
But I am not brave.
I have my swarms, buzzing and humming...and I can't always see or hear what I need to do to help. Not to fix. Can't fix. But to help...
Do you know The Healer's Laws?
No?
I'm not surprised. I may be the one person who has them written down in any coherent fashion...
Perhaps I made them up entirely. It has been known to happen.
The first law - you cannot heal others unless you yourself are whole. That doesn't mean one must be perfect...it's complicated...but if a body, a mind, is so imbalanced that it's lost within itself...well, it's not very useful for helping others, is it?
The second law - you must wait for them to ask. You can't just wander around fixing people without their permission, without their knowledge. They have to know they are hurting, have to want help, have to ask for it. It's part of the process. Until someone asks...their hurt is their own, and what right has anyone to take that away? You can offer...but you can't just thrust your will onto them.
The third law - sometimes, you have to fail.
There are more. I won't bore you with them.
What has this to do with anything?
I am not afraid of this anger.
My instinct is to sooth, to repair. Last night, I had to remind myself of the second law. I had to be firm with myself...until I couldn't bear it any more, went to the source, and damn near begged to be asked.
I'm sorry.
I had no right.
But my little swarms, my little clouds...they clouded my judgement, and I can only hope I did more good than harm in thrusting my hand past them, past the anger, to reach for the soul choking on its own clouds, its own swarms.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Still Here
I'm still here. So are the shadows. They don't go away. Not without serious medicating, not an option for me.
I'm in an odd state.
I worry. There's a great joy happening here, in the cold, dark, isolated place that is my heart. A great good thing. Not my best good thing - that's my son. He knows it, too, because I tell him he's my best good thing. Something...someone...else has taken up residence, taken root, and seems to be flourishing.
But I worry. I can't recall if I've written this before, but...I don't really know how to do happy...how to be happy. It's...alien. I know sorrow. I know hurt. I know depressed. I know rejection.
I don't know what to do with love. Not the love of a child or parent - the love of an equal. The love of someone who has no reason to love, no familial bond, no obligation. Wow. That's...that's huge. And awfully sweet. Sweetness. Awesome...
And I worry, because I don't know how to just be happy. Don't get me wrong - I revel in each moment, wallow in it, soak it in, savor it. But in the background is the voice telling me I'll screw it up, something will go wrong, I'll go wrong...
It worries me. What have I done to deserve this great good thing?
I worry...not that I doubt him in some way, because oddly I don't. I say oddly because I doubt everyone. It's part of the sickness. I doubt my mother, and my dear friends, and everyone...but not him. This is odd. I doubt myself most of all though, and that's what worries me. What if I am not enough or too much?
Mark Twain said everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows anyone. Not entirely true. I show my darkness, here and in my life. I trust a few people enough to let them see.. He sees. So why am I worried? Because it's unrelenting, this darkness, and what if he comes to realize he wants no more of it...and I can't just put it away, you know? Can't just stuff it in a pocket or in the back of the closet and pretend it's not there. Even if I am too much or not enough, I have to be myself, honestly, openly, entirely me.
Which is worrisome. I don't often like me very much...so how can anyone else?? As for love...whew...let's not go there right now...not love for self, anyway. I don't know if I have it in me...
Still...there is this great joy, and I smile so much my face hurts, and even the fear can't make that go away. People notice, and remark, and tease, and it's fine, it's good. The shadows niggle at me, but they're no match for this great good thing...so they're looming in more ordinary ways, more manageable ways, until they can find an opening and tear me down, claw at me, rend...
Meanwhile, I'm still here, still muddling, still rising and falling, riding it out.
Still rambling aimlessly, pointlessly, endlessly...still here...
I'm in an odd state.
I worry. There's a great joy happening here, in the cold, dark, isolated place that is my heart. A great good thing. Not my best good thing - that's my son. He knows it, too, because I tell him he's my best good thing. Something...someone...else has taken up residence, taken root, and seems to be flourishing.
But I worry. I can't recall if I've written this before, but...I don't really know how to do happy...how to be happy. It's...alien. I know sorrow. I know hurt. I know depressed. I know rejection.
I don't know what to do with love. Not the love of a child or parent - the love of an equal. The love of someone who has no reason to love, no familial bond, no obligation. Wow. That's...that's huge. And awfully sweet. Sweetness. Awesome...
And I worry, because I don't know how to just be happy. Don't get me wrong - I revel in each moment, wallow in it, soak it in, savor it. But in the background is the voice telling me I'll screw it up, something will go wrong, I'll go wrong...
It worries me. What have I done to deserve this great good thing?
I worry...not that I doubt him in some way, because oddly I don't. I say oddly because I doubt everyone. It's part of the sickness. I doubt my mother, and my dear friends, and everyone...but not him. This is odd. I doubt myself most of all though, and that's what worries me. What if I am not enough or too much?
Mark Twain said everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows anyone. Not entirely true. I show my darkness, here and in my life. I trust a few people enough to let them see.. He sees. So why am I worried? Because it's unrelenting, this darkness, and what if he comes to realize he wants no more of it...and I can't just put it away, you know? Can't just stuff it in a pocket or in the back of the closet and pretend it's not there. Even if I am too much or not enough, I have to be myself, honestly, openly, entirely me.
Which is worrisome. I don't often like me very much...so how can anyone else?? As for love...whew...let's not go there right now...not love for self, anyway. I don't know if I have it in me...
Still...there is this great joy, and I smile so much my face hurts, and even the fear can't make that go away. People notice, and remark, and tease, and it's fine, it's good. The shadows niggle at me, but they're no match for this great good thing...so they're looming in more ordinary ways, more manageable ways, until they can find an opening and tear me down, claw at me, rend...
Meanwhile, I'm still here, still muddling, still rising and falling, riding it out.
Still rambling aimlessly, pointlessly, endlessly...still here...
Saturday, November 7, 2009
It's a Cold and It's a Broken...
Sometimes, I think I am a curse.
Not cursed. A curse.
No good comes of knowing me. People have perfectly adequate lives until I come along, and then...then things start going wrong.
Sometimes I think I'd be doing the world a favor to hide myself away, keep my poison contained in myself. Every life I touch becomes toxic in some way. I'm helpless to stop it, can't even clean up the mess I can't help but feel I've made.
Sometimes I think I really should just keep myself to myself.
Oddly, I was just speaking to a friend who feels something of the same thing about himself.
Despite how he feels about himself...I feel blessed to know him. In him, I find fortune's gift...in him, I find comfort, and hope. With him I feel loved, cherished, comforted, free, powerful, empowered.
I don't want to be a curse in this man's life.
Just once, dear Goddess...blessed mother...she from whom all life came...just once, could I please, please, be a blessing?
And Sir? If you see this? You didn't cause it. Truly. This? It's my nature.
Not cursed. A curse.
No good comes of knowing me. People have perfectly adequate lives until I come along, and then...then things start going wrong.
Sometimes I think I'd be doing the world a favor to hide myself away, keep my poison contained in myself. Every life I touch becomes toxic in some way. I'm helpless to stop it, can't even clean up the mess I can't help but feel I've made.
Sometimes I think I really should just keep myself to myself.
Oddly, I was just speaking to a friend who feels something of the same thing about himself.
Despite how he feels about himself...I feel blessed to know him. In him, I find fortune's gift...in him, I find comfort, and hope. With him I feel loved, cherished, comforted, free, powerful, empowered.
I don't want to be a curse in this man's life.
Just once, dear Goddess...blessed mother...she from whom all life came...just once, could I please, please, be a blessing?
And Sir? If you see this? You didn't cause it. Truly. This? It's my nature.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Necessary Roughness
I'm having an unpleasant day. I'd call it bad, but I can't stir myself to be that invested in it.
For some reason I have not yet quantified, I am not sleeping much or well...and for the last few nights, I have quietly wept myself to sleep. It's a nebulous thing, indefinable...a mid-grade unhappiness...combined with an overwhelming lonliness that's kept at bay during busy daylight hours, but late at night feels free to roam the gardens of my mind, planting the seeds of its strangler vine where it will...
Yesterday, my son got into an ant pile. He washed the ants off his feet with the hose and went back to playing, cool. Not cool were the pustulant welts on his feet this morning - The Boy is allergic to the bites, and one of them is swollen and oozing, black around the edges, and generally fairly horrible to look at. It'll heal...but it's nasty and painful and I hate that he has to suffer it.
I have a pulled muscle in my neck/shoulder/back/I may need an anatomy lesson to figure out that part, and it bothered me all night - every time I moved, it woke me, and I don't sleep very well as it is. I couldn't even tip my head back to rinse my hair in the shower yesterday, which made the job awkward. I have a tremendous lot of house cleaning to do, still, and it won't be easy when I keep getting checked up by "Ow, that motion hurts. Ow, reaching up or down like that is unpleasant. Ow, ow, ow..."
My son, for some unexplained reason, got out of his bed in the middle of the night, wandered into the living room, and fell asleep in the massive recliner that I loathe but sit in because I don't have a choice right now...and he wet himself during the night. I've cleaned it up as best I can, and I didn't yell at the little guy - how can I be mad at him when he tries so hard? I'm more concerned with what has him wandering about in the middle of the night.
One of the cats knocked over a 9/10 full large Coke from Burger King last night (yo, FTC, this is not an endorsement, it's a reference - I just want the reader to understand the size of the thing), splattering it all over the floor. I had a large, sticky mess to clean up when I got up this morning.
I'm not feeling mentally well. Lack of sleep, worry, stress, loneliness, plaguing dreams, the constant drag of cleaning a house that is too cluttered, needs painting and drywall patched and floors thoroughly swept and mopped and toys tidied away and furniture removed or moved and, and, and...it's wearing on me. Coupled with that is the constant fear that things will go wrong (don't ask me what things, I don't know what things...if I knew what things I could do something about the things, but I don't know what things so I'm lingering in thing purgatory).
I'd like to take The Boy to a movie, get out of the house, go do something fun...but I can't. I can't pay the phone bill right now (and if that gets turned off, so does the modem, which means good-bye Internet until I can pay to have it turned back on), let alone help support the Hollywood Entertainment Complex.
I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I don't like it. The depression is pecking away at me...
And...like the sun shining through the grey and gloom...
He calls.
For no other reason than He feels like it. Right in that moment when I was typing about depression pecking...the phone rang and it was Him, and I could hear the smile in His voice when I answered, surprised - it's not His lunch time, and He doesn't usually call me during the day, anyway...except when he does it just to surprise me and make me smile. Just when I was thinking I could really use hearing His voice...
I didn't tell him I'm feeling rough today...if we only have a few moments to talk, I want to hear Him, hear His voice and His happiness and His plans...and my mental state bores me, and I can't imagine why anyone else would want to know about it, too.
So I had that minute or two...and believe it or not, that will help get me through the rest of what is looking like a very long, distressing day full of little trials, necessary roughness that every life contains but that makes the sweetness all the...sweeter.
For some reason I have not yet quantified, I am not sleeping much or well...and for the last few nights, I have quietly wept myself to sleep. It's a nebulous thing, indefinable...a mid-grade unhappiness...combined with an overwhelming lonliness that's kept at bay during busy daylight hours, but late at night feels free to roam the gardens of my mind, planting the seeds of its strangler vine where it will...
Yesterday, my son got into an ant pile. He washed the ants off his feet with the hose and went back to playing, cool. Not cool were the pustulant welts on his feet this morning - The Boy is allergic to the bites, and one of them is swollen and oozing, black around the edges, and generally fairly horrible to look at. It'll heal...but it's nasty and painful and I hate that he has to suffer it.
I have a pulled muscle in my neck/shoulder/back/I may need an anatomy lesson to figure out that part, and it bothered me all night - every time I moved, it woke me, and I don't sleep very well as it is. I couldn't even tip my head back to rinse my hair in the shower yesterday, which made the job awkward. I have a tremendous lot of house cleaning to do, still, and it won't be easy when I keep getting checked up by "Ow, that motion hurts. Ow, reaching up or down like that is unpleasant. Ow, ow, ow..."
My son, for some unexplained reason, got out of his bed in the middle of the night, wandered into the living room, and fell asleep in the massive recliner that I loathe but sit in because I don't have a choice right now...and he wet himself during the night. I've cleaned it up as best I can, and I didn't yell at the little guy - how can I be mad at him when he tries so hard? I'm more concerned with what has him wandering about in the middle of the night.
One of the cats knocked over a 9/10 full large Coke from Burger King last night (yo, FTC, this is not an endorsement, it's a reference - I just want the reader to understand the size of the thing), splattering it all over the floor. I had a large, sticky mess to clean up when I got up this morning.
I'm not feeling mentally well. Lack of sleep, worry, stress, loneliness, plaguing dreams, the constant drag of cleaning a house that is too cluttered, needs painting and drywall patched and floors thoroughly swept and mopped and toys tidied away and furniture removed or moved and, and, and...it's wearing on me. Coupled with that is the constant fear that things will go wrong (don't ask me what things, I don't know what things...if I knew what things I could do something about the things, but I don't know what things so I'm lingering in thing purgatory).
I'd like to take The Boy to a movie, get out of the house, go do something fun...but I can't. I can't pay the phone bill right now (and if that gets turned off, so does the modem, which means good-bye Internet until I can pay to have it turned back on), let alone help support the Hollywood Entertainment Complex.
I'm feeling sorry for myself, and I don't like it. The depression is pecking away at me...
And...like the sun shining through the grey and gloom...
He calls.
For no other reason than He feels like it. Right in that moment when I was typing about depression pecking...the phone rang and it was Him, and I could hear the smile in His voice when I answered, surprised - it's not His lunch time, and He doesn't usually call me during the day, anyway...except when he does it just to surprise me and make me smile. Just when I was thinking I could really use hearing His voice...
I didn't tell him I'm feeling rough today...if we only have a few moments to talk, I want to hear Him, hear His voice and His happiness and His plans...and my mental state bores me, and I can't imagine why anyone else would want to know about it, too.
So I had that minute or two...and believe it or not, that will help get me through the rest of what is looking like a very long, distressing day full of little trials, necessary roughness that every life contains but that makes the sweetness all the...sweeter.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Just Click Your Heels
It's all fun and games until it isn't.
I was playing a game, passing some time, trying to convince myself that I didn't really need to eat one of the brownies I just baked - don't ask me why I'd bake brownies and not eat them, I'm a girl and we're not logical.
Anyway, I was done with one section of the game and clicked a button to return to another section, and the game asked "Do you want to go home?"
Oh...oh, yes please.
Home isn't a place, really. Or...it is a place, but outside of the space we perceive as space. It's a place within ourselves, I think. A sense of belonging. A sense of being in the right place...the right place in space, and time and our lives, of life, in general, being right as it is in the moment, through a succession of moments...a sense of completion...
You know what? It's damnably difficult to nail down.
But I know I'm not there...yet.
Yet.
I will be. Home. I will be home.
I was playing a game, passing some time, trying to convince myself that I didn't really need to eat one of the brownies I just baked - don't ask me why I'd bake brownies and not eat them, I'm a girl and we're not logical.
Anyway, I was done with one section of the game and clicked a button to return to another section, and the game asked "Do you want to go home?"
Oh...oh, yes please.
Home isn't a place, really. Or...it is a place, but outside of the space we perceive as space. It's a place within ourselves, I think. A sense of belonging. A sense of being in the right place...the right place in space, and time and our lives, of life, in general, being right as it is in the moment, through a succession of moments...a sense of completion...
You know what? It's damnably difficult to nail down.
But I know I'm not there...yet.
Yet.
I will be. Home. I will be home.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
I Endure
It seems I am prolific, of late.
Especially in the later hours (although THIS hour is not so very late compared to some I have kept), I seem to write for this place. Especially of late, when I am happier, lighter of spirit, than is my wont.
Why is that?
I am in love with Someone, who loves me back. Sweetness, that. This loving has wrapped itself around me, infused me with a sort of happiness I have never known. When I think about Someone (a few hundred times a minute), I smile...and everyone who knows me, who has known me, remarks on how I've changed, how I shine. The dark one shines. Armageddon can't be far behind.
When a friend asked me today, if my feet were touching the ground yet, I laughed...and winced. I told her I was still very much in love (I am...oh yes, I am)...but I don't know how to maintain happy. I've had 31 years of misery...I know how to live in, around, and with that. Happy? Not so much. I don't know how to simply be happy - my mind will constantly manufacture fears, doubts, questions. It wears me down.
Despite that, I endure.
For once, I am choosing to trust in the feeling, to ignore the angry, hurt, spiteful voices in my head. It's a struggle, though, especially late at night when I'm alone. Late at night, when the house is quiet, the boy is sleeping, the phone is charging in it's cradle, and there's no one but a feline or three to talk to...then I begin to wonder...do I really know how to love someone? Do I have a right to try? To ask a person to love such a deeply flawed person...can I do that? I don't know that I am worth it.
It hurts, to doubt...but I endure.
I wondered, one night, if I should stop answering the phone...stop answering the e-mails...fade away. I wondered if Someone would be better off without me distracting him...tugging at him...dividing his attention between me and his life, the life he's living so far away. I don't doubt he'd be hurt, maybe angry...but it would fade with time. I'm not saying I want that...far from it...but if my presence in his world causes uncertainty or difficulty, shouldn't I withdraw? Before we met, he had dreams, plans...what right have I to hope I may become part of that? What right have I to imagine he may change them even a little to include me? I should bow out now, I thought, before this goes too far and one day he realizes he made a mistake. Just the thought hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes - I would be miserable.
I would endure, though.
I wondered if this will last...this feeling, this loving, will it last? What if it's fading and he doesn't want to tell me? What if he's realized what it means, to be woven into this chaotic pattern that is the tapestry of my life? What if he comes to regret...?
Almost beyond bearing...but I'd endure.
That's what I do, I endure. I slog on through the muck and mire, because there's nothing else to be done.
Trouble is - this love thing? There's no muck. No mire. It's beautiful. It's astonishing. It's overwhelming. And it's not something to be endured - it should be celebrated, reveled in.
It hurts, I won't lie - he IS far away, far enough that actually being in the same space at the same time is impossible on any sort of regular basis. He has a job, a life...and, while I am not employed in any traditional sense, I DO have a life, a son that I have to consider. I can't go haring off to...Somewhere...just because I feel as if half my spirit is there. It's frustrating.
But I endure...I tell the doubts, the questions, the fears and frustrations to go away...or natter on, but I won't alter my course. He mentioned how long it would be before we could meet again...and I sighed and admitted I hated to wait so long but if it must be borne...I will endure. At least I have the hope that, at the end of THIS endurance...there is something worth the ache, the pangs, the enduring...
Especially in the later hours (although THIS hour is not so very late compared to some I have kept), I seem to write for this place. Especially of late, when I am happier, lighter of spirit, than is my wont.
Why is that?
I am in love with Someone, who loves me back. Sweetness, that. This loving has wrapped itself around me, infused me with a sort of happiness I have never known. When I think about Someone (a few hundred times a minute), I smile...and everyone who knows me, who has known me, remarks on how I've changed, how I shine. The dark one shines. Armageddon can't be far behind.
When a friend asked me today, if my feet were touching the ground yet, I laughed...and winced. I told her I was still very much in love (I am...oh yes, I am)...but I don't know how to maintain happy. I've had 31 years of misery...I know how to live in, around, and with that. Happy? Not so much. I don't know how to simply be happy - my mind will constantly manufacture fears, doubts, questions. It wears me down.
Despite that, I endure.
For once, I am choosing to trust in the feeling, to ignore the angry, hurt, spiteful voices in my head. It's a struggle, though, especially late at night when I'm alone. Late at night, when the house is quiet, the boy is sleeping, the phone is charging in it's cradle, and there's no one but a feline or three to talk to...then I begin to wonder...do I really know how to love someone? Do I have a right to try? To ask a person to love such a deeply flawed person...can I do that? I don't know that I am worth it.
It hurts, to doubt...but I endure.
I wondered, one night, if I should stop answering the phone...stop answering the e-mails...fade away. I wondered if Someone would be better off without me distracting him...tugging at him...dividing his attention between me and his life, the life he's living so far away. I don't doubt he'd be hurt, maybe angry...but it would fade with time. I'm not saying I want that...far from it...but if my presence in his world causes uncertainty or difficulty, shouldn't I withdraw? Before we met, he had dreams, plans...what right have I to hope I may become part of that? What right have I to imagine he may change them even a little to include me? I should bow out now, I thought, before this goes too far and one day he realizes he made a mistake. Just the thought hurt enough to bring tears to my eyes - I would be miserable.
I would endure, though.
I wondered if this will last...this feeling, this loving, will it last? What if it's fading and he doesn't want to tell me? What if he's realized what it means, to be woven into this chaotic pattern that is the tapestry of my life? What if he comes to regret...?
Almost beyond bearing...but I'd endure.
That's what I do, I endure. I slog on through the muck and mire, because there's nothing else to be done.
Trouble is - this love thing? There's no muck. No mire. It's beautiful. It's astonishing. It's overwhelming. And it's not something to be endured - it should be celebrated, reveled in.
It hurts, I won't lie - he IS far away, far enough that actually being in the same space at the same time is impossible on any sort of regular basis. He has a job, a life...and, while I am not employed in any traditional sense, I DO have a life, a son that I have to consider. I can't go haring off to...Somewhere...just because I feel as if half my spirit is there. It's frustrating.
But I endure...I tell the doubts, the questions, the fears and frustrations to go away...or natter on, but I won't alter my course. He mentioned how long it would be before we could meet again...and I sighed and admitted I hated to wait so long but if it must be borne...I will endure. At least I have the hope that, at the end of THIS endurance...there is something worth the ache, the pangs, the enduring...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Eclipsed
Yes, part of this is posted elsewhere...but it took a turn, one that didn't belong in that other place. It belongs here, with the other dark things.
~~~~~
I was outside just now, enjoying the coolth (yes, that is too a word) and the waves of night song washing over me.
Somewhere in the world, people were watching as shadows played Hob with their day. Earth, Moon, and Sun bowed to their partners, bowed to their corners, began the dance of the Eclipse. Here, it was, it is, dark. Night is well fallen, well beyond evening and into darker time. Somewhere, though, it is day, if obscured.
I made a wish. Why not? New moon, eclipse, why not?
I wish that every man, woman, and child who lives in fear of another blow, in fear of abuse, neglect, or abandonment, knows peace.
I wish that every man, woman, and child who lives with hunger, homelessness, uncertainty, want, or need, knows peace.
I wish that every man, woman, and child who is waiting for the next gun, the next bomb, the next invasion or act of violence, knows peace.
Peace. I wish for peace.
It's my wish...I'll spend it how I like. Wishes aren't supposed to be realistic - they are supposed to reach beyond the bounds of reality and into that place called Hope, that soft place in the human Heart, the human Soul, where the last of Pandora's gifts shelters, waiting for us to notice her.
I wished, and I talked to a friend and watched the clouds disintegrating, dissolving into inky night and shining stars, one of them (the clouds, I mean) looking for all the world like a great, beautiful swan drifting serenely across the firmament, neck arched, staring down at my insignificance as it moved on...moved on...until there were stars and stars and stars above me and I could have fallen upward to swim among them, myself.
I thought about wishing for something I dearly wanted...something for myself...but...I didn't. Couldn't. Can't bear to think the wish will be denied. Can't bear to think that wishing for what I want...might mean someone else loses their dream, their hope, changes the course they want their life to take to satisfy my selfishness. Better not to wish at all than to cause harm to another...any other. I won't. I can do without...I've proven that. It's doing with that's the unknown, the mystery, the fearful thing. But fuck, I'm lonely. I feel like a cup that was, for the briefest time, filled...and now knows exactly how empty it can be.
The call ended too soon...but then, forever isn't long enough to hear that dear voice. I stayed for a few minutes with the night wrapped around me, a security blanket for the soul. I thought about the ground on which I am figuratively walking, how uncertain it is...how uncertain the future seems, just now. Like walking through a swamp, never knowing which step will fall on solid ground, which will land me up to my ass in muck. I felt lost, and awfully alone.
I wept, a little...gave in to what's been there for weeks, that lonely longing, the hurt that seems ever present, despite the love and kindness of others, of Someone...
I think I need a better cry, a real one, a snot-faced, body-shaking, gut-wrenching release, before the sun can shine fully on my spirit again. I need to give the shadows their due before they will move on. Only I can't seem to let go enough...and so I'm eclipsed by my own need, want, hope, fear, great shining shades mantling about me...obscuring the light I so crave...
~~~~~
I was outside just now, enjoying the coolth (yes, that is too a word) and the waves of night song washing over me.
Somewhere in the world, people were watching as shadows played Hob with their day. Earth, Moon, and Sun bowed to their partners, bowed to their corners, began the dance of the Eclipse. Here, it was, it is, dark. Night is well fallen, well beyond evening and into darker time. Somewhere, though, it is day, if obscured.
I made a wish. Why not? New moon, eclipse, why not?
I wish that every man, woman, and child who lives in fear of another blow, in fear of abuse, neglect, or abandonment, knows peace.
I wish that every man, woman, and child who lives with hunger, homelessness, uncertainty, want, or need, knows peace.
I wish that every man, woman, and child who is waiting for the next gun, the next bomb, the next invasion or act of violence, knows peace.
Peace. I wish for peace.
It's my wish...I'll spend it how I like. Wishes aren't supposed to be realistic - they are supposed to reach beyond the bounds of reality and into that place called Hope, that soft place in the human Heart, the human Soul, where the last of Pandora's gifts shelters, waiting for us to notice her.
I wished, and I talked to a friend and watched the clouds disintegrating, dissolving into inky night and shining stars, one of them (the clouds, I mean) looking for all the world like a great, beautiful swan drifting serenely across the firmament, neck arched, staring down at my insignificance as it moved on...moved on...until there were stars and stars and stars above me and I could have fallen upward to swim among them, myself.
I thought about wishing for something I dearly wanted...something for myself...but...I didn't. Couldn't. Can't bear to think the wish will be denied. Can't bear to think that wishing for what I want...might mean someone else loses their dream, their hope, changes the course they want their life to take to satisfy my selfishness. Better not to wish at all than to cause harm to another...any other. I won't. I can do without...I've proven that. It's doing with that's the unknown, the mystery, the fearful thing. But fuck, I'm lonely. I feel like a cup that was, for the briefest time, filled...and now knows exactly how empty it can be.
The call ended too soon...but then, forever isn't long enough to hear that dear voice. I stayed for a few minutes with the night wrapped around me, a security blanket for the soul. I thought about the ground on which I am figuratively walking, how uncertain it is...how uncertain the future seems, just now. Like walking through a swamp, never knowing which step will fall on solid ground, which will land me up to my ass in muck. I felt lost, and awfully alone.
I wept, a little...gave in to what's been there for weeks, that lonely longing, the hurt that seems ever present, despite the love and kindness of others, of Someone...
I think I need a better cry, a real one, a snot-faced, body-shaking, gut-wrenching release, before the sun can shine fully on my spirit again. I need to give the shadows their due before they will move on. Only I can't seem to let go enough...and so I'm eclipsed by my own need, want, hope, fear, great shining shades mantling about me...obscuring the light I so crave...
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Sweetest Ache
Six days.
Even with doubt coloring a few hours, even with fear and uncertainty making an undercurrent here, there, coloring a few moments before subsiding, it was six incredible days of...what? What did we do, really, that was so remarkable?
Ah.
We met.
We loved.
We gave and received, freely, of ourselves.
That is remarkable. Each moment was an honest moment, without secrets, without lies, without shame.
Even the quiet minutes when I was writing while he spoke on the phone, when he tapped away at the computer while I read or stretched or simply watched him until he turned, saw me, and smiled, even these simple things were rich and deep.
Leaving may have been the most difficult thing I've done in a long while. I missed my son, of course...what mother wouldn't?..and wanted to come home to him, but I missed, too, Someone, even before leaving him behind to journey home.
Someone whose touch quieted the voice in my head, so angry, so derogatory, so bitter. Someone whose laugh lifted...lifts...my heart and sets it soaring. Someone with beautiful, tender, smiling, intense eyes and gentle, loving hands that caress so sweetly they make me shiver.
I have often told my son that there is an invisible line from his heart to mine, one that will never break, one that connects us no matter where we are or what we are doing. I tell him that I am always loving him.
I feel much the same about Someone. Driving away yesterday morning, leaving him behind, was painful. I ached. I felt a soreness in my heart where he is so newly rooted as the connection between us began to stretch.
Mile after mile, I felt it pulling me back, back to where I'd been, even as I was drawn forward, home to my son.
I wondered...if I kept driving, would this new connection accommodate? Or would it, so new and fragile, so tenuous, snap?
It's there, yet. It thrums. I feel him, Someone, there, rooting deeper, establishing himself, creating his space. My home isn't quite home, any more...it's missing something...Someone...
It is the sweetest ache, this absence, this presence, this want, this need...this Love...
Even with doubt coloring a few hours, even with fear and uncertainty making an undercurrent here, there, coloring a few moments before subsiding, it was six incredible days of...what? What did we do, really, that was so remarkable?
Ah.
We met.
We loved.
We gave and received, freely, of ourselves.
That is remarkable. Each moment was an honest moment, without secrets, without lies, without shame.
Even the quiet minutes when I was writing while he spoke on the phone, when he tapped away at the computer while I read or stretched or simply watched him until he turned, saw me, and smiled, even these simple things were rich and deep.
Leaving may have been the most difficult thing I've done in a long while. I missed my son, of course...what mother wouldn't?..and wanted to come home to him, but I missed, too, Someone, even before leaving him behind to journey home.
Someone whose touch quieted the voice in my head, so angry, so derogatory, so bitter. Someone whose laugh lifted...lifts...my heart and sets it soaring. Someone with beautiful, tender, smiling, intense eyes and gentle, loving hands that caress so sweetly they make me shiver.
I have often told my son that there is an invisible line from his heart to mine, one that will never break, one that connects us no matter where we are or what we are doing. I tell him that I am always loving him.
I feel much the same about Someone. Driving away yesterday morning, leaving him behind, was painful. I ached. I felt a soreness in my heart where he is so newly rooted as the connection between us began to stretch.
Mile after mile, I felt it pulling me back, back to where I'd been, even as I was drawn forward, home to my son.
I wondered...if I kept driving, would this new connection accommodate? Or would it, so new and fragile, so tenuous, snap?
It's there, yet. It thrums. I feel him, Someone, there, rooting deeper, establishing himself, creating his space. My home isn't quite home, any more...it's missing something...Someone...
It is the sweetest ache, this absence, this presence, this want, this need...this Love...
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Your Words, Sir
Your words, Sir
Thick and slow
And sweet
Flow through me
Honeyed
Heavy
I am languorous with them
Stretching upward
Reaching outward
Hands dropping gracefully
To my pillow
Tracing a path to the place
On my neck
Where I want your lips
Murmuring
Your words, Sir
Soft, gentle,
Whispers
Shivering through
To my core
Brushing so delicate
Against my heart
Shattering it all the same
Your words, Sir
Flow through me
The pleasant lassitude
Of lava burning
Through the center
All the way through the center
Your words, Sir
Leave me hungry,
Quivering
Wanting
More
Of you
And
Your words, Sir
Thick and slow
And sweet
Flow through me
Honeyed
Heavy
I am languorous with them
Stretching upward
Reaching outward
Hands dropping gracefully
To my pillow
Tracing a path to the place
On my neck
Where I want your lips
Murmuring
Your words, Sir
Soft, gentle,
Whispers
Shivering through
To my core
Brushing so delicate
Against my heart
Shattering it all the same
Your words, Sir
Flow through me
The pleasant lassitude
Of lava burning
Through the center
All the way through the center
Your words, Sir
Leave me hungry,
Quivering
Wanting
More
Of you
And
Your words, Sir
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Butterflies
There are butterflies in my stomach. They've been there for days, flying through the anger, the sorrow, the bitterness.
Their wings softly, gently, patiently flutter, dissipating the clouds, making room for...something...something else...perhaps beautiful.
There are butterflies in my chest. They've been there for days, gliding through the cold, unconcerned with anything but their own brilliance.
Their wings softly, gently, patiently flutter, frightening away the loneliness birds that perch on my withered, stone heart.
There are butterflies in my head. They've been there for days, painting the grey into something more to their liking.
Their wings softly, gently, patiently flutter, brushing away the cobwebs, airing out the stillness, opening doors long closed.
The butterflies dance...
Their wings softly, gently, patiently flutter, dissipating the clouds, making room for...something...something else...perhaps beautiful.
There are butterflies in my chest. They've been there for days, gliding through the cold, unconcerned with anything but their own brilliance.
Their wings softly, gently, patiently flutter, frightening away the loneliness birds that perch on my withered, stone heart.
There are butterflies in my head. They've been there for days, painting the grey into something more to their liking.
Their wings softly, gently, patiently flutter, brushing away the cobwebs, airing out the stillness, opening doors long closed.
The butterflies dance...
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
That Thing You Do
I don't pretend to understand, sir, what it is you do.
I don't mean do as in work, as in polite conversation, what do you do?
I don't mean do as in what you do to thrive, to bring light and lightness of being in to your life.
I don't mean hobbies, pastimes, or how you fix your hair.
I refer to what you do to me.
I mean how you make me want to be...someone...somewhere...else. Better. New.
What is that?
And still I dream of someone who isn't there and wake with an ache that can't filled, calmed, soothed, because you can't caress something with nothing. You can't fill an empty place with dreams, wishes, hope.
Frustrating, sir, frustrating.
Fearful, sir, fearful.
The Angel knows better, she does, than to give way, to stand down, to open, unfold...trust.
The Angel is a fool.
What is that thing you do, sir?
I don't mean do as in work, as in polite conversation, what do you do?
I don't mean do as in what you do to thrive, to bring light and lightness of being in to your life.
I don't mean hobbies, pastimes, or how you fix your hair.
I refer to what you do to me.
I mean how you make me want to be...someone...somewhere...else. Better. New.
What is that?
And still I dream of someone who isn't there and wake with an ache that can't filled, calmed, soothed, because you can't caress something with nothing. You can't fill an empty place with dreams, wishes, hope.
Frustrating, sir, frustrating.
Fearful, sir, fearful.
The Angel knows better, she does, than to give way, to stand down, to open, unfold...trust.
The Angel is a fool.
What is that thing you do, sir?
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