Be broken to be whole.
Twist to be straight.
Be empty to be full.
Wear out to be renewed.
Have little and gain much.
Have much and get confused.
So wise souls hold to the one,
and test all thing against it.
Not showing themselves,
they shine forth.
Not justifying themselves,
they're self-evident.
Not praising themselves,
they're accomplished.
Not competing,
they have in all the world no competitor.
What they used to say in the old days,
"Be broken to be whole,"
was that mistaken?
Truly, to be whole
is to return.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Super Powers
This post really doesn't have much to do with anything in particular. I suppose you could connect it to recent events and glean some sort of meaning, but that would be your experience and what you need to see. Still, don't let that keep you.
One of the advantages of growing up in a household where I could go from "safe" to "not safe" at the drop of a hat was that I got really good at reading people. Like, really a lot. When people say random things that don't correspond to what they mean at all, I know exactly what they meant to say. When people I care about can't say anything at all, they don't really have to. I've since trained myself to back out of peoples' heads because 1) it freaks them out and 2) I'm not really serving anyone. Sure, if it's a delicate situation having an extra measure of empathy is helpful. I remember in a class on German History in college we were watching a video of Hitler, and there was an elder woman in class who'd grown up right in the middle of his psychosis. She was sitting on the other end of the room, far behind me in the dark and I remember getting hit with waves of grief. I was thinking it was some part of my experience in having lived there many years later, but I squared with that and the feeling didn't go away. I literally felt like I was in the ocean getting hit with wave after wave of heavy sadness. I finally heard her sniffle a bit, knew exactly who it was, got up and sat with my arm around her for the rest of the film.
And yet I find it easy to second guess myself and assume that things I pick up are either not real or are not what they seem to be, that I'm projecting something on to them and so I try to play down their importance. I don't want to be completely irrational, after all.
I remember the moment that I realized that I had a great capacity for affecting people, and in that moment also realized that it was utterly unacceptable for me to use that for harm.
I was in high school, and after a particularly dramatic breakup in full adolescent glory, decided I needed to get revenge on my former boyfriend. I now realize that I was feeling hurt at having been so easily and quickly replaced, that it shook my own sense of value and worth to have been passed over. This was still when I thought that if I forced my heart into someone's hands they would take care of it the way I wanted them to because if I loved them that meant they had to love me in a way that made sense to me...right? I did mention having some....quirky role models didn't I?
At any rate, I needed my power back. I didn't know that I'd given it to him in the first place and all I really had to do was claim it. I needed revenge. I came up with a plan. In retrospect it's absurdly simple, playing on the insecurities of teenagers is like trying to catch a fish that's been batter fried and served to you on a plate with chips. But at the time it came so naturally and clearly that I was a little caught up in the power.
I had my friend, whom he did not know, hand him a note on which I had written only two words:
They Know.
It was *delicious.* It was awesome. It was breathtakingly effective. For two weeks my network of cohorts in on the joke kept watch over him in class and watches him empty every dusty corner and skellington of his psyche onto the floor and wonder in turn:
Oh my god.....it's ____, no, wait, it couldn't be that.....there's no way. No, it's not that.....OH my GOD it's____
He never mentioned any of this, but it seems watching this drama dance about on his face was highly entertaining. Finally, one girl took pity on him and let him in on the secret. At that point, I'd had my revenge, I felt utterly sated. I'd watched his mind prey on him just as mine had preyed on me in the dark hours of the night, and I felt completely even.
He, of course, never spoke to me again, and I don't blame him at all. I'd have probably made and exception to the "no hitting girls" rule for that kind of stunt. I'd managed to find a say to make him utterly miserable for a fortnight, and yet told myself that I hadn't really done anything but turn loose the beasts already there. That if he'd been a good person he'd have had nothing to worry about. The ease with which I devised, implemented and justified this little experiment kind of alarmed me. My mother is very good at this game as well, which is why I've never kept a journal, or been too public with my thoughts until now, years after I've cut myself off from her and have reclaimed my own power from the source. For years after I would see how she would counsel friends in her capacity as psychologist, and then use secrets confessed to her in the sacred space of healing as ammunition in arguments. It stunned me that someone who called themselves healer could so casually throw someone under the bus to preserve their own sense of "rightness."
The moment after I discovered that the prank was over, I decided that I was not ready for that kind of power, and that I would not use it unless it was very clearly helping everyone involved. I did slip up a few times, most of those still in high school. I was able to catch myself before I got more than a sentence or two deep and retreated very hastily. The feelings that accompanied those fuck-ups were very good motivators. I don't like to get in f2f arguments, and when something is bothering me I often let it sit for days until it simmers to the real issue so I don't let fly in a fit of passion with something that is harmful. Intense emotional states bring with them a certain clarity for me, and in arguments it's very tempting to reach for the nearest thing to throw...which is often the very last thing I would touch for someone I love. I like to avoid that sort of thing.
One of the advantages of growing up in a household where I could go from "safe" to "not safe" at the drop of a hat was that I got really good at reading people. Like, really a lot. When people say random things that don't correspond to what they mean at all, I know exactly what they meant to say. When people I care about can't say anything at all, they don't really have to. I've since trained myself to back out of peoples' heads because 1) it freaks them out and 2) I'm not really serving anyone. Sure, if it's a delicate situation having an extra measure of empathy is helpful. I remember in a class on German History in college we were watching a video of Hitler, and there was an elder woman in class who'd grown up right in the middle of his psychosis. She was sitting on the other end of the room, far behind me in the dark and I remember getting hit with waves of grief. I was thinking it was some part of my experience in having lived there many years later, but I squared with that and the feeling didn't go away. I literally felt like I was in the ocean getting hit with wave after wave of heavy sadness. I finally heard her sniffle a bit, knew exactly who it was, got up and sat with my arm around her for the rest of the film.
And yet I find it easy to second guess myself and assume that things I pick up are either not real or are not what they seem to be, that I'm projecting something on to them and so I try to play down their importance. I don't want to be completely irrational, after all.
I remember the moment that I realized that I had a great capacity for affecting people, and in that moment also realized that it was utterly unacceptable for me to use that for harm.
I was in high school, and after a particularly dramatic breakup in full adolescent glory, decided I needed to get revenge on my former boyfriend. I now realize that I was feeling hurt at having been so easily and quickly replaced, that it shook my own sense of value and worth to have been passed over. This was still when I thought that if I forced my heart into someone's hands they would take care of it the way I wanted them to because if I loved them that meant they had to love me in a way that made sense to me...right? I did mention having some....quirky role models didn't I?
At any rate, I needed my power back. I didn't know that I'd given it to him in the first place and all I really had to do was claim it. I needed revenge. I came up with a plan. In retrospect it's absurdly simple, playing on the insecurities of teenagers is like trying to catch a fish that's been batter fried and served to you on a plate with chips. But at the time it came so naturally and clearly that I was a little caught up in the power.
I had my friend, whom he did not know, hand him a note on which I had written only two words:
They Know.
It was *delicious.* It was awesome. It was breathtakingly effective. For two weeks my network of cohorts in on the joke kept watch over him in class and watches him empty every dusty corner and skellington of his psyche onto the floor and wonder in turn:
Oh my god.....it's ____, no, wait, it couldn't be that.....there's no way. No, it's not that.....OH my GOD it's____
He never mentioned any of this, but it seems watching this drama dance about on his face was highly entertaining. Finally, one girl took pity on him and let him in on the secret. At that point, I'd had my revenge, I felt utterly sated. I'd watched his mind prey on him just as mine had preyed on me in the dark hours of the night, and I felt completely even.
He, of course, never spoke to me again, and I don't blame him at all. I'd have probably made and exception to the "no hitting girls" rule for that kind of stunt. I'd managed to find a say to make him utterly miserable for a fortnight, and yet told myself that I hadn't really done anything but turn loose the beasts already there. That if he'd been a good person he'd have had nothing to worry about. The ease with which I devised, implemented and justified this little experiment kind of alarmed me. My mother is very good at this game as well, which is why I've never kept a journal, or been too public with my thoughts until now, years after I've cut myself off from her and have reclaimed my own power from the source. For years after I would see how she would counsel friends in her capacity as psychologist, and then use secrets confessed to her in the sacred space of healing as ammunition in arguments. It stunned me that someone who called themselves healer could so casually throw someone under the bus to preserve their own sense of "rightness."
The moment after I discovered that the prank was over, I decided that I was not ready for that kind of power, and that I would not use it unless it was very clearly helping everyone involved. I did slip up a few times, most of those still in high school. I was able to catch myself before I got more than a sentence or two deep and retreated very hastily. The feelings that accompanied those fuck-ups were very good motivators. I don't like to get in f2f arguments, and when something is bothering me I often let it sit for days until it simmers to the real issue so I don't let fly in a fit of passion with something that is harmful. Intense emotional states bring with them a certain clarity for me, and in arguments it's very tempting to reach for the nearest thing to throw...which is often the very last thing I would touch for someone I love. I like to avoid that sort of thing.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Borrowed Faith
I seem to do things back to back, stack 'em up and get it out. Life likes to double up on miscarriages, the death of friends, jobs coming and going and other things of a sucktastic nature. Recently it's been a bit of heartache, back to back like two phoenix bursting into flames. My birds are looking poorly at the moment, and yes they'll grow back into something beautiful, but right now my life smells like burnt feathers. Turns out the anxiety of my birds is based on similar things, and the best course of action is to listen to the runes and sit still for a while.
So, I've decided to spend a little time on myself. A wise woman told me about a tradition of looking into the seven basic emotions that make up human experience, and how they connect over a course of 49 days. I've decided to spent the next 18 weeks until Mr. H's school ends working on what I've got, clearing out my house and my head. Putting new things on hold for now so I can juggle what I have with more grace and beauty, and perhaps become more of what I'm trying to convince the people I care about that I am. If I make room, maybe new things will fit better.
So, I've decided to spend a little time on myself. A wise woman told me about a tradition of looking into the seven basic emotions that make up human experience, and how they connect over a course of 49 days. I've decided to spent the next 18 weeks until Mr. H's school ends working on what I've got, clearing out my house and my head. Putting new things on hold for now so I can juggle what I have with more grace and beauty, and perhaps become more of what I'm trying to convince the people I care about that I am. If I make room, maybe new things will fit better.
Friday, April 16, 2010
A single game of chess
Patience has never been a virtue that came easily to me. I like things now, preferably five minutes ago, unless it's something I have to do, and then I'll get to it later.
The only time that I can recall patience feeling perfectly natural was when I sat next to Mr. H in class many years ago. Fate put me at his table, and for a quarter we bonded over being smart and having a professor who was condescending, vague and often flat wrong. He was with someone else at the time, as was I, and I was possessed by the entirely new feeling of "want, but can wait for it." I had an unshakable confidence that he would come back around when the time was right, and everything would happen as it was supposed to. A lot has happened since then, a lot has changed, and all of it has built from that moment of patience and made my life better.
I was playing a game of chess with a friend a while back, and we were analyzing my strategy. He noted that I was not playing aggressively. I saw that I was expecting not to win, which was reasonable since I'm still essentially a beginner who has just enough game to be moderately irritating at times, but not a threat. But it was the intent, the playing to mitigate defeat that was interesting. I wasn't even trying for what I wanted because I already assumed i couldn't have it, so I drew myself a little circle of what was reasonable and tried to aim for that. Standing outside talking about the game I was floored as I realized this has been my entire approach to life. For all the talk I give about not limiting my universe to what I see, but leaving the possibilities open for everything there is, I was still playing to mitigate defeat. That single game of chess shook me to my core as I realized that I'm never going to get what I want if I don't try. I may not get it even then, but I'll get closer than if I stayed home. And I know from experience that often the thing I think I want is really the carrot to get me out the door to the other place I need to be that's along the way.
There's something else I want now. I see that I've been playing the game the way I know, the way I always have, because that's where I was then. I've been ill at ease, reaching for something because the old solutions weren't working anymore. I see now that my goal has shifted, that I've allowed myself first to admit that I even want the thing I've always convinced myself I couldn't have, and then I come to find that I've built my life around people with similar goals. There was one last place I was applying the rules of the old game, and I finally see that what I was trying to get there was what had worked in the past. The lessons I needed to learn, the experiences I needed to have, the growing I needed to do *then* have all brought me to *now,* and for the first time since I sat in that classroom, I'm content to wait. I know what I see in my future, and where there was anxiety filling the space between with idle action and relationships to distract me from the thing I couldn't figure out, now there is peace at holding a space, because I know what goes there now. I had a void, and was trying to fill it with things that worked before. Now I see not an emptiness, but a place of light and air and welcoming.
When the benefits are temporary, it doesn't matter if I play from the hip. I'm building a home now. In the stories, when men want to prove their love or honor, they hunt dragons and quest for impossible items and generally go *out* to prove themselves. They never talk about what the women do, it seems we just sit there looking pretty waiting to be won. But I don't want heroes, I want partners, and so I go on my quest inside, clear my hearth, warm myself and hold space for when those dear to me decide to come home.
The only time that I can recall patience feeling perfectly natural was when I sat next to Mr. H in class many years ago. Fate put me at his table, and for a quarter we bonded over being smart and having a professor who was condescending, vague and often flat wrong. He was with someone else at the time, as was I, and I was possessed by the entirely new feeling of "want, but can wait for it." I had an unshakable confidence that he would come back around when the time was right, and everything would happen as it was supposed to. A lot has happened since then, a lot has changed, and all of it has built from that moment of patience and made my life better.
I was playing a game of chess with a friend a while back, and we were analyzing my strategy. He noted that I was not playing aggressively. I saw that I was expecting not to win, which was reasonable since I'm still essentially a beginner who has just enough game to be moderately irritating at times, but not a threat. But it was the intent, the playing to mitigate defeat that was interesting. I wasn't even trying for what I wanted because I already assumed i couldn't have it, so I drew myself a little circle of what was reasonable and tried to aim for that. Standing outside talking about the game I was floored as I realized this has been my entire approach to life. For all the talk I give about not limiting my universe to what I see, but leaving the possibilities open for everything there is, I was still playing to mitigate defeat. That single game of chess shook me to my core as I realized that I'm never going to get what I want if I don't try. I may not get it even then, but I'll get closer than if I stayed home. And I know from experience that often the thing I think I want is really the carrot to get me out the door to the other place I need to be that's along the way.
There's something else I want now. I see that I've been playing the game the way I know, the way I always have, because that's where I was then. I've been ill at ease, reaching for something because the old solutions weren't working anymore. I see now that my goal has shifted, that I've allowed myself first to admit that I even want the thing I've always convinced myself I couldn't have, and then I come to find that I've built my life around people with similar goals. There was one last place I was applying the rules of the old game, and I finally see that what I was trying to get there was what had worked in the past. The lessons I needed to learn, the experiences I needed to have, the growing I needed to do *then* have all brought me to *now,* and for the first time since I sat in that classroom, I'm content to wait. I know what I see in my future, and where there was anxiety filling the space between with idle action and relationships to distract me from the thing I couldn't figure out, now there is peace at holding a space, because I know what goes there now. I had a void, and was trying to fill it with things that worked before. Now I see not an emptiness, but a place of light and air and welcoming.
When the benefits are temporary, it doesn't matter if I play from the hip. I'm building a home now. In the stories, when men want to prove their love or honor, they hunt dragons and quest for impossible items and generally go *out* to prove themselves. They never talk about what the women do, it seems we just sit there looking pretty waiting to be won. But I don't want heroes, I want partners, and so I go on my quest inside, clear my hearth, warm myself and hold space for when those dear to me decide to come home.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Moments in the Woods
"Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer."
— Mark Z. Danielewski (House of Leaves)
It's easy for me to get lost in the moments. It's easy to feel like I'm living in the "now," and that's what the sages tell us to do, right? But it's not living in the now, it's trying to hold on to a single now, which very quickly becomes the past. And in holding on to it, I'm trying ot make it the future. I'm learning that in life, the past doesn't really care, and the future is having none of it. The Fates will spin the strings they damn well please and there's naught I can do about it.
I suppose there is still a part of me that's afraid that when I find something good, it might be the last bit for who knows how long and I want to hold on with both hands closed. When things are good, I let my guard get all droppy, and that's where the bad comes in. Or rather, where it did. When there were still people I allowed in my life who would look for openings and attack. Those people are gone and I'm slowly learning to trust that there is always more good, always more love, more happiness, more joy.
I know that there is a bigger picture. I'm learning to trust that my insights and dreams are not thwarted by temporary measures. That Now is just a moment, and good or bad that moment will pass and others will come. I get small glimpses of how it will be, I don't get a road map and a script. Trying to make things happen the way they make sense to me limits the possibilities of the Universe only to what I know, and that's a very small playing field indeed.
There are times when "bad" actions are a mercy. There are times when "good" actions can cause harm. As I say, comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. There is someone I would like to thank. This person's actions and intent have caused quite a bit of disruption in my life. I was very put out at the time. I wanted my moment to last as long as I wanted, I wanted to hold on to my little space of time. The Norns chuckled to themselves and kept on spinning.
In disrupting my moment, this person shook the siren song out of my ears, and I was able to swim back to shore. Once I found my feet, I realized they have done me a service. To get to my moment, there were bits I skipped over in haste and frenzy. I now have time to look at each moment with clear eyes. I now have time to see the beauty and the joy around me. I now have time to see that far from taking love away, she has given me space to grow the love planted all around me, to cherish each moment and the patience to let things grow at their own pace. I can no more force love than I can force my flowers to open early without injuring or destroying them. I'm sure this was not her intent, nor was it mine. But in doing what we need to do, things do seem to work out. As I cannot do so without causing harm, or at least without knowing I'm causing good, I thank her here.
If I try to hold on to the thread, it frays and kinks and tangles. If I let the Fates spin their magic, and let it flow over both hands, open, then all the beauty and joy and love in the world will flow freely to, through and by me. And there is always more.
It's easy for me to get lost in the moments. It's easy to feel like I'm living in the "now," and that's what the sages tell us to do, right? But it's not living in the now, it's trying to hold on to a single now, which very quickly becomes the past. And in holding on to it, I'm trying ot make it the future. I'm learning that in life, the past doesn't really care, and the future is having none of it. The Fates will spin the strings they damn well please and there's naught I can do about it.
I suppose there is still a part of me that's afraid that when I find something good, it might be the last bit for who knows how long and I want to hold on with both hands closed. When things are good, I let my guard get all droppy, and that's where the bad comes in. Or rather, where it did. When there were still people I allowed in my life who would look for openings and attack. Those people are gone and I'm slowly learning to trust that there is always more good, always more love, more happiness, more joy.
I know that there is a bigger picture. I'm learning to trust that my insights and dreams are not thwarted by temporary measures. That Now is just a moment, and good or bad that moment will pass and others will come. I get small glimpses of how it will be, I don't get a road map and a script. Trying to make things happen the way they make sense to me limits the possibilities of the Universe only to what I know, and that's a very small playing field indeed.
There are times when "bad" actions are a mercy. There are times when "good" actions can cause harm. As I say, comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. There is someone I would like to thank. This person's actions and intent have caused quite a bit of disruption in my life. I was very put out at the time. I wanted my moment to last as long as I wanted, I wanted to hold on to my little space of time. The Norns chuckled to themselves and kept on spinning.
In disrupting my moment, this person shook the siren song out of my ears, and I was able to swim back to shore. Once I found my feet, I realized they have done me a service. To get to my moment, there were bits I skipped over in haste and frenzy. I now have time to look at each moment with clear eyes. I now have time to see the beauty and the joy around me. I now have time to see that far from taking love away, she has given me space to grow the love planted all around me, to cherish each moment and the patience to let things grow at their own pace. I can no more force love than I can force my flowers to open early without injuring or destroying them. I'm sure this was not her intent, nor was it mine. But in doing what we need to do, things do seem to work out. As I cannot do so without causing harm, or at least without knowing I'm causing good, I thank her here.
If I try to hold on to the thread, it frays and kinks and tangles. If I let the Fates spin their magic, and let it flow over both hands, open, then all the beauty and joy and love in the world will flow freely to, through and by me. And there is always more.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
To each, according to his need....
When I lived in Hawaii, one of the memories that sticks with the the most is the pier. About two miles down the road from my house at the end of Singer Blvd, the base, the island and the state, there was an officer's club that had seen better days. The club proper was still in use from time to time, and it wasn't uncommon to see the tennis courts in use, but the pool had been drained for years and some of the grounds were looking neglected. Behind the club was the bend of a beachfront running trail, a gravel patch and large concrete blocks designed ot keep the sea at bay when she was excited. I would walk through the parking lot, stepping over the bumps at the end of each parking space. I can remember the feel of my sneakers. I was usually in sneakers, because I had to claim to be exercising to get a moment's peace. I was encouraged to be thinner, but not too thin, and this was an approved moment of time to myself.
It was usually twilight when I arrived, and I'd sit on the blocks at the edge of the water letting the wind wrap his fingers through my hair, the smell of diesel fuel, jet fuel, salt and creosote heavy in my lungs. It was usually warm and cooling, but not too much of either. As the sun would set and the stars came out, I would angle myself so i could see out the narrow opening of the harbor into nothing. Staring out into the end of the world, listening to the waves gently slapping onto the shore with a rhythm my bones have known since the water formed out of stardust I would sink into the stone, the world would fall away around me and the infinity of space would absorb me. The ocean would sing her song to me, and teach me things about the universe, about myself, about what I was doing here.
I don't spend much time at the shore anymore. Even where there is water, there is land on the other side, land i can see. I've not seen the edge of the world in a long time. That kind of distance puts a perspective on things.
Yesterday I spent some time by the water. I walked along a rocky beach, let the ocean cover my hand, picked up pieces of glass and bottle caps so little feet wouldn't get cut when the weather warms a bit. farther up there was a grassy hill with a bench, and I sat there in the quiet and with words, watching the sun creep down to sneak behind the planet again. Once more I felt the neverending waves, the depth, the secrets, the songs of my mother. She reminded me of mr. Bucky Fuller, or pattern integrities, of the water that has waves, but once the wave is gone, the water is still there. Of ropes with knots, as real and solid as anything else, but slide the knot to the end of the rope, and it disappears. Where did it go? Was it ever there at all? Does it matter?
How can you tell where the rope ends and the knot begins?
If i can see patterns, if I know how they will end, if I know they can end, if I know that this will hurt, that i will be crushed and heart broken again and again, do I protect my heart? Do i put it away? Do I keep it from things that might put knots in my rope? If there's no knot, then I can't miss it when it's worked its way through. But then, all the usefulness of the pattern, the time when an anchor would have been useful will be lost or passed by. I think the best course is to know that pain is coming, to know that someday I'll lose everything I gain, and to keep trying anyway. I am here so that through my eyes the universe can express and experience love.
I am transient. I am fragile meatstuff whose time and troubles are fleeting. Everything I'm given is taken away, but it leaves a little part of itself with me. it makes me more.
I wish I'd had just a little more. I wish I'd had a proper goodbye. I wish I could have anchored one more time to a moment that smells like ocean and flows like waves. I wish I could have let go on my terms, honored the past with the present, had one. more. time.
But time isn't mine. it's just time. And so I will stay here in this space, thinking of the ocean until the tears stop running down my face. I seem to have a lot of them. I keep finding new depths. I know that when I finally reach the end of them.....I don't have a second part of that thought. I don't even know that I will reach the end of them. I assume I will, I'm pretty sure I will, but I honestly don't know what happens then. I don't know what to hope for, there are too many pieces not in place. I don't know what to look for, I don't know where I'm going, or even if I'll be invited. I don't know how to let go of my dreams without letting go of them all.
With both hands open, I've nothing to hold on to.
It was usually twilight when I arrived, and I'd sit on the blocks at the edge of the water letting the wind wrap his fingers through my hair, the smell of diesel fuel, jet fuel, salt and creosote heavy in my lungs. It was usually warm and cooling, but not too much of either. As the sun would set and the stars came out, I would angle myself so i could see out the narrow opening of the harbor into nothing. Staring out into the end of the world, listening to the waves gently slapping onto the shore with a rhythm my bones have known since the water formed out of stardust I would sink into the stone, the world would fall away around me and the infinity of space would absorb me. The ocean would sing her song to me, and teach me things about the universe, about myself, about what I was doing here.
I don't spend much time at the shore anymore. Even where there is water, there is land on the other side, land i can see. I've not seen the edge of the world in a long time. That kind of distance puts a perspective on things.
Yesterday I spent some time by the water. I walked along a rocky beach, let the ocean cover my hand, picked up pieces of glass and bottle caps so little feet wouldn't get cut when the weather warms a bit. farther up there was a grassy hill with a bench, and I sat there in the quiet and with words, watching the sun creep down to sneak behind the planet again. Once more I felt the neverending waves, the depth, the secrets, the songs of my mother. She reminded me of mr. Bucky Fuller, or pattern integrities, of the water that has waves, but once the wave is gone, the water is still there. Of ropes with knots, as real and solid as anything else, but slide the knot to the end of the rope, and it disappears. Where did it go? Was it ever there at all? Does it matter?
How can you tell where the rope ends and the knot begins?
If i can see patterns, if I know how they will end, if I know they can end, if I know that this will hurt, that i will be crushed and heart broken again and again, do I protect my heart? Do i put it away? Do I keep it from things that might put knots in my rope? If there's no knot, then I can't miss it when it's worked its way through. But then, all the usefulness of the pattern, the time when an anchor would have been useful will be lost or passed by. I think the best course is to know that pain is coming, to know that someday I'll lose everything I gain, and to keep trying anyway. I am here so that through my eyes the universe can express and experience love.
I am transient. I am fragile meatstuff whose time and troubles are fleeting. Everything I'm given is taken away, but it leaves a little part of itself with me. it makes me more.
I wish I'd had just a little more. I wish I'd had a proper goodbye. I wish I could have anchored one more time to a moment that smells like ocean and flows like waves. I wish I could have let go on my terms, honored the past with the present, had one. more. time.
But time isn't mine. it's just time. And so I will stay here in this space, thinking of the ocean until the tears stop running down my face. I seem to have a lot of them. I keep finding new depths. I know that when I finally reach the end of them.....I don't have a second part of that thought. I don't even know that I will reach the end of them. I assume I will, I'm pretty sure I will, but I honestly don't know what happens then. I don't know what to hope for, there are too many pieces not in place. I don't know what to look for, I don't know where I'm going, or even if I'll be invited. I don't know how to let go of my dreams without letting go of them all.
With both hands open, I've nothing to hold on to.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Requiem for a Dream
The problem with being the door, is that after people cross through, they're off, and I'm still here.
I try to convince myself that I'm projecting, that I'm letting my imagination get away with me, that I'm hormonal or emotional. And while these things might be true, they don't stop me from also being completely right. I might not get the "why" at that very moment, but I'm really good at the what, even from different zip codes.
A few months ago, I found something. It was in rough shape, but part of my talent has always been being handed a dead stick in a pot and breathing life into a thriving plant. I coaxed it, nurtured it, I saw our timeline together grow long and beautiful. And then something came up. I thought I was being irrationally jealous, that the narrative in my head was paranoia and that I should really just get over it because everything was fine.
People who want to be right all the time should try it.
And now it's gone. Not completely, not yet. I'll have it for a few more months, until another gardener moves in, and then I'll get to see my plant less and less, because whatever assurances, I'll always be the one who did a thing that they didn't, and they'll never feel quite at ease around me. I'll be able to visit my plant when other people are around, but really, that will be it for a while.
There's a fork in that timeline, one way, they sprout, and for seven years tend the garden until it doesn't work anymore. That has a fork, one the other gardener feels that the new sprout, and my new sprout will secure our positions enough to feel comfortable. I'm not sure what Future Me will do with that, because Present Me's heart feels ripped out in that spot. You see, in my original timeline, I was the one with that sprout. I'd even named the wee thing. The other fork simply wanders farther and farther away from my path until I can't even hear their sprout chattering anymore.
The other way, they don't sprout, and the garden becomes too difficult to work in about a year and a half. At that time, there's a small possibility I'll get my plant back. More likely, my plant will feel that its roots have been too long out of the garden, it'll see that I have a sprout of my own and set out to find another patch of earth. Future Me will have to see what happens when we get there.
Either way, what I had is gone now, and the only thing left to do is clear my presence from that patch of earth I'd come to call home and step aside like a lady.
I try to convince myself that I'm projecting, that I'm letting my imagination get away with me, that I'm hormonal or emotional. And while these things might be true, they don't stop me from also being completely right. I might not get the "why" at that very moment, but I'm really good at the what, even from different zip codes.
A few months ago, I found something. It was in rough shape, but part of my talent has always been being handed a dead stick in a pot and breathing life into a thriving plant. I coaxed it, nurtured it, I saw our timeline together grow long and beautiful. And then something came up. I thought I was being irrationally jealous, that the narrative in my head was paranoia and that I should really just get over it because everything was fine.
People who want to be right all the time should try it.
And now it's gone. Not completely, not yet. I'll have it for a few more months, until another gardener moves in, and then I'll get to see my plant less and less, because whatever assurances, I'll always be the one who did a thing that they didn't, and they'll never feel quite at ease around me. I'll be able to visit my plant when other people are around, but really, that will be it for a while.
There's a fork in that timeline, one way, they sprout, and for seven years tend the garden until it doesn't work anymore. That has a fork, one the other gardener feels that the new sprout, and my new sprout will secure our positions enough to feel comfortable. I'm not sure what Future Me will do with that, because Present Me's heart feels ripped out in that spot. You see, in my original timeline, I was the one with that sprout. I'd even named the wee thing. The other fork simply wanders farther and farther away from my path until I can't even hear their sprout chattering anymore.
The other way, they don't sprout, and the garden becomes too difficult to work in about a year and a half. At that time, there's a small possibility I'll get my plant back. More likely, my plant will feel that its roots have been too long out of the garden, it'll see that I have a sprout of my own and set out to find another patch of earth. Future Me will have to see what happens when we get there.
Either way, what I had is gone now, and the only thing left to do is clear my presence from that patch of earth I'd come to call home and step aside like a lady.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
A year ago today
I woke up early and wasn't allowed to have breakfast. My stomach had to be empty so that when they put me under, unpleasantness wouldn't follow.
I'm sorry we didn't quite connect there, little one. so very much has happened since then. so much that couldn't have if you'd stayed. you dropped in to say hello, and left again, courtesy of general anesthesia and a latex free OR so I wouldn't have to wait again to see when nature would take it's course. You have a friend now to keep you company. When your time is right, I hope you'll come back.
I'm sorry we didn't quite connect there, little one. so very much has happened since then. so much that couldn't have if you'd stayed. you dropped in to say hello, and left again, courtesy of general anesthesia and a latex free OR so I wouldn't have to wait again to see when nature would take it's course. You have a friend now to keep you company. When your time is right, I hope you'll come back.
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