Sailing lessons

I got an email recently about sailing without blame.

I imagine the sailing crew working together, hoisting the mainsail, securing the jib to the leading edge, tacking efficiently to follow the course of the wind and all smiling as the warm moist sea glistens on their working bodies. Everyone is fit and tan from the energetic sun and the boat glides smoothly over a calm sea.

I’m going to need some lessons. Or a new manual to follow. I have no idea what I just said.

What I end up doing is nothing like my imaginations. It resembles more of a cobbled together soap box, filled with leaded glass and gun powder on a metal frame that generates sparks while I drag it along the asphalt looking for an ocean to launch it in. I have long since kicked out any crew willing to assist me out of fear of losing them first to a better boat. I desperately thought I had abandoned this slip a long time ago and cannot figure out how to unlock it from my hitch.

Then, I seem to stall out…like now…

Solitary confinement or enhancement?

Damned if I know yet…

All of my paths are diverging leaving a singular segue into whatever is next for me.

Or are they converging into a hypersensitive era of more learning to be all right alone?

No one is leaving. Nothing is changing in my situation.

Lives are moving forward. Everyone is growing up. Schedules are about to get complicated.

What was it that Bob Dylan sang about times a’changing?

Counter argument for me to cling to:

In all the universe nothing remains permanent and unchanged but the spirit.” ~ ANTON CHEKHOV, The Seagull

Not much else for me to say, really.

Except for the entire back-story behind this post.

Peace…

Oh, I’m sitting here singing the where-did-I-go blues

there lurks a shadow in the distance
a thick black shape huddled behind a wall
solid brick mortared of earth and steel
unmoving impenetrable and built for war
a battle waged by antithetically heroic deeds
selfishly seeking shelter from flaming shrapnel
stealthily laying mines around the foundation
once thought to be weak prior to reinforcements
proven to be formidable beneath fault lines
separating miles beneath the false crust
to the red hot molten core
where there lurks a shadow


Some days I wonder where I’ve gone.

I have that not-so-out-of-body experience and see myself being grown-up and responsible, holding down a great job I love doing; talking openly and honestly with my spouse and children freely trusting in our mutual love and path with each other; and taking care of myself through healthy exercise, sleep and consistent creative efforts. I look at that woman and think, who the hell is she? When did I become her? Where did that terrified girl afraid to speak up, speak out and speak from within go? How did she turn into this other woman I barely recognize? I intuitively love and admire her which swells more of the same deep within my ribcage to create a celestial cycle of cultivation.

No sooner has my out-of-body self returned to its home, do I look back in anger as I see myself again in the lonely position of feeling abandoned, isolated and unsure of all the gifts the woman of the first part surely cherishes and sustains. I question my every move, sabotage my relationships, health and capabilities. I stop writing. I stop talking authentically. I stop sleeping soundly. I stare at that woman and think, who the fuck is this now?! Where the hell did the other one go? What in the bastardly blazes happened to chase off the supposedly cool and collected one leaving this puny bitch in her place? I immediately loathe and despise her destroying any chance of reasonably apparent reconciliation with my other true self.

That’s the pain wherein the wandering wonder woman that I am often finds myself. I am both truly the confident, self-loving soul of the created universe AND the whimpering, self-abhorrent object of the limited ego.

It can be difficult to embrace such a super-sized, double-wide trailer of a woman sometimes.

Unfortunately, them some times is now.