Time tricks after time
before my heart catches up.
Tea steeps in my cup.
Time tricks after time
before my heart catches up.
Tea steeps in my cup.
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.
Now I know out loud what I feared the worst inside.
Not earth-shattering news. Not life changing.
Certainly not assumed as much after all these years.
Not even really a big deal.
Except to me.
When we want so very much, in the deep recesses of our soul, to pour it out and fill it up by whatever means necessary – it can be achingly painful when some of us are not capable of whatever means we choose.
I have moved in someone else’s world and spoken someone else’s words in the deafening silence brought forth by two simple curtains parting to ignite the eternal human back to the shaman’s fire.
I hope to do that again someday.
With my own words, too.
I believe I can on occasion somehow split those demon-fire joyful dimensions happening inside me down to an understandable linguistic form and quite possibly create something beyond my own understanding.
I hope to do it again, only simpler.
And again, only more complex.
And again, only different.
Until I have nothing left of this body.
Until many bodies beyond.
I am a human by day.
I am a writer by soul.
I am a performer by desire.
No, I don’t think I can dance.
Although, that would be simply wonderful.
But I oh-so-very-much wished I could sing.
I am not telling you this to get pity. And, I have the proof, although I have been unable to convert the video to a format uploadabe, so no trying to placate me with that ole familiar “oh, sure you can!” smile on your face.
I am telling you this because that’s what I do.
Telling is what I am.
No need to mention it again, actually.
And very loudly whilst alone in my car, I might add…
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
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.
Check it out … I’m venturing into new areas.
I can’t help it.
I’m a thinker.
I consider the grand ideal.
I mentally investigate the minutia.
Let’s face it, life inside my head is much more fascinating, intricate and possibly agonizing than life outside.
The subject matter makes no difference as to the level of thought traffic speeding recklessly through the pathways of my brain.
If each one of my thought patterns was issued a citation for every time it raced through my head, the stack of tiny tickets given to the quest for the perfect handbag purchase would reach the sky and might very well equal that of the contemplation of my marriage and relationships.
In the past, some, including myself, have referred to this type of thinking as being “selfish and self-centered.”
After award-winning and meticulous mental analysis, I have come to the pedantic pronouncement of, “So what?!”
As a human animal, my primary directive is to survive. Granted, I am not having to elude any ferociously hungry lions, but my DNA is hard coated to out-dash, out-smart and out-live the other creatures surrounding me.
Does this make me heartless and a conceited bitch?
On the latter, sometimes. On the preceding – never.
When my child is sick for a week, like he has been this past one, I will do everything I can to wash my hands constantly, make sure the folks at work are appeased so that I don’t lose my job and pitifully ponder the fact that I am stuck at home because I have to take care of a sick kid.
Does that mean I do not hold his head when he throws up?
No – held it every time and wiped his forehead with a cold cloth.
Does it mean that I do not comfort him while he sits in a tub full of lukewarm water trying to break the fever whilst wearing his bathing suit out of modesty?
Nope – I held his hand and washed his hair and took in every moment of my “grown-up” little nine-year old who still needs his mommy.
Could my selfishness prevent me from apologizing to him when I get overly exasperated at his inability to take medicine without building it up into a psychological frenzy?
Nearly, but not in the end. I walked away for a few minutes, vented my overpowering annoyance outside of his ears and immediately marched back to his side, told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was at letting my frustration get in the way of taking care of him.
How about for my daughter? Is there anything my exceedingly pensive posture can do to prevent or eliminate the attacks of a seriously misinformed little second grade boy who called her “hairy” and the fall-out of attempting to secretly shave her legs with one of my old disposable razors resulting in a nasty cut on her shin?
Not at all. But I took that sense memory rushing back into my body like a tsunami of the same insults incurred when I was her age and used them to not only console her but as an opportunity to teach her about life and it’s strange, sometimes hurtful occurrences that we all live through and come out stronger on the other side.
Most recently, what about my husband and my best friend and their singing partnership? Do I allow my fears of being left behind to take care of the kids, not interesting, talented, witty or beautiful enough and singularly separate-from take over and obstruct my happiness at the success of the two people I love most in the world?
Not anymore. I opened the underbelly of my soul and expressed myself wholly and honestly, believing in the trust of our universe which, in turn, has empowered my true joy for their individual and combined gifts to bubble over the shallowness of my funk to be genuinely excited and thrilled for them before and after a great performance.
The conclusion I draw from all of my mindful, occasionally mysterious meditation on my life (and yours) is that we are blessed, bonded by mutual love and admiration and in this tricked-out, souped-up and totally-kickin’ Starship Enterprise-style-RV of life together.
And then I think: