Around 1:30 this morning while sitting on the front porch I listened to a beautiful bird singing his heart out. His song was mesmerizing. I wish I knew the words so I could have sung along. As I sit here today, there are hundreds of birds all singing. I don't know the words to any of their songs either. Thus, I listen.
Many times when Zuko is dancing, wagging his tail, jumping up on my chest I say to him;
"Zuko, use your words."
I wish he could. Our bonds with our pets, they are so strong, yet there are so many times we just don't know what they are trying to tell us.
Last month when I was in the hospital I felt the same way. Drifting in and out of consciousness - there were times when I believed I had a choice; I could have just let go. I could have stopped fighting. If I stopped fighting then perhaps I would have gone home. It isn't in us to stop fighting. The human spirit is so resilient. Our will to survive surpasses anything else.
Yesterday I wrote a suicide note. Such was my despair I wish I had not fought so hard. I wished I had let go and let God. Worry not, I can't commit suicide - I believe in heaven and I have to get there because that is where Mommie and Little Gram are.
I wonder what happens if I did all of this surviving and my belief in heaven was only years of Catholic school and kneeling in church. What then? Gosh, what if all that is not true. Those nuns beating us with their rulers so we could be good boys and girls. So we would be children of God. So we could go to heaven.
Life has so many mountains, turns and twists. Some days, each of us may feel - this is just too much. Even the happy morning person has rotten days.
We get sick. Loved ones pass away. As we get older, our own mortality creeps into our thoughts. We witness the depravity of some. The evil of others. We shake our heads in disbelief as we watch CNN or MSNBC. At some point nothing shocks us. It may horrify us, but shock us - living is this minute by minute televised, computerized, cell phonized (I made that word up) the worst of humanity is in our face.
We have to make a conscious choice to find goodness, kindness, something beautiful. We have to pay it forward. In this world, in your world, in my world - we have to believe we can make a difference - because if we can't? What then?
A very dear friend tells me her favorite word is hope. Lying in bed at night we hope for a better tomorrow. Then we get up and we make it a better tomorrow. Nothing happens if we don't roll up our sleeves and get the work done.
I sit here on the front porch hour after hour after hour - wondering about "What Then" and "Hope." Will my soul filled with hope be enough for the what then? Will anybodys'? My friend is pretty smart. I am betting on her Hope.
What then? Hell, I don't know. I am focused on right now. Make it through this one day. Really, we can't even begin to control what then? The shit just pops up and like a 2x4 crushes us in the face.
Reckon, our will to survive gets us through triage. Our faith helps us see a tomorrow. Love lets us believe in better times. Hope feeds our soul.
I really don't want my life to end without it having had some significance. We don't get a do over. I just want to be meaningful. Once upon a time when I was a teacher I felt every day was meaningful. Children do that. They look at you with innocent eyes and follow your every lead. I miss teaching. I do lv2rt, but I am a teacher.
Don't know what prompted me to write today - it has been so long...last night listening to that bird; perhaps I understood just enough of what he was singing.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Chasing Daylight
Yes, chasing daylight is what Zuko and I did getting back to LA. Zuko was not feeling well - all I knew was I had to get him back to LA. So, up at 2:00 am, on the road by 3:00 - heading West. Watching the sunrise in my rearview mirror while that Harvest Moon lit the road in front of me.
Somewhere in Kansas it occurred to me...chasing daylight is a thread noticeable throughout my life. During night, in darkness - bad things happen most. People are bold when they are hidden in shadows. People are brave when they believe no one is watching. Roaches come out in darkness. Light of day tempers cowardice. Does not eliminate it.
It is thus I have chased daylight. Watching and wanting the sun to rise. Believing I was safer by dawn's early light. Still my favorite time of day is sunset. Part of my attraction to this left coast was watching sunsets on the Pacific. And when I was such a basket case, I was frozen with fear until darkness.
Ok, I will admit to my dichotomous personality. You have to give me a break on that one. Who amongst is always one way, and only one way. (remembering of course that always and never do not exist on a time/space continuum.)
Blocking out every physical or emotional need of my own, I had to get Zuko back to LA. It is true that whole mother lifting a car off of her child - and I am adept at blocking. (I think mental health folks refer to it as disassociating) Matters not what you want to call it - LOVE gives us powers beyond comprehension.
Along our route, after listening to every song about 10 times more than I could stand. I went into my "zone." A place which allows me to function without food, water, bathroom breaks, no pain, no thought, no nothing - my entire focus was on 6 feet of white line, then 6 feet of white line, then six feet of white line...
There, in that space of a pickup cab; from town to town, taking back roads because I could not handle the intensity of interstate driving. Moving West/South West as safely and quickly as I possibly could I was chasing daylight so I could catch a sunset...in turning off all connections - emotional, physical - having only one purpose - In Kansas, with Dorothy, Tinman, Scarecrow, and the Lion - Well, I knew I could not go home again. Home was a place I had built with Liz and Emily. Home was friends who became family, who had moved forward as life dictated, and I, I had to find a way to do that.
Starting over at 51. Still knowing and feeling so blessed and loved. Still feeling unworthy and guilty. Somewhere along that stretch of small towns the world had all but forgotten. Boarded up Main Streets, shut down restaurants and cafes; Irony of it all not lost - I could still smile. I would feel again.
I will, I will, I will...through tears I could not stop; I repeated those two words - I will, I will, I will. How easy it had become to masticate on the minutia (excellent alliteration!) Nope, was not an answer I found. It was a desire. My desire, me, this person who has always tried my best - not perfect, not without flaws - yet, a person who has picked up and moved forward. A person who has survived unthinkable acts of cruelty, neglect, abuse - a person who has known deep love, incredible passion, simple joys - we are all me. I am just like everyone else.
I can see work I need to do. Forgiveness I need to give. Kindness I am most grateful for. With all of life I am loved and worthy of being loved. When I have failed, it was not for wanting to be better. Sometimes, even our best just is not good enough. That measuring stick does not belong to me. In my soul, in my truth - with regrets and with hopes, what I can do is tighten up my laces, pick up my head, and keep watching those six feet of white line.
I will keep chasing daylight just for a glimpse of a sunset over the Pacific. I will continue searching for a better me. In my darkest hour I will hold that thread of hope. Though thinking of it, quite honestly is exhausting, I don't know how to give up. I don't know how to burn bridges or shut doors. I only know how to keep going. To continue to do my best. To pray my best is good enough. To give thanks for those who humble me with their love and kindness.
Maybe I will watch The Wizard of Oz. I have not seen that movie. Though I know the Lion needed courage, the Scarecrow needed a backbone, and the Tinman needed oil, at least I think that is it. And Dorothy, she needed to go home. Reckon, home exists inside of us. Home is with those who love us. Perhaps I have only more questions; long stretches of quiet road can illicit questions. Perhaps a long stretch of sitting still will bring forth some answers. That would be really cool. Or maybe catching a glimpse of a sun setting over the Pacific - Here's Hoping!
Somewhere in Kansas it occurred to me...chasing daylight is a thread noticeable throughout my life. During night, in darkness - bad things happen most. People are bold when they are hidden in shadows. People are brave when they believe no one is watching. Roaches come out in darkness. Light of day tempers cowardice. Does not eliminate it.
It is thus I have chased daylight. Watching and wanting the sun to rise. Believing I was safer by dawn's early light. Still my favorite time of day is sunset. Part of my attraction to this left coast was watching sunsets on the Pacific. And when I was such a basket case, I was frozen with fear until darkness.
Ok, I will admit to my dichotomous personality. You have to give me a break on that one. Who amongst is always one way, and only one way. (remembering of course that always and never do not exist on a time/space continuum.)
Blocking out every physical or emotional need of my own, I had to get Zuko back to LA. It is true that whole mother lifting a car off of her child - and I am adept at blocking. (I think mental health folks refer to it as disassociating) Matters not what you want to call it - LOVE gives us powers beyond comprehension.
Along our route, after listening to every song about 10 times more than I could stand. I went into my "zone." A place which allows me to function without food, water, bathroom breaks, no pain, no thought, no nothing - my entire focus was on 6 feet of white line, then 6 feet of white line, then six feet of white line...
There, in that space of a pickup cab; from town to town, taking back roads because I could not handle the intensity of interstate driving. Moving West/South West as safely and quickly as I possibly could I was chasing daylight so I could catch a sunset...in turning off all connections - emotional, physical - having only one purpose - In Kansas, with Dorothy, Tinman, Scarecrow, and the Lion - Well, I knew I could not go home again. Home was a place I had built with Liz and Emily. Home was friends who became family, who had moved forward as life dictated, and I, I had to find a way to do that.
Starting over at 51. Still knowing and feeling so blessed and loved. Still feeling unworthy and guilty. Somewhere along that stretch of small towns the world had all but forgotten. Boarded up Main Streets, shut down restaurants and cafes; Irony of it all not lost - I could still smile. I would feel again.
I will, I will, I will...through tears I could not stop; I repeated those two words - I will, I will, I will. How easy it had become to masticate on the minutia (excellent alliteration!) Nope, was not an answer I found. It was a desire. My desire, me, this person who has always tried my best - not perfect, not without flaws - yet, a person who has picked up and moved forward. A person who has survived unthinkable acts of cruelty, neglect, abuse - a person who has known deep love, incredible passion, simple joys - we are all me. I am just like everyone else.
I can see work I need to do. Forgiveness I need to give. Kindness I am most grateful for. With all of life I am loved and worthy of being loved. When I have failed, it was not for wanting to be better. Sometimes, even our best just is not good enough. That measuring stick does not belong to me. In my soul, in my truth - with regrets and with hopes, what I can do is tighten up my laces, pick up my head, and keep watching those six feet of white line.
I will keep chasing daylight just for a glimpse of a sunset over the Pacific. I will continue searching for a better me. In my darkest hour I will hold that thread of hope. Though thinking of it, quite honestly is exhausting, I don't know how to give up. I don't know how to burn bridges or shut doors. I only know how to keep going. To continue to do my best. To pray my best is good enough. To give thanks for those who humble me with their love and kindness.
Maybe I will watch The Wizard of Oz. I have not seen that movie. Though I know the Lion needed courage, the Scarecrow needed a backbone, and the Tinman needed oil, at least I think that is it. And Dorothy, she needed to go home. Reckon, home exists inside of us. Home is with those who love us. Perhaps I have only more questions; long stretches of quiet road can illicit questions. Perhaps a long stretch of sitting still will bring forth some answers. That would be really cool. Or maybe catching a glimpse of a sun setting over the Pacific - Here's Hoping!
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Falling Up
I did it. I opened the box and showed all its ugly contents to my father. I showed him the abuse, neglect, rape. I showed him all my scars - having the barrel of a rifle shoved in my mouth and being told if I said anything he would kill my sister - then raping me with that same rifle.
I told him of being locked in the basement all day long or all night long. I told him of welts on my back that bled in school; being sent to the nurses office.
I told him everything - know what he said;
"I just don't remember. I was working a lot."
"Are you kidding me? You were out drinking. You were not working. When I spoke up I only got beat worse."
"I just did not know it was so bad."
Every piece of ugly I showed him he would shake his head and repeat his denial of any knowledge. But his bitch wife would really like the plastic coffee table she "loaned" me last year.
I don't know where the coffee table is. I do not know.
"Are you listening to me? How can you ask me about a piece of furniture, I am fighting for my life here?"
"I am sorry I let you down."
Let me down - I don't know what I thought he would say. I was not trying to hurt him. I just needed to get rid of that box. I carried so very long. I did what I was told - keep the peace.
"Do you think you could find that plastic coffee table?"
And on and on and on.
So, today - four days later, I saw my father again. Four days his bitch wife hounded him about that trailer park trash coffee table. Four days of her bullying him and bad mouthing me.
I brought some pictures I had come across of him with my sister. I brought him some potatoes from Eileen's garden. First words out of his mouth -
"Any luck with the coffee table?"
That was it. That was the moment I knew I would never see my father again. The moment when that freaking box was not mine anymore. I am fighting for my life and you are worrying about a piece of plastic furniture.
Today was a day when my father denied everything I said. Everything I could prove. Every tear I have shed. How could I say he never put me first he had a lot of responsibilities, a lot of people who needed to be first - he was married.
That is it. When he went on and on and on with his denials, accusing me of making it up - telling me that I went into the bastards bedroom because I wanted to. Yes, a six year old wants to do that.
Hence, I am falling up. It hurts, the bruises will take some time to heal - however, that box is no longer mine. I am falling, but I am falling up. And that is OK. I will get on, get over.
Reckon it will be grieving the loss of my father. To me he is gone. I won't see him again. I won't talk to him again. And when finish getting the last bit of faith I had he might one day put me first - well, I will be falling up.
I think falling up is flying - I will get there - I will fly.
I told him of being locked in the basement all day long or all night long. I told him of welts on my back that bled in school; being sent to the nurses office.
I told him everything - know what he said;
"I just don't remember. I was working a lot."
"Are you kidding me? You were out drinking. You were not working. When I spoke up I only got beat worse."
"I just did not know it was so bad."
Every piece of ugly I showed him he would shake his head and repeat his denial of any knowledge. But his bitch wife would really like the plastic coffee table she "loaned" me last year.
I don't know where the coffee table is. I do not know.
"Are you listening to me? How can you ask me about a piece of furniture, I am fighting for my life here?"
"I am sorry I let you down."
Let me down - I don't know what I thought he would say. I was not trying to hurt him. I just needed to get rid of that box. I carried so very long. I did what I was told - keep the peace.
"Do you think you could find that plastic coffee table?"
And on and on and on.
So, today - four days later, I saw my father again. Four days his bitch wife hounded him about that trailer park trash coffee table. Four days of her bullying him and bad mouthing me.
I brought some pictures I had come across of him with my sister. I brought him some potatoes from Eileen's garden. First words out of his mouth -
"Any luck with the coffee table?"
That was it. That was the moment I knew I would never see my father again. The moment when that freaking box was not mine anymore. I am fighting for my life and you are worrying about a piece of plastic furniture.
Today was a day when my father denied everything I said. Everything I could prove. Every tear I have shed. How could I say he never put me first he had a lot of responsibilities, a lot of people who needed to be first - he was married.
That is it. When he went on and on and on with his denials, accusing me of making it up - telling me that I went into the bastards bedroom because I wanted to. Yes, a six year old wants to do that.
Hence, I am falling up. It hurts, the bruises will take some time to heal - however, that box is no longer mine. I am falling, but I am falling up. And that is OK. I will get on, get over.
Reckon it will be grieving the loss of my father. To me he is gone. I won't see him again. I won't talk to him again. And when finish getting the last bit of faith I had he might one day put me first - well, I will be falling up.
I think falling up is flying - I will get there - I will fly.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
Comes A Time
Reckon it is that time...nothing I do seems to make any difference. Or if it does make a difference - seems to be not a good difference. I kept quiet. I accepted all the blame. I gave everything I had. Once I was down, some started just shoveling dirt upon my grave.
So be it. So be betrayal. All the freaking lies I let slide. That is what I do - keep the peace and accept blame. Whoever I was - it did not matter. Everything I did, made no difference.
Yup there comes a time -
So be it. So be betrayal. All the freaking lies I let slide. That is what I do - keep the peace and accept blame. Whoever I was - it did not matter. Everything I did, made no difference.
Yup there comes a time -
Free Write
I can't sleep so reckon I will free write. I was just listening to this Melissa Etheridge song - The beating of my heart shouldn't hurt no one. And love can only make you stronger. That is correct isn't it? I know it is.
We do the best we can-sometimes that is just not good enough. Does that mean we failed? If you do your best that is not failing. It is that same concept of overachieving-if you achieved it then you did not over achieve...you just did it; your best.
I think it was Gail you posted on FB today the question "Why does the universe have to be so hard?" or something like that. Well you know me, I think about everything.
Universe is not hard; people are sometimes difficult. I don't understand Israel bombing Gaza and vice-versa. I don't understand why we, Citizens of the United States believe we can tell them to stop. When a person fights in the name of his/her higher power - you don't stop them. It is not like this war has not been going on for hundreds of years.
Yes, I get the politics of it. It is the images on television. A woman standing in her living room, on the second floor, the entire front wall is gone. There she stood dressed in black. It haunts me.
We stopped taking responsibility for just being kind. Opening a door for someone. Letting a car out ahead of you. Letting the dude with two items go ahead of you in the grocery store.
We don't sit and talk anymore. We don't communicate. What happened? We are really lost.
Nat was telling me how a lady at the library this morning was so very rude - and how that encounter just set her whole day on a negative tone. It also served to remind her how easily we can hurt one another.
We are all in this together. Jeepers can't we show a bit of patience and kindness. Assistant Principal once told me students and parents view kindness as weakness. Dang, that is sad. It was true.
I know we are better than what we sometimes put out there. I know we all have bad days. Reckon, we should try not to make our bad day bleed onto someone else's day.
Life is more than work, consume, die. It is so much more. Making a difference, finding a way to reach out - creating, questioning, learning, searching - connecting!
Oh, all the wishes won't make any difference, reckon it doesn't hurt to try. At least to do that much - just try once a day to bring a smile to someone, or a laugh, a simple act of kindness - each of us, if we did it just once a day - that is a lot of good stuff.
It was a poem I was writing in my head last night - it isn't done. When it is I will share it. In the meantime y'all get some sleep. Someone has to. Night, love ya.
We do the best we can-sometimes that is just not good enough. Does that mean we failed? If you do your best that is not failing. It is that same concept of overachieving-if you achieved it then you did not over achieve...you just did it; your best.
I think it was Gail you posted on FB today the question "Why does the universe have to be so hard?" or something like that. Well you know me, I think about everything.
Universe is not hard; people are sometimes difficult. I don't understand Israel bombing Gaza and vice-versa. I don't understand why we, Citizens of the United States believe we can tell them to stop. When a person fights in the name of his/her higher power - you don't stop them. It is not like this war has not been going on for hundreds of years.
Yes, I get the politics of it. It is the images on television. A woman standing in her living room, on the second floor, the entire front wall is gone. There she stood dressed in black. It haunts me.
We stopped taking responsibility for just being kind. Opening a door for someone. Letting a car out ahead of you. Letting the dude with two items go ahead of you in the grocery store.
We don't sit and talk anymore. We don't communicate. What happened? We are really lost.
Nat was telling me how a lady at the library this morning was so very rude - and how that encounter just set her whole day on a negative tone. It also served to remind her how easily we can hurt one another.
We are all in this together. Jeepers can't we show a bit of patience and kindness. Assistant Principal once told me students and parents view kindness as weakness. Dang, that is sad. It was true.
I know we are better than what we sometimes put out there. I know we all have bad days. Reckon, we should try not to make our bad day bleed onto someone else's day.
Life is more than work, consume, die. It is so much more. Making a difference, finding a way to reach out - creating, questioning, learning, searching - connecting!
Oh, all the wishes won't make any difference, reckon it doesn't hurt to try. At least to do that much - just try once a day to bring a smile to someone, or a laugh, a simple act of kindness - each of us, if we did it just once a day - that is a lot of good stuff.
It was a poem I was writing in my head last night - it isn't done. When it is I will share it. In the meantime y'all get some sleep. Someone has to. Night, love ya.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Hammer or Ice
I dropped a 7 pound of ice on my foot. It hurt! Then I hit my right pointer finger with a hammer! That hurt! These events pretty much sum of the past few days for me.
Please do not misunderstand what I am saying - My Donald is getting married. I am so happy for him! He has been my friend 22 years. My go to guy. He cannot be that person anymore. That is OK...Really, I am happy for him.
Sometimes I wonder if I did something really bad in a previous life. In fact I don't recall a time when I did not wonder that. Which has nothing to do with Donald getting married.
I did not take pills or crawl into a battle. Took a shower, went to watch my former softball team play in a tournament. Which may hurt more than ice or hammer. I purposefully wore shoes I could not play softball in. I knew at some point Jef would ask me if I wanted to play an inning or have a turn at bat. Yes, I long for such moments - just not moments I can have. So I kept score and did the 7/11 run. Yippee for me!
I have said before that I am not apologizing anymore. Whatever I do to get through a day - well screw it! Today I did what is considered the "right thing." I will do whatever I want to do and I will not feel bad for it.
Neither the hammer, ice, score keeping, or 7/11 run made tears stop streaming down my face. So what is the difference? At least I should have a bit of peace.
No matter how many ways I try to explain this...no one gets it. I cannot play softball anymore - have you any idea how much that hurts? Do you know how hard it is to be cheerful and positive while every part of you hurts --
You don't get it! You can't get it! You are not limping in my Crocs!
Now I am a person who does stuff for other people; which is fine - it is stuff from the bottom because I cannot get back on top. It does not matter what I do - Don't you get that?
We have all lost people, opportunities, jobs, family - I have lost mine again and again and again! So whatever I did in my previous life which so angered our universe - Dang, I wish I could figure it out.
Shoot, don't worry about it. Tomorrow is a new day - get up, tie up your laces, put that smile on, and get up to speed.
I will. I am not a quitter.
Please do not misunderstand what I am saying - My Donald is getting married. I am so happy for him! He has been my friend 22 years. My go to guy. He cannot be that person anymore. That is OK...Really, I am happy for him.
Sometimes I wonder if I did something really bad in a previous life. In fact I don't recall a time when I did not wonder that. Which has nothing to do with Donald getting married.
I did not take pills or crawl into a battle. Took a shower, went to watch my former softball team play in a tournament. Which may hurt more than ice or hammer. I purposefully wore shoes I could not play softball in. I knew at some point Jef would ask me if I wanted to play an inning or have a turn at bat. Yes, I long for such moments - just not moments I can have. So I kept score and did the 7/11 run. Yippee for me!
I have said before that I am not apologizing anymore. Whatever I do to get through a day - well screw it! Today I did what is considered the "right thing." I will do whatever I want to do and I will not feel bad for it.
Neither the hammer, ice, score keeping, or 7/11 run made tears stop streaming down my face. So what is the difference? At least I should have a bit of peace.
No matter how many ways I try to explain this...no one gets it. I cannot play softball anymore - have you any idea how much that hurts? Do you know how hard it is to be cheerful and positive while every part of you hurts --
You don't get it! You can't get it! You are not limping in my Crocs!
Now I am a person who does stuff for other people; which is fine - it is stuff from the bottom because I cannot get back on top. It does not matter what I do - Don't you get that?
We have all lost people, opportunities, jobs, family - I have lost mine again and again and again! So whatever I did in my previous life which so angered our universe - Dang, I wish I could figure it out.
Shoot, don't worry about it. Tomorrow is a new day - get up, tie up your laces, put that smile on, and get up to speed.
I will. I am not a quitter.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Burning Bridges and Closing Doors
Not been any practice of mine to burn a bridge. Believing in life's circular pattern - won't be too long until I find myself on banks of a raging river - and bridge I burned was only safe passage I had to cross.
Same with closing doors. Entering the "funny house" life so often is - should I close and lock a door; then find myself on the outside with no combination to get back in?
I know folks who are able to do this. I know folks who must do this. I know folks who choose to do this - and I know me.
Odd isn't it; how we are shaped by so many external factors - add in genetics - we can become a mutation of who we were originally meant to be.
Which gets me to wondering who I was meant to be. If everything else, environmentally, was "normal," whatever that is; well who would I have become? Silly question. It has no answer - yet once and again I wonder on it.
Each of us seeks basic needs; food, shelter, love. Love is defined by species - but it crosses the board. Some say love is enough to sustain you - even without food or shelter. Romantic notion, but false.
Love should not hurt. How often it does. My heart beating for another's love should not be wrong - but it is. No, love doesn't belong in genetic make up - still it comes from our basic survival skills. A bird, bear, reptile - each seeks love. Of course the form and depth are different - reckon the need is similar.
Closing a door - saying; "This is it!" I shall not need this person again. We shall not cross paths again - I can burn this bridge as I will not use it ever again. Ah, that never and always - two entities which do not exists. Perhaps, black holes only meant to trick us.
Life just does not work that way. At least, in my humble opinion, it does not work that way. Would it be easier if I could padlock doors - maybe - Matters not; it just is not something I can do.
Goodness, how long have I sought what society dictates as normal - only to achieve that "normal" then have random circumstance and incompetent bureaucracies render me clueless. Poof, there it goes.
I know I hang on way too long - believing in goodness of others. A theme which has pierced my heart so many dang times, one would think I would give it up. I won't.
I won't give up faith nor hope! I will not give up unicorns and mermaids. Love's power and laughter's healing strength - I am going to keep these with me. Yes, I am wiser. Nothing should surprise me - though it does. When someone else exhibits behaviors I could not even imagine - I am surprised. I know I should not be.
You may consider my behavior defeating myself. Putting myself behind the 8 ball, then asking why? That is OK, I often ask myself "Why?" That question harkens back a long, long, long, way - it is one no one can answer. Asking why is, at some point, something we all do.
I cannot be faded. I bought a hat, back in 1987 - the words; "You Can't Fade Me" were on that hat. I did not know what they meant - only knew they somehow rang true to how I felt. Turns out in gang "slang" the expression means you can't kill me, and if you kill me, one of my fellow gang members will avenge my death. In other LGBT speak, it meant - we will not disappear - no matter how much you try to erase us - we will not go away. What was the chant; "We're here, we're queer, get used to it."
Personally, I felt the phrase represented my resiliency. Taking what life gave me and still remaining vibrant. You can't fade me. So when others burned a bridge or closed a door - their choice - it did not "fade" my color. It did not fade my presence in their life. I stood strong on every river bank, and close to every door.
It would be cool if we could figure some of this stuff out before we hit the gates of heaven. Who knows, maybe we do...though I am still stretching and learning - still losing and mourning - you can't fade me. No matter how far down I have fallen. No matter how dark my days may be - I know - without a doubt - my little light will shine. I won't fade.
Might come a day when bridges can be rebuilt and doors unlocked - or maybe not. Either way forgive me if I appear naïve; forgive me if I believe in love - give me a pass because I will hold hope for a long, long, long, time. It all makes me a little softer than you might perhaps like me to be - reckon it makes me, me - something in here must speak to you - might just be 'cause I will believe way longer than I probably should.
Nope, I can't just burn a bridge or close a door - sometimes I wish I could. I do hear what y'all are saying. Whether it is genetic or environment, I am just not wired that way. I only need adjust - I can do that. If someone finds themselves on banks of a raging river I will lay me down - or if someone is stuck in the funny house tumbler...I will shine a light.
Just me being me; only way I know how.
Same with closing doors. Entering the "funny house" life so often is - should I close and lock a door; then find myself on the outside with no combination to get back in?
I know folks who are able to do this. I know folks who must do this. I know folks who choose to do this - and I know me.
Odd isn't it; how we are shaped by so many external factors - add in genetics - we can become a mutation of who we were originally meant to be.
Which gets me to wondering who I was meant to be. If everything else, environmentally, was "normal," whatever that is; well who would I have become? Silly question. It has no answer - yet once and again I wonder on it.
Each of us seeks basic needs; food, shelter, love. Love is defined by species - but it crosses the board. Some say love is enough to sustain you - even without food or shelter. Romantic notion, but false.
Love should not hurt. How often it does. My heart beating for another's love should not be wrong - but it is. No, love doesn't belong in genetic make up - still it comes from our basic survival skills. A bird, bear, reptile - each seeks love. Of course the form and depth are different - reckon the need is similar.
Closing a door - saying; "This is it!" I shall not need this person again. We shall not cross paths again - I can burn this bridge as I will not use it ever again. Ah, that never and always - two entities which do not exists. Perhaps, black holes only meant to trick us.
Life just does not work that way. At least, in my humble opinion, it does not work that way. Would it be easier if I could padlock doors - maybe - Matters not; it just is not something I can do.
Goodness, how long have I sought what society dictates as normal - only to achieve that "normal" then have random circumstance and incompetent bureaucracies render me clueless. Poof, there it goes.
I know I hang on way too long - believing in goodness of others. A theme which has pierced my heart so many dang times, one would think I would give it up. I won't.
I won't give up faith nor hope! I will not give up unicorns and mermaids. Love's power and laughter's healing strength - I am going to keep these with me. Yes, I am wiser. Nothing should surprise me - though it does. When someone else exhibits behaviors I could not even imagine - I am surprised. I know I should not be.
You may consider my behavior defeating myself. Putting myself behind the 8 ball, then asking why? That is OK, I often ask myself "Why?" That question harkens back a long, long, long, way - it is one no one can answer. Asking why is, at some point, something we all do.
I cannot be faded. I bought a hat, back in 1987 - the words; "You Can't Fade Me" were on that hat. I did not know what they meant - only knew they somehow rang true to how I felt. Turns out in gang "slang" the expression means you can't kill me, and if you kill me, one of my fellow gang members will avenge my death. In other LGBT speak, it meant - we will not disappear - no matter how much you try to erase us - we will not go away. What was the chant; "We're here, we're queer, get used to it."
Personally, I felt the phrase represented my resiliency. Taking what life gave me and still remaining vibrant. You can't fade me. So when others burned a bridge or closed a door - their choice - it did not "fade" my color. It did not fade my presence in their life. I stood strong on every river bank, and close to every door.
It would be cool if we could figure some of this stuff out before we hit the gates of heaven. Who knows, maybe we do...though I am still stretching and learning - still losing and mourning - you can't fade me. No matter how far down I have fallen. No matter how dark my days may be - I know - without a doubt - my little light will shine. I won't fade.
Might come a day when bridges can be rebuilt and doors unlocked - or maybe not. Either way forgive me if I appear naïve; forgive me if I believe in love - give me a pass because I will hold hope for a long, long, long, time. It all makes me a little softer than you might perhaps like me to be - reckon it makes me, me - something in here must speak to you - might just be 'cause I will believe way longer than I probably should.
Nope, I can't just burn a bridge or close a door - sometimes I wish I could. I do hear what y'all are saying. Whether it is genetic or environment, I am just not wired that way. I only need adjust - I can do that. If someone finds themselves on banks of a raging river I will lay me down - or if someone is stuck in the funny house tumbler...I will shine a light.
Just me being me; only way I know how.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Boyhood-The Movie
The draw for this movie is it was filmed over
12 years of "real time." Of those 12 years it was edited to 3 hours. That is a lot of years condensed into what is, by today's standards, a long movie.
The writer, director, and producer cast his daughter in one of three main characters. When I perused reviews and such-casting his daughter seemed a bit controversial. I do not understand why folks feel a parent should not give advantage to their children. Is that not part of the "American Dream?" As a parent, you work hard hoping you can make your child's life better. Nepotism is sensible. In this case, Lorelei-well she was excellent. So her dad gave her a chance and she hit a home run.
Patricia Arquette is the mother of two children. A girl, and two years younger, a boy. While "Boyhood" is the title of the movie-it could easily have been titled, "Motherhood." Arquette's character filled this movie.
The boy, whose real name I don't recall-well, for me anyway-he tried hard to stand out, he was grasping for something profound, trying to become a lone wolf. Ironically, (and this is just my take on things) his desire for profoundness made him ordinary. The mother's quest to be ordinary, made her stand out.
Sometimes I encounter a piece of art, written, painting, design...whatever, and I just don't get it. While many are speaking about beauty, intensity, extrodinary-I am standing there scratching my head. I wonder what am I missing that everyone else sees. One time I was in a store where they sold those computer generated paintings-you know the kind you look at long enough until you see it is not a animals in a zoo, it is actually, constellations in a winter sky. So, I am looking at this picture and I see nothing-nada-blank to me. Several folks started to join me in deciphering what was hidden. So I just started to shake my head up and down-quietly giggling in to myself. "Do you see it?" Someone asked. "Yes," I replied. I did not see a darn thing. I went on to point out the beautiful sea-scape amongst all those dots.
Sure enough, one by one, folks gathered there started pointing out details in my made up interpretation of this picture. My point, and I did start with one! Ah, yes, my point-sometimes when we don't "get it" we fake the funk. Then other folks, also unable to grasp an artistic concept, they join in.
Reckon this is my take on "Boyhood." I didn't "get it." I would have titled it "Bad Choices 101." Would believe movie was about an adult expecting different result even though she, (the mother) kept making the same bad choices.
There is one thought this movie has left me to chew on-Mother and Son lived parallel lives. Other than giving birth-mother and son lived without their lives ever intersecting. The daughter and mother, their lives intersected back and forth-back and forth. Mother and son had one point of contact. Which is more evidence supporting my thesis; donating sperm or serving as a host-these do not make anyone a parent. Vise-versa...an individual becomes a parent even if physicogically they did not contribute.
12 years of "real time." Of those 12 years it was edited to 3 hours. That is a lot of years condensed into what is, by today's standards, a long movie.
The writer, director, and producer cast his daughter in one of three main characters. When I perused reviews and such-casting his daughter seemed a bit controversial. I do not understand why folks feel a parent should not give advantage to their children. Is that not part of the "American Dream?" As a parent, you work hard hoping you can make your child's life better. Nepotism is sensible. In this case, Lorelei-well she was excellent. So her dad gave her a chance and she hit a home run.
Patricia Arquette is the mother of two children. A girl, and two years younger, a boy. While "Boyhood" is the title of the movie-it could easily have been titled, "Motherhood." Arquette's character filled this movie.
The boy, whose real name I don't recall-well, for me anyway-he tried hard to stand out, he was grasping for something profound, trying to become a lone wolf. Ironically, (and this is just my take on things) his desire for profoundness made him ordinary. The mother's quest to be ordinary, made her stand out.
Sometimes I encounter a piece of art, written, painting, design...whatever, and I just don't get it. While many are speaking about beauty, intensity, extrodinary-I am standing there scratching my head. I wonder what am I missing that everyone else sees. One time I was in a store where they sold those computer generated paintings-you know the kind you look at long enough until you see it is not a animals in a zoo, it is actually, constellations in a winter sky. So, I am looking at this picture and I see nothing-nada-blank to me. Several folks started to join me in deciphering what was hidden. So I just started to shake my head up and down-quietly giggling in to myself. "Do you see it?" Someone asked. "Yes," I replied. I did not see a darn thing. I went on to point out the beautiful sea-scape amongst all those dots.
Sure enough, one by one, folks gathered there started pointing out details in my made up interpretation of this picture. My point, and I did start with one! Ah, yes, my point-sometimes when we don't "get it" we fake the funk. Then other folks, also unable to grasp an artistic concept, they join in.
Reckon this is my take on "Boyhood." I didn't "get it." I would have titled it "Bad Choices 101." Would believe movie was about an adult expecting different result even though she, (the mother) kept making the same bad choices.
There is one thought this movie has left me to chew on-Mother and Son lived parallel lives. Other than giving birth-mother and son lived without their lives ever intersecting. The daughter and mother, their lives intersected back and forth-back and forth. Mother and son had one point of contact. Which is more evidence supporting my thesis; donating sperm or serving as a host-these do not make anyone a parent. Vise-versa...an individual becomes a parent even if physicogically they did not contribute.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)